#so all I can really do is miss them and miss the comfort of a dream that says I could forgive them

[ja3yun]

Our Life | P.JS

jay x reader warnings: fluff, angst, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cum plugging, oral (f.rec), major theme of death and grievance, character death, mentions of alcoholism (very slight, not for mcs), descriptions of pregnancy and birth, strangers to married couple trope, insane amount of fluff, verging on soulmate au, hopeful ending even though it's sorrowful, some parts not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 34.8k synopsis: one year after his wife passed away, jongseong reflects back on his life, causing him to miss you more than ever a/n: hi! writing this jay fic has come at a really funny time in my life. it's just a fic, i know, but for some reason i'm writing it so personally - a lot of this has to do with me or how i view things, the relationships i have had with my loved ones etc. this fic is the manifestation of the love i want and love i hope everyone experiences. i know we all deserve to have someone care about us so much that we feel safe and cherished. you deserve to be happy, i hope we all find that person. as always, reblogs, comments and feedback is all welcome! i also cried like 5 times writing this so...be warned.

*this fic has serious themes of death, please do not read if this upsets you or makes you uncomfortable! nothing is murder and nothing is violent, but i understand this theme can be upsetting for people!

As Jongseong hears the door of his house gently push open, he can already hear the familiar sound of tiny feet racing towards him. Moments later, the littlest one, Minji, bursts into the room, her laughter bubbling over as she makes a beeline for her great-grandfather.

“Poppy!” she cries, her small arms already outstretched, launching herself into his lap. Thankfully, Jongseong is seated in his favourite recliner so that helps him catch her. A warm smile plasters on his face, ready for her joyful embrace. Minji, at just five years old, is a whirlwind of energy, always eager to shower her great-grandfather with affection. She’s a bundle of life that never fails to brighten the room.

Minhee, her older brother, is a little more restrained. At nearly eleven years old, he’s beginning to see himself as too grown-up for such open displays of affection, though Jongseong catches the fond glint in his eyes. Minhee hovers near the door, perhaps torn between maintaining his cool exterior and giving in to the pull of family warmth.

The children call him “Poppy,” a sweet nickname coined by their mother, Ara, when she was a child. Grandad and Poppa had apparently been too much of a mouthful for her, and the name stuck through the generations. Jongseong smiles to himself, recalling how it all began.

As he waits for Ara to follow them in, Jongseong is pleasantly surprised when Jeyou steps through the door instead. His son, of course, a father himself, offers him a smile that’s full of love and history. Jongseong’s eyes twinkle as Jeyou enters, taking in the sight of his son with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. So many years had passed, and yet, in moments like this, they seemed to collapse in on themselves, leaving just the simple pleasure of being surrounded by family.

And this day a little more bearable.

"Got yourself a couple of shadows today, haven’t you, Dad?" Jeyou says, glancing at Minji who has made herself comfortable on her great-grandfather’s lap, her head tucked under his chin.

"Ah, wouldn’t have it any other way," Jongseong replies, his voice low but full of warmth. He places a gentle hand on Minji’s back, feeling her soft breathing as she calms down from her excited entrance. "Though, I expect you’ll be getting the same treatment soon enough with your old age."

Jeyou chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, she’s all yours for now. Ara’s just grabbing some things from the car, but she’ll be in soon. Couldn’t resist having her kids run ahead."

Jongseong nods. That sounded just like Ara. Always the one to let the children take the lead, full of the same unbridled energy she’d had as a child. Even now, as an adult, she managed to keep that spark.

"Minhee," Jeyou calls, his voice gentle but nudging. "Aren’t you going to say hello to Poppy?"

Minhee hesitates for a moment, then steps forward. His gangly limbs betray his preteen awkwardness as if he's still adjusting to his growing frame. He shuffles over, his eyes on the floor, before glancing up at Jongseong with a shy smile.

"Hey, Poppy," he mumbles, and though his words are quiet, there’s warmth in his gaze.

"Come here, son," Jongseong beckons, and Minhee approaches. He leans down for a brief hug, one that’s a bit stiff but no less genuine. Jongseong pats his great-grandson on the back, feeling the familiar ache in his chest - an ache that comes from seeing the passage of time so vividly in the people you love.

Minhee quickly retreats to the sofa, where he pulls out a book from his rucksack, burying his nose into it as if he hadn’t just shared a tender moment. Jongseong chuckles softly, knowing well that Minhee’s quiet affection is just as real as Minji’s exuberant embrace.

"Just like you at his age," Jongseong remarks to Jeyou.

Jeyou raises an eyebrow. "Was I that shy?"

"Not shy, just...reflective," Jongseong murmured, his gaze softening as memories of Jeyou’s childhood flashed before him. Even as a boy, Jeyou had always been deep in thought, though there had never been a shortage of mischief hiding behind those thoughtful eyes.

But before they could slip too far into the past, the familiar sound of the front door creaking open stirred the present moment. Ara swept in, arms full of bags, her bright smile instantly lighting up the room.

"There’s my favourite man," she called out cheerily, her voice as warm as always. She placed the bags by the door and, in her usual way, let her gaze travel from her children to her father before finally settling on her grandfather. The fondness in her smile deepened as she approached him.

"Hello, Poppy," she said softly, bending down to press a kiss to his cheek. "How are you feeling today?"

Jongseong reached for her hand, his grip gentle but steady. "Better now that you’re all here," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet sincerity.

Today wasn’t an easy day, and everyone in the room knew it - except for Minji, who was too young to understand the weight the date carried. The family had gathered not just for the usual visit but to offer comfort, to keep his mind occupied. Jongseong had been dreading this day for over a week, the memories from years past creeping into his thoughts, but seeing his loved ones around him made it a little more bearable.

Ara steps back to look around the room, her hands resting on her hips as if surveying a scene she knew by heart. "Right, then. Who’s up for a cup of tea?" she announced, though she didn’t wait for a reply. She already knew her answer.

Disappearing into the kitchen, she busied herself with the kettle, placing three cups in front of her and tossing teabags into each. The familiar clink of porcelain and the hum of the kettle filled the air, blending with the gentle sounds of the family settling in. Jeyou, already feeling at home, sank into the couch, his gaze drifting to his father.

"So," Jeyou began, his tone casual but laced with concern, "has the doctor called you yet about your heart? Your review’s coming up in a few weeks, isn’t it?"

Jongseong let out a soft sigh, not wanting to weigh the room down with his health concerns, but knowing it was pointless to brush it off. "Not yet. They’re supposed to get back to me soon, but you know how these things go."

In his mind, his heart is as fit as a fiddle despite the pieces shattered and medical scans telling him otherwise. Being seventy-six puts him at that age where he doesn’t quite fuss over the little things anymore, knowing that when he starts to go, it’s his time. His family don’t quite see it that way, but they always had a knack for worrying.

They get that from you.

Ara returns from the kitchen with a tray of steaming mugs, setting two on the coffee table and one on the side stroller Jongseong uses as a side table. It’s old and it’s definitely not supposed to be purposed for keeping his things close by, but he does it this way anyway. 

“You’re running low on milk and sugar, Poppy,” she states, smiling softly. It’s not like Jongeong to let things run to the last drop, but she supposes it’s probably the last thing on his mind these days. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jongseong returns her kind expression and sits comfortably in his chair.

Jeyou’s eyes drift from the steaming tea on the table to the two untouched cups sitting beside it, their contents long gone cold. His gaze then falls on the doset box, where yesterday's and this morning's pills sit neglected in their transparent slots. A dull ache forms in his chest, growing heavier with each passing second. It’s not like his father to forget things like this. Something in his stomach twists - an unsettling feeling that only deepens when he looks over at Jongseong.

His father, seated comfortably in the old recliner, is absentmindedly running his fingers through Minji’s hair, but his expression is distant. His eyes, usually full of life, are clouded, as though he’s drifting somewhere far away. Jeyou knows that look too well, his father isn’t here in this moment, not really. He’s somewhere in the past, locked in thoughts he won’t share with anyone.

"Kids," Jeyou says, his voice firmer than usual, "why don’t you go play outside? It’s too nice for you to stay in here."

Minji, always eager for an adventure, springs from her great-grandfather’s lap and dashes towards the garden, her giggles trailing behind her like sunshine. Minhee lingers a bit longer, his hesitation clear, but a quick glance at his grandfather’s face tells him everything he needs to know. This was one of those moments where the grown-ups needed to talk. With a quiet nod, Minhee follows his sister outside, leaving the room heavy with unspoken words.

Jeyou scoots forward on the couch, his hands clasped tightly, his heart feeling as if it’s weighed down by a stone. "Dad," he begins, his voice thick with concern, "are you sure you’re looking after yourself?"

As expected, Jongseong forces out a laugh, the sound strained and far from genuine. "Of course I am. What kind of question is that?" He waves his hand dismissively, as if brushing away his son’s worry could somehow make it disappear. But Jeyou can see the cracks in his father’s defences, no matter how hard he tries to hide them.

Ara steps in before Jeyou can push further, her eyes soft but her tone direct. "You look really tired, Poppy," she says, careful not to let too much of her worry spill into her words. She doesn’t mention the state of the kitchen, though it’s hard to ignore. The counters are cluttered with dirty dishes, empty food wrappers, and crumpled paper towels. It’s a far cry from the meticulous space Jongseong used to keep, everything in its place, nothing left unattended. His once-pristine kitchen now looks like it’s seen better days, like he’s given up on keeping it tidy.

And his appearance - Ara notices that too. His hair, usually slicked back with the neatness he always took pride in, now lies flat and lifeless, as though he hadn’t bothered with it at all. Even his clothes seem carelessly thrown on, lacking the care he once put into his daily routines.

"I’m okay, I promise," Jongseong says, offering a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

But they all know better. He’s far from okay, and they can see it in every little detail. His body may be failing, but it’s his spirit that seems most worn down. And that’s not something any doctor could fix with medication or surgery.

Jeyou sighs, the weight of his father’s stubbornness pressing down on him. He knows how difficult it is for Jongseong to open up, especially about something as delicate as his feelings. "Dad, I know it must be tough on you today, with Mum’s anniversary," Jeyou says softly, his voice cracking slightly at the mention of her, "but please, don’t neglect yourself. We need you here. We can’t lose you too."

The room falls silent, the air thick with unsaid things. Jongseong’s face twitches for just a moment at the mention of his late wife, and Ara, sitting by her father’s side, silently curses him with a sharp nudge to his ribs. Her eyes flicker with disapproval, not wanting to mention you so blatantly.

With his smile faltering, Jongseong’s eyes begin glazing over once more as he looks away, as though staring too long into his children’s worried faces might break him. "I’m alright," he murmurs again, softer this time, but no one in the room believes him.

It has been a year since you passed, and while it was easy to put on a brave face for months, something about knowing he has been without you for one entire year puts him in misery, the same misery he felt the day he found you laying on your shared bed, last gasps of breath already evacuated from your body.

jongseong’s heart, once full of love and purpose, now feels unbearably heavy without you. It’s not just the grief that weighs him down - it’s the love. A love that has nowhere to go, nothing to cling to. For over fifty years, his heart beat with the rhythm of your shared life, the quiet moments and laughter you wove into the years together. 

Now, without you, all that love is left to pool within him, filling the empty spaces with a bittersweet ache. He still wakes up wanting to tell you things, still reaches out for you in the night, only to be met with silence. That love, the part of him that was always meant for you, has no place to rest, and he feels its weight with every breath he takes.

He escapes to the past these days, just for the opportunity to see you again.

_____

The party is loud, an overwhelming hum of voices, music, and laughter blending together in a way that makes it impossible to think. The flat is small, much too small to hold the crowd that’s somehow crammed into every corner. 

People from all different majors are squeezed into the living room, the hallway, and even the tiny kitchen, balancing Tesco plastic cups on the edge of counters and bookshelves. It feels like the walls are closing in, the air thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and the heat of too many bodies in one space. Jongseong shifts uncomfortably, standing near the wall with his back pressed to it, hoping to stay out of the chaotic flow of people moving past him.

His friend, Sunghoon, is in his element, leaning over to chat with two girls from the science department. Jongseong can hear snippets of Sunghoon’s conversation - something about biology and "how easy it must be to share a dorm with a future doctor." Jongseong knows what his friend’s after. It’s the same for every party. Sunghoon is smooth-talking his way through the night, hoping to fuck one - or both - of the girls before the party winds down. Jongseong can't help but feel a sense of detachment from it all, wishing he were anywhere but here.

He glances down at his drink, swirling the last bit of beer in his cup, realising he hasn’t even taken a sip in the last half-hour. The music pounds in his ears and the conversations around him blur into a noise that grates against his thoughts. Everyone seems so eager to lose themselves in the moment, but all Jongseong can think about is how out of place he feels, like he’s in someone else’s world.

And then his eyes land on you.

Seated on the worn couch at the far end of the room, you look just as lost as he feels. Your shoulders are hunched slightly, arms folded across your chest, eyes scanning the room with a quiet detachment. It’s like you’re here, but not really. The party swirls around you, but you sit untouched by its chaos. There’s something familiar in the way your gaze drifts, a softness in the way you carry yourself, as if you’re silently wishing to be anywhere else, just like him. 

His heart skips, the noise of the party fading just a little as he watches you, wondering why on earth you are here, or where you even came from. He’s been dragged to enough of these house parties to recognise almost everyone; it’s always the same crowd of wasted university students, all looking for a cheap night and a place to get fucked up.

You shift slightly on the couch, adjusting your position as if you’re trying to get comfortable but failing. The small movement is enough to stir something in Jongseong, a quiet push that breaks through his hesitation of going over to speak with you. He pushes off the wall, weaving through the crowd, his gaze never leaving you. Each step brings him closer to you and further from the loud, chaotic energy around him.

When he finally reaches the couch, Jongseong stands there, smiling down at you. Up close, he notices the small details about you - the way your eyes are slightly glazed over like you're staring through the crowd rather than at it. Your posture is relaxed, like someone who's given up on finding anything remotely interesting in this chaotic scene. You’re lazily twirling a strand of hair around your finger, your other hand drumming absentmindedly on the armrest, and every so often, you let out a quiet sigh. It’s clear you’re bored, as if you're here out of obligation or maybe even on a dare, but definitely not because you're enjoying it.

Jongseong wonders for a moment if approaching you is the right move. Maybe you're waiting for someone, or maybe you'd rather just be left alone to your boredom. But he’s already here, and backing out now would be even more awkward. Besides, there’s a part of him that thinks you might welcome the distraction.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft but just loud enough to be heard over the music. He gives you a small, tentative smile, trying to convey that he’s not like the other loser men at this party, that he’s not here to make your night more unbearable. “Is that seat taken?”

The sound of his voice pulls you from your thoughts, startling you for a split second before your eyes lock onto his face. And what a beautiful face it is. His sharp jawline, soft eyes, and the hint of smile lines add to his handsomeness. The dyed white hair that’s slicked back to showcase his fresh undercut makes your mouth dry, then water just a little as you catch yourself staring.

Shaking off the daze his looks have put you in, you nod your head and smile. “Actually, my friend, Imaginary, is sitting right here,” you joke, patting the seat next to you lightly, “but I think she might move for you.”

Jongseong smirks, charmed by your wit, and takes a seat, spreading his legs just enough that his knee brushes yours. A subtle, intentional move that sends a tiny jolt of awareness through you. The music pounds around you, and the room vibrates with the beat, but here, with him so close, it feels like you’re in a different world - a bubble separate from the chaos.

"Are you new?" he asks, his voice carrying a warmth that cuts through the cold disinterest of the party.

"No, but I don't normally come to parties like this," you admit, glancing around the crowded room.

"Why not?" His eyes stay on you, curious, almost as if he’s trying to decipher the puzzle of who you are. There is something so intriguing about you, his soul suddenly ignited by even the prospect of knowing you.

You gesture around you with a slight roll of your eyes. "Lots of drunk people with egos even though they're only uni kids? Not exactly my favourite." The words drip with sarcasm, your disdain evident in the flatness of your tone. You can’t think of anywhere worse than this - people stumbling around, half-shouted conversations about nothing of substance, the smell of stale beer and sweat hanging thick in the air. It’s a headache in the making, a mess of too much noise and not enough space, a place where everything blurs into a haze of chaos and bad decisions. You’d rather be anywhere else, where people know how to handle themselves without being obnoxious, where the air is fresh and the conversations have weight.

Your answer earns a snicker from Jongseong. He ducks his head, a smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, he looks genuinely amused - like he’s found a hidden gem amidst all the nonsense around him. He takes a second to soak it in, feeling something light and warm settle in his chest. 

When he glances back up at you, there’s a brightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Okay, let me ask you another question, then - why are you here?" he asks, his tone playful but curious, like he’s genuinely invested in peeling back the layers of who you are. 

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I'm gonna have to start charging you for all these questions, y’know." There’s a teasing edge in your voice, but underneath it, there’s also a spark - something alive and electric, something that catches Jongseong off guard, a flicker in his heart.

He laughs softly, nodding along with a look that says he’s enjoying this more than he thought he would. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t just play along with the usual small talk but actually pushes back a little, makes him work for it. He hadn’t expected you to have so much spunk and confidence from just watching you sit there, looking lost in thought. It’s refreshing - a sharp contrast to the superficial conversations that fill the room around him. 

In all honesty, he thought you might have pushed him off, unwilling to even entertain him, never mind willingly try and drag out the conversation with him. That’s what he gets for judging a book by its cover.

"I can pay for a meet-and-greet, don’t worry," he says, his voice low and smooth, proud yet playful. His eyes gleam with a challenge, like he’s throwing down a gauntlet he hopes you’ll pick up. There’s an unspoken dare there, a flirtatious edge that makes your heart skip a beat. It feels like you’re both dancing on the edge of something - something that could tip into something real, something interesting, if either of you is brave enough to take the next step.

“So,” he continues, leaning back slightly, more relaxed now, “why are you here?”

He takes a sip of his drink, and it’s then that he notices you don’t have one. You don’t seem to mind, though, and he doesn’t comment on it, but it strikes him as a little odd. Typically, if someone is having a fuck awful time at a party, they drown themselves in alcohol to let inhabitions go and just pray to God they don’t make a fool of themselves. He knows there has to be a story there, and he can’t wait to uncover it.

"Thought I would check it out. I hear they’re all the rage," you say with a wry smile, clearly feeling the distaste on your tongue. 

Truth is, you’re trying new things this year, pushing your boundaries to help form your character. You’re sick of hearing about all these experiences through the lenses of TikTok videos and Instagram posts from your friends; it’s time to start living out the life you want. Not everything will be your cup of tea - tonight if quite evident of that, you can certainly cross parties off your FOMO list - but there is no harm in trying different things,

“Eh, parties are overrated, if I'm being honest,” he replies, his eyes tracing the features of your face. You’re so beautiful but so fucking familiar. He doesn’t know you, he would remember someone as ethereal as you. But there is part of him that feels you deep inside, as though you’ve rocked something in his soul.

Like you’re placing yourself home in his heart.

"Okay. Then why are you here?" you challenge back, your eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.

Jongseong leans in a little, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I hate these parties. Can’t stand how loud and irritating they are. The noise, the drunk people who can't hold their alcohol, the same shallow conversations...” His words trail off as he glances around, his lip curling in mild distaste. “I’ve always been a people person, but…just not these people.”

Sucking your teeth, you nod, agreeing with every last syllable of his sentence. You feel this on another level, but considering he seems to be acquainted with parties enough to dissect and disregard them so easily, you still ponder your question. 

Raising your eyebrows, you silently wait for him to continue.  

“Y’know Sunghoon? The campus heartthrob?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He hates to refer to his best friend as such, but that is literally his title within the university. Sunghoon is notorious for having girls and guys falling at his feet, kissing the ground he walks on because he has been voted Korea’s perfect face three years in a row. Jongseong doesn’t grudge it, he votes for his friend too, and he isn’t blind, he can see how attractive he is.

“Yeah?” you respond, intrigued.

“Well, believe it or not, that beautiful son of a bitch is my best friend.”

Considering the way this boy presents himself, you would have genuinely never guessed that he was friends with someone as high profile as Park  Sunghoon. However, it does explain why, even if he hates the parties, he attends nonetheless. 

You chuckle, your eyes glinting as you begin to steer the conversation in the direction you both want it to sail. “You’re saying that like you aren’t equally as pretty.”

Jongseong flushes, his cheeks dusting a faint pink. The warmth spreads across his face, and he bites back a grin, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. It’s the tiny confirmation he needed to know that you want to flirt with him. That information alone perks his confidence up, although still shy under your flattering observation. He quickly plasters on a teasing smirk, fluttering his lashes dramatically and placing his hand under his chin, wiggling his fingers. “Oh? So you think I’m pretty?”

The scene before you brings out an even bigger laugh from you than earlier, though it’s not mocking or condescending - just pure amusement and joy. It’s infectious, and Jongseong feels his heart swell at the sound. He has the sudden urge to make you laugh like that for a long time, to see that carefree sparkle in your eyes again and again. He doesn’t want to say forever, but his heart is sure screaming it.

“I think you’re pretty, yes,” you say, your smile soft and genuine, your eyes sparkling under the annoying table-side lamp with its harsh white bulb - a stark contrast to the warmth you radiate. The lamp is obnoxious and stupid, casting its ugly, sterile light on everything around it, much like several of the people at this party. But Jongseong can't help but find it almost poetic that it’s illuminating something - or rather, someone - so captivating. 

There’s a sense of irony in how this harsh, artificial light only seems to highlight the genuine softness in your expression, the way you carry yourself with a quiet confidence that makes you stand out without even trying. You shine so brightly, even in a room full of noise and chaos, and Jongseong begins to sense just why he was so drawn to you at first glance.

It’s not as if you’re ‘not like other girls’ or whatever cringe, indie-female-lead syndrome that sounds like. No, it’s that in a room full of people competing to be seen, you’re the only one who Jongseong cares to know about. There’s a magnetism to the way you occupy your space - comfortable in your own skin, bored but not bitter, playful but not insincere. You seem untethered from the superficial games playing out around you, and that’s what makes you different. It’s not that you’re trying to be; it’s that you simply are - at least, in Jongseong’s eyes.

He feels a warmth spread through his chest, a lightness he hasn’t felt for a long time. For a moment, the noise of the party fades, replaced by the sound of your laughter, ringing clear and unforced, like something rare and precious in a place like this. It strikes him then - how easy it would be to just keep listening to that sound, to find ways to make you laugh again, to see how your eyes light up when you’re amused.

“How about we get out of here?” Jongseong suggests, his voice laced with a hint of excitement that he can’t quite hide. “Grab some food, and I’ll walk you home.”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Leaving this place does sound tempting...but here’s the thing, I don’t even know you,” you say, your words playful, though the interest in your eyes betrays how intrigued you really are.

He feels a flicker of embarrassment for not having introduced himself sooner. “Shit, sorry. Let me introduce myself.” He straightens up, setting his cup down with a small, almost sheepish grin. Then, with a playful seriousness that makes you chuckle, he extends his hand, inviting and warm. “I’m Jay, I’m 22 years old, I study music technology, and I’m single.”

You can’t help but smile at his theatrics, mirroring his gesture and placing your hand in his. The warmth of his skin sends a flutter through your stomach, your insides skipping in joy all of a sudden, but you ignore it, focusing instead on the easy banter between you. “My name is Y/N, I am 23 years old, and I am also single,” you reply, your tone matching his playful formality.

His grin widens, a flash of confidence in his eyes. “Sounds like the perfect match, don’t you think?” There’s a charm to him that’s hard to resist, an easy confidence that makes you feel like you’ve known him much longer than just these few minutes.

As you hold his gaze, you find yourself drawn to him in a way that surprises you. It’s not just his looks - though there’s no denying he’s handsome - it’s his energy, his wit, the warmth that radiates from him. Never in your life has someone matched your energy so well. He’s like a breath of fresh air in a space that feels stifling, and it’s intoxicating in a way that no drink here could ever be.

You knew, from that very moment, that you wanted to know more about him, and he knew he was going to marry you one day.

_____

"A treasure hunt?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice as you raise an eyebrow at him.

Jongseong had thought about you nonstop since the moment he walked you home from that party. A few stolen moments in your company, a brief but memorable conversation - it had not been enough. Not nearly enough. It was as if something inside him ignited that night, a quiet but unrelenting fire, burning through his thoughts whenever your face crossed his mind. The way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke - it was intoxicating, and he found himself craving more. So much more. 

His friends had noticed too; he wasn’t subtle in the least. Every chance he got, he’d talk about you, about the brief time you two had spent together, already analysing every moment like a lovestruck fool.

And so, he’d come up with this date: a treasure hunt. A way to get to know you, to create an experience that wasn’t just the mundane dinner or movie date. No, this had to be different. You deserved different. Something unique. He’d spent days working out the details, coming up with clues, places, and the perfect way to make this evening special. He wanted you to smile, to laugh, to feel how much thought he had poured into this. 

Jongseong grins, proud of himself, "Yep. Well, sort of. I'm going to give you an envelope, and you're going to figure out the riddle."

Your lips curve into a soft smile, the kind that makes his heart race in a way he’s almost embarrassed to admit. You're used to men putting in the bare minimum. Dinner and a movie, sometimes even just a text at 11 pm, wondering if you were still awake. But this? This is different. He’d thought about this, actually put in effort. A treasure hunt on a first date? It was quirky, yes, but endearing. It makes you wonder if somehow, during that boring party, you found a ruby amongst diamonds. The idea makes your stomach flutter slightly and anticipation build.

"Okay," you tease, holding out your hand, palm up. "Where is this magical envelope with all the answers then?"

"Well..." Jongseong steps closer to you, the air between you buzzing with unspoken tension, playful and light. He pulls the envelope from his suede brown jacket pocket and dangles it just above your open hand. As you reach for it, Jongseong pulls away at the last second, flashing you a mischievous grin.

“Really?” You huff, your voice carrying more amusement than frustration. He’s playing with you, and you can’t deny you enjoy it.

"Not so fast," he says, heart thrumming in his chest so loud because fuck you look so beautiful, he just wants to be as close to you as possible. So, he steps even closer, his body towering over yours. The warmth from his body feels almost tangible, and the playful gleam in his eyes makes your heart stutter. "You have to answer me one question before I give it to you."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though it’s all in good fun. "So not only do I need to use my brain and solve a puzzle, I also have to divulge personal information? You really know how to get a girl talking."

"Pretty much, yeah." His smile is smug, and you can tell he’s feeling particularly clever about his little scheme. It’s adorable, really. 

"And if I say no?"

"Then this date ends very quickly," he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, though you can tell he’s trying hard to mask his anticipation. He leans in slightly, voice low and teasing. "And you miss out on my meticulously planned adventure."

His words are light, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of vulnerability there. He’s trying to play it cool, but you sense how much he hopes you’ll say yes. That small spark of emotion hidden behind his teasing makes your heart soften just a little more. There’s something so sweet in how much effort he’s putting in, and you can’t help but feel drawn to it. Feel drawn to him.

With a dramatic sigh, you nod, "Fine, what’s the question then?"

Jongseong chuckles, clearly pleased with himself and his persuading manner. "Straight to the point. I like it." He holds the envelope out again, this time a little closer to your palm. "What’s your favourite type of food?"

You pause, considering for a moment before a smile spreads across your face. "Hmm... Italian, or! Caribbean."

He raises an eyebrow at your sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Both?"

"I mean, how could I possibly choose between ravioli and kabritu stoba?" You laugh, feeling the lightness of the conversation flow easily between you. This is nice, it feels like you have somehow known each other for years.

"Fair enough," he says, nodding approvingly. He waves the envelope slightly, catching your attention. "Now, open this."

You tear it open carefully, unfolding the piece of paper inside. The words are written in neat, careful handwriting, a small clue to the meticulous planning that went into this.

"To taste where flavours meet and blend, Find the 5treet where numb3Rs enD. Look where hungry students convene, The number’s hidden in this scene."

You frown slightly, reading it over again. Riddles aren’t exactly your strong suit, but you try to piece it together. Okay, there's a 53 in there, and R and D are capatilised...hungry students? Then it hits you, a beam of satisfaction at how quickly you managed to solve it shining from your pleased grin.

"53rd Note!" you exclaim, eyes lighting up. "The food stall on campus!" You look at him, a grin tugging at your lips. "I'm right, aren’t I?"

Instead of giving you a verbal answer, Jongseong simply gestures for you to lead the way. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for you to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his in a way that feels so easy, so natural, it takes him by surprise. His heart skips a beat, something he didn’t think was possible in a moment as simple as this. Your hand in his feels...perfect. Warm, comforting, and everything he didn’t know he needed until now.

You feel the shift too - the way the simple touch adds a new layer to the evening. There’s something electric in the air, a sense of anticipation and excitement. It’s just a handhold, you tell yourself, but there’s more to it. The quiet understanding, the subtle acknowledgement of a connection that neither of you is ready to speak about just yet, in fear of jinxing something.

As you walk together toward the diner, the city lights twinkling above, the world feels a little smaller. It’s just the two of you, hands clasped, both of you teetering on the edge of something that feels new and exhilarating. Jongseong glances at you from the corner of his eye, his heart pounding in a way he knows he won’t forget. He’s down bad for you, that much he’s realised, fuck, he even came to this conclusion when you told him your name. But now, holding your hand, walking beside you on a slightly chilly evening, the sun setting in for bedtime while the moon starts its shift, he thinks maybe - hopefully - you might be down for him too.

_

The walk to 53rd Note is relatively short, yet it feels like time expands as you and Jongseong fall into an effortless rhythm of conversation. There’s no awkwardness, no fumbling through the typical, banal exchanges that often fill first dates - no one asking about favourite colours or talking endlessly about the weather surrounding you. Instead, the dialogue between you flows naturally, easily, as if you’ve known each other far longer than you have.

Jongseong’s questions are thoughtful, pulling you into a deeper conversation that takes you by surprise in the best way possible. "Why did you pick your major?" he asks, genuine curiosity lacing his tone. You find yourself opening up, explaining your passions and dreams, not feeling the need to hold back. There’s something about the way he listens that makes you feel heard, truly heard. His eyes never wander, his attention never falters - he is fully attentive.

"Is silver jewellery your thing, or are you allergic to gold?" he asks with a chuckle, glancing at the small silver ring on your finger. The question is odd but endearing, making you laugh. And when you ask about his interest in food, you learn that cooking is one of his many hidden talents. He admits to almost studying culinary arts before choosing music tech, a decision that sparks even more questions between you both.

The conversation continues, and you feel your guard slowly falling, piece by piece. You even ask him why he decided to talk to you that night at the party. His answer is simple, yet it holds weight. "I just wanted to get to know you."

By the time you reach the little food stall nestled on the corner of the student campus, you’re both lost in conversation and laughter. The place is a campus favourite, known for its amazing food and usual agonising long queues. It’s the kind of spot everyone flocks to after lectures or late-night study sessions. But tonight, something is off. The shutters are down, and the sign on the shutter swings lazily in the breeze, declaring the stall closed.

"I-It’s closed," you stammer, disappointment heavy in your voice, not because you can’t eat here, but because you feel a twinge of guilt knowing how Jongseong must have spent time planning all of this, and now you've hit a hurdle at the first stop. The last thing you want is for his carefully thought-out plan to be ruined so suddenly.

But when you turn to face him, the smile on his face hasn’t faltered. If anything, it’s grown wider, as if he’s completely unfazed by the situation. "Come on," he says, his voice full of quiet confidence as he gently squeezes your hand and leads you towards the shutter.

The stall is small but charming, with a bright yellow exterior and hand-painted menus plastered along the walls. Colourful string lights hang above it, though they’re unlit now, swaying lightly in the evening breeze. You notice a small table tucked beside the stall, probably a place for students to gather and chat as they wait for their orders. Everything about this place radiates warmth, even though it's currently closed.

Jongseong raises his hand and knocks on the metal shutter, the sound loud enough to startle a few birds perched nearby. Moments later, the shutter rolls up with a slow creak, revealing a boy wearing an apron and hairnet on the other side. His face lights up as he sees you both, his excitement palpable.

"Two to go, please," Jongseong grins at his friend, whose eyes gleam with understanding. Jake, nods enthusiastically, already bustling behind the counter. You quickly realise this is all part of Jongseong’s plan.

"You... how did you know he was in there?" you ask, confusion and amusement blending together as you look between Jake, who is clumsily wrapping up your food, and Jongseong, who’s leaning casually against the counter, looking as if everything is going perfectly to plan.

Jongseong’s cool demeanour makes you smile. "I know the owner," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "He let me borrow the hut for a minute."

In truth, Jongseong had to beg Woobin - the actual owner - to close up shop during peak hours. It wasn’t an easy feat. He had offered everything he could think of in exchange: guitar lessons, study help, and even his favourite hoodie. Woobin had eventually relented after enough pleading, but only on the condition that Jongseong wouldn’t touch the stock. Still, it worked out, and now here he is, pretending it was all effortlessly arranged.

"The normal guy isn’t here, though?" you ask, glancing at Jake, who looks completely out of his depth as he fumbles with the wrapping paper. It’s clear he doesn’t normally work here, but you can’t help but appreciate his enthusiasm.

Jongseong shifts slightly, his posture still casual, but you notice the flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He takes a breath, his voice calm but tinged with something deeper. "Ah, well... I cooked this meal."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you see a flash of vulnerability in him, a rare crack in his otherwise confident exterior. He’s laid himself bare now. The pressure isn’t just about whether this date is going well - it’s about whether you’ll like his food. 

For Jongseong, cooking is an act of love. Growing up, it had always been how his family showed they cared. His mum, his grandmother, they had taught him that food was more than just sustenance. It was a way to express emotion, to bring people together. And now, he’s hoping you’ll understand that.

He watches you carefully, his heart pounding in his chest as he waits for your reaction. This isn’t just any meal. It’s his way of subtly showing you how much he could care for you, not just tonight, but for as long as you’ll have him. You can feel the weight of his unspoken words, the silent hope behind his playful banter. It’s more than just food; it’s a gesture, a glimpse into how deeply he’s already fallen for you.

Jake hands over the dishes with an exaggerated flourish, grinning from ear to ear. "Enjoy, my beautiful lovebirds," he says, winking at the two of you. You stifle a laugh, watching as Jongseong’s face flushes slightly, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. He’s clearly embarrassed by his friend’s teasing, and for a moment, you think he might actually throttle Jake. But you, on the other hand, find it sweet - endearing even - and thank Jake with a bright smile, not at all put off by the comment.

Being lovebirds with Jongseong isn’t hard to imagine, not really.

As you and Jongseong approach the small table near the stall, you take a moment to appreciate the surroundings. It’s a simple wooden setup, aged from the constant exposure to student life - scuffed by countless bags, elbows, and books. Yet tonight, it feels like it’s transformed into something more intimate as if the evening air and the quiet chatter in the distance have turned it into your own private dining space. The string lights above the stall, though unlit, seem to glimmer faintly in the twilight, casting a soft glow over the scene. The air is cool, but not cold, carrying the faint scent of campus greenery and the distant hum of city life.

Jongseong pulls out one of the two chairs for you, a small gesture, but one that sends a flicker of warmth through you. As you sit, he unravels the paper bag, the rustling sound filling the air, and the intoxicating aroma of the food reaches your nose before you even see what’s inside.

The first thing you notice is the kimchijjigae. The spicy tang hits you instantly, its deep red broth shimmering with flavour. The scent of fermented cabbage, tofu, and gochugaru wafts up, causing your stomach to rumble in anticipation. Beside it are two perfectly portioned servings of fried rice, golden and inviting, alongside bindaetteok - crispy mung bean pancakes that look so perfectly golden-brown, you can almost hear the crunch as you imagine biting into them.

Everything looks so carefully prepared, yet it’s simple, unpretentious. The kind of food that speaks volumes about the one who made it. Your heart swells as you realise how much thought went into this meal, into every tiny detail. It's not just about the food, it's about the care behind it.

"You made all of this?" you ask softly, your voice tinged with awe as you gaze at the beautifully arranged dishes in front of you. Despite the simplicity, the food looks incredible, and you can feel the thought and effort poured into it. You glance up at Jongseong, your eyes filled with admiration.

He nods, handing you a cup of water after pouring it carefully from the bottle Jake had given him. "Yeah," he says, his tone casual, but there’s an underlying nervousness in his eyes, as if he’s waiting for your reaction, hoping you’ll like what he’s made. "Everything’s vegan too. I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary restrictions or didn’t eat meat, so I went with the safest option."

That small detail, the consideration behind it, makes your chest tighten. He had thought of everything. You’d never mentioned anything about your diet, yet he had gone out of his way to make sure the meal would suit you, just in case. It’s such a thoughtful gesture, so full of quiet care, that it nearly overwhelms you. It’s not just the food he’s offering - it’s a piece of himself, his heart wrapped up in every bite.

Your heart swells with affection, and you smile so widely it almost hurts. "That’s...incredibly thoughtful," you murmur, feeling the weight of what he’s done settle warmly in your chest. You’re not used to people putting this much effort into dates, let alone cooking a meal tailored to your needs without even knowing them. In fact, you don’t think anyone has ever put this much effort into you as a person. It makes you feel seen, cared for, in a way that surprises you.

Without another word, you take your chopsticks and carefully lift a small piece of bindaetteok, its crispy edges crackling slightly as you bite into it. The taste is immediate; crispy on the outside, soft and delicate inside, with a rich flavour that bursts on your tongue. It’s perfect, so perfectly seasoned and balanced that you can’t help but let out a small, delighted squeal.

Your eyes light up as you look at him, your hands coming together in a quick, enthusiastic clap. "Oh my God, Jongseong!" you exclaim, your excitement bubbling over as your feet bounce under the table. "This is amazing!"

Jongseong lets out a relieved laugh, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he watches your reaction. His eyes soften, filled with a quiet joy that he can’t quite put into words. "I’m glad you like it," he says, his voice a little quieter now, the relief and warmth evident in his tone. But there’s something more in his expression, a look of pure contentment as if seeing you happy has made all the anxiety he’s been feeling completely worth it.

He wants to make you this happy forever.

You dig into the rest of the food eagerly, trying the kimchijjigae next. The broth is spicy but comforting, the heat hitting you just right without being overwhelming. The fried rice is fluffy, with a subtle but rich taste that perfectly complements the other dishes. Every bite feels like a hug, the kind of meal that fills both your stomach and your heart.

As you eat and chatter, you can’t help but look at Jongseong, this boy who’s already managed to sweep you off your feet without even trying, your heart doing most of the soaring. You see the way he watches you, the small smile that tugs at his lips every time you take another bite or tell him another story. He’s nervous, but proud, clearly pleased that you’re enjoying the meal. And in that moment, you realise how much he’s already starting to mean to you. This is more than just a first date - it’s the beginning of something, something that feels real and full of possibility.

As you finish the last bite, you feel a surge of warmth spreading through you—not just from the food, but from the entire experience. The way Jongseong has thought through every detail, from the meal to the riddles, makes your heart swell with affection. You smile, letting the emotion seep into your voice as you look up at him. "Jongseong," you say softly, holding his gaze, "this was...perfect. Compliments to the chef."

Without missing a beat, Jongseong's face lights up with pride. He stands up with an exaggerated bow, playing up his role as the triumphant chef, and gives a few playful nods to an imaginary audience. His movements are full of cocky grace, a confidence that’s both endearing and maddening in the best way. You can’t help but laugh, your body suddenly feeling warmer at how effortlessly charming he is - this is depth to Jongseong that you desperately want to unravel, layer by layer.

In more ways than one.

Still glowing with laughter, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another envelope, teasingly waving it in front of you. "Now," he says, his smirk growing wider, "you want the next envelope?"

Nodding eagerly, you can barely contain the glee and anticipation bubbling up inside you. The treasure hunt has been so fun, and now you’re ready to see what’s next.

"Okay," he begins, placing the envelope on the table in front of you, his eyes glinting with mischievous delight. "But first, you’ve got to answer my question."

You nod again, this time pretending to adopt a serious game face, your brows furrowing in faux concentration as you prepare yourself for whatever difficult question he’s about to ask.

"Who was the first person you ever went to see in concert?" Jongseong asks, leaning in, his smirk turning a little more playful.

Your confident expression falters as you immediately dissolve into laughter, the memory of your first concert flashing vividly in your mind. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress your giggles, but it’s no use. Jongseong raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. "Oh, there’s a story here, huh?" he prompts, grinning wider. "Is it embarrassing?"

"Not embarrassing... maybe," you begin, still giggling as the memory takes hold of you. "It was... an ‘In the Night Garden’ experience. I was seven years old, and I got to dance with them on stage." You snort, remembering how excited and utterly starstruck you were as a child.

Jongseong blinks once, then twice, as if trying to process the image, and then bursts out laughing. He leans back in his chair, throwing his head back with full, hearty laughter that echoes through the quiet evening air. It’s a deep, unrestrained laugh that makes your heart skip a beat, the kind that feels as warm and genuine as everything else about him. You join in, your laughter melding with his, both of you giggling like children at the sheer absurdity of your revelation.

"In the Night Garden?" he repeats, still chuckling, his voice filled with disbelief. "The kids' show? I was expecting you to say something like EXO or SHINee!"

You hide your face in your hands, the realisation dawning on you that it is, in fact, kind of embarrassing. But you can’t help but laugh at yourself. "I did see EXO and SHINee later on, but they weren’t my first!" you protest between giggles.

"You didn’t think to lie?" he teases, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Not at all," you say, your voice softening as the laughter dies down. There’s something wistful in your tone now, a hint of sincerity that catches even you by surprise. "I don’t want to lie to you, not about the silly stuff and…not about the serious stuff either."

For a moment, the air between you changes. The playful banter gives way to something deeper, a quiet understanding that passes between you. It’s as if, in this small moment, you’re both realising how much you want to be honest with each other - how much you want to truly know each other. You see Jongseong’s face shift, his teasing grin softening into something tender, something full of affection. He can see it, the way you’re falling a little deeper into him with every word, every shared laugh, and the joy that fills his face is undeniable. His eyes sparkle, and his lips curve into a smile so warm, it feels like a promise.

"Well," he says, pushing the envelope across the table toward you with a soft, satisfied sigh, "I think you’ve earned the next clue."

With a grin, you eagerly take the envelope, your fingers tingling with excitement as you carefully tear it open. The riddle inside reads:

"Under a bridge of lights, a river’s friend. Where music plays, the night will never end. So gather near, beneath the sky so bright, And hear the melodies that fill the night."

The moment you finish reading it, a confident smile spreads across your face. "Oh, this is easy," you say, wiggling your shoulders smugly. "It’s the Han River."

Jongseong nods, impressed but not surprised. "Of course. But there’s a little surprise waiting for you. Come on." He stands, holding out his hand to you, his eyes twinkling with proud knowing.

You take his hand instinctively, your fingers curling naturally around his. As you stand up, you find yourself moving closer to him, your bodies leaning into each other in a way that feels effortless, natural. The walk toward the river feels different, like every step brings you closer, not just physically but emotionally. The night air wraps around you, cool but pleasant, and the distant city lights shimmer like stars scattered along the horizon. The quiet hum of life around you fades into the background as your focus narrows to the warmth of Jongseong's hand in yours and the soft sound of your footsteps together.

Your heart beats steadily, not with nerves, but with a quiet certainty: you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

_

As you approach the Han River, the usual serene atmosphere is broken by the soft hum of excitement. A crowd is gathered by one section, and you spot people seated in a semi-circle, the area aglow with warm, delicate fairy lights and scattered fake candles that twinkle like stars against the night sky. Amps are neatly arranged around a modest stage setup, cables snaking across the ground as if drawing people into the intimate space. The whole scene feels like it’s been lifted from a dream—cosy, inviting, and charged with quiet anticipation.

You turn to Jongseong, eyebrows raised in question. "Is this one of those busking things?"

"Not just any busking thing," he corrects you, his grin widening as he pulls two tickets from his pocket. His excitement is hard to contain as he watches you inspect them.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes fall on the print: Sam Kim, filming for Begin Again Open Mic.

"How did you—?" you begin, stunned, unable to process how he’d managed to pull off something so incredible.

"I might have stalked your Instagram a bit," he admits with a sheepish chuckle, though his expression is anything but embarrassed. "Saw you post about him a few times and figured it was a sure thing.” The tickets weren’t easy to get, though, that part he isn’t telling you. He had to sell one of his precious guitars to make it happen, but the look on your face right now? Totally worth it. 

Your eyes well up, not from sadness, but from a deep, overwhelming appreciation. There’s something unfamiliar yet beautiful blooming in your chest, a warmth that spreads through you and makes your heart race in a way it hasn’t before. "Thank you so much, Jongseong," you whisper, the words falling out on their own. 

Never have you looked at a man and felt this way, and you don’t think you ever will unless it’s Jongseong.

Before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. At first, he seems caught off guard, his body stiffening for a moment. But then, as if the feeling clicks into place, he quickly relaxes into the hug, his arms encircling you with gentle but firm pressure. You feel him bury his face briefly into your hair, inhaling your scent, committing it to memory like it’s something precious he wants to hold onto. His warmth wraps around you like a protective shield, and for a second, the world fades away.

If this is what being with you is like, he never wants to spend another minute apart.

"Come on," he murmurs into your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Let’s get our seats."

He leads you toward a blanket with his name written on a small tag in, neatly reserved in one of the best spots. As you approach, he helps you settle down onto the blanket, standing behind you attentively as you smooth out your skirt. It’s a simple gesture - making sure you’re comfortable, that your clothes are fixed just right and you don’t unwillingly flash the poor couple behind you - but it feels like so much more. Your skirt, a flowing, light fabric that swishes around your legs, catches the evening breeze as you adjust yourself, and you find yourself grateful for his thoughtfulness.

Once you’re seated, Jongseong slips down beside you, the space between you both comfortably close. He takes off his jacket and places it over your legs, to shield you from the biting cold wind from the river and reserve your modesty. 

Just as you settle in, the quiet murmur of the crowd dies down, and the soft strum of a guitar fills the air. Sam Kim steps onto the small, makeshift stage, his presence met with excited murmurs and appreciative applause from the audience.

You can’t believe it. Sam Kim, live and in person, just a few metres away. Your heart swells as the first notes of ‘Closer’ begin to play, the song wrapping around you like an old memory, one you didn’t realise you had been holding so close. The smooth timbre of Sam’s voice fills the cool night air, his words resonating deep within you.

You feel yourself lean instinctively toward Jongseong, and without hesitation, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer into his side. His warmth anchors you as the music washes over you both, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. He presses his chin softly atop your head, his hand lightly tracing your arm in slow, comforting strokes.

The tenderness of the moment, combined with Sam Kim’s voice singing about longing and love, stirs something deep inside you. As the next song begins - Seattle - its delicate melody and heartfelt lyrics unravel any composure you had left. Tears prick at your eyes, and you can’t help but let them fall as the song’s quiet emotion seeps into every fibre of your being. There’s something about the raw vulnerability in the music, in the moment, that makes it impossible to hold back.

Jongseong notices right away. Without a word, he gently tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer into him as if to shield you from the overwhelming emotion. He presses his lips softly against your temple in a tender, wordless gesture of comfort, his breath warm and steady against your skin.

As soon as his mouth makes contact with your skin, he feels sick in such a profound way, that all his love and realisation is now reaching from his toes, past his heart, and into his brain.

You glance up at him through your damp lashes, and he meets your gaze with such sincerity that your heart skips a beat. His eyes are full of unspoken promises, of quiet understanding. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, speaks louder than words ever could. In that moment, it feels like the music, the river, the night sky, and Jongseong are all blending together in perfect harmony.

The rest of the performance unfolds in a beautiful haze of music and soft touches. Each song Sam Kim plays feels like a gift, and by the time the last note fades into the night, you’re left with a feeling of warmth and connection that goes beyond the evening itself. It’s as though something shifted between you and Jongseong - a silent but profound acknowledgement that tonight was about more than just a date.

The final notes of the performance linger in the air, weaving through the soft hum of conversations around you. As the crowd begins to disperse, you wipe the last of your tears, touched not only by the music but by the entire night, Jongseong has crafted for you. His presence feels like an anchor, steady and reassuring amidst the emotional whirlpool of the evening.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" His voice is filled with concern, his gentle eyes scanning your face as though searching for any lingering sadness. You sense his earnestness, his desire to make sure every second of tonight was perfect for you. Jongseong knew you liked Sam Kim, but he hadn’t expected your deep connection to the music to stir such raw emotion in you. But now, seeing the impact it had, he’s certain Sam is officially his favourite artist too, simply because of what he’s done for you.

Smiling through the tenderness swelling in your chest, you nod and offer a playful pout. "I'm more than okay. Really, Jongseong, thank you so much for all of this. I don’t think I’ve ever had a date like this," you laugh, the joy bubbling up as you stand up, Jongseong quickly offering his hand to help you to your feet. His touch is light, but there’s an intimacy in the way he smooths out the wrinkles of your skirt, his fingers brushing over the fabric as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A laugh escapes you again, this one softer, almost wistful. "I don’t even think I’ll ever have a date like this again."

But the truth behind your words hits deeper than you let on. You know someone like Jongseong is rare, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of soul. The universe doesn’t often gift the world people like him so easily, and yet here he is, standing before you, having planned the most thoughtful evening you’ve ever experienced. It feels like a miracle, like some kind of cosmic alignment that allowed you to meet him.

Jongseong, ever so sweet, tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. "Oh, you will," he says with a soft shake of his head, a playful yet sincere smile tugging at his lips. "Because I’m going to take you on dates bigger and better than this."

His words settle in your chest, a gentle promise that fills you with an almost dizzying sense of happiness. He’s not just thinking about tonight; he’s already imagining the future - your future together. What you don’t know is that during the mini-concert, as the singer’s voice crooned through the air, Jongseong was secretly planning the next date, and the one after that, and the next one after that one, and so many more. In his mind, he’s already picturing you both years down the line, holding hands when you’re old and grey, still laughing, still sharing moments like these. He’s jumping the gun here but that’s how much he wants you in his life, no, needs you in his life.

You reach up, your hand cupping his face, your thumb gently stroking the cool surface of his cheek. His skin feels smooth under your touch, but there’s a warmth beneath it, a warmth that spreads from him to you. "How about I plan the next one?" you offer, the words carrying a weight of confirmation - you want more. More moments like this, more laughter, more adventures. More him.

Jongseong’s eyes light up, his heart swelling with happiness. "Deal," he says, his voice low but laced with excitement. His gaze, however, drifts lower, his eyes falling to your lips. The air between you shifts, suddenly charged with a new kind of energy. He’s no longer just thinking about the next date; he’s thinking about now. The urge to kiss you swells inside him, consuming his thoughts. He wants to feel your lips on his, to communicate the emotions he hasn’t been able to fully express with words. His pulse quickens as he realises just how close you are, how easy it would be to lean in, close the gap, and make this night even more unforgettable.

You sense his desire, and a matching one blooms within you. Your heart beats faster as you step closer, rising onto your tiptoes. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you press your lips against his.

The kiss is soft at first, a delicate brush of skin against skin, but it carries the weight of all the unspoken feelings between you. Jongseong stills for a moment, his breath catching as he savours the sensation of your lips on his. There’s a gentleness in the way he kisses you, a quiet reverence as though he’s afraid to break the spell. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, but never rushes. Each movement is careful, slow, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

Your body tingles with warmth, a soft hum of pleasure spreading through you as you kiss him back. The world around you fades into the background—the quiet murmur of the river, the distant buzz of people - all of it disappearing as you lose yourself in the moment. His lips are warm and inviting, moulding perfectly to yours as though they were always meant to fit together. It’s sweet and unhurried, as if you have all the time in the world to explore the depth of this feeling.

As the kiss lingers, you feel the intensity of his emotions bleeding through, each press of his lips a silent confession. He’s telling you, without words, how much he’s already fallen for you. How he’s imagined a future with you, a lifetime of nights like this one. There’s a vulnerability in the kiss, an openness that makes your chest tighten with something more than affection. It feels like trust, like promise, like everything you’ve ever wanted but didn’t know you needed.

When you finally pull away, your breath mingles with his in the cool night air, your lips tingling with glee. His eyes are still closed, savouring the aftertaste of the kiss, as though he’s replaying it in his mind, etching it into his memory.

You both stand there for a moment, soaking in the adoration that seems to swirl around you. The Han River, mixed with the lights of the busking, and the love in the aire from the other couples, you feel it, all so immensely. Something has shifted. This isn’t just the start of something new - it’s the beginning of something deeply powerful. Something neither of you can quite put into words yet, but both of you feel it. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way your lips just met, and in the way your hearts are already intertwining, bonding you to him for a lifetime.

Pulling himself away from the moment, Jongseong opens his eyes and grins down at you, kissing your forehead, desperate to keep his lips on you in some way. “Ready for the next one?”

“Oh, Absolutely.” Your answer is so self-assured and confident, there is no apprehension in your tone, only sheer enthusiasm to spend every waking minute with him.

Jongseong feels the same way, maybe even more than you. And he can’t wait for the day he gets to tell you how he fell in love with you in this moment.

_____

Laying in Jongseong’s bed, you slouch lazily against his headboard as you lose yourself in the words on your Kindle. The paragraphs of The Handmaiden grip you, pulling you into their twisted world, stirring a whirlwind of emotions inside you - a cocktail of disgust, hope, fear, and love. Love especially lingers on your mind, but little do you know that someone beside you is feeling that emotion just as intensely, perhaps even more, because the reason for his swirling heart is real and currently wearing his AC/DC t-shirt.

He stares at you engrossed in your book and for some strange, inexplicable reason, his chest feels tight and the pressure behind his eyes hurt, like he is a bottle of coke and there is a packet of Mentos just landing inside his soul.

"I fucking love you so much," Jongseong says suddenly, his voice soft yet undeniably passionate, carrying a depth that cuts through the silence of the room like a bolt of lightning. His body language or facial expression doesn’t change, in fact, the feeling has been inside of him for so long that speaking the words into fruition doesn’t change a thing about him. 

You freeze, the words on your screen blurring as your mind tries to process what you just heard.  Did he really say that? Maybe you misheard him. “What?” you ask, turning your head to face him, and once you see the sincerity in his face and the fire in his eyes, your heart begins to race, and your question is answered.

“I love you,” he repeats, more pointed this time so you know there is not even a wiggle of doubt, his eyes locked onto yours with a look so sincere it leaves you breathless. “More than my heart or my chest can hold in.” 

His confession takes you completely by surprise. It feels so sudden, so unexpected, that for a moment, you’re left speechless. You knew he cared deeply for you - his actions and gentle gestures have always spoken louder than words - but hearing it now, on a random Wednesday night, three months into your relationship, when you were just lounging in his bed, didn’t seem like his style at all. 

And you were right, Jongseong was always the one for grand gestures, for perfectly planned moments. He wanted to tell you over a candlelit dinner, complete with a big speech about all the reasons he fell for you, fighting the urge to tell you on your very first date. But he knew his feelings, he couldn’t deny them nor did he ever want to, however, maybe blurting out ‘I love you’ when he didn’t even know your favourite colour was a bit quick, so he decided to wait for the perfect moment, which he had guessed would be planned.

But there’s something so genuine about this moment - him saying it while you’re here, wearing his oversized t-shirt, your glasses perched on your nose, so absorbed in your book that you didn't even realise he was watching you. There’s no grand setup, no orchestrated plan - just pure, unfiltered feeling. Sometimes, you don’t need a big, fancy gesture; sometimes, the love is enough.

His hand reaches out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. His touch pulls you in, makes you forget about everything else except him and the love reflected in his eyes. Somehow, he looks even more beautiful than he did 10 minutes ago.

You place your Kindle to the side, giving him your full attention, and clasp his fingers with yours, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse under your touch. “You love me?” you whisper, almost as if saying it too loudly might shatter the magic of this moment.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice as easy as breathing, because that’s exactly what it feels like to him. Falling in love is supposed to be scary and daunting, placing your heart in the palms of someone who could break it with one wrongdoing is enough to put people off giving and receiving the emotion. But Jongseong? He would give you every part of his body for you to keep hold of - for you to own. You are everything he needs in life, the only person he would start a war for, he trusts you completely; he has never felt anything this strongly before. 

Your chest feels like it’s suddenly desperate to connect with his, to close the gap between you both and merge yourselves as one whole being. His words sink into you, filling spaces you didn’t even know were empty. 

With a shaky breath, you hold back a tiny sob, the aura in the room too overwhelming for your heart. But not overwhelming enough to stop you from saying how you feel. “I love you too, Jongseong,” you confess, your voice trembling slightly, but not with uncertainty - rather with the sheer intensity of the truth.

He looks at you, searching your face for any hint of doubt. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you, but it’s just the slight thread of insecurity in being so vulnerable with someone. "You mean it? You aren’t just saying it out of obligation? Because you do-”

You interrupt him, squeezing his hands tighter. “I mean it. More than anything else that has ever left my mouth. I love you.”

A Cheshire smile breaks across his face, bright and unrestrained. He grabs your face in a rush, his big hands enveloping your cheeks as he begins to pepper kisses all over your face - your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, every inch of skin he sees squished between his palms - until you’re giggling uncontrollably. 

“Jongseong!” you squeal, your laughter infectious, and thus he keeps going, pinning you down gently, his weight warm and secure over you, his lips finding every spot that makes you laugh even harder until your sides hurt. This is what love is supposed to feel like, childlike and free, just as you two always are.

You are in love. So incredibly in love.

When he finally stops, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I will love you until my dying breath, Y/N L/N,” he promises, his voice low and solemn. The serious current that accompanies the joy in his voice tells you all you need to know, instilling you with confidence that this man means every word and every emotion he is pouring into you.

A grin spreads across your lips, and you can’t help the heartfelt response that tumbles out: “I’ll love you until we’re food for the worms to eat.”

Your morbid but romantic description makes his heart thump, his expression turning even brighter. He laughs, a rich, melodic sound that fills the room, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you like you’re the only girl in the world. “Had to one-up me, huh?” he jokes.

“You know me, always one step extra,” you tease, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt.

The kiss starts slow, tender - a soft press of lips that speaks of newfound confessions and the quiet promise of forever. His lips are warm, moving gently against yours, and you can feel the way his breath hitches like he’s savouring every second, every little brush of skin against skin. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging slightly, eliciting a low, rumbling groan from deep within his chest.

The kiss turns heated, a spark catching flame as his hands slide down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. He slots his body between your legs, his hips situated on yours as his member hilts against you. Your legs spread wider to let him fully lay on top of you, your boyfriend’s heart kissing your own with each beat.

His lips part, deepening the kiss, and you respond in kind, matching his intensity. The world around you blurs; all you can feel is the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips mould perfectly with yours, and the electric current that courses through you with every touch, every breath. 

Jongseong’s hand grips your hip, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver, and his lips move with a hunger that matches the rapid beat of your heart. He’s pouring everything into this kiss - all his love, his need, his promise - until you’re both breathless and burning with a desire that you never want to end.

The kiss breaks for just a moment, enough for both of you to catch your breath and him to discard your t-shirt, but Jongseong’s lips don’t leave your skin for long. His forehead rests against yours, and the two of you share a lingering moment of closeness, eyes locked, hearts pounding in sync. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, a shared desire that flows in the charged air between you.

With a soft, almost reverent touch, Jongseong begins trailing kisses along your jawline, slow and deliberate, as though he’s memorizing every inch of your skin with his lips. Each kiss is a whisper of warmth, igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through your body. You tilt your head back, giving him access, and he doesn’t waste a second. His mouth continues its descent, moving down to your neck where he plants open-mouthed kisses, his tongue brushing lightly against your pulse point, causing a shudder to run through you.

His hands, warm and steady, explore the curves of your body as he works his way lower, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He lingers there for a heartbeat, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him on, and he responds with a low growl that reverberates against your skin, sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

Jongseong shifts, his lips now trailing down to the valley between your breasts, each kiss more purposeful, more heated than the last. His breath is hot, his touch sure, and every movement, every press of his lips, leaves you aching for more. You arch your back, pushing yourself into him, craving the sensation of his mouth on your body.

As he continues his descent, kissing lower and lower, until he is at the band of your panties, his breath fans across your skin, and the anticipation builds with every second, every soft press of his lips against you.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick with adoration.

You giggle, hiding your face at the chanting confession. You can’t believe a man so perfect is in love with you. Gently, you run your fingers through his hair and pout down at him, “I love you, too.”

The words brush down your torso and into Jongseong’s ears, eliciting a smile from him. That is all he has wanted to hear, from the moment he met you. He knows love like this is precious, and he never intends to waste it.

Carefully, his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and pull them down, your legs instinctively opening, showcasing your bare, glistening pussy for your boyfriend to see. It’s delicious, succulent, and all entirely for him to devour.

"So fucking pretty," he whispers, sending chills down your spine. The room feels hotter as he settles between your legs, tongue poking through his lips oh so teasingly to wet them, your clit weaping for attention. He does this to you a lot, makes your body react in ways it never has before, even after your first date you felt your panties soaking more and more to the point you dragged him into your dorm room and fucked him. 

Was it a smart idea to fuck a man on the first date? Not usually, but you knew from that day that you were willing to spend the rest of your life with him so, what was the harm in some fun?

Kissing your clit, Jongseong looks up to watch you as he always does, loving the way your face conveys the pleasure you feel. Even the simplest of touches has you under his mercy. As he begins to lap at your core with his tongue, you can't help but clutch his hair, your fingers tangled in the strands as you grind into his face. Your back lifts from the bed as you seek even more pleasure.

Overcome with how you taste, he doesn’t even register your fingers in his hair, pulling at it harshly when he circles your clit with his tongue. You’re so wet as he slurps you up but there’s so much it’s dripping onto his chin. It serves as motivation to keep going, to pleasure you as much as possible, to show you how much he wants to devour you, both body and soul.

Jongseong doesn’t get pussy drunk with girls, but he does with you. Addicted to the taste and smell of you, he just wants to rub himself all over you, covering himself in your slick as if to scent him, like you’re both wolves in some ABO universe.

“Don’t stop, Jongseong,” you groan out, the backs of your feet digging into his back as you pin him down as best you can, signalling to him your need for more. 

Smirking at your desperation, Jongseong’s tongue runs itself along your entrance and it makes you buckle, pushing his head in further. He continues his effort, making you a panting mess. His tongue was a gift from God and you’ll need to thank the big man later when you meet him for blessing you with a sex-god boyfriend.

A sex-god boyfriend who is in love with you.

Dipping his tongue in a few times helps him gauge how tight you are, seeing how much prep he needs to give you before he can fuck his love into you. As if reading his lewd thoughts, he feels your pussy squeezing, his tongue taking advantage and swirling around to hit more circumference of your walls. 

“I can’t wait to be inside of you, baby. To show you how much i really love you.”

It’s funny that he thinks sex would showcase his love any more than his eyes and heart already do. You know he loves you, you might have been shocked at how abruptly he said it tonight, but you’ve always known. It’s in the way he kisses you, how he cooks dinner for you even after long days, and it’s in how he would give up anything to see you happy.

Your clit is suddenly being simulated by his nose, it poking at it slightly the more bountiful he inserts his tongue. It feels otherworldly, “Jongseong, s’good, so good, fuck,” Your fingers harshly massage his scalp as you wiggle, close to cumming.

He knows it too, you’re dripping so much it’s leaking over half of his face. It’s so fucking hot how you’re a mess like this, just for him, only for him. Jongseong switches his tactics, lips now encircled around your clit and sucking harshly on it, the new sensation causing you to cry out, a new wave of your juices dripping down his chin and onto his bedsheets 

And just a few seconds later, you’re coming undone. 

Jongseong, ever pleased with himself, cleans you up with his tongue, sucking up the slick that’s flowing form your hole and drinking it greedily. You taste so good he could spend hours down here. But unfortunately, and selfishly, he needs to fuck you. Right here, right now.

Wiping your essence from his mouth, Jongseong crawls up over your body, placing gentle kisses up your torso, past your heaving chest, and back to your lips. He stares at you with something deep in his iris’, a promise that he will always make you feel this inspired, this gleeful, and never cause you any harm. 

When you’re so in love with someone, all the emotions come with it. And while you both encompass the very being of adoration and love, sometimes that red that represented your passion for one another, turned into a shade none of you liked.

_____

Your heels slam against the tiled floor of the hallway as you march through the dimly lit corridor of your apartment building, the sound echoing like the beating of a war drum. Every step sends a jolt through your aching feet, but the pain is nothing compared to the simmering rage boiling in your veins. You fumble for your keys, hands trembling with a mix of exhaustion and fury, the metallic clinking of the keyring mocking your every failed attempt. When you finally manage to fit the key into the lock, it sticks, just like it always does. You curse under your breath - a small, infuriating reminder of the list of things that should have been fixed, but like so many other things lately, were neglected.

You give the door a sharp push, the old wood groaning in protest as it swings open, the gust of night air brushing over your flushed skin, cooling the anger that’s blazing just beneath the surface. Without thinking, you slam it shut behind you, the force sending a jolt through your arm as the door rebounds off something - or rather, someone. Your boyfriend. The door collides with his face, eliciting a pained grunt as he catches it just in time to prevent further damage.

“Really, Y/N?” he groans, rubbing his jaw where the door had made contact. His voice is strained, more exasperated than angry, but it only fuels the fire burning inside you.

You toss your clutch onto the nearby table with a careless flick of your wrist, the sharp clatter slicing through the tense silence. Kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary, you whirl around to face him, your vision clouded by a searing flash of red-hot anger. You know you should apologise, at least for the door, but the apology sticks in your throat, smothered by the bitterness that’s bubbling up like a storm ready to burst.

Raking your fingers through your hair, you grip tightly at the roots, desperate to hold onto something, anything, to stop yourself from unravelling completely. “I don’t even want to look at you right now,” you spit, voice thick with venom, every word dripping with the weight of betrayal. Your expression twists into one of pure disgust as if just the sight of him is enough to set you off all over again.

You spin on your heel, determined to escape, but before you can make it to the sanctuary of your bedroom, you feel his gentle grip on your elbow. It’s a light touch, but it might as well be ironclad, and despite every fibre of your being screaming to pull away, you find yourself turning back to him, drawn by a force you can’t quite resist. You wish you could fight it - fight him, fight this magnetic pull that always seems to reel you back in - but your heart, traitorous as it is, weakens at his touch.

His eyes are steady, calm even, but the way his jaw tenses betrays the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior. You can see the flicker of frustration in the tightness of his clenched teeth, but it’s not directed at you; it’s aimed at the mess that’s wedged its way between the two of you, threatening to tear apart everything you’ve built together. He’s not angry with you, not even a little, but you can see the weariness in his gaze - the weight of a thousand unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Too bad, because I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We’re talking this out right now,” he says, his voice low but firm. He is not letting you stew in this mess, he hates the way your brain works, how it overthinks for hours, creating a mountain out of a molehill when he knows that one simple conversation can solve all problems.

He does fear that this might not be solved with a quick debate and kiss. This is going to take more than that.

You yank your arm away, swallowing the painful lump forming in your throat as you catch the brief flash of hurt in his eyes, like a knife twisting deeper. “Oh, sorry,” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your words, the sound bitter in your mouth. “What would you like to discuss first? The fact that you embarrassed me in front of my entire family and ruined my sister’s engagement party, or the fact that you punched my dad?”

Each word leaves your lips like a punch, each accusation sharper than the last. You watch as his calm exterior fractures, his eyes flickering with a cocktail of regret, anger, and something you can't quite place. The room feels like it’s closing in, the air heavy with the weight of things said and unsaid, as the silence between you sharpens, poised to snap at any moment.

Jongseong flinches, his expression flickering for a moment, the crack in his composure barely visible but unmistakable to you. He’s always been so unshakable, so infuriatingly composed during moments like this, and for a split second, you see the vulnerability beneath the mask - the guilt, the pain, the anger at himself. But he quickly steels himself, his gaze locking onto yours with a resolve that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think I wanted that to happen?” he shoots back, his voice low and rough, trembling slightly with the effort of keeping it steady. His eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, as if searching for some kind of understanding in the sea of your fury. “You think I planned to lose it like that? That I wanted to make a scene in front of your whole family?”

His words hang heavy in the air, every syllable a plea for you to see him, to see the mess of emotions churning inside him, but all you can feel is the sting of humiliation, the sharp edge of betrayal slicing through your chest. 

The scene replays in your mind like a broken film reel, each frame more painful than the last. Your father’s slurred words, the way Jongseong’s posture stiffened, the moment things spiralled from heated words to fists flying. You remember the sickening thud of your father hitting the ground, the horrified gasps, and the wave of whispers that rippled through the room. Your heart had dropped to the floor along with him, and in that split second, everything had shattered - your sister’s engagement, your mother’s fragile composure, and the image you’d built of the man you loved. You can still hear the murmurs, each one laced with judgment, each one a knife twisting deeper.

Your dad has always been a kind man at heart, but the bottle changes him into someone unrecognisable, a man who lets the worst parts of himself spill out. You remember the nights as a child, hiding in your room while your parents fought, your mother’s angry voice telling him to sober up or get out, how he would vomit over the living room floor and have no recollection of it in the morning. It’s those memories - the helplessness, the fear, the shame - that have kept you from ever picking up a drink. 

You vowed never to touch the stuff, never to let alcohol turn you into someone altered, and Jongseong understood that about you from the start after you trusted him with your memories. He made the promise to you that night, quitting the moment you told him how much it meant to you, swearing he would never touch another drop again. You didn’t ask him too, he simply did it because that’s how much he loves you.

You step back, folding your arms across your chest, a protective barrier against the storm brewing between you. “You punched my dad, Jongseong!” you shout, your voice cracking under the strain of holding back tears. “You humiliated me in front of everyone. My mom was crying, my sister - God, do you even know what you did to her tonight? It was supposed to be her moment, and you ruined it!”

He steps forward, reaching out as if to touch you, to comfort you, but you take another step back, the distance between you widening. The urge to let him hold you, to fall into his arms and let the weight of tonight melt away is so strong it hurts, but you can’t. Not yet. Not when everything is still so raw, so jagged.

Jongseong breathes out and calms himself, “Listen to me,” he steps forward once again and he’s relieved that you don’t move. “I should not have acted like that, and that is what I am sorry for. But I will not let a man who has caused you so much pain talk about you like you are less than what you are. As long as my heart is beating, even when it stops, I will protect you from anything and anyone. I do not care if it’s family, or a stranger, or even yourself. You mean more to me than any other person on this planet and if I think for a second your heart is in danger, I am willing to do anything to protect it.”

His words hang in the air, raw and intense, vibrating with a passion that cuts through the tension like a blade. His gaze is locked onto yours, unwavering, filled with a fierce, almost desperate determination that pulls at something deep inside you. He’s closer now, just a step away, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with the cold ache of your own heartbreak. For a moment, all the noise in your head quiets, leaving only the thundering rhythm of your own heartbeat and the weight of his promise.

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the intensity of the moment settles around you. You’re torn between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the undeniable pull toward him, the man who’s both your solace and, tonight, your greatest source of pain. Jongseong’s words are like a salve, and though they don’t erase what happened, they start to soothe the jagged edges of your hurt. You can see the fear in his eyes - fear of losing you, of becoming the person you’ve always dreaded. There’s a vulnerability in him now, raw and unguarded, and it stirs something soft within you.

You take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from your shoulders, just a little. Your grip on the anger loosens, and the tight knot in your chest begins to unfurl, replaced by a slow, tentative warmth. Your fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, but you keep them at your sides, not quite ready for the full embrace of forgiveness but open to something gentler, something that feels like understanding.

“Jongseong,” you start, your voice quieter now, less a weapon and more a tentative bridge. “I know you meant well. I know you were trying to stand up for me. But you have to understand… that’s not what I need. I don’t need you to fight for me like that. I don’t need you to get angry on my behalf. I just need you to be here, to help me feel safe. Not like…” You trail off, your eyes dropping to the floor as you fight to find the words. “Not like this. We’ve been together for 5 years now, I told you my dad has his moments like this and as a family, we all chose to stick by him and support him, for mum’s sake. He is trying and sometimes he slips. Punching him and lashing out because he said some stupid shit he won’t remember in the morning isn’t the answer, it’s not what I want from you.”

Jongseong’s expression softens, the fierce determination in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more regretful. Honestly, he hates that you’re all so kind to a man who has caused you grief and misery your entire life, but you, your mum, and your sister are the kindest souls in the universe, it’s in your nature to see the good in people. Jongseong wishes your dad saw you all that way too, rather than taking advantage of the chances you give him.

He steps closer, his hand finally making contact with your skin and you instantly calm, the weight of his palm on your cheek grounding you. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeats, his voice breaking slightly, carrying the weight of his remorse. “I know what I did was stupid. I still don’t regret it,” he admits, his honesty ringing clear despite the regret in his tone. “I’d fight anyone who tried to hurt you, physically or emotionally. That’s how much you mean to me.”

You look up at him, the tears you’d been holding back now spilling freely. His confession doesn’t erase the pain, but it does offer a window into his heart - a heart that, despite its flaws and mistakes, beats fiercely in your defence. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between his protective instincts and the reality of his actions.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice quiet but unwavering. “I know you’d do anything to protect me. But if we’re going to be a family - when we get married - you’ll be part of all this. You have to understand that. You have to respect my mum and dad’s needs.” Your words are a bridge between your love for him and your love for your family. “If you can’t do that, then I can’t let you be a part of their lives. I need you to know that.”

Your voice trembles slightly at the weight of what you’re saying, and the look in Jongseong’s eyes shifts. He doesn’t speak right away, but his silence is filled with understanding. You can see your words land like stones in his chest, the gravity of your family’s importance settling in. He knows how much they mean to you, and the unspoken warning lingers: if he messes this up again, there’s no way forward. The very thought of a future without you sends a ripple of fear through him. He’s never imagined that possibility because, to him, there is no option. He won’t let it happen.

His stomach churns at the idea of losing you, but his hope brightens as you say ‘when we get married’ rather than ‘if’. “I’ll do better, Y/N. I promise, I’ll support you in whatever way you need me to.” His shoulders drop slightly as if conceding to the truth you’ve laid bare between you. “You’re strong. I should’ve known that, and I’m sorry for not trusting that strength.” His remorse is palpable, and you can feel the weight lifting slightly from your chest, the anger and hurt that had clouded your mind beginning to dissipate.

The room seems to settle, the tension slowly dissolving into something calmer, something more manageable. You look up at the man you love, really look at him, and see how much he truly cares - how deeply he regrets what happened, not just for you, but for everyone. His eyes are sincere, remorse shining in their depths, and for the first time since the night began to spiral, you feel a sense of peace.

You exhale, your own apology forming on your lips as the fog of anger clears from your brain. “I’m sorry too. For lashing out, for hitting you with the door…it was childish. I shouldn’t have acted like that.” A flush of embarrassment heats your face, the shame of your actions making you feel small.

Jongseong reaches up to rub his jaw, faking a wince, and thankfully, the playful gesture lightens the air between you. “Nothing a kiss can’t sort out,” he teases, his lips quirking into a small, pouting smile, trying to bring a bit of levity to the conversation.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Let’s just make sure we don’t cause a fiasco at any more engagement parties, okay?”

Jongseong chuckles slightly, his grin widening as he tilts his head. “What if it’s at ours? Do I get groom rights to cause chaos then?”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you play along. “Well, you’d have to propose first for me even to consider that.”

Jongseong’s eyes twinkle with mischief and that same love that has always projected through from his soul as he leans in, lowering his voice to a playful whisper. “Just you wait, baby.”

_____

The heavy wooden doors of the chapel creak open, and Jongseong straightens his suit jacket, his fingers smoothing over the fabric of the black suit you had so carefully picked out for him. It’s tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to a sleek fit at his waist. The crisp white shirt underneath feels a little too tight around his collar, not because of the fit, but because of the sheer enormity of the day. He inhales deeply, gathering all the breath he knows he’ll lose the second he begins his walk down the aisle.

At 34 years old, he’s finally getting married, and it still feels surreal. Even this morning, as he stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting his tie, it all felt more nerve-wracking than he could have imagined. His hands trembled slightly, not with doubt but with anticipation. It isn’t cold feet - far from it. Marrying you is the most certain thing he’s ever felt. In fact, the only thing weighing on his chest isn’t whether or not he’s making the right choice - it’s the fact that, for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not by his side.

Last night, the night before your wedding, was the longest you’ve spent apart in years. You’d stayed with your sister, following the superstition that the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other before the ceremony, and while it seemed trivial at first, Jongseong missed you more deeply than he ever thought possible. Since that party so many years ago, he’s spent every moment he could by your side, and now, after sharing a home, building a life together, the thought of you not being there in his bed last night left an ache he hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t the marriage that was causing him anxiety. He couldn’t wait to marry you—to say the vows, to see you in your wedding dress, to call you his wife. No, what had his stomach in knots was the thought of walking down the aisle with all eyes on him. The idea of being the centre of attention, of every gaze following his every move, from the ball of his foot to the tip of his toes, made his skin crawl. Even as a kid, Jongseong hated being the focus of a room. 

You’d always been the one to handle social situations with grace, navigating crowds, talking to guests, and subtly keeping the two of you out of the spotlight when he needed it. God, he wished you were here right now to hold his hand and whisper something to ease his nerves.

But of course, you weren’t. Tradition had stolen you away from him this morning, and now, he had to face this moment alone. The chapel, though filled with friends and family, felt overwhelmingly empty without you by his side. His heart pounded harder in his chest as the reality of the moment hit him.

Suddenly, the soft notes of music swelled from the organ, pulling him from his thoughts. It was the cue the wedding planner had told him about, the signal that it was time for him to make his way down the aisle. He stood still for a moment, nodding to himself as he acknowledged what lay ahead. The attention, the eyes on him, the anxious fluttering in his chest - it would all be worth it the second he saw you at the other end of the aisle.

With a deep breath, he steps forward. His polished black shoes make a quiet click against the stone floor of the chapel, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. Jongseong’s gaze flickers up briefly, catching sight of familiar faces in the pews. His mother, sitting proudly near the front, offers him a warm, reassuring smile. He tries to return it, but it feels stiff, nerves still crawling beneath his skin. His father gives him a subtle nod of encouragement, and Jongseong straightens his back, feeling the weight of their support behind him.

As he continues to walk, the scent of lilies and roses, the same ones you picked out together for the ceremony, fills the air. Sunlight streams in through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant colours across the chapel floor - deep reds, purples, and golds dancing around his feet like blessings from above. He hears the faint rustle of fabric as guests turn their heads to watch him, but he keeps his eyes forward, focusing on the path ahead.

His palms are sweaty, and his pulse quickens with each step. The aisle feels impossibly long, like a steep hill with a drinking fountain waiting at the top. The rows of guests stretch on and on. Jongseong fights the urge to tug at his collar, to loosen the tie just a bit, but he knows it won’t help. Nothing can calm the storm inside him except you.

But as he nears the front, something shifts. The nervousness, the anxiety of being under watchful eyes, begins to ebb away, replaced by something else. Anticipation. Because just after this walk, after these few moments of discomfort, comes you. The love of his life. His future.

He greets your family with fondness and love as he reaches the end. Each one has become integral to his life, the definition of his second family. Jongseong's smile softens as he approaches them and offering a slight bow in respect. 

His future mother-in-law is sitting to the side, her eyes filled with warmth. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, fingers intertwined, though her expression is calm and composed. She has always been a strong presence in your life, and he feels the same quiet strength radiating from her now. She nods to him, her lips curving into a gentle smile that puts him a little more at ease. There’s a silent understanding between them - one forged through shared moments, family dinners, and heart-to-heart talks that had transformed Jongseong from a visitor into a son.

Standing next to your other bridesmaids is your sister, fidgeting slightly with the lace of her dress, her excitement palpable as the number one supporter in this relationship. She beams up at him, her eyes twinkling. She’s always been the one to bring lightness into any room, to ease tension with a well-timed joke or a teasing comment, and seeing her now, vibrant and full of life, reminds him of all the times she’d teased him for being so nervous about today. Her laughter and encouragement had helped him through many anxious moments, and her unspoken support right now is a comfort he hadn’t realised he needed.

They are his family now, just as much as his own parents sitting a few rows behind, and knowing that fills him with a sense of belonging.

Jongseong takes his position at the altar, trying to shake off the nervous tension building inside him. His friend Sunghoon is already there, waiting with a grin that’s equal parts mischief and pride. Sunghoon, who had been there for every milestone in his relationship, claps him on the back. It's surreal for both of them; after all, it was Sunghoon who dragged Jongseong to that dreadful party where you first met. Sunghoon had refused to let Jongseong skip it, even though Jongseong had dramatically declared he’d rather run naked through a field of nettles than attend. Now, Sunghoon stands by his side, proud of the role he played in bringing you both together and wearing the title of groomsman like a badge of honour.

"You look like you're about to get married," Sunghoon teases, laughter dancing in his voice. From where he stands, Sunghoon sees his best friend transformed. Jongseong’s usual cool demeanour is present, but there’s a deeper layer today - one of anticipation and raw emotion. His usually steady hands are clenched slightly, his jaw a little tighter than usual. Sunghoon notices all these small signs, but underneath them, he can see that Jongseong is just waiting to call you his wife, the need to call you Mrs. Park is what’s making him shake.

"Yeah? Too overdressed?" Jongseong jokes, trying to mask the nerves that refuse to leave him completely.

"Just a little," Sunghoon nudges him playfully. His smile fades into something more sincere. "You ready?"

Jongseong takes a deep breath before responding, his voice quiet but confident. "I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready in my life." He ignores the whispers and murmurs from the crowd, sounds he can't quite decipher. Will they be bad? Probably not, but that doesn’t stop his brain from trying to twist them into something else. What if they all think you’re settling? Still, he pushes it all aside, focusing on the one thing that matters: you.

He is so excited to see you. You had kept everything a secret - your dress, your hair, even down to your nails. He had tried every trick in the book to get even the smallest detail out of you, from sweet persuasion to playful pestering. He’d casually ask while you were busy with wedding plans or playfully guess what colour you might be wearing, trying to gauge your reaction. Each time, though, you would just smile coyly and shake your head, refusing to give anything away. Jongseong had groaned in mock frustration, but deep down, he knew it would be worth the wait. He was absolutely certain you’d look breathtaking, no matter what. You always look like the most beautiful person in the world, like the earth around you, only blooms to keep up with your beauty.

Sunghoon grins, breaking Jongseong’s thoughts. "I saw her earlier, y'know. Tried to talk her out of making a massive mistake." His tone is light, there’s no mistaking the fondness in his eyes. Sunghoon had actually visited you before the ceremony, not to convince you of anything, but to tell you how happy he was that you had come into Jongseong’s life. He had joked that he wanted a child named after him, but beneath the teasing, he was sincere. He told you how lucky he felt to witness true love up close, to see two people so in sync that it was like watching a real-life fairytale.

For Sunghoon, it was like one of the bedtime stories he read to his daughter, tales of love that transcended everything else. Sometimes, when he read those stories, his mind would drift to you and Jongseong, imagining the two of you as the characters destined for each other. Even his wife is amazed by the connection you share - two people who fit together so effortlessly that it was hard to believe. Sunghoon and his wife love one another so much, but they can recognise that you and Jongseong’s love is once in a lifetime, and they learn so much from you.

"Yeah? How did she look?" Jongseong asks, his voice tinged with hope. "Nervous? Cold feet? She’s definitely coming, right?"

Sunghoon throws his head back, laughing loudly, the sound echoing through the quiet church, eliciting some confusion on the faces of the guests. "She looks way out of your league, but no, she’s not nervous. She’s ready. In fact, she told me to let you know that you should cry when you see her. If you don’t, she’s marrying Jake instead."

Right on cue, Jake, the other groomsman, pops his head over Sunghoon’s shoulder with a wide grin. "And I will marry her in a minute, so you better get those waterworks going."

Jongseong can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all. But he knows you’re serious about the tears. Your man is not one for crying, he rarely feels the need for tears, but he has a sneaking suspicion you’re going to get your wish.

The music starts, and Jongseong stiffens, his heart slamming against his ribs as if it’s trying to escape his chest and rush down the aisle to meet you. It’s only been a night since he last saw you, but to him, it feels like an eternity. The shared bed had felt too big, too cold without you beside him, and in that quiet space, he realized just how much you completed him. He missed you, and though it might seem dramatic, the longing reminded him that this wasn’t just about nerves. It was about the indescribable excitement of committing himself to you, completely and forever.

He had wanted to do this years ago, perhaps two years into your relationship rather than waiting twelve. But you had been the practical one, insisting that you both build your careers, settle into life without the added pressure of a wedding. He hadn’t minded too much; after all, what was a few more years when you had forever to spend together?

As the soft strains of music fill the chapel, Jongseong freezes. It’s an original piece - the one he had composed for you way back in the beginning of your relationship. The ballad, a quiet testament to the love he held for you even then, was something he’d never expected to hear today. Each note flows seamlessly into the next, blending together like the way his love for you has always been: fluid, effortless, natural. 

For him, loving you has never been complicated. It’s as though the melody was written not just with the keys of the piano, but with the strings of his heart. The tears, which you had so eagerly asked for, begin to gather at the corners of his eyes.

Then he sees you.

You appear at the end of the aisle, and his breath catches. Words escape him because they’re not enough to describe how radiant you are. The light from the stained-glass windows dances across your white gown, making you look as if you’re wrapped in sunlight itself. The lace of your dress hugs your figure delicately, each intricate detail shimmering as if woven from the stars. Your veil, soft as gossamer, floats behind you, catching the gentle breeze that filters through the open chapel doors. Your eyes, bright and full of love, meet his, and in that moment, Jongseong knows - if ever there was perfection, it is you.

Your beauty is beyond anything he could have imagined, like a dream come to life. You are the embodiment of every love song, every poem, every whispered promise. As you walk toward him, it feels like time slows, like the world pauses to let him savour every second, every step. You are grace personified, and all he can think is how lucky he is that this is real, that you are his.

Beside you, your father walks proudly with his arm linked through yours. His face shines with pride, his entire being glowing with joy. Jongseong feels a surge of pride for him as well. Their relationship had a rocky start, but now, four years into his sobriety, your father has become someone Jongseong admires deeply. 

The way you and your family never gave up on him taught Jongseong valuable lessons in patience, compassion, and what it means to truly love someone through their struggles. Watching your father today, standing tall and proud, Jongseong knows that all the hardships were worth it. He understands now that loving someone through their demons isn’t easy, but it’s something only the most special people can do - and you are one of those people. You have made Jongseong a better man, and he is and always will be eternally grateful for that.

When you and your father finally reach the end of the aisle, Jongseong’s breath hitches as he sees you up close for the first time. He’s lost for words, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. The tears that had gathered in his eyes finally spill over as he gazes at you. Your smile is so bright, most likely happy at his reaction, and he suddenly feels like his heart is trying to burst through his chest just to meld with your own; he is so privileged you hold his heart this way.

“You look…” he starts, but the words catch in his throat.

“Like I’m ready to be your wife?” you finish with a teasing smile, your voice warm and steady.

Jongseong shakes his head, his voice cracking with emotion. “Like my everything.” 

The way he says this, so pure and genuine, your smile falters just ever so slightly, your face now wanting to express an earnest love, the kind of expression you only look at the love of your life with.

Your father, watching the exchange, beams with satisfaction. There’s a tenderness in his expression as he shakes Jongseong’s hand, pulling him into a firm embrace. “I know you’ll look after one another,” your father whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud to call you my son.”

The words settle deep within Jongseong’s heart, and when your father steps back to take his seat, the ceremony begins.

As the officiant begins speaking, his voice soft but clear, Jongseong can’t help but marvel at how your hand fits so perfectly in his, your fingers warm and familiar, yet somehow new, in this moment. Every word that spills from the officiant’s lips feels like background noise; all Jongseong can focus on is you. The way you stand before him, radiating beauty and calm, is enough to make his heart swell to the point of aching. You squeeze his hand softly, pulling him back to the present. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in response, a silent message of reassurance, of love. It feels as if the two of you are existing in your own world, tethered together by this secret moment amid the hum of the ceremony.

Even in a room full of people, he will always only see you.

He glances at your face, catching a fleeting look of emotion dancing in your eyes, and it takes everything in him not to pull you into his arms right there. You’re holding it together so well, but he knows you too well. The slight tension in your grip, the way your breath catches every now and then - it all betrays the storm of emotion beneath the surface. And it matches his own.

When the officiant calls for the vows, Jongseong inhales sharply. This is the part he’s been waiting for, and yet, the part that terrifies him the most. Not because he’s unsure, but because there’s so much to say, so much love to express, and he hopes he can convey it all with the right words.

He turns to face you, both of your hands now clasped together. He can feel the slight tremble in your fingers, mirroring the nervous excitement coursing through his own veins. The vows - this is where he gets to tell you, in front of everyone you both love, just how much you mean to him. But even as he opens his mouth, his heart beats in time with yours, each pulse echoing a silent promise of forever.

Clearing his throat, he pulls the paper from his suit pocket, calming himself.

“Y/N. I should start by saying how in love I am with you. I think it’s pretty obvious, I don’t think my heart is even mine anymore with the way you hold it. I remember the first time I ever saw you, so bored and begging to be saved from that god awful party. But it’s funny if you think about it because I didn’t save you from anything at all, you saved me - in more ways than I could ever thank you for.

You are my heart, soul, courage, fear, wonder, and love. I am you and you are me. ‘Love is a condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.’ I remember hearing that quote and never fully knowing what it meant. But since we are two people sewn together with the thread of fate, I began to understand that for me to be happy, to live in this world without regret or misery, I need to make sure I love you with every fibre of my being, to make sure you’re happy, safe, and cherished until the very end.

So today, my love, I vow to love you exactly as you are. I vow to protect you, not just from the world, but from any doubts or fears that ever try to steal your light. I vow to be the one who stands by your side when life feels too heavy, to hold you when you need comfort, and to celebrate with you when life brings you joy. I promise to love you on the days when life feels effortless, but more importantly, I vow to love you even harder on the days when it’s not.

I promise to cherish the smallest moments, the quiet mornings and the late-night talks, the laughter and even the silences that only we understand. You have made me a better man, and every day with you feels like a gift I don’t deserve, but one I will never take for granted.

I vow to never let a day go by without reminding you just how much you mean to me. To wake up every morning and choose you, choose us, over and over again. I vow to be your protector, your partner, your best friend, and your greatest supporter. Whatever life brings our way - whether it’s joy or challenges - I will be there, by your side, holding your hand through it all.

And above all, I vow to love you endlessly, fiercely, and without reservation, because you are my heart’s home, and there is nowhere else I would rather be.

Today, tomorrow, and every day after, I am yours. Forever.”

As Jongseong finishes his vows, his voice steady yet laced with emotion, you feel tears slip down your cheek. Despite your best efforts to stay composed, the overwhelming love in his words makes it impossible to hold back. You mourn the people in the pews who don’t get to experience Jongseong’s love because it is unfiltered and pure, the love people dream of and never have. He watches you closely, his eyes softening the moment he notices your tears.

Without missing a beat, Jongseong reaches up, gently brushing away the tear with the pad of his thumb, his touch as tender as his words. His fingers linger for a moment, his smile growing fond and warm as if he’s silently telling you that it’s okay, that he’s here, and that he understands how deeply his words have touched you.

Jongseong leans in just slightly, close enough for you to hear him whisper, "Maybe I should have vowed to never make you cry." His playful tone does little to hide the way his own eyes glisten, the deep emotions brimming just below the surface. 

Your lips tremble into a small smile through your tears, feeling both overwhelmed and reassured by the way he’s looking at you - as though you are the most precious thing in his world. And in that moment, you realise, you don’t have to hold anything back. You’re standing here, with the man who will cherish you for the rest of his life, and there is no need for composure, no need to hide the tears or the love that pours from you so naturally.

The officiant gives a gentle nod, signalling it’s time for your vows, but Jongseong keeps his gaze on you, his hand still cradling your cheek as if to give you strength. His smile never falters, and in his eyes, you see nothing but encouragement, affection, and a quiet promise that he will be right here, every step of the way.

You take a deep breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you hold your vows, and the room quiets in anticipation. You glance at Jongseong, your heart swelling as you realize you’re about to marry the love of your life, the man who has been your everything for so long.

“I kinda wish I went first now,” you laugh softly, stepping back to wipe your tears, earning a round of laughter from the guests. Even Jongseong chuckles, his eyes full of warmth, and the pressure lifts just a little as you prepare to speak from the heart.

“I really can’t believe I’m standing here today, two seconds away from becoming Mrs. Park. Though, let’s be real - I’m never going to be the best Mrs. Park. That title is clearly reserved for your mum,” you say with a playful smile, looking over at Jongseong’s mother. She places a hand on her heart, her eyes shining with affection, and nods back at you.

“Jongseong, standing here before you feels like a dream I’ve had my entire life. It feels like everything in the universe has led me to this moment, to you. You are my heart, my home, and the one person who makes the world feel safe and beautiful just by being in it.

People think a soulmate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soulmate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. And you have changed my life Jongseong, so beautifully so. I am more confident, resilient, and passionate about my life because I have you beside me. 

There is so much love inside my body that is only reserved for you. Love is the reason we all continue to live, even through tragedies and heartbreak, we seek love in all of those moments because it’s worth living for. Jongseong, you make life worth living.

I vow to honor you with every beat of my heart, to cherish you with every breath I take. I promise to stand by you in every season, to be your unwavering support when the world feels heavy, and your biggest cheerleader when you need encouragement. I will hold your hand through the trials and celebrate with you in the triumphs, always knowing that together, we can face anything.

I vow to love you as deeply as the ocean, to be your steadfast anchor when the waves of life try to pull us apart. I promise to nurture our dreams, to build a life filled with wonder and discovery, and to always remember the simple, profound joy of being together.

You have taught me that love is not just a feeling, but a practice - one that grows and deepens every day. It is in the way we laugh together, the way we support each other’s dreams and the quiet moments when we simply hold each other close. I promise to practise this love with you, to make it a living, breathing part of our lives, one that we can carry into the afterlife and know that even if our bodies are apart through death, our hearts are always linked.

I want to be a wife who deserves you, one who never takes you for granted and gives you back tenfold the love you have for me, and God knows your love is vaster than anything else in this world. You are my heart’s truest song, and I vow to be the harmony to your melody, the gentle refrain that sings of our forever. I promise to be patient, to listen, to understand, and to always come back to you with an open heart.

Jongseong, today and every day, I choose you, not just as my partner but as my greatest adventure, my greatest joy, and my deepest love. Together, we will write a story that is uniquely ours, filled with love, laughter, and a bond that only grows stronger with time. You are my most cherished muse, wholly and completely.”

As you finish your vows, your voice quivers with emotion, and the room seems to collectively hold its breath. Jongseong’s eyes glisten with tears of joy and admiration as he kisses your forehead, his touch is tender and reassuring, and he smiles at you with a look of pure, unadulterated love. The room sighs with appreciation, moved by the heartfelt exchange.

The officiant, his own eyes misty with the beauty of the moment, clears his throat to address the couple. “Having heard these vows of unwavering love and commitment, it is now time for us to proceed with the ring exchange.”

Jongseong and you gaze deeply into one anothers eyes, the ceremony reaching its most poignant moment. The officiant gestures to Sunghoon, who steps forward, holding the rings with great reverence. With a knowing smile, he hands the rings to Jongseong, who looks at them with a sense of awe. This is it. 

“Jongseong,” the officiant prompts, “please place the ring on Y/N’s finger and repeat after me.”

Jongseong’s voice is steady but filled with emotion as he recites the traditional vows, “With this ring, I thee wed. It is a symbol of my love and devotion, a promise to cherish and honour you all the days of my life.”

As Jongseong slides the ring onto your finger, you feel its weight - a tangible representation of his love and commitment. You repeat the same words to him, your hands slightly trembling with the depth of your feelings.

The officiant smiles warmly at the couple. “May these rings be a constant reminder of the love you share and the vows you have made to each other.”

With the rings exchanged, the officiant addresses the gathering. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Jongseong leans in, his gaze locked with yours, and the world seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. His lips touch yours with a tenderness that is both electrifying and soothing. The kiss starts softly, a gentle brush of affection, but it quickly deepens into something more passionate and heartfelt. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing along your cheekbones, anchoring you both in the intimacy of the moment.

The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and as the kiss unfolds, it feels like a dance - delicate and full of emotion. Jongseong’s lips move with a tender urgency, conveying the depth of his love and the gravity of the vows you’ve just exchanged. There’s gentle pressure, a shared promise in the way his mouth moves against yours as if he’s pouring all the love he holds into this one kiss.

The chapel’s applause and cheers seem distant, fading into the background as you’re wrapped in the warmth and sweetness of Jongseong’s kiss. His fingers gently trace the curve of your jaw, adding a touch of reverence to the moment. You can feel the thrum of emotion in every touch, every caress, as if he’s imprinting this perfect moment onto both of your souls.

As you slowly pull away, Jongseong’s eyes are filled with a mixture of joy and reverence. The intensity of the kiss has left both of you breathless, your hearts racing with the shared exhilaration of this new chapter. His gaze holds yours with profound happiness, and you see in his eyes the same depth of feeling that you’ve always known was there.

“I love you so fucking much, Y/N,” Jongseong confesses with more earnestness than you have ever seen in one human being. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to swear in church,” you giggle, pecking his lips to rid him of the sin.

But he’s unbothered, his emotions outweighing etiquette. He shrugs and takes your hand in his. “I think the big man upstairs will forgive me this one time.”

As Jongseong takes your hand, the two of you walk down the aisle together, the applause from your friends and family echoing through the chapel, though it now feels like nothing more than a distant murmur. His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, and every glance he steals your way is filled with an overwhelming sense of love and pride. The weight of the moment lingers sweetly between you, as if you’re both walking on air.

Once outside, the soft sunlight bathes you both in warmth, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. This is everything you could want. 

Jongseong, ever the gentleman, jogs to reach the car first, dramatically pulling the door open with a playful grin. “After you, Mrs. Park,” he gestures with a flourish, eyes turning into sweet crescent moons as the light beams from him.

You raise an eyebrow and chuckle at his antics. “You’re enjoying this, huh?”

“Can’t help it,” he winks, guiding you gently into the car. “I love how it sounds on my tongue,” he leans down until he’s level with your face, “Mrs. Park, Mrs. Park, Mrs. Park.” 

He will repeat it until he gets bored of hearing it, which will be never and a day.

As you settle into the seat, he quickly slips in beside you, and before the door is even shut, his lips are on yours again, more urgent this time. The kiss deepens with a fervour that wasn’t quite there at the altar, and you can feel his restraint fading. He pulls you closer, his hand resting possessively on your waist, as if he’s making up for all the time he spent holding back earlier - he would have gone all in but something about tonguing you down in front of a priest and about 30 of your closest friends and family didn’t sit well with him. His lips move hungrily against yours, each kiss more intense than the last.

You let out a soft moan in response to the sudden heat, and Jongseong smirks into your mouth, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, but not before brushing his lips teasingly against yours once more. The car starts moving, but his focus is entirely on you. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his breath coming in shallow, heated bursts. The playful glint in his eyes returns as he taps the driver on the shoulder.

“Could you take us back to the hotel for a quick pit stop?” His tone is mischievous, eyes twinkling with intent.

You blink in surprise, your thoughts returning briefly to the chaos of the wedding day schedule. “But…we need to get our certificate signed, take pictures…the reception?” You eye him curiously, though a part of you already knows where this is going.

Jongseong just shrugs, utterly unbothered. “That can wait a minute. Do you have any idea how hard it was not having you last night?”

His words send a ripple of heat down your spine, and despite your initial protest, a smile tugs at your lips. “It was one night, Jongseong,” you laugh incredulously, though you know deep down you shared his struggle. There’s a certain magnetic pull between you that’s only intensified since the moment you exchanged vows.

But before you can say anything else, his mouth is on your neck, his lips trailing heated, deliberate kisses along your skin. He finds that spot just beneath your ear, the one that always leaves you breathless, and you melt into him instantly. Your earlier concerns about timing and schedules vanish, replaced by the undeniable, almost primal need for him.

Every touch, every kiss, is fuelled by the weight of the day’s emotions, and soon you’re lost in him entirely, giving in to the desire that’s been simmering between you. From love to passion, your relationship flows seamlessly between them.

Jongseong’s kisses are searing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and any remaining thoughts of the day’s schedule fade into nothing. His hands grip your waist firmly, pulling you closer as you feel the heat building between you both. The car ride blurs by in a haze of stolen kisses and whispered promises, the tension growing heavier with every touch.

Before long, the car pulls up outside the hotel, and Jongseong barely waits for the driver to open the door before he helps you out, his grip on your hand tight, his thumb brushing your wedding ring with fondness despite the heat pumping through him. 

The hotel lobby is a blur, neither of you paying attention to anything around you as he tugs you towards the lift. Once inside, his mouth is back on yours, pushing you gently against the wall, his body pressed up close, a low groan escaping his lips.

The moment the doors open to your floor, you’re both stumbling down the hallway, hands roaming, clothes being tugged at impatiently. The urgency is palpable, as if every second spent not touching is a second wasted. By the time you reach the room, Jongseong fumbles with the key card, barely able to keep his lips from yours as he finally pushes the door open.

You stumble inside together, the sheer size of your wedding dress catching between you as you attempt to navigate the small space. Jongseong laughs softly into the kiss, but neither of you cares as you pull at each other, the weight of your emotions taking over. His hands work swiftly to find the buttons and zippers hidden beneath layers of fabric, and you can feel his need for you in every motion.

Your lips part briefly, just long enough for you to gasp out between kisses, “We need to be quick, baby.” Your breath is ragged, your voice barely above a whisper, but the desperation in your tone mirrors his own.

“Quick…right,” he mutters, though there’s no sign of him slowing down. His hands are everywhere - your waist, your back, your hips - gripping and pulling as though he can’t get enough of you. He presses you up against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours again, deeper and more urgent than before.

As you pull him closer, the fabric of your dress rustles and tangles between you, but it only adds to the delicious mess of the moment. His hands slip beneath the lace, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs, making you gasp. He smiles against your lips, that same playful glint in his eyes, but his kiss is nothing but intense.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of fumbling, Jongseong’s fingers work the last clasp on the back of your dress. The fabric slips from your shoulders, and the sensation of it gliding down your body makes you shiver. He steps back just slightly, allowing the gown to pool at your feet, his eyes following every movement with hungry intensity.

The moment he sees you standing there in nothing but the white lace lingerie beneath, his breath catches, and a flicker of pure desire ignites in his gaze. His hands, which had been so impatient before, now pause in reverence, as though he’s taking in every detail, committing this moment to memory.

“God,” he breathes out, voice thick with awe and hunger. “You’re fucking perfect, have i ever told you that?”

His words send a wave of warmth through you, your heart racing even faster under the weight of his gaze. Before you can respond, his hands find your waist again, pulling you to him. His lips crash against yours, the intensity of the kiss somehow even more fervent now that there’s nothing between you but the thin lace of your thong and his trousers.

His fingers trace the delicate patterns of the fabric, teasingly brushing over your skin in a way that makes your pulse quicken. His lips move from your mouth, trailing down your jawline to your collarbone, then lower, each kiss deliberate, driving you wild with anticipation.

“Jongseong…” You gasp, your body reacting to every touch, every kiss. The urgency from before still lingers, but there’s something deeper now - a need not just for passion, but for connection. The feeling that you’ve finally, truly become his in every way.

He smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the way your body responds to him, his hands sliding over the lace as though he can barely restrain himself, feeling how wet you are for him. His lips find yours again, but this time slower, deeper, as if he’s taking everything in, the moment, you, all of it.

“Quick, right?” he teases softly between kisses, but there’s now no rush in his movements now. The two of you are lost in each other, and any notion of time or urgency is forgotten as he continues to explore you, making every second feel endless and yet not nearly enough.

Jongseong’s teasing words hang in the air, and you can’t help but smile against his lips, your heart pounding in your chest. The fire between you is still blazing, but there’s a tenderness now, an unspoken understanding that this moment is more than just physical. It’s the culmination of everything - every shared glance, every whispered promise, every touch over the past 12 years.

“I’m gonna fuck you, fill you up and have you walk around the reception with my cum inside of you,” he breathes out, his hands busy undoing his dress trousers, fingers fumbling before pushing them down, the fabric pooling to his ankles, quickly making friends with your wedding dress.

The mere thought if it has you deperate, and instantly, you’re jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist, your heat craving his touch.  Jongseong lets out a low groan as you cling to him, the weight of you pressing against his cock driving his need to the surface. He catches your lips again, this time more fervently, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he practically traps you between the wall and his chest. The coolness of the hotel wall contrasts with the heat of his body, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mutters against your lips, his voice a mix of frustration and affection. His breath is heavy, matching the rapid beat of your heart. He needs to be inside of you, and he needs it now.

As he adjusts his grip on you, his hand slides between your thighs as he pushes your thong to the side, lining himself up. The anticipation builds, and you moan softly, arching against him, silently pleading for more, the tip of his cock poking at where you need him most. He pauses for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Ready?” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, as if daring you to answer.

You don’t need to say a word - your body tells him everything he needs to know, but your nod anyway. “Yes, fuck, Jongseong please.”

With one smooth motion, Jongseong thrusts into you, filling you completely. A gasp escapes your lips as your bodies meld together, the intensity of the moment sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. He groans deeply, his breath ragged as he begins to move, each thrust deliberate and powerful, driving deeper into you.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your core, your senses overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside you. The curve of his cock drags down your tight walls, each bump of your inner core being kissed by his bell, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

His pace quickens, the need between you intensifying. Your nails dig into his back, holding him closer as he drives into you harder, deeper, the friction and heat building to an unbearable crescendo. The way he looks at you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with raw need and adoration, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes out, his voice hoarse with desire. His hips snap against yours with more urgency, his hand gripping the back of your neck as he presses his forehead to yours. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Give you all of me just like you deserve.”

You can’t hold back the moans that slip from your lips, your body trembling as you near the edge. Every thrust, every touch, every breath sends you spiraling closer to that sweet release, and you can feel it building, tightening in your core.

“Can’t wait to start a family with you, baby,” he confesses, the sentence thoughtful yet primal, “What if I got you pregnant right now, huh? Would Mrs. Park like that?”

“Fuck, yes!” you mewl out, the way he says your new government name along with the promise of a family is all too overwhelming as it mixes in with the utter lust your body feels. You need him to fill you to the brim, to have each inch of him buried to the hilt of you while he pumps his seed deep into your womb. “I need you… so close…” you whisper, your voice trembling with desperation.

Jongseong's thrusts become more urgent, each one deeper and harder than the last. Your bodies move in perfect rhythm, his name slipping from your lips in a desperate moan as pleasure coils tighter within you. The world fades away, your senses filled only by the heat of his skin against yours, the heady scent of desire, and the raw intensity in his gaze as he watches you unravel beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mrs. Park,” he whispers, “So pretty, and all mine.” His tone is loving if through gritted teeth, parts of the syllables coated in the desire he has running through his veins.

“I love you, Jongseong,” you whisper, kissing all over his face as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink of euphoria.

He chuckles softly, eyes almost filling with tears. “I love you too, Y/N. So fucking much.” And without another word, he kisses you with so much passion and devotion that if you weren’t already breathless from the raw fucking he is giving you, you definetly would have felt the air escape your lungs.

The pressure inside you builds relentlessly, your muscles clenching around him, drawing him deeper. He groans, a low, guttural sound that sends a thrill of electricity through your veins. His lips trail back up your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake before they crash into yours again, his kiss filled with hunger and need, as if he can’t get enough of you.

"You're perfect," he breathes against your lips, his voice strained, thick with lust. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you down harder onto him with every thrust, making you feel every inch of him. “Ready to be a mum, baby? Ready for me to fuck you senseless each and every day and use the excuse of trying?”

“Fuck yeah, Jongseong, I can’t wait.” The grin on your face contorts with pure pleasure as he takes your words and runs wild with them, making good on his promise. If it isn’t today, or tomorrow, or even in the next year, he will make sure he keeps fucking you, until both of you create something wonderful, until you create a family that’s bigger than what you both are now.

You cling to him, nails scraping against his back as waves of pleasure crash over you with every buck of his hips. His pace is relentless now, hips slamming into yours with raw, unfiltered passion, each motion pushing you closer to the edge. Your vision blurs, the world spinning as the sensation intensifies, your body trembling uncontrollably.

You can feel him pulsing inside you, the tension in his body telling you that he's close, just as you are. His name is the only word you can form as your release builds to a peak, the pressure inside you unbearable. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes locked on you, completely focused as he watches you fall apart in his arms.

"Cum for me," he growls, his voice a rough command that sends a shudder through you.

At his words, the coil inside you snaps, and you let go completely. A cry escapes your lips as the orgasm tears through you, your entire body trembling violently as pleasure floods your senses. You grip onto him like he's the only thing grounding you, your nails digging into his skin as wave after wave of ecstasy courses through you.

Jongseong’s own release follows soon after, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you, his groans of pleasure vibrating against your neck. His movements slow but remain deep, deliberate, prolonging the sensation as both of you ride the aftershocks of pleasure. You can feel his warmth spreading through you, just as he promised, and the thought of it sends a final tremor through your body.

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of the moment still clinging to you as Jongseong’s weight presses you gently against the wall. His chest heaves against yours, and the only sound is the ragged rhythm of your breaths mingling in the charged air.

Slowly, Jongseong pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His fingers trace softly over your flushed skin, and the intensity in his eyes gives way to a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans in to kiss you again, this time with a slow, sweet tenderness that deepens the connection between you.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice soft and reverent as his thumb caresses the curve of your jaw.

You nod, breathless and still tingling from the afterglow. “More than okay,” you murmur, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

“Good,” he chuckles, his eyes glinting with mischief. He sets you down gently, supporting you until your legs regain their strength. “We have a reception to get back to, after all.”

With a deft, almost intimate touch, his fingers slip between your sensitive folds, gathering his essence before gently pushing it back inside you. His gaze remains locked with yours, a mix of possessiveness and adortation. “Keep that in there until I can steal you away again and give you more.”

Giggling, you nod, biting your lip. You really cannot wait for the day you have this man’s child.

_____

Jongseong bursts into the hospital, his breath ragged, his vision blurred by the panic that clogs his thoughts. The fluorescent lights overhead feel too bright, their sterile, clinical glow only exacerbating the coldness gripping his chest. A sharp antiseptic smell wafts through the air, mingling with the faint hum of machinery and the occasional cough from sick patients in the waiting area. The beeps of heart monitors and distant murmurs of conversation all blur into a single cacophony, lost on him as his sole focus narrows to one desperate objective: finding you.

His eyes dart wildly across the expanse of the lobby, scanning for some kind of guidance. There, tucked away in the corner, is an oak reception desk. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a sympathetic smile, taps away at her computer, unaware of the storm about to come her way. Jongseong rushes over, his heart pounding, each thud reverberating in his ears like the ticking of a countdown he can’t afford to lose.

"Excuse me, do you know where the maternity ward is?" The words tumble from his mouth in a breathless jumble, barely coherent even to his own ears. It doesn’t sound like him - this frantic, uncollected version of himself - but he doesn’t care. He can’t afford to. His gaze flickers briefly to the woman behind the desk as she begins to reply, her voice gentle, almost calming, in stark contrast to the chaos raging inside him.

"You're in the wrong section, sweetheart. Maternity is ward 48, it's down the ha-"

But he doesn't wait for her to finish. Her words are cut short as he spins on his heel, legs propelling him down the long, seemingly endless corridor. His heart is racing, but not from the sprint. It’s the weight of fear, the gnawing dread that tightens his chest and churns his stomach. He might miss it. He might miss you. Miss being by your side when you need him the most. The thought alone makes his insides twist, as though someone had reached into his ribcage and clenched his heart in a fist.

This is supposed to be a joyous moment - the birth of his son, your son, the culmination of months of waiting, preparing, and dreaming. But right now, all he feels is the gnawing anxiety that he won’t make it in time. That he won’t be there to hold your hand, to look into your eyes and tell you that you’re doing great, that everything will be okay. 

His mind races back to when he received the call from your sister, the news hitting him like a freight train. He had been at work, neck-deep in paperwork and deadlines. He had barely believed it at first. You weren’t due for another two weeks; surely, this was a mistake. Yet, here you were, two floors above him, about to deliver his precious son into the world.

But none of that matters now. What matters is getting to you, being by your side before it’s too late. 

His legs burn as he pushes himself forward, following the overhead signs that guide him toward ward 48. The corridors stretch out before him like a maze, every turn only amplifying the desperation pooling in his chest. The sharp click of his shoes echoes loudly in the silence, but all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, the frantic beat of his own heart drowning out everything else.

When he finally crashes into the ward’s front desk, it’s not graceful. His body slams into the counter, breath heaving, his muscles taut with adrenaline. He grips the edge of the desk as though it's the only thing keeping him upright. "Excuse me, what room is Y/N Park in?" The words come out strained, his voice thick with tension. Every fibre of his being feels stretched to the breaking point, as though his body is barely containing the swell of emotions surging through him.

The receptionist looks up, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There’s a knowing look in her eyes, one that says she’s seen this before - fathers on the verge of breaking, desperate to be there, to not miss the moment that changes everything. "Down the hall, third door on your left," she says kindly, nodding toward the direction he needs to go.

He doesn’t wait. With a sharp intake of breath, he pushes himself off the counter and bolts toward your room, his legs moving on autopilot, every step pounding with urgency. His mind races, imagining you lying there, scared or in pain, and it tears at him. You shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself. He swore to be there, to hold your hand through every step of this, and now he’s running on borrowed time.

The corridor leading to your room feels impossibly long, each door blurring past him as he counts them off in his head. First door, second door...third door. His hand trembles as it reaches for the handle, the weight of the moment crashing over him like a wave. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the truth is, nothing can prepare him for this. The surge of love, fear, and anticipation battling inside him is overwhelming, but all of it pales in comparison to the thought of you.

When he opens the door, his heart nearly stops. There you are, lying in the hospital bed, your face flushed with exertion but glowing with a strength he has always admired. You look up, and the moment your eyes meet his, it’s as if time itself stops. Relief floods your features, and he rushes to your side, gripping your hand as though it’s the only tether keeping him grounded.

"I’m here," he breathes, his voice cracking with emotion, kissing all over your hand. "I’m here, baby."

And as you squeeze his hand, the world narrows to just the two of you. The chaos of the hospital fades into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breathing, the soft murmurs of encouragement from the midwife, and the quiet reassurance that, despite everything, he made it. He’s here.

“Okay, Y/N, I need you to push again for me. You’re doing so great, hun.” The midwife's voice is soft, almost a lullaby amidst the storm of chaos within you. It’s as if her words offer you a momentary anchor, a delicate thread of calm amidst the crashing waves of pressure building up inside your body. You nod, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling with exhaustion, but her voice mixed with the familiar warmth of Jongseong’s hand in yours somehow gives you strength. His fingers, strong and steady, wrap around yours, grounding you in this moment of overwhelming intensity.

He whispers soothing words, his thumb brushing over your clammy skin, wiping the sheen of sweat from your brow. But you barely register them. The noise of the hospital fades into the background as your body screams for release. It’s all-consuming, this pain—a deep, primal ache that makes you wonder how anyone could endure this more than once. You’re making a vow to yourself in this very moment: this is definitely the last time you’ll be giving birth.

The midwife’s calm encouragement pulls you back into the moment. “That’s it, you’re doing brilliantly, sweetie! He’s crowning!”

Her words send a jolt of both fear and anticipation down your spine. He’s almost here. You’re almost at the end. But it hurts - God, it fucking hurts. You can feel your body stretching, tearing, and it feels impossible, like your entire being is being pulled apart at the seams. You wonder how anyone survives this. You wonder how people choose to do this again and again. But the end is so close now, you can feel it, and it’s that thought, that hope, that pushes you to dig deep into a reserve of strength you didn’t even know you had.

Jongseong leans in, his face inches from yours as he wipes the sweat off your forehead. His touch is gentle, careful, as though you might shatter under the intensity of what’s happening. “My beautiful girl, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His words are meant to comfort you, but in your overstimulated state, they fall flat, like a pebble tossed into a stormy sea.

"You did this to me!" you cry out, your voice a strangled mixture of rage, exhaustion, and raw pain. The agony, the pressure, the sensation of your body trying to expel a living, breathing being from your core - it’s all too much. The frustration bubbles up and spills out as you glare at him through half-lidded eyes, loathing him, if only for a second, for putting you in this impossible situation.

Jongseong doesn’t take offence. Instead, he chuckles under his breath, a sound almost swallowed by the sheer intensity of the moment. He presses a tender kiss to your knuckles, seemingly immune to the iron grip you’ve got on his hand, your fingers squeezing so tightly it’s a wonder his bones aren’t crushed. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the tension. “I’m a bad man for giving you the best fucks of your life and putting you in this situation, aren’t I?”

Despite the searing pain wracking your body, you manage a weak, breathless laugh. His words, paired with the earnest yet amused look on his face, somehow cut through the fog of agony. For a brief, fleeting moment, the tension in the room eases, and even the nursing team joins in with a soft chuckle, their eyes sparkling with fondness.

“You’re the worst,” you retort, your voice strained, yet the humour dances between you like a fleeting lifeline. You don’t mean it, and once your beautiful baby is in your arms, you’ll forget every resentment towards your husband, the pain long gone and only love clouding your senses.

But the pain comes roaring back in full force, and the midwife’s voice cuts through the moment. “Alright, Y/N, I need you to push again. Just one more big push, okay?”

You nod, though you don’t trust your voice to respond. Your entire body tenses as you prepare for the final stretch, the last hurdle. The pressure builds, an unbearable weight pushing down on you, and with one last groan - deep, guttural, like a battle cry those old vikings used to do - you bear down, gripping Jongseong’s hand with all the strength you have left.

“You’re doing it, Y/N! That’s it, keep going!” The midwife’s voice is urgent but encouraging, guiding you through the overwhelming sensations. The room seems to blur at the edges, your vision tunnelling as you focus on nothing but the task at hand. You feel the burn, the rawness of your body stretching beyond its limits, but you push through it, every fibre of your being screaming for this to be over.

And then, with one final, agonised push, it is.

A high, piercing cry fills the room, cutting through the tension like a blade, and suddenly the world stills. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion - all of it fades away as you hear the first wail of your son, your precious baby boy. You collapse back against the pillows, your chest heaving, tears slipping down your cheeks as the reality of what just happened sinks in.

Jongseong is crying too. His hand is shaking as he wipes his eyes, his gaze locked on the tiny, wriggling figure in the midwife’s arms. “He’s here,” he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. “Our boy… he’s here.”

The midwife checks your son over for a moment, and once she deems everything is perfectly healthy and fine, she offers you a small smile. “Would you like skin-to-skin?”

Without hesitation, you nod, exhaustion clouding over you. “Yes, please.”

The midwife places your newborn son on your chest, his tiny body warm and wet against your skin. You feel a rush of emotions - love, relief, awe - all of it crashing over you in waves so powerful they steal the breath from your lungs. Jongseong’s hand is reaches up to your face, his fingers trembling as he brushes a tear from your cheek.

“You did it,” he breathes, his eyes shining with pride and wonder. “You really did it, my love.”

You look down at your baby, his small hand curling against your chest, and despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs, you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “We did it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your son’s soft cries.

And in that moment, as the three of you are cocooned in the quiet warmth of the hospital room, the world outside ceases to exist. There is only this. Only the love, the relief, and the overwhelming sense of joy that, despite everything, you’re finally a family.

Bringing life into the world is a moment of pure wonder, filled with a sense of awe and joy that nothing else compares to. The arrival of a new soul, fresh and full of potential, feels like the universe itself holding its breath in reverence. It’s beautiful chaos, tears of relief, the quiet weight of a newborn in your arms, the sweet fatigue that follows the storm of labour. There's a rawness, a vulnerability to it that makes it sacred. The start of life is an unspoken promise, a beginning with endless possibilities stretching out before it.

But as beautiful as the act of bringing life into the world is, it's devastatingly cruel when life is taken away. 

_____

Jongseong ascended the stairs slowly, each step sending a dull ache through his brittle bones. His knees groaned under his weight, no longer the strong, agile legs that had once carried him with ease through the vigours of life. The years had settled deep into his joints, a reminder of a long life lived. At seventy-five, his body had become an archive of memories, each wrinkle and creak a testament to the passage of time. But he didn’t mind, not really. He knew aging was inevitable, and while he wasn’t the fit man he used to be, he had grown accustomed to the slower pace, to the small sacrifices his body demanded. Today, though, his knees seemed to be protesting more than usual.

The morning was still quiet, the kind of peaceful stillness that only early dawn could bring. Jongseong had woken up earlier than you, something he had done a bit more often lately. Your still frame lay blissfully as he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake you. He wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed, nothing extravagant, just something simple and sweet. Toast, a little bowl of fruit, and your favourite yoghurt arranged neatly on a tray. And, of course, a tiny daisy from the garden, a little burst of yellow and white placed beside the cutlery - a small token of the love he still carried for you, as bright and fresh as the day he’d first met you.

He smiled to himself as he finally reached the top of the stairs, breathing out heavily. His chest rose and fell slowly as he gathered the air back into his lungs, a satisfied chuckle escaping his lips. “Y’know, baby, maybe we should invest in that stairmaster,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head at the thought. “My knees are giving up on me here.”

He pushed open the door to your shared bedroom, the familiar scent of lavender and old wood welcoming him in. The room was a sanctuary, a place where the two of you had spent decades creating a life together. The walls seemed to hum with memories - of laughter, whispered arguments, nights spent comforting a scared baby Jeyou when he was small, his little body tucked between the two of you as you soothed his fears. Even now, the room felt like a cocoon of warmth, filled with the quiet reassurance of a life well-lived together.

Jongseong’s eyes softened as they landed on you. There you were, lying so peacefully, your grey hair splayed across the pillow, half of your face buried into its softness. Your lashes rested delicately on your wrinkled cheeks, and even now, after all these years, you looked so beautiful to him. He’d always loved watching you sleep, loved the way your face relaxed into a soft serenity. He stood there for a moment, tray still in hand, just looking at you, his heart swelling with the same love that had carried him through all the challenges, all the joys and sorrows of life. Every wrinkle on your face told a story he cherished, every line a map of the life you had built together.

But as he stood there, something shifted. The quietness in the room felt...different. The silence was deeper, more still than usual. He tilted his head, waiting for the familiar soft snort you made when you exhaled in your sleep, or for the small rise and fall of your chest that always reassured him. 

But none of that came.

His heart, which had been so full just moments ago, plummeted in his chest. A chill washed over him, the warmth of the room suddenly replaced with a growing panic.

“Love?” His voice was uncertain, his body moving on instinct as he placed the tray down on the dresser by the door. His legs, tired just a second ago, suddenly felt weightless as he rushed to your side. “Y/N?” He sat on the bed, his voice trembling now. “Baby, come on, wake up.”

He reached out, brushing the hair from your face, the strands falling softly between his trembling fingers. His hand lingered on your cheek, feeling for the warmth he had always known, but your skin felt cool beneath his touch. Too cool.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking. His other hand found your shoulder, shaking you gently at first, and then with more urgency. “No, no, no. Come on, baby, stop joking around. Wake up. Please.”

The stillness of your body was a stark contrast to the frantic tremor in his hands. He shook you again, harder this time, but you remained as you were - so peaceful, so unbearably still. His chest tightened, the tears pooling in his eyes blurring his vision. He blinked rapidly, as though he could chase away the truth that was slowly sinking in, but it was there, gnawing at the edges of his heart.

“Please, baby, please. Don’t do this. I need you to wake up.” His voice was barely a whisper now, broken and fragile, like a child pleading for a nightmare to end. He pulled you closer, his trembling fingers gripping your arms as he collapsed over you, his body draped across yours as the sobs tore through him. The tears fell freely now, landing on your skin, tiny droplets of his heartbreak mingling with the softness of your stillness.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice strangled by grief. “Please. Don’t leave me. Not now. I’m not ready.”

The room, once so full of love and warmth, felt unbearably cold now. The silence stretched on, suffocating him, pressing down on his chest until he could barely breathe. He held you tightly, his arms wrapped around your lifeless body, as if by sheer will alone he could pull you back, make you breathe again, make your heart beat again. But you didn’t move. You didn’t stir.

Jongseong’s tears soaked into your skin, his sobs shaking his frail frame. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart, every beat more painful than the last. He pressed his cheek against your forehead, inhaling the faint scent of your skin, the scent that had been a constant comfort to him for all these years. But now, even that was fading, slipping away like you had.

“I can’t do this without you,” he cried, his voice breaking as he held you tighter. “We’ve always done everything together. How am I supposed to keep going if you’re not here? Please, baby, please...just come back to me.”

But there was no response, no stirring beneath his touch. Only silence. The kind of silence that comes with finality, with the weight of something precious being stolen away forever.

He stayed there, curled up beside you, his tears flowing unchecked, his heart heavy with the unbearable realisation that the love of his life, the woman who had been his everything for decades, was gone. The weight of it settled into his bones, deeper than any ache he’d felt before. This wasn’t just the weight of age, but of loss - a weight that would never truly lift.

For a long time, Jongseong didn’t move. He stayed wrapped around you, whispering soft apologies, broken words of love, promises that no longer had a future. His tears mingled with the daisy he’d picked for you, now wilting beside the untouched tray on the dresser, a small, fragile symbol of the life that had once bloomed between the two of you.

Jongseong's sobs gradually gave way to a trembling stillness as he lay beside you, his breaths coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. The tears had begun to slow, leaving trails of salt on his cheeks, mingling with the remnants of the breakfast tray that had once held such promise. The quiet of the room felt like a heavy blanket, oppressive and final. It was the kind of silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, a cruel reminder of what was now lost.

He pulled himself up slightly, lifting his head from where it had been buried in your shoulder. His eyes, red and swollen, scanned the room - the room that had been a sanctuary of shared dreams and countless memories. He looked at the framed photographs on the bedside table: the smiling faces of a younger you and him, the family portraits, snapshots of Jeyou through the years. It was all a tapestry of a life lived together, and now, it felt like a cruel joke.

“C’mon, love,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. He took your hand in his, holding it gently, trying to draw strength from the familiar warmth that was no longer there. “We still have so much more to do.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his mind desperately clinging to the plans they had made, the future they had envisioned.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, his fingers tracing the lines of your hand with a tenderness born of countless shared moments. “Remember, we were going to finish the garden? We talked about planting those roses in the front yard. You always said you wanted to see them bloom better than the witches next door. And the trip to the lake -  Jeyou’s been asking about that fishing trip for ages. You promised him, remember? We were going to take him and Minhee out there and teach them how to catch those big trout.”

Jongseong’s tears began to flow again, mixing with the desperate, pleading edge in his voice. “What about Jeyou?” he continued, his voice breaking. “You can’t leave him behind. We’ve always been a family. He needs you, just like I do. He’s grown up so much, and he still needs his mum. We were going to watch him grown old and brittle like us, how can you do that if you don’t wake up, huh?”

He bent his head, his forehead resting against the cool, unmoving surface of your hand. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered, the words barely audible through the sobs that wracked his body. “If you can’t come back for me, come back for him. Please, please, please. Don’t leave him with just memories of you. He needs you. I need you.”

His pleas hung in the air, a desperate cry to the silence that had become so final. He squeezed your hand, the small, gentle action a futile attempt to make you respond, to bring you back. The room felt impossibly cold now, the warmth of shared dreams replaced by the chilling finality of loss.

He stayed like that for what felt like hours, holding your hand, whispering promises and plans that would never come to pass. The light from the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room, but it seemed to mock him now. The day they had planned, the future they had envisioned together, was slipping away, drowned in the ocean of his grief.

Jongseong’s heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand pieces, each shard a fragment of a life that would never be. He tried to imagine moving forward, but every vision was tainted by your absence. The world outside, with its ongoing rhythm and pulse, felt distant and irrelevant compared to the hollow ache that had settled within him.

_

Jongseong stood by your grave, the ache in his chest so profound it felt like it had hollowed him out completely. He had known, of course, that your funeral would be difficult but nothing, not even the endless condolences and the gentle words from well-meaning friends and family, could have prepared him for this kind of pain. The grief gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. It was the kind of hurt that no words could soothe, no embrace could soften. Nothing - except you.

His black suit hung loose on his frame, a stark contrast to the confident man he had once been. His posture, usually straight and proud, was slouched, his shoulders weighed down by the unbearable burden of loss. His face, pale and drawn, was a shadow of the man who once carried the light of the world in his heart. That light, he feared, had been taken with you. Since the moment you passed, the world had dimmed, and he wondered if he would ever feel warmth again. When the earth loses the sun, there is only darkness that remains.

He hasn’t slept. How could he? The bed is too big, too cold, too empty without you. Every night since your passing, he had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, his hand reaching across the bed to where you used to be, only to be met with nothing. He would run his fingers over the cool, empty space, the ache in his heart growing stronger with each passing minute. The silence was unbearable, the kind that swallowed him whole. He wondered how he was supposed to go on without you when every reason for his existence was tied to you. You had been his purpose, his love, his everything.

Since he was twenty-two years old, he had known nothing but being your other half. You had been there with him through every step, every joy, every heartbreak, every victory. Now, you weren’t here, and it felt as though half of him had been torn away, leaving a void that nothing could ever fill. His hand felt empty, void of your comforting squeezes, the way you used to reassure him with just a touch. He would never feel that again. He would never hear your laugh, never see your smile light up a room, never feel the warmth of your embrace. The thought was unbearable, a suffocating weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

Choking back a sob, Jongseong clenched his jaw and squeezed his throat shut, trying desperately to keep himself together, if not for himself, then for the family who stood around him. He knew they were hurting too, how could they not be, when you had been the centre of their lives as well? But it was hard. It was so hard to stand there and be strong when his insides were crumbling, when every fibre of his being screamed for you. He stared at the ground, his vision blurred by tears, the earth below looking so final, so cold.

The sky overhead was grey, a dull blanket of clouds that seemed to mirror the grief that hung in the air. The wind was gentle, but even the breeze felt like it carried sadness, the chill sinking into Jongseong’s bones. It felt as though the world itself had lost its colour, its vibrancy, ever since you had gone. The trees that surrounded the cemetery stood still, their leaves barely rustling, as if even nature was mourning. Every corner of the graveyard seemed muted, the flowers on the graves dull and lifeless, the headstones stark and lonely. Even the birds seemed quieter today, as though they too understood the magnitude of the loss.

Jongseong forced himself to look up, his eyes finding Jeyou across the gravesite. His son stood beside his wife, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed, his gaze locked on the casket that had been lowered into the ground. Jongseong’s heart ached even more at the sight of him. 

He wanted so desperately to be strong for Jeyou, for your son. He wanted to walk over and put a hand on his shoulder, to tell him everything would be alright, to hold him the way he had when Jeyou was a little boy, scared and unsure of the world. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be anything for anyone right now, because the one person who had always given him the strength to carry on was gone.

Ara came up beside him then, slipping her arm through his. She didn’t say anything, after all, what could she say? There were no words that could take away the pain. Jongseong felt her presence beside him, her quiet support, but even that couldn’t bridge the gap that had opened up in his heart. Ara’s touch was gentle, her hand squeezing his arm, but the void inside him was too vast, too deep for even the love of his granddaughter to reach.

The priest’s voice droned on in the background, speaking the final words of the burial, but the words seemed to drift away, lost in the weight of the moment. Jongseong could barely hear them over the pounding of his heart, over the sound of his own ragged breaths. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free again. He didn’t want to fall apart, not here, not in front of everyone. But how could he not, when the love of his life was leaving him forever?

Jongseong bit his lip, his eyes glassy as he glanced down to your coffin-covered body, as if searching for some kind of reassurance. But there was none to give. This was it. This was the end. You were gone, and there was no miraculous happy ending where you would come back to him, where you would smile and tell him you were never going to leave. There was only the harsh, brutal reality that he would have to live the rest of his life without you.

Jongseong’s knees buckle slightly as the final prayer is spoken, and he feels Ara tighten her grip on his arm, grounding him, keeping him upright. He wants to collapse, to lie beside you and never get up. He wants to close his eyes and pretend that this was all just a terrible dream. But it isn’t. The casket in the ground is real, the earth that will cover it is real, and you are truly gone.

Jongseong let out a shaky breath, the air catching in his throat as he continued to stare at the grave. The casket, now partially covered by the earth, felt like a cruel finality, the last barrier between him and the love of his life. The flowers scattered around the site seemed dull in the overcast light, their once vibrant colours muted by the grief that hung over the cemetery like a thick fog. Everything seemed too quiet, too still, as if the world itself had paused in reverence to the enormity of his pain.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with the agony of knowing that this was the end—no more shared mornings, no more gentle touches, no more stolen glances. The weight of it all made his chest tighten, a crushing force that left him gasping for breath. He could hardly believe that this was real, that the woman who had been his reason for living for so many years was now gone, leaving him to navigate a life he no longer knew how to live.

Ara tugged gently at his arm, her silent plea to move, to take a step forward. Jongseong hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground, unwilling to leave the spot where you lay. His eyes remained fixed on the grave, as if by staring hard enough, he could will you back into existence, could bring you back to him. But he knew it was futile. You were gone, and no amount of wishing or hoping could change that.

With a deep, ragged breath, Jongseong finally allowed Ara to lead him away. His feet dragged against the soft ground, every step feeling like a betrayal, a distancing from the life you had shared. Ara’s head stayed resting on his shoulder, her silent support both a comfort and a reminder of the family you had built together. He felt the weight of her love, the warmth of her presence, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same without you.

As they moved slowly away from the grave, Jongseong couldn’t resist one last glance back. His eyes, swollen and red from the tears that had yet to stop, locked onto the casket once more, now almost completely covered by the earth. It looked so final, so unbearably permanent. The soft hum of the wind through the trees seemed to carry with it a whisper of the life they had once known, a life that was now out of reach.

The grey sky overhead mirrored the dull ache in his heart, its heavy clouds hanging low as if they, too, mourned the loss of something irreplaceable. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh flowers, but even that felt too bittersweet, a cruel reminder of the beauty that could still exist in a world where you no longer did.

As Jongseong allowed himself to be guided away, his shoulders hunched under the weight of grief, he knew that a part of him would forever remain at that graveside, buried alongside you. The rest of the world moved on around him, but for Jongseong, time had stopped the moment you left. Each step he took felt like a journey into an unknown future, a future without you by his side.

And as they walked further and further away, the image of your grave growing smaller in the distance, Jongseong couldn’t help but whisper under his breath, a final, desperate plea to the universe. “Wait for me, love…just wait for me.”

His words faded into the wind as Ara squeezed his arm gently, and together, they walked away from the place where his heart now lay, buried with you.

____

"I miss her," he says, his voice trembling slightly, breaking the stillness. It’s not just a simple statement—it’s a confession, raw and unfiltered, the kind that makes his chest ache as though his heart is being twisted by an invisible hand. He can feel the familiar sting of unshed tears burning behind his eyes, but he fights them back.

The living room is quiet again, but the kind of quiet that suffocates rather than soothes. Jongseong sits on the edge of the worn couch, his eyes fixed on the photographs that line the mantle. They are still - frozen moments of a life that once brimmed with joy and love. His mind drifts back to the present after the painful journey through memory, and he sighs, his heart heavy with the weight of a year without you.

The pain, sharp as it is, feels like a key turning inside him, unlocking emotions he thought he had long buried. A year. A whole year without you. Not a single day has passed where he doesn’t think of you. The mornings are the worst, when he still, out of habit, sets out two cups for coffee. He never drinks the second one - it just sits there, untouched, a quiet tribute to your absence. The daytime programmes you loved continue to play on the television, though they bring him no comfort, just the dull hum of voices filling a void. Visiting your grave has become his ritual, the only place where he feels some semblance of peace, though even that is shadowed by the overwhelming loneliness.

Jeyou shifts beside him, his own expression mirroring his father’s grief. He reaches out, gripping Jongseong’s hand with a firm, comforting squeeze. "I can't imagine what this day is like for you, Dad," Jeyou says, his voice soft, heavy with understanding. After all, he lost his mum, the one woman who sacrificed everything for him to attend the best schools, follow his dreams, and always made him feel like he belonged in this horrible world. 

He misses your soothing words, particularly on days like today, when he would give anything for your advice.

Jongseong swallows the lump in his throat, shaking his head slightly. "I only pray that you go first before your partner, so you don’t have to deal with this suffering," he replies, his voice hoarse but sincere. He knows how morbid it must sound, talking so freely about his son’s death, but he means every word. Losing the love of your life is an agony he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, let alone Jeyou. It’s not something you ever get over. The pain is deep, cutthroat, and unrelenting, carving out pieces of your soul until you’re hollowed out, just an echo of who you used to be.

They continue talking for the next few hours, the conversation a gentle distraction, though the sorrow lingers in every pause, every shared glance. Minji and Minhee return from outside, running about the room, their laughter a bright but distant sound in Jongseong’s ears. He watches them, a small smile flickering on his lips. Their energy, their innocence, is a reminder that life does go on, even when it feels like yours has stopped.

As the night begins to peer it’s head, it’s time for them to go. Jongseong hates goodbyes now, even the small ones. Ara looks particularly reluctant to leave, her brow furrowed in worry as she watches her grandfather. She’s always been able to read him like a book, even as a child, and now she can see the light fading from his eyes, just as it has been ever since you left.

"I’ll pop around tomorrow, okay? We’ll get you some shopping in," Jeyou says, standing up and shrugging into his jacket, his eyes lingering on his father’s frail form. Jongseong looks thinner these days, the years catching up to him faster than ever before.

"Thanks, son," Jongseong replies, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. He knows how much of a burden it must be, looking after him, checking in on him. He should be the one taking care of everyone, the way he used to, but these days, it’s hard just to get out of bed in the mornings. The world feels heavier.

Minji and Minhee run up to their Poppy, throwing their arms around him in a tight hug. He leans down, pulling them close, inhaling the sweet scent of their hair as he squeezes them back with as much strength as he can muster.

"Be good, okay? I’ll see you soon," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Minji giggles and gives him one last squeeze before darting off towards the car, while Minhee sighs in compassion for his great grandfather before following his little sister. He doesn’t know the full extent of everything that goes on, but he knows the old man is hurting. 

Jeyou lingers a moment longer, his eyes searching his father’s face. There’s concern there, etched deep into his features. "Look after yourself, Dad. I mean it," he says, his tone firm but filled with love.

Jongseong nods, offering a faint smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "I will," he says quietly, but they both know it’s more of a promise to make Jeyou feel better than a commitment Jongseong truly believes in.

As the door closes behind them, Jongseong stands by the window, watching as the car pulls away, his heart sinking deeper into the loneliness that has become his constant companion. The house, once filled with life and laughter, feels far too quiet now. He turns, his gaze drifting back to the photographs on the mantle - snapshots of a life well-lived, of love shared, of a happiness he fears he will never feel again.

With a sigh, Jongseong walks to the mantle and gently picks up the frame holding your picture. His thumb brushes over the glass, tracing the contours of your face, his chest tightening with the ache of missing you.

‘Look after yourself,’ Jeyou had said. But how could he, when the one person who made life worth living was gone?

As the silence wraps itself around him once more, Jongseong sets the picture back in its place, his heart heavy with the weight of another day without you.

Climbing up the stairs, he makes his way to your bedroom, the day draining him of everything he has left. Jongseong steps into the bedroom, the air feels heavier, thick with memories and the lingering presence of you. The familiar scent of lavender still clings to the room, though it’s faded over time, much like the vibrant colours of the quilt you both once shared. He pauses by the doorframe, his eyes falling instinctively to your side of the bed. It’s exactly as you left it - untouched, sacred. He’s been afraid to disrupt it, afraid that even the slightest disturbance might somehow break the fragile connection he feels with you, like it might shake you wherever you are in the universe.

But tonight is different. Tonight, the ache of missing you is unbearable.

Slowly, Jongseong crosses the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart hammers in his chest, his breath shallow as he reaches the bed. He hesitates for a moment, his trembling fingers reaching out to touch your pillow, the one that still sees your head laying upon. Tears well up in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he doesn’t wipe them away. He lets them fall freely, each drop a testament to the love he’s carried for you all these years, a love that still refuses to fade even in your absence.

With a shaky breath, Jongseong lowers himself onto your side of the bed, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. It feels strange at first, like he’s intruding on a space that should remain untouched, but the yearning to feel close to you again overpowers the guilt. He lies down, resting his head on your pillow, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as his tears soak into the fabric.

“I love you, Y/N. More than my heart and chest can hold in,” he whispers into the empty room, the same words he had once said to you all those years ago when he first confessed his love. It feels like an echo, like his heart is trying to reach across the vast distance between him and wherever you are now, hoping that you can hear him, feel him.

He swallows the lump in his throat, his body trembling with grief. "I don’t know how to do this without you, Y/N. Everything... everything is so hard now. Even getting out of bed in the morning. There’s no joy in anything anymore." His voice lowers to a near whisper, almost as though he’s confessing to the universe itself. 

The room feels impossibly quiet, the stillness pressing down on him. His mind races with memories of you, of your laughter, the way your smile could light up even the darkest day, how your hand in his made everything feel right. He presses his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply as if he could somehow capture the last remnants of your presence.

Jongseong closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping up on him, though it’s not the kind that can be cured by sleep. It’s a soul-deep weariness, the kind that comes from carrying too much pain for too long. He hasn’t allowed himself to cry like this in a while, always trying to stay strong for the family, but here, in the silence of your bedroom, he finally lets himself feel the full weight of his grief.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers, his voice barely audible now. "I don’t know how to live in a world without you. I miss you so much it hurts... I just want to feel you beside me again, even if only for a moment."

He feels the tears slip down his cheeks, hot and unrelenting, but he’s too tired to wipe them away. His body sinks deeper into the bed, the familiar warmth of the blankets enveloping him, though it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same without you.

Jongseong closes his eyes, his hand clutching your pillow as if it were you, as if holding on tight enough could bring you back. The exhaustion weighs heavier on him now, pulling him under, and before he knows it, he’s drifting off to sleep - something that has eluded him since you passed.

Jongseong lies still, his breath slowing as the quiet of the room wraps around him like a blanket. The familiar scent of your pillow soothes the ache in his chest, though not entirely. His hand remains clutching the pillow, his knuckles white against the soft fabric, as if holding on just a little tighter might somehow bring you back.

His frail body begins to relax, the weight of the years and grief easing off his tired shoulders. His eyelids grow heavy, the darkness behind them more inviting than the empty, lonely room. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of you; he swears he can feel you surrounding him.

Jongseong’s heart, worn and bruised by your absence, finds a strange calm. The sharp pain of loss that has haunted him for so long softens, as if your presence - though unseen - soothes him, guiding him gently. He can almost hear your voice, soft and familiar, calling his name from somewhere far off, yet so close.

Exhaustion weighs heavier now, pulling him further into that quiet space between sleep and memory. His body sinks deeper into the mattress, the aches in his bones easing as his breathing slows. In the stillness, each breath comes softer, more rhythmic, like the gentle ebb of a distant tide.

As sleep pulls him in fully, a peaceful expression settles across his face. The lines of grief soften, replaced by something close to serenity. His grip on the pillow loosens, his hand falling gently to his side.

And in that stillness, Jongseong rests, his breathing gentle, his heart finally at peace, as though in the silence of the room, he has found his way back to you.

_____

“Dad?” Jeyou’s voice echoes through the house as he steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. A strange, unsettling quiet fills the space, not the kind of silence that welcomes you home but the kind that makes your skin prickle. There’s no familiar sound of his father calling out from another room, no clattering of dishes in the kitchen or the hum of the TV from the living room. It’s still. 

Too still.

He pauses at the base of the stairs, staring up as if expecting his dad to appear at the top, grinning, telling him to come up. But nothing. The quiet presses down on him, growing heavier with each passing second. Everything in the house looks exactly the same as it did yesterday - the framed photos of family lining the hallway, the shoes left in a pile near the door, and the faint scent of yesterday’s lunch lingering. Something feels...off.

Jeyou swallows hard, dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he places his hand on the bannister, fingers trembling slightly. He starts up the stairs slowly, the soft creak of each step the only sound breaking the silence. With every step, his heart pounds harder, his breath growing more unsteady. The house, once full of warmth, now feels cold, unfamiliar.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, the hallway stretches before him, just as it always has. But the air is different. It feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Jeyou walks toward the bedroom, his pace quickening as he reaches the door. His hand hovers over the handle, the knot of anxiety twisting tighter in his chest. He pushes the door open slowly.

There, lying on the bed, is his father.

Jongseong is still in the clothes he wore yesterday, his body lying peacefully on the bed, his hand hanging limply off the side, fingers curled and unmoving. His face is calm, serene even, as if he’s just fallen into a deep sleep. But the sight is all wrong. His chest doesn’t rise and fall with the steady rhythm of breath. The colour in his cheeks has faded, his skin now ashen and pale.

Jeyou’s breath catches in his throat, his chest tightening painfully. "Oh... no..." he whispers, the words trembling as they leave his mouth. His jaw clenches, trying to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over him, but it’s no use. His eyes burn, tears pricking painfully at the corners before spilling over, running down his cheeks before he can even bring himself to step closer.

He drops to his knees beside the bed, his hands shaking as they reach for his father’s limp hand, the warmth long gone. His fingers brush Jongseong’s skin, but there’s no response, no twitch, no familiar squeeze. His father is gone, and Jeyou feels the reality of it shattering through him like a blow to the chest.

He leans over the bed, resting his forehead against his father’s hand, the sobs he’s been holding back finally escaping his throat in broken gasps. “No... please... not yet, Dad,” he chokes out, his voice strangled by the tears, the grief clawing at his insides. "Please..."

Jeyou lifts his head, staring at his father’s peaceful face, and for a moment, it feels like he’s just sleeping. But the quiet, the terrible, awful quiet, tells him everything he needs to know. His father, the man who had been his rock, his guide through life, is no longer here.

There is a sweet irony in this moment.

As Jeyou's sobs echo softly through the room, Jongseong’s spirit hovers nearby, watching his son with a tender, bittersweet smile. Although he mourns the pain of his son, there’s no longer any weight on his heart, no sense of loss or longing. Instead, there’s a warmth, a gentle, reassuring presence by his side. He feels it before he even turns. A familiar hand slips into his, fingers intertwining with his in the way they always had, fitting perfectly, like pieces of a long-lost puzzle finally reunited.

He turns, and there you are, standing before him with that radiant smile that never failed to brighten his darkest days. It’s the smile that spoke of every quiet moment you shared, every laugh, every whispered confession of love. His heart, which had carried the unbearable ache of your absence for so long, suddenly feels whole again. The years of sorrow and longing melt away in an instant, replaced by the purest form of joy.

“Took you long enough,” you say with a soft pout, your voice light and teasing, just as it had been in life. There’s no hint of sadness or bitterness in your tone, only the playful warmth he’s missed so much, the kind that had always made his heart flutter.

Jongseong smiles in return, a gentle, peaceful expression settling over his face. For the first time in a year, he feels truly at ease. “I was caught up, sorry, baby,” he replies softly, his voice filled with love as he gazes at you. His hand squeezes yours gently, his fingers brushing over your skin as if to reassure himself that this moment is real, that you’re really here.

And then, without hesitation, he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a kiss so tender, so full of longing and relief, that it feels as though the time apart vanishes in an instant. The kiss is soft yet meaningful, filled with all the words he could never find to express how much he had missed you. It's like coming home - like slipping into the warmth of an embrace that was always meant to be. 

The sensation of your lips against his is more perfect than anything he remembers, as if all the love he ever felt for you has been distilled into this one beautiful moment. The warmth of it spreads through him, igniting his soul with a peace he hasn't felt in a long time.

Jongseong pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His soul feeling light yet beautifully full, free from the ache that had weighed him down for so long. He finally feels whole, finally feels like he’s where he belongs - beside you, where he’s always meant to be.

For a moment, he glances over his shoulder, back at Jeyou. His son kneels by the bedside, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the pain of his loss fresh and raw. Jongseong watches him with a soft expression, understanding the weight of the grief that will soon settle into Jeyou’s heart. But even in his son’s sorrow, Jongseong knows he will be okay. Time will heal the wounds, and Jeyou has the strength to carry on. He has a family, a loving wife, beautiful children, and the memories of both his parents to guide him.

Jongseong’s lips curve into a sad yet hopeful smile as he watches Jeyou. ‘You’ll be alright, Jeyou' he thinks, though no words leave his lips. He knows Jeyou will heal, just as he himself did once, after his own parents passed. There will be sadness, yes, but there will also be love, laughter, and life to carry him forward.

With that comforting knowledge resting in his heart, Jongseong turns back to you, his grip on your hand tightening just a little, as if to reaffirm the bond you’ve shared for decades. The past, the pain, the loneliness - it all falls away, leaving nothing but peace and love.

“Ready?” you ask softly, your eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth, as if you’d never been apart.

Jongseong nods, a contented smile playing at his lips. “Always,” he replies, his voice steady, filled with a quiet, unwavering certainty. With your hand in his, he takes the first step forward, leaving behind the world of sorrow and stepping into forever with you.

And as the two of you walk together, the light grows brighter, the burdens of the mortal world disappearing entirely, now walking hand in hand, just as you were always meant to.

_____

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[dolcekissy]

cheater cheater , ღ

: ̗̀➛ stepbro!rafe comforting reader while topper, her boyfriend, is out cheating on her.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | reader x stepbro!rafe masterlist

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes being rafes step sister, unprotected sex, p in v, kinda pervy rafe, breeding kink, and i think that's it idk

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you knew it was wrong ─ fucking your step brother while your boyfriend was out doing whatever the hell he was doing. you didn't care that you were cheating on topper at this point but with his best friend that just so happens to be your step brother? what the fuck.

topper had been ignoring your texts lately and going out with his friends a lot more than usual ─ turning his location off while he's out with them. he pushed you over the edge when he blocked you tonight after telling you he'll be busy tonight. you ran to rafes room with tears in your eyes that eventually led up to your current situation,

"that lil fucker ─ shit girl." he leans back a bit to watch your pretty pussy swallow his cock whole, sucking in a breath. "he's been treating you like shit lately huh? fuckkk ─ big bro will take care of you, yeah? yeahhh, shh shh s'okay baby" he grabs one your hands intertwining them in his and moving his other to rub harsh circles on your puffy clit.

you whine out totally overstimulated by his cock stretching you out and the newfound pleasure of him playing with your sensitive pussy. "rafeee ─ s'too much."

he grinned down at you while rubbing your clit harder. "you can take it. i hear you faking with toppers dumbass when you sneak him in. you need some real dick." you clench around him, tears staining your cheeks while he pumps in and out of at a speed that has you seeing little white dots around his room.

"fuck baby ─ this what toppers missing out on right now? feels s'good. so fucking good." you moan out loudly which is quickly muffled by his hand flying to cover your mouth. "cant let the whole house know your cock drunk off your stepbrothers dick, yeah? stay quiet doll."

rafe can tell you're close by the way your pussy flutters around his cock and the way you grip onto his large biceps like your life depends on it. he's close too, so fucking close ─ he's been waiting to fuck you for what felt like years now. if anything it made him happy top was very obviously cheating on you. now you could finally be all his.

"shit baby, m'gonna cum. gonna let me cum in this pussy?" rafe is pounding you into the mattress, still rubbing your sensitive bud. you nod eagerly, barely understanding what he just said.

he knows you're too cock drunk to understand ─ just nodding your pretty little head to anything he says. "really gonna let step bro nut in you? gonna let me fill you with my babies? nasty, nasty girl." you completely let go letting your orgasm wash over you, clenching even harder on his cock.

of course rafe sticks to his word and cums deep inside of you, fucking the cum up into you. he leans back to watch it drip out of you and onto his sheets. "fucking hell." he looks back up at your fucked out state ─ eyes glossy, lips red and swollen, hair a fuckin' mess. yet you're begging him for more. "oh yeahhh. babydoll just needed to get a taste of some real dick, huh? you want some more? yeah? shit. yeahhh, goood girl." he says sliding right back into you.

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[madhatterbri]

Mistake | D.P.

Summary: Reader and Damian are dating, but onscreen they are enemies. At Bash in Berlin, reader teams up with Finn and JD against Damian, Rhea, and Jey. During the match, reader distracts Jey by jumping into his arms and rubbing her nose against his. This action makes Damian incredibly jealous

Author's Note: No part 2. There has been too much fluff lately. 😂

Requested by: Anonymous

Damian Priest Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @terrortwinunicorn @magicalbuttertarts

It was challenging working against Damian Priest onscreen while dating him offscreen. There were so many times that Y/N wanted to intervene and help him and Rhea. She always managed to keep it professional and never cross the line. All was going well until Bash in Berlin.

Y/N was scheduled for a match. She was excited since this was her first major match in a different country. The butterflies in her stomach were on overdrive that day. Damian did his best to distract her. Finally, their match was up next.

The terror twins and Jey were made to look strong. The crowd loved to see them winning. A couple of times, Finn, JD, and Y/N were able to get a few minutes of momentum. Yet the momentum would quickly shift back to the terror twins and Jey.

"They are killing us out there," JD commented. He was breathing heavily.

Finn agreed. "We need a distraction,"

Y/N pursed her lips and looked around. She stopped the moment her eyes locked on Jey. "Take care of Damian. I have Jey covered,"

The female wrestler slowly walked over to Jey. Her hands behind her back. Mister Main Event immediately took notice. He had a cocky smirk on his lips. "Can I help you?"

"You just look really good today," she commented and rubbed his muscular arm. Y/N giggled and rubbed his other arm. She raised her hands up to his neck. Her fingers rubbed his tan flesh slowly.

"You know you don't look bad yourself," he commented. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped. He caught her to avoid her from falling on the ground. She grabbed his cheeks so he couldn't move his face away. Her nose rubbed against his. More giggles came out of her body.

Jey dropped her immediately when he saw Damian came over. The archer of infamy was furious. He started to yell at Jey.

"She came up to me, man!" Jey defended. He put his hands in the air and backed away.

Damian turned his sights to Y/N. His face was red from anger, but his eyes looked hurt. She bit her lip, knowing that she had taken this too far. Any woman that did that to him would be dead.

"You took it too far," he told her simply. When she went to apologize, he blew her off.

The match ended a few minutes after that. Her boyfriend and his friends were the victors. Finn and JD tried to comfort her as they walked backstage. She waited around for Damian.

When he appeared, he sighed loudly. "What were you doing out there?"

"I took it too far. I'm sorry. We needed a distraction and-,"

"And you thought throwing yourself to Jey Uso was the best answer?" He asked. "If you do that in front of me how do I know you aren't doing anything behind my back?"

Y/N's mouth dropped open in shock. Tears sprung to her eyes. "Damian, it was just a mistake. I would never intentionally hurt you,"

"Hey, everything okay back here?" Rhea asked.

Damian shook his head. The ex campeon was embarrassed and hurt. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. "I don't know if I can trust you ever again. I'm done with this conversation,"

Before Y/N could talk sense into him, he walked away from her. Rhea immediately wrapped her arms around her. Y/N buried her face in Rhea's shoulder and cried. Her friend rubbed her back and tried to soothe her. Mami insisted that everything was going to be okay.

[goldsbitch]

Hypochondria

part 4 to p1, p2, p3

He can sense her emotions, she feels his pain. Baby steps, that's the only way to go.

author's note: guess who's back - and a promised smut chapter turned into slow burn. any reported typos are appreciated. there will be p5.

"I'm sorry, Lando - this all just so bizarre. I'm barely taking it in. Literally don't understand how you're so calm."

He laughed gently. "Well, I did have few extra days to process. And hearing my name roll of your tongue is distracting enough," he said flirtatiously.

Her cheeks went red and her mind stopped, head getting filled with desire and lust. Lando's lips turned into a wide smile, him feeling her arousal as if she was screaming it loudly to his face.

"Glad to see my words have an effect on you. This is indeed going to be fun..."

Lando was on cloud nine. He was just staring at her as if she was a miracle. Her deep eyes unable to stay away from looking at him and lips that had a silent invitation written on them.

He was high on the way how relaxed she felt, proud that he made her feel like that. It was as if there was no yesterday or tomorrow. Just them and the couch. And after few moments of silence and collecting his bravery, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

It was clear to him from the moment he took her upper lip in that he'd give anything for this moment to take at least a thousand years. She did not hesitate and kissed him back immediately. The sweetest touch a woman can give. Leaned in and let nature do its miracles. He smiled into her lips and pushed himself closer to her, making her sink in the couch.

It was right then when a loud, impatient knock nearly sent them both into shock. Lando froze and back away from Y/N little bit, furious with whomever that dared to disturb a key moment in their lives.

"Lando, I apologize, but we have an urgent matter on our hands."

He rolled his eyes and let a deep breath out, recognizing the voice of his workoholic PR manager. This was not the first and probably the last time he had to tell his team off in the dark of the night. Internet never sleeps.

"Can it really not wait this time until tomorrow?" he said before he gave Y/N shameful and apologetic look. She just kept herself quiet, sunken into the comfy couch.

"I'm afraid we will need some immediate action," came from behind the door after another impatient knock.

Lando got his phone out to check the time, only to see 17 missed calls from several people.

"Ok, I'm coming."

He half opened the door to a very flustered PR manager, who looked like he was about to announce a coming tornado. Lando just raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to spill the beans and then planning on dismissing him.

"Anita released a break up TikTok. It's going viral."

As far as emergencies go, this one felt to Lando like a second-tier one. He was more concerned about the anxiety he felt coming from Y/N. Kind of wished she was kept out of it, for her own good.

"I'm sure we can address this in few hours," Lando replied calmly.

"She accused you of cheating. In a very colorful manner, I must say," the guy continued, as if he was not confident enough to fully explain the situation. "I'm in touch with her publicist, so that we can come up with a joint statement online. Apparently she won't talk to anyone but you."

Lando stayed silent, the only thing he really wanted was to close the door and return to the couch.

"We can't have another cheating scandal. McLaren will get involved," he pleaded once again in hopes of finally convincing Lando.

Deep breath. "Sure. Can I meet you at the lobby or somewhere in few minutes?" Lando caved in. A puzzled look flashed over his PR's manager, because usually Lando preferred to solve his crises in the comfort of his suite. The driver hoped no comment would come his way. After few seconds, the guy finally nodded.

"Understand, sure. I'll see if we can get the conference room."

He closed the door and tried to brace himself for any type of reaction Y/N might have. But deep inside he knew - seen it countless times. She abruptly got up, fixed her clothes, flashed him only one quick look before avoiding his face completely.

"Um, I'm gonna-"

"Yeah," he said, letting her pass by. The reality hit hard. She barely knew him. Somehow, the air got flooded with inescapable loneliness.

//

Y/N tried her best to follow her daily routine the following week. The memory of her running away from Lando's room like a little child chasing her like a nightmare. It was just so humiliating. The guilt, unjustified, was eating her up. She tried to stay away from social media, but her will was not strong enough. Late night scrolling included absorbing lot of Lando hate.

He also did his best to keep himself busy and focus on his job. If it had been any other person, he'd already be chasing Y/N down and try to reason with her, get this experience behind them and keep starting fresh. Perhaps he was lucky, that he knew her and if he's pushed immediately, she'd just hide even more.

He found himself on the track during free practice, constantly stealing glances over to the medical tents, just to get a glimpse of his guilt ridden soulmate. All he wanted to do was shake some sense to her. That evening he finally snapped. No more hiding. He was about to get creative.

So there he was, alone once again in a random hotel room in a city he barely remembered the name of, trying to get a hand of morse code. Something he never thought would be his issue, ever. It was a shot in the dark. Pinch a message into his arm and hoping she'd understand his intention. After all, she felt his pain, so he figured if he was annoying enough, she'd have no choice but to show up. Many curse words were uttered about the absurdity and difficulty of it all, before Lando got a hand of it. He opted to focus on the rhytmn and after he felt confident enough, abandoned tapping into a table and began pinching his left hand.

Let's talk. Room 1014. Please.

Over and over again. It was so incredibly annoying. But, he was going to persevere even if it meant having a bruise tomorrow.

After what felt like like seven thousand years - a knock on the door.

This was it, he thought as he opened the door to another annoyed person. She shot arrows from her eyes and he could not help but smirk. He won, she cracked the code.

"Now, let's get one thing clear. You are not going to use this trick outside of an emergency. Ok?" she opened with, having hard time to admit he won that round. It's been few days since they last locked eyes. She could practically sink in his. He just gave her a small nod, definitely not planning on misusing this ever again. Absolutely not.

"I'm glad you understood," he said and let her walk in. Was he nervous? That was probably the closest thing to describe it.

"I don't know the Morse code, so that made it super fun," she proclaimed and stopped in the middle of the living room, not sitting down on any of the chairs or couches.

"Me neither. But you better learn it, you never know..." he teased and walked dangerously close to her. She kept her gaze down.

She spoke before he could say any more cheeky lines. "So, I'm here. Anything specific you wanted to say that exceeded your ability of speaking in Morse code?" Her coldness hurt. However, he was not going to let her push him away so easily. "Y/N, this is not going to work on me. You can't push me away so easily, so just try and stop it. Please." Big gulp on her part followed by a light nod. "Good. Listen, I don't want to let this fizzle out so easily. It's hard to think about anything else once I've met you. I'm sorry about the whole break up mess. It's not fair to you. But, in my defense, I had no idea I'd just randomly be sat next to...you," he said, practically breathing out the last word.

She began walking frantically. "It's...um, it's a lot. Your world. And then the fact you seem to know things and are so far ahead in this game."

"It's not a game to me, Y/N," he said, watching her pace around the room.

She stopped by the bed and sat on it, finally able to look at him again. "Ok, bad word, but still," she paused and searched for the right words. "We have nothing to connect with...I mean nothing real."

Lando was not going to buy into doubts. His mind was set. Slowly, he walked towards her and sat next to her.

"Does it scare you? That you are tied to me basically against your will?" he asked the one thing he was afraid to hear the answer to. But he figured that the beginning was never suppose to be easy anyway.

"A little bit. Actually yes, it does," she said, in a strangely releaved tone and his heart sank just few stories lower. Lost in his own head, he nearly missed her giving up on sitting and landing on her back with a thud, eyes locked with the ceiling.

"I never liked being pushed into things. It's my life, I get to call the shots," she began to let her thoughts run freely.

"Choosing something that comes to you willingly does not have mean giving up your free will...I'd just like to at least give this a chance. I know already that I can't be your friend," he whispered, turned his look towards her and slowly lowered himself on his back as well, lost in his thoughts once again.

Lando's body laid still, but his heart was beating as if he was in the final quali lap. He had the advantage, drew the better card. Unique insight into another human's soul. Short cuts and few cheat answers for any test ahead of them. So why did it make him feel all the more lonely? He was reaching out, confused in the exact same capacity as she was, but she was not giving him much back. Yet. If was obvious. He was miles ahead of her, not thanks to his own doing. He could be there for her, but it would take some time and a lot of luck for her to be able to be there for her.

"Can you stay here? For the night?" he asked in a soft low voice, unable to hide his own vulnerability. "Not like, you know," he added immediately, hoping he comes off the least creepy as possible, "Just like this." Baby steps. He was praying for just that.

The body next to him also laid still in a very stiff manner, the exact opposite of relaxed. But the pull towards him was just too loud to resist. It was stronger than her. Curiosity tripped over the tiny fear inside her, grabbed the innate desire for human connection by the hand, and together opened the door for Lando to enter.

"Yes," she whispered, wondering if there is anything she wanted to add.

A small smile crept onto Lando's face. He got up and shit the light off. Both of them settled in a more relaxed pose, albeit still fully dressed. If by some miracle he manages to fall asleep, he will be waking up next to this magnificent, magical being for the first time. And hopefully not the last.

They laid next to each other, like the strangers they were, for few minutes, before she found her own little hand reaching out for his. Soft fingers mixed with his. At that moment, you could hear a pin drop. Lando's heart almost stopped, his breath caught in and resulted in gulp, too loud for the current setting. She could not help but smile and tried to hide it with pressing her lips together - even though it was dark night and both of them had their eyes closed. He mimicked her movements and traced her fingers as well. Every little place he touched burned with intoxicating intensity. He held her index finger lightly while she brushed up and down his thumb.

For the first time in years, Lando was careful. He'd rather lie next to her in silence than risking her wanting him to leave. The guilt from bruising her with his crash still hadn't left his mind. But when her hand crept more and more inside of his, he could not help but circle around it, until he was covering her hand completely. The air was still. Two scared souls discovering each other, tiptoeing around as if they were made of glass. Once Lando started drawing little circles on the palm of her hand, he finally felt her beginning to relax. He was still trying to get his mind wrapped around how the whole connection worked. Perhaps the more open she was to communicating with him, the more of a window he got. His next words slipped through without much of a thought.

"I've dreamt about you probably thousand nights."

Y/N could not recall the last time she heard a sentence that sounded so honest. Raw, it was almost childlike. She thought about her own countless nights when she slept alone and longed for a soul to crawl to. And also all those times she wasn't alone in the middle of the night, yet it still felt like eating someone else's dinner. The emptiness never truly filled. Hand never fitting someone else's like a well-fitted glove. Was there ever anyone who told her something like this before? Probably not. Of course not.

"I'm scared," she repeated.

"I know," he smirked for himself only. "I can feel it...But can you please tell me what's scaring you at this moment? I'd love to understand."

This time it was her who chuckled and squeezed his hand a bit. His heart once again beating so loudly he was scared she could hear it.

"I randomly meet this man, this devilisly handsome guy, who seems to know things I've never even told anyone, is hyperaware of my emotions as if they were his own...How am I suppose to resist this?"

"Why would you?"

"If we proceed with this, I am basically allowing you to become a weapon designed to destroy me. If, or more likely when, I fall for you...How can anyone else ever top that? If you decide that you're bored with me, I'll quite literally only be left with bruises."

He listened to every word as if it was a gospel and this time took a second to calculate his response. Lando opened his eyes to try and see a glimpse of her face in the dead of night, only to find her already looking at him.

"As far as I remember, you were always a part of my life. The one constant that does not leave," he said and licked his dry lips. If she was becoming vulnerable, he'd have to do the same. "If I fuck this up, if you decide that I am not worth spending time with and if you walk away...I'll still be left with the glimpses. I'll have to watch from afar, knowing you don't feel this. Funnily enough, you have the option to choose. I don't."

"And do you even want it? Would you-" she tried to continue with her question, but he interrupted her immediately.

"Of course. Hundred times over. I know you're scared, but I am scared too. Because there is a perfect piece of puzzle right in front of me and if I fuck it up, I am ruined for life."

She only saw a small reflection of light in his eyes, but that was enough to understand he was serious. Her shoulders relaxed and she let a breath she didn't know she had been holding, out.

"Well, good to know you are a dramatic person," she responded, trying to lighten up the mood.

It worked, his small smirk entered the chat again. "Yeah well, get use to it," he said with a new found confidence, tried his luck once more and scooted over to her just a little bit.

"Sorry, there was a hard spot in the matrace," he said cheekily and closed his eyes, trying to play it cute.

His body heat radiated towards her. "Of course, a hard spot in this top-of-the-world matrace," she questioned his argument with a smile, his magic getting her head-over-heels.

"Yes, I'll complain with to the staff tomorrow, these things can really fuck up your sleep, you know."

"So true. And what, have you solved it now?" Another door opened. Lando smiled.

"Still not perfect," he remarked, pretended to have a moment to think and finally scooted over and put his arm around her. "Yeah, this is the only way I'm afraid."

She was glad his eyes were closed, because her smile was impossible to hide. Both of them were fully aware there is no hard spot on the matrace. "Of course it is," she commented, as she settled down in his embrace.

Her face was now settled in crook of his neck, her uneven breaths leaving goosebumps on his skin. His light stubble teasing her forehead. Once again, Lando was overwhelmed just how well she fit in his embrace. He had to actively try and breathe regularly, because he was anxious about giving away just how much he was enjoying having her in his embrace. Her hand was pressed against his chest and Y/N had to fight every cell in her body, because the urge to explore his body was overcoming her. Lando shifted a bit, having to to try and find a spot where his belt wasn't pressing on his body in a way that hurt. Immediately, he felt a sudden wave of guilt coming from her and she bolted straight up. Had he fucked it all up? He cursed himself, he should have just pushed through it.

He forgot to take in the fact she felt his pain. "What's wrong?" he asked shyly, as he also sat up to match her moves.

She took a deep breath. "I don't want to seem like I'm suggesting something, but can we get out of our daily clothes? I hate sleeping like that." Who would like that anyway, was the thought that crept into Lando's mind, but he kept it for himself. "Sure, no problem."

"Do you have some t-shirt I could borrow?" she asked, turning on the light next to his bed, sitting with her back turned to him, perhaps trying to hide away. Lando tried his best not to get shaken up and loose his cool. This wasn't her running away and it was also not her suggesting anything.

"Of course," he said and got up to search up the best clean t-shirt her had. She took a deep breath as she tried not to stare, guessing by the sounds that he was getting undressed. But, as she did, she was happy he did not see her blush. Just like he did before, she forgot to take in account that he felt her sudden arousal and curiosity without having to look at her. For a change, he was happy he had his advantage. He peeked over to her, seeing her abrupt turn back. It was hard not to be amused by her.

"Here you go," he said as he strolled back over to her and handed her his t-shirt. "Don't worry, I won't look," he informed her and as the cheeky guy he was deep down, added his signature wink. "I'm sure there is an extra tooth brush in the bathroom, if you wanna join," he continued and walked over to the other side of the suite, hoping she was watching him walk around in boxers only.

Finally having some distance and a minute to contain herself, she carefully undressed, leaving on only her panties and his shirt on. Only then she noticed just how intoxicating his natural smell was. Knowing well enough she was doomed.

When Y/N finally joined him in the bathroom, he gave her the second toothbrush in silence and kept brushing his own teeth. It was refreshing seeing her in such an intimate setting. He tried as best as he could not to notice just how hot she looked in his t-shirt. Watching her in the reflection, he realized he never appreciated a moment like that with anyone else before. He smiled at her, because he could see her shy nature peeking through causing her hair behind her ear.

She was about to join him back in the bed when she saw him placed right in the middle of the bed, far from when was last time she approached him like that.

"It's the hard spot, there is no other way," he brushed over it nonchalantly and tucked himself in the bed. "Come on, here, here," he patted a spot next to him. In the dim light, with shadows only highlighting his toned chest, curly hair falling over to his eyes, innocent smile and opened arms, he was like a mystical creature created only to entrap Y/N. At least, that's how that felt. No way back.

She slipped in the bed with him, to the exact position as they were just minutes ago and turned of the light once again. This time, Lando was way more relaxed even Y/N noticed the difference. With each passing moment it was becoming less and less stiff or awkward. Comfort replacing natural stress of sharing a bed with a stranger for the first time. For a brief second, it was as if they'd done this every night before drifting off to sleep. Lando was happy to take things slow. Not expecting anything more. He was content with knowing she was not planning on leaving him there alone that night and that was enough. Not for Y/N. Her body was acting way before her mind could stop her. Her now warm fingers started drawing little stars on his exposed chest. It was peaceful. Until her finger moved a little lower. Another gulp from Lando. She felt him tightening his grip on her.

"Careful now...I might get the wrong idea," he breathed out for only her to hear.

Their lips were so riddiculously close, yet too far away. The only thing she wanted to do was kiss him. All restraint suddenly gone. But she needed to be sure - did he wanted to kiss her? If she dared to ask him, he'd laugh out loud at the obviousness of it all. Poor guy didn't notice her desire because he spent all of his energy trying to hide his.

She licked her lips. "Wrong idea...like sending me away?"

Loud sigh from Lando. "No..the wrong wrong idea," he whispered, being so close to her she could feel his soft breath, as he started to move his hard up her arm, under the t-shirt he gave her. She became very aware of the fact she was not wearing a bra, something Lando noticed the moment she came to the bathroom. His arm stopped momentarily at her shoulder. " Wrong idea that you want me to do this..." he continued moving his hand again, "...or this," reached up to her collarbone while pressing her closer to him with his other arm. "Or heaven forbid..." he whispered a question as his lips were nearly touching hers. Lando was too scared to make the first move, still afraid she might vanish into thin air.

She was brave enough to close the gap. "Or this." With that, she kissed him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

@ushygushybaby

[lieslab]

Are you with me?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After struggling with being underweight, you binge out of desperation to gain weight and that's when your boyfriend finds you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.6K

Trigger warning: Insecurities, implied underweight reader, mentions of weight, weight loss, binging, calorie counting, and a mention of nausea.

A/N: I believe that this is the final request I had. I'm so sorry for making you wait forever, life has been hard and this topic is a bit too real and relatable. Please know that your weight doesn't define you. Whether you are thirty pounds, three hundred, or three-thousand, you still deserve love and respect. You are allowed to love yourself no matter what you look like.

Society can be really fucking shitty and harsh. Don't let it tear you down. This is your life and maybe we do only get one. Eat the slice of cake on your birthday. Indulge in your favorite coffee. Weight can fluctuate and be lost or gained, but good memories last a life time. Don't let yourself miss out on experiencing them because you think your weight and the way you look is holding you back. It's easier said than done, but it's entirely possible <3

_ _ _

The brain is a chamber and each thought is a bullet. A complex system full of neural pathways that define who you are. The brain controls your entire being. Your personality, your motor skills, the cognitive ability to retain information, and pull it out later. 

Beneath the skin, we’re all just bones. Chipped and withered skeletons that will one day disintegrate into nothingness. They say life is a blessing. We should cherish it to the best of our ability. We only get one life, supposedly. If that’s true, then why is it so hard? 

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Thick and thin. Taut skin stretched over hollowed cheekbones. Round cheeks full of facial fat. Sharpened and softened jawlines. No matter what yours looks like, you only get one. 

A random genetic lottery thanks to your parents. You might hate yourself or you might love yourself. No matter which one wins, there always seems to be hiccups. Those times of turmoil where you just can’t seem to go on another day because you are trapped inside your body. The machine that causes you to breathe, it feels like a burden to some. 

You cannot control how the outside world perceives you. You cannot make everyone like yourself. Chasing idolization and devotion is a great bomb of self-destruction. Feelings can be fatal and if you’re not careful, they will be. Drowning in insecurities and letting them weigh you down while the days pass you by isn’t a good way to live. 

Yet…you just couldn’t help it. The way you looked was just overwhelming. You were a mess. Physically, nobody could see it. Mentally, you were overwhelmed and falling apart. Unraveling at the seams and spiraling out of control. 

The whispers of your insecurities had turned into a sympathy of screams. Scorching hot tears streamed down your cheeks in the kitchen. Your weight has always been an issue. People don’t second guess the things they say at times. 

“Gosh, you’re so skinny, you need to put some meat on your bones.” 

“Is that really all you’re going to eat?” 

“One blow from the wind and you’re going to fall over at this rate.” 

Some people are blessed with rapid metabolisms and some are cursed. No matter how much you consume, your body works it off. Over and over and over and over and over. Just when you think you’ve gained a pound, the scale says you’re down another half of a pound. 

What does your boyfriend think about it? He always says you look wonderful, but does he really mean it? What if he’s lying? Members of your family have stated that you look like you’re on your deathbed. 

What if you’re not good enough? What if this body isn’t great? What if nothing changes? What if you’re cursed to be this weight forever? What if? What if? What if? 

It was a spur of the moment decision. Ever since you lost another two pounds within the last week, something inside of you seemed to snap. That’s when you found yourself tearing through kitchen cabinets. 

Thoughts were swirling as you ripped open the package of oreo cookies you bought. It was one and then it was two and you blinked and half the row was gone. Crumbs caked your lips and all you could do was wipe them along your sweater sleeve. 

As much as you were spiraling, you were desperate to gain control. Surely, if you ate enough, you could put on a pound or two, right? Right? You had to. 

Crinkling filled the air as you opened a bag of brand new chips. The kind that were too salty and you knew they weren’t healthy, but you did it anyway. Life felt better with the occasional unhealthy snack. People weren’t perfect and neither were you. 

Staring at the back of the calorie contents, you lost track of how many chips you placed in your mouth. People didn’t seem to binge on the fruits and vegetables. 

It was the sugary sweetened foods that stuck to your sides. The salty chips and pretzels. The kind of food that was full of empty calories, but you didn’t care. You were desperate to gain a pound. 

People don’t understand what it’s like until they’re there. You will never understand what it’s like to be skin and bones until it’s all that you are. You will never understand what it’s like to carry around a pudgy stomach that bounces with every step until you are there. 

Weight fluctuates and bodies are different. We only get one, but it’s so easy to abuse it. To never eat enough. To over consume and eat too much. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong with your body. 

You ate your food and that was that. It wasn’t a ton of food, but it wasn’t like you were starving yourself either. Yet, at the exact same time, your body seemed to stay thin. 

The more you spiraled, the more you lost track. You didn’t remember what you put in your mouth. Everything tasted like defeat, even the oreos. 

It kept going and going. Your stomach began to ache with the amount of food you consumed, but you couldn’t stop. It was overwhelming and all too much. Everything hurt and you just wanted to break down and sob. 

When you caught the reflection of yourself in the microwave, that’s exactly what you did. The lump in your throat pulsed and the tears welled up again. The box of crackers in your hand dropped to the floor and you grabbed the counter top for support. 

Your body caved and slumped over the cold marble top. With a forehead pressed into the marble, you cried. You cried because it wasn’t fair. You cried because you hated what you were doing to your body. You cried because you were worried about how you were perceived. You cried because everything was overwhelming and too much. You hated yourself and it hurt like hell. 

Piercing sobs racked the empty kitchen and bounced off the walls. They reverberated back to you and you were left alone with the heart-shattering reality of what you were doing. You ate so much, you were nauseous. 

Your stomach twisted and churned. A fresh layer of saliva coated your tongue. The queasy feeling caused you to squeeze your eyes shut. All you could do was just cry harder. 

Your sobs were the first thing that Chan heard when he unlocked and pushed the door open. Fear struck his heart and he ripped off his bag. Not caring that his laptop was in it, it dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. 

He rushed into the kitchen and found you slung over the counter. “Baby? Baby?” His hand went to your back and he tugged you into his arms. 

The warmth of his chest made you cry harder. You hated that this was who you were. Why couldn’t you have another body? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it just be different? 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned your face. “Why are you crying? What’s going on? Are you hurt?” His hands gently cupped your cheeks. He positioned your face up towards him. “Please talk to me.” 

“I-I hate myself,” you uttered hoarsely with a hiccup. “I’m not good enough. I can’t gain weight and I’m a walking skeleton and I-” 

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”  A reassuring thumb ran over your cheek. 

“My body isn’t good enough. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.” 

Knowing that you thought so negatively of yourself, it stung. It shoved an arrow through his heart and he shook his head. “Listen to me, you’re perfect the way you are. Just because y-” 

“You don’t get it!” You snapped angrily. Your hands shoved at his shoulders and he stumbled back in shock. “You don’t get it because you’re perfect! You can gain weight and you can lose weight. You can do whatever you want and I-” Your voice cracked and cut off. 

He didn’t utter a word. He knew you were struggling, so he just opened his arms. With a quivering bottom lip, you let yourself fall forward. Sturdy arms grabbed you and he pressed your head against his chest. 

The steady lull of his heart made you burst into tears. A weak and hoarse apology fell from your lips. All he could do was quietly shush you as he rubbed your back. 

“I know that it’s hard. I know what it’s like to struggle with your self image. Maybe I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m right here and I love you. Please don’t push me away just because you’re struggling. I might not understand, but we can figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere and you know that.” 

That last reassurance was the final straw. Your knees buckled and your fingers dug into his cotton shirt. Down the both of you went and you landed on his lap. 

He pressed you against him as tight as he dared. With your eyes shut and your forehead pressed into the nape of his neck. He soothed you softly while rubbing your back. 

Even if he didn’t understand exactly, he’d wait here for as long as he had to. He’d be here until the kitchen was pulled into darkness and the sun went down outside. He didn’t care if he had to be here all night. 

He’d do whatever it took to remind you that no matter how you saw yourself, you weren’t entirely alone.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

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[lvnleah]

Grumpy game days

part two to the Rory in America series! thank you to @scribblesofagoonerr for help throughout this!

series masterlist can be found here!

August 17th 2024.

When Beth’s alarm went off at six-thirty this morning, you were still fast asleep so she decided to let you sleep in. You’d been in America for two days now and your body was slowly starting to get used to the time change and last night you slept right through for the first time.

Beth took the time she had to take a quick shower and get herself ready for training in the bathroom, careful not to disturb your sleep as she prayed today wouldn’t be another grumpy one. Your grumpiness was yet to disappear.

You weren’t enjoying America one bit, you had to wear suncream all the time and it made your skin sticky. You were constantly tired too and were missing your home comforts like your bedroom and other teddies. You were also missing Viv a lot, you were so used to being with her and Beth that it felt weird not having her around.

When Beth returned to the bedroom, she found you awake, sitting up in bed, and already frowning. The moment you saw her, your little lips pushed out into a pout, and your eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“Why didn’t ‘ou wake me up?” you grumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.

“You needed some more sleep! We can’t have you tired can we, eh?” Beth smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She reached out and smoothed down your wild bed hair. “Mummy had to get ready and now you need to do the same thing so we can go see all your aunties at training!”

“I don’t wanna go to training,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

Beth’s heart sank a little. She knew this trip was difficult for you, being so far away from home, your routine, and Viv. But she also knew how much you’d love it once you were more settled.

“I know, bubs,” Beth replied, keeping her voice soft and calm. “But after training, we’re going to see some cool places, like the big tall monument and the White House! Maybe we can even get some ice cream after.”

But you were having none of it. Your small feet kicked at the covers as you flopped back onto the bed, turning your face away from her. “I don’t care. I don’t wanna go. I wanna go home!” You whined.

Little tears started to fall down your face from how overwhelmed and tired you were feeling. Beth was quick to pull you onto her lap and rub her hand up and down your back as you snuggled into her chest, holding Twix close to you.

“I miss Mamma,” you said in between tears, “I miss Myle too.”

“Oh baby, I know,” Beth said, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Why don’t we give them a FaceTime, huh?”

You sniffled, nodding slightly against her chest. Beth kissed the top of your head before reaching for her phone to call Viv, hoping that hearing her voice might bring a little comfort to you.

As the phone rang, you stayed curled up in Beth's lap, clutching Twix still tightly to your chest. After what felt like forever, the screen lit up with Viv's face. She looked a bit tired, but her eyes lit up the moment she saw you.

"Hey, mijn meisje!" Viv smiled. "Why are you crying, Roo?”

You sniffled again, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. "I miss you, Mamma. And I miss Myle too.”

"I miss you too, sweetheart," Viv said gently. "And Myle misses you a whole bunch. But guess what? You’re going to have so much fun today with Mummy and all your aunties. And Myle and I are going to be right here when you come home, okay?"

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as you tried to process Viv’s words. "But I don’t like the sun!”

Viv smiled, her expression filled with love and patience. "Mummy knows and she’ll make sure you’re okay. You know she will. But how about you try to have fun first? You might see something really cool today that you can tell me all about later. I want to hear all about it, okay?"

Your tears had slowed, "Okay… I guess.”

Viv chuckled softly. “I’ll be waiting for you when I’m back from Australia with the biggest hugs and all the kisses. And maybe even a surprise.”

You perked up slightly at the mention of a surprise. "A surprise? What kind?"

Viv laughed. "Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it? You’ll just have to wait and see."

Beth, who had been watching the exchange, smiled softly at how Viv managed to calm you down with just a few words. She mouthed a "thank you" to Viv, who winked in response.

"Alright, bubs," Beth said, gently stroking your hair. "Why don’t we get you ready now? And maybe while you’re getting dressed, you can think about what you want to tell Mamma about your big day, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a bit better after talking to Viv. "Okay, Mummy."

"That’s my girl," Viv praised. "And remember, you can call me anytime you want. I’m always here, okay?"

"Okay, Mamma. I love you," you said, your voice small.

"I love you more," Viv replied. "Now go have some fun today, alright?"

With a final wave, Beth ended the call and turned her attention back to you. You looked up at her, still a bit hesitant but willing to try.

"Come on, sweetie," Beth said softly. "Let’s get you ready for the day. How about you wear your dungarees?”

“Dungarees!” You cheered, slowly sliding off Beth's lap. “Can Twix match?”

“Of course, he can!” Beth smiled, “Why don’t we get you ready then we’ll get his suitcase out and pick an outfit out for him, yeah?”

You nodded your head in agreement before picking out your dungarees from your wardrobe that had all of the outfits you’d picked out before you came. Beth helped you get dressed into them because you hadn’t quite figured them out yet before taking you into the bathroom to do your hair.

Beth carefully braided your hair, her fingers working quickly and gently to create the perfect "Elsa braid" that you loved so much. She smiled to herself as she watched you in the mirror, noticing how your mood seemed to be improving with every small act of care. Once your hair was done, she gave you a little spin in front of the mirror, and your face lit up with a shy smile.

“Can I bring Twix with me?" you asked, holding your teddy bear close to your chest.

"Of course, you can," Beth replied, picking up your tiny matching dungarees for Twix. "Let’s get him dressed too, and then we’ll be all set to go."

Once Twix was dressed and safely tucked under your arm, Beth took your hand and led you out of the hotel room. As you walked down the hallway, you spotted Step waiting for you in the lobby.

"Hey, Roo!" Steph smiled, crouching down to your level. "Ready to have some fun today?"

“I spoke to Mamma this morning!” You smiled, not caring or acknowledging her question.

Steph gasped, “You did?! I’m so happy for you, Roo! Are you ready to explore a little?”

“Yeah!” You nodded your head excitedly, still holding Beth’s hand, “Mummy says she has to train first though…”

Beth laughed, “That’s exactly how I feel about it too, Roo. It won’t be long but you’ll get to draw and play with Buddy!”

You perked up a little at the mention of your little cousin Buddy, who was your Auntie Leah’s daughter. You knew time would pass with the both of you colouring and possibly stealing a football to play with. You also knew that Monkey and Kyra would somehow get roped in and keep you both entertained.

With your hand in Beth’s, you made your way down to the coach as you chatted Steph’s ear off about the recent drawing you’d made for Viv. The coach ride to training passed quickly and before you knew it you were set up on the sidelines in the shade with a colouring book and Buddy beside you.

As Beth jogged onto the training pitch with her teammates, she couldn't help but glance back at you and Buddy sitting comfortably in the shade. You were both absorbed in your colouring books, with Monkey and Kyra sitting next to you.

Training started with the usual drills, but Beth's focus kept drifting back to you. Now and then, she'd catch sight of you showing Kyra your latest masterpiece, and she'd see her head nodding seriously in response. It brought a soft smile to her face.

As the session went on, Beth could feel the heat creeping up on everyone. She knew you’d start to feel uncomfortable soon. Training was soon over and after everyone was freshened up you all gathered onto the coach.

You ended up at a place called the Washington Memorials, or at least that’s what Beth had told you. Beth had made sure that your hand was tightly holding hers at all times and your other one was clutching Twix as you walked in between her and Steph.

“Look at the big building, Roo!” Steph gasped, kneeling down beside you as she pointed in front of you. “Do you know the name of it?”

You shook your head, “That’s the Washington Monument! Isn’t it big?” She explained.

“Sooo big!” You nodded, “What’s that over there?” You asked, turning around and pointing to a big white statue of a man in a big building.

“That’s Abraham Lincoln, he was the president!” Beth explained, “Isn’t it big?”

You nodded, “Woahh! Yeah, can I get a statue like that? That’s so cool!”

Beth laughed, shaking her head, “You have to do something special to get a statue like that, Roo.”

After taking some pictures, including one with Twix posing in front of the monument, you continued your walk around the National Mall. You were starting to get tired again, the sun was starting to make you feel all sticky.

As the sun beat down, you began to fidget more, tugging at your shirt and rubbing your eyes. The excitement from earlier was quickly fading, replaced by the discomfort that had been creeping up on you. Your hand started to slip from Beth’s as you dragged your feet along the path.

Beth noticed immediately as she crouched down in front of you. “Are you okay, Roo?” she asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

You shook your head, your lower lip jutting out in a familiar pout. “It’s too hot, Mummy,” you mumbled, clinging tighter to Twix. “I wanna go back to the coach.”

Beth sighed, she had hoped the outing would be a nice distraction, but she knew how easily overwhelmed you could get in the sun. “Okay, sweetie. Let’s go back to the coach.”

Steph, who had been walking with you, turned around to see what was going on. “Everything alright?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Beth nodded. “I think Roo’s had enough for today. We’re going to head back to the coach.”

Steph gave you a sympathetic smile, “I get it, Roo. It’s super hot out here, huh? Why don’t I tell Jonas and the team then come back with you?”

“Are you sure?” Beth said, “We'll be fine if you want to see some more bits.”

Steph shrugged, “I’m finding it pretty boring if I’m honest, can have my favourite little person bored now, can we? How about I carry you back so your Mummy gets a break?”

You didn’t hesitate to nod, reaching your arms out to Steph. She quickly scooped you up, and you buried your face into her shoulder, already feeling a bit more comforted being held. You stood with Steph for a bit while Beth quickly filled Jonas in on where they were going.

“Steph Catley, the personal carrier!” Beth laughed as she returned, “Saves my arms at least! He said it’s fine, let’s head back, yeah?”

Beth followed closely, her hand resting on your back as you made your way through the crowd. She could see the exhaustion in your little face and knew that cutting the visit short was the best decision.

When you finally reached the coach, Beth helped Steph settle you into a seat, making sure Twix was secure in your arms. “There you go, bubs. Let’s get you out of the sun,” Beth whispered, wiping a small bead of sweat from your brow.

You crawled onto Beth’s lap, resting your head against her chest. “Can we go back to the hotel after this?” you asked, your voice small and tired.

Beth nodded, rubbing your back. “Of course we can. We’ll get you a nice cool drink, and then we can rest in our room. How does that sound?”

You nodded, your eyes already starting to droop. “Okay, Mummy.”

Steph sat down in the seat next to you. “You did great today, Roo. Did you have fun?”

You managed a small smile as you nodded, “Yeah… but I’m tired. Legs hurt…”

“They’re only small aren’t they?” Steph laughed as you nodded once again, “Those little legs have done a lot of walking today!”

Beth kissed the top of your head. “We’ll be back at the hotel soon, bubs. Until then, why don’t you take a nap?”

“Okay,” you whispered, finally letting your eyes close as you snuggled into Beth’s side, your hand still clutching Twix tightly.

You soon fell asleep and cuddled up to Beth’s chest as her finger brushed up and down your cheek. She knew how hard this trip was for you, and she was determined to do whatever it took to make you feel safe and loved, even if it meant adjusting plans and making sure you were always by her side.

The team soon got back onto the coach and you headed back to the hotel, Beth even managed to carry you in and lay you down in bed without you waking up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That next day was match day, you loved getting to watch Beth play but today you weren’t excited. It had been another rough night for you both with you waking up multiple times throughout the night for different reasons.

“Look at you, Roo!” Beth smiled as she crouched down in front of you and fixed your Arsenal shirt. “Should I take a picture so I can send it to Mamma? She’d love to see your shirt!”

You perked up a little at the mention of Viv, “Yeah! Make sure to get a photo of the back so she can see your name on it!” You told Beth before posing with Twix.

After Beth had taken a few photos of you and Twix, she packed your backpack with snacks and toys that you had told her you wanted to take with you.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself arriving at the stadium and getting off of the coach with Beth. Once you got to the changing rooms, Beth stopped and crouched down to your height.

“Okay Mummy needs to go get ready,” she explained to you gently, “Can you go with Auntie Lia and Vic while Mummy gets ready to play and warms up? I’ll come to see you before the match yeah?”

Your tiny hand gripped Beth's tightly, your eyes wide with uncertainty as she knelt down to your level. The atmosphere of the stadium overwhelmed you, and the thought of being away from Beth even for a short time made you feel overwhelmed as you clutched Twix tightly.

"But I wanna stay with you, Mummy," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your bottom lip quivered, and Beth could see the anxiety building in your eyes.

Beth's heart ached at the sight. She knew how much you were struggling with all the changes and new experiences, and the last thing she wanted was to make you feel any more uncomfortable.

"I know, sweetheart," Beth said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "But Mummy has to get ready so she can play the match. I promise I'll be back before you know it. Auntie Lia and Vic are going to take really good care of you, and they'll make sure you have lots of fun!”

"I stay with you until you have to go on the field?" you pleaded.

Beth hesitated for a moment, considering your request. She could see how much it meant to you and knew that pushing you too hard might only make things worse.

"Alright, bubs," Beth finally agreed, her voice gentle. "You can stay with me while I get ready. But as soon as I need to go out for warm-ups, you'll go with Auntie Lia and Vic, okay? And then I'll come see you right before the match starts."

Your face brightened a little at her words and you smiled. "Okay, Mummy," you agreed, nodding your head.

Beth smiled and kissed your forehead before standing up, still holding your hand. "Come on then, let's go to the changing room."

Beth found her spot and you sat down while she got changed into her kit, "Are cheer loudly?” She asked you.

You nodded eagerly, "I'll cheer really loud!"

Beth laughed, "I know you will. You're my best cheerleader."

Soon enough, it was time for Beth to head out for warm-ups. She crouched down in front of you one more time, making sure you had everything you needed. "Alright, sweetie, it's time for me to go now. But remember, I'll be back really soon. Auntie Lia and Vic are going to take you to the stands where you can see everything, and I'll come find you before the match starts, okay?"

You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, trusting Beth's words. "Okay, Mummy."

Beth kissed your forehead again, and then gently passed you over to Lia, who took your hand with a warm smile. "We're going to have so much fun, Roo!" Lia said, her voice full of excitement.

"Yeah, and maybe we can even get some snacks while we wait," Vic added, giving you a wink.

You gave a small smile, still holding onto Twix tightly. "Okay," you agreed, feeling a bit more at ease.

As Beth headed out to the field for warm-ups, she made a mental note to check in on you as soon as she could. After her warm-up, Beth made a quick detour before heading back to the changing rooms. True to her promise, she found you, Lia, and Vic sitting in the stands. Your eyes lit up when you saw her, and she felt a bit of relief knowing you were okay.

Beth knelt in front of you as you munched on some popcorn, "You doing alright, Roo?"

You nodded, your earlier anxiety mostly forgotten. "Yeah, Mummy. We got popcorn!"

Beth gasped, matching your excitement, “Oh I’m so jealous! You’ll have to save me some!”

"I will!" you promised, giving her a big smile. “And I’ll cheer for you!”

“Oh, I can’t wait!” Beth said. With one last kiss on your forehead, Beth headed back to the locker room.

As the game began, you sat between Vic and Lia, your small hands busy with a colouring book, while the noise of the stadium surrounded you. Despite the excitement around you, your focus remained mostly on your drawings, glancing up occasionally to see Beth when she was near the ball.

"Look, Roo! Mummy's got the ball!" Lia pointed out, her voice full of enthusiasm as she tapped you gently.

You lifted your head just in time to see Beth make a pass. Your eyes widened, and you cheered softly, "Go, Mummy!"

Vic chuckled beside you. "That's right! Keep an eye on her, Roo. You might see her score a goal!"

You giggled, but then quickly returned to your colouring, the stadium's energy not quite matching your own. "I'm drawing a picture for Mummy," you announced, holding up your book to show them.

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Vic praised, "Mummy's going to love that."

"Yeah!" Lia agreed. "Maybe we can give it to her after the game. What do you think?"

You nodded eagerly, "She can put it in her locker!"

"Perfect idea," Vic said, smiling down at you. "Mummy will be so happy when she sees it."

The game continued and the noise of the stadium started to get to you. The cheers, the shouts, and the general buzz felt overwhelming. The heat didn't help either; despite the excitement around you, beads of sweat started to form on your forehead, and your cheeks turned pink.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to focus on your colouring, but it was getting harder. Finally, you looked up at Lia, tugging on her sleeve.

"Lia, it's too loud," you whined. "And it's hot. I don't like it."

"Oh, Roo, I'm sorry it's making you feel like that. How about we take a little break?" Lia said, “Would you like some water?”

Vic nodded in agreement and handed you a bottle of water. "Do you want to sit on my lap, Roo?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, feeling a bit more at ease with the idea. Vic helped you climb onto her lap, her arms wrapping around you securely. You cuddled against her, the noise and heat a bit more bearable now.

Lia smiled softly, “If it gets too much, we can always go somewhere quieter."

With Vic’s arms around you, the overwhelming sounds of the stadium faded a little, and the heat wasn’t so bad. You felt safer, and even though the noise was still there, it wasn’t as scary anymore.

“Do you want to keep colouring?” Vic asked.

“No thank you,” you murmured as you relaxed against her.

For the rest of the half, you stayed on Vic’s lap, her presence making the noise and heat more bearable. Now and then, Lia would point out something on the field, and you'd peek out to see, but mostly, you were content to just sit quietly, feeling safe and loved in the midst of all the excitement.

When halftime came, Beth was subbed off, and after a quick cool-down, she made her way straight to the stands. You saw her approaching, and without hesitation, you jumped up from Vic’s lap.

“Mummy!” you called out, your voice filled with excitement. Beth caught you easily, lifting you into her arms and holding you close as you wrapped your arms around her neck.

Beth smiled and placed a kiss on your cheek, “Are you having fun?”

You nodded, though your hold on her didn’t loosen. “Yeah… but it’s loud,” you admitted, pressing your face into her shoulder.

Beth rubbed your back. “I know, sweetheart. It’s a big place, isn’t it? But you’re doing so well. Do you want to come sit with me on the bench for a bit?”

You looked up at her with wide eyes, “Can I?”

“Of course you can,” Beth smiled, “Come on, let’s go.”

With you still clinging to her, Beth carried you down to the bench where the rest of the team was sitting. She made sure you were comfortable, sitting you down on her lap, your small legs dangling off the edge. The sun began to make you feel grumpy as you played with the hem of your t-shirt and held Twix close to your chest.

“You hot?” Beth asked you as she noticed your grumpiness settling back in.

You nodded your head, your face scrunched up, “Mhm, it’s too sticky.”

“What’s wrong, mini meadema?” Katie asked from beside you.”

“Hot and tired,” you grumbled, your tiny fingers playing with Twix’s ear. “Missin’ Mamma too.”

“I know, kiddo,” Katie said, “But yer will be back home with her before yer know it! She’ll be so excited to see ye!”

“I don’t get why I’ve been shoved out here, when I could be doing something in there to help!” You heard Monkey grumble as she came to sit back in her seat.

You weren't entirely sure what she was upset about, but she was making her point known that she was upset.

You couldn’t help but listen to Monkey and Kyra talk about whatever it is that had gotten Monkey so worked up about, but whatever it was, you guessed it must have been important.

You were too hot and bothered to even want to talk, you were much more comfortable sitting on Beth’s lap with Twix. You don’t even realise when Leah and Buddy came to sit beside the two of you, it was only when Beth spoke up did you notice they were there.

“Hi, Buddy!” Beth greeted, giving her a small wave as you continued to sit on her lap in a grump.

You had good reason too though when it was so hot, and you missed Viv a whole lot.

You couldn’t care less about the conversation going on around you, needless the conversation that Kyra had struck up with Buddy, who seemed to be upset about something as well.

You wondered where did her own Arsenal top go? That was probably what she was upset about.

“Monkey, stop!” You heard the small protest of Buddy, looking at the older girl with a glare that was scarily identical to Leah’s.

Whatever Monkey did must’ve really upset Buddy if she was shouting like she was.

“Oh, now I know you’re feeling better if you’re scowling at me like Mum does,” You heard Monkey joke back with the girl as she stuck her tongue out at Leah.

You don’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation between them, but you watched as Leah made Monkey go and start warming up and you can’t help but even giggle at Monkey’s flair for dramatics as she walked away.

She was really funny sometimes!

“That girl sometimes, eh?” Beth chuckled in amusement as she watched Monkey walk away.

“Tell me about it,” Leah replied as she adjusted Buddy’s sun hat on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes, “She’s a pain in the butt sometimes, but we love her, don’t we, Buddy?”

“Monkey’s my favourite person,” Buddy declared, snuggling closer to Leah.

You heard Beth dramatically gasp from where you were sitting on her lap, “What? I thought I was your favourite person!”

“No, that’s me,” You hear Katie pipe up from the other side of where she sat beside Beth.

“No, you’re both silly,” Buddy giggled at the two of them, “Monkey’s my favourite!”

“I’m offended,” Beth continued to pretend to be upset as she kept one arm safe around you, “I’m your favourite, right, Roo?” she asked you, tickling your stomach slightly.

“Yeah,” You agreed quietly, while fiddling with the hem of your own Arsenal shirt.

“Well at least my daughter agrees,” Beth joked as she tried to lighten the mood by looking at you and trying to cheer you up.

You definitely weren’t in a good mood. It was too hot, you just wanted to go back to the hotel and get out of this heat. It seemed like Buddy was feeling the same as well.

Leah leaned in close to you as she could see how upset you were, “You know, Roo, I know you’re missing your Mamma but she’s going to be so happy to see you when you’re back home. I bet she can’t wait to hear all about your time here.”

You couldn’t help but look up at Leah with a small smile when she mentioned Viv, “Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Leah nodded, her voice was somewhat warm and reassuring to you, “And just think of the big hug she’s going to give you when you see her again. She’s going to want to hear every single detail.”

You supposed that Leah was right, you couldn’t wait to tell her about your time in America when you did get to see her and her time in Australia.

Your smile grew a little wider and you finally relaxed a bit against Beth, “I miss her,” You admit to the blonde as you turned around on her lap to snuggle into her chest.

“I know, sweetheart,” Beth replied as she rubbed your back, “I miss her too, but Auntie Le is right. Mamma is going to be so excited to hear about everything that you’ve been up to.”

Leah continued to give you a warm smile as she looked between you and Buddy, “I think I might have an idea to cheer you girls up after the game,” She paused, “I think we should get some ice cream! What do you think?”

Ice cream? You love that! How did Leah know you liked it so much?

“Ice cream!” Buddy squealed in excitement, from where she sat on Leah’s lap.

Beth laughed at Buddy’s enthusiasm and looked down to look at you, “Oh ice cream does sound good, doesn’t it, Roo?”

Your face suddenly brightened at the suggestion of ice cream, “I like ice cream!” You told Leah with a small smile on your face.

“I know you do,” Leah said, giving you a soft smile, “And you know who else likes ice cream? That big kid over there,” She gestured onto the field where the subs board was about to be changed for Monkey to go onto the pitch along with Kyra, Steph and Caitlin.

“Monkey likes ice cream a lot!” Buddy said aloud.

“Yeah she does, so we’ll have to make sure that Monkey doesn’t eat it all before we get there,” Leah playfully joked with Buddy.

“No, Monkey can’t eat it all!” Buddy whined in protest at the idea of Monkey eating all of the ice cream, “You have to stop her, Mummy!”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Leah laughed in amusement, “Look she’s about to go onto the pitch now so you can watch her!” She pointed with her index finger to where Monkey was racing onto the pitch.

“Go, Monkey! Go!” Buddy shouted enthusiastically, waving her hand in the air.

You usually liked to watch Monkey on the pitch as well, but you were just too hot and bothered with the weather to cheer loudly and you were snuggled closely against Beth’s chest.

“Mummy, you and Auntie Beth look silly!” Buddy couldn’t help but giggle at the current way that the two of them both had the brightly coloured yellow bibs on their heads to protect them from the sun.

Buddy was right, they did look silly wearing them. You’re glad you have your own to provide you the protection from it.

“It’s the only way to keep us from getting too hot,” Leah told Buddy as she laughed, “I’m not fortunate to have a sun hat like you do, Bubba.” She explained.

“Yeah, where can I get one of those lovely pink hats?” Beth chipped in, her tone playful as she nudged Buddy slightly.

“Mine,” Buddy giggled at the blonde’s playful antics.

You were too hot to care much about the match in general. The heat was relentless and it wasn’t too long before the sun got to Buddy either and she was shifting about uncomfortably in her seat.

Usually, you would happily play with Buddy but the sun was too much today, it just made you feel weak, and it wasn’t nice at all.

There was a brief water break where all the players on the pitch rehydrated before they went again, you didn’t even have the energy to giggle when Monkey sprayed water on Buddy like you usually would have done. You felt relief when the final whistle blew, the match was over and now you could get ice cream.

Leah and Buddy headed straight onto the pitch to go and find Monkey, but you were less enthusiastic about wanting to go down there.

“Come on Roo,” Beth said gently, standing up with you in her arms she already knew you wouldn’t want to walk, “Let’s go and say hi to your Aunties.”

You didn’t want to do that though, you just wanted to go and get ice cream. Why did you have to walk around a pitch instead?

Needless to say, you were less than thrilled about the fact that Beth had to be involved in a team talk in the sun.

“Kick the ball with me, Roo!” Buddy came up to you and gestured to the stray ball on the field, “Kick it, Roo!” She repeated, pointing to the ball.

You were hot and bothered, the last thing you wanted to do was run around a pitch and kick a ball, but it was something that made Buddy happy and your little cousin was always fun to play with. You slipped down Beth’s body and ran over to the ball before kicking it to Buddy.

“I can’t believe you’re playing football without me!” You heard Monkey gasp dramatically, making her way to join in with kicking the ball around.

“I wanna join as well!” Kyra chimed in, joining the makeshift game.

Was the team chat over with now? Could you finally go and eat ice cream?

“Shoot, Roo!” Monkey encouraged you to kick the ball into the net when you had the ball at your feet, “Shoot it!”

You kicked the ball like you were told to do, watching the ball roll into the back of the net but you were less than energetic to celebrate that goal.

“She shoots and she scores, the crowd goes wild! Ahhhh!” Monkey exclaimed, tossing you up into her arms and spinning you around.

You did have to admit that you had fun playing football with them.

Buddy scored a goal as well and Monkey lifted her onto her shoulders and ran around the pitch with her to celebrate, both of them energetic as one another.

How could Monkey be so hyper still when she’d played football out in the sun? It’s way too hot for that!

However, it wasn’t long before your cousins got distracted hearing Leah shouting something aloud while wearing a huge red and white Gunner-branded cowboy hat and it made them want to run off and find out more about it.

You ran back over to Beth who was now standing with Steph. “Up please?”

Beth scooped you up and carried you on her hip, you began to play with the fabric on her shirt, “Can we get ice cream now please?” You asked.

Steph gasped, tickling your stomach, “You’re getting ice cream?”

You nodded excitedly, “Yeah, Mummy’s taking me with Leah and Buddy!”

“Ice cream!” You heard Buddy exclaim, clutching a hold of a newfound white bunny in her hands, “Auntie Beth and Roo coming as well?”

“Course we are,” Beth replied as you made your way over to them, you were glad to finally be leaving and going to get a sweet treat.

“Ice cream!” You shouted enthusiastically, still resting on Beth’s hip.

Leah laughed at the enthusiasm, “Alright, ice cream it is. Before we go, we need to get changed out of our kits first,” She gestured between herself, Beth and Monkey, “We don’t want to be sitting in these sweaty clothes while we eat.”

Monkey didn’t agree with that decision though, “Can’t we just go as we are? I want ice cream now!” She whined, dragging out the last word in complaint.

Leah chuckled at the younger girl’s impatience, shaking her head, “Come on Menace, it won’t take that long,” She reassured her, taking her by the arm and leading her back toward the changing rooms.

“Can I come with you, Mummy?” You peered up to Beth hopeful, you didn’t want to be without her.

“You don’t want to stay with Auntie Lia?” Beth wondered, gesturing to Lia who was going to keep an eye on Buddy, along with Leah’s mum, Amanda who had come out to watch the match.

“No thank you. I want to stay with you,” You told her quietly as she set you down on the ground.

“Okay Roo, come on then,” Beth replied in agreement, taking hold of your hand as you headed to the changing rooms where Beth was quick to get dressed before the four of you walked back out to find Buddy, Lia and Amanda.

“Now we get ice cream?” Buddy asked eagerly.

“Yes, Bubba, now we’ll go and get ice cream,” Leah agreed with a smile as she ruffled the 3 year olds’ hair gently.

Finally, now you were going to get ice cream, you were more than excited to race ahead of the adults in the group with Buddy and Monkey to the ice cream stand.

“Ooh, I want mint chocolate chip!” Monkey called out eagerly, practically bouncing with anticipation.

“Strawberry,” You chimed in, your eyes already scanning the ice cream options.

Leah smiled down at Buddy as she looked at the bright menu in front of you, “How about you, Bubba?” She asked, her voice gentle as she watched her daughter contemplate the choices.

Buddy glanced at the colourful display of flavours, each one more tempting than the last, “Ummm… chocolate,” She started, then spotted the bubblegum and her eyes lit up, “Nuh uh, wait– I wan’ bubblegum, Mummy!”

Leah laughed at her excitement, “Bubblegum it is then, Bubba,” She said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before checking what everyone else wanted in the small group and placing the order.

“Mm, this ice cream is great,” Lia said, savouring the treat.

Amanda, who had tagged along on the trip, nodded in agreement with Lia, “Are you enjoying that, sweetheart?” She chuckled and looked at Buddy, who had all but dived in to eat her ice cream and in no time it was all around her face.

Buddy always makes a mess when she eats anything!

“Messy bubba,” Leah teased, wiping away some of the ice cream with a napkin as her tone was filled with affection.

“This has gotta be the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted!” Monkey exclaimed, eyes wide with satisfaction and she’s definitely right there!

Beth laughed and nudged her slightly, “I swear you say that every time you have ice cream,” She teased as she peered down at you, “How is it, Roo?”

“So good, Mummy!” You replied with a big smile, “I like it!”

“That’s cos’ it’s the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted!” Monkey stated as a matter of fact, “Can’t prove me wrong on that one!”

“Alright, menace. It is good ice cream,” Leah rolled her eyes and laughed in agreement with the younger girl.

[lelengerine]

pairing. eunseok x reader

synopsis. who would have known a late-night stroll would lead to a quiet revelation?

genre. confession au, they joke about getting caught by cops, fluffy fluff, lmk if i missed anything as usual!

wc. 1k words

notes. i realize i have a streak of making confession/childhood bff drabbles lately... and i will not be stopping anytime soon 😁😁 likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

it’s one of those nights—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath, with the city asleep and the stars awake, twinkling as if they know a secret. eunseok’s familiar voice crackles through your phone despite it all, breaking the stillness in your room. “hey, i’m outside. you awake?”

there’s a beat of silence once you pick up the phone, caught off guard by his voice even though you're already used to hearing it. the corners of your lips tug into a smile, already reaching for your hoodie to slip into. “why? need help running from the cops again?”

a soft, amused snort comes from the other end. you can almost picture his grin, lopsided and playful. “yeah, definitely. bring snacks, we might be in for a long chase.” the jokes come as naturally as breathing when you’re with him, the teasing made easy—just like it’s always been between the two of you.

it doesn’t take long before you slip out the door, the crispness of the night settling around you like a familiar blanket. you find him leaning casually against the streetlamp positioned at the curve of your block, his posture relaxed but alert.

eunseok’s eyes light up the moment they catch yours, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. “look at you,” he says, voice teasing but soft, “one day you’re gonna wake up and realize i’m just using you for free, late-night entertainment.”

you roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “wow, i’m so honored. couldn’t find anyone else, huh?”

his laughter fills the solemnly lit up street, the sound of it curling around you and offering a sense of warmth. for a moment, you wonder how many nights you’ve spent like this in each other’s presence—no words needed to fill the spaces between you. he brushes his hand against yours, a fleeting touch, but one that sends a strange tingle up your arm, yet just as quick, he tucks his hands into his pockets.

“no one else gets my jokes like you do,” he says, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

you don’t answer, but the quiet that follows feels comfortable, as if slipping into an old, well-worn sweater. you fall into step beside him, footsteps barely making a sound on the pavement and for a while, you simply walk, listening to the faint rustle of leaves in the trees, the distant hum of cars, the steady rhythm of your breaths blending together.

eunseok tilts his head back to look at the clear sky, his face bathed in the pale glow of the moon. “look at the stars tonight. it reminds me of when we were kids, lying in the grass, pretending we knew the constellations.”

you hum, the memory flooding back—nights spent in his backyard, your fingers tracing shapes in the sky as he spun wild stories about the stars. “except you were just making them up,” you retort with a smirk. “i’m still not convinced starfish the destroyer is real.”

a laugh bubbles up from his throat—a light, melodic sound that never fails to make your heart feel full. “it’s gonna be in textbooks one day, mark my words.”

the air between you feels alive with shared memories, a thousand unspoken moments that have built up over the years. it’s the kind of connection that doesn’t need constant words—it just is. but then, as the conversation fades back into a comfortable silence, eunseok stops in his steps.

you turn to look at him, nose crinkling from confusion, but you notice a gentleness in his expression that wasn’t there earlier. he shifts slightly, his gaze dropping for a moment before he speaks. “you ever think about how none of this feels right without you? the stars, the late nights—anything, really.”

his words hang in the air, soft but heavy, like the weight of something that’s been building for a long time. you blink a couple of times, taken aback by the sudden question. the eunseok you know is playful, never one to be serious for long. but this? this feels different, like he’s pulling back a curtain you hadn’t even realized was there despite how long you’ve been friends.

“what’s gotten into you? feeling sentimental?” you ask as your head slightly tilts, trying to keep the mood light, but there’s a nervous flutter in your chest.

he scratches the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering just a bit. you can see the slight pink creeping up his cheeks, even in the dim light. “maybe. or maybe i’ve just been thinking too much.”

“about what?”

he doesn’t answer right away—instead, he looks up at the sky, his eyes reflecting the starlight like he’s searching for something in them. when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost like he’s afraid of breaking the moment. “about how everything feels… better when i’m with you.”

it’s a simple statement, but it hits you hard—like a quiet confession slipped into the night, one that’s been waiting for the right moment to be said. there’s a weight to it, something unspoken that lingers between you, and for the first time, you see him—really see him. the way his guard is down, the way he’s looking at you like you mean more to him than you’ve ever realized.

you could brush it off, make a joke like you always do, but something in the way he’s looking at you tells you this time is different. this time, it matters.

your smile softens, and you take a step closer to him, arm brushing his. “then let’s keep walking. we’ve got a lot of stars to see.”

eunseok glances at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a tender certainty. gently, he guides your joined hands into the warm pocket of his jacket, tucking you close against his side. “yeah,” he responds softly, “lots of stars.”

[tennessoui]

Number 8, please, for hold my heart more gently than you hold my throat

thank you for sending this one in!!! (throat fic verse is a/b/o)

[from this prompt list]

8. What happens if one of them gets sick?

you KNOW throat fic obi-wan would rather die than admit to being sick because his master already thinks he's weak and not to be trusted in a fight. he'd be incredibly stubborn about the whole thing and block their bond and try to carry on even if he's got a burning fever and is probably actually a liability in a fight. master anakin is incensed that his padawan has the nerve to block their bond. if he hadn't already fallen years ago due to padawan related strife, he'd definitely fall rn

but then there's also this other side of throat fic obi-wan:

Obi-Wan's head is killing him. Like, physically, actually, really killing him this time. He rolls his head to the side to peer blearily at the chronometer by his bedside. 16:06. On one hand, that can't be right. On the other, it must be. He'd fallen into this bed, fresh from Quinlan's, at roughly 9 in the morning after being a state of perpetual wakefulness the entire night. A combination of death sticks, alcohol, and teenage rebellion does that to a person.

His eyes fall to half-mast as he rolls--carefully--onto his back and stares up at the ceiling of his room. He wonders if Anakin is back yet. He'd left shortly before Obi-Wan the previous night, something about a dinner with Padmé's family. He hadn't sounded excited, but then, how could he have not been? Usually when he leaves the Temple to visit with Padmé, he is gone until the morning.

Obi-Wan wonders bitterly how many nights his master spent with his wife while Obi-Wan was on Melida/Daan. It took him five weeks to track him down. Perhaps he didn't even notice for four.

The thought is more self-pitying than he usually allows, but his body is sore and his head is killing him and his master's probably out there cozying up to senators. Or, even worse, just the one senator.

He gives his bedding a careful sniff before he wrinkles his nose and forces himself to sit up. A change in location is what he needs. He should rot on the couch instead of his bed. It will surely help him feel better. And then, when his master returns from flaunting his lovely relationship with the senator, he can see his padawan's deceased and lifeless corpse on their sectional and feel terribly guilty that he was away as his poor padawan succumbed to his affliction.

Obi-Wan swaddles himself in a comfortable outer robe that he thinks may have once been Anakin's and makes the treacherous journey from his room to the couch. He collapses onto it and curls up around one of their throw pillows, cushioning his aching, poor, hungover head with the other one.

An undeterminable amount of time later, a rough, dry hand falls against his shoulder and then moves up to cup his neck. Without even opening his eyes, Obi-Wan recognizes the touch of his master.

"There you are," Master Skywalker says. He smells like sweat and the training salles. Like mechanical oil and something floral and soft and sweet. Obi-Wan fights against the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste. "Have you been here all day, padawan?"

"No," Obi-Wan croaks, opening his eyes only enough to see the underside of his master's chin before he closes them again.

"Hm," Master Skywalker says.

"What did you do today, master?" Obi-Wan asks, tilting his head just enough that Anakin's fingers slip from his neck to slide through his hair. He sighs at the feeling. It is so nice. Master Skywalker is so nice when he is here, when he is Obi-Wan's.

Master Skywalker's voice carries a hint of amusement as he obliges and begins to stroke his head. "Hm, I had breakfast with Master Secura, led a class on meditation to the newest batch of younglings, and sparred with Master Fisto until supper." He punctuates his words with a tug of his hair. "Which you missed, by the way."

Obi-Wan turns his face away. He doesn't want Anakin's touch if Anakin is going to be mean about it.

"And now I'm needed at the opera for a performance," his master adds. "Padmé's idea, not mine."

Obi-Wan's frown increases tenfold. It isn't fair. She already had him for a night. He's Obi-Wan's master. How dare she think her claim extends further than the Temple's doorstep.

"Master," he says impulsively, turning back to look up at Anakin with pleading eyes, "I'm not feeling well, Master."

"I suspect that may be because of the amount you drank last night, padawan," Master Skywalker replies, tone strangely light as his fingers run down the length of Obi-Wan's face.

Obi-Wan frowns. "I think I really am very sick, master," he says. "I shouldn't be alone, I don't think."

Master Skywalker's eyes flash. His hand stills.

"But if you're going to be at the opera tonight, I suppose--I can manage," he adds. It's a delicate line to walk. If Anakin weren't planning to go see his--his--wife, then Obi-Wan would never admit to feeling unwell. But he is. So, Obi-Wan must. It is the natural order of things. Anakin is Obi-Wan's master. No matter the root cause of his sickness--his hangover--his master should stay with him when he feels so wretched.

"I can call Quin again," he mutters, even as he tilts his face into Anakin's featherlight touch. His master's face darkens like an approaching thunderstorm. "If I start to feel really poorly. He can take care of me."

Master Skywalker's lips turn down into a fierce scowl, and Obi-Wan holds his breath. "No," he snaps, and Obi-Wan has to bite his lip to hold back his automatic purr. "No, I'll stay in tonight. If my padawan is feeling unwell...I should stay."

Obi-Wan bites his lip. It's only been six weeks since they'd arrived back on Coruscant from Melida/Daan. He shouldn't push his luck. He's lucky to still have Anakin's attention at all. To still have a master. "But what about the opera?" he asks carefully, sitting up on his elbows to peer at his master. "The senator will want you."

Once more, Master Skywalker's eyes flash, and he slips onto the couch next to Obi-Wan, resting his thigh in the space where his head had been. His hand falls back to rest on his neck, using the grip to push him back down. Obi-Wan goes easily. This is perhaps everything he's ever wanted in the galaxy.

"Unfortunately, I will have to let her know that priorities have shifted," Master Skywalker murmurs as his hand falls back to that scent-gland beneath his ear. He thumbs at it. If Obi-Wan didn't feel quite so close to nausea due to his hangover, he thinks he'd be getting wet from the sensation. "Mine have at least."

They're strange words, yet Obi-Wan welcomes them because they mean that Anakin will stay. It is everything he wants; it is far more than he deserves.

[sharkboywrites]

Hi, can you do Halsin and Astarion comfort (plus any others you like writing for) x trans reader struggling with top dysphoria, like to the point they actively avoid face to face contact because no matter how well they bind they can still feel them :( I've been struggling a lot (expecially since I can't bind due to health reasons)

Top Dysphoria

Halsin and Astarion x dysphoric transmasc reader

A/N: Really excited to write this bc I know how much chest dysphoria sucks, but I’m actually working on getting a binder now that I’m 18, so this is good motivation to write. Sorry I’m getting to this late, but I hope you feel better anon

Trans male/transmasc reader, dysphoria, chest dysphoria, all descriptions of dysphoria are based off of author’s experience

Halsin

- Halsin is one of those people that can immediately tell when something is wrong

- He could see the difference in the way you started to carry yourself, all confidence gone and making yourself as small as possible

- Your chatter died down, now often becoming completely silent unless you had to speak

- When you’d see up camp for the night you’d quickly retreat to your tent, not fixing up your weapons or talking to anyone else in your party

- He decided to wait until everyone headed to bed to check on you

- When he came into your tent you were just laying there

- You weren’t sleeping, but you weren’t exactly doing anything either

- You were just staring at the wall of your tent, face stained from tears

- He didn’t say anything at first, just sat beside you

- He eventually pulled you into his arms, holding you in a warm and comforting embrace, a bear hug perhaps

- When you felt comfortable enough to start talking, you told him everything

- You told him how you felt, how it was making every single day hard, how it was affecting your mental health

- He listened to you patiently, wiping away any tears that formed

- He assured you that your body does not define you, that it doesn’t change the way he sees you, but that he also understands why it makes you so upset

- He held you until you fell asleep, before laying with you, patting your hair as he drifted to sleep too

Astarion

- Astarion loves to bicker, that’s one obvious thing

- He throws small insults and comments whenever he can find the opportunity

- And you always bickered back

- It was like a game between the two of you, an entertainment of sorts while you had to walk from place to place, fighting monster after monster

- But suddenly, you stopped bickering back

- You were quiet, keeping to yourself

- You almost seemed smaller somehow, like trying to hide yourself from everyone around you

- He’d never admit it, but he missed your friendly fighting

- So, he decided to check up on you

- In his own way of course

- He’s not good at emotions, but he still addresses the problem directly

- He does it in a whiny way of course, while you’re party stopped at an inn for the night

- He companies about losing his fighting buddy, how quiet you’ve become, but beneath all that it’s clear he’s really just worried about you

- But he feels even worse when he sees you start to tear up

- He sits next to you on the bed as you cry out your feelings, telling him about everything

- His comfort comes in the form of a hand on your shoulder and a nod every now and then

- Like we’ve established, he’s not good with emotions, but he’s still there to listen to you

- He doesn’t have a lot to say, but he gives you a few assuring words about how he doesn’t care about those things and your body doesn’t determine who you are

- He stays with you the whole night, helping you stay distracted, and reminding you that he’s here for you

[kit-williams]

A Drabble

tw: oral; idiots in love;

-Timeline: Before the story proper-

Perturabo was use to Penelope being excitable... she was in her early twenties after all verses him being well over a hundred years old by the time they married. It amused him greatly how differently she acted in the public eye verses with him privately. It made him feel like he had something all his own and it was the truest version of his wife. But he watched her slide into the room looking at him bewildered, "Why didn't you tell me you were hot?!" She says in that whining tone of hers.

Perturabo gives Penelope a deep frown counting slowly in his head. She has a habit of saying stupid things not realizing at first what she says. With her also being from the mountains she sometimes messes up the phrasing... that and her being a commoner once she tends to speak far more casually with him in private... and well of course he loves her. Love was something Pertruabo did not give out his love easily as Calliphone was the only other person he would have said that he loved before he realized he loved Penelope in a different way.

"Let me rephrase!" Her eyes sparkle realizing her slip up, "Why am I only now finding out you had a beard!" She whines softly.

"I see you visited Calliphone." Pertruabo points out knowing full well that the only paintings of him left of his time before meeting Father were with his sister.

"Of course I did. And I only now just saw how amazing you look with a beard! I feel robbed!" Penelope says with her dramatics as he could hear her bare feet upon the stone as she walked over to his desk.

"Unlike Russ I did not enjoy the feeling of my hair getting tangled and knotted. So I shaved my whole body." Perturabo says returning focus to a building design.

"Do you think you'll ever grow it out again?" He feels her cheek against his arm.

"Why?"

"It looked good on you."

"Do I not look good now?" He looked over at her with a blank look on his face. He wasn't afraid of what she would say...

"I fell in love with you now. Clean shaven, tubes, and all. I mean I doubt I looked good when you first met me."

"You looked good."

"Bo I had three teeth missing, crooked toes from them being broken and not healing right, awful hair, and a myriad of other things that would leave many poets desiring something."

That got Perturabo to frown, "That doesn't matter." He bristles not liking how she talks about herself sometimes. He chose her so why does-

"Exactly dear." Penelope says softly with that pleasing smile of hers that causes her eyes to close slightly, "You loved me at my worst looking. No I'm not saying you have bad taste in women I'm saying that if looks were something you were really picky on then I wouldn't have a chance."

"They never complemented my work earnestly." Perturabo says softly.

"Their loss." She says before climbing up to sit on his thigh wrapping her arms around his neck and presses her cheek to his as she smiles just showering him in affection.

He doesn't like showing affection in public a weakness that could be exploited... but she's a mortal and needs it... and he wont repeat nearly letting her walk away from his life by withholding it from her. He sighs softly pulling her into a hug enjoying the comfortable silence before speaking up, "After the Crusade." She looks at him before he continues, "I'll regrow my beard after the Crusade. My head hair..." He feels a modicum of self consciousness at the thought.

"I can live with just a beard... and maybe some chest hair too?"

"You're insatiable." He kisses her cheek seeing the gears in her mind thinking, "You're thinking of something."

"Beard Burn." Penelope says with a sigh.

"You really are insatiable." He laughs softly to which she scoffs.

"Would you rather I be like Lady Dorn? Mindful and demur and stone faced too? Or perhaps I shall have a frown upon my face as well." She says before she pouts dramatically at him.

"You're pouting."

"Well I'm not very good at frowning I suppose." Penelope says before kissing him.

--------------

She doesn't know how this man got into her room... and why he was naked. But she had to admit he was insane enough to try and seduce her though he looked... familiar?

"Speechless?" That familiar voice rumbles out.

Her eyes widen, "Bo?"

"In the flesh," He lies as what this puppet really was is metal, "You really do not like it when I'm closer to your height."

She sighs putting a hand to her cheek, "Like I've said... a decade of being use to you towering over me does not go away just like that. But... I suppose... it's been awhile for you."

"Partially I do not trust myself to not hurt you," He partially lies to his beloved spouse looking away not wanting to think too hard about everything as he came here for a mental reprieve... not to be eaten by guilt...

He looks at her feeling her weight on the bed as she gives him a kiss for his troubles before pulling away and looking over him, "By the Ancients Perturabo you're so hairy!" She says before putting her face into his chest and making a pleased noise.

"Oh yes probably not as hairy as some of my sons from the mountains are," He says with his eyes closed as he can't help but preen under her pleased gaze, "But I hope its enoUGH!" He nearly jumps as he feels her mouth around him as he looks to her sparkling eyes as she grins with her mouth full giving a giggle. He swallows and burns the sight into his very essence, "Well you look quite pleased."

"Oh yesh bery peeesed," Penelope says with her mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full Nelly." Perturabo says causing her to laugh and she lets him slip free from her mouth. As she crawls up to meet him in an embrace and to enjoy the night.

-Timeline: Perturabo got to Penelope first-

Guilliman didn't know what was spurring his traitorous brother on. Perturabo was moving aggressively carving out a large territory for himself. The spies that were able to give any information was sparse and usually wildly outdated by the time it reached him but something was spurring him on. The radical inquisitor was able to get a recording... "Apparently the rapid border expansion of the Iron lord's territory is because of something he acquired. We're uncertain if it's from his recent fights with the other traitor primarchs but the Iron Warriors have been consolidating and changing their focus."

Guilliman was very familiar with how Perturabo was moving... it was his methodical expansion from the Great Crusade... he was bringing planets into compliance. And given the numbers the Inquisiton estimate... Perturabo was a threat. His mind thinks back for a moment... perhaps the thing that changed was Penelope? But that was well over fifty years now when he first got that distress call from the Iron Amarantos and he assumes that the perils on that half of the Cixitrix Maledictum got to her before she could get to one of the crossing points.

"We don't have any information on this sudden Demogauge. All we know is that she just appeared around the same time of the expansion. The Iron Lady as she's been called." Guilliman refrains from rolling his eyes... of course just like Ferrus, Perturabo was associated with Iron.

The pict capture plays as the agents get into their positions. "This one is also important... but its clearly a young Astartes." The Inquisitor says as notes pop up as the image of a... familiar man walks on screen. He looked so much like Perturabo... then again what one of his sons didn't but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this wasn't a normal son of Perturabo.

"And here comes the Iron Lady." The Inquisitor says but the Astartes uses a different title.

"Play it back now." Guilliman orders as he listens to the title again... "That's not Iron Lady..." He has a sinking feeling he knows who is about to walk on screen.

"What does it translate to then my Lord?"

"Iron Mother."

And upon the screen with a newfound grace she glided into view draped in the colors of the fourth legion straight from the days of the great crusade was Penelope. Though Roboute wonders if it really is her give how she was closer to the size of Alpharius or a Primaris marine and Roboute watched her sweet talk a planet into compliance... because she was the gentle hand to the Iron Lord... she was the gentle hearth where Perturabo was a roaring forge... Roboute didn't have many chances to meet his brother's wife. But he remembers one of the few times she was around and Perturabo was bristling. Perhaps it is the hindsight now to realize that her death is what damned the fourth legion... but he remembers the way they simply looked at each other. Something Roboute was jealous of, at the time, with how tenderly she held his face... how lovingly she looked into his eyes...

"It can't be her..." He whispers... this must have been some poor mortal or some abomination Perturabo had made to replace his wife... if he never got over her.

"Who is she..." An Inquisitor asks.

"Back in the Great Crusade era... before the Heresy... Perturabo had a wife," His eyes focus on one of the Astartes standing next to her before pointing, "and a son."

The Ram, the bulwark of Ossento system, Warsmith of the 101st Grand Company... and more titles but Guilliman couldn't help but see how much he looked like his father... the way he seemed to look into the camera and just smile.

The alarms blare as the sigil of the Iron Warriors appears on the screen. A virus the tech adepts and priests scream as a video forces itself to play.

"Hello Guilliman." Penelope says, "You probably have a dozen questions seeing me again... and like this." She says softly, "I would love to answer them but straying too far from your brother would... well he wouldn't like that but I'm willing to meet you still perhaps not at Macragge but I think you will be please with what I have to say. Take care Lord of Macragge." And with the video ends the virus dies

[typicalopposite]

Thanks @priincebutt for the tag 🫶

slowly making my way through chapter 7! 🫠 sorry this has become my whole personality lately 😂 this is my main fic at the moment!

“Kinard!” Captain Collier calls from his office, nearly causing Tommy to drop the laptop he has meticulously balanced on his (extremely, dreadfully, embarrassingly) large belly. He has long since been able to comfortably do anything at his desk— the bump getting in the way, and sitting at an angle hurts his constantly aching back— so he has been using the bump instead… God knows it sticks out far enough anyway. He lifts the laptop off, and sets it on the table; crumbs from the bag of chips he was eating topple from his shirt to the floor when he stands. He frowns at the mess and grabs the broom he keeps close by (this happens often) and sweeps them into a pile. “Tommy?” Collier repeats softer this time, poking his head out of his office. 

“Uh, come— coming Cap!” He tries in vain to bend and reach the dustpan. He holds on to the desk for support but he feels like he’s going to tumble forward every time he starts to lower himself. Then he sits back down and tries again… still with no success; he even tries to flip it onto the broom and balance it up to the desk.

“Let me,” Collier says, now beside him. He takes the broom then bends down and sweeps the crumbs into the dustpan. After he throws the crumbs away he straightens back up and sits on the edge of Tommy’s desk. “Tommy…” he says again, and just from the look on his face, Tommy already knows what he’s about to say. “Listen. I know you want to work up until you deliver, but I really think it’s time.” Tommy can feel his mouth pulling down and Collier sighs.  “Hey… come on, don’t do that.” 

Tommy is trying desperately not to humiliate himself by ‘doing that’— i.e. crying— but it has gotten so much harder lately. He feels huge, and heavy, and tired, and sore all the time! All that meshes together and has made him somehow even more emotional. 

“What did you do to him, Cap!?” Lucy gasps, walking into the hanger. 

Collier sucks at his teeth and pushes off the desk. “I didn’t do anything but suggest he make these last weeks easier on himself.” 

“Well,” Lucy says… more so to Tommy. 

“Not you too, Luce?!” Tommy feels his pout deepen. 

Lucy laughs, and comes up behind him, squeezing and massaging his shoulders before wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t get me wrong, work will suck without you, and I am going to miss you so much; I don’t want you to leave…” she says. “I just want you to get some rest… you know the whole cliche you better sleep while you can because you won’t once baby is here— except you’re gonna have two babies keeping you up, and I honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve come to work and not looked exhausted… you’re overdue for some rest.”

Tommy would argue, except he knows he can’t; she’s right. The twins are growing beautifully, which makes him so happy and relieved… and massive, and miserable. He isn’t upset at the weight he’s gained, he is confident in himself enough to know he can lose it once they're born (and honestly even if he doesn’t lose a single pound, he is so happy both babies are healthy and thriving he wouldn’t care). However, he’s not been allowed to lift above his head since he announced the pregnancy, and getting something from lower than his waist at this point is damn near impossible. Lacey says he shouldn’t be carrying anything more than 15 pounds; and between the twins using his bladder and his lower spine for kickboxing practice, he is either in the bathroom or pacing the hanger trying to ease the back pain. 

He’s exhausted from the lack of sleep the pain is causing, and he needs help doing pretty much anything that’s not sitting and typing, and that is not something they even need him at the station to do. Collier has been trying to convince him to work from home for a couple months… Tommy’s just— Hell even he’s not a hundred percent sure why he’s holding on to working for so long… He looks past Collier and Lucy at the helicopter’s, and he can’t even fly at the moment, but it’s been nice being near them. Watching them take off, watching them come back… he misses it. He’s going to miss this, and his team. “You’re probably right…” he finally admits. “I guess I should take advantage of the last few weeks of calm.” 

Lucy smiles, and hugs him. “Good for you; you have more than earned a break,” she says squeezing him. “I’m gonna miss you, Kinard.” 

“I’ll miss you too, Luce,” he replies, voice soft and shaky. 

“Hey,” she says, pulling back to wipe the tears that are starting to fall from both their eyes. “This is not a forever goodbye, okay? I am going to come by and get my baby fix every day I have off… you’re gonna be so tired of me!” 

“Never,” he laughs.

Tagging: @onthewaytosomewhere @30somethingautisticteacher @judymarch15 @nine-one-wanton

@bidisasterevankinard @kinardsevan @somethingaboutfirefly @bucksxkinard @mmso-notlikethat

@sunnywithachanceofbi @herrmannhalsteadproduction @marvelousbuckley

And anyone else who wants to share their writing 🫶🫶

[cckaisen]

hiii everyone !!! yes !!! tis i !!!

firstly — i’m absolutely so sorry that i disappeared and probably left some of you disappointed, if not worried . i’ve been doing well , just had to deal with some family related shenanigans . should have let you know . again i’m so sorry to those of you who were concerned , and even those who just found comfort in my smaus . i love and appreciate you all more than you could ever know and can assure you i’ve been keeping up from in the shadows .

this isn’t me making an immediate comeback , just sort of dropping back in since inspiration struck . feel free to leave requests , even if i don’t end up doing them , know that i really appreciate you coming to me with your silly ideas . i love them all and it’s always delightful to hear from you .

i miss and cherish you all , my little online friends ,

- taliss xx

[robiinurheart33]

Part 1

The next time Soap wakes up, he isn’t screaming anymore.

He sort of felt that after passing out from the pain of Ghost’s touch along with the stitches that he was gonna wake up in a shitton of pain but surpringly he felt…comfortable. Soap opens his bleary eyes to take stock of the situation. He’s obviously in one of the rooms in the safe house, the room completely void of light. Not even the moonlight is able to pierce through the blackout curtains. No doubt Ghost probably would’ve also dead locked the windows. He feels the cooling touch of a bedsheet under his fingers, the whirring of a fan blowing on his face. He can hear shuffling downstairs, Ghost probably settling down for a few days at the house before they’re cleared to go out.

Johnny sits up with a soft groan, hand patting his side where his stitches lie. His mind feels blissfully silent, like for once a higher being is allowing him to rest, if only for a short while. He feels 10 again when his socked feet slide across the ground as he stands, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and opening the door to the bedroom. Johnny isn’t completely sure of where his bedroom is located, but he manages to find the living room easily and by extension; Ghost. He looks ethereal and deadly in the moonlight, sitting on the couch and cleaning his guns.

“About time you woke up.” Christ, he sounds exhausted. Has he rested even once when he patched Soap up?

“How long was I out?”

A pause. “Long enough.” Ghost sounded more gravely than usual. Soap tries not to dwell on it, what it implies. He knows that even if he tries to get Ghost to rest, it would end up fruitless. He knows other ways to trick him into resting.

Johnny spots his phone on the table and checks the time. 2:37am. Shit, it’s been quite a while since he passed out. They left for the op at 4am, and arrived at the safe house at around 7:30am. He’d been sleeping all this time. He sighs and perches himself onto the couch arm. Far enough that he isn’t invading Ghost’s personal space, but still remaining within his reach. He stares at the generic wallpaper his phone is blinking back at him. His real phone is back in his bedside table at base. The wallpaper is of his family about 8 years ago, all of them grinning at a eyefish filter Johnny’s sister took. Johnny looks ridiculous, his mowhawk not yet making its debut, and an old phase of a beard is evident on his face, bushy and proud. This was taken when they were all on vacation together, a rare occasion when he was able to save enough offs and before all the kids, complications and death. There were the MacTavishes, once upon a time. His mother, two older sisters and a little, blue eyed John. Remember John, His sister hissed, wagging a finger in his face. You’re a Mactavish. When we get down we get the fuck back up again. He’s always admired his sister. he misses them both so, so, much.

“Do you sometimes ever wonder if this life is really worth it?” Johnny suddenly blurts out. He feels his face immediately start burning. God, that’s embarrassing. “Being in the military, I-I mean.”

He knows that Ghost, out of all people would be the worst person to talk to about feelings. He’s an important person that has more responsibilities to lie his focus on, much less his feelings. Shit, can he take back the words? No, that would be even worse. Can Ghost just ignore him? No, wait, that might be even worse if they just stay in this stupid awkward silence Soap subjected them to-

“All the time.”

Johnny whips his head around so fast he’s sure he has whiplash.

“A-all the time?”

To be honest, Johnny never really thought Ghost has a life outside of the military. He never talks about family, friends or maybe even a girlfriend. He doesn’t like to think of the implications or anything about his past. It just felt invasive and inappropriate to do so, even if they were close. Price had told him one late night, smoke curling lazily behind his ear, with low murmurs and blood shot eyes that Simon has no one left to mourn him. Johnny didn’t ask for the details. He didn’t have any right to.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate. Johnny doesn’t blame him.

He turns back to staring at the wooden walls deprived of any decoration, not even a small potted plant. He takes a deep inhale and sighs, breathing in the stale air. Fuck it. Whether he wants to hear it or not; Johnny can’t take the pain of awkward silence.

“My mom back home, she…” He wet his lips, thinking for a moment. “She writes to me, sometimes. Tells me every single detail of her day, that old hag.” Johnny chuckles, tracing the gnarly stitch work Ghost had done on him over his shirt. “But that’s just because she doesnt have anything else going on in her life. Which, I mean, it does sound depressing, but she’s in her own little bubble y’know? She goes to her yoga class, book club, she bakes, and she’s just fine with that life.” He looks over at Ghost, who’s now looking right at him, gun hanging loosely from his hands.

Soap thinks it would probably be a nice way to go. If Ghost shot him in the head right now.

“She’s…. Happy. I think. I hope so.”

“Hm.”

Soap scratches at the base of his neck, looking out the window. The grass seemed to stretch on forever, into the horizon. The moon is just a sliver today, peeking over from its shadow, casting a light blue tint over everything. He thinks if he stood on the road and looked straight ahead, it would look something like those pictures they make you stare at when they check for eyesight at the doctor’s, but without the hot air balloon.

A soft click alerts Soap back to reality, watching Ghost place down his gun.

“Let me get dinner.”

He blinks.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Soap hears a few pots cutleries clink against one another.

“…was waiting for you.”

And fuck, if that just makes his intensities melt and swirl together. Ghost was waiting for him? He was waiting for Soap to wake up to eat dinner together? Jesus Christ. He manages to crack a smile, and a little too tender “aww, Ghostie.” Gets breathed.

He comes back around to face Soap, handing him his MRE with a plastic fork sticking out of it, stream curling from the packet. He can smell the curry chicken and he almost sobs.

“You got me my favourite?”

“Don’t sound so emotional, Sargent. It just happened to be in my bag.”

Ghost plops down onto the couch and pulls off his mask to scarf down his bag, barely stopping for a breath.

Soap chuckles. “Goddamn animal..” He ignores the way his ears feel hot and his chest feels itchy, just holding the packet in his hands.

He fidgets around with it, letting the heat seep into the palms of his hands, wondering how long it would last, if it would stay there forever, cupped in his skin, his bones. Wonders if he could press it to his chest and the heat would spread throughout his body, into his head. If he ate the food would it warm him from the inside out, would it taste as delicious as how Ghost’s considerations made him feel?

“Jesus Christ just eat the fuckin’ food Johnny, before it gets cold.” Ghost grumbles, speech a bit muffled due to the food in his mouth.

He giggles before picking up the fork, scooping up some of the rice and shoving it in his mouth. He lets out an appreciative hum, scooping up more rice and chicken, stuffing more and more into his mouth.

Eventually, Johnny slides from the armrest to the actual couch cushions, tossing the empty packet onto the table with a content sigh. Ghost had resorted to staring out the window now, arms resting on his knees with his hands clasped together as if deep in thought. The Scot lays his head back on the cushions, closing his eyes for a bit. He doesnt want to disrupt the silent peace they have going on right now.

“Soap.”

“Hmm?”

“Let me check your stitches.”

He opens one eye to look at Ghost.

“Mkay.”

Before he could shift his body towards him though, Ghost already slipped to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of soap’s legs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s easier this way. I don’t want you to turn any more than you have to. This’ll be quick.” he says, like Soap isn’t currently fighting for the air to go into his lungs at the way he just with no hesitation start to go for the hem of his shirt.

“Jesus, okay! Fine, i can do it myself.” He grumbles, slapping Ghost’s hand away before quickly pulling his shirt off.

Now, it isn’t the first time Ghost has touched him, nor will it be the last. For fuck’s sakes, he was screaming in anguish just less than 25 hours ago, and Ghost was touching him in the exact same spot. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t physical contact for the sake of keeping all his organs intact, it was more out of concern for his safety. It is also a helluva lot more intimate the last few times they’d touched. (Not like he was keeping count) The moonlight hits him from the back of his head, making his brown eyes shine in the dark. He always looked like he was on the verge of tears, Soap noted a long time ago. They were constantly glassy, waterline reddish-pink an eyelashes longer than a damn horse. His pupils always looked intense and scary, black in the sunlight, caramel in the moonlight. Soap’s sweating now, more so that he’s actively pinning Soap under that stare, watching for any painful expression.

As he reached forward, big bastard he is, knocks his knees apart so that he’s more in between his legs than in front of them. Johnny breathes. His ears are definitely red now.

The first touch felt more like a jolt than anything, cold fingertips pressing into his side.

“Fuck, Ghost, you don’t have any blood in ya?” Johnny cracks a nervous smile, trying to lighten the mood. Ghost doesnt reply, eyes now trained on his midriff.

His left hand cups his waist, their contrasting temperatures slowly making its way to even themselves out. Soap can’t help but shiver, Ghost suddenly whipping his hand away like he’d burned him. He blinks, looking up at Johnny.

“Sorry.”

“S’ okay, sir. Just didn’t know you have the touch of an ice princess.”

He slaps his ribs, pretty eyes narrowing as he focuses on his stitches again. His left hand comes back to cup his waist, thumb right above the stitches. His right thumb is below the wound, hand resting on his belly, pinkie on his military-issued shorts.

In all honesty, Johnny’s completely losing it. The touch is like liquid nectar spread across his middle, settling under his ribs and squeezing his lungs. He feels indulgent, gluttony taking in the form of Ghost’s touch. It’s so much more than he’s expected it to be, and he feels a bit light headed. The thumb tracing so, so carefully along the uneven stitches almost feels like it could be mistaken for care, for love. Johnny’s light headed, and his limbs feel heavy like it turned into lead. It felt feather light, and all too special. Like if Soap wasn’t completely honed in on whatever the hell is happening right now, the moment would slip away and he would regret it for the rest of his life. So he savours. He memorises the touch pads of ghost’s fingertips against his skin, the light framing his body, his eyes fixated on the stitches. Fuck, fuck. What Soap would give to feel like this all the time.

In spite of his internal turmoil, Ghost looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

“You good?”

Johnny swallows, Ghost’s eyes following the motion.

“Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

please touch me more. please hug me. please cup my face and touch me as gently as you do for my wounds. please take care of me. please care.

Soap’s flushing hot now, he doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know. Ghost’s eyes hone in on him, pupils trained onto his body for what, soap doesnt even know. He tries to look as normal as possible with your CO’s hands on him so warm, so gently, like he belongs there.

Whatever Ghost is looking for, he finds as he sighs softly, letting his hands drop and now resting on his hips.

God fucking damn it Ghost is driving him crazy

“You got any siblings?” His hands absentmindedly squeeze him, and Soap mentally checks out. He’s done. He’s actually dying. This is heaven. Or hell. Either way, he doesn’t ever want to leave.

“Two sisters.” He manages to squeeze out as much as he can without his body moving. He’s tuned in with every nerve, so, so scared that if he moves Ghost will take away his hands.

“Youngest?”

“Mhm.”

“Can tell.”

“Haud yer wheest.” He grumbles, looking at anywhere but Ghost. Why hasn’t he moved yet?

“Tell me about them.”

Johnny scrambles for any kind of information on his sisters to tell him.

“Well- uh. Marjorie is my oldest. Uh- oldest sister. She hates her name. Has a bubbling little husband little ways from our home. Lovely guy, has no backbone. Honestly could not tell you how he managed to bag my sister. He even says it’s a miracle, heh.” The more he talks, the more he relaxes. “Middle sister, Gwyneth, she.. uh. She has a little rascal running around at home. Little runt, that kid. Fuckin’ love her.”

“Sounds like your mom has a knack for naming her kids.”

“Yeah right, imagine a Marjorie, Gwyneth and then just John.” He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Lame name.”

“It’s a okay name.”

“Ghost, i can literally name you 10 guys I’ve met with the same name as me. Our captain is named John.”

“Yeah you’re right there. John is a shit name.”

“Shut up!” Johnny giggles, raising his hand as if he was gonna hit Ghost.

“It’s better than Simon.”

A pause. “What’s wrong wit Simon? Right bonnie name, there.”

Even with the darkness, Johnny can feel Ghost’s eyebrow raising.

“Am’ serious! Simon…. Yeah, it’s a good name. Solid.”

He huffs, as if not believing it, one of his thumbs tracing patterns absentmindedly on the soft part of his midriff .

“Who wouldn’t love a Simon in their life, hm?” Soap hums, tapping the cheekbone of Simon’s mask with a finger.

“Simon.” He whispers again, just for good measure, and Ghost looks up at him, eyes shining so, so brightly. He looks almost wistful, hopeful if he looks too much into it. The hands at his hips squeeze.

Fuck.

“Simon.”

I love you.

I love you so much I can’t bear it sometimes.

Johnny says nothing else.

“We should probably go sleep now. We have to get up in less than 5 hours.” He whispers.

Ghost hums an agreement, but neither of them move for a long time.

“Okay.” Ghost mumbles, breaking the spell first. He climbs up to his feet and looks down at johnny one last time, hooking an index finger to his chin. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” Johnny can feel the rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t reply, only nods as he watches Ghost disappear down the hallway.

Once he’s out of sight, Soap buries his face in his hands and groans softly. God, his whole body is alight. How’s he ever gonna sleep now? How’s he going to move on with his life knowing how ghost’s hands felt on his waist, his hips, his chin? His face feels hot, and he scratches at his chest, wringing his shirt he picked up in his hands nervously.

He lays his head back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling.

He’s fucked.

[soshadysoquiet]

The Subway book, The Hug, and what I thought would happen as I watched S4

I wanted to know the story of the subway cipher-book, one of the bits I'd have loved to see in S4 was them solving or working to solve the subway.

I thought when they found the cipher / Five brought it to Strawberry Land that it would play an even bigger part than just a deus ex machina

Here's a few different things I thought was going to happen once E5/E6 hit us:

*Going to insert my unpopular opinion here that I don't feel it was majorly off-brand for Five to have left when he did at Diego & Lila's house or all the other Five's to be in the diner:

He's resorted to escaping awkward and emotional situations in the past at the drop of a hat because he thinks he can solve the situation / just doesn't want to be there anymore. (he implies in S1 that he was going to use a briefcase to 'start over' ergo abandoning 'these' siblings potentially for a different set?)

He's always looking for ways to buy himself time, in the subway he theoretically has endless time to sort shit out. (He's typically made bad, seat-of-the-pants decisions about this too when backed into a corner - The Handler, typically)

*Granted, I only watched S4 the once and can't remember if there's more to it. Happy to be disagreed with if I've forgotten something!

*Second unpopular opinion is that I don't really care about the cheating after the length of time it had been as much as how it didn't feel like that length of time / build up of the relationship looked Very much like they were both into 'not-sane-consent' ish territory / the relationship being in-character itself wasn't conveyed well enough personally.

**Edit - as I'm having another resurgence of rage over S4 atm I was watching a review vid on it and had completely forgotten that Five blipped out on his whole fam in the middle of the life and death Ben Blob match. I rescind my above opinion on how this is in character.

So, without more rambling:

First Thought:

Five x Lila happens as it did but when they get back and Five sees Lila with Diego and her family he realises that what they had was a distraction / a crutch etc and he leaves. He goes to the subway (Lila has the cipher). He realises that in order for them to ever get back home, which he ultimately wants because he cares for his family and what he had with Lila, that someone needs to make the cipher. So he stays and makes it. He stays in Strawberry Land for the rest of his life and dies there alone, creating the way that his family can be safe.

Lila realises he's missing and before the whole thing comes out to Diego (or after, whichever you prefer) she goes to find him in the subway, she sees he's gone, looks in the cipher for an answer as to where he could be / to go find him (she might be choosing to stay with her family and Diego over him, but they shared precious trauma time in the trenches down there) In the back of the book there's a note, for her, that she would only understand now (something like 'family has always been our start and end point dear one, don't lose yours now that you've found what I once took away from you' - or something sappy / romantic and eloquent, let's not kid ourselves that Five would be an absolute sap about it)

Lila breaks down crying. At which point because the Timeline is so very fucked right now Five from a few days ago (for him) years ago (for her) appears on one of his first forays into the subway when his powers first start to fuck up. He sees her crying like the world is ending and comforts her (like we see him do with the hug).

Five, for his part, just accepts and believes her that she's been time travelling and has solved things because they have an intellectual respect for each other, and maybe she realises that she still has that?

Either way they go back and the ending could be whatever you prefer at that point, Diego and her making up, not, him finding out, not, them all dying together, not.

Now, the idea of this being how OG Five's life ended (alone, again, at the end of the world, but with having dedicated himself to his family, after losing everything) is completely tragic, it's an awful ending, I'd have been sick with grief. But I'd have felt a hell of a lot more about it than I did the ending, by which point I just wanted the show to end so I could stop watching it.

Second Thought:

The Diner Five's worked together to come up with the solution to save the world / that it can't be saved (enter preference of choice I'm ambivalent) but with more meaning than just 'you turned up and we told you'. I want Five to rail at the news, I want him to break down, I want there to be one last fight before the acceptance if the end is what is coming.

Third Thought:

Diner Fives direct Five to Off The Rails Oldest Man Five who wrote the cipher, and they have the same sort of thing as the above with the saving / not saving of the world.

Later Fourth Thought:

Very similar to 1, except that Lila on looking at the cipher realises it changes handwriting half way through to hers. The sappy message is from Old Five that he tried to finish it so that she could save their family, it was both of their goals after all, but he was so sorry that he couldn't, and has to put it on her. She breaks down, realises what she has to do, she stays in the subway and finishes the work, sacrificing herself to her family's survival as he did, but she leaves a big note in the front to the Five that's going to find this (some Lila-esque insult that the pair of them need to use this cipher to get home now don't stop don't pass go etc, and she leaves it where she knows they'll find it the first time when they go to the cottage, maybe leaves their younger selves some advice). Then it's a bit like 'The day that wasn't' in that we see younger Five and Lila retrieve This book, maybe wonder at the odd messages in it that are in turns insulting and heartfelt, and they make it home after long years but back to their family. They could either hug because of the relief that they have a way home, or because both Old Five and Old Lila realised and wrote that the world can't be saved, or because Lila sees that she left / cheated on her family and realises what she had to lose and Five realises what he nearly let himself lose too / how he's been pushing his family away and insulting them and that was never what he spent his life searching for.

Not saying any of these would have been better, but I kind of like them as options :)

[radicheart]

so...some updates.

i had to quit my job due to the physical toll it was taking on me. right now i'm still struggling to walk due to my lower back feeling really sprained. i think i pulled a muscle or something and my recovery is slow.

i do feel better than i did a week ago, though. i could hardly move at all without the pain being so overwhelming that i wanted to cry. now it's still there and i can't bend over very well, but i can at least move around.

physical pain aside, i've been struggling to write or talk to people in general due to my mental health taking a bit of a nosedive. i've had some pretty bad history over the years with trying to talk to people (both online and in person) and having what i say either be glossed over or outright ignored. i also have a constant worry that i'm bothering people whenever i do get comfortable and start sending a bunch of messages to them. as a result of both points, it's become really hard for me to approach anyone.

i do think that it's partially my fault for not trying harder. and i do understand that people are busy, or aren't in the mood to talk/write for whatever reason. it just feels like everyone i know is going through that communicative rut, so i don't have very many people i feel comfortable approaching on my own.

i've been writing on discord, though. at least a little. i know not everyone writes on discord, and that's okay too. it's just easier for me to write on there than it is here since it doesn't make my anxiety flare up nearly as badly.

as of right now, i'm not too sure what my stance is on being more active. i know i made that post a while back about approaching people in dms, and it got a pretty big response (which i am very grateful for!). but i'm not sure if i have the drive to do much of anything on this site at the moment. i feel pretty drained in general, and coming on here just to experience a constant fomo (fear of missing out, for those that don't know), as well as feeling insignificant/replaceable, doesn't help in the slightest.

so, for right now, i'll be sticking to discord. if you have me on there already, feel free to give me a nudge if you like. and if you don't have me on there, feel free to add me. my username is sunibuni. you don't need to ask me if it's ok to add me. you have my permission per this post.

thanks for reading and being patient and understanding as always. i hope y'all have a great day/night. <3

[sysig]

Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)