#when someone leaves a fic open (to read later etc)

[polutrope]

(ao3 stats complaining)

[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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Something Wicked This Way Comes

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 13.3k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

OONA'S MASTERLIST

request for @namelesslosers

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all AI images are created from prompts i wrote. they are not real images.

Summary: Five years after escaping the cluthes of her violent ex, reader is preparing to spend Halloween night alongside her son, but she wakes that morning feeling something amiss...

it's Halloween, after all, & things are bound to give her a fright, even if it is her past catching up for a bite.

READERS, PREPARE YOURSELVES. I GIVE YOU...THE DARKEST FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN.

            It was like any other day. Except it wasn’t. From the moment you woke up, something was off. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a tense sensation in the air around you. It left you feeling on edge all day, but you had summed it up to be your paranoia & anxiety kicking in because it was Halloween night. After all, it was a night of spooky scares.

            What didn’t help relieve your unsettled nerves, was the fact that you had woken up late. It was a little past 7:30 in the morning when you finally rolled over to see the time. The red lights flashing at you on your alarm clock shocked you awake, causing you to stumble out of bed.

            “Shit!” You hissed as you raced to your closet to pull out your outfit for the day.

            “Louie!” You yelled from your bedroom, listening for any sign of your son being awake. When you didn’t get a response you tripped into the hallway as you struggled to throw your dress on over your head. You were relieved you showered before bed, otherwise you would have dreaded going to work without one.

            “Lou?!” You hollered again as you stumbled into his bedroom.

            His bed was empty & unmade. You cursed again, knowing exactly where you’d find him next. Leaving his room, you succeeded in getting your dress on & tying the bow in the back before entering the living room. As expected, your son was on his stomach, his bent arms holding his head up as he watched cartoons. You spotted the bag of opened candy on the floor before him.

            “Lou…” You sped-walk towards him as he kicked his feet.

            He smiled up at you, that sweet innocent smile of his you loved so much.

            “You overslept again, Mommy.” He pointed out.

            You feigned surprise, “You don’t say. Maybe someone should have woken me up."

            Bending at the waist, you picked your son up, cradling him on your hip as you searched for the remote to shut off the TV. Lou rested his on your shoulder, his fingers tangling into your hair as he rubbed the strands between his fingers.

            “You were crying in your sleep again last night.” Lou revealed, making your heart stop. “I didn’t want to wake you up since you weren’t crying anymore.”

            “Oh, hon.” You paused in the hallway to placed him on the ground, kneeling down to be eye-level with him, “I’m sorry you had to hear that again.”

            Ever since you left your hometown, or rather ran away from there, you had the same nightmare. In the beginning they happened every single night, but now, almost six years later, they were few & far between. But it was Louie who suffered the most from them. You didn’t realize you were still having him until he was older & started talking. You remembered when he lied next to you in bed one morning, asking why you cried in your sleep. You never had any memories of the nightmares. But Louie remembered them for you.

            “Was the bad man in your dream trying to hurt you again?” Lou bit his lip, a small bout of fear appearing in his eyes.

            You tugged him into you, holding him tight against your chest as you hugged him, “All that matters is that it was just a dream.”

            Lou wrapped his tiny arms over your shoulders, his hands never leaving your hair. That had been a comfort mechanism of his ever since he was an infant.

            “I wish he would visit my dreams.” Lou shared softly, to which you gently pulled him away from you to stare at him bewildered.

            “Baby, why would you want that?”

            He lowered his eyes, “So you could sleep.”

            Releasing a saddened sigh, you ran your fingers through his hair, “Mommy is fine, okay? You keep dreaming your excellent, beautiful dreams. One of us has to, right?”

            Lou nodded at that but he wasn’t smiling.

            Wanting to lighten the mood, you gathered his hands in yours, “I tell you what, you hurry up & go get dressed while Mommy finishes getting ready & we’ll take the long way to school so you can see the kitties, yeah?”

            Louie beamed at that, “Really?!”

            “Yes, really.” You kissed his forehead before standing up, “Now, hurry! We’re late as it is.”

            Lou took off for his bedroom, cheers of joy left in his wake. You smiled after him before re-entering your bedroom. You closed the door behind you, resting against it momentarily as an old memory flashed before you.

            You couldn’t breathe, one of his hands wrapped securely around your throat as he fucked himself into you. His pleased groans filled your ears, forcing more tears from your eyes. A chilled shiver shot up your spin when you felt his lips kiss the tops of your breasts where his teeth marks remained. The weight of his body crushed against yours & you had never felt more trapped.

            “Mom!” Lou yelled from down the hallway, making you jump, “Can I wear my costume to school?!”

            “Yes, baby!” You hollered back, hearing the unevenness in your voice. Shaking away the awful sensations of that memory, you finished getting ready for work.

            Lou skipped ahead of you as you walked down the main street of your small town. You had moved here shortly after Louie was born, wanting him to live in a family town that had a good school system. More importantly, it was a close-knit community. Almost everyone knew everyone. That worked in your favor & made you feel safe. It meant that if anyone new ever moved to town you would know about it. Your neighbors were your last line of defense against the man you escaped from over five years ago.

            “Look, Mommy, look!” Lou paused in front of the display window the cat adoption café. He had his face pressed against the glass, his ghoul makeup smearing as he did so. You laughed to yourself, knowing you would just have to re-do his makeup again before going into class with all the other ghosts & witches.

            “Wow.” You mused along with your son as he meowed at the cats chasing his finger on the other side of the glass. Lou had been asking for a cat for his birthday ever since he was three years old. Whenever he saw one on the street or in a neighbor’s window, he would race towards it at lay on the ground with it as the feline in question would rub along his face & body, making him as one of their own.

            But you always had to say no. A cat, or pet of any kind, would slow you down in the event you had to run again. There had never been a peep or warning from your few trusted friends back home, but you couldn’t risk it. You couldn’t live with yourself if you had to escape from your home with Lou at a moment’s notice, him crying over your shoulder as he begged for you to get his pet.

            And that made you furious. That you couldn’t give your son something he truly wanted & loved because you had to be ready for when your past caught up to you.

            As Lou continued aweing at the kittens behind the glass, you raised your head to peer inside the café. The elderly woman that was always there waved at you through the glass & you waved back. But as you did, you spotted another in the glass. Only they weren’t on the other side, but in the reflection. And they looked a lot like…

            A panicked gasp escaped you as you spun around, staring wide-eyed across the street. But no one was there. Your heart was racing as you looked down the street every which way. But all you saw were other townspeople going about their Friday morning.

            It’s in your head, _____. You calmed yourself. He’s not here. It wasn’t him. It’s just your paranoia.       

            Inhaling sharply, you stole Lou’s attention, grabbing his wrist softly, “C’mon, honey, we gotta go.”

            Louie allowed you to drag him away from the kitty café, his arm outstretched in longing.

            You saw Lou off to his kindergarten classroom before speed-walking down the hallway to the main office. It was a massive relief to you that you managed to land a job in an administrative position at Lou’s school before he even started. Before that you were waitressing while taking online classes at the local community college, & once you got your degree in business administration, you scored a front office desk job at the only elementary school in town. All you needed was to be close to Lou because you never knew when you’d have to snatch him & run.

            “Hey, Miriam.” You greeted breathlessly as you raced into the office, tossing your purse on the floor under your desk.

            “Hey, you.” She eyed you mischievously.

            Miriam was well beyond her retirement period, but Principle Bentley couldn’t get rid of her if he tried. And tried he had. But it was all in good fun. Miriam was a staple of the school & the town itself. She was known as a hard ass but also a gossip queen. She always had all the tea o what was happening in the sleepy Northeastern town. It made your mostly mundane days more enjoyable.

            “Overslept again, I see.”

            “Yeah.” You sighed as you turned your computer on, “Don’t know what’s going on lately.”

            “Something’s in the air.” She commented, echoing your silent thoughts from earlier that morning. “You should relax, though, hon. You’re always wound so tight.”

            You raised your brows in agreement as you pulled up your morning duties, “Easier said than done.”

            Miriam chuckled at that. The door behind your respective desks opened & Principle Bentley stepped out.

            “Morning, ladies.” He greeted as he approached the coffee maker in the corner of the office.

            “Morning, Nicholas.” Miriam didn’t care for referring to him by his career name, after all, she did babysit him when he was only a child.

            “Morning, Principle Bentley.” You greeted him, to which he smirked sweetly.

            “How many times do I gotta tell you, _____, call me Nick.”

            Principle Bentley was young for his job. Thirty one, to be exact, & he was a well-known bachelor in the community. He was easy on the eyes, with dark brown eyes reminiscent of a puppy, & dimples that only added to his boyish charm. But he was your boss. And despite his mild flirtatious advances, you only treated him as such.

            If you couldn’t indulge your son by getting him a cat, you sure as shit couldn’t indulge yourself with a romantic partner. It was out of the question. Perhaps one day, when Louie was older & out of the house, but until then, you kept your mind distraction free.

            “And how many times do I have to tell you, you’re my boss.” You reminded him back, though your tone was friendly.

            Principle Bentley chuckled at that before pouring himself a mug of coffee, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

            You glanced back at your computer, knowing Miriam really only showed up to get paid & gabber with the mom’s & dad’s that came in to pick up their children.

            “There’s an assembly just before lunch, the usual ‘stay safe out there on Halloween night’ spiel followed by some games the teachers put together. And then during final hour the kids will be going from class to class as a precursor to their trick-or-treating.”

            He nodded in response, “Sounds like a normal day.”

            You smiled, “Pretty much.”

            “Alright, well, I trust you two to hold down the fort out here while I make some calls.” He began walking towards his office before stopping in the doorway, “_____?”

            “Yes?” You spun around in your chair to face him.

            “Before the assembly, I’d like to speak with you.”

            “O-okay.” You fumbled, your fingers clenching together.

            “It’s nothing bad. Just something I wanted to run past you.”

            “Of course.” You nodded sheepishly. Then he closed his door.

            Turning back to your computer, you rolled your shoulders, having felt them stiffen at his proposal to talk one-on-one.

            “Why is it they always say, ‘it’s nothing bad’, when it is indeed something bad?” You murmured out loud, not truly expecting an answer.

            “Nick?” Miriam chuckled, “Boy couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. You’re not in trouble dear. If I had to guess…”

            You rolled your eyes, recognizing that suggestive tone of your voice very well.

            “Nick is finally going to put his big boy pants on & ask you on a date.”

            You scoffed at that, facing her wide-eyed, “Miriam! He is not going to ask me on a date. He’s my boss!”

            “Oh, pish, posh.” Miriam waved your dismissal away, “I met my husband working for him. It still happens.”

            “No.” You chuckled, focusing on your computer as you read emails, “Not that. Besides, I already have a man in my life.”

            “Your son, as cute as he is, doesn’t count.” Miriam told you bluntly.

            “Yeah, yeah.” You waved her away before sarcastically responding, “Now, shut up. I have very important emails to get back to.”

            Miriam left twenty minutes early for the assembly, leaving you to finish off your morning duties alone in the office. There was still five minutes to spare before the assembly started so you put your computer in sleep mode then stood up to head to Principle Bentley’s office.

            Knocking gently, you waited until you heard the familiar sound of his voice, telling you to come in.

            “_____!” He grinned, rising from his chair, “Please, take a seat.”

            Despite what Miriam teased you about earlier, you still felt nervous. Though she was right about Principle Bentley being a good guy, you still felt like you had done something wrong.

            “So, is this about my being late?” You questioned, your brows creasing.

            “You were late?” He replied, clearly only hearing about it now.

            “Oh…yeah.” You sighed, “I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again, I prom—”

            “_____, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Miriam bails on her duties all the time & have I spoken to her about it?”

            “Well, no, but it’s Miriam. No one really wants to cross her.” You joked, trying to lighten the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

            “Sure, sure.” He nodded in agreement, “Look, I don’t mind if you’re late. You could be two hours late & it’d be fine. I mean, what are you gonna miss, signing kids in & out? It’s fine, really.”

            “Okay.” You felt yourself relax, “If you say so.”

            “I do.” He chuckled.

            “So, what is that you wanted to discuss?”

            Principle Bentley sucked his teeth in awkwardly before finally leaning forward on his desk, his elbows resting there with his hands raised, “I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting lunch together today.”

            “Oh.” You felt your smile drop. Oh. Miriam had been right.

            “No pressure, either!” He rushed out, “I know how weird it’s gotta be having your boss ask you out but I don’t know, figured I’d at least try.”

            “Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly before gathering your thoughts, “The offer is nice, Nick. But—”

            “Nick?” He asked incredulously but was smiling nonetheless, “Using my name? I know what that means.”

            He was letting you let him down easily & you were grateful towards him for it.

            “But I’m going to have to decline.”

            “I understand.” He nodded, never losing his boyish smile.

            “Ya know, in a perfect world, I—” You stopped yourself, unsure if you really wanted to say what you were about to say, but the look on Nick’s face encouraged you to keep going.

            “In a perfect world, I’d say yes.” You admitted. Nick was a good guy. He always took care of you & Miriam. Plus he enjoyed working with the kids & all parents sung his praises. Nick Bentley was a good guy, & he’d be an excellent father. Truly, that was something you wish you could have given Lou, a father, but with your past still terrorizing you in your sleep, it just wasn’t possible.

            “And what is a perfect world?” Nick asked, his voice soft.

            You sighed, biting your lower lip in thought. “I love being a mother. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

            For some odd reason, you were ready to tell someone your life story, or at least the nicer parts about it. Something indeed was in the air.

            “But I had Lou when I was young, too young. I was nineteen. I wasn’t ready… & ya know, Lou’s father…” You inhaled sharply as those startling blue eyes of your ex flashed through your mind. “Let’s just say he wasn’t a good guy. I’m just not ready for another relationship. Or dating, even. I just want to focus on being a good mother to Lou.”

            Nick eyed you with admiration in his eyes. He nodded in understanding, “Your son is very lucky to have you. I hope you know that.”

            The praise made your heart falter with elation. Because you ran away from your hometown, & couldn’t risk your ex finding you, you were forced to cut off all communication with friends & family. No one had even met your son. Not your parents, not your best friend, no one. It was another aspect of your life that you were furious about. That Lou was forced to only call you family when he had so many more people out there who would love him just as much as you did. But to protect him most of all, you had to stay hidden. So, hearing those words from Nick made your heart swell.

            “Thank you for saying that.” You replied almost inaudibly.

            “Thank you for being transparent.” Nick responded in kind, “I can’t imagine it was easy to share.”

            “No.” You chuckled openly, “It wasn’t. At all.”

            “Well,” Nick stood from his chair, gesturing towards the door, “walk with me to the assembly?”

            You laughed & clapped your hands as kids all over the gymnasium ran amok, your ghoulish son among them. After the usual ‘stay safe’ portion of the assembly, the kids were free to go around to booths the teachers had put together in the spirit of Halloween night. You took to the wall, your eyes following your son as he ran around with his friends, chasing one of the 3rd grade teachers dressed a ghost, playing a game they called ‘ghost hunters’.

            Nick was in the midst of it all, getting tangled up with the kids as they either wrapped themselves around his legs or tried climbing his black. You hid your smile behind your hand as you watched on.

            On the bleachers to your right was Miriam & a few other female staff members. They all appeared to be reacting in shock to something Miriam was saying. You were curious to what tea she was spilling so you found yourself joining them.

            “Why the shocked faces?” You asked. One of the first grade teachers, Isabella, handed you a Styrofoam cup of hot apple cider. You accepted it gratefully.

            “You haven’t heard?!” Sophia, one of the student teacher’s, turned to you in shock, “Someone broke into George Acosta’s barn last night & stole that ancient Chevy truck he’s been working on for ages.”

            You frowned at that. You knew the truck well, everyone did. But only because it made these awful metal, grinding sound as it ambled down the roads throughout town. You could hear it from two blocks away most times as it backfired, alerting anyone in the vicinity that good old Mr. Acosta was out & about.

            “I’m telling ya.” Isabella commented, “Whoever stole it has to be from out of town. No one is idiotic enough to steal from George. Remember when he threatened Sheriff Kaufman with a loaded shot gun just for pulling over a reckless driving teen on his property last year? Even the Sheriff was apologizing profusely to him.”

            The women cackled amongst themselves but you weren’t laughing. The strange occurrence & Isabella’s theory about it being an out of towner made your stomach shift into knots.

            It not him. It can’t be. Someone would’ve contacted you if he got wind of where you were. It was just a random crime, _____. It’s not him. You’re okay. Lou is okay. Calm down. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ex—

            “_____? My god, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Isabella placed a hand on your upper back in comfort.

            You nodded shakily but stood up, “I’m alright. Just feeling sick all of a sudden.”

            “You don’t look good, hon.” Miriam added, peering at you with concern.

            “I’ll be fine.” You assured them, “I just need to use the restroom really quick.”

            Everything was okay. It was just your paranoia, you knew that, but you couldn’t deny how ever since this morning you felt like something awful was coming. But you reminded yourself that it wouldn’t be the first time you felt that way & ended up realizing eventually that it was just your nerves & traumatic responses acting up.

            “Nick.” You approached him as he assisted with the gym teacher in replacing a skeleton pinata with a pumpkin one.

            “Hey!” He greeted jovially but frowned when he took in your state, “Whoa, you alright?”

            “I’m not feeling well, all of a sudden. I don’t know what’s happening but—”

            “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He clambered down the ladder he had been on to gently grip your upper arms, “What do you need?”

            “I know I was late this morning but would it be alright if I went home for the day? I just, I don’t want to get the kids sick if it’s something contagious.”

            You were lying through your teeth, something you had gotten really good at, but it was for the right reason.

            “Yeah, of course, of course. Is there anything I can do?”

            Your eyes searched out Lou as he gathered around one of the teachers dressed as a warlock, listening intently to a story he was reading from a book.

            “Yes, but it’s too much to ask for.”

            “Hey.” Nick smiled kindly at you, “There’s no such thing, what is it?”

            “Would you mind bringing Lou home after school? Normally I’d take him with me but he’s having too much fun & I don’t want to ruin his day. Plus, I have no car to pick him up & I don’t want him walking home from school alone.”

            “Of course, yeah, I can do that, it’ll be no problem.” He nodded.

            It took a long time getting comfortable about Lou being alone with anyone who wasn’t you, but after living in the close-knit community as long as you did, you knew that Louie would be in safe hands with whomever you left him with.

            “Thank you, seriously, thank you.”

            “Yeah, yeah.” He stood up straight but remained watching you with concern, “What about you though? Do you need a ride home?”

            “No.” You mustered a grateful smile, waving away his offer, “I’ll be okay. I just need to get home & take a cold shower or something.”

            “Okay, yeah. Will you call me when you get there? Let me know you’re alive & what not.”

            The two of you shared a laugh but you nodded, “Of course.”

            “Alright. I’ll bring him back straight after school. You focus on feeling better.”

            “Thank you, Nick.”

            He gripped your shoulder in comfort before you parted from him to approach Louie. He was still listening to the warlock’s story when you appeared behind him.

            “Hey, baby. Mommy’s not feeling well so I’m going home. Principle Bentley said he’d bring you home after school, okay?”

            He spun around towards you, his youthful face frowning as he peered up at you, “Are you okay, Mommy?”

            “Yeah, I’m okay, I just feel sick, that’s all.”

            “Is it your dreams?”

            “No.” You shook your head rapidly, cupping his cheek, “I just need to lie down for a while.”

            “Okay.” He gave you that soft smile of his you adored so much.

            “Mommy loves you.” You hugged him, kissing him three times on the crown of his head, “I’ll see you later, alright?”

            “Bye, Mommy.”

            “Bye, baby.”

            After seeking out Lou’s teacher & asking her to walk him to the office at the end of the school day so Nick could drive him home, you were finally able to leave work. Fortunately, you only lived five blocks away, so you would be home in no time to get your head together. You hated lying to your coworkers, more so, your son, but you needed to get home to ensure that everything was still ready to go in case you & Lou had to run. Never in the five years that you had lived in your town had you ever had a nasty feeling like you did today. And although you knew it was likely just the eeriness of Halloween mixed with your paranoia, you chose to be safe rather than sorry.

            But as you strolled home, your cardigan wrapped snugly around your front, you couldn’t help as your mind strayed to the past.

            You were in love, maddeningly so. He was everything you could have dreamed of. And the way he looked at you always had you feeling like a schoolgirl with a silly crush. You could never have imagined that you would have found your prince. And that’s just what he was. He was your prince charming & you were his darling princess.

            The two of you were inseparable. The honeymoon phase meant something new with the two of you. Your relationship was filled with laughter, friendship, trust, & most importantly, love. So much love. You never knew you could love anyone as deeply as you loved him, & you knew he felt the same.

            And for the first year of your relationship it was pure bliss. Until it wasn’t.

            Everything changed after you turned 18. You were ready to take your relationship to the next level. He had been ecstatic that you were ready to become intimate & finally have sex. It was how you knew he was one of the good ones, that he never pressured you or tried anything himself. He was respectful & kind & patient. Everything you dreamt about. But once you two did have sex, something changed in him. A darker energy you never knew he had emerged.

            It started out small. He would become touchier. You had reasoned to yourself it was just because now that you two were having sex he was antsy for it all the time. But when the times came that you wouldn’t want, whether it was because you weren’t in the mood or weren’t feeling well, he would make snarky remarks under his breath. And then it shifted again.

            He started to not want you going out with him, even if it was just to a friend’s house to watch a movie. He would text you the whole time, blow up your phone, leave you voicemails accusing you of not being where you said you were. Your friends pointed out to you that his behavior was problematic & that you should discuss it with. And so you did. Why wouldn’t you of? After all, you two had never had serious issues before. But you couldn’t have been more wrong.

            The night you told him that he was beginning to make you feel suffocated would be a night you never forgot. He has lost his mind. You had never heard him yell before, let alone raise his voice, especially at you, but he had done it all that night. When he got to a point where you felt scared to be alone with him you had tried leaving but he wouldn’t have any that.

            It was the first time he raped you. It wouldn’t be the last.

            After the first time though, he had apologized profusely, swearing it would never happen again. He confessed to you that he was just scared of losing you & that you were giving him mixed signals lately. You didn’t understand that, knowing that in your own mind you were definitely not doing that, but he looked so scared, so terrified of losing you, that it had convinced you to stay with him.

            You would live to regret it. His behavior didn’t change, it only got worse. But it eventually go to a point where you were practically chained to him. You stopped hanging out with your friends, quit coming out of your room to visit with your family, stopped posting about your life on social media. You became a scared little girl, & it was all because of him.

            Then when you thought he couldn’t get worse, he proved you wrong.

            The two of you had been attending a beach party. It was with his friends so you weren’t anticipating seeing any of your own, but one had been there. You had known Donovon your whole life, longer than any of your friends. Other than your closest girlfriend, Donovon was your next closest friend. So, when you saw him at that party, you were ecstatic to see a face you were forbidden to see.

            It was your mistake putting Donovon in the devil’s path. Had you known what your boyfriend was capable of, you would have never taken him back. But that didn’t matter. When Donovon saw you, he snuck up behind you, capturing you by your waist & lifting you into the air. You had squealed in fear at first, genuinely scared due to your ex’s mental, emotional, & physical torment, but when you realized who it was, you only felt relief.

            So, you hugged Donovon. Your oldest friend.

            And it would be the last time you, that anyone did.

            The devil had heard your screams of fear & came rushing forward furiously. You had no time to react or stop him as he tackled Donovon to the ground before beating him to a pulp. Donovon didn’t have a chance to defend himself as the devil knocked his head every which way. Others at the party managed to separate the two but the damage had been done.

            Donovon was in the hospital for two weeks before his family took him off life support. Your boyfriend had murdered your oldest friend. And he got away with it, too. Witnesses at the party protected the devil, saying that Donovon had started it. That it was just a fight that got out of hand. No one knew that it would come to that. And most of all, your boyfriend’s father used his influence to ensure his son would never see a sentence. Not even for manslaughter.

            Your boyfriend swore to you that he didn’t mean to lose it like he did but you saw that dark fury behind his eyes. He had. He had meant every single fist brought down onto your friend’s skull, & he would do it again.

            You weren’t safe with him. That much you knew, but you didn’t know how to get away from him. At the time, you were preparing yourself to be one of the women you had seen in those domestic violence movies who couldn’t find their voice to tell anyone the truth. But that all changed when you took a pregnancy test & it came back positive.

            That pink plus sign was all you needed to kick your flight instinct into gear. It took a couple weeks to get everything prepared, but you made it happen. They were the scariest weeks of your life because you were required to sneak behind the devil’s back to get the plan into place. After what he did to Donovon, it took little convincing from old friends & your parents to help you get out.

            But you didn’t want them to get hurt in the process. So, once you had the funds, the drive, & a bus ticket out of town, you told all of those who helped you that you wouldn’t be in contact with them, too scared that if they knew where you were that your ex would do to them as he did to Donovon just to find out where you were. You couldn’t allow that, not again.

            And so you ran, & you didn’t stop running until you reached the New England states. Throughout your relationship, you had revealed to your boyfriend many times how you dreamed of living in the Pacific Northwest. It would be the first place he looked for you. And he had the funds & means to do just that. So you went to the other end of the country, counting your days until he found you again.

            The backfiring of a nearby engine shocked you out of your reverie. You blinked away your memories, realizing you were then only a block away from your house. The backfiring of a nearby engine sounded near the end of the street you were on & you froze, remembering what your coworkers at work had just told you about Georga Acosta.

            You felt safe enough standing there on Main Street, surrounded by townsfolk as they went about their business, but you felt a chill roll up your spine. As if eyes were watching you. As if he was watching you.

            Your flight instinct from long ago kicked in & you rushed into the nearest storefront. It was a Halloween store. The man behind the counter smiled politely at you as he continued helping a customer. You backed yourself up until you couldn’t be seen from the street but could still see the street yourself. As you did, the engine grew closer. You stood behind a shelf at the end of an aisle as you waited for Acosta’s truck to appear. For him to be behind the wheel.

            But when the truck finally appeared, you felt a heavy weight lift from your shoulders. It was Chevy, much like Mr. Acosta’s, but not his. Instead, the truck that ambled down the street was filled to the brim with teenagers hooting & hollering as they wore Halloween masks, playing the iconic Halloween theme song on a boombox from the bed.

            You fluttered your eyes closed, your hand on your chest.

            “Miss, are you alright?”

            Your eyes flew open at the nearby voice. It was the man behind the counter, the customer he had been helping gone.

            “Yes, sorry.” You breathed out, a relieved smile on your face.

            “Did you need to purchase something?” You could tell he was curious about you but didn’t push.

            Your arm brushed against the shelves you had been hiding behind. On the display shelf was a witches hat. You quickly grabbed it.

            “Just this.”

            After paying, you felt safe enough to leave the store, now knowing your imagination was just that. Then you finished your walk home.

            Someone was calling your name. It was like a whisper, close but far away at the same time. Your name was said again, over & over, & every single time it repeated it grew closer, louder. Until nothing. Then it was quiet.

            Then a pair of lips touched your cheek.

            You shot forward in bed, your face coated in sweat, your chest heaving. Your mouth & throat was dry. Holding your head in your hands, you focused on calming down your breathing. You touched your cheek where you had felt the kiss. It was warm to touch.

            It was just a dream. You had fallen asleep, not meaning to, just wanting to lie down for five minutes but it seems your body had other plans. Once you gathered yourself, shaking away the nerves, you stood from your bed, your muscles aching. But as you did you halted immediately.

            The door to your bedroom was open. Not all the way, just cracked open. You frowned. You were sure you had shut it. But ever since getting home, your mind had been a mess. All the anxiety & paranoia you were feeling was eating you away. You were losing it!

            Brushing the concern for you door away, you exited your room, heading down to your kitchen. The clock on the stove read 2:32. School would have just gotten out, Nick would be here any moment with Louie. You chugged a glass of water & opened the fridge, peering inside to get a snack ready for Lou, though you imagined he would be bringing home plenty of candy from the trick-or-treat at school.

            Just as you fingered a package of sliced ham, the doorbell rang. You felt your brows crease, checking the clock once more. 2:33.

            They must have left school early. You thought mindlessly, knowing it was Nick with your son at the door.

            Tossing the ham onto the counter, you rounded the kitchen to the front door. You unlatched the lock & swung it open.

            “That was qui—” Your words died on your tongue.

            There was no one. You frowned, stepping out onto your porch. Looking into your front yard & the neighbors, you saw no one in sight. Your street was quiet & bare of any life.

            So, who rang the doorbell?

            The question only left you reeling. Turning back to go inside, you stopped when something in the corner of your eye stole your attention. On the bottom step of the stairs leading to your porch was a few pumpkins you & Lou hard carved out together earlier that week. They appeared relatively normal except for one.

            Warily descending the stairs, you gripped the banister when you finally realized what was wrong with the single pumpkin. The handle of a knife glinted under the autumn sun as it stuck out from the top of the pumpkin. You covered your mouth with your hand, whipping around to check your surroundings once more. There was no one in sight, not even Eugenia May—the town recluse—was peeking out from her window.

            Your heart was hammering in your chest. You turned back to the pumpkin, kneeling down to inspect further. From what you could make out thanks to the cut-outs of the pumpkin, the knife was long, nearly piercing the other side.

            Why would someone—

            “Boo!”

            A scream tore from your throat at the booming voice behind you.

            Spinning around, you nearly toppled over before Nick managed to catch you by the elbow.

            “What the fu—” Your son looked up at you with wide eyes, “—dge?!”

            “Sorry.” Nick smiled uncomfortably, “It was your son’s idea.”

            Your eyes danced between the two of them as your heart began to settle down. You hadn’t even heard the hum of an engine, let alone their footsteps as they came up the walkway.

            “What are you doing outside, Mommy?” Louie asked, watching you curiously.

            It was then that you remembered, too, why you were outside. You stepped in front of the pumpkin with the knife sticking out, grateful Lou had yet to see it.

            “I was excited to you, baby.” You told him, ruffling his hair. He slapped your hands away playfully.

            “Hey, why don’t you go inside & get a fruit snack, I’ll be in in a moment, I just need to talk to Principle Bentley.”

            Louie charged forward. You smiled wryly, watching his small legs amble up the stairs & into the house.

            “Sorry ‘bout that. Your kid is hard to say no to.” Nick apologized.

            “No, that’s okay.” You waved it away, “I’m just relieved it was you & not someone else.”

            “Who else would it be?” Nick asked, not realizing the dangerous ground he was treading.

            “Maybe the person who stabbed my pumpkin.” You said, stepping out of the way to reveal the petty crime.

            “Oh, shit.” Nick eyed the pumpkin on the bottom step, “Who’d you piss off?”

            Of course you knew it was a joke but you didn’t laugh. In fact, it did the opposite. You frowned, staring at the deadly weapon.

            “Oh, hey, I’m sorry, I was only kidding.” Nick reached for you but you stepped away.

            “It’s—it’s fine. Forget about it.” Bending over, you snatched the knife by its handle before yanking it out. “Just me being fucking paranoid again.” You mumbled but Nick had heard you.

            You were climbing back up to porch when he caught up to you, blocking the way to your door with a concerned look on his face, “_____, I’m sorry, truly I am.”

            You stared at him, unsure of his words.

            “Are you really thinking someone did this to you on purpose?”

            His question unsettled you. You shifted from foot to foot as you avoided his eyes. You could feel your breathing begin to quicken, on the edge of hyperventilating.

            “Hey, hey.” Nick closed the distance between the two of you, placing his hands on your shoulders gently, “Talk to me. If you’re really concerned then we should call someone about it.”

            “No!” You rushed out, “No. It’s nothing. It’s just me being paranoid, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

            You tried to go around him but Nick blocked you once more.

            “I’ll get out of your way, I promise, but…I’ve never seen you like this before. This…scared. If something is happening, I want to help.”

            “You can’t help.” You sighed defeatedly. You were just so tired, so tired of looking over your shoulder, of worrying about if & when he would find you. You just wanted to live a happy, normal life with your son.

            “I can try.” Nick captured your eyes, “If you let me.”

            As you stared back at him, seeing the genuine care for you, the same look you had seen once before in the last man you trusted, you felt yourself soften. Nick wasn’t him. Nick was a good person. Unlike your past, he wanted to help you. And so, for the first time in five years, you let someone in.

            It was nearly 5’o’clock when Lou took off from the dinner table to go wash his hands. Nick helped you clear the table of dirty dishes. You thanked him for his help before placing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher.

            “So, this ex of yours.” Nick began, “You think he’s found you?”

            “I don’t know.” You shook your head, peering out a window over your kitchen sink, “I’ve been living in fear of him finding us for so long that anything remotely out of the ordinary makes me think it’s him.”

            “Well, I can almost assure you that it’s not.” Nick kept his voice low as Lou entered the main room.

            “Go ahead & watch some cartoons.” You told him, to which Lou very happily obliged. Once the TV sounded from the living room, you turned to Nick.

            “How can you assure me that?”

            After Nick made his claim to want to help you, you had told him everything. Everything. Not a detail spared. You weren’t explicit in reciting your history with your dreaded ex, but you detailed enough to get the point across.

            “I called down to the station.” Nick revealed.

            Your eyes widened, immediately questioning if you were wrong to trust him, but Nick raised his hand in reassurance, already predicting your reaction, “I didn’t give any names, I promise. I just asked if they had gotten any complaints about pumpkins or the like being vandalized. You know Brenden Brennen?”

            You did. No one forgot an unfortunate name like that. He was a local teenager, known to be trouble.

            “Apparently Brenden & some of his friends have been going around scaring people. Throwing poppers into driveways, jumping out of bushes, prank calling. I guess even Stephanie Romero’s garage got tagged with fake blood.”

            You nodded, understanding where he was going with it all.

            “It’s Halloween. It’s a spooky night. Kids are just getting up to no good, that’s all. Things are bound to go bump in the night.”

            It did little relieve you but you accepted the likelihood that it was Brenden who stabbed your pumpkin.

            “But what about Mr. Acosta’s truck? I mean, Isabella’s right. No one in town, not even Brenden Brennen, would be stupid enough to mess with him, let alone that truck he holds near & dear to his heart.”

            Nick chuckled at that but shrugged, “Nothing so far as far as I know. But Mr. Acosta is getting up there. Way, waaaay up there. I hear his daughter complain every now & then that she swears he’s got Alzheimer’s, says he’s been losing track of things a lot lately.”

            “A truck is quite a big thing to lose track of.” You muttered.

            “Yeah, it is.” Nick nodded in agreement, “But think of it this way. From the sounds of it, your ex has money, & lots of it. If he were here, he wouldn’t be breaking into a barn to steal a beat-up old truck. He’d probably be driving through town in one of those nice sports cars that rarely come through here. And I say ‘rarely’ because folk like that stick out like a sore thumb. So, if he were here, someone would’ve noticed him by now.”

            Everything he was saying was making sense, & you knew it to be true. You sighed, smiling, feeling like a fool.

            “I just want it to end.” You admitted, your voice soft as you stared at Lou on the other end of the room, “I don’t want to live in fear for the rest of my life. I want Louie to have a normal childhood, not one that he looks back on wondering why his mom was always crying in her sleep or looking over her shoulder every day.”

            “Hey.” Nick approached you, his hand on your lower back in comfort, “You have done so much for him. He knows how much you love him, he sees that. And he loves you, too. It may not be the childhood you want for him but it’s better than the one he could’ve had if you hadn’t run away, isn’t it?”

            “Oh, god.” You marveled horrifically at the thought. You never thought too long, if ever, about what it would have been like raising Lou back home, with him always around.

            “See?” Nick consoled you, “You’re giving him the childhood he deserves. As long as that kid there has you, he’ll be alright.”

            You nodded, peering up Nick, “Thank you. For everything.”

            He grinned sheepishly at that, shrugging, “I’m here for you, _____. For as long as you need me.”

            It had been a long time since you felt like you found someone you could trust. You were happy Nick was the first.

            Surprising even yourself, you raised onto your tiptoes & placed a kiss on his cheek. You watched as Nick blushed at the affection. When you pulled away, you two stared at one another before laughing lightly.

            “Are you going to be my Dad, now?”

            Both of you jumped apart as Lou stared at the two of you from the other side of the kitchen.

            “What was that, buddy?” Nick played off your sons question as you tucked your smile into your teeth.

            “No, baby, Principle Bentley was just helping Mommy.”

            Lou made a questionable face but moved on, “When are we going trick-or-treating?”

            “Oh, um.” You eyed the clock on the stove. It was nearly 6. “Any moment! Go get a jacket on & we’ll head out.”’

            Lou began to run down the hallway before he stopped to stare at Nick, “Are you coming with us, Principle Bentley?”

            “Oh, I, uh, we haven’t discussed—”

            “Yes.” You answered for him, watching as Lou broke out into a smile in response, “Now go get a jacket, mister!”

            Once Lou was out of sight, you turned towards Nick, “It’s probably not the date you had in mind but if you’d like, Lou & I would love to have you join us.”

            Nick grinned that dimpled boyish grin of his, “Then I’d love to.”

            Kids ran amok throughout the neighborhood as you & Nick walked side by side on the sidewalk, watching as Lou raced from house to house, filling his plastic pumpkin candy bowl to the brim. Every now & then, a candy or two would spill out as your son ran happily between yards.

            Lou had wanted you to dress up but you had forgotten to actually get yourself a costume. So, the witches hat you had purchased earlier that day was all you had for a costume. It was enough to satisfy Lou, though the same couldn’t be said for Nick. You ended up having to use some of your own makeup to draw a clown look onto your boss’s face. He looked ridiculous, but you supposed that was fitting.

            “He’s pretty great.” Nick commented, watching your son compliment another ghoul’s costume.

            “Yeah, he is.” You felt pride.

            “Ya know,” Nick began, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “I obviously don’t know anything about your ex except from what you’ve told me—which is all bad, bad stuff—but I hope you know that your son is yours. He’s not his. Even if he’s made up of half of him. Who he grows up to be, that’ll be all you.”

            The thought warmed you. That was all you could really ask for.

            The two of you watched as Lou ran down the stairs of another house before running up to you, practically slamming into your legs.

            “Oof, careful, babe.” You giggled. Lou grinned up at you, holding out a piece of candy.

            “Your favorite.” A Smartie was perched between his fingers.

            You accepted the candy, smiling down at you son, “Thank you, Louie.”

            Then he was off again, more candy spilling out behind him.

            “He has his eyes.” You shared. Nick peered at you as you continued. “At first, that terrified me, ya know, when he grew into them. So much of his father there. So much of…”

            You still couldn’t say his name.

            “But you’re right.” You sniffled, the chilly autumn air beginning to make your nose run, “Louie will be nothing like him, even if he resembles him. He’ll be soft, gentle, kind, so full of life & wonder & happiness. All the things he is now. All the things his father isn’t.”

            The three of you crossed the street once Lou finished up at the last house on the corner.

            “You’re a really good mom, _____.” Nick commented, “Louie is in good hands, your hands.”

            “Yeah.” You nodded, sharing a smile with him, though his smile appeared wider thanks to the red lipstick stretched across his lips & cheeks. You giggled openly, unable to take him seriously.

            “What?” Nick widened his eyes in feigned offense, “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to draw a decent clown face.”

            As you two laughed amongst yourselves, someone suddenly shouldered you, practically taking you off your feet.

            “Hey, watch it!” Nick caught you as you stumbled into a neighbor’s yard.

            You followed his line of sight, staring at the back of what you assumed to be a grown man as he stalked down the sidewalk, his hood pulled over his head. Nick grumbled in annoyance as he pulled you upright but you only remained staring after the man. But he never looked back & before you knew it, he had turned a corner & disappeared from sight.

            “What is it?” Nick asked.

            “N-nothing.” You faked a smile, shaking your head as you turned your attention back to him.

            “Prick should watch where he’s going. Had we been one of these kids we’d’ve been flattened.”

            Nick continued walking down the sidewalk, following behind as Lou continued his night of trick-or-treating. You looked over your shoulder once more & were startled by what you saw.

            At the end of the block, where the man had disappeared off to, there he stood. At least, you assumed it was the same man, standing eerily still just staring at you. But you weren’t sure if it was you he was staring at. He was wearing a mask resembling a hockey mask, his face completely covered. There was no way to tell just exactly where he was looking but you felt it… you felt his eyes staring right back into your own.

            “_____!” Nick hollered your name. You spun back around, realizing they had moved a couple houses down, “Coming?”

            Looking back to the man, you were disheartened to find him gone, the corner barren of anyone taller than five feet.

            Frowning, you caught up to Nick.

            “Everything okay?”

            You weren’t sure, but you reminded yourself of everything Nick had said earlier. If he was here, you would’ve known by now. And like he also said, it was Halloween, there was bound to be scares in the night.

            Lou was slouched against Nick’s chest as he carried him back to your house. He was already half-way asleep, the excitement & running around having finally caught up to him. You carried his pumpkin basket full of candy, leading the way back. Once you reached the steps leading up the pathway to your porch, you peered up at you house, ensuring that nothing looked amiss.

            “He’s gonna have one hell of a candy hangover.” Nick joked softly.

            You smiled back him, “Thank you again for carrying him all this way.”

            “It’s no problem.” He assured you, carrying your nearly asleep son up the stairs to your porch. You unlocked the door to your house, swinging it open so Nick could bring Louie inside.

            “Where’s his bedroom?” Nick whispered. You pointed to your hallway, “Last door on the left.”

            Locking the door behind you, you placed your keys & Louie’s basket of candy onto a counter in the kitchen before trailing down the hallway to his room. Inside, you found Nick gently tucking your son into bed. He was well asleep at that point. You smiled elatedly at the sight. It was a sight you had never seen before: a grown man putting your Lou to bed. It brought you more comfort than you thought possible.

            Nick tiptoed out of the room & you pulled Lou’s door closed until only a crack was left.

            Following Nick back into the main room, you grinned up at him, “You’re my hero.”

            “Oh?” Nick raised a single brow, “Why’s that?”

            “He adores you.” You nodded, “I remember after his first day of school he talked about how the principle came to his class to play games with the kids & get to know them. Of course, he doesn’t understand yet that you’re my boss, so he spoke about you like I had never met you before. You’ve made an impression on him ever since.”

            “I could say the same thing about him.” Nick returned.

            “Thank you again, for everything.”

            Nick approached you, smiling down at you, “This better mean you’ll stop referring to me as Principle Bentley at work.”

            You rolled your eyes playfully at that, “We’ll see.”

            He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously but chuckled nonetheless, “Well, I better get outta your hair, let you get some rest.”

            You nodded, seeing him to the door. When you unlocked it, Nick stepped out, but before either of you could verbalize a parting, he turned back to you, “And thanks for the date. I enjoyed it.”

            “Me, too.” You admitted, unable to hide your smile.

            Then Nick crossed back to you, leaning down slightly to kiss your cheek, returning your affection from earlier, “I’ll see you Monday.”

            “See you.”

            Closing the door as he descended your stairs, you relocked the door before finally kicking your shoes off. It had been a long day. You were looking forward to winding down in bed with your recent Kindle purchase before dozing off. Turning off the lights in the front room, you grabbed a couple pieces of candy from Lou’s basket before retreating to your room, sure to leave the door cracked this time now that Lou was home. Unlike when you closed the door for your nap earlier, you never kept your door closed as Lou slept, always wanting to hear if any sounds came from his room.

            Getting undressed & into pj’s, you slipped under the covers of your bed, pulling your Kindle out from your nightstand. Settling against your pillow, you began reading the text but it wasn’t long before you felt your eyelids begin to droop. Then, before you knew it, you slipped into slumber.

            A floorboard creaking somewhere in your house woke you with a start. It was dark in your bedroom as you wiped the sleep from your eyes. You moaned at your stiff muscles, having fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position for your neck. Your eyes flashed to your nightstand. The clock flashed 2:24 a.m.

            Your mouth was dry again, & you had forgotten to bring a glass of water to bed. Slipping out of bed, you exited your room. You stopped in the hallway to peek into Louie’s room. He slept soundlessly still in his bed. Closing his door most of the way once more, you trailed quietly down your hallway to the kitchen.

            Once in the kitchen, you approached the cabinets by the sink. You had pulled one open, preparing to reach for a glass, but a sight outside the window above your sink caught your eye. And when you realized what you were looking at, your breath caught in your throat. Nick’s car. It was still parked out front. But more horrifying than that was what lied just beyond it. Across the street, parked in front of your neighbor’s house, was Mr. Acosta’s beloved Chevy.

Before you had time to react, a hand fisting itself in your hair yanked you backwards. A scream about ripped from your throat, but a gloved hand quickly clamped over your mouth before it could.

            Panicked tears erupted from your eyes as you felt yourself being dragged backwards, the soles of your slippers failing to catch themselves on the hardwood. You struggled against the strong grasp of the arm that was wrapped around your middle as they yanked you back down the hallway towards your bedroom.

            You didn’t need to see them to know who it was. All day, your paranoia had been trying to warn you but you didn’t listen, & then when you did start to listen to it, Nick had reasoned it out of you.

            The force threw you onto your bed & you bounced haphazardly atop it before the room flooded with light.

            All of the nightmares you had had in the last five years were occurring before your very eyes. And the man that caused them was glaring at you through the slits of a hockey mask. The same eyes your son had.

            “Boo.” If the eyes of your ex wasn’t enough of a give away as to who wore the spooky mask, the hollowed out voice behind it was.

            He was here.

            Rafe had found you.

            It took all off your strength & will to not scream in that very instance. Lou was sleeping safe & sound less than twenty feet away from you, totally unaware of the dangers in his home, you wanted it to remain that way. But damn it all to hell if you didn’t fear for your life at that very second.

            Fear racked your body & panic ensnared your heart as Rafe Cameron, the ex you had ran out on with his unborn child in your tummy, stood before you.

            Tense silence filled the room, save for the sound of your shuddering breaths. Tears blurred your vision as you stared wide-eyed in horror.

            Rafe was breathing heavily, his chest moving almost in perfect time with your own. Your eyes fell to his hand, the glint of a familiar looking knife catching in the light.

            He had been here all along. From the beginning. The cat store, Mr. Acosta’s truck, Lou’s stabbed pumpkin, & the man in the mask who stared at you on the street. All of it Rafe. All of it your past finally catching up to you.

            “Rafe…” You shakily cried.

            He cocked his head, the mask only adding more fuel to your nightmare. And though the mask kept his face hidden, you knew well enough that the man behind the mask was carrying a face full of fury. It was a face you never forgot.

            He raised a single gloved finger then, wiggling it slowly at you. Then he brought that same finger to the mouth of the mask. Shh, he was telling you.

            Tears burst from your eyes as you bit your lip to keep from whimpering out loud.

            Don’t make him angry, do as he says. Lou is depending on you.

            But images of Lou sleeping in his bed just down the hallway flooded your mind. Rafe was blocking the door. You wouldn’t have a chance to slip by him & race down there, & even if you did, you’d lead him right to your son. If you did that, there was no saying what he would do next, but you knew Rafe Cameron was capable of deadly things, & you were determined to keep your son ignorant to that.

            It took every amount of restraint you could muster up not to run for your son, to shield him from the devil that snuck into your home. You kept a baseball bat hidden beneath your pillows. It had always been there, & only on rare occasions in the past did you feel the need to bring it out when something went bump in the night. But those bumps always turned out to be nothing. This wasn’t nothing. It was time to really use it.

            Rafe only remained standing before you, his tall & solid frame filling the space of your room like a sleep paralysis dream. Though he wore a thick jacket to keep warm, you could see that he had grown over the years. He had always been tall, towering over you, but he was slender as well. Not anymore, though. It was obvious that he had gotten into the habit of working, adding muscles to his already destructive strength.

            Swallowing the scream that desperately wanted to erupt from you, you kept your voice hush as you spoke, needing to distract him with your words as you very slowly, very subtly inched your fingers towards your pillows.

            “What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, you, especially as well as he, both knew why he was there. But you didn’t care. Just keep his mind distracted.

            But he said nothing, just shook his head once.

            You breathed heavily & sharply, your fingers managing to have slid under your pillow without drawing his attention, desperately seeking out the cool, metal touch of the bat.

            “You shouldn’t have come here.” Your voice shook as you spoke, “You should’ve let me go.”

            But Rafe exhaled heavily at that.

            A relieved, quiet gasp parted your lips when your fingers finally found the bat, fiercely gripping the handle of the weapon.

            Dropping your eyes to the open door behind him, you frowned, “Lou?”

            Rafe turned around at that, expecting to see your son standing in the doorway, but it was only a fake-out.

            Gritting your teeth, you yanked the baseball bat & raised it above you, quickly rushing to your feet to stand atop your bed.

            You let out a war cry as you swung the bat downwards, aiming straight for Rafe’s skull. But he spun around in time to duck. The full weight of your swing made you stumble & one of your feet slipped off the bed. You clambered harshly to the wooden floor, your grip on the bat still tight, but Rafe snatched you by the back of your neck, ripping you upwards. You blindly swung the bat a second time but you felt a force catch the other end before tearing it from your grasp.

            “No!” You cried out as Rafe threw against your dresser, a picture of you & Lou toppling over in the impact.

            You threw yourself back, crab-crawling backwards as Rafe marched towards you, now your bat in one hand, his knife in the other.

            “Rafe, don’t!” You screeched once you felt the wall against your back. But he only continued moving towards you. As he did, he tucked his knife away & raised the bat.

            Fear choked you as you watched your own weapon of defense prepared to be used on you. You raised your arms, readying yourself to protect your face & head from the blow. Your eyes were squeezed shut, waiting for the whisper of air as the bat swung before reaching you…but it never came.

            Breathing fearfully, you fluttered your eyes open.

            The room was empty. Rafe was nowhere in sight.

            “Lou.” Your voice shook with the realization.

            You threw yourself forward onto your feet, getting ready to race after Rafe, but just before you reached the doorway, Rafe appeared again filling the space with his large frame. But he wasn’t alone.

            To your horror, he had another before him, on their knees.

            Duct tape was wrapped securely around Nick’s face, his mouth & most of his nose covered to suppress his grunts. His forehead was swollen & bleeding, evident of him having been attacked by a deadly force. Nick was unable to fight back, as his hands too were securely taped before him.

            A shocked gasp left you as you backed up, taking in the nightmarish sight.

            Rafe entered the room, pushing Nick forward until he fell face-down onto your floor. Nick groaned on impact before struggling to roll himself over onto his back. It was then that you noticed his legs were taped at the ankle.

            Fresh tears breached your eyes as you peered at one of your only friends in the neighborhood. You made to move closer, to shield Nick from Rafe but as you did, you felt the cool touch of your bat catch the underside of your chin. Your eyes trailed the length of it until it led you to Rafe’s hand & arm, thus his face.

            He shook his head once.

            Shaking, you backed away as Rafe stepped closer.

            Nick, the whole time, trying to speak but his words were unable to be made out behind the tape. His flashing between you & your ex with a mixture of fear & anger.

            “Don’t hurt him.” You begged, “He has nothing to do with this. Please, just let him go, I’ll do whatever you ask.”

            Rafe sighed at that, his head cocking at your plea.

            “Please, Rafe.” You whimpered, snot running from your nose, “I’ll do anything.”

            His silence only added to your terror. He wanted you to suffer.

            “You’ll watch.” Was all he said. And before you could absorb what he had said, Rafe moved to stand over Nick & raised the bat.

            “No!” But your scream died in your throat as Rafe brought the bat down on Nick’s skull.

            Cries & choked sobs erupted from you as you watched on in horror as Rafe repeatedly bashed Nick’s face & skull in. You were forced to look away when blood spurted across your face & chest as Nick quickly became unrecognizable.

            You covered your mouth as hot tears fell from your eyes & over your hands. Your room was filled with the gruesome sounds of the bat repeatedly making impact with what was once Nick. Squelching of brain matter & the crushing of bones filled your years & you felt bile rise in your throat. A pool of blood threatened to cake the soles of your feet as it grew bigger, forcing you to pull your knees to your chest.

            The ghastly sounds stopped after another minute & by then you were numb to everything that was happening. Your body still shook, your mouth hung open in a silent scream, but you were no longer crying. Just staring dizzily at your headboard.

            A metallic thud sounded & your eyes betrayed you as you sought the sound out. Your bat rolled towards you, all of it covered in a deep, thick red color, chunks of brain, flesh, & bone texturizing it.

            A gag forced it’s way from your mouth & you crawled away from the monstrous sight, unable to look at what Rafe had done. But as you did, you felt Rafe eyeing you from the opposite side of your room. Before you could react, Rafe climbed on top of your, ensnaring you by the back of your head as he dragged you back over the bed. You thought he would’ve stopped there, but your horrors were only reignited when you dropped to the floor & were dragged into the hallway. Towards Louie’s room.

            “No!” You yelped but Rafe quickly swung you around to his front, covering your mouth. You smelled the scent of blood on his glove as he kept you quiet, knowing good & well that Nick’s blood was now caking your face.

            You fought against Rafe as he yanked you closer to your sons room, terrified that he would do to him what he had just done to Nick. At this point, you didn’t care if Louie woke up, if he woke to the sight & sound of you crying & screaming & fighting against the man from your dreams, thus shattering his childhood. You just needed him to run. Run as far as he could as you once did.

            Once in the room, Rafe forced you to face your sleeping son, none the wiser to the danger approaching. You whimpered & thrashed against Rafe, trying every which way to elbow him or knock your head back into his but his strength greatly outmatched yours. It always had.

            Rafe paused in the center of the room, crushing your back against your front as he secured you around the waist. He removed his hand from your mouth, but before you could scream a blood-curdling cry to alert your son, Rafe had swiftly produced the knife he carried & pressed the briny edge of it to your throat.

            The plastic of the mask moved against your ear, “Don’t scream. Or he’ll scream.”

            The threat was apparent. Your horrors were coming true. Everything you had fought for for so long were crumbling around you.

            “Don’t.” You gasped, desperately reaching to cling to Rafe’s arm.

            Your plea only forced the Rafe to press the knife harsher against your throat. Even you could feel your heartbeat pulsing against it. One swipe & Rafe would end your life before surely ending that of your sons. In a last ditch effort to save your sons life, you revealed the truth that Rafe needed to know.

            “He’s your son.” Sobs racked your body as the words parted your lips. “Our son.”

            Rafe stiffened behind you.

            “Are you going to tell him?” Your mother asked you as she helped you pack one of your go-bags for the great escape.

            “No.” You responded despondently, “If he knows I’m on the run with his unborn kid, he’ll stop at nothing, he’ll hurt anyone I love just to get to me.” You knew good & well that he would still do that, but he wouldn’t be in as such a rush otherwise.

            Your mother nodded in understanding. But her hands shook fearfully as she folded your clothes before handing them to you.

            “Are you going to go through with the pregnancy?” It was a question you asked yourself every day. “I love you, baby, I only want you safe. A kid will slow you down.”

            “I know.” You muttered in agreement, “I haven’t decided yet. I just need to get away first before I do anything.”

            “You’d deliver the baby alone.” She commented. Another thought that kept you awake at night. “We wouldn’t be there to hold your hand.”

            You nodded, tears threatening to fall. Though you were still on the fence about whether or not you’d fulfill the pregnancy, you were leaning towards terminating it. Being on the run was no life for a child. And, your mother was right, the kid would only slow you down if Rafe ever caught up to you.

            Your mother’s quiet sobs drew your attention. She had a hand over her mouth in an attempt to hide her cries.

            “I’m so sorry, baby.” She peered at you through her tears, “We never wanted this life for you.”

            You hugged your mother, & she you. Tightly, lovingly. You burrowed your face into her neck, savoring the form of affection. You didn’t know how long it would be until you ever felt it again, if ever.

            “There’s always adoption.”

            Rafe had tucked the knife away, but kept you quiet by grasping the column of your throat, your air restricted. He continued holding you just like that as he slowly approached your son, his son. He stood just beside Louie’s bed, his knees pressed against the bedframe as he leaned over to peer at the child’s serene, sleeping face.

            You felt as Rafe shuddered before you, his arm outstretched with you on the other end as he kept you at distance from your son.

            “My son…” Rafe’s voice was filled with wonder.

            Tears continued to fall from your eyes, dripping onto Rafe’s wrist where the skin was exposed between the glove & sleeve of his jacket.

            “Our son.” He whispered, but as he did, the grip on your throat tightened. Black dots filled your vision. Rafe turned away from Lou then, facing you head on, his eyes blazing behind the mask.

            You kept him from me.

            His fury was palpable. You tried to breathe, to speak, but Rafe only continued to claw his fingers into your throat.

            Then he began to back you out of the room fast. Your were unable to catch your grounding as your feet tangled beneath you. Before you knew it, you were back in the hallway, your back pressed harshly against a wall as Rafe used the wall to lift you off the floor, your toes wiggling.

            You latched your hands onto his arm, using every bit of strength you had left to try & fight him off.

            Rafe glared at you hard through the slits of his mask, his eyes red, watering, filled with betrayal, contempt, & murderous intent.

            “We could have been a family.” Rafe breathed out harshly, his grip tightening more than you thought possible. Your vision swayed.

            “You took that from me.” Rafe spit from behind the mask.

            “Plea—” You choked, the lining of your vision beginning to darken. Your muscles were loosening. Death awaited you. But Lou needed you.

            Then Rafe brought his other hand to your throat & squeezed. You thrashed weakly until you felt your consciousness begin to slip. Rafe’s hands around your neck were the last thing you felt before you stopped fighting, your body going limp.

            “He’s my family now.”

            A cry tore from your throat as doctors & nurses alike rushed around you. A stinging, hot pain shot up your spine as you felt your insides contort & cramp within you. Your legs were splayed open, blood staining the white sheets that kept you from seeing what happening down below.

            “She’s losing blood!” A voice yelled.

            “Get the baby out!” Another responded.

            “We’re gonna lose both!”

            Tears erupted from your eyes, blurring your vision as you clung to the sheets of the hospital bed, your throat raw from screaming.

            Another pinch & you screamed again, sweat coating your face.

            And then cries filled the room, Lively cries of a baby having been born. You collapsed against the mattress, your body weak.

            “Baby’s out, we got him, he’s okay!”

            You felt your vision go in & out, but you reached your hand out blindly in search of your child.

            “It’s a boy.” A soft voice neared you. Cries continued to fill the room, but they grew closer to you.

            “It’s your boy.” A nurse appeared in your vision as it swayed.

            In her arms, she held something small as it wriggled about in her arms. A single hand stuck out in search of something.

            Then your fingers touched, & the small yet mighty grip of the child clung to your index finger.

            A weak smile crossed your lips, “Louie.”

            But your hand fell as you felt your heart rate slow.

            “We’re losing her!”

            “Louie.” You whispered, his name like a dream on your tongue.

            A gasp choked you awake & you shot forward. Tears coated your cheeks & you were breathing heavily. You winced at the burning, raw sensation within your throat.

            The room, your room, was filled with morning sunlight. Your eyes flashed fearfully around the room. You were still in your home.

            Lou!

            Launching yourself forward, you halted to peer at the floor near the foot of your bed. It was empty. No body, no blood, no bat.

            You frowned. It wasn’t a dream, though. You touched your fingers to your neck, the skin tender as you did.

            He had been here, he had!

            Racing out of your room, you stumbled down the hallway to your son’s room, “Louie!” You screeched, despite the pain it caused you as you did, your throat burning in response.

            But your fears were instilled as you charged into your son’s room to find his bed empty.

            “Louie, baby!” You cried, retreating from his room & tumbling down the hallway, “Baby, where are you?!”

            At the mouth of the hallway, you halted, eyeing your son at the counter bar. His back was to you as he ate pieces of candy from his pumpkin basket.

            “Louie!” You released a relieved cry & approached him. But before you could reach him, another figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

            Rafe rested against a counter opposite your son, a mug of coffee in his hands. He was barren of any mask or clothes from the night prior. He grinned wryly at you, challenging you to attempt anything.

            You eyed him warily, furiously as you continued moving slowly towards your son.

            Lou looked back at you then, a chocolatey smile gracing his youthful features.

            “Morning, Mommy!” He greeted in his cheerful tune.

            Dropping your gaze from Rafe, you peered at your son. Closing the distance, you hugged him to your chest, crying into his hair as you kissed him repeatedly.

            “Don’t be mad. Daddy said I could have candy for breakfast.”

            You shook against your son as you raised your eyes to that of your ex’s.

            “That’s right.” Rafe smirked, crossing the kitchen to where the two of you were. You pressed Lou closer against you, your hands gripping him tightly, ready to shield him from Rafe.

            “And you can have it for lunch & dinner & dessert.” Rafe grinned down at your son, his son.

            “What the fuck do you want?” You sneered, uncaring if Lou heard the fear in your voice.

            Rafe eyed you then, “What we all should want.”

            He peered at your son then, “To be a family.”

            The thought unnerved you.

            “If you don’t get out of my house, I’ll—”

            “Careful.” Rafe cut you off firmly, before casting his eyes to an object on the counter only inches away from his fingers. The knife.

            “Sorry, buddy. Mommy had a bad night.”

            You felt as Louie stared up at you then, “Was it the bad man from your dreams again?”

            Rafe’s eyes stared coldly into your own.

            “Yes, baby.” You replied, your voice shaky.

            “But you’re okay now.” Louie attempting to soothe you as he fingered your hair, “Daddy is here to protect you.”

            His innocence, still intact as grateful as you were, only made you fearful of when Rafe would surely snuff it out.

            “That’s right, Louie.” Rafe peered between the two of you, “Daddy’s home, & we have a lot of catching up to do.”

this is 7/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

fuck. that's all i have to say.

big thank you to @namelesslosers for making this fucking AWESOME request, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it, please be sure to share your thoughts w me.

as always! drop a comment, reblog w reviews, or talk to me in my ask box. this is one doozy of a dark fic that has me on edge just waiting for your feedback. so please provide some.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts @ditzyzombiesblog

to be added to a taglist read rule 11 here. requests will be dismissed otherwise.

[kamiversee]

The F*ck List (semi-official) Breakdown.

The following was submitted by my lovely ☃️anon, & I needed to make this it’s own post given how long it is, my replies & clarifications are written in between this breakdown & theory (Ex: A/N > Etc.). 

Here, you’ll find majority of details you may have missed & maybe even more to think about. Enjoy :)

(wc; 5.7k) (content; spoilers ofc)

holy shit Kami. i literally had to take the entire day to process everything. before anything else, i need you to know that you've created an absolute masterpiece. TFL was the first fic i ever cared to keep up with and it has set the bar impossibly high for any other writer out there. please take your time with TFL 2, i'm so excited to read your other work!! also a break sounds like it would be so good for your mind considering how long you've dedicated yourself to this story 😭😭😭 you're seriously impressive. heads up, i didn't proofread this at all bc i finished typing this at 4 am LMFAO so forgive me if it's all scrambled and makes no sense.

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A/N > Thank you for taking the time to write this breakdown, I seriously appreciate it so I wanted to take my time in responding to it & engaging with you :)

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now, on to the yap. i deadass cracked my knuckles before typing all this out.

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A/N > You’re so real for tht ngl

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i reread the entirety of TFL from chapter 1 and my brain is so melted from analyzing that i'll prob find more details tomorrow after i sleep on some theories 😭 BUT HOLY FUCK YOU REALLY WEREN'T KIDDING WHEN YOU SAID YOU WERE HINTING AT GOJO'S OBSESSION SINCE LITERALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER??? the fucking hint being that "Gojo's desire for you is so strong it's almost frightening." GIRLLLLLL 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

your foreshadowing and referencing is insane. idk if you intended a lot of it, but a lot of it caught my eye.

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A/N> I TOLD YOU GUYS IVE BEEN DOIN IT SINCE THE FIRST CHAPTER !! Okay not exactly but like there was a vibe I had from the first chapter & when I later came up with the twist & went back and saw that everything would connect perfectly ^.^

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chapter 7; the reader and Gojo have lighthearted banter about how the reader "started this" situation.

"I made a mistake." [reader] 

"A good one." 

"Bad one." You correct.

this was regarding a completely different situation but it baffled me how much it connects to the plot itself; the reader making the "mistake" of leaving her door open, and how it lead to months full of trauma and love. probably completely unintentional, but such a good detail.

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A/N > Very intentional btw, it’s supposed to be known that, in a sense, Gojo x reader is forbidden :)

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Choso's still staring at you intently, "What version of you would someone not like?" 

The way he words his question only furthers that little feeling in your chest. It's almost as though he were implying that any and all versions of you would be acceptable in his eyes. - Chapter 16

THE WAY WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT CHOSO WOULD STICK BY US REGARDLESSSSSSSS AAAAAA WE'RE SO BLIND!!! i just hope this stays true to the sequel :')

"No, I wish you didn't have to hate me." He says, shutting his eyes again and sucking in a deep breath, "B-But... it's uh, It's okay. I can live with you hating me." - Chapter 21

AAAA WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!! WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS WAS FORESHADOWING OUR FUTURE WITHOUT GOJO 😭😭😭 how he can live with the idea of the reader hating him so long as she's happy with Choso, especially considering his later revelations of how twisted his actions were and how if you stuck with him, he'd view you differently. fuck.

You despise the fact that he loves you. To you, it's almost entitled for him to feel like he has that right. How dare he hold such a strong emotion for you? If he felt this way, why is he forcing you to sleep with people for him? It makes no sense. 

Why would someone claim to love you and put you through so much? 

If he's been in love with you all this time, why start the list in the first place? Why couldn't he have just tried to win your heart from the beginning? Why the list? Why the blackmail? You don't understand him. - Chapter 23

i'm crushed. we didn't understand because we didn't know that Sukuna was involved. that could mean a million other things. i have some far-fetched theories about this but hear me out later!!!

the entirety of chapter 23 had me fucking floored while i was rereading. THE FORESHADOWING WAS EVERYWHERE!!! EVERY FUCKING WHERE

"No sweetheart, Sukuna's an asshole but..." His expression flickers and his smile fades away. He swallows and then clears his throat, "I'm pretty sure he'll satisfy you just fine." 

...

You narrow your eyes at him, "Are you sure?" 

...

 "Fuckin' positive," Gojo suddenly sounds pissed and you grow concerned. The arm around you gets a little tighter while he walks you through some crowds and you keep looking at the man confused. 

There's a vein popping out along his jawline because of how hard he's gritting his teeth.

of course he's aggravated because he knows that Sukuna is the one behind the list in the first place 😭😭😭 I'M SORRY WE DOUBTED YOU SATORU, FUCKKKK

——FIFTEEN MINUTES. That was the exact amount of time it took you to seduce Sukuna. The act was way too easy. Actually, it was suspiciously easy.

BECAUSE HE FUCKING KNEW 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"What all did you plan on doing tonight aside from getting harassed by strangers?" Sukuna suddenly questions against your skin. 

You ignore how close he is and the way his lips make you tense, turning your head to face forward. Chuckling at his last comment, "Same thing as everyone else here." You reply, slightly confused by his question. 

"Bullshit," He utters, "Nobody dresses like this without the intent of gaining my attention," Sukuna claims while his hands slide back down along your body.

this 100% could be just him being cocky and Sukuna, but the recent reveal just makes this feel like an extra demeaning interaction. but of course, it's Sukuna.

chapter 24 is so fucking shady too with everything we know. i know you addressed some of these points already bc i brought them up in previous anon messages, but these things still had me paranoid;

the way Sukuna leaves us and tells the reader to go to his room after a certain amount of time (i know he could have just been tidying up real quick but everything about this man has me on edge)

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A/N> A lot of people are on edge about this but I’ll be honest, there’s nothing crazy that happens in between this time period. Not saying nothing happens but nothing crazy— it’ll be addressed later (in the next fic most likely)

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the way he's been consistently on the phone since the reader entered the room, which is shortly after she messaged Gojo saying that she'll be able to cross Sukuna off of this list by tonight which he wasn't happy with at all.

no seriously, he kept diverting his attention to something in the bathroom and then came out, still on his phone. maybe he's talking to literally anyone else but STILL I'M PARANOID

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A/N> This is to show the fact that Sukuna is a very socially active individual, & hints to the theory (I think you later state) that he has connections.

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this happens in chapter 25 but the way he keeps smiling while the reader kisses him is just so smug of him especially considering the original reason as to why the reader's even interacting with him

then the spicy chapters with Sukuna…

the foreshadowing that the lack of knowledge of Sukuna's reputation will come back to bite her in the ass; first with the knowledge that he is abusive, and then her finding out that he is the curator of the list, knowing the full details of her blackmail and even threatening her again.

WHO DID HE FUCKING FIGHT HELPPPPP MY MIND IS BOGGLING there's no way it's Gojo, right? they're both too unscathed in these next few chapters for there to have been a fight between the two of them.

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A/N > It’s not Gojo. 🙏

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THE FUCKING MOMENT WHERE HE CONTEMPLATED SOMETHING WITH THE PHONE IN HIS HAND??? I FUCKING KNEW IT. I FUCKING CALLED IT WAS SOMETHING SHADY AS HELL.

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A/N> The other Sukuna hint I was talking about is right before this moment btw, you’re welcome ;)

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then he has the audacity to hold his tongue right afterwards?? it's such a big hint towards the fact that he knew about the list from the beginning UGHHHHHHHH.

the way he tried to humor the reader about her "job" even though he was in on the whole thing. UGH. SUKUNA WHEN I GET YOU SUKUNA?? 👊👊👊👊 especially with that "whore" joke right afterwards. i can't stand him. i know that it's implied that he has a twisted view on women from having abusive women in his life (his mom and his ex who he punched) BUT STILL. he's so lucky he's fictional and hot.

the fact that we're able to pick up on the fact that it's a "crazy coincidence" that he continues the whore jokes UGHHHHH HE HAS BEEN PLAYING US FROM THE STAAAAAARTT

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna- 

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

GIRL YOU WERE ALMOST THERE!!!! YOU ALMOST HAD IT!!!

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A/N > I love teasing in my narration by nearly spoiling things 😹

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seriously though, these chapters killed me. the official end obliterated my heart. it's so fucking bittersweet i want to scream at the top of a high building. the reader ends up happy and with someone she loves, which is fantastic for her. she deserves that after everything she went through. Choso treats her so, so well.

but Gojo. with the theories i have, i feel horrible. i was so harsh towards him as a die hard Choso girly but these endings changed me. i just hope i'm right.

the fact that his healing journey is harsher than ours makes this ending sting so much. he's healed, and you can see it with his demeanor from the call and the way he interacted with the reader.

we were always made aware of the way he looked at us such deep attachment. the initial gleam shows that he's happy to see us, but that he's not reliant on us for his happiness anymore. he's finding that on his own, and it's a grueling process for him. i wished the reader gave him a hug, but that would probably make me feel even worse.

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A/N> He gave her a lil side hug (with his arm over her shoulder) & was resting his head on hers at the end if that makes you feel any better 😅

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"Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start." i'm gonna throw up bro i'm so sad. i'm proud of his growth. his obsession was so, so strong but he always prioritized the reader's happiness over himself. i know that being self-sacrificial is so core to his personality but it doesn't make it suck any less. i'm devastated. i started blasting mitski in the car on my way to work after reading this.

i thought i was ready for the journal burning. i was so ready for this tie to be severed, for them to finally move on. but i failed to realize that it could ultimately mean a life without each other. it makes sense as to why, but it still sucks.

kami i need that poly ending before i cry my eyes out at 4 am rn. you know i can't handle angst, but bittersweet endings lowkey hurt me even more. i need all my babies to be happy. i desperately need it.

but that alt ending... fuck. in a horrible, sick, and twisted way, i'm relieved. i'm a Choso girly from the bottom of my heart but i can't let this Gojo go omfg. even if he shows up for one more chapter, i think i'll be alright. BUT IT BETTER NOT BE FOR DEATH KAMI!!!! I HAVE A FEW EXCERPTS THAT SUGGEST DEATH FLAGS BUT I AM SIMPLY NOT LOOKING AT THEM. DON'T DO THIS TO ME KAMIIIIIII. i need this boy to be frolicking in a field of flowers or something. my heart can't take this.

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A/N> I know I reference death a lot but that’s just to add a sense of how dramatic the characters are 🫶

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okay, time for my mind-fucky theory. pls bare with me. if it wasn't obvious by my last post, i'm 100% on board with the theory that Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo, which started this whole thing. but the thing that is getting me is how this all connects. i have some assumptions that could make sense, but there are a handful of gaps. here's my thought process;

Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo by using his obsession/love against him.

we are already familiar with the fact that Gojo has liked the reader for years. there was a chapter where Gojo mentioned that it started off as a "crush" but he was so oblivious to his own obsession up until the reader mentioned it to him. it's to the point that he didn't understand what was wrong with the idea of hurting people for the reader. who's to say that Sukuna didn't catch him in some sort of heinous act regarding the reader like stalking?

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A/N > You’re cooking with this one and I almost, almost had to go get the fire extinguisher :D

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Gojo didn't understand the difference between love and obsession until later on in the story. this would be consistent with the implication that Gojo just loved her so deeply that his morals were askew as we have yet to find out how far his love goes.

what if Sukuna caught him in the act of doing god knows what, and brought up the fact that if the reader found out about this, that she'd get super freaked out and would do everything she can to get away from him (considering probably barely knew each other, if at all, at this point). but why would Sukuna devise such a plan over a money bribe? well, Sukuna's already revealed to be wealthy, and maybe he was bored. the same line that Gojo kept repeating to the reader whenever she questioned him as to why he did it. what if Gojo asked Sukuna why he's blackmailing him, and he said the exact same thing; "I was bored." we see how much Sukuna mirrors Gojo's speech by calling the reader "sweetheart" often, what if Gojo did the same thing? 

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A/N > Gojo & Sukuna do have a few parallels in this story & they will be addressed more in the sequel.

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we wondered in chapter 23 how Gojo reaches out to these men to ensure their debt is "paid," but considering how oblivious everyone else on the list is to Gojo owing them anything, it would make sense that he only reports to Sukuna as he is ordered to do so. but two things stumped me on this theory overall.

the reader said that she used to party a lot and get involved with boys before Gojo. if he was stalking her for so long, why did he wait so long to approach her?

what specifically would be the blackmail that Sukuna has on Gojo?

regarding the first point, it's been mentioned that Gojo has been "scared of women" and was shy when it came to approaching the reader. he knew of her for so long, but was able to constantly slip under her radar. considering how much of a pervert he is, it wouldn't have been surprising for him to sneak around and watch in on the reader hooking up with other guys. after all, these guys were probably complete strangers to him and all he cared about was you. remember how Gojo was basically able to tune out his own best friend, Suguru, when the reader was hooking up with him in their living room? it wouldn't be wild to assume that he was able to do the same for your other hookups as he spied on you.

to connect this with second point, what if Sukuna caught Gojo being a peeping tom on the reader during a party hook-up? while being so distracted in the act of spying, Sukuna spots him. the reader wouldn't be alright with the fact that someone who's barely an acquaintance (if that, depending on the time this occurred) to her has been perving around and watching her have sex without her consent. she would do anything to get away from Gojo, and of course that would crush him. Gojo tried to buy Sukuna's silence by any means necessary. so, Sukuna generated a list of people that he and Gojo mutually knew for the reader to fuck. the reasoning for it would be the fact that Gojo has to sit through the process of having the girl he likes fuck a bunch of guys besides him, and the fact that Gojo knew all these men would make it sting more. plus, he has a reputation for hookups. (chapter 8)

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A/N > You’re like RIGHT there with it and yet not there at the same time omg 😟

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but why would Gojo agree to this deal with Sukuna, and why would he also go with the method of blackmailing the reader? it's basically a guarantee that the reader would be scared away regardless. but again, we could recall that Shoko mentioned that he was too "scared of women" to approach the reader at first. this was his chance to finally approach her. plus, "once that video is gone, there is no excuse he'll have to be around you." (chapter 8)

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but the more i thought of this reasoning for the two points, the more bizarre it felt. so what if instead of Gojo being a peeping tom, it was Sukuna. we get so many hints that Sukuna has eyes and intel everywhere. we get an indirect implication of this when he called us out for rolling our eyes during our phone call with him. yes, it could be completely by chance, but it's still a great hint that he "sees everything" and "knows everything." we get an even bigger hint towards this in the alt ending when he directly references The F*ck List.

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A/N > Others have taken note of how Sukuna knew she rolled her eyes but trust me, that’s just to show that Sukuna knows the reader’s body language more than he’s let on & paid attention to her a lot during the time they were together. 

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it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that he has some shady videos taken of people without his consent, some possibly acquired through other people (like how Gojo was revealed to have sent Sukuna the video of the reader from the first chapter). what if Gojo caught Sukuna with the video, threatened him to delete it, and Sukuna counterthreatened to have it be sent and posted everywhere. it would be highly ironic, but consistent with the way that Gojo and Sukuna practically mirror each other at times. the reasoning for the list choices would still be the same for this theory, too.

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my citations for these theories ☝️🤓

“You once asked me if I love you because I blackmailed you or if I blackmailed you because I love you and my answer is both,” Gojo confesses as he turns to meet your gaze, “Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start.” - Chapter 56

loved you from the start; his obsession has been consistent from the start (supports Gojo being a peeping tom theory) or he has always had a deep concern for you (supports him wanting to stop Sukuna from spreading blackmail of you instead).

“I’ve sacrificed everything for you, y’know.” 

“How? What’s everything that you’ve sacrificed, hm?” 

“You. I sacrificed the woman I love to make her happy.” Gojo admits, and of all he’s said thus far, that feels like the truest statement. 

“I could’ve been happy with you.” You remind him. 

He laughs, “Yeah well, I’m an idiot.” 

You scoff, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Yup.” - Chapter 56

is he an idiot for being a peeping pervert instead of just approaching you normally? maybe. how does this make her happy? she ends up finding love through Choso, through the list, through the blackmail.

But deleting the video means ... he has no more leverage over you and can't force you to help him with the hole he's dug for himself. -  Chapter 8

the hole being the blackmail set against him by Sukuna.

Gojo's behind you cursing at himself for being unable to tell you the truth. 

He's so scared that you'll never help him without the blackmail and, well, he has every right to be because you're pretty sure that if it weren't for those videos he has over your head, you wouldn't be doing any of this. - Chapter 9

the videos he's referencing is the original video from chapter 1 and the fake video he lied about with Suguru, but he can't tell the reader the truth because it's too twisted and risky (supports Gojo peeping tom theory).

He silences himself in thought. There are so many ways he could go about answering such a question but the possibilities of how you may react are endless. Plus, you're drunk and if he's going to admit or explain anything to you, it'll be while you're sober. 

"Because..." Gojo's voice gets so quiet that you almost don't catch what he says, "...I don't have any other choice." - Chapter 21

if he didn't go through with his list, Sukuna would have went through with Gojo's blackmail, thus resulting in either you getting as far away from Gojo as soon as possible or Sukuna's video being sent around.

He let something slip abruptly, "W-Wish I c-could tell you everything, sweets..." 

Your brows furrow at that. 

Are you missing something here? - Chapter 22

YES GIRL!!!! SUKUNA'S BEHIND THE WHOLE LIST, HE'S BEHIND THE BLACKMAIL GIRLYPOP

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you." - Chapter 29

"I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you." 

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..." 

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly. 

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?" 

"You are." 

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense." 

"It won't." Gojo shrugs. - Chapter 29

🧍‍♀️

anything. even if it means putting your body, heart, mind, and career on the line. directly supports the theory that Sukuna initially had blackmail on the reader.

"We're the same, y'know..." He suddenly says, his voice breaking again, "We both want someone so terribly bad but our situations prohibit us from getting that person." 

"You could've prevented all this though..." 

Gojo sniffles and you feel a drop of wetness slide down his cheek and slip against your palm. The man was crying? Why? - Chapter 30

this whole time we've been told that Gojo and the reader share more similarities than the reader realizes. what Gojo is to the reader, the reader is to Choso. while Choso now knows of the men that the reader slept with, he doesn't know why. he doesn't know about you being blackmailed. you know that you had to sleep with these men. you don't know why. you didn't know it was because of Gojo being blackmailed.

"For loving me, Satoru. It's not a crime," You say, mocking a comment he made to you earlier, "You're allowed to love me. So, for that, and that only, I forgive you." 

Those words healed so many more wounds in his heart than you realized. It was like that was all he ever needed to hear. If Gojo's mistake was loving you and that's what caused this, then you forgive him. 

If in some twisted way, his feelings started the list, you forgive him.

COME ON NOW.

There’s so much going unspoken but the two of you knew what either was saying, you understood each other more than either of you realized. - Chapter 35

“Well,” Gojo sighs heavily and then draws your hands off his face, leaning down to you a bit, “Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made in exchange for one’s happiness.” 

“Are you telling me that all this was for the greater good?” You quiz as you raise a curious brow. 

“Something like that, yeah,” He shrugs. - Chapter 45

You tell him, “If I had one wish, it’d be that you did that from the beginning.” 

Gojo opens his mouth to say something but then he swallows his words down. He nearly fucked up. 

“All you had to do was talk to me,” Your shoulders raise into a shrug as you move a hand to the doorknob, “Things could’ve been different if you did.” 

“Even if I’ve been obsessed with you since the beginning?” He questions and he’s stepping closer to you again. He can’t possibly wrap his head around that possibility- 

You laugh a bit, “Especially if you were obsessed from the beginning,” You didn’t know it but that statement right there made the man feel as though his world was falling apart, loads of regret tumbling over him as he stares at you with wide eyes, “Satoru I think you forgot but, before all this started, aside from Shoko… I was lonely.” 

Gojo’s throat goes dry and he fails to form a response to that, “I…” 

“If you had just talked to me one time, and more than a hey or how are you,” The way your eyes soften, a slim sheer gloss of tears coating your gaze as you speak to him, “I would’ve fallen for you.” 

He grits his teeth, “Don’t tell me that.” 

“But it’s true.” You say. 

And just like that, Gojo was crumbling all over again. If only you knew how much he regretted everything after hearing you say that. - Chapter 46

if he had just spoke to the reader before all of this, maybe she wouldn't have gone to those parties, hooked up with those people, and caused whatever kind of blackmail Sukuna had on Gojo (or on her).

He wishes he could take it all back, his feelings for you included. If only he could go back and stop himself from ever being curious about you. That’s what started it after all. Because, at the end of the day, Gojo knew who you were before you knew who he was— hell, even before Shoko knew who you were. - Chapter 53

then what is the timeline of his obsession starting? has it been before Gojo? could his blackmail have taken place even before Shoko introduced you two, adding to the weight of the threat that Sukuna held over Gojo's head (regarding the peeping tom theory).

┏━━━

A/N > The timeline on Gojo’s interest, not obsession just yet, on the reader will be addressed in the sequel so this’ll be answered there <3

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---

but there were certain parts that stumped me and my theories so i have some weird reasonings around them;

It's selfish of him and seriously fucked up but, he's said it before and he'll say it over and over again-- you're all he has. He made promises to everyone on that list, promises of delivering a woman to them at some point, and of course, he couldn't convince anyone he knew to do such a thing. 

So again, the situation with you just happened to be a coincidence. 

The problem is that Gojo hates that it's you. He hates that you're the one he ended up doing this to. - Chapter 8

Gojo's known to be a silly guy so it could make sense that he actually did promise these guys hookups for reasons unrelated to his blackmail. after all, he does have a reputation for getting people hookups. the coincidence is that Sukuna now has dirt on Gojo and wants to toy with him. by making the reader sleep with them the guys he coincidentally owes hookups to, he fulfills his role/reputation and relieves his debt at the same time. two birds, one stone.

┏━━━

A/N > As we later learn that some of the “debt” Satoru claimed to have isn’t real, we can also infer that his reputation & the promises he’s made to these men were done out of coincidence. Take Toji for example; tell me you can’t see an interaction between him & Gojo where Gojo gets a bad grade and wants to get it up so he taunts his professor with the idea of getting him a hookup & Toji would laugh it off considering Gojo’s reputation ;)

┗━━━

another thing that stumped me is why Gojo got so worked up with the reader referring herself as a whore, and the connection to Sukuna. my delulu reasoning is that once Sukuna threatened Gojo with blackmail by either of the two theories/methods i mentioned, Sukuna casually referred to the reader as a whore. that caused a major fight between the two, possibly even getting physical (which can refer back to the implication that Gojo has hurt people for the reader).

the fight could have increased the tension and severity of the situation, so Sukuna decides to add Choso to the list knowing how easily attached Choso gets. in chapter 5, the reader and Gojo were discussing the list and Choso specifically. Gojo was even noted to be relieved when the reader had mentioned that they'll just have to hope that Choso doesn't get attached, as he obviously holds deep feelings for the reader. Sukuna knows that by going through with the blackmail with Choso involved, Gojo most likely will not end up with the reader if Choso get attached and the reader reciprocates those feelings.

also, the counterargument that Sukuna and Gojo are actually friends/allies in this situation just doesn't sit well with me. it would make for a crazy twist but it just feels too out of character for Gojo. but then again, how would Sukuna specifically know about The F*ck List? but idk, it just feels so wrong to me. maybe i have too much faith in Gojo lmfao. after all, he has consistently shown a great dislike towards the guy since chapter 23. but maybe it's my denial speaking. i really don't want to think of Satoru going through this whole arc only for it to reveal that he truly is a piece of shit. pls don't do this to my pookie my heart cannot handle it </3

┏━━━

A/N > Remember, Gojo is a good actor & you go a long period of time in the book not realizing he’s not as much of a villain as he pretends to be 😉 

┗━━━

there's that moment after the reader fucked Sukuna that still messes with my brain. with my theories, my brain's thinking that he contemplated on collecting even more blackmail on the reader. for what reason? idk, to be an ass? to torment Gojo further and add more to his blackmail? but maybe he decided not to because he already has plenty of blackmail on the reader (if the theory of Sukuna having a video of her from way back then is true) and fucking her knowingly made Gojo pissed considering all the dirt Sukuna has.

so why can't Gojo tell her the truth now? why does he want to wait years in advance? maybe he's hoping that by that time, not only will you forget and not care about the situation overall, but maybe Sukuna will forget all about it as well. the chances of Sukuna holding on to the reader's blackmail for that long is slim and the reader would most likely be in a situation where she is completely separated from Sukuna depending on her job and living situation with Choso. the stakes are lower than if he were to reveal everything to you now, at a moment where your life is still so uncertain. it would go against his wish for you to end up happy.

┏━━━

A/N > Maybe Gojo doesn’t tell her the truth because he can’t, just as he said 🌚 Perhaps he’s not allowed to yet. After all, why would Sukuna even tell the reader he made the list in the end? ^.^ Just some food for thought!

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regarding the future of TFL... fuck, bro. i have no fucking idea. i'm too caught up in the (presumed) past. i'm mourning fr. i love this fic sooooo fucking much. whenever you decide to pick up on the sequel, i will be there. if you choose to publish anything else in the meantime, i will be there. thanks for such a fun and memorable read, Kami. i'm excited to bookbind this soon 🤍🤍🤍 now, i need to watch blue lock to shove these feelings down.

yap fin (for now)

-☃️

A/N > I love you sosoosooooo much for this. These theories are like reading an entirely new fanfic sometimes except, I know all the answers & what’s going to happen next, which only makes me more excited ^.^ Thank you for taking the time to make this, thank you for reading, thank you for supporting, just, THANK YOU.

This right here is exactly what I write for; people like you :)

To the others reading this breakdown & theory, thank ☃️anon because she’s a damn godsend & ilhsm ^.^ (definitely showing favoritism rn, sorry not sorry, ily all I swear)

Edit; Since you’re watching Blue Lock, I can’t wait to bring my Shidou fanfic here because a lot of the drama in TFL has inspo from that fic, which I wrote first ^.^ & I could totally see you enjoying it because not only is it a childhood friends to lovers than enemies & back to lovers troupe BUT it also includes Itoshi Sae x reader which ofc, adds hella drama :))

P.S. It’s two am as I finally post this and omg sorry it took me a while, I wanted to answer other anons first before unpacking this badboy, again, tysm!!

[teez-the-time]

Strawberries and Wine

Pairing: Consort! Seonghwa x Emperor! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Synopsis: as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

Warnings: switch! lean dom! reader, switch! sub lean! Seonghwa, masturbation (f and m receiving), oral sex (f), breast play, piv sex, riding, dry humping, grinding, a lil food play, alcohol consumption (no drunk characters), pretty vanilla actually, body wordship, my characters are whipped as usual, pls tell me if I miss something

Wc: 9.1k

Taglist: none

A/N. What's this? Me actually posting a fic? Make a wish, people, cause a miracle has happened. Anyway, I humbly offer you this Hwa x reader fic, I hope you enjoy it. Please pretend that I actually know how to write smut and that I don't suck at it. Also, let's pretend this isn't totally inspired by the Webtoon, "Men of the Harem". Go read it if you haven't. Any like, comment, message, reblog, etc. is highly appreciated. My DMs are open as always. See you later!

XOXO

-May

“I believe that was the last engagement for the day, Your Majesty,” your trustworthy secretary, Marquis Kim Hongjoong, announced.

You rolled back your neck, releasing little pops of accumulated stress from the long day. Your eyes almost cried in relief when you closed them for more than a couple of seconds, having been subjected to the harsh candlelight for hours. “That is good to hear. It’s already very late. You may be excused, Hongjoong, and thank you for today”.

Your secretary stood up beside your desk, slightly bowing his head as he held a thick stack of papers underneath his arm. “If my services aren’t required any longer, then I’ll be on my way, ma’am. Have a pleasant night, Your Majesty”.

For a couple of seconds, only Hongjoong’s steps could be heard in your office room. You were putting away letters, documents and your beloved stationary when a little note tucked away in one of your drawers reminded you of something.

Poor Hongjoong had a hand on the door knob when you called out for him. “Wait, Hongjoong!”

“Yes, ma’am?” he inquired after being stopped seconds away from freedom. He looked worried from your sudden abrasiveness.

“I had almost forgotten to ask,” you explained, “did you inform Lord Park Seonghwa of my visit tonight?”

Hongjoong wanted to sigh from relief, as well as laugh at the mention of your little appointment with the young noble, Lord Park Seonghwa. “Yes, Your Majesty. His Grace and his entourage were made aware of your intentions of passing by tonight”.

“Good, good.” You spaced out and forgot to add something else to that sentence, but was suddenly called back to Earth when you saw your poor Hongjoong still standing by the door like a dog waiting to get out. “Now you are truly dismissed. Sorry to keep you here”.

“No worries, ma’am,” he assured you, finally leaving you alone in your office. Just you and your thoughts of that commitment with none other than your adored Park Seonghwa. At last, something exciting in your day after many hours of meetings with your court, and mountains of papers with budgets, reports, complaints and many more.

God, you thought, it’s depressing to still be thinking about work. I guess it's inevitable if you want to run an empire.

You finished picking up after yourself and blew out what remained of the candles. They had just been replaced that day, but you would need to call for someone to put even more the next day. 

I guess I will have to set aside a budget for candles.

The halls of the palace were considerably more empty in the late hours of the night, but that didn’t stop you from running into several maids and guards on their nightly duties. They all bowed to you and waited until you were far enough to continue with their tasks. In those moments, you thought that, no matter how bothersome and grueling your responsibilities could get, at least you didn’t have to stand up for hours on end or wash silverware in the middle of the night.

Near your chambers appeared to be the busiest. You opened the door to find your maids awaiting to assist you in your nightly routine. They curtsied at your arrival, and hastily dragged you to your vanity to begin dressing you down.

“Look at these hours!” one exclaimed while removing the pins of your hair, “Your Majesty must be so tired after such a long day. Should we draw a bath with those special salts for you to relax, ma’am? Then we can serve you some lavender tea for sleep”.

“You are a dear to me,” you thanked her and the others, “I’ll gladly take the offer of the bath, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying the night here. I plan to visit Lord Park, so please draw me that bath and fetch my robe”.

They giggled. “As you wish, Your Majesty”.

The hands were the most delicate when removing your makeup, hair and clothes. They rubbed away the stress of work and replaced it with the most pleasant of oils and perfumes. Indeed, they were masters of the art of polishing the body and the soul. Before you realized, you were already dressed in your nightgown and the robe that you reserved for these occasions.

“Is there anything else we can help Your Majesty with?” another one asked.

“I’m afraid not. Thank you once again. Please retire to your chambers for some sleep. We will have to wake up very early tomorrow!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

They curtsied as they left, and you could hear some of their giddy laughter and hushed voices just before the door closed. They loved gossip, even if it was about the whereabouts of their emperor (which was no secret to anyone). You let them entertain themselves however they wanted, choosing to keep them content as they were the people that spend the most time with you.

You sat in your vanity once more to contemplate their work. There was no sign of fatigue or worry in the face that looked back at you from the mirror. Quite the contrary. You looked more refreshed and rested than you had in weeks, all thanks to the magical wonders of your maids.

There was nothing you could do better in your appearance, so you decided to leave before you could consider staying in your chambers. While that thought seemed pleasant, a more promising option awaited you at one of the wings of the palace.

The wing reserved for the royal consorts was exquisite and lavish. Several rooms expanded around, forming a circle with a marble fountain in the middle depicting two lovers embracing each other with the utmost intensity. A dome was constructed on top of it, so the lovers were perpetually bathed in sunshine or moonlight. The floors were carpeted with the finest rugs imported from exotic lands in faraway continents. No speck of dust could be found on any corner, and all vases were always kept full with your favourite flowers. All the artwork was seasonally changed and handpicked by the emperors themselves according to their consorts' tastes. After all, it was the emperors' duty to pamper them and keep them content.

Having prided enough in your work at the consort wing, you began walking through the left part of the circle. Despite being able to hold many guests, most of the chambers were empty. In your short reign as emperor, you had only taken four consorts, without planning to add more in the foreseeable future. As a female emperor, it wasn’t a good look for your legacy to be remembered for promiscuity rather than your political achievements. Also, you were quite content with whom you had chosen to be your lovers.

Normally, the consort wing was brewing with life, always full of servants and guards waiting on your partners. While it could be refreshing to breathe that atmosphere, it was undeniable that the emperor’s visit was a cause of drama in the palace. Everyone was always eager to learn who were you coming to see, what you talked about and what to expect, and no doubt the speculation resulted in scheming that you weren’t ready to discover just yet. That’s why you tried to keep your appearances late and spaced in between, just to keep gossip at bay.

And, maybe, add some excitement too.

Seonghwa’s room was the farthest away, much to your dislike. Nevertheless, the wait made your little escapade even more thrilling. You reached the door, softly knocking on the sturdy wood. A few seconds passed and no one answered it. You knocked again, and still no answer. By now, one of Seonghwa’s servants would have opened it to let you go in, but tonight didn’t seem to be the case. Starting to get worried, you grabbed the knob and tried to push it open by yourself. Surprisingly, it offered no resistance and you found yourself inside Seonghwa’s chambers. You were preparing to scold him for his imprudence of leaving a door unlocked at night when the most pleasant of smells inundated your nostrils.

At first, it was just the sweet aroma of vanilla and jasmine, but the more you breathed in, the richer the smell got. Soon enough, your mind was floating along with the scent, making you relax into the atmosphere. It reminded you of something hidden in the depths of the soul. Desire. It wasn’t strong nor overpowering, but it lingered there, just barely out of reach .

When you shook out the initial stupor of the aroma, you scanned the room looking for your companion for the night. Normally, he would be waiting for you in one of the exquisite sofas and chairs of the sitting area before the door, but tonight he wasn’t there either. 

Apparently, the young lord had made sure that your night was full of oddities.

After a few more seconds of appreciating the neatness and taste of Seonghwa’s bedchambers, your eyes fell into the sleeping area. The furniture around the bed was lit up with soft candles, and a few scenting oil containers laid open, explaining the delicious odor that greeted you. A bottle of wine and two glasses waited for you at the coffee table in front of the chaise lounge that sat in front of the bed. That was, certainly, a direct clue to move there.

As you got closer, you saw that the drapes of the bed were completely closed, but the light from the candles illuminated the silhouette of a man sitting inside. With big strides and a grin, you closed the distance even more.

“My, my, what do we have here?” you asked in a teasing tone, one hand laying on the back of the chaise lounge. You circled it and sat down on the plush cushions, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into one arm. “Looks like someone is hiding from me. Where did my precious Seonghwa go?”.

A deep chuckle came from within the curtains. “Not very far, Your Majesty”.

“My, my, there he is!” you poured yourself a glass of wine from the bottle that awaited you on the coffee table before the chaise lounge. It was yours and Seonghwa’s favourite. “What an odd feeling to not have you welcome me into your chambers. Playing hard to get, aren’t we?”

His rich laugh resonated once again in the room and you could see he shifted his position a little from the candlelight. “Your Majesty should know by now that familiarity breeds contempt”.

“That is very true, darling,” you sipped the wine, “but I will admit that seeing you that eager has always been my favourite part of the day. Perhaps you are right and I’ve spoiled my puppy too much, so now he is bored of me. I guess I’ll have to go to one of the other consorts…”

Slight panic rose to Seonghwa’s voice, but he managed to save face in time. “Quite on the contrary. I thought that Your Majesty might start getting bored of our encounters, so I thought a little change was due”.

Your heart fluttered at Seonghwa’s thoughtfulness, but you weren’t done playing with him. “What a kind puppy I have got here. Thank you for thinking about me, but remember I’m the one who makes the decisions here”.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but you heard a little mischief there.

Still, you decided to let it slide once. “Either way, I’m feeling extra generous tonight, so I’ll follow your little plan for a while. So, tell me, where do we go from here, my darling?”.

Seonghwa shifted once more in his bed. His shadows danced across the fabric of the drapes. 

“Well,” he started, “I believe that Your Majesty has already made herself comfortable on my chair, but I’m afraid that none of what I intend on doing tonight makes use of it. So, why don’t you come closer, ma’am?”.

Now, you thought, he is using that charm of his. A little bit longer and I would’ve gone to get him myself.

You stood from your resting position, not leaving behind your glass. Not long after, you stood at the foot of the bed, one hand gripping the opening of the lace drapes, eagerly waiting to reveal your lover’s form.

The sight in front of you left you drunker than the wine on your lips could ever. 

In the many years that he had resided in your palace, you had commissioned dozens of artists to portray the beauty of the young lord, Park Seonghwa. But, even after having a room full of just paintings of him in every position imaginable, you still had yet to acquire any piece of art that could rival the one sitting before your very eyes.

Seonghwa sat between the plush pillows and cushions at the head of the bed. His posture was relaxed, with his legs slightly crossed and one arm supporting most of his upper torso. His robe was barely tied, leaving almost the entirety of his torso exposed. Not that it would have been of much help, given the scandalous sheerness of the garment, which left little to the imagination. His neck, ears and fingers were littered with the golden shine of the jewelry you had especially commissioned to compliment his tan complexion. Your eyes found purchase of every inch of his small waist and defined limbs. He was carefully sculpted by the gods, even if he politely declined any comment made towards his appearance.

One trait you loved about Seonghwa was his eyes. They never lied. You could tell what he was feeling from a simple stare. Right now, many things flashed through them

Desire. Lust. Adoration.

You stood there without moving except to sip on your wine once again. As you stared at him, you noticed that one of his hands laid inside a crystal bowl. Never removing his eyes from yours, he raised it to his plump lips and opened his mouth. His tongue darted out to receive whatever it was that his hand carried and, for a moment, you saw a glint. He let you see the ruby-like gem before he closed his mouth and bit down on it slowly. A slight smirk adorned his face.

He knew you. He knew you liked jewelry. And him.

“Oh?” you exclaimed while looking at the bowl once again, seeing it full with more of the gems, “Is that candy?”

His smile grew wider. “Yes, Your Majesty. The finest of your empire.”

“I see, very interesting. Will you tell me which flavor is it?”

He grabbed one more piece of candy and showed it to you. The light from the candles bounced off it, making it look like a real ruby. “That, ma’am, is something you will have to find out”.

You arched your eyebrow at him in a questioning manner. “Is the puppy going to keep me guessing? Well then, bring it here so I can taste it myself”.

With your command, Seonghwa got on his knees and crawled over the bed towards you, bringing one of the damned candies with him. The closer he got, the more breathtaking he looked. Part of you wanted to order him to stop with his act, but the other part loved seeing his sensual side on display for you. Also, deep inside, you were too soft to ruin his fun.

His head towered slightly over yours. From that distance, you could see every detail of his face, including the nonexistent imperfections. Without a word, your hand scanned his jaw, chin and neck until you felt the cold of one of his gold chains, leaving it there. With your other hand, you grabbed the candy gem and brought it closer to both of your heads. You twirled it twice on your fingers before putting it against Seonghwa’s lips. Not wasting a second, he opened his mouth and let the candy fall on it like it had done earlier. Before closing it again, he playfully licked the tip of your index finger. 

What a naughty puppy.

You grabbed his chin and put your face even closer to his. “You are playing a dangerous game, my darling”.

He had barely swallowed the candy when you closed the space between you with a kiss. Immediately, Seonghwa reciprocated, closing his eyes and grabbing you by your waist and shoulder.

Strawberry. He tasted like strawberries.

You took advantage of the kiss to let your hands explore even more of the body you saw earlier. His skin was as soft and warm as always, but you never got tired of how it felt against yours. Your fingers slid inside his robe and slowly dragged it down his shoulders, leaving even more skin exposed. You wanted all of it. All of him.

You separated from the kiss to get some air, but apparently it wasn’t enough for Seonghwa. He latched himself on the juncture of your neck and jaw, peppering open-mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin that you could find. You let out a content sigh, and weaved your fingers through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. His hands held you firmly by your waist, pulling you flush against himself. Bit by bit, his kisses went lower until he reached the neck of your nightgown.

Through the years, you had learnt that Seonghwa was addicting. There was never “just a bit” with him. It was all or nothing. And that’s what you intended tonight. Take all of him.

In more than one way.

“As much as I would love to stay like this all night long,” you said while pushing Seonghwa slightly off of your chest, “I’m afraid my legs will give out at some point. Perhaps we should take this further into the bed”.

Seonghwa said nothing. Still, he got up from his kneeling position and down the bed, grabbed your hand and walked around the furniture and sat on the edge of it near the pillows. While smiling, he placed your hands back on his shoulders and pulled you between his legs. He looked at you from beneath, expecting you to follow along with his plans for you.

“I’m also afraid of tiring Your Majesty’s legs before we have even begun,” he shooted you a smirk. “Why don’t you take a seat so I can take care of you, ma’am?”

He didn’t even wait for your answer before grabbing your behind and pulling you with force to himself. You let out a yelp and fell down on him. While he laughed at you, you tried to pull yourself up by pressing down on his shoulders and putting your legs on each side of his. In any other situation you would’ve also laughed with him, but you wanted to keep control for a little longer.

“What a naughty puppy,” you exclaimed, grabbing Seonghwa by his jaw to shut him up. “Good thing you that I love you a little too much. Otherwise I would have your head on a plate”. You didn’t really mean that, but you noticed that Seonghwa’s eyes lit up a bit when you said love. “You will pay me back another day”.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he replied, “but let me enjoy myself a little longer”.

He captured your lips once more. Somewhere in your conversation he had gained a confidence you had only witnessed a handful of times. He didn’t hesitate to remove your robe from your body, letting it fall to the floor without a care. He didn’t hesitate while pulling you to sit entirely on his lap, making you feel everything underneath. He didn’t hesitate while looking at you in a way no one dared to before.

The adoration you had towards this man felt way too much for a moment, and you got scared. So, you decided to avoid your feelings for a little longer by kissing him again, praying that he wouldn’t notice how different you were acting tonight. And if he did, he didn’t show.

At one point, during your touching, Seonghwa had lost that goddamned robe, leaving the both of you in nothing but your underwear. You could feel the heat radiating from each other, almost too hot to the touch but not enough to make you pull away. As much as you could spend eternity just kissing Seonghwa’s strawberry lips, you were starting to feel impatient and the man could tell.

It started slow, barely enough for you to feel at first. He had broken the kiss to leave more marks on your neck and naked chest. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to his crotch. The space between you was almost non-existent. Little by little, he started to move your hips along his, igniting sparks of pleasure throughout your body. In no time, he accompanied it with movements of his own pelvis, creating the perfect amount of friction to send you into overdrive.

One particularity of Seonghwa was his ability to make every movement enticing. After all, there was a time he was known as the best dancer and performer in your whole land, seeked and desired by hundreds, and it was that reputation that had drawn you towards him in the first place. Every move of his appeared calculated enough to look tempting yet effortless, and here you were paying the price of that talent by being subjected to one of the most sublime pleasures known to humankind.

At one point, Seonghwa had stilled your hips, opting for grinding his against them. This ensured that you could feel the entirety of his erection pressing against every part of your core, all the way from your entrance to your clit. After a while of receiving this tortuous treatment, you were climbing a peak you weren’t ready yet to reach.

You stilled his movements by pressing your hand against his hard on, which earned you a whine from Seonghwa. You almost went back into a desperate grinding after hearing that delicious noise, but you held back. “I’m afraid that if we continue with this much longer, both you and I won’t last enough to get to whatever you wish to do”.

“You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am” he teased you with a cheeky grin. “I can continue all night long, Your Majesty”.

You grabbed him by the back of his head once again and got your faces close. “Y/N”. He blinked a couple times in confusion, so you repeated yourself once again. “Y/N. It’s Y/N when I’m with you”.

Now it was Seonghwa’s turn to pray that you didn’t notice how fast his heart was beating from your statement. One would think that he had loved you enough time for your name to roll easily from his lips, but it wasn’t the case at all. It was impossible when some days, your sole presence was enough to make him nervous. It was impossible when sometimes he looked at the other consorts and it made his blood boil. It was impossible when he knew that using your name meant owning a part of you, something he would never be able to do given the nature of your relationship.

Nevertheless, he allowed the syllables to run through his tongue, even if they stinged. “Well then, I can continue all night long, Y/N”.

He didn’t give you time to reply, because in one moment he was leaving a peck on your lips, and on the other you were swiftly being turned around and laid against the pillows of the bed. You gasped in surprise at the same time that Seonghwa let out the most beautiful laugh you had ever heard.

And what would you not do to hear it again.

“You little scoundrel!” you exclaimed. “You have absolutely no idea what you are getting yourself into. Next time you’ll see how well it goes for you!”

Seonghwa positioned himself on top of you, his chest almost pressed against yours. He shot you another mischievous grin. “I’ll be waiting eagerly, then”.

He left a kiss on the column of your throat, so soft it was barely there. Then he left another one a little lower. Then another. And another. And another, until he reached your sternum. Your eyes fluttered when he started moving upwards towards one of your breasts. He used one of his hands to trace mindless patterns across your stomach, hips and waist. The tender stimulation was starting to heighten the heat in your core, somewhat lost in the brief moments you had stopped rubbing on Seonghwa. Finally, it reached an all-time peak when his warm tongue enveloped your right nipple.

“Ah!” you let out with a moan. He continued his assault on your breast, sucking and licking on your sensitive mound. After some moments of this treatment, he brought the hand that had been on your hip and used it to massage the forgotten bud. Then, he switched sides, continuing his ministrations on both of your nipples. It felt good. So good that you started rubbing your thighs together, hoping to get some friction and relieve some of that growing heat.

Seonghwa took notice of your impatience and decided to act on it. He unlatched his mouth from your bud, replacing it with his other hand. Meanwhile, he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your stomach. You let out content sighs, using your own hands to rub soothing circles on Seonghwa’s defined back and shoulders. His mouth reached the hem of your panties, and you couldn’t help but hitch a breath in expectation. But that fucker had other plans for you.

He peppered even more kisses along the waistband of your underwear, even going as far as to nip it. But, when he got to where you needed him the most, he ignored the wet patch on your crotch, opting to lick your inner thighs. He left another wet trail on your legs up until your knees, bending them slightly to give him better access. Without missing a beat, he switched from one leg to the other, this time going upwards towards your centre. He rubbed your calves and knees tenderly, relieving the tension in them.

Seonghwa broke away from the task he had been focused on for the last minutes to look back at you, and spoke.

“You know,” he stated, “there was once a time where I could have been considered the most beautiful man of the kingdom”. You stared back at him, curious about what point he was trying to make. “It has been almost five years since then, and I’m sure age has changed that fact”.

You frowned at his words, and you were about to refute that claim when he spoke again. “I am certain that has been the case for me. But for you, Y/N, Your Majesty, it is completely the opposite. Every day that you come visit me, I am more certain that time has only made you even more beautiful”.

You were left speechless in awe, but Seonghwa did not seem to interpret it the same way. “I am most sorry if my words have been bold tonight, but the thought has been wandering on my mind for the entirety of this evening. Let me make it up to you, Y/N”.

With nothing else to add, he brought relief to the ache on your core that had been plaguing you from the moment you stepped on Seonghwa’s chambers. Slowly, he bit down on the waistband of your underwear and began to bring it down with his teeth enough to then remove them with his fingers. When he was sure there was not a single millimeter of fabric separating you from him, he dived head first into your folds, tasting you like you were a meal he had been depriving himself of for weeks.

The expertise of his tongue and the long wait had you moaning immediately. “Oh, fuck!” Your hands grabbed the back of his head and pushed him further into you.

Seonghwa never shied away from giving you the best pleasure he could offer. He continually switched from kitty licks on your clit to long swipes through your whole slit. He ate you out like a starved man, sucking on your nub with enough force to make you almost reach the ceiling of pleasure. Nevertheless, he didn’t want you arriving at your climax just yet. No, he had a lot more to give you. He separated himself from your core slightly, just enough to be able to watch you in all your glory. 

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull, head hanging weakly over the pillows and your mouth wide open almost made him cum on himself. You looked so fucked out, barely even registering what happened on your surrounds aside from the movement of his tongue and your hand on his hair. 

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, “you are doing so well for me, Y/N. So, so good”.

You whined at his growl-like tone. “Hwa, I’m close. Don’t stop, please.”

Seonghwa moaned at your whining. It was rare to witness his emperor relinquishing so much of the control you normally had on every aspect of your life, even in bed. He was harder than he remembered ever feeling before, and it drove him crazy. He didn’t want to, he needed to make you cum. So, after looking at you one last time, he went back to his task, now inserting a finger into your hole.

You gasped at the sudden feeling of having his digit inside yourself. His fingers were long and slender, perfect for how you liked it. Little by little, Seonghwa started inserting more and more of it, feeling no resistance from your part. With the same slow pace, he began sliding out, only to go back inside. In no time, he had found a rhythm that matched his licks and slurps on your clit. 

This time, you could feel your climax start to unravel once Seonghwa hit the perfect spot. “Oh my god, I’m coming. Shit, shit, I’m coming!”.

The perfect combination of one of his licks with his fingering movements left your vision white. You felt the air being sucked from your lungs as a fiery heat traveled from all your extremities to your core. Your back arched beautifully, almost as if wanting to ascend to the upper plane of pleasure Seonghwa was sending you to. Your fingers clutched anything they could get a hold of; pillows, sheets, and Seonghwa’s dark locks of hair.

The high was dizzying and intoxicating.

Seonghwa continued to shyly lick your cunt while you came back from your orgasm. You felt sensitive to his touch, but your craving for him still wasn’t satisfied. You propped yourself on one elbow to look at him better, moving your other hand from his hair to his cheek. With soft touches, you removed his face from your core to stop him.

The sight before you was erotic in every sense of the word. The lower bottom of his face was drenched in your cum, his tongue darting out from his mouth to lick around it. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, making it seem like it was him who had received one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life. His eyes, still full of love and adoration for you, continued to pierce into yours, feeding into the fire that had slowly been growing since the start of the evening.

“My puppy has done such a good job tonight,” you praised him, running your fingers down his jaw to his neck and chest. In a soft gesture, you put your hand under his armpit, urging him to come up from his lying position to hover over you. With his hands on each side of your face, his legs tangled between yours, and your hands woven over the back of his head, you gazed back at him with a mischievous smile. “I believe a reward is in order”.

You closed the distance between your lips, pressing them into another feverish kiss. Seonghwa let out a content sigh into your mouth, melting until both of your figures became indistinguishable. You ran a hand over his broad back, lightly scratching your nails over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your journey. Then, you dipped it under his waist and over his abdominals, going lower and lower until your hand reached its final destination.

Seonghwa almost collapsed on top of you when he felt you touch his dick. He let out divine sounds when he felt you begin to stroke the base of his member under his underwear, your other hand removing the last piece of clothing for him. For a moment, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the way your hand moved downwards towards the tip, in a movement you had memorized from your countless nights spent with him. To have you touch the most intimate part of his body felt the biggest reward he could receive for his actions, but that wasn’t how he wanted things to go.

You were surprised when you felt his hand grab your wrist to halt your movements. “What is wrong?” you asked, worried about hurting him.

He looked down to where you connected with him and then back at you with his ever-present soft smile. “Nothing is wrong, but I don’t wish to make this night about me”.

You raised your eyebrow at him. “But you deserve it”.

He pecked your nose and gifted you with another smile. “Thank you, Y/N, save it for another time”.

Seonghwa removed your hand from his underwear and intertwined your fingers with his, resting both of your hands besides your head. He left small kisses on your lips, one after another, until you were giggling. The cold metal of his necklaces against your chest gave you small goosebumps, but you still pulled his face against yours, rubbing your noses together.

“I will, Hwa,” you promised him.

Seonghwa let out a chuckle of his own. You looked so cute at that moment. “Thank you, Y/N. Now, if you let me, there’s still one thing on my list for tonight”.

In one swift moment, he sat back on the bed, similar to the position you found him earlier in the night, but this time with you sitting directly on his crotch once more. This time, there was nothing separating your cores. You could feel the entirety of Seonghwa’s length pressed against your slit, warm and slippery with your juices. A small movement of your hips and you would have the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

Apparently, that same thought crossed Seonghwa. He grabbed your waist to lift you slightly up, leaving you on your knees over him. With one hand he positioned you where he needed you, and with the other he grabbed his cock, stroking himself while aligning it with your entrance. He looked up at you, eyes round and soft.

“May I?” he asked, not needing to say further.

You nodded, and he began your descend towards the climax of tonight’s act.

The first wave came with the first inch. There was always a sense of euphoria when you felt the tip of his length breach your inner walls, slowly dragging upwards to give way to more of it. Your body always responds with a gasp at this initial moment. The second wave is less intense but more prolonged. As he entered deeper and deeper, Seonghwa started losing control of himself. At this stage, he would start touching and grabbing every part of your body he could reach. Hips, thighs, breasts and ass would be covered in small marks the next day from his mindless touch. The last wave was the one that left the both of you with the biggest satisfaction. It was the bliss of being connected in one of the most intimate ways two people could.

“Oh, fuck!” Seonghwa let out, throwing his head back. No matter how many times he had done this, it still felt delicious.

You were also a mess above him. Your back was arched towards him, eyes pressed shut to savour the drag of his dick inside of you, and mouth wide open. Seonghwa felt like cumming from that sight alone. He wanted to devour you whole; crawl beneath your skin and live inside your heart forever.

If only he knew.

Regaining a bit of your senses, you started moving your hips slowly. Up and down, front to back, side to side. You began to find the rhythm that drove the both of you crazy. Wanton moans escaped from your lips as you felt Seonghwa in the deepest parts of your body. You grabbed his shoulders to support yourself better, and his hands found nest on the curve of your hips. In no time, you had picked up the speed, feeling him go in and out harder.

“God, you feel so good,” you moaned. “You are always so good for me. So, so good”.

The praise seemed to get into Seonghwa’s head (and cock). He whined beautifully, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He bit his lower lip to contain the sounds escaping from his throat. You didn’t like that.

You freed his lip with your thumb, once again getting closer to his face. “Don’t you ever try to hold back with me. I want to hear you”.

That set Seonghwa on fire. He planted his feet on the bed, grabbing you firmly by the waist, and started thrusting up into you with force. For a moment, all breath escaped from your lungs, being replaced by the smell of sex and lust. A whiny scream left your lips without meaning to, followed by broken moans and gasps. You hugged your lover by the shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself from falling too hard too fast on the abyss.

Seonghwa’s plump lips now rested against your ear, gifting you with his unrestrained groans and grunts of pleasure. You clenched around his cock deliciously, fitting him like a glove. It felt like a new heaven was opened to him every time he entered you, and your hands roaming across his back and chest felt akin to feather touches of an angel. If he closed his eyes a little longer, then he would be gone for good.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he repeated like a mantra, “I’m so close! God, I can’t wait to come inside of you. I’m going to make you mine”.

Seonghwa was a goner when he felt you clench even harder around him, but he needed you to cum first. It was a rule in his world, a commandment of his, to always satisfy your needs before his, even if it meant never getting back what he had offered you. So, feeling his impending climax approaching, he slid his fingers between your bodies to where your clit rested. His other hand slithered up to your breast, and played with your sensitive peaks. 

That was your breaking point. The stimulation of all those points elevated you to your highest peak of the night. Your body shook with electricity that spread through your spine down to every nerve. You back arched against Seonghwa’s chest, pushing your face away from him. Your toes curled and your legs tensed, your inner thighs wet from the mess of cum and saliva.

You were a sight to behold.

Not long after, Seonghwa came. With sloppy thrusts into your core, he tried to prolong his and your orgasms. Overstimulation was becoming overwhelming, but something carnal and animalistic inside of him pushed him to go further. To claim every inch of your body and soul. Make you his in every way imaginable.

He didn’t stop until he felt like he had pushed the last bits of cum into your pussy. He felt the mess you both had created slip between your bodies, letting out a slight smirk at the thought of your cum and his mixing together.

It was him who had you in his bed tonight. Him who had given you the highest form of pleasure. Him who held you as you recovered from having sex with him.

But still, you weren’t his.

Despite Seonghwa facing inner turmoil at the moment, you felt very content at his side. Still feeling him inside, you were full of him, not just in the physical sense. The weight of your actions with him left your heart soaring higher than the sky, almost at peace. There was just a single detail missing in your equation.

With him standing by your side, there was nothing else you needed.

↠↠↠↞↞↞

The moonlight shone through the open balcony, drawing pale and shapeless silhouettes on the floor beneath your feet. You could hear the branches of the trees sway with the wind in the garden below. It was rare for you to have enough time to sit quietly to observe the mundane beauties of the world that surrounded you.

Except on those nights when you laid with Seonghwa.

After a brief clean-up session with him in his bathroom, you went back to his room. It was a comforting routine for both of you. Just being in each other’s company felt more intimate than any sexual activity you could engage in. You sat there in peace, no clothes needed to enjoy the pleasant company. It was symbolic of how you both bared yourselves naked in more than the literal way.

You sat on the edge of the bed, both feet planted on the floor. The long-forgotten wine returned to your hand, swirling slowly inside the glass, guided by the rhythmic movement of your body. Seonghwa laid on the bed behind you, sipping on his wine. You could feel his intense stare on your back, digging holes at it in silence.

Neither of you felt brave enough to break it.

At last, it was Seonghwa who dared to perturb the tranquility of the room.

“You have been behaving oddly tonight,” he declared, speaking into the rim of his glass.

You turned your neck around just enough to see him gulp down the rest of the beverage. For a couple of moments, the only sound in the room was that of liquid pouring before you answered.

“Am I the only one, though?” you questioned back, but not denying his claim.

“Certainly not,” he replied, seemingly submerged in his thoughts. His long fingers tapped against the stem of the glass before settling it down on the nightstand, “but it is unlike you to drain out your concerns in such ways”.

In five years, Seonghwa learnt to read you like a book. He picked on every cue and sign to assess your moods and act according to them. That way he had managed to completely obliterate the walls you had built around yourself, becoming your trusted confidant in record speed. He had not only looks but a bright mind.

But, still, even Seonghwa couldn’t escape the claws of the cold palace politics.

For that reason, you just offered a close-mouthed smile. “I know you have your people in my council, Seonghwa, so you should know what matter plagues me”.

Seonghwa ignored your cold countenance, choosing to gift you a warm smile. “Yes, I do know, but I'd rather hear it from you”.

You looked into his deep, dark eyes and you knew that if you could trust anyone, it would only be Park Seonghwa.

You exhaled some air and sipped on the glass. “The old foxes at the council have been reminding me that it has been five years since I took the throne, and there are no signs of an upcoming wedding, much less an heir. It makes them restless that there is no one they can trust to succeed me if something happens to me, so they have been pressuring me to pick someone at last”.

You turned around your torso to watch him more carefully. Seonghwa appeared as calm as ever, but the firm grip on the stem of the glass betrayed him

“So,” he asked nonchalantly, “will you do it?”

You left your wine on one of the nightstands and slid up further into the bed to sit beside Seonghwa. He looked at you with extreme curiosity while you settled at his side. While it wasn’t the first time you had touched the subject, it had never affected you like this before.

“Yes,” you said, simply.

For the nth time that night, Seonghwa prayed that you couldn’t hear his heart beating erratically inside his chest. That simple word had planted seeds of jealousy and hope, and he feared that more conversation would water them into a horrific ivy that would swallow his spirit whole. Tonight had not been a good night for his heart. Nevertheless, he made his best effort to appear calm amidst his internal storm.

“Oh?” he asked in an almost teasing tone. “Glad to see you finally settling down. Do you have someone in mind already, or should I suggest candidates?”

The green ivy grew bigger on his chest.

“Yes,” you answered, holding his intense gaze, “I have someone in mind already”.

“Oh?” Seonghwa repeated, but this time less sure of himself, “Is it a consort? Or will you bring someone from outside?”

“Oh god, no. In five years as Emperor, the amount of people I trust has reduced significantly. I could never bring myself to find someone outside this palace”.

Seonghwa bit his lip. “So it is a consort”.

You scooted even closer to him. “Yes, he is a consort”.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. His head was spinning. One in four. He had one in four chances to be the one you picked.

Against his better judgment, he dared to prod the dragon’s belly. “Well then, who is him?”

You grinned at him, teasing him further. “Aren’t you awfully curious tonight?”

Trying to save face, Seonghwa answered. “Can you judge me? I am part of that pool, so I might as well ask before I hear the news from someone else”.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you scooted even closer to his frame, his arm instinctively wrapping around you and resting you on his shoulder. You inhaled his aroma from that distance and hid your face on his neck.

He smelt like home. And strawberries.

You leaned back to watch him, finding he was already looking back at you. Some of his hair fell on his eyes, covering part of his sculpted visage.

“Your hair is getting longer,” you commented, brushing the dark locks behind his ear.

“Should I cut it?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, it looks beautiful on you”.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

For two entire breaths, you stood in silence. “Seonghwa”.

“Yes?”

You wetted your lips. “Seonghwa, for almost five years, you have lived here in the palace as my consort. You were the first one I brought in many years ago when I had recently taken the throne, and you are my closest confidant aside from Hongjoong”.

You felt him gulp nervously, but you continued. “In these years, you have proven yourself to be more than just a consort. You are indeed handsome, but also brilliant, charismatic, strong, brave, and kind. In many instances, you have been my biggest ally and supporter, as well as a voice of reason when circumstances appear grim. You have a talent few men can say they possess, and it gives me pride to have you on my side, whether as your Emperor, your friend, or your lover”.

Seonghwa felt his chest swell with pride and joy while hearing your words. It was a one-in-four chance, but he certainly felt like it had been him all this time.

But you weren’t finished. “You are a man of many talents, Park Seonghwa, and in these five years I have witnessed that potential grow beyond what this restrictive palace can offer.” Seonghwa tensed beside you. “This place is nothing more than a beautiful prison for minds like yours, whose limit cannot be determined. A breeding ground for the greed and ambitions of the worst of mankind”.

You went back to stroking Seonghwa’s head. “You are my most beautiful flower, Seonghwa. I have sinned by ripping off your roots and hiding you here. I have taken you away from everything you loved and knew: your home, your family, your dance… I have been a horrible woman by keeping you tied to me for five years of your precious youth”.

Seonghwa had started to shake and you felt drops falling on top of your head. You pushed yourself away from him, only to see him crying. Your heart shattered in the very instance when he pushed himself away from your embrace. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over his knees, hand covering his mouth.

“That’s a terrible way to announce it’s not me,” he stated, briefly uncovering his mouth, but never looking back at you.

You got up from your lying position. On your knees, you crawled behind him, looping your arms underneath his armpits. Without a second thought, Seonghwa rested his hands on yours on top of his chest.

Seonghwa had always been an easy crier.

You rested your forehead on his cervical. “I told you I am a horrible person. I am merciless to my enemies, and awful to my friends. More despicable is the fact that I don’t believe those words”. Seonghwa’s head shot up, listening to what you said. “You are my most beautiful flower, and I don’t plan on letting you go”.

You pressed yourself further into Seonghwa’s broad back. “In five long and short years, you have become indispensable to me. It is you who I come to when I am happy. It is you who I come to when I am in need of comfort. It is to you who I confess my fears and sins, and to whom I share the deepest parts of my soul. Your happiness has become my happiness, your grief my grief, and your pride my pride. You are my better half, and my equal in everything but in body”.

“So do forgive me for being a selfish Emperor and even a worse lover, but I will not release you from my grasp, even if it is against my better judgment. I will do anything and give you anything you desire if it means I will get to keep you by my side for the rest of our lives”.

Seonghwa swallowed once again. “Will you give me anything?”

You grabbed his left hand and brought it to your lips. “Yes, anything. Say the word and it shall be yours”.

“You. I want you. I want (L/N) (Y/N)”.

Your heart exploded in a million fireworks inside your chest. “Then, I shall be yours”.

Suddenly, Seonghwa turned back at you, tackling you into a hug. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, slightly shaking with short sobs. He was crying, but this time they were happy tears. Softly, you removed him from yourself with a smile.

“Lord Park Seonghwa,” you said while looking deep into his eyes, “will you do me the honor of becoming Imperial King and marry me?”.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he shouted. “A hundred times yes!”.

You laughed, and he started peppering kisses all over your face. You both went from hugging to kissing to laughing hysterically every couple of seconds. No joy in life could compare to the state of bliss you were in, knowing you belonged wholeheartedly to each other.

You had said it before. Tonight, you had intended to make Seonghwa yours in more than one way.

“But wait,” Seonghwa stopped the both of you abruptly, “isn’t this done through a formal ceremony?”

“I mean, yes,” you replied, “but I wanted to make sure it is what you wanted before officially proposing to you in front of everyone. I would have felt awful to put you on the spot like that if you didn’t want to actually marry me”.

“Are you kidding me? I’m so in love with you that I would have said yes no matter when and where you had asked me”.

“Good to know my fiancé is in love with me as much as I am in love with him”, you smirked and rubbed your noses together. “Either way, I will have to inform Lord Hongjoong of the changes in our situation. I bet he will be very surprised”.

(Spoiler alert, he was not).

You both laid on your backs, staring at the ceiling of Seonghwa’s room. Hands intertwined like vines. The night continued to be silent, uncaring of the two lovers who had decided to give themselves to each other without the knowledge of the rest of the world. The Earth didn’t stop spinning nor did the Moon stop her beaming, but now your whole galaxy shone with the glint of Park Seonghwa’s eyes.

“I never thought I would say this,” Seonghwa broke the last silence of the night, “but I thank those old geezers at the council for pushing you into my arms. From the moment that I met you, my heart, body, and soul have belonged to you and only you. From the moment I rise in the morning to the closing of my eyes at night, my every thought is dedicated to you. I will do everything in my power to be dutiful as your husband, and you shall never regret having me, my love”.

“There’s nothing in the world that will make me regret having you as my husband,” you kissed both of his hands. “As far as the members of the council, I bet they will be happy knowing that I’m marrying at last, especially if it’s with someone as brilliant as you”.

“We will be the most powerful sovereigns this nation has seen,” Seonghwa sealed his promise with a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll give you all of me if you need it”.

“Then it shall be that way,” you kissed him back.

With the threat of an early morning, you tucked yourselves into bed. Seonghwa attached himself to your back, tangling his arms and legs until you couldn’t tell where began who. He released his soft breaths into your ear, slowly lulling you to your rest. Just as you were about to fall asleep, he muttered to you.

“I bet the council will really be happy with our marriage,” you could hear the grin in his voice, “because, with me, you won’t be having any problem conceiving that heir… Your Majesty”.

It was safe to say, you didn’t wake up early that day.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

TW/ Suic.dal and/or Sad and/or depressed reader

— HURT COMFORT FIC.

DISCLAIMER: This is aimed towards me when I get into those extremely low moods and just feel like crying or worse LOL. I ask that you don’t vent or say that this made your feelings worse or negative things etc. as this was meant to comfort my own emotions. However if this made you feel better or you relate you’re welcome to comment so. This fic is aimed to make people feel better not worse so if you know it might trigger you just scroll past, or read something happier!

If you feel suic.dal please call a hotline if you can or talk to someone who won’t put you down / make you feel worse for your emotions.

My thing is when I get into those…. moods. I get soft, in sort of a self sacrificing way, low energy, “Oh? You want this? Here! No, No I’m happier if you have it!” sort of way.. because I know I’m just too tired and I’ve given you so you know? If I can’t fix myself I’d rather leave everyone happy than angry. But what kills me is when someone notices. Especially if it’s a friend or someone I love.

So imagine them… just…

“Hey, Love?” They ask in such a gentle tone like treading on ice about to break.

“Yes?” You reply not thinking much. But after a long silence you finally look up from whatever you’re doing. They give you that look of ‘I want to say something but I don’t know how to say it’ so you give them a soft smile, “It’s okay darling, whatever it is I won’t be mad.”

“You feel off.” The words come out faster than they can collect their thoughts together. Making you look at them wide eyed confused. “I mean… you just… seem sort of sad? Are… you okay? You can talk to me you know that right?”

You go to answer but your voice is just… vanished? so you’re stuck making that sort of fish face where you look like you’re speaking, your mouth is opening and closing, but nothing is coming out. “Oh.” The softest oh from your mouth as the soft gentle persona you’ve had on for a while… breaks. “I’m… I’m okay?” You say it like a question, as your voice breaks and you can feel the tears you’re trying so hard to push down come back up. The back of your throat feels thick and heavy like it has a weight tied to it. “I.. I swear I’m fine! I have no idea why…” and as you’re explaining yourself tears, hot and heavy as you sob. They quickly rush towards you gently crouching down in front of where you’re sitting.

“Hey.. It’s okay if you’re sad or upset you know? It’s okay to cry, you’re allowed to feel bad. I’m not sure what’s going on but I’m here for you okay? Right here.” They say softly not touching you until you reach towards them first like you’re as breakable as the prettiest glass sculpture. When you finally reach for that hug, it feels… so good. That hug that reminds you that someone cares, that you don’t have to hold it in all by yourself, that even when things get so bad or you’re always second best to everyone else, someone cares enough to hold you, to comfort you as you sob until you get tired.

They just hold you as you cry, no need to explain now or later you only need to feel comforting knowing that if your body collapses into a puddle of emotions someone is there to collect you afterwards.

The ‘them’ in question; COVE HOLDEN, IZUKU MIDORIYA, OCHAKO URARAKA, derek suarez, cliff holden, uzumaki naruto, mitsuri kanroji, tanjiro kamado. + anyone else you want/can think of!

[pebblysand]

Hi! Thank you so much for writing Castles, it’s the Harry Potter post we’re story I always wanted to read. I love your characterization of the Potter kids, I especially love your take on Lily Luna, do you have a headcanon of what happens next with the kids, regarding their careers and personal lives, or do you want to leave it open to interpretation?

aw, thank you so much ❤️. so glad you enjoyed!

so: yes to both. i've obviously spent a lot of time thinking about the kids so i do have my headcanons (as far as the castles universe goes) but i'm also more than happy for people to have their own. IMO, i'm not the gold standard here. anything that happens in my head that i chose not to put in the fic is not castles-canon. you can totally have your own versions of this.

having said that, here's what i think:

(moodboard from my outline. yes, they're all ridiculously hot.)

career-wise:

you already see this at the end of castles, but i think james joins the WWW family business, but opening up an "events" side of things, which he runs. he's 100000% a nepo-baby who uses his parents' fame to build up his address book and be the star of the show, lmao. but... we still love him hahaha. he's got a good heart 😅. i sort of see him as the david guetta (lmao) of the wizarding world. i think he likes to entertain people, allow them to have fun and forget their worries, etc. he's very into quidditch but like his father, he's not really interested in making it a career. it's too much hard work/investment. i think james is generally more interested in having fun than in... working 🤣. i also headcanon he lives at his parents' past 30 because it's just convenient. he's that kid who's always asking for money to invest in a potential business venture - has 50 new ideas per hour (not all conclusive) - and ginny's always kind of kindly but firmly bringing him back down to earth. harry would give him the entire contents of his vaults to open a solid-gold-cauldron business 🤣.

personal life:

friendships/family: as described in the fic, he's got a lot of friends, he's a people person, and someone who loves to bridge wizards and muggles. he truly cares about people - i think he's got a bit of teddy's hufflepuff side in that. he's got great relationships with his parents and his siblings, beyond the standard, mild-rivalry that is normal in kids that age. i think he gets on with al because underneath their obvious differences, they have the same sense of humour. i think he feels very big-brotherly and protecting towards lily, and they have good banter. he also massively admires her.

love life: this is hinted at in text but james has a bit of a rough time in his mid-to-late 20s. i headcanon that he gets a Serious Girlfriend pretty early on (probably around 18/19), who he madly falls in love with. i kind of think underneath the whole chill/party vibes, james is a hopeless romantic so when he falls, he falls hard. he's got his parents example in his head of what relationships should look like, and obviously harry and ginny have such a strong relationship, that he wants that for himself, and gives it his all and thinks it's Forever. that girl ends up cheating on him and i think he takes it pretty fucking hard, especially because this happens while lily is in mongolia, all of which sort of sends him spiralling. you kind of see that between the lines in chapter 24: the partying, the sleeping around, etc. kind of like his mother... kind of like his father, too, possibly, had he not met mia. as said in text, there's a lot of press about him, and it's not always nice. without the nazi-costume wearing (i don't think james is stupid enough to do that kind of shit) i headcanon him a bit like prince harry in his early days. in a weird way (as is also hinted at in castles), i think lily coming back re-anchors him. they play video games and have each other's back and heal together, in a way.

later, i headcanon him meeting someone else, maybe in his late 20s and early 30s. i think he's pretty cautious at first, due to past experiences, but she is The One. i headcanon she's a squib or something, or the muggle sibling of a wizard, someone non-magical but who is aware of the magical world, perhaps a doctor or a nurse, someone very out of the spotlight, who's not really interested in who he is or who his parents are, who's there for him, but also understands the pressures he's under. i don't know if they have kids. i can't decide. i strangely headcanon that maybe she doesn't want them? like, she's this doctor who loves children and loves helping people but also feels like she'd rather dedicate her life to others than to have her own. i think james would be happy either way, she's pretty much his world and he loves her enough for that not to matter. or, maybe they have one later, in their late-30s early 40s, once their careers and lives are really established? i'm not entirely sure.

.

(yes this was done with AI. you would not believe how hard it is to find black-haired guys with green eyes that aren't trying to be harry potter himself online 😅)

career-wise: oh, al becomes a professor. obviously. i sort of see him do a PhD in muggle history, then specialising in the study of war and parallels between muggle and wizarding history. i think that's the way he manages to wrap his head around and understand what happened to his family. he's in a perpetual search of meaning and patterns, understanding how history repeats itself. i think that sort of study reassures him and provides him comfort, knowing that it's not just him, not just them, that there's meaning and purpose behind all of it. i see him teach (i think he's a great teacher, like his father) - maybe in hogwarts or maybe in a post-grad setting, i'm not 100% sure. i kind of lean towards the latter cause i don't think binns is ever giving up his seat 🤣.

i also see him as rather CASHCOW-involved. like, i think studying war like he does makes him want to do something. he's not necessarily the flashy, loud kind of brave, but he is still very brave, and very opinionated. i do think he's also very close to his mother and cares a lot about the things she started with #metoo and the book, so perhaps he gets involved in that side of things.

personal life:

friendships/family: i think his relationship with his family is pretty much established in castles, i don't have much else to add. he's independent, sure, but still very close to them all. i think he's the kind of person who, unlike james, has a small but very tight-knit circle of people around him, and that suits him fine. he has a few but very close friends.

love life: oh, scorpius is the love of his life. that's it. they have the kind of relationship we all dream of: easy and supportive and loving. i think the main difficulty they probably have is scorpius struggling to come out to his father a bit, but i reckon that happens eventually. i 10000% headcanon them having kids. i think they adopt. i think al has his mother's faith in people and the future, and so it makes sense he would want to pass that on.

.

(my CHILD!! my war hero!!)

career-wise: i think that's hard. for her. coming back. i headcanon her taking care of the museum for a while. i think she's back and forth to mongolia quite a lot in the early years as well, because she cares about the people she left there. she probably works at the shop, or with james for a bit as well, helping out. i do think eventually (maybe a few years later - she is almost 20 when she comes back to england, so maybe when she's 23/24), she takes her NEWTs, and albus helps her study. i think that brings them closer. i could see her getting into politics later on. being a wizengamot member or something, not someone who's ever going to really get into power, but more of an agitator, someone who says the hard things and truly tries to change the world.

personal life:

friendships/family: all of this is pretty much established in the fic/above so i won't come back on it. i will say that sadly, because of POV constraints, i couldn't quite explore her relationship with her mother, but i think they have a pretty good one (as much as mothers and daughters can - lol). i think although it's hard, she has a lot more support coming back and healing than harry and ginny ever had.

love life: this sort of ties in to the above but i think lily is someone who values friendship and platonic love a lot more than most people, and a lot more than society does. i'm not sure i entirely headcanon her as ace/aro, but i do think she's someone who doesn't really need romantic love to be happy. she cares and loves very deeply, but she doesn't need to be in a Relationship like most people do. i do think she's generally attracted to men, and i think there are a few lovers in her life that are very, very important to her, but she never feels the need to put a label on it or be someone's Person. she is the world's Person.

in a weird way, though, i do headcanon her having kids. i almost see her as having them and raising them in a commune sort of setting (lol), with friends and people she truly cares about. i headcanon the father to be someone she... loves, even they're not in a conventional sort of relationship. i think she's happy, though. i think lily's happy.

.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Teddy Remus Lupin:

i never made a moodboard for teddy, i think because his face constantly changes lol. i either see him as becoming a musician or a wandmaker. i couldn't decide, so i hinted at both in the fic. you can pick one lol. or, maybe, he starts out with one with the other as a hobby, then switches things around when he gets bored. i think he's just a creative person, who loves making things. i think romantically, he's probably with victoire, they have cute babies.

Naran:

i sort of headcanon naran as moving back to england eventually. it's heavily hinted at in castles but, in a strange way that most immigrants will recognise, mongolia is her home but it's also... not her home. she says it to harry in chapter 23, she's in between spaces, neither truly english nor truly mongolian. most of her formative years are spent in england, and i think, a little bit like ron who, after the most urgent rebuilding is done, quits the ministry, she, i think, moves back to london, probably in her mid-twenties. i do think she's back and forth a lot, very involved, but ultimately, her home is lily. i'm not sure whether she marries or has kids, that's up to you.

[elfboyeros]

Who was Bela Pavlova?

⚠️Warning: Death, Mention of Abuse, Dark themes, etc aka the Bela Pavlova backstory stuff

So I mentioned this to @/jj-pines and @/lerenee that I imagine that there were films made of Bela's life because she basically disappeared at her peak at stuff and then I randomly thought of the Film Mommie Dearest and the video Kennie JD did on it and I was like: I bet the Youtube True Crime girlies would eat a story like Bela's alive so the fic was made that power wrote in a day! Read all about the nerds I create here and here

Calypso does what any girl does when doing her makeup in the morning, watch a True Crime Video on YouTube.

’ Ello, my darlings, it’s me Deliah Darling and we have an interesting story today!

The young woman, with a darker complexion and colorful braids, is on screen in front of a dark, almost gothic background, barefaced as she speaks with a British accent.

I say that like all the stories I talk about are not interesting, but this one is different! We talk about a lot of true crime on this channel, but today isn’t really true crime, I mean there is a criminal element, it’s unsolved murder which you all know is one of my favorite things to cover, but what we are talking about today is just fantasizing.

Today we are going to be talking about Bela Pavlova or the Russian Swan.

Calypso stops mid-putting on her moisturizer to look over at her phone in shock, one of her favorite make-up/true crime “influencers” talking about her mother! A picture pops up on the screen of Belladonna or Bela in her prime as a ballerina in the 1900s

This is Bela Pavlova, not to be confused with Anna Pavlova the first ballerina to tour the world. As a side note before we get into it, Anna and Bela are not related, however, Bela is often confused with Anna as if they are the same person.

Calypso continues to do her make-up routine just slower than normal.

I wanted to cover Bela today because her history especially in the ballerina world is… while there is no other way to say it but just plain insane. Her history is a huge mystery, involving death, murder, and kidnapping! Her life has been turned into 3 movies! Bela Pavlova, is a beautiful woman with a crazy life. Let’s get started.

The Intro for Delilah’s channel began as Calypso slowly opened her primer, hopefully, she wouldn’t have to write a full essay of information to clarify her mother’s life, she really likes Delilah’s videos she doesn’t want to unsubscribe.  When the intro stopped Delilah had a makeup brush in hand before she started talking.

Bela Gorelov was born in 1881 on the 1st of July to Igor and Violetta Gorelov in Moscow, Russia.  Violetta was a dressmaker and Igor worked “odd jobs” or something like that. See there were these books published in 1985 and then again, this year, which I’ll go into more detail about later, that had Bela’s dairies since her mother died and in them, Bela writes about all these jobs her father had and there is never a concrete answer for what he did besides chronically drink.

Well, that’s correct. It is interesting to mention her mother’s books as a source, Delilah seems to have done her research.

Bela had a normal childhood, started ballet at the age of eight, and guys she was incredibly talented, this girl started as a professional ballerina at the age of 14 she was good! However, her lovely little ballerina life wasn't sunshine and rainbow, because in 1891 when she was 10 Violetta died at the age of 23 of Cholera, leaving her in the care of her father and her maternal grandmother Apollinariya Urusov, who was also a dressmaker. What’s sad is that according to Bela’s dairy entries, as her father started to drink more he quote: “Became someone I didn’t recognize anymore, mama has been gone for a year and the man I am faced with every day is no longer my father, but simply Igor Gorelov the man that barely looks over me.” Even more heartbreaking Bela loved her mother and grandmother and when Apollinariya died in 1896 Bela was devasted!

Bela had just started doing professional ballet, a year before when she was 14! Then a year later. Her grandmother died, leaving her with her alcoholic father who was not very kind to her as when Bela turned 16, she was married off to Sergei Pavlova a 19-year-old construction worker, making her Bela Pavlova.

Calypso cringes at the sound of Sergei’s name, as Delilah let out a sarcastic laugh.

So Sergei… he was…

Delilah laughs once again

I’m trying to think of a way to define this man that will not get me demonetized, but I can’t! Sergei was an abuser. He smoked, he drank, and he sadly abused Bela for their entire marriage. However, their horrific marriage didn’t stop Bela from being a talented ballerina, she was best known for being Aurora in a production of Sleeping Beauty, playing Flora in a production of The Awakening of Flora, and the white and black swan in several different productions of Swan Lake during 1888-1900. I think because her “best roles” were from Swan Lake that’s another reason why she and Anna Pavlova, anyway.

Calypso has major respect for Delilah she has done respect for Bela Pavlova, however, this is only the beginning of the hour-long video.

In Early December of 1901, Bela wakes up, goes to a local restaurant for breakfast with a cousin, goes to the dress shop that her mother's side of the family-owned to pick up a dress, takes that dress back home, then goes to the theatre that she would perform another production of swan lake where she would play both the white swan and the black swan.

This would be her last production of Swan Lake and the last time she would perform on a stage, as that evening, she would disappear.

Calypso chuckles lightly patting her concealer, at the somber tone taken. Horrible events happened that night, whatever, Calypso knows the outcomes of all the events that took place that night, and in retrospect, the event is not as somber as it is being made out.

Now there many stories that happened that night, but no one will ever know truly what happened. However the facts are that Bela went to her dressing room after the ballet concluded, Sergei came to visit her, and early the next morning Sergei was found deceased, the room beyond disheveled, blood everywhere, and Bela nowhere to be found.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Calypso mutters, dusting her face with powder foundation.

Now

Delilah clapped her hands, her make-up barely finished as she had been talking with her hands and stopping for periods of time to explain things.

I am going to go over the theories of what could have happened that night, and then because of the autobiography, I will go over what is believed to have happened that night! So a major theory that is believed is that Bela killed Sergei and ran away, however, I have very little faith that this is true as Sergei was a hefty guy, and Bela had like the ideal ballerina body. I can’t imagine her killing anyone with her bare hands.

Calypso chuckles once again, Belladonna has in fact killed many individuals, but yeah as Bela she didn’t kill anyone.

Another theory is that Bela was kidnapped. Many people around the ballet scene said at the time when questioned about Bela, based on different sources that there was a large pale man with white hair who had become infatuated with Bela. Many believe that this white-haired man kidnapped Bela or even murdered her from the theatre. However, we have the Book “The True Life of The Russian Swan-The Dairy of Bela Pavlova” which is an autobiographical book that compiled all of Bela’s Dairy entries from the age of 10 up until her presumed death, which according to her dairy was not 20 like most believed before the book was published in the 80’s.

Even knowing all the facts, Calypso is still integrated, while filling in her eyebrows.

So that white-haired man does exist, but a lot of people online believe he doesn’t for some reason even though this book exists! The man’s name was Wolfgang Von Koch.

Not completely incorrect for the book Belladonna changed Wilhelm’s name so as not to trace the book back to them.

Wolfgang Von Koch was a man from Germany born 29th of January 1861. Bela said in her diary that he had a love for travel, and it surprised her when he said that he lived in Romania instead of Germany. Quote: “He told me Romania with a German Accent, I asked him “how come?” He simply replied, “I enjoy the mountains in Romania.” How could you move to one place just because of the mountains? He is beautiful, tall, built, and distinguished. Much older than I am, but if I were not married I would always make attempts to be in his view.”

“Momma and Daddy are so cute,” Calypso giggles softly.

So Wolfgang was in Russia on his travel, went to the ballet one night, and saw Bela on stage and is enamored with her immediately! She’s this beautiful, talented, ballerina but she has a unique appearance. Bela had poliosis is caused by low amounts of melanin and melanocytes in your hair follicle and occurs when you have a white streak in your hair, contrary to your natural hair color. Bela’s hair was black, and it had this white chunk in the front, even her eyebrows and her eyelashes had white in them! Like guys there are pictures of her in her book and this woman was gorgeous! Who won’t fall in love with her?

Delilah is right, Belladonna is gorgeous.

Anyway! Wolfgang was able to have tiny conversations with Bela after the ballet finished and they got to know each other over the almost 3 months he was in Russia. Many people think on the day she disappeared she actually met Wolfgang for breakfast, but that’s not true as Bela states in her dairy recalling that day “I never thought that when I sat down with Vera that morning, I never expect to be leaving Russia late that night!” So, according to Bela as she wrote in her dairy Wolfgang came to her dressing room after everyone had presumably left the theatre to get her gifts of carnations and chocolate-covered cherries, not only because he thought she deserved them, but because it was his last night in Russia before he went home. When Wolfgang made it to her dressing room, he found Sergei abusing Bela and went into a blind rage killing Sergei.

“W, Daddy,” Calypso muttered finishing her eyeshadow.

Bela wrote in her diary, “I never knew a man could make a murder look so divine.” She wanted Wolfgang to take her out of Russia so she could start a new life away from a horrible life in Russia, and he did just that, he allowed her to go back home to gather her things, let her visit her mother and grandmother’s graves one last time and they left Russia, and she never returned.

Now, Bela ended up living with Wolfgang in Romania in his home presumably in the mountains and they ended up getting married. According to Bela, they had a wonderful life together, they ended up having a child on June 5th, 1908, and they named her Violetta after Bela’s mother. She died sometime in January 1935, as her last entry was on December 29th, 1935, which means she died at the age of 54 however the book never says.

Mostly lies, but, of course, the ending of the book is fiction.

Now the reason I wanted to cover Bela Von Koch is because early this year there was a movie made—

“A shit movie!” Calypso scoffs.

—About Bela’s life simply called “Bela” and guys this movie is bad! Especially because “The True Life of The Russian Swan”was published in the 80’s! THIS BOOK WAS PUBLISHED IN 1985 BY BELA’S GREAT GRANDDAUGHTER! THEY HAD THE BLUEPRINT FOR THE FILM AND NO ONE BOTHERED TO ACUTALLY READ THIS FUCKING BOOK! What’s even worse, is the book was made in retaliation to a film that came out in 1982 called “The Russian Swan”.

“Which is another bad movie,” Calypso mutters finishing her eyeliner.

“The Russian Swan” is based on a golden age short film from 1947 of the same name which depicts the last performance of Bela Pavlova, the 1947 film is the only good film about Bela in my opinion, it’s just a silent film in which the actress does ballet and it is implied at the end that she was murdered, but the 1982 movie… Guys this film is even worse, oh my god!

Delilah dragged her hands along her face.

The Russian Swan the film boils my bones guys! First, the Bela in the 1982 movie doesn’t have poliosis, the most distinguishing feature of this woman and they got it wrong! They mix her with Anna Pavlova saying that she performed “The Dying Swan,” which is false, again Bela and Anna are not the same person, the reason the book of her diary was published was that they got so many things wrong about Bela that her great-granddaughter, Madalina Dumitru, was so upset with the film that she made the discussion to comply all of Bela’s dairies and publish for the public, disavowing the film and calling it a “a piece of horrific fiction I wish hadn’t been made for the screen.”

Actually, Belladonna’s own words at the time hidden behind a pen name, truly disgusted by the film when it came out in the 80’s she decided to publish her deepest thoughts to explain her what her life was rather in the fictional depiction.

The book was republished this year a few weeks ago because yet again another piss poor film about Bela was released and Madaline who is now in her sixty’s said on the rerelease of the book, “What bother’s me about the Film Bela is that it seems that my book of my great-grandmother’s dairy entries was not sourced nor was I connected about the film. This is yet another American film—” All of these films are made by the United States for some reason “—That made Bela Pavlova a work of fiction rather than treat her like the human being she was!” With the republishing, there are new dairy entries throughout it as more of Bela’s dairies and letters were found that were added, which was interesting, I highly recommend both versions of the book they are good reads.

“No thanks,” Calypso mutters before putting on lipstick.

Bela Pavlova is an interesting person to research. She was the amazing talented ballerina with the air of mystery! I did ballet for years as a child and teenager and I heard about Bela Pavlova all the time when we would talk about Swan Lake! I remember watching the film from the 80’s and being so disappointed because the film was so disgusting in its portrayal of Bela. Then I read the book and was so angry! So when Bela came out, I went to see it in theatres and of my god I left halfway through it because it was so horrible! I felt bad for Bela and her family’s behavior! Both films go with the angle that she was kidnapped! The modern film which could confirm that she left with Wolfgang willing, portrayed her as a young girl that was kidnapped by an evil man obsessed with her!

Delilah groaned loudly.

She was a talented ballerina—

“She is a talented ballerina,” Calypso muttered leaning back in her vanity chair attempting to pop her back as she stretched.

—and I just don’t understand what the point was of the movies! It’s as if the Crown was so inaccurate! Like Madaline was recently asked, in an interview, which of the three films was the best and of course she said the film from the 40s because quote: “It was inaccurate in the ending, but how could anyone know? The Russian Swan from 1947 is a beautiful short film, the ballerina in the film is gorgeous, but everything about the film is astonishing, especially for a film from the 40s. Again, the end is a bit teeth-grinding but I can understand how the idea of Bela being murdered is enthralling, moreover, no one knew what did or did not happen so 1947 is the best out of the three the other two should be burned!”

What was even funnier is when interviewed, Madaline was asked about some crazy theories and I wanna talk about one before we continue this video, because I believe it as a teenager and I think a part of me still believes it.

“Here we go,” Calypso chuckles.

So many people crazier then I believe that some of the dairy entries are fake that there is no Wolfgang, Violetta, that Madaline is actually a woman named Belladonna—

Calypso stares at her phone a bit shocked. “Belladonna” has never been mentioned in all that Calypso has seen on the internet about her mother, but then again she doesn’t look that hard.

—and Belladonna is actually Bela who is now a vampire and has been a vampire ever since the 1900s.

Delilah slammed her hand on the desk in front of her.

The theory is that Wolfgang is actually this man named Wilhelm Con Vester a German vampire that was of similar appearance as Wolfgang is, and Wilhelm Con Vester is the one that rescues Bela and takes her to Romania, she changed her name to Belladonna, he turns into a little vampy and they have been living amongst us ever since!

Will, that’s painfully accurate, internet people are good!

Apparently, Sergie had puncher wounds on his neck and was drained of all his blood, and after Bela went missing and was never heard of again, a woman named Belladonna Con Vester popped up in Romania out of nowhere and she has been in Romania ever since with her Husband Wilhelm, and honestly, she looks exactly like Bela!

And I mean we all know that vampires, werewolves, and shit exist so I wouldn’t be surprised if Belladonna was Bela, but from what I understand, Belladonna is living a very happy life with her husband, I think they run a funeral home together, so if she is Bela Pavlova she is now separated from that time of her life, which I completely understand. Like I can’t imagine what her life was like before she was saved, and if that were me, I would want to separate myself from all that and I would most definitely change my name if I could.

But this theory could be wrong, and Belladonna and Wilhelm aren’t connected at all. Madaline has said she has a child, that could be Belladonna, but I don’t know.

Anyway, that’s all I have for you all today, my darlings! Please give this video all your love and if you are new and enjoyed this video and want more, feel free to subscribe, I think since it is almost Halloween, I’ll talk about the Le Doux Werewolf family from New Orleans next, I find them really cool! Alright, bye-bye, my darlings.

Delilah blew a kiss to the camera

I’ll see you next time.

Calypso picks up her phone, scrolling to the comments, not bothering to read them she types, “Love your video! I consider myself a Bela Pavlova history nerd and respect you for all the research you put into your video. Whether the vampire theory is true I have no idea, but I have also seen theories that Wolfgang made it look like a vampire killed Bela’s husband so he wouldn’t be suspected of the murder, but I don’t know how true that is.”

“Bunny?” Belladonna calls while knocking on Calypso’s bedroom door before opening it, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, momma,” Calypso replies, after sending the comment under the video, getting up from her vanity, and locking her phone.

“It took you longer than normal, everything okay?” Belladonna asked as her daughter approached her.

“I was just watching a really good video,” Calypso replies as her mother tucked some hair behind her ear, “It was about you actually.”

“Oh,” Belladonna chuckles, “Me or Bela?”

“Bela,” Calypso answers, “It was about those horrible movies!”

“Eck,” Belladonna sighs, “Come on, we have to go meet your father at the funeral home.”

“‘Kay.”

As Calypso followed Belladonna out of the house her phone vibrated Dalilah Darling had hearted her comment and even replied: “I saw that theory too, I like to think that Wolfgang is Wilhelm which is why included the theory, because my romantic heart likes to believe that Bela/Belladonna and Wilhelm are happily living it up as vamps.”

Calypso giggles a little before commenting: “Honestly me too.”

[fyonahmacnally]

20 Questions More

This is a deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks to @casualsavant for the tag. I'm not even sure I did the first 20 Questions round, but rules be damned.

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship/fandom?

Well, like anything I write, I get ideas from everything around me - they come to me from dreams, something I see, from random prompts, etc. As most writers know, we are simply the vessel, it's the brain goblins that tell us what to do.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

Geez, we have so many in the Supercorp/Supergirl fandom. I'm not even sure that's a fair question. HA. I will inevitably leave someone out, but here are a few of my favorites @searidings, @jazzfordshire, @chaotic-super, @lovesastateofmind1, @innamorament0, @someoneyouloved93, @lostariels, @luthordamnvers, @thornedrose44, and @fazedlight. I read such a variety of genres, tags, and tropes that I will give almost anything a chance so the authors I read will vary. There's oh so many to choose from in this fandom and the vast talent is beyond imagination!

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

Hmmm, I like writing Sam, Andrea, and Jack. The rest of the main cast is fun too, but those three characters are fun to explore in fics. The shenanigans they get into together makes it easy to play with.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

Karamel, Lames, and Kalex. I am pretty open-minded, but those are my hard limit ships. To each their own. It's not my thing at all. I'm pretty open to tropes, too. Haven't had a chance to explore too many yet.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

I'm not sure how to answer this one, really. It can vary depending on what's going on in my life and how the idea came about.

Generally speaking, I get an idea, outline the basic premise of the story (usually in a word or google doc), do whatever research is needed (longer fics), and just start writing (or staring at the outline and empty doc). That's writing too, ask any writer. LOL

One shots tend to be more like: get idea, sit at desk thinking while blank doc stares back at me tauntingly, look out window, turn back to blank doc, write three sentences, back space all three sentences, look out window again, write three more sentences, repeat previous steps, then the brain goblins take over and suddenly it's 4 hours later, somehow there's several thousand words staring back at me.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

Because I am a huge nerd, the research. I love to research the things I write. Not all of my stories require it, but when they do, I dive right in. Completing the story is a big one too. The anxiety and excitement that comes with yeeting something into the ether is indescribable.

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

Weirdest thing...pagan rituals and ancient runes or bondage/fetish clubs in Amsterdam. There is some really interesting things out there. I learned a lot during that time.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

I think tense is one that slips on me. I try to catch them all during rereads and edits, but those little bastards are sneaky.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

The panic attacks and abuse scenes relating to Lena in Carterhaugh-Wood Academy (CWA). Lena is my absolute favorite character and writing anything that causes her harm hurts my soul.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

Is water wet? My characters always do what the brain goblins want despite my initial protest. I am just here to convey the message, after all.

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Oh, hands down, Lena. I wouldn't pass up a chance to speak with any of them, let's be real, but Lena would be #1.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

I am by nature a fluff and happy-ending writer. However, I am working on an angst with a happy ending fic at the moment. The tropes I have written so far have been limited to friends to lovers and a little light angst with happy ending. I'm still exploring other things. Hopefully 2024 will be the year I can flex my writing muscles and expand into new territory.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Friends and other writers. Nothing beats a good brainstorming session with writer pals. I also like to do improv writing to boost creativity. You never know where a story will go when that happens.

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

The strategy depends on the story. For longer fics, I have a few writer friends that help with reading over it and helping with typos, grammar errors, and helping fluff up the places that need it. For one shots or shorter fics, I will let it sit for a bit, go back and read it again to do the editing and rewrite the places that my brain doesn't like.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Oooof, definitely the posting anxiety. I usually immediately find something else to do so I don't obsess over it.

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

Hits, kudos, and comments are always fun and rewarding, but I write for my own enjoyment and sanity. I have plenty of fics that barely get any love, but I enjoy writing them. It's therapeutic for me. The rest is just noise. Also, like any writer, I love to hear from readers and try to respond to all my comments because they mean a lot to me.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character/ship?

Sometimes, yes. It depends on what I am writing and how I am feeling. Most of the time it is instrumental piano and/or cello music because I will start accidentally typing the lyrics of a regular playlist. If I am going for a specific vibe or writing because of a specific song, I will have the song on repeat or at least an album by the artist.

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

SCBB delivered that on a platter for me. CWA got art from the multi-talented @bigmammallama5. If you haven't seen it, you can check it out here.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

13 total with another one that is in the planning stages.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

Write for yourself. If you love it, it brings you enjoyment, and adds to your life, continue doing it. You're not going to please everyone and there will be people who are less than kind about something you publish. Those voices don't matter. There is someone out there that has read or will read your work and it will stick with them for the rest of their lives. Always do it for you.

Tagging but no pressure: @lovesastateofmind1 @casualkoalatea @fabulousglitch and @sssammich

[cottonraincoat]

making of monday: the stressed student's guide to binge writing a one-shot

(not that I'm a very good writer, but I loved seeing these on the dash, and decided to join. all this is only a little tongue-in-cheek.)

step one: try to work on an irl assignment*

(* not fandom related at all. preferably an intellectually challenging task that is also time-sensitive and reasonably important.)

There's nothing like the looming dread of deadline that stimulates the mind! Combine the perfectionist's fear of beginning, the procrastinator's tendency to distraction, and the pressure on the brain to produce something— for the most bizarre results. Namely, mildly unhinged fic ideas. Just sit down (curl up into a ball in the corner of the room), relax (stress), and wait for inspiration to come!

step two: "just, uh, just to note this down for later"

You never know when the idea would come, but it does. Now, you've got a seed, that your brain has instantly latched onto. It's growing and blooming and taking over every thought. "damn it," you think, "this is a fun idea. I can't write it before I finish the assignment though!" But the idea doesn't let you go, it's like a haunting, which is in all honesty very rude. Well, what can you do.

You open a doc.

Within half an hour, you realize that you should have known better than believing the idea (tm) would leave you alone.

step three: give in. you're writing the fic instead.

Congratulations! Your brain has once again chosen the path of least resistance instead of what you should be doing. But there's no time for guilt when you have to finish the fic (and finish the assignment after that). So you're writing the fic like your life depends on it, and the words come surprisingly easy because given the baseline stress, you aren't overthinking every single word or ridiculously lines of narrative. It's been hours, your mind's afloat, and you (unfortunately) forget approximately every duty to your body. But it's fun and you swear you've never written like this in your life.

From time to time you swap back to the page where your assignment stares helplessly back at you. You blink. You drop it back under the metaphorical rock.

step four: "fuck, the deadline is in [x] hours. I can't do this anymore"

By now, the first draft is probably sitting there in a messy, wonderful glop. And depending on the circumstance, it's either [start editing now, future rain can deal with this shit] or [despite all evidence to the contrary I actually do not want to fail this degree. time to pull myself by the hair into doing the Thing]. Either way, you've maybe slept for 6 of the last 40 hours, and you're contemplating the strange quality of your vision and why you can hear the inside of a conch at the back of your head, etc etc.

step five: sleep, and spare a moment to pause and wonder what the fuck is your life

when the assignment is done, it's like someone's poked a hole in your sand balloon and your entire being sags. it's a nice feeling, kind of. the fic stops you from spending too much time wondering why the hell are you doing the degree at all.

time to turn the glop into coherence! this is the most time consuming part, and could take up to days after the initial burst of [stuff].

step six: edit until your eyeballs fall out

what it says ^

step seven: when you finally cannot stand another minute of re-reading and editing, throw it onto ao3, and hopefully never think about the fic ever again.

that's a lie. you'll be checking the ao3 stats approximately every two hours for the next two days at least.

fics that actually happened like this:

Infinite Joy (the one that started it all)

Designation (in which I forgot Plo Koon had a mask)

on not sleeping with your students

(the first chapter of) the prophecies spoke of you and I

family line

[killuintense]

Hi mootsss!

I just finished reading Nic's post about the new issues of prompts in fics, things about stepcest, incest directly, noncon or even pedophilia.

I wanted to do something further removed from their post because, first, I want to be able to explain myself well and be able to give the attention that talking about these topics deserves. And secondly, because I would like to be able to speak, as I am the one who has made a series directly from Leon Stepdad, which would also leave the way open for someone who writes about it to explain why the attraction to this type of content.

I'm only going to talk about stepcest because I don't read noncon or anything related to rape, or pedophilia because although I read and write about everything, issues related to minors under 18 years of age are NOT allowed on this profile.

To begin with, I am not a strictly moral person, and on top of that I have a certain morbidity and curiosity about many topics. I've always been into daddy kink since I was a teenager, but I never really liked it. Very crazy because I love stepcest, and this is precisely because I know it's not real. The dynamics that are mixed when writing nsfw and the question of secrecy, of 'they won't find out' and the fact that it is all hidden and taboo makes it more adrenaline-inducing. Then I would talk about the intensity of love and protection that, this does have to do with traumas and mechanisms of draining everything murky that we have experienced in a healthier way (so to speak). I have a bad relationship with my father, and with all the men in my life, so wanting a real man to love me and take care of me is mixed, but at the same time it is mixed with my bad concept of fatherly love.

Precisely for this reason in my stepcest series I try to mention not only the sexual but also what goes beyond it. Leon is my current hyperfixation so I simply channel everything I feel into him, plus I really like his adult version and he gives me comfort in my "trauma", the way he cares for the women around him, or the way you think of him and see him as a single father jsdjksdl. I mean, it's not for nothing that there are so many fics about Leon and baby fever or breeding, because he gives off exactly all those vibes. Now just take a traumatized girl who wants her father to love her and boom, you have my stories or many more about stepdad.

All this leads to my bad perception about what love is, mixed with what I already told you before. I love stepcest! But I wouldn't mess with my stepfather or stepbrother, and if Leon were real he probably wouldn't be with his stepdaughter either, so we understand that it's just fiction but it's okay to talk about it. It would be more worrying if he came here to say "actually I think it's okay to have relationships with family members, etc." so it's perfect to clarify the issues and stop being taboo, we all have different ways of talking about what we feel and Tumblr doesn't stop to be a place where we can talk about what we feel and make it our safe place.

Finally I want to say that even in my free will I don't like reading fics where they characterize Leon badly, you know, all that shit about making him bad and cold???? frightening. So my goal is also to be able to write it well, make it questionable but still have the essence of Leon, obviously.

ily'all, see you later!!

[writethrough]

Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.

Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.

I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.

Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.

To Make It Through

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.

Word Count: 1203

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.

I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.

And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.

National Eating Disorders Association

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

The Trevor Project

National Institute of Mental Health

Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.

It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.

You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.

First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.

He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.

It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.

He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.

He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.

After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched. 

He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.

He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.

You were also very good at hiding it.

About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He whispered your name. You didn’t move.

He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”

You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.

“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.

The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.

He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.

He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.

“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.

You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.

“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”

You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.

“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.

You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.

Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.

He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.

You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.

You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.

He sat beside you.

Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.

It hadn’t gotten that bad.

He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.

“Why are you friends with me?”

Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Because I need you,” he said.

It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.

You shook your head. “You deserve better.”

He wanted to shield you from your own words. 

“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”

You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.

You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.

“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”

You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.

Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.

You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.

Whatever you needed from him, he would give.

“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.

Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.

“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.

“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”

It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.

And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.

“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.

Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.

“Okay.”

Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.

The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird

If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.

[captain-hawks]

What are your tips for writing? Is there anything you do while you're editing your stuff before you post that you make sure to include or make sure you're doing? How do you know something is good enough to post? Also where do you get all your ideas? Writer to writer, I'd very much like to learn from you! You're amazing!

first of all, thank you for trusting in my writing enough to ask me this. it means so much, you have no idea!<3

so i do 99% of my writing in the first pass, rather than drafting and fleshing it out after. i try to live in my scenes while i'm writing them, and i most often let instinct, emotions, and rhythm take the wheel—i lose that if i do rough drafts first (but this method can also be time consuming when i get hung up on the flow of two sentences for an hour LOL).

before i post, i proofread for spelling/grammar errors (and then my soul leaves my body when i find a typo months later!!!) + accidentally repeated words (this is bold of me to say as someone who loves rhythmic repetition though). sometimes i add in a few extra sensory details. for smut in particular, i also make sure that i didn't get lost in the sauce and body parts are where they should be, and i read back through the dialogue in my head—that's sometimes subject to last minute adjustments.

my deciding factor on if something is good enough/ready to post is usually if i've accomplished what i set out to achieve with the story + if i'm happy with the ending. i have to feel like i've tied it up with an appropriate line or thought.

a lot of my ideas come from an opening line or piece of dialogue that pops into my head at an inconvenient time (like in the shower or driving, usually). the notes app on my phone is full of so many scattered ideas that i've quickly tossed down. i also get a lot of inspiration from music as well. like there have been some songs i've been listening to on repeat on my drive home from work all week trying to work out some fic concepts!

one of my biggest pieces of advice is write what YOU want to experience and feel as a reader. writing has been one of my favourite hobbies for most of my life, right alongside reading. there are few things i love than that feeling when you're reading something, and the way the author's written it hits the perfect stride with YOU, and your heart's pounding with excitement/happiness/etc. so when i'm writing, i'm actively like "okay, if i was reading this, where are the places where a certain piece of dialogue/an action/etc. would evoke the most emotion in me? what would i most want to see/hear?"

sorry for the word vomit 😂

[viperwhispered]

Those fic writer asks kinda got me thinking about my fic writing process, too (as inspired by diodellet's reply).

So, ramble time.

I guess I would mostly describe my writing process as sort of top down iterative thing?

Like, I definitely do messy first (and even second) drafts. I put down general ideas, some bits of text if I do already have some ideas for a particular scene, but mostly I try to get the basic structure together. What happens next, what's happening in this scene (and what's the point of it), stuff like that.

So the first draft might have some actual prose to it, and even prose that makes it to the end of the editing process, but often the sentences are shorter, or cut off, or have like three different alternatives. But in there might be some more refined exchanges (I tend to be kinda dialogue first a lot of the time), or bits of description there. Almost like points of (relative) clarity in the mud.

Typically, if I don't know what I want to do at a spot exactly, I leave it open to figure out for later and move onto the next bit. Of course, sometimes I need to figure out a direction before I can do that - for example, whether someone would be antagonistic or amiable in the previous scene certainly can affect what would happen after, and stuff like that. But in general, I jot down what I can, and leave difficult bits to be something I come back to later.

Now, I wouldn't say there's necessarily a definite point where I could call the first draft done and perhaps move on to the second. Like I said, it's very much an iterative process, and different parts of the work tend to get worked on at different times, depending on when I find solutions to my questions.

Typically, however, when I feel like I've got the structure down, I start focusing on the parts I've marked (I do a lot of comments but also formatting etc. to note the things that still could do with some work). Basically, it's multiple passes of going through the notes, dwindling them down.

Like, for any given part of the work, the structure would be something like: what's happening here in general > alright what's being said or done here > alright how exactly are they saying or doing it > what's the best word choices here.

Of course, in practice, all these levels muddle together, and different parts of the work will be in different stages. But as I go through the passes of the work, ticking off my notes, sorting out the parts that I've identified as needing work, I usually go down more and more into detail, until the final pass(es) are about particular words, sentence flow, or things like that - things very specific to that particular location of the work, rather than the larger, more overarching things.

So, depending on the length of the work, it may be that I only read through the whole thing once I feel like the structure is down. Then I go through the pinpointed things, until I have no more notes left, and read through the whole thing when I post it.

Again, not a hard and fast rule, and of course sometimes when looking at a particular, it is helpful and important to "zoom out" and look at the whole, and remind myself of everything that's happening around the particular spot I'm at. But in general, I don't really read through the whole thing, from beginning to end, all that much. Partially because I'm trying not to tinker endlessly, partially because I'm trying to make sure I don't end up just working on the first part of the work and neglecting the end of it.

So, it's been quite some time since I did long, multipart work, but I definitely did plot things out in advance, at least to get a general idea of what was coming, then again did multiple passes, adding more and more detail, going deeper and deeper from the level of general story or themes to the level of the text itself. For a shorter work, maybe most of it comes out at once, but even then if I'm stuck on a particular point I do try to just mark it up and move forward to get back later.

Years ago, on some forum, I remember describing the writing process as finding a big bead or pearl (a central scene, motive or idea) and then working on finding the complementing things around it to turn it into a proper necklace. Lately, however, I've been more willing to allow myself to just do that one big pearl: make it a drabble, just post the concept without prose, whatever.

In a way, it's kinda freeing, not telling myself it has to be long and "proper" to be worthwhile. There's always gonna be more ideas coming than I have time to write, after all, and especially nowadays I really want to make sure I'm doing this for fun and not for any sort of must or should or have to.

I say, pretending I don't feel the impending deadline for that fic that I've been kinda thinking about writing for my birthday - I had soo much time left when I first thought of it and now there's like couple weeks until my birthday. Time sure has been sneaking past me.

ETA: oh yeah, I wanted to mention it somewhere but forgot, there have also been those times when I've kinda just splurted out fic straight onto a discord channel. Definitely less refined than what I'd consider my "proper" way of writing, but I guess this is to say that sometimes I have been known just write without the edits and revisions and stuff.

[theflyingfeeling]

re: the discussion around today's Iltalehti interview with Joel and Niko reminded me of this one BC fic idea I've had in my drafts since summer 2021 (it's probably my 2nd ever BC fic idea after the one that ended up being my first ever BC fic), and yeah I know the connection is not clear lol it's clear in my head though just trust me with this one alright:

the story would be set 5 years after the band broke up because Niko left to start a solo career as a rap artist (don't laugh, it might happen!)

there was some major drama behind it (what kind? don't ask me lol) and he's absolutely miserable in case you're wondering

Joel is taking it hard because all his rock star dreams were completely crushed within 24 hours (still don't know how it all went down so don't ask; suggestions are welcome)

he tried to keep the band going but none of the other guys were passionate about it anymore because "it's just not the same without Niko"

starting a new band wasn't an option either because no matter what Joel did, people would never stop talking about the drama of the band break-up

so he gets drunk with Joonas every night

Joonas isn't any better than Joel tbh because besides the band break-up there was also a boyfriend break-up since Joonas and Niko were secretly gay in love

Aleksi went back to being a successful DJ/producer and is doing pretty fine

he is also the only one still (secretly) in touch with Niko

Olli is unemployed because he doesn't really know what to do with his life without the band because that was like his whole identity?

he's dealing with it slightly better though than J&J (not developing a drinking habit)

Tommi owns a music shop and employed Olli for a while but had to give him up because the business wasn't succesful enough for him to be able to pay Olli's salary

after being sacked, Olli couldn't pay his rent anymore and moved in with Aleksi

they share the bed most nights 🥺 Olli's excuses turn more bizarre night by night (e.g. the radiator's not working so he's cold, there's a weird noise keeping him awake, they watched a horror film right before bedtime and he's creeped out etc.) but Aleksi doesn't mind and they start slowly falling in love

Joonas and Joel also share a bed from time to time (platonically when they're sad enough, or when they pass out from being drunk enough)

Tommi also has a fiancée (+ a baby on the way?), the guys hang out at his music shop regularly

in the first scene of the fic, Aleksi, Olli and Tommi are gathered at the shop (Joel is ??? idk where and Joonas arrives later) and someone's reading a gossip magazine and there's an article about Niko being spotted/getting engaged with "the hottest pop star of the century" and as Joonas arrives they try to hide the magazine from him but eventually he reads it anyway

later that evening they all go out clubbing (an album release party for a friend's band?) and suddenly Niko arrives with his new posse

none of them (minus Aleksi) have seen him irl since the break-up so drama ensues

Joonas and Niko briefly exchange a few bitter (on Joonas' part) words as he's outside having a smoke and Niko follows him (they don't even look each other in the eyes)

...and that's all I ever managed for this AU 😅 surely there'll be a happy ending of some kind, but I never decided whether it's about the band getting back together or to just reconcile with Niko and leave the door open for maybe one day making music again 🥺

[eemamminy-art]

Author Interview

Tagged by @allaganexarch!! 😊

Long post with many questions below the cut

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

Somehow... I have 50?? Wild to me, but I suppose I have had the account for 10 years so maybe that's not so strange.

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

142,785. I don't know if that's a lot or not, I tend to just write short oneshots because it's all I have patience for lol

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Anything that catches my interest really haha most of my fics at this point are FFXIV but.. so is most of my art, it's kind of had me in a chokehold for the last 6 years

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

(all of the following are explicit btw, be careful if clicking the links. Just mind warnings and tags thanks :3)

Licking Wounds - FFXIV (Estinien/Aymeric) - 247 kudos I want to chock this up to just the fact that I wrote it in 2018 when there was next to nothing in the ship tag lol. After I wrote it I started writing a lot lot lot more (in longform rp mostly and then moved onto fic) and I feel like everything else I've written afterward is so much better!! It kind of irks me when people have said it's their favorite estimeric fic of mine, because it is far and away my least favorite thing I've written for the ship.

Say my name - FFXIV (Estinien/Aymeric) - 204 kudos This was honestly like my attempt 2 at the story I wanted to convey in Licking Wounds, but it's 10000% better please read this one instead 😂 Both this one and the previous one are meant to be the inception of their relationship immediately following the Through Fire and Blood canon short story.

Sleepless Night - FFXIV (Estinien/Aymeric) - 185 kudos I sort of revisited the idea in this one later too (Chipped Porcelain), but I'm still not 100% satisfied with it so I may return to this idea in a third fic one day. I do like it for the fact that it's not set during Heavensward, which was a first for me at the time! I love stormblood and as little of a role as Aymeric and Estinien have in it, I really really liked the tiny mentions of them and wanted to expand on it. They have so few scenes in 4.0 and 5.0 that it leaves a lot of room open for exploration of their relationship at that time!!

Long distance - FFXIV (Estinien/Aymeric) - 151 kudos I don't think on a technical/creative level I enjoy this fic much since I wrote it really quickly without much editing, but I love it in the sense that it was one of the first things I wrote while coming out of this notion that post-HW Estinien and Aymeric are exes/do not like each other/have beef/etc. That's a popular fanon for them based on how they interact in 5.X and 6.0 especially but I can't stand it and it frankly makes me really sad! It clicked for me that they could just have a long distance relationship and that suddenly opened up my eyes to all the potential stories they could have outside of the context of pre-canon or 3.X.

Vigil - FFXIV (Estinien/Aymeric) - 130 kudos This one was kind of a sequel to Licking Wounds actually, or at least I made reference to it in there! Kind of me facing my old writing that I didn't like very much. I feel a little embarrassed rereading this one because it's really shmoopy but that's kind of my style when I create anything so I should probably just embrace that!

5. do you respond to comments?

I try but I feel so weird about it!! 😭 I probably should at least say "thank you" but it feels like not enough when someone sends me some long thoughtful comment, so then I end up letting them sit and be like.. damn I should reply to this... I really appreciate every comment I get, it's just that I am not very confident in my writing and struggle to accept praise for it I think.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

No one ever said it would be this hard, I think is probably the angstiest one! I love angst but I love it in the sense that it amplifies the relief of having a happy ending follow it. This fic though I wrote during a really bad time in my life, and after I had felt kind of betrayed by a video game character who had been giving me some comfort back then 😂 I had lost my parents in 2013 and 2014 and found a great outlet for my grief in Fallout 4, particularly with Shaun and with Piper, and it felt like a gut punch that despite romancing her Piper was NOT on board with reuniting our little family lol. In hindsight uh no kidding she wasn't, but at the time I was like wow how could she do this to me!! 😭 So I wrote this little tiny ficlet on a fucking napkin on my break at work on Christmas Eve that year, since I was already sad anyway I thought, let's just wallow in this shall we? And then I transcribed it after I got home later.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I usually write happy endings so it's hard to decide. I think Benevolence probably stands out the most to me though, because it's a happy ending for Zenos which is something I crave every hour, every day, every week, since I played Endwalker 😂

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not to my face, though I've come across some subtweets about my lesbian au stuff quite a few times. I did get a weird anon hate on ao3 the other day though that sounded like a high schooler wrote it 😂 I just turned off anon comments though because I don't need people wasting my time to tell me they didn't like something I wrote

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

On occasion.. <:') it's always really romantic though, I love stuff that really focuses on emotional bonds and senses and just the intimacy of it all. I do find that people tend to like my works better when I dip into more raunchy stuff, but it's really rare that I have any desire to write smut like that.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

So... okay idk if this counts, but my ex-gf and my ex-bestfriend and I had this LJ community where it was like a multi-universe rp but the rp was like, these random characters all writing on the same forum and being insufferable to one another 😂 it was so stupid but it was a lot of fun at the time!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, but I've had my art stolen quite a lot of times.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Or at least, it's been asked of me! I don't know if they did it in the end or not. I think it was for some of my estimeric fics? I was asked on twitter if it would be okay to translate it into chinese, since there is evidently a decent community for the ship with chinese fans!!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly, though my partner gives me a lot of ideas for things to write or draw, and I've been helping my friend brainstorm a lot for a series they are working on!

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

As if I could pick just one!! 😩 Well I think in recent years it's been obvious I adore Estinien/Aymeric, Fordola/Lyse, and Zenos/WoL (specifically meteor but other wols are also good sometimes, depends on the wol though). They all make me really happy.. I do a little finger touch and have a little giggle when I see them.. 🥺

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I think if I were to finish it, I would go back and redo it entirely, but I had a wip that I'd just barely started about Aymeric meeting Thordan face to face for the first time. I don't really want to go into much detail beyond that, but I really loved the concept and have wanted to go back and work on it for years, but I think I built it up too much in my head about how perfect I wanted it to be. But maybe someday!!!!

16. what are your writing strengths?

Characterization and specifically internal monolog/descriptions from character POV.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Dialog, especially when it comes to the fantasy ye olde english type of dialog, too much repetition and too much simple language. Run on sentences, like uh all of this post lmao.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think it would be cool!! I speak like the most simplest amount of a second language so I don't think I'd be able to do it for a long time unless I had a lot of help, but I like the concept of it! I wanted for a long time to draw a short original lesbian comic and put out versions in both english and polish, but at this point the idea I had for it is a little too simple and my inspiration for it is a little too dim, but maybe one day I will attempt it!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Probably either Inuyasha or Ranma 1/2, when I was like.. 12 or something 😂 If we're counting just what's on my ao3 though, my first fics were for Deus Ex (set somewhere between human revolution and the first game) though I have since orphaned them because I'm no longer comfortable with them.

20. favourite fic you've written?

I don't think I can narrow it down to just one!!

A port in a storm is without a doubt my favorite character study of Estinien pre-canon. It's in my lesbian au so it's not exactly how he would be, he's perhaps even more averse to other people in this universe, but it's I think a great example of his kind of frightened cat with their hackles raised demeanor. Plus it portrays really well the dynamic I love between Estinien and Aymeric, and also butch and femme identities.

Bewitched is another favorite, because it's another sort of character study but this time for Zenos. I really really liked the idea of Garleans being culturally conditioned to fear magic due to their inability to use it, and I liked exploring that in this fic, of making the warrior of light be terrifying and thus exceptional and noteworthy to Zenos, just for the fact that he's a healer.

Just Listen is probably the longest fic I've written both in terms of actual length and in terms of time I spent actively writing it. It was my way of working out my unhappiness with how the relationship between Aymeric and Estinien changed in canon while still trying to keep it relatively canon-compliant! It also was my way of showing just how complicated and messy they are, but unlike other fics I've read about the same sort of topic, I opted for love to triumph over all. If FFXIV has taught me anything, it's that even the worst and most hopeless of times and lowest of lows in relationships can still find happiness in the end with enough love and determination. 💛💛💛

Thanks for reading all this rambling if you did!!! I don't usually like to talk about or even acknowledge my fic so this was a good exercise in doing that. :3

Tagging: @4th-make-quail @notapaladin @salmonking @lesbxdyke @mariyekos @grahatini @randomsquirrel @sherribon @ladyramora and anyone who saw this and thought "hey, this looks like a lot of fun!" :3