#but I'm counting her as a foster child

[itsgonnagetinspiringsoon]

was thinking about how pretty much all the bad kids are legally related at this point and out of curiosity I made a family tree and I can absolutely connect every single one of the bad kids (except for gorgug poor guy) on it through their parents.

[saphiccarma]

hiiii!! can you write agatha x pregnant reader (or you can do it with rio x agatha x reader). I haven't really come up with anything interesting, ahaha, but I think it would be cool to see soft agatha with a pregnant reader, especially after all these years since nicky died.

-My baby, my baby

Relationships: Agatha Harkeness x Reader

Summary: After all these years, Agatha has found someone she loves. Loves enough to have a child with.

Warnings: Some angst, but is followed but by fluff. A couple sexual innuendos, birth

A/N: This was so fucking fun to write. I hope it did the request justice and that y'all enjoy!

You met Agatha when you were merely wandering around. She was dressed nicely, her clothes a mix of work and casual. Clumsily, as you tended to be, you bumped into her, her coffee spilling all over the sidewalk and both your shirts. She had cursed, her glare sharp and annoyed, but after you invited her out to get a coffee, it softened. After that the two of you continually went on dates, slowly talking more and more, before it grew into more.

That was a few years ago, and now you lived with her in a nice house in the woods. It was a small cabin miles away from people with a large lake in the back. It was basically your dream home. You had found out she was a witch just a year into that. At first you were shocked, but at the same time it made sense. The way she just knew what you were thinking and how she could just the things you asked for without much problem. The two liked to take advantage of her powers had tested out a certain spell during a night a few weeks ago, one that had left you a sweaty, blushing mess by the end. You didn't think it would have any side effect. But now, sitting in the bathroom, you stared a bright pink plus sign and began to think it had side effects.

Your hand cupped your mouth as tears brimmed your eyes. Being a mother was something that you were not ready for yet. When you were young, your mother was hardly present. Hell she was only there until you turned five and then she handed you off to social servicies, deciding having a kiss was too much work. You had no idea how to be a mother. Most foster mother's hated you, just a few being kind but they were off to work all the time. What if you were a horrible mother?

And Agatha...She had briefly told you about her son, never delving too deep into it, and you never pushed, but you weren't sure if she wanted this. What if she hated you? What if she left? You didn't think you could handle that rejected. Children was a topic the two of you had yet to discuss, always thinking it was far into the future. She had never expressed an interest in a child before-

"Darling," Agatha called. You panicked at the sound of her voice, your entire body locking up. You scrambled up, shutting the bathroom door and locking it. The handle jiggled as Agatha tried to open it, "Darling?"

You blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "I'm showering."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side.

"I've seen you naked before darling if that's what you're about," she paused, her tone confused yet still filled with that playful lilt, "And the water isn't even running."

Clutching the test in your hand, your fingers trembled as you stared at the ground. There were a few beats of silence and you were silently counting in your head, waiting for Agatha to use her magic to open the door. Instead, you were surprised when a note was slid under the door. A faint smile crossed your face. Not long ago, you had told Agatha of how you did this with a foster sister before. She was pissed at you, locking herself in the bathroom, and you had slid notes under the door until she opened it.

You knelt down onto the cold floor. Delicately, you picked up the paper, unfolding it and reading the message: are you mad at me :(

A little laugh escaped you and you could basically see Agatha's proud smile. A pen was rolled under the door next, and you picked it up, scribbling on the paper. No :) :(

You pushed the paper and pen back under the door. Agatha huffed when she read it and you could hear the faint sound of a pen scrapping against the note a she wrote out her next message. Once again, you picked it up as it was slid under the door.

Can I come in? 💜

You smiled at the doodled heart next to the question, but your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat at the words. The pregnancy test sat dauntingly next to you on the floor, you weren't even sure when you had set it down, and it's symbol stared up at you like a taunt. After a moment of hesistance, you wrote your reply on the paper and slid it under the door.

It was opened magically a moment later, Agatha rushing in. She scanned you over as you stood up, taking in your face that and tears shimmering in your eyes. Her eyes flickered around the room before landing on the pregnancy test on the floor.

"Don't be mad," You blurted, "I was going to tell you I promise. I only just found out and-"

Agatha cupped your face and pressed her lips gently onto yours before you could spiral into more anxious rambling, "Shh," she whispered softly, "Calm down." She wrapped her arms around you, letting you bury your face into her neck.

"We're not ready," you sobbed into her neck, "What if- what if-"

"No what if's," she said firmly, swaying back and forth as you tried to quell your inner panic, "It'll be okay."

You whimpered slightly, clinging onto her for support, your knees weak. They gave out and Agatha gently lowered the two of you to the ground, landing on the cold floor that caused you to shiver. Gripping Agatha's shirt tightly, you pressed nose into her neck, soaking up the smell of lavender body wash that lingered there. She whispered soothing words in your ear, rubbing circles onto your back as you cried out your worries. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, one that was grounding and helped ease the worries somewhat.

Being a mother was something that you were not prepared for, not at all.

^______________^

If you were being honest, you weren't sure when the cravings started. It was small, like maybe you wanted peanut buttter when you usally didn't. Then today, when you woke up you realized you wanted some pineapple, a fruit that was never kept in the house, with nutella slathered all over it.

"Can you go get pineapple?" You stood in front of Agatha who was reading on the couch, purple magic dancing between her fingers as she used it to turn the pages, one hand holding the book and the other holding a coffee cup. She raised a brow at your question, glancing up from her reading.

"Pineapple," she echoed softly, "Are we moving to Hawaii soon?" Her quip made blush highlight your cheeks as you pouted.

"No," you mumbled, "But it sounds so good right now."

Agatha sighed in fond annoyance, "Alright. I'll go get pineapple. Is there anything else you want, miss princess?"

"I'm not a princess! I just don't feel like going out!" you protested, pouting up at her. She was just an inch taller than you, but it was enough for her to constantly boast about it. Always bragging she was an inch taller.

Your wife rolled her eyes, pressing an affectionate kiss to your lips before moving to slip her shoes on and grab a purse. She winked at you briefly with a sly smirk before slipping out of the house. Sitting down on the couch, you picked up the book she was reading, eyes scanning over it and a warm blush covering your cheeks at the words written on the book. The sexual scenes. You hadn't even known Agatha was reading this. You hadn't even realized how much time had passed before the front door clicked shut and you were slamming the book closed with wide eyes and a fierce red on your cheeks.

Agatha eyed you suspiciously as she entered the living room on her way to the kitchen, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," you shook your head furiously, "Absolutely nothing."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" she scoffed, but pulled a pineapple out of the groccery bag, "Would you like me to chop it up too, princess?"

You blushed at the pet name but didn't have time to protest as she was already grabbing a knife and chopping the pineapple up. It looked absolutely delicious. It wasn't long before you had chunks of pineapple slathered with nutella while sitting on the couch. Agatha had eyed you oddly throughout your preperation of the nutella and made a few teasing remarks but otherwise left you be.

When she picked her book up you realized that you hadn't book marked her page, but rather the page you were on. Looking at you with a smirk, Agatha chuckled slightly.

"Darling, if you wanted to know about my book I could have just shown you," She teased, her voice light and airy.

You spluttered, nearly spitting out the food in your mouth as you blushed furiously, "Agatha!"

She cackled like the witch she was.

^_______________^

It had been three days since you had found out the gender of your child and since that, Agatha had pulled away, retreating outside and away from you . It hurt, stinging like a sharp pain to your heart as you watched her pull away. You knew she was hurting, knowing that your child was a boy, and you had no doubt it brought up painful memories. Still, you wanted to be there for her and you needed her. Being pregnant wasn't easy. Everytime you tried to talk to her, she would make some excuse, her tone clipped and short before sauntering off. You had finally cornered her in the kitchen when preparing a snack.

"Don't you dare try to leave," you warned dangerously.

"I have to-" Agatha tried push past you, taking a step back again when you didn't move.

"No you don't," you shook your head and took a step closer. Tenderly, you grabbed her caloused hands, worn from years of spell casting, and rubbed soft cirlces with your thumb. Agatha flinched but you didn't let her pull away. Your voice was soft murmur, "Talk to me."

There was a large pause on her end. She bit her lip and looked away, jaw clenching. A huff escaped her as she mumbled, barely audible, "I'm scared."

Your heart melted as you heard those words, pulling her into a hug despite her stiff posture. Agatha had always been unsure about physical contact, but you knew she secretly craved it. Placing a lingering kiss onto the top of her head, you let your lip stay there.

"Me too," you whispered, "And while you haven't told me much about your son, not that you have to, I can't imagine how hard this must be. But we'll get through it, we can do it." Despite your own doubts about wether or not you could be a good mother, you knew Agatha could. She may have a clipped and sarcastic personality to those who didn't know her, she was softer when she loved you. Still sarcastic, but her heart softened.

You swayed back and forth like you would for a young child, "Everything will be okay."

Faintly, Agatha sniffled, hardly audible. She squeezed you tight and pressed a tender kiss onto your bare shoulder.

"I love you," she mumbled.

"I love you too."

Her hand rested on your belly bump, and she pulled away slightly, pressing a kiss to it. She smiled up at you, the underside of her eyes shimmering with tears, but her lips curved into a perfect smile as she pressed another kiss to your stomach, "He's going to be my little prince."

^___________^

You clutched Agatha's hand tightly as pain rippled through you. You sat in a hospital bed, blankets shoved to the side, as Agatha sat next to you, her hand tight against yours. Grinding your teeth together, you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Holy fuck," you whispered harshly, scowling at Agatha's small laugh. "It's not funny."

She smiled, gently pushing hair out of your face, "I'm sorry, princess."

You grunted as another contraction tore through you.

"When's the nurse coming back?" You asked, your heels pressed into the thin matress in an attempt to ground yourself.

Agatha hummed softly, "I'm not sure, I can go get her?"

You shook your head, not wanting her to leave, but at the same time you could feel the baby coming closer. Your water had broken not long ago and they were just waiting for it to happen. Although you didn't want her to leave, you nodded your head, reluctantly forcing yourself to release her hand. Agatha was gone for a few long, painful moments, before wandering back in with a midwife and another woman who you assumed was the labor coach. You had done a lot of reading on it. Your wife hurried to your side, immediatelly grabbing hold of your hand.

The midwife examined you, humming softly, "You ready mama?"

Forcing yourself to nod, not that it mattered, this baby was coming either way, you listened to the other nurses instructions. You ground your teeth together, willing yourself not to scream and squeezed Agatha's hand as tight as possible. Your wife whispered soothing words, her eyes fixed onto the midwife.

"Agatha," you panted, sweat beading at your brow, "I'm scared."

"Shh," The witch brushed away stray hair from your sweaty face, "I know me too."

A string of curse words flew out of you as you were instructed to push. A searing pain shot through the lower part of your body. Your wife pressed a soft kiss to your clenched hand, an amused smile flickering across her face at the vile words that left your mouth. She remembered giving birth like it was yesterday, and it was one of the most painful things she had done. Your eyes, opened for just a second, met hers. She smiled encourgingly at you, she knew you would be able to do it.

"I can see the head!" The midwife announced, glancing up very briefly.

You squeezed your eyes shut as pain tore through you and you were told to push. A few moments later, the nurse pulled away with a concerned frown on her face as she held a child in her hands. Agatha opened her mouth, prepared to ask a question, but the labor coach rushed out of the room as the midwife set the baby down on the table. She pressed her hands to his chest, doing tiny little compressions. Your eyes glued to the baby, even as you were panting with sweat coating your face, you found the energy to look at him. Tears shimmered in your eyes, worry replacing all the pain as the nurse worked over him.

You couldn’t lose him, not now, not after all you had done. Not after you and Agatha had decorated the nursery. Painting it a soft baby blue after much debate and tucking a crib in the corner and a rocking chair and oh so many toys for when he got older.

“Blue is such a generic boys color,” Agatha scoffed, her hand flicking to make the walls a pastel purple. You rolled your eyes.

“But it would be so cute,” you pouted up at her, “Please my love?” You kept up your pout until she agreed and the walls were colored a soft blue.

You couldn’t lose him after so many nights where you argued with Agatha because you were grumpy from the pain and she was her usual stubborn self.

“You can sleep on the couch then,” you said, turning around defiantly at crawling into the bed.

Agatha gaped at you, her head pulled back in shock and brows furrowed. She then huffed, turning around with a dramatic flair, “Fine.”

You refused to admit the next morning you missed the warmth of her cuddles and she endlessly complained about the pain in her back.

After all the two of you had gone through, you couldn’t lose him.

You were too focused on your child to notice your wife when her head snapped up and her eyes locked with a familiar figure. Rio stood across the room, clad in a green dress and a sorrowful tint in her eyes. She glanced at Agatha, freezing entirely. The Witch knew she could only see Death because of their past bond, not because the mortals could see her.

"Don't," Agatha whispered harshly, ignoring your confused look, "Don't you dare."

Death froze, her eyes flickering towards the child who wasn't breathing, before her eyes met Agatha's once more. Faintly, almost imperceptible, she nodded. Then she was gone. A sigh of relief escaped Agatha as her child took his first breath. The nurse gasped, a happy one filled with relief, as a doctor and another nurse rushed into the room. They stopped at the nurse's instructions.

When your child let out a large cry, you panicked, glancing at Agatha in concern, "That's what he's supposed to do right?"

"Yeah," Agatha laughed, keeping a careful eye on the midwife as she cleaned your child, "He's supposed to do that."

The nurse carried the child over, naked and bare, but so pure. You took him delicately, cooing at his small form. He was perfect. Cradling him close, you placed the most tender kiss atop his head, and shut your eyes. Pain still throbbed through your body, but your baby was here. He made it.

You looked at Agatha who's eyes were firmly trained on the two of you and offered a soft smile.

"Want to hold him?" your voice was quiet, afraid to disturb the baby.

It took your wife a moment to respond, and you could see the unshed tears in her eyes. Eventually she nodded, her arms stretching out as she took the baby before cradling him to her chest. She gave him the softest smile you had ever seen, her eyes filled with so much adoration.

"My little prince," she whispered, "You made it."

Her finger caressed his face, tracing the baby fat and familiar features of a baby boy. She remembered her own child, her own baby that was so much like him.

"Do you have a name?" the nurse asked, idly putting on gloves.

The two of you had decided on a name together, one that had been discussed over many months of pondering.

"Nikoli."

[the-midnight-blooms]

from the artist's studio | cs

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

masterlist

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."

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

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

[sapphoherselz]

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.

[1117feverlessdreams]

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

[mins-fins]

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.

[icarusignite]

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

[thesirencove]

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.

[searchingwardrobes]

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

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

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!”

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

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.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

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!

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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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━ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, smut, oral sex ( r! receiving ), vaginal fingering ( r! receiving ), kissing, making out, hickey's, talk of sex, talk of shitty moms, talk of foster care, mentions and talk of reader and ellie being nervous/having date anxiety, legal alcohol consumption ( they're over 21 ), mentions of drugs ( no actual use ), super fluffy and cute, awkwardness of a second date 

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope/mostly

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - SHE'S BACKKKKKKKKKK, I'm so sorry this part took so long I started writing it yesterday because I forgot about this series but she's here, she's queer, and she's smutttyyyyyyy, part 5 is already being worked on ;)))

𝗔𝗨 - Modern !

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☾ ONE NIGHT STAND MASTERLIST ☽

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Barely a week had gone by since the shit show of the first date.

So Ellie had took it upon herself to try and fix what had already happened.

But something about this second date was different for both of you. Something had shifted. Whether it was the horrid end to the last one or maybe it was the fact that you would be completely alone with her instead of in public.

Just you two, meaning the only people who could fuck up this chance was yourselves. And neither of your minds let you forget that fact.

To say Ellie as nervous was an understatement.

Her palms were always sweaty, but by God she swore her jeans would have hand prints if she kept wiping away the anxiety onto them.

It wasn't the first date, but the date was at her place. She planned it because the one you'd planned went to shit. Neither of your faults, but she felt she had to make it up.

But now she'd probably ruin it by passing out the moment you stepped through the threshold.

The girl had cleaned her apartment a thousand times. Maybe it'd been more, she'd lost count. Jesse was openly shocked when he'd came to hang out with her two days before, almost positive Ellie had been under the influence from how spotless the usually cluttered place was.

But now Ellie was trying to make it look 'lived in', Dina telling her you'd know as soon as you walked in she'd only cleaned for you.

According to Dina, it was a red flag.

The auburn haired girl found it stupid though, despite listening to the advice and trying her best to make it look natural.

To clean or not to clean. To live, or look like a fucking magazine. What did it matter, if you didn't like her, you didn't like her.

But that's not how it felt, it felt like she was ready to implode every time she even thought of your face. Or how the last date had went, or the fact that you'd be coming to her apartment and be at the door in less then..

"Fuck." She whispered, looking at the time on her phone while she buttoned her shirt up, leaving enough showing to ensure she didn't look like a child trying to wear a school uniform for the first time.

She then rolled the sleeves to her elbows, showing off her tattoo. Soon beginning to start the pacing once more, letting out a few whispers to herself that were filled with encouragement and a shaky tone.

For a moment, she even pondered texting you and telling you that her apartment had spontaneously burned down and that she'd never be able to talk to you again because she was relocating to the most secluded town in Alaska.

But then a knock made her jump, swallowing hard to push back any embarrassing things that might try to crawl out of her throat to fuck with her. Praying the anxious rambling would stay at a minimum.

You waited at the door, rocking back and forth on your heels. Wondering if your outfit was too much, or was it too little? Jeans were enough, right? Or was this too dressy? Should you have decided against flats? But it was an apartment, not a fancy restaurant. You'd probably just take them off anyway.

You didn't get to run away from your thoughts though, the door opening too quickly making you look up with a smile. Trying your best to hide the overthinking.

"Hey." You greeted, voice excited yet soft. Ellie immediately noticing the vanilla scent that practically radiated off of you, like a candy shop. It was comforting, making her relax and her fears calm for just a moment.

"Hey, you look.. amazing." Your smile seemed to get even larger at her compliment, making something inside her flutter. "Here,"

She finally seemed to get a grip, moving to the side to let you in, nearly fainting when you began to look around.

"Your apartment's cute, and you said it was too nerdy." You referenced her texts, stepping forward so that her living room was in sight, looking at the small figurines on her TV stand along with the art on her walls. "I think it's nice."

You turned around as she shut the door, awkwardly standing in the tiny entrance while glancing around, not exactly sure what to do next.

Like you were lost in the middle of the woods, except it was only you two and you'd never met one another. The silence thick for a moments time, suffocating yourself while the sound of her front door lock echoed against the walls.

"Do you want me to take off my shoes?" You broke the quiet first, hating the way it felt on your ears.

"Yeah, if you want. It doesn't really matter." So you did, noticing that she obviously didn't have hers on, instead black socks that went with the rest of her dark outfit.

The entire apartment smelled like faint cologne and another scent you couldn't recognize, you assumed it was her own. Looking at her back as you followed her while she moved away from the door, feeling like a lost child in a new environment.

"Sorry I haven't had anyone over in a long time. Anyone meaning like a date, or... whatever. Yeah, you know what I mean." You grinned, agreeing with her. "Yeah I do. Trust me, it's been a while since I've done anything like this."

On her small coffee table were a few comic books she'd told you about, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses set out and a few other things scattered about neatly.

You sat down, setting your bag on the ground beside you while looking at Ellie. The girl plopping down on the cushion, immediatley grabbing the bottle of alcohol.

"M'gonna be honest, I don't really drink wine but you don't really look like a dark whiskey or scotch type." You giggled, watching her arms flex as she took the cork from the top, pouring the red liquid equally into both of them.

"You drink whiskey?" You asked, ignoring your hot face as you watched her hands grab the glass, handing it to you. "Big fan, Joel mainly got me hooked, he's a bourbon drinker." "By how he sounds, I thought he was a Pink Whitney type." You joked.

Ellie snorted, taking a large drink of the wine while you sipped. Nodding as she pulled it away from her lips.

"Definitely, he's a partier. Gets high on the weekends for fun." You laughed, swirling the alcohol around the glass before drinking some more, hoping it would calm your beating heart.

"The food would be here, but I fucked the order up the first time. Then it said another hour or two like five minutes ago. Dinner rush." She awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, grinning when you found the statement funny. "It's okay, I'm gonna be honest I thought I was gonna end up super late because I couldn't find my way here, so cheers to that."

You both downed the rest in your cups, Ellie leaning over to pour you some more while also doing the same to hers.

"How's work been?" She asked, the wine bottle clinked as she set it down, meeting your eyes once again. "Boring, besides me and my boss getting into arguments every now and again. He just doesn't understand the demographics these days, he's stuck in the past."

"Old fuck." She muttered, hearing you chuckle while taking a sip. "For sure. Especially with how condescending he is." You rolled your eyes, leaning back as the wine slowly began to relax you.

"How's it been at the shop?" "Oh!" The excitement on her face made you feel the same, laying your head against your knuckles while she set her glass down. "Hold on, I wanted to show you this."

Ellie got up from the couch, walking down a small hallway before disappearing leaving you to enjoy the quiet comfort of her living room.

It was warm, she kept all the big lights off and instead opted for lamps and string lights. The yellow glow reminding you of your own home. You wondered in the moment how Poppy was and if she'd finished her dinner.

You also wondered how long she'd lived alone. And where she'd gotten the pictures she'd hung up that were far from fancy, more like collectable. But they were interesting, especially the few above the TV.

She sounded so shy about her place in writing, almost scared you'd think she was weird. You promised that you would go in judgement free. Besides, it made you feel even more excited to see it, wondering what hers could look like compared to yours.

"New back piece I came up with, guy came in yesterday to get this approved." Ellie appeared in the hallway again, her voice shaking you from your thoughts.

In her hands was a very colorful, thick-looking sketchbook. The couch dipped making you bounce while Ellie flipped through to find what she was looking for.

As she went through, you spotted small sketches of her friends and who you presumed to be Vegas and Joel. There were some others you weren't sure about, a couple sceneries, animals, but then she passed a sketch of Cat, the girl who you'd met on your very failed first date.

A strange feeling entered your stomach, shifting uncomfortably and pretending you hadn't noticed. But you knew that she had known you seen it, choosing not to say a word as she finally found the right drawing.

"It's based off a bunch of scary movies." She let you set your glass down before she handed it to you, allowing you to examine her art while carefully watching your face. "This is amazing. You really drew this?" Slightly stupid question, but it had already came out before you could stop it.

"Yeah, took me forever." Her eyes bounced back and forth between your fingers lightly moving over the pen and pencil marks, and your expressions that subtly shifted here and there.

"That's so cool, especially the ghostface. And I like where you put Sam, Trick 'r Treat is one of the best scary movies ever made. Just saying." You turned to face her, handing her back the sketchbook. Picking up your wine once more and drinking the rest, neither of you noticing how close your bodies had become.

"Thanks." Her cheeks were flushed, a light pink dust that was hard to hide. So instead she grabbed her drink, doing the same thing you'd just done.

"Fuck I'm hungry." You nodded in agreeance, pouring you both a third glass. Thighs bumping while you shifted to sit more comfortably.

"Y'know, you're way too humble about your artwork. That's fucking awesome, and here you talk about your work like you're some amateur." "They're really not that good." You lightly hit her shoulder with your fingers, huffing.

"You're so annoying. Trust me, they are." "Yeah, yeah. How's the book going?" "Ah, changing the conversation, how subtle." Ellie leaned against the back of the couch, playfully swatting her hand at you.

You turned your entire body to the side, facing her, laying your hand on your head while the other held your wine. Raising your eyebrow at her before you decided to instead leave the art talk in the past.

"It's going slow, but writing book is always slow. Unless you're using the power of plagiarism." "Fuck, I used to plagiarize all my essays in high school, if only I had you back then." You scoffed, smiling, "Oh yeah, I was a stellar essay writer. But you would've had to pay."

"What, I wouldn't get a discount?" You shrugged, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. "Not without something in return." "Oh... I see how it is." "Can't have nothing reduced nor free in this world, Miss Williams. Gotta survive out here."

"Hey, m'not judging." She put her hands up in faux innocence.

"What were you like in high school?" Shrugging, Ellie took in a breath, eyes wide before you both began to chuckle.

"Dork. I was such a dork, and I was a closeted lesbian who had no idea what I was feeling. I dressed like a twelve year old boy on top of that, so I was closeted to... myself? It was pretty fucking obvious."

"Oh God.' You covered your mouth, Ellie hiding her face with her free hand. "Oh my fuck, I can't believe I had friends. On top of that, I was just getting out of foster care." "Geez, that had to have been such a shit time."

She nodded, finishing her drink and moving forward to set it down before returning back to her old position.

"It helped though, when Joel took me in. I had somewhere to go everyday. Going from house to house, family to family, fucked up my shit."

You moved a piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind ear while she talked. Staring forward, and around the room, but not at you.

"We ran into each other a few times before that. I'd fuck with him, make fun of him. He kind of... took me in on accident, like a stray dog, even after I drove him insane. But it helped both of us."

"You guys sound like you have a pretty good relationship."

"It was rocky, for a minute there. Angsty fucking teenage shit. But we're good now, really good."

Her gaze finally settled on yours, spotting the softness in your irises. Trying not to smile to herself when she seen your own small one dancing on your lips.

"What about you?" She watched you take in a deep breath, biting on your lip while looking down.

"My mom is... a piece of work. We're not really the greatest when we're together. She's gotta be the better one in the relationship, the one with the upper hand every time, the one to get the last word. Y'know what I mean?"

Ellie shook her head.

"I went no contact after I turned nineteen, I just couldn't take it anymore. My dad, he understood even if he wasn't the best along the way, they're divorced now, my siblings understood too. But for a while my other family didn't get it. That was until she couldn't target me anymore. Fuckers."

"She sounds..." "Like a bitch?" "Just a tiny bit."

You rubbed your face with your hands, letting them fall into your lap.

"Yep. Mother dearest." "So sweet."

You grabbed the bottle again, filling up both the wine glasses. Taking your own and handing Ellie hers.

"Alright, enough of the sad shit. Truth or drink." Ellie laughed, shaking her head while adjusting her entire body parallel to yours. "What are we? Thirteen?" "Yes, I get to go first."

Ellie motioned to you, a silent 'go ahead' while glancing at her phone that had lit up from a notification.

"Have you ever done any drugs besides weed?" "Yes, not telling what though." You brought your legs up, sitting criss cross on the couch. "Boring. Your turn."

"Are one night stands normal for you?" You made an indescribable noise, shaking your head. "Nope. Not usually. You're one of the firsts. Despite my drunk confidence, you were actually probably only the second or third."

"Well shit, guess I'm special." "Fuck off, my turn."

You thought for a moment, swishing the red drink around and around.

"Do you stay friends with all your exes?" Her mouth dropped while you cackled, taking a drink just to drink while giggling to yourself.

"C'mon, Cat literally introduced herself as your ex. I have to ask!"

"I don't, promise, she's the only one and technically I don't think of her as a friend." "What do you think of her as?" "First of all, that's two questions. And two, an annoying date ruiner." Ellie drank for no particular reason, looking at you with a curious face as your amusement calmed.

"What happened between you and Ava, or whatever the fuck her name was." You choked, looking up at the ceiling as you thought of how to word your response.

"Anya. Just didn't work out, she was about as bad as my mother. But at least my mom leaves me alone now. She also cheated on me, like, a lot." "Fuck, man, that's horrible." "I know right?"

You both seemed to realize you were answering and drinking, taking a sip at the same time while you thought of a question. Biting the inside of your cheek.

"Why do you have a sketch of Cat?"

"Walked myself into that." You nodded, "Yep."

"Forgot I did. That sketchbook is old, I just found it a few weeks ago, wanted to use the rest of the blank pages." "Hmm... bet you were her knight in dull armor."

Ellie flipped you off, grabbing the half empty bottle while then filling the cups, not caring about it being equal or a small amount, it was clear the end of the night was far from over.

"Nah. Got another girl in mind." "Is that so?" "Right, my turn."

Ellie went quiet for a second, her eyes running over your face a thousand times while you just stared back. Letting her come up with her next question.

"Last person you had sex with?"

You didn't hesitate.

"You."

"Oh really?" She whispered.

"Mhm."

"And how was that?"

You shrugged, taking a large drink of the wine.

"Not bad. Would probably do it again, great service."

You hadn't realized that her hand had settled on the knee closest to the back of the couch. Her fingers moving to run up and towards your thigh, you now also realized how close she was, your ability to see every individual freckle on her face seemed to give it away.

"My turn. Last person you had sex with?" Ellie faked thinking for a second, tapping her finger on her cup. "Umm... right, you."

"Really?" "What? Do I give off a different feeling?" You nodded very widely, downing the rest of your wine. "You give me nerdy fuckboy vibes." Ellie coughed a laugh, her grip on your thigh tightening.

"No fucking way." "You bet. It's kind of attractive. Unless you're a fuckboy cheater, and not the fuckboy hot character in a romance novel. That's not attractive." "Right, there's a difference." "Obviously."

You let your fingers run along her knuckles, still feeling her grasp on you. Nails running up and down her wrist. Watching your own movements.

"M'gonna be honest, but only because I'm wine drunk." You were tispy, but when it was wine it was different, everyone knows that. And something about it made you want to tell her, a flirty confidence, something you sure wouldn't have if you were sober.

"You were like one of the best." "Better than Anya?" You snickered, humming. "Yeah, way better. But I dunno, that liquor was a lot stronger than the wine, some of its a little fuzzy."

Her warm palm moved inwards, your own hand ending up on her arm. A tight, pulsing feeling entering the area between your legs making you want to squeeze them shut.

"What? Want me to remind you?"

You moved your shoulders,

"Depends, how much do you want me to remember?"

A second passed, wondering if she'd make a move or if she was waiting for you to do so. But all your questions were quickly answered when she drank the rest from her cup and grabbed yours. Clumsily setting them both on the table before turning back to you.

She grabbed your face, pushing lips against yours so suddenly it pushed you backwards. Your entire being welcoming her in when you kissed back, tasting the berry flavored drink on her tongue paired with the feeling of her soft lips.

"Ellie.." She cut you off, kissing you again, letting your hand run through her hair and undo any style that she had. Nails raking against her scalp when she grinded her hips against yours, a light sound passing your lips.

Her touch was less rough than the first time, her sensual caresses never going unnoticed.

"Marks or no marks?" "Deja vu much?" "I had to ask."

You smiled, letting your thumb run over upturned line of her mouth.

"Whatever you prefer."

She moved back down, kissing even deeper than she had before. Hand cupping your ass while she pushed into you, burying you into the cushions, her other arm keeping her body above yours.

Her lips moving down to your jawline, teeth lightly grazing your flesh as she made her way down to the collar of your shirt.

Ellie's hands then slipped under the bottom of your top, harshly tugging you forward making you laugh, grabbing her shoulders to keep yourself steady.

"Go ahead."

She didn't wait either, pulling it off your body and throwing it off somewhere. Lips meeting the valley of your tits, your bra keeping them perfectly pushed up for her to see.

"You're so fucking pretty.." Your breathy laugh made her smile, moving her knee to the middle of your legs while her mouth met yours again. Her fingers messing with the button of your jeans leading to the sound of the zipper coming undone.

"Sit up for me." You listened, lifting your hips and feeling your pants disappearing in just a swift movement.

"Someone's impatient."

"Fuck, if only you could see yourself." She whispered.

It sent your mind into a frenzy, shy under her watchful eyes that scanned your body, wanting to remember every detail she didn't care to look at the first time.

"I could say the same about you, pretty girl." Her blush darkened, noticing the way you sat up to take your bra off, throwing it away before you grabbed the hem of her shirt just as she did yours.

"Your turn." Silently, the girl ripped her top off, throwing it away. Looking down at your fingers undoing her bottoms, yanking her towards you by the waistband and giving her another kiss.

"Lay back." She muttered, kicking her jeans onto the floor, moving backwards to put herself between your legs. "Please.. please just fuck me." "Since you're asking so nicely."

Fingers hooking around the band of your underwear, slowly dragging them down your thighs, her nails tickling your skin. The sight of your wet cunt drove her insane making her spend no time getting rid of the garment.

Her warm tongue then swirled around your clit, a strangled gasp escaping your throat, your hand slapping over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

"Oh my God." "Remember that?" She teased, not letting you answer when she sucked roughly on the small bundle of nerves. Moving your hand over your tit, the other threaded itself in her hair.

"Mhm! Oh fuck- Ellie I-" Your legs tried their best to squeeze around her head but she wouldn't let them, pushing your thighs down keeping you perfectly spread for her.

"Fuck you taste good." Ellie removed one of her hands from your thigh, two fingers prodding your hole making you unintentionally let out a loud, girly moan.

"More please.." You squeaked out, but she could barely hear you, seemingly getting the message though when her two fingers dipped inside. Pushing against your favorite spot while reaching deep inside your cunt, kissing your clit as she entered.

"Ellie!" She kissed the inside of your thigh, going back to circling your bud her tongue again.

You swore you were seeing stars, head digging into the couch while your back arched right off the cushions. Your belly tight, legs going numb as your entire body tingled.

Nails digging into her scalp, her arm keeping your hips down by keeping her arm wrapped around your thigh.

She didn't go slow, fingering you as deeply and quickly as her stamina would allow. Fingers running along your gushy walls, and this time she actually got to enjoy it.

Enjoy how you squeezed around her while she slipped a third finger in, sitting up slightly to push her knuckled even deeper. Never letting up, your wet sounds going unheard of by you surely but complained about by her neighbors.

"You close babe?" You nodded profusely. "Uh huh, fuck." She wouldn't slow down though. "You gonna cum?" "Yes- yes- please- oh fuck!"

Your hand moved over your mouth again, keeping your whines to a low volume when you let go, Ellie's hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging it away from your face.

"Oh my God!" You all but screamed, shaking as you came against her tongue, her pace never stopping. Instead her fingers sped up, a loud squelching sound then entering your ears as the fuzzy cotton feeling left your mind.

Coming down, you felt empty when her fingers slipped away, rubbing your clit lightly while her face pulled away. Lips glistening with your cum, her tongue running over them while you watched.

Ellie moved to then kiss the area on your lower belly a few times, moving up to do the same to your lips. It took you a moment to kiss back, brain still scrambled but eventually you did so, grabbing her cheeks to keep her there.

"I..." Your chest moved up and down quickly, Ellie nuzzling the side of your face as you tried to catch your breath. Entire body shaking lightly while your mind raced to run at the same pace as the rest of you.

The silence comforting unlike it was earlier, no longer awkward or shy, it was comfortable. It was becoming familiar to you, you liked it.

You liked it a lot.

The moment was interrupted though, a knock at the door then made you both jump, the girl gripping you close while looking up towards the front door that was out of her sight.

"I'll be right back, okay?" You nodded your head, finally meeting her eyes. "M'kay. I have money-" "I got it."

She kissed you again, running her thumb over your cheek.

"Be right back."

"Are you sure? I can do the tip."

She sat up, pulling her shirt back on as quickly as possible, another knock coming from the door making her yell out.

"I promise, besides, there's always next time."

"That's what you said last time."

"Fuck, that sucks, already got my wallet."

"Oh my God, Ellie."

[chaifootsteps]

I've been thinking that the fandom ignores Blitzo being bought as Stolas' playmate because - no real nice way to say this - they think it doesn't matter all that much?

like tweets have explicitly had the sentiment of 'stop comparing it to slavery, Blitzo had a nice time with Stolas in the end! it doesn't count as slavery unless he was beaten or miserable!'

but besides how yike-sy that take is, I suspect that there's something else underneath it: it doesn't matter to them because Stolas didn't know and is therefore not directly responsible for it (for once) & also they want to favor Stolas' view of what happened that day

they want to have the same 'adorable childhood friends' trope stapled onto the ship just like Viv did and nothing else matters.

if the show was handling this with any realism it would have the subject come up again and it would have Blitzo brutally dress down Stolas for acting like this One Special Day made them Special Friends Forever when Blitzo was bought to be there, didn't want to be there and was expected to risk his life stealing because of pressure from his father while he was there. (And for good measure he should point out his real childhood friend who he adores is Fizz - the show has still done little to convince me he hasn't been in unrequited love with Fizz for most of this time)

but what's clearly another indication of the class difference and how even as a child Stolas could benefit from imps being objects used to serve him (his butler who literally dresses him in the opening seconds) or play with him (Blitzo) is likely to go forgotten by the show because absolutely nothing can ruin Stolas' unrealistic fantasy of what his relationship with Blitzo actually is. Or worse, if it comes up at all the show will fixate on Stolas being heartbroken that his 'first real friend' wasn't his friend and didn't even like him at all

Then they'll show no sympathy to the child who was dragged away from his real childhood friend who he actually liked spending time with, was bored when he got there since he obviously can't relate to a rich royal owl and was forced to risk his neck stealing to help his mother, who was implied to maybe be ill or something?

tl:dr but I guess what I'm gettting at here is that the fandom is treating Blitzo just like an object or prop for Stolas to have - basically the same as the show is now. Which I guess makes sense, you get the fanbase you actively try to foster.

Oh, without question. Viv's gotten exactly the fandom she wants -- at least among the diehard stans -- and what she wants is a fandom that views Blitzo the same way she does, as a prop and a means of bringing her self-insert pleasure. He's a thing Stolas "deserves for being such a nice guy," nothing more and nothing less, and his own needs and desires are meaningless.

[mariademetal]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ kitty itadori yuuji / gn!reader ©mariademetal 2024

cw ... yuuji calls reader babe, blood(?) but nothing violent and no vivid description of a wound, if there's anything else lmk note ... haiii welcome to my lil established relationship yuji fic in which he is a stupid cat dad this is HEAVILYYYYY based on my experiences with kittens (every single kitten i've ever owned has shat on my bed once, as if just to get it out of their system before devoting themselves to a litter box) and the many fatal injuries i've received from them..... word count ... 3.1k

At first, you're the one that's apprehensive about bringing the cat home.

It's a little brown thing that ambushes you at the foot of your apartment's stairs, and who was very fun playmate for the first twenty minutes it followed you around, but got to be a little more trouble than you thought it might be worth after locking into climbing you like a tree and tearing a hole in your jeans in the process. At which point, you decided that while your hangout sesh was a lot of fun, it's time for your friend to go back to its mother.

To its fortune, just as you steel your resolution to leave your new friend at the bottom of the staircase on which it first attacked you, Yuuji shows up— of course he does— and decides as soon as his eye catches the claws hanging off of your shirt that he will simply keel over and die if the two of you don't foster the kitten.

"What if her last owners neglected her?" He pleads with you, looking you with the most convincing sad brown eyes you've seen in a moment while he speaks. (All while his new best friend bites his finger like it's made out of something positively delicious.) You're in the worst place in the world for this discussion, you think, still sitting at the bottom of that damned staircase. The fact that Yuuji will have won the moment you move into your apartment with that kitten keeps you in place at the price of your pride.

"Look at how fat she is, Yuuji," you gesture to her, and you can't even remember at what point in your heated discussion it became her. "What if her owners love her dearly and are waiting for her to come home? I'm not going to... catnap her."

"What if her mother died and she's looking for a new one?" He keeps asking these stupid hypothetical, rhetorical questions that prove nothing but still annoy you to no end. Not to mention the way he's cradling her in his arms— you have no doubt that by new mother he means himself.

"We already have a kid," you grit out. By kid, you don't mean an actual child, but rather a betta fish that Inumaki dared you to buy six beers deep and who you, unfortunately, discovered you could not return the morning after, nor ever. Yuuji stepped up as his father when you proved to be a little bit too absent as a single parent to him, and he's alive and thriving to this day, albeit in a tank you doubt is quite the recommended size. "What if she eats Fish? He's my pride and joy."

At this, Yuuji stops and thinks. "Aren't Nobara and Maki looking for a cat?"

"I think so," you hum, and tentatively reach over Yuuji's lap to rub your little enemy's stomach.

"Lets just take care of her until they're ready to take her," he smiles at you, tight-lipped and hopeful. "I'll make sure she doesn't eat Fish. I'll scoop her shit and feed her too."

You take your hand back to allow another tenant to pass between you and Yuuji and lean your head against the railing with a sigh. It's a bad idea and you know it. As much as you'd love to think you and Yuuji are ready to take care of a cat, dedicate the time and care it needs to it, you just can't. But if Yuuji says he'll take care of her just for the meantime, you know he means it. "... Alright. But the second she fucks with Fish, she's gone."

As it turns out, Kitty, as you and Yuuji have intermittently named her to match with Fish, is an only slightly worse roommate than Yuuji. If you were to rank everyone in your apartment by how much you all contribute, it'd go something like this— Fish in first place, obviously, for all the joy he gives you and Yuuji, as well as causing the least mess; you in second, for feeding and raising Fish up; Yuuji in third for cooking and paying the bills; Kitty at dead last for shitting all over your comforter on the first night she stays with you and having the audacity to beg you for food come morning.

Yuuji had prepared in every way he could think of— he bought her a litterbox, plenty of food for kittens, a collar (just until Maki or Nobara take her to get chipped), and enough catnip to plant a field. And, for what it's worth, when you’d first brought her into your apartment, just before Yuuji left to buy her supplies, she was an angel. She was the calmest you'd seen her the whole evening, carefully sniffing the floor of your apartment, sneaking up behind corners, checking for any harm that might come her way. So preoccupied with discovering this new, unknown land that she doesn't even acknowledge Fish's existence. It was only after she'd settled in that he ran to get her kitten things.

Naturally, Yuuji didn't think to check if Kitty actually knows how to use the elegant litter box he'd so diligently set up for her in your bathroom, so where you were expecting to sleep in and wake up to your boyfriend peppering your face with kisses, you instead wake up at the asscrack of dawn to the feeling of him jerking your blanket off of you (and the rest of your bed, you suppose), Kitty watching him from the floor with what you can only describe as morbid curiosity.

"Yuuji, what...?" You croak out, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

Then, the smell hits you, and you're confident you're not falling back asleep.

While Yuuji washes your blanket and lectures Kitty on the proper, sanitary way to relieve herself, you sprinkle some food in Fish's tank.

You stare down Kitty, who, in Yuuji's temporary absence, has taken to frolicking around your flat, as if she isn't a criminal, as if she didn't ruin your favorite duvet, and with a glare that softens by the second, you scoop out a can of cat food into a bowl and put it on the floor for her, despite the fact that Yuuji swore he’d take care of feeding her.

For what it's worth, you have to appreciate that, at the very least, she hasn't so much as glanced in Fish's direction. Despite how vehemently you're denying it at the moment, Kitty is, in fact, tearing and clawing and shitting her way into your heart— but if she does come to stay with you for any extended period of time, you'd rather it be one in which you don't have to constantly move Fish further and further away from her reach in order to keep him safe.

Fish, your first and beloved son— an accident, sure, but the happiest you've made in your life. There have been nights where you have been one dry heave away from throwing up your stomach in its entirety, and the only thing that could get you to stand up and drink some water was Fish, blub-blub-blubbing in his own, urging you with bulbous eyes to take care of yourself (because if you don't, you can't take care of him).

He's a selfish child, but all children are, you suppose. It’s their right.

Kitty finishes her food with a satiated meow and barely makes the three-foot journey to your coffee table before dropping down onto her side and passing out. It's an adorable sight, obviously, but one that also reminds you that that could've been you this morning if only she hadn't emptied her bowels onto your blanket.

Yuuji comes back to your apartment, empty-handed and head hung low, and you already know what he’s going to tell you; “Your blanket didn’t make it, babe.”

All you can do is sigh and throw your arms up. “I’ll pick up another one after work.”

Thankfully, after that fateful morning, Kitty didn’t have many other shit-related accidents. It was incredible, really, how easily she managed to fit into your life, how easily she forced you to carve time out of your day to spend with her instead— she sleeps on your couch since you tragically banned her from your bedroom, wakes you up like an alarm clock, consistently, to give her breakfast, and lazes around your apartment in tandem with you and Yuuji scurrying around to get ready for your respective days. You have class in the morning, he has work, and you always come come back just in time to deliver Kitty and Fish’s lunch. You’ve also found that Kitty has a taste in television— she screams at you whenever you put on Rupaul’s Drag Race, out of excitement or prejudice you can’t quite find out, and curls up into a ball in the crook of your elbow whenever you watch Seinfeld. Then, Yuuji comes back from work and if you don’t have plans, the four of you eat dinner together like a bonafide family.

Tonight, you don’t have plans, but Nobara, who has been promising to call you about Kitty for the past month you’ve had her has finally caught you on your phone.

“Of course I want her,” she insists, and you can see her bob swaying along with her head as she jerks it around in your mind's eye. (You love her dearly.) “It’s just… not a great time for Maki and I.”

Maki and I seems to be her favorite thing to say nowadays— you don’t think you’ve seen one without the other in some months. “That’s fine, but me and Yuuji can’t foster her forever, you know,” At the sound of his name, Yuuji whips his head around to see what you’re doing. Once he clocks who you're talking to, he mouths to you to tell Nobara he says hi. “Yuuji says hi, by the way.”

“Yeah, tell him I say hi too,” Nobara sighs. “We’re moving into Maki’s folks’ place, and I don’t know how they feel about cats and stuff.”

“Maki’s folks’ place is so big I doubt they’ll ever even see her.”

"I'm sorry, but can you just keep her until we're settled in?" Nobara asks with a politeness that's very out of character for her. Then again, if you had to live within a mile of the Zen'in compound, you'd be worn out, too.

It must be a sign from God, from Buddha, from the universe, or maybe just fate that before you have the opportunity to mumble out an uncertain I don't know to Nobara, Kitty wraps herself around your calf. She's gotten so big, you think to yourself— it feels like just yesterday she was small enough to fit in your shoe, but over the month you've fed her and scooped her shit, she's become big enough to play with your shoes.

"Yeah, of course," you splutter out. You press your phone against your shoulder and lean down to pick Kitty up while Nobara chatters away in your ear about gratitude and just hum when she asks you this or that. For a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you should be selfish and keep Kitty for yourself. Then you reprimand yourself, because she's still, for all intents and purposes, Maki and Nobara's cat.

Still, as you come to terms with the fact that Kitty's stay in your apartment will certainly be longer than you originally planned, it seems Kitty comes to the same realization— you and Yuuji discover that she's pointedly decided to make herself entirely at home. She was never well behaved, not really, what with the way she'd pounce on Yuuji whenever he fell asleep on the couch, or the way she'd dig her nails into your thighs whenever your petting skills failed to meet her standards, but it seemed that you, at the very least, had an understanding when it came to respecting the space you're all sharing— your apartment. She didn't scratch your couch, didn't spray litter all over your bathroom, and seemed to ignore fish in his entirety.

Now, though, she's picked up possibly the worst hobby of all— knocking shit off of other shit. Pens off of your desk, detergent off of your washing machine, cups off of your fucking kitchen counter. Yuuji, guilty for anything and everything he is physically capable of being guilty for, has cleaned up after her with a vigilance that you feel genuinely bad about. Unfortunately, he doesn't do it as carefully as you wish, which is why you're picking glass out of his hand with a tweezer at one in the morning after he stumbled out of your room to find what you and him had neglected to put away (what Kitty had managed to knock off of a counter) this time and found out the hard way. By tripping on the culprit in the darkness and falling hands-first onto the scene of the crime.

"Are you sure you can go to work tomorrow?" You ask, voice soft, and Yuuji, who has been smiling since he woke you up with a yelp, finally falters.

"I think I'll be alright," he murmurs back. "Nanami won't be happy, but..."

"When is he ever?" You snort.

"He likes Kitty, too."

"You've shown him pictures of her?"

"Of course! I've shown pictures of her to everyone in the department," he grins, and you can picture him, heavy in his uniform, lifting his phone up to his stoic boss' face with a picture of Kitty, asking Isn't she cute? Then him adjusting his glasses before nodding, Yes, Itadori, she's very cute.

You suppose that's the effect Kitty has on people. Yuuji, too.

He's sitting on the edge of the tub, you're sitting on the toilet seat, paper plate balanced on the sink beside you to drop the fragments of glass onto, Kitty passing and curling around your and Yuuji's feet. It feels odd to say it, but he got off lucky in this situation— only a few pieces of glass burrowed themselves deep enough into his skin to bleed, and the rest are just stuck on the surface. Still, you're pretty confident Yuuji's in a lot more pain than he's letting on.

"Really, Yuuji," you huff, "I think you should stay home tomorrow. Just so the swelling goes down and it'll be less painful the day after."

"It doesn't hurt," he starts speaking with his whole chest, but once he clocks the look you're giving him of complete and utter disbelief, his confidence wanes. "... that much."

"I know you're worried about money, but I'm worried about you," you start, and try not to wince with him after pulling out a particularly deep shard of glass. "And besides, if this gets worse because you went back to work too early, we'll have to pay for that, too."

He hums. "I guess so."

You wrap his hand up diligently, pepper his face with kisses, and shoo him away to your bedroom so you can pick up all the glass on the floor that didn't end up on that paper plate. He calls in sick.

You get through your classes like a zombie being pulled along campus by a leash. As it turns out, staying up until the early morning making absolutely sure that there wasn't any glass left on your floor did not prepare you for success when it was time to leave. Still, Yuuji solemnly swore to spend his day focused entirely on healing, so you achieved one little victory, if nothing else.

When you get home, before you can even grasp the doorknob, you hear Kitty yapping away, Yuuji sniffling, and something being shuffled around your living room. You don't know quite what you're afraid of— an intruder, Kitty growing to the size of King Kong, or Yuuji having shrunk of Kitty's height, but after peeking your head into the door, you can confidently say that it is none of the above. You do, however, see the assortment of Kitty's things gathered right by the door.

You step into your apartment, kick your shoes off, and greet Kitty as she practically jumps into your arms.

"Yuuji?" You call out to him, and realize he's in the bathroom, probably figuring out what the best way to remove Kitty's litter box would be. "What're you doing?"

He walks out of the bathroom, eyes red, bandage on his hand freshly, but messily changed, and his head hung low. "We have to give Kitty up," he says, and you immediately clutch her tighter in your arms.

"What're you talking about?"

He just gestures to where Fish is— rather, where fish should be. His tank isn't just empty, it's gone. You realize what happened.

"Did she eat Fish?" You ask. Your voice is calmer than you really are, but you don't want Yuuji to think you're mad at him for Kitty coincidentally killing Fish the one day he happened to stay home.

"No," he insists, and points to a red Solo cup he's placed on top of your bookshelf. "He's there. She... knocked his tank over. I saved him before he could die, but..."

You look down at Kitty, who is similarly looking up at you— it's like she knows what she did, like she knows exactly what your one condition to let her stay is, like she's pushing the rules just to see what you'll let her get away with before kicking her out. But Fish is not dead, albeit traumatized and certainly not thriving in his temporary home. You realize that you think you'd forgive Kitty if she clawed your eye out. You've been denying your truth— denying that you love Kitty like she's yours, because she is— for far too long.

"I-I remember what you said about only fostering her if she doesn't mess with Fish, and I agreed, so—"

"I don't want to get rid of her," you interrupt Yuuji, and his expression goes from distraught to severely confused.

"No," he insists. At first, you were the one who was apprehensive about keeping Kitty. Now, the roles have been reversed. "She messed with Fish. I get it."

"Yuuji," you say, softer, and walk towards him. You look at his hand and realize he must've worked so hard on his day off, to clean up the glass of Fish's tank, to clean up the water, the decorations, the plants, and how scared he must've been that Fish would die. How scared he must've been that you'd be mad at him. You love him too much for that. "We're not getting rid of Kitty."

"We're not?"

"Of course not. Do you want to?"

"Of course not!" He huffs, and makes a face at Kitty that she must not like, because she takes a swipe at him from all the way in the crook of your elbow.

"So... do you want to tell Nobara?"

"Hard pass."

[jpmarvel90]

Don't let me down - Part 4

Masterlist Scarlett Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Relationship: MamaScarlett x 16 yr old Reader

Summary: Officially fostered by Scarlett and Colin, Y/n now faces meeting her siblings.

Word count: 5134

Y/n's POV:

I've been living with Scarlett and Colin for 6 days now. It's been ok. I think the weirdest thing is getting used to someone actually caring where I am and what I'm doing. They haven't been smothering me, but they like me to check in if I've gone out without them. When I get home, there's always a fuss made. I'm not sure if that's normal in most families, but my adoptive parents couldn't have cared less if I made it home or not.

I'm still trying to get used to this new life, but I think I'm settling ok. I like my room, although it's a little bare, it's my safe space. Both Scarlett and Colin are really respectful to that. They understand sometimes that I get overwhelmed and need space. Scarlett has promised me a shopping trip so I can decorate my room and buy some more clothes. I will actually be grateful for some new clothes. I don't have many and they're a little tatty.

Having settled in, I head back to school on Monday and I'm excited to get back into soccer practice and seeing Laura daily. But before then, I have one last thing to deal with. Meeting my siblings.

Rose and Cosmo have had an extended stay with Melanie, our grandmother. Scarlett had told me that she wanted me to be able to settle in properly first before the mayhem of having a 7 year old and an almost 1 year old, hit. I'm really nervous about meeting them. Cosmo not so much as he's just a baby and has no concept of what's going on. Rose on the other hand, terrifies me. Not that I'm scared of a 7 year old. But what if she doesn't want me to be living with them or is unhappy with this whole situation. Scarlett will pick her over me and then what will that mean? Will I be moved to another home?

I try and shake those feelings off as I hear Scarlett calling up to me to let me know that they are home. I take a deep breath and head downstairs to see Colin cooing over Cosmo, who I must admit is the cutest little baby. Scarlett is helping Rose take her shoes off and I can't believe how much of a mini me Rose is to Scarlett.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs Scarlett's eyes find my nervous ones. "Hi Sweetheart." She greets me whilst the wriggling 7 year old suddenly stops at the addition of a new person in the room. "Who's that?" Rose asks pointing at me. "How about we go in the living room, and we'll explain everything." Scarlett suggests.

I follow in behind them and suddenly become very aware of all the photos of them as a family around the place. I take a seat on the chair away from them as they make themselves comfortable on the sofa opposite. Colin holds Cosmo as he rests his head on his shoulder, clearly content in his father's arms. "Rose, I'd like you to meet Y/n." Scarlett introduces us.

I give Rose a little wave, never feeling more nervous under a child's gaze before. "Y/n is my daughter. When I gave birth to her, I made a bad decision and thought that it would be best that she lived with someone else that could care for her." She explains to the young girl, whose eyes don't leave me. Scarlett explains a bit more about the situation, obviously missing out the parts of the abuse.

"She's my sister?" Rose asks after Scarlett finishes explaining. "Yes, she is." Scarlett replies with a smile. "Is she living with us now?" Rose questions further. "Yes. Her room is opposite yours." Scarlett replies once again. "But that's the guest room." Rose points out. "Well, it's Y/n's room now. We have other guest rooms for when people visit." Scarlett clarifies, making Rose's face scrunch up a little.

I can see a hint of tension in Scarlett. I think she's as nervous as I am that Rose isn't going to like me. That would certainly put her in a difficult position if one daughter doesn't like the other!

"How old are you?" She asks me directly. "I'm 16." I respond and she nods. "That's old to be a sister. I'm only 6 years older than Cosmo. You're a lot older than me." She replies, clearly not too happy about this situation. "Honey, that's because I had Y/n when I was much younger." Scarlett replies for me. "Hmm. Ok." She responds, clearly accepting the situation, but not too happy about it. "You can't steal my toys." She tells me firmly. "Rose, we share in this house." Scarlett scolds her. "It's ok Rose. Your toys are safe." I jump in, getting a triumphant smile from the kid.

"Can I go play now?" Rose asks, clearly bored of this situation. "After you've done your homework yes." Scarlett tells her and she rushes off to grab her school bag. "Now the first introduction is over, this little one here is Cosmo." Colin introduces me to the baby in his arms. He indicates for me to hold out my arms and passes me Cosmo.

I hold him cautiously, scared that I'm going to hurt him. He instantly looks at me and giggles, which is infectious, making me smile widely. "Wow." Scarlett says in awe. I look up briefly to her to see them both sat shocked. "He's never taken to a stranger like that before." Scarlett points out. I try not to let the word stranger hurt, but there's a sting to it. But that is what I am to them all. I'm a stranger to this family.

"He must be able to sense that you are someone that means a lot to him." Colin smiles at us, grabbing his phone and taking a photo of the two of us. "Oh, this is so going to be my new lock screen." He coos over the picture, showing it to Scarlett.

My attention remains on the baby in my arms. He is pretty cute and clearly happier that I'm here than his sister. "Mommy!" Rose calls out to Scarlett before rushing into the living room. "Can you help me with my homework?" She asks, holding up the workbook in her hand. "Of course, sweetie. Take it to the table and I'll go through it with you." She responds happily.

I watch as the two of them head off and get to work. I look down at Cosmo and he's pulling a face. "I think he might be hungry." I point out and Colin takes a look and smiles at me. "You're right. I'll take him and get a bottle for him." He says, taking Cosmo from my arms.

From my seat, I can see Colin bouncing Cosmo in his arms pulling faces and singing silly songs to him, drawing out the cutest giggles. Scarlett's eyes often drift over to the father/son due, a content smile on her face. When I look to her and Rose, she is helping her through some maths homework. Giving her encouragement when she gets something right and showing her how to work things out when she's unsure.

I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I don't fit in here. I'm seeing a life that I could have had, but Scarlett decided she didn't want with me. What is it about Rose that made her want to keep her. What does she have that I didn't. I can't believe that I'm sat here jealous of a 7 year old but I am, and I can't stop it.

I can't stop seeing the life that I could have had but didn't get. I didn't have anyone to help me work out my homework or to sing songs to me. God, forbid I sang too loudly in the house, or I'd be hit. I learnt to keep quiet after a while.

The tears start to build behind my eyes and I don't want them to see me vulnerable like this. I quickly stand up and grab my phone. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later." I rush out, hoping my voice doesn't crack as I talk. I feel like the walls are closing in on me here and I need to get out.

I barely hear Scarlett or Colin call after me as I quickly make my way out of the front door and towards the closest park that I can get to. When I reach the small lake, I stand next to it, my hands running through my hair. I take a few deep breaths to help calm me down and sit down in the grass. I pull my legs up to my chest and rest my chin on them as I look out over the water and let the tears fall.

I consider calling Laura, but I've been bothering her so much recently, she can go a day without having to deal with my shit. I'll end up driving her away if all I ever bring along with me is drama. This makes my feelings become overwhelming. Do I belong anywhere? How is it I'm in the safest place I've ever been, but I've never been more unsure of my life.

Scarlett's POV:

Having Y/n living with us and knowing that she has chosen to stay with us has been amazing. Each day I feel like our relationship is growing and that I'm getting closer to having a more positive relationship with her. She's still quite closed off, but I don't want to push her to talk with me until she's ready.

I plan to do everything that I can to show Y/n that she belongs in this family and is loved. Hopefully, she'll be able to see the truth in it and eventually allow me to adopt her so I can legally be her mother again. I mean, I definitely see her as my daughter and that I'm her mother regardless of the legality of it all. But I know it'll take a little longer for Y/n to be in that same space.

I was nervous to have all my kids meet each other. Excited, but nervous. Mainly for how Rose would react. I never told Rose about Y/n, worried that she wouldn't understand the situation. But when we sat down all together, I couldn't help the happiness that grew within me at knowing I had all three of my kids together with me again. All living together under one roof.

Rose definitely seems a little sceptical. She's only just gotten used to having Cosmo around and taking up a lot of our attention. Now Y/n is here, I'm sure she's worried that she might miss out on more attention through that.

I can't lie that I feel a little disappointed that Rose wasn't more excited to meet Y/n. But she didn't outright throw a tantrum that she was now living with us and a big part of our lives. So, it's a start. I'm sure once they spend time together, they'll love each other.

I couldn't help the way my heart melted when Y/n held Cosmo and he melted into her touch. Normally, he struggles with people that aren't Colin or me. It took a long time for mom to be able to calm him down. But with Y/n he was instantly content, like he knew this was his big sister and she would protect him.

Y/n had a genuine smile on her face the whole time she was looking at him. She was a natural in the way that she held him, and I would never tire of this scene. I'm even a little jealous when Colin snaps the cutest picture of them. I will definitely be making him send that to me later.

When Rose asked for help with her homework, I thought this would be a good opportunity to lead to a conversation with her about Y/n afterwards. It'll be good to discuss it further and help her understand why we need to be welcoming to Y/n and help her feel like this is her home too.

But I don't get the chance to get to that conversation when I hear Y/n call out that she's going to the park. By the time I'm out of my seat, she's rushing to get her shoes on at the door. "Honey, is everything ok?" I ask after her, the crack in her voice was evident as she talked, and it worried me. She didn't answer my question, instead promising to be back later.

Before I know it, she's out of the door and gone. What happened? Everything seemed ok just a few minutes ago. Did she get a text or something? I go to follow after her through the door, but Colin stops me, gently grabbing my arm to gain my attention. "Give her some time." He tells me, tugging me slightly into the kitchen.

"She's just rushed out to God knows where in a place she doesn't really know Colin. I'm not just going to leave her when she's clearly distressed." I defend a little loudly, disturbing the baby in his arms. He shushes Cosmo and walks him over to his playmat before returning to me.

"I understand that. But you need to trust her. She's just met her siblings. The two children that you decided to keep. That's going to take a bit to process." He tells me. I feel a little annoyed at the way her worded it, but I understand, and I know he's right. "We both kind of naturally fell into our routine with Rose and Cosmo as she was sat in the living room. She was probably watching on and thinking about the life she could have had." He guesses. God, how can I be so stupid to not see that.

I let out a sigh, frustrated in myself for once again making her feel like she doesn't belong. "I just feel like I'm doing this all wrong. I want her to know that she fits in here and that she's wanted." I express, fighting back tears. "There isn't exactly a manual on how to integrate your daughter into your family after 16 years." Colin chuckles, trying to lighten the situation, but it doesn't really help.

"Maybe what we're doing wrong is wanting her to 'fit in' here. She shouldn't need to change for us. Now we have Rose and Cosmo back with us, we need to make the effort that Y/n is included and also the priority at times. I know that's going to be difficult with a baby and a demanding 7 year old. But we can do this. It's not going to be easy or quick, but we just want what is best for Y/n. She'll see that." Colin speaks so wisely that it makes me smile. "I'm so lucky to have you." I tell him, pulling him into me and nuzzling my head into his neck.

"You're still not going to listen to me and leave her be, are you?" He asks me and I shake my head. "Not a chance. But I'll give her 15 minutes." I respond, earning a chuckle from him. Instead of rushing out the door after Y/n like I so desperately want to, I make my way back into the dining room where Rose is finishing her homework.

I take a seat next to her and she smiles when she sees I've returned. "How do you feel about Y/n living with us sweetie?" I ask her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She shrugs her shoulders and focuses on the task of putting her pens away. "Y/n could really do with a younger sister that wants to play with her and spend time with her." I say, hoping that she might open up. "But she's old." Rose replies. "She's not that old and I'm sure she will enjoy spending time with you if you give her a chance." I persist.

Rose thinks for a moment before looking at me. "She seems sad." She points out. Rose has always been very empathetic. She can read people's emotions as well as an adult sometimes. "That's because she's been through a lot of not very nice things. On top of that, she's having to get used to living with a whole new group of people. Could you imagine having to go and live with someone else?" I try and get her to think of herself in that position. "No. I would miss you all too much and wouldn't know if the other people love me." She replies.

"Exactly. But in this case, we love Y/n very much. Just because she hasn't been in our lives, doesn't mean that we don't love her and want her to be with us." I explain and she nods slowly. "She must be feeling lonely not really knowing us." Rose thinks aloud. "Then maybe we can make sure she gets to know us, and we get to know her. We can find out things she likes and do them with her. Like soccer. She loves soccer." I suggest causing Rose's face lights up.

"I love soccer too! Do you think she'll play with me?" She excitedly asks. "I'm sure she would. She could help teach you. She plays for her school team." I tell her and she gets even more excited by that. "Oh! Please can we go and watch her play? We can cheer her on. That will make her happy!" Rose asks and I love that idea. "Definitely, I'll ask her when her next game is, and we'll go." I respond and suddenly Rose is running off to her colouring box. "I'm going to draw her a picture of us playing soccer together!" She tells me excitedly, grabbing out the pens that she's going to need.

Happy that Rose is understanding the situation better, I make my way to the closet to grab my shoes. "I'm going to try and find her." I tell Colin, who's finishing feeding Cosmo. "Ok. Call if you need anything." He tells me, placing a kiss to my head. "Will do. Wish me luck!" I say, heading out through the front door.

I'm not exactly sure where to start. She's not overly familiar with the area here. But she has been to the park nearby. I'd imagine she's probably gone there and called Laura to talk. That'll be my first stop.

The park is a short walk away and I'm grateful it's a warm day as Y/n left without a jacket. I start to look around the park, my hope dwindling when I don't see her sat at any of the benches. But my eyes suddenly land on a small figure by the water. I see Y/n sat with her chin resting on her knees. Her eyes red from crying. It breaks my heart to see her like that and it hurts even more to know that it's all because of me.

I slowly walk over to her and take a seat next to her on the grass. She doesn't move or acknowledge my presence. "You know, when I found out I was pregnant with Rose, I had a complete breakdown. Not because I didn't want to be pregnant. Romain and I had been trying. But because it was a reminder of the fact that I didn't have you in my life. Throughout my pregnancy, I struggled to enjoy it. I felt like I didn't deserve to be happy after giving you up. It was similar with when I had Cosmo. They both became constant reminders of the biggest mistake I had ever made." I start talking, knowing that she certainly wouldn't.

"When I first held Rose, I thought about how much she looked like you. She has the same button nose as you. It became my favourite thing about her because if was a reminder of you. I had memorised every inch of your face in the short time I had you when you were born. I will never forget it. I would try and picture what you would look like at different ages." I continue to share my thoughts with her.

"With Cosmo, you have the same eyes. Piercing blue ones. I know that isn't what you got from me. But it made me happy. I thought that if I was ever lucky enough to have you in my life that you would have something to link you to Colin. He would always talk like you were his own daughter even though he had never met you." This seemed to catch her attention a little and she turned her head, so her cheek is resting on her knee and those blue eyes are looking up at me.

I give her a smile, grateful that she seems to be engaging. "I can't take back that I put you up for adoption. I tried many times. But I want to try to make it up to you now. I'm sure that when you look at Rose and Cosmo, you see the kids I decided to keep. I don't blame you for that. But know that I see them as the children that showed me what I was missing and so desperately wanted in my life." I try to convey how much she truly means to me. "You may have only known me for a little over a week. But I have loved you with every fibre of my being for 16 years." I choke out, the emotion taking over me.

Y/n's own eyes gloss over at my admission, and she wipes her cheek against her knee. "I'll never forgive myself for not keeping you. Giving you the life that you deserve. That's even harder to accept when I know the hell that you have been made to go through. I hope that now you're with us, that you have the best life possible. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you get what you want in life. It's going to take some adjustment from all of us, but I promise that you, my beautiful daughter, belong in our family." I tell her firmly as the tears slowly fall.

I wipe at my face and watch her intently as she takes in everything that I said. She slowly sits back so her body isn't so enclosed and looks back over the lake. "My parents weren't always horrible." She speaks and I'm shocked at the subject she's leading with. But I'm happy that she's talking. "I remember when I was small, we used to go to the park a lot and they would play games with me. I don't know what changed but when I was about 5 or 6, they started to treat me differently. Something must have happened, but I'll never know what. I just became used to being a burden." She admits and it breaks my heart.

"When did they start hurting you?" I take a risk in asking her the question. I won't push her to answer, but I hope that she feels comfortable in talking with me. "The first time I remember was when I was 8. I was playing with a ball, and it cracked a window. Mom ran outside screaming at me and the next thing I knew my cheek was stinging. She didn't seem apologetic at all that she had just slapped me." She replies and my breath hitches at the fact that she has spent 8 years being abused.

"Its just got worse over time. Any time I annoyed them, it was met with a slap, a punch, or a kick. When they started drinking it just became worse. I would try my best to just be quiet in my room to not annoy them. But sometimes my mere presence was enough to set them off." I can't hide the tears as she shares the abuse that she went through. How can anyone hurt a child like that.

"Is it bad that I felt relief when they died?" She turns to ask me, almost ashamed of the thought. "No, my sweet girl. It's not at all. It's a completely understandable feeling to have." I reassure her. I don't admit to her that I hoped it was painful as I think that would just be disrespectful, but they got away with hurting my daughter for years.

"Was Mr Woodstock abusive straightaway?" I ask cautiously. "No actually he wasn't. He hadn't long been a foster carer when he opened his home. I was his 4th kid. He kind of just left us to it. There was food in the fridge and chores we had to do but otherwise we could do as we pleased. It was then I joined soccer and started to make friends at school. It was nice." She smiles sadly, as she remembers the small amount of respite, she had from being hurt.

"My social worker would bring more kids to him and suddenly there were 14 of us and his four bed house wasn't big enough. He drank more and got angry with us more easily. I was grateful for soccer and Laura as it meant I could minimise the time I was at the home and at risk of being on the end of his anger." She continues to shine a light on the life she has experienced.

"How badly he hurt you last week, was that often?" I question, praying that it wasn't. Her bruises are starting to fade, and her black eye is now yellow. But it's a constant remind of what she went through. "No, that was because I made him look bad in front of lawyer. Normally he just kept to a punch here or there." She responds as if that's completely normal.

I tentatively reach out and take her hand. "None of what you went through was ok. I know that it's going to take time for you to come to terms with everything. But you have me and Colin with you through it all." I make sure she can see that I mean every word that I'm saying.

She sighs a little and looks to me once more. "I guess that I'm hypervigilant all of the time at the moment. Although it was horrible in the home, I knew the dangers. Now I feel like I'm suddenly in a spiral with no idea what could hurt me." She sniffles as she let's her emotions flow.

I scootch over to her and cautiously wrap my arm around her shoulder. She leans into me, and it makes my heart melt. "I will never hurt you. I will protect you as will Colin and the rest of the family." I speak with a firm tone. I mean it. I will do whatever it takes to make sure that she is safe.

There's a silence for a moment whilst she allows me to comfort her. "Speaking of the rest of the family. I guess I still have some more people to meet." She says with a small smile, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, mom is desperate to see you, as are my siblings." I chuckle in response. "Maybe we could do a dinner next weekend with them all and we can do it all in one go." I suggest. She thinks for a moment and then nods. "That'll be nice." She returns. "Perfect. They're going to love you." I tell her, nudging her shoulder.

"Are you ok to head home, or would you like to stay out for a bit longer?" I ask her, not wanting her to feel like she has to do as I say in this moment. "We can go back." She responds, standing and holding her hand out to me, helping me to my feet. We start walking back towards the house and another question pops in my head. "How come you didn't call Laura?" I ask her and I see her tense slightly.

"Uh. Well, she's had to put up with a lot of my shit recently. I thought she deserved a day off." She chuckles awkwardly. I stop moving and turn to her. "Firstly, language." I tell her and she rolls her eyes. Wow, ok that was like looking in a mirror. "Secondly, it's not your shit. You've been through a lot. And thirdly, from the little I know about Laura, I think she would be upset that you didn't feel like you could talk to her." I finish summarising. She hums a little and grabs out her phone to see lots of missed calls and texts from Laura. I chuckle to myself when I read the latest text of Y/n's shoulder

Laura ♥ I'm hoping you're not replying because it's going really well, and I don't need to kick someone's ass. Call me when you can. I want to hear all about it.

"See, I told you." I smirk, nudging her shoulder as she goes to text back. When we get home, Colin is already making dinner with Cosmo in his highchair. "Hi you two." He greets us both. Coming straight over to engulf me in a hug, one that I fall into. "Sorry for running out earlier Colin." Y/n apologises, rubbing at the back of her neck as she speaks. "Nothing to apologise for kiddo. Are you ok? That's all that matters." He reassures her. "I think I will be." She smiles in return.

The calmness doesn't last long before Rose rushes in. "Sissy! Can we play soccer? Look I drew you a picture of us playing!" She asks, excitedly handing over the piece of paper that has two figures playing soccer. And with that, I'm pretty sure that my heart just burst with happiness at hearing her call Y/n that. Y/n looks just as shocked as her eyes gloss over. "Wow what a great picture Rose. I'd love to play with you." Y/n responds after gathering herself. "Come on then!" Rose shouts, taking Y/n's hand and dragging her out to the back yard.

I watch the two of them playing through the kitchen window. Colin wraps his arms around me and rests his chin to watch the two of them playing too. It's a moment I never thought I would get to see, and it brings more tears to my eyes. In this moment, I'm watching Y/n be so carefree and taking the time to show Rose what she needs to do. I want to remember this moment and feeling forever. "I think things are going to be ok." He tells me and I for the first time in over a week. I actually believe him.

Part 5

[and-justice-for-zoisite]

𝓜𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 (Bernard the elf x pregnant! mother! reader)

Masterlist

Summary: Bernard takes care of you while you're pregnant, and is a devoted, beautiful husband!

Word Count: 2.8K

This story's based off of the song 'Mother's song' by Masakatsu Takagi from the movie 'wolf children'. Btw it has nothing to do w the story but I do highly recommend watching the movie, it's a big tear jerker so bring tissues! Enjoy!

-

'May I meet you soon, my yet unseen child,' I always wished as I stroke my belly

Fuuu~ fuuu~

I wonder how your face looks like? Fuuu~ fuuu~ I wonder how your voice sounds like?

Bernard adored his wife's singing voice, watching from his place at the kitchen table as his pregnant lover sat on their living room sofa, knitting away at garments fit for the little one they were soon to bring into this world. The sweet melodies that emanated from her lips intertwined with the rhythmic clicking of knitting needles, creating a symphony of love and anticipation.

That song, the one she was singing as she participated in her little activity to wind down, Bernard recognised as the one she told him her own mother had taught her when she was only young. He could hear the sentiment in her beautiful voice, and in his eyes was pure adoration for the woman he was building a life with.

He was supposed to go to work that day, his job as head elf was rather demanding and he didn't have the time to spend every day with her. But right then and there, he wished to be spending each and every hour by her side, focusing his energy entirely on her like she deserved.

With a quiet sigh, Bernard got up from his chair, setting his cocoa down as he strolled over to the woman, taking a seat behind her on the sofa which sunk a little when he did.

"How's the knitting coming along?" he asked, her, the woman smiling as she didn't look up from her work. "Lovely," (Y/n) responded, looping another part of thread around her needle, "I'm almost done another cute little sweater. They'll have an entire wardrobe at my hands alone at this rate."

Bernard smiled sweetly, leaning over and resting his head on her shoulder as he continued to watch her and her intricate work. She shuffled a little so she could make his positioning a little more comfortable for him, and she turned her head to face him, planting a loving kiss on the top of his head.

In that tender moment, Bernard closed his eyes, savouring the warmth of (Y/n)'s kiss on his head. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, and let his fingers gently stroke her belly, feeling their unborn child respond to his touch with a soft flutter.

"I can't help but wonder," Bernard whispered, his voice filled with awe, "how will our little one's face light up when they see the world for the first time? What colour will their eyes be? Will they inherit your radiant smile or my curly hair?"

(Y/n) smiled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Oh, Bernard, I'm wondering the same. Will they have your kind heart or my determination? Will their laughter be as infectious as yours? And their voice... Oh, how I long to hear their sweet, innocent voice fill our home."

The thought of their child's laughter and voice resonated deep within Bernard's soul. He imagined joyful echoes bouncing off the walls, filling their lives with endless happiness and laughter. They were creating a world where love and music would intertwine, nurturing their child's spirit and fostering a sense of wonder.

Their hearts brimming with love, Bernard and (Y/n) shared a moment of quiet reflection. They had already begun weaving a tapestry of dreams for their little one, eagerly awaiting the day they would finally meet face to face.

-

One morning, Bernard awoke by his wife's side, noting how uncharacteristically hot and sweaty she seemed to be. He pulled the sheet back to find her, a little paler than usual and seemingly running a fever.

Concerned, Bernard gently placed a hand on (Y/n)'s forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. His heart raced with worry as he realized that something might be wrong.

At his movements, (Y/n) seemed to awaken, groggy and confused, though she could recognise that she didn't feel right.

"(Y/n), you're running a really bad fever," Bernard whispered to her, wiping the sweat soaked hair which stuck to her away from her face, "are you feeling alright?"

She blinked heavily a few times, trying to wake herself up properly though her altered state of consciousness didn't seem to change.

"...I..." she croaked out, rubbing her eyes, "...I think I'm going to be sick."

Bernard sighed, shuffling off of his side of the bed to put his slippers on as he was quick to assist his poor wife. He helped her up into a sitting position, careful with her fragile being as he helped her to stand and lead her to their bathroom. This wasn't a moment too soon, as when they reached the doorway, she broke away from him to be sick in the toilet bowl. Bernard was quick to join her at her side again, holding the hair out of her face with one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

As (Y/n) finished retching, her body trembling from the effort, Bernard grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped her face, soothing her with soft words of comfort. His heart ached seeing her in such distress, but he knew he had to remain strong for both of them.

Once she had settled down, Bernard helped (Y/n) rinse her mouth and guided her back to bed, tucking her in with extra care.

He sat next to her on the bed, rubbing her side affectionately. He couldn't go to work while she was like this.

"I ought to stay home (Y/n), I can't leave you alone while you're like this," he told her, watching as her eyes cracked open a little so she could look up at him. "...you...you don't have to do that for me," she whispered in a sickly way, "...I know how important your work is to you..." "Hey, nothing is more important than you," he scolded her, shaking his head, "I'll just call Curtis and he can take care of things at work for me. I need to be here for you."

(Y/n) was too weak to argue with her devoted husband, and her submitting response was captured in a single sigh that left her ashen lips.

Bernard would call into work that morning, letting his second in command know the circumstances which he was faced with. Curtis replied in an understanding manner, and wished (Y/n) well with his health as well as assuring Bernard that he could handle things at work for as long as he needed.

Grateful for Curtis's support, Bernard focused his attention on (Y/n), determined to take care of her and their unborn child. He fetched a glass of water and a damp cloth, gently wiping her forehead to alleviate the heat of her fever.

Hours turned into days, and Bernard remained a constant presence by (Y/n)'s side. He took on the role of both caretaker and confidant, providing comfort and reassurance during her moments of weakness. He prepared nourishing meals, encouraged her to rest, and read stories aloud to their unborn child, hoping to create a sense of familiarity and love even before their arrival.

Even as she got better, he was still shaken from the experience, and refused to leave her side until he was 110% sure that she wouldn't relapse back into illness.

He knew it would be rewarding in the long run though.

-

Covered in pastel blue paint, Bernard took a step back to admire his work, having just completed the last wall in their soon to be born child's nursery. They hadn't painted the room blue for any reason other than that (Y/n) thought it was a nice colour, neither of them were interested in knowing the baby's gender until they were born, and even then they weren't keen on forcing unnecessary gender roles onto the child.

As he stood there, surveying the room, he could already envision their little one playing, laughing, and growing in this very space.

(Y/n) stood in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with gratitude and love as she observed her husband's handiwork.

"It's perfect, Bernard," she whispered, her voice filled with emotions that words couldn't fully capture.

As they waited for the paint to dry, the two of the gathered the decorations and furniture they had prepared for the nursery around the door, Bernard ensuring that (Y/n) didn't entrust herself with anything too heavy or hard to handle.

Together, they assembled the crib, carefully arranging the soft blankets and pillows inside. Bernard placed the mobile above, a delicate creation of stars and moons that would gently spin and twinkle, captivating their little one's attention. They arranged shelves on the walls, ready to be filled with books and toys that would ignite their child's imagination.

The room began to take shape, reflecting the love and anticipation that filled their hearts. Bernard hung a painting on one wall, a whimsical scene of a forest with friendly animals peeking out from behind the trees. It was a gift from his fellow elves, who had worked together to create a piece of art that would bring joy and wonder to their child's world.

(Y/n) lovingly placed stuffed animals on the shelves, each one carefully chosen to be soft and comforting, ready to become their little one's loyal companions. She smiled as she held up a small plush reindeer, envisioning her child's tiny hands clutching it tightly as they drifted off to sleep.

Bernard set up a rocking chair in the corner, a cozy spot for (Y/n) to nurse and cradle their baby. He imagined her there, singing lullabies and swaying gently, creating a soothing rhythm that would lull their child into dreams filled with love and warmth.

With each item they placed in the nursery, Bernard and (Y/n) infused it with their hopes and dreams for their child. They couldn't wait to share their world with the little one, to guide them through life and shower them with unconditional love.

As they stood back, admiring the room they had created, a sense of awe and gratitude washed over them. Their journey together had led them to this moment, a room filled with love, ready to welcome their yet unseen child.

Bernard walked over to (Y/n), wrapping his arms around her gently, feeling her warmth and the flutter of their baby inside her belly. They shared a quiet moment, their hearts beating in sync, as they marvelled at the miracle of life growing within (Y/n)'s womb.

The room had been transformed into a haven of dreams and possibilities, filled with whimsical decorations and lovingly crafted furniture.

(Y/n) reached her hands up and cupped either side of Bernard's face, kissing her paint covered lover with nothing but adoration in her intentions.

They stood there for a while, basking in the love and hope that filled the air. In that moment, they knew that their journey as parents had already begun, even before their child took their first breath. They were united in their love and commitment, ready to create a loving and nurturing environment for their little one to grow and thrive.

With the nursery complete and their hearts full of anticipation, Bernard and (Y/n) eagerly awaited the day when their yet unseen child would finally enter their lives. They knew that their love would guide them through the ups and downs of parenthood, and that together, they were ready to embark on this extraordinary adventure.

And so, they continued to cherish each moment of the pregnancy, counting down the days until their little one would make their grand entrance into the world, filling their lives with immeasurable joy and love.

-

The sudden splash of water hitting the floor below (Y/n)'s legs indicated that the day had arrived. She was to give birth, her body finally signaling that their yet unseen child was ready to make their entrance into the world.

"...Augh...Bernard!" She called to him from her place in the kitchen, the man having been in another room, "Bernard!"

She coiled a little in pain, the contractions having her hold her stomach and groan.

Bernard's heart skipped a beat as he heard the urgency in (Y/n)'s voice. He rushed into the kitchen, panic and concern etched on his face. Seeing his beloved wife in pain, he immediately grabbed onto her, helping her onto the dining room chair.

"What's wrong, (Y/n)?" he asked, his voice filled with worry as he moved closer to her.

"...m...my water broke," she managed to say between contractions, her grip on her belly tightening.

Bernard's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins. He had been preparing for this moment, but now that it was here, he felt a surge of emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

"Okay, stay right here," he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring, "I'll get everything ready, I won't be long."

He rushed around the house, gathering the essentials they had prepared for this day. He retrieved the pre-packed hospital bag from the bedroom, ensuring they had all the necessary items for both (Y/n) and the baby. He grabbed the car keys and his phone, ready to call the hospital and inform them of their imminent arrival.

Returning to (Y/n)'s side, he knelt down in front of her, holding her hands tightly.

"We're going to the hospital now, my love," he said, his voice filled with determination. "You're doing amazing, and I'll be right by your side every step of the way."

(Y/n) nodded, her face contorted with pain yet filled with trust in her husband. She leaned on him for support as they slowly made their way to the car, Bernard gently helping her into the passenger seat. He adjusted the seatbelt to ensure her comfort and safety, making sure she was secure before closing the door.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Bernard quickly got into the driver's seat, his mind focused on getting them to the hospital as quickly and safely as possible. He started the engine and carefully pulled out of their driveway, navigating the familiar streets with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Bernard parked the car and swiftly made his way to (Y/n)'s side, helping her out and supporting her as they entered the building. They approached the reception desk, where Bernard provided the necessary information while (Y/n) focused on managing her contractions.

The hospital staff guided them to the labor and delivery unit, where a team of doctors and nurses were waiting to assist with the birth. Bernard stayed close to (Y/n)'s side, holding her hand tightly and offering words of encouragement with each passing moment.

As the labour progressed, (Y/n) drew strength from Bernard's unwavering presence. His love and support were like an anchor, grounding her in the midst of the intense sensations. She squeezed his hand tightly, finding solace in their connection.

Hours turned into minutes, and the moment they had been eagerly anticipating drew near. The doctor informed them that it was time to start pushing, and Bernard positioned himself by (Y/n)'s side, ready to witness the miracle of their child's birth.

With every ounce of strength, (Y/n) pushed, guided by the encouragement and love from Bernard and the medical team. He supported (Y/n) throughout the process, wiping her brow and offering soothing words.

After what felt like an eternity of pushing, a cry filled the air, piercing through the room. The sound was both beautiful and overwhelming, a testament to the arrival of their yet unseen child.

Bernard felt time slow drastically when their child was brought to them, covered in blood and muck, still with her umbilical cord attached.

The midwife placed the child on (Y/n)'s chest, allowing her to hold the new soul while she was still awaking to the world, a rush of warmth enveloped her. She marvelled at the precious bundle of joy cradled against her chest, marvelling at the delicate features and tiny fingers. The love she felt for their child expanded exponentially in that very moment, filling every corner of her heart. Bernard's eyes filled with tears as he leaned in closer, admiring their new-born baby girl.

"...we're so happy you're here," he whispered, his voice shaky as he had to keep himself from bursting into a full on sob.

(Y/n) looked up at Bernard, her own eyes glistening with tears of joy and exhaustion. She nodded, her voice choked with emotion as she whispered, "We love you so much, our beautiful princess. Welcome to our world."

Their daughter squirmed and let out another small cry, as if acknowledging the love and warmth that surrounded her. It was a moment of pure bliss, as Bernard and (Y/n) savoured their first moments as parents, basking in the overwhelming love that enveloped them.

-