#because at least i know it's this thing i carry with me so deeply and so permanently

[cbeargyu]

marry me, mr. jeong

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

pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 19,7K

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

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

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

jeong jaehyun.

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

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

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

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

“you’re still here, byun?”

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

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

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

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

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

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you didn’t hear him come in.

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

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

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

you blinked.

right. the report.

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

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

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

you nodded. “understood.”

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

“yes, mr. jeong.”

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

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

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

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

then jaehyun spoke.

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

until he said your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he nodded. “you earned it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

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

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i can celebrate with you.”

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

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

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

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

“…what?” you whispered.

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

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

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

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

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

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

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

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

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

you didn’t sleep.

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

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

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

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

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

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

then—

“good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

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

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

his expression didn’t change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’d never felt so out of control.

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

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

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

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

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

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

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

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

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

not a question. not a request.

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

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

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

you wanted to know.

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

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

you stared straight ahead.

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

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

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

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

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

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

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

“anytime,” he said dryly.

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

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

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

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

“love it.”

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

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

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

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

you said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

“why me?”

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

“do you say that to all women?”

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

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

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

“i never said you did.”

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

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

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

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

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

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

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

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

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

you saw him as a man.

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

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

you saw him differently.

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

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

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

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

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

just like that.

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

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

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

but you were thinking. too much.

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

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

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

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

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

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

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

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

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

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

for a beat, the world went still.

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

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

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

you swallowed hard.

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

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

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

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

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

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

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

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

jung jaehyun.

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

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

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

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

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

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

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

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

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

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

not knowing was part of the charm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he did.

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

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

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

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

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

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he still didn’t touch you.

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

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

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

“you don’t have to thank me.”

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

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

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

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

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

but inside… you felt it.

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

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

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

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

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

jaehyun noticed immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

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

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

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

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

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

he nodded. “siblings?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he shook his head. “only child.”

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

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

they lingered.

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

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

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

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

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

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

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

today was one of those days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his skin was warm under your lips.

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

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

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

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

you grinned and didn’t answer.

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

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

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

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

“me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

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

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

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

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

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

this time, he didn’t say hello.

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

he never rushed.

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

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

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

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

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

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

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

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

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

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

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

“wait—what?”

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

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

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

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

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

you froze.

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

married.

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

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

you shook the image out of your head.

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

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

friday night came like a slow exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

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

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

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

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

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

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

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

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

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

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

your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

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

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

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

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

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

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

you answer.

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

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

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

you rub your temple. “mom—”

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

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

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

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

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

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

then comes the chaos.

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

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

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

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

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

he freezes.

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

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

this might just be the beginning of everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that night at the motel changed everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you.”

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

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

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

and the craziest part?

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

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

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

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

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

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

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

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

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

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

he took you out that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah?”

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

“i want to marry you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the proposal happened three days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

your eyes began to water.

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

a velvet box.

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

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

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

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

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

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the parents came next.

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

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

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

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

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

then it was his parents' turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then came the parents.

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

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

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

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

and then, jaehyun.

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

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

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

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

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

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

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

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

“we did it,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounded like a promise.

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

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

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

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

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

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

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

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

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

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

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

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

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

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

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

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

beautifully yours.

[creati-bunny]

"IF YOU LOSE TO KARASUNO, YOU WILL GO ON A DATE WITH ME."

You smirk triumphantly, standing tall and proud while staring up at Ushijima—who just looks at you dead in the eyes, unblinking. He merely raises an eyebrow at you, thinking you are a fool to be making a deal with him; even taking the side that will obviously be in his favor no matter what.

And even though he acts indifferent and stony towards you, his teammates knew there is something under that cold exterior of his. Tendou knows that the only way that his captain will know is when he finds it out by himself.

Ushijima wants to convince himself that going on a date with you is not something he looks forward to.

“Ridiculous, we are the strongest team.” He walked past you, merely scoffing at your statement. “If you plan on making a bet, at least propose a side that’s in your favor.” Ushijima gave you one last glance before heading back inside the gymnasium.

You sigh at his cold response.

Well, either way, you still like his coolness with every remark you quip at him. For some reason, you feel as though you have chosen the correct one.

Ushijima blankly stares across from you, while both of you lounge in a café. You nervously bite your straw, struggling to take a sip of your milkshake.

You were not really expecting the volleyball team to lose; either way, whether he wins or not, you will still find a way to force him to go on a date with you. Still with his consent.

You gulp very loudly, sensing the brooding and moping aura of Ushijima. The last thing he probably wants to do is go on a date with someone like you, the one who has been pestering him for months on campus as a typical annoying fan.

“Are you not going to order anything else?”

You yelp, too focused on your own thoughts to even notice that Ushijima bothers to even pay attention to your well-being.

A chunk of shaved ice has somehow gotten stuck in your throat, making you cough slightly. You rubbed the back of your head, flushing with embarrassment and shame. “I—I was not expecting you really to come, Ushijima-san. I figured that you would want to be alone after your match…” Your last words turned into a mumble, your eyes looking down on your lap while feeling so much guilt.

Ushijima takes a sip of his cappuccino, unbothered about what you said. His match with Karasuno stung for a while, yet he knows that he has to move on—after all, he has promised to beat them next time.

“A deal is a deal. Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes another sip of his cappuccino, looking at you. Your energy dimmed at the tone of his voice.

“You sound as if you were forced,” you quipped with a listless voice, depressing lines hugged your figure.

“Because I was.”

Wakatoshi looks at your lonely order in pity, a blank strawberry milkshake with nothing else to chew. “At least fill up your stomach.” Ushijima takes notice of the tremble in your body, wondering why you are being fidgety right now.

As if you were not so bold to propose a deal with him.

It is not that he does not appreciate your attention on any matter that concerns his well-being; being in a deeper relationship with someone is not really his priority—though, you provide a bit of amusement with your determination to get a reaction from him.

But right now, were you getting cold feet?

Ushijima was not done being confused when he saw you standing up abruptly and bowing deeply. “I’m really sorry, Ushijima-san. I should not have forced you to make a deal with me—this is just… ugh… stupid…” you proclaimed with a guilty voice, almost about to whimper and sob.

You act as if you are the one who defeated them on the court, Wakatoshi thinks.

“I too, did not expect the outcome. But I am also not expecting this kind of reaction from you.” He looks up at you, up and down, judging your posture, movement, and the way you carry yourself.

Your fingers hugging the straw tightly as if it would escape from your grasp; he lets out an amused huff before continuing. “Is it because you do not take your bets seriously?”

He reads you too well, you have concluded.

“It’s not that..”

Ushijima tilts his head at you. Fluttery feelings arise within you when he only stares at you. The way his attention is solely focused on you, like you’re the only one and nothing else matters, makes your body slightly heat up; in truth, the poor guy was only trying to guess if you’re feeling well enough to be here with him.

You really are a victim of highschool love.

You give him a dry smile, “Let’s just order some soufflé, Ushijima-san. I’m getting quite hungry.” No, he just needs to shut up for a second. You fish out the small red coin purse in your bag, seeing the waitress handling out your bill. Your eyes pretend to scan for different kinds of soufflé; there was only one kind.

The soufflé came, bouncy and jiggling on your plate as you stared at it in hunger. With your fork, you quickly took a bite and slipped it in your mouth—you let out a pleased sound, enjoying the way the flavors melted in your mouth. “Ushijima-san, you should try this!”

It is bewildering to see how your mood changes quickly just because of a dessert. Ushijima takes note of this peculiar behaviour of yours in the future.

Ushijima blinked. “It’s fine, I do not want to—“

“Don’t be a sourpuss, just try it!” You failed to realize that the fork you used is the same one being enclosed by the crevices of your crush’s lips; with your hand gripping his chin, almost about to shove the pastry down his throat, he looks at you in shock at your audacity.

“…”

While his tongue enjoys the blessed heaven taste of the soufflé, his mind wanders to every single part of his brain to know why on earth his heart skipped a beat.

You shared an indirect kiss with him.

Ushijima’s eyes wander around your face, watching it contort into a pleasant one. You are not that sharp as he thought, with the way your eyes crinkled, too busy enjoying your soufflé. “Doesn’t it taste good, Ushijima-san?”

For a while, Ushijima contemplated doing something out of his character.

“Wakatoshi.”

“Huh?”

You look at him. Ushijima grunted as not to act awkward in front of you. He does not want to focus on such tempting thoughts; he distracts himself by splitting the bill with you, even though you were the one who invited him. “Call me Wakatoshi. If we are going to keep doing this, I suggest you call me by my first name next time.”

Ushijima glances at you with his usual expression, giving you a what is supposed to be a reassuring nod—you find it a privilege to call him by his first name; your mind spirals out of control. I-I can call him Wakatoshi, you mentally giggle in success.

His fingers itch to do something about the powdered sugar at the corner of your mouth you are unaware of.

Next time, huh? You already feel jittery thinking about your next date. Does it mean that there is a chance for him to reciprocate your feelings?

You are getting way ahead of yourself.

“Oh, I see…” You chuckled forcefully, sensing a little tension between you two. A moment of awkward silence covers between you two, your eyes looking everywhere except him.

For some reason, he does not appreciate it.

“You have something here..”

You blinked, getting caught off guard when he suddenly stands up and leans close to you. His thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth, wiping off the powdered sugar from the soufflé—his thumb gently rests on top of your plump lips; you stare at him wide-eyed at his bold move, your attention taken away by force.

Ushijima thinks he does not regret meeting up with you anymore. His olive-colored eyes drank in the sight of your body almost about to explode; his thumb sending signals over to his brain about your increasing body temperature—he feels the desire to squeeze you in his palms. He adores to see that kind of reaction one more time.

Breath heaves its way out of you, seeing Wakatoshi stifle his smirk in failure. He knew what he was doing.

“Toru, you look so stupid. I’m actually vexed to be here right now.”

Takeru watches his uncle in disgust, who stalks the two of you in a black hoodie and goggles. The latter immediately shushes his nephew as he watches Ushijima leave the café; Oikawa is one of the unfortunate witnesses of Ushijima’s date with a girl.

“I need to upload this on social media. Asap! How dare this Ushiwaka bastard still manage to fool around with a girl?!”

“Toru, please shut up.”

reblog if you like it :) || image is by the original owner of the manga

[bluukive]

!MDNI: JJK Men x make-up sęx

warnings: angst kinda, degredation, fem!reader, consensual

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

He talks a big game during arguments, throwing his hands in there like he's in some sort of performance. Satoru's sarcastic, even playful. But it's all an act to conceal how his heart is painfully hammering in his chest. He's hurt, and so are you. Satoru mopes around like a kicked puppy once you essentially tell him to fụck off and give you space. Satoru is terrified of losing you. It's like you've ripped his heart out when you tell him to leave.

Satoru gives you like, an hour max before he's back. More words are exchanged until you're bullied against the corner of some random wall, body smothered by his lanky one. He's begging so sweetly, mouthing wetly at your shoulders, neck, jaw. Anywhere he can get his mouth on. It's embarrassing how you're just letting him rut his hips against your own like it's the last time he'll ever get to touch you like this. It's even worse now that he's laughing a little at how you reciprocate, tịts right up against his. You can act as pissed as you want, but Satoru knows your body better than anyone else ever will.

He taunts you the entire time. Once you're finally dripping all over his cọck, Satoru doesn't let you cụm until he can feel the sting of your nails dragging down his back and chest. That's the least he deserves for being such an ąss to you. But he wants you to cry for him whilst he forces his thumb away from your clịt, edging you repeatedly until you apologise. It's only fair since he did first. He even makes you say thank you after he lets you climax.

Satoru can feel his lips dampen with your tears once you're done taking your frustrations out on each other. You don't even know when you started crying, but he's there to put you back together again. His large palms are squeezing at your waist, running up and down your back as you both collect yourself. Another apology leaves his lips. He won't stop until you're looking at him in the eyes again.

"Are you seriously still mad at me? Let your Toru kiss you better."

"Tell me. Use that sweet mouth of yours and say that you forgive me."

"Honestly? I can't fụcking breathe without you."

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Suguru hates it when you both fight. He feels like he's failed as a partner when he watches the way your eyes gloss over with tears. He doesn't have a choice but to give you space because if he doesn't, he'll just overbear you with attempts to fix things again.

When he's back, Suguru's on his knees, kneeling between yours. He's quiet and begging with his eyes first before he does anything else, hair hanging down in loose strands. Your eyes are on everything but him, but that does nothing to stop him from gently coaxing your hand in his and kissing your soft fingertips, your wrists, and finally, your thighs. Like he's worshipping you.

You're yelping and throwing your arms around his neck when he finally picks you up and carries you bridal style to the bedroom after your persistant silence. Suguru wants to make it right. But something about the bedroom atmosphere makes Suguru switch. Clothes are discarded and torn off, and your hips are held down as he fụcks you deeply and deliberately. You'll feel him for days after. Suguru gets pịssed if you try looking at anything but him. It's futile to try and hide from his reverent devotion. His slender fingers are harshly guiding your face back up as his large robes conceal you both. He didn't bother taking them all off. There are mutual bite marks littering both of you, and Suguru takes an enjoyment in watching your hips jerk when he licks the sting away with a languid drag of his tongue.

Suguru uses both hands to hold your head in place when your ọrgasm hits you. He refuses to let you look away as you sniffle and convulse beneath him. His own ọrgasm is triggered by yours, but he can't focus on that. All he can do is press his lips in a worshipping manner all over your skin as he murmurs the word 'sorry' over and over again.

"I know, I know. I fụcked up. Give me a chance to make it right, hm?"

"Shịt- you know you're all m-mine, right?"

"Hurt me. I don't care. Just don't fụcking leave me."

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Sukuna's so mean. He really does fight dirty when you dare argue back. Usually, he enjoys it. But sometimes, you strike a nerve in him that has him saying cruel things he doesn't even mean. It's all just a defence mechanism he uses to avoid actually being vulnerable for once in his life. You're slamming doors when you think you're both done, hiding in the bedroom you both share. He's busy pacing around alone like a feral animal.

He stalks into the room not long after, though. Without knocking. Sukuna looks like he's about to snap with how stiff he stands if you don't touch him right that second. He's infuriated when you just sit there, sulking with your brows furrowed. There are no apologies leaving his lips any time soon, not when he's manhandling you onto all fours once you give him more of that sass he loves. Your back is in a nasty arch, face pressed against the bed as he fụcks one of his cocks into you, as if he's trying to breed you on the spot. You're drooling, and he just licks it all up after grabbing your hair and pulling you up to his chest.

Sukuna is filthy. He's got you folded, spitting into your mouth and watching your fụcked-out face swallow it all. Some escspes the corner of your lips, which he greedily licks back up again. His teeth are dragged down your throat as he makes you cry to be filled up. Sukuna doesn't accept anything less than you becoming utterly limp after he's done with you. He wants you to depend on him, make you realise that all you need is him.

When you're both done, you can't move. He's fụcked his apologies into you, holding you in place in bed. Sukuna's completely wrapped around you, and you can hear low grunts and tuts leaving him if you even dare to think about moving away from him.

"Little brat. I should have thrown you over my knee the second you gave me an attitude."

"Hate me all you want, wife. You're mine, and you can't do anything about it."

"Don't you dare move. Not even an inch."

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

It's rare you both argue, but when it happens? You hate it. He tries staying respectful, but Kento eventually grows eerily quiet. When he does speak, his voice is incredibly low and clipped. He's being snide underneath all that faux politeness, yet he can't stop. Kento forces himself to take a breather.

He HATES himself for it, and you do just as much. Kento's eyes are bloodshot when he's back, much like yours, and his shoulders are hunched. After a brief word of consolation, he's grabbing you and kissing you so heavily, like a dam has burst. As if he'd die without letting you know how sorry he was. Whilst he rips off his own clothes to the point there are buttons scattered all over the floor, Kento undresses you so carefully. He doesn't want to cause you anymore pain since the memory of you looking so hurt by him is burned into his mind.

You're both pent up, it's obvious. Kento keeps sẹx to just missionary, his forehead against yours as a lump forms in his throat. He's doesn't hold a single negative thought towards you, no. He's disappointed in himself that he let the argument go that far. All you can hear is him asking if you still loved him whilst he thrusted as slowly as he could. If you felt good, if you forgave him.

Kento feels it all deeply, much like you do. You can see the sweat mixing with the occasional stray tear coming from your dear husband as he tenderly rubs at your clịt. He's incredibly passionate and tender, but memories of him during that argument has the pleasure you feel ebb away. He notices it immediately, the way your face falls flat. Again, Kento's kicking himself for it, and the rhythm of his hips falter. He holds you tighter, praying that his actions and words are reassuring. He holds your face, murmuring about how devoted he is, how he'll be a better man for you.

"I swear. I never want to speak to you like that again."

"I need to hear it, m-my love. Please, tell me you won't leave."

"You still love me, don't you? I love you, too. I swear, I'll never stop."

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Doors are slamming, he's muttering filthy curses under his breath, saying things he didn't think twice about. Toji's genuinely the worst when he's mad. Even when he returns from his quick breather, he's still seething and unable to voice out how shịtty and sorry he feels. Toji looms over you, both pịssed and impressed at the audacity you have to get an attitude with him. He's backing you up onto the bed, and you don't even realise. You're too busy cussing you out, and he figures a cute thing like you could get it out of her system. He just wants you even more.

You find yourself whining at the sting of his hand connecting with your ąss, and the force of it makes you jolt forward on the bed. Toji lets out a satisfied grunt at the pitiful noises you make, a hand holding the back of your neck as he's fụcking consecutive orgasms out of you. The air around you both is hot and heavy, but also thick with unsaid words. Apologies that both of you are too stubborn to say out loud.

His cọck is heavy inside you, throbbing with the need to make you cụm first. It's his way of apologising without speaking. Toji kisses with teeth, nipping at you and sucking your lower lip into his mouth to get you to cry for him. But with you, he needs to hear you're sorry out loud. He's stopping his own movements completely until you're babbling mindlessly about how you'll never act up again (which is a lie).

He's surprisingly quiet after, his breathing heavy as he smooshes your cheeks together. Toji's calmed down, and so have you. He enjoys the way you try to push his larger body off yours, but he won't budge, because you're right where he wants you. There's no way he's letting you go any time soon. Not until you know how sorry he really is.

"Still being a little bịtch, huh?"

"I see. You just needed some dịck, didn't ya? Is that why you were acting up?"

"Louder, brat. Say you're sorry. Properly."

an - idk how to feel about this one

[rafesangelita]

omg imagine s1 rafe bringing sweetheart!pogue!reader to his partay and she is like watching him do coke n stuff. idk theyre so different

warnings: drug use, suggestive ending

a/n: i’m imagining s1!rafe who just loves to have pogue!sweetheart!reader around because they’re polar opposites and he needs the balance lol. this prompt is to die for, thank you anon <3

to say you felt out of place would be an understatement. you didn’t go to parties, you didn’t drink, and you certainly didn’t do any kind of drugs, yet you found yourself in the lap of the one person who did all three. “why are you so quiet, baby? you shy?” rafe ran a palm up and down your thigh, the feeling of his breath fanning against your skin bringing butterflies to your tummy. you smiled softly, shaking your head. “no.. s’just not really my scene.” you whispered.

rafe tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, kissing you deeply before he pulled away. “ i know, i know. we’ll ditch this shit and go up to my room in a few minutes, how does that sound?” his bloodshot eyes met your sober ones. you smiled softly, nodding. “yo’, rafe!” you looked up at topper, the boy flashing you a smile before dropping a small baggy in rafe’s hand. “you gotta get in on this shit, man. kelce said it tastes like candy.” you swallowed thickly, watching as rafe grabbed the rolling tray from the coffee table in front of him.

“are you okay if i do this?” he turned, noticing the way your eyebrow creased in worry. you weren’t fond of the fact that rafe used, but he was a good person with a good heart. at least you thought so. the last thing you wanted to do was point out his mistakes and lecture him as if he wasn’t a grown man who could make his own decisions, so you settled for a quiet; ‘yeah, it’s okay.’ before resting your head on his shoulder. he pressed a kiss to your knuckles before emptying the bag, using a credit card to formulate a perfect white line.

the gold ring on rafe’s finger glinted under the soft light of his home, the sight catching your eyes before you watched him snort up the blow. you couldn’t deny the ‘off’ feeling you got witnessing the way his eyes glazed over when the whole room erupted in cheers, a couple of girls glaring at you from a distance. rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, taking a swig of whatever alcohol he had in his cup. “alright, her turn.” topper came to you with another baggy, rafe immediately pushing his friend away.

“she doesn’t do this shit. leave her alone.” sensing the energy shift, everyone quieted down, now dispersing from the table as rafe rubbed circles into your skin. “wanna get out of here?” he stroked your cheek, finding the liquor on his breath weirdly comforting. “please?” that one word was all you had to say before rafe carried you upstairs bridal style. “you look like a doll in this dress, you know that? all pretty for me..” you giggled at his words, biting your lip once you heard the lock to his bedroom door click.

[x1asirene]

f1 driver!sylus as your bf headcanons | sfw ver.

✧ f1 driver!sylus is ferrari’s precision weapon—their very own thoroughbred—hot-blooded and agile. sylus doesn’t just drive to win—he drives because domination is second nature. no opponent rattles him. no track unsettles him. he walks into every race weekend with that slow, deliberate confidence that says: you were never going to beat me.

✧ f1 driver!sylus never raises his voice. he doesn’t need to. his words cut cleaner in a whisper. he’s the kind of man who’d look a rival dead in the eyes and say, “try harder. i need at least a challenge before lunch.” and mean it.

✧ f1 driver!sylus once refused to appear at a post-race fan event because you had collapsed on the team’s sofa after a long day. he didn’t care about press schedules or sponsorship obligations—if you needed rest, that was his priority. that night, he stayed quietly by your side, his presence alone saying everything you needed to hear: you come first. always.

✧ f1 driver!sylus makes sure you always have a reserved spot right in the ferrari garage. whether it’s the pre-race preparations or celebrations, he wants you close enough to see every detail—the way his crew moves with precision, the sparkle of victory in his eyes, and the rare moments he lets his guard down just for you. this spot isn’t just a seat—it’s his way of letting you know that you’re his number one, always.

✧ f1 driver!sylus loves making friendly bets with you about his race outcomes—sometimes wagering small things like who makes dinner or who picks the next movie. his cocky grin only grows wider when he wins, but beneath the teasing, he cherishes the way you get so invested, as if you’re racing alongside him. these playful bets are a private language, a way to keep the competition playful and the connection alive, no matter how intense the season gets.

✧ f1 driver!sylus has your signature prominently imprinted on the rear wing of his ferrari car, right below the team logo—a bold, personal mark that shows everyone exactly who’s with him every race. before every race, he runs his hand lightly over your signature, a small ritual that centers him, grounds him, and fuels the fire that drives him forward. it’s his personal good luck charm, a symbol of your unshakable bond.

✧ f1 driver!sylus is so catastrophically dramatic, it’s theatrical. he’ll tweet “my girl hasn’t replied in 43 minutes. if you see me full-send into a wall, know i went out thinking about her eyebrows.” swears he’s fine, then texts you “would you still love me if i lost pole position?” after winning a race, he’ll deadpan into the camera, “this victory means nothing. she’s still mad.” they could hand him champagne, a trophy, a contract extension—he’d just sit silently on a folding chair in the back of the garage, helmet still on, just staring at the wall. engineers are too scared to speak. someone asks if he’s okay and he mutters, “she said ‘do what you want.’ i don’t know what that means.”

✧ f1 driver!sylus turns everything into a game, pulling you into his fierce, competitive world with ease. grocery shopping becomes a silent battle of who picks the better snack, choosing a movie turns into a playful standoff, and even casual conversations carry the edge of a contest. it’s his way of sharing his sharp mind and keeping you on your toes, and deep down, he loves that you rise to the challenge.

✧ f1 driver!sylus doesn’t tweet often it’s either pure sarcasm (“practiced my victory dance in the mirror. might retire undefeated.”), unexpectedly romantic (“she didn’t look at the grid once. just me. i won twice today”), or completely chaotic like, “my girl’s mad at me. if i don’t make it to fp2, tell the stewards it was for love.” his pr team lives in fear.

✧ f1 driver!sylus has your iris—not just a vague symbol, but a precise, detailed image—instead of the ferrari logo on his steering wheel. it’s a deeply private touch, hidden in plain sight. when he grips the wheel, feeling the texture beneath his fingers, he sees you. that single image reminds him why he pushes so hard, races so fiercely—it’s not just for glory, but for you.

✧ f1 driver!sylus never forgets to save you a seat at every event, ensuring you have the perfect vantage point for every high-speed moment and every victorious celebration. but he doesn’t just think about your comfort; he thinks about the small things that make you feel cared for. nestled in the cooler beneath his helmet bag are your favorite protein bars, a thermos filled with the drink you prefer, and those rare cookies only found back home. he carries these not for himself, but to keep you energized and comforted no matter how grueling the weekend gets.

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[mxrcurysb1tch]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ 💌 Venus through the signs pt. 11 💌 ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

☽｡⋆ Thank you guys sm for the support on the first one, here is part 2! Also thank you guys sm for almost 600 followers?? That’s crazy! As always, take what resonates and leave the rest! xo

☽｡⋆ Libra Venus- Often thought of as superficial but this is nothing more than a generalisation. Charming and full of social graces, this venus knows how to make people feel loved. Detached enough to not feel the sting of unrequited love too deeply but also extremely committed and willing to completely merge lives, that is the somewhat dual nature of Libra. Just don’t ask them to plan the wedding because no decisions are getting made! They are happy to let you take the lead in love and if they trust you they are easygoing and see the good side of every one they meet. You can always count on a Libra Venus to make you feel special and cared about. They’re infinitely sweet and calming to be around.

☽｡⋆ Scorpio Venus- You belong to me. Passion is the game here. Scorpio Venus does not want partners who are only in it for a fling. They want to merge souls. I know it’s a cliche but they want depth and unwavering commitment. Sometimes it can border on control and jealousy if they aren’t careful. They are incredibly discrete lovers and will never cause a public scene or be one for PDA but they are extremely intense and passionate. If you are looking for somebody who can see into your soul and explore your inner depths with you, look no further. They’re super observant too, and will likely go above and beyond to please and win the affections of the one that has their heart because truly once you’ve captivated them, you’re not going to shrug them off all that easily.

☽｡⋆ Sagittarius Venus- A love that acts as a safe landing and allows them to explore is what they desire. This does not mean that they’re disloyal, simply that they are in love with all of the journeys and opportunities that life has to offer them. They won’t be comfortable with a partner who wants to clip their wings and offer them nothing except routine and practicality. The ideal partner for a sag Venus is someone who wants to grow with them and inspire them on their various life paths. They want to be with someone interesting, fun and idealistic like them. The issue here may be their reluctance to discuss anything tangible and permanent. They can be rather slippery and hard to pin down, and they will be the first to run away when things get too real! All in all though they’re incredibly upbeat and exciting lovers and they can seriously broaden your horizons.

☽｡⋆ Capricorn Venus- This Venus has a certain sweetness to it. Maybe they don’t get carried away with romantic fantasies or delusions (at least not outwardly) but they would do anything for their loved ones. They offer such a stable, practical love that is hard to not appreciate. They might know exactly what it is you need and get it for you without so much as a fuss. They also aren’t scared of playing the long game as they know what they want and know that good things take time. That is what makes Capricorn Venus so romantic, their dedication and their quiet love. Their thoughtful gestures will make you glow warm inside. Once this Venus has decided what they want there is no match to their loyalty and commitment.

☽｡⋆ Aquarius Venus- This venus is not a romantic in the traditional sense. Out of all the Venus signs this is the one that is most likely to be uninterested in monogamy. They may have many friends and are extremely kind and supportive towards the people in their life. However, their one true love is their restless pursuit of knowledge and change. This may just prevent them from wanting to be tied down by the shackles of a relationship. Should they decide they are interested in commitment though, it will be with someone who can respect their lofty goals and idealistic visions. Love won’t be at the forefront of their agenda and they will need somebody who can understand that. Love is something that is uplifting to them but not life changing, they know that love and romance won’t save them. They can be very inspiring and interesting partners.

☽｡⋆ Pisces Venus- oh sweet Pisces Venus. There’s a reason that this Venus is exalted. Extremely artistic and caring, they pour all of their emotions into love. There are no boundaries or restrictions here, they will give their all in relationships. Their ability to romanticise their partners might rival even cancer Venus. Unfortunately for them though they might get taken advantage of by those that want to corrupt their innocence and purity. They’re not all naive though, they just want to make the best out of what life has handed them and that is an admirable thing. They just have to be careful not to linger around too long when things are sour because they are chasing a dream. They are insanely sweet people though and this is shown through in all of their close relationships.

[marsprincess889]

Astrology observations

Part 12

Vedic

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1. Bharani natives (especially girls and women) might be told that they're too much or too intense, or that they need to "chill". Their uncompromising nature suffers when people force them to tone themselves down. In reality, they're not too much at all. Their intensity is them just fulfilling their cosmic truth. Sometimes things ARE that serious and for Bharani women, their strength and power lies in their radicalism and fierceness. For Ashwinis (previous nakshatra), for example, thinking too much or going deep is not natural nor is it really required of them cosmically. For Bharanis, that kind of easygoing and dismissive (in a neutral sense) attitude, that is correct for Ashwinis, is truly unhealthy. You can even see the difference between them when you look at their yoni animals (Bharani's elephant and Ashwini's horse).

Bharanis do have a humorous side to them though but elephant yonis in general (Bharani and Revati) are the least careless amd dismissive yoni type, in a sense that they have a need to consider everything and be thorough. After all, Elephant yonis represent authority and there's a responsibility in both of those nakshatras that they carry deeply within themselves.

2. I've noticed that enemy yoni nakshatras of the same gender (for example: male horse and male buffalo/ashwini and swati) always share a theme but they have opposite purposes and represent that theme in different ways. I cannot go over all of them in this type of post but let me know if you'd like me to make a separate one to do that.

3. Women with Venus, Sun or Jupiter nakshatras in their big three all feel taken advantage of in different ways, and even if they don't in the beginning, at some point they clearly do. These are all giving and energetically abundant planets and when they influence the chart of a woman (a naturally passive and receptive polarity), it might manifest as those women being used for their giving nature. Their energy is not meant to give endlessly because of their passive modality (femininity). They need people who truly appreciate them. I think that oftentimes people see that they're capable and automatically put a stamp of "masculinity" on them, many times without even realizing it. Others start to take them for granted and get used to relying on them, emotionally, psychologically, mentally or materially. I think men then start to hold these women up to masculine standards and do not respect them unless they meet those imaginary and unrealistic criteria, because average masculine energy cannot truly percieve energetically abundant women as fully feminine, no matter how those men themselves describe their perception. They start to measure Venusian/Solar/Jupitarean women's worth by how much they adapt to masculine whims or compromise their natural urges to "serve" them. This, I think, is one of the most heinous crimes of men against women, because they don't even fully realize that they're doing it, while those women are being siphoned of confidence, vitality, gentleness and beauty within them. Even though it's different, this also happens with other women, whether through platonic or romantic attachments, when the other woman has none of those nakshatras and only posesses the influence of receptive and/or passive planets (moon, rahu, ketu, mercury, mars, saturn), especially Ketu, Rahu or Moon.

4. Venus and Rahu balance the destructive tendencies of Ketu.

While Ketu nakshatras are prone to ignorance, Venus nakshatras are prone to stubbornness and generally have an uncompromising nature. Ketu is the potential and the unmanifest, so, while there's freedom in exploring something without interference, it's still not realized and not set in stone, that is why Ketu's energies may manifest as confusion. The Ketuvian essence hates control (which may manifest as intentional or unintentional ignorance in Ketu natives), but it must be controlled somehow, because Ketu is endlessly absorbing and, therefore, dangerous for life and living things. That is where the solidifying and material forces come in. Venus nakshatras, as they come right after Ketu nakshatras, ground and materialize Ketu's energies. Venus is the pure and impeccable manifestation of the essence into the form (think of Bharani nakshatra and its themes), making the potential of Ketu real and possible.

The other force that balances Ketu is its opposite_ Rahu. Ketu is receptive and absorbing, Rahu projects and discharges its energy outwardly. Ketu is the haze, Rahu is the clarity (whether real or illusory), but the Rahuvian labels are dangerous too without Ketu's experience. In a way, unlike Venus, Rahu needs Ketu in return. Venus is a natural progression after Ketu that takes its energy and birthes it into the world, so in that context, it does "need" Ketu's energy in return, but it functions purely and correctly without need for balance because Venus is the balance itself, and the end goal. Rahu is the other side of the nodal coin, the label and the knowledge of existence to the sleeping Ketu.

5. Vishakha ⚡ natives are rather "harmless" or "meek" in their childhood and younger years, but as time goes on, they mature more and more into their confident and assertive side. It's not really that noticable if you've observed them day by day and have been close to them, you'll notice it if you look back and remember how they were years ago and compare it to how they are now.

This duality might manifest in different ways, but it's almost always about slowly going from one side of the spectrum to the other, whatever that spectrum is.

One interesting thing about them is that they're rather easy to trigger, only they themselves repress it. It comes out anyways, mostly with aggressive language, tone or action, but that aggression is masked by the Vishakha native. Vishakhas are rarely, if ever, comfortable with aggression when they're younger, but their energy often manifests that way, due to how they function: Vishakha is about containing the energy/the anger so that it can be even stronger later, when it's finally expressed. It's like pushing one side of the seesaw so that when you let it go, it jumps up and the other one goes down. It's an act of balance through both extremes. First three fourths of Vishakha are in Libra, the Scales_ the sign of harmony and balance, and the last fourth is in Scorpio, where its energy/poison is transforming after all the interplay between two opposites.

6. This might only be my personal opinion, but I still consider it true: I think that the process of learning about/researching nakshatras reflects the nature of the nakshatras themselves, each and every one of them.

Like how I always "knew" what Bharani was about and recognized its nature deeply but the exact proof behind my reasoning was hidden, so I refused to trust it. Once I trusted what I felt I found the proof that helped me wrote down my throughts logically (the gatekeeping and the bravery/leap of faith required to access your desire, in my case, the understanding of the nakshatra).

With Punarvasu, I had an understanding but I drift back and forth between thinking I know everything about it and then discovering I don't, because I find new patterns that add to old information and expand it (the returning/repetition of patterns and expanding each time).

With Magha, I did not even try and it just came to me when I was not even actively seeking it (the detachmemt from the body in Magha/effortless nature of Ketu).

Note: I think my chart definitely plays a role in when/how I understand each nakshatra and how I approach them. Same is true for everyone else, in my opinion.

7. Often, when people are ignorant, they unconciously express the nature of their Ketu nakshatras in a negative way. Think of the complaints you have had about each and every nakshatra_ people's Ketu placements express that when those people are in a rather tamasic (ignorant) state.

Everytime you get so fed up with a person that you don't even think it's any worth talking to them, your reasoning for that are those negative traits that their Ketu nakshatra posesses (Ketu is not always negative though).

Like, if your friend which Chitra Ketu annoys you, you might think: "they love to gossip and to stir drama so much and take little time to self-reflect, they're chaotic, superficial, and a hypocrite", because that's the negative state of that nakshatra.

For someone with Swati Ketu, it would be: "they're so scattered and unintegrated, they say/do a lot but barely any of it is of substance. They're all over the place and don't really know what they're doing/saying in the grand scheme of things".

For Ashlesha Ketu it would be: "they're so emotionally/psychologically manipulative, they bite and then act innocent/try to apologize immediately. They're clingy and emotionally suffocating".

For Dhanishta Ketu it would be: "they crave attention so much, they're so extra. They do things just to be popular and get admiration from anyone."

You get the gist.

The reason why those traits, whatever they might be in specific cases, are annoying, is because the person is largely ignorant of them themselves, so, they're ignorant to the ignorance.

While the positive side of Ketu is about experiential knowledge and instinctive power, the negative is blindness and a dangerous spiral downwards towards more and more ignorance.

To be less influenced by the negative side of our Ketu (it is easy to fall under Ketu's darkness for people who do not often self-reflect), we have to be honest with ourselves, for ourselves, not for the outer projections influenced by others or the constructed, distorted view. We all carry the negative, destructive potential of our Ketu. Ask yourself, how much of the negative traits of your Ketu nakshatra do you unconciously exhibit?

I'm going to briefly go over all of them (look at yoir Ketu and big three nakshatras):

Ketu nakshatras

Ashwini: not hearing others, using bullying/brute force, averse to depth and nuance, glossing over most things, ignorant in a childish way. Magha: having too big of an ego, unnecessarily demonstrative, too prideful to listen to others. Mula: thinking that you have monopoly over the larger truth, ignoring things if they do not fit in your narrative.

Venus nakshatras

Bharani: self-oppressive, masochistic, fatalistic, stubborn. Purva Phalguni: demanding to be pampered, inadequately capricious, performative and dramatic. Purva Ashadha: close-minded, arrogant, too sure of their own superiority.

Sun nakshatras

Krittika: too self-involved, too critical, averse to traditional femininity. Uttara Phalguni: friendly because they're opportunistic, too dependant on the community. Uttara Ashadha: detached and cold, averse to all emotions, have an unbalanced/unhealthy masculine.

Moon nakshatras

Rohini: illogical, needs to be babied, generally blissfully unaware. Hasta: manipulative and insecure, too materialistic, unoriginal with a superiority complex. Shravana: too eager to compromise, too easily influenced.

Mars nakshatras

Mrigashira: compulsively avoidant, too easily distracted, suspicious of everything, always on edge. Chitra: shallow and superficial, chaotic, hypoctirical, lover of gossip/drama. Dhanishta: attention-seeking, too direct, unecessarily aggressive, a bully.

Rahu nakshatras

Ardra: too reliant on intellect, sees problems where there aren't any, unecessarily critical, mean, contrarian. Swati: scattered and unintegrated, contradict themselves, wanting to be different for the sake of it even if it's illogical/detrimental. Shatabhisha: overcomplicate things, too detached, mysterious but want to be aware of others.

Jupiter nakshatras

Punarvasu: too accepting, flaky and impartial, averse to confrontation and negative emotions. Vishakha: indecisive but radical, always swing back and forth, represses anger and expresses it later. Purva Bhadrapada: drunk on their own grandiose, big gestures/statements but little soul, imposes their decisions/opinions on others.

Saturn nakshatras

Pushya: too neutral/impartial, too self-involved, too clinical and by-the-book. Anuradha: dependant and opportunistic, prone to herd mentality, too mindful of others' opinions. Uttara Bhadrapada: having a stubborn one-track-mind, too ambitious.

Mercury nakshatras

Ashlesha: emotionally manipulative, psychologically dependant, clingy but avoidant. Jyeshta: obsessed with independence, averse to any help, combative and too sure of themselves sometimes. Revati: too abstract, too detached/impartial to worldly events, thinking of themselves as the exception to the rule.

Important note: these are my little formulaic interpetations, feel free to disregard them. It is extremely important to not view your Ketu as something negative, but rather to see the true value in it. Once you become aware of your Ketu (often it's a long process, but the start of it still shows), then all the "negativity" turns into magic. The negative side of Ketu is simply the fact that it's unaware and naturally ignorant, so when you see it and acknowledge it, it becomes an irreplacable ally.

Being "aware" of your Ketu is an extremely internal and personal process, one that is hard to explain and nearly impossible for others to understand. Ketu is the intelligence of the body, not the mind, so to be aware of it, you need to rely on that inner knowing and bodily instincts and try to calm your rational mind (Rahu). Over time, if nurtured, that intelligence becomes more and more sophisticated and integrated, and thus, easier to recognize. Although, often, "controlling"/accessing your Ketu is an uphill battle where the more you try to tame it, the more it resists. My take on it is that it is not meant to be tamed, but rather befriended, like a wild animal. Ketu, in essence, is your inner animal, and I think it's meant to be worked on carefully, rather than crudely controlled. The whole point of Ketu is that it does not submit, so, controlling it will only lead to difficulties. So, if you try to approach your Ketu with a rational mind, I think you'll be more separate from it.

Accessing your Ketu begins with trusting your body and inner knowing, and you stay connected to it by carefully facing its true nature, choosing to access your deep truth over relying on false, outward generalizations day by day, time and time again (again, it's individual to everyone)...

...

Let me know your thoughts 🤍

[tsukimefuku]

voice kink ♪ nanami kento

I ended up watching a YouTube short of Kenjiro Tsuda and it made me deeply unwell, hence this 30 minute drabble. Have my horny. Part 2 here

Nanami was a dedicated — you could even say devoted — lover. Truly, after so much time together, you doubted there was anything vanilla-related this man wouldn’t do in bed if you asked him to. The sheer lengths he’d go to have you finishing at least twice every time you had sex were surprising.

However, there was this one thing that still nagged you. You thought about it, mulled it over, and considered talking to him after he got home. However, your eagerness to talk about it got the better of you.

“Kento, why don’t you talk dirty to me when we’re having sex?” you asked him, still laying on the bed with your pajamas on.

He turned to you surprised, already dressed in his classic blue buttoned shirt, beige formal pants, and yellow tie with a splatter pattern hanging around his neck as he got ready to leave for work.

“For no reason in particular. I think I just tend to focus on how it feels rather than talking about it,” he answered, “why? Would you rather have me talking more?”

“Perhaps. I mean… I find your voice very sexy,” you admitted, blushing a little, “and one of my favorite parts of sex is when I get to hear it.”

He lifted an eyebrow, a soft hint of amusement taking over his impassiveness.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

He seemed to ponder on something for a moment, and then, began walking towards the bed as he opened the top button of his shirt.

You were confused for a moment as he climbed with his work clothes from the end of the mattress. However, in an instant, he took both your hands, entangling your fingers while he pressed them to the sides of your head, and sunk his hips in between your thighs, his belt softly catching on the edge of your pants.

Having you caged underneath him, Nanami brushed his lips against your cheek, and slid them slowly down.

His warm breath caressed your skin, and Nanami grazed his teeth on your earlobe before whispering only inches away from your ear, “what would you like to hear me say?”

“A-anything, really,” you stuttered out, thoughts becoming nothing but jumbled bits in your brain.

He hummed, “then, let me tell you what my favorite part is.”

Each syllable had you melting like honey under him, his deep tone caressing your hearing in all the right ways.

“My favorite part is when you are about to finish for the second time with me inside you, and you always dig your nails on my shoulders. I really like when I look in the mirror and see those tiny marks you leave me with, because every time I notice that they’re gone, I know it’s time to get some new ones.”

You let out a moan, sinking your head back on the pillow and arching your back. He pressed himself a little harder, and proceeded.

“I also find your taste to be exquisite, but I’m still unsure if it feels better when I have my tongue deep inside as you tremble all around it or when I’m thrusting it in your mouth right after I’m finished eating you out.”

Another moan tumbled out of your lips as you felt your heartbeat throbbing in between your legs, and at that moment, you were absolutely sure that if he kept going, you’d cum completely untouched underneath him.

“K-Kento...”

“Also, feeling you all warm and wet and tight around my cock when you ask me to have you completely raw is one of the most delicious sensations I’ve had in my entire life, topped only by when I cum inside you and fill you whole, all thick and warm.”

Holy. Fuck.

Your body was quivering underneath him, your breath completely broken in hitches, and you squirmed your hips desperate for some friction over your pooling wetness.

“I hope I gave you enough for you to think about me while I’m gone at work, darling,” Nanami concluded, planting a kiss on your cheek before lifting himself up, carrying his warmth along with him.

You realized that moment you definitely should’ve waited until that night to tell him that.

[vaguely-concerned]

My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content. 

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* —  up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug. 

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were. 

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro 

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write Frank and Matt having a romantic rivalry for reader please? :3

This is too long.

You’d have to either be someone within the vigilante business to know either man, or have relations to one of them before meeting the other for this to happen.

So for this let’s say you’ve met Matt first and then later met Frank by accident, a bloody accident but an accident nonetheless, one of which that will end up with you being the object of desire for these two beautiful men.

Matt and yourself had originally a fun, lighthearted and flirty friendship where the lines were often times blurred, so much to the point where neither of you knew exactly where you stood in it. However all the flirty exchanges and smiles and lingering touches meant nothing as it was just something that came naturally to you and Matt. There would be occasions where Matt would lightly hold onto your arm when walking down the street together, or even griping your bicep to move you out of the way of bumping into someone, and or even trip and fall on something hazardous ahead of you.

‘Matt what’re you-‘

‘You were about to have collided with that rowdy group just now,’ he says calmly as he held you close to him before using his cane to tap your shoe lightly, ‘and also your shoelaces are untied, I could hear the aglets clicking again the pavement for the past five minutes, so it’s best you sort that out before you end up falling for me…well more then you’ve already have.’ He adds with a sly smile, knowing full well that your heart had elevated a little, proving his words has a bit of weight.

How could you not when this charming man has the audacity to smile at you and his obnoxiously handsome face.

Your relationship with Matt was light and nothing between you two was ever guaranteed, for nothing was promised even if true feelings had begun to blossom forth from your various interactions, and it didn’t matter whether you and Matt had some unspoken thing because it didn’t guarantee that you two would ever act upon it in the slightest.

Yet that doesn’t help the ache within your heart whenever you saw Matt cozy up with another person in the same playful way he did with you, smiles and lingering touches and all. But again you knew nothing between you and Matt was ever guaranteed as neither of you spoke to each other about your feelings, even though you had an inkling that Matt knew for a long while, however that didn’t change the fact that his ear was now tuning to listen to another heart other then yours.

However Matt’s tune changed once again when you encountered the man known as Frank Castle.

Frank wasn’t easy upon first meeting, he was intimidating and powerful as the guns he carried, along with the ominous skull he wore upon his chest that would ultimately be the last thing anyone would ever see followed by the sound of a gunshot echoed through the room: ending their lives within the blink of an eye.

He wasn’t exactly welcoming, nor warm either as he would do whatever he could to keep you well more then just an arms length away from him, and with reason. Frank would snarl, shout curse, shove you away when you got too close for his liking but you could see he was deeply hurt and you weren’t about to let him leave without at least helping him; something he’s deemed himself far beyond with everything he’s ever done with his calloused hands. He had a heart but it was heavily buried under reinforced steel that was meant to keep it guarded against whatever that may come his way.

‘When will you learn to quit!’ He barked at you once, eyes wide as though he was intentionally trying to scare you away, but all you saw was a deeply wounded and angry man who’s now trying to make sense of everything after he’s lost his everything, his family.

‘When you finally learn to accept that some people are more than willing to give help despite the danger it’ll put them under.’ You said calmly, never once raising your voice as it wouldn’t get anything done in the slightest, if anything it’ll only made things worse between you and the man who looked more and more like an abused dog left to die.

‘Have fun dying on that hill.’ He spat, squaring up his shoulders.

‘Gladly.’ You replied.

Frank was a man prone to anger and frustration and resentment, so much so it was borderline unpleasant to be near him, especially when his mind was made up and he was determined. Now that was a recipe for disaster.

However you do break through this process in due time and beneath it all is a man who’s more likely to smack your hand away from the stove as he cooks you something whenever you happen to let him crash after his vigilante escapades.

‘It’s my home.’ You say upon seeing him after following the salivating scent of bacon.

‘And I’m repaying you for that sweetheart, so sit down and let me do this as a favour.’ He retorts, stubborn and not willing to give up his position at the stove. So your left stood next to him, watching him as he worked to make the best damn breakfast you’ve ever had in your entire life. And it’s filling too so you’re never going hungry, ever.

Yet life finds ways to make a simple thing complicated as soon enough Matt and Frank after running into each other several times, both have quickly figured out that you were the one consistent person they’d always return to no matter what, and the signs were obvious. And neither of them were exactly happy to know this.

Matt thought Frank was too dangerous for you, meanwhile frankly thought Matt wasn’t right for you, not dedicated to being with you as much as he was daredevil.

‘You ain’t shit red, you can’t even prioritise what it is you want and you’re going to end up leading them on!’ Frank says one night.

‘At least I’m keeping them safe from all of this,’ Matt hisses, ‘they shouldn’t be involved with all of that entailed in what we do and yet you let them here anyway!’ He adds, upset that you were now within the chaotic mess that was usually the normal in being a vigilante.

‘Well I’m not seeing you do enough to keeping them safe!’ Frank shouts, closing the distance between the two as the air seemed to quiver at the tense moment between them. ‘They shouldn’t have to second guess themselves on whether you like them or not, so stop playing with their heart already and give them the truth!’

‘And you think you could give them that?’ Matt questions, concerns of your safety with Frank arise to the forefront of his mind. ‘You think you can guarantee their safety? Prioritise their feelings?’

‘Better than you ever could, that’s for certain.’ Frank says stone faced.

So this kickstarts a rivalry between the two men on who’s better fit for you.

Matt would hog your days by taking you out to coffee places where he would always be making jokes that made you laugh, or just touching some part of you like your arm, elbow, knee or hand and caressing it with his thumb; which sent butterflies within your stomach. Even if you knew Matt didn’t need someone to aid him places, he always insists that you let him hold onto your arm, or just keep you close in general so he knew you were nearby by your warmth.

You even have moments at Josie’s when Frank wasn’t available. Moments where your night ends in shared laughter and you sleeping over at his place. (Matt was bullshiting about Frank, he just wanted a evening with you and had to try to not smile when he could practically sense his frustration and anger from a mile away)

Whereas Frank would hog your evenings/ nights where you were more likely to see him with a new scratch, or recently treated wound on him as the pit bull he had saved lounged close next to you. The dog’s head rested on your lap as you were tucked into franks side, making sure not to touch anything that was sensitive or tender to touch, all the while Frank was rubbing soothing patterns into your skin; something so tender for a man like him but you couldn’t help but tuck yourself even closer to the man, feeling more protected then you ever had before.

Seeing Frank muck about with the young pit bull never failed to make you smile, for seeing him happy was a sight you’d never thought you’d see but you wouldn’t mind seeing more of in the future, should he allow you to be apart of his life however. (Spoiler: he most certainly was eager to keep you in his life. Hence the flowers he tended to get you on the rare occasion)

Both men had their pros and cons but your heart couldn’t decide who it wanted more, Frank the rugged man who’s a softie beneath all the trauma he’s experienced, or Matt the playful flirt with the deepest insight on life then anyone you’ve ever met. It was only hard because both men made it hard to choose.

[ladysharmaa]

Heat

Jay Halstead x pregnant!reader

Summary: When Chicago is in a heat wave, Y/n feels unwell while pregnant, worrying Jay

It was definitely the hottest day of the year. Chicago was going through a heat wave and Y/n had never felt more miserable. It also didn't help that she was seven months pregnant with her husband's baby, Jay Halstead. She could feel the beads of sweat falling from her forehead and her face heating up so much that she must have looked like a walking tomato.

Jay warned her to stay at home and protect herself from the heat, but when the air conditioning broke, Y/n decided to go out to buy a fan. But she didn't know it would be so difficult to walk and even breathe on this hellish day. It seemed like with every breath she took, the air burned her lungs. She walked slowly, one hand on her stomach protectively, trying to at least get to the store that was a few blocks away.

Y/n knew Jay would be so upset if he knew she left the house in this weather. Since she became pregnant, the man has become even more protective than before. However, she knew he was having a busy day and couldn't leave work just because Y/n was hot — although he would do that if Y/n called him and asked to buy a fan.

But everything got worse when Y/n's vision became blurry and a feeling of nausea appeared. Jay's wife leaned against the wall next to her, trying to get some shade to compose herself. She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to breathe slowly to calm her heart that was beating rapidly against her chest.

"Miss! Miss, are you okay?" a man appeared in front of her, with a worried look. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, it's okay." she managed to whisper. "Could you help me get to Fire Station 51? It's just a two-minute walk." the man, already advanced in age, seemed friendly enough for Y/n to trust him. And the truth was that she had no other option, as it seemed like her legs were going to give out at any moment.

"Sure thing, ma'am. Here, lean on my arm." he agreed with a gentle smile, offering her his arm to help her walk. "In this heat, no one should be walking around. It could be dangerous, especially in your condition."

"I know." Y/n sighed, knowing that beyond this lecture, she was going to hear worse from Jay when he found out. "But I wanted to buy a fan. It wasn't even a five-minute walk."

The man patted her hand in understanding. "I don't judge you, dear. My wife has already had three children, and in all of them, she was very stubborn. I understand that you don't want to be dependent on us, poor husbands, but we just want you to be well."

The woman didn't respond, now feeling even more guilty for not calling Jay to ask for this favor. She didn't want to bother him, but the plan didn't go as expected. The rest of the short walk was done in silence, Y/n's cheeks becoming more flushed, and having difficulty breathing in the hot air.

When they finally saw the fire station, Jay's wife couldn't be more relieved. Gabby and Brett, who were getting out of the ambulance, having just arrived from a call, noticed Y/n's tired form and immediately took hurried steps towards her, helping to carry her and him into the shade.

"Y/n? What happened? Are you feeling okay?" Gabby asked worriedly, helping her into the back of the ambulance. Y/n sat down, one hand on her stomach and the other on her back, closing her eyes as she started to feel dizzy.

"I'll call Jay." she managed to hear Brett say, but she was more focused on not throwing up than responding to the paramedics.

Thankfully, the man who helped her took charge of explaining what had happened. Y/n had the strength to open her eyes and thank him deeply for his help, asking if she could do anything to repay him, but he just shook his head and smiled. Then he left, as Y/n was now with people who could help her medically.

"What are your symptoms, Y/n?"

"I don't feel well, Gabby." her voice shook, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sick, dizzy, and a headache is forming."

After leaving the phone call, Brett began taking her vitals, while Gabby applied a cold compress to her forehead. "You're most likely dehydrated, we have to go to the hospital to put you on an IV and check the baby."

"But he's fine, right?" Y/n sobbed scared, clutching her belly as she looked at her friends with a frown.

"Yes, he seems fine. But just to be sure." Gabby comforted, starting to help Y/n lay down on the stretcher.

"What did Jay say?"

"Well, he—" the blonde paramedic started to say, but was interrupted by the sirens of a police car, getting closer and closer. "I guess that's your answer."

"How did he get here so fast?" Y/n thought out loud as he watched the police officer get out of the still moving car. He immediately looked around for his wife. When he saw them, he quickly broke into a run, his eyes wide in panic. Hailey got out of the driver's seat, right behind Jay.

"I'm really sorry."

"What, baby? You don't have to apologize." Jay knelt down next to Y/n, gently cupping her face with his hands so he could assess her condition. Unconsciously, his hand slid down to her round belly, finally managing to take a deep breath when he felt a light kick against his touch. "I shouldn't have left you alone in this weather. You're okay, baby."

When Brett called him to explain the situation, he felt a sense of fear like he had never felt before. Not even when he had been shot at, kidnapped or beaten. The most important people in his life being in danger was his worst nightmare.

Luckily, they were in the neighborhood and managed to get to the fire station in record time thanks to Hailey's driving. Over time, Y/n and the blonde had become very close, often ganging up together against Jay. Not that he minded, since hearing his wife's giggles and knowing she was more relaxed when Jay was working as she trusted his partner to protect him.

"We need to get them to the hospital. Y/n is showing signs of dehydration and the baby needs to be checked." Jay's head turned unusually quickly to Gabby in concern. She hurried to add, "They both seem to be fine, but I want to make sure."

"I'll go back to the police station and let Voight know you won't be working anymore this week." Hailey offered. "I hope you're okay, Y/n. I'll stop at the hospital to check on you."

"Thank you, Hails." Y/n smiled weakly.

"Let's go." The man nodded, kissing Y/n's forehead comfortingly. He climbed into the back of the ambulance with her and held her hand the whole way while Gabby got into the driver's seat and Brett checked some vital signs.

The ride was relatively calm, but Y/n was getting paler and sicker by the minute. Jay mumbled words in an attempt to calm her down, but inside, he felt like he couldn't breathe. They should have called two ambulances because he was close to passing out.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital where Maggie and Will were waiting for them at the entrance. In no time, she was already settled in and several doctors were checking everything they could. Jay stayed by her side the whole time, answering some questions from the doctors when necessary.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital were harsh against Y/n’s already sensitive eyes as she waited for someone to tell her what was going on. Jay never let go of her hand, his grip firm but gentle, his thumb softly brushing against her knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort her. Her heart was pounding, but the cool sheets of the hospital bed and his touch gave her some relief.

Will Halstead, dressed in his white coat and looking every bit the composed doctor he was, entered the room, clipboard in hand. His face softened the moment he saw Y/n and Jay.

"Hey," Will greeted, his tone warm yet professional. "How are we doing here?"

"Not great, Will," Y/n admitted, her voice weak as she tried to give him a small smile. "I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck."

Jay immediately turned to his brother. "What’s going on? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?" His words came out in a rush, and it was clear he was doing everything he could to keep his composure.

Will raised a hand to calm his younger brother. "Take a breath, Jay," he said, flipping through the chart. "We ran some tests and monitored Y/n’s vitals. She’s severely dehydrated, which is why she felt dizzy and nauseous. Her blood pressure dropped, but thankfully, the baby is doing great. The ultrasound shows a strong heartbeat."

Y/n let out a shaky breath of relief, her free hand instinctively moving to her belly. Jay visibly relaxed beside her, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"So, she’s okay? The baby’s okay?" Jay asked again, needing to hear it one more time to truly believe it.

"Yes," Will assured them with a kind smile. "We’re giving her IV fluids to rehydrate her, and she should start feeling better soon. I do want her to stay overnight for observation, just to be safe, but I’m confident she and the baby will be fine."

"Thank you, Will," Y/n said, her voice cracking slightly as tears of relief welled in her eyes.

Will reached out to pat her head. "No need to thank me, Y/n. Just promise me you’ll stay out of this heat, okay?"

She nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and gratitude. "I’ll try," she murmured, glancing at Jay.

Jay turned to Will. "Thanks, man."

"Anything for my sister-and-law and nephew." He winked at her before stepping back. "I’ll check on you in a bit, but for now, just rest."

As Will left, the room fell quiet, except for the soft beep of the monitors and the rhythmic drip of the IV. Jay pulled a chair close to the bed, sinking into it as he brought Y/n’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers.

"You scared me today," he said softly, his eyes glistening as they locked onto hers. "Don’t ever do that again, Y/n. Please."

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t mean to worry you. I just... I didn’t want to bother you at work."

Jay let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Bother me? Y/n, you and this baby are the most important things in my life. I’d drop everything in a heartbeat if you needed me."

Her lips trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. It was just a fan."

He leaned forward, cupping her face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Nothing is ‘just’ when it comes to you or our family. You’re my world. Promise me, no more trying to do everything on your own. I’m here for you. Always. Ask me to buy you a fan, food, a house, I don't care, I'll do it in a heartbeat."

She nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I promise," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jay leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his against hers. For a moment, they stayed like that, their breaths mingling as the world outside the hospital room faded away.

"I love you," she said softly, her hand finding its way to his cheek.

"I love you more," he replied, his voice low and full of sincerity. He placed a hand on her belly, feeling the soft flutter of movement beneath his palm. "And I love you, little one. But you’ve gotta cut your mom some slack, okay? No more giving her a hard time."

Y/n laughed weakly, the sound light and sweet. "Hear that?" she said, looking down at her bump. "You are already giving Daddy white hairs."

As the IV continued to drip and the monitors beeped steadily, the weight of the day began to lift. They were together and okay. That was all that they needed.

[vampyre-daisies]

I've kept so many of my thoughts on this era in the drafts for fear of being labelled a 'hater' and being bullied out of the fandom, but everything I've feared and expected and complained about, it's all been crystallized in The Reality War.

I say this as someone who adores this show, who has held it close to my heart for as long as I can remember, as a Flux defender, as a Clara apologist, as a classic and nuwho fan, as a pronoun having, protest sign wielding leftist, and with the deepest of wishes for the show to be better. I HATE this era.

We need NEW voices, we need RTD and his cliquey upper management out, we need a writers room where creatives can share and workshop ideas not some singular self-styled "genius" who doesn't share his plans with anyone until the day he hands in the script. We need redrafts, not first drafts (by Russells own admission many of his scripts are released as first drafts). We need lower budgets, because when the show is made to minimise on expensive spectacle it is forced to carry itself on the quality of its writing.

The criticism that the show is too full of its own history has been characterised by some as hollow because 'every era references the shows past'. But the problem here is framing and purpose. Russell has explicitly stated his GOAL is to 'generate content' and 'social media storytelling'. Every few episodes need the big REVEAL. To the point that by Wish World I personally felt literally NOTHING at the Omega reveal. Something that had it happened a few years ago I'd have been thrilled about, I left the episode numb. Because we had Midnight, Fugitive!Doctor, Susan, The Rani, Poppy and Rogue in the previous four episodes alone. Most of which are framed with flashbacks and the grand 'moment of reveal' and audience teasing, and I just knew they'd never pay off satisfyingly, they're there for the sharable moment on social media.

Both season big baddies this era are defeated by a random laser beam with no established precedent. It's Davies-ex-Machina at its worst, The Last of the Time Lords is my least favourite finale for this exact reason (among many more reasons) but even that at least SET UP the means of its big reset.

Answer me honestly WHY Omega was in this episode. Because he doesn't tangibly DO anything, either thematically or narratively. The Rani's scheme could have been to summon a giant ham sandwich and the plot would have been unchanged. The reason it was Omega was because RTD wanted people to post about it and go 'Wow Thing I Know' and get a million headlines like 'Doctor Who Just Did Something CRAZY'. Omega is reduced to a big CGI monster with less than 5 minutes screen time because he isn't Omega, the interesting villain with motivations of his own, he is simply a vehicle for the name recognition of Omega.

This is Doctor Who as content. As IP. It is the MCU, or Star Wars, or any number of modern franchises, where the 'big return' and references come first and the plot is thought up around making them happen not the other way round.

This is just scratching the surface of the problems, not mentioning the hollow corporate politics that are a thousand steps back from where the show was in the Capaldi run. The botched messaging on extremely important topics that come across bordering on straight up right wing. The failings of consistent characterisation. The ways in which Kate Stewart keeps doing deeply deeply fucked up things (excuse me you MICROCHIP and TRACK your employees, some of which are MINORS???) and the Doctor refuses to comment. The narrative failings of season arcs. The way so many of RTD's scripts this era are direct retreads of episodes he already wrote. The endless behind the scenes nightmares. The eight episode seasons being fundamentally a bad fit for a show with this core premise. I could go on for hours.

There have been great episodes in this era, just as there have been in every era. But on the whole this has been one of the deepest low points for me. I love Ncuti, I love Millie and Varada and the whole cast and I will miss those that are leaving dearly... this is not their fault. But if the show gets cancelled (which it WONT, it will return to being low budget) I will not mourn it. It has been dead to me for some time.

Sack Russell T Davies. Sack Julie Gardner. Sack Jane Tranter. Sack Phil Collinson. Sack everyone who has led to this era of ouroborosing the shark.

Stefan Powell can stay <3 ily bbgrl - keep pestering the folks on set

[ravewing]

flame — is he really just an arrogant, angsty teen?

a wings of fire character analysis

yeah this has been a long time coming—honestly i can't believe it's taken me so long to write another analysis on him lol.

flame is a character that wof fans are far too quick to write off. they see the arrogance, the bitterness, the lashing out, and they stop looking there—never questioning why he acts the way he does. but when you start to peel back those layers, when you start to actually pay attention to what the books show us about him, it becomes painfully clear that flame is not just some cruel, irredeemable antagonist. he’s a kid who has spent his entire life feeling like he’s nothing. and everything he does, all of his anger, his cruelty, his desperation to be taken seriously, comes from that.

he spent his childhood constantly on the move with the talons of peace, never having a real home, never forming any meaningful connections beyond his mother. avalanche, the only dragon who truly loved him, gave up everything to keep him out of the skywing army, but that didn’t spare him from being used and discarded by morrowseer, from being thrown into the prophecy. and for a brief, fleeting moment, i'm sure he had hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, he was meant for something greater, that he was destined to end a war. but then he found out that he wasn’t. he was never a hero, never meant to be anything but a second choice. a backup. disposable.

and then, the skywing outpost massacre.

he gets to meet other skywings for what is likely the first time in his life. and he wants them to see him as one of them—he tries to play the part, acting confident, trying to impress them. he wants to belong. but before he even gets the chance, he’s dragged away and forced to watch them burn alive. right in front of him.

and he’s clearly shaken afterward, so much so that he goes to deathbringer in the prison, asking how to kill another dragon fast—without thinking about it, without remorse. because he thinks that’s what it means to be strong, to be a skywing. because he thinks maybe, if he learns to do that, he’ll be able to forget what he saw. and because deep down, he believes that if he doesn’t learn, if he doesn’t harden himself, he’s worthless. he’s weak. (and we even see early in book 4 that he really isn't this bloodthirsty, skilled, edgy killer—morrowseer literally has to tell him how to use his fire correctly, and starflight is easily able to outpace him.)

this “kill or be nothing” mentality is something that i think is deeply ingrained in skywing culture. their entire society is built around strength, aggression, and war. i mean, under scarlet's reign, they literally had a gladiator arena where war prisoners were forced to fight to the death for amusement. they worship power and despise weakness. flame didn’t grow up in this environment, but he no doubt heard about it through his mother. he knows what it means to be a skywing, or at least, what the world tells him it means. and no matter what he does, he always feels like he isn’t enough. (we even see this is book six: carnelian is quick to dismiss him as nothing more than a weak member of the talons of peace, barely a skywing at all.)

not even a day after the outpost massacre, he’s forced to fight the other false dragonets—the only other dragons he's ever known. he’s permanently scarred, something he sees as a mark of weakness, of shame. and he has to watch viper, one of the only dragons he’s ever known, die in front of him, boiled alive in lava. another wound. another loss. and he carries it all, bottling it up, with nowhere to put it but in self-loathing.

his scar is a permanent, ugly thing. it's his constant reminder that he was weak when it mattered most. we see other dragons (namely qibli) view their scars as proof of survival, something to be proud of. but when he looks at his reflection, all he sees is failure. he should have been stronger. he should have been faster. he should have been better. he even goes as far as to think that bigtail and carnelian were lucky that they'd been killed in the history cave bombing, or else they'd be "scarred shambling monsters" like he was.

his self-image issues are one of the most defining parts of his character. he genuinely believes that he is unlovable, that his own mother—the only dragon who's ever cared about him—must hate his scar just as much as he does. despite all the love she has for him, despite all the sacrifices she made to keep him safe, he can’t bring himself to believe in it. because who could love a monster like him?

that’s why darkstalker’s offer to heal him is such an important moment. the scar represents everything to him—the pain, the humiliation, the feeling of being weak and broken and beyond saving. and yet, when given the chance to erase it, he doesn't believe darkstalker. not because he doesn’t want to be healed, but because he doesn’t think he deserves it. nobody has ever given him anything out of kindness before. nobody has ever offered him something without wanting something in return. he doesn’t trust it. he doesn’t trust himself to have it. because the scar is proof of what he is, and he has spent so long believing that what he is is unworthy.

flame doesn’t think he deserves kindness. not in a way that makes him sad, not in a way that makes him pity himself. it’s just a fact, something that’s always been true. he’s hurt others, so it must be better this way. he knows where he stands when he’s alone. no one can betray him if he never lets them close. if they knew him, really knew him, they’d regret it. they’d turn away, just like everyone else has. it’s better to push them away before they get the chance.

when fatespeaker and starflight offer to get him off of the nightwing volcano island, he doesn't believe them. he doesn't understand why a fabled dragonet of destiny, a hero, would save him. he doesn't think that he deserves to be saved, and he doesn't agree to follow them when fatespeaker says that she's doing it because he's her friend. in fact, he only goes along after starflight says that they can use his scar as a tool to get them off the island.

all of this makes him shut himself off from other dragons, afraid that if they look too closely, they’ll see him the same way he sees himself—weak, broken, not enough. and this becomes bitterness, anger at the world, at himself. it eats away at him, gnaws at the edges of everything he is until there’s nothing left but self-loathing. we get a raw glimpse of this in book 6 when moon reads his mind—when we see how deeply he believes he doesn’t even deserve his mother’s love because of his scars, how convinced he is that no one takes him seriously, how certain he is that he has no friends, no allies, no one at all.

and the thing is, he never gets a real recovery arc. he never gets to heal, not really. flame is a character defined by his trauma, by his anger and his grief and his loneliness, and tui never truly explores what it would mean for him to move past it. the dreamvisitor subplot? dropped. his potential mind-reading sensitivity? unexplored. the parallel between him and stonemover—both dragons who see themselves as irredeemable, who think they deserve their suffering—left unexamined.

(which, speaking of stonemover, i wholeheartedly believe that darkstalker enchanted flame to attempt to murder him. think about it: flame is shown earlier to have wished to have bombed the history cave himself and essentially shout it from the rooftops, so that he could be taken seriously for once. so why would he silently try to kill some old man and slink away unnoticed? it's entirely in darkstalker's character to do this, too; he has no issue enchanting others to make his story flow the way he wants it to. "saving" stonemover from flame allows him to present himself as a hero, lets moon and her friends believe that he really can be trusted, and gives him an opportunity to sneak in any extra enchantments on stonemover.)

and not to mention the parallels between flame and glory—struggling with self-image issues, projecting their self-hatred onto everyone else world; and yet, glory finds solace and comfort in the support of other dragons because she actually had friends, which led her to accept herself, while flame's lack of such support caused him to spiral further into self-loathing—and yet, tui never has the two counterparts interact in the whole series.

i also wish tui touched on how the history cave bombing must have impacted flame. the moment the explosion went off, the fire, the panic—it certainly must have reopened a fresh wound, one that hadn't even begun to heal. because he’s been there before. he’s seen this before. back at the skywing outpost, when he watched members of his own tribe burn alive right in front of him. dragons screaming, fire swallowing everything, the smell of smoke and scorched flesh choking the air. and now it’s right in front of him again.

and people still call him evil. they see the anger, the bitterness, the pain, and they refuse to look past it. but flame is not a villain. he is a product of everything that was done to him, of everything he was forced to endure. his story is one of loss and self-hatred, of a desperate, misguided attempt to make himself worth something in a world that has never valued him. and it makes him one of the most tragically compelling characters in the entire series.

bonus: this really maniacal picture of flame that i think is really funny

[sunderwight]

Shang Qinghua strikes me as the type who would only pursue a particular cultivation skill if it had some utility to making his everyday life easier or some specific task more doable, not even register that he'd achieved anything impressive with his cultivation in the process, and then carry on firm in the belief that this is a normal skill that every other cultivator has probably already acquired. Because if it's useful, why wouldn't they?

Like he thinks cultivation is cool and all, but (as can be evidenced by some of his writing choices) he's not really interested in it for its own sake. So everything he chooses to pursue has a reason. Usually that reason is "letting him be done with this tedious task so that he can possibly scrape together some free time, or at least more time to do other tasks."

This is why, despite sword arts being very cool and dashing and all, Shang Qinghua doesn't really bother learning a lot of swordsmanship or fighting skills. There are pretty few situations where wielding a sword is useful, most of those situations are ones which Shang Qinghua doesn't want to be involved in, and nearly all of his martial siblings are better at and more interested in fighting anyway.

He knows that martial prowess is popular and attractive, but it's boring. Sword drills? Dull as hell. There's a reason he came up with a super cursed sword that let his protagonist immediately win almost any fight, with consequences that just led to more interesting drama or conflicts to write about. His fight scenes were at least as boring and repetitive as his sex scenes, let's be real.

The end result is that Shang Qinghua's cultivation is probably deeply weird.

Like he's done muscle-reinforcement but not for combat, it's so that if he needs to he can literally pick up a recalcitrant ox and move it. He mastered inedia because remembering to eat and finding a moment to do it during An Ding's inventory week was harder. He introduced flying carpets to the setting after he transmigrated because figuring out how to transport items on some compatible spiritual device that was bigger than a sword blade, and could thus hold like a chest of goods or baskets of supplies, was way too convenient to pass up. He has selective knowledge of various skills, like alchemy, medicine, smithing, etc, things that are usually only brought up at the master level (thanks to his author knowledge cheat) but he doesn't know most of the basics of those skills, and he only deploys his knowledge for like, hyper specific tasks largely unrelated to the field.

He probably drives Mu Qingfang and Wei Qingwei crazy because he'll drop expert niche knowledge that they know is expert niche knowledge into a random discussion out of the blue, but then can't actually sustain a conversation about it because he doesn't know all the usual accompanying information. Mu Qingfang counting slowly backwards from ten because somehow Shang Qinghua knows that a super rare tonic made from a believed-to-be-extinct plant can bestow temporarily telekinesis to those who imbibe it, but doesn't know anything else about the medicinal uses of the plant, the history of the tonic, or other tonics that can achieve similar results with varying side-effects. But he knows what this one hyper-specific thing will do and he knows, very very vaguely, how to make it. Somehow.

Which would be less weird if it was just one thing, because people do pick up odd bits of knowledge or skills from unexpected places now and again. But it happens all the time. Seemingly at complete random! He also, as said, doesn't just do it with knowledge but with skills. No idea of basic leveling up, Shang Qinghua singles out what he wants from a process and then just does enough to get it and skips everything else that usually goes with it.

I bet he's like thirty before it comes to light that he has no idea how to actually do basic meditation, or something, and Yue Qingyuan does that thing where he smiles placidly while dying inside because how? Shang-shidi is a peak lord! How does a peak lord not know how to meditate properly?!

(In Shang Qinghua's defense, meditating involves spending a lot of time just focusing on one's self and not doing anything else, and he is a busy man! And he actually has mastered a form of meditation, but it's a kind Cang Qiong doesn't usually teach and that you do while also performing repetitive tasks. Usually those repetitive tasks are things like "repeatedly punching the exact same spot on a tree until the tree topples" but Shang Qinghua's are more like "reviewing a thousand nearly identical requisition forms and eating melon seeds at a steady rate" type stuff. When other people expect him to meditate he just sits quietly for a minute until they leave.)

[prism-forgone]

headcanon about the origin of kris's knife and carol holiday

(based on this post by @patchwork-crow-writes because it got me Thinking to an extreme degree)

i always thought that while toriel might let kris keep their knife, she doesn't strike me as someone who would get her kid a weapon like that. and asgore feels like too much of a wimp to go against her like that while they were still together. so, where did it come from?

let's consider the way the dreemurrs and the holidays used to be close when their kids were little and carol's appreciation for sharp weapons (like her katana, or casting noelle's paper snowflakes in bronze). i think that for a kid like kris that would've been the coolest thing ever, that they'd constantly ask her to show it to them

regardless of how cute of a mental image tiny kris watching carol showing them her big fucking sword with glittering eyes and their horned headband on makes, the newest headcanon of mine is that carol could be the one that gifted kris their knife, perhaps for their birthday or for christmas. it's something of theirs that they value a lot (to the point of not letting the player even touch it - i talked about that fact a bit here) and quite literally always carry i guess (thanks ch4 for confirming that i love youuu)

i think that makes the possibility of her making kris the weapon that does her dirty work now even sadder. i suspect something deeply terrible happened in her psyche when one of her daughters disappeared that made her lose sight of stuff like care, morals or not-exploiting-a-possessed-teenager-you-watched-grow-up and end up the way she is now

it makes it doubly sad if this is kris's way of holding on to any shreds of what they used to know. their mom doesn't even notice anything wrong with them and seems too distracted to pay them any closer attention and do anything other that shrug and say "they do weird things sometimes", their dad is busy with his failing business and conspiracy corkboard trying to prove he didn't do anything wrong and is pretty inept at taking care of them, asriel is gone, noelle is distant, dess is missing and rudy is sick. up until they grew closer to susie, they had really no one to talk to perhaps save for carol. and, in that setup, maybe it doesn't matter if she's using them. they're not alone, at least. they can cling to the past like that

[rewind-redux]

New Experiments - Harley Sawyer/Reader

The halls were dark and reeked of coppery blood, the scents of metal, toys, and blood blending into a suffocating fog. What few papers explaining what had happened in this hell were crumpled in your bag, along with the occasional VHS tape that you managed to find. You were on your way to confront The Doctor, the monster you've read about behind the experiments, now an experiment himself. His voice rang in your head, that rough metallic tone echoing the last words he'd said to you before you’d continued on.

"An intriguing specimen, with no obvious reason to come down into the pits of playtime co." You glanced at the TVs lining the walls, the box frames enclosing the already small hallway, making you feel much more... fragile. God knows what you'll find when you get to the man behind the torture. If he's even a man anymore.

"Even the ground beneath your feet..." The Doctor's voice sang out from behind you, roughly pushing you to the trapdoor. You grabbed his hand at the last second, taking him down with you. Or.. what sounded like him.

Your eyes adjust to the dim room, being met with a robotic body covered in a torn shawl, and a TV for a head that flickered with different images and videos. You pushed yourself back against a fence, the metal rattling loudly in the silence.

"...Harley Sawyer?" Your voice was a bit shakier than you would have liked, but at least the words came out.

The machine's head tilted slightly, as if examining you. "How... interesting. I've seen how you understand that the price of progress is insignificant. I watched you snuff out that little life for the sake of reaching me. You dragged me down into my own trap. And yet, now that you've reached your goal... you don’t seize it. Are the lies finally wearing off? Have you come to your senses about that doll?" He stayed where he was, not moving towards you like one would wait for a puppy to come to them so as to not scare them off.

You inhaled deeply, trying to regain your senses, the stress of being in Playtime Co exhausting you now that you were no longer under immediate threat. ...You didn't even feel like this in safe haven.

"It's a mystery how Playtime managed to ignore such an intriguing mind, such a.. promising one. You understand how things work. How to succeed. You would have made for a stimulating experiment." You looked up at him, the remorseless, ruthless doctor. The doctor that.. could actually do something, keep the burden off your shoulders, unlike the toys you've been carrying through this hell.

You sighed, leaning against the fence. "Why... why should I trust you?" You could feel your body trusting him, relaxing under his analytical gaze.

"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have even made it this far into Playtime. 1170 would have made quick work of you."

‘Huggy Wuggy’. You thought to yourself. You've had so many close calls, almost dying every room you stepped in, and yet-

"And what an exceptional case you are, making it all the way to me. Even the most promising toys never made it very far, but you. You would have been the most successful, if only Playtime had recognized it." Your eyes trailed up his metallic body, his eye trained on you, filled with anger and... grief.

"But now it can't." You looked back up at his body as you said it, taking in what he'd become.

"Not anymore. Those.. fools decided to take away my achievements, my abilities. They gave up a vital asset because of their own ego, took over my experiments as if they were their own. They stole my experiments, my ideas, and confined me into this body." You could picture the scowl he would have if he had a face, the anger that would've been so easily seen.

You didn't really know what to say. What was there to say? This man, this... genius, broken down into an amalgamation of metal and dismembered flesh suspended indefinitely. You can't help but feel sympathy for him.

"But you," You glance up at him, his eye still locked onto your body. "You could've been my success. My magnum opus. You could have shown everyone that I was right." His metallic body stepped closer, the whirring of his mechanisms quiet. Soothing, even.

"You didn't deserve this." The words came out before you could process them, the tone… soft.

Sawyer paused, the TV screen flickering as if in thought. No one talked to him like that. He's never been spoken to as if he was a child. But.. you weren't wrong. He didn't deserve it, he knew that more than anyone. His voice became less rough. "No, but they were too scared of my creations, of what I could do. They were fools for thinking doing this would stop me. And now they're gone." The bitterness came back at the last sentence, his eye narrowing.

You stood, pulling yourself up using the chain link fence you had leaned against. He wasn't that tall anymore, and looked... human. Wires and metal and TV static, yet he was still the man you read about. He was still a man.

The silence dragged out, neither of you daring to speak and break it, seeming so fragile yet so needed. A break. That's what you both needed. 

Eventually, Sawyer spoke up, shaking off his feelings, his tone returning to the clinical one you knew. “What do you gain from coming back? Why come back at all?” 

You… couldn’t really answer that. Why did you come back? It’s not like you knew any of these toys personally. It’s not like you knew the directors at all. “...I’m not entirely sure, myself.”

He hummed, a bit disappointed. “And here I thought you came back with a reason I could dissect. No matter. What matters is you’re here now. And I get to have my stimulation, instead of waiting for those inadequate toys to wander where they’re not supposed to.” He stepped closer, examining you. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a body, much less done a vivisection.” 

You held your ground, not wanting to show that his words made you feel a bit queasy. His hand reached out, feeling your neck and pulse.

“110 beats per minute. You’re scared of this, aren’t you? Your blood pressure feels higher as well.” His hand clamped around your neck, tilting your head up so he could take a closer look at your face. “Your pupils are dilated, most likely from adrenaline and how dark it is. Your respiration rate is higher than average, but not that high. You’re trying to keep yourself calm. Box breathing, yes?” 

You swallowed, feeling vulnerable. He was pointing out everything about your emotional state and your body, nevermind the fact his hand could easily snap your neck in a flash. 

His hand was cold, the contrast ever so noticeable on your warm neck. “You would have made for a successful bigger body. Perhaps a Huggy Wuggy, or a CatNap. Perhaps a completely new toy. Your body would have been easy to change into it.” His hand glided down to your chest, pressing into it. “Strong bones. Maybe it would have been a pain for you to start the process, not that it matters.” 

Your breath hitched, blood rushing to your face as Sawyer pressed into your chest. Thank God it was dark.

“Ah. A reaction. Fear? Anger?” He pressed harder, your back now up against the chain link fence. You could feel the heat on your face, your ears burning as you took a breath. “You’re not going to answer? Do I have to pull the words out of you?” His fingertips dug into your skin, leaving red marks behind. 

A small noise slipped out of your throat, barely getting out before you took another shaky breath to calm yourself. 

“Maybe you won’t be immediately discarded after all. You have such stimulating reactions.” His hand dug in again, and this time you grabbed his wrist to stop his fingers from breaking your skin. 

“Stop-...” He surprisingly pulled away, giving you a moment to compose yourself. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

“It’s easy to get under your skin isn’t it? Just as easily as you slipped under mine?” The thought made you flush red, visible in the dim light. He pulled you closer again, examining your face. “Extremely easy. In more ways than one, I see.” His hand tightened on your throat, enough to feel it, but not enough to be painful. 

“Sawyer…” You couldn’t tell if what came out of your mouth was a groan of pain or pleasure, or maybe a mix of both. Your hands grasped at his shawl, weakly pulling at it. Gods, you felt so pathetic, but so… needy. It’d been so long since you’ve felt any positive emotions, so long since you’ve felt even remotely relaxed. Maybe Sawyer felt the same way, being trapped in that form, stressed about no direction to go, no purpose in existing other than to spite those who made him what he is now.

He gave a short chuckle, finding your position amusing. This was a game to him, a chance to find and create reactions to stimulate his clinical mind. His hand dropped to your waist, feeling around your skin in a detached, almost professional way, if you hadn’t known he was a sociopathic doctor. 

“Your body is much warmer than everything else down here. No wonder the toys find you so easily.” He pressed his hand into your stomach, eliciting a grunt from you. “Sensitive here? Not at all surprising, the human body is typically more sensitive around vulnerable places, such as your stomach or neck.” You could feel your body heating up, even warmer than before. You cursed softly under your breath, shifting a bit to get more comfortable.

“Where else?” He glanced up at your words, humming in thought. 

“Where else is the human body sensitive, or where else are you sensitive?” You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts to answer him. Your mind felt clouded in a haze of fear and need, thoughts coming by sluggishly.

“Where else am I?” You almost panted out the words, the air you were breathing in not feeling like it was enough.

“For that, I would have to test it. Feel every part of you, what makes you tick, what makes you grimace, and what makes you squirm.” You could hear the anticipation in his voice, the way he viewed you as a new toy to pick apart and analyze what was left behind afterwards. You glanced down at his metallic hand hovering over your neck, the joints almost shaking as he waited for your acceptance. It surprised you that he would even consider thinking about whether or not you accepted.

“I don’t think it’d be very comfortable to do that against a chain link fence.” He looked over your shoulder at the fence, tilting his head.

“I don’t need comfort in this body, the surroundings are trivial.” You sighed. Right, self absorbed mad scientist. 

“I do. I’m still a human, remember? My body isn’t as forgiving with rough surfaces as yours is.” He thought about it for a second, watching you.

“You won’t find a… comfortable place in Playtime. It wasn’t built for your comfort.” You huffed, but shook the annoyance off. He was right in a way, it wasn’t exactly the most inviting place to be at. 

’Ironic.’ Before your thought could continue, his hand pulled you out to a better lit place. You couldn’t control the way your hand immediately grasped onto his, the urge to intertwine your fingers with his coming to the forefront of your mind. He let go as you reached the room where his brain was contained, looming over you like an omniscient being. Well, not that he wasn’t, in his own way.

“Now, get on the table and I’ll start.” You climbed up, laying on your back, the metal cool and hard beneath you.

“Why’d you choose here?” He stood over you, hands poised. He paused when you asked that, humming to himself in thought.

“It works the same as any other nervous system. The closer you are to the brain, the more sensations are felt. The more they can be analyzed and dissected.” You inhaled, relaxing on the table as the soft red glow of the machine reflected off Sawyer’s mechanical body.

His hand started by moving across your face, examining the way it looked and twitched. It went to your hair, feeling the strands. 

“A lot different than the toys you’re used to, huh?” He looked down at your eyes as you whispered that, as if part of you didn't want him to hear your words.

“Yes, the toys… their fur is more like plastic, some have a combination. But they're all more… animal like than human. The same can be said for their… cognitive functions.” His hand went to your ear, tracing around the outside with a surprisingly delicate touch.

“You’ve got a… delicate hand for a…” You faltered. For a machine? For a sociopathic insane mad doctor? 

“I wasn’t a surgeon for no reason. How do you think my experiments always came out so well? How they were perfect? The… cognitive side of those experiments is on the other doctors. They let their pathetic emotions get in the way of progress. See how my creations turned out? 1170, 1222, 1188, 1166? Loyal to only me, how they were supposed to be. I did what the others couldn't stomach. Emotions meant more to them than progress.” His hand gripped your throat, his anger being taken out on you.

“Saw-” You could barely choke out his name, his hand tight. He glanced down and eased his grip.

“Apologies. Wouldn't want my new… test to fall short, now would we?” His thumb rubbed your neck, the cold metal warming up from the contact with your skin. A groan escaped from your lips, Sawyer pressing gently on your throat to feel the vibrations. 

His hand slowly made its way to your collarbone, where he flicked the collar of your shirt. “Clothes… always in the way.” He briskly unbuttoned your shirt and pulled you to a sitting position. “If you could not be a limp body that would be useful.” He pulled the shirt off, and you moved your arms to help this time. The air was slightly cold against your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms. “How… fragile. You can't even weather the air of a factory. That needs to be fixed.” He traced your chest and arms, rubbing a circle around your nipple. “No evolutionary purpose for men to keep these… you'd think for how complex biology is, it would try to be better.” The cool metal of his thumb circled around your nipple, sending heat straight to your face.

His hand moved again, tracing your stomach where your organs sat. “I keep the digestive system in the toys, it makes for a more… challenging procedure. And it makes them hungry, which in turn keeps them loyal to their feeder. The rest of the systems have no use in the toys, other than the nervous system.”

“And you don't have any systems.” He glanced up, slightly surprised at your comment.

“...No. I have lungs, a heart, and a brain. I do commend the efficiency of it, since there's no need for food or air. It makes me practically immortal, almost perfect. The way it was done though…” He trailed off, his hand twitching. 

“...I'm sorry for what happened. It.. sounds terrible to go through.” You didn't really know what else to say, this wasn't exactly a common occurrence. 

“I don't need nor want your pity,” His hand gripped your waist, pulling you forward to him. “You shouldn't be saying anything about what happened to me, unless you caused it. And if you’d caused it, you would be in a much worse state than what any of Playtime Co is in.” His eye stared into yours, seething with rage and grief of what had been taken from him.

He quickly collected himself, going back to the analytical side you'd known him to be. His hand stopped at your pant line with a scoff. A chuckle came out of your mouth as you reached down to help. 

“Never taken someone's pants off before?” You watched his screen as it flickered static for a moment. 

“Yes, I have. All bodies need to be completely naked when it comes to vivisections and turning them into toys.” He helped roughly, clearly not used to his patients being awake when it came to undressing them.

“Didn't mean it like that, Doctor.” He glanced up at you.

“Be clear about what you mean. None of this guessing nonsense, you're wasting my time.” He tossed your pants to the side, then pulled down your underwear in a clinical, detached manner.

“Fine. I'm assuming you've never taken someone's pants off for sex before.” He paused at that, placing the underwear with your pile of discarded clothes.

“No, I have not. I have much better things to do than get in relationships and mess around like a high school boy.” You chuckled, the statement sounding odd coming from Sawyer. He glared at you, then dipped his hand lower, tracing your thighs. His thumb gently brushed against your inner thigh, where your artery lay. 

The realization that Sawyer could kill you within seconds resurfaced from the haze of your mind. You were sitting naked on a table, with a mechanical body of an insane doctor looming above you. His hand poised over your artery, able to strike in moments if he wanted.

As he continued his exam, you realized he was too engrossed in the “test” as he'd called it, to even think of killing you. You could see the concentration in his eye, it flicking up and down, taking in every part of you. His hands moved to your calves, then back up as he mapped out your blood vessels in his head. 

Your breathing was heavier, your heart rate fast. As his hand reached between your legs, your leg jerked, trying to close them. Sawyer said nothing, but used his other hand to push your legs apart and keep them that way. He slowly, agonizingly traced around your privates, his fingertips freezing against it. You couldn't help the twitch of your hips as he almost reached it, the flush in your face darkening. The hand holding your legs moved to hold down your hips, his screen flickering as he watched your reactions.

“I can see you're getting impatient, with your… uncontrolled movements. Perhaps we should control them, no?” Both of his hands pinned down your hips before you could respond, the metal digging into your skin. Your hips reacted, instinctively bucking against his hold. He watched and pressed down harder, drawing another reaction and a small noise from you.

You could see in his eye as something clicked. Humanity was so close for him, however disgusting it was. The feeling that he could be human again, if only in his head. This… emotion he was pulling out of you, this pleasure... this was the first time in years that he felt even remotely close to his old self. To being human. And he craved it, the ability to move around, experiment, to be his old self. He needed it.

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he pushed a finger in, not giving you any time to adjust to the new sensations before he started stretching you. He clearly knew what he was doing, but in a studied clinical manner, as if following instructions from a book. His eye was trained on where you two met, watching your body's reactions to the intrusion. He hated it. But it was all he had left to feel human, this disgusting pointless act. He slowly added another finger, the metal cold and desperate as it thrusted in and out. A low groan escaped your lips, sawyers eye quickly looking up to see your face, your expressions. 

His hand clamped harder on your mouth, muffling the noises you made. He added a third, the stretch painful due to the lack of preparation he’d given you.

“Harley- ngh.. fuck.. slow down..” He glanced back up at your face, his emotions unreadable. It was unsettling, how silent he was, but you supposed it was his clinical side taking over, logging each and every reaction you made. He barely slowed down, just enough for you to stop complaining. His metal fingers curled in different ways, prodding and testing to see if you’d react to it. He was rewarded with grunts and groans that slipped from your mouth, muffled from the hand pressing into it.

He spoke up, his tone back to normal, talking more to himself than to you. “How submissive you’ve become… expected, really. All you need is the right treatment, which would be more successful with locking you up in those padded rooms. How do you think I was able to create and control all of those toys so easily? Though I do prefer a… faster approach, such as isolation and torture. Something like this… It would take quite a long time for the patient to become fully submissive, and for all of the wrong reasons too. The patient would become a pet, not an asset. Completely worthless.” He continued with the movements as he talked, not making any move to slow down or pull away. 

You could feel yourself getting closer to release, your mind in a pleasurable haze as you closed your eyes. He noticed and slowed down, dragging the pleasure out more. A low whine escaped your mouth, almost turning into a moan. Your hips bucked forward, searching for more friction, to finally climax. He moved his hand from your mouth and pushed your hips down, thrusting his fingers hard into you, curling them inside. You could barely even choke out a noise, the abruptness too intense to react to. He continued at a rough and fast pace, eventually adding a fourth finger, stretching your already sore hole even further. You couldn’t help but grind into it, the feeling desperately needed after such a long time of pent up stress. 

He watched your reaction as you climaxed, the flush that enveloped your face, the sweat that glistened on your forehead, the shakiness in your legs and arms, the rapid rise and fall of your chest from your panting breaths. He continued to thrust his fingers in and out, making you ride it out, adding to the sensations he was causing you. He logged every reaction and every simple movement as you laid back limply on the table. 

“It seems I was right. Yet again. What an interesting specimen you are. But.. don’t think I’m done with you yet. There’s still plenty more to test. After all, I haven’t seen anything like you in years. It’s only fitting I keep you for my own… enjoyment, if you will.” He pulled his hands away, wiping them off on his shawl. “Now get dressed. I’m getting awfully tired of looking at you being so… pathetic. It’s disgusting.” He didn’t even bother to toss you your clothes, instead just standing there watching you as you struggled on shaky legs to stand on your own two feet. You eventually managed to pull on your clothes, your shaky hands barely able to button your shirt. You were still breathing heavily, taking large breaths to calm your racing heart. 

He started walking away, expecting you to follow, and follow you did. “Now… what to make of you…? I’m sure the Prototype would… love to get his filthy hands on you, but… let’s keep my secret for now, yes? He may control the board, but that doesn’t mean he controls the pieces, only the rules. And there’s nothing against… holding out on a potential subject for him. As long as you eventually end up in his grasp, I’m keeping you for my own scientific purposes for now. He never gave a time limit either, so that means you’ll be mine indefinitely, until I tire of your presence.” He paused in thought, stopping in his tracks.

“Unless…” You felt goosebumps raise on your arms. You didn’t like the tone of his voice, the way he stopped as if realizing something exceedingly substantial. “I could do what no one else could, with you. I could finally make a scientific breakthrough that no one could ignore. The other heads would be shamed and put in their place, after stealing my work and humiliating me like that.” He turned around, facing you. “...And all I’d need is you.”