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the-midnight-blooms · 7 months ago

Text

FROM THE ARTIST’S STUDIO | cs

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader AU: historical au, joseon dynasty word count: 10.5k

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I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You’ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not to see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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bethanydelleman · 19 days ago

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Hello! Sometimes I see people saying Darcy "raised a child (and on his own, is the unsaid implication)" via his care-taking of Georgiana, and I'm a little confused by that. Are we given a year when Darcy's father died? I thought it must have been just a few years ago, so Georgiana was already 12+ and might have been away at school or something - so it's not really Darcy changing his sister's diapers, is it? Plus I thought most of the actual day-to-day care-taking would've been done by Mrs. Reynolds and the other servants, while Darcy was mostly preoccupied with the estate and things, so does that really count as "raising" her? And he shares the guardianship with Col. Fitzwilliam anyway, who must've helped quite a bit, surely... by that definition, did Mr. Knightley "raise" his nephews/nieces every time he babysat for his brother? Did Captain Wentworth "raise" the likely prepubescent midshipmen aboard the Laconia or "raise" Dick Musgrove by making him write letters to his family?

Would appreciate your thoughts on this!

"My excellent father died about five years ago"

-Pride & Prejudice, Ch 35

Georgiana is sixteen during the action of the novel and fifteen at the failed elopement. Their father died when Darcy was around twenty-three and Georgiana was eleven. I personally, having experienced both parenthood and foster care (my parents fostered), would say that taking custody of a recently orphaned tween is harder than caring for a baby. I think that Darcy would be doing whatever a single father in the gentry class would generally do for their daughter or female ward.

As for raising/custody, I think that while Col. Fitzwilliam is a co-guardian, he's possibly just advising on legal matters and protecting the trust with Georgiana's dowry. Darcy probably has what we could call today primary physical custody. How much child raising he's actually doing is debatable, Georgiana is certainly in boarding school at some points and would have had a nursemaid/governess, but I would give him credit for being his sister's guardian and I would bet they had a hard year together after their father died (we don't know when the mom died, though it was likely prior to the father).

As to raising her, one of the things I've always found a little strange about the relationship between Mr. Darcy and his sister is that he's praised so much for being a considerate brother but he doesn't seem to actually be living with her. She has been taken out of school and lives with a female companion. Pemberley is not her permanent residence until the epilogue, so I assume she's living at the Darcy house in London. Henry Crawford in Mansfield Park gets a lot of censure for not living with his adult sister at his estate, but Darcy is fine even though whenever we see him, he's travelling without her. Now I don't know if the big difference here is that Mary is "out" while Georgiana is transitioning to "out," but I'd love to hear an expert opinion on this one.

As for your examples, I think Captain Wentworth and considerate captains like him were likely father figures for their midshipmen (remember these kids went in at 11/12 years old!) and I would count that as "raising" in some sense. Babysitting Knightley nephews, not the same. Darcy did, at 24, have primary custody of an eleven year old girl and I think he deserves some credit for raising her. I certainly would say that Sir Thomas raised Fanny Price and she was about eleven as well, though he did a terrible job of it.

#question response #mr. darcy #pride & prejudice #jane austen

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sapphoherselz · 9 months ago

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howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 60 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.

#aftg #neil josten #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil fic #fic rec #aftg fic rec #aftg fic

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1117feverlessdreams · 3 months ago

Text

On the Wrong Track

PAIRING: IdolYeosang!! x OrdinaryReader!

🚃🍀SUMMARY: Leaving behind those who saw fragments of you was as simple as boarding the next train. Until, that is, an undercover K-pop idol appeared, and the notion of staying put became irresistible.

🚃🍀TAGS/WARNINGS: Yeosang’s Limited English, K-Pop Industry Context, Emotional Turmoil, Mentions of Adoption, Separation Anxiety, Trust Issues, Deception, The Pressure of Stardom, Emotional Intimacy, Shower Smut.

🚃🍀WORD COUNT: 25k

🚃🍀A/N: Apologies for the lengthy hiatus – life happened, and I got derailed for a bit! 🚅 But now I'm back on track, and I've prepared a lengthy read for you all.

[Bold words are in Korean romanization, otherwise is just for emphasis.]

_____________🚂

The train’s whistle pierces through the chilling air, churning the wheels that begin to roll through the boiling steam. A smooth quick chug on the tracks allows you to view the city's landscape in motion from your front-end seating.

The sounds you resonate with, however, are whistles that pierce like your screams. A boiling steam pot of your unleashed rage. Last, but certainly doesn’t hold significance the least, an increasingly fast pace to abandon all youever known before.

Normally one's greatest fear would be the simpler things: heights, spiders, roller coasters…death. But for you, it was acceptance and commitment.

Even though you’ve only met them twice, one thing your parents drilled into you was the instinct to run away. Are you expecting a child? Run away. When it’s born? Run away. When it finds you in hopes you’ve changed to accept them in your ever-loving mind?

You guessed it.

They’d placed you through the foster system for all your nearly uncherished life so you could learn that very lesson. It became the basis of your character, and you were always proclaimed as: “the one who got away.”

Your breath exhausts from relief as your head lies upon the misty-fogged windows. The outside view blurs into blobs of the warm leaves that transform with the fall season in Korea. In an absentminded thought, you trace an array of words, shapes, and patterns-although the fog still remained non-transparent from the outside.

It sucked a bunch for you, because the best thing for your piece of mind is clarity. You turn freely in two cloth embroidered seats and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that a little rest will rewire your brain from all present memories.

"Excuse me?" Your top lip brushes up in a scowl, and your peace of mind restrains to find peace. Your eyes flutter open in sequence, and just so you can return to your escape, your head tilts towards the tuneless plea emitting from the middle aisle.

An enlarged, stretched-out stomach ironically meets your eye level gaze, but looking up, of course, it belonged to a natural-born woman. Right next to her, is a natural-born man, who evidently shoots all his balls in one basket.

"Would you mind if my wife and I took your seats?” The male of the pair inquires with a desperate grin, rubbing onto his unborn child. “I'd like to make boarding off as easy as possible.” His soothing rubs contrast with a firm tap. “She'll pop any day now!"

She scoffs and does the playful chest slap while they laugh together-as all couples do in any lifetime movie you can name.

"I'd appreciate it, hun”, she begins. “We were squeezing into a seat in the back. It's still available if you wanna grab it.”

Oh. Great.

You pay extra money for two-ticket seating- purposely done so for your space and privacy, and now you have to pass it on to the lady and the tramp-and in terms of moralities, it’s the proper thing to do.

In an attempt to be insightful, you gaze at them, and then the unborn child the dear woman’s back has to bear for nearly 9 or 10 months. They appear to be a loving couple. That they'd do anything to ensure their child lives comfortably, even without it taking its first breath of fresh air.

So you come to terms with fighting against your mental battles, and give up your space because ‘it’s the right thing to do’. Just not necessarily your thing to do. But you have your reasons.

"Of course, it’s all yours for the taking.", you say with an irregular smile.

"Thank you, so much." The husband puts his hands together as if to show gratitude for an answered prayer. "You really didn't have to”, the pregnant wife adds. “Thank you for your kindness.”

'I did it for it. Not you two.'

“Of course”!, you say, waddling awkwardly like a penguin in the confined space to get into the aisle way and behind them, “Congratulations to you both!”

The loving couple's faces adorned with firm smiles settle happily into their your seats.

You travel back towards the caboose, searching for the seat the couple claimed to have saved for you.

Eventually, after many tribulations of accidental eye contact, and excuse me's through the train cars- you found the seat saved for you- all the way in the back.

The journey to the caboose gave you a visual of how loaded the ride is with passengers. By all means, it makes sense as to why the couple traveled to your end in hopes of finding a better seat.

You sigh as you finally make it, and then a bigger sigh follows when you find what looks to be an astounding private model-looking guy alone in the seat-tuning out the world with Airpod Max Pros and a chapter book. He's dressed snugly for the change of weather: a teddy bear hat and coat jacket monochromatic to his fluffy brown hair-along with a face mask to prevent attraction to any floating illnesses.

"Excuse me...?” Oh, the irony. You sound just like the seat freaks did a moment ago. Although your voice is clear through his headphones, and his ability to speak isn’t hindered through his mask- the brunette-haired man takes them off out of respect. “Do you mind if I sit here?”, you bunglingly mutter. “There's not any other seats left for me to choose from." You give a small smile, looking around sheepishly.

He turns up his book, one of your favorite novels, and his eyes relocate your own with the same awkward smile. "No, not at all. Please, sit comfortably."

"Thank you so much!” You plopped down in the aisle seat, for some reason, your breath had become irregular in the moment. “Sorry to be a bother."

He shakes his head, now smiling cutely with all his facial features playing their special part in his charm. “No, don't bother. It’s good manner what you did for baby-couple.“ He then covers his belly with his book for visual context. So not only was this guy good looking, and just the cutest English speaker ever, he had the most humanistic nature you’d ever come across in your lifetime.

“Of course, thanks for passing it on”, you note cheerfully.

He nods with his intimate gaze that entices you for just a moment, and soon his derailed attention returns to his book. The train gradually picks up on mileage as time passes, and the scenery outside blurs into a blue-green and brown haze.

At that time, you took notice of “Model-Man’s” readjustment to his previous content state. He pulls his weight on his backrest, allowing his shoulders to fall and brush lightly against yours. As the train rumbles onwards, the two of you sit in compatible silence.

“Nice to meet you by the way. I'm Y/n.”

You don't know what urges you to make the approach. You just ran away from this. Familiarity. But in some way, you feel compelled to know who this man is.

With a sparkle in his eye, he turns to bow his head in your direction, before the alienating culture shock of him crossing his hand over to proceed his greeting. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yeosang!"

You’ve never heard anyone enthusiastically introduce themselves, but it gave off a fine impression. You take his hand with an expression spooked from the unexpected grip pressure. The exchange of contact is cut short when all you can do is nod, feeling nearly numb from his delicate touch.

He flips to another page as he returns to reading, but then again, you cannot help to resist the urge.

“That's a very well-written book you're reading Yeosang. The author is my top three mystery storytellers.”

His face lights up with delight, clearly pleased by your uncalled interest. “Ah, Really? I'm big fan of this author too. I read all of their books so many times.” He looks at you with a curious expression. “What is your favorite?”

“Hmmm”, you shortly ponder in thought. “The Siren sequel is pretty good. The ending is such a cliffhanger though”, you scoff with a chuckle.

His nose crinkles in amusement as he laughs softly, then nods in agreement. “Ah~, it's my favorite too! Ending is so uh…” he then cuts himself off, stirring up his hand to search for the word, “wow”.

You give him a comedic thumbs for his adorable efforts and your understanding in agreement. “I need more story!”, he begs with pleasing hands, “please author.”

You lay your palm out flat to play into your beckoning. “That'll be another $47.99 please!”

Yeosang giggles with a veining hand covering his cute lisp. “Yes, so expensive, but…” he pauses with a nod as he looks downward at the book in his hands. “I love it.”

Your eyes follow downward toward the book, and the text you recognize is fully written in Korean. It came as no surprise of course given it was the country you were currently in.

“Yeah, I think so too,” you comment, “But, I also love it.” His head tilts back with a ‘hmmm’ to accommodate your interest. Just before he could see if it was okay to read again-

you. just. could not. resist.

“If you don't mind me asking, Yeosang. Where are you from?”

What! It never hurt too bad to ask! You were in Incheon, Korea, coming from Itaewon: the ultimate partying hotspot for foreigners, now departing on a five-hour train ride to Busan. Just based on the looks of this guy- you could just determine he was not the party type.

“Oh…I come from Seoul, here in Korea. But I’m born in Pohang.” When he’s done speaking his cheeks swell up and his face brightens with red color. “My English is not so good, sorry.”

“No, no, you’re doing great!” You exclaim as you wave worrying hands in his downturned line of sight. His eyes swivel back up again, and he tunes back into conversation. “I lived in Itaewon for two years, but my Korean is not that good either.”

“Ah, jinjjaro? Or…jakkaman, aish-, in his boyish nature the tongue-tied cutie loudly smacks himself in shame. Sorry…really?”

(“Ah, for real? Or…wait a second shi-“)

You giggle in a long bit and swat his hand softly from his red sweet cheeks. “Ya, Gwenchanayo! Hajiman, ne jinjjaro.”

(Hey, it’s okay! But, yes really.)

Yeosang eyes bloom adorably in surprise, and his whole body is now turned in his seat aligning with your line of direction toward him. “Ooh, you're Korean!! It’s so good!”

“No! I promise you it's not. Your English is honestly much better than my Korean.”

“No, no.”, he politely contradicts.

You laugh off your undetermined loss with a smile. You know from experience that it’s a never-ending contest with natives of ‘who learns languages better’.

“Guereom. (Well then.) Enjoy your book, Yeosang.” You kindly bow your head before positioning yourself up to turn over in your seat like you had before. Although the conversation was swell, you desperately needed a recharge from a thing called the shitty events of life. “Don’t mind me! I’ll be taking a much-needed nap.”

Similarly, your sudden brush off the conversation made Yeosang non-admittedly yearn for it a bit more. At first, he thought it would be good practice to use English on his solo trip in case he ran into foreigners like yourself. But he didn't expect his first connection to be so energetically strong.

You wink childishly to your fluffy-haired acquaintance before fully showing him your back to sleep.

His expression molten into one of worry. He reaches out to touch your arm, but winces in hesitation and fear. “That's okay. Sleep well.”

With your eyes closed, you admire his politeness and drift off into one nap of many you planned for this long journey without a destination pinpoined in any map. “Hmm. Ne~”

During your nap, Yeosang continues to be entranced into the fictional reality that is one of his favorite books and yours. But his attention keeps wandering back to you. He finds himself studying your face, when you sleepily turn back over. The gentle rise and fall of your chest looks calming. The way your hair fell across your forehead seemed elegant, and the comfy wool material of your hoodie correlated to the warmness of your interaction.

At some point, the analyzing eventually makes the sleepiness contagious, and Yeosang boards to the next stop into the dreamworld with you.

…

After what was about an estimate of your two-hour nap, the train rails screech to a stop into a 30-minute interval period for all newly boarding passengers, and for those who made arrival.

It was also the service attendant's perfect timing to offer snacks to long-riding passengers.

Yeosang, who has already noticed the cease in movement wakes up from his nap. One side of his hair was teased into a hump from his sleeping habits. As if he was already aware, he pats it flat with half-closed eyes.

The cart had shockingly made its way quickly to your section which you know to be unheard of. You are in the butt end, the crunch spot, the lifetime-couple-trade-special.

You communicate with the attendant about your wants and she tells you you are fine to accommodate yourself in getting. How sweet it would’ve been if all the goodies weren’t gone already.

As you were freely choosing in your pickings, the attendant had gotten preoccupied with a worried passenger's barging questions about the stop. Their behavior were that of a child who lacked discipline. You weren’t even trying to hide your mean mugging, appearing like a rabid dog ready to prowl.

As if it were another treat to calm your nerves, you heard a raspy, calming voice inquire, “I need drink please.”

You blink out of frustration and turn to the even more seemingly impossible, increasingly adorable, and tired ‘teddy bear man’. “Oh, I’m so sorry Yeosang! What do you need?”

His eyes open stickily as he peers over his remaining options which are little to none. “Water, please?” You scan your head up and down the cart in hopes of seeing water, and thankfully the last bottle had been hidden in between an empty box of granola bars.

“Here you go.” You gesture as if the bottle was on a silver platter.

“Kansamida.” (Thanks.) He retrieves the bottle from your hand with a slight bow. His thirst became perceivable in one go as his mask slips from his face and on top of his Adam’s Apple, bobbing with every sip.

Just when the moment of peace began to still, the conflict between the attendant and passenger arose, causing both you and Yeosang to scowl at the ill-mannered passenger in the matter.

The overhead speaker cuts over the rowdiness, queuing: “Attention KTX (KOREAN TRAIN EXPRESS) passengers!” Unfortunately, we had abruptly gotten notice of another one of our train routes experiencing a derail with injurious passengers due to a faulty signal. It is in our best interest for your safety that we take precautions, even when this situation indirectly affects this route. Therefore, we will terminate this train ride to Busan….”

“I’m sorry but-, Yeosang began to say.

The speaker then cuts moments after, and this time in a Korean translation.

“Ah…got it.”, he finishes.

With the unfortunate news announced overhead you both and many others had to prepare to get off the train. Apparently passengers in the front get treated like royalty, they hear the news before everyone else, making it convenient in preparations to leave. It especially took the longest because you were in the back, and you also had to retrieve your luggage from the attendants in the last car when you got off.

Despite the drastic situation, oddly all you could think about was how you and Yeosang could end things off so suddenly. It irked you to have the desire to know more.

Just as you were handed off your miniature luggage of belongings, you took in the not-so-new environment. It was a shared home of many you used to know.

Yeosang was coming towards you as you pondered the lost past, his eyes beading with a pleasing want for guidance. He was so used to being accompanied in times like these.

“Excuse me…Y/n?“

You turn faster than a pro ballet dancer, slightly tumbling on your toes. There was also his change in appearance that startled you with his black face mask. “Hello again! How can I help you Yeosang?”

Surely this hadn’t been the place he had wished to stop by as he looked around nervously- utterly bewildered by the change of environment.“Do you know this place? I am not, I am…erm-lost?”, it came out more as a question as he juggles his hand as he speaks, eyes wandering near and far.

“I do know this place…um, I stayed at an Airbnb with my friends… plenty of times”, you say bitterly.

“Oh, good!” He jumps with delight and major relief. The news to him couldn’t get any sweeter. “So fun!”The second emotion he doesn’t show however is he nods while his eyes continuously wander, hands on his hips.

“Do you need anything? You seem a little worried.”

“Uh…yes” he admits in defeat. His puppy eyes become trained on you once again. “This is not my stop. So I want to find place to sleep. I’m so very tired.”

“Uh…, you begrudgingly drag out, watching as the conductor steps off from his seat, their hands suck on their hips as they pitifully inspect the trains structure. “Yeah, it doesn’t look like the train will be running anytime soon”, you remark, turning to him with a hopeful grin. “But, at least I can help you.”

“Ah!”, he joyfully claps in excitement, “Thank you so much!” He bows in ninety degrees. “Uh, will you also stay here?”, he asks.

‘That’s a great question, you thought. My mind was so trained on you, everything else became senseless mush.’ “I might go to that Airbnb…or maybe, a cheap hotel? I’m not sure yet…”

“Ah…”, he says in an untelling tone.

“Well, how about you? Where will you sleep?”

“Probably…same as you.” He nods.

In your mind, you severely needed more context but you decided to not let it go there. “Okay, sounds good! Ready?”

Even the escalators didn’t operate, which was a pain in your pre-existing pain. In this circumstance, you had to hike two 25-pound suitcases up a wide public staircase.

Just when you thought you had it bad, Yeosang quadrupled you with the weight of 200 pounds, or four full-sized suitcases.

You pause on the seventh stairs to take notice of the man’s struggles. He somehow managed not to tread too far behind, but you were blessed enough to know struggle when you saw it.

“Ya, nahante geugeo jwo.”

(“Hey, give me that”)

You took two of his suitcases off his hands. Which tips your scale to one hundred fifty and Yeosang, one hundred.

He looked around in embarrassment because, in his eyes and probably many others, you looked like an angry partner helping the other out of annoyance. Yeosang was not gonna further push that motive by playing tug of war with you on a staircase. Although, for clarity, you were more so determined than annoyed.

“Gomawo.” He whispers, slightly pulling forth his mask.

(“Thank you.”)

Your struggles to the top were made easier because you were farther ahead, but it made breathing manual rather than automatic.

Once you’ve finally reached the terminals, you double over, utilizing the suitcase handles in front of the nonworking escalators to let others through.

Yeosang sticks to your side not long after with a shaking hand making small taps on your backside. The kind you would give a friend in times in vulnerability. Steady, firm, yet…gentle.

You look up to him, seemingly calm with shallow breaths. In between gasps you hold up a momentary smile in the delayed awkwardness.

At a time you turn your head back down, Yeosang leans in to mumble, “There is fountain, and drink machine that’s close.”

Although the suggestion sounded delightful, the way your day had been going made you in need of something more fulfilling. “Not- gonna lie to you…Nan yeonjonhi…baegopa.”

(“I’m still…hungry”).

Yeosang removed his hand and took a step back. When it was placed on his belly, his body growled in response. “Heum, nado…”

(“Hmm, me too…”)

“Mwo jom meogeullae?”

(“Do you wanna grab a bite to eat?”)

“Ne, ha-hajiman eodiseo?”

(“Sure, b-but where?”)

“Gaja!” (“Let’s go!”) You point aimlessly, taking all various sized suitcases ahead with you.

Once you two found an overly priced taxi which Yeosang generously insisted on paying for, you were Google searching your favorite brunch spot in the area. You show it to Yeosang by reaching over into his side utilizing the cup holder for support. “Looks good?”

“Yes, Masisseo bonida!”

(“Yes, it looks delicious!”)

You giggle quietly at his cute lisps slipping through the “s” sounds.

“Arraseo!”

(Got it!)

At first, you thought Yeosang had some sort of VIP subscription to the whole taxi transportation industry. Only in Korea can you find a driver who waits for you to finish eating with your bags in his trunk.

You suggest having brunch outside when you arrive at the brunch spot, which causes Yeosang to disagree with you for the first time since you’ve met. “No, inside. Back corner please”, he said.

It was a lot more calm you must admit, and the noise of clinking plates and aromas of fresh food made his first experience more lively. You were only ever quizzical with his decisions however when it came to eating. He kept his mask on the entire time- only pulling away to eat his food when needed.

It was your suggestion in an earlier conversation that led to you paying the bill. Besides how rude would it be to have him pay for a lunch you eagerly wanted him to try? Not to mention, he got you both here.

The two of you walk outside the restaurant with warm stomachs contrast to the still chill that bites the tips of your ears, and along the sidewalk toward your parked taxi.

Your attention was once again drawn to your phone as you tried to figure out what to do about your sleeping situation. The Airbnb bookings were already filled for the next week, and you could only offer Yeosang so much space for his luggage.

You didn’t know how long he was staying but with the train station shut down and under maintenance-you both had quite a long way from Busan.

“Ai-seu-keu-lim…”, your ears and eyes perk up to give notice to the wind-blown haired man beside you. His tracks slow to a stop as his eyes are coated in a glaze.

“Ai-seu-? Keu-lim? Ice cream?” You decipher uncertainly, only to find a delicious Samanco strawberry ice cream waffle sandwich on a convenience store's window with a small chunk bitten from it.

“Okay! Let’s get ice cream! My treat.” The two of you rush for the door with the excitement of children entering a candy store.

“Yea, woo-hoo~, Yeosang childishly shouts upon walking in the mini connivence shop. Oh, annyeonghaseyo!” You giggle in endearment at Yeosang's embarrassment and slightly bow to the store owner to give the same greeting.

You both speedily walk in a darted line for the strawberry Samanco, but when Yeosang got a look at the frozen item in your hands along with the other options deep in the freezer- he started contemplating for a bit of time. “It seems like you changed your mind, Yeosang.”

He blinks rapidly to avert his focus onto you for reassurance. “Aniyo (“No.”), I think I will also get strawberry fish. But, driver I also want to buy.”

Your heart melts at his selflessness, another positive trait that makes him even more charming. “Awe really? Well, maybe he’ll like the strawberry one too. Melona is also another good option. Everyone likes that.”

“Okay!” He shouts with newfound confidence. “Driver will get…Melona!” He picks up the frozen treat and carries it with his own.

He looks to you searching for approval which you give him even without him prompting you to. “Nice choice, Yeosang!”

You both settle back in the taxi munching away at the flaky breading, sickenly-sweet strawberries, and creamy vanilla ice cream.

With a little push, you encouraged Yeosang to pass the selected extra treat to the driver. He provided the offering with shaking hands, making both you and the driver fall deeper for his charm.

“Taegsi Gisanim (“Mr.Taxi Driver”)” Yeosang politely calls to the man quickly bitting into his Melona. “Can you take us to the best hotel please?” Yeosang unzips his jacket, and fishes a plentiful stack of won from his inter pocket into the drivers hand.

You nearly choke on a swallowing bit of your ice cream, coughing as you tap Yeosang’s toned shoulders. “Ya neo mwohae?”

(“Hey, what are you doing Yeosang?”)

“Let me please…don’t worry.” he begs with pressed hands, “For your kindness.”

You were too heartfelt to deny him, it wasn’t the right place, nor the time.

As the driver began to drive to your new destination, you continued to bite into the tasty treat, slightly taking notice more of Yeosang’s off-standish behaviors. Like the way he would duck anytime he felt a car came too close. You look him fully from your seat in curiosity and see the silly amounts of strawberry filling on the tip of his nose, the plump of his cheek, and the corner of his lips.

“Yaaaa, jinjja? How long are you gonna keep eating like that?”

(“Hey, seriously?”)

With an expression mixed with fear and surprise, Yeosang started at you mindlessly.

“M-mwoya?”

(“What is it?”)

You feign in your irritancy, that there was no way you could be with someone as innocent and clueless as he was.

“How did you even manage to get it all over your face? Don’t you feel that?” He shakes his head promptly, ignorant of the jelly clumps on his beautiful face.

You turn over into the inside of your door, finding a box of tissues and tossing them in his direction. You grab your own from the box, swiping in places on your face to provide a demonstration.

Although he manages to miss every stain by a mere few inches. That’s when you decided to step in and just do it for him. Your hand, crumpling up a soft tissue rests just a small distance from his face.

“Can I…?”

He nods as he leans in close, his eyes trying to find interest in the roof from your close distance. Even the driver takes small peeps at the small intimacy you share, denoting it as the start of something good.

As you pull your hand away with a folded tissue, Yeosang eyes linger back, staring at the smeared red jelly, and scrunches his lips uplifting his perky cheekbones.

“Ah, I feel it!” He eagerly gestured towards his face, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Yeah now you do you silly boy!”

“Oh no!” He says with small giggles, “how long jelly?”

“Since your first bite Yeosang, and tons of people have already driven by and seen it!”

"Ah, that's why I see so many eyes," Yeosang mumbles, looking around at the passing cars with a look that changes in tension. “Yeah you goofball, what else would it be?”

“You’re right…” he playfully slaps himself on the back of his neck as some sort of self-punishment. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ya Yeosang-ie. Gwenchanha?”

(“Hey Yeosang-ie. Are you okay?”)

“Ne.”, he remarks, eyes cast downward.

That’s when it strikes him so he takes on the guilt, his eyes immediately lock in yours. “My members say that all the time, my family members I mean. I- is hard to control.”

“Your family in Pohang?”, you verify in remembrance,

“Mm.”, he confirms.

Maybe it was just nervousness, or paranoia from this new place. In any case, he still worried you.

On the way out of the car, you didn’t even have to carry your luggage to the elevators. The staff just asked that you settle in comfortably while your luggage will be at your doors shortly. In no time flat, you were given room keys.

The gleaming mahogany doors swung open, ushering you into a grandeur that could only be described as breathtaking. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the opulent crystal chandelier hanging majestically from the ceiling, its myriad facets catching the sunlight and casting prismatic reflections across the marble floor.

The lobby stretched out before you, an expansive space that exuded an air of sophistication and old-world charm. Plush, burgundy velvet couches and armchairs were artfully arranged on the polished parquet, inviting guests to linger and bask in the refined atmosphere.

Omo, ige “Crazy Rich Asians” ingayo?, you swallow, your pupils dilating in full, marveling at the wonders you thought you’d never seen in your lifetime.

(Oh My, is this “Crazy Rich Asians”?)

Yeosang's eyes widened as he watched you bow to the locals, their bewildered expressions making him giggle.

Babogat-i gulji ma. Naleul ttalawa.

( “Don’t be silly. Follow me.”)

“Yeosang…this is crazy!”, you whisper over his shoulders in a hushed voice.

Gwenchanheul geoya. Geogjeonghaji maseyo.

(It will be fine. Don’t worry.)

As you step into the elevator, you're enveloped in a sense of sleek luxury. The walls are clad in rich, dark wood, while the floor is made of gleaming black marble. The elevator doors feature ornate, gold-plated handles shaped like lions' heads.

The hallways are equally impressive, lined with plush, crimson carpet that softly muffles the sound of footsteps. The walls are adorned with exquisite artwork, each piece a masterpiece from a renowned artist.

Once you and Yeosang make it in front of your respective dorms, your bags are ready and waiting. Before you looked inside he beckoned for your attention with a calm hand on your shoulder. “My room okay? Call me for help. I call you too.”

With a gentle smile, you turn to face Yeosang, appreciating his thoughtfulness. You ale your hand to cover his on your shoulder before it spent slips away. "Thank you for this Yeosang. Same goes for you – if you need anything, just call."

Yeosang grins wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I will! Sweet dreams, and have a good night!”

He gives your shoulder a final squeeze before letting his hand drop. With a wave, he disappears into his room, leaving you boy to part ways for the time being.

…

LATER THAT NIGHT…

After being surprised with a pre prepared bath in rose petals- you began to question why you’re hear and what you actually deserve. Just as you reached for the phone for Yeosang, you heard four consecutive knocks on your door. “Room service!”

A confused “ne” escapes from your voice as a butler presents you with a white-skirted table with metal-covered cuisines.

You watch as he fishes silverware and napkins from his aprons pocket while you’re cowering in your robe in the nearest corner.

He smiles at you briefly as his hands falls flat on the sides of his thighs. “Jeulgyeo!”

(“Enjoy!”)

Then just like that he walks out like he never came in.

You uncover the plates and see the steak, pasta, and chocolate-covered strawberries….

Food you never ordered.

You immediately call Yeosang.

“Yeoboseyo?”, his voice breaks in, chewing what might be his delivered food in between as he spoke.

(“Hello?”)

“Yeosang…I think your food accidentally came to my room.”

“Oh, no” , he politely denies. “I order food for you. You don’t like it?”, he says In a reassuring tone, voice lingering with worry.

“Oh no no no, I just, I didn’t...” You sigh in defeat, eyes marbling at the magnificent presentations of the dishes. “Thank you so much, i do like it…but you didn’t have to. You know?”

A breath of relief blows in the other side of line. “It's okay. I want for you because you're so very kind to me.”

Guilt and gratefulness battle in your heart, fighting for the appropriate feeling to your fortunate situation. “Thank you Yeosang. This is all so unreal.”

“You’re welcome!” he playfully shouts. “I will wash up and we sleep for morning, okay?”

“Okay have a good night! Thank you again.”-

“Ne~, jeulgyeo!”

(“Yes~, enjoy!”)

The meal you had was a foreign experience for your tastebuds while the water pressure of the shower opened up your deepest pores.

_____________🚂

Walking up in the hotel room couldn’t even be fully defined in the phrase of ‘out-of-body’. The first things your eyes see is a masterclass in understated elegance. You're greeted by a plush, king-sized bed draped in luxurious silk sheets the color of rich cream. The bed frame is made of intricately carved mahogany, matching the elegant side tables that flank the bed.

A seating area near the window boasts a plush, L-shaped sofa upholstered in a complementary shade of burgundy velvet, with a glass coffee table bearing a vase of fresh, long-stemmed roses.

The room's pièce de résistance, however, is the grand, marble fireplace set into the wall opposite the bed. A fire crackles merrily within, casting a warm, inviting glow over the space. Above it hangs a gilded mirror, reflecting the dancing flames and amplifying the cozy atmosphere.

You're sitting in bed, dressed warmly for the chilly weather, when you hear a knock on your door. In your mind you have not a clue on what the day lies ahead.

Your new next-door neighbor, the charmingly-clueless-teddy tear Yeosang is behind it of course. Yet only he looks different, his face more natural and bare. His mask still lies on his face, but for the time being it rests on his chin.

“Good Morning!” He tilts and springs to his feet with surprise.

You smile briefly before further marveling at his gorgeous face, your eyes beaming as you notice a large red mark near his right eye. “Oh my…wait? Wait…Yeosang, I think you’re bleeding!”

He looks at you with widening eyes, looking over his own body

“Omo, eodi?”.

(“Oh no, where?”)

He slightly panics as his eyes flutter, but his body comes to a standstill as he lets you spectate.

The ideas that come to your mind are plundering, but only a few present themselves in your words. “I think it’s pink eye…but it’s outside, and not in? Oh no. What if it’s a ruptured blood clot?!”

“Eodi, eodi?”

(“Where, where?”)

Yeosang repeats, the word ruptured spooking him fairly enough.

Your face is saddened as you slowly reach to touch his wound. “It’s right…here.”

“Ow!”, He hisses in pain, his body tensing before bending over to coddle himself while holding his hand over the mark.

“Oh no! Did that hurt? Yeosang I’m so sorry I-” All of a sudden you hear small giggles wrack over his tall body.

“Yeosang! Why are you laughing you lunatic?”, you whisper-shout, voice laced with concern.

“Forgive me please!” He pleads in between dying giggles. He daps his fingers over the mark, proving it to be a permanent part of his natural body. “It’s just my birthmark, I’m okay!”

A quick exhale is relief from your lungs, your face fading to be expressionless. “Ugh, you scared me! And you kept swatting me away…I thought you were really in pain!”

He takes a step back to bow in apology. “Sorry, I meant for this only to be small joke.”

Your lips frown slightly as you watch his body droop with shame- causing your hand to fly to your chest as your heart drops in guilt. “You scared me half to death. Here I was, worrying about your eye, and it's just... a part of you."

“Sorry.” His mouth fumbles in a pout. You watch as his feet swivel into the floor, as if he were trying to bury himself to be seen from your sight.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. It’s beautiful by the way. The longer I stare at it, it shapes into something new.” You say mostly to yourself, given that Yeosang was shying away even after his little stunt. “How do you feel about it? Your birthmark?”

His timid look takes on an entirely different feel, one of self reflection. “I never really think about it but my fans they…” he trails off suddenly, then stuttering as he revises his sentence. “I mean my family, they always tell me it’s really pretty.”

You didn’t think too much when he mixed upthe two words, but you gave him the benefit of your doubts. English obviously didn’t come to him naturally. “Well, they must love you because they don't lie to you.”

His eyes then soften as he mentions his family further, his voice merely a whisper quieter than the wind in this early morning. “Yeah, I'm lucky to have them in my life.”

“That you are, but, everybody needs that kind of love.”

Yeosang nods slowly, a wistful expression on his face as he ponders your words. “How about you? Who do you love that in your life?”

At first you just shake your head in embarrassment, avoiding the spotlight that beamed on you to answer. Especially as you are the one that shined it upon yourself. But then you look into his curious shining eyes and sigh. “It’s just me.”

Yeosang's expression turns thoughtful, and he tilts his head slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Everybody needs love, and someone will see you to give you some of theirs.”

Your body freezes as you grow startled. It was his most fluent sentence yet, and the most impactful. You stretch your arms above your head, arching your back slightly as if shaking off the moment's seriousness. You then falsely yawn, disguising your mouth with the back of your hand. "It's too early for all these feels. Where are we going today?”

Yeosang blinks a few times, his earlier vulnerability replaced with a gentle smile. He rubs the back of his neck, and his shoulders shrink back down to their relaxed state. "Let’s eat hotel breakfast first, then we talk about todays activities,” he says some time afterward, his voice regaining some of its usual warmth.

…

After breakfast the two of you decided what better way to begin our day besides to check the place that got us stuck here?

The train station.

As the both of it approach the train station, it's no surprise as it is still under high maintenance. Feeling a bit disappointed, you both decide to sit on a nearby bench to rest.

You take in the bustling colorful leaves wrestled by the wind, the slightly cool but bearable chills, and a cute scruffy white cat that mewls and walk toward you both across the tracks.

“Aigooo, gwiyeoun jag eun- goyangi~. Yeosang childishly babbles.

(“Oh my goodness, a cute little kitty.”)

“I mean…” he quickly tries to cover his mouth as you begin to snicker. “Hajima!” He shouts with the prettiest pout.

“Neo, gwiyeowo Yeosang-ie!”, you say playfully poking his reddened cheeks that are soft to the touch.

(“You’re so cute Yeosang-ie!”)

His attention continues to be drawn to the cat as you playfully coddle him. He began tapping on your arm, and initially you thought that he was embarrassed. However, he kept on going then pointed in front of you. Hilariously, the cat pauses and watches your sudden silly actions with confusion.

“Oh…” you whisper as you pause in your teasings. “Let me not scare it.” You grab onto his coat sleeve, pulling him off the bench with you as your knees hover over the ground. “Get low.”

The cats eyes follow through with both of your flows in movement, it’s eyes gloss over with a color changing sheen. “Oh my, its eyes look so scary”, Yeosang notes.

“Well, its body language says otherwise”, you kindly inform him. “Its tail is straight up with a little curl at the end.” Your pointer finger bend as you trace its tail in sight. “That means it feels friendly.”

“Oh really?!” He merrily exclaims, leaning up further to inspect the animal. “Dook dook dook~,” he clicks his tongue, trying to regain its interest. “Nice to meet you Friendly, I’m Yeosang~”

Awed by him, you ask the long-haired animal to join you both. “'Mere friendly come, come!”

“Meow~” It seems to have an effect as it turns its direction-walking toward the bench. When it approaches, it pauses its fierce struts to decide who to go, and ultimately, Yeosang wins in favor. His touches are delicate with just the small back of his pointer finger. The pretty white cat's backside arched with delight, snuggling between the both of you and purring.

“Are you cat whisperer?” He mutters, watching as its head turns over in your lap.

“Well look at who’s talking after being the chosen one to a stray cat.” In Yeosang’s hold, it turns on its back showing its belly as a sign of trust. You knew animals could sense people’s spirits, and not for a second did you doubt its judgment.

“I was a previous owner of one,” You suddenly speak, easily regaining Yeosang’s listening ears. “Her name was Clementine, an orange tabby cat.”

He hums as he listens attentively, reaching his hand to stroke the kitty’s tummy. “Where’s Clementine now?”

As you point to the gray clouds in the sky, you remark, "Cloud surfing" then momentarily adding, "Kidney disease.” You whispered softly to yourself, "No wonder she drank so much water."

He turns toward you, eyes raking over the side of your sorrowed face. “At least Clementine can be in meow meow paradise now. Eating all the fishes- and scratching all the furniture she wants.”

You burst into fits of laughter, turning to Yeosang and budging him over playfully with your shoulder. “Oh gosh, you’re right. She loved doing all of that!”

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you grow fond of the elegant cat lying on your lap. “At least we can enjoy Friendly here together now, and eventually he and Clementine will be cloud surfing forever together in meow meow paradise.”

“Best friends.”, Yeosang adds quickly from his thoughts.

“This is so worth getting rabies for.”, you teasingly reply. Easing the incoming intensity. Yeosang laughs deeply, each noise filled with joy.

“Seonsyain!” (“Sunshine!”) A voice belonging to an older woman rings across the tracks, walking quickly as she heads towards the bench the kitty springs up from.

“Geogi isseo nae sarang!”

(“There you are my love!”)

“Gamsahabnida! Geuneun hangsang gung geumhaehago nachseon salamdeul eul mannanda.”

(“Thank you so much! He always wondering off and meeting strangers.”)

“O geulae? Nan neol mideul su eobso Seonsyain!”

(“Oh is that so? I can’t believe you Sunshine!”)

Yeosang sass with his hand on his hips, only mockingly pretending to be upset. “Imposter!” Yeosang points and shouts, making Sunshine scurry away to his rightful owner.

The elder lady scoops him up and coddles him like a newborn child, and he turns his head in her chest.

She swaddles Sunshine as he tweedles off her small coos, glancing back up at the both of you sitting side by side.

“Neohui duleun hamkke gwiyeobda. Keopuel iseyeo?”

(“You two are cute together. Are you a couple?”)

The synchronization in which you both bulge eyes at one another makes it seem as if your next words are a tale.

Ani! Chingudeul!

(“No! just friends!”)

“Geureom kkwae saelobgessji…? Geulsse, mannaseo bangawosseo. Annyeong Seonsyain!”

(Must be fairly new then…? Well, it was nice to meet you. Say bye Sunshine.”)

Sunshine lacked the decency to even look in your guys' direction. As if he hadn’t been rubbing feverishly between the both of you minutes ago.

As you both part ways on opposite sides of the tracks, scolding and high-pitched meows echo in the distance. You let out a giggle when it was safe, nudging a light elbow jab into Yeosang’s biceps. “What do you think about that?”

“Oh well it was unexpected but…” he says thinking about the word “couple”, as a label settling so easily onto you two.

“No seriously, I can’t believe Sunshine only pretended to be friendly after all! Still, I can’t deny it, he’s just too cute.”

Yeosang’s hand graces right in the area your elbow nudges him, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s a bit cold right?”

Your eyebrows furrow. With only a half hour gone by, and the meeting of a fluffy white cat, you had just noticed the blowing wind carrying a slight chill.

“Yeah…it’s gotten worse since we’ve got here. Right in the middle of the season change.” Just then the hairs on your neck become prickly, running an uncontrollable shiver down your spine. “I could go for a hot cocoa, or even boba...”

Following your suggestion, Yeosang turns in his seat and regains consciousness from his perplexed thoughts. “Oh, that’s right! Like a…goyangi cape?” Yeosang happily exclaims.

(“...cat cafe?”)

“Yes, that’s perfect! Well done, Yeosang!”, you praise. At this rate, any idea of his was always a bright one. You honestly just love the way his eyes shine after you compliment him. “You still trust cats after this?”

“Oh well actually…”, he says as his hand come to stroke his cloth covered chin, “I have mind change…”

“I’m kidding!”, you playfully cry. “It does sound warm and snuggly though. We could go”, you propose.

“Okay then,” Yeosang declares, let’s find real friendly goyangi and drink delicious drinks!”

“Yay!’”, you shout as you parade happily off the bench. Yeosang just joyfully followed you along, as you waved for the next taxi. Yeosang despite the weather felt warm inside to see where the next adventure could take the two of you.

…

As you both enter the cafe, the soft glow of the pendant lights hanging from the ceiling casts a warm, inviting ambiance. The walls are adorned with art of various cats in adorable poses. A calming aroma of lavender and freshly ground coffee beans welcomes the both of you.

Despite the cafe being packed with patrons, the atmosphere remains surprisingly calm and orderly. Customers chat softly as they sip their drinks, some engrossed in conversation while others play with the curious felines weaving between the tables.

Yeosang carefully pulls you to sit at a small table near the walls behind a ceiling to floor beam-pulling down his beanie further over his eyes. He even grabs a side piece of his hair, patting the right side to sit directly on his birthmark.

You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, eyes darting around the bustling cafe. It's not the crowd that unnerves you, but the fear that derives from Yeosang. You tap the table twice, causing his head to perk up as you force a smile. You level your fingers up and down your torso, taking a deep breath- trying to push down the familiar flutter of anxiety in both of your chests.

The barista, a cheerful young woman with cat ears on her headband, notices the both of you and walks over. “Whiskers & Beans osin geoseul hwanyeonghabnida!” Jeoneun Mochi inbnida.”

( “Welcome to Whiskers & Beans!' 'I'm Mochi.”)

The two of you greet her in the opposite mood of her cheerful state. Considering she was the one at work, everything felt severely displaced.

“Oh annyeongsaeho…”, you nervously bow in greeting.

(“Oh, hello…”)

“Ne.” She commends. “Masigo sipeun geosi isseubnikka? Keopi? Boba?”

(“Is there anything you would like to drink?” Coffee? Boba?”)

“Erm…” You look to Yeosang who hasn’t even spared the woman a glance. Which you hope may conclude that he hasn’t came to a decision yet? You couldn’t be sure yourself. “I’ll have a strawberry popping boba with strawberry milk tea.” She nods as you speak diligently taking down the order on her pad.

“Seonsaegngnim?”

(“And you sir?”)

Without promoting him further, the waitress slightly lowers her head to check in with him on a closer level, but he remains in a still. Only you were attentive enough to notice his tapping finger on the menu. “Oh! Uhhh-”

“He’ll have the passion fruit tea with…” his finger moves to the topping section “Mango popping boba”, you add on.

Mochi's cheerful demeanor faltered at Yeosang's silence, casting an uncomfortable glance his way. But you intercepted her look, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Gamsahabnida!” (“Thanks!”) you called after her retreating figure, trying to dispel the lingering tension.

“Arraseo….”, she mutters, then walking off to the kitchen in front.

(“Got it….”)

As you calmly revert your attention to Yeosang you gently asked, "Yeosang-ah, gwenchanaeyo?" As he curled his arms around himself, he mumbled something about the cold weather as he shrugged.

(“Yeosang-ah…is everything okay?”)

You couldn’t bother him about the matter. He did have a solid point about the weather. But yet the cafe was quite warm with the heating and the fluffy fuzzy animals.

As you waited for your drinks, you reached for the stack of colorful kids' paper menus in the center of the table. A subsequent means of distraction. “Hey, let's color these while we wait.” you suggested, pushing a menu and a limited set of crayons towards Yeosang.

Yeosang hesitated for a moment before picking up a crayon, his fingers moving slowly and deliberately as he began to color the kitten balancing on a ball. The simple, repetitive motion seemed to soothe him, and he soon became absorbed in the task- his shoulders relaxing slightly.

By the time Mochi, the waitress, had set your drinks down, Yeosang's menu was a riot of colors - a vibrant distraction from his earlier discomfort. She smiled approvingly at the sight, her earlier discomfort forgotten.

You took a sip of your drink, feeling the sweet and spongy flavors and textures mingle on your tongue. Yeosang continued to color quietly, the gentle scrape of the crayon against the paper the only sound breaking the cafe's gentle hum.

With your tall beverages only half finished in to-go cups, you and Yeosang joined the other patrons at the cat lounge. A more brightly lit room filled with plush cushions, cat trees, and a cacophony of purrs.

Yeosang carefully set aside his colored menu, and drink, his eyes immediately drawn to a fluffy grey kitten curled up in a ball on a nearby cushion. He reached out a hand, letting the kitten sniff his fingers before gently petting its soft fur.

The kitten, seemingly approving of Yeosang's touch, uncurled and began to nuzzle into his hand. Yeosang's face lit up with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Crouching down beside Yeosang, you teasingly asked, “Are you a cat whisperer?”, recalling his earlier question at the bus station. His reaction was sudden and silly - he pressed a finger to his lips and made a ' shhh' sound. The kitten, oblivious to the drama, continued to purr contentedly in his hand.

Unable to resist the adorable sight, you pulled out your phone and snapped a quick photo of Yeosang and the kitten. He glanced up at the sound of the camera click, a faint blush coloring his cheeks at being caught in such a tender moment.

"'Was that okay?” you asked, showing him the photo. “I won’t post it anywhere, promise.” Yeosang looked at the screen, his eyes softening as he took in the image. You take his silence as rejection, understandably reaching to click the trash button.

Until he grabs the tip of your finger as it was merely an inch from nonexistence. "It’s okay. Can I see it again?” he asked softly. You handed him the phone, watching as he traced the image of the kitten with his fingertip, and the outer corner of his lids folding with a happy crinkle.

After a moment, Yeosang handed the phone back to you, “Keep it”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I like it.'"

Your afternoon was filled with hours of playing with the various cats, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. In your joint effort, you poked laser pointers at them, fed them treats, and even attempted to teach a particularly stubborn kitten how to play fetch, and just as it mastered the skill for the very first time, it flopped on its side from exhaustion.

As the daylight began to wane, you both found yourselves by the cash register, browsing the selection of cat-themed merchandise.

"Oh, look how cute, Sangie~," you exclaimed, gesturing towards a display of face masks adorned with various mouths and whiskers.

"Hehe, majayo” (“you're right”),' he chuckled softly, reaching out to gently touch one of the masks. “Which is my style?” Yeosang asks with a playful glint in his eye, clearly enjoying your shared amusement over the adorable face coverings.

You pointed out a black mask with lined blush and adorable fangs that peeked from a smile. “I like this one,” you giggle with a grin.

"'Really? My style?” Yeosang asked, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he examined the mask more closely. He held it up to his face, peering at you over the top of it with a mischievous glare. “How do I look?"

"'Yaong yaong~'" you cooed in a playful, exaggerated cat voice. It couldn’t have suited Yeosang any better. A flustered kitten with a little hidden mischief. He chuckles, the sound muffled slightly by the soft fabric and the mark he already had on. He gently sets the mask back on the display, walking toward the exit and beckoning you slyly to come along.

As Yeosang turned assuming you were to follow, you swiftly grabbed the mask and a cat blanket for yourself, jogging to the cash register. "I'm going to get this for you," you declared, pulling out your phone to tap on the machine before he could intervene.

“Ya! Wae geuleohge babo gateun geol eodneun geoya?”

(“Hey! Why would you get something so silly?”)

He playfully groans as the cashier fixes to place the item in a miniature bag. He removes his hat momentarily to push his hair back under, unintentionally grabbing the attention of the workers up front.

The cashier's eyes widened as she locked onto Yeosang, her voice filled with excitement and slight disbelief. "Oh, Seonsaengnim! Neo Yeosang-iya? K-pop idol?" she asked, her gaze bouncing between Yeosang and you.

Not before long it attracted the started of nearby strangers gazes. Yeosang's expression shifted, his demeanor becoming as it were when you first came in.

“O mianhe, nan nega malhaneun Yeosang-I Aniya.”

(“Sorry. Im not this Yeosang you speak of.”) he says in a much deeper voice, avoiding eye contact as he spoke in a lower register than his usual tone.

The cashier looked slightly taken aback, her brow furrowing briefly as if trying to reconcile the disguised face before her with the famous idol she thought she'd recognized.

“A neo jeongmal dalmasseo! Mian.”

(“Oh you look just alike! Sorry…” ) She paused, then shrugged as she rang up the purchase.

As you paid for the mask, you couldn’t help but let your mind race as you walked beside Yeosang out of the shop. Who was the man you were with? If he was famous, why did he deny it? Was he some sort of star gone incognito?

You stole glances at him as you both strolled along the bustling street. He seemed so normal, so... un-famous. Yet, the cashier's reaction and his odd response gnawed at your curiosity. You bit your lip, debating whether to ask him outright or let the mystery linger.

As you walked, you finally found the courage to ask, "Who is this guy the cashier confused you with? Another Yeosang?" You looked at him sideways, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reaction. Would he laugh it off again, or maybe reveal a hint about his true identity?

Yeosang's expression remained neutral as he replied, “Famous K-pop idol. It happens a lot in Korea." he said nonchalantly, his tone mirroring his previous denial.

“Oh..maja.” You whisper.

(“Oh right.”)

And yet the events that you’ve experienced a K-pop idol accused of being a K-pop idol is in the airport. Typically, they are 90% are true to their character. But possibly, there just might be a first time for everything.

The city streets become peaceful at the hour. Working civilians have gotten off from their work shifts and into their homes, leaving the streets nearly vacant with only other walkers being seen every few minutes. You both walk further, strolling with crowding thoughts that equate to your footsteps.

Just as you were in the heart of another town, a bridge and its underpass by a nearby lake comes into view. “How would you like to sit by the lake for a moment?”

Yeosang glances around near and far from the area that surrounds it as he contemplates all the odds. There isn’t any, there weren’t any to begin with, but precautions are his safety nets from the unnecessary recognition.

"Sure, that sounds nice," he agreed, following your gaze to a serene lake nearby. As you both found a spot to sit on a bench overlooking the water, he pulls down his mask briefly, inhaling the biggest breath of fresh air.

…

Some time had passed, enough that the light of day had disappeared, and the awakening of all street lights. You found yourself sitting cross-legged with a lucious cat blanket covering you and Yeosang by the lake's edge. Thankfully he brought hot packs that burn into your skin so good with the freezing cold. The two of you were engaged in an intense game of rock paper scissors, giggling as you made your gestures.

Yeosang let out a triumphant "ololololol" with his tongue as he won yet again, his fingers wiggling tauntingly in front of your face. He couldn't help but laugh at your expressions, which ranged from slight irritation to full-blown pouting.

As you let out a frustrated gasp when he won yet again, Yeosang suddenly embraces your entire head in his hands, his laughter echoing around you as he hugs it slightly. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he apologizes between giggles, before clearing his throat, tilting your head back in place, and masking a instant serious expression.

“Ya, you’re lucky you’re so cute.”Yeosang cheeks burn and blossom as he tries to hide his smile, even without you looking. Your head was still casted downward after your slip. Thank goodness for the weather, because you feel like Rudolph the way your skin burns so bright.

Once he shoved down his feelings, which came to him naturally as he learned to manage his professionalism over the years- he embraces your head once again. You meet his eyes in the mellow lights, they’re still warm with a different feel.

Yeosang perceives the connection as a means to continue the game, but behind his eyes you could see his worried mind. It’s been that way since you left the cafe. Out of respect you let the subject lie in peace, but you couldn’t help but let it rise out of your mouth once more.

“Yeosang-ssi?” The formal title you call to him certainly swings his mood pushed further by your monotoned voice. “N-ne?”

“Dangsin-eun hangug deulamaui beau ibnikka?”

(“Could it be that you’re an actor in a kdrama?”)

Yeosang's eyes widen slightly at your question, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly composes himself. He hesitates for a moment, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "I am not actor,” he responds, his tone carefully neutral even as a faint blush colors his cheeks.

You nervously chews on your lips, flicking the skin around your nail bed like a lighter as the forming hangnails burn to the touch. You’re most afraid of making any wrong moves or saying something that could potentially ruin the newfound friendship.“Well then…who are you? Can you tell me?”

Yeosang sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks out at the lake. "I can't," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water against the small grass hill’s edge. He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and frustration.

“Will you get in trouble?” The pressure to maintain this new bond adds to the anxiety, making even the simplest actions seem fraught with danger.

Yeosang's gaze lingers on yours for a moment before he looks away, his jaw clenching. "Yes, I will get in trouble," he admits, his voice low and strained. He pauses, seeming to consider his next words carefully before speaking in a rushed whisper, "So please keep my secret. I still tell you." He reaches out, hesitantly placing his hand on your arm in a comforting gesture.

As Yeosang finishes speaking, he looks at you with pleading eyes, his hand still resting on your arm. The atmosphere is heavy with tension, the sound of the lake's gentle waves and the soft blowing wind as the only other frequencies. You can feel the weight of his secret, the risk he's taking by sharing it with you.

Your eyes glimmer with radiance as you watch Yeosang shine under the street light, “Of course you’re an idol Yeosangie. You are kind and handsome. You’re the best.”

Yeosang blinks, seemingly caught off guard by your response. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, his shoulders relaxing. "You're not upset?" he asks softly, his thumb gently brushing against your arm.

“No. I'm happy now! Everything makes so much sense.” You point toward his mask and hat that covers the majority of his face.

Yeosang's smile widens, relief washing over him as he reaches up to completely remove his mask and hat, revealing his true face to you. His features are even more striking without the coverings, his sharp jawline and piercing eyes making your heart skip a beat.

“Daebak…neo jeongmal maelyeogjeogiya.”

(“Amazing…you’re really charming.”)

Yeosang's face flushes a deep red as you compliment his appearance, his eyes darting away shyly. “Ah you…kure? (really)” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a jumbled but endearing way. "I feel... happy. Very happy."

As you watched Yeosang grow increasingly flustered by your compliments, you couldn't help but be amused. With a knowing smirk, you tapped him on the thigh and asked him to showcase his hidden talents. You couldn't wait to see what talents he had been hiding from all this time. “Can you show new a dance?”

Yeosang's eyes widen at your request, a nervous energy suddenly filling his body. "Dance? For you?" he asks, his voice trembling slightly. He takes a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage. "Okay…I try.”

“Fighting!” You shout encouragingly with a firm fist.

Yeosang blushes at your gratitude, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he stands up. "Fighting" he murmurs, before taking a deep breath as he tires in the search bar of a music streaming app, then beginning to dance.

“Oh... jjakaman!” You jump up with a waning hand. What song is this?”

Yeosang pauses mid-movement, tilting his head in confusion. "Song?" he echoes before slightly picking out his phone from his pocket. "It’s very famous Korean dance song. You know PSY?”

A chuckle burst from your lungs and floats into smoke in the chilling air. “Everyone knows PSY Yeosang-ah. But, I want to know you, Yeosang. I want your song.”

Yeosang bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before nodding shyly. He taps into the search bar once again. "Okay...this is my group’s debut song, Pirate King," he announces. He pulls out wireless headphones this time and onto your ears. He slowly takes steps backward to conduct his very own live-action show.

“Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang!”

Yeosang's eyes light up at your chanting, a bright smile spreading across his face. He starts dancing with renewed energy, his movements are fluid and graceful as he performs the choreography to "Pirate King". His face is flushed with excitement, even without hearing the music he stays sharp with every beat in his moves.

As Yeosang dances to the outro, you can't help but cheer him on, clapping and shouting his name with each flawless move. His dance is filled with complex footwork, intricate hand gestures, and powerful executions of body control. He especially made sure to go harder on his parts and he didn’t let it go unnoticed as he pointed to himself.

Yeosang finishes the dance with a powerful pose, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for your reaction. You slowly take off the headphones, your eyes wide with surprise and admiration. “You…are a superstar!”

Yeosang's face lights up at your words, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Ohhh…aniyo~" he stutters, his eyes darting away from yours. "I...I'm glad you liked it. I practiced...a lot."

“I can see that! You did so well Yeosang-ssi!”Yeosang beams with pride at your praise, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Thank you...thank you so much," he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. He looks down at his feet, a small smile playing on his lips as he seems to bask in your praise.

You can't help but admire Yeosang as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling with each intake. You can't help but admire Yeosang's humble demeanor, despite his incredible talents. Slowly, you reach out and lift his chin, wanting his eyes to meet yours. His gaze locks onto yours, filled with warmth and vulnerability. "Let's go back to the hotel.”

…

Upon arriving back at the hotel, Yeosang asks, "You want to order room service?" You hesitate, before confessing, "To be honest, I'm not comfortable eating alone in my room alone. Would it be okay if I stayed with you for a while?"

Yeosang's eyes widen slightly at your request, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Oh! Of course, you're welcome to join me," he says softly, his voice warm with genuine hospitality. He opens the door to his room, gesturing for you to enter. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

You murmur a soft "thank you" as you timidly step into Yeosang's room, taking in the unfamiliar luxury of a K-pop idol by accommodation. The layout is not too different from yours, but it's noticeably tidier.

Yeosang walks ahead and sits on his bed as he picks up the phone to order room service, Your eyes wander around him and his room, noticing the neat piles of clothes, the well-organized desk with a book and a stack of letters, and the clean bathroom visible through the open door.

Yeosang covers the phone's speaker and turns to you, his voice soft as he asks, "What would you like to eat?" But you're momentarily distracted, still taking in the cleanliness and orderliness of his room. It takes a beat for his words to sink in. "Hm?"

Yeosang scoops his hands in the air and toward his mouth, clearly indicating his question as he repeats, "What would you like to eat, love?” His expression is patient and understanding, realizing you may still be overwhelmed by the situation.

You hesitate, feeling a bit out of place and unsure of what to ask for. Your hesitation and uncertainty cause Yeosang to smile gently at you. “No worries, I'll take care of it," he assures you, his voice warm. He then speaks into the phone, ordering in Korean, his tone polite yet firm.

Yeosang sets the phone down and turns to face you, his expression soft. "All set," he says, his eyes crinkling with a warm smile. Seeing you still standing timidly by the door, he pats the bed beside him, inviting you to sit.

You apologize profusely as you walk towards him, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. "I'm so sorry, Yeosang, I'm being so awkward," you mutter, your hands fidgeting nervously. Yeosang chuckles softly, patting the space beside him again.

"You...comfort, please, okay?” His eyes are hopeful, eager to bridge the gap between you two.

As you sit down beside Yeosang, keeping a respectful distance between the two of you, you notice the balcony curtains are slightly open. The city lights sparkle through the glass, creating a beautiful view. Yeosang glances at the balcony, his expression turning thoughtful.

"The view, it's...beautiful, isn't it?” Yeosang muses softly, his gaze distant as he looks at the city skyline. “It reminds me of our fans.” He turns to face you, his expression turning serious.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you pitch in before he can speak to say the thing that has been heavy on your mind. “Are you...okay with everything? Being here, with me, I mean?"

Yeosang's eyes widen slightly at your question, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He takes a deep breath before responding, "I...I am okay. Very okay." He nods, his voice soft but sincere. "You make me feel.. safe and comfortable."

“Oh…I’m happy then. You make me feel safe too.” You look down and smile before looking outside the window along with him. “Thank you for all you’ve done Yeosang. I know this isn’t easy as an idol.”

Yeosang's heart swells with happiness at your words, his face lighting up with a warm smile. He looks down at you, his gaze filled with affection before turning his attention back to the view outside the window. "You’re worth it. It's my honor," he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

Your heart swells with emotion at Yeosang's words, and before you can rein it in, tears well up in your eyes. You try to hide them, looking down and blinking rapidly, but a telltale sniffle escapes you.

Yeosang's eyes widen with concern as he notices your tears. In a flustered but adorable manner, he jumps up from the bed and scampers to the bathroom on the opposite side, grabbing a handful of tissues. He rushes back to you, his brow furrowed with worry.

"I'm fine no need to fuss," you insist, waving your hands as Yeosang tries to gently dab at your tears. He frowns, looking unsure whether to respect your wishes or press on the matter.

"No, no, let me help..." he insists softly, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. A muffled voice calls out, “Room service Yeosang-ssi!”

Yeosang hurriedly calls out a bright, "Ne!" confirming his consent for the room service to enter. As the door opens, he turns to you with a gentle smile, expecting to share a moment... but you've suddenly vanished. You've quickly rolled under the bed to be kept out of sight, leaving Yeosang bewildered.

Yeosang's eyes widen as he realizes where you've disappeared. He panics briefly, his mouth opening and closing silently like a fish out of water. He hurriedly tries to compose himself as the room service attendant wheels in a cart filled with delicious-looking food. “Kansamida!”

The attendant smiles warmly at Yeosang, asking if there's anything else he can do for him. However, Yeosang is too distracted by the need to retrieve you from under the bed to pay much attention. He quickly declines, saying "No, nothing else is needed, thank you."

Jeulgyo!" the attendant responds politely, bowing before backing out of the room and closing the door behind him. As soon as the door clicks shut, Yeosang rushes to the bed, crouching down to peer underneath. "Hey...come out, please?"

You shift around under the bed, but the confined space makes it difficult for you to move. After a moment of struggling, you poke your hand out from under the bed, waving it helplessly. "Uh, Yeosang...I think I'm stuck," you call out, your voice muffled.

Yeosang's eyes widen with concern as he sees your hand waving helplessly from under the bed. He immediately drops to his knees, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. "Don't worry, I've got you.”

With a strong grip, Yeosang pulls you out from under the bed, his arms wrapping around your back to strengthen his grip. In his eagerness, he pulls you so hard that you end up tumbling into his lap, your face flushing red from the sudden close contact. "Are you okay?"

You quickly scramble out of Yeosang's lap, your face flushed with embarrassment. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to...um, fall on you like that," you stammer, avoiding his gaze. “but um… I'm okay.”

Yeosang rises to his feet smoothly, a gentle smile playing on his lips despite the awkward situation. He extends his hand towards you, his eyes warm and twinkling with amusement. "It's alright. Let’s eat our dinner and watch a movie together.

You look up at him with endearing eyes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You gently grasp his hand, feeling the difference in his touch this time. His grip is gentler, more careful. "Okay," you whisper, allowing him to help you up.

You both settle onto the couch, surrounded by the mountain of food Yeosang had ordered. As you watch several K-dramas, you snack on the delicious spread, marveling at how much food there is. You can easily eat dinner, breakfast, and lunch out of this haul, and still have leftovers.

As the night wears on, the K-drama binge continues, the volume low as the characters whisper and declare their love for one another. You, having become increasingly comfortable around Yeosang, lowered yourself to be nestled in his shoulder.

Yeosang's eyes widen as you settle into his side, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. His hands hover uncertainly at his sides for a moment before he hesitantly rests them on your arms, giving you a gentle, almost tentative stroke to your skin.

Time slips away as you both become engrossed in the drama. It's only when Yeosang glances at his watch that he realizes how late it has gotten. "It's...it's really late," he murmurs, He looks over at you, expecting you to nod in agreement and maybe suggest retiring to your own room...

But instead, he finds you curled up asleep on his lap, your head resting on his bicep and your arms wrapped around a soft, fluffy kitten blanket. Yeosang's heart melts at the adorable sight, but he's also aware of his awkward situation.

Gently, Yeosang tries to ease out from under you, but his movements only cause you to groan softly and burrow closer, your arms tightening around the kitten blanket and pulling him back down.

Faced with your snug, sleeping form, Yeosang decides it's just easier to sit back and try to fall asleep himself. He carefully adjusts his position, laying back against the couch with you still curled up on his lap.

His mind races with thoughts as he tries to fall asleep. The warmth of your body against his, the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing, and the gentle weight of your head on his side all conspire to keep him awake. As he relaxes, Yeosang finds his eyelids growing heavy. The rhythmic sound of your gentle snores fills the room, lulling him into a relaxed state. He takes one last look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips before he, too, drifts off to sleep.

As dawn breaks, the first rays of sunlight peek through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stir, awakening from a deep slumber to find yourself draped over a warm, unfamiliar torso. For a moment, confusion reigns supreme as your bleary eyes as they struggle to focus.

Then after your memory returns, as you recall the events of the previous day - the impromptu cat cafe run, the hand games and conversation by the romantic lake, a dramatic yet entertaining k drama, and the exhaustion that led to you falling asleep on Yeosang.

Flustered, you quickly disentangle yourself from his limbs, your face flaming with embarrassment. You carefully shift his body to lay him down comfortably before tiptoeing around the room, straightening cushions and tidying up the remnants of last night's snacking.

As you work, your mind races with thoughts of how to make things right. You decide that the perfect way to reward Yeosang for the wonderful day he gave you yesterday would be to take him to the arcade once he wakes. he seemed so excited when he won all the games you played yesterday, so it just made sense.

Satisfied with the cleanliness of the room, you grab your phone and check the time. It's still early, so you decide to hop in your shower next door and freshen up before Yeosang wakes.

You throw over a blanket on his relaxed body and tiptoe out of the room as you slowly pull the latch close to lessen the clicking noise of the closed door.

You find yourself smiling under the steam, your heart fluttering in your chest. It's then that you realize just how much you've come to care for Yeosang in such a short time. You quickly shake off the thought, attributing it to the romantic atmosphere of the dramas you'd watched last night.

Yet his kindness, his laughter, his passion for his infamous job, and his devastatingly handsome face all flash through your mind.

You step out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel from its warmer around you as you dry off. As you're getting dressed, you hear the sound of movement from the other room.

Your ears perk up at the sound, and you can't help but grin. You finish getting dressed quickly, pulling on a warm comfortable outfit that still looks put-together. You make your way to sit in your bedroom just as Yeosang starts to stir awake.

Yeosang stretches languidly, his arms reaching high above his head as he blinks his eyes open. He looks around dazedly for a moment, his gaze landing on the tidied-up living room.

A soft smile plays on his lips as he remembers the events of the previous night. He sits up, rubbing his eyes before freshening up in hopes of you two beginning another day together.

As the water cascades over him, Yeosang too finds his mind drifting to yesterday, to last night. His thoughts mirror yours - your smile, your laughter, your kindness. But unlike you, Yeosang is more confused about these feelings.

He's been in the industry long enough to know that such thoughts are natural when spending enough time with a person. But these feelings feel... different. They feel deeper, more profound. And it unnerves him.

He turns off the shower, stepping out to dry himself. As he gets dressed, he can't shake off the thoughts. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, his expression unreadable. "It's probably just... only me," he murmurs to himself, trying to convince himself more than anything.

Yeosang steps out of the bathroom, his hair still damp and his face fresh from the shower. He's dressed casually in a comfortable cardigan and jeans, looking every bit as handsome as he did yesterday and more. As he opens his front door, he finds you standing there, a warm smile on your face.

Yeosang's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but it's quickly replaced by a bright smile. "Good morning," he says, his voice still slightly husky from sleep. "Good morning, how did you sleep?” you ask.

"Quite well, actually," Yeosang replies, a slight giggle escaping his lips. "The couch is surprisingly comfortable.”

You rub the back of your neck sheepishly, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I didn’t mean to. Yesterday was just so well spent with you that it left me exhausted," you admit.

Yeosang waves off your apology, his smile growing wider. "No, no, it's fine! I enjoyed it," he confesses, his cheeks flushing slightly.

You slowly nod, your eyes meeting his. There's a moment of silence between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. Eventually, you break the silence, "So, I was thinking, we could go to the arcade today, if you'd like."

Yeosang's face lights up with excitement. "The arcade? With games and the prizes?" he asks, his voice eager. You laugh, nodding in confirmation. "Exactly like that," you reply. "Unless, of course, we can see if the train is running again?”

Yeosang's excitement dims slightly at the mention of the train, but he quickly recovers. “Actually this morning I find app about train," He pulls out his phone and opens the train app to check the schedule.

You chew your lips nervously. Not wanting to pull away from him so soon when you felt like you’ve hadn’t even repaid the half of your debts. “So…what does it say?”

"Let me see..." Yeosang mutters, scrolling through the app. "Ah…still no good.”

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief washing over you. "Well then, arcade it is," you say with a smile. "But first, let's go grab some breakfast downstairs.”

Yeosang nods, a grateful smile on his face. "Sounds perfect," he says, already moving towards the door.

As Yeosang reaches for the doorknob, you gently touch his arm, making him pause. "Your mask," you remind him softly, looking up at him with a gentle smile. Yeosang turns back to you, his brow furrowing in confusion for a moment before he remembers.

A sheepish grin spreads across Yeosang's face as he reaches up and grabs his mask from where it hangs around his neck. "Ah, right. Thanks for remembering," he says, slipping it on. “I guess I’m so excited.”

You smile warmly at Yeosang, "Come on, let's go eat. I'm starving," you say, leading the way out of the room. As you walk to the elevator, you can't help but steal glances at Yeosang, admiring his profile.

…

As you step out of the cab, you hear Yeosang's sharp intake of breath behind you. "Wow..." he murmurs, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of the three-story arcade standing before you both. "It's...tall" he finishes, a note of awe in his voice.

You giggle at Yeosang's reaction, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. "Yeah, just like you," you tease, your eyes twinkling with mirth. Yeosang flushes at the comparison, but he's grinning from ear to ear.

You lead Yeosang inside, the sounds of games and laughter enveloping you both. You approach the token counter, asking for a small bucketful. The attendant counts out the tokens into a red plastic bucket, which you take with a smile, paying him before turning back to Yeosang.

"Let's play some games!," you suggest, shaking up the bucket of tokens. Yeosang's eyes light up, and he eagerly follows you to the nearest shooting game. You both take turns, making pew-pew noises as you pull the trigger, laughing and competing with each other.

After a few rounds of the shooting game, you move on to a rhythm game, noticing Yeosang's keen interest. He watches you play for a moment before hesitantly stepping up to the machine. You cheer him on, offering suggestions and guidance as he tries his hand.

Yeosang's face lights up with determination as he starts playing, his fingers moving quickly across the buttons. You clap and cheer him on, his confidence growing with each successful combo. Eventually, he finishes the song, beaming with pride. "I did it!"

You pull him into a tight hug, laughing. "You did amazing!" You grin mischievously, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the next game.

The fast-paced excitement of air hockey quickly becomes your favorite game. The puck zips back and forth, each of you determined to outscore the other. When the bonus round hits and dozens of pucks suddenly flood the table, it's pure chaos - and exhilarating fun!

Yeosang's eyes widen in delight as the pucks pour out, his hands a blur of motion as he frantically tries to send them flying into your goal. The frenzied pace and adrenaline rush have you both laughing breathlessly, lost in the thrill of the game.

As the game continues, a crowd begins to form, drawn by your animated cheering and the spectacle of the bonus round. Reluctantly, you both step away from the table, your game abandoned by the increasing attention.

With arms laden around a steaming pizza box, a bag of warm, chocolate dipped churros, and two towering fountain drinks, you and Yeosang find a quiet corner to sit in. The break is much-needed, allowing you both to catch your breath and refuel.

As you sit, munching on a slice of pizza, you glance at Yeosang and ask, "So, are you having a good time?" Yeosang nods enthusiastically, his mouth stain with chocolate from his churro. Once again, the little areas of his face are too covered in yummy goodness and he gives you the silliest thumbs up.

With laughter, you both continue eating, Yeosang's cheerfulness as always is infectious. You decide to head to the bathroom to clean up, taking a wet paper towel to help clean Yeosang's face.

After finishing your food and cleaning up, you both make your way to the escalator, heading up to the second floor where the virtual reality games are located. Yeosang's eyes widen with excitement as he takes in the new selection of games. "Waaa, this is so cool!"

You dive into the different VR experiences, from exploring underwater worlds to soaring through the skies. Yeosang's laughter and amazement fill the air as you both lose yourselves in these alternate realities. Eventually, your gaze lands on a peculiar game - 'Loop Idol.' "Hey, let's try this one!"

Yeosang eyes the famous 'K-pop Idol' striking pose in the game hesitantly, biting his lower lip. "Really? Isn't that kind of embarrassing?" he asks, glancing around to ensure no one is watching. However, his curiosity seems to outweigh his hesitation. After a moment of deliberation, he nods.

Yeosang awkwardly slips into the VR headset, fumbling a bit as he adjusts the straps. As the game loads, the first scene greets him with exaggerated fanfare. He can't help but snicker at how absurdly glamorous it all looks compared to reality.

The game starts throwing around exaggerated scenarios - thousands of screaming fans at every performance, instant viral fame for every post, and a ridiculously oversized mansion to live in with the other "idols". Yeosang shakes his head with amusement.

However, amidst the over-the-top fantasy, a few aspects are surprisingly true. The grueling practice schedules, the constant scrutiny of appearance and behavior, the pressure to maintain a perfect image... Yeosang finds himself nodding along, as the recollection of familiar memories comes to mind.

After completing the 'K-pop Idol' scenario, Yeosang pulls off the VR headset, cheeks slightly flushed. "It's not that bad...!" he protests weakly, glaring at you who's giggling and snapping 'photos' with an imaginary camera.

You can't help but tease Yeosang, imitating the actions of a paparazzi, snapping photos and shouting out things like "Look over here!" and "Smile, pretty boy!"

Yeosang's embarrassment grows, his face turning a deeper shade of red as he tries to duck away from the 'paparazzi'. He finally covers the uncovered portions of his face with his hands, mumbling something about how embarrassing this is. It only makes you laugh harder, enjoying Yeosang's flustered state.

You pester Yeosang playfully, pulling his hands away from his face. "Come on, don't hide!" You say with another promoted laugh. "You know what's next, right?~”, you say teasingly. “Last floor - karaoke! Ready to finally show me how well you can sing?”

Yeosang peeks out from behind his fingers, looking down at you with a pouty face. "I-I didn't say I could sing well..." he stammers, but there's a glimmer of excitement in his eyes at the prospect of karaoke.

“Well judging from the way you sang on the train…with your headphones on- I think you sing pretty well~,” you sing-song in a teasing tone.

Yeosang's face turns an even deeper shade of red, and he quickly looks away, murmuring something unintelligible.

You wink at Yeosang, quoting his impromptu performance on the train. "Let's just say, I have high expectations.” You help him up from the VR set and link arms with him. "Now, let's go show me what you've got, Yeosang-ie.”

With a gentle tug, you guide Yeosang toward the escalator leading up to the third and final floor. Yeosang hesitates for a moment before stepping onto the escalator, his heart pounding with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

As they ascend to the karaoke floor, Yeosang takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. You squeeze his arm encouragingly as you both approach the private room. "Don't worry, I'll sing first so you'll seem amazing by comparison," you joke with a grin.

Indicated by a green ceiling light, you both enter an unoccupied, private room. As you push open the door, you're greeted by a cozy space with colorful plush sofas, a large flat screenTV, and multiple microphones with colorful plastic wrapping.

Yeosang steps inside, looking around the room with wide eyes. He notices the microphones and his gaze lingers on them before moving to the TV screen displaying the song selection. You follow him in, letting go of his arm to remove the plastic wrapping from one of the microphones.

“Now, what's your poison, Yeo?” You ask, plopping down onto one of the sofas. “Ballad? Pop? hip hop?”

"Uh... poison?” Yeosang blinks rapidly, tilting his head to the side as he processes the word. He hesitates for a moment, then asks, "What genre… I like?”

You laugh softly, waving your hand dismissively. "Of course, my goodness, I meant genre, not actual poison.” You slap yourself on the head, your known limits of his English begin to slip the more you hang out. “What kind of music do you prefer?" You say with a grin, patting the spot next to you on the plush sofa.

Yeosang lets out a small giggle and sits down next to you, his earlier nervousness ebbing away. “I-I like ballads and some pop, but I'm not great with English songs.”

"Ballads and pop, huh? We can work with that!" you give Yeosang an encouraging smile. "I’ll sing 'Someone Like You' by Adele. It's a beautiful ballad that showcases emotion well."

Yeosang nods eagerly, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I know that song! It's really pretty." He watches attentively as you scroll through the song list, locating Adele's "Someone Like You." As the opening chords fill the room, Yeosang leans forward, already captivated by your starting performance.

As the first verse plays, you begin to sing softly. Your voice wavers a bit initially, mirroring your inner discomfort. However, as you sing, you become more immersed in the emotional lyrics. By the chorus, you're standing up, belting out the powerful words with conviction.

By the time the second verse rolls around, you're standing, pouring your soul into the lyrics. Yeosang watches in anticipation as you try to follow through with the pitch of voice requested on screen.

As you finish the last verse and extend your hand to him invitingly, Yeosang hesitates only briefly before taking it. He allows you to gently pull him up to stand beside you.

The final notes of "Someone Like You" fade away, and the room falls silent for a moment as it grows dark. The silence breaks by Yeosang little applauds. “Now it's your turn," you say softly, still holding his hand. "Did you find a song you'd like to sing?”

Yeosang's eyes light up as he recalls the lyrics he's been thinking about. A soft grin spreads across his face as he nods. "I found one," he says, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "It's a ballad in Korean, called 'Me After You' by Paul Kim."

You beam at Yeosang, unknowing bothe the song and the artist but nonetheless pleased with his choice. "Go ahead, Yeo! Show me what you've got," you encourage, settling back into the couch to give him the floor.

Yeosang takes a deep breath, stepping backward to grab his microphone from the glass table. He presses a button on the remote control, setting the lyrics to display in English for your benefit. He already in Korean, had it memorized entirely. As the first lines play, he begins to sing with a gentle, whispering, and soulful voice.

As Yeosang's voice fills the room, captivating both with its melody and the heartfelt lyrics displayed on the screen, you find yourself utterly transfixed. The atmosphere around you seems to shimmer and transform, his earnest performance weaving a tapestry of emotion that blankets the air.

Tears well up in your eyes as you read the poignant lyrics along with the English captions, each word striking a chord deep within your soul. Yeosang's voice is a balm to your heart, his delivery so genuine and powerful that it feels as though he's singing directly to you.

The song's title, 'Me After You,' takes on new significance as you realize that Yeosang has chosen the perfect response to your earlier performance. The lyrics speak of longing, love, and the pain of parting, each sentiment resonating with unmistakable clarity.

As the lyrics unfold, Yeosang's gaze slowly turns towards you, his eyes locking onto yours as he sings the lines: "Even now when I'm anxious / I want to be with you forever / I thought that as I was looking at you / I was so happy after meeting you."

You quickly wipe away the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks, determined not to let them fall. Instead, you summon a radiant smile, allowing it to blossom across your face as you meet Yeosang's gaze.

Your smile is not just one of happiness, but also one of immense pride and deep appreciation. At that moment, you feel a profound sense of connection to Yeosang, your heart swelling with warmth for someone who has become such a cherished friend in an astonishingly short period.

As the song reaches its emotional crescendo, Yeosang's voice cracks with feeling. The room falls silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the microphone and the soft rustling of your conjoined breaths. You rise to your feet, applauding wildly with tears still glistening in your eyes.

"Aigoo!" the exclamation of awe escaping your lips as your applause finally subsides. "Your voice, Yeosang... it's beautiful. I can't find the words to describe it. Thank you for singing for me."

Yeosang's face flushes a soft pink as he smiles shyly, his eyes sparkling with happiness. He bows slightly, his hands trembling slightly as he holds the microphone. "Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm glad I could make you happy."

You step forward, closing the distance between you and Yeosang. As he straightens from his bow, you open your arms wide, inviting him into a warm embrace. He hesitates for a moment, then steps into your arms, wrapping around your waist as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"You did more than that," you whisper, your voice heavy with sincerity. "You sang straight to my heart, Yeosang."

Yeosang tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer. "I'm happy too," he says softly. "Because that's where I wanted my voice to go."

_____________🚂

With the performance wrapped up, you and Yeosang find yourselves back at the hotel for the next couple of days. You're relaxing on the plush couch in his suite, the room filled with a comfortable silence. The heater hums softly in the background, keeping the room toasty warm despite the cold outside. “I know what would make this day better”, you whisper, staring at the mirroring gold borders along the entire room.

"Mmm, what would make this day better?" Yeosang ask, sitting up to face you at the other end of the couch He's curled up with head resting on one hand as he looks down at you expectantly.

“We should try the pool, hot tub, and the sauna here.” You peer behind Yeosang’s head directly shielding the balcony’s peak of light, It’s too cold to go out anymore. So, why not?”

It had basically snowed in after karaoke night as you both were sleeping in your respective hotel rooms. You just knew the light was brighter than it usually was in the early mornings. Just as you peered outside your window, white was the only color in sight.

Yeosang's eyes light up at your suggestion, a grin spreading across his face. "That sounds perfect," he replies, nodding enthusiastically. “Hot tubs are a great idea.” Stretching his arms overhead, a sliver of his abdomen becomes apparent in your line of vision.

It was in that moment prior that you forgot Yeosang was a muscular man. A MAN. In which he will most likely be only wearing swim shorts to your newly scheduled activities.

“I hope you brought swimming clothes Yeosang-ah~.” What you think to say is, ‘I hope you didn’t come prepared for my spontaneous thoughtless ideas consist of being half naked.’

"I did." Yeosang beams, rummaging through his luggage before pulling out a pair of black swimming trunks and a towel. He holds them up, a question in his eyes. "Where’s your swimsuit?"

Yeosang watches as you stand up and turn toward to the door. “ll have to go and get it. I’ll be back soon.” He nods, a gentle smile on his face. "Okay, I'll wait for you here then," he says softly, settling back down onto the plush couch. "Take your time."

You hurry back to your room, digging through your luggage to find your swimsuit. After a few minutes of searching, you finally find it and quickly change into it and your tshirt coverup. You glance at yourself in the mirror, smoothing out your look before heading back out into the hallway.

When you return to Yeosang's room, you find him still sitting on the couch, lost in thought as he gazes out the window. The brightness outside glows around his body like an radiating aura. You clear your throat softly to get his attention, and he turns to look at you with a warm smile.

“Ready to go?" Yeosang asks, hopping up from the couch with a bounce of excitement. He grabs a towel and his key card before holding the door open for you.

Yeosang leads you to a private corner of the pool area, a small '예약됨' (Reserved) sign visible. With a slightly shy smile, he explains, "I... asked for this area to be ours alone."

"Oh right, because you're...right." you say softly, understanding his need for privacy given he primarily exists in a public image.

Yeosang's face lights up with gratitude. "You understand," he says, his voice warm with appreciation. He quickly togs off his shirt without warning, revealing a warmly toned upper body. "Shall we?"

You stand there, momentarily stunned by the sight of Yeosang's sculpted physique. His muscles ripple as he moves, and you can't help but admire him respectfully as he walks over to the pool. You quickly compose yourself and follow him, your eyes fixed on his back as you walk behind him.

As you slowly undress down to your swimwear, you can't help but watch as Yeosang approaches the pool's edge. He watches the water at its still, takes a deep breath, and executes a perfect dive.

He slices through the water like a knife, swimming several laps with powerful, fluid strokes before resurfacing at the other end.

Yeosang's gaze finds you still standing at the edge as he treads water, a playful smirk on his face. He makes a beckoning motion with his hand, clearly inviting you to join him in the cool, refreshing water.

You take a deep breath and dive into the pool, the cool water enveloping you. As you surface, Yeosang is right there, his brown wet hair slicked back, water droplets that dribble on his ends fall gracefully on his skin. He grins at you, looking more relaxed and carefree than you've ever seen him.

(“Mul eun gibun i johji anhni?”)

“The water feels great, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice echoing slightly in the empty pool area. You nod, feeling a little shy as you realize the capacity in the room is only for the two of you to share. "I'll race you to the other end."

Without waiting for a response, Yeosang pushes off from the wall and starts swimming. You hesitate for a moment before taking off after him, laughing as you slice through the water. Even with a head start, Yeosang waits at the end for you to catch up, his smile encouraging.

You finally catch up to him, both of you breathing heavily from the exertion of energy. Through your laughter, you manage to say, "Hey! You have to say 'ready, set, go' before a race!" Yeosang grins mischievously and splashes water at you. Which consequently triggers a whole lot of splashing for the two of you.

“Alright, alright," he concedes. “To the number three, ready? Set... and... go!" He pushes off from the wall again, but this time you're ready. You both race back to the starting end, your laughter bouncing like a sirens song through the empty pool area.

As you both reach the edge, panting and laughing, Yeosang pulls himself out of the water and flops down onto the tiles. "You're pretty fast," you compliment, playfully tapping his long legs dangling in the water.

Yeosang's eyes sparkle with mirth as he looks up at you. His two fingers comb through upward in the air as he falls back down with a grin.

“Iliwa.”

(“Come here.”)

His wet, long, pretty fingers.

You pull yourself out of the water and sit down beside him on the cool tiles of the pool deck. The two of you lie in the sounds of each others breaths for a moment, and if you closed your eyes, well then your imagination painted a pretty picture in your head for ya.

Yeosang turns to you with a gentle smile, breaking the serene silence. "You have a great laugh," he says, his voice warm and genuine. "It's really...sangkwaehan."

Your eyes flutter, readjusting to the bright lights overhead. It was as if you woke up in heaven, stunned at a angels compliment, even if it was random to say. But in all the time of quiet breathing, that must’ve been on his mind. “Refreshing? Thank you…yours is too.”

Yeosang's smile widens at your response, clearly pleased. “Laugh is very important." He leans back on his hands, his body language open and inviting. “Happy comes from laugh.”

Your heart beats triple time at his words, and you find yourself adoring him in all shamelessly. "I think you're right," you agree, feeling a strange warmth spreading through your chest. "Laughter makes us feel happy, and being around someone who laughs easily, is nice."

Yeosang's eyes crinkle warmly as he looks at you. "So, we make each other laugh, yes?" he suggests playfully. "Maybe that's why we get along so well."

“…because we make each other happy,” you whisper.

Yeosang's face lights up at your words. "Exactly," he says, his voice eager. "Happy is best." He sits up straight again, turning his body towards you. "ready, set, go!”

Without any warning, Yeosang suddenly pushes off from the edge and dives into the pool, his splash marking the sudden start of another race. "Hey!" you laugh, quickly following suit and jumping in after him. "You cheater!"

..,

Salty sweat plunges your pores as the two of you step out of the sauna. You're both so relaxed that you can barely keep your eyes open. You stumble back to your respective rooms, coming to a mutual agreement that a steaming shower is due.

Sometime later, a soft knock at your door rouses you from your post-sauna slumber. You wipe your eyes and stumble over to open it, revealing Yeosang standing there like a baby poodle with a shy smile and damp-haired from his shower.

"Oh, sorry…” , he whispers as he watches you wipe your dreary eyes, “can I come in?" he asks quietly, his eyes hopeful. He then holds up a bag of gummy bears as an offering.

You can't help but laugh at his adorable request, and you step aside to let him in. "Of course, come on in! It’s your room too," you say, closing the door behind him. Yeosang enters cautiously, setting the bag of gummy bears on your desk before turning to face you with a shy smile. “Is everything okay? Did you sleep?”

“My sleep, uh, not yet. “But everything's fine.”Yeosang assures you, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just... want to watch K-drama again with…you.”

You blush at his words, the memory of the last time you watched a drama together, and how you subsequently fell asleep on his lap. "Sure, that'd be nice," you reply softly, gesturing to the bed. "Wanna sit?"

Yeosang nods gratefully and settles onto the edge of your bed, patting the space beside him invitingly. As you join him, he hands you the remote with a shy grin. "You pick. Last time was my turn."

Yeosang watches as you scrolls through the list options, a hint of nervousness flickers across you face when you settle on the new romantic K-drama. He releases a soft groan, burying his face in his hands momentarily. "Ah... really? A romance?"

You pout slightly, tilting your head to the side as you look at him. "What's wrong with romance?”

Yeosang peeks at you through his fingers, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. "N-Nothing... It's just... a bit embarrassing to watch with you, that's all," he confesses softly, lowering his hands to his lap.

You gasp loudly in disbelief, horrifically offended. “Embarrassing? Jjinjaro?” You climb to the top of the bed and grab the nearest pillow and aim it square at his back.

The pillow ends up hitting Yeosang in the chest as he turned around at the last second, causing him to let out a soft "Oof!" He catches the pillow the moment it hits him, hugging it to himself as he looks at you with wide, startled eyes.

“Naega mwol han geoya?”

(“What did I do?”)

You glare playfully at Yeosang, while he pouts all wide eyed and confused. Before he can protest further, you jump forward and place you arms under his shoulders, dragging him with you to the head of the bed. “Just be quiet and watch the drama with me," you mutter, pretending to be offended.

Yeosang freezes momentarily, his body tensing as you suddenly rest your head again on his shoulder. A soft gasp escapes his lips, his cheeks burning even brighter with embarrassment and a flutter of unexpected joy. Hesitantly, he rests a gentle hand on your back, stroking it lightly as he did before.

As the romantic drama plays on the screen, Yeosang finds himself more focused and relaxed with the soft rise and fall of your breathing than the story unfolding before him. His heart races with a strange, unfamiliar feeling – one that he can't quite put a name to.

Yeosang blinks as you sit up and move to turn off the lights, plunging the room into a soft, intimate darkness illuminated only by the glow of the TV. He shifts slightly as you settle back down next to him, hyper-aware of your closeness in the dim light.

As the darkness mingles with the steady hum of the TV, Yeosang feels his eyelids growing heavy. He leans back against the wall, his head gradually falling towards your shoulder. A soft sigh escapes him as fatigue claims him, his breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of slumber.

The drama reaches a particularly heartwarming moment, drawing you in completely. It's not until you feel more weight press on your shoulder that you realize Yeosang has drifted off to sleep, his head now resting heavily on you.

You gently readjust Yeosang's position, making him more comfortable as he sleeps. A soft, contented smile spreads across your face as you continue watching the drama, feeling oddly at peace and like you're in your own lovingly innocent film.

As the drama fixates on the plot to a heartwarming close, you feel a lump form in your throat as the two characters finally confess their love for each other. Even with unrequited love, they realize they would never be happy without each other, allowing you to relax completely even without seeing it to its end.

As you both sleep, entwined together like the star-crossed lovers in the drama, the room grows quieter, save for the faint hum of the TV on standby. The gentle rhythm of your combined breaths fills the air, creating a peaceful harmony that seals this moment as one of tender, unspoken connection.

Hours pass, and the first light of dawn begins to creep in through the window, casting a soft, ethereal glow over your sleeping forms. Yeosang stirs in his sleep, his head shifting slightly on your shoulder. His eyes flutter open, taking a moment to adjust to the light.

Yeosang blinks a few times as he fully awakens, realizing his head is still resting on your shoulder. He glances at the clock, noting the early hour. He blushes softly and carefully extracts himself from your hold, trying not to wake you.

As Yeosang quietly gets up, the soft movement wakes you up. You blink open your eyes, taking a moment to orient yourself. Seeing Yeosang standing there, you smile lazily and stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Morning," you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep.

Yeosang returns a shy smile, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Good morning," he replies softly. "We... fell asleep early." He casts a glance at the clock again, confirming the early hour.

You glance at the clock, noticing the time, and yawning widely. "Ugh, I'm starving," you complain, your stomach growling loudly. "And it's so early..."

Typically, the last couple of days have consist of expensive hotel cuisines. Although they were delicious all the while, you were growing tired of fumbling into the floor and under the bed three times a day. But it’s no fault but your own. Yeosang was the one at risk, and yet he never seemed to care.

Yeosang's ears pick up on your grumbling stomach, and he strongly contemplates for a moment before speaking up. "There is 7-Eleven nearby. They have kimbap, ramyun, and yogurt drink.."

You roll over onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands and grinning mischievously at Yeosang. "Hmm, masisseo~," you tease, as it was always the thing Yeosang said so cutely anytime you talk about food. the endearment "Should we also get Samanco?”

Yeosang's face lights up with a bashful smile as he nods adorably, his hair flipping every which way from the tossing and turning during his sleep. "Hmm, massiseo," he echoes back, his voice barely a whisper.

The two of you make your way to the nearby 7-Eleven, Yeosang leading the way. Once inside, you pass the counter and greet the worker, a friendly older man who always has a smile ready. He nods in recognition as Yeosang grabs a basket for your snacks.

Yeosang begins to fill the basket, carefully selecting the items you discussed. He grabs a few packs of kimbap, some instant ramyun, and a couple of yogurt drinks. Pausing by the freezer section, he glances at you with a small, playful smile.

Yeosang picks up two packs of strawberry Samanco ice cream and places them in the basket. As he turns to face you, his expression turns sentimental. "Memory is so powerful here," he says softly, his eyes gazing into yours with a newfound depth. "Now you are my friend."

Your face lights up with a warm smile as you reply, "You're my friend too, Yeosang." As the words leave your lips, a single tear threatens to escape from the corner of your eye, a silent testament to the emotional weight of this newfound friendship.

Internally, you struggle with a wave of emotions. While you're genuinely touched and happy to be called Yeosang's friend, a lingering fear from your past rears its head. You've always been afraid of commitment. You pushed people away first so you didn’t get left behind.

As Yeosang turns to continue shopping, you find yourself staring at his retreating figure. In the fluorescent lights of the convenience store, you could swear you see a faint halo glowing above his head. The sight makes your heart skip a beat, a symbol of the pure, innocent nature of your growing bond.

You shake off the surreal moment, reminding yourself of your past patterns and the walls you've built to protect yourself. Despite the warmth you feel towards Yeosang, you can't help but wonder if you're strong enough to let him in, to allow yourself to be vulnerable and open with someone else.

You continue to trail behind, watching as he meticulously chooses a few more items, his eyes flickering with quiet joy. As he finishes and heads to the counter to pay, you reach out and gently touch his arm, hesitating for a moment before mumbling lowly. "Yeosang..."

Yeosang turns to face you, his expression is soft and attentive as he listens to your hesitant mumble. He tilts his head slightly, a few strands of his messy hair falling across his forehead. His eyes search yours, filled with gentle curiosity and a warmth that seems to radiate from within. "I... I'm glad we're friends,"

Yeosang's eyes crinkle with affection as he leans his head forward, his messy brown hair swaying gently. Despite his hands being full with the basket of snacks, he manages to bump his forehead against yours in a playful, affectionate gesture. "Nado” (“Me too.”)

After Yeosang pays for the snacks, you both exit the convenience store, joyous with each other and your purchases. You even made waving for a taxi in the cold a fun task, it was nothing in the moment that could pull you down.

You slide into the backseat as he eagerly tears into one of the fish-shaped ice cream packs and offers it to you.

You take the ice cream from Yeosang, your face breaking into a wide grin as you peel back the wrapper. "Thanks.“ Encouraged, Yeosang grins and unwraps his ice cream, mirroring your actions.

You both raise your ice creams in a playful toast before taking your first bites simultaneously. The cold, sweet treat hits your tongue as you share a moment of pure, childlike joy. It's a perfect recap of that first day you spent together, viewing the city and sharing every tender moment.

As you finish your last bite, you glance over at Yeosang, noticing he's only halfway through his ice cream. You watch as he licks a drip from the corner of his mouth, his tongue darting out with a focus that makes your heart skip a beat.

The sight of him, the sweet taste still lingering on your tongue, and the knowledge that your time together is limited make this moment bittersweet. You realize that this could be one of your last shared moments, and you're determined to savor it before it melts away.

Back at the hotel, you both retire to your shared room to continue snacking and chatting. The TV plays softly in the background as you lounge on the plush sofas, laughing and joking like old friends. As you prepare for the day ahead, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Each day with Yeosang has been spectacular, and today promises to be no different.

As you finish your easy meals, you both decide to retire to your respective rooms to prepare for the day. Yeosang flops down on his bed with a contented sigh, already looking forward to eating lunch together and dinner.

But then, his phone rings. His personal line.

Yeosang's phone rings shrill, disrupting the cozy silence. He pauses, as he recognizes the distinctive tune of his line. With a heavy heart, he reaches for the phone tucked away in his bedside drawer, the buzzing intensifying his trepidation.

As Yeosang pulls out his phone, the agency's name flashes ominously on the screen. His heart skips a beat. He knows that randomizing caps from them rarely brings good news. Hesitantly, he swipes to answer, pressing the phone close to his ear.

“Hello it’s- "Yeosang, it's time to return to Seoul immediately," the agency representative says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Yeosang's grip tightens on his phone, knuckles turning white. "Now? But... why?" he stutters, sitting up straight on his bed, his earlier relaxation forgotten. "There have been rumors, Yeosang. About your whereabouts."

The agency rep continues, "We've been monitoring the situation. The train incident... and now this town. We can't risk any more speculation or potential scandals." He pauses, then adds ominously, "If you don't return voluntarily, we may need to... take more direct action."

Yeosang's mind races to your adjoining room, imagining you waking up with that same sense of anticipatory joy he felt moments ago. Now, that promise of a spectacular day lies crushed under the weight of this sudden obligation. He swallows hard, his voice cracking slightly as he responds,

"Direct action? What does that mean?" He already knows, though. It means someone will be sent to watch him, to report his every move. It means losing the freedom they've both enjoyed these past days. It means... possibly ending this budding friendship before it truly begins.

Small clatters erupt on the line before he hears his manager speak, “They will drag you back to Seoul Yeosang-ah” he says in a wary tone

Yeosang's heart sinks like a stone. He can picture it all too clearly – being escorted back to Seoul, forced to leave you behind, unable to even say goodbye or explain the situation to you. The thought of it is suffocating. "I-I understand,"

"I'll... I'll be there as soon as I can. Just give me a little time to pack up my things." Yeosang says his voice heavy with resignation and barely concealed emotion. He ends the call and stares at his phone, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Yeosang looks at the wall separating his room from yours, his heart aching. He wants to tell you, to explain. But he also knows that burdening you with this is unfair. He decides he'll tell you, but not the full truth. Just enough to explain his sudden departure.

Yeosang slowly gets up from his bed, each movement heavy with reluctance. He walks over to the wall you share, placing his hand flat against it. He wishes he could reach through it, to touch you, to warn you about what's about to happen.

With a heavy heart, Yeosang gets up and starts packing, occasionally glancing at the wall that separates your rooms. He practices what he'll say to you in his head, each version of the truth heavier than the last.

Yeosang takes a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking softly on your door. As you open it, his practiced speech dissolves, replaced by an aching sincerity in his eyes. "I am…goodbye.”

You blink, taken aback. "Goodbye? But... we were going to- " You trail off, confusion etched on your face as you glance upon this four big ass suitcases. Those same ones you carried for him at the train station. You never thought this would be when you saw them last. "Yeosang...?” “Yeosang, what’s happened?"

Yeosang's shoulders slump as he nods towards your room. "Can I... come in? I need to explain."

You step aside hesitantly, allowing Yeosang to enter the room. As he crosses the threshold, a palpable tension hangs in the air, his presence usually comforting but now tinged with urgency. I close the door gently behind you both, turning to face him with a quizzical expression.

Yeosang nods solemnly, stepping inside your room. His gaze drifts around the space, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. He sits heavily on the edge of your bed, clasping his trembling hands together. "It's... complicated," he starts, his voice thick with emotion.

You sit beside him, your brows furrowed with concern. "Yeosang, you're scaring me. What's going on?" Your voice is barely a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

Yeosang takes a shuddering breath, his eyes meeting yours with a haunted look. "I have to leave. Now. There's... there's something I need to take care of back in Seoul." He pauses, seeming to wrestle with his next words.

Tears well up in your eyes as realization dawns on you. "Now? As in... right now, right this moment?" You ask, your voice wobbling. Yeosang nods miserably, avoiding your gaze. "But... we were supposed to... I thought... "

Yeosang reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. "I'm so sorry, I wanted it to be different," he whispers, his voice cracking. "But I have to go. Now." He stands up, turning his back to you as he struggles to compose himself.

"Yeosang, what aren’t you telling me? Is it because of me? Because of us?” you question as he stiffens at your words, turning to face you with a pained expression. "Yeosang, did your agency find out about me?”

Yeosang's gaze drops, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his secret. "I’m not sure” he truthfully admits, his voice barely audible. "but if they know, they will not be happy about it." He swallows hard.

You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth in shock. "Yeosang... did you come here knowing you might get caught? Why did you risk everything to be with me?" Your voice wavers between anger and hurt, tears streaming down your face. "Why wouldn't you tell me?”

Yeosang's eyes well up with tears as he stares at you, his heart shattering into a million pieces. "I wanted to protect you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I didn't want you to get hurt because of me.

You stand abruptly, backing away from Yeosang as if burned by his words. "Protect me? By lying to me? By not trusting me with the truth?" Your voice rises, trembling with barely contained anguish. "How could you think keeping this secret was protecting me?"

Yeosang reaches out to you, his hand trembling, but he stops short, fearing he'll be rebuffed. "I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

‘And you were.’ You never known or think that Yeosang had ill intent in whatever he puts his mind to. But even so what result of it made you feel ill, and you couldn’t convey it in simple words. “Thank you, but I’ll find another hotel. Your company needs you. It was nice meeting you Yeosang.”

Yeosang's eyes widen in shock as you turn away and begin packing your bags, his heart sinking like a stone. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words get stuck in his throat. He watches helplessly as you grab your belongings and walk out the door, leaving him alone with his regrets.

_____________🚂

The familiar Airbnb emerged as a ghost from the past, its walls seemingly whispering echoes of laughter long since faded. This place had become a shrine to memory - a haunting reminder of friendships that once filled every room. Now, it echoed with lonely silence.

What's even worse than sitting in a space where you used to spend your days with old lost friends while your bringing along the memory of an even more recently lost friend.

Days dragged into an endless, melancholy parade. The smartphone and television had become your reluctant companions, glowing screens casting an eerie light in the darkened room.

At first you hesitated, you so desperately didn’t want to search his name up, but with every letter of his name, results would appear in an instant along with different media contents. All this time he was trying to hide, and you just needed closure on who you thought he was.

But to you, it was nothing shameful that was worth hiding. The group had beautiful indifferences that united them together into a beauty that was all the same. Or better said “Eight Makes One Team.”

It was you that was in hiding, you didn’t fit in that image. How could you even involve yourself in such a masterpiece? How could you diminish the value of the very thing that made him idolized?

From the moment your feet touched Korean soil, the idol life wasn't just something you knew about - it immersed you completely. On that first flight to Seoul, you'd innocently followed the group deplaning, only to realize too late you were amidst a whirlwind of reporters and devoted fans.

You quickly learned that even in their supposed 'free time', idols were never truly off-duty. A casual outing with friends like Yeosang could spark a flurry of unfounded rumors: relationships, secret locations, pregnancy theories, and even fabricated drug scandals.

The paparazzi in Korea operated on a whole different level of obsession, hungrily devouring any shred of information about the idols' personal lives. It was a constant reminder that once you stepped into the K-pop world, your every move would be scrutinized and your privacy non-existent.

You spent the entire day holed up in bed, not a single won wasted on anything but your obsession. Your eyes remained glued to the screen, consuming an endless stream of content - edits, compilations, challenges, song covers, lives, and so much more.

Too much more.

There was always more.

With each click, with each scroll, you fell deeper into the rabbit hole of Yeosang's online presence. There was always another clip to watch, another post to like, another fancam to analyze.

Hours blurred into days, and yet it never felt enough. You craved more hidden track listens, unseen practice footage, stolen moments of authenticity. Even the smallest snippet of Yeosang's voice could set your heart racing, each stolen second a fleeting treasure in your endless digital scavenger hunt.

Eventually, you were compelled to set your device down and step outside onto the balcony for some fresh air after feeling suffocated by the endless stream of online content.

As you leaned against the railing, taking in deep breaths of the city's cool evening air, something across the street caught your eye. A taxi was parked at the curb, its engine humming softly while polluted gray smoke billowed out of its back end. the driver climbed out of the front seat, followed by another figure emerging from the back.

You squinted, trying to make out the silhouette as it came into the dim streetlamp glow. Suddenly, reality shifted into focus--the distinctive brown fluffy hair, the unmistakable scarlet red mark adorning his right eye.

He stood there, incomparable beauty framed by the mundane streetscape, as the driver helped him haul not one, not two, but four large suitcases out of the trunk.

Yeosang's brow furrowed in concentration as he supervised the unloading, his lips moving in quiet instructions. The sight of him, so close yet so out of reach, sent your heart into overdrive.

You stood frozen, eyes glued to Yeosang's figure, as he finally finished and thanked the driver with a warm smile. The driver gave him a respectful bow before getting back into the car and pulling away, leaving Yeosang alone on the sidewalk, surrounded by his mountain of luggage.

Suddenly, Yeosang glanced upward, his piercing gaze sweeping across the row of buildings. For a heart-stopping moment, you were certain his eyes met yours. He paused, head tilted slightly as if sensing your presence.

He didn't look away. Instead, he slowly started dragging the luggage through the heavy snow and towards the entrance of your Airbnb.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him approach, snowflakes catching in his hair and dusting his scarlet eye mark. He was coming inside. Your home, your safe space, was about to be invaded by the very man who had consumed your every thought.

You couldn't help yourself. "Wait!" burst from your lips involuntarily, the word hanging in the frosty air. Heart hammering, you stumbled backwards from the balcony, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to get downstairs.

You threw open the door just as Yeosang was about to lift one of the suitcases onto the step. His head snapped up, those striking eyes locking onto yours once more. He froze, the suitcase dangling from his grasp, as he stared at you in obvious disbelief.

"Y-yeosang?" you stammered, scarcely believing he was actually there, standing before you. Your gaze traced over his face, taking in every detail you had admired from afar. "What are you... I mean, is everything alright?"

Yeosang blinked, seemingly as shocked as you were. A slow, bewildered smile spread across his face as he lowered the suitcase back to the ground with a soft thud. "I want to stay here. Can I come in?”

Confusion etched itself onto your features as you gaped at him, struggling to process his words. "Stay... here? But I thought you were supposed to be in Seoul, at the agency." You bit your lip, uncertainty creeping into your voice. "You just left a few days ago.”

Yeosang's brows knitted together as a chill breeze whipped around him, causing him to shiver slightly. He glanced back at his abandoned luggage before fixing you with an earnest gaze. “I still have time to see them. But I need to see you.”

Without a word, you stepped aside, allowing Yeosang to enter the cozy Airbnb. As he walked past you, the cold air followed him inside, making you shiver. You closed the door, your confused expression still firmly in place as you watched him set his luggage down by the entrance.

Abruptly, Yeosang dropped to his knees, bowing low to the ground. "Naneun baboya (“I’m a fool.”) I'm a babo," he babbled, his voice thick with emotion as he switched between Korean and English. "Because I like you."

You stood frozen, stunned by his deep bow and passionate declaration, your heart racing in your chest. "Yeosang, get up," you managed to whisper, trying to pull him up by the shoulders. But he remained stubbornly bowed, his forehead pressed to the cold floor.

"Please, just let me apologize," he insisted, his voice muffled by the floor. "I shouldn't have left without saying anything. I shouldn't have just disappeared. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm a babo, I'm a babo.”

As you knelt down, mirroring his bow, Yeosang finally lifted his head in surprise. His eyes widened at seeing you at his level, your voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too, I'm sorry for not hearing you out when you tried to explain." Your voice cracked slightly.

His eyes filled with unshed tears as he saw you bowing to him. He had never imagined you would ever apologize like this, let alone bow to him. "I’m a babo too," you whispered, your voice breaking. "We're both babos."

A wry smirk tugged at Yeosang's lips despite the tears in his eyes. He reached out, gently lifting your chin so you would look at him. "Look at us, two babos, bowing to each other," he chuckled softly, the warmth returning to his voice.

You couldn't help but join in his laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. Together, you both struggled to your feet, clasping each other's forearms for support, as if sealing a pact between equals. Your faces were inches apart, breaths mingling in the chilly air between you.

For a long moment, you just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. The laughter faded, replaced by a heavy, electric silence. Yeosang's thumb brushed against your jaw, his touch gentle yet sending sparks through you. "I missed you so much."

Your breath hitched at his tender touch, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "I missed you too," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the cozy warmth of the Airbnb, the cold forgotten.

Yeosang stands up and dims the lights, the flickering flames of the fireplace casting a warm glow over the room. "We watch K-drama together, like old times?" he suggests softly.

your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, the way he says "old times" with such fondness. "Yes, please," you reply, snuggling deeper into the blanket. he sits down next to you, the warmth of his body radiating against yours as he pulls a blanket over your laps. As he snuggles in he looks down at the cat sprawl on the front with his belly exposed. he pets it like it’s the real thing, cooing at it adorably.

“It misses you too, you know. Wishes he could've been here, cuddling with both of us." your voice trails off, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You know, when we were watching dramas together, I always felt so safe and happy when you were by my side." he pauses, his gaze lingering on yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes shining with a mix of affection and longing. "I always wished... I always wished that the scenes were real, and we were the characters." he pauses, his hand still petting the cat

Yeosang's breath catches as your hand joins his on the blanket, his eyes widening slightly at the sensation. A small, almost shy smile tugs at his lips as he turns to look at you. “Yeosang-i…nal bwa.”

(“Yeosang-i…look at me”)

his fingers intertwine with yours gently, still keeping the rhythm of the cat-petting motion. "You... called me 'Yeosang-i' just now..." his voice is soft and barely above a whisper, clearly touched by your nonfamiliar intimacy

You confidently move closer to him, pressing your side against his. He tenses initially, surprised by the sudden proximity, before slowly relaxing into your touch. His eyes flutter between you and the cat.

“Joha…Yeosangie”

(“I like you…Yeosangie”)

his ears burn red as he hears you call him 'Yeosangie' again, his heart pounding in his chest. He swallows hard, turning his face to look at you, his eyes filled with unspoken questions. "Neo...?" (“You…?”)

“Neodo naleul joh-ahani?”

(“Do you like me too”)

He opens his mouth, trying to form words, but nothing comes out. His gaze drops to your lips, as if hypnotized. Suddenly, he nods vigorously, a small, hopeful smile blooming on his face. "Ah...ne? I do. Yes. Joha… neo...

Just as he's about to say more, you gently place a small, soft kiss on his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. small enough for it to mean nothing, so he can walk out the door as he should’ve and never look back. big enough for it to mean something, so he can stay here for as long as he can. a possible promise to forever…. maybe.

Your lips graze each other softly in shyness, but then you take the initiative and pull him even closer as you pull your arms on the sides of his neck. It was an emotional reaction, even a tear slipped from your eyes from the good overwhelming feeling.

He freezes, his mind reeling from the unexpected kiss. He should pull away, stand up, and leave as planned. But his feet feel rooted to the spot, his body aching to stay closer, to understand the meaning behind that tiny, confusing kiss.

His hand, still intertwined with yours, slowly tightens its grip. His other hand, the one petting the cat, pauses, his fingers lingering on the imaginary pet. His eyes, when he finally opens them, are wide with a mix of shock, curiosity, and something deeper, more profound.

his voice comes out hoarse and whisper-soft. "Joha... what..." he swallows hard, struggling to maintain his composure, his thumb unconsciously brushing against your hand. "What... does that mean?"

“Mweoya?! Are you Korean? I, like, you, and im pretty sure you said you like me too. in two different languages. yeosang. me. heartu~”

A nervous laugh escapes his lips, his face turning a deep shade of red. His eyes search yours intensely, filled with vulnerability. His breath catches in his throat, eyes darting between yours, searching for some indication he hadn't misread the situation. A small, nervous laugh escapes his lips as his heart races. "You... you're teasing me." he whispers, his face turning a bright shade of pink. "But..."

"But you can't be serious..." he swallows hard, his mind racing with unspoken words and unsaid confessions. He takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "You can't really like me... Can you?"

Yeosang's eyes widen in disbelief as you suddenly grab his face, peppering it with kisses. He lets out a startled "Ah!" each time your lips touch his skin, his cheeks flushing an even deeper red. "Johaaa!"

Yeosang's shock quickly melts into a warm, tingling sensation spreading through his body. With a sudden burst of boldness, he grabs your wrist, gently but firmly pinning your arm beside your head as he presses you back onto the couch cushions.

His other hand reaches up to gently cradle your face, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheekbone before pressing against your lips in a soft, claiming kiss. As he pulls away, he looks into your eyes, his own shining with a mix of adoration and nervousness. "Joha..."

In the midst of the passionate moment, Yeosang's body betrays his growing arousal. The bulge in his pants becomes increasingly evident, pressing against your hip. He notices your pointed gaze and freezes, a deep blush creeping up his neck. “Mianhae! Sorry, hajiman. I’ll go fix dis.”

You smirk, a confident glint in your eye as you say "Ne~ kaja! Let's go fix it!" You follow Yeosang into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Yeosang turns to face you, his cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

“Gwenchanayo, joha~. can i help you?”

Yeosang gulps nervously as you advance towards the shower, his heart pounding in his chest. He leans back against the cool porcelain of the sink, his erection still visibly straining against his pants. "Gwenchanayo..." (“That’s fine”) he murmurs, a shudder running through him at your bold approach.

You reach out and slowly unbuckle his belt, your fingers brushing against his hard length through the fabric. Yeosang bites his lip to stifle a moan, his hips instinctively bucking into your touch. "Hajim..."

You cut him off by pulling his pants down, his erection springing free. It's impressive, thick and long, with a delicate pink tip. You wrap your hand around it, giving it a slow squeeze as you look up at Yeosang. "So hard for me, ne?"

The sight of you holding him makes Yeosang's knees nearly buckle. His hand goes to your shoulder for support, nails digging slightly into the fabric of your clothes. "Ah... H-hajim... His voice is breathless as he speaks. "Please..."

Yeosang watches, transfixed, as you slowly peel your clothes off, revealing inch after inch of bare skin. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, fully naked, your own arousal now obvious

He was found stunned as you dragged him to the bathroom, turned on the showerhead, and pulled his hand out to feel for the right temperature.

You look back at him, still stunned in a stillstance. With the language barrier, he wanted to make sure the next action wouldn't be miscommunicated. You saw this and understood immediately. So you communicated in a way you both knew, body language.

Your clothes fall onto the floor together and on the tiles as you turn from Yeosang to step foot in the shower. You never closed the glass door and it could have two outcomes. He could turn around and walk out of your apartment with his belongings, pretending you two never happened, OR he could decide to stay and walk into the shower as he did now, coming behind you and now aching all over from the desire to touch to you.

You grab his hands and pull them around your waist. His hands grow clammy but you pressed them into your skin further, granting him the deepest of touches.

You then let go of your hands on his and allow him to grow comfortable with touching you. Like clockwork he began his experimentation, he tweaked your nipples and watched as your teeth grind and made a hissing sound from the pleasurable sensitivity, or how your hips rolled on his abdomen as he touched your belly, or how you bit your lip when his hands engulfed your neck.

He began to be your touch subject as well when your ass move backward onto his growing cock, or how you grip the back of his hair as he touched you so passionately, and when you pulled his head forward, connecting your lips with his.

A full-blown makeout session followed in pursuit, his lips were salty much like yours. As your hands lowered to his neck his body was cold to the touch. And here your body was absorbing all the water.

You pull away from him momentarily which he is not so happy with and hunted you two steps forward as he joins you under the stream.

He then picks you up as he did in the ocean. You moaned when your slit brushed upward on his cock. Moaning is his mouth as he caresses his lips with yours again. This time wet and sloppy from the water.

His hands rub your ass smoothly with the water as a form of lubrication. As the kiss grows intense so do his hands. He gets experimental with grabbing and smacking, taking into account what causes you pleasure and pain but it was all the same. His curiosity explores your pulsing core to get you stimulated. “Jagiya, you’re so tight.”

“Oppa~Take me. Fuck me.”

“Arasseo.” he whispers seductively in your ear.

You feel an easy slip in your pleasure right after. One that had you squealing and clawing onto Yeosang's back.

He was decently sized not too big and not too small. But the way he molded inside of your body? Well, it was the perfect fit.“Are you okay, jagiya?”

“Yes, I'm very okay.”He picks you up from underneath your cheeks and then moves them right on top to pull you up and down his length.

The sounds in the whole room were so explicitly pornographic. The water that claps in splashes between your colliding pelvises. The moaning, whining, and groaning in combinations of both your vocalizations not to mention the echoing of it all in the open space.

As Yeosang grew in speed he grew cautious from how he was gradually losing his grip to standing up on the floor while upholding both of your weights.

He slows down his motion and taps your hips so you know to get down.

"Bow," he commanded. At first, you were confused but you folded in front of him as if you were bowing, but then you felt the tip of his cock graze your hole and you adjusted to the position quickly, grabbing onto the wall in front of you.

“You listen well.~”

He slides back in once again, and in this position, he manages the find the sweetest spot in your body that makes your knees buckle.

He takes hold of your hip to keep you steady, thrusting his way in and out of you with his high energy in stamina."Fuck Yeosang, your dick feels so fucking good."

"Don't say bad word."He pulls you back by your head and covers your mouth as he rams into you deeper.

Your screams absorb into the palms of his strong hand. At this rate you let Yeosang be in complete control. The sensation of him penetrating you had your eyes rolling back to your skull, blinding you from the space at the moment. You take nibbles of his fingers bc you can't scream, squeezing his thighs to stay stable. All that is left is your hearing and sense of smell, and even as you tremble to climax those begin to clear out.

"I-I'm close jagiya. Shibal." he moans weakly. So much for not saying bad words.

You open your eyes and kiss him as you come on his cock. You were already warm, but with your even warmer cum his body empties his hot seed right onto your lower back.

Your ears are clogged from the running water. The only sounds are your beating heart and the faint noise of hundreds of droplets in a stream as they hit the ground. "I think we should take a bath jagiya. I'm so weak.”

He chuckles and peppers kisses on your neck and shoulders.

“Sorry. Bubbles?”

You giggle softly, pulling on his neck to drown his embrace. “Yes, please.”

…

As much as you've been relishing the stolen moments with Yeosang, the real world beckons, threatening to tear you apart once more. He lies beside you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, a small frown tugging at his lips as he too senses the looming separation.

As you see the frown deepening on Yeosang's face, you sit up abruptly burying your face in his chest and murmuring, "Yeosang-ah...”

“Nugu?" His other hand comes up to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Ugh”…” you roll your eyes playfully, placing a gentle hand on the hill of his chest. “Oppa~”

At your playful roll of the eyes and the affectionate 'Oppa', a small smile tugs at the corners of Yeosang's mouth. He catches your hand on his chest, bringing it up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles before replying with a sing-song "Ne~".

As Yeosang's playful demeanor momentarily distracts you, you remember your earlier concern. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you give him a mock stern look, your free hand tapping lightly against his chest as you inquire, "When are you going to check in with your company?”

Yeosang's playful grin suddenly turns into an exaggerated pout at your question. He flops dramatically onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes as he declares, "Never!" with childlike stubbornness.

Laughing softly at his antics, you remove his arm from his eyes and pin it down beside his head, leaning over him with a mock stern expression. "Hey seriously," you say, your voice a mix of amusement and gentle reprimand, "You can't stay with me in bed forever!"

Yeosang's eyes widen in mock offense at your words, his free hand clutching dramatically at his heart. "Wae!" he exclaims, feigning hurt as he stares up at you with exaggerated innocence.

Your stern expression falters as Yeosang's cute reaction melts your heart. You sigh, rubbing your forehead in exasperation. "It's impossible! Plus, the comeback is coming up soon, my love. You'll have to go back to Seoul.”

Yeosang's pouting expression quickly shifts into a hopeful smile. He reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "Well, you'll come with me, right?"

“Hm. I’m not sure…” you faintly whisper.

Yeosang's smile falters, replaced by a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He sits up slowly, pulling you into a sideways hug, his voice tinged with a wistful note. "Not sure?" he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head. “Then I’ll stay here forever!”

“Ya Yeosang-ah!”

Yeosang's disappointment momentarily clouds his face before he forces a bright smile, his arms tightening around you in a reassuring hug. "Fine, I'll make trip!" he declares, his voice determined. "That way you will have time to think things over, okay?"

As you acquiesce with a simple "Fine, you got a deal," Yeosang's face lights up with a genuine, boyish grin. He boops your nose playfully with his finger before pulling back to wink. "Awesome!” He tackles you on the bed, and seconds after he had to prepare to leave.

…

Without thought, this is the happiest you’ve ever felt. You don’t wanna run away anymore, whatever this is, its something you want to run towards.

You had to confront your fears and break down your walls. You had to open up your heart and allow yourself to feel. You had to trust Yeosang and believe that he was the right one for you.

You just didn’t wanna encounter those roadblocks that could mess it all up. Or for your closeness to feel like a threat to your character. But for Yeosang, a man who could barely hurt a fly you didn’t have that worry.

It was just a matter of battling your thoughts and breaking the cycle. You had to conquer what you always had run away from even in the beginning.

Yourself.

_____________🚂

The train whistle pierces through the chilling air, and the wheels begin to turn with the boiling steam, allowing you to view the city's landscape in distance from your front-end seating. The whistles sound like a bird's song. The boiling steam of excitement. In all the love from which you’ve never felt before, until now.

The train ride passes in a blur, as outside the window, you see the familiar streets and buildings slowly fading away. Here you are, running away once again, leaving behind those who were just beginning to understand the real you - if only for a brief moment.

Yeosang boarded off the plane the company provided for him so they could pick him up from the airport. He has secretly gotten one for you across from KQ ENTERTAINMENT. So everything still has a chance to go to shit and shambles.

It was nerve-wracking to wait around to wait for the queue. You never knew how the saesangs could do it.

…

"I'm going to get a snack downstairs. Any requests?" Yeosang stood, adjusting his wet tank top as he began to walk away. "Woah there," Seonghwa interjected, leaning back in his seat, "Why not just call Manager Nim? He'd probably love to help."

"No need," Yeosang replied, pausing at the doorway, his muscular frame filling the entryway. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still slightly sweaty from their practice session earlier. "I’ll be back soon.”

"Hey, why are you being so weird today?" Wooyoung asked, sitting up straight, his casual tone laced with concern. “just call the manager.” "Just let him go, Woo," San chimed in from his seat, stretching his arms. "He probably just wants a moment alone."

Yeosang stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. As he walked down the hallway, he pulled out his phone, hesitating for a moment before sending a quick text to the manager. "Be right back," he murmured to himself, continuing his stroll downstairs to the snack bar.

“Yeosa-

“Shhh. remember the plan.” Ah, the plan. The one the manager was on which is why he didn’t get “the snacks”. The same plan that involved sneaking you into the building.

You follow Yeosang’s lead and take in his new appearance. A black tank top that held in the muscles that gave him the stage to hold you tight, and the grey sweatpants that contained a part of him that makes you feel batshit crazy.

He looked cozy in his slides and effortless attire. But what drove you most crazy was his new hair. Who has the most fun, blondes. No wonder he came up with this mischievous plan the moment he landed.

Yeosang tells you to wait behind the door as he walks back in. No snacks in hand.

As Yeosang returns from his errand, Wooyoung looks at him expectantly, arms crossed and a hint of annoyance on his face. "Ya, where are the snacks, fool?" he demands, his patience today was surely wearing thin.

Yeosang saunters back in, shrugging casually with an unrepentant grin. "It was too crowded down there I decided to wait a bit later." He leans against the wall, his tone nonchalant despite Wooyoung's clear irritation.

Wooyoung lets out a frustrated sigh, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "See what did I tell you? You could've just called the manager instead of leaving us hanging like this!" He turns to Hongjoong, who's observing the situation with a tired expression.

Hongjoong pushes off the couch, stretching lazily. "This is pointless, let's just get back to practice." He starts heading towards the door, clearly done with the snack debacle. "I agree, but there's one thing I did bring back with me."

That was your queue in from the side and say:

“Anyeonsayho, yeorobun mannaseo bangabseubnida. Jeoneun Yeosang pateuneoibnida. Jal jinaeja jebal.”

(“Hello everyone it’s nice to meet you. I’m Yeosang’s partner. Let’s get along well please.”)

As you step in and bow, Yeosang's heart swells with affection for your thoughtfulness. He gently pats your back and pulls you closer, seeking comfort in your presence amidst the tense atmosphere. The room continues to run with electricity motors in its background, and you remain bowed, your persistence steadies as you greet the members.

Just as Yeosang begins to speak, the sound of marching footsteps grows louder, signaling the approach of the other members. Each step echoes through the room, building anticipation and tension. Each step was an inch toward your potential doom. “Ahhhh…gwenchana. I'm Hongjoong,” a hand reaches out to your accommodating the friendly voice, “nice to meet you.”

You rise from your bow and accept the gesture with a smile, and all the members follow while also giving Yeosang their ments to congratulate him.

Wooyoung, the very last in line, steps in front of you two and glances at the both of you with his distinctive eyes. “Yeosang-ssi.” Wooyoung says with a mix of reprimand and quiet defiance, tapping on his fellow members shoulder.

As Wooyoung nods and smiles, the room slowly returns to a sense of calm. Yeosang breathes a sigh of relief, his arm still around your waist. "That's a W."

_____________🚂

A/N: how was that ending lmao. I just thought it be a comical and reflecting way to conclude the story. Wooyoung just always shouts it these days I just had to include it.

Much love,

xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams 2025

#ateez au #1117feverlessdreams #ateez yeosang #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #yeosang #yeosang x reader #train #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #kpop smut #k pop

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mins-fins · 7 months ago

Text

ANGEL EYES. — [L.MH] [PREVIEW]

❝ sometimes, it feels as if mark lee is your guardian angel ❞

SYNOPSIS: innocent cherub eyes, gently soft hands, a heart of gold, mark lee is the golden boy whose experienced as much love as he gives back. his grades are high, his smile is wide, and his laughter is sweet. the only reason mark lee gets embroiled in a world of trouble is because of his pairing with the 'messed up foster kid' in a school project. it would be stupid to ever let himself get involved, but mark does anyway.

PAIRING: mark lee x male!reader

GENRE: mid–2000s au, high school au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humor(?), slow burn, one sided pining to mutual pining, sadness as a romantic segway, relationship study, reader is a foster kid, mark pov, happy ending.. (i suppose)

WARNINGS: swearing, explicit language, violence, drug abuse, child abuse & neglect, family issues, mentions of death, smoking, homophobia, reader simply has the worst time and mark sobs about his circumstances, an awful amount of love that isn't realized to be love

WORD COUNT: 2.7k (preview) | ..pending (full fic)

NOTES: hello everyone, this is my baby, the birth was very special, i love my baby so much 💗 listen! i started this in early august and i am STILL going, this going to be LONG.. longest mins-fins work ever long 😞 im estimating 30–40k, the power of mark lee yall 😇 it's going to go on forever, and it's definitely going to be sad in some ways, i am currently about to hit 20k words.. sooooiooooo 😊😊 i hope you like this preview bc i really dk when the real thing is coming out 😭😭 im in so much pain rn, let me nap now 😴

BEFORE IT WAS IN THE CRISP AUTUMN ATMOSPHERE, mark lee had met you at the local police station. it was only a few months prior, august of 2004 brought the prospect of donghyuck doing everything to try and get arrested, prospects that mark could only respond with under the breath swears. he loves donghyuck, he really does, but driving shouldn't have been his first choice. in all of the friendships mark has had with other people in his life, donghyuck has always brought a wave of chaos along with him, the exact opposite of who mark's mom would advise him to stay away from, but she'd always had a soft spot for him, mark can't exactly blame her.

fresh off turning seventeen and utterly clueless as to what the future would bring, mark only found himself at the police station for one reason. donghyuck had driven without a license. yep, sixteen years old and he assumed doing an illegal u-turn was the way to end his summer.

mark has always been a stand up kid. the kind who handed out his mom's cookies to the neighbors. the kind who called for stray cats in alleyways. the kind who was simply an innocent bystander to all the bullshit his friends would pull.

so when donghyuck called him from a jail phone, voice heightened in indignation as he begged for mark to come make a case for him, the older really had no choice but to do so. mark had never been to a police station before, afraid of catching sight of real criminals in the flesh by just walking past the building. he had heard too many scary stories, had terrible ideas of human beings planted in his head.

and even as a seventeen year old who had experienced life enough that such things shouldn't have terrified him anymore, there was still a small pit in his stomach as he rounded the corner in direction of the building.

"and how exactly am i supposed to bail you out?" an eyebrow raise accompanied mark's inquiry, and donghyuck scoffed as he shook his cuffed hands.

"you don't have to bail me out, my dad knows the sheriff, i'm just getting off with a warning" he whispered, sweat on his brow as he shared that familiar 'no shit' look with mark (an ironic expression really, he's the only one between the two of them that's been in cuffs).

mark snickered. "you talk so much when you're the one handcuffed".

"watch your mouth, you need me".

just as donghyuck was about to let out a swear in addition to his snappy response, said sheriff walked into the room, tight lipped smile painting his face. "don't try that again donghyuck, or next time you'll end up in a cell".

in a instant, donghyuck's blood ran cold, mark almost laughed at the sight, but he remained still, watching. the older man glanced up, catching mark's anxiety ridden eyes. "and you are?"

"this is mark, my best friend" donghyuck was quick to quip, a hand placed onto his shoulder.

mark's stomach dropped to his feet, it isn't as if he did anything wrong, it was simply on par for him to be severely anxious around law enforcement in general, he was just afraid he'd somehow get arrested for nothing at all.

"ohhh i remember you, i used to assume you two were brothers".

mark let out a breathy (and clearly faked) chuckle, trying to bury his anxiety. he could never explain it, even if you gave him all the words to, it's not like he's a bad kid, he just finds himself tensing often. "no, just friends.."

"it's good to have someone so close as support" he narrowed his eyes at donghyuck, who stifled his scoff at the clear sarcasm lacing his tone. he then scrunched his nose, watching as donghyuck placed a performative smile on his lips. "now you, sir, we need to have a talk".

donghyuck frowned, whining out complaints as he's dragged away by the sheriff. "can you wait, mark?"

mark blinked, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. he nodded, out of words. the two bantered back and forth like friends, something mark could only stare idly at. he made his way over to the seats beside the door, where, nestled in the corner of one of them, was you.

you were scribbling something into your notebook, unaware of the eyes on you. mark sat two chairs away from you, tapping his feet onto the floor as he heard the faint sounds of scoldings. safe driving, don't get into a car without a license, your future won't be any better if you continue this shit.

swearing at a child, mark found that rich. he glances beside him again, now watching you intently. you were engrossed in the manner your pen scratched against your paper, mark had figured out through endless staring that you hadn't been writing, but drawing.

you avoided his eyes for a while, ignorant to the eyes gazing you up and down. you then glanced in mark's direction, almost startling him out of his seat with the sudden stare. you blinked, puzzled out of your mind. "is there something on my face?"

mark tensed in his seat, feeling his stomach swirl, was he staring so much that you felt offended? he felt guilty immediately, his lips parting immediately and releasing a silent breath. "no.. no i'm sorry, i didn't mean to".

you shrugged your shoulders, one click to your pen. mark recognized you, but he simply couldn't conjure up an explanation as to why you were sitting in a police station at this time, drawing whatever into your notebook. "so why are you staring then?"

"i'm trying to figure out why you're here" mark muttered, fingers fiddling with his necklace as he tried to get his tone straight in fear of again offending you. "i'm sure you aren't committing crimes".

"i can say the same for you, mr golden boy".

mark's lips turned up slightly, his hands twitching from where they rested on his lips. "i got kicked out.. always come here to let dad and mom cool off for a few hours".

the words earned an eyebrow raise from mark, that was strange to hear, especially from another person in regards to their own parents. mark had never really experienced such a thing, the way you described it made his nose scrunch. "what?"

before you could respond to that one, a police officer entered the room, one you seemed to recognize by the way your eyes lit up. "come on l/n, time to go".

a frown settled onto your lips. "do i really have to go now? you know how my parents are.."

"i can't keep you here, it would technically be illegal".

"it's not like they'll care anyway.." you mumbled, slamming your notebook shut with yet another click to your pen. "just an hour longer, please?"

there was a sense of hope in your eyes, maybe he would actually take your words into account. mark simply stared, staggered by what he was witnessing. the officer watched the change of your expressions, your thumb playing at the button on your pen, continuously clicking over and over. as the clicks amplified, so did the sound of your labored breathing.

"you know i can't do that kid".

your frown deepened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. worry, that's what mark remembered. your eyes widened, but not in the usual shock, simply in disappointment. you cursed under your breath, muttering something about your parents getting pissed at your reappearance. you stopped clicking your pen, letting the chagrin settle onto you. "yeah.."

you sucked your teeth, imitating the look of a sulky child. mark was consumed by his silence, completely confused by the situation. he didn't give a comment, simply watched the whole entire thing happen. "i'll give you a few minutes, don't worry".

you didn't respond to that one, your eyes following the police officer who strolled out the door towards his car. you bit into your lip again, hands grasping onto your notebook and thumb still pressing onto your pen. "what bullshit".

mark continued staring, his hands clutching at his thighs. you then glanced at him once more, causing for him to flinch back. you stayed silent, watching him as much as he did you a few minutes prior.

"are you alright?" he muttered, leaving his voice at a low volume. he didn't want to raise it, he wanted to keep it at a volume that kept you comfortable.

you snickered, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "fine, going home is just my worst nightmare".

mark's fingers found themselves sliding across his legs, teeth sliding against each other in back and forth motions. he blinked his big brown eyes, staring with an assured gaze he hoped would somehow make it's way to you. "i'm sorry".

he whispered those two words as if he was in physical pain, eyes watering for an inexplainable moment. he couldn't help it, and he had no idea why he couldn't help it. it was embarrassing how much he felt at the moment.

you stared back, lips pursuing. your expressions did at least seventy transformations, as if you were in disbelief at someone having empathy for you. you seemed distraught, why is he tearing up? that's so strange.

you chuckled, hoping it would quell his worries. "it's okay, not like it's your fault".

"still, you shouldn't have to feel that way about going home.. your parents shouldn't be kicking you out".

you grimaced, put off by the words. it isn't as if they were terrible, you just seemed.. astonished. why did he care? it was simply weird to you.

"well thank you for your concern but i'll be fine".

mark blinked away the tears threatening to escape his eyes, god what was wrong with him? why did he even tear up at that? he totally weirded you out.

"yeah um.. i'm sorry" mark bit into his inner cheek, letting out a heavy sigh. "just have a good day" a theatric smile placed itself on his lips, he was definitely trying to convince himself that it wasn't that bad of a situation.

you stared longer, seemingly itching to say something. there were words resting on the tip of your tongue, mark could practically sense it. "yeah, you too".

and when you stood up to walk out of the door, donghyuck coincidentally escaped the clutches of the sheriff, stumbling out of his office with his arms crossed over his chest. the door closed behind you, and mark watched the entire time.

"what took you so long?" mark uttered, eyes casting donghyuck's way.

the younger huffed in his usual donghyuck manner, hands on his hips. "he was giving me a big talk about safe driving" he placed heavy air quotes around the last two words, lips curled into a frown.

mark licked his teeth, his thoughts retracing back to you. "do you know him..?"

donghyuck blinked, his mouth opening to ask about who until he saw the way mark motioned his head. "y/n? oh yeah, he's around here all the time, the officers basically take him in whenever.."

"why?"

his voice scratched like sandpaper, donghyuck wincing at the tone. he then shrugged his shoulders, his attitude puzzled. "something about his parents not really caring, it's pretty shitty".

mark's lips parted in a freezing motion, his stomach pain only worsening. "that's scary.. feeling safer at the police station than your own home".

"i don't know much about his situation, just know his parents have a terrible temper".

mark swallowed the lump in his throat, his head beginning to pound at the information given. he tried to distract himself by thinking about school coming up soon, but he was snapped back into reality by donghyuck.

"why are you even asking me about y/n?"

mark glanced up at his childhood friend, a small whisper in his mind telling him to lie. "just curious that's all".

the lie laid bitter on his tongue, but he didn't allow for donghyuck to dwell on it, rising from the chair he's practically glued himself to. "promise me you'll never illegally drive again, the officers here look like they wanna kill me".

donghyuck rolled his eyes, tease evident in his attitude. "okay markie, promise".

mark pushed his shoulder in retaliation.

that? that was two months ago.

before the crisp autumn weather drifted through the atmosphere, before the leaves began falling to decorate the ground in orange and brown hues, mark lee had met you at the local police station. your legs crossed, pen clicking, and nose buried into your notebook.

september came and went rather quickly, the scorching heat of the summer air transforming into the russet autumn scenery which drifts into october. the temperature steadily dropping, sweaters becoming more and more common in his closet, mark can't exactly focus in class during the first few months of school.

when mark hears his name fall from his teacher's lips in pair with yours, he snaps out of an episode of disassociation, blinking up. "what?"

his teacher deadpanned, readjusting her glasses. she doesn't even seem surprised by his lack of focus anymore, his exhaustion is constantly evident. "project partners mark, you'll be paired with y/n".

mark only parts his lips in response, the words rendering him speechless. he glances around the classroom as he listens to the older woman's voice blurs into the background, catching sight of you in the far back, again scribbling into your notebook, your manner reminiscent of how you acted the first time you two met.

he stares for a while before again looking forward, his mouth going dry as he tries again to focus, but of course, he can't. his mind stays focused on you throughout the whole class, even after the endless words he lets blur away.

you spin your pen between your fingers, it's the same pen you had that day, maybe you have some sort of attachment to it or something, maybe it's your favorite pen, maybe someone special gifted that pen to you.

maybe mark's letting it all get to his head, why is he even making assumptions when he hasn't walked up to you yet?

while everyone else rushes to leave the class, mark rises from his seat and again glances over at you, slinging his back over his shoulder.

you're riveted by what you're doing in your notebook, so absorbed that you barely hear the shuffling footsteps making their way around the many desks towards yours. your lips turn down as you smudge the ink on the page, a small suck of the teeth adding to your frustration.

"um.. hi" mark whispers, watching as you glance up and pause, one click to your pen. you don't respond immediately, studying mark for a while, and mark tenses up under your gaze, sucking a breath between his teeth.

"hi".

"we uh— were partners for the project".

your smile is neutral. "i know".

mark began biting the skin off his lips, hands gripping at his backpack. "i don't know where you want to start, uh.. maybe we could go to the library?"

he's just saying what he's hoping will work. he doesn't exactly know you yet, he assumes your one off interaction at the police station left a sour taste in your mouth.

but unbeknownst to mark's anxious inner voice, you smile, not exactly a neutral one this time, a much better smile ('better' in terms of expression, your lips stretch into an aspect of satisfaction).

"that'd be nice".

mark nods, almost too enthusiastically he thinks. how embarrassing. you let out a silent yawn, oblivious to the battle mark is having in his head. "tomorrow maybe we can start?"

your smile again becomes neutral, but at least mark doesn't think you want to kill him. "yeah, tomorrow is fine".

tomorrow. tomorrow is fine.

"okay, have a good day y/n".

mark rushes out of the classroom much too fast, he feels a little terrified of you. maybe you don't exactly want to kill him, maybe you just look at everyone else in that way, maybe it won't be that bad to be paired with you.

still, mark isn't sure why his mind tells him he should stay away from you.

#mark lee #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #mark nct #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee drabbles #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #mark lee x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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icarusignite · 2 years ago

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Hey Autor,

Could you maybe make a Reader Velaryon/Targaryen x Cregan stark?

The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor (the real father is Daemon Targaryen) and the eldest child of Rhaenyra and the heiress of the iron throne.The reader is sent to the Starks at the age of 14 to live with them for some time (no idea what reason there might be). Cregan doesn’t like the reader at first and is mean to her.At some point, the two get closer and fall in love. Maybe just kisses could arise between them no more. After she was with the Starks for some time, one day a lord comes with his daughter maybe Alysanne Blackwood and her father. Because Cregan is engaged to her and should marry her soon,He never told the reader that he was promised to someone else and the reader gets angry. Cregan wants to talk to her but she ignores him. Cregan does not take action against the wedding and marries Alysanne. Alysanne notices that the reader is angry and and provoke her. reader says goodbye to Lord and Lady stark, While Cregan spends time with Alyssane to get to know her. Reader flies home on her dragon because she doesn’t want to be at the wedding. After years, a war in the north has broken out and seems to be lost. Rhaenyra sends the reader and Jace to the north to help the Starks and end the war with their dragons. Cregan has a child with alysanne (but she should still be alive please.) She's still bitter and full of anger. Maybe the two could have a happy ending because Cregan really loved the reader, he didn’t want to hurt her, but it’s called a stark doesn’t break an oath. Of course, the reader does not forgive him directly and makes him feel her anger.

Please a lot of drama, I love big drama.

I am sorry for my English.

Your reader.

Ps: I wrote this request to another author but I don't know if he wants to write it so I wanted to write to you again because I always love your writing 🫶

Cregan Stark x fem! reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: The five times you told Cregan Stark you hated him, and the one time you actually meant it.

A/N: Hey heyyyy, lol I'm finally back. I'm soo soo sorry this took forever to put out, I've been suffering from massive writer's block and I lowkey feel like my house of the dragon hyperfixation was over for a while so I wasn't feeling too motivated to work on related stuff. Anyway, hope you like what I've done with the premise. Lots of drama but I didn't really see there being a happy end where they actually get together lol. As usual, I love your requests and asks so feel free to send in more (I shall try to get them done in a more timely manner T_T)

I hate you I love you

1. At first sight

Being the oldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and future heir to the Iron Throne meant that you were seldom allowed to follow your heart's desire. You were simply a pawn in the grand elaborate game of life, fit to be moved around wherever someone saw fit. You didn't have much of a say when your mother named you her heir, you didn't have a say when she decided that you would be sent to be fostered at Winterfell for a few years for some reason you could not fathom, and you certainly would not have a say when you would be married off to whatever lord would serve the greatest political advantage.

You first met the dark-haired boy that was Cregan Stark at the impressionable young age of fourteen, and you were quite intimidated. There was something in his eyes, their steely grey reminding you of an icy winter storm. His uncle, Lord Bennard, currently ruled the north as regent and you could tell that relations were tense between the two of them.

Lord Brennard had led you into the Great Hall, where the fire roared in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. There, standing near the hearth, was a young man of sixteen, with a stony expression, his eyes fixed on the flames. Lord Brennard cleared his throat, and the young man turned to look at them.

"Princess, may I introduce you to my nephew, Cregan Stark," Lord Brennard said with a polite smile.

Cregan regarded you with a cold, distant gaze, his demeanour as frosty as the land outside. He didn't extend a hand or offer a greeting. Instead, he simply nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line, making it clear that he would rather be anywhere else but there.

If you were unhappy with his offputting behaviour, you made no show of it. Your mother had schooled you in the proper etiquette of being a gracious young lady and you extended your hand gracefully.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord."

Cregan's response was curt, "Likewise."

He then turned his attention back to the fire, seemingly disinterested in your presence.

Lord Brennard, ever the diplomat, tried to initiate conversation.

"Cregan, the princess has travelled a long way to be here. Perhaps you could show her around Winterfell, and introduce her to some of your companions?"

Cregan sighed audibly and finally tore his gaze away from the flames, "Do I have to, Uncle?"

Lord Brennard's expression tightened slightly, but he remained patient, "It would be a kind gesture, Cregan. She's a guest in our home."

You smiled politely, doing your best to break through the young lord's cold exterior, "I would appreciate it greatly. I've heard so much about Winterfell, and I'd love to get to know the people who live here."

Cregan rolled his eyes but eventually relented with a reluctant nod.

"Fine, I'll show you around, but don't expect me to be your tour guide."

"Thank you. I promise not to be a bother," you grinned now, willing him to at least return some of your warmth.

Cregan's tour of Winterfell was far from what you had imagined. He led you through the castle's corridors and courtyards with long, determined strides, leaving you to struggle to keep up. Your gown, designed for the elegant strolls through the castles of the Red Keep and Dragonstone, was ill-suited for the rugged terrain and brisk pace Cregan set.

"My lord, please, may we slow down?" you called out, your voice slightly breathless. Your soft leather shoes were ill-equipped for the uneven stone floors, and your dress hampered your every step.

Cregan barely spared you a glance, his impatience evident in his voice, "We don't have all day, Princess. You wanted a tour, didn't you?"

You pressed on, determined not to let Cregan's demeanour ruin your first day at Winterfell. You struggled to maintain your composure, but your frustration was building.

"Yes, but I didn't expect it to be a race. Could you at least wait for me?"

Cregan halted abruptly, turning to face you with a roll of his eyes, "Didn't you promise not to be a bother?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration. You had hoped for a warmer welcome, but it seemed Cregan was determined to make you feel like an unwanted guest.

"I did, but I didn't realize being polite was such a bother."

Cregan let out an exasperated sigh, and for a moment, you thought he might storm off and leave you behind. Instead, he begrudgingly slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up.

"Fine, let's get on with it."

As you continued the tour, Cregan pointed out various parts of Winterfell with curt explanations, still making no effort to engage in polite conversation. You did your best to show interest and appreciation for the castle's history and architecture, but it was clear that Cregan was not interested in your company.

Later that evening, the dinner at Winterfell was a formal affair, and despite the grandeur of the feast laid out, Cregan continued to be rude and dismissive towards you. He barely acknowledged your presence, and when you attempted to engage in conversation with other members of the Stark household, he would interrupt with snide comments or pointedly change the subject. The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the disapproving glances of some of the Stark bannermen who were clearly not pleased with the arrangement. You couldn't blame them though; you were an outsider, and Cregan's hostility toward you only made matters worse.

Eventually, you had had enough. After the meal, when you found yourselves alone in the corridor leading to your chambers, you turned to him, frustration boiling over after hours of having kept it simmering under your skin.

"My lord, may I ask you something?"

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his icy demeanour unchanged, "I don't suppose you'd desist if I refused?"

That was it. Your final breaking point.

"Why are you determined to be so fucking impolite to me?" your voice exploded, echoing in the empty corridor.

Cregan's eyes widened, surprised at your use of profanities no doubt.

Without stopping for a breath, you continued your torrent of complaints, "I understand that you didn't want me here, but have you perhaps considered that I didn't want to leave my home either? I didn't have a say in this, just like you, so if I can muster up the courage to try and hold on to a shred of hopefulness about this whole situation, can't you at least try to be civil to me? You're older than me, after all. Or do you not have the emotional maturity to not be a fucking menace to people you've judged in your head before even getting to know them."

Cregan regarded your outburst with his usual cold indifference, and you felt yourself deflate. Perhaps you had gone too far. Insulting a lord in his home was not proper behaviour befitting a young lady but you would be lying if you said that it didn't bring you a little satisfaction to see the slight cracks in Cregan's composure. There was a glimmer of something else in his eyes as well—a flicker of respect, perhaps. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he finally let out a sigh, seemingly relenting and his eyes softened, almost too imperceptibly.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, his tone suggesting that he was far from genuine. "I apologize if my behaviour has offended you, Princess."

He tacked on the Princess at the end of his sentence, almost as an afterthought and the mockery in it only made the fire in your eyes blaze brighter. You opened your mouth to say something else but Cregan raised his hands placatingly.

"No, no. I am truly sorry for my behaviour. I had my reasons but I will not give you excuses," he chuckled. "Although I must admit, I did not expect you capable...of that."

Your ears flushed crimson and you ducked your head in embarrassment.

"I hate you Cregan Stark," you mumbled under your breath but when you looked up to see his arrogantly cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk, you realized you did not quite mean it with the intensity he deserved.

2. Deep in the godswood

One crisp, sunny morning, the two of you found yourselves in the godswood of Winterfell, surrounded by the ancient trees with their solemn faces carved into the bark. You had decided to engage in a rare moment of playfulness, and the game you had chosen was a simple one—tag.

Cregan, always quick and agile, took the first turn as the pursuer. He sprinted after you, his laughter echoing through the godswood. After a few months at Winterfell, you were no longer the delicate princess you once were, and you ran with surprising grace.

As you weaved between the towering trees, the thrill of the chase engulfed you. You darted around a tree, hoping to outmaneuver Cregan, but he was relentless. With a burst of speed, he lunged forward and tagged you, causing you to stumble.

Your foot caught on a root, and you tumbled to the ground with a cry of surprise. You had landed on the soft moss beneath the tree, your dress stained with mud and leaves. You scowled and glanced up at Cregan, who stood over you, victorious and unapologetic.

"You cheated," you accused your voice a mix of irritation and laughter.

Cregan grinned mischievously, "All's fair in love and war, Princess."

You couldn't help but chuckle despite your fall. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your gaze meeting Cregan's.

"Well, we must be at war then, my lord, for I see no love here in this godswood."

"Oh is that so?" Cregan's eyes twinkled and he watched you in a way that made your ears flush again.

"I fucking hate you!" you declared, trying to force a scowl on your face.

Cregan's expression softened, and he reached out his hand to help you up. As you looked into his eyes, something shifted within you. You realized that your declaration of hatred was no longer true if it ever had been.

You accepted Cregan's hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet and into him. Your gaze met his, and there was a brief moment where something bright and electric sparked between the two of you.

Cregan smiled and winked, breaking the soft moment.

"Let's watch our language, Princess. And don't try to lie to me, I know you better than that."

"Oh, you know nothing at all, my lord."

3. Once upon a fairytale

The ball at Winterfell was a rare and enchanting event, one that had not been held in years. The Great Hall had been transformed into a dazzling spectacle, with chandeliers glittering from the ceiling and banners of House Stark adorning the walls. The air in Winterfell had been doing you wonders and you had grown even more radiant in the past year. Your presence drew the attention of many young lords from noble houses across the North.

You were quickly approached by eager suitors the moment you stepped into the hall, and they approached you with polished manners and flattering words, hoping for a chance to dance with a royal princess. Cregan, watching from the shadows, felt a pang of jealousy as he saw one lord after another try their luck with you, often stumbling over their words in their haste.

In response to their requests, you smiled politely and declined each invitation with a gracious nod. Your eyes, however, never strayed far from Cregan, who it seemed had taken up a dance with another lady—a striking brunette with a winsome smile.

Finally, when the music shifted to a slower, more intimate melody, Cregan finished his dance and made his way towards you. He extended his hand with a charming smile.

"Princess, may I have this dance?"

Your response was less than warm. You raised an eyebrow and looked at him with mock annoyance.

"Oh, my lord, how kind of you to finally grace me with your presence. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

Cregan's smirk was mischievous as he took your hand, "Forgotten about you? Never, my lady."

As you began to dance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. Your voice was hushed as you spoke, your irritation clear.

"You've been dancing with other ladies all night. I thought you weren't interested in me."

Cregan leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your throat, "Jealous, are we?"

Your cheeks flushed.

"No," you replied, trying to remain nonchalant, but your tone betrayed your true feelings. "I just thought you were ignoring me."

"Sounds like jealousy to me."

You rolled your eyes, "I hate you, Cregan Stark."

Cregan's eyes twinkled with amusement as he spun you gracefully across the floor, "You don't."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Cregan brought your hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath immediately caught in your throat, rendering you speechless.

Cregan held your gaze, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity.

"No, you don't," he repeated softly as if daring you to deny it.

4. Slowly, and then all at once

Throughout the next grand feast, Cregan couldn't resist cracking teasing jokes at your expense, each one playful but not cruel, designed only to elicit merriment. His quips were met with laughter and amusement from the other lords and ladies, you felt annoyed being his topic of discussion that evening.

After the dinner finally concluded, you could take no more. You caught Cregan by the arm as he was about to leave the hall and dragged him away to an isolated hallway. Your eyes flashed with anger as you turned to face him and although the expression on your face was a serious one, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the fieriness of it. It was the same expression you had worn the first time you confronted him about his behaviour and unbeknownst to you, that was when he had first started to feel that aching pull toward you.

"What was that all about, Cregan?" you demanded, your voice sharp.

Cregan's response was unexpected. He didn't offer an apology or a defence of his actions. Instead, he took a step closer to you, his expression intense. Before you could react or voice your pent-up frustration, he kissed you.

It was a passionate, intense kiss that left you momentarily breathless. Your protests were silenced as your lips met his, and your anger dissolved into a mixture of surprise and desire. Cregan's lips were firm against yours, his hands gentle but insistent on your waist.

When he finally pulled away, you were left looking quite dazed and disoriented. Your cheeks flushed, and your heart raced in your chest. Cregan smirked at you, his eyes filled with a blend of amusement and affection.

"Princess," he said softly, "Don't you dare say that you hate me again. It's abundantly clear that you don't."

You tried to form a coherent response, but your thoughts were still scattered from the unexpected kiss. You found yourself at a loss for words, your feelings for the young lord more complex than ever before.

Cregan's thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead tenderly.

"Let's not waste any more time pretending, my lady," he whispered. "We both know how we truly feel."

5. I wish I could hate you

The arrival of Lady Alysanne Blackwood and her father brought a flurry of activity to Winterfell. Lady Alysanne was a beautiful and vivacious woman, and her presence seemed to light up every room she entered. As the daughter of an important house, she was greeted with warmth and enthusiasm by Lord Brennard Stark and the other members of House Stark.

You couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in Cregan's behaviour towards Lady Alysanne compared to his demeanour with you when you first arrived. He greeted the Blackwoods with a genuine smile, engaged in polite conversation, and even offered to show Lady Alysanne around Winterfell himself. It was a stark departure from the cold and aloof Cregan you had known at first.

You tried to push aside the feelings of hurt and jealousy that welled up within you. It had been some time since Cregan had treated you with such indifference, and you knew you should let bygones be bygones. After all, you reasoned, Cregan had every right to make new acquaintances and friends. You were still the one he shared kisses with and spoke whispered promises to.

However, as the days passed, you couldn't shake the feeling of being left behind. Cregan seemed to spend more and more time in the company of Lady Alysanne, showing her the beauty of Winterfell, introducing her to the people of the North, and sharing tales of their homeland.

One evening, as you watched Cregan and Lady Alysanne from across the courtyard, a sense of loneliness and abandonment washed over you. Then came the announcement that turned your blood cold. There was talk around the castle of preparations for a grand wedding. At first, this confused you. Cregan was the only member of the Starks of marriageable age, but he had never discussed something like this with you. And then you realized why, when passing the kitchens late one night, you overheard the scullery maids talking about how lovely a bride Lady Alysanne would make.

One day, as you walked alone in the quiet gardens of Winterfell, your steps slow and contemplative, Lady Alysanne approached you. You had been lost in your thoughts, unaware of Alysanne's presence until she spoke.

"I must admit, I wanted to see for myself the woman rumoured to be close to my future husband," she said with a smirk.

Your heart sank at the cruel tone in Alysanne's voice, and your voice trembled as you replied, "Your future husband?"

Alysanne nodded, her expression filled with mockery.

"Yes, Princess. Cregan and I have been promised to each other since birth. It's a marriage that our families have long arranged, for the good of both our houses."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned away to hide your emotions. You felt a crushing weight on your chest, the realization that the man you had grown to care for deeply was bound by duty to another.

Your voice was barely a whisper as you asked, "How long have you known about this?"

Alysanne's tone was sharp and cutting as she replied, "I've known for a while, but I wanted to meet you before the wedding. I wanted to see the foolish girl who thought she could steal Cregan away from his duty."

Your heart ached with a mixture of sadness and resignation. You had to accept the reality of the situation, no matter how much it hurt.

Alysanne reached out with a mocking smile, but her touch was far from comforting as she placed her hand on your shoulder.

"I know this must be difficult for you, Princess, as you are probably used to having whatever your heart desires. But you should have known better. Cregan was never yours to have."

Later that very same day, when the sun had begun to set over Winterfell, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, you were sitting alone on a stone bench, your thoughts consumed by the hurtful encounter with Lady Alysanne. You had been lost in your own misery when Cregan approached, his expression filled with concern.

"Princess, I heard about what happened with Lady Alysanne," Cregan began, his voice gentle. "I wanted to make sure you're all right."

Your heart ached at the sound of his voice, but you tried to ignore him, focusing on the setting sun instead. You couldn't bear to look at him, not now, not after everything that had transpired.

Cregan, undeterred by your silence, took a step closer, "Please, let me explain."

Your emotions, raw and uncontainable, finally burst forth. You turned to face him, eyes filled with tears, and voice trembling with pain.

"Explain? You don't deserve to give me an explanation now, Cregan. Not after all that has happened between us."

Cregan's expression was one of genuine regret as he reached out to touch your arm, "Listen, please, just hear me out."

You couldn't bear to listen any longer. The words that had been building up inside you for so long spilled out in a rush.

"You should have told me, Cregan. You should have told me that you were promised to another, that you could never belong to me. You should have told me before you kissed me under the stars, before you spun me around in gilded ballrooms. Before you made me hope for something that wasn't real."

Tears streamed down your face, and your voice broke as you continued.

"I hate you, Cregan."

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. Cregan's face showed a mix of pain and sadness, but he said nothing in response. You yearned for him to tell you that you were wrong. To tell you that you didn't hate him and that he certainly did not hate you and that he would be yours after all.

He opened his mouth but no words came out.

I love you.

The words were just on the tip of his tongue but he could not force them out. He could not be selfish enough to give you hope when he was bound by duty.

There never lived a Stark who broke an oath.

That was what Cregan's father had always told him, and he wasn't about to be the first stark to do so. And so Cregan chose to remain silent and eventually, he walked away, leaving you surrounded by the shards of your broken heart. Your hands came up to muffle the broken sobs that escaped your lips and the tears that streaked down your face were a testimony to your lie. You could claim to hate him all you want but one did not mourn this much for someone they hated.

You left the very next morning, after a hasty goodbye to the few people you had gotten to know during your stay at Winterfell and with a heavy heart, you directed your dragon toward your true home. You didn't think you could bear to watch him marry Lady Alysanne and it was better for you to leave now with at least some of your dignity intact.

~ I hate you and I mean it.

Several years had passed since the painful encounter with Cregan in the gardens of Winterfell. In the intervening years, much had changed. Your mother had taken the throne after the passing of your grandfather, King Viserys and you had been named her official heir. When news of a great war in the North reached the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra Targaryen, she saw an opportunity to strengthen her alliances and sent her two eldest children, you and Jace, to aid House Stark in the battle, accompanied by their dragons.

With the might of dragons at your side, the two of you made quick work of the war, helping to secure a decisive victory for the Starks. The sight of dragons soaring through the northern skies struck fear into the hearts of their enemies, and soon, the war was won.

In celebration of their triumph, House Stark held a grand feast in honour of the Targaryen siblings. The Great Hall of Winterfell was adorned with banners, and tables groaned under the weight of a sumptuous feast. Nobles from across the North had gathered to pay their respects to the Dragonriders.

You couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of emotions as you walked the familiar halls of Winterfell once more. The memories of your time here, both the joyful moments and the painful ones, flooded back to you. You had changed so much since then, and the scars of the past had faded but not entirely disappeared.

As you and Jace were introduced to the Northern lords and ladies, the atmosphere was one of jubilation and gratitude. The Starks were effusive in their praise, grateful for the Targaryens' aid in securing their victory.

You couldn't help but notice that Cregan was among those present, his gaze fixed on you. There was a tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the past and the wounds that still lingered. You had returned to Winterfell as a powerful figure, a dragon rider and an heir to the throne, but the history between you and Cregan remained.

The feast was a boisterous affair, with music and revelry filling the Great Hall. You watched as Cregan hovered about his wife almost constantly, his hand gentle on her protruding abdomen as he guided her about the room.

As the feast at Winterfell continued, your shock deepened when you noticed a young boy running towards Cregan with gleeful abandon. The boy called out, "Father!" with pure excitement, and Cregan, with a warm smile, hoisted the child onto his shoulders. They paraded around the room, making their way through the nobles who cheered and greeted them.

You watched in disbelief as Cregan introduced the boy to the gathered lords and ladies, his paternal pride evident in every gesture. The sight of Cregan with the child sent a pang of bitterness and resentment through you. You knew that Cregan's marriage to Lady Alysanne had likely produced offspring, but seeing it firsthand was a painful reminder of what could never be between the two of you.

Finally, the little boy and Cregan reached you and Jace. The child's dark, pale freckled skin and dark curls were identical to Alysanne's, but it was his eyes that caught your attention. They were the very same stormy grey eyes that you had noticed on Cregan the first time you had met him.

Cregan introduced the boy with a proud smile.

"This is my son, Rickon."

Cregan caught your eye and you caught a brief flash of regret pass through him before he schooled his expression into a pleasant grin. He turned back to his son, his face softening entirely as he gazed at him with adoration so tender that it speared right through your heart.

I hate you, Cregen Stark. I hate you for finding happiness without me. I hate you for not fighting for me. I hate you for your stupid oaths and your stupid loyalties. I hate you.

You were wise enough to keep your angry thoughts to yourself, but for the first time in your life, you found that you actually meant them. perhaps that made you a cruel and callous monster but you did not care. You hated Cregan Stark more than anything else and wondered, not for the first time, if you should have advised your mother against sending you to help out in the war. Still, you were your mother's daughter and if there was one person you loved with your entire heart, it was her. If helping the Starks win their war secured their support for your mother, then you would bury your heavy heart and do it for her.

As the evening wore on, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the festivities. The bitter taste of jealousy and regret lingered in your mouth, a constant reminder of the life that could have been but was now forever out of reach. Whatever Cregan thought of Alysanne, it was clear that he loved their children and very soon there would be even more to cherish if Alysanne's laboured breaths and swollen belly said anything. You couldn't escape the feeling that you were a stranger in a place that had once held such significance in your life. The years had changed you, and Winterfell had changed as well. There was no longer any room for you and you couldn't wait to return home.

A/N: reblog and comment please, it really motivates me and I love reading yalls thoughts <3

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #hotd #hbo house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon headcanon #house of the dragon aemond #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #icarus ignite writes

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thesirencove · 7 months ago

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ᨒ ོ ☼ YOU'VE BECOME MY CEILING -- SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

another angst fic !! i love writing angst so this is nothing new from me ofc :) once again , this is a fic i posted on a previous blog , which i since removed from said blog as i decided to focus on another topic . so i'm here to once again share my works :) i've also since edited this fic a bit , as i wrote it a bit ago !! let me know your thoughts on this one and enjoy <3

my requests are open and let me know if anyone would like a part two to this !

tissues are once again needed and there is no use of y/n in this fic

sam winchester x fem!reader (romantic)

summary: when sam pulls away, and reader just can't keep going. loosely based on the song "the gold" , specifically phoebe bridgers version

warnings: break ups (sorta ?) , minor descriptions + mentions of suffocation (if you blink you'll probably miss it) , abandonment , loss of love (to some degree) , unrequited love but not really (???) , sad sam (again </3)

word count: 1.8k

love was difficult. it was consuming. beautiful. costly. the best feeling in the world, and the worst one. it was all of these things at the same time.

sometimes it was the most freeing thing in the world. other times it was suffocating. it could be a good suffocating, at times. the love so overwhelming that she burst with joy at the feeling. a love she held so closely that she couldn’t find ways to express it any further even as she drowned in the feeling.

other times it made her want to cry everything out. it made her want to collapse on the floor, heart and lungs heavy. it made her dread the silence during fights, or the sleepless nights waiting for a phone call back. it made her dread the days spent waiting for him to come home. the tears welling up in her eyes when she could only imagine the worst as minutes became hours, which would become days and eventually weeks. it was dreadful.

but the good parts made up for it. the nights spent curled up in each others’ arms. hearing each others’ shallow breaths as they slept. the warmth of being near one another. the way the light shone in a different way, because things were good. things were calm. he was home and so was she. the smiles rarely ever left either of their faces. being in close proximity was all they needed. they’d talk, but the silence was just as peaceful. it wasn’t deafening or painful. it didn’t make her heart wrench. both of them were safe and in love and happy.

that’s not the way it was now. right now the silence was heavy. so was her heart. her lungs felt like they were constricting. like there wasn’t enough air left for her to breathe. it felt like their love was dying out. like the flame they’d so carefully spent time fostering was dying out, providing barely any light. she didn’t want it to. she was grabbing at it, pulling it back towards her, like a child trying to save their most prized possesion that’s about to be thrown out. she tried to save it. so, so hard. she would spend nights awake, thinking how to fix things. how to make it better, for both of them. how to make sure they were both safe and in love and happy again.

but he wasn’t making that effort. he had shut down. she didn’t know what it was. he came home one day after weeks of no contact on a long hunt, and since then it’s been like this. she had to tiptoe around him on eggshells. the feeling of acid burning her throat never left. she tried to get him to talk. to say something. to open up to her, so she could help him. but he had snapped. she wouldn’t give up, though. she tried, again and again. it always ended the same, with sam angry and her silent tears soaking the pillow. after months of trying she decided it wasn’t worth pushing any further.

he would open up in time, right? he just needed to find the initiative to come to her himself, to not be forced into opening up, right? things would get fixed in time and it would be all okay again. but it didn’t happen. the time didn’t come. and yet again, hours would become days, which would be come weeks and slowly those weeks would become months. except this time he wasn’t away. he was home. he was with her. and yet the distance between them was further than ever before.

i love you, she thought.

i love you with all my heart and soul. i love you unconditionally. i love you even through the heaviness in my heart and the tears that stain my cheeks every day.

but it’s just not enough, she realized. her one-sided love wasn’t enough. she couldn’t be the only person with love in this relationship. it was slowly breaking her, tearing her apart. she was a shell of herself now, just as sam has been these past few months.

so she packed a bag. just one. only what she needed. not everything. she left the rest. she would be coming back. she knew she would. a love like this doesn’t just end. there’s bumps in the road. there always are. but this bump needed a little extra time and care. and that had to come in the form of being away. she needed to be able to breathe. perhaps he, too, needed space.

distance makes the heart grow fonder, no?

and with that one bag in hand, she left the room she shared with him. with her sam. the love of her life. the man who now sat at the kitchen table, absolutely unrecognizable. she watched him from afar. sitting there, motionless. a bottle of beer stood in front of him.

she placed her bag down where she was, positioning it so he wouldn’t see. and she entered the kitchen.

one last time, she thought to herself. she wouldn’t be saying goodbye. that’s not what this was. she was going to be back. but she couldn’t leave without seeing him one more time. giving him one last kiss before she was gone.

“sam,” she croaked out. her voice was barely louder than a whisper. he didn’t respond.

“sam,” she said once again, louder this time. it caught his attention. he looked up at her.

“i love you,” she said to him. her eyes were glossy. she was breathing as evenly as she could, her lungs constricting as her heart beat so fast that she practically felt it in her throat. she didn’t want him to see her cry, even though he had so many times in the past.

“mhm,” was his only response. he looked away from her soon after, his motions so slow they were almost robotic. it was as though he were on autopilot, picking up his beer and taking a swig of it. she took that as her sign. her final push. to do this. to take some time away from him, let him figure things out. he wasn’t going to do that with her around. these past few months have proven that. even through every time she tried to help him, to figure out why he’d shut down, he would just push her further away. she bent down and placed a kiss to his forehead.

i’m sorry, she thought to herself.

and so she took one last look at him. she turned towards the door. and she walked out. moving her legs was a chore. it was difficult and every bone in her body screamed at her to turn back around. to get down on the floor, to her knees, and beg him to talk to her, to tell her what was wrong. but it wouldn’t work. she knew that, because she already tried it.

so against every instinct in her body, against every thought in her head but one, she grabbed the bag she had hidden behind the wall outside the kitchen, and left.

sam heard the door close. he didn’t think much of it. a day later, when the house was quieter than he was used to, he glazed over the thought that she wasn’t back yet. but that one day had yet again become days, which had eventually become a week. something changed in him. he called her. he rung her phone non-stop. he left message after message. he had sat in that same spot in the kitchen, phone in hand, waiting for her to pick the phone back up. but she hadn’t.

he had finally woken up from his daze. he finally realized that he had lost her. it took her leaving for him to realize that things weren’t okay. that he wasn’t okay. none of it was.

he wished he had told her, that he opened up to her about what happened on that hunt. about how he tried to save a child, and couldn’t. how he saw himself in this young boy, so frightened and yet trying to show strength. a child that he then saw buried by his family a week later. the monsters in town were gone thanks to him, but a child had died. and he couldn’t forgive himself for that, he couldn’t bring himself to function properly. this child, so closely mirroring his younger self was gone because of him. and so he shut down.

she tried to help him, to get him to open up, but goddamnit he just wouldn’t listen. and now he’d lost her, too. she was gone, not answering the phone. he wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back, though he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.

and one lonely night in november, sam was laying in her room. he’d been curled up in a ball on her bed, her scent having nearly faded completely, when he saw the leather poking out from inside her closet. and he got up. pulled out what it was that caught his eye.

her journal. the one thing she refused to go anywhere without, she had left behind. so he opened it. and he read, and read, and read. he couldn’t stop reading. and he hated himself more and more with each entry. he knew he shouldn’t have read it, but he couldn’t help himself. he wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back, and this was the closest thing to her that he now had.

he watched their love crumple in front of his eyes, the memories burnt into the pages. but their love wasn’t enough for it to stay.

it’s my fault, he’d repeat in his head. over and over and over again. non-stop, like a mantra. and when he got to the last page, he had felt his heart shatter. he had become physically ill at what he read.

it’s like he’s become my ceiling, the page read.

a blank wall i stare at, unmoving and not in love with me, no matter how much i may love him, it finished.

and just like that, sam winchester had broken himself more than he had already been broken. but he would wait. he’d wait for her to return. he’d look for her. he’d hope that she’d come back. and in the meantime he’d work on himself. fix himself. he’d pull himself out of the rut he was in, so that when she came back, he could give her all the love in the world again. so she could look at him with all the light in the world once more.

he would become her the sun again and brighten her world. he realized that he needs to open up to her, that he can rely on her. he doesn’t have to be scared of her love anymore. she wouldn’t run away if he told her what happened. she’d only love him unconditionally. and oh, how sam wished she were still here.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfic #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #angst #so much angst #romantic relationships #₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ aqua's fanfics

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cressidagrey · 5 days ago

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Heyyy

I couldn't find if you said anywhere what pronouns you use, so I hope it's okay that I use she/her.

To the fic: you put me in a reading slump, in a good way in a i-want-to-read-this-fic-in-another-font-way and I haven't found a way yet to find other stuff like yours. Honestly I didn't even read driver/OC before you 😭 what are you putting in your fics?

Girl I never should have found out how often you post because now I'm always on the lookout for a new update as if I'm not able to wait 6 months for other fics. Definitely not meant as pressure (and I know about the weekend break, have fun on your vacation) just in a way that I'm very impressed by you putting out there 8-12k chapter almost daily, while being a full time student (same here 🫠, not law but i have one law class and the amount of work i have to do to be good in it-unreal) and to have to edit it all, maybe even by yourself as I didn't saw a beta mentioned, but even then big extra Kudos to your and your maybe beta.

Have not read the latest chapter 13 yet because I want to read it on my commute, but I can say I love everything. The drivers finding out one after the other and always deciding not my circus not my problem, im outta here, gotta go bye, is way too funny.

Also not to brag but I clocked Max immediately when he called her Belle, I saw what you did there. And ngl I kinda want every chapter to be the one where the Leclercs find out I also always want it not to be so the fic never ends 🤣. By the way my first fic by you were Such a mystery, also a banger.

And here I'm saying sorry to any person reading this wall of text on mobile and leave with a few questions if you are comfortable answering them:

1. Favorite flower?

2. Ever attended a GP?

3. Any siblings? Younger sister here, and if yes I hope you don't write from experience 💀.

Heyyy!! First of all — you’re so sweet for even thinking to ask about pronouns 🥹💛 She/her is perfect, and thank you for being so thoughtful about it!!

Second — I’m literally grinning like an idiot reading this entire message 😂 The "reading slump in a good way" and "i-want-to-read-this-in-another-font-way" is such a high compliment I don’t even know what to do with myself. Thank you for all the love and support — it truly means the world to me. 🫶🏻

And you're right — I don't have a "beta" (unless you count my endless rereads where I catch the mistakes at 1AM lol), but I do have people I bounce ideas of like @llirawolf, who gets to listen to me ramble on at like 2 in the morning.

Sending extra solidarity your way with the full-time student life (and law classes omg — even one is way too much sometimes 🫠).

Also major props for clocking Max immediately when he called her Belle — you have reader superpowers and I love that for you 🤭 Now for your questions!!

Favorite flower? Poppies! They’re soft and gorgeous and so RED and just pure joy to me.

Ever attended a GP? Nope — I’m a hardcore "watching from bed with six pillows and three blankets" kind of fan 😂

Any siblings? Biologically, I’m an only child! My parents fostered my older cousin until I was about 10 though, so I do have some real-life sibling dynamic experience... though, not gonna lie, that whole situation didn’t end particularly well 💀 so some angst might have found its way into my writing lol.

Thank you again for this amazing message — seriously. I’m sending you the biggest hug and wishing you all the strength for your coursework too!! (And I’ll keep trying to find ways to stretch White Horse out just a little longer so we can all live in this world together a bit more 🤭🫶🏻)

#c answers #white horse

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rocksibblingsau · 2 months ago

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so in the au where barb is baby but everyone else are grown ups did Trash just decided to adopt/kidnapped branch when he was a kid or what happen

In that AU I think Branch heard noises so he went further away from the village and found the Rock Trolls. He was pretty scared but also really intrigued and when Thrash went up to him the first thing he said was "You look like me."

Thrash's first thought was "Baby Rock Troll" but then he realized they were close to Pop territory so he was like "Nah probably not, probably just grey- oh..."

He asked Branch about where his family was, then where the people taking care of him were, of which there are none. Thrash was like "At least let me take you back to your village, it's not safe out here." And Branch pointed out that they clearly didn't want to get caught so he'd just walk back himself.

Branch starts to but then he sees them all packing up to leave and he decides he'll just... sneak into their bus and go with them. He hides until everyone leaves and ends up in the city and he borrows some clothes/boots that were left on the bus.

Here's the thing: you'd think Rock Trolls would be bad about keeping track of their kids. They are not. Even if the parent doesn't know where their kid is, someone does, and that someone is keeping an eye out.

As you might imagine, a random kid turning up makes people talk and Thrash gets pointed Branch's way. Branch who is currently making a bed behind some boxes and metal barrels. He of course is like "Mine" (after clearing up that Branch doesn't want to go home) and he keeps Branch as his kid. Since he has no kids, he's upfront with Branch that he'll be the next heir and Branch is like "I don't even like music, I can't lead a whole other tribe" and so Thrash says he can find Branch another foster. Branch can kinda tell Thrash was pretty excited about having a kid and he stays and starts learning all the things an heir needs to know.

Instead of imitating Barb, this Branch imitates Thrash so he has wild and frizzy hair like him and the cat's eye eyeliner that Thrash has going on. He's Thrash's shadow and Thrash has to nudge him to make friends his own age.

A few years later Thrash has a celebration to officially recognize Branch as the rightful heir to the throne. Branch still feels like he doesn't deserve it, in part because he's Pop but also because he's not Thrash's actual son. Thrash explains that Rock Trolls don't believe in distinction from birth or adoption and he tells Branch that he's 100% certainly not a direct descendent of their ancestor if you count out adoption. In fact the royal family has one of the highest rates of adoption with Rock Trolls. Almost every king and queen keep the first child they foster, which often times leads to them being the oldest child and thus the heir to the throne.

This leads up to Branch becoming king about 2 years before World Tour would have taken place.

As king he's fantastic, everyone says it's like Thrash never left.

Remember what I said about kings and queens adopting their first egg?

Branch ends up with an egg in his care: an egg safely left at his door by someone who wasn't interested in being a parent. Eggs can typically be handed over to a foster family immediately, since they don't need to be monitored for their mental health, but Branch couldn't bring himself to part with it.

Thrash had once told Branch if he'd ever had a daughter, he'd name her Barbara, so that is the name Branch picked.

Branch in the Baby Barb AU is functionally more of her dad but I'm Rock Sibblings, not Rock Father and Daughter.

#sibblings qna #baby barb au

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 months ago

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Safe Haven: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, implied child abuse and rape

Summary: Something is going on with Spencer. He has been nervous and secretive ever since you two posed as a married couple. He tries to throw you off his trail by lying but he knows better than to lie to someone like you. There's not a lot that people can hide from you, but it seems like the ones closest to you hide even the deadliest of secrets.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

You, Rossi, and Beeks take a trip to the Archer house where, you guessed it, the same yellow energy is lingering about.

"I don't know what you'll find. This was the first crime scene, so believe me, my guys went over it with a fine-tooth comb."

"I'm sure they did but none of them are me," you state. "Plus, we now know Mrs. Archer chose to take the suspect home instead of taking him to social services as she should have. We need to try to figure out why."

"She was a nurse for fifteen years. She would know how to work the system. Maybe she called in favors with social workers or knew some foster parents who could take him in."

The house has been cleaned so there isn't any forensic evidence left behind. Seeing the energy here doesn't help much either because you know exactly what the unsub's goal is. You're looking for anything that would suggest why she allowed the unsub to stay at her house. There is a landline phone on the counter with a blinking "2" on it signaling that there are two new messages.

"They've got messages," you say to Rossi.

"My guys checked it the first day. Those must be new."

You play the first message and a woman's voice comes across the machine.

"This is Brittany at Dr. Olsen's office. Eric missed his 9:00 AM appointment. Please call to reschedule."

The second message plays immediately after the first of another woman.

"Hi. Hello. My name is Nancy Riverton, and your son Jeremy missed his bus at the rest stop on Route 6. He's fine. He's safe. Don't worry. He's with me, but if you could just give me a call... Thanks."

"What were the names of the Archer children?" Rossi asks.

"Eric and Daniel."

"She said she picked him up on Route 6. It's him. He's at another family."

Beeks gets his men on the phone and calls it in. Based on the number the woman called from, the unsub is at Nancy Riverton's house. You have the address. It's only a matter of time before he kills her and her children. Since the team at the police station is a lot closer than you and Rossi, Derek and Emily head over to the address as fast as possible.

The kids are found in their room with their hands tied behind their backs but Nancy is gone. Their father died when the kids were little so it's just been them and Nancy for a long time. The unsub who told the kids his name is Jeremy, said he was going to his aunt's house in Chicago but lives in Omaha.

The weird thing is that when Nancy saw what Jeremy had planned for her family, she told him that he didn't do anything wrong. She told him that he was a good kid and he just made a mistake. The kids don't get why she did that but you do. It's clear that Jeremy has been abused or has trauma from his own family and all he needs is a little bit of love. If she behaved like the other parents, he would have continued to kill. She broke the cycle by treating him like a child who is hurting instead of a murderer.

Nancy got Jeremy out of her house and away from her kids, granting him a deal that she'd drive him wherever he wanted to go.

He told her he wanted to go home.

"Monica called a friend at the Northern Omaha Children's Hospital about an abandoned thirteen-year-old boy. Monica was going to bring him in the next day," Penelope says.

"We need to talk to that friend," Hotch says.

"I already did. Apparently, the children's hospital and child services have a strong rapport. She said the child's name was Niko Bellic and his hometown was Newton, Iowa."

"Niko Bellic?" Beeks asks, confused.

"Nico Bellic is the name of a main character in Grand Theft Auto IV." You, Hotch, Spencer, and Beeks look at Rossi. "What? I know things."

Spencer looks at the map and estimates the direction Nancy and Jeremy are going in.

"Guys, he's headed due east on Route 6. It passes right through Newton. He probably didn't expect the question and gave away his real hometown."

"Garcia, call the Iowa State Police and tell them to be on the lookout for a minivan headed east towards Route 6."

"Will do."

You take out your phone and call Emily who patches you through the car's Bluetooth system through. They're driving around the area to see if they can spot the minivan while also driving in the same direction Nancy is driving in. You connect her to Penelope so that everyone can hear everyone.

"Two thousand, two hundred families in Newton have kids under the age of eighteen. In other words, it's a lot."

"He would have acted out long before now. He's got a juvie record, he's well known to truant officers, and he's probably been kicked out of school, maybe several."

"We thought he was running away, but he's heading home. He's got a plan."

"Taking his rage out on surrogate mothers isn't doing it for him anymore. Now he's ready for the real thing," Derek says.

"Garcia, we need to ID this kid so we can find his mom and warn her."

"Got it." She doesn't even need five minutes to pull up the information. "I have thirty-two kids with juvie records who have been absent from school in the last three days. I can send police to their mothers, I can start calling houses—"

"No, we don't have time for trial by error. We have to narrow it down," Derek cuts her off.

"Okay, the kids at the last house said that the unsub liked to play a game. He liked tying the kids up and scaring them, and he knew what he was doing. He used socks and belts. He's done it before, Garcia."

"You want me to look for kids who've picked on their little brothers and sisters? I'm an only child but isn't that standard for you people with siblings?"

"Budding psychopaths don't just pick on their siblings. They torture them."

"Okay, well, none of them have assault records. Not yet, anyway."

"Is there any way to see if any of the younger siblings have been in the emergency room in the last six months?"

"Medical info like that is molasses slow to get unless I... Please hold for genius." Again, she only needs five minutes. "Got it. I figured a suspicious visit to the ER might end up in a social services report and it did. Ten days ago, the admitting doctor called about a Sayer family at 1365 Hunter Drive. Jeremy Sayer is a thirteen-year-old with a disturbingly long juvie record. Wow. His nine-year-old sister Carrie was brought to the hospital with a spiral arm fracture."

"The kind you get from having your arm twisted behind your back too far," Emily comments. She uses Derek's phone to call Kendra, Jeremy's mother, but she isn't answering her work phone. "Okay, Kendra's boss said she left work already. I have her cell phone. What do you have on Mr. Sayer?"

"He moved to Wisconsin three years ago. I'm looking at the phone records right now. He hasn't contacted the family in ten months," Penelope answers.

Emily tries to call Kendra on her phone but she isn't answering that one either.

"She sent me to voicemail. Twice."

"Keep trying."

She does and eventually gets Kendra on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Sayer, this is Agent Prentiss from the FBI. I need to talk to you about your son Jeremy."

"I don't have a son. I don't know what you're talking about," she stutters.

"Mrs. Sayer, it's important that you and your daughter stay away from your home. We have reason to believe Jeremy's heading there now."

"Oh, God. He's here. He's in the house," she gasps.

"Ma'am, do not go inside the house. We'll be there in two minutes."

"I have to go inside. He's got Carrie."

She rushes inside her house but doesn't hang up on Emily so you're hearing everything that's happening. You can only imagine what's going on, and it's not a pretty picture. Even through the phone at the police station, you can feel her fear.

"Carrie! Carrie? Carrie? Jeremy, let her go, please. No! Please, please!"

"Sure thing, but I want you to tell me the truth first," Jeremy grits out.

"Truth? What truth?"

"That you always hated me. Admit it. Admit it and I won't hurt your little sugarplum."

"I don't know--I don't know what me to say. I don't. I swear."

"Say what I heard you telling Father Quincy. Say it! Confess and be forgiven! Isn't that what you always tell me?" he yells.

"I was pregnant with twins. Then one day I wasn't. Is that what you want to hear? The doctor said one fetus consumed the other."

"I wasn't even born yet and you blamed me?!" he screams.

"You are rotten to the core! You always have been!" Kendra screams back.

Emily and Derek arrive on the scene while Kendra is still on the phone. Again, you're hearing everything.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!" Derek shouts.

"Maybe I made you into a monster because I hated you when you were inside me! But I think I hated you because I knew what you were!"

"Don't do it, Jeremy. Do you want to die?"

He must be threatening Carrie with a knife or a gun. Probably knife.

"You won't shoot me when mommy's little angel can get hurt," Jeremy smirks.

"Yes or no?"

"I'll cut her neck open. I know how to do it. I've practiced."

"No, please!" Kendra cries.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, Jeremy."

"You can't shoot a kid."

"I can shoot a killer, and I will. Believe that. If that knife even twitches, I'm gonna put a bullet right through your brain," Derek threatens.

"If I let her go--"

"There is no if," Derek cuts him off.

"Fine. I was only kidding, anyway."

"Turn around."

You can imagine Derek grabbing Jeremy and handcuffing him.

"Aah! Ah! Mom, he's hurting me! Mom, I can't go by myself! Mom! Mom!" Jeremy begs.

He's psychotic but he will be locked up for a long time, you hope. After Nancy drove him to his house, he stabbed her. She was sent to the ER and you hope she makes a full recovery.

"Nancy Riverton got out of surgery. She's gonna make it," Derek says.

"She's lucky. She managed to control him long enough to save her children. She's impressive," Hotch nods.

"Mrs. Sayer asked that she and her daughter be notified if and when Jeremy is released," Emily says.

"The BAU should keep his file handy."

Now that you have some time alone on the plane, you look at Spencer who is reading a book he brought in his go-bag. Derek puts his headphones in, Emily is getting some rest, and Hotch and Rossi are on the other side of the plane.

"So, I talk to your mom."

He snaps his head to you. "What? When?"

"Earlier today. I wanted to know how she was doing. You said she wasn't doing well. She's happy and wants us to come visit soon."

"Yeah, maybe one weekend we can."

You drop your voice a few octaves lower. "Spencer, you lied to me." He sighs. "Is there anything going on? Are... Are we okay?"

"What? No, we're great. Please don't think there is anything wrong here."

"Then why did you lie to me?"

"Look, I know I can come talk to you about anything and everything, and I will, but not right now. I have to figure out some things first. Derek is helping me."

"Okay," you whisper.

"I love you. We're okay. I promise."

You hook your arm in his elbow and rest your head on his shoulder, and he goes back to reading. We're okay.

********

Clarissa doesn't like being in the house when Frank isn't here. To keep her and the kids under control, Frank asked his friend, Rob, if he could come over and watch over everything until he returned. The only reason why Rob agrees is because Frank has a kid that Rob desperately wants. The only reason why Frank hasn't given her over to Rob is because he has someone already interested in her. She's a very popular kid, that one is.

Clarissa is in the same business as Rob and Frank but she doesn't have the same... desires as they do. She never did. She does it for the money and power. Frank gets the have his fun with the kids while Clarissa turns a blind eye and enjoys spending the money they bring in. They've been doing this for decades, way before you had ever come into their lives.

The system works because she and Frank understand the limits they set for their kids. Rob... disturbs that. Rob is a lot scarier than Frank makes him out to be. All of Frank's friends are like this but Rob is the worst one of all. Rob takes what he wants without giving a single fuck about what others think.

There's a reason why Rob goes through so many children.

Clarissa isn't a total monster. She has a heart--mangled and rough as it is--but a heart nonetheless. She likes to give the kids toys while they stay with her and Frank. Her husband doesn't like it when she takes care of the kids as if they are her own. He doesn't want her to confuse reality with her feelings. Rob doesn't give a fuck what she does as long as she stays out of his way. She might be well over the age limit that he likes to play with but he'll fuck her up just the same.

The kids are either doing outside chores or in their room so Clarissa picks up the toys in the living room to give her something to do. Where she is, she has a clear shot of one of the kids' bedroom doors. That's Jessica's room. She's one of the youngest Clarissa and Frank has. They foster kids anywhere from five or six to sixteen or seventeen. If Clarissa isn't mistaken, Jessica just turned seven.

The door to her room opens and Rob steps out of it with one hand clutching the front of his pants. He shuts the door and buttons his pants with a slight smirk on his face. Clarissa is trained to ignore the sounds coming from one of the kids' bedrooms. Rob lifts his eyes and locks eyes with Clarissa who has now frozen in her spot.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

Clarissa shakes her head and immediately goes back to cleaning the living room. She hates Rob. She wishes Frank was back.

"But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite

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searchingwardrobes · 3 months ago

Text

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you wish to be removed or added): @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressay

Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy.

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education.

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.”

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife.

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

*******************************************************

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies.

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off.

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window.

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry.

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak.

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced.

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents.

Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine.

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something.

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads.

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it.

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her.

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him.

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him.

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands.

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair.

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face.

“How?” she finally asked.

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice.

“We’ve found her!” she told them.

“Who?” Emma asked.

“Your mom!”

#cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #cs au #cs impossible au #lieutenant duckling #modern fantasy #angst #cs angsty august #impossible au

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 2 years ago

Text

The Masquerade.

fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this was actually one of my favourite concepts to write, i'm not sure why but i think it was because of all the angst that it's filled with...

word count - 10.5k (sheesh…)

in which, your friend drags you along to a high school reunion halloween party, which you one hundred percent do not feel in the mood to attend, but his nagging doesn't hold off, so being the good friend you are, you give into his nagging. a shocking revelation occurs when your ex walks through the door who you as well as everyone else didn’t expect to turn up leading to a confrontation that's nothing but emotional.

trope: exboyfriend!harry

Teaching ten-year-old girls football has been your lifelong dream, a passion that ignited when you were just a child yourself. You remember the sheer joy and exhilaration the sport brought you, until that fateful day when you got tackled and broke your leg at the age of nineteen. That incident left you with an indelible fear of playing again, but it couldn't extinguish your love for the game. So, you decided to channel your passion into a different path - you pursued a degree in football coaching.

Now, as you stand on the field, overseeing a group of eager young girls, you can't help but smile. You see a reflection of your younger self in their bright eyes, full of curiosity and excitement. The thrill of imparting your knowledge and nurturing their love for the sport is immeasurable.

You've learned from your own experience that winning isn't everything. It's about fostering a love for the game and helping these girls develop both as players and as individuals. When they win, your heart swells with pride, knowing you've played a part in their success. But when they face defeat, you're not too harsh on them. Instead, you use those moments as opportunities for growth.

Your training sessions are carefully designed to balance skill-building with fun. You know that at this age, it's essential to keep them engaged and enthusiastic. So, you blend drills and exercises with playful activities that make learning enjoyable. You've seen firsthand how this approach helps the girls not only improve their football skills but also develop teamwork, discipline, and confidence.

As you watch them practice and play, you often reminisce about your own playing days, feeling a pang of nostalgia mixed with pride. Despite your personal setback, you've found a way to stay connected to the sport you love and make a meaningful impact on these young athletes' lives. It's not just about winning or losing; it's about nurturing their passion, teaching them resilience, and giving them the tools to succeed both on and off the field.

You're living your dream, not as a player but as a coach, and the smiles on those girls' faces when they score a goal or make a brilliant pass make every moment, every training session, and every challenge worth it.

As the final whistle blows, you gather the girls into a huddle at the centre of the field, the bright sunlight casting a warm glow around your circle. You can see a mixture of emotions on their faces, some tired but determined, others a bit disappointed, but all eager to hear your thoughts.

You begin with a smile, looking at each of them with pride.

"Alright, team, gather around!" you say, your voice filled with encouragement. "I want you to know how proud I am of each and every one of you out there today. You showed great spirit and determination, and that's what counts."

One of the girls, Sarah, raises her hand eagerly. "Coach, I scored my first goal today! I was so excited!"

You beam at her. "That's fantastic, Sarah! Your goal was brilliant. You showed excellent positioning and a great sense of timing. Keep it up!"

Mia chimes in, "Coach, I made some good passes, didn't I?"

You nod appreciatively. "Absolutely, Mia. Your passes were spot on. You demonstrated great vision on the field, and that's a crucial skill."

As you continue, you make sure to acknowledge the efforts of each player, whether it was a solid defensive play, a remarkable save by the goalkeeper, or simply the teamwork they displayed throughout the game. You want them all to feel valued and recognized for their contributions.

"Team," you say, "remember, winning is great, but it's not the only measure of success. We learn and grow from every game, whether we win or lose. Today, we saw incredible teamwork, and that's something we can always build on."

Sophie, one of the quieter girls, raises her hand tentatively. "Coach, what can we improve on?"

You smile at her eagerness to learn. "Sophie, that's an excellent question. We can work on our passing accuracy and defensive positioning. But remember, it's all part of the journey. We're here to improve together."

The huddle breaks with a round of applause for their efforts, and the girls leave the field with their heads held high.

You finish up with the girls' soccer practice, feeling a sense of fulfilment from a productive day on the field. However, you're also aware of the impending challenge of getting home, thanks to your recent leg injury. You remember that your best friend, Jamie, had promised you a ride, and that brings a sigh of relief.

You spot Jamie leaning against his car, a friendly grin on his face as he watches you approaching. His presence is like a beacon of support. As you get closer, you can't contain your excitement and rush over to him, throwing your arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Jamie!" you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine joy. "It's so good to see you! How was your holiday?"

Jamie returns the hug with enthusiasm, his voice laced with excitement. "Oh, it was amazing! You wouldn't believe the places I got to explore and the food I got to try. But honestly, I've missed you so much!"

You step back from the hug, both of you wearing wide smiles. "I missed you too, buddy. And thanks a million for coming to pick me up. You're a lifesaver."

Jamie chuckles, giving you a playful nudge. "No problem at all, mate. That's what best friends are for, right? Let's get you home comfortably."

As you both hop into the car, the conversation flows effortlessly. You catch up on the latest news, sharing stories and laughter like you always do. The car ride feels like a warm reunion, and you can't help but be grateful for having such a dependable and caring friend like Jamie.

As the car ride continues, Jamie glances over at you with curiosity. "So, what are your plans for tonight?"

You lean back in the comfortable car seat, enjoying the familiarity of the conversation.

"Well," you start, "first things first, I need to head home and have a quick shower. I've been running around with the girls all afternoon, and I must be a bit of a mess."

Jamie chuckles, understanding the need for a post-practice refresh. "Sounds like a plan. And then?"

You smile, thinking about your precious daughter. "After the shower, it's time to drop Lilah off at her dad's place. She's with my sister right now."

Jamie nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. "How's she doing these days?"

You sigh, a mix of emotions flooding over you. "She's growing up so fast, Jamie. Four years old already, and she's as curious and energetic as ever. It's a bit tough juggling everything, but it's all worth it for her."

Delilah Rae (Y/L/N)-Cooper.

When you were twenty five, to celebrate the new year you had gone out with Jamie, his boyfriend as well as your sister, the four of you had gone up London to see the fireworks at the Thames.

That was where you met Levi Cooper.

The two of you spent the night together after both of you had a bit too much to drink at the club, you kept catching each other's eyes from across the rooms, his blue coloured eyes locking onto yours and the rest was history.

The two of you did keep in touch after your impromptu meeting, well you suppose you had to seeing as you were having his baby. The one night you spent together had given the two of you an eighteen year commitment.

He was shocked at first that you were pregnant, but he was nothing but supportive, every prenatal class he was by your side, every scan he was sat at the side of the bed and when your waters broke and you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl he sobbed.

The two of you did try to date, but it just seemed that the two of you were just better at being friends.

He was engaged now to a lovely women named Eloise.

Jamie gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You're an amazing parent, you know that, right?"

You blush a little at the compliment. "Thanks, J. I'm just trying to do my best for her."

As the car ride with Jamie continues, he leans over with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, guess what? The high school reunion is tonight!"

You immediately shake your head with a firm resolve. "No way, Jamie. I'm not going to that."

Jamie raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Oh, come on! It could be a blast. We haven't seen some of those folks in ages!"

You let out a sigh, knowing that Jamie won't easily accept your refusal. "Jamie, there's really no reason for me to go. I've moved on from all that high school drama."

He grins, persistent in his efforts. "But it's a chance to catch up, see where everyone ended up, share stories..."

You shoot him a knowing look. "Jamie, we've got Facebook for that. Besides, I'm perfectly content with my life now."

Jamie continues to plead, "Think of the nostalgia, the old memories..."

You chuckle, shaking your head again. "Nostalgia isn't enough to make me want to relive those awkward teenage years, Jamie."

He's not giving up easily, leaning closer and trying a different approach. "What if I promise to be your wingman all night?"

You raise an eyebrow in mock disbelief. "And what, introduce me to every person there as 'the one who didn't want to come'?"

You arrive home with Jamie, your key poised to open the door. You're eager to see your precious daughter, Delilah, who's been anxiously waiting for your return after her day with your sister. The door swings open, and before you can even step inside, you hear the pattering of little feet.

"Mommy!" Delilah exclaims, her face lighting up with pure joy as she runs straight into your open arms.

You scoop her up, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck, and you pepper her face with a thousand kisses. "Oh, my sweet Lilah-bug, I missed you so much!"

Delilah giggles, her laughter filling the room. "I missed you too, Mommy!"

Jamie watches the heartwarming reunion with a smile, his eyes filled with warmth and happiness.

"Hey, Delilah," he says, crouching down to her level. "I missed you too."

Delilah looks at Jamie with curiosity, her innocent eyes studying him for a moment before breaking into a shy smile. "Hi, JJ!”

As you enjoy the family reunion with Delilah and Jamie, your sister Abigail walks into the room with a warm smile. "Hey, how was your day?"

You return her smile. "It was good, Abi. The footy practice went well, and now I'm just happy to be home."

Abigail looks at Jamie with a playful grin. "And what about you, Jamie? How have you been?"

Jamie chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "Well, it was a lot of travelling, but it's all worth it to spend time with these two."

You nods in agreement, then turns you attention to Delilah. "So, sweetheart, what did you and Auntie Abigail do today?"

Delilah's eyes light up with excitement. "We played in the park, and Auntie Abigail pushed me on the swings really high! It was so much fun!"

Abigail laughs, ruffling Delilah's hair affectionately. "That's right, we had a blast at the park. And afterward, we baked some delicious cookies, didn't we?"

Delilah nods vigorously. "Yep! I helped mix the dough, and we even had chocolate chips in them!"

You all gather in the cosy living room, Delilah on your lap, her blonde curly hair tickling your fingers as you brush through it. Abigail breaks the comfortable silence with a practical question, "So, what time does Lilah need to be at Levi's?"

You glance at your watch and reply, "Half past six should be good."

Jamie, ever the talkative one, chimes in enthusiastically, "Perfect! That works because the reunion starts at seven!"

Abigail's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. " reunion? What are you talking about?"

You roll your eyes playfully at Jamie, thinking he's just teasing. "He's talking rubbish, as usual."

But Jamie jumps in again, this time with a more serious tone. "No, seriously, there's a school reunion tonight."

Abigail looks genuinely surprised. "A school reunion? Why wasn't I informed?"

You sigh, not thrilled with the idea. "Honestly, I'd rather just sit at home and relax."

Abigail, ever the one to push you out of your comfort zone, raises an eyebrow. "Come on, it might be fun! You need a good night out."

You let out a reluctant sigh, knowing your sister's right. "Alright, fine, we'll think about it."

Abigail's eyes twinkle mischievously. "Who knows, you might even rekindle something with a certain someone."

You give her a knowing look, realising exactly who she's referring to. "Abigail, we broke up in high school. It's been ages."

Jamie joins in with a laugh. "You never know, sparks might fly."

In the midst of the bustling high school hallway, you stand at your locker, neatly organising your books for the next class. The sound of lockers slamming and laughter fills the air, creating a lively atmosphere.

Suddenly, you feel two warm arms wrap around your waist from behind, and the familiar scent of Harry Styles' aftershave instantly captures your senses.

With a playful giggle, you turn your head to the side, your eyes meeting his.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Styles," you tease, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Harry's emerald green eyes twinkle mischievously as he leans in closer. "Couldn't resist sneaking up on you, m’darlin’. Y’look t’cute sorting y’books."

You blush at the compliment, playfully batting your eyelashes. "Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."

Harry's lips brush against your earlobe as he whispers, "Everywhere, y’say? might have t’take advantage ‘f’that."

You can't help but laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the charming boy who has stolen your heart. "Harry Styles, you're incorrigible."

He grins, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on your cheek. "Only when it comes to you, babe."

/ /

Harry stood in his cosy kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as he watched the snow gently fall outside the window. It had been a while since he'd seen Ellis, his best mate from high school, and he was glad for the company on this chilly day.

They had grabbed coffee together in the morning, before deciding to have a little walk around the twin they both grew up in.

Ellis sipped her own coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, looking thoughtful. "you remember the school reunion is tonight, right? What time is it starting?"

Harry stirred his coffee, a pensive expression on his face. "Ye’, m’remember. S’supposed t’be at seven, but m’not sure if m’gonna go."

Ellis raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Not going? Why not?"

Harry sighed, his gaze distant as he remembered the old days. "I don't know, El. S’been ages since I've seen those people. M’not sure I'll fit in anymore."

Ellis chuckled, taking another sip of her coffee. "Mate, you're Harry Styles. You could fit in anywhere."

Harry gave a small smile but still seemed uncertain. "S’not about fitting in, really. S’just... v’moved on from that time in m’life, y’know?"

Ellis nodded in understanding. "I get it, Haz. But it could be fun to catch up, see how everyone's doing."

Harry considered his friend's words. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

As the snow continued to fall outside, Harry contemplated the idea of attending the high school reunion. It was a chance to reconnect with old friends and revisit memories, but he couldn't help but wonder if he'd truly find his place in a world that had changed so much since those school days.

You sit in your cozy bedroom, the soft glow of natural light filtering in through the curtains, as you prepare to apply your makeup. Your vanity mirror reflects your anticipation, and you're ready to transform your look for the day.

With a steady hand, you pick up your favorite foundation and begin to blend it evenly across your skin, creating a flawless canvas. As you work, you can't help but appreciate the therapeutic rhythm of the makeup application process.

Next, your eyes catch the eyeshadow palette you've chosen for today's look. With precision, you carefully sweep the hues across your eyelids, creating a captivating blend of colors that complements your style.

You reach for your mascara, preparing to enhance your lashes, making your eyes pop and adding a touch of allure to your gaze. Each stroke brings you one step closer to the final result you envision.

A hint of blush adds a healthy flush to your cheeks, while a sweep of your favorite lipstick completes your look. You can't help but smile as you admire the transformation you've achieved, feeling confident and ready to take on the day.

Your boyfriend at the time, is lounging on your bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. It's one of those mornings after he stayed over, and you're getting ready for school, sitting at your vanity and applying makeup.

As you focus on your makeup routine, you can't help but hear Harry huffing behind you. You ignore it at first, thinking it's just one of his playful quirks. But when he huffs again, you can't help but turn and ask, "What's your issue, Harry?"

He shifts on the bed, looking earnestly at you. "Y’don't need makeup, y’know. Y’already beautiful."

You smile, appreciating his sentiment. "Thanks, baby. But makeup just makes me feel better about myself."

He's not willing to let it go, and he comes up behind you, draping his arms over your shoulders and leaning down so both of you are in view of the vanity mirror. "Seriously, y’don't need it. Y’stunning without it."

You meet his gaze in the mirror, his green eyes filled with genuine affection.

He takes a makeup wipe from your vanity, turning your chair around so that you're facing him. With a slow, deliberate motion, he starts wiping away the makeup from your face. His touch is gentle, and his eyes never leave yours.

As the last traces of makeup disappear, he smiles softly. "See, there y’are, just as beautiful as I knew y’be."

You can't help but laugh, appreciating his effort to make you feel special.

He presses a loving kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped around you. "And that's why I love you."

Just as you're finishing up, your daughter, with her unruly curls and a cheeky smile that reminds you so much of her father, rushes into the room. She stands at your side, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You scoop her up and place her on your lap, where she traces the outline of your lipstick with her tiny finger before gently tracing the eyeliner around your eyes.

With a tilt of her head, Delilah grins mischievously. "Mummy, you don't need makeup."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, reminding you of a time long ago when a certain someone had said the same thing. A sense of déjà vu washes over you, and you can't help but smile at the memory.

You ask her, "Why do you say that, sweetheart?"

Delilah looks up at you with those big, innocent eyes. "Because you're beautiful."

As Delilah kisses your nose, you can't help but smile at her sweet gesture.

Levi, her father, may not be present at this moment, but you're grateful for the strong co-parenting relationship you have, which allows Delilah to feel loved and secure.

However, as Delilah's innocent words about your beauty echo in your mind, you can't shake the feeling of déjà vu, reminiscent of your first love, Harry Styles. Your heart aches at the memory of the deep connection you once shared with him, even though you're no longer together.

As you make your way down the stairs, Jamie is waiting for you, dressed in a sharp suit and a warm smile.

Jamie had offered to drive you to Levi's, knowing that your heels might not be the best for walking. He greets you with a friendly grin and says, "Looking stunning, as always."

The dress that Jamie had picked out of your closet was an emerald green one that hugged your body in all the right places. You didn’t exactly know what the colour theme for the Masquerade party was, but you trusted your best friend with his decisions.

You chuckle and adjust Delilah in your arms. "Thanks, J. And thanks for the lift. It's much appreciated."

Delilah, clutching her beloved bunny, looks up at Jamie with a bright smile. "Hi, JJ!"

Jamie leans in and ruffles her hair playfully. "Hey DD. Are you ready to have some fun with your dad?"

Delilah nods eagerly, her excitement contagious. You feel a pang of nostalgia thinking about the family dynamics that have evolved over the years.

The three of you leave the front door behind, the night sky gently illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. You carefully place Delilah in the car seat that Jamie has in his car, a familiar seat from their countless playdates together. Her eyes are droopy, the weight of a busy day finally catching up to her. You press a loving kiss to her forehead before making your way to the passenger front seat.

Jamie takes the wheel, and the car pulls out of the driveway, embarking on the journey to Levi's place. The cityscape passes by in a blur of lights, creating a serene backdrop to the silent drive. The gentle hum of the engine and the occasional soft lullaby playing on the radio are the only sounds that fill the car.

Delilah's eyelids grow heavier with each passing mile, her breathing steady as she drifts into a peaceful slumber. You glance over at her, a feeling of warmth and contentment washing over you as you watch your daughter sleep, knowing that you're on your way to reunite her with her father. The car moves steadily through the quiet night, a soothing rhythm that lulls you into your own thoughts

As Jamie pulls the car to a stop outside Levi's house, you turn to him and explain, "I'll just five minutes. I need to get her sorted."

Jamie nods in understanding, giving you an assuring smile. "Take your time. I'll wait right here."

You unbuckle your sleeping daughter from her car seat, noticing how her head has lulled to the side, and her tiny thumb has found its way to her mouth. Gently, you lift her into your arms, making sure not to jostle her. She snuggles closer to you, still lost in the embrace of a deep slumber.

Carefully, you shut the car door behind you as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb her peaceful rest. With Delilah cradled on your hip, you make your way towards Levi's house,

You stop outside Levi's front door, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. You wait patiently, giving it a minute and a half before the door finally swings open. Levi stands there, leaning against the door frame, a smile of genuine warmth spreading across his face as he sees the two of you.

His eyes light up when he notices Delilah fast asleep in your arms. He reaches out to take her gently, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. Delilah instinctively snuggles in closer to his neck, her tiny thumb still in her mouth.

Levi, cradling her in his arms, starts to sway his hips back and forth, a nostalgic smile on his face as if she were a baby all over again. He whispers, "Hey, little one, how long have you been asleep?"

You reply with a soft chuckle, "She fell asleep on the car ride over."

Levi continues to sway, his voice filled with tenderness. "Oh, my sweet girl. I've missed you so much."

Levi smiles as he looks at you and compliments your dress, "You look beautiful in that dress. Are you heading somewhere nice tonight?"

You chuckle, knowing that he's well aware of your reluctance. "Jamie's dragging me to a school reunion."

Levi laughs in response. "Ah, I see. Well, you'll survive, I'm sure."

You smile and then turn your attention to Delilah, who's fussing in his arms, shifting her head from one side to the other. Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to her nose and whisper, "I love you, sweetie."

Looking back at Levi, you speak with genuine concern, "If she needs me or anything happens, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

Levi nods with understanding. "Of course, you know I will. Have a good time tonight, and we'll see you on Sunday when you pick her up."

With that, you reluctantly leave Delilah in Levi's care, trusting that they will have a wonderful weekend together while you attend the reunion with Jamie.

You make your way over to Jamie's waiting car and get inside, letting out a deep sigh as you settle into the seat. You turn to him and say with a hint of resignation, "Let's just get this over with, Jamie. Drive, please."

As the engine revs to life, you brace yourself for the upcoming school reunion, knowing that it's not exactly your idea of a fun evening.

Harry stands outside the school, his eyes fixed on the familiar building that holds a lifetime of memories. As he gazes at the entrance, a million images flood his mind, and they all seem to revolve around you.

He remembers the day he mustered up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, his heart pounding in his chest as he nervously stammered out the question. It was a moment of pure happiness when you said yes, and he couldn't stop grinning for days.

Then, there's that vivid memory of the night he finally confessed his love for you, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, afraid he might lose you if he didn't say it right then. Your eyes had sparkled with joy, and you'd hugged him tightly, saying you loved him too.

But there's also the painful memory, the one he's tried to push to the back of his mind for so long. The day he didn't turn up, the day he walked out of your life, leaving you none the wiser about the future that awaited him. It had been the hardest decision he'd ever made, but he believed it was the only way to chase his dreams.

His best mate, Ellis, notices his distant demeanor and approaches him with concern. She furrows her brows and asks, "Haz, everything okay?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of nostalgia that has settled upon him. "Do y’think she'll be ‘ere?"

Ellis studies him, her expression a mix of sympathy and uncertainty. "I'm not sure, Haz. She's hardly kept in touch with anyone since you left. She's started a whole new life."

Harry's heart aches at the reality of it all. The years that have passed, the choices he's made – they've all taken a toll on the life he once shared with you. It's a stark reminder of the chasm that has grown between them, and he can't help but feel a profound sense of regret.

As he stands there, Ellis places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Look, Haz, I know this is tough, but it's been years. People change, life moves on. Maybe it's time for both of you to see where you stand now."

Harry knows she's right, but the uncertainty gnaws at him. The thought of facing you after all this time, not knowing what to expect, fills him with anxiety. He's haunted by the memories of his past decisions – the day he walked away, the day he left you behind, oblivious to the superstar journey that awaited him.

His gaze remains fixed on the school's entrance, a mixture of hope and trepidation swirling within him. Deep down, he yearns for a chance to reconnect, to make amends for the pain he may have caused.

But as the minutes tick by, the fear that you've truly moved on and created a new life without him intensifies. Harry can't help but wonder if he's about to face the consequences of the choices he made long ago – choices that have left him with an overwhelming sense of longing and regret.

A sea of people surrounds him. The reunion is in full swing, and the familiar faces of former classmates and friends fill the courtyard. Laughter and chatter echo in the air, mingling with the strains of music playing softly in the background.

Groups of friends huddle together, sharing stories and reminiscing about their school days. Some are holding photographs, while others exchange yearbooks, a tangible link to their shared past.

Brightly lit string lights and decorations adorn the outdoor area, casting a warm and inviting glow over the gathering. Tables are set up with snacks and drinks, a makeshift bar where people gather to toast to old memories and new beginnings.

A live band plays a familiar tune, setting a nostalgic backdrop for the evening. Couples dance under the moonlit sky, their movements graceful and sentimental, lost in their own world of memories.

Ellis, sensing Harry's inner turmoil, gently asks, "Haz, should we go inside?"

He looks at her, his thoughts still heavy, and nods in agreement. With a deep breath, he reaches for the masquerade mask resting beside him and places it over his face. It's like a protective shield, concealing his emotions as he prepares to face the unknown.

Harry then links his arm with Ellis, who offers him a reassuring smile, and together, they enter the building. The vibrant sounds of the reunion wash over them as they step into the bustling venue, ready to confront the past and whatever it may hold.

The walk to the hall feels endless, each step stretching into an eternity. Harry's heart races in his chest, the rhythm of his breath quickening as his anticipation grows. He can feel a lump forming in his throat, threatening to choke him, but he refuses to let it deter him.

The closer he gets to the entrance, the more he becomes aware of the pounding in his chest, the deafening thud of every heartbeat echoing in his ears. His hands tremble slightly, and he can't shake the unease that courses through his veins.

As he finally steps inside the hall, he's met with a sudden hush that washes over the room like a wave. It feels as though time itself has slowed, and every eye in the room turns toward him. The weight of their collective gaze bears down on him, a silent judgement that's impossible to ignore.

He can sense the curiosity, the recognition in their faces as they try to place him in their memories. It's as if he's stepped into a world that he both longed for and feared, a world that has continued without him.

Harry takes a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage he has left. The room seems to spin around him, and he wonders if he's made a colossal mistake.

You find yourself standing near the drinks table, a masquerade mask adorning your face, and Jamie by your side. Surprisingly, you're starting to actually enjoy yourself, despite your initial reluctance. The soft music in the background and the lively chatter of old friends create a pleasant ambiance.

You and Jamie are engaged in a friendly conversation, reminiscing about the past. You share a laugh as you recount the time you tried to get out of gym class by telling the teacher you had a sore throat.

"Remember that time I told the gym teacher I had a sore throat, and he said I didn't need my voice to play sports?" You chuckle, shaking your head at the memory.

Jamie grins and nods, "Oh, I remember. Classic move, but it didn't work out too well for you, did it?"

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. "No, it didn't. Ended up running laps instead."

Amid the lighthearted conversation with Jamie, the hall suddenly falls into a profound silence, prompting you to turn your head and see what has captured everyone's attention. It's as if time stands still in that moment, and your eyes meet a sight that you never expected.

There, bathed in the soft, romantic glow of the hall's lighting, stands your ex-boyfriend, your one true love – Harry Styles.

He's dressed impeccably in a green suit, a masquerade mask adorning his face. The mask conceals his emotions, but his presence is unmistakable, sending a ripple through the room.

Of course the two of you were matching.

You were a vision of elegance in your light grey prom dress. The dress flowed gracefully as you descended the stairs, every step feeling like a small journey towards an unforgettable night.

The anticipation was palpable as you made your way down. You knew it was a night that marked a new chapter, a night of celebration and hope. Your heart was a mixture of excitement and nervousness, a beautiful cocktail of emotions that filled you to the brim.

And then you saw him. Harry, standing at the bottom of the stairs in a perfectly matching light grey suit. Time seemed to slow down as you took in the sight of him, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at the coincidence.

It was as if the universe had conspired to ensure that you and Harry were in perfect harmony. Matching in not just attire but in your hearts as well. The smile that adorned his face when he saw you was a sight to behold, and your heart swelled with affection.

Lydia, your mother, couldn't resist commenting on the adorable match. Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she said, "Well, don't you two look adorable, matching in grey? It's like you were made for each other."

Harry's grin only grew wider as he extended his arm towards you, ready to escort you to the grand event.

"I guess we were," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and love.

As you took his arm, you shared a knowing look, an unspoken agreement that this night was not just about the dresses and suits, but the love that had brought you together.

Your heart leaps in your chest as memories flood back – the stolen glances in the hallways, the laughter shared in the cafeteria, the way he looked at you with that warmth in his eyes that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

You watch as he moves gracefully through the crowd, a confident stride that betrays none of the turmoil that might be lurking beneath the surface. People part to make way for him, their eyes following his every move.

As your eyes remain fixed on Harry's approaching figure, your heart races and your words catch in your throat. You turn to Jamie, your voice trembling as you confide in him, "I knew I shouldn't have come, Jamie. Seeing him… all these feelings have just rushed back, and I'm not sure I can handle being in the same room as him."

Jamie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. "Hey, it's okay. We can leave anytime you want. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

You appreciate his understanding and support, but the turmoil within you is still palpable. The mix of emotions – the longing, the memories, the unresolved feelings – swirls around you, making it difficult to think clearly.

"I appreciate that, J," you reply, your voice steadier but still tinged with uncertainty. "I just need a moment to collect myself. Maybe this is an opportunity to finally confront the past."

With a deep breath, you turn your attention back to the reunion, knowing that you have a decision to make – to stay and face what lies ahead or to leave and continue the life you've built without Harry.

Harry makes his way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with a few familiar faces along the way. His heart races as he moves closer to the corner of the room where Ellis stands. Once there, he doesn't waste any time and leans in to speak softly to her, "Do y’see ‘er?"

Ellis follows his gaze, scanning the room before nodding and saying, "Yeah, she's over at the bar with that guy, Jamie, from chemistry."

Harry's breath catches in his throat as he locks eyes with you for a brief moment. The connection is electric, and he can't help but feel a rush of emotions flood back.

He turns his attention back to Ellis, his voice filled with uncertainty. "Do y’think I should go over there and talk t’er?"

Ellis places a comforting hand on his shoulder, offering her advice. "Maybe give it a little time, Harry. Let things settle for a bit. You'll know when the right moment comes."

Harry nods, torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of making things awkward.

Later in the evening, you find yourself engaged in a lively conversation with an old classmate named Roxy. The two of you are catching up on everything and anything that has happened in your lives since school.

Roxy animatedly shares stories of her career, her travels, and her recent adventures, and you reciprocate by telling her about your journey into football coaching and your beautiful daughter, Delilah.

The camaraderie and laughter flow freely as you reminisce about the antics you got up to during your school days, and you can't help but appreciate the sense of nostalgia that hangs in the air. It's moments like these that make you realize the value of rekindling old friendships and sharing the experiences that have shaped your lives.

You excuse yourself from the conversation with Roxy, telling her that you're just going to the toilet. Inside, the bathroom is a haven of solitude amidst the bustling reunion. You attend to your business, the silence offering a brief respite from the whirlwind of emotions outside.

As you step out of the bathroom and start to make your way back, lost in your thoughts, you collide with something firm and unyielding. Your heart leaps to your throat as you look up, only to be met with a pair of familiar green eyes that you've missed deeply yet haven't at all. It's the man who still owns your heart, Harry Styles.

The world seems to stop around you as you lock eyes with him, the years of separation and unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. It's an encounter that leaves you feeling both awkward and full of angst, a moment you never thought you'd have to confront, and one that could change everything.

And as you stand there, face to face with Harry, you can't help but wonder if this unexpected collision is a twist of fate, a chance to finally address the feelings that have remained unresolved for so long.

You shuffled past Harry, your heart pounding in your chest, the encounter outside the bathroom sending waves of uncertainty through you. It was as if time had reversed, and the emotions you had tried to tuck away came rushing back.

As you walked away from him, you couldn't bring yourself to look back. The weight of the past and the complexities of your emotions left you feeling conflicted and vulnerable. You knew that seeing Harry again was going to stir up old feelings, but you hadn't anticipated how intense it would be.

Harry stood there, watching you walk away, his heart heavy with disappointment. He had hoped for a warm greeting, a chance to talk and maybe find some closure, but the way you had avoided looking at him stung. It was as if he didn't even exist in your world, and that thought was more painful than he had imagined.

He let out a sigh, running a trembling hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. It was difficult for him to comprehend that you could just walk away without acknowledging him, without even a brief exchange of words. The reunion had been his chance to reconnect, to possibly mend what had been broken, but it seemed like that opportunity had slipped away.

In a mix of emotions and frustration, Harry decided to step into the men's bathroom, leaning against the sink for a moment. He tried to process the anguish he felt at your avoidance, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you might still want to talk and make sense of the unresolved feelings that lingered between you.

You hurriedly returned to the bar, your heart still racing from the encounter with Harry. The vodka you ordered was a lifeline, a familiar friend that would help you navigate the unexpected twists of the night.

The bartender, efficient and understanding, prepared your drink without a word. As he handed it to you, you offered a curt nod of gratitude and took a long, fortifying sip. The strong, bittersweet taste provided a momentary reprieve from the turmoil of emotions that had surged within you.

In the midst of your solitude at the bar, Ellis, a former classmate, approached with a soft, friendly smile. You acknowledged her with a tight-lipped expression, your eyes conveying a mixture of apprehension and fatigue. The reunion had thrust you into a whirlwind of nostalgia, and now, the complexity of your feelings threatened to overwhelm you.

Ellis, eager to bridge the gap, tried to initiate a conversation. "How have you been?" she asked, her voice gentle and empathetic.

You hesitated for a brief moment, the question prompting a whirlwind of thoughts. How could you summarize the years that had passed, the heartache, the joy, the transformation of your life, all in one sentence?

Finally, you responded, "Life's been alright." It was a carefully worded answer, a guarded response that didn't reveal the depths of emotion and experience you'd encountered.

The conversation seemed to stumble into an awkward silence, the weight of the past and the unresolved emotions hanging heavily between you. You took another sip of your vodka, the familiar warmth spreading through your body, offering a temporary refuge from the discomfort of the moment.

Ellis, perceptive and caring, couldn't help but sense the underlying bitterness in your tone. She leaned in closer, her expression filled with concern, and admitted, "I know Harry feels really guilty about leaving you."

Your response was laced with bitterness.

"Yeah, I bet he does," you sighed, the memories of the past and the heartache still very much alive in your mind.

Ellis tapped her nails lightly against the bar, deep in thought.

"Maybe you should talk to him, let him explain everything," she suggested, her words gentle yet persuasive. "You might find some closure, or who knows, even rekindle what once was."

You let out a sceptical chuckle, your eyes scanning the room, but your thoughts lingering on the man you'd tried so hard to forget.

"Why should I?" you questioned, the weight of years of unanswered questions heavy on your heart.

Ellis's voice was soothing and earnest as she continued, "Because, deep down, I know for a fact that the two of you still have feelings for each other. Sometimes, facing the past is the only way to move forward."

The idea of confronting Harry and revisiting the emotions you'd buried felt both daunting and enticing.

You were seated at your desk in math class. The room was filled with the usual chatter, but your focus was on something entirely different. Your crush, seated a few rows ahead, had a way of capturing your attention.

Every time you glanced in his direction, you seemed to catch his gaze, and your heart fluttered. You felt a rush of excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. Math class was suddenly a lot more interesting.

Beside you sat Ellis, who happened to be your crush's best friend. She observed your interactions with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She leaned over and whispered, "You know, I don't get why the two of you just don't admit your feelings."

You blushed, surprised by her comment.

"What? I don't even think he likes me like that," you admitted, trying to downplay your infatuation.

Ellis shook her head with a chuckle. "Trust me, he does. I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not looking. You're both just too stubborn to admit it."

You finished the last of your vodka just as the DJ's voice filled the air, announcing the start of the slow dance. The music shifted into a gentle melody, setting a romantic ambiance that enveloped the room.

As you looked around, you noticed the eager faces of the reunion attendees, everyone seeking out a partner for the dance. Friends and acquaintances paired up, swaying to the music, but you couldn't help but notice that no one approached Harry. It was as if they were all a bit intimidated by his presence, the weight of his fame making him an enigma to most.

Harry stood in the corner, a lone figure amidst the couples on the dance floor. There was a vulnerability in his expression that was rarely seen, a hint of longing that was both endearing and bittersweet. It was clear that he was just as much a part of the reunion as anyone else, yet he remained untouched, like a distant star in the night sky.

With a deep sigh and a final adjustment of your clammy hands against your dress, you made a resolute decision. The pull toward Harry was undeniable, and you couldn't ignore the feeling any longer. It was time to face what had been left unresolved for far too long.

You began to navigate the room, and at first, he remained oblivious to your approach. It wasn't until you stopped right in front of him that he looked up, a bewildered expression in his eyes. In his gaze, you sensed surprise, almost disbelief, as if he had convinced himself that you didn't want to be near him.

You held your hand out, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and said, "Want to be my dance partner? I think it's time we talked."

The words hung in the air, laden with unspoken emotions and the weight of the past. Harry's surprise slowly gave way to a flicker of hope, his eyes meeting yours as he contemplated your offer.

You took Harry's hand and gently guided him to the dance floor, the anticipation and uncertainty palpable in the air. As the music started to play, a soft, melodic tune that filled the room, you both hesitated before finally finding your place on the floor.

Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingertips grazing the soft hairs at the nape. Harry reciprocated by placing his hands on your waist, his touch light and tentative. The proximity felt both foreign and familiar, and you started swaying to the music, finding a rhythm that was uniquely your own.

The silence between you was awkward, filled with words left unsaid, emotions unexpressed. It was as if the weight of the years apart, the unanswered questions, and the unspoken feelings had manifested in this dance.

You couldn't help but steal glances at each other, each fleeting look revealing a complex mix of emotions—nostalgia, longing, and a hint of uncertainty.

The two of you swayed to the music in the awkward embrace of the slow dance, caught in a moment that had been a decade in the making. As the silence grew more uncomfortable, Harry finally broke it, his voice carrying the weight of their shared history.

"How have you been?" he asked, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for a glimpse of the girl he used to know.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal.

"Life's been fine," you replied, the words feeling both superficial and loaded with unspoken complexities.

Feeling the tension in the air, you decided to shift the focus.

"And how's it living the life of a rockstar?" you asked, trying to break through the awkwardness. It was a loaded question, but one that seemed safe enough.

Harry's expression tightened, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "S’a lot. Busy, y’know. But s’what I've always wanted."

As you pressed Harry for answers, the weight of the past seemed to hang in the air.

"Why did you leave, Harry?" you asked, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and pain. "You didn't say anything. You just disappeared."

Harry sighed, and as he met your gaze, his eyes held a hint of regret.

"M’didn't want t’hurt ye’," he confessed, his voice low and sincere.

The words hit you with a mix of emotions.

"You didn't want to hurt me?" you repeated, the realisation sinking in.

Just as he seemed about to elaborate, your phone rang, displaying Levi's name on the screen.

The phone call from Levi seemed to have come at an inopportune moment, breaking the fragile conversation between you and Harry. With a sigh, you held up a finger as if to say, "I need to take this." You turned and walked away from the slow dance, your steps guided by the beckoning ring of your phone.

As you distanced yourself from Harry and the dance floor, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and disappointment. The unanswered questions and unspoken feelings lingered between you, a weight you had carried for far too long.

In the crowd, Harry caught Jamie's eyes, and their silent exchange was filled with unspoken understanding. Jamie nodded in the direction you had left, mouthing the words,

"Go after her." The silent encouragement was a reminder that some things were worth pursuing, even after a decade of silence and distance.

As you stepped outside the venue to take the call, your heart raced with concern. You quickly answered the phone, bringing it up to your ear, and without preamble, you asked, "Is everything okay with Delilah?"

Levi's voice came through the line, reassuring but tinged with understanding. "Yeah, she's fine. She woke up just now and started crying because she didn't get to speak to you before bed."

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. "I'm so sorry, Levi. Put her on the phone. I need to talk to her."

The phone was passed to Delilah, and her voice, small and tearful, reached your ear. "Mummy?"

Your heart ached as you replied, "Hey, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm sorry I missed our bedtime chat. I love you so much."

Delilah's voice was still laced with sleepiness and a touch of uncertainty. "Love you too, Mummy. When are you coming back?"

You glanced back at the venue, where the reunion was still in full swing, and then back to the dark knight beyond. The choice you were about to make felt significant, not just for yourself but for your daughter as well. "I'll be back soon, baby. I promise. You be good for daddy, okay?"

As you finished your conversation with Delilah, ending with an "I love you," you hung up the phone and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your choices bearing down on you. The brisk night air provided a welcome contrast to the warm and crowded venue behind you.

Just then, Harry walked outside, and the timing was uncanny. He caught the tail end of your call, hearing your affectionate words to whoever was on the phone. A wave of mixed emotions washed over him. He thought he had missed his chance, that you had moved on with your life and no longer needed him.

Turning around, you were startled to find Harry standing there in the shadows. His sudden appearance caught you off guard, and you let out a little jump in surprise.

Harry, concern etched across his features, asked, "S’everything alright? Y’looked panicked when y’saw y’phone."

You quickly collected yourself, offering a reassuring smile. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just needed to answer it without the loud music," you explained, hoping to quell any worries.

Harry, seemingly relieved, asked, "Was that y’boyfriend?"

With a sigh, you shook your head. "No, not my boyfriend. It was my daughter."

The silence that followed was heavy, and Harry's eyes widened in realisation.

You were sprawled out in Harry's garden, a patchwork of the evening sky painted with shades of deep blue and a tapestry of stars, twinkling like a thousand distant dreams. The soft scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass wafted through the air, blending with the comforting scent of Harry's cologne.

As you lay in his arms, cocooned in the embrace of young love, the world beyond seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you and the vast expanse of the night. The grass cradled your bodies like a feathered mattress, a canvas for the dreams that flowed freely.

Amidst this tranquil backdrop, Harry's voice broke the tranquil silence.

"Do y’ever want t’ave kids?" he asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. His words were like a gentle breeze, laden with curiosity and the promise of an uncertain future.

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes meeting him in the dim light. A smile graced your lips as you replied,

"Yeah, I'd love to have kids someday. Especially our kids." The words tumbled out with an ease that only young love could inspire, a declaration of your shared hopes and dreams.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he kissed your forehead, his warm breath mingling with the cool night air.

"Our kids," he repeated softly, his voice filled with promise and the intoxicating scent of first love. In that moment, under the canvas of a starlit sky, you both painted a picture of a future filled with shared adventures and laughter, not yet aware of the challenges and heartaches that lay ahead.

You lay there, sharing your dreams and aspirations, your hearts intertwined like the constellations above.

Harry looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"Y’ave a daughter?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nodded, the weight of the past and present pressing heavily upon you.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "She's four."

The question hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. Harry's voice broke the silence, asking, "Are y’with the dad?"

Your eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and frustration. You looked at him with a hurt expression before saying, "Is that all you care about? Whether I'm with her dad or not?"

Harry, seemingly flustered, quickly responded, "No, f’course not."

The anger and hurt simmered beneath the surface as you shook your head, the words pouring out with the force of years of unspoken resentment. "You lost the right to care about who I'm with or my life a long time ago when you up and left. You didn't even deserve to know that I had a daughter."

Harry's face contorted with regret as your words hit him like a tidal wave. The argument had grown intense, and the emotions that had been suppressed for years were now surging to the surface.

He took a step closer to you, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he finally said, "M’sorry."

Your eyes met his, but the anger still smoldered within you.

"Sorry isn't going to change anything," you retorted, your voice laced with frustration and pain.

As he began to speak, his voice wavered with raw emotion.

"M’sorry that I left ye," he admitted, his words tinged with guilt and sorrow. "But I knew f’a fact that y’wouldn't want t’live the life with a rockstar, a life where y’hardly see me."

Your confusion and worry grew as you stood on Harry's doorstep, knocking anxiously.

When Harry's mother answered the door, her expression was sombre. You immediately asked, "Where's Harry? He was supposed to meet me today."

His mother hesitated for a moment before delivering the news that would shatter your world. "Harry didn't tell you? He's left, dear. He left early this morning to head to London."

You blinked, struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation.

"But when will he be back?" you implored, your voice trembling.

His mother's gaze remained sympathetic, but her words were final. "He won't be coming back, love. He's a part of One Direction now, and their tours are about to begin."

You knew he was part of the band, you had gone to a few live shows and even looked after him after the band finished in Third, when all he wanted was you.

He never told you about a tour, about anything, although you noticed that he was on his phone quite a lot, you just thought he was playing that stupid game.

But you must have been wrong.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, and the initial shock gave way to a growing sense of despair.

"Why didn't he tell me?" you managed to stammer out, your voice cracking as you tried to understand.

You had thought your relationship was built on trust and communication.

His mother's sympathetic gaze only deepened the emotional turmoil you were experiencing.

"I think he didn't want to hurt you," she offered gently. "This opportunity means a lot to him."

Too late for that.

Your mind raced with a million questions. How had everything changed so suddenly? What would this mean for your future together? You couldn't imagine life without Harry by your side.

"He's been practising with the band for weeks now," Harry's mother continued, "and their tours are about to begin. It's a big chance for him, and he didn't want to hold himself back."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of sorrow, confusion, and frustration. You had never expected this turn of events, and the sense of abandonment was overwhelming.

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air. Harry continued, his gaze locked onto yours,

"T’band was just starting out, and I knew I'd be on the road, seeing y’less and less. I didn't want t’hurt ye."

The argument, once fueled by anger, seemed to transform into a tumultuous sea of emotions. Your heart ached as you listened to his words, realizing that he had walked away not out of indifference, but out of love—or what he had believed was love.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you heard Harry's confession, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through the anger and resentment that had fueled your argument. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice, and replied, "I didn't get to choose what life I wanted to live. I wanted to be with you, but you made that choice for me."

Harry's eyes glistened with remorse as he implored, "I wanted t’protect ye’ t’keep y’from a life that would hurt ye."

Your voice trembled as you spoke, the tears now flowing freely.

"The only life I wanted to live was one with you, but then you up and left me, our relationship," you said, your voice breaking as you confronted the years of pain that had been buried deep within.

Harry's response was a whisper of regret. "When I auditioned, y’had t’walk out halfway through because y’didn't do well in the crowd."

At this, your emotions spiraled, and you couldn't contain the rush of memories and feelings that overwhelmed you. You cried as you defended yourself and the relationship you had once cherished. "I was scared, Harry, scared of the expectations, of the distance, but I still loved you. I didn't want to let you down, but you walked out on us, on me."

The weight of all the years of heartache and misunderstandings became too much to bear, and you started to sob uncontrollably. The tears flowed freely, and your body shook with the intensity of your emotions.

Without hesitation, Harry wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close, his chest becoming a sanctuary for your broken heart. His voice, gentle and soothing, whispered into your ear, "M’so sorry, m’love. I'll spend the rest f’m’life making it up t’you."

Amidst the tears and the weight of unspoken words, your voice quivered as you finally found the strength to speak.

"Harry, you don't understand how hard it was...how hard it still is," you confessed, your words choked with emotion. "You were my everything, and you just left without even a word."

Harry's grip tightened, and his voice was filled with a deep sense of remorse. "I know, and I can't change the past, but I want t’make things right, t’be there f’ye."

You paused for a moment, looking up at him, your eyes red and swollen. "It's not just about me, Harry. I've moved on, and I have a daughter now. You just can't come back into my life like this."

His voice was filled with sincerity as he replied, "I understand. I'll do whatever it takes t’earn y’forgiveness and be a part f’y’life again."

The weight of the years hung heavy in the air, but as you held each other amidst the tears and the apologies, there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps, with time and effort, wounds could heal and a new chapter could begin.

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 1 year ago

Text

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 2

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 911

Author's Note: Well, I made it into a series based off of the feedback I got from the poll. I also gave Wolffe's daughter a name and updated the previous chapter to include it. Uh, forewarning, it gets worse before it gets better. We still have several parts of angst to get through before we ever start seeing glimpses of happiness, but it will happen eventually!

Part 1 || Next

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"CC-3636?" a nurse called as she entered the waiting room carrying a data-pad.

"Yes, I'm CC-3636," Wolffe said and quickly wiped his face. He stood up from the bench and approached the nurse.

"I need you to fill out this form so we can alert the next of kin to claim the body," the nurse said.

Wolffe knit his brows together. "I am the next of kin. I'm her husband."

The nurse bit her lip. "I'm sorry, but according to current Republic statutes your marriage is invalid, which makes you a family-friend, not a next of kin."

"Friend?" Wolffe scoffed. "We live together. Have a child together. I'd say that's more than friends."

The nurse sighed. "Cohabitation and bearing a child does not constitute a legal binding marriage in the eyes of Republic law."

Wolffe's breath was stolen as he stared blankly at the nurse. She couldn't be serious. There was no way. They couldn't get a marriage license. It was impossible. He tried and it was futile. Every which way he attempted failed. He couldn't get around the fact that he wasn't a legal citizen. He didn't even have a legal name that could've been put on the marriage license. They had the ceremony, did everything else they were supposed to do, but no one would give them an official license.

"Speaking of which," the nurse added under her breath, as if her own words pained her to speak. "We'll also need to contact child services since Cara is now considered a legal orphan."

"Orphan?" Wolffe exclaimed. "But I'm her father!"

"Is your name on the birth certificate?" the nurse asked, as if she already knew the answer.

A lump formed in Wolffe's throat and he clenched his fist. "No… It's not. But my DNA… I'm still her biological father."

"I'm sorry," the nurse said. "But legally you aren't. She will be placed in a children's care facility pending a familial investigation, and if no family is found, she will be placed into foster care."

"You can't take my daughter!" Wolffe yelled. "I've already lost my wife tonight! And now you want to take my kid from me too? What is wrong with you people!"

The nurse was startled at Wolffe's emotional outburst.

"She needs me!" Wolffe continued as he raised his voice higher. "I'm all she has left!"

"Sir," the nurse said. "I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do. We're bound by the laws."

"I swear to the Maker if you lay a single hand on her I'll–"

"If I may," Plo interrupted. He carefully handed the sniffling child back to Wolffe, then ushered the nurse down the hallway. "Perhaps you and I can discuss the details of this form privately."

"Very well, Master Jedi," the nurse agreed and followed him.

Wolffe collapsed back onto the bench and pressed his daughter against his chest as tightly as he could, terrified that at any moment someone would walk through the med-center doors and rip her out of his arms. He'd never let them take her. He'd rather die than let them take her. She meant everything to him, and with his wife gone, Cara was the only piece of her he had left. He didn't think his night could go from bad to worse, but his nightmares were quickly becoming a reality.

Wolffe felt Cara squirm in his arms and he loosened his grip. She didn't say anything between her quiet sniffles, but settled herself onto his lap to get more comfortable. Her face was red and puffy from crying, and she looked exhausted. Wolffe pulled up the edge of his sleeve and wiped up the snot dripping down her face, brushed a piece of her black curly hair away, then let her settle comfortably against his chest. He tilted his head down and kissed the top of her head while he rocked her back and forth the best he could.

"It's going to be okay," Wolffe whispered into her hair. "I won't let anything happen to you."

After a few more minutes, Plo returned with the nurse. They exchanged a few more words that Wolffe couldn't hear, but the nurse was smiling, so he hoped it was good news. Maker knew he couldn't handle anything else going wrong. As Plo approached the bench, Wolffe felt a new knot forming in the pit of his stomach. As tired and emotionally drained as he was, he would find a way to protect his daughter, even if it went against all of his training and every GAR regulation.

"General?" Wolffe questioned as Plo approached him, his exhaustion seeping through his voice.

"I have taken legal custody of Cara," Plo said. "She will reside at the Jedi Temple for the time being, and your wife will receive proper funeral rights as well."

Wolffe leaned his head back against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the stars."

The fact that his general would take custody of his daughter, just to keep her from being taken away from him, touched Wolffe's heart deeply. The arrangement was still not ideal, but it was better than what he hoped for, considering the alternatives of foster care or next of kin. At least at the Jedi Temple, Cara would be primarily safe and cared for, and he could see her unrestricted by laws. It wouldn't be enough when he got deployed, but for right now, at this moment, it was more than enough.

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fredandginger64 · 2 months ago

Text

By: fredandginger64 for @ringa-starr

Please keep in mind that I am not a writer, I just write stuff down, lol but here it is anyway because I love Jerry and Dean so much...

Our Girl

Spring in California was like summer in most places, the sun not a warm relief, but a hot annoyance. Jerry wiped his brow as he stepped into the cool water of his backyard pool, only to have four pairs of little hands grab onto his shoulders and try to pull him under.

“Hey, hey, I just got in here, lemme have a little break, will ya?!” Jerry laughed at the three little boys who were so obviously his own, and the happy little girl who was nobody's.

Jerry and his wife Patti had grown so fond of her and the boys loved having her around. She was quite the little actress, having just finished starring with Jerry in his new picture, ironically, about an orphaned little girl in search of a father. That's how Jerry came to know her, after that first meeting with her when Jerry interviewed her about making the film, she was the one. Wise beyond her years, but still with the wonder and sweetness of an ordinary little girl, Jerry had his co-star. Working with her was a dream and she stole Jerry's heart. She currently lived in a foster home with a couple who had two grown children so she was very lonely for the company of other children and Jerry's home was a dream come true for her. In fact, one of Jerry's boys was only one day older than her. She thought that was the greatest thing in the world. She had been invited to the Lewis's home several times during filming, but this was a special night, they were all going to dinner to celebrate wrapping the production of the film. Jerry wanted to surprise her, as she was being included in the family dinner.

After the children had taken turns being thrown in the air by their father, Jerry announced it was time to get ready for dinner.

“Ah, dad, it's only 5:00, just a little longer!”

”That's what you said an hour ago, now out, all of you, out.” Jerry stood at the pool's ladder, counting each head as they begrudgingly climbed the steps of the pool. “One, two, three, aaaand, four”, he said as Donna came up the steps last.

“You know, Jerry, we could have stayed longer, seeing as I'm here. Patti said I'm a great help to her, especially with the baby.”

“You are, sweetheart, but you've got to get yourself ready, y'know.”

“All I gotta do is change clothes, I'll be ready before any of you guys, and I can help Patti with the baby while she gets dressed. Aaand, I can hurry the other boys up, even Ronnie. He thinks he's so smart because he's a teenager, but I got his number.”

Jerry laughed out loud at this kid. Donna was looking at him with a smirk, head cocked to one side, as she looked up at the tall, handsome man who had become her friend and confidant.

“I know that look and I know you're about to say something inappropriate, probably gonna insult me.”

“Just facts, Jer. Y'know, you take longer than anybody, maybe I'll watch the baby and get your clothes all laid out, while you shower and put that good smelling stuff on.”

“You just nevermind about that good smelling stuff. You're too young to know about such things.”

Donna looked up at Jerry again, “Why? I can smell it same as you and same as that script girl that said y…….”

Jerry was horrified. “Uh I think I heard the baby, you better run along.”

Jerry breathed a sigh of relief that Patti didn't hear that. He was gonna have a talk with that child.

Donna skipped off to Patti's bedroom and knocked, “Mrs Lewis? Can I help?”

“Come in, darling. Of course you can. I've almost got the baby ready. Can you just see if you can get his shoes tied?”

Donna talked to him while she tied his shoes and before long, he looked like a little prince.

“You are such a help, but you better run along and take a quick bath and I'll see what I can do with your hair.”

“I can take a bath when I get to the Hanson's.” That was the name of her foster parents. She never could bring herself to call their home her home.

“Oh but you're not going back there. You're coming out with us, my dear.”

“I-I am?”

“That is, if you want?”

“Want? I'd just die to go out with you and that, that, crazy husband you got!”

Patti laughed and scooted her off to the bathroom. She returned 15 minutes later all scrubbed and dry, her hair in a veritable mess.

“But Mrs. Lewis, I don't got anything here to wear.”

“You've been around Jerry too much. Just listen to that grammar.”

“Jerry says it ain't important the way you say it, but it's the meaning that you gotta make clear to people.”

“I'll have to speak to him about that.”

Patti turned and went into her closet and brought out a beautiful pink dress with a darker pink sash, made of organza. It was so light and airy. Donna loved it immediately but it was too small for Patti.

“This is for you, Donna.”

Donna's eyes grew in size, mouth open. “But how? Really?”

“Of course. I had the most fun picking it out.”

Donna ran to Patti and hugged her. “Thank you, thank you. It means so much just because you picked it out.”

“Now let's get you into it. And, I got shoes for you too….. and accessories.”

“I'm so excited!” She hugged Patti again and ran off to put her beautiful dress on.

An hour later, everybody was ready , except Jerry. He was trying to match socks with his suit.

“Wear these.” Jerry looked over his shoulder at the beautiful little girl who had reached around him and grabbed a pair a dark socks and placed them on his shoulder.

Donna was expecting a comeback, not a compliment.

She dropped her head and said, “Your wife sure does have good taste.”

“She sure does. Now let me put these socks on” he playfully tapped Donna on the nose. “and shoes, of course.”

“Told ya I should have laid everything out for you.”

Jerry watched her walk down the hall and go into the boys room, coming out with them in tow. They sure liked having her around. Jerry smiled, an idea forming in his head, not really an idea, but a plan. A plan that would affect his whole family for the rest of their lives.

“Jerry, are you sure?”

Patti looked at her husband with a newfound admiration, an excitement of sorts filling her heart.

“I feel it, Patti. I just know it’s right”

“A daughter, oh my, a daughter Jerry. We’ve hoped for one for so long.”

“It’ll be lovely. It’ll be a long, hard process and we’ll have to talk to Donna but I think she’d love being a part of our family.”

“Let’s talk to her tonight?”

“You read my mind, mama”

III

The restaurant was unusually crowded for a Monday evening but the Lewis family made their way to their table. They were quite the large family and it looked as though it was family night, anyway. Jerry said hello to several people on their way to the table.

When they were all seated, the waiter came and asked for their drink orders.

The boys ordered soft drinks, Patti ordered iced tea and Jerry ordered a scotch and soda.

“You shouldn't be drinking that”

“And why not?”

“Because you can't handle your liquor.”

“Listen, young lady, I don't know what you're talking about but you don't tell an adult what they shouldn't do.”

“Well I'm only repeating what Mr Martin said.”

Jerry looked at her with wide eyed amazement. “He doesn't know……you shouldn't be repeating….wh…I'll have a talk with Mr Martin.”

“He only said he had to get you out of all sorts of trouble when you were young because you couldn't handle your liquor.”

Patti could barely contain her laughter.

“Hold on, he told you that?”

“Well, I overheard him telling somebody else.”

“Well you shouldn't have been listening.”

Jerry hid his smile, he would definitely have a talk with Mr Dean Martin.

“That's how you learn stuff.”

“By listening to other people's conversation?”

“Sure. You do it.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do, you told me what Patti was getting you for your birthday last month because you listened in on her talking to the man at the store where she got it from.”

Patti looked at Jerry open-mouthed, “so that's why you didn't seem to be really surprised.”

“Well, I loved it. Little lady, we're going to have a talk about manners later on.”

“Sure. And Patti can give you a talking to, as well.” Donna looked triumphantly at Jerry who slid down in his chair.

“I certainly will. Mr Lewis has some manners to learn himself.”

“Tattletale.” Jerry whispered to Donna who gave him a wink.

Donna leaned in closer to Jerry while Patti was helping the children with their food. “You know what else Mr Martin said?”

“No I don't. Stop listening to anything that rat says”

“Why? I think he's dreamy.”

“You would.” Jerry laughed at this kid who reminded him of himself. It was going to be a fun ride with her around.

The ride back home was noisy to say the least, but when Jerry didn't take her home, Donna was curious.

“Hey Jer, you missed the turn back there.”

“I know it.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Back to the house.”

“Ok. Sure.”

“You like my house don't you?”

“I love it more than anything”

“Good because we've got something to ask you.”

“Well? Ain’t you gonna ask me?”

“When we’re home “

Jerry pulled into the driveway and helped get the boys inside. When everybody was settled, Jerry sat Donna down on the sofa between him and Patti.

“Donna, have you ever thought about being adopted?”

“No not really. People want babies don't they?”

“I guess they probably do, but older kids are great too…no diapers.”

“Only you would think of that.”

“You know it, kid.” What would you think if we said we'd like for you to live with us?”

Donna was quiet, barely understanding what she was hearing. “You mean like stay here all the time?”

“Yea, stay with us forever.”

“You wanna adopt me? Why, Jer? You got all these kids running around. What would you want me for?”

“Cause we love you and you fit right in.”

“You're not saying it because you feel sorry for me, or anything like that?”

“Course not.”

“Patti says I'm just like you.”

“Well then she loves you pretty darn good.”

“It might be fun living with you.” Jerry could tell she was about to cry. “A lot of fun.” Jerry stood up and walked to the mantle, Donna right behind him. She looked up at Jerry and put her arms around his waist and hugged him. Jerry picked her up and held her tight. He supposes that meant she wouldn't mind too much being adopted by the Lewis's.

“Jerry? “I gotta call you Dad? I mean if you still want me to be your daughter?”

“Gotta get used to that one.”

“Why?” Jerry laughed.

“Got used to calling you Jerry or Jer.”

“I should've made you call me Mr Lewis.”

Donna giggled, “You're not serious enough to be called that.”

“You shouldn't be calling me ‘Jer’”

“Everybody else does.”

“No they don't. Only a couple people do.”

“Mr Martin says he calls you all sorts of stuff, but I don’t think I’m supposed to say the things he said.”

“Mr Martin again? What do you do, follow him around all day?”

Sure, when he’s at the studio. He’s dr….”

“….dreamy…” Jerry imitated Donna when she talked about Dean or Elvis. “I know”

“Dad. Sounds good, huh?”

Jerry softened towards her, “sure does, honey.”

~~~

The county’s adoption office reminded Jerry of a private upscale girls school. Ladies dressed in prim dresses and low heel shoes. There were only inaudible whispers as Jerry stood at the big desk, as if he were a defendant in a courtroom.

“Ah Mr Lewis, I'll be right with you.”

“I don't remember ever being here,” Donna exclaimed, “ I just remember living with a family in Beverly hills, who got me started in show business and then the Hanson's.

“You just don't remember”

“Glad I don't.”

Jerry could feel her hand grip his tighter. He smiled down at her and then they were led back to an all white room with no pictures or decorations, save for two chairs and a desk.

Today was just for the two hours worth of paperwork. It was a long process but well worth it. Donna was tired when they finally left the agency two and a half hours later.

“I gotta go back to the Hanson's, don't I?”

“Well just for now. Wont be long, you'll be with us all the time.”

“Ok. They're not so bad. They're good to me. It's just at your house, there's always something to do.”

“Sometimes too much.”

“Hey, Jer, when I'm with you all the time, what about my career? Do I keep going or stop?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“You, silly. You wanna keep acting?”

“I don't think so. It's gonna be hard enough just being your daughter.”

“I don't know if that's a compliment or not.”

“Sure it is. You're as good as it gets.”

“Gee. I don't think I've ever been anybody's hero before.”

“No fooling?”

“No fooling.”

Donna smiled and winked up at Jerry.

~~~

“Today?”

“Yes, mama. Today. They said to expect them between two and three this afternoon.”

“Jerry! Two o clock?! It's almost one now. The house….oh my… the boys! That's even worse! Scottie's got a bloody nose!.... Chris….”

“Bloody nose?!! What happened?”

He got an elbow from one of your son's, I don't know which, because they were wrestling in the back yard, and I had to untangle them. Oh my…..oh my, me! I'm a mess! Oh Jerry!”

“Now calm down. They said they wanted to drop in unannounced a time or two. Next time, you'll have plenty of time to prepare.”

“It's nerve wracking.”

“You are a perfect mother. Everything will be fine. I'll be home around six.”

~~~

Patti supposes it went pretty well, she only had time to change her dress and put on some lipstick. The boys were on their own. Patti hoped they wouldn't show up til close to three but of course it was a little past two. The boys charmed the two ladies that came to visit, even showing them, to Patti's horror, a toad they had found in the garden. Patti sat with her eyes closed, praying for the best, but when the older of the two ladies announced what a handsome toad they had found and should be very proud of it, she began to relax. After all, the house was mostly clean, save for the boys bedrooms.

“Mrs Lewis, you have a charming home, we'll be in touch.”

“Thank you ladies, very much.”

Patti leaned against the door when they were gone. “A daughter” she thought. “A little girl for Jerry and I.” She smiled and went to call her husband, relieved and happy. Nothing could stop the adoption now.

~~~

As the months went by, Donna spent more and more time with the Lewis's. The weekends were the best because Jerry was at home most of the time, and Donna adored him. But Sunday nights when Jerry drove her back to her foster home were the worst. She clung to Jerry as if he was her lifeline.

“I don't want to go. I wanna stay with you. Take me back home, Jer, please.”

“Honey I can't. Just a few more weeks and you'll really be mine.”

“I know, but I wanna be with you all the time. I wanna eat breakfast with you and Patti and the boys and I wanna come home from school and help Patti and on school vacations I wanna come to work with you.”

Jerry laughed out loud. “Come to work with me?”

“Yea, I mean even though I don't wanna act anymore, I still like the atmosphere, you know just watching everybody work and everything.”

“You made quite an impression.”

“I do that. Just like you. Me and you, we're alike. Gotta be loud and in charge. Cause we grew up the same.”

“Grew up the same?”

“Yea. Alone. Except I got a chance. I got you and Patti. You didn't have anybody like that… except for Mr Martin.”

“Him again?”

“I like him. He says he took you under his wing.”

“You two sure talk a lot.”

“We got a lot in common. You.”

“Well, just remember, he can be a rat sometimes.”

“I know that. But he sure likes you.”

“Yea well, he's ok sometimes.” Jerry ruffled her hair and and Donna hugged him tight.

“Bye Jerry. I'll miss you.”

“Same here, sweetheart.”

~~~

“Hey Jerry, we need you on the set.”

“Be there in a minute.”

Jerry strode down the hall, pencil in mouth, cigarette in hand, secretary trying to keep up.

“Is that all for now?”

“Yes, make sure the costume fits exactly right.”

“Hey Jerry, can you sign this?”

“Yes yes.” Jerry stopped for a few quick seconds. He had a meeting at 4 to finally start the finalization of the adoption and hopefully they would go before a judge in the next few days and it'll be over.

Jerry continued down the hallway and into a soundstage where the film was being shot. After solving the problem he was called for, he swiftly got out. It was nearing 3 now and he had to get a move in. He was meeting Patti at 3:45 at the agency.

As he rounded the corner, a hard shoulder met his chest, as an avalanche of papers floated to the ground.

“Damn, Jer. Sorry, buddy.”

“Well, well, Mr Martin.”

“I don't like that tone.”

“You shouldn't. You are a bad influence.”

“Why, just because I made you drop your papers?”

“No, because you keep telling Donna things about me.”

“It's all true, buddy.”

“Yea but she ain't gotta know it. She's a little tyrant already.”

“Just like her papa.”

“Haha. She thinks you're dreamy.”

“Like I said, just like her papa.”

Jerry cocked his head, raised his eyebrows and could do nothing but smile and shake his head. After Dean had picked up all of the now mixed up papers, Jerry said, “yeah yeah, in your dreams.”

As Jerry gave him a side long glance, as he walked away, Dean returned, “dreams do come true, y'know.”

Jerry turned, smiled a knowing smile and walked away.

This is going to be a great ride, Jerry thought, a great one indeed.

~~~

“Today's the day.” Jerry was as nervous as Patti but he didn't show it. What if something went wrong? What if Donna changed her mind? What if the state of California denied the adoption. After all, I am away from home a lot. That doesn't look good. Now look what you've gone and done, you schmuck, you've worked yourself up over nothing. Everything has gone well so far, Jerry thought. Why would it be any different now. They knew what my job was. They know I'm an entertainer and have an excellent income. I can more than afford to take care of Donna.

“You're nervous, Jerry”

“Am not.”

“Your fingers.”

“Fingers?”

“They won't be still.”

Jerry sighed. “Ok so I'm nervous.”

“Me too. I don't know why though. Jerry, we have a wonderful home.”

“You're perfect. You take care of the house, kids and everything in between. You cook great meals…. everything, so it's not you. It's me. I'm barely home before I'm gone again.”

“We've come this far. We can't lose her now”

“So far we've only dealt with the county, now it's the state and they don't know us. To them, we're just another family.”

“We have a wonderful family.”

“Hope they think so.”

~~~

The meeting with the entire Lewis family had gone very well. The boys were on their best behavior and Donna was an angel. Before they left, appointments were scheduled and for the next three months, then finally a decision from the state of California. These next three months were imperative for the Lewis's. But something was looming over Jerry's head, something he had thought of but hadn't acted on. He had put it in the back of his mind and now he had to think about it.

“I can't be there. It's impossible. I've got to be there for all these meetings with the adoption people. It's very important.”

“I understand Jerry, but this is important too. You've missed two engagements already. If you miss this one, they'll cancel, get somebody else and you won't get the opportunity again.”

Jerry's agent looked solemnly at Jerry. He really was in one heck of a mess.

“Let me see what I can do. Maybe I haven't teed them off too bad.”

“And what about your engagement at The Sands next month. Jerry that's two weeks. You have to be there.”

“God I forgot.”

Jerry hated to ask for help, because he's never had to. He would have to find fill ins that the clubs in which he was appearing would agree to. He knows Frank is out of town, but knows if there's somebody available, he'll find them.

He knows the adoption process for the next couple months would be critical for them, and he couldn't disappoint Patti. She was so looking forward to Donna being hers and the boys adored her.

He'd figure it out. He always did.

~~~

“I'm trying, it's just that everybody's so tied up. I can get you somebody lesser known but, The Sands just won't agree to it because with you, it's a cinch they'll sell out. Somebody else, no way…

Jerry started to say something to his agent but it wasn't his fault. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away.

“Look, Jerry. The first two appointments with the adoption people are ok. You're actually free those days, well you'll have to leave right after this one,” his agent pointed to a paper on Jerry's desk, “remember you have to emcee the children's benefit.”

Jerry put his head in his hands. “Good thing you keep up because I nearly forgot.”

“I'll keep trying.”

“Thanks.”

His phone rang and he started to just let it ring but he thought it was probably something to do with the next picture the studio was producing.

“Yea, this is Jerry.”

“Hey Jerry, is there anything that could happen that would keep you from adopting me?”

“Donna. Why are you asking that? And shouldn't you be in school?”

“It's almost 4 in the afternoon. School's out.”

“Oh that late huh?”

“Yea. Will you come get me, Jer?”

“You're at home aren't you?”

“No. I mean yes but….my home is with you. I feel it and I miss you and I want to be with you.”

“That's up to Mr and Mrs Hanson. They're still your guardians, y'know”

“They're just two stuffy old crabs. They don't know how to have fun like you do.

Jerry had to laugh. “Donna, that's not nice.”

“Why I gotta be nice for?”

“Because it's courteous and respectful”

“Yea but it's no fun. I wanna be with you.”

“You will be.”

“Some kids at school say those ladies from the adoption agency won't let me live with you. They say you're not home enough.”

“Nonsense. Now you do your homework and I'll see you tomorrow. It's Friday y'know.”

“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

~~~

“Hey Donna! Look. One of the boys had climbed up in the treehouse and got a running start and jumped off with the rope that was hanging by the tree.

“I wanna turn! Watch this. Donna twisted the rope around and jumped off, the rope twisting wildly as it swung to and fro.

The boys cheered her on as the wildly twisting rope slowed and Donna jumped off, staggering wildly.

“I’m gonna do that!”

“You kids be careful out there! I saw that missy. You better be very careful. We have a meeting with the agency on Monday, with the state agency.” Patti scolded all the children about the condition of their attire.

“We don’t need you in the hospital with a broken arm. What would that say about us?”

“It’s Saturday mom. We don’t have to be clean.”

“Well you shouldn’t run around like a wild animal.”

“Where’s Jerry? I want him to be here with us. He’s fun.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s working so he can be with us in the last and most important part of the adoption process.”

“I know. I really love him, y'know”

“I do know. I have a feeling you're going to be a daddy's girl through and through. You already act like him, talk like him, and that reminds me I still haven't had that talk with him about his grammar. And while we're at it, Mr Martin needs a lesson as well.”

“Mr Martin’s just great. He don't treat me like a kid, but like a peer.”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

“Uncle Dean's real cool. He and dad used to be together, y'know.”

Ronnie, Jerry and Patti's teenage son had appeared dressed in swim trunks.

“I know it. They were fabulous. Jerry said I could watch some of their tv shows sometimes.”

Patti wondered which ones and how was he going to explain some of the more inappropriate language and more importantly, the inappropriate gestures he and Dean got away with.

“We'll see about that.”

“And the nightclub act”

“ Absolutely not. That's not for your eyes or ears.”

“That's what he said. He said maybe when I'm older.”

“A lot older.”

~~~

“Hey Jerry!” Donna came downstairs in her pajamas, and flung herself at Jerry. “Hi ya, pop.” She hugged his waist.

“Now what are you doing up? It's nearly 10:00.”

“Waiting for you. I missed ya. Besides, it's Saturday. No school tomorrow.”

“I might let you off the hook.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.”

“I'm just a little tired. I'll get something later.”

“Can I stay up with you. Please?”

“Sure but only for a little while.”

“Great!” Donna took his hand and pulled him to the living room.

“So what all did you do today.”

“Well we went grocery shopping this morning and Patti fixed us all sandwiches and then we made brownies, just me and her.”

“I don't think the boys like those things.”

“No they don't but I like playing outside, just like they do. You should have seen me twisting and twisting on the rope. I made myself dizzy!”

Donna had climbed on Jerry's lap and laid her head on his shoulder.

“You're something else, y'know that?”

“Yea but I don't know what. That's what everybody says about you.”

Jerry had laid his head back on the couch and he felt his eyes begin to close.

“Yea but when they say that about an adult, it's usually not meant in a good way.”

“Why not? You mean they meant you're bad? They better not. I'll tell them all! My dad is the greatest in the world!”

“Whoa now little spitfire. You can't go round telling adults off.”

“Why not? Why are there different rules for kids and adults?”

“Because you're supposed to learn from adults. And adults are supposed to teach kids to be nice and respectful to everybody. But sometimes that's not what happens. I want you to be a very good girl.”

“I am, Jer. I'll do anything for you. But don't worry, I heard all that stuff about you being something else months ago when I was on the studio lot. I think they probably changed their minds now.”

Jerry laughed at her innocence. “Probably not but don't let all that give you a bad impression, it's just adults talking, and sometime we need to be reminded to be nice and respectful as well.”

“But they did stop. Mr Martin made them. I heard him. He said he better not ever hear anybody say anything bad about you. Or they wouldn't ever work in this town.”

Jerry smiled. He didn't have words to tell Donna what that meant to him. Maybe she doesn't need to know, not right now anyway.

“Mr Martin.” Jerry stared at the ceiling, still smiling. “You like him, don't you?”

“Sure do”

Jerry wondered why she likes him so much. “Why? What do you see in him?”

“He's funny, like you, and he loves you, just like I do.”

“Now how do you know that?”

“I just feel it. The way he looks at your office, like he wants more than anything to go in and talk to you.” Donna looks up at Jerry. “Don't you talk to him?”

“Not like we used to”

“Maybe he needs you to. Maybe he's shy.”

“He can be.”

“Tell me about him. Tell me all about when you two were together.”

Jerry put his hand on Donna's face. “I will one day when the time is right. Then you'll know.”

“But how will I know?”

“When you see what we did together, you'll know. I promise.”

“I look forward to hearing it, pop.”

“Not as much as I look forward to telling it.”

~~~

“I'm sorry, Jerry. But there's nobody available that will take your place. It's two weeks. That's a lot of time to ask somebody to fill in.”

“It's The Sands. It's prestigious. Surely somebody would love to fill in.”

“That's not the problem. There's plenty of people willing but not the right people if you know what I mean.

“Yea guess so.”

“We need a big name and everybody's busy because they're big names.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“That's what I said.”

“Jerry. Do you know what you're doing? You'll never work there again.”

“I choose my family. What else can I do?”

“Ok Jerry. I'll cancel.”

Jerry hung the phone up. What else could he do? He walked around his office, before deciding to call it a day. It's worth it, he thinks, it's all worth it.

The next few weeks went by in a blur of meetings, house calls, lawyers offices, paperwork and more paperwork. Jerry had to present tax returns for the last five years as well as a thorough inspection of the Lewis household, including what was to be Donna's bedroom.

It was hard but they could finally see light at the end of a long tunnel. They went before a judge for the final time in about a week's time. Jerry had to admit, he was nervous. He had missed a lot of important meetings at work not to mention several engagements. It really put him to thinking. Maybe he did work too hard. Maybe he needed to slow down. Maybe Dean was right after all.

~~~

The Lewis family sat in the courtroom, awaiting the judge who would either grant or deny the adoption. Jerry knew there was very little chance the adoption would be denied but he was still nervous.

As Donna sat between Jerry and Patti, people milled around them, people who probably didn’t care that this was her chance at a real family for the first time in her 9 years on earth. The very thought of being told she couldn’t have this family, frightened her. She was never scared of anything, just like Jerry. She reached over and put her small hand in his. Long fingers covered her hand in silent recognition of her uneasiness.

Jerry held her hand tight and Patti lightly touched her knee, waiting for the judge to finalize the adoption. When the moment came, Donna jumped up and down and Patti grabbed her and hugged her tight.

Jerry closed his eyes and said a little prayer. He kept his emotion in check, no small feat for him, but he did it. Maybe he had grown up after all. But a daughter….we had a daughter, Jerry thought as he looked at his great big family. Pride welled in his heart for them and when Donna looked up at him and asked, “Dad, can we go home now?” Jerry’s tears came as he hugged the sweet girl who everybody said was just like him.

“You bet we can. And this weekend we’re gonna have the biggest celebration you’ve ever seen!”

“Oh boy! Like a party?”

“A big one!”

“And my room, it’s really mine now!”

“You bet it is. You and Patti… excuse me, your mother, are going to have such a grand time shopping and decorating it.”

“I’m so excited, but I don’t really want anything too frilly and girly. I like playing with my brothers too much! The boys all came and stood around her, not hugging but looking in awe at their new sister.

“Ok everybody, let's go home.”

Jerry and Patti herded their brood out of the courtroom. There were a few reporters waiting outside wanting a picture of the whole family. After posing, they all climbed in the car and set out for home.

“Well Donna, you've only been a Lewis for a few minutes but you've already cost your Dad a ton of money.”

“What do you mean?”

“We'll have to get a bigger car.”

“Oh Jer, you make lots of money.”

“Jer?”

“Darn. Guess I really gotta stop callin you that now.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“I'll work on it.”

Jerry smiled at his daughter and drove his big family home.

~~~

“Congratulations, pal. You really did it. You adopted a kid.”

“Thanks. It's been wonderful having her around all the time.”

“Hey Jer, congratulations, really pal. You did a good thing.”

Jerry's press agent stops him walking out of one of the studios back door.

“Thanks Jack. It's been really something.”

As Jerry continues to walk to his car, his agent stops him.

“Have you heard anything from The Sands? I figured they'd be all over me, you, and Irving. They weren't exactly happy when you cancelled.”

“I hated to do it. I didn't have a choice. But no, I haven't heard anything.”

“Maybe they found somebody suitable.”

“Doubt it. I'm not gonna hear anything. Ever.”

“Sorry Jer. It was a good setup. Three times a year at what they pay you? You could retire.”

“S’ok. I'm going home now. See ya tomorrow.”

Jerry drove home wondering what Patti and the kids were up to today. She usually calls at least once but nothing today.

He walks into the house to a barrage of children descending on him.

“Hi dad.”

“Hey Dad, come swimming with us.”

“No I'm showing him my room first.”

“Ok ok but hurry up. It's just a room.”

Donna stuck her tongue out at her youngest brother as she ascended the stairs, gripping her father's fingers.

“Look at what we got”

“Well it's certainly not frilly”

“Only this.” Donna shows Jerry a doll sitting on her bed with a long flowing white dress and a wedding veil. “Mom said she always wanted to buy something like this…so I told her I'd love it.”

“Even though you really don't?”

“It's growing on me.”

“Good girl.”

“Look at what else I got.”

Donna showed him a light blue bedspread with matching curtains, and a white rocking chair in the corner beside a white desk.

“It's beautiful, honey.”

Jerry noticed a framed portrait of the whole family and a smaller one of both of them together during filming of their movie together.

Jerry noticed a photograph on her desk and went closer to look. Jerry smiled as he saw the photo. He stared at it for a full minute, remembering. It was a studio portrait, one of probably hundreds taken of him and Dean.

“Hope you don't mind. I asked Mom. She said you wouldn't.”

“She's right. Thank you”

“For what?”

Jerry started to say something, but Patti was standing at the door, watching and listening.”

“For reminding him of the great and loyal friend Dean was…and still is.”

Jerry furrowed his brow, wondering what Patti was trying to say.

Patti and Donna looked at each other and smiled secret smiles.

Jerry raised his eyebrows, awaiting something from Patti to clue him in.

“Well? What are you two dreaming up?”

Donna looked at the picture of her Dad and Dean.

“Do you know what Dean did for you…for us?”

“What are you talking about?”“He's fulfilled all your engagements, every single one.”

“Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“I found out today. Dean was trying to keep it from you. You know how he is”

“Well he did a great job. How did I not know?”

“I only found out by accident today. I ran into Jeanne in town and she told me he was in Vegas performing at The Sands. She thought it strange since he’s right in the middle of recording an album. She said he just took off one day last week.”

“He took all your obligations, Jerry.”

“That scoundrel. I can’t believe it. He…”

“You’re mad at him?” Donna looked up at him with her big brown eyes, not understanding.

“Oh no honey. Y’see, me and Dean, we have a funny way of talkin to each other. The more insults, the more we like one another.”

“There’s still two more nights left. I have to go. I need to see him. To thank him.”

“It would be wonderful. Hop on a plane and go, tell him we are eternally grateful to him.”

“I wanna go.”

“No children allowed honey.”

“Aww I can’t never go anywhere.”

Patti spoke up, “ How bout we invite him to our celebration next weekend?”

Donna squealed, “Can we, dad, can we?”

“Sure we can.”

Jerry knows he probably won’t come because he knows Dean, he still knows him. Rotten scoundrel, he thinks, but walks back downstairs with the biggest smile and the happiest heart he’s had since before the big split. He had to do it. He would go thank him in person. He had to.

~~~

One thing about being a big celebrity, it gave you certain privileges, at restaurants, sporting events and nightclubs. Of course, there wasn’t a table to be had to an ordinary member of the public, but when you knew people, a table usually could be found.

He settled down just in time for the opening act. Jerry wanted nothing else but to just go backstage and thank him but he had an overwhelming desire to watch him in private. He was still the greatest man he’d ever known.

Finally he came out, black tux, shiny black curly hair, the best friend he’d ever had. He hopes to God Dean thinks the same about him.

The performance was exactly like he had expected. Dean's lively, mischievous banter with the audience only made people appreciate and love his beautiful baritone voice…me included, Jerry thought.

As he made his way to a door leading backstage, he caught sight of him talking to fans, members of staff and of course some beautiful ladies who always wanted a chance with the handsome and sexy Dino.

Jerry stood in the shadows, fearing he'd be recognized. He wanted Dean to himself for just a few minutes.

When the crowd cleared, Jerry walked to his dressing room and knocked.

“Yeah?”

Jerry knocked again.

“Yeah? Who is it?”

Jerry decided he wasn't gonna get invited in, unless he announced his name.

“It's me.”

Nothing. He heard rustling as if he was getting dressed.

Then the door swung open slowly and there he was. Jerry didn't know how he'd be received, because Dean didn't like big scenes. He always said if you're going to do something for somebody, just do it, no questions asked, and no need for a thank you.

“Jer.”

“Paul.”

“Come in, pal.”

He was nervous, Jerry could tell, but so was he. They hadn't really talked in ages.

“Look, I know you don't like this sort of thing but you also know me, unless you've forgotten. I had to come. This means the world to me.”

“Figured you might show up.”

Jerry ducked his head and smiled.

“It was a great show, Paul, really.”

“Yea, well I did it for that kid of yours. She was on my show once, y'know.”

“Oh I know.”

It was Dean's turn to duck his head.

“She's really great, Jer.”

“Yeah and I thank you for taking a liking to her.”

“She reminds me of somebody.”

“Oh yeah? One of your girls?”

“You.”

Jerry thinks his heart skipped a beat.

“Patti says she's just like me. She sure loves you.”

“She thinks I'm dreamy.”

Jerry laughs. “Wanna get a drink or you……”

“Love to. Let me grab my jacket.”

“Ties crooked.”

“Fix it.”

Jerry goes towards Dean and reaches up to straighten his tie. As he puts his arms down and steps back, Dean says, “you still do.”

“Do what?”

“Think I'm dreamy.”

As they both walk out the door and into the semi darkness of the hallway, Jerry turns to Dean and says, “you damn right I do.”

And damned if Dean didn't give him the most beautiful smile, all bright and open, and all for Jerry.

Jerry thinks in the early morning hours of the next day how lucky he is. His family was complete and the best friend, partner and everything in between, that he's ever had, was still his.

Wait til Donna hears about this.

The End

#jerry lewis #Donna Butterfield #fanfiction #im not good at this at all but I do love it #dean martin #and editing...I gotta learn how to do it properly #im learning #martin and lewis #@ringa-starr

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