#i cry. breathe. scream. and sing for them

[dakusan]

I a m Y O U

stray kids ot8 x reader | one stolen hoodie, eight emotional collapses, zero survivors

💙 synopsis: You haven’t seen them in months. Your summer internship kept you grounded in the city while they were halfway across the world, living on stages and under spotlights. But tonight? Tonight, they’re 35 minutes away. So you show up. Front row, wearing the hoodie that mysteriously vanished the last time you saw them. And when they spot you during “I am YOU” everything stops.

💌 a/n: this unholy mess of front-row sobbing and hoodie theft was requested by 🍒 anon who really said: “what if you showed up to their concert unannounced wearing their hoodie and ruined their emotional stability in 4K.” and i, being a weak, crumbling creature of love and violence, said: yes. yes i will ruin them one by one like a symphony of heartbreak. none of these boys survived. neither did i. enjoy your hoodie-induced devastation. p.s. reblog for clear skin, front row tickets, hoodie theft immunity, backstage passes, and seven uninterrupted hours of REM sleep p.p.s. this fic cures vitamin D deficiency, glows your aura, and unlocks the memory of him mouthing “you’re mine” from the stage p.p.p.s. if you cry reading this just know i wrote half of it giggling and kicking my feet like a menace. i know what i’ve done

📍credits: @cafekitsune , @dollywons for the dividers

🎧 » I am YOU — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:24 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

BANG CHAN — "I KNEW IT WAS YOU"

The hardest part wasn’t the distance. Not really. Not the time zones or the silences or even the way his studio chair stayed cold on the left side. The hardest part was not knowing when he’d get to see you next.

You’d tried to reassure him before summer started. Told him you’d be busy with your internship, that hospital rotations were brutal and your preceptor was strict, but you’d try your best to come if the San Francisco stop aligned.

That was the promise: “I’ll try.”

And Chan never wanted to make you feel guilty for chasing your own goals. Still. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t stare at the crowd every city since then, hoping. Silly, maybe. But hope had always been his favourite delusion when it came to you.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that you’d called in every favour you had to leave early. That you sat on a commuter train for over thirty minutes, hoodie zipped to your chin, heartbeat tucked in your throat. That you’d bought the front-row ticket the second they announced the tour, just in case.

And now here you are. Middle of the pit. Dead center. Wearing the black hoodie that went “missing” the last time you stayed with him in Seoul.

He doesn’t see you right away. There’s too much light, too much movement. But then—

"I am YOU~"

The opening notes ring out and the crowd screams.

He turns instinctively toward stage left. And freezes. You. Eyes wide. Smile even wider. Hair windblown, cheeks flushed, that ridiculous hoodie drowning your frame.

It knocks the air right out of him.

He stumbles the tiniest bit—nothing obvious, just a half-step off-beat that only his members would catch. His eyes don’t leave yours. Not when the chorus starts, not when the stage begins shifting behind him. Chan walks forward during his verse, like he’s on autopilot, mic close to his mouth but barely hearing himself sing. He’s so focused on you that the roar of STAYs around you blurs into static.

You’re mouthing the words. Every line. The ones he wrote when he was lonely and uncertain and missing you so badly he couldn’t breathe straight. The ones he sang to remind himself who he was—because you helped him find that again.

He stops in front of you. Too long. Longer than he should. And he smiles. Not the rehearsed one. Not the idol one. It’s the one he gives you when it’s 2AM and you’re both half-asleep on a video call. The one you haven’t seen in person since April.

Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he mouths just for you:

“I knew it was you.”

And god, if the cameras catch the way he wipes his eye as he turns back, well.

Let them.

LEE KNOW — "YOU DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME"

Minho didn’t mind being apart. Not in theory, anyway.

He liked his own space. He liked that you had your own dreams. You were busy with your internship—working long hours at the lab, managing back-to-back shifts, and still finding time to call him when you could. It was what you both signed up for. And he respected that.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you.

He’d never say it first. Never in so many words. But you could tell from the way his texts got shorter after a show. The way he paused on calls a little longer before hanging up. How he kept asking if the San Francisco stop was too far from your apartment—casual, like he didn’t care that much, just... wondering.

You told him you didn’t think you could make it. That work was unpredictable. That you didn’t want to say yes and then disappoint him.

Minho had shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it.” “You sure?” “I’ll survive.”

So when you did get approval for a half-day off and found yourself riding the train into the city with a pit ticket burning a hole in your bag—and his old black hoodie zipped over your body—you knew exactly what you were doing.

You just didn’t know how he’d react. After all, you hadn't told him you were coming. Not a single hint. No cryptic text. No missed calls. No breadcrumb to chase. You knew exactly what kind of risk that was with Minho.

He hated surprises. Hated not knowing. But more than that—he hated missing you. And if he’d known you might be in the crowd tonight, he would’ve lost sleep thinking about it. Would’ve paced backstage for hours, checking the front pit with every light test, paranoid he’d see someone who wasn’t you in your place.

So you kept it quiet. You played it safe. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see what would happen when he saw you without warning.

He finds you during the second verse of “I am YOU.”

Not by accident. Not by fate. Minho always scans the crowd with surgical precision. It’s not for show. It’s instinct—something in him always alert, always aware. But tonight, as they reach “I am YOU”, he doesn’t expect anything unusual. He’s already chalked this night up to another blur of lights, sweat, and routine.

And then—

You.

Right in front of him. Front row. Slightly off-center. Grinning like you’ve just gotten away with murder.

His brain short-circuits. His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, not yet. He tilts his head, blinking once, then again. Like you might be a trick of the light. Like he’s waiting for you to vanish.

But you’re still there. Still smiling. Still wearing his hoodie. His eyes drop to it, then snap back up. His expression stays neutral, too neutral—like he’s forcing his face to stay composed because if he doesn’t, it’ll give everything away.

And then, with no warning, he walks straight to your section. No fan service. No dramatic gestures. Just that unreadable Lee Know gaze—burning a hole through your skin.

He stands right in front of you during his verse. Too long. Long enough that you see the flicker behind his eyes. The betrayal of emotion. The tension in his jaw.

And then—finally—he lets the mask crack. A smirk. Small. Dangerous. And when he turns away, it’s with the quietest shake of his head.

Backstage, you barely get two words out before he corners you with folded arms.

“You really showed up like that?”

“Like what?”

“Wearing my hoodie, front row, smiling like you didn’t just rearrange my whole brain mid-choreo.”

He steps closer. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

“Would’ve ruined the effect.”

“...Yeah. It worked.”

He tugs the zipper of the hoodie slightly downward, fingers ghosting your collarbone. “Don’t take it off tonight. That’s mine.”

SEO CHANGBIN — “I THINK I’M GONNA CRY”

Seo Changbin is not the type to let distance make him bitter. He’s the type to send you videos of every weird hotel breakfast he gets. To write you midnight voice memos when the homesickness hits. To squeeze you in between rehearsals, even if it’s just ten minutes of shaky FaceTime with his head halfway under a blanket to block out the light.

But still.

This tour’s been longer than the last one. And your internship’s been brutal—double shifts, unpredictable hours, no days off. You’d warned him you probably couldn’t make it to the U.S. stops, and he’d nodded like he understood. Told you he was proud of you. That he could wait.

But secretly… He circled San Francisco on the setlist anyway. Wrote a little “maybe” next to it in pencil. Just in case.

The stage is on fire by the time they reach “I am YOU.”

Sweat clings to his jawline. His heart’s racing from the last dance break. The lights dim to that familiar blue, and his body falls into muscle memory. He scans the crowd like he always does—out of habit, out of hope. And then—

His world tilts. There you are.

You.

In the middle of the front row, pressed up against the barricade, beaming like he just lit up your whole sky. It takes him a full four counts to believe it. He squints. Blinks. Your grin gets even wider.

Then he sees it: the hoodie.

The grey one he’d “lost” months ago—the one you’d tucked into your carry-on when he wasn’t looking. It’s huge on you. The sleeves are pushed up to your elbows. And the hem brushes mid-thigh.

You look like his.

He forgets the lyrics. His mouth moves on autopilot. His chest feels like it’s caving in and expanding all at once. He drifts toward your side of the stage like a magnet. The lights shift, but he’s locked in. And when he reaches the edge, during the last chorus, he plants his feet in front of you like you’re the only one that matters.

“You make me live~ I am YOU~”

He sings it directly to you. Pointing at you. Eyes glassy.

You’re mouthing the words back, and that’s what breaks him.

His voice wavers on the final note. He spins around quickly, hand over his face like it’s sweat—like he didn’t just almost start sobbing in front of fuck knows how many people.

Backstage, he nearly tackles you the second he sees you.

“I knew you’d come!”

“You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“I saw you, baby—what was I supposed to do? I think I’m gonna cry again.”

And when you tug at the hoodie playfully—

“Missed this?”

“Missed you in it.” Then he kisses your forehead like it’s the only grounding he’s got left.

HWANG HYUNJIN — “IT’S REALLY YOU?”

Hyunjin romanticizes everything—especially when it comes to you. Even the distance. Even the ache.

To him, love is in the details: the way your laugh lingers in his headphones, the scent of your perfume still trapped in his airport hoodie, the bookmarks you left in his poetry collection, pages folded like tiny secrets.

You’ve been apart for three months.

Your internship in the city’s arts foundation started just as tour rehearsals kicked into high gear. You were both swept up—him in choreography and interviews, you in galleries and grant proposals. He never told you just how much he missed you. Not really.

He just started painting again. Your profile from memory. The curve of your shoulders in his hoodie. The way your mouth always softens when you say his name.

He’d asked if there was any chance you’d be at the San Francisco stop. You’d said you’d try. But he heard the exhaustion in your voice. He didn’t want to hope too hard.

Still—every night before bed, he imagined it anyway. You in the crowd. Front row. His girl.

He doesn’t see you right away. Not during the first few songs. Not even during “SLUMP”, when he usually scans the pit.

But then “I am YOU” starts. It’s his favorite moment of the night—one of the only ones that still makes him breathe differently. That reminds him why he started all this in the first place.

And then he sees you.

Dead center. Front row. Wearing his hoodie. His hoodie. The one you’d stolen that rainy night back in February when you missed the bus and stayed over at the dorm. The same one you swore you’d return and never did.

Now it’s zipped halfway down, your hair a little windblown, your eyes glassy.

He stops dancing. It’s not obvious to the fans—he covers well, spins out of it with a quick recovery—but he knows. His body stutters in place. His heart slams against his ribs.

He blinks hard. Like maybe he’s imagining you.

You smile—wide and radiant—and point to the sleeve of the hoodie like a total brat.

He nearly chokes on his own breath.

During the chorus, he walks to the edge of the stage and stops right in front of you. Everything fades. The screams. The lights. The movement. It’s just you.

And when he sings “You make me live~ I am YOU~”, it’s not performance anymore. It’s prayer.

Your hand rises, reaching for him. Just barely.

He doesn't touch—but he lingers. Longer than he should. Longer than the cue allows. And then he mouths it, barely audible, voice cracking in his throat:

“It’s really you?”

You nod. Just once.

He presses a hand to his heart. And smiles. And turns away—just in time for the next beat to drop.

Backstage, he doesn’t run. He floats. Finds you just past the wings, grabs your wrist, and stares like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

“I thought I made you up.”

“I didn’t even think you saw me.”

“I always see you.”

Then, quieter: “And you wore that hoodie just to end me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“...You win.”

He wraps his arms around you and refuses to let go until the staff tells him he’s needed for encore.

HAN JISUNG — “YOU’RE KIDDING ME.”

Long distance was never easy for Jisung. Not because he didn’t trust you—he did. More than anyone. But his head was loud even on the best days, and when you were far away, the noise got worse.

You grounded him. In a world of cameras, pressure, deadlines—you were the one person who reminded him he was human before he was an idol.

So when you left for your summer internship, he said all the right things.

“You’ve got this.” “Go crush it, baby.” “We’ll be fine.”

And you had been. You texted when you could, FaceTimed in the middle of the night, sent him photos of your desk and your favorite corner coffee shop.

But lately… The ache had started creeping in.

He missed you in ways he didn’t know how to put into words. The kind of missing that left him staring at hotel ceilings, hoping your name would light up his screen. The kind that made him write whole verses he never showed anyone—ones that started and ended with you.

You’d said you probably couldn’t make it to the San Francisco stop. He’d said he understood.

But the truth was, it broke his heart a little.

He's mid-second verse of “I am YOU” when it happens. The light cues are shifting, the crowd is screaming, and everything is locked into place—until his eyes fall on the front row.

And his entire brain shuts off.

That’s not— It can’t be— What the f—

You.

Laughing. Glowing. Wearing his damn hoodie like you own the place.

His mouth drops open mid-line. He hits the lyric but forgets the next dance cue. His feet freeze. His mind goes blank. The world blurs out like someone hit the slow-mo filter. All he can see is you, tucked in the hoodie he’s been whining about for months.

You catch his stare and smile like the little demon you are. Then you give a tiny wave.

He lets out an audible “oh my god” into the mic. The members definitely hear it. The camera definitely catches it.

During the chorus, he abandons choreo completely and walks right to your side.

STAYs are screaming. The energy is unreal. But he’s not even blinking. You mouth the words with him. Your hand is over your heart. He sees the way you’re trying not to cry. And suddenly his throat tightens.

He stands in front of you—right in front of you—for the final line.

“I am… you.”

And god help him, he smiles so wide it cracks something open inside.

Backstage, he finds you tucked in the corner behind a staff tent. He pulls you into a hug so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Hi.”

“No. Nope. You can’t just appear like that, what the hell—”

“Surprise?”

“You’re wearing the hoodie. The hoodie. I literally wrote two full songs about this hoodie.”

He pulls back just to cup your face, eyes shining. “You wrecked me. You know that, right?”

“That was the plan.”

“...You’re evil. Stay here forever.”

LEE FELIX — “I THOUGHT I WAS DREAMING.”

Felix never minded being the one who loved a little too loudly.

He was used to pouring himself into the people he cared about — voice notes, care packages, random photos of sunsets that reminded him of you. He didn’t need grand gestures in return. Just knowing you were out there doing your best was enough.

But this summer tested even his sunshine heart.

You were buried in your internship at the children’s hospital, pulling long shifts, juggling research hours, and barely managing sleep. Your last visit had been months ago, and though you’d promised to call whenever you could, Felix could tell how much you were carrying. So he didn’t ask for more. Didn’t guilt you for not being there.

He just whispered your name to the stars some nights. And hoped you were eating well. When you’d said, “I don’t think I can make it to San Francisco”, he nodded. Smiled softly.

“It’s okay. You’re doing important things. I’m proud of you.”

And he meant it. But that didn’t stop him from imagining you in the crowd anyway.

He’s mid-spin when it happens. The stage is lit a dusky blue, the crowd roaring, and the opening verse of “I am YOU” wraps around his shoulders like muscle memory.

Then his gaze falls to the barricade.

He falters. Staggers, barely a half-step. Because there you are. Wearing his black hoodie. The one with the worn-out cuffs and faint lavender scent. The one you used to sleep in, curled up on his couch with your legs in his lap and your cheek against his thigh.

You’re standing there, eyes wide and sparkling, smile stretched across your entire face. And Felix? Felix forgets everything.

Every step. Every cue. Every lyric that comes next. He has to press a palm to his chest to make sure his heart’s still beating.

You wave — tiny, nervous — and his whole expression cracks open.

He lights up like the sun. Like no one else in the world is watching. The camera catches it. The fans catch it. His members catch it. He can’t stop grinning. Even when he tries, it just keeps coming back.

During the second chorus, he crosses the stage and stops in front of your section. He sings directly to you, voice soft even in the swell of the music.

“I am YOU~”

You mouth it back.

He swears he could float.

Backstage, he finds you first. You barely get out a hello before he’s got his arms around you, hoodie sleeve crushed against your cheek.

“I thought I was dreaming,” he whispers.

“You weren’t.”

“You wore it.”

“Still smells like you.”

“...It smells better now.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“You made everything feel real again.”

KIM SEUNGMIN — “YOU’RE HERE. YOU’RE REALLY HERE.”

Seungmin prided himself on being levelheaded.

He was the one who kept everyone grounded on tour. The one who made sure the setlist was tight, the in-ears were checked, the water bottles were full. He made jokes when the tension rose. Kept his emotions neat, folded, manageable.

That’s how he handled missing you, too. Neatly. Quietly.

You were in the middle of your journalism internship with a local paper—chasing deadlines, editing late, covering last-minute assignments. You always answered when he called, always listened when he needed to vent. But he could hear the tired in your voice lately. You’d apologized for not making the West Coast stops. He told you it was fine.

“It’s not like you can teleport,” he’d said with a half-smile. “You’ll be at the next one.”

He didn’t tell you that he’d set aside a hoodie weeks ago—his hoodie—for you to wear backstage. Just in case. Even if he knew you probably wouldn’t be there.

The first verse of “I am YOU” slips into motion. His body knows the rhythm, down to the second. It’s automatic. Seamless. Comfortable.

Until he turns toward the barricade. Until his gaze lands on you. Dead center. Front row. Hair tucked behind your ears, wearing the gray hoodie you stole from his dorm in February—the one with the frayed sleeves you refused to give back.

You’re beaming. You’re mouthing the lyrics. You’re here.

Seungmin doesn’t blink. He goes completely still for a full measure. His mic is at his lips, but nothing comes out for a split second. His brain short-circuits and reboots all at once.

Then the emotion punches him low in the chest.

He plays it off—barely. Keeps his face composed. But his voice catches on the next line. Just a little. Just enough that Chan turns to glance at him mid-beat.

During the bridge, Seungmin drifts closer to your side of the stage. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t point. Doesn’t break the fourth wall. But he locks eyes with you the entire time. His brows slightly furrowed, mouth set like he’s trying not to let anything show—except he’s already showing everything.

You lift your hand. Just a small wave. And that’s what undoes him.

He exhales sharply, glances away like he needs to recover, then looks back with something impossibly soft behind his eyes.

Not a smile. Not yet. But something like peace.

Backstage, you’re standing just behind the tech booth when he finds you. He walks up slow, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.

“You’re here,” he says, like he’s testing the words.

“I’m here.”

“You’re really here.”

“Took a train, sprinted from the station. Almost missed soundcheck.”

“You wore that hoodie.”

“I never took it off.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, finally letting the grin break through. Then he steps in, tugs the hem of the hoodie like he’s checking it’s real.

“Don’t disappear after this,” he murmurs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

YANG JEONGIN — “IT’S REALLY YOU.”

Jeongin had been trying not to get his hopes up.

Not because he didn’t believe in you—but because he did. You had your dream internship this summer with a film production company in the city, shadowing directors, organizing shoots, even helping scout locations. You were working so hard, and he was so, so proud.

But he also missed you. More than he let on.

You still talked most nights—short calls between tour stops, blurry selfies, the occasional voice memo when he couldn’t sleep. You’d told him you’d try to come to the San Francisco show if the schedule allowed. But you’d sounded uncertain.

“Don’t wait for me,” you’d said. “I always wait for you,” he’d replied.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it was true.

By the time “I am YOU” starts, he’s accepted that you’re probably not in the crowd. The song means something special to him—he’s always said it’s the one that makes him feel the most seen on stage. So he closes his eyes during the first chorus, breathes through the melody, lets the moment carry him.

And then he opens his eyes. And sees you. Right there. Front row. Grinning so wide your eyes crinkle. Wearing the black hoodie he left at your place in spring—the one that still smells faintly like his detergent and mint shampoo.

You’re watching only him.

And Jeongin freezes. He stares like the air’s been knocked out of him. Like you’ve appeared from a dream and he’s afraid to blink. His body keeps moving—barely. He hits his mark, sings the line. But his voice wobbles, just for a second. He forgets the camera. Forgets the crowd.

Just you.

He drifts to your side without realizing it. Heart hammering. Hands shaking slightly. There’s a flush creeping up his neck even under the lights.

And then he sings “You make me live…” with a look so full of awe, you swear he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in his hoodie, mouthing the words right back at him.

You lift your hand. You tap your chest—three times. Your silent way of saying “I’m here. I’m yours.”

Jeongin nearly forgets the rest of the song.

Backstage, you’re tucked behind a barricade, waiting. He sees you and breaks into the softest sprint, half-laughing, half-breathless.

“It’s really you,” he says, stopping just inches away.

“It’s me.”

“You came. You really came.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

He looks down at the hoodie, touches the cuff where it swallows your hand. “I was gonna ask if you still had it.”

“I never stopped wearing it.”

“...You wrecked me up there, you know that?”

You shrug, smiling. He leans forward, bumping his forehead gently against yours.

“Then wreck me again. Every time. Please.”

[elsa-fogen]

tumblr reacts to huntix break up on stage

thanks to @caramelmiacchiato for this idea, i love fictional social media stuff

sorry for any mistakes pretend that they were intentional

maybe i'll make something like this about final concert, if i mind the mood

also i have some posts like this for winx club, just in case

0 notes

☕huntrixforever Follow

Our universe may have just cracked in half

[Video description: Unofficial recording from Idol awards, really close to the stage, second half of Huntrix' performance. Stage lit with red light, Huntrix start performing a new song, after suddenly cutting Golden. After few lines first Zoey, then Mira start pushing Rumi around, keep singing, while Rumi is trying to keep on with the dance. But ater another push they stop even trying to perform, Mira and Zoey just straight up attacking Rumi with lyrics, then taking off her jacket. They crowding her. Mira: "We know who you are" Zoey: "A demon", then they step back, Mira and Zoey: "A mistake. You have been. Since the day you were born". They step back enough and disappear from the screen. Rumi breaths heavily, clearly having a panic attack, she screams and all the lights go off, the spotlight sparkles, then she runs away from the stage. End of the description]

(sorry for the lousy video description, i'm rewatching the video while writing and feel all sorts of things that i cannot express. writing the ending literally BROKE MY HEART. i just still have a feeling that i accidentally wandered into some broken timeline and now can't escape it)

#idol awards #huntrix #k-pop #there's NO way this happened for real

1 785 738 notes

🏴iminyourwalls2000 Follow

i'm feeling so hollow right now. I don't even know WHAT to feel

#huntrix #at first i was like #holy shit new song? #SO HYPE LET'S GO #SLAY QUEENS #but then... i- what? what are you doing?? WAIT WHAT IS HAPPE #NING STOP IT STOP STOP #TF YOU MEAN "A MISTAKE SINCE YOU WERE BORN" #THERE ARE NO WORDS STRONG ENOUGH SO I'LL JUST SCREAM AAAAAAAAA

65 notes

🥞live-laugh-ahhh Follow

Holy fuck. I went to sleep for an hour, and coming back and it's like i missed the end of the fucking world. THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HUNTRIX BROKE UP??????

ON STAGE?????

#huntrix #k-pop #idol awards #this is what sleeping during the day does to a man

197 notes

🍣rujinubeliever Follow

LOOK AT POOR RUMI, MY GIRL IS SO CONFUSED AND SCARED!!! WHATEVER HAPPENED BETWEEN THEM, SHE DIDN'T DESERVE THIS!!! 😭😭😭

#i know it's not the right moment... #but the little shipper in me imagines #rumi running straight to jinu for comfort #LET ME COPE OKAY??? THIS IS THE ONLY THING LEFT FOR ME

2 035 notes

🎪come-at-me Follow

I'm gonna cry, RUMI, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, I'M SENDING YOU MILLION HUGS, JUST KNOW, WE ARE WITH YOU!!!

🥓cheese-n00b Follow

ME TOO!!!

#support rumi #hugs for rumi #huntrix no more #k-pop #didn't know mira and zoey were such assholes???? #don't let me at them or you'll have to deal with some murder #if any of them would show up in front of me #i'd beat the shit out of them for this #if you think that they did the right thing unfollow me right fucking now #<- prev tags #agreed #can i join pls #i'm so angry i'm about to bite walls #reblog #huntrix

838 notes

🍜dressed-and-stressed Follow

Welp, there goes my reason to live, bye guys

#k-pop #tw suicide joke #huntrix

15 notes

🚅jinus-underwear Follow

I must consume every frame of this. I have to find more recordings. I have to know WHY!!! I'm gonna study every fucking pixel of the screen under a microscope untill i find the truth. I just need to buy a microscope.

#too bad i'm too poor #huntrix #idol awards

5 notes

💠huntrix-love Follow

i hate to say this, but the new song was a banger tho😭

🏴iminyourwalls2000 Follow

tryue

#why they had to make it such a bop #i want to listen at it on repeat #but the moment i hear it #i start thinking about the bloody video #and poor Rumi #and i'm in tears again #reblog #hugs for rumi

65 973 notes

🥖liveforhuntrix Follow

This is important

Okay, it's all really sad and stuff, but we HAVE to talk about this. No smoke without a fire, what we saw is just tip of the iceberg. Yall hating on Mira and Zoey for this, but don't you think that there was a reason behind this? I mean, there's no way that they were like "hmm lets make a diss song about Rumi just for funzies". We don't actually know much about their true relationships. We know only what they let us see. And there's a chance that the friendship we saw was just part of the brand. I'm not saying this for a fact, it's just a theory. A huntrix theory. So, i'd suggest to think before lashing out on Mira and Zoey, and protect Rumi like she's a saint.

Who knows, maybe Rumi was abusing the hell out of them? Hear me out. She pushed the release of Golden, when they were about to take hiatus. Don't know about you, but i'd be pissed if my well deserved rest was cancelled. If i dig into it, i'm sure i'll find more moments like this. So, for us it may look like it came out of nowhere, but there may be deeper reasons for this. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

🍊rumizo-hntrx Follow

"a mistake since the moment you were born" yep, uhuh, cool, totally would say this to someone for just being too much into their work

🥖liveforhuntrix Follow

Well, yeah, maybe lyrics WERE too much, but still. It can't be without a reason. There are no saints in our world, and if someone appears to be one, it means that you simply don't know them enough

🎪come-at-me Follow

🤡🤡🤡

💠huntrix-love Follow

Booo, booo on this guy, point and boo the hell out of him

🥖liveforhuntrix Follow

I'm the only sane person on this side of tumblr it seems...

#reblog #self reblog #stop mira and zoey hate #mira support #zoey support

100 636 notes

🎨iwanttobelieve Follow

screw this guy @.liveforhuntrix, let's talk about something REALLY IMPORTANT

DID YOU SEE RUMI'S TATTOOS?? DIDN'T KNOW SHE HAD THEM, LOOKS COOL AS FUCK I WANT SOMETHING LIKE THIS NOW

Also were they like GLOWING A LITTLE BIT AT THE END THERE?? I'm pretty sure it was something to do with ultraviolet, but DAYMN. So otherworld-y looking... And she was hiding it from us THIS WHOLE TIME? CRIME, REAL DAMN CRIME

I have to draw this... not now, the wound is still too fresh... but maybe one day...

#girl is SLAYING #too bad the only time we see em is when she's about to crash out #i fucking can't i wanna hug her so bad #huntrix #huntrix no more #support rumi #hugs for rumi #k-pop

788 notes

🖼rumixjinuforev Follow

Okay but nobody's talking about lights breaking with Rumi's scream!!???? that shit was like straight from some amime!!!!!

Now thinking about it... like... don't get me wrong but... what if it all was planned? For hype? I MEAN!!!!! This still can be coincidence, BUT!!! NUUYEPEGHHDASH???

💠huntrix-love Follow

MY GOD i wish it was staged. I'd be angry of course for playing with my feelings like that, but I'd forgive them.

Also if this is staged, Rumi's got not only majestic voice, but she's also such a great actor, like, that panic attack looked so damn real... I HOPE IT WAS STAGED PLEASE!!!!!!!

#I'm going to sleep but i'd give so much to wake up and see #someone's post with screams of how huntrix dare to play with our feelings like that #i'd forgive them #our queens are allowed to fake some drama for hype #still better than if it was for real-real

10 987 notes

🏐normalzoeyfan Follow

Guys... i don't think... im Zoey fan anymore...

#i refuse to believe that it wasn't her evil twin there untill proven othervise #huntrix #huntrix no more #hugs for rumi

1 009 notes

🎲dnd-and-kpop Follow

I mean we may as well have the end of the world now. Drop the asteroid, this planet is beyond saving

🎩gravity0fallsbill Follow

speak for yourself, world doesn't end on your k-pop idols, i still wanna live

#such statements fucking pissing me off #ik it's nothing and it's not like it gonna come true #just because some angsty teenagers in the internet are being overly dramatic about somthing stupid #but still DAMN #if you wanna die i can't stop you (i mean don't do it) #just don't involve others in it #even as a joke #shitpost

987 notes

🎆blender-explode Follow

Can you imagine that there are people who protecting Mira and Zoey? Like, are you out of you MIND?

🏐normalzoeyfan Follow

with a heavy heart... but they deserve to be cancelled for this shit. With Zoey and Mira lol

#cancel Zoey #cancel Mira #support rumi #hugs for rumi #reblog

1 539 notes

🎭happy-thoughts Follow

someone thinks it was staged. guys i've been there. i don't think it was. like... you can't get it through the video. and i can't express it through words. but something in the air changed, when they cut golden and started this new song. Like, it was hype, but also with this yucky gut feeling of "something wrong. something ugly is about to happen" And when they started pushing, i almost wasn't surprised, like, i felt it coming.

👗rumis-shoe Follow

YEAH, same!!! Like, when they were singing Golden, it was,,, i don't know, i felt such happines that i never felt before, like i was about to start flying!!! And with the start of the new song, it's like i was SMASHED into the ground from the sky, and someone kindly threw a couple of train carts on me. This kind of feeling, yk

#never experienced such polar switch of the mood in my life but here it is #insane feeling #and the fact that it was my first live concert?? #i'm either the luckiest or unluckiest person in the world #i mean how many bands are breaking up on stage #and do it by singing a honestly banger song? #i wish we got this in less dramatic circumstances but oh well #it is what it is #btw i heard saja boys were also fighting that day??

76 893 notes

👛jinus-wife-fr Follow

Still in shock,,, but at least i can form some thoughts now.

Ok, so, Mira had always had the vibe of "that bitch" to me, and i never trusted her. Like, always expected some kind of shit from her. But Zoey? 😭😭 My theory is: Mira forced Zoey to join her against Rumi... idk how and why honestly... LET ME COPE OK???

#cope #huntrix #text post #huntrix no more

10 notes

🚁real-jinus-wife Follow

Okay... but imagine Rumi joins saja boys instead?? Imagine.... just imagine how Jinu and her would sound together....

#i mean they'll have to change the group name #but anyway #copium #coping real hard rn #huntrix #saja boys #if i don't cope i'll just collapse

87 notes

💔poorlittlemeow Follow

Well,,, at least "support Rumi" and "hugs for Rumi" is trending rn... wanted to say "happy to see this" but i can't feel happiness anymore,,, i hope Rumi knows that we still love her,,,,

#support rumi #huntrix no more #hugs for rumi

162 notes

💫abbyxmystery Follow

TF DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO CHOOSE SIDE???

WHAT IF I LOVE THEM ALL????

THIS IS WHAT BEING A DIVORCE CHILD FEELS LIKE???

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEEEEEEE

MIRA, ZOEY, I WISH YOU EXPLAINED YOURSELF, EVERYTHING WAS JUST FINE?????!!! JUST FEW DAYS AGO??????

ALL THE FRIENDSHIP... ALL THEIR PARTNERSHIP... IT CAN'T BE JUST A FRONT, JUST "PART OF THE BRAND", I KNOW THEIR FRIENDSHIP WAS REAL!!!!

#yeah this blog is about saja boys #but i still love huntrix #like they introduced me to k-pop #they will always hold a special place in my heart #without them i wouldn't learn about saja boys #and other cool bands #and seeing them break up LIKE THAT #it's like the end of the era #the world won't be the same anymore #sorry for offtop #i'm having a breakdown #delete later #hugs for rumi

516 notes

😎im-real-jinu Follow

TF MY GIRL RUMI'S FAULT? WHAT DID SHE DO TO YA???

Does it have to do something with that cancelled concert? Like, i heard it was something to do with Rumi... But no details.

BUT WHATEVER THAT WAS IT WASN'T THAT DEEP?? CHILL????

#support rumi #hugs for rumi #my girl didn't deserve diss like that #my poor little mow meow #i wish i could hug her #i bet she needs it rn

938 notes

🌐huntrix-my-life111 Follow

okay, does anyone know a demon to sell a soul to for huntrix being back together? asking for a friend.

#anyone? please #ok google how to summon bill cipher

618 notes

[lexaslibrary]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ WRITING MARATHON

birds in the trap sing mcknight - T$

now playing: ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|၊•

the ends [3:21]

“they don’t want to see me in the ends”

you return home unexpectedly, hoping to surprise bf!chris, only to walk in on him with another woman.

warnings: angst, no happy ending, cheating, let me know if i missed something!

a/n: i do not condone cheating at all and of course don’t think he would, so obviously this is completely fictional and not real. english is not my first language, other than that, enjoy!

you weren’t supposed to be home.

but the shoot wrapped early, the crew caught ahead of schedule, and you caught the 6 p.m. train back into the city, thinking maybe it’d be nice to come home to him. surprise him.

you used to do that all the time. back when love felt easy.

back when his voice didn’t sound far away even when he was lying next to you.

the sky turns to slate as you step off the platform, clouds hanging low like they know something you don’t.

you don’t tell him you’re coming.

just want to walk through the door and kiss him. maybe sleep in his arms for the first time in weeks without dreaming of strangers.

you unlock the front door. the hallway light is on.

and then

you hear it.

a laugh.

not his.

hers.

soft, too familiar, like it belongs here now.

like you don’t.

you don’t call his name.

your footsteps are too loud on the wood floor.

you see the couch first—blankets you folded yesterday now half on the floor.

candles lit.

his hoodie on the chair.

his voice—gentle, warm, the version of him you haven’t heard in so long.

and then you see them.

her legs across his lap.

his hand on her thigh.

his mouth moving like it belongs to her now.

for a second, no one says anything.

his eyes lock with yours and widen, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t pull away.

you wait for a lie. a stumble. anything.

he gives you silence. that’s worse.

you nod.

don’t cry, don’t scream, just walk backwards like maybe if you rewind fast enough none of this will be real.

he says your name once—quiet, like a memory.

you don’t answer.

the door slams behind you. the sound feels final.

you stand outside in the rain with your keys still in your hand and no one left to come home to.

you don’t go far.

just down the stairs, towards the entrance of the building, your hands shaking, your breath fogging even though it’s not cold.

the air feels sharp, though.

like it knows what just happened.

like even the night’s trying not to look at you.

and then—

his footsteps.

soft. hesitant.

like maybe if he walks quietly enough, the world won’t hear him breaking you.

“hey…”

his voice is hoarse. you don’t look.

he stays a few feet away.

coward.

“i didn’t know you’d be back today.”

like that matters.

like if you’d just waited one more day, he could’ve finished destroying you without you seeing it.

you still don’t speak.

“it wasn’t—i mean, it just happened.”

liar.

you turn, finally, slowly. your eyes meet his and he flinches.

good.

he should.

chris inhales a sharp breath.

“i didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

you almost laugh.

not because it’s funny.

because what the fuck does that even mean?

“so it’s better if i never knew?”

he doesn’t answer.

“how long?”

the words come out dry. brittle. like they’d shatter if you weren’t already shattered.

he hesitates.

that’s your answer.

long enough.

the silence between you stretches.

fills the space where his excuses should’ve lived.

but he doesn’t have the strength to lie well anymore.

you step back.

he steps forward.

“wait, please—”

“no.”

it’s the first solid word you’ve said.

it cuts through whatever dream he thought he could sell you.

“i fucked up,” he whispers, like maybe making it small enough will make it forgivable.

you nod.

“yeah. you did.”

he looks like he wants to cry.

you don’t care.

his sadness isn’t yours to carry anymore.

you walk away, don’t run, and he doesn’t follow this time.

not really.

he just stands there, watching you disappear like he didn’t ask for this ending the second he let someone else take your place.

like he just now realized this was the end.

a/n: i’ve been busy with my new au but i’ve been working on this too i swearr

back to the general masterlist / writing marathon masterlist

taglist: @courta13 @bernardsbendystraws @soffishifting @sturnzstuff @mattssunnies @strnlslvr @riaasblogg @angel-sturn1

[tea-leavez]

Title: Paradox of Emotion

Word Count: 784

Authors Note: OKAY I KNOW THIS IS AN OLD WORK BUT I REALLY LIKE IT STILL. And posting daily is harder than I thought It would be ill be so fr. Anyway! this was just a small emotions study I did on grief a while ago using Aventurine! Enjoy~

Aventurine stood at the other side of the door, and he looked exactly like he always did. That same smug, overconfident smile, and casual demeanor.

You didn't say a word as you stared at him blankly, not knowing what to say. Your emotions swirled inside your mind, and you were sure he could read them all.

Anger

Sadness

Reilef

Greif

Confusion

Love

“I know this must be quite the shock dear.” he chimed playfully, a gloved hand running through his sandy blond hair. How could he stand there like everything was normal? Like this was normal?

Aventurine tilted his head after a moment or two of silence finally realizing that you weren't going to speak, “Did I really stun you into silence?” he mused, that same teasing tone you had grown to miss ringing loudly in the quiet morning air.

You wanted to scream that this wasn't real, that it was all some elaborate prank. Because, if it was real, why didn't he contact you sooner? Why didn't the IPC tell you sooner? Why didn't Topaz tell you sooner?

 Aventurine was dead.

You knew this.

He was also right in front of you.

You knew this.

You knew it had to be him; every small mannerism told you it was. Every imperfection on his skin told you it was. Every inflection in his voice told you it was him.

He was real and alive and in front of you and you wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him how much you missed him but something in your heart was yelling out like it had been murdered by the sight of him.

You let out a shaky breath and saw his uncomfortable expression before you felt the warm tears against your cheeks. He never was good at dealing with emotions, no matter who's they were.

“Hey.” You don't know when Aventurine stepped closer, but he cupped your cheek in his hand the warm leather of his glove was sticky against your skin as he clumsily wiped your tears.

“How?” you uttered the single word between choked sobs. Aventurine died a week ago so how was he here?

“Why?” You questioned weakly, your eyes meeting his concerned gaze that no doubt was hiding his panic. Aventurine was alive, so why didn't he tell you sooner?

You let yourself get lost in his eyes, the waves of ocean blue meeting the violet of a sunset. He looked at you and you looked back, some sort of understanding forging itself into existence without the need for words.

He was here and your heart was singing because you knew it was reality but no matter how hard you tried your brain was failing to keep up with what was real.

Aventurine hushed you softly as he guided you inside, the door shutting softly, private moments are safest shared between the warm walls of a home. It was only home again because he was here.

A hand snaked around your waist and pulled you closer, the other still rested on your cheek, “Please don't cry, my dear.” Aventurine whispered the words in your ear so delicately that you weren't sure they even existed.

Something about the words flared the angry part of you causing you to pull away from him slightly, “Why didn't you say anything.” The words were sharp and painful, they cut your mouth on the way out. “You let me believe you were dead for a whole week and then you come back like it was nothing?” Your tone was of pure frustration, but it was only floating on top of a river of agony and relief which flowed over a bed of love.

Accompanied by tears and unstable breaths you continued to speak, “Did you even try to contact me? A whole week and you didn't think to say anything to me? You could have even got someone to do it for you. Just...anything.” You finished weakly.

Aventurine’s lips pressed to your softly and you immediately melted into it. He didn't know what to do when faced with your anger, he never did. He didn't know what to do with any of your emotions when they were placed in his hands with so much trust.

But he knew how to love you, and he could do it flawlessly. To kiss you until you were breathless and could no longer remember any of your grievances with him. Or pepper your skin with light pecks of his lips until the tears faded and they were replaced by the sweet sound of your laughter. He would do it over and over and over again. And you would fall for it over and over and over again.

[astoldbyaja]

Unbowed - 8 (Sinners 2025)

I thought alcohol was supposed to make you tipsy then drunk. But I felt very much in my right mind, so much that I am fully aware of the taste of whiskey on Chayton’s lips and tongue as it wraps around my own. His hands are large and big as they hold my thighs up against him.

He’s carrying me, he kicks open a door to one of the cabins. It’s dark but neither of us seem to care. He grunts lowly into my mouth as he sits down on top of some furniture, a dresser maybe. I don’t even know what it is, but he has me propped up on it. My fingers are tangling through his hair messily, and his hands are moving all over my back. His mouth is dominating mine, his tongue licking around my full soft lips. He breaks it for a split second to glassy eyes looking at foggy eyes. He kisses me again and its greedy and desperate this time. I feel his hands now hike up my dress pushing it up my thighs. My hearts pounding as his lips keep me distracted. All I want to do is taste the whiskey on his breath and saliva.

Before I can even think, his rough hands are on my panties pulling them down to my ankles. I feel the polished wood beneath my bare skin, the sound of pants unzipping echoes in my mind.

Should I be doing this? Yes. I still here the singing of his people, the steady beating of the drums dancing all around us. Chaton pulls me to the edge of the dresser as he breaks the kiss and nuzzles his forehead into mine. He’s breathing hot and heavy against me as he leans his body into mine. I feel something thick against my entrance and in one firm push, something enters me. I can’t stop the heightened moan that’s forced from my lips from the thick intrusion. Chayton groans sharp and low into me as he buries deep into my core. My thighs shake and I wrap my arm around his neck for support.

“Jesus.” I say breathlessly as he starts to buck his hips hard and rough into me. He’s thick and big, so fucking big! I cry out feeling his hips pumping deep and rough into to me the dresser banging in tandem with his thrusts. I’m panting and groaning from the tightness of my walls squeezing him. One of his arms locks around my waist and the other takes hold of the dresser to ground him for better movement. He grunts and growls against me, his lips finding mine again in a heated kiss.

My stomach is cramping, the more his thick cock rubs my soft walls. I whimper and cry out into his lips, my arms holding him tighter as he rams me. I can feel every inch of him inside me rubbing, prodding, hitting my sweet spots. We hold each other tight, our faces now burying into each other’s shoulders as he moves faster and with more passion. My fingers dig into his shirt. My walls are fluttering with excitement as we can hear each other’s heavy pants and moans in our ears. But no one else can hear us, the only other noises are singing and drums. My eyes are shut tight as I can only feel him, hear his breath, and smell the whiskey and sweat on his body.

He twitches inside me, his heavy balls smacking against me with each thrust. I can’t take it. I’m fluttering and throbbing so fiercely. My moans are growing louder and higher, these pulsing sensations only growing faster.

“Yes! Yes!” I cry out desperately into his ear. I’m so close to the sweet release of my climax.  He must have picked up on this because Chayton moves even faster, making that delicious pulsing increase deep inside me. I’m screaming now as he hits my womb over and over again, my fingers digging into his back as my thighs shake. That sweet popping feeling intensifies bursting deep through my core as I scream out loud and hard, my body shaking violently. He keeps pounding me chasing his own climax, hips rutting into me like a savage beast. He lets out a low grunt followed by a soft whimper as he releases a lot inside me. I feel it his hot seed fill me up and I let out a little ooh in surprise from how much he releases.

His body weight leans into me almost like he’s collapsing into me. I hold onto him a bit, our ragged pants fast and heavy as I finally open my eyes seeing the haziness of his home. That heavy and delicious pulsing is slowly going down as I feel incredibly tired. I lie my cheek on Chayton’s shoulder and close my eyes.

Chirp. Chirp.

My eyes are heavy as they slowly open. Damn, my head. It was pounding and I look to see a pale ceiling. This was not the ceiling of my home. I could hear the familiar light snoring of someone though. Slowly, I turn my head and see Chayton, on his stomach facing me, his broad shoulders exposed, and I blink a few times the memories flowing into my mind. A dream, it had to have been. There’s no way we… We drank but…

I slowly raised the covers and saw I was still in my dress minus my heels and scarf. Okay that wasn’t too bad. I let my hands slide down between my legs and I froze to not only notice my panties were gone, but my thighs were sticky and wet.

The memory of that final thrust, and his seed filling me up hit me dead in the face. I leaned my head back into the pillow beneath me. I look back up to Chayton and meet his deep brown eyes. I gasp as he looks at me with a gentle tilt of his head.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he said softly his voice still just as smooth and rich as ever. I look his face over wondering if he was going to say anything else. Did he remember what happened? I just shake my head.

“It’s okay.” I said almost barely over a whisper. He looked me over some more and nodded.

“How are you feeling?” he asked lowly. How was I feeling?

“I have a bit of a headache… don’t really drink like I did yesterday… how about you?” I assumed. He nodded.

“Yes. Rattlesnake Whiskey can be quite a ride for those who aren’t; used to drinking it… come on I’ll make you some tea it’ll help you feel better and then I’ll drive us home.” he said. I nodded and slowly we both got up. He got out of the bed with ease, and I slowly got up. I groaned very gently and rubbed my head. My hair was a mess but so was his. We both glanced at each other and in that moment we both knew, we both knew what happened last night. While he moved to put a shirt on, I took a moment to look over his room. There were guns on dressers and hatchets and a bunch of other little knickknacks that I was curious of.

In the corner closes to his side of the bed there was a shot gun. That wasn’t surprising. I noticed even in this house; I had woken up on the inside of the bed furthest from the door. When he made a move from the door, I followed him out and saw numerous tribal pieces in the living room. He had a rocking chair and a couch, and a few dressers. His kitchen was in the back. He had a fireplace with old pictures on the mantle. I approached and saw a photo of him back when he was a soldier. He looked so focus, so serious. His hair was shorter, and he looked even younger than he did now. He said he was thirty-six, I’d say here he’s 19 or 20.

“I was a sniper and a code talker.”

I jumped a bit and turned to see him standing there with a dark red mug. He holds the mug up to me, and I gently take it. I can smell the peppermint in it. I sipped it softly.

“You must have been so scared having to do what you did… having to take life.” I replied. He looked down some.

“In the beginning I did… but after a while when the bullets keep coming and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, you embrace it, you endure it, and then you do what you have to do to take the enemy down.” he said lowly. I nodded at his words and looked down some before looking up at him.

“Well… thank you for your service.” I said gratefully. His eyes soften on me for a moment, and he nodded.

“You’re welcome.” he said. After I finish my tea, we get ready to leave. I only find my scarf, but my panties are nowhere to be found and I’m too embarrassed to ask him about it.

Taglist

@unsatisfiedanddisappointed

@jamera-ash

@butterflyybabe

@jamaicanqueen007

[writeyourdarlings]

the only thing i care about regarding ttpd is if i can relate the songs to stucky

[with-my-calamitous-love]

more gentleman thoughts, nsfw version 🫧 please read responsibly. f! reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

gentleman! dazai, who always knows the right words to say that’ll turn you on. whose long, slender fingers reach all the right spots in you, one by own inserting them until he has you stuffed. who gets you cumming from his fingers alone, but doesn’t stop there, hooking your leg over his shoulder and slipping his cock all the way in with no resistance. who can be sweet and slow or rough and fast- just tell him what you want, and he’ll give it to you. “good job, belladonna. already so wet, hm? i’ll make you feel so good.”

gentleman! chuuya, who gives you the most satisfying love life known to man. who, minimum, makes you cum 2 or 3 times before he fucks you. who sets the mood- candles, roses, and if you’d like, handcuffs, blindfolds, chokers… who absolutely defiles all of that beauty the second he feels you wrapped around him, pounding you hard and fast, getting off to the sounds of your pleas. who makes you cum from his length alone, making you dizzy with pleasure while he bends you over the counter. “comme ça, chérie? you feel so good. you’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

gentleman! ranpo, who drags out your orgasms. who wants to make you feel everything. who’ll kiss your pretty pussy through your panties first, watching how your arousal stains the fabric. who’ll slowly peel it away, making sure you feel his warm breath on you before finally putting his mouth on you. who wont move his head from between your thighs until your gushing, singing his name. who makes sure you cry out that he’s the best, that only he can make you feel this good. “you like that, sweetheart? hm? oh, i know i’m the best at it. here, let me prove it.”

gentleman! atsushi, who at first may not be the most experienced, but who learns how to get you screaming and moaning for him. who doesn’t fuck, only making love and making your pussy pulse with pleasure. who solely focuses on you, eating you out, for hours, softly kissing and sucking at your breasts, before finally slipping his cock into you. who thrusts rough and passionate, growling into your ear with an animalistic side thats expected of a tiger. who groans as you scratch his back, getting you into a mating press while he takes you. “c’mon, baby. just one more, please? you feel so good.” he’s said ‘one more time’ 3 times already.

gentleman! akutagawa, who blurs the lines between a gentleman and a pure, asshole. who wraps his hand around your throat, lightly applying pressure while he thrusts in and out of you. who gets you lightheaded, kissing your collarbone and placing a playful smack to your thigh while he fucks you. who makes you earn his praise, cumming around his cock before he even thinks about saying something nice. who leaves bruises, and tends to them after. “if you didn’t want me to spank you, why did you moan and ask for more? hm?l

gentleman! odasaku, who is perhaps the sweetest lover you have ever known. who honestly feels bad about ruining you, but can’t resist the way your makeup runs down your cheeks while he thrusts in and out. who runs his hands through your hair, tugging at it occasionally to pull your head back, leaving kisses and hickeys on your throat. who often books nice hotel rooms, but (much like chuuya) can make your apartment just as romantic. who is the king of aftercare, getting you anything you need, running you a bath, and reading to you while you fall asleep. “ah, so good, love. i’ll make you cum, i’ll take care of you. trust me?”

[strayingawayy]

midnight melodies

...where a droopy eyed jisung lulls his crying baby girl to sleep

it was 3 am, and han jisung was starting to lose his grip on reality. in his arms, their newborn daughter was wailing at the top of her tiny lungs, and he, half-asleep, was desperate for anything to calm her down.

“okay... okay,” he muttered, bouncing her gently. “you’re just... hungry, right? yeah, that’s it.”

she screamed louder in protest.

“alright, alright,” he said, rocking back and forth. “no food. no bottle. what do you want, sweet girl?”

she stared up at him, her tiny fists clenched, as if mocking him.

jisung took a deep breath, glancing around the nursery like it held all the answers. he spotted her han quokka plushie on the shelf and grabbed it. “okay, quokka, let’s try you.”

he held it up to her, but she screamed even louder.

"aish. so you're rejecting daddy and daddy in animal form too huh?," he said with a tired laugh. "huh ...maybe something... softer."

his mind was a blur. but then, it hit him. a song. he could sing her to sleep. he was han jisung, after all. how hard could it be?

taking a deep breath, he started softly, his voice still a little hoarse from lack of sleep.

“you are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” he sang, his tone gentle and shaky and accent prominent but soft.

the baby hiccupped mid-cry and paused for a brief moment, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“you make me happy when skies are grey,” he continued, growing more confident.

her cries had slowed down, and her tiny hand reached up as if to feel the vibrations of his voice.

“you’ll never know dear, how much i love you...” jisung crooned, his voice growing softer as his exhaustion began to catch up to him.

the baby’s eyes fluttered, her little face calming.

jisung grinned, his sleepiness fading as he realized his voice was finally working. "see? told you i was a pro," he whispered to her, though he could barely keep his eyes open.

just then, you walked in, rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn. "you’re still at it?" you asked, glancing at your daughter, who was now dozing peacefully in jisung’s arms.

jisung, eyes half-closed, smiled triumphantly. “i’m a lullaby legend, love .”

you raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. you sure it wasn’t just that song?”

jisung blinked, the reality of the situation sinking in. “i mean... yeah. probably.”

you chuckled softly and, feeling the need for a quick snack, went to the kitchen. but when you returned a few minutes later, the sight you saw made you pause in the doorway.

there was jisung, curled up in the crib with their baby girl, both fast asleep. he’d somehow managed to fit himself in the small space, one arm around her, his head resting gently on the edge of the crib. his breathing was slow and peaceful, a contented smile on his face. the baby, snug in his arms, had the faintest of smiles on her face as well.

you stepped closer, careful not to wake them, and stood there for a moment, completely taken by the warmth of the scene. the man you loved, the one who had been so anxious earlier, was now completely at ease, his little girl in his arms as if they’d been doing this forever.

you couldn’t help but smile. "well, i guess you are her sunshine too, sweetheart," you whispered to yourself, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

you carefully adjusted the blanket over them and kissed both jisung and your daughter’s foreheads, your heart full of love. then, you whispered, "sleep tight, you two."

and as you left the room, the soft glow of the night and the gentle hum of peace filled the air, your little family finally at rest.

[cchrysallis]

You don't understand how terrifying Toby E. Rogers is.

Tim Wright? I've seen him being called Slenderman's right hand more times than I can count. Brian too — always listed as the tactical one, the logical one, the camera in the dark. Both strong. Skilled. Ruthless. But Tobias?

You don't talk about Tobias.

No one ever does.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying part.

Tim is frightening. He's tall, trained, deadly accurate with a firearm. If you're unlucky, he might shoot you in the leg just to watch you crawl and sit there beside your dying body, lighting a cigarette with hands still stained from his last kill, staring at you like you're a problem that refuses to go away. He doesn’t enjoy it. He’s just tired.

Brian? He’ll mock you. Record your cries, laugh at them later. He’ll put a bullet in every inch of you until you’re crawling, desperate, broken. And when he’s done, he’ll casually meet Tim for a drink, chatting about ammo like you weren’t even a person. He doesn’t need a reason. He’s cruel for the sake of it. Detached. Emotionless. He'll shoot every inch of you until you're no longer human — just something twitching on the floor.

But they feel pain. They tire. You can fight them, hurt them, stall them — they can still feel that bullet stinging on their skin, they can still feel blood dripping out from their shoulder, they can still feel your punch on their stomach for hours.

But Tobias?

Tobias is something else entirely.

Toby doesn’t feel pain.

Let me say that again: he doesn’t feel pain.

You can stab him, shoot him, snap bones — he won’t flinch. He won’t stop. You won’t even slow him down. Heat exhaustion doesn’t touch him. Pain doesn’t register. He's wired differently. Completely.

He’s spent years throwing axes. His aim is terrifying — eagle-precise, deadly. You think your weak arms and ragged breath will help you escape him? you’re trembling, you’re gasping, lungs burning, legs cramping, hands slippery with your own blood. And he's still walking — not running — walking after you, laughing, muttering nonsense between vocal tics as the blade in his hand scrapes along the wall behind him.

This man laughs, twitches, and stutters his way through an entire bloodbath without blinking.

You think shooting him will stop him? you think pleading will slow him down? you think crawling to the door will earn his pity?

You’ll only hear: "li-little buh-biitch" — before his axe swings down, smiling down at you, like a hunter who just killed his first prey, his first prize.

And even then, he won't finish you. Not right away. He'll throw an axe into your back, then rip it out slowly. He wants you to feel it. He'll let you crawl a little. He likes the chase.

He'll follow you, limping with purpose, murmuring through his ticks. He’ll scrape his axe along the ground, letting you hear the metal sing behind you. The floor becomes a canvas for the trail of red he leaves behind.

Toby isn't a saint. He's not a sunshine-and-rainbows proxy. He wasn’t born for this — he was twisted into it. He was never meant to be saved. Not when he was forced to become a proxy to survive.

He won’t soften for anyone.

He won’t declaw himself for you.

He won’t stop sharpening his teeth just to make sure he can still tear something apart.

He enjoys watching blood drain from your body. He smiles when you scream. He stares with fascination when you cry — not out of pleasure, but out of curiosity.

Because he’s never felt it. So he wants to see it.

So tell me: if you were Slenderman, and you had to choose between Brian, Tim, or Toby.

Who would you trust to be your hands?

Your eyes?

Your wrath?

....

You already know the answer now.

[r3ynah]

GHOSTBUSTERS DCxDP oneshot?

The bats think the mansion is haunted, and no one questions it. With the manor being at least decades old, being haunted by a possible ancestor of Bruce was the least of their worries when they have cases to solve, rogues to fight and mountains of paperwork to do.

At first, they ignored it, it was harmless at its earliest phase; pens disappearing out of nowhere when they'd clearly just placed it on top of the desk a minute ago, along with random lights flickering which they just reminded themselves to make a mental note that a lightbulb needs replacing.

And then it escalated, a few months in and things started getting freaky even for them, some of the bats would hear distant laughter in some corridors of the manor, shadowy figures at the corner of their eyes, and one time when the family was downstairs at cave working on a crime file half-past midnight, there was a sudden occurrence that every single light present in the Wayne manor even the cave underground suddenly turned off leaving the bat computer as the only thing to resonate light off from.

But even the bat computer was not completely protected, a few seconds after the blackout and after a few questioning glances at each other— all the monitor screens turned green, nothing in view just this neon sickly green that reminded them of the Lazarus pits, if they weren't alarmed yet, then the affair after this will certainly will:

The sound of someone weeping was heard, the crying was soft but not unnoticed. No, they couldn't even ignore this cry if they wanted to, but because this person was not letting their cries go unheard, it seeks their attention in every direction.

Everywhere but nowhere at the same time.

No one dared to break the silence, they thought they couldn't all the training and practice they had just willingly jumped out of the window when they heard the bellowing cries.

It seemed like they were being clung onto by unseen hands clutching at their legs to stay put in their places.

A few bated breaths: One, Two, Three, Four.

Wet footsteps can be heard slowly walking in their direction and then— Stephanie booked it, screaming along the lines of colorful and creative swears, followed by Tim cursing to himself that he needs to buy a bottle of holy water tomorrow, Jason definitely creeped out went to start his motorbike and escaping to go back to crime alley, Duke who was panicking grabbed Cass who was giggling at the chaos that is happening, by the hand and sprinted to the elevator with his powers keeping them from not slamming into anything, Dick was no religious person but he ran while singing the lyrics of 'I love you Jesus', Damian who was in Dick's arms can only protest.

And then there was Bruce, still standing unmoving at the center of the cave all alone, or is he?

And then Bruce felt it, cold mist gathering on top of his shoulders forming into a figure like someone was perched on it, he didn't want to believe it at first, but it was starting to be hard to make an excuse for it when a pair of neon green orbs like eyes opened up to stare at you, goosebumps traveled all over his body as he heard the uncanny but very clear whisper of the said mist like figure saying "Boo" before he also sprinted out of the cave to go to sleep, maybe he indeed was very stressed just like how Alfred told him yesterday.

It was now the next day, Alfred stood idly behind the kitchen counter, he adjusted an old cellular phone in his hand for a more comfortable grip while pressing it against his ear, his great-nephew called just a moment ago to express the troubles that he did.

"Did I go too far, scaring them?" Danny meekly said, clearly letting the guilt get to him, Alfred stayed silent as he looked up to look at the other room connecting to the kitchen which is one of the more used living rooms of the manor.

There he saw almost everyone present watching intently as Stephanie presented a PPT presentation of a video game called phasmophobia and was currently giving insights on how this game can help them as a basis on how they can identify the entity if it's just a shade or a full-on demon, which was also backed up by additional information given by Tim, who was very compelled on also doing this and was practically vibrating in excitement in place.

Surprisingly everyone else also seemed interested, nodding a couple of times in agreement and raising their hands when confused.

Alfred only had an amused look plastered on his face, as he brought his attention back to his nephew on the other side of the line:

"No need to worry too much my nephew, you have completed the task I gave you perfectly thank you."

Turns out that Alfred was getting irritated about how his worries were being ignored and how he was only given excuses as to why the bats couldn't rest and allow a time of relaxation, so he sighed and finally gave up and called his great-nephew from Amity Park to ask for a request in exchange of home baked desserts which was immediately accepted as a very good barter (Danny's words).

In the end, it went well, at least they have had their sleep and was now more focused on other things than work and being vigilantes, Alfred can only hope this will last up at a minimum of 2 weeks or so.

[scarletwinterxx]

the archer - choi seungcheol imagine

helllloo ~ short backstory as to why this is titled 'the archer', i was omw home one day and the line "Who could ever leave me, darling But who could stay?" just stuck. i hope when you read this one, it will make sense😅 oh and yea we have a cute shy cheol for this one sksksks

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve heard the crying before but tonight, it’s relentless. For nearly an hour now, it’s been Soojin’s voice echoing through your studio, softening only to rise again like a wave you can’t block out with pillows or music.

You lie there, eyes on the ceiling, heart pacing with a mixture of concern and hesitation. It’s not your place. You barely know him—Choi Seungcheol, your next-door neighbor with the quiet eyes and tired smile. You’ve exchanged the occasional nod in the hallway, a few polite words in the elevator. He moved in six months ago, shortly after the baby was born. Alone.

But something about the way the cries go unanswered tonight makes you swing your legs out of bed and pad toward your door. You don’t think too hard as you knock. It takes a moment before he opens it. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, already looking apologetic. “She—she won’t calm down. I’ve tried everything.”

“May I?” you ask, surprising even yourself.

He blinks at you, caught off guard. But when you extend your hands, he hesitates only a second before handing her over.

She’s warm and trembling, but you sway gently, instinctively, and hum something low under your breath. an old tune from a drama your mother used to love. Soojin’s cries hiccup, then soften. Within a minute, she’s quiet against your shoulder.

You glance up.

Seungcheol is staring at you like he’s witnessing a miracle.

“Uh—wha—how?”

You glance at him, one eyebrow raised as you continue to gently sway with Soojin nestled against your shoulder, her tiny fists tucked under her chin now. 

Seungcheol looks like someone just handed him the answer to a test he didn’t study for.

“I… I swear I tried everything,” he says, running a hand through his hair, which sticks out at odd angles like he’s been yanking at it all night. “Bottle, diaper, bouncing, singing—I even googled ‘is my baby possessed’ at one point.”

“That must’ve given you comforting results,” you say, adjusting your hold slightly as Soojin lets out a soft sigh. “Any luck with the holy water?”

“Didn’t get that far. I was about to throw salt at her, though.”

You laugh. You haven’t laughed like that in a while, and from the way his expression shifts, neither has he.

“Okay, but seriously,” he says, crossing his arms loosely over his chest as he leans against the doorway. “What did you do? Are you some kind of baby whisperer? Do you own a magic shoulder?”

“She probably just likes that I don’t smell like desperation and instant noodles,” you tease, nodding at the small mountain of convenience store trash on the kitchen counter behind him.

Seungcheol groans and presses his palms over his face. “That’s so valid. You’re right. I reek of ‘guy barely holding it together.’”

“You said it, not me.”

Soojin shifts in your arms but doesn’t wake. You lower yourself gently onto the couch, adjusting your hold.

Seungcheol watches, awe still etched into every line of his face. “She never calms down like that with me,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “She usually screams like I’ve offended her ancestors.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

You blink. Right. You’ve lived next door for months and this is your first real conversation. You tell him your name.

He repeats it, softly, like he’s testing the sound. “Well. I owe you. Like… a lot. If I had knees left I’d be bowing right now.”

“Save the bowing for when she starts teething,” you murmur, eyes on the baby now curled like a bean in your arms.

He laughs, and it’s warm and real, like it hasn’t been heard in his apartment for a long time.

“So,” he says after a moment, still watching you like he can’t quite believe it. “Do you do this for all your neighbors or am I just lucky?”

You glance at him over Soojin’s soft head. “Only the ones who google ‘possessed baby’ at 3 a.m.”

“Damn,” he grins. “That narrows it down.”

“She probably felt you freaking out,” you say, keeping your voice low so you don’t wake the now peacefully sleeping Soojin. “Babies are weirdly psychic like that. You panic, they panic harder. It’s like emotional Wi-Fi.”

Seungcheol squints at you. “You’re telling me this tiny human was mirroring my mental breakdown?”

You nod. “Pretty much.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Well, that makes me feel both seen and judged by someone who can't even sit up by herself.”

“She is very advanced,” you say with mock seriousness. “Clearly an empath.”

He huffs a soft laugh and flops into the armchair across from you, legs sprawled, head tilted back. “You have one too?”

You glance down at Soojin, then back at him. “A baby? No. I just like them. And—lucky me—they like me back.”

He lifts his head and raises a brow. “That’s not fair. I made her. She should like me.”

“Maybe she’s still bitter about the eviction from the womb.”

He lets out a half-laugh, half-groan, like he’s not sure whether to be offended or impressed. “I’m never going to win an argument in this house, am I?”

“Not with her from the looks of it”

He tilts his head, giving you a look that’s part amused, part grateful. “Seriously, though… thank you. I didn’t realize how close I was to completely losing it tonight.”

You shrug, glancing down at Soojin’s soft lashes against her cheeks. “It’s okay. Everyone has their limit. Even sleep-deprived single dads who try to summon baby-calming magic via YouTube.”

He groans again. “Ugh, please don’t remind me.”

“No promises.”

Seungcheol smiles—really smiles this time. “Well… if you ever want to visit your favorite fan again…”

You glance up at him. “Are you saying I have visitation rights?”

“With Soojin? Definitely. With me… maybe. I’m still evaluating.”

“Rude.”

“Fair.”

You don’t say anything at first. Just watch him watching her.

Then, softly, “She looks just like you.”

His eyes flick to you.

You nod, gentle. “Same nose. Same shape of her eyes when she squints. I saw it the moment you opened the door.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, the sound laced with disbelief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling down at Soojin. “It’s a good face to grow into.”

He exhales, some of that pressure inside him loosening, like you handed him a valve to let the fear out slow. He rubs the back of his neck, looks down at the floor, then at his daughter again.

“I’m scared all the time,” he admits. He doesn't know why he's telling you this but it's too late to stop, “Like—I love her so much it physically hurts, but I keep wondering if that’s enough. If loving her this much makes up for everything I can’t give her yet.”

“You’re here,” you say. “You’re trying. You’re sleep-deprived, semi-malnourished, and your apartment smells like baby wipes and cold coffee. But you’re here. That already makes you better than a lot of people.”

“Also,” you add, “she fell asleep in like, two minutes. I’m pretty sure that means she’s happy and safe. Or she’s secretly plotting. Either way, you’re doing okay.”

“Thanks,” he says. “For everything tonight.”

You shrug one shoulder. “What are neighbors for, right?”

=

A knock at your door isn't unusual. Packages, random hallway noise, maybe the building ajumma making her rounds with gossip and kimchi. But this one is too soft to be a delivery guy and too polite to be a kid. You pause your Netflix episode and head over, peeking through the peephole.

It’s Seungcheol.

You open the door and he’s standing there in jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, one strap of Soojin’s diaper bag slipping off his shoulder. He looks a little frazzled, hair tousled like he ran his hand through it too many times.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “Sorry, are you busy?”

You glance behind him. Soojin is in his arms, blinking like she just woke up from a nap and hasn’t decided whether the world deserves her attention yet.

“Not really,” you say, brows raised. “Everything okay?”

He nods, shifting Soojin to his other arm. “Yeah—yeah, I just—look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really quick, but I have to run down to the ward office to drop off some paperwork. It’s boring, annoying, and they hate when babies scream through it.”

You smirk. “So you’re abandoning your child to avoid judgement.”

“Exactly,” he deadpans. “And you’re the only person she doesn’t seem to think is a demon in disguise.”

You hold out your hands automatically, and he hesitates just long enough to look guilty before gently placing Soojin in your arms. She blinks up at you like, Oh, it’s you. Okay, this is fine, then promptly grabs a fistful of your shirt.

“I’ll be gone maybe thirty, forty minutes tops,” he says, already half-turning like he doesn’t trust himself not to second-guess this. “I swear, if she cries, I owe you—like—coffee for a month. Or five years. Whatever’s fair.”

“She’ll be fine,” you assure him, bouncing her a little as she starts to hum her sleepy protest song. “Go do your boring adult things. We’ll be here, judging your outfit.”

He looks down at himself, frowns. “What’s wrong with my hoodie?”

“It’s giving ‘college sophomore in finals week.’”

He looks personally wounded. “Wow. Harsh from someone wearing pajama pants.”

“Bold of you to assume these are pajamas and not my formal lounging attire.”

He grins, then presses his palms together in a dramatic bow. “Gamsahamnida. You are a lifesaver.”

“Go, Seungcheol,” you say with mock severity, like you're kicking him out of your own house. “Before I charge you babysitting rates.”

“Noted,” he says, already backing down the hallway. “If she starts crying, play her that weird folk song you hummed the other night. She apparently likes that.”

You snort. “It’s not weird. It’s vintage. Now go.”

He disappears down the hallway, mumbling something about government forms and how adulthood is a scam. You close the door, look down at Soojin.

About an hour after Seungcheol left, someone knocked on your door again.

“She’s out,” you said.

Seungcheol blinks “Out?”

“Like a light,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “Didn’t even fight it. Just conked out mid-conversation with her carrot.”

He entered cautiously, peering over at the couch where Soojin lay snoozing like an angel, one sock halfway off her foot. His whole body went still for a second, like even his breathing slowed down.

“No way,” he muttered. “She never naps this easily. I have to do a whole routine. Like, bouncing, swaying, bribery, gentle pleading—”

You held up a hand. “To be fair, I did sing her an exclusive remix of ‘Arirang’ with some freestyle humming in between. It was Grammy-worthy.”

Seungcheol leaned down slightly, adjusting Soojin’s sock with that instinctive tenderness he probably didn’t even notice he had anymore. 

“You’re doing okay, you know,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, startled.

“I mean it,” you added. “You always look like you’re bracing for a storm, but… she’s happy. You’re doing okay.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I never know if I am.”

“You are.”

He nodded slowly, then straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Um. Thank you. Really. I owe you, like… a year’s supply of coffee or something.”

You grinned. “How about you start with dinner next time?”

He paused. Not in surprise but like he was waiting to make sure you really said what he thought you said.

“Dinner?” he repeated.

You leaned against the doorframe, casual. “Yeah. You bring the baby, I’ll bring dessert. Seems fair.”

“Deal,” he said.

“Why don’t we let her sleep?” you say, voice soft. “You want coffee?”

His head snaps toward you like you just offered him oxygen. “God, yes.”

You stifle a laugh. “Come on.”

You move to the kitchen and start pulling mugs from the shelf. Behind you, he hovers awkwardly for a second before cautiously lowering himself onto one of the kitchen chairs like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to sit down in someone else’s life yet.

You hand him a mug, fingers brushing his. “Cream and sugar?”

He stares at you for a second too long.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Just a little.”

You smirk as you fix it the way he asked, then slide it across the counter. “Look at you. Saying ‘just a little’ like you didn’t pour half the sugar jar into your coffee the other morning.”

He narrows his eyes over the rim of the mug. “I was sleep-deprived. I needed moral support in powdered form.”

You sit across from him with your own cup, resting your chin in your palm. “And here I thought you were this composed, competent, remote-working professional.”

He scoffs. “I am composed and competent. Most of the time. Except before 8 a.m. Or when Soojin decides sleep is for the weak.”

“So… most days,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. One that doesn’t look so tired now. You sip your coffee and let the quiet stretch a little, comfortable and warm.

“Thanks again,” he says after a moment. “For today. For—whatever magic you’ve got going on. I still don’t get it.”

You shrug. “She’s easy to love.”

There’s something in his face that flickers at that. like he’s trying not to show how much those words hit. His thumb taps against the side of the mug.

“She really is,” he says. “But… sometimes I forget that it’s okay to enjoy it. I’m so busy trying to keep up with everything, I think I forget to stop and—feel it.”

You lean back slightly, studying him. “Well. You’ve got backup now. Whether you want it or not.”

He settles more into the chair, like your words gave him permission to breathe a little deeper. The mug cradled in his hands, still warm, anchors him in the moment.

You glance toward the living room, then back at him. “You always wanted to be a dad?”

He hums, considering. “Yeah. I think so. Not like—I didn’t grow up dreaming of diaper bags and formula,” he says with a faint smile, “but… I always liked the idea. Being someone’s safe place.”

Your heart stirs a little at that. You hadn’t expected such a soft answer.

“And now that you are?” you ask, gently.

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head. “It’s like I got dropped in the middle of the ocean with floaties and a smile and they were like, ‘Good luck!’” He pauses, then adds, “But then she looks at me like I’m her entire world and suddenly I don’t mind drowning a little.”

You smile into your mug. “That’s… weirdly poetic for someone who wears socks with mismatched cartoon characters.”

He looks scandalized. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to when you wore Pororo and Iron Man.”

“Okay, but hear me out. Laundry day.”

“Sure,” you nod solemnly. “Blame the system.”

“What about you?” he asks after a moment. “No kids of your own, but you’re, like, terrifyingly good at it.”

You shrug, swirling your coffee. “I’ve always liked being around them. Babysat a lot. Volunteered at a daycare during uni. There’s something honest about babies, you know? They don’t pretend. If they like you, they like you. If they don’t, you know immediately.”

He grins. “So what you’re saying is, Soojin’s got good taste.”

“Exceptionally,” you deadpan. “Especially considering her father pairs Iron Man with penguins.”

You both laugh again, soft and low so you don’t wake the sleeping queen in the next room. 

“You know,” he says, almost shy, “I didn’t expect any of this. The neighbor thing. You, being... kind.”

You quirk a brow. “Kind? Is that what we’re calling basic human decency now?”

He gives you a look. “It’s different. Most people don’t know what to do with single dads. They either pity you or overstep.”

You nod, thoughtful. “I’m not here to fix anything. I just... like her. And you’re not exactly awful either.”

He chuckles. “High praise.”

You finish your coffee and set the mug down with a soft clink. “Besides, I figure anyone who handles a teething crisis without crying deserves at least a neighbor who makes decent coffee.”

“This is decent?” he teases, lifting his mug. “That’s all I get?”

You smirk. “I’m keeping ‘great’ in my back pocket. You have to earn it.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and smiles in that quiet, melting way he’s got. “Challenge accepted.”

=

It’s been a few days, but the rhythm is already familiar.

You’re coming home later than usual. Just as you hang up and juggle your keys, you hear it again. soft giggling, baby babble, and the unmistakable click of a stroller wheel bumping over the hallway tile.

You glance back and there they are. Seungcheol in a black cap and hoodie, pushing the stroller like he’s trying to look inconspicuous but failing because Soojin is loudly babbling and flapping her arms like she’s the mayor on parade.

“Caught you,” you say, smiling.

Seungcheol grins sheepishly. “We were trying to sneak back in.”

“Oh yeah? How’d that go for you?”

He peers down at Soojin, who grins up at you like she just told a great joke. “She’s terrible at stealth.”

Soojin kicks her feet in response and lets out a very enthusiastic raspberry.

He unlocks his door, gesturing you over. “You wanna come in? She’ll never forgive me if you don’t.”

You grin. “I could be convinced.”

A few minutes later, your groceries are in the fridge, and you’re sitting on his living room floor, legs crossed, feeding Soojin tiny bits of cut-up apple. She’s babbling nonsense and trying to grab the bowl, grinning like this is the best part of her day.

Seungcheol leans against the counter, arms crossed, just watching.

“She’s been in a mood lately,” he says. “But you walk in, and she turns into a cartoon sunflower.”

You glance over your shoulder. “She just knows good vibes.”

He smiles quietly. “You’ve got this… thing. With her. I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Charm,” you say matter-of-factly.

He snorts. “Dangerous charm.”

Seungcheol walks over, drops to the floor beside you, close enough that your knees brush. You both look down at Soojin, who is now focused on trying to fit her whole fist in her mouth.

“I never thought…” he starts, then stops, fidgeting with a baby spoon. “I mean, before she was born, I didn’t know if I’d be doing this alone. I had no idea how to be good at it and I’m still scared. All the time. Like if I mess up once, it’s over. For both of us.”

You reach out, brush your fingers gently against Soojin’s soft little hand.

“She’s happy,” you say. “She’s healthy. She feels loved. That means you’re already doing the most important part right.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Not just for this. For… showing up. For her. For me.”

You hold his gaze for a beat. “You don’t have to thank me. I like being here.”

He lets out a breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

He watches Soojin for a while, her small hands grasping at the last apple slice like it’s a national treasure. There’s a little silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just soft, shared air.

Then, without you asking, his voice comes low, careful.

“Her mom… left after she was born.”

You don’t move. You just listen.

“She—uh, she told me she wasn’t ready. For any of it. And I guess I knew. Deep down. We were already drifting, and then the pregnancy—it just pushed everything to the surface.”

He looks down at his hands, thumb rubbing at a small mark on his knee.

“I tried to hold things together for a while. Bought the crib. Took the classes. Thought maybe if I showed her I could do it, she’d change her mind. But after Soojin was born… it was just me.”

You feel something tighten in your chest.

“I signed the papers. Named her. She wasn’t even there. No message. No goodbye.” He pauses, blinking a little too fast. “And I didn’t know if I was angry or just… numb.”

He exhales slowly, the sound more of a release than a sigh.

“It’s weird. People always say they can’t imagine doing it alone. But you don’t really get the choice. You just… do it. You wake up. You feed her. You change her. You learn what each cry means. You hold her even when you’re falling apart. And the worst part is that sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. If one parent can really make up for the absence of another. If she’s gonna grow up and ask where her mom is and… and I’ll have to tell her.”

You reach over without thinking and gently lay your hand on his. He flinches slightly, not because he’s startled—but because it’s been a long time since someone touched him like that. Quietly. Kindly.

“You are enough,” you say, voice steady but soft. “She doesn’t need perfect. She needs you. And she’s got you.”

His eyes meet yours. There’s a shine there he doesn’t bother to hide this time.

Soojin lets out a tiny burp and promptly faceplants into her own lap, startling herself into a squeaky hiccup. You both look at her, then at each other—and laugh.

And just like that, the heaviness lifts. Not completely. But enough.

Enough to let the warmth back in.

Seungcheol leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His voice, when he speaks again, is quieter than before. Like he’s afraid saying it too loud might make it more real.

“I just don’t want her to grow up thinking she wasn’t wanted.”

You look at him, and something in your chest aches. He’s not just talking about Soojin now. He’s talking about himself too. About the fear that all his love won’t be enough to drown out the silence someone else left behind.

“She won’t,” you say softly, certain. “Not with you. Not with the way you look at her like she’s your whole world. Not with the way you know the exact rhythm that calms her down. Or the way you whisper to her when you think no one’s listening.”

He gives you a shaky little smile, eyes shining, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“She’ll know she was wanted,” you say again, firmer now. “Because you show her. Every single day.”

He nods slowly, like he's trying to believe you. Trying to let that truth settle somewhere in the spaces guilt has lived too long.

“When she was a newborn, she hated the crib. I used to hold her all the time even when my arms ached, her little cries broke me. It still does”

You smile, imagining a newborn Soojin and a sleep deprived Seungcheol, “Yeah well cribs don’t have a heartbeat, yours probably calmed her down”

And that statement stirs something in him. Seungcheol turns to you, something breaking open in his expression. Not sadness, exactly. Just… gratitude. Raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You squeeze his hand gently. “Anytime.”

=

It’s a slow, golden Saturday. You’ve got no plans today no errands, no calls, no responsibilities. Just you, your comfy clothes, and the peace of a rare free weekend. Meanwhile, right next door, Seungcheol is pacing his living room barefoot in a plain tee and gray joggers, Soojin perched in her bouncer like a tiny queen on a throne. 

He stops mid-pace, turns to her.

“Okay. Hear me out,” he says, pointing a spoon in her general direction. “We should go ask her.”

Soojin gurgles and kicks one leg.

“But like—not in a weird way,” he adds quickly, eyes wide like he’s already spiraling. “Just casually. Like, ‘Hey, what’s up, you doing anything? Wanna hang out with this delightful six-month-old and her semi-stressed dad?’ Totally normal.”

Soojin lets out a fart noise with her mouth and slaps the penguin.

“Exactly. See, you get it.”

He rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the door.

“But what if she’s got plans?” he mutters. “Like… what if she’s one of those mysterious types who secretly has a jam-packed social calendar. What if she’s got a date. A tall, charming, emotionally available—ugh. No, nope, not thinking about that.”

He turns back to Soojin, hands on hips.

“Okay, but what if she’s just chilling in there with snacks and no idea what to do with her Saturday? What if she wants someone to knock?”

Soojin makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a cough-sneeze-laugh hybrid and flings her penguin across the room.

“That’s a yes?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

She kicks both feet at once and squeals.

Seungcheol sighs dramatically. “Fine. If this crashes and burns, you’re going to daycare on Monday in mismatched socks out of spite.”

He walks to the mirror, runs a hand through his hair, then turns to Soojin. “Do I look casual? Like, ‘Hey, I just came over on instinct and not because I’ve been rehearsing what to say for the past fifteen minutes’ casual?”

Soojin lets out a loud raspberry, very pleased with herself.

He points at her. “Don’t sass me. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Finally, he scoops her up—socks and all—grabs a burp cloth (because he’s not a total amateur), and heads for the door.

“I swear, if she’s got company over and I walk in holding you like a prop, we’re moving apartments.”

Soojin gnaws on his collar, utterly unfazed. He sighs, shifts her in his arms, and knocks. Twice. Light. Hesitant.

Then waits.

And you, from the other side, put your book down, already smiling because somehow, you knew it would be them.

Seungcheol is standing there, Soojin on his hip with one sock off and the other one half-on, clinging to his collar like she owns the place. 

“Hey,” he says. Voice a touch too casual. “We were just… y’know. Wondering if you were around.”

“I am around,” you say, stepping aside. “And I see I’ve been summoned by royalty.”

“She insisted,” Seungcheol says, shifting her with a grin. “Practically bullied me into coming over.”

You raise a brow. “Ah. So this was her idea, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s the boss. I’m just the driver.”

Soojin lets out a burble and grabs your sleeve with sticky fingers like she’s making a legal claim.

“Well,” you say, gently taking her from his arms, “I’m honored to be chosen by her highness.”

You cradle her easily, bouncing her on your hip. “She smells like she’s recently made some… decisions,” you add, scrunching your nose playfully.

Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. “Oh no, did she—? Wait, really?”

You laugh. “Relax, she’s clean. I’m just messing with you.”

He exhales, clearly relieved. “Okay. Good. Because I forgot to bring the emergency diaper and I was not about to make a dramatic exit.”

You nod solemnly. “Wise. Nothing ruins a cool entrance like a diaper blowout.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway… I was just thinking, if you’re not busy today, maybe we could hang out? Or just… sit around and pretend we’re doing something productive?”

You smirk. “That sounds like exactly what I had planned.”

You motion toward your living room. “Come in. She can help me finish this coffee I forgot about an hour ago, and you can tell me what you’ve been pacing about for the last thirty minutes.”

He steps inside, mock offended. “Okay, how did you know I was pacing?”

You grin. “I didn’t but now I do”

A little while later, after Soojin had taken a tour of every object on your coffee table and spent a solid five minutes drooling purposefully on your shoulder, Seungcheol stands up with a stretch.

“I should probably grab her stuff—she’s gonna get hungry soon, and I didn’t bring anything except a bib and blind optimism.”

You snort. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort.”

He’s only gone for maybe five minutes before he reappears, slightly out of breath, carrying a small insulated bag and what looks like a pink spoon in his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles around the spoon before pulling it free. “She has this weird sixth sense about when I try to move fast and immediately decides to throw a crisis.”

You take the bag from him as he plops onto your floor with a sigh, Soojin perking up at the sound of the zipper being undone like she knows exactly what’s coming.

Seungcheol pulls out a small container of baby food and holds it up like it’s radioactive. “Just a warning. She hates this. Like, we’ve had full negotiations over a spoonful of this stuff.”

You laugh, settling on the rug with Soojin in front of you. “What is it?”

“Sweet potato banana something? It smells… unsettling.”

He hands you the spoon and the little jar like he’s surrendering it. “She usually swats it away. Or looks at me like I’ve betrayed her.”

You scoop a small amount onto the spoon, raising an eyebrow at Soojin. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, tiny critic.”

She blinks at you, eyes curious. You gently offer the spoon—and without hesitation, she opens her mouth and eats it. Chews. Swallows. And then opens her mouth again.

You glance at Seungcheol. “Um. That didn’t seem like a struggle.”

He looks absolutely gobsmacked. “What—wait—she ate it? Just like that?”

You nod, offering her another spoonful. She chomps happily.

Seungcheol stares, eyes wide. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer? What is going on?”

You shrug, trying not to laugh. “Maybe I just have really good snack energy.”

Seungcheol leans back against your couch, watching the scene like it’s defying all natural laws. “I swear, when I try, it’s like feeding a tiny, angry gremlin who knows martial arts.”

He watches you feed her another bite and he doesn't say anything at first but his face softens. Something gentle settles in his chest. And quietly, just to himself, he thinks, Maybe we needed her in our lives more than I realized.

Soojin is fully invested now—tiny mouth open, little hands waving in excited anticipation every time you bring the spoon near. At one point, she grabs at your wrist with surprising determination, trying to pull the food toward her faster, making a high-pitched whine that’s half-demand, half-excitement.

“She’s got a strong grip,” you laugh, letting her catch your fingers as you scoop up another bite. “She means business.”

He puts a hand dramatically over his heart. “Betrayed,” he says, deadpan. “By my own blood.”

“She didn’t even hesitate!” he says, sitting up straighter to look at Soojin like she’s done something treasonous. “All that effort I’ve put in—singing songs, dancing like a clown, inventing entire operas just to get her to eat half a spoon. And here she is, practically writing you a love letter for mashed bananas.”

Soojin responds by making a delighted little grunt and reaching for the spoon again with both fists.

You grin. “Don’t take it personally. Some of us just have snack-based chemistry.”

Seungcheol slumps theatrically against the couch. “This is how it starts. First the food. Then she’ll want you to read her bedtime stories. Then I’ll be voted off the island.”

You gently guide the spoon back into Soojin’s mouth, chuckling. “She’s just expanding her circle. You’re still the main character, Dad.”

“Barely,” he mutters, though there’s no real pout to it. He’s smiling—watching his daughter giggle and eat and look up at you like you hung the moon.

And yeah. He’s a little dramatic. But he’s also never been more relieved to be outshone.

It hits him. Not like a big, dramatic realization but like a slow, quiet bloom in the back of his mind, impossible to ignore. You laugh again, brushing a bit of puree off her chin, and Soojin squeals in response, delighted.

It’s almost daunting, how easy you are with her. How completely she adores you. How at home the two of you look like this.

And he tries—really tries—not to read too much into it.

But part of his brain… the part that’s been whispering louder every day lately… it won’t stop.

It’s saying: This is what it could look like. This is what it could feel like.

And it terrifies him.

Not because it’s bad but because it’s good. Because for the first time since Soojin was born, he’s seeing a picture he didn’t even let himself hope for.

A picture with someone in it.

Someone who isn’t just passing by in the hallway anymore. Someone who holds his daughter like she’s something precious. Someone who might be holding him too, in ways he hasn’t dared to admit.

You glance over your shoulder and catch him staring.

“Everything okay?” you ask, tone light.

He clears his throat, straightens a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, just… zoning out.”

You smile, not pressing. “Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us.”

You’re wiping Soojin’s hands with a wet tissue, cooing at her like you’ve got all the time in the world, even though she keeps squirming and trying to eat the wipe instead. You’ve got that calm, unbothered rhythm to your movements, like nothing this baby could do would surprise or overwhelm you. Like she’s yours.

You glance over. “You good?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just thinking…”

Finally, he exhales. “The weather’s… really nice today.”

You nod slowly, smiling. “That it is.”

He looks at you a little longer, then finally goes, “Do you… wanna grab lunch? Like, out? I mean—if you don’t have plans. Which, if you do, that’s totally fine, I just thought it's too bad to waste a good day”

“I don’t have plans,” you interrupt gently, amused. “Lunch sounds good.”

“Yeah?” His eyes brighten a little.

“Yeah,” you say again, bouncing Soojin a bit. “And I think our third wheel here is already dressed for the occasion.”

Soojin squeals like she agrees wholeheartedly, flapping her arms and narrowly missing your chin.

A few minutes later, you’re all out the door. The spring air feels fresh on your face, the streets buzzing with quiet weekend energy. You walk side by side, Soojin tucked against Seungcheol in her little carrier, her head bobbing gently as he walks. 

Every now and then she lets out a content sigh or babble, and he automatically adjusts the shade over her face, so used to moving with her now it’s like second nature.

And then he speaks, a little hesitant.

“I’m not, uh…” He clears his throat. “I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes, right?”

You glance at him, brows slightly lifted.

“No jealous boyfriend about to appear out of nowhere and beat me with a stroller or something?”

You burst out laughing. “Wow. That was oddly specific.”

“I’ve seen things,” he deadpans. “This is Seoul.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “No boyfriend. No jealous ex. No one waiting in the wings.”

He hums, eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “Okay. Just had to check.”

You glance at him again, slower this time. “Why? You nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, hand resting instinctively on Soojin’s back. “You… You’ve been really kind. And easy to talk to. And Soojin loves you, obviously. I didn’t want to assume anything. Or make you uncomfortable.”

You look ahead, thoughtful, before replying softly, “You didn’t assume anything. You asked.”

He meets your eyes then, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it that way. And maybe he didn’t know how much he needed to hear that.

The place Seungcheol picks is tucked on a quiet street corner—one of those old-school Korean restaurants with handwritten menu signs taped to the walls, it’s cozy, worn in a way that feels like a warm hug.

The owner, a sprightly woman in her late sixties with cropped hair and a floral apron, greets you all with a wide smile as you step in.

“Omo, what a cutie!” she says, eyes immediately landing on Soojin nestled in Seungcheol’s carrier. “Look at those cheeks. Aigoo, she’s a living doll!”

Soojin blinks at her, wide-eyed and curious, then lets out a delighted sound that has the woman absolutely beaming.

She waves you toward a table by the window, already reaching for menus. “Sit, sit! This one’s good with the sunlight for the baby.”

You thank her, and Seungcheol gently shifts Soojin out of the carrier and into his lap while you take the seat across from them. The owner returns with water and leans slightly closer, eyes dancing between the three of you. Then she claps her hands once.

“Aigoo—what a beautiful family.”

You pause mid-sip. Seungcheol blinks.

“Oh—uh—” he starts, fumbling a little.

“We’re not—” you add, just as quickly.

But the owner just waves you both off with a cheeky grin, already scribbling something on her notepad. “Ah, I see, I see,” she says, in the tone of someone who does not see but is choosing delusion. “No need to be shy. Young parents these days, so stylish. Such a pretty mama and a handsome papa. And this baby—so healthy!”

Soojin gurgles right on cue, smacking the table with glee. Seungcheol opens his mouth again, clearly gearing up to correct her.

But then you just smile and say, “Thank you.”

The owner beams. “I’ll bring you something nice, service. For the baby, okay? Don’t worry, it’s all soft. Very gentle for little tummies.”

And just like that, she disappears into the kitchen.

Seungcheol looks down at Soojin, who is currently grabbing for the side of his sleeve with one hand and trying to eat the air with her mouth slightly open.

He chuckles. “Well. That happened.”

You lean back. “She meant well.”

“Sure. Though now we’re officially a stylish young couple with a baby.”

“Hey, I’ll take ‘stylish.’”

Then, quieter: “You handled that well.”

You smile, reaching across the table to nudge Soojin’s tiny hand. “I don’t mind being mistaken for your family.”

His eyes catch yours for a moment. And he doesn't say anything right away.

But the silence between you?

It feels like an answer he isn’t quite ready to say out loud.

The table fills slowly with food—banchan dishes placed with practiced ease, two bubbling pots of jjigae, warm bowls of rice. 

“She really thinks we’re a thing,” Seungcheol says under his breath, amused, as the woman disappears again behind the swinging kitchen door.

You lift your spoon and glance up. “You sound like you mind.”

He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it. “No,” he says after a second. “Not really.”

You nod, smile into your rice, and don’t push.

Soojin sits in her little portable chair between you, supported by pillows and mostly fascinated by a plastic spoon she’s been chewing on for ten straight minutes. Occasionally, she lets out a delighted squawk, causing you or Seungcheol to look over instinctively, like clockwork. He wipes her chin. You fix the corner of her bib. Neither of you comment on how easily it all flows.

“So,” you say between bites, ���what does stylish dad do when he’s not being mistaken for my husband?”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Work. Meetings. More work. And then about sixteen loads of laundry.”

“Ah, a man of many hats.”

“Too many. I swear, I didn’t even own this many burp cloths before she was born. I don’t know where they come from. They multiply.”

You laugh, “Like gremlins?”

“Exactly. Feed them formula after midnight and bam twelve more burp cloths in the drawer.”

You both burst into quiet laughter while Soojin slaps the table enthusiastically, completely unaware of the comedy unfolding around her.

He doesn’t date. Hasn’t even thought about dating. He’s a single dad with enough on his plate to feed a small village. But sitting here, with you across the table and Soojin babbling between you like she belongs to both of you—it feels suspiciously close to something he used to want.

Something he wasn’t sure he’d get.

When lunch wraps up, the owner insists on taking a photo of “the beautiful family.”

You start to protest, but Seungcheol just laughs and waves you into the frame. You lean in beside him without hesitation, Soojin in his arms, her head flopping slightly against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Click.

And just like that, there’s a photo of the three of you now.

Later, he won’t be able to stop looking at it.

=

You juggle your keys, your takeout bag, you hadn’t planned to stop by anywhere but the moment they handed you an extra set of banchan and grilled fish at the restaurant, something tugged at you.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was… him.

You pause in front of Seungcheol’s door, free hand raised to knock. You think you hear faint music something mellow, like a playlist for winding down.

You knock twice. Then the door opens.

Seungcheol blinks at you, hair slightly mussed like he’s run a hand through it more than once. 

“Hey,” you say, lifting the bag. “I accidentally ended up with enough food for two. Felt like a waste to eat alone.”

“She’s still with the sitter,” he says, stepping back to let you in. “I had some work I needed to wrap up tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, kicking off your shoes and stepping in. “So it’s just you?”

He smirks faintly. “Just me.”

“Well,” you grin, “lucky me.”

He lets out a soft, honest laugh at that and you both settle at his small dining table, where he quickly clears a stack of papers and a nearly empty coffee mug to make room.

You open the containers and start unpacking, setting up the rice, the kimchi, the fish, the spicy radish.

“You didn’t have to,” he says.

“I wanted to.” You glance up at him. 

He watches you move the plates around like it’s your table too—like this isn’t the first time. Like it won’t be the last. The food steams gently between you, the air filling with the familiar comfort of grilled sesame and garlic.

You glance at him. “You okay? You look like you’ve been thinking too much again.”

He leans back slightly in his chair. “Yeah. I just…” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s quiet without her. That’s all.”

“Lonely kind of quiet?” you ask, soft.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. That kind.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just pick up your chopsticks and slide one of the containers closer to him.

“Well,” you say gently, “for tonight, you don’t have to eat in the quiet.”

He looks at you like you’ve said something bigger than what you meant—something that echoes a little too close to a wish he hadn’t allowed himself to name yet.

But instead of running from it, he says, “Then stay a while?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

And as the night eases in around you both, laughter slipping through conversations, the space between you doesn’t feel quite so quiet anymore.

The food dwindles slowly, not because you’re eating slow but because the conversation keeps veering—sideways, up, spiraling through nonsense. 

You learn that Seungcheol is deeply opinionated about how jjigae should be spiced, and that he once accidentally deleted an entire quarterly report because Soojin spit up on his keyboard mid-call.

You nearly choke on rice at that one.

“She projectiled,” he says, completely deadpan, “like something out of an exorcism.”

“Why do I feel like you weren’t this funny when we passed in the hallway before?” you tease.

“Because I wasn’t,” he admits, sheepishly. “I think I was trying not to fall asleep standing up.”

It’s adorable, the way he trips over his own words. Like he’s still not used to speaking freely, like he’s trying to find a version of himself that doesn’t second-guess everything he says around you.

You pretend not to notice his ears tint pink.

Eventually, when the table’s cluttered with empty containers and chopsticks, you help him clean up. He tries to wave you off—“You’re the guest, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving you with this war zone.”

Somehow it turns into a dance of bumping elbows and nearly dropping the dish soap. He’s holding a wet bowl when your hand accidentally brushes his under the faucet.

He freezes. Just a second. But you catch it.

“I don’t bite,” you murmur with a teasing smile.

“Y-yeah,” he says, eyes flicking away like the faucet is suddenly fascinating. “I know.”

When the last bowl is drying on the rack, you both end up just… standing there. Side by side. Not saying much.

He glances at the clock. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you say, but you don’t move right away.

He shifts his weight, rubs the back of his neck again. “Thanks. For coming over. For the food. And just… being around.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised in gentle teasing. “Why do you always sound like you’re giving an acceptance speech when you say nice things?”

“I—” He laughs, low and helpless. “I’m rusty, okay? I haven’t had adult conversations that didn’t involve pacifiers in like, months.”

You smile. “You’re doing fine.”

You step out into the hallway, then turn, glancing at him again.

“You know,” you say, “if you’re free tomorrow… you could come over for dinner. Just you. I mean unless you’ll miss the spit-up too much.”

That earns a real laugh. A shy, surprised one.

“I’ll try to survive,” he says, his hand braced against the doorframe, like he’s not sure if he should lean in or keep his distance.

You grin, backing away. “Then it’s a date.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, is it—?”

But the door’s already closing behind you. He stands there for a good thirty seconds, blinking at the wood grain.

“…A date?” he mutters to himself.

Then smiles, just a little.

Definitely doomed.

The next day Seungcheol adjusts Soojin’s little headband as they walk up to the sitter’s door, her soft babbling filling the air between them.

“Okay, I know we’ve been over this,” he says, one arm holding her close, the other fumbling for the doorbell, “but let me just say for the record—she was the one who said this is a date”

Soojin blows a raspberry.

“Exactly,” he nods. “You get it.”

“It’s just dinner. Two adults. Eating. No pressure. Just… food. With a neighbor. Who laughs at my jokes. And smells really nice. And always has that soft, glowy thing going on with you that kind of makes my brain forget how breathing works sometimes.”

Soojin lets out a coo and smacks her tiny hand on his chest.

“I know,” he sighs. “I sound like an idiot. You don’t have to rub it in.”

The door opens and the sitter beams, reaching for Soojin with practiced ease. She goes willingly—of course she does—and Seungcheol hesitates for half a second before letting go.

“Be good, okay?” he tells her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “And if I don’t make it back, tell her it was the grilled mackerel that got me.”

The sitter chuckles. “You’re being dramatic again, Mr. Choi.”

But even as he walks away, trying to play it cool, he’s hyperaware of everything.

He groans softly. “I should’ve brought Soojin. She’s a good buffer.”

But it’s too late now. 

He adjusts his collar one last time. Then knocks. This time, he's the one holding his breath.

You open the door with that familiar easy smile. Your hair’s tied back in that half-messy way that makes you look both totally relaxed and somehow unfairly gorgeous. 

Seungcheol forgets what planet he’s on for a second.

“Hey,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re just in time. I was about to taste test and pretend I knew what I was doing.”

He walks in like a man trying not to trip over his own shoelaces. “You cook and downplay your skills? What don’t you do?”

You raise a brow as you shut the door behind him. “Flatter people at the door like a drama lead.”

He clears his throat and tries to sound normal. “So… Soojin said she’d cover for me if I don’t survive this.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over your shoulder. “And what does survival entail exactly? You afraid I’m gonna poison you?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll like it too much and then embarrass myself asking for seconds before the rice is even done.”

You snort. “Wow. That’s dramatic.”

“I know. I was practicing in the mirror earlier.”

You pause at that, turn to face him, spoon still in hand. “Wait, what?”

He freezes. Blinks. Regrets everything.

“I mean—not seriously, I wasn’t like—practicing lines or anything. I just—I was…” He trails off and finally throws his hands in the air with a sheepish laugh. “You know what? Yeah. Mirror. Full speech. There was pacing involved. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

You break into a laugh that makes him feel like he just passed some kind of secret test. “Well, now I have to impress you. I can’t let that rehearsal go to waste.”

He watches you lift the lid off a pot, steam rising in fragrant clouds, and swears the apartment smells like something from his childhood—warm, familiar, comforting.

“You okay?” you ask, looking at him again, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” he says, hands shoved in his pockets, that same shy smile tugging at his lips. “This is… nice.”

You tilt your head. “It’s just dinner.”

You turn back to the stove, giving the stew one last stir, but your smile doesn’t fade and Seungcheol sees it. He sees how the corner of your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to grin. Like maybe he’s not the only one feeling this.

“You want to try it?” you ask, ladling a bit into a small bowl. “I need an honest review.”

“Sure, but if I say it’s good, you’ll think I’m just trying to impress you.”

“You are trying to impress me,” you say without missing a beat.

He freezes halfway to the bowl and laughs, quietly. “Wow. Okay. You’re terrifying.”

You hand him a spoon. “Eat, coward.”

He takes the spoon, eyes still on you as he tries it. Then closes his eyes. Groans. “Okay. Okay, see—now I can’t be cool about this. This is actual comfort food. Like, soul-restoring, existential-clarity food.”

You raise a brow. “Is this the speech you practiced in the mirror?”

He points the spoon at you. “You wish it was this polished.”

You both laugh again, that easy rhythm building between you like it’s always been there, waiting.

As you finish prepping, he helps without asking. Dinner is soft and familiar. Seungcheol tells you about the time Soojin tried to eat a remote control with the most serious face he’s ever seen. 

When everything’s finally done and the dishes are stacked neatly in the sink, you both end up on the couch without really saying anything about it. You sit with your legs tucked under you. He leans back, elbows on his knees. Close. Not too close.

“I had fun,” you say first, voice quiet now, softer under the buzz of the kitchen light.

He nods. “Me too.”

Then a pause. Not awkward. Not rushed. He turns his head toward you slowly, like even this moment is something he doesn’t want to break by moving too fast.

“I wasn’t really expecting tonight to feel like this,” he admits.

You look over. “Like what?”

He shrugs, but his voice is warm. “Like the part of the day I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

“You’re kind of a softie, huh?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands. “Don’t call me out like this.”

You laugh. “Too late.”

And when he lifts his head again, there’s color on his cheeks, that same bashful smile tugging at his lips—but this time, it stays. For a while, you don’t talk. You just sit. Close. Quiet. Like neither of you is quite ready for the night to end.

“So… uh,” he starts, clearing his throat once, then twice. “Soojin and I… we’re—uh—we were gonna go to the aquarium. This weekend.”

You raise your brows, curious. “Yeah?”

He nods. Doesn’t look at you. Just at his sleeve. “Yeah. Just… thought it’d be good. For her. Well—for me too. Kind of our first, like, out-out trip, y’know? Outside the baby bag radius.”

You smile, head tilting. “That’s really cute.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. Yeah. So…”

He trails off. You wait. Then he blurts it all in one go: “If you wanted to come too I mean I thought maybe you’d like it but it’s totally fine if you’re busy or if you hate fish or—”

“Seungcheol.”

He stops. Freezes like he’s been caught in a lie. You’re smiling again. That calm, steady kind that says you’ve got all the time in the world to wait out his nervous spiral.

You lean forward slightly. “I’d love to come.”

His eyes snap up to yours, wide like he wasn’t expecting that answer to be real.

“Yeah?” he says, voice too hopeful, too soft.

“Yeah,” you say, easy. “I mean, how could I say no to Soojin? She’s clearly the boss.”

He laughs, the tension finally breaking a little in his shoulders. “She is. Completely. I’ve accepted it.”

“Good,” you grin. “So… Saturday?”

“Yeah. Saturday.” He looks like he’s mentally adding that to five different lists. “Cool. Cool, cool cool…”

You squint. “You’re going to overthink this the whole week, aren’t you?”

“Only absolutely,” he says without missing a beat.

But he’s smiling. Really smiling now. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things might actually be moving toward something better than just figuring it out day by day.

Saturday comes. You're locking your door when you hear the soft wheels of a stroller squeaking down the hallway. You turn just in time to see Seungcheol pushing Soojin toward you. Her little legs are kicking excitedly, hands flailing the second she sees you.

“She’s been doing that since we left the apartment,” Seungcheol says, breathless like he jogged here, “which is either a good sign or she thinks you have snacks again.”

You laugh, crouching to greet her. “Hi, boss lady. Ready for some fishy business?”

Soojin squeals like she understood every word.

Seungcheol grins at the both of you, adjusting the strap on the diaper bag. 

“You look nice,” you say as you stand.

He straightens. “Thanks. You too.”

Then he immediately adds, “I mean, you always do, but—uh—not that I’ve been paying attention like in a weird way, just—you know, normal neighbor-level noticing.”

You snort and start walking. “You rehearsed this too?”

“Absolutely,” he mutters.

The ride is full of soft Soojin giggles and your laughter overlapping with his quiet commentary. She grabs your fingers like they belong to her now, and when Seungcheol tries to reclaim her attention with a pacifier, she practically bats it away in protest.

By the time you get to the aquarium, it’s late morning and the crowds are still manageable. The moment you step inside Soojin goes completely still in her stroller as the first tank glows to life with swirls of orange fish. Her mouth falls open.

“Oh no,” Seungcheol whispers. “She’s about to have a spiritual awakening.”

The two of you take turns pushing the stroller, stopping often so Soojin can smack her little hands against the glass. At one point, a stingray glides by, and she lets out a tiny gasp so dramatic that a passing toddler actually applauds.

Seungcheol leans down next to her. “That’s right, baby girl. Get your nature documentary moment.”

You can’t stop laughing. “She needs her own voiceover.”

He shrugs, then adopts a deep narrator voice. “Here, the wild Soojin discovers her first sea cucumber. She is—”

“Absolutely unimpressed,” you finish, pointing at Soojin’s deadpan expression.

Lunch is simple convenience store kimbap on a bench outside, the stroller parked beside you, Soojin chewing on a toy like it wronged her in a past life. Seungcheol offers you half of his triangle kimbap without a second thought. You don’t even hesitate to take it.

“This was really nice,” you say after a moment. “I mean it. Thanks for inviting me.”

He glances at you, then at Soojin, then quickly away again. “Yeah. I—uh. I’m glad you came.”

After lunch, with the sun warm and steady above, you glance down at Soojin in her stroller. She’s got her tiny fists outstretched like she’s summoning someone, and that someone is clearly you.

You kneel beside her with a soft smile. “You wanna see the fish up close, huh?”

She squeals, arms waving dramatically now, little feet kicking like this is the most urgent request in the world.

Seungcheol stands nearby, halfway through packing up the leftover wrappers into a bag. “You don’t have to, she gets heavy—”

You’re already scooping her up, one arm cradled under her legs, the other behind her back like it’s second nature. “I think I can manage a very powerful six-month-old.”

Back inside, Soojin’s wide-eyed and alert, tiny hands reaching for the glass every time something colorful swims by. You walk slowly, giving her time at every tank, while Seungcheol trails beside you, hands occasionally brushing yours as you both lean in close to point something out to her.

The three of you moved deeper into the aquarium, into a quieter exhibit tucked in a corner where the lights were lower and the tanks stretched high like glass walls, casting slow, rippling reflections across the floor. 

You let out a quiet, awed, “Oh—look at that,” and without thinking, your hand reached out.

You grabbed his hand. The free one. Your fingers wrapped around his instinctively, tugging gently as you stepped closer to the tank, pointing upward toward the shimmering dance above you.

“Look how they move all at once—like they’re connected,” you said, voice soft.

It took a second. A full second before you realized your fingers were still around his. Still holding him. Still warm and unhurried. Your eyes flicked down—then up—to see him already looking at you, his face unreadable for a beat too long. Not surprised, exactly. Not alarmed.

Just still.

You opened your mouth to say something—maybe apologize, maybe pull away—but then he shifted his hand.

Not to let go.

His fingers curled around yours. Gentle, a little unsure, but steady. And when your gaze met his again, there was a quietness there. Something real. Something that settled between you both, subtle but unmistakable.

Soojin shifted slightly in his arms, murmuring a half-asleep sound, and he gave her a gentle bounce as his thumb brushed against the side of your hand.

Neither of you said anything more. Not because there was nothing to say, but because for the first time words didn’t seem necessary at all.

The next few days blurred into something soft.

It started with small things.

You’d stopped knocking when you came over. Seungcheol had said once, “Just come in,” and you had. 

One afternoon, you were helping fold laundry on his couch. Soojin was on the floor, busy gnawing on a teether, occasionally babbling up at you like she was chiming in. You tossed a baby sock at Seungcheol’s face. He caught it mid-air, mock-offended.

“That’s assault,” he said, tone flat but lips twitching.

“You missed a fold,” you replied, pointing at a tiny shirt he’d lazily half-folded.

“Why do baby clothes even need folding? They’re this big,” he said, holding up a onesie with both hands, then tossing it dramatically into the basket.

You laughed, and the sound made him glance over. You were grinning, hair falling a little into your face, and something about the sight made his heart do a slow, inconvenient flip.

You didn’t notice it Or maybe you did.

Another night, you both ended up cooking dinner together. His kitchen now seemingly half-stocked with things you liked. It wasn’t planned. You were there, Soojin was asleep early, and somehow your hands were brushing while reaching for the same spice jar. Again.

He paused when your fingers touched. You didn’t move either.

Then you looked at him and said, softly, “You always hesitate.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Hesitate?”

You leaned in just a little, eyes steady. “Like when you’re about to say something but stop yourself.”

He went very still. Then looked away, mumbling, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You didn’t push. Just smiled, gentle. “You’re not.”

Later that night, you were on the couch again. Soojin had fallen asleep in your arms mid-bottle, and you didn’t want to move her, so Seungcheol had passed you a blanket, then sat beside you again without a word.

His arm brushed yours. You didn’t move away.

In fact, you leaned into it.

And he let his shoulder rest against yours, hesitant at first. Then, gradually, comfortably, as the silence stretched and the tension thickened like a thread being pulled tighter.

Neither of you spoke.

Because maybe that silence said everything.

Because maybe you both already knew.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light left on behind you. Soojin was curled up against your chest, utterly knocked out, her soft breaths rising and falling with yours. 

Seungcheol was beside you, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hand was on the back of the couch, just behind your head, and every now and then, his knee would brush yours.

You chuckled quietly, so soft you felt it more than heard it.

He turned his head. “What?”

You looked at him, and your smile deepened, eyes amused. “You’re too easy to fluster.”

His lips parted like he had something to say but nothing came out. His brows lifted slightly, cheeks dusted pink in the low light.

“I am not,” he muttered, clearly flustered.

You let out another quiet laugh. “You so are.”

He shook his head, a hand running through his hair. “You’re the one who says things like that and then looks at me like… like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, tilting your head.

He groaned under his breath. “Like you’re not even trying to kill me but somehow you are.”

You paused.

And then, softer, your voice barely above a whisper, “You don’t know how my heart literally jumps when I see you.”

The words settled between you, unhurried, delicate but powerful.

Seungcheol’s eyes met yours.

There was a beat.

Then another.

He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” he said, voice low and uneven.

“I can’t?” you teased gently, lips twitching.

“Not when we’re like this,” he said, nodding slightly to Soojin nestled on your chest. “And it’s late. And you’re… here. And you say something like that.”

Eventually, you leaned your head back against the couch cushion, still holding Soojin close, and murmured, “Maybe it’s okay, though.”

Seungcheol turned to you slowly. “What is?”

You glanced at him. A tiny, knowing smile on your lips. “Letting it happen.”

The next morning, you found a coffee waiting for you outside your door. A simple sticky note pressed to the lid with his messy handwriting: 

Thought you might need this. You always look too good to be that tired. - SC

You grinned the whole time you drank it.

One evening, you were helping him put Soojin to bed, your voice low and soft as you read aloud from a worn picture book. Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching.

Later, in the kitchen, as the night settled into quiet again, you rinsed out Soojin’s bottle while he dried dishes beside you. Your shoulders brushed once. Then again.

And this time, he reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You paused, looked at him, caught that flash of hesitation in his eyes, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like that.

“You’re getting bold, Choi Seungcheol,” you teased gently.

His lips quirked. “Trying,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “Is it working?”

You set the bottle down, turned slightly to face him. “It’s cute,” you said, voice soft. “You’re cute.”

And just like that, the boldness flickered. His eyes widened a bit, and he ducked his head with a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Ah, don’t say it like that. I’m gonna combust.”

You stepped closer, your hand brushing his.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, his fingers slipped between yours still a little shy, but deliberate now. Steady.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re kind of the highlight of my day.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

And smiled that slow, sincere smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah?” he said softly.

“Yeah.”

You just looked at him, heart stuttering, and then leaned in without a word, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He blinked. The tips of his ears flushed red. “You—okay. That’s fine. Cool. Totally fine.”

“You’re flustered again,” you teased, grinning.

“You kissed me!”

“Not even on the mouth.”

“You kissed me,” he repeated, dazed but smiling.

And then, because it was him, he cleared his throat and offered his cheek again.

“…Just in case it was a fluke,” he muttered.

So you kissed him again longer this time. And he didn’t say a word after but his hand found yours, and he didn’t let go this time. You smiled, the kind of smile that crept all the way into your eyes and without a word, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around him.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong—but a little fast. Like yours.

“I’m not very good at this,” he murmured, voice low near your ear.

You hugged him tighter, your cheek resting against his collarbone. “You’re doing better than you think.”

His voice came quieter this time, barely above a whisper, “I really like you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your smile still there, softer now. “I know.”

His brows lifted, surprised. “You do?”

You nodded. “I really like you too, you know.”

His mouth opened a little like he was ready to say something but then he just smiled. He leaned in, forehead pressing gently to yours. “I think I’m gonna keep falling for you,” he whispered.

“Good,” you whispered back.

=

The apartment was quiet again, warm in the late afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains. 

Seungcheol was in the kitchen, rinsing out Soojin’s sippy cup and tossing a few snack wrappers into the bin. He didn’t even really need to clean, he just needed to do something because otherwise his heart might start sprinting again just from thinking about how easily you laughed earlier.

When he stepped out to check on you two, a dish towel still slung over his shoulder, he froze.

There you were.

Curled into the corner of the couch, Soojin nestled securely in your arms, her tiny hand fisted in your shirt, both of you deep in sleep.

Your head had tipped slightly to the side, mouth parted, hair a little tousled from the nap. Soojin was using you like a personal pillow, her cheek pressed to your chest, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

And just like that—like a switch flipping in his chest—Seungcheol knew.

It wasn’t a crush.  It wasn’t just appreciation. He wasn’t just touched that you loved his daughter.

He was in it. In deep.

There was something terrifying and sacred about the way the two people he cared about most looked so safe with each other. About how he didn’t want this to be a moment—he wanted it to be a life.

Eventually, he moved quietly, grabbing the folded blanket from the armrest and gently draping it over the two of you.

You stirred slightly, shifting, and your eyes fluttered halfway open. You looked up at him blearily, smile lazy and content.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hey,” he said just as softly.

You didn’t even move to get up, just adjusted your arms around Soojin and let your eyes fall shut again, trusting him to take care of whatever needed doing.

Later that evening, Seungcheol stood just outside a convenience store, phone pressed to his ear, one hand buried in his coat pocket as he stared out at the quiet street. The light above him buzzed faintly, the sky overhead dimming into early night.

“Hyung?” came Jihoon’s voice on the other end. “You okay?”

“I need to drink,” Seungcheol said flatly.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Like, now?”

“Now,” he confirmed.

“Did something happen?” That was Soonyoung chiming in now, voice already laced with concern and that slightly chaotic energy Seungcheol expected.

“I left Soojin with the sitter. Just come meet me. That fried chicken place near the station.”

Another silence.

Then Wonwoo’s voice, casual but amused: “You sound like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“I might as well have,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ten minutes later, the guys showed up, filing into the booth around him. Beers clinked onto the table. Chicken arrived. And then the staring started.

Seungcheol just slumped in the booth, arms crossed, beer untouched.

“…Okay, spill it,” Jihoon said. “You didn’t call us out here just to eat.”

Seungcheol looked at them, defeated. “I think I’m in love.”

Soonyoung nearly choked on a fry. “Wait—what?”

“With your neighbor?” Wonwoo asked, already grinning.

“She fell asleep on my couch holding Soojin like—like it was nothing. Like she’s always been there. Like we’re…” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I am so done.”

The table fell into chaotic laughter.

“I knew something was up!” Soonyoung exclaimed. “You’ve been all weird and fluttery for weeks!”

“I haven’t been fluttery,” Seungcheol mumbled.

“Bro, you giggled last time she texted you,” Jihoon deadpanned.

“Okay, maybe I giggled—”

“This is good, though, right?” Wonwoo leaned forward. “I mean… she’s great with Soojin. You like her. She likes you.”

“That’s the thing,” Seungcheol said, staring at the beer bottle. “It’s too easy. Too good. I keep waiting to mess it up. Or for her to realize I come with a lot more chaos than most people want.”

“But she already sees that,” Jihoon pointed out. “And she hasn’t gone anywhere.”

Seungcheol paused. Thought about you, smiling sleepily at him from his couch just hours ago.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “She hasn’t.”

“But like—what if it doesn’t work? I mean, she’s—she’s calm and smart and funny and actually sleeps more than three hours a night. And I’m over here talking to my ten-month-old about whether I’m embarrassing myself!”

“Didn’t you just say it was good?” Soonyoung blinked.

“I did, but that was ten minutes ago when I was delusional and riding the high of a nap scene from a drama,” Seungcheol groaned. “Now I’m thinking about the reality of it.”

He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth like that would fix it, then talked around it.

“I mean, look at me. I’ve got formula in half my clothes, I haven’t gone on a proper date in more than a year, and my idea of romance is asking someone if they want to share baby wipes. That’s not attractive. That’s functional despair.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “Functional despair sounds like a great band name.”

“I’m being serious,” Seungcheol said, waving his chopsticks. “She deserves someone who’s not already drowning in dad mode. Someone who doesn’t have to pause kisses to check if the baby monitor blinked.”

“So don’t kiss near the baby monitor?” Jihoon offered unhelpfully, popping a fry in his mouth.

Seungcheol ignored him and ran a hand through his hair, “What if I fall harder and then she decides she can’t do this? Or worse, what if Soojin gets attached and then she leaves? That’ll wreck both of us.”

“Or,” Wonwoo said slowly, “she stays. Because she already cares. You’re kind of freaking out about something that hasn’t even started.”

“I’m pre-freaking,” Seungcheol corrected. “It’s like damage control but emotional.”

Soonyoung stared at him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “And I don’t like it.”

“You’re so gone it’s almost poetic,” Jihoon muttered.

Seungcheol groaned and dropped his forehead to the table. “I hate how much I like her.”

And underneath all their laughter, the teasing and snark, none of them missed the truth in his voice.

Wonwoo leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “Do you though?”

Seungcheol lifted his head slowly, hair slightly flattened from where it had been pressed. “Do I what?”

“Hate how much you like her.”

Seungcheol sighed, finally leaning back in the booth. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t. That’s the problem.”

Jihoon smirked. “You poor sap.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Wait until she actually kisses you. Your brain’s going to short circuit.”

“If she kisses me,” Seungcheol stressed. “I’m still not even sure I’m not imagining half of this. What if I’m misreading things? What if she’s just naturally sweet and I’ve been out of the game so long I’m confusing basic kindness with affection?”

“Okay first of all,” Jihoon said, “you’re not imagining it. Remember when you said she called Soojin her girl once. Like, ‘where’s my girl?’ You don’t ‘my girl’ someone else’s baby unless you’re all in.”

“Exactly,” Wonwoo said, raising his glass. “You're not doomed. You're just deeply, ridiculously smitten. Congratulations.”

Seungcheol let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and picked up his beer.

“Yeah,” he said, staring at the glass. “I really, really am.”

He stood there, keys in hand, swaying just slightly not from alcohol, really, but from overthinking. The hallway was quiet, dim, the kind of silence that made every thought echo a little louder in his head.

His fingers hovered over your door, not quite ready to knock.

He sighed and leaned his shoulder against the frame, muttering to himself, “She’s probably asleep. Or busy. Or—”

Click.

The door swung open, and there you were, hair a little tousled like you'd just gotten comfortable, holding a half-full mug and blinking in surprise.

“Oh—hey,” you said, a little smile tugging at your lips. “Were you about to knock?”

Seungcheol froze like you’d caught him sneaking candy from a jar. “I—uh. Maybe. I wasn’t sure if—uh—hi.”

You leaned on the frame too, mirroring his posture. “Hi.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but your eyes. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I was just… standing. Near your door. For no suspicious reason.”

“Completely normal,” you deadpanned, but the soft laugh in your voice made his shoulders relax.

“I was with the guys,” he explained. “Had a drink. Nothing wild. No one danced on tables.”

“Disappointed in you, honestly,” you teased, stepping back slightly. “You wanna come in?”

He blinked. “Really?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you were already loitering. Might as well make it official.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you set your mug down on the table. “You good?”

He blinked, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… wasn’t expecting you to open the door right when I was about to have a full internal crisis.”

You smirked, settling onto the couch. “Timing’s always been my thing.”

“You ever feel like your brain’s just… racing ahead of everything else?”

You gave a soft laugh. “Constantly. That’s why I eat snacks in bed. Brings balance.”

He chuckled, head dropping for a second before he glanced at you. “I think I’m just…” He hesitated. “Scared.”

Your voice was quiet. “Of me?”

“No. God, no.” His answer came quickly, eyes wide. “Of… how easy it is. With you. And how fast that happened. It’s not bad. It’s just... surprising. And kind of terrifying.”

You leaned back, watching him gently, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to rush anything.”

He looked at you like that was the first thing he needed to hear all week.

“I know,” he said. “I just… I want to get it right. With you. With her.”

“You already are,” you said simply. “Even when you’re awkward and rambling.”

He groaned and flopped back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.”

You smiled, looking at him. “It’s charming.”

He turned his head toward you. His voice was quieter. “You think?”

You nodded. “I do.”

And maybe it was the way the room felt warm or how the night wrapped around the moment so gently but he looked at you for a long beat, his eyes a little softer, his heart a little louder. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

You didn’t say anything either. Just leaned over, slow and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He went still for a moment when your head gently rested against his shoulder, but then you felt it the subtle shift of him relaxing, his shoulder settling just a little deeper into the couch so you’d be more comfortable. Like his body had made space without him thinking about it.

His arm lifted awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure where to put it, before it curved around your back, warm and tentative. You heard him breathe in, soft and shaky.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, the words brushing the top of your hair.

You nodded, your voice just as low. “Yeah.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward this time. It was gentle. Companionable.

Eventually, he whispered, half-laughing under his breath, “This is really dangerous.”

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him. “Why?”

His eyes were on the ceiling, a crooked smile forming. “Because I could get used to this.”

You shifted just slightly so you could look up at him, your cheek still resting against his shoulder. “You know,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to feel things. To want things. You can be more than Soojin’s dad.”

His gaze dropped to you slowly, like the weight of your words took time to settle. His eyes searched your face, but he didn’t speak, not yet.

You reached up, brushing your fingers gently over the crease between his brows. “You’re still Seungcheol.”

And it wasn’t until right then that he realized how much he needed to hear that. How long he’d been carrying this version of himself, carefully trimmed down to the essentials: provider, protector, father. As if there wasn’t space for anything more. As if it was selfish to even hope for it.

But here you were. Not asking for anything. Not expecting him to be perfect. Just… seeing him.

“I forgot,” he said finally, his voice a little rough. “I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“You’ve been doing the hard stuff,” you murmured. “You’ve been strong for her. But you don’t have to lose you in the process.”

His arm tightened around you slightly, his thumb brushing against your side in small, grounding circles. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at you said everything.

“I didn’t think I’d get this again,” he said after a long silence. “This kind of quiet. This kind of—someone.”

You looked up at him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t lose your chance, Seungcheol.”

He glanced down at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to believe it.

“I think you’re kind of incredible,” you added, smiling just a little. “Even when you’re running off to buy emergency baby food or panicking in the hallway at midnight.”

A small, surprised laugh slipped from him, his eyes crinkling. “You remember that?”

You bumped your shoulder into him lightly. “You muttered a full monologue out there.”

He shook his head with a bashful smile. “I was trying to psych myself out of it.”

“Did it work?”

He looked at you again. Really looked. His gaze softened.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not even close.”

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he said, his voice unsure but honest. “But I know I don’t want to run from it.”

You smiled, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting you.”

He chuckled under his breath, his head tilting down to rest against yours again.

And just like that, the silence returned—but this time, it held something new. Something neither of you said aloud yet, but both of you felt.

The beginning of something.

=

It’s another random day, the three of you just lounging around. 

Soojin was curled between you, triumphant and snug, and Seungcheol was pretending to pout, eyes narrowed at her while trying not to smile. His arm was still behind you, his body warm and close, and for a second you looked at him

And then, almost without thinking, you leaned in.

A soft kiss. half on his cheek, half on the corner of his lips.

He froze. You pulled back slowly, your smile still there but quieter now, a little uncertain. And then he turned his head toward you, just enough that your faces were closer again, but not quite touching.

“You missed,” he said, voice low, a little breathless.

You raised a brow, trying to play it cool even as your pulse fluttered. “Did I?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second. “A little.”

Soojin, completely oblivious, let out a content sigh in your arms and stuffed her fingers into her mouth.

You looked at him, at the way his usually calm eyes were dancing with something nervous and bold all at once. And then you leaned in again closer this time, a heartbeat away—

Only for Soojin to let out the loudest hiccup of her life and slap a drool-covered hand to your chin.

You and Seungcheol both burst out laughing.

“Okay,” you said, grinning as you wiped your face. “She’s really committed to cockblocking you.”

Seungcheol laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth. “She’s ten months old and already has better timing than I ever will.”

But even after the moment passed, even with Soojin demanding your attention again, he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye—like the space you almost closed still lingered in his chest.

You were finishing the last of the dishes, sleeves rolled up, humming under your breath when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t need to turn around—you could sense him. That quiet energy of his when he wasn’t quite sure how to act, like he was rehearsing what to say even as he approached.

Then, arms slid around your waist.

You smiled before he even said anything.

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmured against your shoulder, his voice low, a little too casual.

You grinned, rinsing the last plate. “Hey yourself.”

His hold tightened, not too much, just enough to feel the beat of your pulse and make you pause. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.

“You do this now every time I’m doing dishes?” you teased, flicking water off your fingers. “Getting cozy so you don’t have to help?”

“I like the view,” he muttered.

You turned your head toward him with an amused look. “Of the sink?”

“Of you at the sink,” he said, then groaned quietly like he hated himself for how that came out. “That sounded better in my head.”

You laughed, setting down the towel and turning in his arms, your hands still a little damp as they rested against his chest. “You’re really bad at this, huh?”

“I am,” he admitted, no hesitation, ears slightly pink. “Like, embarrassingly bad.”

“I kinda like it,” you said with a soft smile. “It’s… endearing.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Endearing enough that I don’t need to pretend I came out here for water or something?”

You squinted at him. “You came out here to flirt.”

“I really thought I was being subtle.”

“You were about as subtle as Soojin when she wants to be picked up.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Harsh.”

“But accurate,” you teased, poking his chest gently.

There was a beat then, quiet and close. His hands were still on your waist, yours resting between his ribs and shoulders. The kitchen was soft around you, dim and warm, the sound of the hallway clock ticking faintly in the background.

And suddenly the air changed.

Seungcheol swallowed. “I’ve… kind of wanted to do this for a while now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Help with the dishes?”

He huffed a laugh, nervous and fond all at once. “God, you’re really not gonna let me have this moment easy, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Then he leaned in. Tentative, close enough for your breath to catch but still watching your face like he was giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands slid around his neck instead, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. “Okay,” you whispered, “I’ll let you have this moment.”

He smiled. Soft, real, and just a little shaky.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. His nose bumped yours a little, and your teeth almost clacked from the way you both smiled halfway through it. But it was warm and real and his hands tightened just slightly like he was anchoring himself there with you.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“Worth the bad lines?” he asked.

“Definitely,” you whispered, cheeks flushed.

And from the hallway, as if on cue, Soojin let out a sleepy little squeak in her crib.

You both laughed quietly.

“Guess that’s our timer,” you said, leaning into him again.

He kissed your temple, still holding you like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “She’s gonna be so mad she missed that.”

=

It was an ordinary morning. Soojin was babbling her usual string of soft sounds while sitting on the floor between you and Seungcheol.

You were handing her one of her favorite toys, grinning as she smacked it against her chubby thigh in excitement. She was bouncing, babbling, making nonsense sounds and grabbing at your sleeve like she always did when—

“Mama.”

It was soft. Clear. Unmistakable.

You froze mid-reach. So did Seungcheol, his mug halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was almost comical. Soojin just blinked up at you like she hadn’t just shattered the entire room into stillness.

You slowly turned your head to look at Seungcheol. He was already looking at you, eyes wide.

“Did she—” you started.

He nodded, eyes even wider now. “She said—”

“Mama,” Soojin chirped again, reaching for your hand with her gummy grin.

You blinked fast, a wave of emotion flooding your chest so quickly it knocked the breath out of you. “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol was already moving, crawling closer to the two of you, completely abandoning his coffee. “Wait—say it again, Soojin. What was that?”

But she just giggled now, slapping your arm with baby enthusiasm, still beaming. “Mama!”

You laughed, a sound caught between a sob and sheer disbelief, hugging her instinctively to your chest. “I swear I didn’t teach her that. I didn’t—”

“I know,” Seungcheol said, staring at you both like the world had just shifted. “She just… she chose it.”

“She called you mama.”

You looked up at him, cheeks warm, eyes a little wet. “She did.”

He leaned in and kissed the top of Soojin’s head, then your temple. His voice was barely a whisper, like it was only meant for the space between the three of you.

“She knows who loves her.”

Your eyes welled up so fast it surprised even you. You blinked hard, trying to breathe through it, but the moment, it cracked something open.

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, alarm flashing across his face. “Wait—are you crying? Are those—are you okay? Was it too much? I mean, she just—she just said it out of nowhere, I didn’t mean for—"

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you held Soojin closer. She patted your cheek, like she could sense it. “No—no, it’s not that, it’s just—” you looked up at him, your voice catching in your throat. “Do I deserve that? Is that okay with you?”

His breath caught. His mouth parted, like the words couldn’t come fast enough.

“Hey,” he said, moving closer on his knees, gently reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You didn’t take her from anyone. She chose you. She’s been choosing you.”

You swallowed hard, but the tears still fell, quiet and honest. “I’m not her mom…”

“You love her like one,” he whispered. “She feels that”

You stared at him, breath shaky.

“I didn’t know if it was okay,” you murmured, “to feel this much.”

He leaned forward, forehead touching yours. “It’s more than okay.”

Soojin squirmed in your arms, reaching one tiny hand up to grab a piece of your hair and yanking gently. You both laughed, eyes still wet. And then Seungcheol pressed a kiss to your cheek, soft and sure.

“Welcome to the family, mama.”

You were crouched on the floor, gathering up Soojin’s toys and it hit you all at once. The memory, bright and clear, of her smiling up at you with those shining eyes, her chubby hands reaching out as she said it.

Mama.

The quiet shuffle of feet made you look up. Seungcheol stood at the edge of the room, eyes wide with concern, a half-folded blanket still in his hands.

“Hey—” he said gently, moving to crouch in front of you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks, the words barely able to form. “I don’t know. I just—” you swallowed, voice cracking. “She looked at me like that. She smiled and she called me mama like I’ve always been that for her and I—”

He moved closer, hands bracing on your arms as if to ground you.

You took a deep breath and looked at him, tears still spilling. “How can I even love someone this much? She’s not even mine, but I feel it—I feel like she is. Every part of her. And then I think…” Your voice wobbled harder. “I think, how could anyone not want that? How could her mother not want her? Not love her?”

Seungcheol’s expression folded not in shock, not in discomfort but in something raw and full of understanding. He pulled you forward, wrapping his arms around you tight, pressing your face against his shoulder as you cried.

“I ask myself that all the time,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. But I’m grateful—” he held you tighter—“so damn grateful that she has you. That she loves you.”

You clutched his shirt in your fists, letting yourself cry into him, letting the weight of all of it — the love, the ache, the wonder of being chosen — pass through you.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” he said softly. “You already gave her what no one else did.”

You pulled back a little, eyes still glassy. “What’s that?”

He smiled gently. “Your whole heart.”

“I don’t want her to grow up ever thinking she doesn’t have enough love,” you said, voice raw and breaking. “She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves so much more.”

Seungcheol’s arms tightened around you, his breath catching like your words had punched straight through his chest.

“She won’t,” he said firmly, his voice a little hoarse now too. “Not with you in her life. Not with us.”

You pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your face still streaked with tears. “What if one day she wonders why her mom left? What if I can’t—what if I’m not enough to cover up that kind of ache?”

His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears away with the gentlest touch. “You being here doesn’t erase what happened,” he said. “But it gives her something else to remember. Something better. She’s gonna grow up knowing that she was wanted so badly that even the people who didn’t have to stay… did.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to love her like this,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect to. But now I can’t imagine not.”

“She doesn’t know anything else but love when you’re around,” he said quietly. “You’ve already changed her whole world. Mine too.”

You closed your eyes, more tears slipping free, but they didn’t feel heavy now. They felt… full.

“I’m so glad she has you,” he whispered. “I’m so glad I do too.”

And there, in that quiet room filled with baby toys and love you didn’t see coming, you nodded and leaned into him, holding on like the two of you — all three of you — were exactly where you were meant to be.

=

He was just coming out of the other room, towel slung around his shoulders, when he heard your voice. Not loud. Not laughing. Not teasing like it usually was when you played with Soojin. 

This was quieter—gentler.

He padded closer to the bedroom doorway, peeking in without making a sound. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of his old sweatshirts, Soojin nestled between your knees, her little arms lifted as you struggled to get her tiny hand through the sleeve of her onesie.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, a fond smile on your lips as you smoothed the fabric over her back. “Look at you, almost dressed all by yourself. You’re so smart.”

Soojin babbled in response, wiggling slightly as if trying to help.

“You are,” you told her softly, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “So smart, and brave, and kind. And everyone who meets you is going to see that, because you shine. You know that? You shine.”

He stilled, towel forgotten in his hand. Something tugged hard in his chest. You laughed a little when Soojin blew a spit bubble in reply, unbothered, like she understood every word you said.

“And you’ve got the strongest little heart,” you continued, guiding her chubby feet into her leggings. “You’ve been through more than most, haven’t you, sweetheart? But you keep going. You keep smiling. And you’re so, so loved.”

You paused for a second, your fingers slowing.

“By your dad,” you whispered, kissing her forehead. “By me.”

Soojin squealed, flapping her arms with glee, and you grinned, lifting her up in a little bounce. “Yeah? You know it, huh?”

Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe before he could stop himself, heart in his throat, eyes on you like he couldn’t believe this was real. You glanced over, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter.

“Hey,” you said, lifting Soojin a little higher. “We’re dressed. Tell Daddy we got dressed like champs.”

He laughed “I heard.”

You tilted your head. “Too much?”

He shook his head. “Not even close.”

And in that moment, watching you cradle his daughter like she was the whole world and speak to her like every word mattered, Seungcheol realized something else. 

You weren’t just part of his life now. You were helping build it.

You were still laughing softly with Soojin, brushing her wispy hair back and blowing a gentle raspberry to her cheek, when he said it.

“I love you.”

Your hand paused midair.

The room stilled not tense, but full. Full of everything that had been building for weeks in glances, in soft touches, in the way you carried his daughter like she was a part of you, too.

You looked up slowly, lips parted slightly, eyes wide with something between surprise and breathless warmth. “What?”

He stepped forward, leaving the towel forgotten on the hallway floor. His voice was calmer than he expected, his hands at his sides, heart pounding—but steady.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to say it just now. I was going to… I don’t know. Plan it better, maybe.”

You blinked, standing up with Soojin still in your arms, her head now resting lazily on your shoulder like she was sensing something important.

“But then I heard you,” he went on, his voice rough around the edges. “The way you talk to her. The way you love her. And I just—there was no way I could keep it in.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, as if trying to decide if this was real, if you were allowed to feel everything you were suddenly feeling.

Then your mouth curved into the softest smile, and your eyes glistened.

“You’re really bad at planning, huh?”

He let out a breath of a laugh, stepping closer. “Terrible. But I meant it.”

You nodded, hugging Soojin a little tighter between you. “I know.”

He tilted his head, suddenly unsure again. “You know?”

Your smile deepened as you stepped close enough to press your forehead to his, Soojin squished gently between your chests. “Of course I know.”

Then, quieter, your lips brushing his:

“And I love you, too.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

You felt it — the way his shoulders dropped, the quiet shudder of relief through his body, how his hands finally moved to hold your waist, steady like he was anchoring himself to the moment. You didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in closer, letting Soojin nestle in between you both like she belonged there — because she did.

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing one hand gently up your back. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You smiled against his jaw. “You let me in. That’s enough.”

Soojin shifted in your arms with a sleepy little whimper, and both of you instinctively rocked slightly, a quiet rhythm the two of you had already fallen into like it was second nature.

Seungcheol watched you the curve of your smile, the softness in your eyes, the way your arms curled protectively around Soojin like you were born to love her.

And now, him too.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I want you to stay.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “Today?”

He shook his head, a little crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“No,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I mean… in our life. Always.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, full and aching and warm.

You whispered, “Okay.”

And when he leaned down this time — with Soojin smooshed between you both, giggling now, tiny hands batting at your chins — you tilted up to meet him halfway, a soft, sure kiss shared right there in the center of your little world.

Messy, imperfect, beautiful.

Yours.

=

It was the day before Soojin’s first birthday, and the apartment was a gentle mess of soft pinks, pastel streamers, and tiny decorations waiting to be set up. 

Later that evening, after Soojin had gone down for the night, the apartment was unusually quiet. The living room still held the remnants of earlier chaos. You were at the table, folding the last few napkins.

You caught him staring.

“What?”

He gave a guilty little smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

He laughed under his breath. “True.”

“Thinking about what?”

He hesitated, then came to sit across from you, elbows resting on the table, hands clasped. “Just… tomorrow. Her first birthday. It feels like a milestone for her, but also… for me.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hands. “I think it is. You kept her alive, loved, and growing for a whole year. You did amazing.”

“She made it easy. And you…” he trailed off, gaze softening. “You came in and filled in every space I didn’t know was empty.”

Your heart squeezed at that.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I used to count down every hour until bedtime. Just so I could breathe for a second. And now—now I look forward to the mornings because I get to see her smile. And I get to see you.”

You smiled gently, voice quiet. “Cheol…”

“I mean it,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter. “You changed everything.”

You reached across the table, resting your hand over his. He turned his palm to meet yours, fingers lacing instinctively, like they’d always meant to do that.

Then he squeezed your hand. “Wanna stay over again tonight? Just us. Before the chaos of tomorrow.”

You smiled softly. “Only if you make me your famous midnight ramen.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

He stood, pulling you up with him by your joined hands. You laughed as he tugged you close, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

Later, you found yourselves curled on the couch, sharing a blanket, your legs tangled, a bowl of instant ramen balanced between you. You took turns feeding each other, whispering quiet jokes and memories from the past few months, letting the soft light from the kitchen be the only thing illuminating the moment.

And neither of you said it, but it was clear. This, it wasn’t fleeting. It was growing roots.

Right here, in the warmth of laughter and late-night ramen, on the eve of a little girl’s first birthday.

You're both lying in bed, the lights dimmed to a soft glow, the sheets pulled up to your waists. Soojin was asleep in her room, the baby monitor quiet on the nightstand. Seungcheol was on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other resting just barely on your waist.

You’d been talking about her birthday party tomorrow, about whether the cake would survive the trip from the bakery, about how she was probably going to end up covered in icing before the day was done. 

You’d laughed, light and sleepy, and then the room had gone quiet. Not awkward—just still.

And you’d gone quiet too.

He noticed it almost instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your arm. “Where’d you go just now?”

You blinked out of your thoughts, glancing at him. “Nowhere.”

He raised a brow, giving you a look.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “Okay… not nowhere.”

He waited, eyes patient, a quiet comfort in the dark.

“I was just thinking,” you said, your voice low, barely more than a whisper. “How fast everything changed. How we went from being strangers in the hallway to…” You trailed off, gesturing softly between you and him.

“To this,” he said.

You nodded. “And how it doesn’t feel scary. I thought it would. But it doesn’t.”

He smiled, eyes still on you. “I thought it would too. I tried really hard to keep things from going too far, honestly.”

You gave a playful scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”

He laughed quietly. “I mean because I was scared. Because I thought maybe it was too much to hope for. That someone could just… walk into our lives and fit so perfectly. Be exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”

“I still get scared,” he admitted. “But every time you’re here, or she reaches for you, or you say her name like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world… I stop doubting for a little bit.”

You shifted closer, pressing your forehead to his. “Then I’ll just have to keep doing all of that. So you don’t forget.”

His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers curling around yours gently.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Deal.”

He never said it outright again after the first time, “I love you”, but he didn’t need to. 

It lived in every small thing he did. In the way he made your tea just the way you liked. In the way he gave you the first bite of everything. In how he never missed a chance to touch you — hand on your back, brushing your fingers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

And you — you loved them back so fiercely it scared you sometimes.

“She’s so loved,” you whispered

“She is,” he said, almost like a vow.

You looked at him — this man who had doubted everything once, wondered if he could be a good father, a good partner, someone worth staying for. Now he says things like vows he'll keep for the rest of his life.

“I was so scared,” he murmured, voice low. “That I’d mess her up. That I’d never get it right.”

You reached for his hand. “You did everything right, Cheol. Everything.”

A long pause.

Then, softly, with a small laugh in his voice, he asked, “So… same time next year for birthday number two?”

You smiled, leaned up to kiss him — gentle, reassuring. “Already thinking what theme we should do next”

Right here, right now he doesn't even remember all those who left, everything he once lost. Now, all he can think of is what he has, wha he gained ever since he met you.

Wrapped in each other, the past behind and the future so very close, it felt like the beginning of everything good. Of everything true.

[heliosunny]

PLEASE need some hsr mermay content IDC WHO PLEASE I TAKE ANY MERMAY CONTENT 🙏🙏🙏

Deadly Gamble

Yandere!Merman!Aventurine x Reader

The sea had been a mirror of tranquility just moments before, its surface glinting under the moonlight like scattered coins. Then, without warning, the waves rose in fury, their dark crests slamming against the ship's hull with enough force to send tremors through the deck. The storm had descended like a predator, but even its wrath paled in comparison to what came with it.

The singing slithered through the chaos first. It wove between the howling wind and the crew's panicked shouts.

"Don't listen to them!" Came the captain's voice, his hands locked onto the wheel as the ship pitched violently.

But the warning came as the first sailor staggered toward the railing. "They're... they're singing for me..."

You reached for him, fingers brushing his sleeve just as he leaned over the edge and the water beneath him erupted, dragging him down before his scream could even leave his throat.

The deck shuddered beneath your feet as another wave struck. A jagged crack split the planks near the mast, seawater surging through the breach. Someone shouted, "We're going down!" before the world tilted, and the ocean swallowed everything.

Cold was the first sensation that pierced the fog in your mind. Your body was leaden, half-buried in wet sand, each breath burning as you coughed up saltwater. The storm had spat you out, though every muscle screamed in protest as you pushed yourself onto your elbows.

The second thing you noticed was the silence. No wind. Just the gentle lap of waves and the distant cry of gulls.

"Now this is a surprise."

Slowly, you turned your head.

Aventurine lounged in the shallows, his tail, gleaming like spilled gold, curled lazily beneath him.

"Most humans don't survive" he mused, tilting his head. His fingers trailed through the water, sending ripples toward you.

He moved suddenly, closing the distance between you in one fluid motion. His hand closed around your wrist. "Let's see how long that luck holds."

The water was rising around your legs, his pull relentless, and panic clawed up your throat.

"Oi! Get away from them!"

A rock struck the water near Aventurine's shoulder, sending up a spray. He recoiled with a hiss, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench free. A villager stood further up the shore, a fishing spear leveled in warning.

For a heartbeat, Aventurine didn't move. His gaze flicked from you to the interloper. Then, with a low laugh, he leaned back, sinking into the waves.

"Run along, little fish," he murmured, his voice carrying even as the water swallowed him whole. "But remember, the ocean always takes what it's owed."

You were alive.

For now.

The village had been kind to you, feeding you, clothing you, letting you rest in a small but warm inn by the shore. The locals spoke of the mermen with wary resignation, as one might speak of storms or droughts.

"Just don’t wander too close to the water." an old fisherman had told you, his gnarled hands mending a net. 

You had been careful.

Yet here you were, barefoot in the damp sand, the cold tide licking at your ankles.

The sound had woken you, a melody, tugging at your limbs like puppet strings. You hadn’t even realized you were moving until the salt-sting of the sea air snapped you back to awareness.

And there he was.

Aventurine perched on a jagged rock just beyond the shallows, his tail flicking idly against the surf. Moonlight gilded the sharp angles of his face, his eyes gleaming as his song faded into a smirk.

"Sleepwalking, little fish?" he crooned, tilting his head. "Or just eager to see me again?"

Your fingers scrambled for a weapon—a rock, a piece of driftwood, anything—but the beach offered nothing.

"You dragged me here" you spat.

"I merely… invited. You came all on your own." He leaned forward, bracing his chin on one hand. "Admit it. Part of you wanted to."

You took a step back. "What do you want?"

"A conversation." His tail lashed, sending up a spray of seawater. "You’re not like the others. They die. But you…" His gaze raked over you. "You survived."

"That’s just luck."

"Luck?" He grinned. "Oh, sweet thing. Luck is my domain." He slid from the rock, disappearing beneath the waves for a heartbeat before resurfacing closer. "Tell me your name."

The command slithered into your bones, sweet and heavy. Your lips parted—Then you clenched your jaw.

"I’m leaving."

"Fine. Run back to your little hovel. But we’re not done."

You didn’t wait to hear more.

The sand was cold underfoot as you fled, his laughter chasing you all the way back to the inn.

You locked the door.

The news of an incoming ship spread through the village. Finally, a way home. You should have felt relief. Instead, your fingers tightened around the edge of your drink as you sat in the dim-lit tavern of the inn, the weight of unseen eyes prickling the back of your neck.

The innkeeper had hired new help.

You recognized him instantly.

But you played along.

"New here?" you asked, feigning ignorance as he slid into the seat across from you.

"A traveler, just passing through" Aventurine replied. His fingers drummed against the wooden table. "Heard there’s a ship coming soon. You planning to board?"

You took a slow sip of your ale, watching him over the rim. "Maybe. Depends on if the sea’s in a good mood."

He chuckled. "Luck’s a fickle thing, isn’t it? I’ve got a theory—some people are just born under lucky stars. Others…" His gaze flickered to the window, where the ocean churned in the distance. "Others make their own luck."

"And which one are you?"

His grin widened. "Why don’t you find out?"

For days, he wove himself into your routine, bringing you meals, lingering in conversation, his words laced with double meanings. He was testing you, seeing how long it would take for you to break.

Instead, you matched him.

The night before the ship’s arrival, you found him on the inn’s back porch, staring at the moonlit waves.

"No disguise tonight?" you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Would it matter if I did?"

You stepped closer. "Why bother with this charade?"

Finally, he looked at you, his eyes gleaming with something almost like respect. "Because you’re interesting."

"You could stay"

You raised a brow. "And what? Become your next meal?"

He laughed. "Oh, little fish. If I wanted to eat you, you’d already be gone."

The ship would come.

The choice, for now, was yours.

And as you walked away, you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper

"Luck favors the bold."

You had spent your last days in the village sharpening knives and weaving nets into makeshift traps. The villagers warned you—no one hunts the mermen and lives to tell the tale. But you were done playing his games.

The night before the ship arrived, you waited by the shore with a harpoon stolen from the docks, the moon hidden behind storm clouds. The sea was eerily calm.

Then, a ripple. A flicker of gold beneath the waves.

You lunged before you could think, driving the harpoon into the water with all your strength.

And missed.

Aventurine surfaced just inches from the blade, his laughter ringing like wind chimes in a hurricane. "Oh, little fish, did you really think it would be that easy?"

You snarled and struck again. This time, a rogue wave knocked you off your feet before the harpoon could find its mark.

He tsked, swimming lazy circles around you as you sputtered in the shallows. "So predictable." Then his grin turned razor-edged. "But don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow."

Before you could reply, he was gone.

The ship arrived at dawn, a sturdy merchant vessel, its crew none the wiser to the predators lurking beneath the waves. You boarded with your jaw set, your fingers brushing the knife hidden in your sleeve. Let him try.

The attack came just as the ship reached open water.

One moment, the deck was bustling with sailors; the next, screams erupted as sinuous forms vaulted over the rails.

You barely had time to draw your blade before he was on you, his grip iron-strong as he dragged you toward the railing.

"This," he purred against your ear, "is where your luck runs out."

The water swallowed you whole, the surface receding as he pulled you deeper, his kin following with other struggling victims in tow. You fought, clawing at his arms, but his smile never wavered.

His teeth sank into your shoulder. You gasped… and instead of choking on seawater, you breathed. Your eyes flew wide.

Aventurine released you, licking a drop of blood from his lips. "A gift" he said, as the other mermen began tearing into their prey. "And a curse." He leaned in. "You have seven days. After that?" His tail coiled around you. "You will die."

Seven days.

Seven days to find a way out.

Or seven days until the ocean claimed you for good.

The other mermen circled you like sharks scenting blood, their eyes gleaming with amusement. You were Aventurine’s discarded toy, a plaything he had bitten and left to drown—but not quickly enough.

One reached out, claws grazing your arm. "The human!" he hissed.

You didn’t wait for them to strike first.

Snatching a jagged piece of driftwood from the seabed, you swung. It connected with the first merman’s temple, sending him reeling back with a snarl. The others hissed in surprise.

You barely dodged, twisting away as teeth snapped where your throat had been. Kicking off the ocean floor, you swam for the surface, lungs burning despite the cursed gift of Aventurine’s bite. But they were faster. A hand closed around your ankle, yanking you back down.

Crack

A ship’s broken mast, torn loose in the storm above, plunged into the water like a spear, impaling the merman holding you. The others scattered as the heavy timber pinned their kin to the seabed.

Aventurine found you washed up on a desolate atoll, gasping and bleeding.

He emerged from the waves with a slow, mocking clap. "Bravo" he drawled. "I almost thought you’d make it." His eyes flicked over your trembling form. "But your luck’s run out, darling."

"Then take it back."

"Take what?"

"Your gift." You staggered to your feet. "You want me dead? Fine. But I won’t drown for your amusement."

He laughed, slithering closer. "And how do you plan to—"

Your hands locked around his wrists, and with every ounce of strength left, you pulled. He stumbled, tail flailing—and then you twisted, dragging him onto the sharp rocks lining the shore.

"You—"

"If I’ve got the worst luck," you spat, pinning him down as his scales scraped against stone, "then so do you."

A wave, monstrous and sudden, crashed over you both, wrenching you back into the sea. Saltwater filled your mouth, your vision darkening as the current tore you apart—

And then his hands were on you, shoving you toward the surface.

You broke through, coughing, just in time to see him vanish into the depths.

You dragged yourself onto the rocks, breathing hard.

---

Six days left.

And now? He was angry.

Aventurine had always played his games alone.

But now, the whispers slithered through the reefs, the human had wounded him. Not just in flesh, but in pride. And the other mermen, sensing blood in the water, were eager to finish what he had started.

One in particular, a brash hunter with emerald scales, had already set off toward the shallows. "I'll bring you their heart"

Aventurine killed him.

"Anyone else..." he looked up at the others, flicking blood from his claws, "want to interfere?"

Silence.

But vengeance required more than intimidation. So he descended—down, down, past the carcasses of sunken ships, past the trenches where light dared not reach, to the abyss where the sea witch lurked.

"Aventurine," she crooned. "Come to beg?"

He tossed the hunter’s severed fin at her feet. "Come to bargain."

She laughed. "Is it about that specific human? Want them to suffer?"

"I want them to understand," he corrected, "What it means to lose everything to luck."

The witch leaned forward, her ink-black hair swirling. "Then take their luck away." She pressed a vial into his palm, inside the vial, liquid gold swirled. "One drop… and Fortune will abandon them forever."

Aventurine’s fingers curled around it. Perfect.

The storm raged above the waves as Aventurine cornered you against the jagged rocks of a coastal cave, his eyes gleaming with predatory delight. The vial of cursed luck glinted in his hand. Took quite the effort to bring you here.

"You've been quite the problem, but every game must end."

"You don't have to do this. I will die eventually."

"Oh, but I want to," he hissed, baring sharp teeth. With terrifying speed, his hand gripped your wrist, the other tipping the vial toward your lips.

You thrashed, turning your face away as the golden liquid spilled, only for a rogue wave to slam into the cave, knocking you both sideways. The vial flew from his grasp, spinning through the water—

And shattered against his chest instead.

The effect was instant.

The liquid seeped into his scales like poison. His pupils shrank to slits as realization dawned.

"NO!"

The ocean itself seemed to turn against him. A current wrenched him backward into the cave wall. A jagged rock gashed his tail as he crashed against the reef. He hissed in pain—only for a startled moray eel to dart from the coral and sink its teeth into his arm.

He was unlucky now.

And despite everything, you hate to witness the scene.

You swam forward and seized his wrist.

"Don't touch me!" he snarled, trying to jerk away.

"If I let go, you'll die."

You loosened your grip—just slightly.

A nearby conch shell, dislodged by a flick of his tail, plummeted and cracked against his skull.

You tightened your hold with a sigh. "We need to fix this."

The journey to the sea witch’s lair was a nightmare.

Every movement Aventurine made invited disaster. A school of venomous jellyfish drifted into his path. A dormant volcano rumbled beneath you, spewing boiling vents. Once, a shark—his own ally—mistook his shimmering scales for prey and took a chunk from his fin.

By the time the abyss opened before you, he was bleeding, seething, and utterly humiliated.

The sea witch’s laughter echoed through her cathedral of bones.

"Ohhh," she cooed, circling you both. "This is marvellous!"

"Undo it" Aventurine demanded.

"Or what?" She flicked his nose. "You’ll trip me to death?"

You stepped between them. "There has to be a way to lift the curse. For both of us."

The witch paused. "Why would you help him?"

You didn’t answer.

She smirked. "A trade, then. His luck returns… if you give me your remaining days."

"No."

"Deal." You ignored him.

The witch’s grin split her face. "Then hold still—"

Aventurine moved.

His free hand snatched a rusted dagger from the witch’s belt—and plunged it into her throat.

Her shriek shook the ocean. Black blood clouded the water as her magic unraveled in a whirlpool of curses. The vial’s effects shattered.

And your borrowed time?

Still ticking.

Panting, Aventurine glared at you. "Never do that again. You suck at bargaining."

"Let’s just go back."

The sea witch’s blood still clouded the water around you, her dying curse echoing in the silence. Aventurine’s grip on your hand was iron-tight—not out of affection, but necessity. Without you, his own luck was a liability.

You studied his sharp profile, the way his jaw clenched as he scanned the dark waters ahead. Why did he stop you? He could have let the witch take your remaining days.

As if sensing your thoughts, he scoffed. "Don’t look at me like that. I just hate owing debts."

You almost laughed. "So stabbing her was… what? A favor?"

"A solution," he snapped, tail flicking irritably—only to dislodge a rock that nearly brained him. He scowled. "We need to find another way. Before your time runs out."

The words hung between you. Five days. Maybe less.

The ocean had never felt so vast.

With your free hand, you sifted through the wreckage of sunken ships while Aventurine begrudgingly directed you toward hidden merfolk archives—places where old magic might still linger.

"Here, try to find something useful."

You reached for one, but he yanked you back just as a dagger—rusty and loose from its display—clattered down where your hand had been.

"This is exhausting."

You sighed. "Then let’s hurry."

The first two days passed in a blur of near-misses and dead ends.

Aventurine, despite his pride, refused to let go. Not when a collapsing tunnel nearly crushed him. Not when a rogue current almost swept you both.

By the third day, frustration simmered beneath his skin.

"There’s nothing," he snarled, flipping over a table in the ruins of an undersea shrine.

"Wait." Your fingers brushed a mosaic on the wall—a merfolk legend depicting a mortal and a sea spirit bound together. "What’s this?"

"...Two lives becoming one." His voice was oddly quiet.

You turned to him. "Would it work?"

"It would mean sharing your curse." A pause. "And your luck."

The weight of it settled between you.

You had nothing left to lose.

He had everything to gain.

"Do it." you said.

Aventurine’s grip tightened. "You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to."

"I know my time is up." You held his gaze. "And I know you hate losing."

For once, he had no clever retort.

The ritual was simple.

A cut on his palm. A cut on yours. Blood mingling in the water as ancient words spilled from his lips.

Pain lanced through you, sharp and bright, as something shifted. Your vision blurred; your lungs burned. Then—

"...It’s done."

You looked down. The mark from his bite was gone.

And when you finally, finally let go of his hand?

Nothing bad happens to him.

"Come on, little fish" he muttered, tugging you toward the surface. "Want some fresh air?"

The ritual had changed something fundamental between you—and Aventurine wasn't acting like himself.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. The way his fingers lingered when passing you seaweed-wrapped fish. How his eyes tracked your movements like a compass finding north. When you climbed onto the shore of a deserted island to gather driftwood, he transformed his tail into human legs (a glamour, he'd grumbled, not his favorite form) and followed.

"You don't have to come" you said, watching him scowl at the way the grains stuck to his skin.

"I know" he snapped, but made no move to return to the waves.

The realization hit when a stray fishing hook snagged your sleeve, nearly dragging you into the water. Aventurine, halfway across the beach, flinched as if he'd felt the tug too.

You froze. "Did you just—"

"No" he lied, too quickly.

You pressed your palm to his chest. His heartbeat thundered against your fingertips—matching yours.

"You didn't tell me it would be like this." 

He looked away. "Would you have agreed if I did?"

The answer hung between you.

The mermen noticed.

Of course they did.

Aventurine had always been untouchable—a creature of chaos and cunning, feared even by his own kind. Now? He was vulnerable. 

They came at dusk, their silvered knives glinting beneath the waves.

"Traitor," one hissed, circling you both. "You've bound yourself to a human."

Aventurine's grip on your waist tightened. "Say that again," he purred, "and I'll turn your spine into a necklace."

But the threat rang hollow. They knew.

Hurt you, and he'd bleed.

Kill you, and he'd die.

They lunged forward. Only for Aventurine to move, faster than you'd ever seen, his borrowed human strength fueled by something raw and desperate. The attacker's body hit the sand with a wet thud, throat slit.

Aventurine turned to you. His glamour was slipping, gills flaring at his neck.

"We can't stay here" 

You stared at the corpse, then at him. "Where can we go?"

"Wherever the tide takes us."

That night, as you drifted on a stolen fishing boat beneath a sky full of stars, Aventurine finally admitted the truth.

"The ritual wasn't just about sharing time," he said, fingers tracing the new mark on your wrist. "It was about sharing fate."

You swallowed. "So if I die..."

"I die. And vice versa." He said it casually. "Annoying, isn't it?"

You laughed, despite everything. "You hate this."

"I loathe it." he agreed, but when you shifted closer, he didn't pull away.

Somewhere in the dark water below, his kin were hunting.

But for now?

You had time.

----

It felt like a beginning.

He had never done anything like this before.

Aventurine crouched in the moonlit shallows, his claws dripping with seawater and something darker. The bodies of his former kin floated just beneath the surface, their lifeless eyes staring up at the stars they would never see again. Their blood swirled around him like ink in the tide, their stolen life force threading through the water—his to claim.

Pathetic, he thought, watching the last of the ritual’s glow fade from his fingertips. Sacrificing fools for a human’s sake.

But it wasn’t just your life he was extending.

It was his.

And that, at least, made sense.

You found him at dawn.

He was sprawled on a half-sunken rock, his tail streaked with fresh wounds, his breathing deliberately slow. When you called his name, he didn’t startle. Just turned his head lazily, as if he’d been waiting.

"There you are, little fish." he drawled. "Sleep well?"

You ignored the taunt, wading into the surf to inspect the gashes along his side. "What happened?"

"Hunting accident." He flicked a claw toward the horizon, where the first pale bodies were just beginning to wash ashore. 

You frowned. "They’re… dead?"

"Mm. Unfortunate." He watched your face, searching for disgust, for horror—but all you did was press a hand to the worst of his injuries.

"You’re bleeding." 

He almost laughed. Oh, darling. If only you knew.

But he wouldn’t tell you. Not just because you might recoil.

Because this was his secret to keep.

That night, when you slept, he pressed two fingers to the mark on your wrist, the one that bound you together, and felt the steady, strong pulse of it.

Ridiculous, he thought.

And yet.

When you shifted in your sleep, your fingers brushing his, he didn’t pull away.

The next morning, you caught him staring at the horizon.

"What are you thinking about?" 

He smirked. "How much I hate owing favors."

You rolled your eyes. "You don’t owe me anything."

"Exactly," he said, too lightly. "So don’t expect this to become a habit."

But when you turned away, his gaze dropped to the mark on his own wrist, the one that matched yours, and for the briefest moment, his smirk softened.

Worth it.

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

[writeriguess]

Hear me out...singer Katsuki x fan! reader...she's like his first ever fan ever since he was just starting and always look forward to see her at his concerts and fan meeting events🙏🙏

Encore Just for You

The first time Katsuki Bakugo saw her was at a dingy little underground club, barely half-full, the stage lights flickering like they were on their last breath. He wasn’t Dynamight yet, not really. Just a hot-headed singer with too much ambition and a voice that could rip through concrete.

And yet—there she was.

Front row, center.

No cameras shoved in his face. No screaming, hysterical fans. Just a girl with bright eyes, nodding along to his music, mouthing every lyric like she meant them.

He didn't think much of it that first time. But then she kept showing up.

Every damn gig.

Every open mic, every half-baked concert in a venue that smelled like cheap beer and regret.

And always, front row.

At first, it pissed him off a little. Why the hell was she always there? Didn't she have better things to do? But the more he saw her, the more he noticed—

The way she never missed a beat.

The way her voice, softer than the crowd’s, still reached him when she sang along.

The way she never asked for anything. No autographs, no pictures, no desperate attempts to get his attention.

She just listened.

And for some reason, that mattered.

Years passed. Dynamight was huge now. His name lit up billboards. His songs topped charts. His concerts sold out within minutes. And yet—

She was still there.

Still front row, like a damn constant in his life.

And he fucking noticed her.

At first, it was subconscious. A flick of his gaze in the middle of a performance, always finding her. Then it became deliberate. Seeking her out, scanning the crowd until he spotted her.

He pretended it didn’t affect him.

Didn’t explain why, every single concert, he made sure to throw at least one glance her way.

Didn’t explain why his setlist always included the song she loved the most.

Didn’t explain why he found himself wondering—if she’d ever stop coming.

And why that idea pissed him off more than anything.

The first time they actually spoke was at a fan meeting.

He hated these damn things.

Endless crowds, screaming, crying, shoving things in his face—

And then she stepped up.

Katsuki barely noticed his manager sighing in relief at the lack of chaos she brought.

She looked nervous. Holding a CD—the first album he ever put out. Barely sold a few hundred copies, back when he thought his dreams were out of reach.

"You probably don’t remember me," she said, voice softer than the roaring venue around them.

And fuck that, because he did remember.

He remembered her.

"...Tch. Dumbass. 'Course I do."

She blinked up at him, clearly startled.

And then—

A smile.

A real one. Not the fake, performative shit he was used to.

Something warm settled in his chest, unfamiliar and annoying.

"You’ve really come a long way," she murmured.

Something about the way she said it—like she’d been there, watching his every step, made his grip tighten around the sharpie in his hand.

Instead of scrawling his usual rushed signature, he took his time. Wrote out something real.

"To my first fan. You never fucking gave up on me. So I won’t either."

Her fingers trembled when she took it back. "Thank you, Bakugo."

"...Tch. It’s Katsuki."

She looked up, surprised. He didn’t know why the hell he said that.

But when she smiled again—soft, grateful—he figured he didn’t really mind.

After that, things were... different.

He started looking for her in the crowd more often.

And not just in a fan way.

No.

This was different.

It was the way his pulse kicked up when he spotted her. The way he started singing with just a little more fire when he knew she was there, watching.

One night, after a particularly exhausting concert, he found himself saying—

"You ever get tired of this?"

She turned to him, still clutching his latest album like it was something precious.

"Of what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely. "Following me around, showing up to every concert. You’ve been doing this for years."

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a soft smile, she said—

"Have you ever gotten tired of singing?"

His breath hitched.

Because he knew the answer.

And suddenly, he understood.

The night he finally broke was after his biggest concert yet.

A massive stadium. Tens of thousands of people screaming his name. Lights flashing, fireworks bursting in the sky—

And yet—

The only thing he saw was her.

Still front row.

Still looking at him like he was worth something.

Like he was more than just an idol.

Like she fucking believed in him.

And before he could stop himself, he was moving.

Storming past security, ignoring his manager’s protests, making a beeline straight for her.

He barely registered her wide eyes when he grabbed her wrist.

"You," he muttered, voice rough. "Come with me."

She didn’t even hesitate.

Later that night, after all the noise, the lights, the exhaustion—

It was just them.

Sitting backstage, silence thick between them.

She finally spoke. "Katsuki...?"

Something about the way she said his name made his chest ache.

"...You really never fucking gave up on me, huh?" His voice was quieter than usual.

She smiled, a little sad, a little proud. "Never."

He exhaled, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

"You're insane," he muttered.

"Maybe."

A beat of silence.

Then, Katsuki looked at her—really looked at her.

And for the first time, he let himself say the thing he’d been holding back for years.

"...You ever thought about staying?"

Her breath hitched. "Staying?"

"Yeah." His throat felt tight. "Not just as a fan."

The air between them felt charged, heavy with years of unspoken words.

Then, soft as a whisper—

"I’d like that."

Katsuki didn’t smile often.

But that night, he did.

[ssahotchnerr]

yes! i do!! you have jj’s role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and you’re shaking and speechless and aaron’s focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth 🥲🥲

stay with me

cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k

your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.

you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.

you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.

in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.

why won't they move?

"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."

you don't want to be used to this.

"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.

aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.

"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?

"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.

aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."

the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.

"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"

you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."

"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"

copper.

aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.

"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."

you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.

and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.

your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.

but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.

"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"

you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."

first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.

aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.

he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.

it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.

"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.

aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"with you?"

with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞… || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Joel and you find comfort while going back to Jackson and after killing Nora, Ellie overhears Jesse and Tommy telling Dina that you and Joel might be alive.

warnings_ age gap (late 20s/joel’s age in s2), pregnant!reader, angst, fluff, fallacy references, canon divergence, SHORT PART,no proofreading

Notes_ next week we’ll get so many joel crumbs omg

「 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 」

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

Wrong.

“What do you mean wrong? I’ve been trying for two fucking goddamn hours?” Ellie yells tiredly, throwing her hands out in disbelief.

“Because yer hand is still too rigid,” Joel answers her, taking the guitar off her hands.

“I’m not done for today!”

“Yeah, I think you are.” Ellie turns to see you standing in the door, baby Cerise snuggling in the crook of your neck.

Ellie smiled at the sight of you, fresh out of the shower, your hair wet and wearing a tank top and sweatpants.

“When did you get home?” The girl asked.

“Maybe half an hour ago,” you say, entering the room.

“Darlin’… stop being sneaky,” Joel says.

He stands up to greet you with a kiss and then grabs Cerise from your arms.

“You stop being paranoid,” Cerise babbles as she starts pulling Joel’s hair and making you laugh. “See, even your daughter is scolding you”

Ellie looked at the sight in awe, she was just past a year old, her look every day resembling Joel’s more and more.

She was happy, her birthday was in a week, and so far, she felt at home.

Ellie had found her family. Her safe place and everything she never thought she could’ve had.

“Go and let Cerise play in the kitchen while we cook dinner,” Joel nods at your words as you smile at him.

Looks really speak; and you and Joel rarely said I love you out loud, but every look you two shared screamed how in love you were.

Ellie watches as Joel and Cerise leave towards the living room, downstairs.

“So… a week for your birthday, huh?” Ellie sighs with a smile, nodding at you. “I’m warning you, I’ll sing you ‘happy birthday’!”

“Fuck you, god no” both of you start cackling and she finally stands up.

Hands on her hips, just like Joel.

To your surprise, Ellie hugs you.

“I’m kidding. But you don’t have to do anything for me,” you hug her back, brushing her hair.

“Shut up or I’ll make Maria gather everyone to hear me sing for you.”

Soon, a lot of sound starts coming from downstairs, Cerise screaming and laughing while Joel curses.

“I NEED HELP DOWN HERE!” Ellie hears your husband yell, and both of you laugh again.

“Let’s go help your old man,” the girl says as you pat her back.

Ellie loved you very much. And she couldn’t help but feel like you felt the same way.

You were silently her mother, helpmate, and one of her best friends.

When she opened her eyes, she rubbed them and sighed, feeling the cold breeze of the morning.

It was just a dream; you and Joel were gone.

She was in Seattle.

…

You can’t move.

Moving feels heavy, breathing isn’t enough.

You lift your head, and there is the woman in a braid.

She is about to kill Joel…

A few years younger than you, possessing an undeniable rage, she hits Joel's skull with a golf club once, twice, and you lose the count. Your vision gets blurry thanks to the tears. His moans of extreme pain make you cry and scream to the woman to stop.

The blood stars are running down his temple. His eye was so swollen he couldn’t open it. You weep harder, doing everything you can to get free from the embrace of two strangers.

To kill that woman and let your husband live.

But it’s too much blood.

“WAKE UP, Y/N!” Joel yells.

Until there isn’t.

You open your eyes and understand it was a nightmare. Product of what you saw at the ski lodge.

“What?” you ask, still half asleep.

Joel is there, kneeling in the old, creaky bed, firmly gripping your shoulders and looking very worried.

“You started crying asleep,” he says. “And then, you started screaming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Joel asks, ignoring your apologies.

“Yes… just- what happened at the ski lodge playing with my head” his heart pang in pain at your words.

“C'mere, darlin’…” and you do, you snuggle in the arms of your husband like a baby. “I’m not goin’ anywhere”

Joel holds you tightly, scared to let you go. Both of you are swimming in the same queen-sized bed, but pressed against each other. Joel understands that if they had switched the roles. If it were him seeing how you were beaten to death, Joel wouldn’t have survived.

Let alone now that you told him about the pregnancy.

He tries to tame his fears. It wasn’t the first time after all.

But still, you were his wife, the woman he couldn’t breathe without. Joel knew he would get obsessed with trying to protect you all the way from Arlington to Jackson.

It was safe to close his eyes, so he did, succumbing to sleep with you in his arms.

…

Joel wakes up to a cold on, left side of the bed. He sits up worried, then hears a shot, his sensitive leg is long forgotten as he runs outside the room, towards the entrance of the house. He looks around and finally sees you with his rifle and a hare in hand. Joel lets out a relieved sigh.

“Are you insane? You scared me to death,” he says as you step up to the old porch of the house.

After seeing him so worried and scared, you quickly wrap your arms around his neck, dropping the dead hare.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper in his ear.

As much as both of you tried to continue your lives, the trauma of the ski lodge and Denver remained haunting your memories.

“Let’s go inside, baby,” you nod at him, letting him guide you inside the house.

After making it to Arlington the day before, Joel and you found an abandoned neighborhood. It reminded me a lot of the descriptions he and Tess shared about Bill and Frank’s home. Until you visited the house of the late couple in 2023 and confirmed it by yourself.

The woods around it had grown so much that the abandoned place and there was no trace of infected or people living nearby. Joel suggested staying the night, so the horse you two had could also rest and eat something.

You fell asleep feeling hungry, making it harder to not go out to hunt something to eat.

The least you could do was to find some food for your husband and the baby.

The truth was slowly sinking in. You hadn’t been able to process the fact that you were pregnant again. Hours after getting the diagnosis, Masiel almost got you, and then the hospital was attacked.

But a new life was growing in your womb. And once again, you were out in the wild with Joel, just like the first time.

You place the hare on the dining table and turn to look at your husband. With the same clothes of the day before, disheveled hair, and eye bags showing how tired he was.

Joel looks up and down at you, he places his hands on his hips, and tries to formulate a decent sentence.

“So… we’re expecting again,” he says, and you simply nod. “How far are you?”

“Almost eight weeks,” god knows why, but suddenly the conversation feels awkward.

You cross your arms, leaning against the old dining table.

“You can’t be out here anymore,” Joel starts, already showing his uneasiness on the issue. “It’s not safe.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, Joel,” you remind him as he sighs and rolls his eyes. “I knew the risk, but it’s not like you pulled out each night, and despite being at a hospital, condoms are not a trend anymore.”

“The sooner we get to Jackson, the sooner I’ll stop being a burden for you.” Turning around, you start to skin the hare.

“That’s not what I meant,” Joel explains.

“But that’s what it sounded like,” you say, venturing inside the kitchen without looking at him. Your eyes prick with tears, and you do your best to swallow the painful lump in your throat, threatening to come out with a loud sob.

Joel sighs once again, dropping his head back and taking a deep breath.

But you did understand, Joel. He was tired, dealing with ptsd. The least he wanted was more pressure. And you tell him his wife is pregnant? Yeah, he was stressed out.

But in the mind of a woman gestating, your emotions were a little out of control. And you were afraid of indeed feeling like a burden before going home. Where more issues would lurk since nobody knew Joel, and you were alive.

…

A family of four lived inside the house. Two teenagers, mom and dad. They had too many pictures together, framed on the dusty wall in the hallway that connected all the rooms on the second floor.

You enter the master bedroom, completely untouched. The living proof that the world was once fine. The shame of wandering through a stranger’s belongings was long gone. The woman of the house had been tall, frail, and had a shy face, but was very pretty. Still, her clothes fit you, and she had a lot of expired makeup.

Your hands fold three tops to put inside your backpack when the door creaks open, and it makes you alert and startled.

It was Joel, fresh out of the shower. You went first, and the water was flowing brown for the first three minutes.

“You scared me,” you say, returning to fold the clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Joel states, but you just shrug.

“It’s okay, this house is old as hell.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry about me being an asshole before” you look up at him.

“It’s not like the first time. I’m just… shocked,” he admits, taking a seat in the bed where you were folding the clothes. There’s a little expression of awe on your face as you listen to him.

“I get it, Joel,” from the bottom of your heart, you mean it.

“I just want to protect you and make sure we make it back home.”

“I think the worst is over. We were with the enemy for months, and we didn’t know,” Joel nods.

“So WLF?…” he asks, sighing.

“They can go and fuck themselves” you say with a bitter smile. “I don’t think they’ll go back to Wyoming. Their policies only apply in big cities where they can afford the risk of making a settlement.”

“Yeah, but what if?- “You grab Joel’s hand to stop him.

“What? They return to the ski lodge to see that our bodies are gone? Or Ellie goes after them for revenge?” Both of you chuckle. “We’ve already taken too long; we need to go back. I can’t keep going to sleep knowing they think we’re dead.”

“I know, darlin’. We are very close…”

Unbeknownst to you and Joel. Not many good things were happening back in Jackson. And certainly not in Seattle.

“So… you are making me a dad again? At the ripe age of 61?” You chuckle at his comment, letting him grasp your hair. “We’re insane, aren’t we?”

“We’re kinda jinxed,” you admit.

“We are. But I don’t mind as long as we’re together,” Joel says, making you unable to not pretend his words didn’t touch your heart.

“Give me a kiss,” you say, stepping between his legs. He smiles amidst the kiss, feeling his chest relax and trying to be optimistic. Just for you, as always.

Drops of rain start tapping against the window, and both of you look at it.

“We’ll leave tomorrow in the morning,” Joel states firmly, you only nod, retuning to kiss him just a little more.

…

The breeze was humid, hot, and you knew you shouldn’t be wearing a dress when you’re out in the wild. But you don’t care, the isolated street in Arlington had proved to be safe enough.

“What are we exactly looking for?” Joel asks, kneeling beside you. Both of you ignore the loud crack of his bones. Mainly because you won’t want to worry.

“Anything that can give us energy or boost our immune system,” you answer with a little smirk.

Your hands dig into the bushes, spider webs gone thanks to the rain that had been pouring for the last two hours.

“I dunno, darlin’… seems like there’s no such thing” at your husband was killing your hope, you shushed him right after grasping something. “What?”

“Oh my god, Joel…”

Fresh raspberries. You were collecting raspberries. You had never tasted them before.

“I had never tasted raspberries in my life,” you say, pulling out your hand from the bushes, at least four raspberries rested in your palm.

Joel smiled at the sight. Seeing you so happy about something so meaningless as finding raspberries reminded him of what the world had reduced to.

And at the same time, he found himself also enjoying the moment. Because anything that made you happy also made him happy.

“Give some water, please.” he hands you a glass with water he had been drinking inside the house.

You rinse the berries, and soon you are handing him some. Joel smiles at you before taking a bite along with you.

The moment feels surreal. Like a deep breath that you had been holding since the day at the ski lodge. A sense of hope that in a couple of days you’ll be in Jackson and everything will be fine again.

Then… birds flying away, scared.

“What was that?” Joel stands up first.

When you do, you see a lot of birds flying away from a trail of dark smoke coming from the south in the woods. “Change of plans, we need to leave now.”

“But we have our-“

“No… y/n, we are leaving right now,” Joel says with a stern look.

You nod, following him with hurried steps inside the house.

You grab your rifle, the food was packed, and the clothes tucked inside the backpacks.

“Fucking hell” you say as you stand in the porch. Joel follows you and stands.

“What?”

“The horse, Joel… is gone,” you say, pointing at the door of the garage.

Your husband sighs tiredly.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll get a car once we enter the city again; we need to leave.”

You look back at the smoke, looking fainter than before, mixing with the orange sky of the sunset.

You start following Joel with quick steps., your hands holding the rifle as your fingers barely grasped the trigger. Then you see how the large street of old houses starts looking farther and farther, until it disappears from your sight and both of you enter the woods again. To the north…

…

Ellie stands in the darkness, her heart is beating fast, blood rushing with the adrenaline flowing all over.

Some of Nora’s blood was splattered on her face. But her shaky hands gripped the door frame as she watched Tommy bandage Dina’s leg, and Tommy started an improvised meal for her.

“She’s taking longer than expected,” Jesse says.

“She’s coming back, we know it,” Dina bolts to answer him. Ellie knew they were talking about her.

“This was a bad idea,” Tommy adds.

“Tommy. She doing this for”

“For Joel and y/n. I know…” the man glared at Dina.

A heavy silence fell upon the old room.

“She saw all of it. Joel screaming, y/n crying, and-“ as Dina was speaking, Ellie closed her eyes, forcing herself to avoid remembering.

“They might be alive,” Tommy reveals.

Dina seized talking, Ellie gasped, covering her mouth as tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“What?” Dina asks with a broken voice, face full of surprise.

Jesse eyed her with shame. Ellie realized he probably already knew.

Tommy moved away, sighing before standing up and preparing the right words.

“When the horde came, we were out of reach for weeks; we didn’t do patrols,” Dina nodded, urging him to keep talking. “After the reconstruction of Jackson, the snow fell heavier, and we couldn’t reach the ski lodge to collect the bodies. Until the spring arrived, Maria sent Jessie to look again with others.”

Tommy and Jesse eye each other, building tension.

“And?” Dina asked.

“There were no corpses… their backpacks were gone as well,” Jesse said.

Dina sighed, rubbing her eyes.

Ellie almost fainted. Her view turned blurry, and panic flooded her.

The rage she had been containing completely out. She hated even more Nora, her death being proof of her pain. All the trauma, all the suffering… because of that braided woman.

Ellie knew she had to kill Abby.

…

The sound of the river was loud enough to make you almost yell.

Ellie knew she was dreaming. This time, she was aware it was a memory.

She was still in Utah. Joel was leaning against the SUV, rifle in hand, as you were with the girl.

Both of you are still in hospital gowns, splashing water on your faces after hours of being sedated.

“There was no cure, right?” Ellie asks. You shrug, looking at the water flowing.

“Even if there was a cure. I think we would’ve died, Ellie.”

“You have Joel, you have someone waiting for you.” You turn to look at her with a frown. “I don’t. It would’ve been correct for me to make the sacrifice.”

“Ellie… you’re my family,” you firmly say. “You and Joel are my whole world.”

She only eyes you with awe, not knowing what to say. Maybe it was because of the reaction to the sedative.

“I would kill anyone who made me separate from you two,” you admit.

Evidently, the words sank further as time progressed.

__________________________

Short part bc I’m tired, but I’m done with finals so expect longer parts from now on <3

imma start sharing my tw acc bc I’ll gladly be friends with any babe who wants to be moots there, I mainly post about pedro, both in english and spanish so yeah… im @kissmemucho and I have the same pfp as here <3

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭_ @just-mj-or-not @mmkkzz @hiroikegawa @nosebeers @glitterspark @annulmaelae @heartpatch @doodlebob-mp3 @ennvsco @isabella-rose-trastamara @chewie-bars @bypurple @umadirectioner @mrsbilicablog @yvonne-dump @hannah9921 @maystyles @minifresas