#they really just her to feel like she's a part of their family

[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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[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part six)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

themes/warnings: angst, depiction of trauma/injury, mutual pining, language, avoidant Aemond

word count: 3.9k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Dragonstone ball came and went. Aemond and the reader are no closer to reconciling. Aemond's personal battles threaten to get the best of him, and there is only one person he thinks of turning to.

Aemond had begun to severely dislike his weekends. 

His stomach churns as he lies motionless under the sterile white hospital lights, feeling more like a lab experiment than a person. The surgeon, a man who face Aemond could now recognise in his nightmares, hovers over him again, poking and prodding as if inspecting a faulty machine.

After four months, the process was routine, almost mechanical. Aemond hated every second of it. 

No matter how many times they examined his injuries, one thing remained glaringly clear – he would never be as he once was. The cold, clinical truth he had been avoiding finally settled like a dead weight on his chest. He would never regain sight in his left eye. Ever.

Aemond’s stitches had been removed earlier than expected, the result of the extensive, borderline-experimental treatments his mother had ensured that he underwent. Her desperation to fix him bordered on obsession – nothing but the best surgeons, the most cutting-edge procedures, were made available to her son. ‘Nothing but the best for the Prince of the City’, they would say. And Aemond knew it wasn’t really for his sake. He had to be perfect. He had to be fixed.

A Targaryen heir couldn’t walk around looking all deformed, not in this family, not in this city. Yet no amount of money or prestige could make him whole again. The best the world had to offer still wasn’t enough.

He clenches his jaw, his body completely tense under the surgeon’s touch. The treatment felt less like healing and more like a futile attempt to erase the ugly truth. He felt wronged, betrayed even. He was so used to being in control, or at least, having some semblance of it. It was the only way he could bury the darkness within – the bitterness, the anger. But he has no control left. Now he is the one who bends to everyone’s will.

His mother demanded justice for him. She wanted Luke relieved of his seat at Dragonstone, and inheritance of Driftmark. At the very least, she argued, the boy should be demoted for a time or sent away to learn the error of his ways. Viserys would have none of it. According to him, both Aemond and Lucerys were equally at fault. Just boys being boys. Yet, nine times out of ten in the weeks following the accident, Viserys frequented Lucerys’ hospital suite accompanied by his precious firstborn Rhaenyra. 

Aemond barely saw him. He normally wouldn’t care; he trained himself not to. But nothing was right. He didn’t deserve any of this. Luke would limp for months, and that’s it, but Aemond lost his fucking eye. He felt that childish angst resurging inside him, and he knew he was no longer in control.

He recalls the Dragonstone Ball, the night from a week prior when he’d finally emerged after months of hiding, his public reappearance carefully orchestrated to show that Aemond Targaryen was still here, still powerful, still beautiful. He tried to convince himself that he had come to terms with everything – a plain-faced lie. The crowd, the so-called elite of society, had clamoured at the sight of him. They had been shocked, though not in the way he’d expected. They hadn’t recoiled at his injuries. Some had barely seemed to notice. 

It wasn’t as bad as they thought.

That had been the general statement. Whispers circulating the Valyrian hall, their astonishment turning to confusion. Why had he stayed away for months? Why all the secrecy? He looks fine, he heard them murmur, their eyes barely lingering on the faint scar on the side of his face. 

Some even saw his appearance in a twisted light, and deemed it as an enhancement to his aura. But they didn’t care about him, not really. They saw a carefully curated image, a version of Aemond that fit neatly into the narrative of a rebellious, aristocratic heir who felt the need to challenge his younger nephew into a game of chicken, only to pay for it dearly. Some had even dared to call him The Dark Prince of the City, a new title he loathed. 

What a relief it must be for everyone that he was only a little bit fucked up. How fucking fantastic. To them, his injury was cosmetic, an insignificant blemish on a life still dripping with wealth, status, and power. It doesn’t matter that there is an aching emptiness inside of him, a sense of loss and injustice that stretches far beyond the physical damage. It doesn’t matter that he can barely look at himself in the mirror. It doesn’t matter that he can’t allow himself to be with you.

But it does. It all does. 

He closes his eye, his mind drifting back to the night of the ball, when he last held you in his arms. When he last tasted you. Oh sweet seven hells, the way you melted unto him. The way you felt… 

I can wait, you promised. But how is that fair? Is there even anything left of him for you to keep waiting for?

“It’s almost time for us to have an ocular prosthesis put in,” the surgeon says casually, as if making small talk about the fucking weather. “Your mother has already vetted some top-of-the-line models, I’m sure you’d be pleased – ”

Oh, will he? The best prosthetic eye, was it? Gods, this must be what winning the lottery must be like.

“ – or she also mentioned that we could go about the traditional route? Apparently, it had been custom to have gemstones installed in place of – ” 

"I don't care," Aemond snaps, cutting the surgeon off mid-sentence. Without waiting for a response, he pushes himself up from the reclined seat. He knows the surgeon’s sudden shift to small talk signals the end of the session. It always does.

"We're finished?" he says, not bothering to hide the bite in his tone. "Good. Cheers, doc."

“Wait, Aemond, remember to regularly apply the ointment – ” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” Aemond says rushedly, barely glancing at the surgeon as he walks to the door. “Oh, and that’s Sir Aemond to you. We’re not friends.”

In the week following the ball, you find yourself slipping back into the familiarity of your routine. Hours spent poring over your dissertation with your supervisor, extra shifts at the bookstore, and meetups with Jace that often blurred into late-night conversations over coffee. You threw yourself into distractions, eager to escape the lingering effects of that eventful night, but the high was hard to shake off.

For a night, you felt like you were floating on clouds. Everything had aligned so perfectly – Jace had been the ideal partner, Baela’s custom gown made you feel like royalty, and the ball itself was something from another world entirely. Things couldn’t have gone better. 

You could have gone with Aemond. But that doesn’t matter now. 

He made his choice – one that had been crystal clear until it wasn’t. Until he’d pulled you out of the ball, and kissed you with such fierce intensity that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. 

He avoided you, but also stalked you. Dropped you as his partner to the ball, but sought you out during it with an emotion in his eyes you couldn’t fully decipher. 

Is that emotion the very same that you feel? Perhaps it was only momentary, and the next time you see him, his gaze will display cold indifference. Aemond is fire, and then he’s ice, keeping you in a state of uncertainty. What you have with him is suspended in limbo – you told him you would wait, and you plan to make good on your word. 

It’s because of him that you refused Cregan when he texted you – your number practically offered up to him on a  silver platter by Jace – and asked if you wanted to ‘have dinner some time’. You said you were having a particularly busy week, so maybe a rain check? You weren’t exactly lying. You did keep very busy – intentionally or not, it doesn’t matter. But as you sit on your worn-out couch, research papers strewn on the coffee table after hours of struggling to break ground on your dissertation, the idea of having dinner with the handsome Stark seemed all the more tempting.

That when you hear it – a faint knock at your door. 

Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn’t think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you hadn’t buzzed anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either. 

You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it’s supposed to silence the knocking.

When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. Maybe Helaena. But then again, they’re not the type to show up unannounced. And besides, if it were them, you’d have already – 

Aemond’s voice calls out your name, partially calming your racing mind. 

You sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn’t be here. 

“Aemond?” You find your voice, and move quickly to the door. As you open it, the question is on the tip of your tongue – What the hell are you doing here? – but the words stick in your throat.

“Hi, darling,” he says weakly, exhaustion etched in his voice. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when he turns his head slightly, revealing the fresh bruise blossoming beneath his right eye, a vicious mix of maroon and violet. The skin is split, blood dried along the cut, though his eye itself looks unharmed. 

“Aemond, what – ”

“Can I come in?” he interrupts, his voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

He walks past you as you step aside, his eye trained on you the whole time. A newly-arrived guest in your home and he has already claimed the space, his presence intoxicating. The air feels heavier, as if your modest apartment has shifted to accommodate someone like him. Or maybe it was just the effect he has on you, what do you know?

You gesture for him to take a seat, anywhere he’d like, and he waits until you settle right next to him before he visibly relaxes. The tension in his body eases, and his shoulders drop as he glances down. It becomes apparent to him how battered he must look. 

He starts to say, “I’m sorry for coming over unannounced – ”

“What the fuck happened, Aemond?” you cut him off, your sharp tone making him flinch. He swallows nervously, eyes darting away before he responds. 

“I got into… an altercation. Nothing to worry about, really – ”

His nonchalance is grating to you, frustrating you to no end. How can he say that, when the skin below his good eye is an angry colour it should never be in? “Nothing to worry about? Look at you! Gods, why am I just sitting here… I have to get the first-aid kit – ”

You start to stand, but his hand shoots out, grabbing yours with surprising gentleness. “It’s fine. Just... sit with me?”

He’s not being fair, using that tone with you. His question reminds you of the first time Helaena brought you to their penthouse. She needed to pick something up from downstairs, when Aemond had wandered into the living room, a book tucked under his arm. “This is my brother Aemond!” she exclaimed at the sight of him. “Aemond, this is my new official best friend. Don’t scare her off! I’ll only be a minute.”

You’d stood awkwardly, watching Helaena leave, and when you finally turned back to Aemond, he was already lounging in a plush chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“You know you can sit with me, if you’d like,” he had called out. “Promise I don’t bite.”

He had kept that promise – literally, at least. His bite stung far more – he drew you in, made you fall for him, and just when you thought things seemed too good to be true, he ices you out and avoids you for months. 

But sure, Aemond didn’t bite. 

You ignore his plea, pulling your hand from his. The expression on his face morphs into disappointment, but you force yourself not to dwell on it. If he’s offended, it can most certainly wait until his injury is dealt with. 

“I’m getting the first aid kit,” you say firmly, before disappearing into the bathroom. When you return, he is leaning forward, head held in both hands like he’s burdened by a migraine.

A fresh surge of panic rises in your chest. You sit next to him, clutching the small first-aid kit, suddenly feeling like it’s far from enough. “Aemond, you should probably go to a hospital. You might have a concussion or something – ”

“I don’t,” he says flatly.

“How can you be sure?” You reach for his face, gently turning it toward you. Pulling out a disinfectant wipe, you start dabbing at the bruise. He tries to hold still, but every wince betrays the pain he’s trying so hard to hide. 

“Got hit in the face, not in the head,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay, smartass.” you reply, still unconvinced. Your nose scrunches at his tone, and his lips tug at the sight. He’s grateful that at least his lip wasn’t split – he knows you’d make things far more difficult for him if he had to resist the urge to kiss you. Especially with the way your reactions are always so damn adorable.

You apprehensively apply antiseptic to a cotton pad, dabbing it over his bruise. “I don’t know if this is enough, Aemond, we really should call someone… Helaena – ”

“It’s fine, darling. I’ve been through much worse,” he says coldly, and your face falls at his insinuation. You’re afraid to know just how much worse – what he went through, what he still could be going through. He reaches for your knee, and squeezes gently as a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sorry. But trust me, I’ll be fine.”

You shoot him a look of disbelief. He’s comforting you? It almost feels absurd – he’s the one who looks like he ran face first into a pole, yet here he is, acting like it’s no big deal. 

“Tell me what happened,” you demand, putting the contents of the first aid kit back with an audible snap of plastic.

Aemond hesitates, jaw clenching as he tries to find the right words. You can already tell that he’s going to try to downplay it. He says, “I, uhhh, got into a fight, I suppose.”

“What, you just felt like it?” you say bitterly. Ever since you’ve known him, Aemond has always been the most composed out of all his siblings. But it seems as if another Aemond came out the night of the accident. If you don’t look close enough, you would think he has changed completely. But you do, and you know that your Aemond is still in there somewhere.

He doesn’t answer right away. If he were to say he never feels like breaking things, like letting it all spiral out of control, he’d be lying through his teeth. “You should see the other guy,” he replies, leaning back with a cocky smirk that you just want to wipe right off his lips.

With your own.

“It’s not funny,” you mutter, lightly slapping his arm, and he puts on an exaggerated grimace.

“Don’t hit me. I’m already injured,” he playfully scolds. 

You sigh deeply. The boy isn’t making any of this easy. “Who did this to you? Who… who did you – ” Your face contorts into obvious worry, and he exhales sharply, his eyes flickering with distaste.

“Not Lucerys,” he sneers. “You don’t need to worry about your little friend. One of Alys’ degenerate friends at the club. Must have been a Greyjoy. He certainly smelled like one.”

The callousness of his tone, the way he spits the words without a second thought, feels wrong. You’ve heard Aemond make cutting remarks before, but they were always sharp, witty, delivered with a certain sensitivity. Now, it’s like he doesn’t care who he hurts.

“You got into a fight because… you wanted to defend Alys, is that it?” 

“No, gods.” He immediately shakes his head at the notion. “She had nothing to do with it. She left early… she wasn’t even there by that point.”

“Then what?”

The truth of it was, he heard the news of Lucerys’ early induction into the board at Driftmark, like some hero’s welcome. Lucerys, the Velaryon heir, rewarded for his resilience, for living through what nearly destroyed Aemond. His grandfather Corlys, being the CEO, had always doted on him – the raven-haired grandson who didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to him nor to his late son Laenor. 

Lucerys was treated like the golden child. And Aemond… Aemond was left to lick his own wounds in the shadows. 

So Aemond heard the news, and went on a bender. It was nothing if not immature. He knows it. But he hates that he can’t just let it go, that he can’t turn the other cheek like he’s supposed to.

“They said some idiotic things,” he mutters finally, his tone hollow, “and things got unruly. Next thing you know – ” He clicks his tongue, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

“You just threw yourself into a fight? For what? To feel something?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, darling,” he says, his voice flat. Your frustration reaches its peak, and you wordlessly walk to the kitchen to retrieve several ice cubes, wrapping them in a clean hand towel to create a makeshift cold compress.

When you hand it to him, he just looks at you with brows raised. “Press it against your face,” you explain, your voice clipped but calm.

He looks amused, and he hovers the compress over his bruise for a mere second, before dropping it on the couch beside him, shaking his head. “I’ll pass,” he says, his tone dismissive.

“Just do it, Aemond.”

“It’ll cover my fucking eye,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “and I want to be able to see you. I want to… look at you.” He shifts uncomfortably, gesturing vaguely to his eyepatch. “As you can tell, this one is permanently out of commission.”

His vulnerability chips away at your frustration. “Aemond… ” you whisper his name softly, as his gaze burns through you. “You don’t have to act like this doesn’t bother you. You can be hurt, you can be angry. You can feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Just don’t shut me out.”

His jaw clenches, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Right. Sure,” you reply, unable to help the sarcasm. “Then stop brushing me off when I try to help you.”

He exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening. “I don’t need you to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Aemond,” you snap, but your voice cracks under the strain. “I’m trying to be here for you. There’s a difference. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because it’s not that simple!” His voice rises, sharp and biting, his frustration finally matching yours. “You can’t just magically undo what I’m going through. Who I am –”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” you shoot back. “I know I can’t make everything better, but I’m here and – ”

“You shouldn't have to stay,” he mutters, quieter this time. “It would be easier for you if you let me go.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s easier for me, Aemond,” you say, voice trembling with emotion. The silence stretches between you, and for a moment, you think he might actually let you in. 

But then he stands abruptly. “I shouldn’t have come,” he mutters, pacing the room. “This was a mistake.”

“Then why did you, Aemond?” you ask, standing too, your heart pounding in your chest. This was not how you expected your cluttered little night-in to go.

“Because… because of you!”

“Me? I have done nothing but try to help you, even when you push me away… I wait for you, and I keep waiting and – ”

“Why?” He leans over you, tilting his head. “Why wait? I can’t deal with what you seem to expect of me. I can see it in your eyes. How can you look at me like that?”

“Enlighten me,” you challenge, stepping closer. “Like what?”

“Like… I’m better than I am.” Like I’m good. “I’m not. I would ruin you.”

“And yet, here you are,” you insist. “You came here. You sought me out.”

He looks away, jaw clenching again. “I shouldn’t have. Alys would have taken me in, tucked me into bed without all this questioning. Not… whatever this is.”

Your throat clenches at his words, and you have to swallow back the pathetic sob that nearly rises out of you. “Is that what you want? Did you come here for a pat on the back and quick roll in the hay? Is that how you see me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His eyes snap back to yours, full of anger and regret.

“I’m not going to ignore what’s happening with you, Aemond. I can’t. I care about you. You’re a lot better than you think you are. You’re good and kind and fair. But you’re just – ”

“Broken?” he interrupts, his tone biting, as though the word itself is a weapon.

“Aemond – ”

“Am I just a fixer-upper to you then, darling? A project for your brilliant mind?”

“That’s not true. You know it isn’t. You’re lashing out on me, and I just want to help you!”

“I don’t want your help.” His words are clipped, final, made clear over and over. But you don’t back down.

“Then what – ”

“I just want you,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of him like something precious. You stay silent, trying to process his words.

He continues, his voice growing more pained. “That’s just me. I’m fucked in the head for wanting impossible things. I want you to stop looking at me like I’m still the Aemond you used to know. Maybe that Aemond was never even real. I want you to stop wanting to fix me. And I… I just want you to love me.” 

You say nothing for a while, your chest rising and falling, betraying your erratic breathing. He says in finality, “Like I said – impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” you find your voice, your eyes never leaving his. 

“What?”

“It’s real, Aemond. And quite frankly, it’s driving me insane,” you admit, feeling braver than you ever have before.

“Darling – ”

“You want me to love you?” you ask, your voice steady despite the chaos of the evening. “Well, you have it.”

He shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to shake off your words. “You don’t actually mean that – ”

“I love you, idiot.”

“You love me,” he echoes, the words tentative, like he doesn’t quite believe it. He looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time. “I don’t think I’ve ever understood you,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” you tease, a small, weary smile breaking through the tension.

But Aemond isn’t smiling. He’s still staring at you, his hand twitching like he wants to reach out but doesn’t quite know how. “You love me?”

“Aemond.” You can only nod, growing unsure of yourself. Is this him realising that he doesn’t actually mirror your sentiment? Fire and ice – he wants your love, but can’t love you back.

In the heaviest of silences, you do what you’ve expertly done thus far. 

You wait. 

Series taglist (comment below to be added): @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn (continued in comments...)

Some notes in the margins...

Maroon is back! Grateful to all of you lovely readers who waited 🖤

The suspense at the end! Gah!!! If I'm honest, I hit a wall right there. Does the night culminate in heated passion? Is it the right time? Would it be good for either of them?

I'm sure you'll know my decision from the first passage of part seven 😆

As always, I am eager to hear from yous!

[martian-astro]

D9/ Navamsa chart observations - Part 6

Moon in 10th gives you a sassy (in a good way) father in law. Also, your spouse can be the best in their field. After marriage, you can be closer to your partner's family than your own. If you don't have a good relationship with your parents, then your partner's family will fill that void. (I know a gay guy with this placement and his husband was disowned by his family when he came out but my friend's family treat him as their own son. They have a really sweet relationship. I love this placement)

Rahu will either take away everything or give the best results related to the things of the house it's in. It really depends on it's dispositor. For ex- if rahu is in 5th, it can either give you a partner who is intelligent, creative, energetic, has a lot of hobbies, or it can give you a partner who drinks a lot, parties a lot, sleeps around, etc. it can also either give you a lot of kids or none at all.

Mercury in 9th gives you an intelligent spouse, they can also be a multilingual person. If you're a woman then your partner can have a little, teeny tiny tendency to mansplain, it's honestly like, they're so proud of their knowledge that they just wanna show how much they know, it can be a little annoying sometimes but nothing too serious. (I know a guy with this and his wife is so cute, she looks like a child every time she talks about her interests, you can tell how much she enjoys sharing her experiences and knowledge, it's kinda cute actually)

Venus in 7th is that placement that completely changes you after marriage, especially your fashion sense. it's because it aspects your 1st house, so definitely a huge change in personality, you can also get a glow up after marriage. Also, it can give a rich partner, kinda like a crazy rich Asians type situation. (I know a girl with this placement and she was so innocent before marriage, she wouldn't even wear revealing clothes and stuff but then after marriage, her mother in law basically threw out all her old clothes and got her new ones, I met her recently and BRO, she looked so different, so beautiful and she was wearing clothes that actually suit her body type and skin color. Also her mother in law is COOL AS FUCK, every time I look at her, I'm like, yeah, this is who I aspire to be like in the future) last point, you'll have a very loving marriage

Jupiter in 2nd is THAT placement. so many celebrities who are married to rich business men have this. I feel like this is one of the placements that just makes you very materialistic, like money is very important for you all, so you should marry someone who is just as materialistic. (I know people with this placement who don't get lonely or offended even when their spouses are workaholics, both you and your spouse think that money should take priority over any other matter) I'll be honest, your married life can be a little dry, but not if Jupiter is in a good sign

Sun in 9th is OFC another good placement. I haven't really seen this mentioned anywhere but this is like THE foreign spouse placement. all the people I know who have this, married someone who was not from their country. You'll also travel a lot after marriage. It gives you a really charming partner, like they can charm the pants off you. Also, the sexual tension is HIGH, Especially if sun is in Aries. There's also a high chance that you're an introvert but your spouse is not, so they can help you get out of your comfort zone

Saturn in 3rd can be such a calm and mature placement, it's like, you know how many men don't talk about the problems they face in a relationship, and then they start acting shitty and wait for the woman to break up. With this placement you get a responsible partner, someone who is willing to talk and meet halfway but you have got to match their energy yk. if you have a weak Mercury in d1, then this placement is not nice, cuz your communication skills are shit and they are TOO mature, so the moment you play games with them, they'll leave you. So work on yourself, is what I would say.

For ketu also, if the dispositor is well placed then you achieve balance in that area, but if not, then you feel detached. ( I know 2 people with ketu in 7th, one is so against marriage and she has extremely high standards, which tbh, are not even practical but the other one has high achievable standards. The funny thing is that the first one has always dated guys who were not good to her and the other has had zero dating experience cuz she's waiting for the right guy. So the detachment sometimes refers to "wrong attachment".

You all are not gonna like this but Jupiter in 7th is one of the STRONGEST indicators of getting married a lot of times. Jupiter in 1st as well, it's not that strong but chances are high. (Halley berrey, Jennifer Lopez, angelina jolie and Scarlett Johansson have it)

To end it on a good note, if you have mars in 5th, just know I'm jealous of you, cuz if there's one thing that you're not gonna lack in your marriage, it's sex. You guys will be those parents who kiss each other even you've been married for 35 years, you do that and then your kids go "ewww, you guys are so cringy" and run away. (Just make sure that mars is not conjunct or aspected by Saturn or rahu, Saturn gives no sex, rahu gives painful sex)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[thelostconsultant]

Delicate. part 1

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

note: Lando invites everyone to his New Year's Eve party, but Charles convinces you to join him on a hunt for food.

You knew this New Year’s Eve party was important to Lando, you knew he wanted everyone to be there, so you put on a shiny, dark pink sequin mini dress, applied some light makeup, then headed out to the club that he somehow managed to reserve for himself. How long he’d been planning this, you had no idea, but he surely went a little overboard this time. I just want to be alone with my friends, that’s not a crime, he defended himself when you pointed this out to him a few weeks ago. 

At the party, you felt a little out of place. This was the first time in years you weren’t entering the new year on the side of your boyfriend, the one you had broken up with half a year ago. It was a mutual decision, the spark wasn’t there anymore, so you didn’t miss him, you just missed the idea of clinging to someone the whole night. It was pathetic, you hated yourself for feeling this way, but there was nothing you could do about it. 

Your best friend knew Lando, but she didn’t get an invitation because everybody knew she spent every New Year’s Eve on a yacht in the Maldives. She tried to convince you to go with her this year, but you didn’t feel like leaving Monaco for a place so far away, especially not when she would be all over her boyfriend the whole time. They were cute together, you loved them, but third wheeling wasn’t so inviting. 

You chatted with a few people, even let someone convince you to dance a little, but then you found a couch in the back of the club that you chose as your permanent spot for the rest of the night when you sat down with a cocktail in your hand. It was nice to sit back and watch the people around you celebrate, having the time of their lives from the looks of it. Despite the weird feeling you had since you arrived, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. At least they were happy. They were celebrating. 

You? You didn’t know what to look out for in the new year. Maybe you should get a job again. After you finished your studies, you worked for a consulting company for a year, but then you had enough of the excel files and the presentations, and decided to be nothing more than a carefree heiress in the future. Your grandmother, who came from a wealthy family with a long history, had always favored you over her children, including your mother. So, when she died, she left everything to you in her will. 

The peaceful people-watching activity was disrupted when you noticed someone plopping down next to you out of the corner of your eye. It annoyed you, really, but once you turned to look at who it was, your annoyance disappeared as if it hadn’t even been there. You didn’t really know Charles. Sure, he was on good terms with Lando, sometimes you attended the same parties, but the most you exchanged were probably a total of ten sentences in the span of years. But he had that calming aura around him, one that made you feel better, as if you were suddenly wrapped in a warm blanket. 

At first, you didn’t talk, there was no need for that. He just probably needed a place to sit down until he got a little rest before rejoining the party. Sipping your drink, you continued to watch the people, completely ignoring your neighbor. But then you began to have a strange feeling, as if someone was watching you, eyes burning a hole in you without knowing, and it didn’t take long to figure out it was him who was shamelessly ogling you. 

When you turned to him with a questioning look, he quickly shifted his gaze somewhere else, acting like he hadn’t just been caught in the act of staring at you. Shaking your head a little, you decided to ignore him for now. He was probably drunk and had no idea what was appropriate anymore. Although, he didn’t seem that out of it, in fact, he just looked tired with those dark circles under his eyes. 

And then you felt his thigh press against yours, shoulders touching after he moved closer to you. “I bet you don’t wanna be here either,” he said, leaning close so you could hear him over the music. Finally turning to acknowledge him, you give him a surprised look. “Lando was quite literally begging me to come tonight. I’m only here because I promised, even though I’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else,” he added. 

“If I could choose, I’d be sitting on my couch with a blanket around me, eating popcorn while holding a movie marathon,” you admitted with a smile. “But it’s impossible to say no to him.”

“Sad, but true.” His green eyes turned to the crowd in front of you, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers played with his bracelets. “I would give up my car for some popcorn. Or a pizza. Or some pasta. Anything, really, because I’m starving,” he told you as he looked back.

The last time you were around the other side of the club, there was a huge table with a lot of food, how could he not see that? But when you shared this little piece of information with him, he just laughed, and his bright smile reached his eyes too. You wondered what was so funny about this, but you soon got your answer.

“Yeah, that was true until about an hour ago. I was just about to finally eat something, but some guy grabbed the very last of the sliders I had my eyes on. The table is empty. There’s no food. We’re going to die.” He dramatically threw his hands in the air as he leaned back, glancing down at his watch. “It’s only eleven, I don’t know how long I’ll last. Do you think I will live until midnight?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his question. But you weren’t laughing at him, you were laughing with him. Now that he mentioned food, though, you realized that you were quite hungry too. “Did you really have to bring up food?” you asked him with a disapproving look. 

Charles’s lips curled into a grin. “Now you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” When you nodded, he bumped his shoulder against yours. “It’s your fault for talking about popcorn,” he pointed out. “Although… Do you think Lando would notice if we left? He seems so busy partying that I highly doubt he would notice we’re not here.”

As your eyes scanned the crowd to find the host, you let out a thoughtful hum. The last time you saw him, which conveniently happened in the restroom, he was already on his way to get real drunk, and he was having so much fun you highly doubted he would care about some of his guests escaping. So, without thinking more about this, you turned to the Monegasque next to you and told him the answer is probably no. 

“Great,” he said as he jumped up and extended his hand for you to grab it. When you just watched him with a questioning look, he leaned down to take your hand and pull you up. “Come on, I know a place where we can hopefully get food.” And with that, he took your hand and pulled you towards the exit, not really giving you the chance to object. 

The two of you walked down the street, hands stuffed into the pockets of your jackets to fight the chilly night air, and you talked about music, movies, even about how Christmas went. You barely noticed that he came to a halt in front of a little bistro in a narrow street, holding up a pointer finger to ask for a second while he opened the door and peeked inside. 

He spoke with someone in French, exchanging words you couldn’t quite make out, then he reached out for your hand with a smile on his face and pulled you inside. There was a small group of people sitting around a table, happily discussing something until they noticed you standing there. At first, there was silence. But then they erupted in cheers while someone stood up and pulled Charles into a hug.

A man in his late thirties ushered you to an empty chair by the table that he pulled out for you, then he poured both you and the Monegasque driver a glass of wine. You watched as your new companion got comfortable across from you, already deep in a conversation with an older man who explained something with wide motions of his hand. 

Whoever these people were, they clearly welcomed him like he was family. The older man he was talking to called him son at one point, and Charles didn't flinch, he just smiled lovingly as he listened to the story. He was way more at ease here than he had been back in the club. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but those green eyes came to life in this new environment.

Someone placed freshly made sandwiches in front of you, and you didn't miss the small smile on his face when he glanced at you for a moment. A little explanation would have been nice, just so you would know whose company you were enjoying, but since he didn't bother to explain, you focused your attention on your food. And when you took a bite? God, it was heavenly. 

“Good, right?” When you glanced up, you noticed that a kind-looking, forty-something woman was now sitting on the chair next to you, her long brown hair flowing down her shoulders as her blue eyes watched you with a mischievous glint. “My father,” she began, motioning towards the man Charles was talking to, “opened this place because he wanted people to have actual conversations with each other while enjoying their food. Charles can have extremely long discussions with him about literally anything.”

Once you swallowed, you extended a hand to her to introduce yourself. After you got past that, you turned your finger around to show what you were about to say was related to everyone in this room. “So, is it a family event that he just crashed?” you wondered out loud. 

Marie let out a laugh as she shook her head. “Hardly. They're all friends through my father, though. We always gather here on New Year's Eve, but this is the first time Charles came. Although, based on the way he made his sandwich disappear so fast, I guess it was the food that brought him here,” she said with a wide smile. 

Guilt rushed through your body upon hearing this, because that's exactly what happened. But he seemed happy, maybe deep down he wanted to be here with his friends. They were so different from the ones you also hung out with, the F1 drivers and other celebrities. These were normal people, having normal conversations, acting genuinely and kindly. 

You got lost in a conversation, but soon it was interrupted when she glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:55 p.m. It was almost time. She excused herself and left to fill flutes with champagne, and before you knew it, you were all standing in a circle, counting down to midnight. Charles was standing next to you, smiling so much that his nose crinkled in the cutest way.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. 

And just when you wanted to join the group as they said happy new year, you felt a hand on the back of your neck, then a few milliseconds later, before your brain could comprehend what was happening, Charles's lips crashed into yours. It was slow and soft, he definitely took his time with you as if you weren’t surrounded by people. And just as abruptly as it began, it came to an end eventually. 

“It's in the law to kiss someone at midnight,” he said with a smile as he licked his lips.

For a while you were staring at him dumbfounded, but you managed to shake off this feeling and nodded after a short break. That’s true, it was a well-known tradition. Flashing a smile at him, you turned away to clink your glasses with the others, placing friendly kisses on their cheeks in the process, but Marie decided to pull you into a hug, treating you as if you had known each other for a long time. 

It felt nice. Unlike at the party, here you actually felt like you belonged. Sure, you and Lando were really good friends, and yes, you knew many of his friends, but none of them was a close friend of yours. Yet, despite not really knowing Charles, the fact he was so relaxed and happy among his friends made you happy too. It was a contagious feeling, and maybe it was related to the warm welcome here that lifted your mood. These people were so different from the ones you were used to in your everyday life. It was charming, really. 

You all sat down when someone pulled out a board game that seemed old and unfamiliar to you. But they were kind enough to explain the rules to you, and Charles even promised to help you throughout the game as he took a seat next to you. I only began to understand it around the third time we played it, so don’t be sad if you still don’t understand any of it by the end, he told you with a laugh. You returned his beaming smile, and in the next two hours or so you laughed a lot, argued a lot, and there was even some shouting when someone accused another of cheating. 

By the time they packed up the game, you were so tired you couldn't fight back your yawns. You glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was past three in the morning, and you knew it was time to go home now, because even though fun’s fun, there's a limit to everything. The thought of your soft bed was inviting, like a siren calling for you from the distance, and the idea of spending the whole day in it was the cherry on top.

“Going home?” Marie asked you with her hand resting on your shoulder, her tired smile giving away that she was probably also debating calling it a day. When you nodded, she let out a defeated sigh. “I wish I could go too, but I promised my father I'd stick around and help him clean up a bit after everyone left.”

Without thinking much, you pulled her into a hug. “I'm sure you could convince him to clean up tomo–well, later today,” you finished with a laugh. 

She leaned back to look at you. “And leave the dirty plates and glasses here? No, thank you. I'll just sleep a little longer, I guess,” she replied as she let you go.

Suddenly an arm landed around your shoulder, and based on the bracelets around the man's right wrist, it was a safe bet that the man was Charles. And sure enough, the driver's face came into view when he leaned into your field of vision. You watched him with a curious look in your eyes, but he didn't seem too interested in explaining what he wanted.

“I've already told this to your father, but thank you for hosting us, even though we arrived last minute without a warning,” he finished with a boyish smile before his green eyes turned to you. “But it's late, we'll head home now.” 

Marie kissed his cheek, then she reached out to squeeze your hand as a goodbye. “It was nice to have you both here. You know you can jump in anytime. And you,” she went on, turning to you, “would better not disappear on me. Let's have lunch together someday.”

“Of course. I'll give you a call tomorrow when we're both fully awake,” you promised with a smile.

The two of you said goodbye to everyone, then stepped out on the street, standing next to each other in silence. It felt like you had suddenly run out of topics to discuss, although after some thinking, you managed to find something you could bring up.

“You could've stayed a little longer,” you told him as your eyes found his face again. 

Charles laughed as he shook his head. “It's late, I could use some proper sleep too,” he admitted. As his eyes were focused on you, he bit on his lower lip and clearly thought about something. “Can I walk you home?” 

“That’s a nice offer, but I already called a taxi. Thanks for bringing me here, though. I had fun,” you said with a wide smile. It was true, you couldn't remember the last time you had been to such a nice New Year's Eve party. Your phone pinged to tell you the taxi was arriving, and when you noticed the car pulling up, you stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Sleep tight,” he told you quietly, but you could feel there was something else he wanted to say. 

In the end, he remained silent, and you got in the car that took you home. As you sat there with your eyes taking in how magnificent this city looked tonight, you couldn't help but think about how the party turned out. It was nice to get to know him a little better, seeing a side of him that maybe wasn't as visible from the outside as one would expect. If you had known how fun he could be, you probably would have become friendly with him sooner.

[megalony]

Baby, Be Mine

Hello, as promised, here is my newest Dark! Buck request, thank you for the lovely request anon I had so much fun with this I loved writing it.

And I'm hoping to do a follow-up soon.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) have a friends with benefits situation, but Evan wants more. And he knows just how to get it. When she becomes pregnant, Evan becomes possessive.

Enjoy.

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With his arms folded over his chest, Evan tilted his upper body backwards until he was propped up against the fire truck behind him. His fingers began to tap against his arms and his head pressed back against the truck which felt cold and comforting against his burning skin.

He crossed one leg over the other, tapping the heel of his boot against the floor in a typical drumbeat that regulated his system and stopped him from jittering too badly.

A candid smile started to play on his lips and a sparkle crossed over his pupils when he set his sights on the scene playing out ahead of him near the locker room.

(Y/n).

There she was, his girl, knelt down in front of a group of school kids who had come down on a trip to see the station and see how the emergency services worked. There was Evan's girl, chatting to the kids like she had all the time in the world for each and every one of them, talking to them and making them feel like their questions mattered to her.

The smile on her face was one that had Evan's heart soaring in his chest. Her smile made her look so motherly, so kind and affectionate and like the sweetest girl in the world.

Evan loved the way her smile reached her eyes and how she let one of the kids take her hand and begin swinging it between them like a chain.

He loved how all the children levitated to her and wanted to be around her and how she gave them the time of day.

She looked so sweet and innocent talking to the kids.

She looked like a mother. Evan could envision her being a mother, he could see her with a newborn, he could see all of that affection within her pouring out into caring for a child. He could see himself starting a family with her.

What he'd had with Taylor in the past had been fleeting. It had been a whirlwind. A quick, one sided romance that left Evan feeling deflated and broken and like no part of him or his feelings really mattered.

(Y/n) was different. She was everything that was bright and enthusiastic and loving and caring, and Evan loved being with her. He loved the nights where they would meet up or when she would come round to his place and spend the night. He could see them moving in together, having kids together, going on family holidays and bringing her to the station as his partner. He could see himself bringing (Y/n) to all the station events and introducing her as his girl and showing off the family they could have together.

And Evan knew what they had was what he wanted. He knew if given time, they would get into a proper relationship rather than just hooking up together. He knew they would end up together and he could have what everyone else had. A family. A loving partner.

He could be happy. With (Y/n).

His eyes lit up as he watched one of the kids take (Y/n)'s hand and shyly ask her a question. And when (Y/n) shuffled closer to the little girl and started to explain whatever she had asked, Evan's heart could of burst in his chest right then and there.

He couldn't believe how sweet she was. (Y/n) wasn't technically one of them, a firefighter, Hell, she hadn't even started out as an intern here. She had volunteered to help Bobby with audits and paperwork and do any odd jobs he needed. She was volunteering to help out because she enjoyed the atmosphere and got along well with the team, and she wanted to be helpful. It also gave her credit at college where she was studying to become a teacher.

After a few weeks, Bobby took her on as a sort of intern, almost a receptionist role because (Y/n) was such a good help. It meant Bobby had more time to be on the floor and the job with his team rather than being swamped in paperwork, and (Y/n) loved to help.

She worked here twice a week, just for a few hours doing the audits, admin and filing paperwork.

The perfect job for the perfect girl.

His eyes followed her as she gently ushered the kids back towards their teacher who looked like it was time to go back to the school.

Once (Y/n) was up to her feet, leaning against a pillar as she waved goodbye to the kids, Evan took it as his chance.

Pushing himself off the truck, he leaned around and looked for the clipboard that was stashed away in one of the compartments. He knew where it was because he was the one who always took the liberty of checking the inventory and stocking the truck and the ambulance up.

He tucked it safely beneath his arm, cast his eyes around the station and then slowly walked towards (Y/n).

A glimmer lit up his eyes when she turned and headed down the small corridor in between the locker room and the little laundry room on the left. She was aiming for Bobby's office by the looks of it, finishing up the paperwork audits, Evan would guess.

His lips curved into a devilish grin and he quickened his steps, staying light on his feet so she wouldn't hear his approach.

(Y/n)'s body jerked forward and a gasp erupted from her lips when a pair of strong arms bound themselves around her waist. She could feel a scream clawing at the back of her throat until a familiar pair of lips attached to the side of her neck like a vampire.

She twisted her head to the right to look at that familiar crop of sandy hair and a smile formed on her lips, despite the way her heart was bashing against her ribs like a jackhammer.

"Evan. What are you-" She gasped against his mouth when he cut her off mid-sentence.

She felt his hands roaming to her hips and he easily spun her around so she was facing him instead of the corridor. Her hands moved to his broad shoulders to steady herself so she didn't stumble and she felt her knees going weak when Evan quietly groaned into her mouth.

What had gotten into him?

He'd never done this before. He'd never pounced on her for a kiss at the station, or anywhere else for that matter.

The pair of them had had a few hook ups over the last few weeks. It started off as just a one night thing, after drinks with the team at a bar and getting a little too familiar with each other in the taxi they shared. But then it happened again. And again.

She liked Evan. (Y/n) really liked him, but she wasn't sure about getting into a relationship with him. (Y/n) was splitting her time between college and working here at the station. And Evan had only just broken things off with Taylor and she had done a bit of damage to his mind and self-esteem. (Y/n) thought it would be easier to be friends, at least for now, but that was hard when Evan wormed around her. Their friendship had morphed into friends with benefits.

When he pulled back to suck in a breath, he pressed his temple down against hers and (Y/n) swore she could see something pooling in those dark pupils that had all but taken over the expanse of his iris.

She found herself getting lost in trying to decipher that look, so much so that she didn't realise Evan was walking her back until her back hit a wall with a thud.

Evan moved expertly as if he had done this before or in the very least, already had a plan in his mind of what he wanted to do.

His left hand reached out beside them and opened the door to the inventory room and with little effort, he nudged (Y/n) inside and followed suit. His boot gave the door a little nudge to close it behind them and the automatic light flashed overhead. Giving them minimal light in the small space that was barely the size of a small box bedroom.

"Nice dress." He murmured against the corner of her mouth, his voice low and gritty and it made (Y/n) shiver against him.

"Thank you," She murmured softly, tilting her head back so she could look around and see what room he had guided them into. Why had he brought her in here? What was he up to? What was going through that head of his to cause such a loving yet almost devilish smirk to flash over his lips.

She gently brushed her thumb across his jaw, swiping away a mark of dust that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. But her eyes widened and she held her breath when he turned them around so he could walk her back so she was once again backed up against the wall. And he dumped the clipboard from under his arm onto one of the shelves, to be forgotten immediately.

Her chest tightened and her eyes went wide in their sockets, quickly looking around the room as if she thought anyone else could be hiding in here or indeed fit in this poxy room with the two of them. She could barely catch a proper breath with the adrenaline pooling in her stomach when she felt Evan's hands scrunch up the hem of her dress. Which he promptly lifted up until it bunched around her hips, giving himself an eyeful of her thighs and her underwear.

"Evan!" She swatted her hand down on his shoulder, hissing his name before she tried to discourage him and drop his hands, but he only grinned wider in response.

His thumb traced up and down her skin for a few moments and (Y/n) tried to wriggle in his arms, knowing she needed to stop because they were at work. But she was finding it hard to push him away and break out of his embrace. Until he ducked down and attached his lips to the side of her neck.

"Evan, if someone walks in-"

"No one's gonna walk in. We're the only ones who do inventory, sweetheart."

That didn't even deserve an answer. He was baiting her to distract her from what he was doing so he could carry on. And he was right. (Y/n) did inventory audits for Bobby and Evan did the stock levels in the trucks and the ambulance. Hardly anyone else bothered to come in here.

A shudder crawled along (Y/n)'s spine when Evan sank his teeth down into her neck and she found the strength to grab his shoulders and try to push him back. She couldn't risk making a sound. She would be mortified if anyone walked in and caught them. She wouldn't ever dare show her face in the station again.

She had no doubt there were countless others who had copped off in various areas of the station, some people were just like that. But (Y/n) didn't put herself in that category, and she wouldn't have thought Evan would have done this either.

They had never so much as stolen a kiss in the station because they weren't technically in a relationship. They were friends with the odd added benefit every now and then.

This was improper. They shouldn't be doing this; Evan shouldn't be doing this. (Y/n) had to be the level-headed one and put a stop to it.

(Y/n) bit her lip to smother the gasp she felt crawling up her throat when Evan swiftly darted his hand down and hooked a finger in the elastic of her underwear.

All her effort went into her hands and she grasped his wrist, yanking his hand away while she tried to nudge him back.

"We can't."

He leaned his chest down into hers, sandwiching her against him and the wall and she could feel his lips curving into a grin when he stole a hot, feverish kiss from her lips.

"Evan," The way she groaned his name made his fingers clutch her hips again like they were his lifeline and he pressed down on her until she had to concentrate on taking each breath against his lips.

"You look beautiful."

(Y/n) wasn't sure whether he was trying to change the subject or if he was just singing her praises so she wouldn't object. Either way, she could feel herself starting to give in.

Evan could feel himself becoming desperate to elaborate, to say every little thought rushing around inside his head at one hundred miles an hour. He wanted to tell her she looked like a natural when she was pandering to that class of school kids. He wanted to say she looked like she was a mother already, she had the instincts and the caring nature and she was training to be a teacher, after all.

He wanted to tell her she'd look even better if she were pregnant.

He wanted to say that he'd love nothing more than for (Y/n) to be pregnant; for him to get her pregnant.

Evan knew without a doubt if that happened, (Y/n) would get into a relationship with him. She'd stop worrying, stop hesitating when he asked her, she'd be with him and they would be a proper family. Better than the one Evan had growing up. Better than the people he knew who broke apart and left their kids with broken homes.

They would be a proper family.

"You're insatiable," She gasped desperately against his lips, pushing his shoulders but he felt like he was made of stone, far too heavy for her to push back no matter how hard she tried.

A low chuckle left his lips and he drank in every little sound (Y/n) made when he pushed into her again and hiked her dress up even higher, giving himself a better view.

"Hm. And I bet you've missed me." He panted each word against her lips, barely parting so (Y/n) could feel the way his lips moved against hers and she swallowed each word, gulping for the air he'd stolen.

Her eyes darted down to stare at his collar bone instead of his eyes as he started to make a trail down her jaw and along her neck instead.

Evan kissed his way down her skin, between and across her cleavage which caused her to shiver against him.

"I want you."

He wanted her in every sense of the word, and he could already feel the plan formulating in his mind. He could see how this would play out and how things were going to go the way they should, soon.

Things would get better from here on out.

***

A sparkling grin lit up Evan's face when he opened the apartment door to be faced with the girl he hadn't been able to get out of his head.

He leaned his hip against the door and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. He couldn't stop himself from raking his eyes up and down (Y/n)'s frame, taking in her appearance. She looked as lovely as ever.

A lot of the time when Evan saw her, especially when they were at the station, (Y/n) often wore vest tops and high-waisted jeans. But more recently, like when they hooked up at the station a few weeks ago, she had been wearing dresses, like the one she wore today.

It was a dusty cream dress with blue hearts dotted all around, no frills at the bottom and the material was thin and loose. But what Evan loved about it was the fact that it was fastened up with string into a neat bow on her right hip. All it would take was for Evan to pull that string loose and the material would fall apart and hang off her shoulders like a cardigan.

Her hair was done up with just a few small, loose tendrils framing her face and Evan felt a sudden urge to knot his fingers into her woven hair.

"Hi." His lips perked up into a grin and he took a step back to motion for (Y/n) to come in.

"Hi Evan."

He hadn't been expecting her today. She never said she was coming round.

Evan had been quite thrilled at the station to find that all he had to do was brush up behind (Y/n) and she would turn into a shivering mess. She would step away from him and give him a stern look to warn him away. Their little tryst in the inventory room had been fun, but (Y/n) wasn't risking it happening again, not at work. She was too nervous about the thought of someone catching them in the act.

His tongue darted out and distorted his smile as he ran his tongue along his lower lip and tilted his head to one side. His eyes following (Y/n) as she brushed against his chest when she passed him to enter the apartment.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Evan followed (Y/n)'s lead as she walked inside and when she pointed towards the living room, he nodded.

Even though she had been here a few times before, she was still nervous to walk around without asking permission.

She started to knot her hands together and dig her nails into the back of her hands as she aimed for the sofa. (Y/n) sat down and did her best to hold her breath to try in vain to control her breathing and stop herself from going into a panic attack.

She had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in her head. Gone over what she wanted to say, how best to word it, trying to prepare for every possible reaction she could get.

When she sat down, she dragged the hem of her dress down towards her knees and began smoothing her hands up and down her knees. Her eyes followed Evan as he sat down next to her on the sofa. He sat close enough that their thighs were touching and it sent jolts of electricity running through (Y/n)'s nerves, all the way up to her heart that was going ten to the dozen.

"I- I need to talk to you, about something." (Y/n) did her best to smile and control her expression, but she truly had no idea what reaction she was going to get from Evan and it was making her feel sick.

If he had a bad reaction, if he got angry- (Y/n) had never seen him be anything close to angry, only slightly annoyed- she wouldn't know how to respond. If he started to blame her or shout or argue, (Y/n) feared she would break completely. But she couldn't stop thinking that he would hate what she had to tell him.

"Okay… what's going on?" His tone was soft and that dazzling smile was still playing on his lips.

When (Y/n) looked up at him, she realised he had the beginning of stubble gracing his face. It was strangely satisfying to see Evan with stubble rather than a clean shaven face. It made him look rugged and not so boyish, he looked older, more mature like this.

(Y/n) realised she must have been silent for longer than expected because she was brought out of her thoughts by Evan's hand softly yet firmly curling over her own.

"Everything okay?"

She found comfort in his large hand enveloping hers and she moved her free hand to grip his hand like they were playing a strange game of Jenga. Her thumb glided across the back of his hand and she couldn't quite meet his gaze, so her eyes settled on his lips that were especially red like fresh strawberries.

"Evan, I… I'm pregnant."

There. She'd said it. She'd said the words that had been rolling around in her mind for the last three days since she found out. The words that had kept her up last night into the early hours of the morning, wondering how Evan would react and what he would want to do.

Part of her expected him to retract his hand and shuffle away from her like she had some kind of deadly disease.

Instead, his hand tightened around hers and he inched closer until they were almost hip to hip, nearly merging into one. (Y/n) finally lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes that were wide and deep and the purest shade of blue she had ever seen.

"Really?" Evan was relieved to find his voice filled with shock and an air of surprise.

Not that he was truly surprised, though.

This had been his wish. This is what he had been hoping for, this was the course he wanted their lives to lead. He wanted to entwine them together and bring them closer together. Having a baby meant they would be a family, it meant (Y/n) would always be in his life and more to the point, this meant that they could be in a relationship.

All the times Evan had asked her and (Y/n) said no, she wasn't sure, she wasn't ready, it was a big commitment. Well, there was no bigger commitment than having a baby together and she could hardly turn Evan down now. They were a perfect match, they were meant for one another.

And Evan's ploy had worked. She was pregnant, just like he knew she would be sooner or later.

"Hm," (Y/n) nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. "I don't know what to do." She could feel tears building up behind her eyes, but she pushed them away. She didn't want to cry. Not yet. Not until they had talked and she knew whether she had cause to panic.

"What to do?" Evan reiterated quietly while he sank back into the sofa and brought one leg up to curl beneath him on the sofa.

"I don't know if I'm ready for a baby, I- Evan I'm still in college, I have another year left. And we're not exactly together, I couldn't raise a baby on my own and juggle my work or- or tie you down."

There was so much to think about. Too much, really.

(Y/n) was still training to become a teacher for preschool children, she had another year left before she would be qualified to find a permanent position. She was supposed to do work experience this last year of college, that wouldn't be ideal if she was pregnant.

And she was still young. Evan was older than her. He was already thirty and (Y/n) was closer to eighteen than she was to twenty five. A baby was one of the biggest commitments to make in life and as much as (Y/n) adored children and wanted many in the future, she wasn't sure if she could do this right now.

She had the idea in her head of how her life should go. Get a teaching job, become settled, then get into a stable relationship, move in together and then think about kids and possibly marriage. This was not the path she had set out for herself.

"Who says you can't finish college and have a baby?" His response made (Y/n) look at him quizzically.

"You- you want the baby?"

"Of course." He dragged his free hand through his curls, brushing them back and taming them in the process of trying to calm himself down and not seem too eager.

He didn't exactly want to give away the fact that he had instagated this, that this was what he had been planning and hoping for. But he would never want (Y/n) to think for a moment that he would want her to get rid of this baby. Their baby. He wanted (Y/n). He wanted a family with her, and now it was finally happening and Evan was all too eager for this to happen quickly.

"I've always wanted kids, and you already know I've fallen hard for you." His words made (Y/n) blush and she dipped her head down to look at their entwined hands. "I wouldn't expect you to do this alone. We've got something, a connection, and I think we could try a relationship, do this properly."

"Really?" (Y/n)'s head was swimming so much she feared she might just pass out.

This wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. She didn't think Evan would shout or truly get angry with her, but she had worried he wouldn't be pleased about this.

They weren't in a relationship, they didn't live together, and they hadn't planned this. (Y/n) thought Evan would think a baby would tie him down and tie him to her and that he wouldn't want that. She didn't think he would be so ready and willing to do this.

Her eyes lifted to meet his and she felt her stomach sparking with adrenaline when his hand left her thigh to cup her cheek. And when he leaned his temple against hers, (Y/n) could feel her nerves setting alight.

"You're amazing with kids, I know you'll be a great mum. And nothing would stop you from finishing your last year at college. We'd just have to work out the timing, at the worst you'd graduate a month or two later than expected. We're both grown ups, we can do this."

His words brought a sense of comfort washing over (Y/n) and she nodded before she let Evan steal her breath away when he kissed her. She felt herself turning to jelly when his chest leaned against hers and he practically pushed her down on the sofa until her back was propped up against the arm rest. And Evan was hovering over her, consuming her, lighting up and smothering every one of her senses.

It didn't matter to Evan that (Y/n) was younger than him, it didn't mean they were at different places in their lives. She was learning to be a teacher, she was committed and had roots here, not like Evan at her age when he was moving from state to state, trying to find himself and find his calling. And he was ready to settle down now, with her and only her.

The age difference between them wasn't ludicris and it wasn't a problem, if anything, Evan liked the fact that she was younger.

In his mind, she was going to be the perfect young mum.

"You'd really do this with me? Be with me, have this baby?" (Y/n) spoke in hushed whispers against his lips while she parted her legs to the sides to let Evan rest between her thighs. Since he was practically lying on top of her, one hand still cupping her cheek and the other now curled around her hip while he balanced his weight on his knees so he didn't crush her beneath him.

"Sweetheart, I want this, I want you."

His words were affirming, reassuring and left no room for doubt. He wouldn't have her doubting his commitment to her or the baby. And he didn't want (Y/n) to think that she had to get rid of the baby either. This was a part of them, this was what they wanted. It wouldn't ruin her life or disrupt her career, it would just mean that she was settled down by the time she became a qualified teacher.

Evan detached his lips from hers so he could graze along the side of her neck instead. Baring his teeth just enough to scratch the surface of her skin and leave the slightest mark.

He knew she had loved it last time he left a trace of hickeys along the side of her neck and down towards her cleavage. He had seen the way she bit her lip and adverted her gaze when she had to use make up to cover the marks he left. Showing everyone she'd had a lot of fun with him.

Only now it would mean that she belonged to him.

He dragged his tongue against the slight scratch he'd created against her neck and nudged his nose along the tip of her jaw before he spoke in hushed tones against her throat. "Move in with me."

"What?"

(Y/n) tangled her hand in the short hairs at the back of his head, scraping her nails against his scalp in the process. She tried to tilt her head down but she couldn't quite move her head with Evan tucked into her neck like this.

Had she heard that right? Was he really asking her this? Would it be too soon- was she really considering this?

"Then you're not doing this alone. My place is bigger than yours, and it makes sense, doesn't it? Then I can be here for everything with you, the appointments, the kicks, and I can look after you."

A jolt ran through (Y/n) when she felt Evan's hand glide along her hip to trace the pad of his fingers across her stomach which pulled in at the ticklish feeling. It was far too early for any of that, but it wouldn't stop either of them from thinking what it would be like in a few months when (Y/n) would start to show and they would feel the baby moving.

"When they're here it makes sense to have you both here with me, so I can do my part." His words were spoken in hushed tones against the hollow expanse of (Y/n)'s throat, and he knew his actions were causing her breathing to quicken beneath him.

It did make sense. (Y/n) could see the upside to this. If she moved in with Evan, they could try and make this a proper relationship, they could see if they could make things work and provide a stable home for this baby. It meant they could prepare for the baby together, get things ready when the time was nearer. And Evan could indeed experience this with her.

And he was right, after the baby was born it wouldn't be a good idea to be living separately if Evan was going to help take care of the baby and do his role as a father. Plus, if they made this work together and their relationship worked out, it would only be logical that they moved in together.

(Y/n) was already pregnant so moving in together wasn't that much of a large jump to make in the scale of relationships.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek on top of Evan's head, nuzzling her skin into his curls while she wormed her arms around his shoulders to hug him. "I- I was so worried, that you wouldn't be happy."

"Oh sweetheart," He lifted his head from her neck to hover over her again while he shimmied round and laid out on his front between her thighs. "You've no idea how buzzing I am right now."

He kissed her once, twice, and then again until (Y/n) was gasping for breath and her head was swimming.

This is the news he had been praying for, this is what he had been begging to happen and now it was finally here. Everything was going to go his way, how could Evan he anything but happy?

***

"You okay, sweetheart?" Evan tilted his head to one side and moved both hands to grip his hips when he stood in the doorway to Bobby's office.

(Y/n) was knelt down on the floor, her head leant up against the desk, a few different piles of paper scattered around her and a faraway look in her eyes. Her hands were resting on her lap, but Evan could see she was slightly trembling as if the aircon was on and the room was brisk and cold.

He didn't like the frown that pulled at her lips when she flopped her head back so she could squint up at him.

He rolled his lips together and headed into the room before squatting down beside her. His knees parted out to the sides and his hands clasped together between his legs while he raised a brow and waited silently to find out if anything was wrong.

"I- I just feel a bit sick, I'm okay." (Y/n) did her best to force a smile onto her face, but she knew Evan saw right through it. Her body shuddered when his hand reached up to press beneath her chin and he tilted her head back when she was about to drop her head down.

"You don't look okay to me."

The unspoken look that transgressed between their eyes told Evan that they both knew the cause of this. Morning sickness. Evan had gotten up with her at five this morning when she felt unwell and subsequently stumbled to the bathroom to throw up. He told her to stay home, but she seemed to of been feeling a bit better. Obviously the sickness feeling had come back with vengeance again.

"Go home." Evan pecked her temple and brushed his thumb along her chin, but he didn't like the way (Y/n) sighed and shook her head.

"It's the end of the month, every audit needs checking, submitting and filing. Besides, I've not been here an hour yet."

(Y/n) couldn't just pack up and go home. She only came into the station three hours a day, twice a week. She couldn't go home when every audit needed grouping together, checking then she would have to file them away. (Y/n) didn't like to fall behind on her work in any aspect and she wanted this done so she wouldn't have so much to do when she came back in a few days.

She gently pulled her head from Evan's hand and leaned forward to smother her face into his chest instead. She smiled against his shirt when she felt his fingers weave into her hair and his lips mesh against the top of her head.

"So do the audits at home."

"Hm?"

"Baby, Bobby won't care whether you organise and sort them out here or back at our place. Do them at home, and I'll bring them back in with me tomorrow all organised for Bobby. Besides, you're not well, may as well rest at home than worry here."

She hadn't thought of that. She hadn't thought that Bobby would let her take the paperwork home with her, she just assumed she would have to do them here. But Bobby did trust her, and she lived with Evan now, so it wasn't as if she would take them or share them with anyone. Bobby trusted them both and if Evan asked, he would gladly agree.

"Gather everything you need and I'll go clear it with Bobby."

Evan went to pull back, but he grinned when (Y/n) held onto his biceps and looked up at him through her lashes. Wordlessly, he held onto her hips and reeled her up to her feet. She swayed a little until she regained her balance and Evan kept tight hold of her and wormed one hand around to touch the base of her stomach.

It was still early days yet, early enough that (Y/n) could still wear her jeans and button them up over her stomach. And she had worn them today, tucking her vest into the hem so it covered the tiny, almost unnoticable change to her stomach. Evan had noticed the change already, how her stomach was firmer and starting to shift in shape and he couldn't wait for her to start showing properly.

They had just told the team since (Y/n) was now officially moved in with Evan, and everyone was over the moon for them.

"Are you sure?" (Y/n) murmured into his chest while she moved one hand to hold his wrist where his hand was tucked safely against her stomach.

"Yeah, I'll smooth it over with Bobby. Gotta look after you, eh?"

Running a hand through her damp hair, (Y/n) trudged from the bathroom towards the kitchen, her steps sluggish and bare feet tickling as they glided along the cold floor.

She managed a smile when she noticed Evan mulling about in the kitchen. She hadn't heard him come home while she had been in the shower. She walked up behind him, brushing her fingers across his lower back while she pressed a kiss against his bicep.

"Hi baby." Evan turned round, leaving the coffee cup on the counter behind him so he could reach out for (Y/n). She aimed for the fridge, but he didn't let her get far past him. Both his arms wormed around her waist and he reeled her back into his chest so he could tuck his face down against her neck and shoulder.

(Y/n) leaned her head back on his shoulder, grinning when she felt his hands splay out along her small bump.

"Lookin' good," He murmured into her neck while his thumb glided up and down her stomach. She was only in a pair of shorts and her bra. She'd just taken a shower and needed to find a dress before she got ready for her job at the station.

"Hm, hate to burst your bubble but I'll have to get dressed or I'll be late." (Y/n) cupped his cheek and tilted his head up so she could press a wet kiss to his lips.

"Late?" He murmured against her lips, taking another kiss and pulling her lower lip between his teeth until he could feel her groaning into his mouth. His hands squeezed her against him and he leaned over her like he was trying to merge them into one being.

(Y/n) knew what he was doing. He was worming himself around her, buttering her up because he wanted to be attached to her all the time. But (Y/n) couldn't be late for work.

"Work? The new supplies won't log themselves, you know." (Y/n) gave him one lasting, deep kiss before she broke out of his arms and moved to grab a drink from the fridge.

A smile wormed onto her lips when she felt Evan following after her like a shadow. But her eyes cast to the right when she looked at the dining table. The smile started to fade from her face and she stopped in her aim for the bedroom to trail her fingers across the stack of papers on the table.

"I brought the files home for you." Evan's voice was cool and collected and he peppered a kiss to her neck and glided his hand along the back of her thigh and up around her bum.

When she didn't say anything, Evan turned and moved back towards the fridge, seeing as (Y/n) didn't look like she was going to rush to get ready anymore. He found the milk and set about making a coffee. He'd just done a night shift into the morning and he needed coffee to keep himself awake or he'd be asleep in no time.

"Babe… why did you bring them home? Now I've gotta take them all back." (Y/n) dragged her thumb along the edges of the files, checking which ones he had brought back with him.

All the ones she would have gone through at the station. He knew her organisation skills well. But now (Y/n) would have to traipse them all back to the station with her.

"So you can audit them?" Evan grinned and shrugged as if it was obvious and he grabbed his mug and walked over to her. "I'll take them back when I go on shift in two days, Bobby won't mind."

(Y/n) turned around, leaning her hips back against the table while she folded her arms over her bump.

"I'll take them back, I'm going in today."

"Why, when you can just work from here?" The way Evan slouched back against the counter and crossed one leg over the other made (Y/n) feel a bit uneasy.

They were talking at cross purposes. The files belonged at the station. The only reason she had been auditing and sorting them here was because she hadn't been well. Morning sickness had been a killer, it still was, but at least (Y/n) had the energy to get out of bed and actually go out the flat now. She wanted to get back into routine, which meant going back to the station rather than having everything brought home to her.

And she could get back to college work tomorrow too. She had been doing her work from home for college, which had been a nice change. It was less stressful at home, but (Y/n) was more inclined to do the work when she was in class, and it was far easier to learn when listening to the teacher than reading hundreds of powerpoints.

"Because I feel better, Bobby hired me to work, not to be here carting files to and from the station." It was a lot of faffing about to keep moving all the files between home and the station, and it made (Y/n) feel like a liability. She wasn't employed to do things from home, she was supposed to be there in person sorting out.

Her head tilted back and she kept her arms crossed when Evan moved over to her. She watched him set his drink down on the table but when he clamped his hands down on her hips, there was something tight and almost fierce in his hold.

"Yeah, but you're pregnant now, and it's a lot to juggle college and the paperwork for the station. You've not been stressed while you've been working from home, so I think you should carry on and stay home."

A frown set into (Y/n)'s features as she stared up at Evan, something akin to confusion and a hint of annoyance burning in her eyes.

Being pregnant wouldn't stop her from doing her job effectively. She could still work while she was in the early stages, it would be when she was seven or eight months that she would need to think about taking things easy. And it was only paperwork, the worst (Y/n) got was headaches or an unease when she worked too much and ate too little, due to morning sickness. It wasn't exhausting work.

"Evan…" (Y/n) tilted her head to the side when he dived down for a kiss and her stomach burst with adrenaline when he groaned and kissed the edge of her jaw instead. His hands pulled her hips, tugging her off the table and into his embrace. "It's not exactly stressful, and I'm fine. I'm going to work-"

"The papers are already here." He ticked his head towards the papers on the table while his hands wormed down her back and slid into her underwear.

"Then I'll take them back when I go in on Friday."

"Why? Bobby agreed you can work from here, he's not bothered, so just stay home with me."

(Y/n) wanted to disagree. She wanted to argue and tell him that he couldn't just decide she was working from home or decide that she wasn't well enough to go to work. But he had already done it.

He had already brought the paperwork here and it seemed pointless to take the papers back to the station and then come home when she could just do them here. She was home, Evan was home and she could get the work done here and let Evan take them back in. He would be going back to the station before her anyway.

"Alright." There was no point arguing with him over this; what else could she say?

***

"I'm just saying, why go when you don't need to?" Evan shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out at his sides like he was calling a truce, but his words didn't exactly imply that.

"Because if everyone else has to then so do I. I can't just be that one girl who never bothers to turn up for class, Evan."

(Y/n) pressed her hand against her back, just to the side of her hip so she could click her spine into place and ward off the ache in her lower back. Her other hand moved to her temple and started massaging in circles where a headache was beginning to form.

This wasn't fair.

Evan couldn't pretend like this wasn't going to be an argument or like this wasn't a problem.

(Y/n) wanted to go to college, she didn't want to do all of her lessons from home like Evan kept suggesting. She was only twenty weeks pregnant, she had a lot longer to go yet before they would have their baby and in that time (Y/n) wanted to do as much as she could at college. She wanted to attend classes and lectures and do the work with her professor rather than staying home to do it and sending the work over email.

When she was eight months pregnant she would be working from home and she was going to be given a break from studies once she had the baby. It was all in her hands, she could decide how long she had off from her studies, but (Y/n) only wanted to take two or three months at the most. Because then she would just have to sit her final exams and hopefully graduate. Then she could stay off on maternity leave and find a job in that time ready for when she wanted to go back to work.

"You say that like you don't do any of the work. You're working from home, you're doing the lessons and sending in your work. And in a month you'll be on work experience anyway, so what does it matter if you don't sit in that class with people you don't even like? Just stay home."

Evan moved to perch down on the end of the bed, being mindful of the few books and notepads (Y/n) had scattered across the bed. He leaned his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together between his knees. He looked oddly calm, not the least bit perplexed about this.

And he wasn't.

He saw no need to get angry when he was telling (Y/n) the truth and he knew sooner or later, she would agree and come round to the idea.

"It's not that I don't like them, but it's not nice being the odd one out. But that doesn't matter, I'm at college to do the work and turn up, I actually want to do it you know."

(Y/n) dragged her hand up and down her back again and when Evan reached out for her, she shook his hand off.

She continued pacing in front of the end of the bed, the hem of her dress swishing and swaying with every movement and sharp turn she made. And when she glanced her eyes down, she bit her lip to smother a sigh. Her hand left her back and she tried to calm down enough to do up the buttons on her dress. Evan had undone them when he attached himself to her when he got home.

"You'll be less stressed." He pointed out quietly, squinting up at her while his lips quirked to one side, trying to get her to see this from his point of view.

"It's not about stress-"

"It is when you're pregnant and you're gonna make yourself sick worrying and overdoing it just to turn up, when technically, you don't have to. You've been approved to work from home and just go in once a week."

Evan stretched and sat back straight while (Y/n) stopped pacing, finally, and turned to stand in front of him. He began running his hands up and down his thighs while he raised a brow at her.

She would see it from his point of view soon.

She had already stopped going down to the station and let Evan bring all the work home to her instead. She had agreed that her college work was stressful enough without needing to spend all her free time at the station. It meant she could be home with Evan and rest and work on her own terms. And it meant Evan could have her to himself.

He didn't have to have anyone else at the station leering and watching her and she could stay home with him instead.

College would be the same. Evan didn't see why she wouldn't just work from home when she was already approved to do it. She could spend her days here with him when he wasn't at work. She could relax and be home and take it easy. She didn't have to go out, Evan could have her within his sights and make sure she was alright and know what she was doing each day.

It was easier. It was better. It was safer.

"Yeah, and everyone already looks at me weird because I'm the only one in class- in the whole year, who's pregnant."

(Y/n) didn't necessarily hate the people in her class, but she didn't meet up with them after class or call them her close friends. And they had been shocked when they started to realise her stomach was growing and clicked onto her being pregnant. No one else in their year was having or already had a baby. (Y/n) was the only one, and although she was happy to be pregnant, she didn't like the strange looks she got.

(Y/n) groaned when Evan reached out and scrunched the dress up in his fists, using it as leverage to pull her close to him until she was stood between his thighs. He raked her dress up so his hands could hold the flesh of her hips, no material separating them, and he leaned forward to press his lips against her growing bump, over the material of her dress.

"Ignore them; they're just jealous." He kissed her stomach a few more times before he tilted his head up and tested his luck kissing her cleavage instead.

He felt her shiver when he locked his heels behind hers, pinning her between his thighs. And when he pressed his chin into her sternum and stared up at her, he could see her starting to waver, starting to give in.

"Stay home with me, sweetheart. No stress, no weird looks or idiots in class, just you, me and bubba."

(Y/n) didn't want to argue anymore about it today.

She didn't have the will. She didn't have the strength or the energy to argue that if she didn't go to college, she would be cut off from everyone but Evan. She only saw the team at the station when they came over to the apartment or she and Evan infrequently went out with them after their shifts.

She didn't have a lot of friends and she didn't get along with many people in class at college. And (Y/n)'s relationship with her parents was estranged, just like Evan's was with his. Her parents didn't keep in contact, they paid more attention to her little sister than to (Y/n). All she had was Evan.

If she gave up going to college and resided to work from home, she would barely have any interaction or anyone else in her life. She didn't want to be smothered by Evan. His overprotective side was sweet, but it was starting to become controlling.

But he made valid points. She could work from home and have less stress, no strange looks and she could relax and do the work at her own pace. And she would be going on work experience soon which she couldn't do from home, she would be in a preschool class from nine until three, Monday through to Friday for a few weeks at least.

(Y/n) leaned back to let Evan stand up and she let him weave his arms around her waist and pull her into his chest. She let him swoop down and attach his lips to hers while his fingers dug deeper into her hips, squeezing her flesh and pulling at the waistband of her underwear.

Evan and their baby were all she had.

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

First Kiss With Logan:

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: After a shitty date, you seek comfort from Wade who threw you a ‘Cherry Popped’ party. It ends up making you feel worse, which leads you into the arms of a man who’s grown fond of you. Logan.

Warnings: Kissing, talking about bad date, cursing, brief mentions of drinking, innuendos to "cherry popping", use of the word virgin. Self-deprecating talk in some areas, from both reader and Logan.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2,388

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You hated that you found yourself, seated across from a man who, frankly, hadn't asked you a single question about yourself all night. You also hated how much this man yapped. God, all he did was talk and talk without even the slightest breath. And you hated that you continued to stay seated. Perhaps you were too kind, or maybe you thought you had no right to leave. After all, the man was buying you dinner. It was hard to shake that kind of guilt. You knew you owed him nothing, that it's okay to leave a shitty date- but a part of you wondered if this was all you had going for you. A shitty date, with a shitty man on a shitty afternoon.

As you spaced out your thoughts drifted back to Logan, you wondered if dates with him were like this. What if they weren't? What if he was kind? Well, slightly kinder than normal. He didn't strike you as the pull-your-chair-out-for-you kinda guy, but you had a feeling he would ask you questions instead of yapping your ear off. Maybe he would ask about your day at work, or what you like to do in your free time. Possibly he'd like to hear funny stories about your family. No, that felt too intimate for a first date. Maybe on a third date you'd share those stories with him.

God, what are you even on about right now? You're on a date with a man buying you dinner and you're thinking about Logan! As your eyes looked over the man, you finally tuned back into what he was saying.

"My ex was fucking crazy! That bitch-"

Aaanndd, you lost interest immediately. The more this dude spoke, the more of a dick he sounded. You couldn't help but feel thankful when the date ended. However, the chime of your phone caught your attention during the walk back to your apartment.

'Hey, sugar tits.' Wade's text read. 'Come over, we're celebrating you getting your cherry popped!' That dick knew you weren't a virgin, he just wanted a damn reason to celebrate. What better way to celebrate then partying over your friend not getting laid? It was a cruel joke you really weren't in the mood for but the image of Logan blowing up balloons with Blind Al, a smile just barely tugging at his usually grumpy face...it was hard to say no too. And Wade knew that- its why he sent you the picture after all.

"Fucking dick." You murmured to yourself as you wrapped your cardigan around you tighter, pushing the front door to Wade's apartment open as you did so. The sight was ridiculous, balloons, streamers, wall decor, banners that read 'Pop That Cherry!' draped off the ceiling. You took a mental note to punch Wade in his smart-ass lip later. But, for now, it was nice being in the comfort of your friends. Yes, even the snarky teenager Negasonic and her girlfriend. You were a teenage girl once, but it still didn't stop you getting annoyed when she nitpicked your outfits. It isn't your fault baggy sweaters and legging were literally a godsent.

You trudged your way through the crowded apartment, hand adjusting your white sweater to cover the tank top under it a little better. As you approached Logan and Wade, you grew more aware of the length of your skirt. Was it too long? Too short? Would Logan think it looked good? God, why did you even care what Logan Howlett, labeled the worst wolverine, thought of you? You didn't think he was the worst wolverine. You'd never say it, of course not, because then he'd know you actually liked being around him! Perhaps it was selfish of you to keep yourself so guarded around him, but you couldn't shake the fear of letting down your walls and risking getting hurt. It was scary. Losing that much control. And over what, a feeling?

A hand extending towards you caught your attention, it was Logan, offering you a drink.

"Thank you." You spoke to him, voice quiet compared to the blaring pop music Wade was playing. He grunted in response, but you swear you heard a 'you're welcome.' You brought it to your lips, casually slow sipping the alcohol over the course of the night. It was fun to dance with Vanessa as Wade and Peter tried to convince Logan to join the group. You couldn't help the laugh on your lips when Wade made a snarky comment about Logan's panties being in a twist, earning a threatening unsheathing of claws from logan. You never fully understood the shame Logan felt, even though you tried incredibly hard to. To you, he was amazing, he was strong, he was...well, to say you only admired him would be a lie.

You wished you could show Logan the way you saw him, the way the world saw him. Sure, he was hot, unnecessarily hot, with large biceps and shoulders that went for days. But he was more than that. He was a grump who pushed people away out of fear of hurting them. And to prevent himself from getting hurt. It was ironic, really. Perhaps you and him were more alike than you thought. After a while in the overstimulating party, you slipped away, moving to stand on the balcony. You hadn't been there long, probably thirty minutes? It was nice, listening to your friend's party as you took a break to look at the city.

"Thought I'd find you here." Logan's rough voice spoke as he walked out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

You hummed in response, flashing him a smile as you looked away. Logan could feel his heart skip a beat at your smile- it was always nice when you graced him with it. He'd give anything to see you smile. Hell, he wished he could make you smile and laugh the way Wade and Vanessa did. They matched your morbid sarcastic humor easily. Something he struggled to do. He approached you, leaning onto the railing beside you.

"Congrats on the...uh..."

"I'm not a virgin."

"Oh..."

The silence was awkward between you. You had to purse your lips to prevent you from bursting out in a laugh. You found it hilarious how just one statement suddenly made him go quiet.

"Wade had-" You spoke, trying to stifle your laugh with your hand. "Wade thought it would be funny to throw a 'cherry popped' party because it's been forever since my last date." You revealed, not able to contain your laugh any longer. "It's actually kinda sweet. In a weird way, ya know, Wades weird way." The corners of Logan's mouth lifted slightly at the sound of your laugh. It had always been his favorite sound after meeting you.

"Guess so." Logan contributed to the conversation, bringing the glass beer bottle to his lips. You looked at logan watching as he looked over the city, your eyes analyzing him. His jaw, his hair, the crow's feet by his eyes from his constant state of scowling. Maybe it was the liquid courage you had drank. Or you finally just decided to give Logan a sense of affection. You loved to shower your friends with affection, often times holding Wade as you two watched tv, or Vanessa sitting on your lap as you gossiped. Logan had seen it plenty of times. God, sometimes you even gave Peter affection. Each time he felt a twinge of jealousy, he wanted to be the object of your affectionate touches. Or the way you murmured praise directed at them after a task- he wanted that.

Your hand reached up, gently soothing out some strands of his beard that were in disarray. Logan tensed under your touch, and you immediately pulled away, guilt and embarrassment swarming you.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You adamantly apologized, face heating up.

"Don't worry about it." Logan roughly said, silently regretting the way you withdrew so quickly. He watched as you tried to subtly put some distance between the two of you- the sting of rejection clear as day on your face. He hadn't meant to reject you; you were reading too much into it. His mind sidetracked as he looked away, maybe he was the one reading too much into it? "How was your date?" He settled on asking, bringing the beer to his lips.

"Shitty." You sighed, frowning.

Logan nodded, waiting for you to continue. Silence falls between you two and he flashed you an expectant glance. You hadn't realized he wanted you to keep talking until he looked at you.

"Oh, uh, there isn't really much to say." You shrugged, looking away. "He didn't ask any questions, just talked about himself the whole time. Was super annoying too." Logan couldn't help the satisfaction that welled in his chest upon hearing your defeated words. It sucked for you, of course it did. But Logan was so glad the date was bad- that way no one could come in, sweep you off your feet, and away from him. He hadn't made a move on you, and he couldn't decide if he ever would. He didn't want to risk hurting you like he had done the others he cared for.

However, the glance of tiredness in your expression when you had looked at him momentarily...he hated it. He hated himself for being so happy your date was bad, and he hated that he wasn't the one you wanted to sweep you off your feet.

"Like...it isn't hard to make a girl feel special. To make her feel like a princess." You laughed with a shake of your head. "I dunno, maybe I'm just expecting too much?" You looked at Logan as you asked, a need for reassurance present.

Logan stared at you; brows furrowed as he analyzed you. The scowl on his features prominent. Believing you had said too much, or you annoyed him with your ramblings, an apology escaped your lips.

"Fuck, sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Princess." Logan's comment snapped you from your rushed apology. "Relax." He had taken that brave step closer to you, facing you fully as his side and arm holding the beer leaned against the balcony railing. He was glad you were comfortable enough to unload that on him and he was determined to keep it that way. "I don't mind." You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed as your mind ran. That was another thing he liked about you. It was so easy to tell if you were thinking. Your eyebrows always furrowed, your lips pursed into a line, and your eyes always spoke a thousand words.

Despite his better judgement, his hand rose, gently flattening the skin between your eyebrows. The gesture was small, yet it held so much intimacy. You had always been picky about who could touch you. You loved to shower your friends with affection, but rarely ever let anyone reciprocate it back. Logan wondered why that was. What had affected you so much that you refused to let anyone even shake your hand. Here he was, though, thumb moving from the area between your eyebrows to his hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes were wide, your throat dry. You had never expected this from him. This gentleness, the way he had observed your furrowed brows...you leaned your face into his hand, unable to help the way you melted into it. It was a chilly night, and, God, was he warm.

Logan closed the distance between the two of you, now standing directly in front of you. His thumb caressing your cheek. As he stared into your eyes, his gaze couldn't help but flicker down to your lips, a red faded stain on them from the lipstick you had worn to your date. They looked so soft, so enticing. And he couldn't help but wonder if that peppermint chapstick you wore 24/7 worked. He had never been one for chapstick, but you seemed obsessed with it. Logan's thumb slipped from where it rubbed your cheek to your bottom lip, slowly tracing it. You subconsciously licked your lips as he traced them, your chest tight. Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? Your throat was beyond dry, your face paled under his gaze yet somehow it felt like your blush deepened. The way his eyes analyzed your lip, your eyes, your nose, that mark you had since you were a child...It was like he was memorizing you.

You wanted to say something, anything. Preferably something sarcastic and witty. No words came to your lips regardless of the fact that your mind was working overdrive. Time slowed as his thumb gently pulled your lip down, encouraging your mouth to part as his hand cupped your chin now, guiding you closer to him. He leaned down, face inches from yours. He paused there, however, waiting for your permission because he knew that you needed that variation of control to feel safe. He wanted to make you feel safe, he wanted you to know you were safe. That he had you. You brushed your lips against his, slightly closing that gap between you two. He took that as permission as he pressed his lips to yours fully. It was gentle at first, as if he was scared that at any moment you'd disappear. Or worse, break.

Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as you held onto him. His hands finally rested around your waist, the kiss growing stronger as he deepened it. People claim that you would feel fireworks during a kiss, but that wasn't the case at all. You felt electricity against your skin that was against him, but the most powerful feeling was how right it felt. Like you were meant to be there, in his arms, kissing him, holding him. He had broken the kiss, opening his eyes to stare at you.

Logan wondered if he'd ever be able to let another person get close to him. He was certain Wade would've been the only one- a victim of the circumstance's kind of thing. But he sure as hell was glad that today he was the one who held you attention as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

[damiansgoodgirll]

Hi gorgeous how you doing? I have a request for a few things so just hear me up on this. I just had this in my mind by the way jey uso x reader Rhea and Damian has been friends with the reader since NX T but when the Yeet master comes along they started to be friends but the reader gets hurt  badly not so good judgement day ( i’m sorry to say that but the new judgement day nah) and who comes out and saves them terror twins and jey

jey uso x reader (romantic) / terror twins x reader (platonic)

likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed !!!

‼️ a little angsty, fluff, the new judgment day being awful (just like they are)

forever my girl

the bond between you, damian and rhea was unique. you’ve been friends since the old days at nxt, where the three of you tried to make it up to the top in the company. if you had any problem, any doubt, any question, you knew that you could count on rhea and damian, the same way they could count on you.

you all made it big, being drafted from nxt to smackdown and raw where you all gained more respect and success.

being on the big rosters meant that you all got to make more friends and so a few people started hanging out with you.

rhea and damian got lucky that they got paired together for being a part of the judgment day while managers thought of giving you a solo push. it was working really good for you as you have been both raw and smackdown woman’s champion. you won your matches at wrestlemania and summerslam, so everything was really working out for you.

even if you were all pretty booked, you never stopped seeing each others outside work. a few people joined you too, especially jey uso who couldn’t stop teasing and annoying rhea. you thought it was funny and you pranked her a few times together.

jey was nice to hang out with. he was kind and funny and never fail to make you laugh. you were all like one big happy family, the judgment day members too. but when the judgment day broke up at summerslam you knew that rhea and damian were going to be alone. jey was busy with the whole bloodline mess again and you knew that you had to pick a side.

so you went ringside at bash in berlin and stopped finn when he tried to ruin the match for rhea and damian. you helped rhea when her leg got stuck over the ring and you were ringside again when, much to your surprise, jey joined damian in a tag team match.

but now it was you facing liv morgan. one on one. and it was an easy match as you were basically destroying her. she wasn’t as strong as you were and it was easy for you to pin her down quickly. she was mad that she lost and of course, in judgment day style, she started hitting you. she hit your back while the ref held up your arm as you won the match. your back immediately feeling an intense pain, you tried to get up but she shoved you on the ground. finn, dom, jd and carlito circling the ring, so now you were trapped. live kept hurting you and it felt like hell.

suddenly, rhea’s music echoed in the arena and she tried to run as fast as she could to help you inside the ring.

but she was alone and hurt so she was an easy target for the group. only a few minutes later both damian and jey ran out and followed rhea’s lead.

as rhea tried to stop dominik from running away, finn and damian began fighting. jey ran inside the ring and liv, as the coward that she is, ran away and tried to save dom from rhea.

you were laying there, hurting.

jey kneeled next to you, trying to see if you were still conscious “y/n…” he softly whispered “are you still with me love?”

you wanted to answer but no words came out of your mouth, instead you nodded but the slightest movement made your head pulse.

“medical staff is coming…we got you, i got you love” he gently whispered, moving some hair from your face.

“everything hurts…” you whimpered, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. jey’s heart broke, he couldn’t stand to see you in pain.

he didn’t understand why. it’s not like you were dating but the idea of seeing you hurt and crying made his blood boil. he was so mad and at the same time so conflicted because he couldn’t do anything to help you.

medical staff got there immediately and when they tried to move you, a soft scream left your lips that made jey shiver.

“i got you love…” he whispered “let me carry you backstage okay? the stretcher is too uncomfortable for you…” you nodded at his proposal and even though you felt like your whole body was in flames “hey shh…i got you, you’re safe with me” he gently whispered leaving a kiss on your forehead “i got you” he kept repeating, mostly to himself because he needed to be sure that you were okay.

once he brought you backstage, rhea and damian followed along, both worried about your condition. jey followed the staff instructions and he gently laid you down over the stretcher waiting for you in the medical room.

“she will be okay” one of the nurses tried to reassure the trio but non of them dared to leave the room.

rhea and damian were pissed. it wasn’t fair for you. you won your match without cheating and yet they cheated and doing so, you ended up badly injured. jey was stressing out, he couldn’t really understand what he was feeling. he always thought that you were beautiful and kind but he never thought about you in a romantic way so why was he so angry? why was he hurting? he hated seeing you barely conscious on that bed, doctors working on you. you shouldn’t be there, no, you should be backstage happily celebrating your victory with your friends and family.

“is she okay?” jey asked, pacing back and forth around the room.

“we are still checking her out…she has a concussion from the hit on the head she got when liv attacked her from behind…probably a few broken ribs but she should be fine…we still need time to finish all the tests” one of the doctor spoke and jey felt like fainting. he was beyond mad.

rhea and damian watched how stressed jey was and they couldn’t really understand why.

“uce” damian called him “what’s going on?”

“what you mean?” he pretended everything was fine.

“we mean, why are you so stressed? rhea stepped up.

“why aren’t you? she is your best friend and you’re here without saying or doing anything…” he said, passing a hand over his hair.

“uce you gotta stay calm…” damian tried one more time.

“i can’t…” he whispered, trying not to break.

“what is going on jey?” rhea was confused. she never seen jey so agitated and uneasy.

he took a chair next to them and shook his head “i don’t know…when i saw her in the ring and she couldn’t move, i felt like someone was ripping part of my body off…i don’t know how to explain it but it hurts seeing her like this…and when i brought her backstage she was softly crying in my arms…and i couldn’t do anything to help her…”

damian was still confused but rhea immediately understood why jey was acting like that. a smirk appeared on her face, shocked that none of the men were able to understand the situation.

men - she thought.

“you have feelings for her jey” rhea said, a little smile appearing on her face.

“what?” he was shocked. he knew he had feelings for you but hearing someone saying that out loud made him unsure.

“you like her and it’s pretty evident. you can’t even stay sit for five minutes, always checking on her or what the doctors are doing…you have feelings for her and that’s okay…she’s my best friend and if you hurt her i’m gonna kick your ass, but you like her and that’s normal…” rhea tried to reassure a very confused and scared jey uso.

he looked at rhea with a confused look. maybe she was right. he couldn’t understand the sudden pull towards you. but all the time you’ve spent together, pranking rhea, flying together, watching movies and training together, he never realised how much he actually liked you and now, seeing you hurt, laying on a hospital bed made him feel so helpless. he wished he realised it sooner, he wished he could tell you how much he likes you.

“she needs to rest…at least one month at home, no wrestling, no training, just rest so she can get better” the doctor said to the three adults. all of them nodding their heads before medical staff left the room, leaving them alone for some privacy.

“do you wanna stay alone with her?” rhea asked jey. he nodded, moving the chair next to your bed while the duo left. you were still unconscious. jey didn’t know if you actually fainted or if the doctors gave you some painkillers to ease your pain and to calm you down, but anyway, both cases sounded bad to him as he wanted to see you awake and smiling.

he gently stroked your cheek, his calloused hand moving delicately on your face “you’re so pretty y/n” he smiled to himself “i wish i realised sooner what i feel for you…”

you, on the other hand, woke up when the doctors explained that you had a concussion to the team. you heard rhea talking with jey, you heard him confessing. you didn’t know what to feel. you’ve always had a little crush for the twin but the idea of him actually being in love with you never crossed your mind.

your body was still on fire, your head hurting but you needed to let jey know that you were there, that it wasn’t his fault, that you were in good hands and that you were going to be okay.

“jey…” your broken voice caught his attention.

“hey…” he whispered, a soft breath escaping his lips, relaxing a little bit.

you coughed a little before opening your eyes. they were burning, meeting the strong and white light of the room. it took you a few minutes to get adjusted to the ambient light and temperature “by the way, i think you’re very handsome…” you took him off guard and you saw it by his embarrassed face.

“how much did you hear?”

“pretty much everything” you tried to laugh but you coughed more and jey, trying not to panic, handed you a glass of water “thanks…”

he smiled “so you weren’t sleeping uh?”

“i was but you all couldn’t keep your mouth shut and you woke me up” you made him laugh. that’s what he always liked about you. your sarcasm and funny personality, the way you always tried to find the good in bad situations. you were so similar and yet so different at the same time.

“everything i said it’s true…i like you, i should have realised it sooner…but i really, really like you…” he confessed once again, making you smile. you tried your best to not to laugh but he was jey uso, always trying to be funny and sarcastic, so a few laughs escaped your lips “girl, im trying to be serious”

“sorry sorry…” you smiled, making him chuckle “but i think you’re pretty cool too…”

“just cool?” he teased you.

“cool, funny, very good looking…” you were playing his game and he loved it. you were making him go crazy “and i think i like you too…fuck, i’ve had a crush on you since rhea introduced us…”

“oh wow, you’re good at keeping secrets uh?” he winked, making you laugh again “would you like to be my girl?” his voice got a little bit too serious now “i’m serious when i say that i like you, a lot…i’m probably just too stupid because i could have realised it sooner…but i promise you that i’ll be here for you, i’ll help you heal and you’ll get stronger than ever…”

“this means a lot to me…it sucks not being able to be at bad blood though…i needed to see liv crying after she loses the title” you faked being disappointed, earning a laugh from the uso.

“i’ll take care of you girl, my girl, forever my girl if you let me…” he whispered, looking into your eyes.

“how can i say no when you look at me like that?” you matched his serious tone, making him smile.

“then say yes…be my girl” he moved closer to you, sitting on the bed instead of the chair next to you. his hand gently caressing your cheek, brushing delicately over your lips.

“yes…” you whispered meeting his smile.

he felt relieved that you were okay. probably not okay mentally and definitely not physically but you were there with him. comfortable in his touch and that was enough for him.

[fleming-o]

Beneath the surface

Alexia Putellas X Teen reader

TW: sh scars, BAD family life

if this is somthing that you do not find comfortable please don’t read!

---

The sun blazed down on the training grounds, turning the afternoon air heavy and thick. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, panting as you joined the team in a huddle for water. Alexia stood nearby, chatting with some of the other players, her laugh soft but warm, blending into the familiar sounds of the field. You kept to yourself, trying to blend into the background, as you always did.

Training had been intense, pushing everyone to their limits, and your mind felt just as strained as your body. You crouched to adjust your shin guards, pulling your socks up higher, but your kit was sticking to you from the heat. You tugged at the sleeve of your shirt, trying to get a little air. You forgot to be careful.

That’s when you noticed Alexia looking your way. Her eyes had shifted, catching sight of your arm, the faint, silvery lines tracing your skin. You froze. Time seemed to slow down, your heart hammering in your chest. You hastily pulled your sleeve down, hoping she hadn’t really seen, but it was too late. Her gaze softened instantly, shifting from confusion to concern.

You stood up quickly, trying to distract yourself, focusing on the drill starting up again. But your hands were shaking, and your stomach churned. You felt exposed.

As the team moved to resume training, Alexia stayed back for a moment, watching you from a distance. You felt her gaze, heavy but gentle, following you as you jogged into position. No words yet. Just her quiet understanding.

The drills went on, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind kept circling back to that moment, replaying the look in her eyes. You didn’t want to deal with this. Not here, not in front of everyone.

After what felt like an eternity, the coaches called for another break. You walked over to the benches, deliberately putting space between you and the others. Your hands were still trembling, and your chest felt tight, as if the air wasn’t coming in right.

Alexia approached slowly. She didn’t say anything at first, just sat down beside you, close enough to let you know she was there but far enough to give you space. The silence between you was almost unbearable.

“Hey,” she said softly after a few minutes, her voice low, just for you. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing up. You pulled your sleeve down further, fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

Alexia didn’t press, but her presence was like a weight, not in a bad way, but in the way that told you she wasn’t going anywhere. You wished she would leave, but at the same time, part of you wanted her to stay, wanted her to ask.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she added gently. “But I saw.”

Your heart sank. She really had noticed. You stared at the ground, your breath coming in shallow puffs. What could you even say? Your family’s lack of support, the isolation, the feeling of never being enough—it all knotted inside you, too painful to untangle in words.

Alexia was quiet for a long moment, waiting, letting the silence speak. She wasn’t going to rush you. When you didn’t respond, she leaned forward slightly, her voice even softer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your hands fidgeted in your lap, fingers twisting the bottom of your shirt. “There’s... there’s not much to say,” you mumbled, your voice thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

Alexia tilted her head slightly, watching you with that same, unyielding kindness. “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” she whispered. “I just... I want you to know that I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Her words pierced through the wall you’d built around yourself. You swallowed hard, the familiar ache rising in your chest. You couldn’t keep it all in, not now. Not when she was looking at you like that—like you mattered.

“I don’t... I don’t really have anyone,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “My family... they don’t care. They never have.”

Alexia’s face softened even more, her expression pained but understanding. She didn’t interrupt, letting you continue at your own pace.

“They just... I’ve tried so hard to make them proud, to be something they could be happy about, but nothing’s ever enough for them. I’m never enough.”

The words spilled out, one after the other, each one a small release of the pressure that had been suffocating you for so long. Your voice cracked, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to cry in front of her.

Alexia shifted closer, her hand reaching out slowly, as if to give you a chance to pull away if you didn’t want her touch. When you didn’t, she gently placed her hand on yours, her thumb rubbing soft, reassuring circles against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that.”

Her words broke something in you. The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, one after the other, and you quickly wiped them away, embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured. “You don’t have to hide how you feel. Not from me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, burying your face in your hands. It was too much—everything you’d been holding in for years, the hurt, the loneliness, the constant fight to prove your worth. It all crashed down on you at once.

Alexia shifted closer again, her hand never leaving yours. “You’re more than enough,” she said quietly, but firmly. “You don’t need anyone’s approval to prove that. Not your family’s, not anyone’s. You’re strong, and you’re talented, and you’re important to this team.”

You didn’t respond, but you let her words sink in, feeling their weight settle into the cracks of your heart. It was hard to believe her, hard to believe that you could be worth something, but hearing it from her—hearing it from someone who didn’t have to care but did—meant something.

“I know things are tough right now,” she added, her voice gentle. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re here for you. I’m here for you. Whenever you need someone.”

Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, offering a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. Slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting hers.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I just... I didn’t think anyone would care.”

Alexia’s expression tightened, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Of course, we care. You’re part of this team. And you matter.”

She pulled you into a soft embrace, her arms wrapping around you in a way that felt safe, like you didn’t have to be strong anymore, like it was okay to lean on someone else for a little while.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered again, holding you tightly. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

---

[mechaknight-98]

Outrage II (NSFW) FT Nayoung

Operator's Notes: Now back with more x-men lore and gratuitous nudity

The hectic sound stage made finding where to go for the girl group Lightsum difficult. Thankfully their manager was there to guide them. She led them to their markers and where they were to stand when performing and gave clear directions as they waited. After this last show, they’d be free to explore California to their heart’s content. For Nayoung this meant seeing her best friend Davy Jones also known by his stage name Kraken. As the music played Lightsum crafted an excellent and explosive performance of their newest song. After the performance, they sat across couches from the talk show host.

“Well, Lightsum that was a Pretty great performance. (The audience claps while the talk show host gesticulates to encourage more) you guys are so talented. Can I ask what drives you?”

The interviewer shifted her attention to Chowon. “Chowon, what drives you?”

Chowon smiled confidently, leaning into the question with the poise of a leader. "Honestly, I think it’s the desire to keep improving. Whether it's dancing, singing, or just connecting with our fans, there's always room to grow. That pushes me every day. We’re constantly evolving, and I love being a part of that process."

The host nodded thoughtfully. "That's a great perspective, always reaching for more."

Next, she turned to Sangah. "And what about you, Sangah?"

Sangah, known for her strong stage presence, gave a warm smile. "For me, it's my family. They've always been my biggest supporters, so I do everything I can to make them proud. My younger sister especially—she’s like my biggest fan. So I just want to give back to them in any way I can."

The audience let out a collective "aww" as Sangah’s sincerity resonated with them.

"And Hina?" the host asked, directing her attention to the youngest member.

Hina beamed with her usual youthful energy. "I just love being able to perform! When I see people dancing along with us or singing our songs, it feels like we’re all sharing this huge, exciting moment together. That’s what keeps me going—it’s like we’re all connected through the music."

The host smiled at Hina’s infectious enthusiasm. "It sounds like the whole group has such a strong connection to your fans and each other."

Nayoung, sitting beside them, listened as her members gave their answers before offering her own thoughts on being enamored with performing. The interviewer noticed that Nayoung’s answer stuck out the most, however. She cited a love of performing and being enamored by it.

“Oh enamored with performing huh?” The host said Smiling. Nayoung nods as she shifts in her chair.

"Speaking of Enamored, it seems like you have the eye of another performer, and fellow mutant right?"

Nayoung blushed and said, "Oh Kraken is just a friend but also a good musical partner. Our flows work really well together." Nayoung explained.

The interviewer smirked and said, "Right? Well, then I hope you two do many collaborations in the future because the chemistry between you two is electric in any genre."

After the interview Nayoung and the rest of the group head back to their hotel. They move through really quickly as they all get into their rooms, and when she’s showered and done she texts “I’m done” to Kraken” She is happy when she hears the knock on the door. She opens it to see her boyfriend the unclean vocalist for The Flying Dutchman Davy Jones, but also known for his side project Kraken, which most of the world knows him as. Nayoung holds him tight before giving him a myriad of kisses all over his face covering him in her lipstick. Nayoung smiles and says, "I missed you,"

Kraken smiles and says, "Well I am here for you, and the weekend is ours."

Nayoung smiles and says, "I am going to have so much fun with you this weekend,"

Kraken smiled and said, "I look forward to it.

Kraken teleported Nayoung with him to the studio where his friends were. It was her last off weekend before their next comeback and she wanted to spend it with Kraken whom she hadn't seen in almost a month. However JD and the rest of "The Flying Dutchman" were back in the studio, working on more songs for their new album. After Fans heard the single with her and became ravenous for more. So JD started writing Sledgehammer. Their heaviest song yet.

JD's bandmates were surprised to see JD with a woman. They thought their friend had taken a vow of celibacy a long time ago, but here they were meeting his new "Friend"

"So what is she doing here?" Douglas the "nonchallant" member asked.

"She wanted to hang out and likes our music so this seemed like a good idea to show her the new stuff we were working on."

"Are you sure about this?" Jojo the more cautious friend asked.

Nayoung opened her jacket to show her "The Flying Dutchman T-shirt and everyone relaxed as she sat on the producer's side.

Nayoung sat in the cozy, dimly lit recording studio, watching as the band members of The Flying Dutchman adjusted their instruments and fine-tuned their equipment. Kraken had invited her to join them for the session, and she was thrilled to witness the creative process firsthand.

As Kraken excused himself for a quick break, Jojo, the band's drummer, approached Nayoung with a friendly smile. He was stout, with a very brotherly demeanor that belied his intense focus when he played.

"Hey, Nayoung, right?" Jojo asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Yeah, that's me," she replied, smiling warmly.

Jojo leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the door to make sure Kraken was out of earshot. "So, Kraken’s been talking a lot about you lately."

Nayoung felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "Really? I hope it’s all good things."

Jojo chuckled. "Mostly. But seriously, we’re all pretty protective of him, you know?"

Nayoung nodded, understanding the sentiment. "I get it. He's a great guy, and I’d never want to hurt him."

"That's good to hear," Jojo said, his tone still light but with an edge of seriousness. "Kraken’s been through a lot with the band and all the pressures that come with it. He’s like a brother to us, and we just want to make sure he's happy."

"I really care about him," Nayoung said earnestly. "I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up."

Jojo studied her for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with her sincerity. "I believe you. Just know that if you ever need anything or if something’s bothering you about the whole band thing, you can talk to me or any of us."

"Thanks, Jojo. I appreciate that," Nayoung replied, grateful for the support.

As Kraken returned to the studio, oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place, Jojo gave Nayoung a reassuring pat on the shoulder and stood up.

"All right, let’s get back to it!" Jojo announced, picking up his drumsticks and heading back to his kit.

Kraken smiled at Nayoung as he sat down beside her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything’s great," Nayoung said, feeling elated.

When everything was set up Jojo started with some heavy percussions. Followed up by AJ's haunting baseline. To compliment Noah and Dougla's powerful riff lines on keys and guitar. The AJ started singing about Massive machines mashing municipalities. Nayoung watched happily. They worked so well together and then she noticed JD had taken his Psionic barriers down. And the edges of the room began to fray ever so slightly. Her eyes went wide as she hadn't really seen the visual effects of his powers but noticed that reality began to unravel at the seams.

She watched intrigue. Tentacles began to grow from the walls as his power superimposed itself on reality. The room seemed to take on an almost misty appearance like they were truly aboard a ghost pirate ship. Nayoung smiled seeing Kraken so at ease, and in his element.

"Controll the Mob, Master the tides. Control the people's covered eyes. Destroy identity and replace it with malady. Crush dissidents like a sledgehammer. Broken bones and dreams left to die."

JD screamed and Nayoung watched in awe as his voice tore through the slowly distorted reality. It created this super interesting effect on his voice that made it sound almost filtered. Nayoung listened to the rest and after finishing JD put his barriers back up and turned to see Nayoung rocking out and headbanging her hair whipping in the producer section.

"How was that Nayo?" JD asked taking Nayoung out of her trance.

"Oh, that was so good. I loved the breakdown where you held the Hammer growl for 15 seconds, and you guys (Pointing to the rest of the bandmates) killed it." Nayoung said happy. The rest of "The Flying Dutchman laughed and all started packing up. When they finished they all walked over to the other side and began listening to the runthrough. Nayoung sat in the back jamming as they mixed and mastered the song before she realized that one of the drum sections had a similar bounce to it like Honey or Spice. She turned to JD who was focused then smiled.

After they finished this song a couple of hours later Nayoung and Kraken were off in his car. As they drove Nayoung opened the window and had her hand wave outside of it when an idea popped into her head.

“We should go to Krakoa?” Nayoung says happily

“Um, why?” Kraken asked

Nayoung smiled, “Well You’ve never been and I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

"I don't think that's a good idea," Kraken said and Nayoung noticed his psionic barriers were back up. Nayoung smiled and said,

"Worried? That's so unlike you." she chided Kraken.

Kraken raised an eyebrow and then said, "Um well the issue is my dad was quite vocal against the leadership of Krakoa. So the moment they hear my name there may be an issue...or several."

Nayoung looked at Kraken worried, "Well do you believe what your dad said?"

"Some of it yes, and some of it no. He believed that having a super sapient continent that allowed mutants to be gods was a bad idea, which I disagree with. He also believed mutants were safe with regular humans, and seeing what happened with him and various hate groups over the years I disagree, but at the same time quite a few of the people who are in positions of power aren't good people."

Nayoung's eyes widened and asked, "Who?"

" Beast is a xenophobic racist trying to put a wall around Krakoa... Well, it's a psionic barrier that hurts mutants but you get the idea."

"Oh I remember that, but he did say it was hypothetical." Nayoung countered.

"He also made mention of chipping, tracking, and cataloging mutants," Kraken adds.

"Yeah, that was a crazy thing to say." Nayoung agreed

"Also this is discounting what dude said about mutants who stayed with humans as being house n-words," JD answers.

"Yeah Spike was a bit angry then but he's calmed down. On second thought you may be right because they have been in a weird spot these last few years"

"you know what" Let's go. Kraken said

Nayoung looked at Kraken shocked and to ease her worries he said,

"Well you know if I live in fear my whole life then nothing will change, so I might as well try to live outside of that fear."

Nayoung smiled proudly at Kraken, "Okay Let's get you packed."

After getting packed for the weekend trip Nayoung used her mutant's band to transport them to the mutant nation. She arrived in her family's other home. She smiled as she led Kraken to the room they'd be sharing. Kraken was surprised by the massive size of the whole house.

"Wow is your family like rich here?" Kraken asked.

Nayoung shook her head, "No just early adopters. My dad and mom took a chance and were rewarded greatly. It might not seem like it but we are a pretty big deal here."

Kraken nodded as he responded, "Okay that makes sense."

"So you ready to go out and see the country?" Nayoung asked Kraken

Kraken nodded as Nayoung led him outside. As she walked out she shed her "human form" and took on her fiery Psychic form. Kraken smiles as he looks at her, and lets his barriers psionic barriers down.

As Nayoung and Kraken stepped out of the house, the warm breeze of Krakoa greeted them. The sky was an impossibly vibrant blue, the sun casting a golden hue over the lush, sprawling landscape. Everything felt alive here—the trees seemed to hum, the ground pulsed with quiet energy, and the air itself felt rich with possibility. This was a place where mutants thrived, and Nayoung seemed to be in her element.

Nayoung let out a content sigh as she shifted into her fiery psychic form, her energy radiating in soft waves that shimmered around her. She glanced at Kraken, her eyes playful and bright. “Ready for the full Krakoa experience?” she asked, her voice teasing but full of excitement.

Kraken chuckled, finally letting down his psionic barriers. He felt a lightness as the psychic weight he constantly carried dissipated. “Lead the way,” he said, feeling more at ease than he had expected. There was something about being with Nayoung, in this place, that made everything feel...right.

They wandered through the lively streets of Krakoa, where other mutants greeted Nayoung with warm smiles and friendly waves. She was clearly well-known and liked here, and Kraken couldn’t help but admire the way she fit so effortlessly into this world. As they walked, she pointed out some of the landmarks, explaining bits of history and culture.

“That’s the Arbor Magna,” she said, nodding toward a massive tree that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. “It’s where the resurrection protocols happen. If a mutant dies, this is where they’re reborn.”

Kraken raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Reborn? Like...completely?”

“Yep,” Nayoung replied, her fiery form flickering slightly as she spoke. “Their memories, their essence—it all comes back. It’s kind of beautiful in a way, knowing that death isn’t the end here.”

Kraken thought about it for a moment. “It’s...different,” he admitted. “But I guess it’s comforting, too. Knowing you can come back.”

Nayoung smiled, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you die while we’re here. I plan on keeping you around for a while.”

Kraken smirked, glancing down at her. “Oh, is that so?”

She looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Of course. I still have a lot of things I want to do with you.”

As they continued walking, they found themselves by the beach. The sand was soft beneath their feet, and the water was a sparkling turquoise, inviting and serene. Nayoung kicked off her shoes, laughing as she ran toward the shoreline. She looked back at Kraken, her fiery form now glowing more brightly in the sunlight. “Come on!” she called out, her laughter infectious.

Kraken shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he followed her. The cool water lapped at their feet, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. He wrapped his arm around Nayoung’s waist, pulling her close. “This place is amazing,” he said quietly.

Nayoung leaned her head against his shoulder, her fiery aura softly blending with his energy. “It is. I’m glad you came with me.”

They stood there in silence for a while, just enjoying the moment, the calmness of the waves, and the warmth of each other’s presence. Finally, Kraken spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. “You know, I wasn’t sure about this whole trip. Krakoa...it’s not exactly what I expected.”

Nayoung looked up at him, curious. “What did you expect?”

Kraken shrugged. “Something more...chaotic, I guess. With everything I’ve heard about the politics here, I thought it would feel oppressive. But it’s...different. It feels free.”

Nayoung smiled softly, reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his face. “That’s what Krakoa is supposed to be—a home, a safe place for all mutants. Sure, there are problems, but every place has its issues. What matters is that we have each other.”

Kraken stared into her eyes for a long moment before leaning down to kiss her gently. The kiss was soft, sweet, and filled with all the unspoken words between them. When they finally pulled apart, Nayoung’s smile widened, and she playfully tugged him toward the water.

“Let’s go for a swim,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Kraken laughed. “You know I’m not really a swimming kind of guy.”

“Come on,” Nayoung urged, her hand slipping into his. “It’s Krakoa. Live a little!”

With a resigned sigh and a grin, Kraken followed her into the water, their laughter echoing across the shoreline. As they splashed and played, it was as if the weight of the world melted away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other’s light and warmth.

For the first time in a long time, Kraken felt completely free. And he realized, as he watched Nayoung float effortlessly beside him, her fiery aura casting a soft glow over the water, that maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.

As the day wound down Nayoung took Kraken to the last spot he "needed" to see the memorial of the fallen. As Nayoung and Kraken stood by the memorial of the fallen, the atmosphere was somber. The names of long-dead mutants etched into the stone served as a heavy reminder of the sacrifices made to build Krakoa, a place where mutants could be safe—at least in theory. The two of them stood silently, side by side, paying their respects to those who had fought and died for their people.

“I know I should probably say something deep here, but—” Kraken began, only to stop mid-sentence as his body tensed. Nayoung turned confusion and worry spreading across her face.

A pale hand erupted from Kraken’s chest, and blood pooled in his mouth. Nayoung’s heart raced as she watched, horrified, while a familiar, ghastly figure burst forth from Kraken’s body. Cassandra Nova. The pale figure smiled coldly, discarding Kraken’s body like an old shell.

"Ah, well, you were a good vehicle, Dai, but you’ve served your purpose,” Cassandra said casually, as though Kraken’s life had been nothing more than a tool for her rebirth. She extended her hands toward the graves. “Now, for revenge.”

Nayoung could do nothing but watch as Cassandra’s powers stirred the corpses buried beneath the memorial. The ground began to shift, and slowly, the long-dead mutants began to rise from their resting places, their bodies twisted and shrouded in shadowy forms.

Kraken’s vision dimmed, his consciousness slipping as Cassandra’s influence overpowered him. It was like fading into a dream he couldn’t wake up from. Everything became surreal—until a voice cut through the dark haze.

"Wow, that was horrible," the voice said, vibrant and full of energy.

“Huh?” Kraken replied, utterly confused.

“Well, long story short, Cassandra Nova used your mind as a Psionic safety deposit box to revive herself when she had enough energy. Unfortunately, killing you was kind of the last step in her plan. But good news! You’re not dead. At least, not fully. I can revive you, but there’s going to be some... changes.”

The voice explained that Cassandra had altered his X-gene, farming his psionic energy. That was why his barriers had always been up, protecting him even from his own powers. But now, his original mutation could reemerge.

Kraken nodded, unsure of what exactly that meant, but trusting the voice. “Well, I guess that beats being dead.”

“Great! I’ll fix your body, but you’re going to need to fight—like, right now.”

Before Kraken could even fully register what was happening, everything burst into a force of bright colors. Then, in an instant, he was back in the real world, standing face-to-face with a very surprised Cassandra Nova.

“That’s impossible!” she exclaimed, but her disbelief lasted only a second before Kraken’s fist connected with her face. The impact knocked her out cold, her body crumpling to the ground.

The next few minutes blurred together as Kraken dealt with the remaining shadowy corpses and assessed the situation. Nayoung rushed to his side, her face a mix of shock and relief. Kraken quickly explained what had happened with Cassandra Nova, how she had manipulated his X-gene and used him as a vessel for her resurrection.

As soon as he finished, Cyclops approached, his expression stern but not hostile. “We need to talk,” he said, gesturing for Kraken and Nayoung to follow him.

They were led to a secluded part of Krakoa, a quiet space away from the bustling center of the mutant nation. Waiting for them were Beast and Jean Grey, their faces serious as they gathered around to discuss what had just occurred. Cyclops crossed his arms, his eyes sharp as he addressed Kraken.

“We’ve been monitoring your arrival since you set foot on Krakoa,” Cyclops began. “We were aware of your connection to Cassandra Nova, but we didn’t know the full extent of it. Until now.”

Beast adjusted his glasses, his voice clinical but with a hint of concern. “Your X-gene has been... tampered with. Cassandra Nova didn’t just farm your powers for energy; she altered your entire mutation. What you have now is unlike anything we’ve seen before.”

Jean Grey chimed in, her tone softer. “We want to help you, Kraken, but we need to understand what’s happened to you first. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s clear Cassandra Nova manipulated more than just your abilities.”

Kraken shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. “I didn’t know she was using me as a backup plan. But now that she’s gone...”

Cyclops raised an eyebrow. “Is she gone? You knocked her out, but we both know someone like Cassandra Nova doesn’t stay down for long.”

Nayoung, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. “Kraken didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t know he was being used. We should be focusing on how to help him, not interrogating him.”

Jean nodded in agreement, stepping forward. “You’re right, Nayoung. Kraken is a victim of all of this. But he’s also a survivor.”

Beast interjected, his voice more pragmatic. “We need to keep a close eye on him. If his mutation has evolved beyond our understanding, we need to be prepared for any potential dangers.”

Kraken clenched his fists. “I’m not a threat.”

Cyclops uncrossed his arms, his posture relaxing slightly. “We’re not saying you are. But we’ve seen how dangerous tampered mutations can be, especially ones manipulated by someone like Cassandra Nova.”

Kraken looked to Nayoung, her presence calming him amidst the tension. She gave him a small, reassuring smile before turning to the others. “He’s not alone in this. Whatever happens, I’m with him.”

Cyclops exchanged a glance with Jean before nodding. “We’ll keep an open mind. For now, get some rest. We’ll reconvene once we’ve had more time to assess the situation.”

As they turned to leave, Kraken felt Nayoung slip her hand into his, grounding him once more. They had survived Cassandra Nova’s return together, and whatever came next, they would face it side by side. They arrive at her house for the night and walk in exhausted.

"That knockout punch was so funny." Nayoung teased. Kraken rolled his eyes as they moved around the living room eventually finding themselves in their shared bedroom getting ready to sleep.

When Nayoung bent over to pick something up Kraken noticed her perky jiggly ass for the first time. It looked so soft and squeezable. His intrusive thoughts told him to "grab it" repeatedly. Without a second thought, he reached out and grabbed it. Nayoung yelled at the unfamiliar feeling but as she felt the large hand grope and tease her ass she felt herself beginning to get wet. She turned around to see a dazed Kraken mindlessly grab her ass. She smiled as she bit her lip before turning to him.

“Oh naughty boy,” she teased, and Kraken lost control. He brought Nayoung in for a lurid kiss as he continued groping her soft bouncy ass. He had no idea where these impulses were coming from but just followed them. Nayoung on her part felt his strong hands roam her ass and smiled at him seductively in between chaste kisses. As they kiss Nayoung begins to grind her ass on Kraken’s crotch she smiles as she watches him shiver in pleasure.

“You like my ass baby?” she whispers with a seductive voice before going in for another kiss. Kraken nodded

“Then you should fuck it,” Nayoung said seductively as she casually dropped both of their pants. She marvels at his hard cock.

“Oh nice.” she cooed. Kraken lines himself with her asshole and watches as it clenched. Without warning Kraken slams his cock into Nayoung. She moans and groans in pleasure in pain as she arches her back into him. She rams her aching ass back onto Kraken hoping to get his dick deeper in her ass. As she did she guided his hands to her petite but bouncy breasts.

“Oh fuck yes. Tear my ass up.” Nayoung moans as her slick drips under them. Krakens’s grip tightens around Nayoung’s Breasts as he pounds her tight little ass. She doesn't even need to read his mind to know his brain is overstimulated by her and his new feelings. She laughs when she feels him erupt inside of her ass.

“Oh such a big load for me,” Nayoung says.

Kraken catches his breath as he and Nayoung fall into the nearby bed. She stares at him tenderly. She notices he is still hard for her. She smiles as she gently strokes his cock. She stares at him with the biggest heart eyes she has.

"you know I was beginning to think you didn't find me attractive." Nayoung teased.

"Why would you think that?" Kraken asked

Nayoung groaned as she said, "Well you never made a move until now?"

Kraken shrugged "well the urge never hit me until now."

"Huh weird. I guess Mrs. Nova was locking your libido down too." Nayoung suggested as she began to pick up the pace a bit on her handjob. Kraken groaned as she did so. Nayoung smiled.

"this new body is so responsive. I don't think I have ever seen you so reactive." Nayoung teased.

"Fuck Nayo keep it up I'm close." Kraken moaned. Nayoung smiled and said,

"What if I were to just stop right here, and leave you on the edge." to illustrate her point she slowed down to a tortously glacial pace. she smiled at Kraken, who moaned and bucked his hips into her hand.

"Um no no. I am in control baby. you'll get pleasure when I say so," she says as she grips on his meat tighter. she smiles when little beads of precum drip out into her hand, and she continues to stare at Kraken with those heart eyes before saying, "Okay now." before taking an unrelenting pace that's only goal was to get Kraken to cum. a few seconds later he exploded in her hand, and Nayoung smirked reveling in her control of her man.

The next morning, the sun rose over Krakoa, casting a warm golden light over the island's lush landscapes. Kraken and Nayoung were sitting outside, enjoying the peace and quiet after the chaos of the previous day. Kraken, still adjusting to the idea of being back in his original body, let his mind wander, wondering what the day ahead would bring.

Just then, a shimmering portal opened in front of them, and out stepped X-23, Magik, and Nightcrawler. Kraken tensed, recognizing them immediately as some of Krakoa's elite. Nayoung glanced at him with a reassuring smile, though her eyes were curious as well. They both stood as the trio approached.

"Kraken, Nayoung," Nightcrawler greeted warmly, his distinctive blue skin and gentle smile instantly putting Nayoung at ease. He glanced at Kraken with interest before turning his focus back to the group. "We wanted to check on you after yesterday’s... unexpected event."

"Unexpected is one way to put it," Kraken muttered, his arms crossed. "But I appreciate the concern."

Nightcrawler’s golden eyes studied Kraken for a moment before a look of recognition crossed his face. “Wait… I know you. You’re Daizen’s son, aren’t you? Daizen from Stanford, the professor.”

Kraken blinked in surprise. He wasn’t used to people recognizing his family, especially here. "Yeah... that’s my dad. Daizen Ishikawa. You knew him?"

Nightcrawler nodded, his expression a mix of admiration and somberness. “He was a great man, a prominent pro-mutant activist. He always fought for understanding between humans and mutants. I remember hearing him speak at the United Nations once. But...” Nightcrawler hesitated, "he was also... vocal in his opposition to Krakoa, wasn’t he?"

Magik, standing next to Nightcrawler with her sword resting on her shoulder, raised an eyebrow. "He was the one who said Krakoa would turn mutants into gods, wasn’t he?"

Kraken sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, that sounds like him. My dad was always complicated. He believed in mutants and humans coexisting, but he didn’t like the idea of isolating mutants on an island. Said it made us look like we were turning our backs on the world instead of fixing it."

X-23, quiet until now, crossed her arms and stepped forward. "So what do you think? Are you like him?"

Kraken met her gaze, his face unreadable for a moment before he spoke. "I’m not my father. I don’t agree with everything he said. He believed humans were capable of protecting mutants if we gave them the chance. But after seeing hate groups rise up, after what happened to him... I can't say I have that much faith."

Nayoung placed a comforting hand on his arm, sensing the emotion behind his words. Kraken took a deep breath, trying to find the right way to explain his beliefs. "I believe... that standing up for yourself is the only way to survive. You can’t wait for someone to save you. If you don’t fight for your own freedom, no one else will. And when you stand up, it gives others permission to do the same. That’s how you build stronger relationships, whether it’s between humans and mutants or between anyone. You show people your strength, and that pushes them to respect you."

Nightcrawler tilted his head, thoughtful. “So you believe in mutual respect earned through action?”

“Yeah," Kraken said, nodding. "I think mutants have to show the world we won’t be victims anymore, but that doesn’t mean we isolate ourselves. We have to engage with humans, show them we’re not going to be pushed around, but we’re also not above them. That’s how real relationships grow."

Magik gave a small smirk. "Interesting. You sound like you’d fit right in here after all."

X-23 uncrossed her arms, her expression softening slightly. "You’re saying we need to be strong, but not just for ourselves. For everyone else, too."

Kraken nodded again, more firmly this time. "Exactly. Standing up for yourself teaches others to stand up for themselves. And once that happens, respect grows naturally. It’s not about being superior or inferior—it’s about being equal, but not relying on someone else to define that for you."

Nightcrawler’s gaze softened with understanding, and he nodded in agreement. “Your father was a wise man, and it seems that you’ve inherited his passion, even if your paths differ.”

"I suppose," Kraken replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "But it’s not just about mutants being ‘better’ than humans, or setting ourselves apart. It’s about making sure we’re part of the world, standing our ground, and not letting fear—or anyone else—dictate our place in it."

Nayoung looked up at Kraken, her eyes bright with pride. “You’re right. If we want things to change, we can’t just run away from the world. We have to face it.”

X-23 nodded, stepping back as if the conversation had satisfied her curiosity. "Sounds like you’ve got your head on straight. Guess we don’t have to worry about you being like Cassandra Nova, after all."

Kraken let out a small, dry laugh. “Definitely not.”

Magik’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You might just survive here, Kraken."

Nightcrawler smiled warmly, reaching out to shake Kraken’s hand. “Welcome to Krakoa, my friend. I think you’ll find there are many here who share your beliefs.”

As Kraken shook his hand, he felt a sense of acceptance from the group, something that had been missing since he set foot on Krakoa. Maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a place here after all.

As they turned to leave, Kraken exchanged a glance with Nayoung. "Looks like I’m not so out of place here, huh?"

Nayoung smiled. “Told you so.”

Kraken glanced at it absentmindedly, seeing that he was tagged in a post by The Flying Dutchman’s official page. He opened the app, expecting some promotional material for their upcoming album, but as he scrolled through the post, his stomach twisted.

The words felt foreign, even though they were written clearly in front of him. “New sound, new direction. Excited to welcome our new vocalist…” Kraken’s grip tightened on his phone as he kept reading. Anger flared first, but sadness soon followed, settling deep in his chest.

Nayoung’s voice was light and cheerful in the background, talking to her members, but the sharp contrast to Kraken’s mounting turmoil felt like static in his head. She turned back to him, noticing the shift in his energy before she even saw his face.

“You okay?” she asked softly, stepping toward him.

Kraken took a slow breath, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “I’ll try to be.”

Nayoung didn’t seem convinced. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and peppering him with soft kisses. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. Stay safe, okay?”

Kraken only nodded, watching as she headed off with her group. Once she was out of sight, he turned and walked home in silence.

Two weeks later.

At Nayoung’s concert in LA, Kraken sat in the audience, enjoying the energy of the crowd, though a part of him still felt disconnected from the excitement. Afterward, they met up at a quiet burger joint, the dim lighting and soft murmur of conversation providing a sense of calm after the high-energy performance.

Nayoung looked at him curiously, sensing something had shifted in him. He looked different somehow, more distant. She couldn’t quite place it.

“You know,” she began, taking a sip of her drink, “there’s this new artist I found recently. Reminds me a lot of you. His name is Daikaiju. He’s really good.”

Kraken raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Oh yeah? What’s your favorite song of his?”

Nayoung beamed, glad to see him smile, even if just for a moment. “Definitely Rampage. It’s eerie and moody but the lyrics are so fascinating. It’s like he’s trapped in this city full of people who use him. And then there’s Calamity, oh man, that one’s about standing up for yourself even when it’s terrifying.” She paused, watching him for a reaction. “Kind of like you.”

Kraken chuckled softly, nodding. “Sounds like my kind of music.”

“But enough about that—how’s The Flying Dutchman doing? I thought you guys just dropped a new album.”

Kraken’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he shrugged. “You should give it a listen.”

Nayoung frowned, confused. She took out her phone, pulling up the album she’d saved but hadn’t had time to hear yet. She tapped on Sledgehammer, expecting to hear Kraken’s familiar voice. As the song played, she frowned, skipping ahead. His voice was nowhere to be found.

Her confusion turned to shock as she checked the lead single—the one they’d worked on together. Nothing.

“They kicked you out,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kraken nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

“But why? What happened?” she demanded, her anger rising.

Kraken’s smirk was bitter. “It’s simple, really. They saw the fight in Krakoa, saw me getting involved with mutants, and got scared. Said it was bad for the band’s image. I guess it wasn’t about the music anymore.”

Nayoung’s eyes flashed with fury. “That’s ridiculous!”

Kraken shrugged again, the weight of it all heavier than he let on. “It is what it is.”

Nayoung reached across the table, grabbing his hand. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re an amazing artist, and if they can’t see that, screw them.”

Kraken’s smile returned, softer this time. “Thanks. But hey, at least there’s always Daikaiju.”

Nayoung squeezed his hand, determined to support him, no matter what. Kraken smiled mischeviosky as Nayoung hugged him. She noticed and said,

“What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” Kraken responded. Nayoung pouted, “you're hiding something.” she said suspicious of Kraken.

“I am but I can't reveal everything just yet.”

Over the next few days, Nayoung found herself listening to Daikaiju more often than she intended. At first, it was just curiosity. The artist had dropped four singles seemingly out of nowhere, and the buzz around him was growing by the day. But it wasn’t just the hype—it was the music itself that grabbed her and wouldn’t let go. Each track carried a weight, as though the artist was unburdening himself with every note, every word.

Rampage was the first to hook her. It began with a slow, steady pulse of industrial beats, building gradually into a cacophony of heavy guitars and eerie synths. The sound was so raw, almost unpolished, but in a way that felt intentional. Like the music itself was a fight to maintain control, to keep from spiraling. The lyrics were sharp, almost biting. Daikaiju spoke of being trapped, surrounded by people and forces that drained him, used him, and cast him aside. But beneath that rage was something more—a sense of defiance.

The bridge of the song was quieter, almost a whisper, and Nayoung found herself leaning in, waiting for the next line. “Claws sharpened on broken chains… wings clipped, but I’ll soar again,” he sang. There was something unmistakably mutant in that imagery, something that spoke to the struggle of hiding, of being forced to suppress a part of yourself that should be free.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d heard this story before.

As the days went on, Nayoung dove deeper into Daikaiju’s music. Calamity came next, and she listened to it on repeat for hours. The song was slower, more haunting, with dissonant chords clashing against a backdrop of ambient noise. The lyrics painted a picture of cowardice and bravery, of the terrifying moment when you have to choose between hiding or standing up for yourself. “Courage isn’t in the absence of fear,” Daikaiju’s voice crooned, “it’s knowing fear, and standing anyway.”

There was something achingly personal in the way he sang those lines. It felt less like he was performing and more like he was confessing.

Every time Nayoung played one of his tracks, she felt a sense of familiarity tugging at the edges of her mind. It was more than just recognizing the themes of struggle and defiance—it was as if the person behind the music was someone she knew intimately. His voice carried a vulnerability she recognized, though it was often masked by the layers of distortion and effects. Daikaiju didn’t just sing about pain, isolation, and determination—he lived it in every note.

Late one night, Nayoung was scrolling through fan comments on one of the music forums when something caught her eye. Someone had written under a post about Eclipse, one of Daikaiju’s singles: “This guy sounds like Kraken but with more raw emotion. Anyone else getting that vibe?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Kraken. It couldn’t be, could it?

She tried to shake the thought from her mind at first. Kraken had been through a lot lately—getting kicked out of The Flying Dutchman, the fight in Krakoa—but this? This seemed almost too coincidental. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The sudden change in Kraken’s behavior after the trip to Krakoa, the distant way he had been acting during their last few conversations. There was something unspoken hanging between them, something Kraken hadn’t been able to say outright.

And now, listening to Daikaiju, she could feel it. It was Kraken’s voice. Not just in the literal sense, though it had that same familiar grit and tone—but in the emotional depth, in the way he laid bare his struggles without fully explaining them. This was Kraken, stripped of the bravado and stage presence of The Flying Dutchman. This was Kraken speaking directly from his soul, unfiltered.

Her fingers shook as she hit replay on Rampage. This time, she listened even more intently, her mind racing. She heard the subtle shifts in his voice, the way he struggled to keep the anger in check. She recognized the lines that spoke to her directly, that made her think of the conversations they’d had late into the night about what it meant to be a mutant, about the battles they faced just to be themselves.

It was all there, hidden in plain sight. The identity Kraken had hidden from the world was woven into every beat, every word of Daikaiju’s music. He hadn’t explicitly said it, but it was there, for those who listened closely enough to understand.

Nayoung’s heart swelled with pride—and a deep sadness. Kraken had gone through this alone. He had taken all of the pain, the rejection, the confusion, and turned it into art. But in doing so, he had distanced himself from the people who cared about him.

She couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been planning this. Daikaiju wasn’t just a side project—it was his way of rebuilding himself, of finding a new voice after losing his place in the band. But it was also a way of hiding. By releasing this music under a new name, he was protecting himself from the vulnerability of exposing his true feelings.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how deeply personal Daikaiju was. Kraken had taken his childhood nickname—Kaiju—and combined it with his first name, Daizen, to create something entirely new. It was as if he was reclaiming a part of himself he had lost over the years, a part that had been overshadowed by the fame and pressure of being in The Flying Dutchman.

Nayoung smiled, a bittersweet feeling washing over her. She had always known Kraken to be someone who fought for what he believed in, who stood up for himself no matter the odds. But now, she was seeing a different side of him—a side that was more introspective, more vulnerable. And she admired him even more for it.

With a soft sigh, she put her headphones down and sent Kraken a text: “You should know, Daikaiju is amazing. I’m proud of you.”

A few minutes passed before Nayoung’s phone buzzed, breaking her reverie. It was Kraken—no, Daikaiju now, she reminded herself. She couldn’t help but smile as she answered, excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“So, you figured it out. My little sleuth,” he said, his voice laced with a playful mischief that immediately made her heart skip.

“Yeah,” Nayoung replied, trying to match his teasing tone, “on my fifteenth listen of Rampage, I finally cracked the case. I didn’t know you had more in you than just metal, Kraken.”

“Daikaiju,” he corrected, but there was no seriousness in it. “And yeah, there’s a lot I’ve been keeping under wraps. Metal’s great and all, but there’s more to me than just screaming and shredding.”

Nayoung grinned. “Mmm, there is, isn’t there?” She let her words hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the way they teased out a little silence before Kraken spoke again.

“Well, you know,” he began, his tone becoming more reflective, “one of the biggest things I pushed for in The Flying Dutchman was trying new sounds, experimenting beyond metal. But for them, it was always about being technically perfect. Especially Douglas. Everything had to be precise, academic even. Time signatures had to be flawless, tempos had to be perfect, and they were obsessed with hitting every mark.”

Nayoung could hear the frustration in his voice, though he kept it light. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, it was. They were so caught up in making the music ‘perfect’ that they couldn’t finish anything. Before I joined, they could barely complete a song. It was like they were more interested in the mechanics of music than the art. I remember at one point saying, ‘Look, how are we supposed to play half of this stuff live?’ You know? Live performances are where we make a big chunk of our money, and some of their ideas were just impossible to pull off.”

She laughed softly. “I can’t even imagine trying to sing along to that.”

Kraken chuckled in return. “Exactly! It got so bad that it sucked the fun out of creating. Music stopped being about making something that spoke to people—it became a math equation. Sure, we sounded good on a technical level, but we were missing soul.”

“Well,” Nayoung said, her voice teasing again, “I think you’ve done an exceptional job with Daikaiju. Your sequencing is impeccable. You’ve got a way of blending chaos with melody. It’s clever. Really clever.”

“Thank you,” Kraken replied, a warmth creeping into his voice. He paused, as if taking a moment to absorb her compliment. “Daikaiju’s different because... it’s me. Completely independent. I can do whatever I want with it, release music when I’m ready, on my own terms.”

Nayoung giggled. “So, basically, you’re saying you can release music at an almost uncontrollable, chaotic rate?”

Kraken laughed. “Pretty much. Like a wildfire—once it starts, it’s hard to stop.”

“Sounds like you’re enjoying the freedom,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.

“I am. It’s been liberating. No more pressure to fit into someone else’s vision or be perfect all the time. I get to mess up. I get to create without the fear of being judged for it. And it’s funny... the less ‘perfect’ I try to be, the more people seem to connect with the music.”

Nayoung’s heart softened at the vulnerability he was showing. “That’s because people can hear you now. The real you, not the version someone else wanted you to be.”

“Maybe,” Kraken replied quietly, almost to himself. Then, in a lighter tone, he added, “Alright, last question, detective Nayoung.”

“Wait, no,” she protested, “I get to ask the last question!” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Fine, fine,” he said, playing along. “What’s your final inquiry, detective?”

She bit her lip, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “When’s the Daikaiju tour, and when are you coming to Seoul? I want to see you again.”

Kraken laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a flutter through her chest. “Ah, that’s the question, huh?”

“Of course. I’m your biggest fan now,” she teased, her voice softening. “I think I deserve a VIP ticket, at least.”

“You’re more than a VIP,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone that made her pulse quicken. “I could visit Seoul anytime. You know that.”

“Hmm, well, I’m waiting,” Nayoung said playfully. “Just tell me when.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I’m packed. How does that sound?”

Nayoung’s smile widened. “It sounds like a plan. Just make sure you bring Daikaiju with you.”

“Oh, I’ll bring more than that,” he replied, his voice full of promise. “I’ll bring everything.”

Nayoung’s heart fluttered at the playfulness of his words, but there was an underlying sincerity that made her feel like this was more than just music. Kraken—no, Daikaiju—was stepping into a new chapter, one where he was fully himself. And she couldn’t wait to be a part of it

[akutasoda]

“the longer you wait, the closer you get to suffocating”

--love wasn't necessary to be a stoneheart, and so he buried it deep beneath facade's. so far below that he couldn't recognise the signs of love even when they were staring right at him.

--warnings - gn!reader, angst no comfort(?), some fluff, unknowingly pining??, maybe ooc, wc - 1.8k

--a/n: i think im allergic to making him happy :/ anyway i feel like this is kind of rushed but rrghhh (shouts to the amazing @mitsvriii and @theother-victoria for proofreading)

aventurine never loved.

the stoneheart never knew the embrace of a loved one, soft-spoken genuine words, or even what it was to even recognise the signs. love was a foreign concept. something that wasn't needed in the world of contracts and lies, it was something that could be used against you, to punish someone foolish enough to think with their heart and not their brain.

he didn't need it anyway. in some distant past of golden sands and gleaming smiles, love was common. childlike wonder and affection was exchanged between families and those considered family, but that didn't last long. scorching flames rained down upon them, loved ones buried beneath the serene sands and forgotten.

the love made it hard to let go. traumatic to watch as every single person the boy cared for succumbed to pain and death's cold embrace, his tears did nothing. they didn't convince those that started the massacre to stop, to spare even one shred of the boy's livelihood because they didn't have love. the massacre was only a means to an end - emotional attachments were insignificant.

the scars never healed, the sights were forever engraved into the young avgins mind. the only time he could really dwell on them however was in the rare moments of silence he had. from his life as a young avgin to his life as a stoneheart, at every step and every turn something happened to him.

for someone blessed with luck, it never felt like it. they say that the end justifies the end, but he would prefer the end never arrived if he had to go through all the suffering and misfortune to get there. it was as if his luck only worked if he went through mental turmoil and struggle beforehand.

no matter what he lost, it all turned out for him in the long run. but was losing everything he had worth the luck that allowed him to live on with those memories?

---✩

you'd met through mutual acquaintances, those who weren't as afraid to let people into their lives - namely topaz.

he'd caught a glimpse of you with topaz as he roamed the halls of one of the IPC’s main buildings. naturally he was intrigued. aventurine had never seen you before and, judging from how close you and topaz were acting, you must have been of some importance to her.

topaz was approached by her colleague after you'd bid farewell a while ago. she had no obligation to actually tell him who you were, topaz liked maintaining a good work - life balance and you were a part of her personal life, aventurine was mainly a part of her work life. however, she obliged anyway, she trusted him more than the other stonehearts.

it was a short explanation, you were simply a friend of hers that she'd asked to stop by because work was piling up lately and topaz couldn't have seen you otherwise. topaz could see aventurines interest from a mile away, uncharacteristic coming from him, but she knew that he would play it off as a passing intrigue - still out of character in her opinion.

but topaz wasn't as blind as aventurine insisted he was and so perhaps she deliberately tried to ask you to visit her just before she knew aventurine was going to be around. she wasted no time in subtly introducing the two of you properly, before anyone knew it, you and aventurine proved to be an unrivaled match.

it was almost shocking how quickly you worked your way into the stonehearts life. developing a closer relationship than with anyone else aventurine knew - even topaz was shocked. soon it was like aventurine had known you since before he adopted such an identity.

you gave him a warmth that he could only dream of now. one that a previous form knew of well but now, it was a foreign concept. he couldn't recognise the signs, see what everyone else saw when you two were around each other. your constant affection was a clear sign that you were friends, but eventually somewhere along the line, that friendship blossomed into a longing for something more.

you tried subtle advances, hints and such to suggest a genuine interest in aventurine as something more. everything you laid down, he didn't pick up - if he did, he didn't show it.

however, aventurine was blind. a fool when it came to looking emotions in the face, unable to see the signs and pushing anything that bubbled to the surface as far down as possible. aventurine didn't need anything other than acquaintances or business partners - friends were a wild exception but even he sometimes denied it mentally.

everyone that knew it well enough knew, it was glaringly obvious. even to veritas as he watched the stoneheart perk up at the notification his phone showed him. undoubtedly a message from you, basing the assumption on how quickly he responded or how he smiled like a dumbstruck fool.

about half an hour ago, aventurine barged into the doctor's office and slumping down in his chair. ratio didn't care, too used to it by this point and too focused on the current problem that plagued his mind and caused him to work tirelessly to solve.

it was about ten minutes ago that aventurine resigned to his phone after ratio's lack of interaction with him - he sighed as the doctor clearly saw more interest in his equations. now, he was messaging you.

“any developments” ratio’s voice snapped aventurines head up from his phone, looking quizzically to the doctor

he paused “what do you mean?” slowly setting his phone down

now it was ratio's time to sigh “you and your obvious infatuation” pointing toward the stonehearts phone

“what? no.” a nervous laugh escaped him “acquaintances, that's all we are. you're thinking too much into this doctor”

to ratio, aventurine was clearly in denial. dismissing the situation at any given time and so he went back to his equation - it was more entertaining than fighting with aventurine’s denial.

“fine, forget i asked” ratio began to shift his entire attention away from the gambler. aventurine stared at the doctor for a bit too long

he could sense the other man's gaze and so ratio merely sighed “let me offer you some advice gambler”

aventurine almost wanted to laugh, veritas ratio offering him emotional advice. a rather comical situation in his opinion

“you have to put your heart out there, it may be broken but that's how you know you have one” ratio’s words halted him, staring almost wide eyed as the doctor retreated

maybe he should've taken that advice.

---✩

when aventurine was first assigned his mission for penacony, he immediately told you. there were no specific details involved, just that he was going away for a bit due to work and so wouldn't be around. it wasn't entirely uncommon for him to do so, and you merely acknowledged it and wished him well, a safe return even.

unfortunately, aventurine hadn't told you a key detail. he never planned to return. guilt consumed him when he didn't tell you, hearing you wish him well really set it in, but this was a choice he made. one that he was determined to not go back on.

as soon as opal gave him the whole mission brief, he knew what had to be done. accepting the mission meant accepting his fate, both him and opal were very aware. neither of them stopped aventurine however.

but aventurine didn't know how you'd react. he could guess that it wouldn't be well, seeing as barely anyone would react well to someone they cared about telling them that they planned to never return after a mission. so aventurine withheld his real intent in order to save you the trouble.

aventurine didn't want a fussy send off. admittedly the way he planned to go would be anything but quite or lowkey, but he knew that you'd try and stop him. to convince him to change his mind and find an alternative that would involve him seeing another day.

but you didn't know.

aventurine reciprocated your genuine smile when you wished him well before he finally left for penacony. that would be the last time he saw that smile.

---✩

penacony was flashy, he expected no less from the planet of festivities. bright lights, billboards, unique food on every corner and varieties of people. they would all be the witnesses to his planned spectacle, the more the merrier in his opinion.

he couldn't miss the way that his eyes lingered for a beat more than they should on certain stores. the products inside temporarily making his thoughts drift back to you, making a mental reminder to himself to buy it for you later but reminding himself that it would be pointless - although his subconscious would make him buy it and immediately sent it to you.

even in the chaos that was penacony and it's guests, you still found a way to wind up in his thoughts - bringing his thoughts about the mission to a temporary halt and having a moment of respite. brief memories flashing in his mind that made him stop and smile, the sentimentality getting to him.

but it wouldn't change his mind.

aventurine never allowed his emotions to get in the way of work. you wouldn't make an exception. he stopped caring for his own life ages ago, time and time again it was beaten into him and it was the only way he could've gotten this far.

emotions had never done anything but hurt him, caused him more pain than worth. he was no longer kakavasha. he was aventurine, one of the ten stonehearts and they valued results, not petty feelings. no business deal worked out when you let your heart get in the way.

no plan worked when every minute he was thinking about what could've been. aventurine was being dumb, you wouldn't love him. all those signals were simply you being a friend, nothing more - and he should be happy that you even saw him as such. aventurine shouldn't be wishing for more.

a heavy sigh escaped him as he snapped out of his thoughts. the lights at clock studios theme park seemed brighter, tauntingly so, as of they were out to mock him with happiness that could've been and yet he still chose the darkness of death. tucking his hand behind him, shaking, he stepped heavy steps toward the stage.

the show must go on.

---✩

it was cold.

pitch black endlessness illuminated by the symbol of nihilty’s form.

he looked down at his hands, shaking more than ever and he wasn't even putting his life on the line, then he looked up.

kakavasha.

had he died? were these the final moments of aventurine?

he'd soon learn they weren't. and as that emanator walked away, he realized that he lived. he failed. and yet, was it really a failure if he could see you one more time?

maybe, just maybe, he could finally own up to his feelings.

rest of the "series"

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[nattblacklupin]

Cupids ride

Pairing: Rhysand x fem! Reader

Warnings: Little angst - not really tho, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, amusement park, Mor being supportive bestie

Summary: You're in love with your childhood best friend since forever. You plan on confessing your feelings on special starfall celebrations when something tries to ruin your plans.

Masterlist

Rhysand had been your best friend since childhood. You remember all of the memories you made with each other. The memories that lingered the most were the moments you slowly fell in love with him. Slowly but hardly, you didn't even realise it till you were drowning in your love for him. His smile awoke butterflies in your stomach, making your cheeks red when it's directed at you. You never felt what you did now, not when you were dating some lyrian soilder that wanted you to be his good little wife, not when Helion wanted for you to sleep with him. What you felt was something deeper, stronger. Even the strongest faes could not stop you from feeling what you feel towards Rhysand.

After discussion with Azriel, the only person that you knew wouldn't tell anyone about your little secret. You decided to confess your feelings. It would be so much better than keeping them inside and hurting yourself and possibly him, too, in the end.

The timing seemed perfect for your plan. This year, Rhysand had planned something extra special for Starfall, insisting that the celebration could be even more magical. And you knew how to make it even more memorable for him.

You had to giggle to yourself when the idea of taking him to date there and confessing your feelings came to your mind. Running over to the table in your room you couldn't help but be happy, everything is going according to your plan. Sitting down with a flick of your hand, you summoned parchment and some pen you can write letter to Rhysand with.

Dear Rhysand,

Hello, how have you been in the day court? And when are you possibly coming back? I apologise for all my witty questions that could be perceived as spying for Azriel (maybe I am, you never know). But I would like to invite you with me to the theme park you organised. We could maybe even go try the ride of cupit, or eye of Velaris how you like to call it. Please answer as soon as possible.

Yours,

Y/N

With a light flick of your hand, you send the letter to Rhysand, hoping it will find him in Day court. Your heart hoped even more he would stop his business there to answer. You knew how much he prioritized his work so his court could be happy and save. And in time of starfall, he did even more, wanting to spend time with his family without having to worry about anything going wrong.

It was the day of starfall, and Rhys still didn't come or even send a letter back. You couldn't help but lay in your bed with a blanket over your head. In two hours is the main part of starfall that all of the night court gathers to watch and enjoy, yet you weren't even getting ready, still sad of the possibility of Rhysand not coming.

Suddenly, Mor barged into your room with a beautiful purple dress in her hand. She was dressed in a beautiful red dress that hugged her every curve.

"Stand up and stop moping around. And I don't take no as a answer" you knew arguring with her would let to nothing as she's stubborn and won't stop till she gets what she wants.

"Look at the dress I brought you." You looked up and down the dress she was now holding in both of her hands like proud mother. "Are you sure it will fit me, Mor?" You asked, not sure about how you will look in it.

"Oh please, you will look magnificent in it. Just imagine Rhys' reactions when he sees you." You stood up as fast as you possibly can. "Rhys is coming?" You asked hopefully to which Mor answered only with smile and tossed the dress at you. "Get dressed. I will do your makeup and hair." She winked and left.

You quickly put the dress on, admiring yourself in the mirror. Mor really choosen well with this one. It was a beautiful purple dress that had gems tailored in it that sparkled as the skies of night court. The dress had just enough cleavage for you to feel comfortable and not like you're being exposed too much. You had to thank Mor for this.

"I have to go to Emerie, I hope you can entertain yourself for a while, Girly." She winked at you and left in a blink of an eye. You had to smile. They were so cute together. The happiness turned sour as soon as you remember you're alone on starfall. You looked up to see you're standing in front of a cupid ride.

"Fuck it, if no ones gonna take me I will just take myself" you whisper for yourself deciding to spoil yourself little bit. "But I wanted to take you, darling."

You swear you never moved as fast as you did now, turning your head to the source of the voice.

"Rhysand? What are you doing here, I thought you were in summer court." Rhysand stood there, a teasing smile playing on his lips. He came closer to you, his eyes shimmering at you.

"I was, and I am supposed to be. But I got your letter and couldn't leave out the opportunity to be there with you. " He lifted his hand like he wanted to touch you but hesitated, letting it fall. Then, as if gaining confidence, he took your hand in his. The simple contact sent a thrill through you. Did you really make Rhysand, the Lord of the Night Court, nervous?

"You made my night right now, Rhys. I was ready to go on couples ride alone and make myself the biggest joke of starfall. " He chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “That would have been tragic, darling.” He leaned closer to you, his breath on your cheek, and his lips hovered just above yours. "It really would." You let out breathlessly, your heart pounding in your chest.

Fireworks in the shapes of hearts went off in the background while people cheered for the new beginnings. And then, in this moment, his lips met yours in a soft, deliberate kiss. It was gentle, filled with all the affection, need, and love that you had hidden from each other for so long. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging lightly, and he responded with a low hum of approval.

He slowly pulled back from you, leaving his forehead on yours. "I love you." He whispered so softly that you nearly didn't hear him. "I love you too, Rhys so much." You replied, voice full of emotions.

He took hold of your hand and turned to Cupid ride with a smirk.

"Shall we go then, darling?"

[silhouetteonpaper]

Broken Trust, Breached Minds

Summary: When confronted with a new job opportunity, you’re forced to choose between careers. As an enhanced human, a certain someone has already picked out your future, making you worried what she might think—or better yet, what she might do. Wanda Maximoff x Reader WC: 1,882 Warnings: Use of powers, angst, trust issues

You stare at the bright computer screen, the email before you making your heart drop. We’d like to offer you a position with us. The job you passively applied to a few weeks ago actually got back to you, and not just to turn you down.

You didn’t think you’d actually get the job, it was solely a ‘doesn’t hurt to try’ attempt at applying. But here you are, reading the email containing the key to your dream career as a writer for the biggest entertainment company. It’s something you’ve dreamed of since you were little, before you made commitments to your current job.

Although less of a job and more of a lifestyle, you currently spend your days protecting earth as an Avenger. It’s fulfilling, yet something inside you yearns for a different career. You enjoy the time spent with the team, who’s more like family than anything else, but you know you’re destined for something different, something you’ve wanted for a long time now.

Terrified of what the team might think, you haven’t mentioned your application to anyone—let alone the job offer. The team is fairly aware of your passion for writing, but most of them assume it’s more of a hobby as most of your time is devoted to training. Everyone assumes just because you’re an enhanced superhuman, you only have one option in life.

The idea of being a professional writer fills you with bliss, spending hours exercising your mind as the endless flow of words finally have an outlet. Not having to worry about the city being in danger yet again, or the fear of not being prepared for your next mission. Getting to do something you truly love, and can never get tired of.

On the contrary, the idea of telling the team you’d prefer to write over saving the world makes you feel nauseous. Will they be supportive? Usually any person would pick being a superhero over anything else, but you’re different. Even though your powers are a great asset to the team and their Avenging, you feel you could be even more useful as a writer in the world of entertainment.

Plus, work should be something you love, right? You decide to entertain the idea of no longer being an Avenger, weighing if it’d be a good idea to test the waters and talk with someone about it. Eventually, you commit and attempt to build up your confidence as you head out to see what your closest friend might think.

When you leave your room, Wanda is sitting alone in the living room. She’s like an older sister to you, taking you under her wing when you first joined the team. Because both of you are enhanced, she played a key role in your training. Hours of time together brought you two closer, and now you already feel like you can tell her everything. That leaves a good chance she’d be supportive of you retiring as an Avenger. Still, you want to tread lightly—just in case.

“Hey, Wanda,” you say softly while approaching the strawberry blonde on the couch. She smiles warmly at you, shifting slightly to face you as you sit beside her. “Could I get your opinion on something?”

She nods. “Of course, what’s up?” Her eyebrows raise, signaling she’s really listening. You take a deep breath, thinking of how to phrase your words.

“I’m not one hundred percent on this, it’s just an idea… but what if I stopped going on missions?” You dance around the real subject, trying to gain an idea on where Wanda would stand with this. She sports a confused expression.

“And just train with us? If you’re going to train, why not go on missions too?” She asks curiously. 

You press your lips together, knowing the only way to be clear is to state your idea fully. “No, I mean… stopping all of it. No longer being a part of Avengers.” You cautiously watch as Wanda’s expression falls. Half of the story will have to suffice for now, because her unsure look makes you even more hesitant to speak.

“You’re enhanced, we need you on the team,” Wanda voices, your stomach flipping. Maybe you were wrong, maybe she wouldn’t support the idea.

“But what if I’m not really meant to be a superhero? I can’t control the fact I have these powers, but I can control what I do with my life.” You try to reason. Wanda shakes her head, looking to the floor as she tries to organize her thoughts.

“You do so much good every time we step out onto the battlefield, we can’t lose that. I don’t think anyone on the team would be okay with letting you go.” She expresses, putting a comforting hand on your knee.

“We can handle them,” You remark, knowing how persuasive the two of you could be. But that would only work if Wanda would agree to support this endeavor, and so far things weren’t looking too good. “Why is it that big of a deal if I’m not an Avenger? The rest of you are more than capable of holding your own.”

Wanda’s gaze finally meets yours again, her hand withdrawing. “Because enhanced super-humans usually don’t become writers. I don’t know why you’d quit such a good thing over that.” She discloses. You inhale sharply, not only taken aback by her sudden harsh tone, but at the mention of your new job offer.

She knows. How could she possibly know? Your mind reels, heart racing as Wanda’s words take you by surprise. She looks to the ground, the impact of her words finally resonating. That’s when it suddenly hits you; she read your mind.

“Wanda, I didn’t mention anything about being a writer.” You state, looking at her with a disappointed expression. It was something Wanda always held herself to, never using her powers on any of her friends. Especially the ability to read minds, it was a huge boundary she always kept.

You could see Wanda’s expression fall, but it was different this time. Like she knew she messed up. The sour taste of distrust rose in your throat as you watched Wanda break eye contact.

“You read my mind, didn’t you?” You assert, shaking your head in disbelief. Accessing your thoughts is a breach of any kind of privacy you still had these days, leaving you appalled at her actions. You thought she was one of your closest friends, but maybe you were wrong about that too.

“No, I-“ Wanda started, pausing as she tried to explain herself. But there was no use, what she did betrayed your trust and there was no going back. Any friend would want the full story, sure, but a true friend wouldn’t misuse their powers just for some extra understanding.

In a huff of frustration, you stand from the couch, not letting the woman even try to untangle her words. The anger inside of you leaves an urgent feeling, the decision you originally came here to make becoming even clearer. If not even your closest friend can support you, there’s no point in staying here a second longer.

You’ve been sitting in your bedroom, staring at that same email for the past hour. The drafted response accepting the position is typed out, ready to send with one click of a button. But your finger can’t seem to make that one simple motion.

The burning feeling in your chest won’t relent, leaving you weary about what step to take next. You want to take this job, more than anything. So why can’t you just hit send and accept it?

You’re a great asset to the Avengers, but don’t want to be a superhero anymore. Why can’t Wanda accept that? Why is she so against you following your passion? The questions that you can’t possibly answer swirl inside your mind, almost blocking out the sound of a soft knock on your door.

You let out an exasperated sigh, hoping that the strawberry blonde isn’t outside waiting to redeem herself. “Come in,” you call reluctantly. Sure enough, Wanda opens the door with a guilty expression.

You don’t let her get a word in before speaking up, “Look, if you’re here to try and justify things, I’m not in the mood for excuses.” Wanda takes a deep breath while clenching and unclenching her fists. It’s easy to tell she’s thinking hard about what to do next.

“Just give me five minutes.” Wanda pleads. You let out yet another sigh of resignation, moving aside on your bed so she can sit. It takes a moment for her eyes to find yours, and it’s easy to tell Wanda really wants to do this right.

“I only did it because I was worried,” She starts. You scoff, shaking your head. How were you supposed to take that as a valid excuse? Can you even trust what she’s saying right now?

“Is that the truth, or do I need to read your mind to find the real reason?” You jab in return. Wanda presses her lips together to relay a silent ‘fair enough’.

“The fact you were even considering leaving the Avengers made me worried, I wasn’t sure what possible reason could cause that. I wanted to be sure something wasn’t truly wrong,” She explains. Now it’s your turn to take a deep breath, the wall of anger you built up being knocked down a few bricks. 

“Why didn’t you just ask? I thought we were close enough for that.” You respond.

“I did too, so the fact you were hiding something made me worried. You never hide anything unless something’s up.” Touché. She’s not wrong; all those months of training side by side really allowed her to get to know you, more so than you thought. It’s not often you hide things from anyone, let alone Wanda. Maybe she had a reason to worry, but not enough to warrant misuse of her powers.

“Fine, yeah—I withheld part of the truth, but only because I was worried how you’d react. I know how you are about our powers.” You reason, thinking back to all those times where Wanda made a huge deal about your abilities. There were moments when you could’ve sworn Wanda saw herself as a villain, and therefore you by extension. She ingrained into you that you’re dangerous.

Wanda breaks eye contact as she rehashes those memories, nodding slowly while they replay in her mind. “I’m terrified to see you get hurt.” Her words are nearly a whisper, yet they leave you stunned to silence.

There’s only one thing able to escape your lips. “I think we chose the wrong career path for that.” The two of you both chuckle, finally meeting each other’s gaze once more. “Just because I'm enhanced doesn’t mean I shouldn’t live the life I want.” You breathe.

Wanda nods, this time more confidently. “I know. You’re going to make a great writer.” A grin spreads across your face, she’s supporting your choice. She wears a matching grin as you lean in to hug her, the two of you melting into a soft embrace. You get to go into your dream job with the support of the one person you care about most, that’s all you could ever hope for.

[not-too-many-eyes]

A Study on Mesmer Jr.

(Also Known As: Nott is obsessed with the bigot autistic girl from the time travel gacha game and its her birthday tommorow so lets talk about her.)

(CWs: Ableism, racism, child abuse) I Love Mesmer Jr. Which isn't a secret to any of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about her at length. I cannot get her out of my head. I think she's fantastically written, fun to read about, and just an all around interesting character.

As such, I want to take a moment to pull apart Mesmer Jr, and consider her place in this story. To contemplate why she acts the way she does, and to connect to the themes relating to her character. I hope you enjoy reading this.

A Curious Impression

Mesmer Jr makes an interesting impression when you first meet her. For one, she immediately causes alarm bells to rings when she talks to Sonneto, one of her earliest conversations, who she says she enjoys talking to because of their "shared values" she feels the need to say that she would have liked talking to her more if she were a "full-blooded human."

Which is something that you see a lot whenever she's complimenting an arcanist, or considering arcanists in any positive light. Even if it's inappropriate in the context, she feels the need to assert her beliefs, to say that:

Mesmer Jr, Praise: As an arcanist, your performance really amazes me. Wish you were a pure-blood human.

Of course, as we know, Mesmer Jr is an arcanist. She's a full-blooded arcanist. Being noted to be from a very Important family, and even being implied to be more talented than most of her family in their line of work: (The Fallacy of Idealism)

Nobody is more talented in this than Mesmer Jr. Her bloodline gives her outstanding ability and keen senses, which makes everything clear and intelligible to her.

She's also startlingly obedient. She has no noticeable outward negativity towards what Constantine has ordered her to do to Vertin, despite it seeming to cause pain or stress. Insisting that this is the normal treatment given to patients despite Madam Z's opinion, and we learn Much Later that her boss had an ulterior motive to all this.

She's even noted before we meet her to seem like a:

(Open Sandwich)

???: It is the other one- the one with indifferent outlines that makes her look like a refined machine.

Evoking images of perfectly programmed robots and droids that do what they are ordered to perfectly without question.

Of course, in the same part this line is from, the game is already nudging us to be open-minded when it comes to interacting with her. As the first thing we learn about her isn't her personality, isn't her appearance, isn't even her Voice.

It's her abuse.

Dirtied Hands

Open Sandwich is one of my favorite bits of writing in this game. It creates this incredible tension where you just waiting for the bad thing to happen, the line about how the child labor laws were turned into paper to wrap the sandwich is wonderful, and I love it.

But it's also the first time we ever actually hear about her. It depicts her having a Sensory Meltdown. Caused by her family's uh- blatant disregard for children's rights, and exposing her to a patient at age 12 because her skill was useful for the treatment. The trauma of the event marking the start of her "nightmare."

Of course this isn't the Only Thing she has gone through at the age of 12. The entire events of Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien happened during when she was 12. She might of had even more traumatic experience before that, considering she went to SPDM, a school that we know Very Well for their child abuse, and she Certainly had traumatic experiences afterwards.

She Is a 16 year old therapist taking care of The Foundation's most "unstable" patients, after all:

Mesmer Jr, Suitcase Climate: Those insane people screamed and rushed out of the guardroom. They kept meaninglessly and repeatedly roaring. Then, their blood shed on the snowy ground. I've seen that a lot.

The Rights of Children Don't Matter when there is Scarcity. Her needs are secondary to The Company's. Her welfare simply isn't important for the Foundation's Beautiful Future. Only the skills and infromation she can provide.

Constantine even manipulated Mesmer Jr into telling her the plan. Purposefully traumatizing her so that she would become scared and anxious. She Asked her to help them, trusting that Constantine, an adult she trusted, would be able to help. Constantine just lied, and made her continue to treat these people even when the experience mind numbingly traumatic for even fully-grown adults.

As a result, Mesmer Jr has developed multiple mental illnesses. Most notable OCD, but she seems to hallucinate in her Monologue.

She's not exactly a healthy person, which really compounds how much you Don't want her to be a therapist.

Of course, it's not like she would ever seek actual proper treatment for it.

For many reasons.

For one, Reverse 1999 is not exactly a kind world to the mentally ill, and she herself is a good example as to why.

Proper Treatment

Let's go back to the first thing I mentioned about Mesmer Jr. She's a bigot, she's a certified racist to every arcanist she ever talks to. She thinks humans are the superior race that will overtake arcanists.

She's also ableist. Just horrible ableist. These two bigotries are intertwined in Very important ways. Her hatred of arcanists is informed by her hatred of the mentally ill, and is further informed by what she has been taught about arcanists.

Reverse has established that the way arcanists and humans are generally viewed is that arcanists are the more emotional, unstable, immature ones and humans are the more logical, stable, and mature ones.

Now, this is a stereotype, one that has been proven wrong time and time again. There is nothing logical, stable, or mature about being so upset at a 12 year old you think killing her friends is a good idea.

And similarly, there is nothing actually inherently wrong about being a weirdo, or mentally ill. For one, uh, everyone is a bit of a freak sometimes, and two, Mesmer Jr treats it as if for the world to get better arcanists need to fully disappear and be replaced with human rationality, but Madam Hoffman says it best:

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

But Mesmer Jr really does believe wholeheartedly that being a "freak" is bad, and that being an arcanist is to blame for why she is one.

Mesmer Jr, Hat and Hair: Thanks to it, we are all freaks now. Haven't you ever blamed your brain? Haven't you for once vomited due to the sound or whisper in your brain? How naive and ignorant.

That being an arcanist is something inherently wrong, and as a result of that inherent wrongness, that inherent "insanity," they need to be controlled by humanity.

Mesmer Jr, Chitchat II: I can only stand those arcanists from the Foundation and the Laplace. After all, their insanity is contained by humans.

She believes that humans are destined to overtake arcanists like it's natural selection. That it's only inevitable that arcanists will be overtaken by a species that in her eyes, is logical and understandable.

Mesmer Jr, To the Future: Just like Homo sapiens wiped out Neanderthals, arcanists will be eliminated as well. This is not a prediction, but a predestined fate.

This is, of course, due to the systemic part of Reverse's world constantly pushing this idea that arcanists are Inherently more immature and chaotic.

Constantine and her family deeply traumatized Mesmer Jr and then told her it wasn't actually their fault but this Other Group that She is also apart of but Don't Worry it can Be Controlled.

Mesmer Jr: It's not just about age. It was never going to be suitable for me. Mesmer Jr: Unless one day all the arcanists are gone. Pandora Wilson: Then you and I will be gone, too. Mesmer Jr: Exactly, along with the source of my pain

However, Mesmer Jr's own mental illnesses and susceptibility towards being overwhelmed by others emotions does really mean that she finds being around highly emotional people Taxing. She also finds that the unpredictable of life and other people Tiresome.

She was friends with Vertin in the rest when she was younger sure, but even then she did find arcanists overwhelming and "scary," even when she wasn't in the full thick of it, she saw them being treated and found it unpleasant and painful.

(Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien)

Mesmer Jr: But I'm not interested in arcanists. They are all mad people, and we had to treat them after all...They looked scary.

Now, usually, you grow out of this. She's not Born To Be Racist Forever.

In a better world she very much could have, I dunno-

Be able to actually internalize that arcanists aren't actually inherently a harmful thing, but that her needs sometimes conflict with the needs of others and grew up with the tools necessary to understand that this is a fixable problem that doesn't actually need a whole group of people including herself to die to be solved.

Or, something like that.

However, this isn't that world, this world thinks Mesmer Jr is a good therapist, and that her treatment is humane.

So she's seeks to create stability in the world as a result of that lack of support.

Mesmer Jr, Hobby: What you see is the alignment and tidiness. What I adore is this orderly state.

As much as she understands that it's a sign of her own "franticness" that she does this, it gives her comfort knowing that she has things that she Can Control. That her life isn't actually dictated fully by things out of her understanding. That she has the ability to direct her life in a small, maybe even insignificant way.

Cause, she really just doesn't have much control over her life.

Press the Button

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: ...Achieve the function.

A lot of Mesmer Jr's idolization of humanity comes from this idea of efficiency and simplicity. She talks so much about rationality and "tidiness," but as I've already established Reverse is full of so many instances of "human insanity" so it's plain ignorant to ascribe this trait to humans.

Which, well one she is ignorant, and also racism isn't rational and Mesmer Jr was taught human supremacy of course it's not going to be aligned with actual reality.

Which is true.

However, I do think it's interesting these traits that she idolizes are not from humans but from:

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: Humans are like machinery, simple and efficient. Arcanists are quite the opposite.

That's who she's actually idolizing here, isn't it? She's not really idolizing humans, that's just the framework she was given. She's idolizing machines and going "Wow humans are so cool."

Her Udimo is a machine.

Not just any machine, but a machine invented in part By Her Workplace, and even when she was 12 the narrator describes her as a "refined machine." Indifferent and rigid.

This is the beautiful controlled being that she is seeking! The beautiful tidy, orderly, calm being that just proceeds with whatever order is given to it. One that has...completely no control over it's life, and what to do with it.

Because, traditionally speaking, Machines do not have the ability to self-determine. They don't exist as people with conscious thought and emotion, but as Things and Tools that can Achieve Functions.

I noted way back in the start that Mesmer Jr is startlingly obedient. She does what she is told, and encourages others to do the same.

She's glad that Vertin:

Mesmer Jr, 100% Bond Conversation: ...Anyway, I'm glad you gave up on those insane plans.

Before saying that she doesn't want to be forced to Lobotomize Her, and that she doesn't actually want anyone to end up in Artificial Somnambulism.

But she doesn't say she won't do it. Just that she's happy Vertin did "give up" because it means that she probably won't have to. This seems to be her general approach. Even if she's not happy, she'll do it, her wants don't matter.

She assumes that she has no other option and that her only path forward is following orders from her boss. That the only path forward is the one set for her. There's no point in fighting it so she's just gonna continue on that path, and others should do the same or else they'll get Hurt. Learned Helplessness.

Sonetto is similar to her in this sense (Mesmer Jr says so herself,) and Sonetto is shown to hold quite a lot of repressed emotions, and to deviate from the rules or what is logical when she feels something is at stake.

After all: (Is ABA Really “Dog Training for Children”? A Professional Dog Trainer Weighs In.)

We all know that we can feel angry without expressing anger. That we can smile when inside we are crying. You can stop someone from expressing an emotion, but that doesn’t make the emotion go away. A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.” When you read about a dog attack that came “out of nowhere” and “without warning,” it is because this sort of method was used to handle “problem behaviours.” Studies show that dogs trained with these sorts of methods actually have an increased rate of aggression, because punishing aggressive behaviour doesn’t deal with the underlying fear and anxiety that caused the aggression in the first place.

But Mesmer Jr, in contrast to Sonetto, who has an interest in poetry and curiosity in the outside world and has the aforementioned repressed emotions. Has no real distinct personal identity. She does not own anything that shows her interests, unlike her other coworkers who usually have at least Something on them. All of her items are stuff made by Laplace and exist unaltered. Even her cute little headband is a EM amplifier is part of the uniform.

She holds no control, no identity, no agency. She exists as a machine that someone can press the buttons of and achieve whatever function she needs to achieve at the given moment.

This is her current state of existence, and it's not something that's exactly sustainable. The cracks in this machine-living have been showing since she was 12. How many more do you think have been created now that she's 16?

The Foundation

Now, this is really depressing, but that's because Mesmer Jr is just a bit of a depressing character. She can't really get away from her job. For one, her parents are horrible, two The Storm means that the world is always on the verge of ending. Where else will she go?

But, as said previously:

A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.”

Similarly, a girl trained to not develop any sort of identity will crack Someday.

I have no knowledge of what could happen next in her story, nor am I interested in theorizing about it. But I do find it interesting to think about.

[lowkeyrobin]

hiii! hope you’re having a good day/night/whatever :D i was wondering if you could do something where the reader was fives (almost ?) s/o and then after learning about him and lila theyre upset. and then reader and diego sort of bond over the feeling and find solace in their friendship with each other. i mean this in like a thing for diego sort of way, the five thing is just a backstory. sorry if this is hard to understand english is hard

oooo okay this is cool!! ; and don't worry it's not hard to understand at all! your English is very good 🫶 ; but we are gonna pretend five wasn't trapped in his teenage body for all the time reader would've known him or wtv 💀 cause the physical and mental gap between diego and five is diabolical and idk how else to make it not weird. I usually say and enforce that I won't recognize the five/lila thing as canon but this is relevant to the story and I need diego requests lol. ; but uh yeah!! thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!! ; also the ending part lowkey sucks I'm sorry

DIEGO HARGREEVES ; it's called moving on

summary ; after Five and Lila get trapped in the subway, they have a double affair on you and Diego. after saving the world, you both bond over it and move on (to each other)

warnings ; language, cheating, arguing / physical fighting, knives, alcohol

disclaimers ; five is in the physical body of a 30-ish year old to make this not creepy as hell on any parts. I have a distinct hatred for whatever tf happened w Lila and Five so don't expect to see anything nice about them... ; also reader is a sparrow, didn't wanna get incest-y in here...

word count ; 1.5k

masterlist

Klaus, Allison, and Luther sit on the couch, watching over the kids while you and Diego rush to the door. Five and Lila had been MIA for hours now, you were both growing worried. Luckily, it was them standing at the doorstep.

"Where've you been?" Diego asks, slightly worried. "It's been hours"

"Seven, at that" you raise an eyebrow at Five. "You've never just gone MIA for that long. Did you find anything out on how to stop all this shit? Cause we did"

Five is unable to look you in the eye. "Uh, not really. What'd you learn?"

"Well, for one, Dad's alive, so is our mother... I think?" you begin, pulling him inside. "She's not really our mom, but she's Dad's wife, or whatever. Our actual birth mother's are alive in this timeline. And your Ben died because your Reginald shot him in the head! We think fate is coming together cause my Ben and Jennifer are together and we have to stop them-"

Diego and Lila step in behind you, joining you all in the living room. Lila's family stand in the kitchen, coming together to make some Christmas dinner food for the upcoming days. You can't help but notice both Five and Lila can't look you in the eye, how they look tired and haven't spoken damn near a word.

You four stand in the middle of the living room, shoes off to Lila's family's rules, your socks digging into the carpet. Allison, Luther, and Klaus part their attention between the kids and you four.

Diego looks down at Lila's wrist, seeing a glare from the sunlight outside on something she was wearing. He quickly grabs her wrist, confused of what she could've been wearing, as she didn't like bracelets, at least not store bought ones. She wouldn't have gone on a run to get herself a bracelet, right? I mean, what?

Diego furrows his brows at her while you press a chaste kiss to Five's forehead.

"I thought you hated bracelets?" Diego mutters, grabbing the attention of the siblings who sit on the couch.

Lila looks at him with fake confusion, trying to brush it off. "No, I don't"

"Yeah, you do" Diego nods. "I got you one for Valentine's Day and you traded it in for a Dyson vacuum."

You and Five look to Diego and Lila, listening in.

Lila is silent. "I don't like store bought ones. I kept the bracelet you made for me in that mental institution"

She had him on that one.

"Who made it, then?" Diego asks firmly.

She's silent. Five looks away from Diego.

Diego looks to him, then back at Lila. He frees Lila's wrist from his grasp, staring Five down. You look between him, Diego, and Lila, connecting the dots.

"Five?" You question, eyebrows furrowed, your voice unsure.

Diego reaches for his back pocket.

Five stuffs his hands in his pockets, head held low.

"Is there something going on between you two?" Diego asks nervously, looking between Five and Lila.

"Diego-" Lila speaks

"Holy shit, wow" Diego scoffs, looking down at her.

Klaus' jaw drops, Luther and Allison beside him share shocked expressions. You look back at the three, unable to react as you're caught frozen in the moment.

"Woah"

"Holy shit"

"I didn't see that one coming"

"Holy shit, I was right" Diego looks between the two, "I knew you were cheating on me!"

You shove Five into the wall, far enough away from the TV and the kids to not effect them physically. Diego hurls a knife at him, just missing his skull by a few centimeters, a purposeful act. He merely did it to scare Five. The knife creates a hole in the wall and a loud thudding noise that catches the family's attention.

Diego turns his attention back to Lila, you looking over your shoulder to listen. "I knew you were cheating on me at that book club"

Lila sighs. "I wasn't cheating on you... not when you thought I was"

You turn back to Five, lips slightly parted, your expression soft yet heavy. He isn't able to speak a word to you. He steps away from the stabbed wall, walking toward you. He reaches for you and you push him away.

"Y/n-"

"No!" you shudder, then speak firmly. "Get away." you back away toward Diego, unable to look at him.

"Maybe we should go-" Luther speaks, seeing how the three were witnessing an awful thing right now.

"No, we're not going anywhere" Allison replies, an arm over him to prevent him from going anywhere.

Diego steps forward, looking at Five in the eye. "Five, did you s-k-r-e-w my wife?" he spells out 'screw' since a bunch of kids under thirteen sit no more than six feet away.

"Screw is spelled s-c-r-e-w" Grace chimes in with a smile, unaware of the situation because of her small little mind.

Klaus snorts, failing at holding back laughter. Allison bites her tongue while Luther deeply sighs, keeping his laughter at bay.

Five bites his lip before slowly nodding.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaim, slinging a quick punch to his face, causing his nose to bleed.

He groans, holding a hand to his nose. He doesn't rebute, knowing he deserved that and much more.

"Are you kidding me?" you question, looking between Five and Lila. "What the actual shit is wrong with you two?!"

Lila's family peers through the kitchen door, halfway understanding what you all were saying as they weren't perfectly fluent with English. You wished you could speak Punjabi to tell them how their daughter cheated and how your boyfriend was a fucking homewrecker.

"Y/n, please," Lila speaks, trying to calm you, holding a hand out to you.

You slap her hand away, and back up toward the siblings on the couch. Klaus holds a hand over his mouth, Luther watches in silence, Allison bites her tongue.

"You're fucking unbelievable."

You cut contact with Five, Diego cut most contact with Lila and kept the kids 70% of the time. Lila paid child support, the extent of their conversations other than the kids.

It'd been a few years since your brother had to be killed. You'd been struggling a lot. In between Ben's death and the whole Five and Lila thing, you weren't okay, you didn't think you ever would be.

Most the family didn't talk to either one after the whole incident. They'd luckily sided with you and Diego. Allison still talked to Lila, but she'd created herself a whole new life, so the two didn't talk that much.

Life moves on, shit happens.

You lived near Diego, the two of you often going out with the kids to still create some sort of happy family dynamic for them. From lunch to movies, to road trips and rollercoasters, you'd do anything for those kids. You felt so bad knowing there was no way to repair Diego and Lila's relationship, wishing the kids got to have more time as a proper family.

Diego sat with you on the couch, no kids in trail this time. They were with Lila this weekend. Fruity concoctions rest in your hands, the television in front of you playing some dumbass action movie.

"People clearly don't like three children on the man they're going on a date with," Diego chuckles. "My kids come first, sorry."

You smile. "At least you're humbled and know what you're living for, what's important."

He raises an eyebrow, confused about what you're implying.

You see that look and clarify. "I dunno what I'm living for anymore. My brother's dead. My ex cheated on me and all I feel is fucking angry day in and day out. I don't know anymore"

Diego's face grows soft. "Moving on isn't easy."

You nod. "It's harder to do it alone"

He's silent for a moment before speaking up. "Maybe we don't have to do it alone?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What're you implying, Di?"

He shrugs, looking into your eyes. "Whatever you want to think I'm implying"

"...but the kids, that's gonna be so confusing-"

"You love the kids. I know you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been on all these adventures with us, you wouldn't have asked me yourself to make plans and come over. I know you feel the way I do."

You're both quiet, thinking over your own and the other's words.

"Maybe" you shrug.

"Maybe? I'm allowed to get my hopes up?"

"Calm down, pal" you chuckle. "Not so soon, let's like... ask the kids. I'd feel bad not asking how they felt. They're my priority, they come before us"

Diego nods. "Glad you feel that way. We should get married ASAP." he chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder.

You smile, taking a sip of your beverage. "Feels wrong to even think about this, y'know?"

"It's called moving on. It's normal, I promise"

[morganski-19]

The One With the Second Date

“Ok, I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen in the end,” Ryan explains as they leave the theater, “but it wasn’t that.”

Nancy laughs. “It was a stereotypical romcom, they were always going to end up together in the end.”

Ryan and Nancy walk down the sidewalk. Ryan’s hands shoved into his jacket pockets while Nancy’s are at her sides.

“I just think that she was much better with the other guy. They had way more chemistry.”

Nancy nods with another laugh.

They come to a stop outside of a parking garage. Ryan turns toward her. “My car’s in there,” he points awkwardly to the garage.

“My bus stop is right over there,” Nancy points across the street.

Ryan lets out a nervous huff. “You know, we didn’t really get to talk much tonight. With seeing a movie and everything. My parking’s for the whole night. And there’s this nice ice cream place around the corner that we could go to. If you wanted to.”

Nancy smiles. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Ryan looks generally surprised. “Sure, yeah ok. It’s this way.”

He leads them across the street and down one block. Turning at the corner and halfway down, there is a small ice cream shop. They walk in, a family and one other couple at the tables. But otherwise, it’s empty. Nancy looks at the options, debating which to choose. While Ryan immediately knows what he wants and asks the employee. One scoop of vanilla and one cookies and cream. Making sure to note that they needed to be rung up together but were in no rush.

When Nancy chooses the honey vanilla flavor, Ryan beats her to register to pay.

“You know I can pay for us at least once,” Nancy jokes. She instead pulls out a few dollars and slides them into the tip jar.

Ryan laughs. Taking back his change and dumping it into the jar as well. “It was my idea, so it’s my money.”

Nancy walks over to the table in the corner. “So, I need to plan the next date and then I get to pay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan stutters. There’s been a nervous energy with him all night. “That would work.”

“I promise I don’t mean anything by this question, I’m just generally interested. Why are you so nervous? We’ve already been on one date.”

Ryan sets down his ice cream, rubbing his palms on his pants. “I’ve been on what seems like hundreds of first dates. It’s down to a routine at this point. But as far as second dates go, there’s only been a few. And most of those times, it never went anywhere else, and I was back on the app the next morning.”

Nancy nods, showing that she’s listening.

“I get that’s just how dating can be, sometimes. Especially through dating apps. But I just want something that lasts more than a week or two, you know?”

“I do.” Nancy stares down at her ice cream. “I kind of gave up dating for a while for the same reason. It was just horrible date after horrible date. So I gave up.”

“What made you try again?”

Nancy sighs. Debating how much she should tell. “My best friend, who also lives across the hall from me, got a new girlfriend.”

“Oh,” he says. With a mix of shock and concern.

“There’s nothing there, I promise. Back when we were in college, there was a phase where we both liked each other but didn’t know. Part of me kind of always harbored those feelings for her, but it was time to finally let them go. Whatever we could have had was over, it was time to recognize that.”

“And you though going on a dating app would help with that?”

Nancy lets her hands fall into her hands. “That makes me sound like an asshole. I swear that I didn’t agree to go on a date with you just to get over my stupid feelings. They played no part in deciding to go on a date with you.”

Ryan reaches across the table and gently pushes Nancy’s hands out of the way. “I believe you, for what it’s worth. We’ve all been there at some point.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

“I appreciate you being honest with me. I,” he pauses. Taking a deep breath. “I really like you, Nancy. You’re probably the best person I’ve met on one of these apps.”

Nancy smiles. “Same here.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Finishing their ice cream and heading outside again. When Ryan goes to shove his hands into his pockets again, Nancy stops him. Taking his hand into hers. They walk back to the street where they would need to part ways. Nancy waiting for the bus and Ryan crossing the street to his car.

“Would it be ok if I drove you home?” he asks. “It’s dark and way better than a bus.”

“Yeah, that would be ok.”

She follows him to his car and directs them to her apartment building. He finds a spot down the street and parks. Planning on walking her to her door. With full explanation that she can tell him no.

Instead, she rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. Waiting for him to get out. He does, stumbling over his step a bit.

“So, for our next date,” Nancy talks as they walk up the stairs. “I was thinking that we could to this Mexican place I love.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“And it’s my idea so my money, right?” She stops in front of her door. Facing him.

He laughs. “That was the deal.”

Inside of Steve and Robin’s apartment, Robin is staring through the peephole. Having heard Nancy come back and got curious. That’s all, curious.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks. Looking unenthused.

Robin shushes him. “Nancy is back from her date. She’s talking with the guy outside the door.”

“Let me see.” Steve pushes Robin out of the way, looking through the peephole. “Oh, he’s cuter in person.”

Robin slaps his arm. “Don’t encourage this.”

“How am I encouraging this? I’m behind a door, she can’t hear me. Also, it’s too late for that. I was there for the pre-date crisis.”

“And she still went out on the date?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah well, she seemed to really like the guy. Argyle even did his weird stalking thing he does and found nothing bad. He checked out.”

Robin pushes Steve out of the way again, looking through the peephole once more. “Oh no, she’s doing that face. You know that face.”

“I am well aware of the face.” Steve leans up against the wall next to the door. “Why is this bothering you so much? She’s allowed to date if she wants to.”

“I don’t know,” Robin groans. Letting her forehead thunk against the door. “She just deserves so much, and she’s been on so many dates and none of them have been good. I’m just . . .  looking out for her. That’s all.”

Steve hums, disbelieving. Pulling out his phone.

Steve: I think Robin is jealous of Nancy’s new guy

Eddie: Oh wow, what a shocker

Eddie: Do you not remember the two-hour long pity session she conveniently had after Nancy had the first date

Steve: They’re out in the hall right now, Robin can’t stop looking at them through the peephole

Eddie: Can’t she just pretend to take out the trash like a normal person

Steve: Are you going to go do that now?

Eddie: Yes

Eddie: I need to see this guy in person

Back in the hall, while all of that was ensuing, Nancy and Ryan were saying goodbye. Not exactly making any moves toward it. Until Eddie opens the door, with a half full bag of trash in hand, interrupts it.

“Oh, hey, Nance. I didn’t hear you get back,” he says, nonchalant. Looking over at Ryan with fake shock. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Nancy sighs, catching onto Eddie’s play. “Ryan, this is my roommate Eddie.”

Ryan holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Nancy’s told me about you.”

“Same here.” Eddie shakes his hands. “I’m just gonna, thank you.” He steps in between them to head down the hall to the trash shoot. Leaving them alone again.

“I should get going,” Ryan says, pushing his hands into his pockets again. “It was really nice to see you again.”

Nancy smiles. “Yeah, it was. I’ll text you later when I’m free.”

“I’ll be looking for it.”

There is a break of silence. Expectation in the air. Ryan shrugs in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh my god.” Nancy stops his from walking away. Grabbing his face and pulling him down. Pressing a kiss to his lips. He’s shocked for a second, before pressing into it. “Have a good night,” she says after pulling back.

Ryan steps backward, a blush covering his face. “Yeah, uh, yeah. You too. I’ll text you later. Yeah. Bye.”

He turns to walk down the hall while Nancy snorts to herself. Eddie comes back around the corner with a teasing smile.

“Don’t even start, Munson.” Nancy walks into the apartment.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything.” He closes the door behind them. “I was just merely observing.”

Nancy glares at him while taking off her earring. “Observing?”

“He seems nice,” Eddie teasing tone.

“He is nice.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“There it is.” Nancy walks to her bedroom. “Night.”

Eddie leans on the back of the couch. “No, I wanted to do the after-date gossip.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She closes the bedroom door.

Eddie sighs, pulling out his phone to see many new texts from Steve.

Steve: Holy shit, she kissed him

Steve: Robin is not taking that well

Steve: She’s trying to play off her jealousy as protectiveness

Steve: Maybe we should warn Nancy about the tirade she’s going to get tomorrow about the dangers of kissing random men

Eddie: I don’t know, the guy was pretty respectful about it

Eddie: He was smiling like an idiot when I passed him in the hall

Eddie: And Nancy seems happy about it

Steve: This is going to be both entertaining and a pain in the ass

Eddie: Agreed

Eddie: I take it Robin isn’t going out tonight then

Steve: Sadly not

Steve: There goes our plans

Eddie: Damn, I kind of really want to kiss you right now

Steve: You know

Steve: No one is ever in the laundry room this late

Eddie: I could do some laundry

Steve: Meet you there in twenty

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137, @morallyundefined

[kerubimcrepin]

Everything we know about what happened to Khan, Bakara, and Lilotte after the movie

Despite the fact that the second Dofus movie has not been made (and, from the way things are looking, might never be made at all) we know quite a bit about what happened to its characters afterward — the reason for that is simple: they're referenced in the games!

In this post, I will try to compile everything we know for the ease of access — but I implore you, instead of using my abridged compilation, just watch my video archive instead, if you're really interested in these characters! The posts I make on the MMOs are entirely recapping everything I already went over in my videos.

BAKARA JURGEN

The Dofus MMO takes place approximately 200–300 years after the events of the movie, and 70–90 years after a genocide against Huppermages has been enacted by Bonta, which forced their people to go into hiding. (you can read more about this in my posts about the Dofus MMO!)

Despite such a long time having passed, one can still find people who look up to her in the world — including Kerubim Crepin, who reminisces on having known her, her brother, and her sister-in-law, before all of them were gone...

There isn't a lot of that is known about her life (or her involvement with Khan, and whether they ever became a couple...) but what we do know is that she grew to be a very well-respected leader and role model among huppermages, and lived a long, fruitful life.

And also that, just like literally everyone in the cast of the movie, she either lied her ass off about everything that happened in it, or the legends have distorted the truth badly.

By the time of Dofus MMO, Jahash and Julith are both viewed as icons and role models by the Huppermage community. It is quite likely that, at least in part, this is the case due to Bakara's (and then Agata, her heir/apprentice/daughter-figure's) efforts to not let their memory be forgotten.

Agata never discusses Bakara in her dialogues pertaining to Bonta's genocide of Huppermages, and when coupled with Kerubim saying that Bakara is "just a part of the history now" during his own dialogue on the topic, there is a heavy implication that Bakara did not live long enough to see this tragedy — and that her passing is not a fresh wound.

LILOTTE DELAGRANDVENTURE

There is even less known about her fate, but some things are pretty obvious: she had a family of her own — and she is still venerated as a great ancestor even six centuries later, by her great-great-great grandchildren.

You can find a descendant of hers in the Wakfu MMO, as a political leader in a tradition-obiding ouginak tribe, which is a very long cry from the way Lilotte and Indie led their lives as city-dwelling ouginaks.

For context, there is a bit of a... conflict, between these two lifestyles, which makes this development quite interesting:

I feel like this dialogue just speaks for itself, when it comes to the way people like Indie, Lou, and Lilotte are viewed by Ouginaks at large...

Considering the history of oppression that Ouginaks have, it is quite understandable why a lot of them want to live in an independent community of their own people — instead of molding themselves to fit the norms set by the followers of the Twelve gods; and why they may look down on their fellow Ouginaks who do not share this sentiment.

Lilotte's bell is a known relic, and her legend is still known — albeit with major alterations, which are most likely the result of six centuries having passed.

:)

KHAN KARKASS

I have saved all content regarding him for last, because he is the one we know the most about — from the plans to include him in Welsh & Shedar, to his inclusion in the Wakfu MMO.

He is buried next to the stadium, with his Gobbowl cup — the greatest achievement of his life... despite him having years of life after it, as an adventurer. A bit sad, isn't it?

Here's what he says about his life:

And here's him getting Joris's age wrong, lmao:

I debated including what we know about him in Welsh & Shedar in this post... but it's a bit of a beaten horse, by now, so I will just give the simple rundown:

In Welsh & Shedar, Khan and Joris seem to be pretty close, reportedly having adventured together after Khan's knee injury. Khan can be seen spending time together with Joris even in the trailer.

It is easy to assume that by this point, that with Joris being 60-years-old, most other mortal loved ones of Joris's have either passed away, or had their own lives to deal with, not having much time to spend together, which is pretty sad.

Considering the fact that instead of spending his time with Bakara, he is seen alone as an old man, it might be possible that she passed away before him or that their romance did not work out.

Another reason to believe their romance may not have worked out is the fact that neither Bakara's, nor Khan's fans, mention them being an item.

He also had the stories about him morph... but somehow, I really doubt that it wasn't his own damn fault.