#au where they get to go home and take a nap at the end of s2

[imvec]

Sequel to Sunshade

[thedensworld]

Red Sign | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Conglomerate au! Heirs au! Marriage Contract au!

Type: fluff, humour, slow-burn, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Ignoring all the red signs, what started as a friendship blossomed into something Jeonghan never expected. He'll marry you? No way! Right?

It was Saturday night. Jeonghan had just wrapped up drinks with his friends and stumbled through the door close to 1 a.m. With the grace of a man on autopilot, he showered, slipped into his pajamas, and flopped onto his bed, already picturing a peaceful descent into sleep.

That peace lasted all of three minutes. As he casually checked his email—just to pretend he was a responsible adult—his phone lit up with a familiar name. Your name.

He blinked. Once. Twice. What now? he thought, already sobering up just from the possibilities. He swiped up with a sigh and answered the call.

"Hmm, what's up?"

“I'm sorry to call this late, Mr. Yoon, but Doctor Ji is very, very drunk right now—and none of us know where she lives.” The voice on the other end was one of the residents, clearly panicked, with the chaotic background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and someone yelling about karaoke.

Jeonghan stared at his ceiling, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then muttered to himself, “What kind of doctor gets drunk before the residents do?”

He could already feel a headache forming—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Nevertheless, he dragged himself upright and asked, “Where is she? Text me the address. I’ll pick her up.”

As soon as the call ended, he stood up from his bed with the dramatic flair of a man who’d just been betrayed by the universe. Again. He trudged into his closet like a soldier going to war.

“It hasn’t even been an hour since I got home,” he grumbled while throwing on a hoodie. “And now I have to babysit this disaster of a genius.” He paused, briefly considering calling for backup, he can’t be alone.

“Why don’t you go there alone?” Seungcheol grumbled, slouched in the passenger seat like a sack of regret, his eyes barely open, hair pointing in every direction.

Jeonghan didn’t even glance at him as he started the engine. “Because you’re the only one who can carry her without dislocating something. She went full spaghetti mode, apparently.”

Seungcheol let out a long, tortured groan, dragging his palm down his face like he was trying to erase himself. “I was asleep, Jeonghan. Deep, peaceful sleep. Like dead-to-the-world sleep. You dragged me.”

“You were snoring like a truck,” Jeonghan said flatly. “You needed the break.”

“I was asleep for forty minutes!”

“Exactly. Power nap. You’re welcome.”

Seungcheol shot him a side glare, but it was hard to be intimidating when he still had pillow creases on his cheek and was clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline. Jeonghan smirked as he turned the corner. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Like a surprise field trip, but worse.”

“God,” Seungcheol muttered, leaning his head against the window, eyes still half-closed. “This better be the last time your friend gets wasted on a Saturday night.”

“She’s your friend too,” Jeonghan shot back, eyes fixed on the road. Seungcheol nodded solemnly, resting his temple on the cool glass. “And every time this kind of thing happens, I regret that fact deeply.”

It had always been the three of you—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and you—since junior high. The kind of trio fate stitched together because your parents were business acquaintances who ended up liking each other enough to start arranging awkward family dinners. None of you particularly cared what the grown-ups did, but somehow, you stuck together anyway.

Jeonghan’s family owned a sprawling property empire—buildings, department stores, hotels—you name it. He was groomed from birth to take the reins, and it showed. By college, he was already studying business with laser focus, juggling classes and internships at his grandfather’s company. The strange part? He actually enjoyed it.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, came from a construction family. He’d been on-site since his teens, wearing hard hats and acting like he knew what rebar was. Unlike Jeonghan, he wasn’t the eldest son, so the pressure wasn’t as intense. His older brother was the heir to the business empire. Seungcheol? He was more like the wildcard—half working man, half professional napper.

And then there was you. The doctor of the group. Your family ran hospitals, dabbled in healthcare business and insurance, and made sure everyone had a checkup whether they liked it or not. You were the brainiac—dedicated, overachieving, caffeine-fueled and sleepless. Safe to say, you were the smartest, most disciplined, and most respected member of the trio.

Until alcohol entered the chat.

“Let’s go to the unicorn world! I’m flying, I’m flying!” you had squealed, arms spread out like wings, as you practically pirouetted across the party. Jeonghan could’ve melted into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment. He bowed to every stunned resident in the room, murmuring apologies on your behalf like a PR intern during a scandal. You had originally told him about the gathering. Said you wouldn’t come. That you didn’t want to intrude on the younger residents’ night off. That you needed rest. Clearly, that plan had gone off the rails somewhere between the tequila shots and the glittery karaoke mic.

Seungcheol looked like a man betrayed by both fate and gravity as he crouched down and hoisted your limp, giggling self onto his back. “Why does she keep saying lollipops?” he grunted, adjusting your deadweight on his back like a dad carrying a sleep-paralysis demon.

Jeonghan tried not to laugh. “Maybe it’s a metaphor.”

“I want rainbow lollipops for my unicorn friends!” you declared joyfully, as if this were a medical order. Seungcheol’s face looked like he aged ten years. “She’s a whole doctor,” he mumbled. “With a license. Who let this happen?”

He maneuvered you into the backseat with the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb, while you hummed a melody only you understood. Jeonghan got behind the wheel with a sigh that carried the weight of several lifetimes. “We’re getting too old for this.”

“And too sober,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing his temple.

Jeonghan glanced at you through the rearview mirror. You were smiling at the ceiling, whispering something about glitter. Somehow, this was still better than paperwork.

*

You woke up to a splitting headache and the unpleasant dryness in your mouth that only came from a long night of drinking. The ceiling above you wasn’t familiar—it was too neat, too modern, too... Jeonghan. You blinked slowly, trying to piece together how you had ended up here.

Turning your head, you noticed the soft navy sheets and the glass of water placed neatly on the bedside table. Beside it was a strip of painkillers and a small folded note. You reached for it with heavy limbs and unfolded it.

“You owe me. Water and meds provided. – YJ”

A sigh escaped your lips as you sat up, every movement making your head throb. The memories returned in fragments—bright lights, the sound of laughter, someone shouting something about unicorns—which you were that someone. Then Jeonghan’s voice, steady and annoyed, telling someone to get the door. Seungcheol’s back. Your shoes. You winced. Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way slowly into the hallway, guided by the faint smell of toasted bread. The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft gray light of the overcast morning. You passed by the minimalist decor—clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its place. Jeonghan’s taste had always been meticulous.

In the kitchen, Jeonghan stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at the sound of your steps. “You’re up,” he said, voice calm, though his eyes lingered on you like he was assessing whether you could still walk straight. “There’s toast. Sit.”

You nodded silently and lowered yourself into the chair, still trying to sort out where the nausea ended and the shame began. He slid a plate toward you and turned back to pour more coffee. The kettle clicked in the background, the only sound filling the space between you. You picked at the toast, avoiding his eyes, though you could feel his presence—calm, composed, and, somehow, not entirely annoyed despite everything.

“Thanks,” you finally murmured.

Jeonghan took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t mention it. Just remind me to never trust you when you say you’re ‘just going to rest tonight.’”

You gave a quiet hum in response, unsure of what else to say. Your head still pounded, and your stomach twisted at the thought of facing the residents again. But for now, in the quiet of Jeonghan’s kitchen, you allowed yourself to breathe.

“Seungcheol’s going to kill you the next time you make him visit a site without sleep,” Jeonghan said casually, taking another sip of his coffee.

You groaned, just imagining the wrath that would follow. “Why’d you bring him anyway?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you. “Because you’re heavy.”

You shot him a flat look. “That’s insulting.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s just the truth. I wasn’t about to throw out my back for your drunken acrobatics.”

You pressed your palm against your forehead, partly because of the headache, mostly to hide your embarrassment. “I can’t believe I drank so much…”

Jeonghan leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, looking far too composed for someone who had hauled your half-conscious self home just hours ago. “You know I had to bow to your residents, right?” he said, voice dry with lingering disbelief.

You blinked up at him, wincing. “Like… say sorry?”

“No. Bow,” he emphasized, straightening his back before dramatically mimicking a deep, ninety-degree angle. “Full. Respectful. Formal. Like I’d committed a crime on behalf of my drunk accomplice.”

You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan. “God, no…”

“Oh yes,” he nodded solemnly. “You stood on a chair at one point and yelled, ‘Let’s go to the unicorn world!’ before asking a confused intern if he believed in candy rain.”

You let your forehead fall to the table.

“I had no choice,” he went on. “I bowed so deeply, I think I pulled something in my spine. Your future underlings now think I’m your guardian, therapist, or some combination of the two.”

You peeked up at him through your fingers. “Are you done humiliating me yet?”

He smiled, a little too satisfied. “Just making sure you know the price of your glitter-filled delusions.”

You groaned again and reached for your coffee. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Good,” he said, already walking away. “I’ll print that on a shirt for the next time you forget.”

*

The last time Jeonghan and Seungcheol had seen you cry was years ago—on a bleak afternoon neither of them ever forgot. It was ten minutes before the next class. Seungcheol had been looking for you, clutching a half-finished math worksheet in one hand, fully intending to beg for your help. He spotted you slipping into the restroom and figured you’d be out in a minute or two. But time stretched. One minute became five. Five became ten. You still hadn’t come out. Jeonghan showed up just then, sweaty from football practice, jersey clinging to him, his forehead glistening. He slowed when he noticed Seungcheol standing awkwardly near the entrance to the girls’ restroom.

“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asked, eyeing Seungcheol suspiciously, brows drawn together. “You better not be turning into some creep.”

Seungcheol scoffed, waving the math sheet. “Y/n’s in there. I need her help before class, but she’s been inside too long.”

Jeonghan was about to make a smart remark when the door swung open.

And that’s when they saw it.

You stumbled out of the restroom, pushed by a group of girls who scattered the moment the hallway came into view. You hit the floor hard, your knees scraping the tile. Egg yolk ran down your hair, staining the collar of your uniform. The shell fragments clung to your shoulders. You didn’t even look up. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of your skirt, your shoulders shaking as silent sobs began to rise.

For a second, the hallway froze.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief—then fury. His voice roared through the corridor, echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. “HEY!” The rage in his tone sent students scattering, teachers peeking from classrooms. You could almost feel the walls tremble from the force of it. Jeonghan, quicker on his feet, rushed toward you. Without saying a word, he crouched down and gently reached for your arm, helping you up with a firm but careful grip.

Teachers began rushing over, alerted by the commotion and Seungcheol’s outburst. A crowd formed, but the two boys stayed focused only on you. While the staff tried to piece together what had happened, Jeonghan and Seungcheol quietly helped you clean yourself up. Jeonghan gently patted the egg out of your hair with tissues someone had handed him, his jaw tight, eyes lowered in uncharacteristic silence. Seungcheol stood close, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping in agitation as he watched the teachers murmur among themselves.

“Tell us,” Seungcheol said finally, his voice low but heavy with restrained anger. “What did they do to you… all this time?”

You hesitated, still trembling, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay,” Jeonghan added, softer this time. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you. “You can tell us. We’re here.”

You looked between the two of them—their faces, so familiar, so fiercely protective—and something cracked inside your chest. The tears spilled faster now, your voice shaking as you whispered:

“They said I didn’t deserve to be friends with you two.”

The words hung in the air like something sharp and cold.

“They said… girls like me don’t belong around guys like you.”

Jeonghan’s hands froze. Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief and rage, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists.

“So they did all this to you… because of us?” Jeonghan muttered, his tone laced with guilt and disbelief.

You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks, and Jeonghan swallowed hard, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Seungcheol took a step back, pacing now, muttering curses under his breath before spinning to face the teachers. “You heard her, right? Are you going to do something or do we handle this ourselves?”

The teachers quickly moved to disperse the crowd and collect statements, while Jeonghan stayed beside you, gently guiding you toward the nurse’s office again.

From that day on, it wasn’t just protection they offered.

It was loyalty. And a silent promise: no one would ever hurt you again—not while they were around.

And they hadn’t seen you cry ever since.

It was a quiet testament to your strength. Through the sleepless nights of medical school, grueling exams, endless shifts, and the burden of responsibility that came with being a doctor—you carried it all with a calm, composed grace. Even when things got hard, you wore your tired smile like armor.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol, as tough as they liked to act, had both cried in front of you more than once—Jeonghan when he lost his dog, Seungcheol after his first failed business pitch. You were the one who listened, the one who stayed solid while they fell apart. But you never let them see you break.

Not until the day Jeonghan received the call: your mother had passed away.

He’d just stepped out of a late meeting when his phone buzzed with the news. For a moment, the world stood still. He didn’t even think—he just grabbed his keys and drove, breaking every speed limit until the hospital’s tall white building came into view.

Your family hospital.

He rushed in through the emergency entrance, eyes scanning frantically. That was when he saw Seungcheol—already there, crouched in front of a figure slumped on the bench outside the ICU.

You.

Still in your hospital coat, hands limp in your lap, eyes staring into nothing. The lights above cast a pale glow on your face, and even from a distance, Jeonghan could see how hollow your expression was. You looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.

Seungcheol gently held your wrist, whispering something, his brows drawn in pain.

Jeonghan approached slowly, like something sacred had cracked in the room and he didn’t want to shatter it further. His throat tightened at the sight. You, the strongest one among them, looked so small.

And for the first time since high school, he saw your tears again. Silent, slow, like they had been waiting years to fall.

*

The funeral had gone by quietly, solemn and dignified—just the way your mother would have wanted. You hadn’t spoken much, but Jeonghan and Seungcheol stayed by your side the entire time, like silent shadows that grounded you when everything else felt like air. Afterward, the three of you got into Jeonghan’s car and drove in silence toward your family home. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the car itself understood the weight of where you were headed. A meeting had been scheduled with your mother’s lawyer—an urgent, important matter concerning her will.

Your mother hadn’t just been the heart of your family; she was also the true pillar behind the hospital’s legacy. While your father held the position of director, it was your mother who built it from the ground up—brick by brick, department by department. Her name was the one that opened doors, earned respect, and kept the hospital’s vision alive.

And now, she is gone.

Two days later, Seungcheol stopped by Jeonghan’s office early in the morning, still in his work clothes after a visit to the construction site. His shoulders looked unusually stiff, his expression unreadable as he sank into the couch with a quiet sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there like a man lost in thought.

Jeonghan, watching from behind his desk, narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he urged, standing and making his way to the seat across from Seungcheol.

Seungcheol finally looked up, brow furrowed like he was still trying to wrap his head around it. “Y/n called me this morning.”

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, already sensing this wasn’t just a casual update.

“It was about her mother’s inheritance,” Seungcheol said slowly. “She’s not getting any money. No property. Nothing.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What? But she’s the only one following in her mother’s footsteps. She works in healthcare. She’s the most qualified out of everyone.”

Seungcheol nodded, eyes still distant. “Exactly. But the lawyer said she’ll inherit the hospital—not the money, not the land—only the hospital.”

Jeonghan leaned back, frowning. “That’s not bad, though.”

Seungcheol lifted a hand. “There’s a catch.”

Jeonghan stared at him, already bracing for it.

“She can only inherit the hospital if she gets married.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“And…” Seungcheol hesitated for a second longer. “She asked me to marry her.”

That snapped Jeonghan upright. “What?”

His voice was louder than he expected, heart thudding as the words echoed in the room. Seungcheol just stared back at him, not saying a word. He let out a long breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, palms rubbing together as if the friction might help him make sense of it all.

“I want to help her, of course I do,” he said quietly. “She’s my best friend. You know that. She’s like the sister I never had.”

Jeonghan stayed still, eyes narrowing slightly.

Seungcheol went on, voice heavy with sincerity. “If it was just about signing papers or pretending in front of the board, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But this isn’t just some temporary fix. It’s marriage. And I’m not ready for that—not emotionally, not mentally. I’d end up hurting her, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

His fingers curled into fists for a moment before he looked up again, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze.

“That’s why I suggested your name.”

Silence settled in the room like a weight. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—shock, maybe, or something more complicated.

“You,” Seungcheol said slowly, “understand her better than anyone. You’ve seen her at her lowest, at her best. And I know—no matter how you act—you care about her deeply.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. He stared at Seungcheol like he had just been pushed off a cliff and was still waiting to hit the ground.

Jeonghan blinked slowly, then scoffed—loudly. He leaned back against the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at Seungcheol like he’d just confessed to selling his soul for bubblegum.

“You’re stupid,” he finally said, his tone half in disbelief, half in frustration. “That’s your solution? Throwing your other friend under the bus?”

Seungcheol frowned. “I’m not throwing you—”

“Yes, you are!” Jeonghan snapped, pointing at him. “You get hit with a hard question and suddenly, ‘Oh! Let’s sacrifice Jeonghan! He can take it!’ What am I? The neighborhood rescue dog?”

“You make it sound worse than it is,” Seungcheol muttered.

“It is worse than it is!” Jeonghan stood up and paced a few steps, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you think this is a joke? Marriage? With Y/n? She’s not just anyone. This is her life. Her grief. Her mother’s legacy.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, quiet for a beat. “That’s exactly why I thought of you.”

Jeonghan turned to him, still fuming.

“You're the only one who won't hurt her. Even when you're pissed, you take care of her. You’re the only one who can handle her breakdowns, her sarcasm, her late-night hospital shifts. You’ve already been doing it for years. This wouldn’t even be a stretch.”

Jeonghan paused. The silence that followed wasn’t light—it hung in the air like the stillness before a storm. “You’re not wrong,” he finally said, his voice low. “But don’t ever decide for me again.”

Seungcheol met his eyes, apologetic.

“So,” Jeonghan said, almost like a challenge, “did she say anything else?”

“She asked if it was a dumb idea,” Seungcheol answered, faintly smiling. “I told her it was—but that if anyone could turn a dumb idea into something real, it’d be you.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. “You’re so lucky I don’t punch you for sport.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Jeonghan stood by the window of his office, arms folded, his eyes locked on the city skyline, though his thoughts were far from the view.

“I’m not going to marry her,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of hesitation.

Seungcheol blinked, stunned. “What?”

“I said I’m not going to marry Y/n.” Jeonghan turned around, walking back to his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ve never seen her that way. Not once. She’s my friend. She’s like… like a teammate I’ve been stuck in the same chaotic group project with since we were twelve.”

Seungcheol frowned. “Jeonghan—”

“I don’t see her as a woman,” Jeonghan said, firmer now. “Not in that sense. She’s Y/n. She’s the one who used to eat her lunch with gloves on because she didn’t want to smudge her notes. She’s the one who screamed at me for skipping class but once stole hospital scrubs just to sneak me in when I twisted my ankle.”

He let out a breath, quieter. “She’s family, Cheol. And I don’t marry family.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But family is the reason she’s doing this. You know her—she won’t marry for love, not now. She just wants to protect the hospital.”

“And I get that,” Jeonghan nodded, gaze hard. “But she deserves someone who will at least try to see her differently. Someone who won’t just treat it like a task. If she marries me, she’ll never get that.”

There was a brief silence. A mature one. Heavy.

“…So what are you going to do?” Seungcheol asked.

Jeonghan exhaled. “I’ll talk to her. But I’m not going to lie and pretend I can be that person.”

*

Jeonghan woke with a pounding headache, the weight of last night's whiskey still pressing against his skull. The faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioner and the filtered morning light slipping through the curtains made him squint. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a low groan, slowly sitting up. His head throbbed harder when he took in the room—still the executive suite at his family’s hotel, where he’d had a meeting yesterday. The same place where he’d waited for you after your hospital shift, sipping on whiskey in the private lounge while the hours bled together in blurred conversation and laughter.

Bottles—empty, half-empty, forgotten—lined the table and nightstand like silent witnesses. Jackets were slung across a chair, shoes scattered in odd places. He recognized his own watch on the floor, next to a trail of clothes that didn’t belong solely to him. And then, instinctively, his eyes drifted to the side—his breath caught.

You were there. Curled up under the duvet, sleeping deeply, hair a mess, bare shoulders exposed. His eyes dropped lower and quickly darted away. The pounding in his head was now joined by a growing pit in his stomach. He glanced down at himself—also bare under the sheets.

Jeonghan froze, every nerve in his body suddenly alert despite the hangover. His brain scrambled, trying to piece together the end of last night. The drinks. The conversation. Your tired laugh. Your hands brushing his when you reached for the bottle. A kiss. God—there was a kiss. Then—

“Shit.”

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t remember the details, but he remembered enough.

This was supposed to be a conversation about the hospital. About you, asking him if there was any way to make things work.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“Y/n,” he muttered quietly, as if saying your name would make you stir, so he could ask what the hell happened—or maybe apologize before either of you remembered it all too clearly.

But you didn’t move. You were still peacefully asleep, unaware of the chaos swirling in his mind. And Jeonghan could already feel the fallout coming like a wave.

You stirred with a faint groan, blinking at the ceiling. Your head felt heavy, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn't quite remember where you were. The bedding was softer than your own, and the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingered in the room.

Then you turned your head.

Your gaze met his. Eyes wide. His were already on you—equally frozen.

You blinked again. Slowly sat up. Felt the cold air on your bare shoulders. Glanced down. Sheets. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Wait—” you started, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as panic registered in your eyes. “No. No, no, no—”

Jeonghan shifted upright too, the sheets crumpling over his lap as he sat against the headboard, just as stunned.

“I—I don’t—” You struggled to speak, grabbing your phone off the nightstand like it could explain what had happened, but it only showed missed messages and your alarm.

You looked back at him, mortified. “Did we…? We didn’t…?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched slightly, eyes flickering to the bottles on the nightstand, then to your flushed and confused face. “I think we did.”

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. “Oh my God.” Your voice cracked as the memory fragments came rushing in—your shift ending late, Jeonghan waiting for you with drinks, your frustration spilling out in emotional rambling, the comfort, the nearness… the way you let your guard down.

And then—nothing. Just heat, blurred kisses, and now this.

“I don’t remember,” you whispered.

“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, rubbing his temple with one hand, eyes falling shut in disbelief.

Silence stretched between you, loud and suffocating.

Then you exhaled shakily and muttered, “We’re screwed.”

Jeonghan didn’t disagree.

The tension in the room crackled as you both scrambled to collect your clothes, the sheets tangling and slipping with every sudden movement. Jeonghan cursed under his breath as he checked the time on his phone. “Shit. I’m late.”

You were already half-dressed, pulling your blouse over your head with trembling fingers. “I need to go home before anyone notices I’m not back.”

Jeonghan hopped awkwardly on one foot as he tried to tug his pants on, his shirt still unbuttoned, hair a mess. “This didn’t happen. Okay?”

You glanced at him, eyes wide. “It happened.”

“Yeah, but—” He buttoned his shirt wrong and huffed. “We don’t remember it.”

“Exactly,” you nodded, slipping your shoes on. “We don’t remember. So technically, it’s like it didn’t happen.”

“Just one night,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys.

“One mistake,” you replied without thinking, then paused. “I mean—just a slip. We were drunk.”

“Super drunk,” Jeonghan agreed quickly.

You met his eyes for a second too long. And then both of you looked away, awkwardly clearing your throats.

“Let’s never talk about it,” you said as you reached for the door.

“Never,” Jeonghan echoed, already stuffing papers into his bag like a man fleeing a crime scene.

You stepped out first, your heart still racing. Jeonghan followed a few seconds later, closing the hotel room door behind him with a click. Neither of you looked back.

*

“So how did the talk go?” Seungcheol’s voice rang casually through the phone as you stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

Your eyes caught your reflection in the mirror by the entryway—tired eyes, tousled hair, and—

Oh God.

Your hand instinctively flew to your collarbone, fingers brushing over the unmistakable marks scattered along your skin, trailing up to your neck. Hickeys. Bold, undeniable evidence of something you had no memory of.

“It went... well,” you replied, voice a little too high, a little too unsure.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol sounded genuinely hopeful. “So… did he agree?”

Your heart thudded. Did Jeonghan agree to marry me? You remembered he had said no—clear, direct. But after that? Your memory was a blur of golden lights, his glass of whiskey in your hand, his laugh, your boldness, the heat—

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “We were just talking, you know…” you said slowly, choosing each word like it was a landmine. “The conversation didn’t really get to a yes or no. We got distracted. Talked about other things.”

Technically not a lie. Just… not the whole truth.

“Still,” Seungcheol continued on the other end of the line, completely unaware of the storm in your chest, “I think Jeonghan would understand you. He’s always treated you well. I mean, out of the two of us, he’s the one who always had more patience with your chaos.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Yeah… he did.”

“Just be honest with him,” Seungcheol added, almost gently. “Jeonghan might act like a brat sometimes, but when it comes to you, he’s different. He cares. You know that.”

Your hand tightened around your blouse

And that’s when it happened.

A flash—so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

His hand on your cheek. His lips on yours. The taste of whiskey between you. The slow burn of a kiss that felt nothing like friendship.

You blinked, your fingers going still.

“Y/n? You still there?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

But part of you wasn’t. Part of you was still stuck in that hotel room, with the soft memory of Jeonghan's mouth on yours, and the way your heart had almost stopped.

“…he’s always been there for you, Y/n. I just think if there’s anyone who could help you through this, it’s Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, his voice calm through the receiver.

But his words became a blur as your mind started to slip—like a dam cracking open with every syllable he spoke. You could still feel it. The heat of Jeonghan’s breath against your neck. The way his hands gripped your waist—hesitant at first, then desperate. The sting of your back hitting the cool sheets as he hovered over you, his brows furrowed, pupils blown wide, whispering your name like it meant something new.

Like it was no longer just “Y/n,” his friend.

You bit your lip hard, hoping the physical pain would erase the memory. It didn’t.

“Y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice snapped you back. “You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry.” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “I just… didn’t get much sleep.” Which wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after the warmth, the weight, and the realization of what you had done with Jeonghan.

And now, you weren’t sure what scared you more—

The fact that it happened or the fact that a part of you… didn’t regret it.

The next time you and Jeonghan crossed paths was on Seungcheol’s birthday.

Unlike the lavish celebrations expected of a conglomerate’s son, Seungcheol never cared for extravagance. Neither did you or Jeonghan. Since high school, birthdays had always been about the same three things: the three of you, some good food, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and a morning-after spent groggy on the couch with empty plates scattered around.

You had just finished a long night shift at the hospital, and thankfully, the rest of the day—and tomorrow—was free. You arrived first at Seungcheol’s place, arms full with takeout and a small cake box. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed. You punched in the passcode on the door panel—his birthday, reversed, a code that hadn’t changed in years—and stepped into the familiar apartment.

It smelled like wood and faint cologne, the kind Seungcheol always wore when he had meetings. You set the food on the kitchen counter, the soft thump of containers echoing in the stillness. No lights, no music, no sign of the birthday boy yet. You glanced at the time—he and Jeonghan were running late.

You sank into the couch, stretching out your legs and letting the silence settle around you.

It had been two weeks since that night with Jeonghan.

Two weeks since the hotel room, the drinks, the foggy heat of something you still couldn’t fully piece together.

Two weeks of zero contact.

And now, you were here. Waiting.

The digital clock ticked louder than usual, each second dragging a bit more tension with it. You tried not to overthink, tried to focus on anything else—your phone screen, the soft hum of the refrigerator—but your mind kept drifting back to the last time you saw Jeonghan… and the things you didn’t say.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. A soft beep, followed by the mechanical click of the passcode panel disengaging. You sat up instinctively, smoothing your hair as footsteps approached.

The door swung open, and there he was—Jeonghan. He paused in the doorway when he saw you, the chill of the hallway air still clinging to his coat. His brows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his face. His hair was pushed back messily, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times on the way here.

“…You’re early,” he said slowly, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here first.”

You stood, wiping your palms down your pants out of habit. “I had a night shift. Got off earlier than planned. Figured I’d bring food before you two showed up.”

Jeonghan shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. “Seungcheol texted. Said he’s caught up in some family business and running late.”

You nodded, the air between you tightening slightly. The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was thick—weighted by everything unspoken, everything half-remembered.

Jeonghan walked into the living room, glanced at the table. “You brought japchae?” His voice tried for casual.

“Yeah. And chicken. And that weird yogurt drink Seungcheol likes for no reason.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly and let out a soft, amused breath, the tension momentarily diffused. “You still remember his obsession with that stuff?”

“I wish I didn’t. It haunts me.”

You both let out a low chuckle, but it didn’t last. Jeonghan’s eyes eventually met yours again—this time, slower, more hesitant. Neither of you mentioned the last time you’d seen each other. Not the hotel. Not the drinks. Not the hazy memories.

Not the fact that you hadn’t talked since.

But it lingered anyway.

Just beneath the surface.

Before either of you could say anything else, the familiar beep of the door's passcode rang through the apartment again, followed by the sound of Seungcheol’s voice calling out, “I brought the good stuff!”

You and Jeonghan turned toward the entrance as Seungcheol walked in with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of whiskey proudly held in the other. His coat was half off his shoulders, hair slightly tousled from rushing over.

He spotted you both and grinned. “Oh good, both of you made it. Now it feels like my birthday.”

You offered a small smile, grateful for the interruption. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I had to. It’s tradition,” Seungcheol said, setting the bottle down on the table with an exaggerated flourish. “Besides, this one’s aged fifteen years. Older than most of our decisions lately.”

Jeonghan gave a dry chuckle and raised a brow. “Including yours?”

“Especially mine,” Seungcheol smirked before plopping down onto the couch and glancing between the two of you. “So. Are we gonna pretend everything’s normal or do I need to spike your drinks first?”

You sat down beside him while Jeonghan stayed standing, his hands resting in his pockets. The tension hadn’t disappeared. It just moved aside to make room for Seungcheol’s usual way of diffusing it—with humor and whiskey.

*

Seungcheol had long retreated to his room, knocked out cold from the whiskey he insisted on drinking more of than anyone else. The walls of his apartment were thick, thank god—but not thick enough to silence the storm brewing next door.

The atmosphere had shifted the moment his bedroom door closed. You and Jeonghan were left alone in the living room, both pretending to focus on an old movie playing on the screen, but neither of you actually watching. The silence wasn’t comfortable—it was charged, thick with memories neither of you had fully come to terms with.

Your breath hitched when Jeonghan shifted closer, his knee brushing yours on the couch. You turned your head slightly, only to find him already watching you—eyes unreadable, voice low.

“Do you remember anything from that night?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. “Pieces.”

“Same,” he muttered, before pausing. “But I remember how it felt.”

The two of you breathed heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Once. Twice. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His large hands tenderly cradled your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine, before his lips descended onto yours with a fervent intensity.

"Shit... I've been thinking about your lips lately," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent tingles through your body.

His other hand found its way to your waist, firm yet gentle, guiding you effortlessly to settle on his lap. The kiss remained unbroken, a seamless blend of passion and longing, as time seemed to stand still around you.

"Seungcheol is in his room," you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss that had left you both gasping for air.

"Forget him," Jeonghan replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He's too drunk to notice anything." Without waiting for further protest, he drew you back into a fervent kiss, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, Jeonghan stood up, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. He carried you down the dimly lit hallway to Seungcheol's guest room, nudging the door open with ease. The soft creak of the hinges was barely audible over the sound of your quickened breaths. Gently, he laid you down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin. His hands began to explore the contours of your body with a deliberate tenderness, slowly unbuttoning and removing your blouse.

Your own hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his pants with an urgency that mirrored his own. Your fingers fumbled slightly as they worked to unbutton his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as you maintained the passionate kiss.

"Seungcheol is going to kill us," Jeonghan murmured, a hint of playful defiance in his voice, as his hands deftly moved to your pants, sliding them down to reveal your bare skin.

"Fucking in his guest room," he chuckled softly, "He's going to kill us."

Yet, the thrill of the moment was too intoxicating to resist.

You woke up just past noon, your head pounding like a bass drum. The sunlight bleeding through the edges of the curtain felt far too aggressive for your condition. Groaning, you sat up and realized you were no longer in your own clothes. Instead, you were dressed in one of Seungcheol’s oversized T-shirts—soft, worn-in cotton that practically swallowed your frame. Jeonghan must’ve grabbed it from your friend’s closet sometime during the night.q

You shuffled out of the guest bedroom, rubbing your temple, and found Jeonghan and Seungcheol slouched over the dining table. Both looked equally wrecked, hair messy and eyes puffy, nursing bowls of takeout soup in complete silence.

“Go eat this,” Jeonghan said as he pulled out the chair beside him without looking up. His voice was low and hoarse, like it hadn't fully woken up yet.

Seungcheol finally looked over—and froze. His eyes widened at the sight of his favorite T-shirt hanging loosely on you.

“Yah!” he exclaimed, pointing a dramatic finger. “Why are you wearing that one?! That’s my favorite!”

You squinted at him, then turned slowly to glare at Jeonghan, who was now struggling to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. That motherfucker definitely knew what he was doing when he dressed you in it.

You huffed, muttering, “I’m sorry… I was too drunk to realize.” Then, without missing a beat, you shot Jeonghan a sharp look. “Apparently, someone wasn’t.”

“I got you another one,” Jeonghan said innocently—like he’d planned this whole thing.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”

You sat down across from the two men, your eyes flickering between Jeonghan and Seungcheol as you tried to piece yourself together. The hot soup in front of you sent a wave of steam into your face, grounding you for a moment. But not enough to forget the way Jeonghan’s lips had moved against yours last night. Not enough to forget his fingers fumbling with your buttons, the urgency in his breath, the way he whispered your name like a secret meant only for the dark.

You stirred the soup absently, heart pounding all over again.

Seungcheol groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously though, how much did we drink? My head’s splitting in half.”

“More than we should’ve,” Jeonghan muttered, voice calm—almost too calm. His fingers tapped against the ceramic bowl rhythmically, but he hadn’t taken a single bite. You knew that look—he was pretending everything was fine. Like last night didn’t happen.

You hadn’t even had the nerve to look him in the eye.

“Why do I feel like I missed something?” Seungcheol mumbled, squinting between the two of you.

You flinched slightly, and Jeonghan cleared his throat.

“You missed your chance to stop me from letting her steal your favorite shirt,” he said, with a casual smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

You forced a laugh, weak and quick, and focused again on your soup.

But the silence between you and Jeonghan stretched thin, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the memory of skin against skin—while Seungcheol had been passed out in the next room, completely unaware that his two closest friends were crossing a line that neither of you had dared touch before.

And now here you were—sitting in your best friend’s kitchen, wearing his favorite shirt, next to the man who'd kissed you breathless hours before—and neither of you knew what to do next.

“So,” Seungcheol said, dragging the word out as he slumped deeper into his chair. He set his empty bowl aside and gave you a long, expectant look. “Have you thought more about the hospital situation?”

Your spoon hovered mid-air, steam curling around your face as you blinked. A quiet clink echoed when the utensil touched the edge of the bowl. Across the table, Jeonghan stiffened—just slightly, but you noticed.

“I’m… still thinking about it,” you murmured, eyes focused on the soup like it held all the answers.

Seungcheol frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You said that two weeks ago.”

You didn’t reply. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say without glancing at Jeonghan. And you couldn’t afford to glance at Jeonghan right now.

He barreled on. “Look. I know it’s insane. ‘Get married or lose the hospital’ sounds like something out of a bad K-drama. But your mom built that place. She poured her whole damn life into it. It’s not just a building—it’s your inheritance. Your future.”

You drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Seungcheol had always known how to strike right at the center of things. You hated him for it sometimes.

“And when you asked me…” He leaned in now, elbows on the table, voice gentler. “I really did consider it. I mean, you’re my best friend. You’ve been with me through every breakup, every hangover, every stupid decision I ever made. Of course I thought about saying yes.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. There was sincerity there. Regret, even.

“But I knew I’d screw it up eventually,” he added, chuckling dryly. “We’d end up resenting each other. I’d probably forget your anniversary and show up late to your divorce hearing.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly.

Seungcheol smiled. “I’m chaos. You need someone steady. Someone who knows how to make you breathe instead of panic. Someone who… already knows you inside out.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

“That’s why I told you to ask him.”

There was no need to look. You felt the shift in Jeonghan’s posture before Seungcheol even gestured toward him.

You didn’t turn your head. You couldn’t. The air felt too thick now. Even blinking felt like a risk.

“But this guy,” Seungcheol said, waving his spoon at Jeonghan with mock betrayal, “just flat out refused. No hesitation. No drama. Just a cold-ass no.”

There was a sharp pause. Jeonghan set down his bowl with more force than necessary.

“I didn’t refuse,” he said, his voice quiet, clipped. “I said I didn’t think marriage was the solution.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Same difference.”

Jeonghan’s jaw flexed. “It’s not.”

You finally looked at him then. His face was unreadable, but his fingers were curled too tightly around the edge of the table. Tension lived in every part of him.

Seungcheol leaned back, sighing like a man fed up with the world. “You two already bicker like you’ve been married five years. The chemistry’s right there. Even my mom thinks you’re dating.”

You flushed, dropping your gaze. Jeonghan didn’t say a word.

“She’s not someone I see that way.”

His words landed with the dull thud of a stone in water. No ripple. Just sinking.

Your stomach twisted. You could still feel the weight of his hands from the night before. The way his breath had hitched when your lips met. The way he’d held you like he was afraid you’d vanish. And now—this.

“Oh, okay,” Seungcheol said, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Cool.”

You forced a breath through your nose and tried not to react. You weren’t going to ask. You weren’t going to break.

“I’ll figure something else out,” you said quickly, your voice a little too tight, a little too rehearsed. “I always do.”

Seungcheol looked at you, brows drawing together in concern, but didn’t push further.

You felt Jeonghan’s eyes on you, though. Like a weight you couldn’t shrug off. You didn’t dare meet his gaze.

But under the table, your knees brushed. A fleeting contact—barely noticeable. And he didn’t move.

Neither did you.

And maybe that was the problem.

*

The clatter of silverware and the low murmur of polite conversation filled the dining room, where Jeonghan sat awkwardly between his mother and a cousin he barely recognized. His parents had insisted on a full family dinner—“We haven’t all been together in months, Jeonghan-ah!”—and now he was regretting not faking a fever.

He was halfway through picking at a slice of galbi when his father leaned in a little too casually and said, “Did you hear about Y/n’s father?”

Jeonghan blinked. He hadn’t heard her name all evening—had tried not to think about her, if he was honest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying to sound neutral, but his voice already had a tension to it.

“He’s getting remarried,” his father said, mouth full of japchae. “Some woman from Busan. Younger. Pretty well-off, I heard.”

Jeonghan stilled. His chopsticks hovered mid-air.

Jeonghan couldn’t sit still after dinner.

Three months.

Three damn months after your mother passed, and your father was already signing marriage papers with a woman who had no history with your family, no ties to the hospital, no respect for what your mother built. The news echoed in his mind like a warning bell—and the worst part? You hadn’t even told him. Or Seungcheol.

By the time Jeonghan slammed the car door shut and stalked into Seungcheol’s apartment, his jaw was already locked tight. His parents had dropped the bomb at the tail end of dinner like it was gossip over dessert.

“Did you hear? Her father’s remarrying already. Three months. Can you believe it?”

Three months since her mother’s funeral. Jeonghan remembered how you barely made it through the eulogy without shaking. How you’d curled up in the backseat of his car afterward, still in your funeral hanbok, silent except for the occasional sound of your breathing—too calm, too quiet, like you were holding your whole grief together by the thread of not saying anything out loud.

And now this.

“She doesn’t know,” Seungcheol said lazily from the couch without looking up from his phone, glancing over Jeonghan’s stormy entrance like it was just another Tuesday. “Or at least… she didn’t tell me either.”

Jeonghan stopped mid-pace, scoffing. “She knows.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. “She always knows. She just—doesn’t want to talk about it.”

The room quieted. Even Seungcheol lowered his phone now.

“Ya,” Jeonghan said, his voice low. “She just lost her mom. And now her dad’s acting like she was never part of that life. Like she’s replaceable.”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmured. “I didn’t think it would actually come to this, but….”

Jeonghan turned, alert.

Seungcheol hesitated, brows furrowed, voice heavy with guilt. “Y/n’s dad is planning to take back the hospital. Legally. If she’s not married by the time the board votes on succession, he’ll have the right to reclaim everything.”

Jeonghan froze.

“…What are you talking about?”

“There’s a clause. In her mom’s will. You remember how traditional her family is, right? Her mom added a provision that said Y/n could inherit the hospital—if she was married, as a show of stability.”

“That’s insane,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head. “That’s not—She’s been running that place half her life.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said again, quieter this time. “But with her mom gone, and no spouse to secure her position, her father—who technically still holds a dormant stake—can challenge the board’s vote. And they’ll side with whoever seems more ‘qualified’ to run a multi-billion-won legacy hospital.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat. “So if she’s not married… she loses everything?”

“Exactly.”

The word dropped like a lead weight.

The hospital. Your mother’s legacy. Your life.

All of it—hinging on one outdated clause and a man who was more concerned with reclaiming power than preserving what mattered to his daughter.

Jeonghan’s hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was sour in his mouth: He could’ve helped. He’d been asked—hell, handpicked. And he said no.

But those nights… those kisses… the way you trembled in his arms, the way you didn’t pull away—

Maybe it wasn’t just your future that was unraveling.

Maybe it was his, too.

*

Jeonghan heard it first from Seungcheol, in a conversation that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You helped her send a marriage proposal to the Hong family?” he asked, trying to sound neutral—but the words hitched somewhere between surprise and something less noble.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. She’s being practical. The Hongs are powerful, respected, and Jisoo’s around our age. It’s a smart match.”

Jeonghan’s mind flicked back to university days. He remembered Hong Jisoo—gentle voice, crisp suits even back then, the kind of guy professors liked and girls swooned over. Polite, well-mannered, probably the kind of man who’d pull your chair out at dinner and remember your dog’s birthday.

He hated how reasonable it sounded.

Still, he needed to know.

“Is Jisoo even single?” Jeonghan asked, almost too quickly.

Jun, his ever-efficient secretary, looked up from his tablet. “Actually… no, sir. He’s dating someone.”

Jeonghan blinked. “How do you know that?”

Jun cleared his throat, a bit sheepishly. “I saw them at two or three events. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Not long after, right on cue, news came that your proposal had been rejected. Politely, but firmly.

Jeonghan didn’t know what stung more—that someone else had the chance to say no to you, or that you’d gone through the process without even telling him.

At your next lunch with him and Seungcheol, you stirred your iced tea with a distracted expression before saying, “I’m moving on to the Jeon family next. Remember Wonwoo?”

Jeonghan’s brows lifted. “Jeon Wonwoo?”

Seungcheol let out a soft whistle. “Now that’s a solid bet. The board practically drools over that guy. Youngest regional director in five years. Clean record, sharp thinker. He could probably get you the hospital single-handedly.”

Jeonghan forced himself to nod, even as something in his stomach tightened.

Wonwoo was perfect.

Too perfect.

A week later, the news broke: Wonwoo was already engaged—privately, quietly, to someone outside the industry. A secret fiancée. One no one had expected, and no one dared question.

Jeonghan said nothing when he heard. Just closed the tab on his screen and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

How many more names would you have to cross off?

It was Seungcheol who brought it up over dinner one evening.

“There’s another option,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of steak. “The Kim family. They reached out.”

You blinked. “Kim? As in…?”

“Kim Jongin,” he confirmed, glancing up. “Their eldest son. The family’s powerful, old money, and still holds shares in three major medical networks. If you marry them, the board will bow down without a fight.”

Jeonghan’s fork paused mid-air.

“Kim Jongin?” he repeated slowly, like the name tasted wrong in his mouth. “As in that Kim Jongin? The one who once got kicked out of a charity gala for flirting with a diplomat’s wife?”

Seungcheol smirked. “That was years ago. He’s cleaned up, mostly. Spends more time in boardrooms than clubs now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He still flirts with everyone. He sent me flowers once and signed the card as ‘Your Future Headache.’”

Seungcheol, chuckling, muttered under his breath, “At least he’s honest.”

Jeonghan didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. Jongin has more scandals than business articles to his name. You’d be a headline before the wedding cake even sets.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but your voice was quieter. “I’m running out of names, Jeonghan. I don’t need a saint—I need a shield. The board only cares about a surname that scares them.”

Seungcheol nodded grimly. “And the Kim name does that.”

Jeonghan looked at you then—really looked. There was exhaustion behind your smile, a quiet kind of defeat.

How many times have you been rejected, redirected, shut out? How many times had you kept it together just to protect the hospital your mother left behind?

He couldn’t stop you from trying again.

But he hated that you even had to.

That night, Jeonghan poured himself a drink in his living room, alone.

“Kim Jongin,” he muttered bitterly. “Over my dead body.”

*

“Jeonghan just called me. Is that true?”

Seungcheol’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, a strange mix of urgency and disbelief. You barely registered his tone, your mind still half-occupied with the scribbled patient notes in front of you.

You shifted in your seat at the nurse station, eyes still on the clipboard. “What’s true? Did he win the lottery or something?” You let out a soft, tired chuckle. “I mean, honestly, would anyone be shocked if Jeonghan secretly played the odds? He’s... Jeonghan.”

On the other end, Seungcheol sighed. The kind of sigh that wasn’t amused or tired—it was preparing you for something.

“No, Y/n.” His voice lowered. “He told me to turn down the Kim family’s proposal.”

Your pen slipped, leaving a smudge on the paper.

You blinked.

“What?”

The pen rolled out of your fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Your body leaned forward, suddenly too alert. “Why would he—?”

“He said…” Seungcheol hesitated, as though trying to choose the least explosive version of the truth. “Because he’s going to marry you.”

The words didn’t land so much as settle, like the moment before a storm hits—silent, still, choking on meaning.

Your gaze fixed on the wall across the room. White. Blank. Too bright under hospital lights. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped steadily, unaware that your pulse had just doubled.

You didn’t answer. Couldn't. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your hands, resting on the desk, had gone cold.

And still, Seungcheol didn’t say another word.

He didn’t need to.

“He didn’t say anything to you, did he?” Seungcheol asked quietly.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. “No,” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you stood from the nurse station chair. “Not a word.”

You could hear Seungcheol curse under his breath on the other end, but you were already pacing down the hallway toward your office, phone still pressed to your ear.

“Is he crazy or something?” you muttered, your voice low and laced with disbelief.

Seungcheol tried to lighten the mood. “Should I bring him to the hospital? Get his head checked?”

You scoffed, pushing open your office door with a bit more force than necessary. “No, you should’ve kicked him in the head instead.”

Dropping your white coat onto the couch, you finally sank into your chair, hand covering your eyes for a second before dropping it with a frustrated sigh.

“He said no, Seungcheol. No. So what the hell is this now?”

Silence hummed between you for a moment. Then, quietly, Seungcheol said, “Maybe he changed his mind.”

You leaned back in your chair, the ceiling suddenly very interesting. “If he did, he sure has a weird way of showing it.”

*

Jeonghan didn’t expect to find you there—not tonight, not like this.

He had barely stepped out of the elevator, keys jingling in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, when his footsteps slowed. His gaze caught on your figure leaning against the wall by his apartment door. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. A stillness about you that unnerved him more than any outburst could.

He swallowed hard. The hallway light flickered above him as if mimicking the beat of his pulse.

“Y/n?” he said, cautious, testing the sound of your name like it might trigger something.

You didn’t answer immediately. You just looked at him like he was something unfamiliar—like you were trying to remember why you'd ever trusted him in the first place.

He approached slowly, key poised at the lock. “Did… Seungcheol tell you?”

Your voice cut through the quiet. “So it’s true?”

Jeonghan winced at the edge in your tone. He gave a small, reluctant nod.

You followed him inside without waiting for an invitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed through the room like thunder—loud, final, impossible to ignore.

You whirled on him. “After all the dramatic no’s, after everything—you just decided yes?”

He set the bag on the kitchen counter with trembling fingers. “I changed my mind.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now that’s convenient.”

He turned to face you, heart crawling up his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Didn’t mean to? You told me you didn’t see me that way, Jeonghan. Your exact words. And now, what—suddenly you do? Right after I get another proposal?”

Jeonghan flinched. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to face you after…”

“After those nights?” Your voice cracked on the words, and it gutted him.

He stepped forward, cautious like you might bolt if he got too close. “I know I messed up. I should’ve said something the night it happened. I should’ve said something before you started sending out proposals like you were auctioning off your future.”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t pretend this is about you protecting me.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s all about business. You’re trying to protect your mother’s legacy, right? A marriage of convenience should do exactly that—secure power, eliminate risk. Jongin is a risk.”

You stared at him like you could see straight through the wall he was building with every word. “So you offered yourself instead? What kind of convenient marriage involves someone who told me—explicitly—that he didn’t see me that way?”

The question sliced through the air.

He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles whitening.

“I’m stable,” he said flatly. “I know the hospital. The board respects me. I have no scandals, no secret fiancée, no bad press. We wouldn't have to pretend much, and we’d get the media on our side. You’d be safe. The hospital would be safe. It’s a rational solution.”

But even as he said it, his voice faltered at the end.

You stepped closer now, slow, deliberate. “So this is about logic?”

“Yes,” he lied.

You waited.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Because the truth had nearly spilled out earlier—I can’t stand the thought of you marrying someone else.

But he buried it. Deep.

Because feelings were messy. And you deserved clarity, not confusion.

So he said nothing more. Just stood there in his perfectly structured silence, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way his heart was hammering under his shirt.

On the next day, Jeonghan sat quietly in the sleek, dim living room of the Yoon estate, the tick of the vintage clock on the wall growing louder with every second of silence.

The dining table remained untouched—no one had the appetite to eat after his announcement.

“I’m going to marry her,” he repeated, tone clipped, businesslike. “It’s not romantic. It’s a business marriage. The hospital stays under her control, and in turn, the Yoon family’s reputation gains an institutional ally.”

His father leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You do realize what you're signing up for, don't you?”

Jeonghan kept his chin up. “I do.”

His mother placed her glass down a little too loudly. “That family—her father has scandals trailing him like a shadow. You’ve seen the tabloids, Jeonghan.”

“I’m not marrying her family,” Jeonghan said evenly. “I’m marrying her.”

His younger sister scoffed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

The tension hit like a sharp wind. Jeonghan could feel the weight of their warnings pressing into his spine.

“She’s… someone I trust. She’s capable. She doesn’t deserve to lose the hospital over a power play. This is the cleanest solution.”

His father shook his head slowly. “You don’t protect people like this, son. Not with your last name. Not with a ring.”

But Jeonghan’s voice didn’t waver. “This isn’t about protection. It’s about business.”

No one believed that—not fully. Especially not him.

Still, they didn’t stop him.

They just let him go.

The very next week, he arrived at the law office early. He had barely slept, but he looked sharp. Tailored blazer, no tie, and his fingers twitching slightly as he waited.

You walked in —expression composed, but Jeonghan knew how to read past that. The subtle tightness in your jaw. The way your eyes darted quickly toward the folder in your hand rather than meeting his.

He stood as you sat. You didn't greet him, just nodded.

Professional.

Just like he’d asked for.

His lawyer spread the documents across the table. “The key terms have been adjusted: one and a half years of legal marriage, public announcement optional, privacy clauses intact. Divorce may be filed on mutual grounds with assets protected under current holdings.”

You read through the text quietly, flipping each page like you’d done this before. Jeonghan watched you instead.

This wasn’t what you’d wanted. Not really. You’d looked for alternatives. You’d begged for options. And when those doors kept closing, you chose the least damaging one. Him.

“I added a clause,” you said, sliding the paper forward. “I’ll retain decision-making rights over hospital board matters. I don’t want you getting dragged into internal politics.”

He blinked. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” you said quietly. “You’re already doing enough.”

That silenced him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair. This was supposed to be a simple deal, numbers and clauses and black ink—but the air felt heavier than contracts should allow.

You cleared your throat. “You don’t have to—if there’s even a 1% chance you’ll regret this—”

“I’ve already regretted worse,” he cut you off gently. “At least this time, I’m choosing.”

That struck harder than expected.

The lawyer pushed forward two pens. One for you. One for him. When your fingers brushed as you reached out, you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. And for the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between you. Not affection. Not relief. Something quieter. Lonelier. Like two people agreeing to build a house with no intention of living in it.

He watched you sign.

Then he signed, too.

Later that evening, Jeonghan stood by his window, overlooking the city as the skyline blinked softly into the night. A message from Seungcheol sat unread on his phone.

���Are you really going to go through with this?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he whispered to himself, almost bitterly, “It’s just business.” But his reflection in the window—the tightness around his eyes, the tremble in his hand—betrayed him. He hadn’t lied to you. He wouldn’t hurt you. But what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was this: That part of him didn’t want to protect the hospital.

He wanted to protect you. And now, he was bound to you by paper and law—and silence. Because feelings had no place in business.

Right?

*

The courthouse was stark—walls painted a dull beige, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of disinfectant and stale coffee lingering in the air. The atmosphere was anything but celebratory. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family smiling and whispering behind gloved hands.

You sat rigid in the cold metal chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Your outfit was businesslike—dark gray trousers and a tailored blazer, practical shoes. Not a stitch of white, no trace of sentimentality. You were here to do one thing: make this marriage legal.

Jeonghan arrived minutes early, his usual composure in place but with an edge of fatigue in his eyes. His black suit hung perfectly on his lean frame, but the absence of a tie made him look less like a groom and more like a reluctant businessman caught in an inconvenient meeting. His jaw was clean-shaven but tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

The clerk barely glanced up as she recited the required lines, voice flat and rehearsed: “Do you, Jeonghan Yoon, take Y/n to be your lawful spouse…” She handed him the pen first, and he signed without hesitation. Then it was your turn. Your hand trembled slightly as you picked up the pen, the sterile atmosphere pressing down like a weight on your chest.

“Congratulations,” the clerk said, but it felt hollow, like an echo in a room already emptied of meaning.

You both nodded curtly, standing side by side as if you’d just closed a deal on a corporate merger rather than pledged to share a life.

Outside, the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds. A cold wind tugged at your coat as you stepped into the parking lot, clutching the envelope of signed documents like a lifeline. Jeonghan was beside you, expression unreadable.

Then, from the corner of the lot, a figure emerged.

Your father.

His suit was tailored but brighter than appropriate, the kind of showy fabric meant to command attention. His smile was thin, practiced—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes scanned both of you like a chess master sizing up pawns.

“Congratulations,” he said smoothly, voice low but laced with something sharper. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally made the practical choice.”

Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, your breath catching for just a moment. Jeonghan’s gaze locked onto your father, cold and measuring.

“I see you’ve gone for political utility over sentiment,” your father continued, glancing at Jeonghan as if daring him to respond. “Smart move. The board will be swayed by this union, no doubt.”

“Don’t,” you said quietly, the word clipped but filled with warning.

Your father ignored you, stepping closer, his tone patronizing. “Now that the marriage is secured, the revised foundation charter is ready. You’ll find the documents waiting in your office.”

You paled, your fingers tightening around the envelope as your lips parted slightly—words trapped somewhere between anger and resignation.

Jeonghan stepped forward, voice steady but sharp. “Is this what this has been about all along? Using your daughter’s marriage as leverage for control?”

Your father’s smile remained unshaken. “Legacy isn’t sentimental, Mr. Yoon. It’s power. And power is survival.”

You didn’t move or meet either man’s eyes, instead staring down at the cracked concrete beneath your feet as if it might swallow you whole.

In that moment, Jeonghan’s posture shifted—his usual calm replaced by a simmering realization. This was no business arrangement for you. This was a battlefield, and you’d been fighting it alone.

He said nothing further, merely opening the car door with an automatic gesture of protection.

You slid inside silently, the door clicking shut behind you.

Jeonghan lingered a heartbeat longer, then followed, closing the door. The car’s interior was dim and silent, the weight of unspoken truths thick between you.

You held the envelope tightly, the crinkling paper sounding unnaturally loud.

Marriage, Jeonghan thought bitterly, should be a choice—not a chain.

He glanced at you, rigid and pale, and knew he had underestimated just how much this ‘business’ was costing you.

Jeonghan found himself in the sleek, glass-walled conference room of his family’s business headquarters a week later. The boardroom was large, with polished oak tables and leather chairs, the kind of place where decisions that shaped industries were made. Around the table sat key members of the hospital board—men and women whose loyalties were divided, some still unsure whether your father’s legal challenge could unsettle the current balance.

Jeonghan sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but authoritative. His sharp eyes scanned the faces before him, reading hesitation, doubt, and the flicker of ambition. With a quiet nod to his personal lawyer beside him, he opened the discussion.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” he began, voice steady and deliberate. “I understand there has been some concern about the hospital’s future leadership and the potential legal complications following Mrs. Y/n’s recent loss.”

A few board members exchanged cautious glances.

“My wife’s inheritance is tied directly to the hospital’s legacy. It’s a responsibility she takes seriously—not just because of family, but because she believes in the institution’s mission.” He let the words hang for a moment, deliberately invoking a sense of duty and stability.

“But,” he continued, “there’s also the question of the will’s conditions—specifically, the marriage clause. Some have suggested it could be challenged, that your loyalties might shift.”

He reached forward and slid a thick legal dossier across the table, its cover embossed with the family seal. “Our legal team has reviewed every clause meticulously. The marriage between Mrs. Y/n and myself satisfies all stipulated conditions. Any attempt to invalidate this union on legal grounds would be both unfounded and harmful to the hospital’s reputation and stability.”

His tone sharpened slightly, no longer just informative but subtly warning. “We cannot afford the disruption that a public dispute would bring. Investor confidence, donor relations, patient trust—all of these depend on a unified leadership.”

The room was silent for a beat. Then, one elder board member spoke, voice low but firm. “Mr. Jeonghan, your family’s influence is undeniable. We want what’s best for the hospital, but we must ensure governance remains transparent and effective.”

Jeonghan nodded respectfully. “Agreed. Transparency and stability are non-negotiable. That is why my family is prepared to provide the necessary financial and strategic support to secure the hospital’s future.”

He could see the subtle nods around the table. The message was clear: resistance would be costly and futile.

*

Seungcheol stepped into Jeonghan’s apartment, letting the door close behind him with a quiet thud. His eyes scanned the space, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of you curled up on the couch or busy in the kitchen. But the place was quiet—too quiet for a newly married couple.

“She’s got a shift,” Jeonghan said simply, already walking toward the open kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, and he looked like he hadn’t slept much.

Seungcheol nodded, settling into one of the stools by the counter. “Of course she does.” He watched Jeonghan pour himself a glass of water, the silence thick with unspoken questions. Then he asked, more lightly than he felt, “So… how’s married life?”

Jeonghan paused for a moment, leaning his weight against the counter as he stared at the glass in his hand.

“Strategic,” he said finally, his tone dry.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow.

Jeonghan sighed. “It’s complicated. The hospital isn’t just some legacy—it’s a battlefield. Her father’s been trying to claw his way back into control using every legal loophole he can find. The marriage? It was the only option left to secure her position before the board meeting.”

Seungcheol let out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Worse than I thought. The clause her mom put in the will was meant to protect Y/n, but it became a weapon the moment her father figured out how to twist it. I had to act fast. If we hadn’t gotten married when we did, she would’ve lost everything.”

Seungcheol leaned back, arms crossed. “And now you’re both stuck in a business deal wearing rings.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion showing in the lines under his eyes.

“She’s doing everything she can to keep it together. Between the hospital, her shifts, and pretending all of this is fine…”

Seungcheol shook his head, a small frown forming. “Poor wifey.”

Jeonghan smirked faintly at the nickname, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

“How about a honeymoon?”

Jeonghan scoffed at the mere mention of the word.

“Honeymoon?” he repeated, half-laughing, half-exhausted. “Yeah, we celebrated with a three-hour strategy meeting and a rushed signature on a marriage certificate. Very romantic.”

Seungcheol chuckled as he opened a can of soda from Jeonghan’s fridge, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jeonghan slumped into the chair across from him, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I mean, come on,” Seungcheol said, leaning on the counter. “You sign a deal that big—hospital, marriage, family reputation—and you don’t even take my best friend somewhere nice? Italy? Maldives? Hell, even Jeju?”

“She’s working,” Jeonghan muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “There’s no time for beaches. We’re still cleaning up the legal mess her father left behind.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded. He set down the can and looked at his friend seriously. “Speaking of legal mess—I assigned you an expensive shark of a lawyer. Jung Haejin. She’s the best in estate protection and corporate inheritance. If anyone can outmaneuver her father’s moves, it’s her.”

Jeonghan glanced up, surprised. “You really did that?”

“You’re my best friend,” Seungcheol said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Even if this whole thing started out cold, I know you’re not going to let her fall.”

A silence settled between them—soft, but loaded.

Jeonghan gave a faint nod, running a hand through his hair again. “Thanks, Cheol. I mean it.”

“That’s why,” Seungcheol insisted, leaning forward, eyes gleaming, “plan a honeymoon already! You know how Y/n loves beaches, right?”

Jeonghan raised a brow, caught off guard. “How do you even know that?”

“Please,” Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. “She used to beg me to take time off and go to Busan during uni breaks. Even dragged me to a travel fair once, just to collect brochures of islands she couldn’t afford to visit yet.”

Jeonghan blinked, his lips tugging into something unreadable. “She never told me that.”

“Of course she didn’t. She probably thinks you’d laugh or roll your eyes.” Seungcheol pointed at him. “But I’m telling you—she’s a beach girl through and through. You want her to breathe? To stop thinking about the hospital for a second? Take her somewhere with sand and waves.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, mind already racing with a dozen tabs he’d need to open later—locations, flights, resorts.

“Think of it as strategy,” Seungcheol added, slyly. “A well-rested co-CEO is more effective in a boardroom.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk forming. “You’re really pushing this.”

“You’re really resisting it,” Seungcheol shot back. “Let her live, Jeonghan. This isn’t just your name or your family legacy on the line anymore. It’s hers too.”

Jeonghan grew quiet, the weight of those words sinking into him. This wasn’t just business—at least not anymore. Not when her hands shook in secret after meetings with lawyers. Not when her shoulders tensed at every call from her father’s associates. Not when she didn’t complain, but her eyes told another story.

Maybe it was time he gave her something she didn’t have to fight for. Even if just for a weekend.

“Alright,” he finally said, grabbing his phone. “Let’s find her a beach.”

*

Jeonghan hadn’t exactly imagined his first honeymoon would come with a third wheel—especially not in the shape of Choi Seungcheol, who was now sprinting barefoot toward the water like a golden retriever let off the leash.

It was supposed to be two days of peace, just the two of you, tucked away in one of his family’s private villas in Busan. A short escape Jeonghan had been desperately looking forward to—a breath of air after months suffocating beneath hospital politics, endless meetings, and legal negotiations. After tirelessly working with the lawyer Seungcheol had assigned, attending back-to-back board meetings, and overseeing the investigation regarding the hospital owner’s misconduct, the decision had finally been made: the board would postpone any changes in ownership for at least two more years. During that time, they would conduct a thorough audit of your father while he served as vice director—buying Jeonghan and you some time, but also keeping everyone under scrutiny.

Still, as he trailed behind you, watching your face light up at the sight of the ocean, your smile wide and childlike as the waves crashed onto the shore, his irritation softened. Almost.

“This is supposed to be a honeymoon, you know,” he muttered, arms crossed, a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance twisting his lips.

You didn’t even look back. “As if that ever stops you from fucking me when he’s around,” you tossed the line over your shoulder so casually it knocked the wind out of him.

Jeonghan stumbled mid-step, coughing on his own breath. “Yah—!”

Too late. You had already taken off, splashing into the shallows with Seungcheol while laughter filled the air.

He sighed, staring out at the two of you like a man who’d just realized he was going to have to fight his way through his own honeymoon. And despite himself, he grinned.

You were going to drive him insane.

And he couldn’t wait.

The three of you lounged in the cozy villa living room, sunk deep into plush cushions after wandering the village in search of a good local restaurant. The salty air still lingered on your skin, and laughter from dinner hadn’t quite faded. But Seungcheol, sitting cross-legged on the rug with a can of beer in hand, was giving you and Jeonghan a look—as if you'd both sprouted unicorn horns right in front of him.

It wasn’t unfounded. Anyone paying close attention would’ve noticed the shift. The way Jeonghan’s arm had draped a little too comfortably around your shoulders on the walk back. The way you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. The subtle glances. The softness in your voice when you said his name. Seungcheol had known the two of you for years—but something was definitely different.

He narrowed his eyes, took a sip of his beer, and asked bluntly, “Are you two secretly dating or something?”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a cushion at him. “We’re married, you idiot.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers brushing yours as if to prove the point.

Seungcheol blinked. “No, I mean like... actually married. Emotionally. This is giving... romance vibes.”

Jeonghan only raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. You stayed quiet this time, eyes locked with your best friend's—because neither of you were ready to admit out loud that Seungcheol might be onto something.

Seungcheol groaned, dragging both hands down his face in exasperation. “God, I knew it! I freaking knew it.”

You blinked at him, amused. “Knew what?”

“That you two—” he gestured between you and Jeonghan like he was pointing out an obvious crime scene, “—have always had something. Even before all this marriage contract nonsense. The way you argued, the way you defended each other, the way you acted like you weren’t each other’s person when everyone could see you were.”

“I hoped I was wrong,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “Because if I’m right, that means I’ve been stuck in the middle of one long, slow-burn, emotionally constipated love story without getting any closure.”

Seungcheol had always known. Jeonghan never said it out loud, but it didn’t take a genius to see it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way his tone softened when your name was mentioned in a conversation, the way he’d show up unasked, unnoticed, always around when you needed him most. He didn’t flaunt it. He didn’t make grand gestures. But he had this quiet, steady way of being there, of making it clear he wasn’t just looking out for a friend—he was holding space in his heart for something more.

But you? You had your head buried in textbooks, deadlines, and responsibilities, chasing excellence like it was the only thing that mattered. Love was a luxury, not a priority. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until Seungcheol realized you were drifting onto the same ship Jeonghan had been sailing all along.

He called you that night, voice low and serious.

“I know you didn’t want to hurt him… or yourself,” Seungcheol said gently.

On the other end of the line, you hesitated. “I just…”

“I know, Y/n. Trust me. I always knew.”

Silence stretched between you like a string pulled too tight. Seungcheol could almost hear the thoughts racing in your head, the weight of things you’d buried deep finally making their way to the surface.

He sighed softly, his voice filled with something between sympathy and relief. “It finally hits you, right? That you like him. Not just as a friend.”

Still, you didn’t answer.

Then finally, in a voice so quiet it almost broke, you spoke.

“I… I don’t remember when it started, Cheol. But it just… happened.”

And Seungcheol smiled faintly, not because it was funny, but because after all this time, after all the dodged feelings and almost everything, you’d finally said what he always suspected.

“Yeah,” he said. “Love usually does.”

Jeonghan sighed beside you, slouched on the floor across from Seungcheol. He rubbed his face a little too roughly, the frustration clear in the way his fingers dragged down his cheeks.

“What do you want to hear, bro?” he muttered, voice low and exhausted—less from the conversation, more from everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

Seungcheol just shrugged, casual as ever, but his eyes were sharper than his tone. He gestured lazily between you and Jeonghan.

“You figured it out. You guys are adults anyway,” he said, pushing himself off the floor with a grunt. “Took you long enough.”

You glanced at Jeonghan, who stared at the floor with a small shake of his head, as if Seungcheol’s approval or commentary was the least of his concerns—but the pink tint rising to his ears said otherwise.

Seungcheol stretched his back and yawned dramatically. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed early. Got a long drive tomorrow and I really don’t want to get in the way of your honeymoon,” he said, the last word dripping with smug mischief.

He was halfway to his room before he turned back, poking his head around the doorframe with the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on his face.

“Oh—” he added, “just make sure to use a condom this time. You didn't last time at my place.”

Jeonghan froze. You stared. The silence in the room was deafening.

“Cheol!” you hissed, a pillow flying in his direction as he cackled and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jeonghan groaned, burying his face into the cushion beside him. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”

“Why is he so stupid?” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You both got vasectomies at my hospital. Together.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to wave away the sheer absurdity of the situation—not just the fact that Seungcheol blurted it out like it was nothing, but also that he knew you and Jeonghan had slept together and still had the audacity to tease you about it.

Jeonghan leaned his head back against the couch, sighing like the weight of his entire friendship with Seungcheol was too much to carry.

“That’s why I’m killing him,” he deadpanned, eyes closed as if he were mentally planning the most efficient method to end his best friend.

The laughter eventually faded, replaced by a quiet stillness between you and Jeonghan. The ocean outside whispered against the shore, and somewhere in the villa, Seungcheol had finally shut his door.

Jeonghan sat upright, arms resting on his knees, staring ahead without really seeing anything. You watched his profile, the way his jaw clenched slightly, the weight behind his silence.

Then he spoke, voice quieter than usual. “You know… I never really understood what line I wasn’t supposed to cross.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly. “With you. Us. I was your friend, right? That’s how it started. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start feeling something more, years ago. I just… I didn’t know if it was worth risking the friendship.”

Your heart thudded once, uneven and loud.

“I kept telling myself it was better to just be near you—helping you study, listening to you rant about your professors, showing up to your part-time jobs with coffee.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “It was enough. Or I convinced myself it was.”

You remained still, letting him talk.

“But every time someone came close to you, like seriously close, I’d get... weird.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Petty. Distant. Sometimes too obvious. And I hated it. I hated that part of me. Because I thought friends weren’t supposed to act like that.”

You lowered your eyes, your own emotions swirling quietly.

“When Seungcheol told me you’re about to get involved with the Kim family, something in me just snapped. I couldn’t sit back and watch someone else take you—not for business, not for love, not for anything. So I did something stupid. I played the same game.”

“The marriage,” you said softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I made it sound like business. And in some ways, maybe it still is. But I wasn’t honest—not with you, not with myself.”

There was another beat of silence before Jeonghan turned to look at you.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in it. “And I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything. But I needed you to know that this isn’t just about protecting you or your family’s name. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Jeonghan offered you a small, tired smile.

“I know it’s a lot. We’re already in something messy and complicated. I just... I’d rather you hear the truth from me now than keep pretending I’m okay with being just your business partner.”

The waves outside kept rolling. The tension sat between you, thick and alive. But there was also something else now—something raw, maybe even freeing. Truth always had a way of stirring still waters.

A few seconds passed in silence after Jeonghan’s quiet confession. You could feel the sincerity lingering in the air, like smoke after a fire—thick, lingering, and oddly comforting. The vulnerability in his voice had peeled back a layer you never knew he kept hidden so carefully.

You took a deep breath, eyes still on him, and then—“That’s hot.”

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “You being honest. It’s kinda hot.”

A slow, incredulous smile spread on his face as his brows lifted. “Wow. I bare my soul and you turn it into thirst content?”

You shrugged, the tension breaking into playful air. “I mean, what do you expect? You were emotionally constipated for years. Seeing you finally say what you feel? Sexy.”

Jeonghan groaned, leaning back against the couch like your words physically wounded him. “This is why I can never have serious moments with you.”

“And yet you married me,” you teased, scooting closer and nudging his knee with yours.

He glanced at you, something softer behind the usual amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

You held his gaze a moment longer, before reaching for a throw pillow and gently thwacking him with it. “For a business deal, that is.”

He caught the pillow mid-air and raised a brow. “Sure. Business.”

You leaned in and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Very professional of you, Mr. Yoon.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t tempt me to write that into the contract.”

You burst out laughing, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel complicated. It felt like the two of you again—just tangled in a bigger, messier story now. But at the center of it, still you and Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s smile lingered as he nudged your arm, softer this time. “Thanks for not running away.”

You looked at him, warmth blooming behind your ribcage. “Thanks for finally saying it.”

And outside, the waves rolled on under the Busan moonlight. Inside, the silence between you no longer felt heavy—but full of something new, something promising.

*

You approached your mother, who had come all the way to attend your graduation ceremony, her eyes soft with pride. Behind you, Jeonghan and Seungcheol followed respectfully, both dressed sharply for the occasion. As they reached her, the two of them bowed politely.

“There’s Jeonghan and Seungcheol too,” your mother noted with a warm smile, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “Thank you both for supporting Y/n all this time.”

She then turned to you and handed you a bouquet of fresh white lilies and pale pink roses, wrapped in delicate paper. You took them with a small laugh, grateful but slightly embarrassed.

After a few minutes filled with cheerful conversation, light teasing, and a dozen photos with your friends—who had helped you prep tirelessly for this big day—you hugged them goodbye, waving as they left in different directions.

Your mother and you eventually got into the car waiting by the curb. She slid in beside you in the backseat while the driver started the engine. As the campus slowly disappeared behind the tinted windows, she looked over at you, pride still glimmering in her eyes.

“They’re wonderful friends, aren’t they?” she mused aloud. “They’ve been with you since junior high, right?”

You smiled at the thought. “Yeah. Unlike our parents, we weren’t friends for business.” There was a playful sarcasm in your voice, but the humor was clear.

Your mother chuckled, then gave you a sideways glance. “Never caught feelings for one of them?”

Her question made you pause. The teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable, and she raised a knowing brow when you didn’t respond right away.

“Gotcha!” she said, triumphant.

You groaned. “Not that again! You say this every time you see them. They’re just my friends. There’s a reason we’re still friends after all these years.”

“Alright, alright,” she conceded, holding up her hands with a smirk. “So, I guess Seungcheol’s not your type…”

You wrinkled your nose dramatically. “Ugh, no way!”

She nodded slowly, her grin widening. “So it’s Jeonghan, then.”

“Mom!”

“I see you’re not denying it.”

“Moooom!”

She laughed out loud this time, satisfied with her small victory, while you buried your heated face in the bouquet, wishing you could disappear into the flowers.

*

Seungcheol sat quietly on the couch, the floral scent of rosella tea wafting up with the steam. He sipped it slowly, savoring both the warmth and the familiarity—it was always rosella at your house. Your mother insisted it was the healthiest tea, even if its tartness took getting used to.

“Thanks for taking care of Y/n, Seungcheol,” your mother said as she settled into the armchair across from him. Her voice was calm, laced with something deeper—something quieter than gratitude. “She’s such a handful sometimes.”

Seungcheol chuckled, setting his cup down gently on the saucer. “She’s like a sister to me,” he replied, smiling. “Loud, brilliant, too stubborn for her own good.”

Your mother’s laugh was soft, almost distant. “She gets that from me.”

There was a pause. Not heavy, but deliberate. She leaned back, fingers gently tracing the rim of her own teacup. Her eyes drifted to the window, watching the curtain sway in the light breeze before she spoke again.

“Seungcheol… I haven’t told her yet,” she said quietly. “And I don’t plan to until it’s time.”

He looked up slowly, his expression tightening just a little.

“I’ve been sick,” she said, her eyes finally meeting his. “The kind that doesn’t really go away.”

He didn’t know what to say. His throat caught on something—shock, sorrow, helplessness. The words hovered but didn’t land.

She offered him a small smile, like a mother comforting someone else's child. “Don’t look so heartbroken. I’ve had a good life, Cheol. And she’s strong. Smarter than I ever was.”

“But she needs you,” he whispered, unable to mask the weight in his voice.

“She’ll have you. And Jeonghan. And everything I didn’t know how to give her before.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

Her smile deepened—not joyful, but full of trust. “I know you will.”

Your mother took a long sip of her tea, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain as if bracing herself for the truth she was about to voice.

“I knew about my husband's affair,” she said, quietly but firmly. “For years. It was a doctor from the Busan branch. He thought I’d never find out.”

Seungcheol looked at her, surprised but respectful, his silence giving her the space to speak.

“I let it go. Not for him, but for Y/n. I stayed to protect what was mine—what should be hers. But now that I’m sick… I’m afraid the board might push the hospital into his hands once I’m gone.”

She set her cup down gently and folded her hands over her lap. “I want the hospital for Y/n. But she’s definitely not eligible to claim it on her own. Not now.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, slowly understanding where the conversation was going. “She needs an affiliate,” he said.

Your mother nodded solemnly. “She needs to be married. Someone with influence. With a name that can counterbalance her father’s power. And I don’t have anyone in mind other than you or Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol’s jaw twitched slightly, processing her words. “You might see how much I care for her,” he said carefully, “but I promise you—I’ve never seen her in that way. She’s family to me.”

“I know, son,” she said, giving him a soft, grateful look. “And that’s exactly why I trust you. But she’ll need more than love. She’ll need power.”

He stared into his half-empty cup, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Then… the Yoon family is the answer,” he said at last.

Your mother exhaled, as if she had been waiting for him to say it himself.

“Y/n likes Jeonghan,” she blurted, almost too casually.

Seungcheol’s brows lifted, but not with real surprise. He leaned back slightly and let out a quiet scoff, remembering the moment it all became clear. “She told you?” he asked.

Your mother gave a knowing smile.

He smirked faintly, but there was no humor in his eyes—only memory. It was during junior year. You dragged him to the beach after midnight. Said you were celebrating exam week being over. But you had a bottle of cheap soju in your hand, and all you did was cry about how happy Jeonghan seemed with his new girlfriend. Then you said it felt stupid, but every time you saw Jeonghan smiled at someone else, it burned.

He paused, looking down at the tea again.

“She loved him then. Maybe earlier. But she buried it.”

Your mother’s voice softened. “That’s what she does. She tucks things away so deep even she forgets they’re there.”

And in the quiet that followed, with the scent of rosella still lingering and the sun just beginning to sink behind the window, Seungcheol made another silent vow—one that felt heavier than the first.

Years later, Seungcheol smiled from his seat in the front row of the auditorium, dressed in a navy suit that hadn’t changed much from his usual styles—still a little snug at the shoulders. But his eyes? They were glassier now, a mixture of pride and nostalgia pooling in them as he watched you take the podium.

It was the ceremony announcing your appointment as the hospital’s new director. Your mother’s legacy, polished by your perseverance and finally, officially, placed in your hands. You stood tall in a crisp white blazer, your hair swept neatly to the side, your presence commanding. Yet there was a softness to your smile as you glanced at the crowd—at your people. At your family. Your voice rang with the clarity of someone who had long prepared for this day. There wasn’t a stammer, not even when you thanked those who believed in you “when I hadn’t even believed in myself yet.” You looked at Seungcheol, and he simply nodded once, as if to say I told you so.

Beside him, Jeonghan shifted slightly, cradling your firstborn daughter, Sera, against his chest. Her tiny head of dark curls peeked out beneath a miniature headband, her chubby arms reaching forward to grasp the first thing within reach—Seungcheol’s pinky finger. And once she had it, she refused to let go.

“She’s got your grip,” Seungcheol murmured to Jeonghan with a teasing grin, but didn’t try to pull away.

“She’s stubborn,” Jeonghan replied with a proud chuckle, rocking Sera gently in his arms. “Just like her mom.”

Sera gurgled at that, kicking slightly as if she agreed.

The room erupted into applause as you finished your speech, bowing graciously before stepping down. Your eyes scanned the audience once more—first finding Seungcheol, who gave you the softest, proudest smile, then falling on Jeonghan and the little girl in his arms.

You made your way to them slowly, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, until finally you reached them. Sera squealed when she saw you, arms flailing until Jeonghan helped her lean toward you.

“She didn’t let go of my finger the whole time,” Seungcheol said as he gently passed her into your embrace.

You kissed her round cheek and whispered, “She knows her people.”

Jeonghan smiled at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So does her mom.”

"Do you have a plan after this, Uncle Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice high and teasing as you leaned slightly toward him, still bouncing Sera gently in your arms.

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

You cleared your throat, scrunched your nose a little, then wiggled Sera’s tiny hand like a puppet and baby-talked, "Wanna babysit me~?"

Jeonghan nearly choked on his laughter beside him, covering his mouth as he leaned forward.

Seungcheol stared at the two of you—the smugness on your face and the completely unaware baby now drooling on your shoulder—and groaned dramatically. “Oh no. Not this again.”

“You said you were free,” you chimed sweetly.

“I said I was free for lunch, not free for life,” Seungcheol shot back, though he was already holding out his arms.

Sera squealed the moment he reached for her, latching onto his shirt like a koala. You smirked, triumphant.

Jeonghan patted Seungcheol’s back with mock sympathy. “Congrats on your promotion to part-time nanny.”

“I’m going to file for emotional compensation,” Seungcheol muttered, but he was already swaying gently with Sera in his arms, smiling despite himself.

And just like that, with the hospital behind you and your family by your side, the next chapter didn’t feel so daunting after all.

*

Later that afternoon, with the ceremony wrapped up and congratulations exchanged, you finally found a moment to breathe. Seungcheol had taken Sera to the garden with his girlfriend, Hana, who had instinctively stepped into a rhythm with Sera as if she'd known your daughter forever. You caught a glimpse of the three of them through the large glass windows—Seungcheol holding Sera up high while Hana clapped from the side. Your baby’s laughter echoed faintly through the hallway, and it melted your heart.

“Should we feel guilty?” you asked, sipping from a paper cup of iced coffee as you leaned against the railing of the hospital rooftop.

Jeonghan looked over at you, hair tousled a little by the wind, one hand in his pocket and the other holding your half-eaten sandwich. “For what? Letting Uncle Cheol discover his true purpose in life?”

You snorted, nudging his elbow. “I meant for sneaking off like this.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “We don’t get many days like this, Y/n. You deserve a moment.”

You let the silence stretch, comfortable and easy. The city buzzed beneath you, the familiar hum of Busan wrapping around the rooftop like a lullaby. You felt his fingers brush against yours, subtle and warm, before he laced them gently together.

“I still remember when we couldn’t even hold hands without making it weird,” you murmured.

Jeonghan tilted his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “You mean when you pretended that sitting on my lap during beach bonfires was totally platonic?”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “That was for warmth! The wind was freezing!”

He pulled you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sure. Just like how marrying me was only for business.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your smile lingering. “Well, if this is business, I guess I signed the best contract of my life.”

Down below, Seungcheol was now lying dramatically on the grass while Sera bounced on his chest, and Hana took a photo with an amused grin. You and Jeonghan watched them in fond silence.

“Do you think we’ll get to do this forever?” you asked softly.

Jeonghan looked at you with eyes that held all the answers. “With you? I hope we never stop.”

Jeonghan picked you up from your office the next day right on time, leaning against the side of his car with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, looking like he stepped out of a magazine but still very much your husband. The sun was dipping low, casting gold along the pavement as you walked toward him, your steps finally relaxing after a long day.

“Where’s Sera?” you asked as you slid into the passenger seat, slipping off your heels with a sigh of relief.

“With my mom. She’s already winning them over with her toddler charm,” he replied with a smile as he started the engine. “So tonight, we get a few hours of just us.”

You glanced at him, curious. “What’s the plan?”

Jeonghan shot you a boyish grin as he turned the wheel. “I planned a dinner. Three-star Michelin. Like your favorite.”

You blinked, eyebrows rising. “Wait, seriously? You got us a reservation there?”

He chuckled. “I pulled a few strings. Remind me to thank Seungkwan later for calling in a favor.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness, and you reached over to gently rest your hand on his arm. “You didn’t have to go all out. A street cart and you beside me would’ve been enough.”

“I know,” he said, glancing over at you with that soft, slow smile that still made your stomach flip. “But you’ve had a hell of a year. You deserve more than enough.”

Your throat tightened a little at that. Sometimes, Jeonghan’s words slipped past your defenses so easily.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” you murmured.

“At what?”

“At making me fall for you all over again.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh as he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. “Good. Because I plan to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.”

As the car glided through the streets lit by soft city lights, Jeonghan kept your hand in his, occasionally stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, lips tugging into a smug little smile.

“You’re staring,” you teased, turning slightly in your seat to face him.

He didn’t even flinch. “Of course I am. My wife’s glowing after bossing an entire hospital today.”

You laughed, leaning your head on the headrest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He squeezed your hand. “Ridiculously in love.”

You groaned at the cheesiness, but your cheeks warmed. “You sound like Seungcheol’s girlfriend when she drinks too much wine.”

“Then I’m in good company,” he said, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss.

The restaurant was everything he promised—romantic, elegant, but still private enough that you felt like it was just the two of you in the world. He helped you with your chair, ordered your favorite dish before you even had to say it, and poured your wine with a flourish like he was auditioning for a drama.

“You’ve really upgraded your husband skills,” you commented, swirling your glass.

Jeonghan winked. “Sera’s been giving me performance reviews. Apparently, I’m doing well.”

You leaned closer over the table, whispering like it was a secret, “You know… if you keep this up, I might just fall harder.”

He mirrored your lean, eyes warm and playful. “That’s the plan. Every day, a little more.”

The rest of the night passed with soft laughs, clinking glasses, shared dessert bites, and the kind of conversation that felt like soul food—filled with dreams, memories, and plans you both had yet to chase.

Later, as you stood by the elevator in your apartment building, he quietly laced his fingers with yours again.

“Want to dance with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Right now?” you blinked.

“Yeah. No music. Just us.”

You laughed, but you let him pull you into his arms anyway. There, under dim hallway lights, Jeonghan swayed with you—no rhythm, no reason, just warmth and love. You let your head fall to his shoulder, giggling as he twirled you softly like you were in a ballroom instead of outside your apartment door.

“I think I’m the luckiest,” you mumbled.

He kissed your temple and whispered back, “No. I am.”

And in that quiet, almost ordinary moment, you knew—this was the kind of love that would last lifetimes.

*

Such nights were a rarity, a treasure tucked away in the chaos of everyday life, when exhaustion didn't weigh you both down, and the demands of parenting didn't siphon the last drops of your energy. Jeonghan was poised above you, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast against the cool sheets. He drew back from a lingering kiss, his breaths mingling with yours in the dimly lit room. As he entered you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a moan slipped past your lips, a symphony to his ears that matched the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above. His hips moved with a precision that spoke of intimate knowledge, hitting that perfect cadence that sent shivers spiraling through your body and left your eyes fluttering in bliss. God, how he adored that expression on your face.

“You like it, huh?” he murmured softly, his voice a low, tantalizing whisper as he thrust a little more forcefully, igniting a spark of raw pleasure that danced between you both. His primal instincts stirred, driven wild by the sound of you crying out his name and the intoxicating sensation of your body responding to his. It was a heady mix of addiction and ecstasy, a dangerous concoction that he craved.

“Jeonghan...” you gasped, a desperate plea as he found that elusive sweet spot within you, the one that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“Hm... What is it, baby? You want me there?” he teased, his voice laced with playful mischief, as he deliberately shifted his angle, leaving you yearning, aching for that precise touch once more.

“Please... Jeonghan...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper, drenched in longing and desire.

He grinned, the kind of devilish, all-too-pretty smile that should have been illegal on such a cherubic face, and pushed your knees wider with his hands. “God, I love you,” he whispered, almost reverent, then buried himself in the rhythm, driving you both toward that singular, shattering point of bliss.

You lost all sense of time or consequence, the room collapsing around the epicenter of your bodies, the tangled sheets and half-open blinds dimly visible through haze. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, blunt nails leaving marks you’d find the next morning. He was unhurried but relentless, the slow, deep surges building in intensity until you could barely remember your own name, let alone worry about the prospect of Seungcheol’s inevitable wrath.

At the moment you broke, shuddering and stifling a cry against the pale slope of his neck, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you so tightly you were sure you would shatter, right there, under the weight of him and the enormity of what you felt. The world righted itself only after, in the lull where your ragged breaths mingled, and you realized you were delicately cradled, as if he could keep you together with gentle hands alone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content to let limbs remain tangled, hearts thundering in asynchronous duet.

Jeonghan was the first to move. He propped himself on one elbow, brushing the hair from your damp forehead, his eyes still swimming in the afterglow. “Are you alive?” he asked, and the laugh that escaped you was small, shaky, but sincere.

“I think so,” you managed, voice thick. “I might need CPR.”

“Please. You always say that,” he teased, rolling onto his side and pressing kisses to your collarbone, the line of your jaw, the tip of your nose.

It was somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whispered “I love you” when the soft cry of your daughter filtered through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

You both froze.

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Why is our daughter’s timing so impeccable?”

You giggled, brushing the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “She’s your daughter. Born to be dramatic.”

He sighed, rolling off you gently and grabbing a shirt from the edge of the bed. “I’ll go. You rest.”

You watched him pull the shirt over his head, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow over the stretch of his back. He still moved like a sleepy prince—even when interrupted mid-magic.

“Tell her she owes us twenty more minutes when she’s a teenager.”

He chuckled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll invoice her.”

You lay back on the pillows, heart still thudding from both the intimacy and the sudden interruption. Through the monitor, you heard the door to Sera’s room creak open, followed by Jeonghan’s soft, sleepy voice.

“Hey, princess... what’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny sobs grew quieter, replaced by hiccups and his quiet hums—probably the lullaby he made up that never made sense but always calmed her down.

You smiled to yourself, listening to their voices mingle. It wasn’t the ending you had planned for the night, but somehow, it felt even better. Because this was your life now—love, laughter, messy timing, and a little girl who stole both your hearts.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked again. Jeonghan tiptoed in, climbing back under the covers.

“She just wanted a cuddle,” he whispered, slipping his arms around you. “Guess she’s like her mom.”

You chuckled against his chest. “Did you just call me clingy?”

“I said cuddle-loving.” He kissed the top of your head. “But yes.”

You swatted his chest lightly. “I was about to give you the best night of your life.”

He grinned, already pulling you closer. “We’ve got a lifetime of nights. But for now... I’ll take cuddling both my girls.”

And just like that, tangled together in the quiet, you drifted into sleep—interrupted, imperfect, but full of love.

The end.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Nsfw scenarios/hcs for the LADS boys with their MC in ABO!AU (Idl if I wrote this right 😅) please? Like how they marked their mates, how they treated their mates during the rut and heat, etc.

+ Omegaverse, sexual content, alpha boys/omega reader, female reader

General

9/10 possessiveness level

Xavier is the most possessive of the main boys and gets jealous the easiest. He may seem calm about other alphas standing a little too close or talking a little too long to his mate, but the tension in the air is thick and unpleasant. There's a specific eery calmness to his face and falsely polite tone to his voice when he happens to cut into the conversation. He always wants to know the topic of conversation when you talk to anyone who has his suspicion. Xavier suddenly gets a little needier than usual, always trying to figure out a way to draw your attention back to himself. Or, purposely sliding an arm around your waist and holding you close in a silent hint that whoever is talking to you should back off, or he will drop his head against your shoulder, saying he’s tired, and asking you to hurry up so you can go home together,  he emphasizes. His last resort isn't pretty. 

While calm, he has a little of a competitive streak with others, whether that means scoring higher in your hunter team battles or building the largest snowman together. He is competitive for your attention against those he thinks are interested in you; and when he has you alone, he insists on scenting you or mating you. You better be prepared to hide large bite marks or hickeys by the time he’s done claiming you.

Protective Level: 6/10

Xavier has no problem with you running about your daily life. He has confidence that you’re strong and don’t necessarily need much protection. He only insists on coming with for two things: (one) if he’s jealous of the person you’re meeting or (two) if you’re going somewhere to fight on your own.

As long as he’s around, he’s confident that things will work out fine. However, he gets extremely protective when you’re hurt, asking for you to stay behind him, rushing ahead to be the vanguard, and trying to take on the brunt of everything himself. And if you get hurt being rash, prepare for him to be upset with you and insist that you allow him to protect you more.

Scenting

Scent: Fresh Linen

Xavier smells good, but there isn’t something to pinpoint about his scent that is unique to him. Simply put, he smells clean, like freshly dried laundry with a touch of lavender.

Xavier loves covering you in his scent, cuddling and sleeping with you until you’re no longer entirely sure what your scent smells like not mixed with his. He scents your things, like your plushies, before you even need to ask. 

He likes to tease you, asking if you want him to scent his hoodies even more since you take them so much, and he’s always happy to oblige. His first instinct to calm you down consists of three options: scenting, cuddles, and food, in that order.

Mating

Xavier already likes to mate with his partner a lot, like a constant rut minus the attitude that comes with it; always wrapping his arms around you, nudging the back of your neck, and lightly coercing the situation to where he wants it to end up whenever the opportunity shows itself.

In a rut, he’s twice as easy to rile up and much more direct about wanting to be alone with you, wanting to hold you and shove his head into the divot of your neck, and audibly inhaling your scent. You can already feel him against you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t waste his time trying to play games with you during this time, choosing to show you exactly how much he wants you before taking charge. You’re burnt out by his energy when you’re used to him napping right after a round or two. This time he isn’t letting up, but he promises that he’ll treat you so well, promises that he’ll get you there twice in exchange for letting him have one more time, as if you're aren't already overstimulated with jellied legs.

He asks if you're already tired. He'll let you sleep but can he at least squeeze and kiss you while he uses his hand. He promises to clean his mess if it gets on you. He'll be good, he swears, and he's so puppy eyed that you let him.

When he finally is tired, he’ll fall asleep while inside you. His knot stopped swelling a long time ago, but he enjoys your warmth around him as he nuzzles the back of your head.

Xavier does his best to tend to his mate when they’re in heat. He’ll get warm compresses and try his best to cook for you (most likely failing) and offer to nap with you when you’re in pain. He’ll let you use him how you want as long as it makes you feel better, whether that’s using his hands, mouth, or knotting you.

There’s a small bit of worry from him, with the way he asks,

“Where do you need it?” “Like this?” “Are you sure you only want my fingers? It’s okay to ask for more.” “Open your legs wider. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It's only me." "Next time, I'll let you take care of me, deal?

You’re so cute like this, needing and wanting him, but he hates how it causes you pain.

General

3/10 possessiveness level

Rafayel tends to have confidence that he can have you before anyone else, trusting your judgment to take care of yourself. He also has pretty high esteem of himself when it comes to the social world. A few properly chosen words is usually enough to get any seducer to back off. Rafayel can’t believe someone else could possibly think they’d have a chance with you when you have him.

As repentance, he wants you to do things for him after little incidents like that. It’s so exhausting chasing lesser alphas off, after all. Whether he’s serious or not when he says he could use some affection after his omega so cruelly ignored him for another alpha remains to be determined.

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous. 

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.

[viperify]

AU | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⁺ ⚕₊ In His Fangs.

Short Summary: Curiosity killed the cat. Yet, you don’t really believe Tom Riddle is dead. Not when rumours spread he has returned as a vampire to claim the immortality he has always sought for…

Warnings: 18+ only! NONCON. blood kink, biting, branding, choking, creampie, clit play, degradation, forced orgasm, hair pulling, impact play, overstimulation, rough sex, slight cum play

A/N: I am scared of myself.

wordcount: 2,9k

Mind the warnings before reading. If you are not comfortable, feel free to scroll. <3

Curiosity killed the cat—or so they say.

Rumours caught your attention. Rumours that Tom Riddle—believed to be dead—had sacrificed everything to gain immortality, returning as a vampire.

People didn’t believe it. Nobody did. They were rumours after all, rumours someone spread deliberately—with the intention to scare the general public.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort—he was dead. Killed by the Ministry right before he could create his third Horcrux. Students, teachers, some of his followers—they all witnessed his death.

He would never return.

Never.

Right?

You tried to believe it.

For so long, you tried to forget the conversation you overheard in the Three Broomsticks. Just a drunk old man blabbering about an attack on his livestock—unusual really. The animal wasn’t killed for its flesh. But its body was completely drained of blood. Various detection spells showed no results, diagnostics failed. Until some old, wise witch found something—a vampire’s bite, hidden under dark, dark magic.

That’s how it all started.

And it fit too—the timeline was perfect. Weeks after Tom’s supposed death. Just a mere month after, more and more animals were killed in the exact same way, the bite always hidden by dark magic so it would be insanely difficult to discover and place. But never humans—no single human died. Which, in the end, calmed the public down. Rumours steadily disappearing from people’s conversations at the bar. Just another vampire, passing by the Scottish Highlands—feeding on animals—after all, feeding on humans, let alone killing them, was strictly forbidden by the Ministry.

But you felt it. There was more behind the story. Something that made you shudder each time you only looked in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

And yet, you felt a strange pull towards it.

—

You have been restless for days. Total lunar eclipse, they say—better known as blood moon.

You can’t sleep. Can’t rest, can’t nap. The closer to a full moon, the worse it gets. To the point where you decide to go for a walk in the evening, to take your mind off things.

Originally, you didn’t intend to go into the forest, not really. But then, when you see a rare potion ingredient right at the edges of the woods—you rethink. After a brief moment of hesitation, you decide to collect it, putting it in a tote bag you have brought with you. As you look back up, you see it.

There are more, scattered around just a little further away—

Just a little deeper in the forest—

At some point, your bag is full. Potion ingredients that are so rare, if you sold your bag, you could probably afford a home for yourself.

You must have gotten really, really lucky, you think.

It’s getting darker and darker, the sun disappearing behind the horizon. You shudder when a chilly breeze brushes past you and finally decide to leave the forest.

Looking around you, you try to find the exit. This tree, that rock—you don’t exactly remember where you came from. But it couldn’t be that far.

Right?

You decide to turn around and just walk in a straight line, figuring that would be the fastest way to find the exit of the Forbidden Forest.

However, after 15 minutes of walking, you return to the same spot you left off at. There was no way you walked in a circle, but yet here you were—exactly where you started.

You try again.

Same outcome.

Your heartbeat races—you want to leave. It’s dark by now, and mindlessly wandering through the forest at night time, during a full moon, when there are possibly still vampires around—is not something you are keen on doing.

You shriek at a sudden movement, a soft crack of a branch somewhere behind you—but when you turn—there is nothing.

Then, a low growl to your left—

And your legs react faster than your brain. By the time you reach a small bush, somewhere to hide under, you are completely out of breath.

You listen intently for any strange sounds, try to control your breathing—when you see it.

A small hut, not far away.

Looking left and right, you slowly make your way towards the wooden structure, entering in one swift movement, closing the door behind you. For a moment you let yourself rest against the wall, inhaling deeply. It’s quite cold in here, the scent of mossy wood flooding your senses, the rough wood scraping against your arms. But it’s silent. Calm. Dark. And for the first time since you entered the forest—

Safety.

Or so you think.

“You came for me. I knew you would. Stupid, stupid girl.”

Your heart skips a beat, head turning in the direction of an all-too-familiar voice—

It’s too dark to make out more than a faint outline of the person next to you—besides their scarlet eyes directly burning down into yours.

His voice, his eyes, his height.

Tom Riddle. Now, a vampire.

One hand firmly wraps around your throat before you can even think about running, pushing you up against the wooden panelling. Squeezing tightly enough you can barely fucking breathe.

“Let— me go!” You rasp, the last bit of air left in your lungs wasted on words you know will do nothing to help your situation. Oh, no—not until he’s gotten what he’s wanted. What he has been after ever since he turned. Your blood. Only yours. Animals, in the meanwhile, merely acting as a substitution—he wanted you.

“Too late.” He says, fingers pressing down even harder on the side of your throat. “I have always thought you were a smart girl, but clearly I am mistaken. Falling for a trap this obvious.”

The last few words fade into a blur, your brain too deprived of oxygen to function. Just as your vision goes black at the edges, his hand leaves your throat. Without him firmly pressing you against the wall, your knees give in, having you drop to the floor, gasping for air.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover—instantly bending down, grabbing a fistful of your hair just to forcefully yank your head backwards. Forcing you to look into his eyes again.

“So the rumours are true,” you whisper, trying to back up—but his grip is too strong. “It was you all along.”

He merely grants you a nod. “It was the only way. I wanted to avenge myself—wanted to find the someone whose fault this all is.”

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you—a brief flash behind his eyes—almost predatory.

Your breath catches in your throat. Fuck.

“Quite curious, isn’t it? The very person that found out about my plans, getting me murdered in consequence—is the one’s blood I crave most.”

And then he smirks, subtle but dangerous. The red moon, now at its highest on the pitch-black horizon, casts a shadow on his sharp features through the window.

“Tom, I didn’t—“

His palm comes down on your cheek. Hard.

“If you want to live, you should act accordingly. No more lies. You will obey my every command. And I might just let you leave afterwards.” He says, thumb softly wiping over where he struck you. “If you are a very, very good girl, that is.”

You swallow. He set up a trap, and you walked into it, thanking him even. Served yourself on a silver plate. You curse yourself for it.

Tears well up in your eyes. “I will do anything you ask. Please just don’t— kill me.”

His eyes glow at your response. Just how he’s wanted you. Pliant. Obedient. Helpless.

He’d taken in your unique scent from miles away. He’d felt the racing heartbeat in your chest—pumping your sweet, sweet blood through your body as you panicked while looking for an exit. Tom merely had to wait for sunset to get to you then.

Back at Hogwarts he secretly admired you for your intelligence—though you were never smarter than him, not even now.

“Anything, you say?” He purrs, pulling you to your feet by your hair, so you are mere inches from his face. He still looks the same as he did in school. This beautiful, dark hair, sharp jawline, perfect height. You nod, carefully.

“Strip.”

His voice is rough, demanding—not giving you any space or option to complain. You can’t say no, and you know it. You try to keep your breathing steady—however, when you feel his gaze dropping, hand coming to rest on your neck, thumb deliberately caressing along your most prominent neck vein—you can’t help but inhale sharply, followed by a shaky whimper.

“We are alone in this forest, just you and me.” He drawls, pressing down on your pulse point, brows furrowing as he feels your heightened heartbeat under his finger. You are warm. So deliciously warm, he thinks.

His hot breath ghosts over your cheek as he leans in closer—dangerously close. Uncomfortably close. “I could drain you right here. And nobody would notice.”

That’s it. Any sane thoughts are ripped from your mind, and you start sobbing.

“Shhh.” He soothes, a condescending grin decorating his face, the rough pad of his thumb wiping a freshly spilled tear from your cheek. “I am not going to hurt you. Not more than necessary.”

You nod again, wiping a tear from your face.

“Now do as I said. When you are done, bend over the table.”

With a flick of his fingers a few candles light up, illuminating your body as you undress piece by piece. All while he watches you intently, hungry eyes roaming over your bare skin.

You take a deep breath before you turn around, bending over said table in the middle of the small room, the rough edge digging into your hip bones.

The sound of his clothes dropping to the floor is the only thing that breaks the silence between the both you, and a mere minute later, he’s behind you. Cock pressing against your thigh, hard and heavy—a bead of precum leaking from the tip. But he waits, lingers there—thumb trailing along your spine—hand coming to a rest on your hip before two of his fingers push inside, working you open for him. You gasp at the feeling—hips meeting his thrusts.

Tom instantly halts inside of you, other hand smacking your ass so hard it must tingle on his own skin.

“This is supposed to be a punishment. Yet here you are, bucking your hips like a whore. Stop that.”

His words sting. But he isn’t wrong—not entirely. As messed up as the situation is, you can’t help but whimper at his touch—how he already knows every single spot that makes you whine and moan. You hate him, you really do—but Merlin— there is something about him like this that makes heat pool in your lower stomach—and as much as you want to deny it, you can’t.

And he notices, of course he does. Quickly withdrawing his fingers, turning you around and helping you up on the table, immediately pushing you down on it. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself before he swipes through your soaked folds once, twice, maybe three times—groaning as your arousal coats the head of his cock—and then he pushes inside. Not slowly. Not carefully. No time to adjust. No stopping—never stopping. Until he is fully hilted inside you.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream—the stretch close to unbearable—but he doesn’t grant you much time to think about it. One second later he’s already moving, hips snapping against yours—so hard it has your body moving up the table, and he has to pull you back down.

And then, with one swift movement, his head dips, breath hot against your skin before his tongue laps over your pulse point. Slowly, teasingly, until your breathing slows—and then, without further warning, his fangs sink deep into the flesh of your exposed neck. Blood wells from the wound, dripping down your chest, drying on your skin.

The pain is sharp, blinding—you want to scream, cry—but the sound gets caught in your throat. It’s not until a few seconds later that the sting eases—replaced by something almost pleasurable—something that eases the burning ache between your legs. Suddenly you feel the heat of his bite coursing through you—and what it’s doing to you is on the verge of embarrassing. It makes you want him—want him like you have never wanted anyone else before.

“Already loosening up for me. All it takes is a bite.” He drawls against your skin, crimson staining his lips. His grip on your waist tightens, preventing you from moving up the surface of the table as he thrusts harder, deeper.

You breathe shakily as he continues feeding on you, all while mercilessly pushing into you—hitting all the right spots, too. It’s all too much. His bite, the blood loss, the way he splits you apart so perfectly. Soft whimpers spill over your lips as your mind grows hazy—maybe from his fangs sunken deep in your neck, though more likely from your quickly building orgasm.

You don’t want to give it to him. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But he knows, he knows what you are capable of—what he makes you feel. What he will make you feel.

Tom continues feeding until he’s satisfied, groaning, sighing against your neck—continues draining you until you are on the verge of passing out.

You are so, so close. So close to shattering around him. You shake your head no, tears welling up as he meets your eyes, feeling your walls flutter around him.

And he—merely grins.

“So close, aren’t you? Trying to keep it from me, I see. But that’s not how we play, sweetheart.”

His hand travels down your body, thumb finding your swollen, aching clit. Rubbing tight, delicious circles until your hips buck and tears stream freely down your cheeks. Until your voice is hoarse from whining and moaning. Until you can’t hold it anymore, and you finally, finally let go around him. His hand wraps around your throat as your walls clamp down tightly around him, as your mind is stripped of the last bits of sanity you had left. Thighs trembling violently around him as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. And you can do nothing but take it.

“Fuck— squeezing me like a vice. Going to ruin you. Ruin you for everyone else.”

And with that, his hips stutter against yours, a low groan falling over his lips as he thrusts all the way in, brushing against your cervix one last time before he spills deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release. But he isn’t done—doesn’t stop thrusting, forcing his cum deeper, not until you are whining in overstimulation.

“Please, no more, Tom— can’t take it.” You whimper, hand closing around his wrist.

“Oh, but you can, and will. You will take it until I am satisfied, and you aren’t leaving a second earlier.”

He keeps going until you are limp beneath him, so full of him you’ll be dripping for days to come. Keeps going until he is satisfied, until he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from your body.

Because after all, you agreed to it.

Anything, you said. Anything so he would let you live.

Anything.

Right?

Only when your sobs fade, exhaustion taking over, does he pull out, slowly, making you feel every inch of him.

He helps you up then, hands now carrying a subtle gentleness to them. Tom holds your head in place as he inspects your wounds, kisses your tears away. His eyes too have softened, the once scarlet red irises now a darker shade of red, almost brown.

“You did well. Took me like a good girl until the end. I reckon you have earned your life.”

He’s used you. Fed on you. Nearly broken you. Bitten you in a way you’d stay pliant for him.

You dress yourself. Still sobbing, fresh tears staining your cheeks. You don’t look back as you walk to the door to leave.

But before you get to do so, a hiss slips out instead—a sudden, burning pain radiating from right under your collarbone.

Looking down, you see three bright red letters appearing on your skin, drops of blood spilling from them.

T M R

“What the—“ you gasp, softly wiping the blood away before you look back up, meeting Tom’s expression—closed, with a hint of pride. He takes a step closer, gaze fixated on his work on your skin.

“Means you are mine.” He explains, reaching out to wipe over the letters, earning a sharp hiss from you.

“Means I will find you. Anywhere. In every last secluded part of this world, I will always find you. Because you are now bound to me. Bound by blood. You are mine, until death does us part.”

Horror washes over you at the realization.

“And I am certain a smart girl like you knows— a vampire lives forever.”

part two.

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | AUs.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

a huge thank you to my sweet girl @juliet-017 for listening to me yap and complain about this fic - just for me to come up with a whole new plot anyway.

[jigglyjeon]

stuck -> jjk

summary: you get stuck in a tree trunk when an unsuspecting predator stumbles across you. oh no!

pairing: mountain lion!jk x raccoon!fem reader

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: hybrid au, smut

word count: 2.8k

warnings/tags: slightish dub con, cunnilingus, predator/prey, creampie, mating, knotting, overstimulation

notes: i wasn't going to reupload any of my old fics but i edited this one and thought why tf not lmao! while we wait for my angsty love sick jk roommate au? who said that

⋆ ࣪.  masterlist  ˖ ࣪⭑

As a wild hybrid, you’re lucky enough to have an owner that lives nearby the forests in a little cottage; it’s a quiet life, but it’s fulfilling for you and your needs as a raccoon. You had many brothers and sisters living with you that Yoongi had adopted over the years, but you were the first of many and the only raccoon too.

During the day he went out into the town for work, bringing home food for him as well as all his hybrid pets. You would grow bored, to say the least, and as a distraction you would venture into the forest to play, usually alone, since nobody really liked to do the things that you did. Needless to say, hiding in rocks, crevices and dens wasn’t very fun as an activity to them, you could see in hindsight how that would be a drag for those who weren’t like you.

You had always been the odd one in that sense. To you, though, you’d bounce around the forest happily searching for the perfect place to nestle yourself into. One time, you even tried playing hide and seek with the cat, Jimin, but he had given up after ten minutes of not being able to find you; it was fine in the end because you had gotten so comfortable that you had ended up taking a nap there anyway.

Today, you had stumbled across the ultimate jackpot. A lone, hollow tree trunk laying sideways, practically inviting you into the long, dark tunnel. Your eyes lit up, the small smile on your lips only growing in eagerness. You don’t waste any more time, you drop onto your hands and knees and lowered your position, squeezing your figure through the small space. You hum as you crawl slowly into the trunk, your excitement ultimately overshadowing the truth of the matter— you were much too big to fit all the way inside. Sometimes you forget you’re a hybrid, and that your human body was significantly larger than your average run of the mill raccoon.

As Yoongi always said— you’re lucky you’re beautiful.

In all your unawares, there’s a pair of eyes following you from a distance. One of your natural predators was hiding above you on a ledge, discreetly peering down at you— curious. He watches you with a cocked brow, a sense of what he can only describe as pity as you walk yourself into a pretty much self-made trap. If he were a hybrid hunter, you would be making his job far too easy. His upper lip curls up at the thought. How tragic.

You were only lucky that Jungkook wasn’t anyone like that. In fact, he was quite the opposite – he’s even strayed from his neck of the woods where all the other mountain lions lived because he didn’t like the idea of hunting other animals. Jungkook had decided at a very young age that he wasn’t going to be a killer. Instead, he had made it his mission to ward off any hybrid predators from unsuspecting prey. He refused to let there be bloodshed, not while he lived within these woods.

Still, although Jungkook wasn’t domesticated in the way that you and your other hybrid siblings were, he was akin to what Yoongi was to you. He was a protector to you and your siblings without you even knowing. Now, as he looks down on you, he knows he has to help you; do something to make sure someone else doesn’t find you first. Someone that would be far more unforgiving, and a lot more dangerous. They wouldn’t waste this much time to pounce on you, either. At that prospect he slides down the ledge with a quiet ease.

Your decision to wear the little white baby doll dress was also probably a terrible idea, both because it was going to get dirty, and because as Jungkook snuck up behind you he was caught completely off guard by just how exposed you were. Cheeks barely covered by your sweet little pink and white striped panties, cuddling your cunt just right.

The sounds of you struggling echo from within the trunk as you try to push yourself into the tight space, your sneakers dragging across the ground, kicking grass back into Jungkook’s face while your struggle squeeze through. He lays low, eyes darkening at the sight of your ass, how it jiggles slightly at the force you’re using to get inside. He arches his back, his tail lifting and hovering elegantly above him. He can feel the way his body temperature slowly rises, and he breaks into a sweat, eyesight growing blurry as he slowly loses his senses.

Oh no.

This is not good.

You whine, giving up on your intentions of camping inside the dark place, accepting the reality when you realise that you were just too large for the area. You sigh, feeling deflated as you back yourself up, attempting to release yourself from the trunk. You don’t budge. That’s when you realise, you’re in trouble.

“Oh…oh no.” You plant your palms on the side of the tight space; to help gather your strength but it’s no use. You’re stuck. “This has to be a joke.” You cry, another defeated whimper leaving your lips. The echo is almost comical, and it mocks your thoughtless actions. Your entire body slumps down, resting against the wood when you grow tired from the effort.

Unbeknownst to you, your little sounds affect Jungkook, and it’s evident in the way he’s now hard, and he hisses at the throbbing in his boxers. He takes his first move forward, sniffing softly in the direction of your bare pussy.

“Shit.”  He curses himself; it wasn’t a good idea to mate with a raccoon; he was so sure he’d break you if he tried. His desire to try, though, it eagerly outweighed the cons of the situation. Especially with his now foggy, rut encouraged mind.

You freeze; your tail shoots upward pin-straight when you realise that you’re not alone.  “Hello?”  I-is someone there?” Jungkook knows that you’re scared; not only does your voice shake when you speak, but he can see it in your body language, even if he’s only seeing half of you.

“I’m here to help, don’t worry!” He widens his eyes, unable to rip his sight from your behind; the back of your thighs just look so grabbable, and your ass smackable. He clears his throat, crawling closer to you, hands ghosting over your hips. The closer he gets to actually touching you, mixed with the soft, subtle scent of your heat, the closer he comes to falling apart. A low growl escapes his throat, and his head drops in shame, squeezing his eyes shut as he fights his urges.

He can’t. Or maybe he can; maybe he’s weaker than he’d initially anticipated, maybe there was no true way to fight against his natural instincts. After all, fucking you was better than consuming you. Right?

At that thought, he lowers himself to the level of your cunt and inhales sharply. Your cheeks redden at the sound. “T-thank you.” You tremble, you can feel him nosing at your pussy, and you clench around nothing, shuddering at the feeling.

If it weren’t for his warm breath fanning against your core, you wouldn’t know where he was. You squirm under the gaze you know is glued on you now. “Mister?” You try, but he doesn’t answer you, not in the way you expect. His fingers sooth up the front of your thighs, and you gasp at the sudden contact. You yelp when you’re met with the warm feeling of what you can only assume is his tongue that glides through your folds. You jerk forward forward, trying to pull yourself away but he chases your movement, not that it can go that much further from him, anyway.

Just one lick, he told himself. Maybe then he’d be sated enough to let go of his urges. Surely it wasn’t going to be anything mind blowing, it will diminish the curiosity swimming around in his urges. Oh, how poorly mistaken he was. He moans lowly against your pussy, and you mouth falls open at the vibration. He laps messily at your wetness, humming against you with content. Your moans grow louder and higher in pitch as he brings your swelling clit between his lips, gently sucking on you. “S-stop that!” You let out an airy cry, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Your body contradicts your words, though, because the way you move back into his mouth does the exact opposite of what you’re asking of him.

Jungkook is painfully hard now. He rips one hand from your thigh, continuing to suck on your bud as he unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down just enough to release his twitching cock. He whimpers when the air hits his length, causing him to thrust forward into nothing as he eats you out.

You mewl when he finally pulls away from you completely, leaning back onto his calves, hurriedly stroking his cock. His grip is tight over the angry red tip, sensitive and leaking. He bites down on his lip takes in the sight of you now, how your slick dampened your panties, how it coated your thighs slightly with the mixture of his saliva. You had asked him to stop, so why were you rocking back into nothing as if you were missing his lips?

Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of hybrid you are; just knows that you’re so blissfully unaware of how dangerous it was for someone like you to be wandering around on your own. He knows you’ve got a fluffy, striped tail that’s fluffier and softer than his. He can tell just by smelling you that you were not a predator.

Amidst admiring the view, you arch your back, lifting your tail to present your pretty holes to him. “Please, mister.” You sob, on the verge of tears. It’s not because you’re afraid. “Please, help me.”

He knows that he should – get you out of the trunk that is – but he chooses to believe that you want him to touch you again. With that whingey tone of yours, and the way you thrust into nothing, he’s sure that’s what you want; and it was Jungkook’s life’s work to help hybrids in need— to help you.

He uses his fingers this time, dragging his pointer along your slit, flicking quickly on your clit. He sighs at the way your legs quiver. “Don’t– don’t stop.” You plead wantonly, leaning your forehead against the back of your hands, palms lying flat on the wood beneath you as you push your ass higher for him.

“You smell so good, so sweet…taste it, too.” He sighs, lowering his face down to where he abuses your clit with his fingers. He watches with fascination, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s almost tempted to get another taste of you, too, but he’s been holding out long enough. “Ah! Please, wait! I’m–I!” You cum forcefully, and the sudden snap has you crying out in pleasure. Your arousal drips down your pussy, leaving a string behind when he removes his fingers from your heat.

With a clenched jaw, he grabs his length, shoving the growing shaft to the hilt into your now sopping hole. You scream, the sensitivity of his navel hitting your clit making you jolt forward again. You can’t see the way drool slips from the corner of his lips, or how his eyes are completely dark and blown out with the desire to mate with you. You clench tightly around his cock, and he groans roughly, his hands digging into your sides. Knowing that he could come like that alone, he stays still until you relent your grip on him, relaxing against him. He almost laughs when you grind your hips back into him even though he’s already filled you to the hilt. You were stupid and desperate— what a deadly combination. When he finally pulls his hips back and snaps them back against your ass, you’re shuddering from his strength. Still, you want more.

“Fuck…fuck me.” You’re a noisy little thing, Jungkook learns; you whinge and whine when you don’t get your way, and the mewls of pleasure that come from you hardly waiver when he fucks into you. Even at the slow and steady pace that he even teases himself with. He places a warm hand on your back that feels scorching to the touch, lifting your dress further up your body as he lays his palm firmly against your skin. The other is secure at your hip and assists in his rhythm.

You copy the rhythm of each of his thrusts, and it only further encourages him. “What’s the matter little hybrid?” He asks in a condescending tone, akin to talking to a small child. “Can’t take my cock?”

You shake your head frantically, but you realise he can’t see you which forces you to speak up. “Go harder, mister.” You beg, ready to cum again all over his long length. He rocks into you even slower, a mischievous decision on his part. “Please…”

Your begging has him obeying you, pounding into your hole at rapid and rough pace. His balls slap against your clit in a way that has you meeting each of his quick plunges, though you can’t keep up with his stamina. You’re already so tired from being stuck in this position for so long, legs bordering on giving out and shaking uncontrollably. The new pace has your eyes rolling back into your head, and your jaw falls open as you let him know how good it feels. You let him know how good it feels with each call of euphoria, purring spluttering as he drags your second orgasm out of you. This time, before you reach your high, he cums in thick bursts inside of you, and you gasp at the feeling of the hot liquid shooting into you so abruptly.  

Jungkook is tired, his cock growing and pounding inside of you as it swells locks into place within you. Even in his weakened state, he reaches between your legs to rub fast circles around your engorged clit until you’re reaching your second peak. He growls at the tenderness of his cock as you contract around him. He hums against your shoulder at the sound of your heavy breaths echoing from inside the hollow wood. You’re exhausted as you try to stretch your legs out and lie on your stomach, but his body follows you down. One of his hands fly forward against the top of the tree trunk to keep himself steady, not wanting to completely crush his body weight over you when you’re already struggling to keep upright.

“S-sorry…it’ll be a minute.” He grumbles. Once he gains his composure, he wraps a strong arm around your waist, the other held tightly on the tree trunk. He tugs with all the strength he can muster in his weakened state, but pulls you out with ease.

A little too much ease.

The impact sends you both tumbling backward, and you’re too distracted by the sudden light hitting your eyes blinking as you try to adjust them. Your ears fold back against your head when you feel him throb inside of you, and. You turn your head to look at him with pink cheeks. “Thank you.”

“For getting you out?” He tilts his head. “It’s no problem, please be careful next time.” He laughs awkwardly, averting his gaze away from your glistening eyes; the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you look up at him catches him off guard. His heart thrums against his chest because, well, he didn’t think you’d look at him with those eyes. You crawl forward slowly, pulling yourself off his softening thickness. Jungkook hisses at the loss of your tight hole, but also at the string of your mixed fluids stringing you together even when you’ve removed yourself from him.

You puff out a taught breath, standing up on your feet, tail swaying innocently behind you. You pull down your dress and dust it off, even though it’s muddy and covered in dirt. Yoongi was sure to scold you for ruining your white clothes like this.

Jungkook remains on the ground, hasn’t moved a muscle as he watches your every move. Even though he’s had you, tasted you, felt you— he can’t help but want more of you.  You don’t miss the way he begins to harden again against his thigh, scanning his hungry eyes over your figure. There’s a twang of guilt lingering his chest, because you look so sweet and he’s ashamed that he took advantage of you when you were helpless.

He was, after all, a wild animal at heart.

You giggle and his ears twitch at the kind sound, eliciting warmth in his cheeks. You shake your head with a grin, flashing him your small but sharp canines and a playful wink that makes him blink at you dumfounded. You extend your arm out to him, your fingers wriggling impatiently as you offer him your hand.

“For making me cum, silly.”

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

[lianella-artist]

Dad!Ren and his daughter Shayla (My OC fankid!!!)

FINALLY, after some hard work i represent to you.. My OC Shayla! Shayla is based on the official cutiesigh artwork with AU Dad!Ren. This post will have all the basic info about her so far + some headcanons about Ren's family life and his relationship with Shayla. So it's going to be a kinda? long post! I've put a lot of work and love into these arts. Enjoy :3

Redacted holding Shayla!! and their very different reactions

They're just having a bit of a nap on the sofa after Shayla painted Ren's face... and Shayla is drooling on dad's soft chest😭 (kind of inspired?? by this post!)

Her reference:

BASIC INFO

Clarification: in my AU, where there is Shayla, Redacted doesn't pretend to be Ren, but acts naturally! But I use both names in the text

Shayla is a kind, naive, sincere, energetic and cheerful girl who is always looking for adventure. But often, due to her age, her trusting nature and her curiosity, she doesn't always understand the risks and ends up in various messes. The girl is very friendly to everyone she meets! She believes that the world is a kind and beautiful place! Some kids think that Shayla is strange and weird (at least because of her "weird" family), which is why she gets mocked, but she doesn't read social cues (she's kinda autistic coded).

Likes: creative activities (drawing, needlework, sewing (not very wearable yet), making different outfits, daddy's jewelry, laughing, getting up early, climbing trees.

Dislikes: being controlled and restricted, rudeness, social games (she doesn't understand them).

She is the only and most wanted child for Ren and Angel, they had her when they were 30-35 years old. They love her very much!! Thanks to Ren, the family is very wealthy! Redacted spoils her a lot, fulfills all her wishes (well, as much as possible, since it's all after Angel, of course). In Shayla's family, both parents work, but Ren does it from home like he used to. So while Angel is at work, Redacted spends most of his time with their daughter. He picks her up from school, takes her to classes, goes for walks with her + does the housework, cooks, etc (basically he's a stay-at-home dad, because I don't think he needs to spend half a day on hacking; a couple of three hours is enough). With the birth of Shayla, Ren has begun to keep an eye not only on Angel, but also on their daughter, though not as closely. Thanks to this, he manages to get the girl out of trouble in time, but he often arrives at the very last moment.

Shayla is very attached to her father, she thinks he is the coolest dad in the world!!! She loves spending time with him, as well as his dark style and tattoos! She is a daddy's girl :))

While Angel is undoubtedly still Ren's top priority, Redacted genuinely loves his daughter both as an affirmation/continuation of their love with Angel AND for who she is. Her cheerful nature often lifts his spirits. Now, he has another person in his life who helps him see the world through a different, less apathetic and indifferent lens. Ren sees how naive and kind his daughter is and protects her to keep that light in her. And when Shayla comes up with questionable ideas… He supports her! He even suggests something himself😭 BUT even he has limits. He will not do anything that might harm her.

(pretty much everything canon about how Sai describes Dad!Ren)

RANDOM FACTS AND HEADCANONS:

I named her after that meme OOHH MY SHAYLAAA😭 (I didn't have a name for her at first, so I just called her that in my mind for a while. It was actually quite funny to me… but eventually it started to grow on me, ngl, so I kept it)

You know those stories where a kid goes into their mom's makeup bag, purse, or closet and tries on something? In this case, mom is Ren💀 Shayla loves to find all kinds of alt stuff from Redacted, ask what it is, and then try it on herself! Redacted gave her some - a spiked bracelet and a silver chain!

Ren agrees to paint Shayla's nails. She wears all the colors of the rainbow, but she likes to keep all her nails black on one hand, though!

Thanks to the creative atmosphere in the family and Redacted's alternative style, Shayla will be a goth in the future! She's also going to become an alt-clothing designer.

She is wearing three of the five gold hairpins that Ren used to wear! When Redacted and Angel got married, he started wearing only two hairpins - a symbol of their relationship. Years later, when Shayla was born and grew up, the rest of the hairpins were inherited to her, and she wears them with great pride, just like the rest of her dad's jewelry.

Shayla also has her dad's features. She has pale, dry skin and black hair. However, her eyes are a unique combination of Ren's color (blue) + my Angel's (red) = creating a beautiful purple color for her.(I know that's not how gynetics works lmaoo I just think it's cute!!!)

aaaand also, @yzumimenu drew some amazing fanart of Shayla, LOOK AT HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TY SO MUCH AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[yikesmary]

hello hello~ i read your post earlier about requests for svt dad AUs. i was wondering if you could do one with s.coups and obviously he’s a huge girl dad. like his daughter would be putting make up on him, having tea parties, put those princess jewellery on, and painted nails PLEASE MAKE IT AS FUNNY AND LOVELY! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR WORK

tea party — choi seungcheol x fem!reader

summary: where seungcheol is determined to entertain your guys' daughter, haewon, while you take a much-deserved nap.

notes: I absolutely love this request and I hope I did it justice writing it anon! <3

im pretty rusty in writing oneshots, so let me know how i did!

masterlist

buy me a coffee?

"Mom,"

"Yes, baby?"

"Are you sick?" Your daughter, Haewon, innocently asked.

"Yes, I'm a little sick," you sniffled.

It started with Haewon getting sick from one of her kids at Daycare. Then it got to Seungcheol, who was dramatic bedridden for a week or so. You were hoping that it wouldn't spread to you, but unfortunately, that didn't work out.

So now here you were, on the couch, covered with blankets from top to bottom because of how cold you were, trying to evade your overly affectionate daughter (she gets it from Seungcheol) without upsetting her. It was hard since Seungcheol had left to get some cold medicine and food for you, so the only thing you could do in the meantime was dodge Haewon without her noticing.

"Here, Mommy, let me get your temperature," Haewon said, running to her playroom.

When she came back, she was suddenly dressed in her kids' doctor coat, with her Doc McStuffins Medical Bag. It was glittery and pink, which was a common theme in a lot of her clothes and toys that she chose nowadays.

Climbing on the couch to where you were, Haewon put on the toy stethoscope. "I'm gonna hear your heart," she said, putting the toy on your head, and you refrained from correcting her, as her face was currently concentrating.

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" you asked, smiling adoringly at your daughter's insistence in checking you up.

"Your temperature is... a million!" Haewon said, her eyes going wide.

"A million?! What do I have to do?" You said, dramatically, your expression mirroring hers.

"Hmm.... I know!" Haewon exclaimed, then climbed down the couch and ran to the kitchen.

You could hear her rummaging through the freezer, and when she came back, she was holding two popsicles; one flavor was orange (your favorite), and the other one was fruit punch (her favorite). "Here, eat this, and you'll be okay," she instructed, giving you the popsicle.

"Thank you," you said, grabbing the popsicle from her. You knew that if you declined it, it would've given her the chance to try and eat both of them, which you didn't want.

That is how Seungcheol found you and Haewon; both on the couch, you covered in blankets, yet you were eating a popsicle, and Haewon sat next to you, her mouth covered in melted popsicle. "I'm home," he announced, amused at the sight.

"Daddy!" Haewon gleefully said, running to him and throwing herself at him to catch.

"Have you been taking care of Mommy while I was away?" Seunghceol asked, adjusting Haewon so he could comfortably hold her while holding a plastic bag.

"Yes! She's all better," Haewon replied.

As if on cue, you started a coughing fit. Seungcheol winced, put Haewon down, and opened up the plastic bag. He began taking out everything that was in the bag: food, cold medicine, and flowers.

"What are the flowers for?" you asked when your coughing ended.

"I thought they were nice and to cheer you up," Seungcheol said, giving the bouquet to you.

"Thank you, honey," you said, looking at the bouquet and smiling.

Seungcheol leaned in and tried to kiss you on the lips, but you saw him and moved away. "I wanted to kiss you," he protested.

"I'm sick, Cheol. You're gonna get sick all over again," you told him.

"But if you got the sickness from me, shouldn't I be immune or something?" He pouted.

"We shouldn't risk it, Cheol," you told him apologetically.

Haewon looked at you and Seungcheol and then tugged on Seungcheol's shirt. "Daddy, you can kiss me instead!" she exclaimed, holding her hands up so she could be carried by him.

He chuckled at her and carried her. Seungcheol then kissed her on the temple and said, "I guess I can kiss you twice as much while Mommy's sick."

Seungcheol noticed that you looked extra tired, probably due to the fact that you had to take care of Haewon when she was sick, and then him when he got her sickness. Now that you had the flu now, it was as if you had no break since.

Determined to get you your rest, Seungcheol knew that you needed a nap—and fast. "Haewon-ie, how about we go play while Mommy goes to sleep? We can play anything you want," he offered.

Haewon nodded vigorously and practically ushered him to her playroom.

Seungcheol was stuck. Haewon decided that he had to sit in one of her seats that was meant to fit her. This meant that Seungcheol sat in a plastic princess chair that was going to collapse under his weight any second now. One wrong move and he'd fall on his ass and break his daughter's chair.

But Haewon didn't notice. Instead, she was pouring herself and him 'tea' from a really hollow toy teapot. Once she thought that she had poured enough tea for him, she gave it to him. "Here is your tea, Daddy!" she said, placing it in his hands.

He pretended to take a sip of it and hummed. "It tastes good, honey," he said, pinching her cheek lightly.

She beamed under his praise and took a sip from her own cup with a pinky up. "Daddy, what's your favorite color?" Haewon curiously asked.

"I think my favorite colors are red and white. Why do you ask, Hae?" Seungcheol asked.

"I'm gonna paint your nails red," Haewon declared, standing up to look for her nail polish set.

"Uh, does Mommy let you paint her nails?" he asked, and his heart sank when she nodded.

"Yeah! She bought me my own nail polish because she said the one she uses were only for grown-ups," she responded.

Relief went through Seungcheol when he found out you had the foresight to get Haewon her own polish set for kids.

"Stay still," Haewon instructed, the mini bright red nail polish in your hand.

With a level of concentration he's seen in you, Haewon stuck out her tongue and tried to carefully paint his nails.

Before he knew it, all of his fingernails were painted a nice shade of bright red. He had to admit, she did pretty good, and managed to stay within his nails and not the edges of it. There were one or two nails that had some polish going on his skin, but he wasn't too worried about it and was more impressed at how well she did.

"It looks so pretty, Daddy!" Haewon said.

He smiled at Haewon's enthusiasm and exclaimed, "It does. You did so good, Hae!"

"Now it's time to do your makeup so you can be pretty like Mommy," Haewon said.

Seungcheol's eyes widened when she said that. Makeup? He didn't know makeup was going to be involved. How many toys did Haewon have?

"Pucker your lips. Like this," she instructed, puckering her own lips so he can copy her.

He reluctantly obliged, and Haewon put a nice shade of purple lipstick on his lips. She was a bit clumsier doing this, but that was when Seungcheol realized it was because Haewon was on her tiptoes.

He then leaned down so it was easier for Haewon.

"Is it only lipstick, Hae?" he asked.

"Nope! I'm gonna put eyeshadow and blush."

Seungcheol realized what his fate was and let his daughter put whatever she wanted on him.

Seungcheol didn't know how much time had passed; it could have been 30 seconds or even 3 hours, he didn't know. What he did know was he had to stay completely still, as he had tried to move before, but Haewon gave him a stern look, and it was as if he was being scolded by you.

After the lipstick, she did what she said she was going to, and Haewon put on a silver eyeshadow ("It's like white!" Haewon explained) and a bright pink blush. With the endless amount of things that were in Haewon's playroom, the one thing she didn't have was a mirror. So at this point, he was completely in the dark about what he looked like.

"Almost done, and we can show Mommy!" Haewon grinned.

"Show me what?" You asked, suddenly appearing at the doorway of the room.

Haewon gasped in glee and dropped the brush she was holding. "Mommy! Look at how good Daddy looks!" she exclaimed, running to you.

Seungcheol was about to tell her to stop running just in case you were still sick, but to his surprise, you caught her and picked her up, then rested her on your hips.

"Let's see your work," you said, and walked over to where Seungcheol was.

You nearly burst out in laughter at how many colors were on Seungcheol's face. And it wasn't just makeup that was on his face; he also had clip-on earrings and a necklace. "You did so good, Hae," you cooed.

"I'm assuming you aren't as sick anymore?" Seungcheol asked.

"The nap really helped me, so maybe it was those one-day bugs," you told him.

"You do look good, though, Cheol. Very princess of you," you teased.

Seungcheol feigned anger and glared at you, but there was no real heat in his gaze. It was then he came up with an idea and gave you a scheming look.

"You know what, Hae, maybe Mommy should have some makeup," he said, standing up from the plastic princess chair.

"Oh, it's okay, I can use my own—" you began saying, but Seungcheol shook his head.

"Nope, let me do it," he said, and the next thing you know, Seungcheol gave you a big kiss on your right cheek, a purple lip shape now on your cheek.

"Cheol!" you whined, but you were smiling.

"My turn!" Haewon exclaimed, and Seungcheol obliged, giving her a big kiss on the left cheek.

taglist: @belladaises @winterpaos @minhui896 @baekhyunimochibbh @x-alightinthedark @whywontyousetfree @coffeesandrains @slaveofmydreams @bmkgemz @dandycharmer @outrologist @stagefrjghts @dahliatopia @exo-saranghajaaa @uhlatcha @watermelon-sugars-things @miniminimingi @venzline @withloveyjh @lockburn-castle @userjunhuii @mypsychicpizzaworld @violetvoo @maevadobreva @soonyoungblr @baekhyunstruly @ryusol @dunixxd @minhwa @ovai @scorpiobitch88 @icyminghao @cookiehaos @duskunt1ldawn

[jungkookstatts]

All Over Again

[Summary]: Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back.

[Theme]: Dad!Jk, CEO!Jk, Married Couple AU, Parent's AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes. Marking, kissing, nipple play, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up y'all), dom!JK, mentions of another pregnancy, talks of pregnancy and getting pregnant, etc.

[Word Count]: 4,274

[A/N]: This is a pure result of the urge my body suddenly gets to want a child right before my period smh. Anyway, felt cute, might delete later once I am sane.

It’s been a long ass day. Jungkook’s white button-up feels stapled to his skin, his pants folding uncomfortably with every step he makes as he exits his office. A long finger comes up to his neck, digging underneath his striped tie, wiggling it a little to loosen the chokehold it has around his neck. His other hand feels bound to his briefcase, which carries so much importance in his life but yet so much burden at the same time.

It’s his first day back at work after his baby boy was born. The briefcase he holds reminds him of the duty he has to his family — of his passion and his support for you and your baby. But it also reminds him of the time it has ripped away from spending with you. He clutches it with so much strength at the thought of you, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button so hard, that he thinks he almost might just break it.

With a deep breath, he takes off his tie and tosses it in the passenger seat along with his briefcase. He’s ready to go home. That picture of you, him, and your son that you insisted on framing and Jungkook bringing to work has been a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to at the end of the day. If only his paternity leave could have been longer. You and his son are all he’s been able to think about. How you were doing, if you needed his help, if Jaemun was being feisty, how the cute crinkle on his nose resembles yours to a T.

It’s late January, and the winter air is unforgiving. He wonders if you have the heat on high enough; if Jaemun had enough blankets, or if the tip of your nose was cold like how it always is in the winter months. He can imagine you holding him close, swaddling him as you sing to him delicately. The thought makes his whole body warm, even though the air is so cold that it feels like glass is cutting against his skin.

He’s convinced he will take more time off. He’s the CEO, after all. He could take months off and it not matter. He wants to be with you always — at all times of the day to hold you and be there for you like he should be. If only the world had been that easy to where passions didn’t have a price. He got lucky, his passion having a heavy penny attached to it. But he wonders where that passion took something more valuable away from him — time. He finds himself now strapped between the choice of time and passion, and he fights the fact that he cannot choose both.

The door to your home is welcoming to his eyes as he pulls up to it. It’s not big by any means. Just homey and enough for the three of you. Even with the snow covering almost every inch of it, the reminder of how warm it is on the inside makes his drive to enter it even greater. He does so with a shiver, coming up to your shared home with a stomp of his boots to shake off the snow just before he enters.

To his surprise, he’s met with hushed music coming from the kitchen as he puts his winter coat on the hook, places his briefcase on the wooden floor, and shimmies out of his shoes. He looks at his watch first, making sure it’s not Jaemun’s nap time, to which he finds out it is. The soft music makes sense now, and he smiles when he makes his way down the hallway to the source of the noise.

The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen-living room area that you and your baby rest in. Jaemun is peacefully sleeping in his bassinet by the couch, cuddling his dinosaur blanket, while you are by the stove, stirring something.

You look over your shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps, and your heart immediately softens at the sight of your husband in the doorframe. He smiles back tiredly, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted attempt to pull himself together before he makes his way over to you. He looks relieved, like he’s finally received what he’s wanted all day. You’re happy to see him, knowing all too well that that’s what you’ve been waiting for all day, too.

Big, warm hands slide around your waist, a heavy chin rests on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek softly. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your presence as he releases the tension from work off his shoulders. You tend to have an instant effect on him — he missed you so much.

“You’re stirring water?” he laughs as he stares at the pot of water on the stove, unboiled, as you stir it as if it is.

“I’m trying to get it to boil quicker,” you explain with a defeated sigh. “Doesn’t seem to be working. I feel like I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes.”

He hums from behind you, taking your stirring hand and stopping your motions. You’ve never been a big cooker, but he knows you’ve been trying lately. “Just let it be, love. It’ll get there.”

You do as he says, putting the ladle down on the countertop and turning around in his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring at the tall man who holds you close against him. You’re met with a tired Jungkook who rests his forehead against yours as you play with the hairs at the back of his head.

“How was work?” you ask gently.

He groans, wrapping his hands around your waist and holding you tighter against him. It causes you to rest your cheek on his shoulder, hugging him in full.

“That bad?” you chuckle.

Your husband just sighs against your neck. “It’s too early to go back, Y/n,” he candors.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of his face behind his ear. “We’re ok, Kook,” you comfort. But he only shakes his head, making the tucked strand fall out of its place again.

“I’m not,” he says. “I want to be here with you. Spend time with Jaemun before he’s suddenly 25.”

You chuckle at that. It does feel like that sometimes. It’s been three months since your son was born, but it feels like it was just yesterday that you were holding him for the first time.

You can only hold his cheek in response, running your thumb slowly against his soft skin. You feel for him, you really do. He’s such a good father. It makes your heartstrings tug and twist and pull every time you see him with your little boy. It’s only a matter of time before you have to go back to work as well. The thought makes your stomach turn, and you can completely sympathize with your husband dreading going back to work and leaving you and Jaemun.

“Your water is boiling,” he breaks you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you turn around. You smile, knowing he was right before. “I’m making pasta if that sounds ok?”

Jungkook kisses your neck in response, a gentle thing that has your tummy flipping for a second.

“You could also probably wake up our son,” you check the time on the microwave. “He’s been a little sleepy today, so I let his nap go for a little longer than usual.”

You add the pasta in and turn the water down, moving over to the greens left on the cutting board. You start chopping until your husband’s lips move lower.

“Our son,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone. The statement makes him jittery. It feels unreal still, even after nine months of waiting, and another three of actually having your little family here with him. You’re his wife, the mother of his kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. You gave him something he can never find an equivalent to giving back to you. You gave him your heart and a family, and there’s nothing that can replace or overcome what that means to him. His soul lives for yours; it’s overwhelming what you’ve done for him. It’s overwhelming how you make him feel.

He kisses your collarbone softly once again, his heart full. You tilt your head to the side for more, and he gives it to you, kissing up your neck with slow wet kisses.

“Kook,” you exhale gently. You feel him hum against the skin just under your ear. Large palms cup your waist, his body moving closer to yours, trapping your hips against the countertop. Your knife feels loose in your hand when he bites at your skin gently, his tongue brushing over the bite mark afterward.

He stirs something within you. Something that you’ve missed terribly for the past few months. It makes your thighs tremble as he gently caresses your skin under his fingertips.

“The baby—“ you begin, but Jungkook’s motions cut you off yet again when his fingers slowly slide down your front. He’s unsure, his hand hesitating over your skin as his breath stops momentarily in thought.

“Is this okay?” He asks you genuinely. You nearly fall to your knees, dropping your knife onto the board, when his fingers put pressure over your clothed mound. It’s subtle, and much more gentle than what you’re used to with him. You know he’s being cautious, but god did you miss him. “If it’s too much, I’ll pull away.”

You shake your head.

It’s been a long time since the two of you have gotten intimate. Childbirth wasn’t easy, and your doctor just recently gave you two the “ok” for sex. The first time you tried since then wasn’t like what you’re used to with your husband. It was slow and painful, ending with a lot of apologies, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s safe to say that you have to get used to sex all over again.

“No,” you lean against him. “J-Just be gentle. I’m still a little sore.”

“Ok,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly. “Just relax for me, baby. I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

You nod, loosening your nervous shoulders as your husband takes control. He stops swiftly for a second, turning the stove on the lowest setting before looking over his shoulder at his son to ensure he’s still fast asleep. Once he sees that he is, he immediately returns to you.

“So good for me,” he says, slowly circling your clit over your sweats. His other hand squeezes your waist before it moves up, sliding under your shirt and trickling over your breast. You’re wearing a soft bra today—one without an underwire—which makes it easier for him to slide his fingers under.

You whimper when he softly massages your boob, his fingers playing with your nipples gently. Your body, especially your breasts, has become 10x more sensitive since birth. You can feel everything, and everything either hurts or feels really really good. Whenever your husband seems to hold them, you’re a whimpering mess, melting like putty in his arms as he plays with you.

“Sensitive,” Jungkook smiles. His fingers rub harder against you, and you subtly buck your hips against him. His lips graze against your skin, his hair tickling your collarbone as he assaults your neck over and over again. 

“You’re so cute when you’re pregnant,” he rasps against your cheek before planting a sweet kiss upon it. “Wanna see you like that all the time. So full of me — carrying our babies.”

“Jungkook, I—” you whine, grasping onto his wrist. You’re unsure what to do with yourself, wanting him to do so much to you, but not knowing where to start.

The man behind you takes his hand away from your mound, and he chuckles when you whine in protest. But his thumbs hook on your pants and underwear, slowly pulling them down.

“Relax, baby,” he asks again. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides around your waist again, smoothing over your skin until it’s sliding between your folds. The back of your hand comes up to your mouth as your other grips the countertop for support as he plays with you.

“So wet,” he moans, feeling the effect he’s had on you with his fingers. “This all for me? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You nod, feeling completely at the mercy of the man behind you. His other hand plays with your nipple again, and you feel another wave of euphoria go straight to your pussy.

His fingers gather your slick generously, smoothing it over your clit before circling it gently. He plays infinities over it, making your knees go weak. It’s getting harder to stay quiet, especially when he pinches your nipple gently, making you gasp at the soreness and pleasure it causes.

“K-Kook,” you whine, but he only chuckles, quickening his motions on your clit as he presses further into you. You can feel his dick strained against his work pants, and the thought of him inside you again makes you feel so needy for him. “Want you,” you pant. “Please.”

“Patience,” he shushes you, kissing your neck surely. “I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Wanna cum with you,” you whine in protest.

“You will,” he promises.

You gasp as he switches his finger, his thumb trading places with his middle. It circles over you just the same, except this time, it’s joined by his middle finger slowly inserting itself between your folds.

“Oh,” you exhale, feeling weak when he pumps it in and out of you slowly.

He lets himself test your reactions, seeing if the insertion is too much — if it hurts or feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to be, and he slowly lets his ring finger join with his middle, causing you to roll your eyes back slightly.

“So good for me, baby,” he encourages. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply almost immediately.

He kisses your neck. His lips leave hot, wet marks all over your skin as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. His other hand quickly comes to your waist, stabilizing you as you whimper against the back of your hand, trying your best to keep quiet.

He circles his thumb faster, his fingers circling and brushing against your g-spot in tandem with his movements. You feel your orgasm looming over you, and with a certain pressure against your clit, you’re coming undone just as he said you would all over his fingers.

“There you are,” he coaxes you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you falling apart on his fingers. He helps you ride out your high, his fingers very gently brushing over your clit as you come down.

Once you're calmed down, you reach around you, playing with his belt loop as you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. He looks back down, hesitating again knowing what you want but unsure if it’s too much for you to handle yet.

“What,” he smiles teasingly with a kiss to your forehead.

“I want you,” you candor, looking at up him with pleading eyes.

He kisses your nose. “Are you sure? You said it hurt last time.”

You nod. “Please, Koo,” you beg him.

His chest rises, and he takes a deep breath before he nods, kissing you gently as he unbuckles his belt. He places it on the counter before unzipping himself and pulling his pants down. It springs up, pressing itself against your skin gently. But he takes himself in his hands, hesitantly letting it slide down over your folds. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He says, lining himself up to you with a few strokes of his cock. God, was he nervous. The last time sex hurt really bad for you, and that was just a week ago. He wonders if the prep was enough; he hopes it was, he really doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You nod, holding onto the countertop again as his tip rubs against your entrance. Your coat his cock in such slickness, even you’re surprised at how much you leak onto him. You miss your husband. You need this bad, and so does he.

“Oh, and try to stay quiet, yeah?” He says with a push of his hips. The motion has him covering your mouth with his hand, shielding your moans quickly. “The baby is still sleeping.”

His dick slips past your folds so smoothly, it has you gasping for breath at how good it feels. It’s nothing like the last time. He’s gentler, but still so so big, he fills you up just right.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck once he sheathes himself fully inside of you. The man behind you stills, completely overwhelmed with the feeling of you. He, too feels like he’s had to relearn sex all over again. How to please you right now that your body has changed, how to make sure that you are comfortable with his pace and size. You two haven’t had sex like this in so long, he feels overwhelmed when you feel almost too good for him to control. A part of him is embarrassed by how quickly he thinks he’s going to last. 

“How are you still so tight, hm?” he asks with a firm grip on your hip. “Y-You okay?”

You can only nod, pushing your hips down against him. The motion forces him further into you, to which both of you grunt at the feeling.

Testingly, Jungkook pulls out slowly, before pushing back into you a little quicker than before. You coat him generously, creating a motion that makes it easy for him to repeat. 

He develops a pace, fucking you against the kitchen countertop with your juices leaking all over his cock and down your thighs. The stove is on and your baby still sleeps; there are uncut vegetables in front of you and your husband still wears his work shirt. But he fucks you as if none of that matters. As if his only priority is to make sure you feel good, to let yourself go as he fuck you deep and just how you like it. 

His hand comes off from your mouth and settles on your hip. His other hand wraps around your front, holding you impossibly close against his body.

You moan softly when he bends you over slightly against the countertop, the new angle making it hard for you to stay quiet. But you push your hips against him anyway, telling him without words to go deeper.

The action causes him to moan, following your request with a snap of his hips.

“You like it that much, hm?” He grunts, cock ramming into you. “Like it when I knock you up good?”

“Y-Yes!” You whisper. “I love it so much, Koo.”

“Y-yeah?” He leans over you. A tattooed hand cups over yours, palm embracing the back of your hand as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Gonna let me do it again?”

“Mmhm,” you squeeze his fingers. “As many times as y-you want.”

“A-Ah,” he pants, mind going into a frenzy over your words. The fact that he is yours, that you are his. That only he can hear you say that. That only he can make you feel this good. That only he has the privilege of calling you his wife. It makes his heart warm and his cock twitch. 

“God, I’m going to ruin you if you say things like that, Y/n,” he warns. But you are relentless, leaning your head back on his shoulder, giving yourself to him further. 

“W-Want you to,” you whimper. “I love you.” 

Your legs shake, completely weak from your past orgasm and your new one forming at the pit of your stomach. His cock makes you feel so full, like you’re stretched to the max capacity as he fucks you good. You know he’s close when his dick twitches inside of you after your words, which only encourages you to gain some strength and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he grips your hips tightly. “M’ gonna cum.”

He quickly reaches around you again, drawing infinities over your clit with his middle finger. His eyes roll back as your cunt naturally tightens at the feeling. Your hips jolt and the knots in your tummy slowly start to unravel themselves onto his dick as you come undone. Just as he had promised, with a final twitch, he’s cumming inside of you with hot, thick ropes filling you up with whispered exhales of your name on his lips.

He lets the two of you catch your breath, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he’s pulling out, shared cum leaking down your thighs and onto the floor. Quickly, he grabs a paper towel from the roll next to the stove and cleans you up a little.

With gentle hands, he helps you back into your sweats before he helps himself into his boxers. He still lingers behind you when he reaches a hand around you and turns the stove on a higher setting once again. 

You turn around, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “I love you,” you whisper against him again. His hair falls onto your skin, dark locks intertangling with yours as his fingers come up to hold your face against his. Soft lips sear over yours, telling you things that simply cannot be put into words. 

“I love you, too,” he brushes his nose against yours. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You pause, looking up at his dilated pupils. He looks at you like you're his world; like he's given you his heart with the full intent of never receiving it back from you. You nod, kissing him softly again. 

“You should probably wake up your son now,” you poke his cheek.

Looking at the time on the microwave, he snaps out of his daze. “Oh fuck,” he says as his fingers leave your side. You watch him leave you with a chuckle, turning back to your pasta wondering how in the world you go so lucky to marry and mother a kid to this man. You’d truly give him anything he wanted. 

***

[Bonus]

With gentle hands, so big against his baby’s frame, he picks Jaemun up in his arms, holding him against his chest. His dinosaur blanket swaddles him softly, and Jungkook does his best to make sure he’s correctly supported and held despite the extra fabric over his small frame. 

Jaemun stirs, and Jungkook places a soft kiss on his tiny head before he gets the chance to freak out and cry. The baby seems to know exactly who is holding him, and he nearly falls back asleep at the familiarity of his father’s arms. But Jungkook bounces him against his chest softly, slowly waking him up for dinnertime.

He makes his way over to you, making unnecessary airplane noises, from what you assume is Jungkook pretending to be an airplane and his son the passenger.

“You know, babies can’t laugh until they’re about 4 months,” you shake your head with a laugh.

“False,” your husband comes behind you again. “I swear he’s laughed before.”

You chuckle, taking the pan off the stove and pouring the insides into a strainer. Just the noodles are left in the strainer now, and you realize that you haven’t thought past the part of boiling the noodles. You ignore that you have no idea what kind of pasta you’re making when Jungkook rests himself against the kitchen island. 

Jaemun catches sight of you, and his arm reaches for you in Jungkook’s hold. You come over, giving him a kiss on the forehead before kissing your husband.

“Were you serious?” your husband asks you suddenly. 

“About?” you raise your eyebrow. 

“You know,” he gulps, holding Jaemun a little tighter. He rests against Jungkook's shoulder, his eyes tempting to fall back asleep again. “More kids.” 

You raise both your eyebrows again, looking at him as if he was serious. His heart beats faster when he realizes what you’re thinking, quickly rephrasing himself. 

“N-Not now, of course,” he gulps. 

You turn around, opening the fridge for some milk for Jaemun as you listen to him. You take out a pot, take the cased breast milk from earlier, and pour it in, turning on the stove afterward. 

“I just mean, like, in the future,” he explains.

There’s a long pause as you wait for the pot to heat up enough. The man behind you is weak, and you don’t know if you want to be mean and give him the blunt answer, or soften the blow. Watching how he cradles your son makes you want to go with the first choice. 

“Don’t you worry Jeon,” you start, as you stir the contents in the pot. You can hear him gulp behind you. “I planned on giving you as many babies as you want. But at least wait until Jaemun is in pre-school or something. I don’t think I can handle two infants at once.” 

You hear little from him at your answer, leaving you smirking knowing full well that you put the man behind you in a frenzy imagining the future you just laid out for him.

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[slashmagpie]

Break Like an Artist

My fic for @hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event! I was paired up with the wonderful @eydilily to create something spooky, dramatic and contemplative featuring Gem and Pearl, and it's been an absolute blast putting this together. Please go check out Eydi's art for this AU, it's absolutely gorgeous. CWs: description of a corpse, dismemberment, loss of awareness, fire/flooding/destruction, and depiction of a panic attack. Wordcount: 5.8k

There is a plague sweeping Pearl's hometown.

One by one, she watches as her friends fall to the infection, the colour and life drained out of them and leaving hollow, apathetic husks behind. Even with the devastating loss of her friends, her village, and her regular life, the worst part of this situation is not the infection.

It's that Pearl knows that Gem is the one spreading it.

[Read on AO3]

It’s a grey day in the fishing village that Pearl calls her home. Not that it’s ever not a grey day, at least not anymore. She stares out of her window at the thick encompassing fog that’s claimed the bay, at the desaturated buildings that dot the shore, and she twirls her paintbrush in her fingers. 

The canvas is blank, of course. She doesn’t remember the last time she sat down to paint and didn’t end up with a blank canvas. It must have been—months ago, at least. Back when the last monster from the depths had attacked, and not a single person had had the heart to fight back. When Tango’s house had been shattered in two, and Tango with it.

(He seems to be dealing well with the loss of his arm, at least. Or, as well as you can deal with anything, when the only things inside of you are all-consuming numbness and apathy. Pearl feels it in her chest, the yawning emptiness, and thinks that if she were to lose her arm right here and now, she also wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to care.)

She’d painted after that, though. She remembers it vividly, waking from a nightmare and running to her studio to capture lashing tentacles and inky waters and splatters of crimson blood. It’s a frenzied piece, a disturbing piece, and the moment she’d finished it she’d been filled with so much dread that she’d turned it around to face the wall and refused to look at it since.

The dread’s gone now. Along with the anxiety, and the uncertainty, and the fear. It’s all gone, and Pearl’s left sitting here, paints drying on the palette as she stares at an empty canvas.

Across the house, she hears her front door swing open and closed. A familiar voice shouts, “Pearl? Pearl, where are you?”

“Studio,” Pearl calls back, her voice flat. She continues to twirl the paintbrush as she waits for Gem to trek her way across the house to find her.

“Studio,” Gem echoes as she pushes open the door. “Oh, Pearl, are you painting again? Oh, I’m so happy for—oh.” The joy in her voice vanishes as she takes in Pearl, sitting on her stool, paintbrush raised and canvas empty. “Oh, Pearl…” 

Sympathy. Pity. Concern. Pearl can pick apart the emotions in Gem’s voice, even if she can’t feel them herself. She stares back blankly, because she can’t find it in herself to care about either aspect of the situation, whether it be her own inability to paint or the way that Gem’s looking at her like she’s a wounded animal.

“Come on,” Gem says softly, crossing the room and gently prying the brush from Pearl’s fingers. Pearl lets her. She’s not really painting, anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we? A nap will do you some good.”

Pearl lets Gem help her up, lets Gem allow Pearl to lean on her for support as they make their way back to Pearl’s bedroom. It’s not like Pearl has any difficulty walking. She’s not sick, she’s not injured, she’s just…

Cold. Empty. Not quite lifeless, not in the way Mumbo had been when she’d last seen him, skin and eyes and hair all the same shade of grey-white-nothingness as he’d stared into the distance, completely unresponsive. Listless, maybe, is the better word. She’s halfway to a fate worse than death and she cannot find it in her to care at all.

She feels colder where Gem touches her. She looks down, and she’s not sure if it’s her eyes playing tricks on her, or if her skin is more desaturated where it brushes against Gem’s. She lets Gem help her into bed, lets Gem fluff the pillows and fuss around her, lets Gem sit next to her as she hands Pearl a bowl of soup (“Your favourite!”) and watches her to make sure she eats.

If Pearl were more herself, she would care about what Gem’s doing to her. Care enough to stop it, maybe. Care enough to—no, not to confront her. Every time she’d tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Because she’s known for a long time who’s been behind all of this, behind the corruption leeching all colour from their village, their home, their friends—

And she’d never said anything. Too worried about Gem’s feelings. Too worried about their friendship.

…Pearl realises, as Gem goes to take the empty bowl and brushes her hands against Pearl’s, that she’s not worried anymore.

She waits quietly as Gem washes the bowl in her kitchen, chattering to fill the silence as she does, updating Pearl on their friends’ conditions. Her tone is bright and optimistic, even as her words are dour. Scar seems to be doing the same. Grian’s getting worse. Joel’s down to communicating only in broken phrases—but he should be fine. It definitely won’t be like Mumbo, or Cub, or…

Gem returns to Pearl’s room, regarding her for a long moment before bending down to give her a hug. “Get better soon, okay?” she says into Pearl’s ear. “It’s not the same doing my rounds without you.”

Pearl knows that she’s not getting better. So does Gem, so Pearl doesn’t bother pointing it out. She just nods, lets Gem withdraw, lets Gem run one last hand through her hair.

“You should rest, Pearl,” Gem says, stepping away from Pearl’s bedside. “I’m going to go check on Impy now—”

Pearl’s moving before she’s even properly registered it, grabbing onto Gem’s wrist with force, holding her in place. Gem freezes. Pearl looks up at her through strands of greasy, greying hair.

“Gem,” she says, and it’s the first thing she’s said in days, and her voice is hoarse and her throat sore from the strain.

“...Pearl?” Gem replies, and she sounds almost scared.

“Gem,” Pearl repeats, getting used to the sound of her own voice in her mouth again. “I know.”

Gem laughs. It’s a nervous, tittering sound, the laugh Pearl remembers from when they’d gotten into trouble together as kids. “Know what?” she asks, voice strained. 

“That it’s you,” Pearl says flatly. 

Gem stares at her.

Pearl stares back.

Gem swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Pearl—”

“I know you’re the one doing this to us,” Pearl says, more specific this time, choosing her words carefully, and Gem—

Gem tries to pull away.

Pearl tightens her grip. 

“Pearl,” Gem whines, eyes wide, tugging. “Let me go—”

“Why?” Pearl croaks, and Gem snaps her mouth shut.

---

Pearl’s in the midst of mixing a particularly tricky shade of green when there’s a loud, frantic knock on her front door. She sighs, setting down her brush to rest, and gets to her feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” she calls as the knocks continue, echoing through the house.

She pulls the door open and Tango’s there, a nervous ball of energy, just about ready to bolt. “Pearl!” he calls. “Pearl, come on, we gotta go—” 

He grabs her by the arm and drags her off. Pearl just barely manages to close her front door behind her.

“Wha—? Where are we going? What’s going on?”

“Something washed up on shore,” Tango explains. “The whole town’s there, c’mon.”

Accepting that she’s not going to get an explanation out of him, and now deeply curious about this something, she lets Tango lead her down to the shore by the lighthouse. Sure enough, the whole town is there, a chattering crowd gathered around a spot on the shore that Pearl can’t quite see. Impulse is standing on the edge of the crowd and catches sight of them, raising his arm in a wave. Tango makes a beeline towards him, ducking under the crowd, and Pearl follows behind, apologising to False and Keralis as she bumps into them.

“Did you decide what to do with it yet?” Tango asks as he comes to a halt and finally lets Pearl go.

Impulse shakes his head. “We’ve decided it’s Gem’s call,” he says. “After all, she’s the—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the crowd suddenly goes silent and parts for Gem, her hair wild and eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She’s got her lab coat pulled on over her day clothes, clearly not prepared for this in the slightest. She reaches the front of the crowd and stops dead still, staring at the thing that has washed up on the shore.

Pearl follows her friend’s gaze, and sees it for the first time.

It’s a body. Of course it is. A corpse, taken by the sea and ravaged by the waves and washed ashore by the brutal bay currents. The body’s clothes are torn and sodden, the skin beneath so pale that it could practically be paper. Pearl is stricken, for a moment, with the mental image of her taking a brush to this canvas, filling it back in with colour, painting contours back into its skin, breathing life back into the body.

She shakes her head violently, banishing the thought. Where did that come from? This isn’t a canvas, it’s—

It’s a person. A person who was alive, and is now dead, washed up on the beach like a dead whale and just as much of a spectacle. His eyes are open but rolled back, only the whites showing, and his hair is white too, just as pale as his skin. It stands as sharp contrast against the dark fabric of his torn clothes, a mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

Pearl swallows hard and averts her gaze back to Gem, who looks just as disturbed by the body as Pearl feels. It takes Gem longer to pull her eyes away, to glance around the crowd. “I’ll—I’ll take it back to my lab,” she says. “Investigate, and—and give him a proper burial.”

The words reassure the crowd, a low chatter beginning up again. 

“Skizz, will you help me carry him?” Gem calls.

Skizz does, stepping forward from the crowd and helping Gem maneuver the bloated corpse. Pearl finds herself looking at it again, noticing dark striations in the skin, caught in glimpses between the tears in the clothing as it’s moved. 

She shakes her head again, forces herself to look away as the body is carried out and the crowd disperses. The image of the body lingers in her mind. Something settles uncomfortably in her stomach, and she wishes that she’d never opened the door.

---

Things go back to normal after that. Or, well, as normal as they get in the village, at least. False monitors the currents and warns of any incoming floods or monster attacks. Impulse and Tango work maintenance on the fishing boats that Grian and Skizz and Keralis take out into the bay. Mumbo runs the fish market. Cub and Scar come and go along the trading routes. Joel maintains security, or at least the illusion of it.

Gem hides away in her lab running experiments she never explains, and Pearl paints.

She tries to return to her usual fare, brightly-coloured landscapes with fantastical features, but something about her paintings rings hollow when she looks at them. She decides she needs a change, to switch things up and just relax, so she pulls out her paints and a blank canvas and begins with no intentions. Her movements are fluid and free and thoughtless and she falls into a flow state that lasts hours, until she blinks her eyes and awakes to find a portrait before her, a colourless face in full saturation.

The corpse’s visage, so alive she can’t believe it’s not breathing, stares back at her from her easel, and Pearl flinches like she’s been burned.

She hides that painting away, face turned towards the wall, and returns to painting landscapes. They come easier now, and for a time Pearl feels normal, as long as she ignores the canvas in the corner.

It’s Impulse who notices that there’s something wrong first. It’s not surprising that he’d be the first to pick up on it, really. Skizz is his best friend, after all. Of course he’d notice when Skizz stopped laughing, stopped joking, stopped drumming out tunes with his fingers on the side of his boat. And when Pearl sees him, she notices changes too—his skin paler, like he’s spent several weeks locked inside a basement instead of out in the summer sun, his eyes no longer their regular bright blue.

“Hey, Skizzly,” she greets brightly, trying to play at normal, throwing him a bone to grab onto.

Skizz just glances at her before responding with a flat, “Oh, hey Pearl.”

Pearl’s smile falters. “How are you feeling? Impulse told me you’re a little under the weather.”

Skizz shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Did you need something?”

Pearl swallows, something cold sinking in her guts. “No, no, just checking in on you.”

“Gem already checked on me,” Skizz says. “She said I’m not sick.”

“Gem’s not that type of doctor,” Pearl reminds him with a weak smile.

Skizz shrugs again. “She’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

Pearl tries her best not to let that unsettle her.

---

It’s not just Skizz.

It starts with him, but it doesn’t end there. Keralis is next, and then Grian. Mumbo gets sickest the quickest, going from his anxious, affable self to a nearly-unresponsive husk within a week. That scares them all, because even Skizz is still responding when spoken to, still moving when instructed to, even after nearly a month of being infected with… whatever it is that’s going around.

False gets sick without anyone noticing, sequestered away in her lighthouse until she comes into town for groceries looking like a photograph that’s been left in the sun for too long, and that’s when people really start to panic.

And that’s when Gem declares, with all the authority that being a doctor of anthropology afforded her in a tiny town with no real doctor, that she’s putting everyone into quarantine until they can determine the source of the illness. 

“I’m not sick,” Pearl tells Gem when her friend knocks on her door, dressed in full lab gear, her hair out of its usual ponytail and falling forward around her face. She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, having hyper-analysed the shade of blue in her eyes in the mirror every morning for the past month. 

“I know,” Gem says. “I want to—I need to—can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pearl says, stepping aside. “Of course.”

Gem enters, heading down the stairs into Pearl’s living space and staring at the paintings on the wall. Pearl watches her for a moment before stepping closer, resting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Gem snorts out a laugh at that. “I’m not a real doctor, Pearl,” she says.

“I know that.”

“They all need me to be a real doctor for them. I—” She breaks off, runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I can help,” she says. “I’m even less of a doctor than you are.”

“I know,” Gem says. “But you’re my friend, and I trust you, and I need—please?”

She stares at Pearl, bright green eyes magnified through thick glasses lenses. Pearl has never been able to say no to those eyes.

“Okay,” she agrees, letting out an uncertain breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do, Dr. Tay?”

Gem laughs again, high-pitched and anxious, and Pearl feels hot and cold all at once.

---

They do house calls. Once a day, Gem and Pearl, and sometimes Impulse, will make a round of the village, checking in on everyone. Gem brings some of her lab equipment and a notebook, where she scribbles down all the readings she takes from her instruments and any observations she makes. After the first week or so, Pearl also takes to bringing a sketchbook and a small travel painting kit, attempting to record the desaturation rate in her friends’ colours. 

It doesn’t matter which way they look at it—the situation is bad, and rapidly getting worse. Most of the town is infected now, and Skizz is approaching Mumbo’s level of deterioration. Cub fell ill two weeks ago, and Tango—

Well, he’s not quite grey yet, but he looks washed out where he sits at his table, especially next to Gem, all bright copper and ocean blue and forest green. His voice is flat, all of the emotion in it gone, and while he responds in full sentences to Gem’s questions as Pearl attempts to capture the moulded-straw colour of his hair, none of his words sound like him. 

Gem wraps up her check-in, and Pearl follows her out, paints packed away in her bag and sketchbook held carefully so as not to smudge the paint. Impulse is waiting for them outside, staring out into the bay, where a low-lying fog has been hanging for days. 

He glances over at them, voice shaking as he asks, “How is he?”

Gem hesitates. “About the same?” she offers. 

Pearl shakes her head. “Worse,” she says, offering her sketchbook to Impulse, pointing out the differences in values between the colours she’d sampled from Tango two days ago to the ones she’d taken today. 

Impulse’s hands are trembling as he hands the sketchbook back to her. “What do we do?” he asks. “They just keep getting worse—Gem, what do we do?”

Gem’s eyes are fixed somewhere out at sea. Her expression is so scarily blank that Pearl would worry she was infected if not for how bright and vibrant she looks against the backdrop of the village. (Are the houses getting greyer? Surely not—surely it’s just the fog, and the fact that the sky has been overcast for a fortnight now—surely—)

“We look after them best we can,” Gem says. “I’m trying—every night I’m working on a cure.”

“And do you think it’ll work?” Impulse pushes.

“I have to,” Gem replies. “It has to.” 

Pearl swallows, and does not voice what all three of them are thinking: what if it doesn’t?

---

Impulse turns up one morning a shade dimmer than he had been the day before. Pearl notices immediately, her stomach lurching at the sight of him. He offers her a smile that’s smaller than his usual ones, a greeting that’s a little flatter than it would usually be. Pearl’s not sure if Gem even notices.

But Pearl notices, and her eyes sting, and she throws herself at him in a way that catches all three of them off-guard.

“Uh, Pearl?” Impulse says, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Pearl mumbles against his ear.

“Pearl?” There’s a peak of distress in his voice but it’s not enough. Gem hears it, too.

“Oh no,” she breathes.

“Okay, guys, seriously,” Impulse says, pushing Pearl away. “What’s going on?”

They just stare at him.

Realisation dawns across Impulse’s face. “No.” 

“Maybe…” Gem sucks in a breath. She reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you should go home, Impy. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Impulse protests. “I’m…” His protest crumbles under their gazes. He slumps, and Pearl knows that he would normally never crumble like that. He’d protest and fight back and keep working until he passed out on the docks and had to be carried back to bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “I’ll help you home.”

Impulse doesn’t protest that either. He knows, as well as the two of them do, how this ends. He knows that there’s no fighting this.

Pearl, very valiantly, does not cry about it.

---

With everyone except the two of them infected, Pearl manages to convince Gem to split the rounds, with her taking half of the houses, and Gem taking the other half, swapping halves every couple of days. Gem is reluctant, but she has no good argument against Pearl’s that this is more practical, and so she agrees.

And that’s when Pearl notices.

She thinks she’s imagining it at first, but the colour swatches in her sketchbook back up her suspicions, damning evidence she can’t ignore.

When she visits her rounds, she finds that the people she’s visiting appear to have stabilised, at least for a couple days, no greyer today than they were when she saw them the day before. And then she swaps with Gem, and notices that Gem’s half of the rotation are far paler, far less responsive, than they had been the last time Pearl had seen them. They stabilise for a couple days, and then they switch, and Pearl’s original rotation have deteriorated massively in the several days since. 

There’s really only one conclusion she can draw from that, and she doesn’t want to draw it. She doesn’t want to believe that the one responsible for this is—

The fog is a permanent fixture of the village now, blanketing the bay in a thick blanket of quiet. Pearl finds it hard to sleep, even the familiar sound of waves muffled by the mist. Kept awake into the early hours of the morning, she finds herself in the studio, a brush in hand, letting the paint take her where it will.

And where it takes her is familiar: the village, desaturated and coated in fog, dark looming shapes in the mist beyond, rising out of the ocean. And there, in the midst of the painting, a bright spot in all the gloom, is Gem, so vibrant she practically lifts off the page.

Pearl stares at it for a long, long time, and then places it face against the wall and tries her best to forget about it.

---

In all the dread, they’d forgotten something important.

The sea isn’t safe. It never has been. Growing up in the bay you learn how to weather the storms, to predict the tides, to flee from floods. You learn how to build barriers, and you learn how to rebuild once the ocean drags them down. 

Pearl knows that her village can handle the sea: she’s seen them do it time and time again over the years. Together, they move as a well-oiled machine, responding to threats from the depths with weathered ease. That’s why she doesn’t expect it, she thinks. 

There’s never been a monster attack that False didn’t warn them about.

But False isn’t capable of doing much of anything at the moment.

And so when the tentacles rise from the waves, there isn’t a warning.

Just a deafening krk-crash that wakes Pearl from a dead sleep with a bolt of adrenaline that’s nearly nauseating. She scrambles from her blankets, still in her pajamas, and rushes up the stairs to throw on her boots. It’s edging towards winter now, the weather much milder than the summer months, and though it’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination the chill of the air still makes her shiver. She grits her teeth, racing from her front door to the village proper, and there—

There’s a sea monster, dark purple tentacles reaching out to the shore, destroying everything in its wake. The fish market is half gone, and it’s awful, but it’s a relief, in a way, because nobody lives there.

“Gem!” Pearl screams into the night.

“Pearl!” she hears echo back, followed by distant footsteps, growing ever-closer. 

Gem’s face is flushed, her hair wild, her eyes wide. She’s also in her pyjamas, her lab coat that’s been ever-present for months now gone, and Pearl finds her eyes drawn to dark striations in her skin. They look like—

“Pearl,” Gem says again. “We need to get everyone out, away from the shore, up to the research centre—”

Pearl nods. “Got it,” she says. She points towards the docks and says, “I’ll head over there.”

Gem nods. “Be safe,” she says, and then she’s off again, pelting in the direction of the lighthouse.

Pearl doesn’t bother knocking as she throws Impulse’s door open. He’s still lucid enough that he’s been startled awake by the noise, though it hasn’t driven him to do much more than put his shoes on and stare out of the window at the dark shapes rearing up out of the fog.

“Impulse!” Pearl cries.

“Pearl?” Impulse says, glancing at her with dull eyes.

“We need to get people out,” she says.

There’s an extended pause, then, “Okay.”

“Can you get Skizz?” she asks. “Tango, too, maybe? I need to go to the beach, help everyone down there.”

Another extended pause, then a nod. “I can do that,” Impulse says. He moves too slowly, not driven by the same panic flooding Pearl’s veins, but it’s good enough. It has to be. Pearl doesn’t have time to consider the alternative.

She goes racing off for the beach. She throws open Keralis’ door first, relieved that he is, at least, wearing underwear when she drags him from his bed and into the night. She leaves him there while she grabs Grian from his hut, and then takes them both by the wrists, pulling them along behind her while she races for the cliffside.

It feels like hours that she races back and forth, grabbing her friends from their homes and dragging them in various states of comprehension to the safety of the cliff before running back into the danger zone. Grian’s hut is gone, and so is a large portion of the road. The tentacles have taken a chunk out of the farms further up the coast. Gem’s been taking the people she rescues a different route up to the research facility, the path that Pearl’s taking cut off to her by debris.

Once she’s got everyone on her side of town, she collapses panting on the grass, her lungs aching with the strain. There’s a fire somewhere down on the shore, someone’s lantern knocked astray by swinging tentacles. Her eyes burn just from looking at it.

A voice says, “I got him.”

Pearl looks up.

It’s Impulse, manhandling a colourless, greyscale Skizz.

Pearl goes cold.

“Where’s Tango?” she asks.

Impulse blinks. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Pearl shakes her head, rocketed up to her feet by panic once again. “No, I’ll go,” she gasps. “You stay here.”

And then she’s off running again, beelining for Tango’s house, praying to any higher power that will listen that she’s not too late. Her lungs ache. Her legs burn. She can’t quite catch her breath. She’s shaking.

And then she’s knocking down Tango’s door, grabbing him from his bed against the far wall, dragging him away—

The roof coming down sounds like thunder, like the sky split open and gutted for parts. Pearl goes down hard, stars bursting behind her eyes, her breath coming out empty and then as a whine. She blinks, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, for her ears to stop ringing, and that’s when she hears it.

It’s—not a scream. More of a whimper, or a wail, stretched out and awful and pained and punctuated by short, desperate gasps. It goes straight to her stomach, straight to making her sick, and she doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to move.

But, god, she has to, doesn’t she?

She wiggles her fingers, her toes, and lets out a deep groan as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. The world has narrowed in on itself, the open air of Tango’s house reduced to a crawlspace, and she shuffles down it, rubble and debris tearing her skin open and leaving bloody red marks on desaturated wood. It is a far cry from the blood she finds, practically brown with how much colour has been leeched from it. 

“Oh, my god,” she chokes. “Tango…”

Tango just moans in response. She can’t tell if he’s pale from blood loss or pale from the infection, but either way it has the effect of making him look half dead. He’s half buried beneath the rubble, body jerking with what she can only assume is pain, barely felt beneath the weight of numb apathy.

“I gotta get you out of here.” The words taste acrid against her tongue. Or maybe that’s the smoke. She can’t tell. “I’ve got you.” She grabs Tango by his good arm and grimaces. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not a reassurance for him. Not really. Pearl’s familiar enough with his condition by now to know that he can’t really care about being okay at this point.

It’s more for her as she does her best to get leverage in the small space and pulls. 

When Tango screams, she knows it’s completely involuntary, an animal howl of agony that stops her short. Pearl gasps, tears on her cheeks, head spinning. “Please, no,” she begs, and she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or the higher power that’s been ignoring her for weeks. “No, no, I gotta—I—”

“Pearl?”

“Gem!” Pearl cries. “Gem, please, I need—it’s Tango—he’s—”

“I’ve got you,” says Gem’s voice, familiar and close as footsteps pound across rubble. There’s a series of grunts and clunks as rubble shifts, and then there’s light pouring into the crawlspace, which is no longer so much of a crawlspace. Gem stares at the two of them, Pearl in tears on her knees and Tango half buried and lying in his own dull blood. 

“Okay,” she gasps out, and she sounds terrified. “Okay,” she repeats, steadier this time. 

Pearl wants to be relieved, but she’s just on the other side of hysterical. Gem’s holding an axe, which she must have used to clear the rubble, and she steps forward with it held between white knuckles.

“Hold him still,” she tells Pearl.

Pearl swallows. “Gem?” she whispers.

“Please.”

Gem glances down at Pearl, and god, she never has been able to say no to that, has she?

She shuffles forward, puts her weight against Tango, holds him still. Squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t make it any better.

It doesn’t stop her from hearing the sick crunch of the axe cutting through bone or the blood-curdling scream Tango lets out.

It doesn’t stop her from feeling the sudden lack of resistance as she pulls Tango’s bleeding body away from the rubble, leaving his arm behind.

---

Pearl manages to hold it together until they’re able to get Tango safe and stable. Once the wound has been cauterised and disinfected and bandaged, and he’s left sitting with a mostly-unresponsive Skizz and an Impulse who’s just aware enough to be awkward about how little he feels for his friend, she walks away from the town’s refugees on the hillside until she can no longer hear them, and they can no longer hear her. She stands for a moment, surveying the damage below, the sun rising over the sea and the flooded streets and destroyed buildings, and she sucks in a breath that knocks her to her knees.

The panic attack comes in quick half-breaths and waterlogged wails, her hands gripping at her hair and pulling it hard enough to hurt. The world blurs around her as she chokes on saltwater and bile, her ears ringing with screams and funeral bells. When the hands settle on her shoulders she barely feels them—only feels them when they rise to her wrists and untangle her fingers from her hair.

“—earl? Pearl. Look at me. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Ge-em,” Pearl chokes out. “I can’t—I—”

“I’ve got you,” Gem soothes. She takes Pearl’s hands in hers, squeezes them tight, real and grounding. “See, come on, that’s it. Breathe with me.”

Pearl blinks tears from her eyes as she tries to time her breathing to Gem’s. She’s not very good at it, her heart too quick and Gem’s too slow, but it helps, dragging her down from the high of panic. 

“That’s it,” Gem breathes. She lets go of Pearl’s hand, reaching up to push the hair out of Pearl’s face, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “See? Nice and calm. Everything’s fine, see?”

“Yeah,” Pearl agrees, and the words feel hollow. Her panic feels hollow, somewhere above her body, her soul sunken to somewhere below her knees. She sucks in a breath, lets Gem wipe tears from her eyes with her thumbs.

Gem is so bright. A searchlight in a storm, a ray of rising sun through the dark. The world seems to grey around her. 

Pearl reaches out, splaying her hand against Gem’s cheek, a clumsy echo of Gem’s own reassuring, grounding touch. Gem is still so bright, vivid enough that Pearl doesn’t think any paint could capture it. 

And Pearl, held in comparison, is grey and dull. A shade, drained of life.

She swallows. Lets out a shaking breath. Looks up into Gem’s green eyes, sees the fear and regret in them, and can barely summon her own panic or hurt in return.

“Oh,” she says, and the word falls like a stone, plunging into the depths.

---

Pearl lets out a breath. “It was the body, wasn’t it?” she asks, loosening her grip. “The one that washed up. It did something to you.”

Gem swallows. She pulls away, holding onto her own wrist where Pearl had dropped it, clutching it to her chest. “I’m so hungry, Pearl,” she whispers. “I fade so fast now. I need… I need…”

“You’re going to kill us.” Gem flinches at the words. “You know that, don’t you, Gem? You’re going to kill us. You are killing us.”

“I just need your colours,” Gem replies, a whine in her voice. “I just…”

“What happens when we’re gone, Gem? What happens when you’ve taken all the colours? What happens then?”

Gem stares at her. There are tears in her eyes. They don’t quite fall, but Pearl can feel them drip into her hollow heart. There’s an ocean between them now and Pearl doesn’t have the wits to cross it. She doesn’t care enough to cross it, and she doesn’t feel enough to care about that. 

“I have to go and check on Impy,” Gem repeats, her voice thick. “I’ll see you later, Pearl.”

“You won’t,” Pearl calls after her as Gem hurries for the door.

Gem doesn’t reply, just slamming the door shut in response.

Pearl sits in bed for a long time, staring at the wall with hazy vision. Her thoughts are muffled under the thick fog that chokes the village, and so when she finally stands, she’s not entirely sure why. She lets her body carry her back to her studio, picks up a canvas from against the wall, and places it on her easel. She sits down in front of it and stares.

Gem’s face stares back at her, the only alive thing in a dead and colourless world.

[artisiumstudios]

AU (yes another one deal with it) where Stanley saves up enough money to attend college. (Ofc first he sort of settles in a takes night classes to get his GED). He lives in a shitty apartment and while I do love making things a bit accurate maybe he just a needs to get one job, but also I want to make it a bit harder and have him have two jobs (like me-).

He’s tired and his clases are hard for him to understand and basically any free time he has is spent relearning all the material his own way. (Sue me yes it’s audhd/ dyslexia Stan) He’s practically running on fumes and coffee and one day while getting some books he accidentally bumps into this guy, muttering a quick apology as he continues walking. He hasn’t slept in days having worked clopens while attending class and his vision seems to be getting worse but he can’t afford glasses at the moment, his headache is making his head pound, and he’s just so ready to go home and finally take a nap.

What he’s not ready for is for a six fingered hand to grip his arm yanking him toward his twin brother who he hasn’t seen in almost 4 years.

Aka Stan joins college during fords last year of school. And neither of them are prepared for any of it.

(Other notes: I like to think ford gets mad thinking Stan is doing this just to annoy/distract ford or ruin his chances at getting his grant, only to quickly realize how untrue that is, and how poorly Stan is doing. He has no support system, he’s living in a shitty run down apartment since it was cheaper then a dorm, he’s constantly working since he was unable to receive any scholarships which leaves no time to rest (and at times eat) , his brothers mental health is at an all time low with all the stress, Stanley did unfortunately still mix with some bad people which caused his brother to be paranoid from the trauma (sometimes even go non verbal), and overall ford just sees his little brother suffer in real time.

Ford sometimes goes to Stan’s jobs and occasionally poses as a customer that just happens to look very similar just to get Stan to rest a bit, and maybe sneak him some food.

Both fidds and ford take turns tutoring Stan as to help lessen his load.

At some point Stan’s catches up to him and he ends up showing up to their dorm sobbing because he’s going to have to leave college and he’s upset because all his hard work would be for nothing. INSERT STAN AND FORD TALKING TO AN ADVISOR TO TRANSFER STANS CREDITS TO GRAVITY FALLS COMMUNITY COLLEGE! (Although not all credits will be transferred and he will be forced to retake some stuff. )

There will be more.

Someone should stop me.)

[heartnearu]

warm silence | p.sh

park sunghoon x f!reader [ONE SHOT]

synopsis: you brighten sunghoons world the same way the sun brings warmth to a cold day. to him, you’re everything. you’re the hush in his heart, the softness in all his hard edges, the steady in his storm, his anchor, his home. yet somehow, you felt out of reach—like a dream he could never quite hold onto.

genre: angst / romance / SLOW burn

tropes: childhood best friends / first love / boy next door / coming of age / SELF SABOTAGE

DISCLAIMER!! i am no professional. i am simply an insomniac with an idea. my writing may be terrible but this is only for fun. this is FICTION!

WC: 8k

songs: when the sun hits - slow dive | all i need - radiohead | we are the people - empire of the sun | meet me halfway - black eyed peas

NOTE: high school! AU | reader uses she/her pronouns. i currently cannot think of any possible warnings, but if you suggest what i should put after reading it i will happily do so :)

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

the persistent tapping on his window pulls sunghoon from the restless dream that had kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.

with a groan, he turned over and buried himself beneath the blanket, wishing he could somehow melt into the mattress and eventually disintegrate into the air so he could at least be at peace.

who needs him this early anyways?

whoever or whatever it is that’s tapping annoyingly can wait until later when he actually has the power to socialize. he’d rather apologize for ‘not hearing’ their calls or say that he ‘thought it was a bird’ than lose sleep and get up early.

he should be grateful—after all, he was awaken from a bad dream that never seemed to end. but he still clung to the hope of getting a few more hours of sleep, convinced nothing could stop him. sleeping is one of the very few escapes that asked for nothing in return.

the constant tapping went to a sudden halt. with his eyes still closed, sunghoon smiled at the profound silence as he shifted in his bed to get comfortable.

everything from his sheets to his current position felt perfect—he could already tell that it was going to be a good few hour nap by how he was sinking into the mattress.

just as sleep began to take him, a voice suddenly shattered the silence.

“sunghoon! you’re lucky i don’t have anything else to throw at your window, because i promise you i would’ve kept going!”

at the sound of your voice, sunghoon’s eyes snapped open—without skipping a beat, he quickly got out of bed, almost face planting onto the floor in the process due to the blanket tangled around his legs.

by the time he was at his window, he was flushed and out of breath but opened the window without hesitation. across from him was you, leaning against your own window.

you blinked at his sudden presence in front of you and paused as he caught his breath. his gaze settles on you, eyes tracing your features with a quiet intensity, trying to memorize every detail.

an odd feeling blooms in his chest, subtle but persistent. it feels like he misses you, though you’re standing right in front of him, and he can’t quite understand why.

it’s feels as if it’s the first time he has seen you in a while, even though you did homework together just last night.

he pushes the feeling aside, deciding he’ll make sense of it later. just as his lips parted to voice his concerns—you burst into laughter.

the confusion growing on his face only fueled your giggle fit even more. you didn’t notice how his features softened at the scene in front of him.

you put a hand on your chest, trying to catch your breath,“if i would have known that calling for you worked more efficiently nowadays, i would have done so twenty something rocks ago.” you raise your voice slightly so he can hear you,“anyways.. you got less than fifteen minutes to get ready to leave because we’re gonna be late!”

“late?” sunghoon questioned with furrowed brows, “late to where?” he slightly tilted his head as he pondered what you could mean.

he couldn’t recall making plans with you—though he didn’t exactly oppose the idea of going out with you spontaneously.

“well..” you pause and cocked your head as you thought about it for a second, almost mimicking what sunghoon had done unconsciously. “not exactly late but you know, we wouldn’t get the usual view we do when we go around this time.”

you wave your hand trying to dismiss him,“go change, ask questions later” you try shooing him back into his room.

he frowned,“you’re no help. how do you expect me to change when i don’t even know where we’re going?”

you roll your eyes and smile,“you worry too much, just change and meet me outside. don’t forget your keys and your license ‘cause you’re driving today. just wear something you’ll be comfortable in and won’t regret wearing later, okay? see you in a bit hoonie!”

your eyes sparkled in anticipation before you closed your window, leaving no time for sunghoon to question you any longer.

sunghoon sighed and shook his head with a faint smile—what was he going to do with you?

・୨ ✦ ୧・

you hummed with the song playing on the video you watched on your phone as sunghoon started his car.

sunghoon tapped on the screen, trying to connect his phone to bluetooth,“so.. where are we going? ‘cause i can’t go anywhere without knowing a little bit about this place that you want us to go to.”

he turns to you with a lopsided grin, handing you his phone so that you can play music.

“hm.. i guess you’re right. well, i wanted to go to the lake we always used to go to when we were kids.” you replied, unlocking his phone so that you can get to spotify.

“the one our moms took us to every summer?” he asked, raising a brow.

you hummed, still scrolling on his phone looking for songs to put in queue. “yeah. we haven’t gone in a while and i wanted to go with you before we get busy with college after we graduate in a couple days.”

you paused to ask if he wanted any songs in particular, when he shook his head you continued scrolling, “i know we have summer and all but.. i don’t know…everything will feel too real by then. plus this is basically us just doing stuff we used to do before we’re sent off to ‘adult life’ where things are actually somewhat serious.”

sunghoon understood what you meant.

recently, everything has been feeling so stressful yet freeing because you guys will finally be able to leave the hellhole known as high school.

you both have been stacked with work from your teachers who swear that they’re ’preparing you for adult life’ but the both of you know it’s a load of bull, most of it is just filler work because they have nothing else for students to do since it’s the end of the year. they just want to keep students busy and get their pay check but what sucks is that it’s a part of his grade, meaning he had to do it.

with a destination now in mind, sunghoon starts driving.

he glanced at you and snickered. “so, is that why you decided to wake me up with a handful of rocks accompanied with your terrible aim? who would have thought that someone as amazing as you could miss a target as big as my bedroom window.” he says sarcastically.

you gasp at his sarcasm,“don’t be rude,” you reach over to flick his temple but failed miserably due to him being able to somehow grab your wrist before you got close enough to hit him.

you gave up and let out a dramatic huff,“you’re just mad that i was smart enough to throw the ones that were a little too big at the wall so that i don’t break your window the same way you broke mine last time.”

“i was twelve!” he quickly defended,“and that’s not fair, yeji basically set me up for failure that time! she swore it wouldn’t break. plus it was the only thing we had available to throw that would make enough noise to catch your attention”

he heard you stifle a laugh as you remembered the day sunghoon’s little sister gaslighted him into believing that your window was indestructible simply because she was bored and wanted to watch the new spongebob episode but couldn’t because she was grounded.

“whatever, whatever.” you dismiss with a grin,“you’re both at fault, all that trouble to see spongebob through my window just for you guys to get grounded for another week AND not even getting to see said episode.”

sunghoon scrunched his nose in fake annoyance, barely hiding the smile tugging at his lips as you continued laughing.

he glanced at you, eyes soft with something unspoken, as a quiet warmth began to stir in his chest. his gaze shifted back to the road as he shook his head, laughing slightly at the memory.

once the laughter died down, you turned to him with a sigh and a lingering smile.

“yeah, i decided if we’re already going to be doing something we did together when we were younger, why not go all out?” you shrugged with a grin,“this our last time being ‘kids,’ or at least free from responsibilities—might as well make it fun and worth our while, right?”

sunghoon chuckled and nodded,“right.”

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the two of you had been at the lake for hours, talking about everything and nothing all at once. it was filled of laughter and nostalgia.

you took pictures with your digital camera, claiming that memories were meant to be preserved—not just remembered. sunghoon agreed with a quiet smile as you both recorded random moments on his camcorder he kept in his car—just in case memories like these came around.

you had brought along a blanket and a picnic basket packed with a blend of both your favorite dishes, that were long gone by now. he wasn’t sure when you had packed everything, but he didn’t question it.

sunghoon watched you closely as you rambled about a game that recently came out.

a unsolicited storm of unspoken feelings returned and sat heavy in his chest, but he stayed quiet. how could he tell you what was on his mind when it might ruin the peace you shared?

a sigh escaped him, soft and unbidden—born from the ache of everything left unsaid. but the thought of losing you, someone who had come to mean everything, sealed his lips with silence.

he wanted nothing more than to hold you gently—to treat you with the love he knew you deserved. but how could he, when you had no idea how deeply sunghoon felt for you?

you’d been in each other’s lives for as long as either of you could remember, and who’s to say your feelings hadn’t stayed the same?

he only wished he had shown you, back then, that he saw you as more than just a friend. it would’ve made his current predicament easier to deal with. but no amount of wishing could turn back time or rewrite the silence he’d left behind.

now, he could only choose between staying silent and protecting your friendship or voicing his feelings and hope that you feel the same.

the call of his name pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked at you as you looked at him with knitted brows, confused. “are you okay? you blanked out for a second.”

sunghoon felt his face flush the moment he realized you noticed his silence.

“huh? oh–” he rubbed his neck, flashing a shy smile,“just.. thinking about the next few days.” he swallowed hard, hoping hoping you couldn’t hear the thudding in his chest.

you looked at him quizzically, eyes narrowing slightly before you hummed and turned away in thought.

he exhaled, relief flooding his chest when you didn’t question him further. and yet, a quiet ache remained. the words he’d spoken clung to him, far heavier in meaning than he’d let on.

a few beats of silence passed between the two of you.

it wasn’t uncomfortable—even with the ache in sunghoon’s heart, your presence felt like a warm embrace.

for a fleeting second, it felt like the world and all it’s problems had melted away. there were no words, just a shared stillness that felt like home.

time seemed to pause, and for a while, it was just you and him—nothing more, nothing less.

sunghoon can feel something unspoken had passed between you.

your gaze drifts back to him, soft and searching.

“sunghoon,” you uttered, laced with something he can’t quite place—something that makes his chest tighten.

he hums in response, eyes flicking away from yours, like he’s afraid of what he might find there. terrified of mistaking something so small for something more.

“sometimes,” you begin, voice barely above a whisper—like you’re carrying something fragile that might shatter something if you let them out.

“i think i care about you more than i should.”

his breath hitched as an invisible hand gripped his heart with so much force, he could feel the pain in his chest.

his eyes trailed back to you and absorbed your expression—unguarded and achingly vulnerable.

oh, how he wishes he could confess every thought racing through his mind—wishing he could tell you how much you truly mean to him. how deeply he cares about you.

the words are hidden under his tongue, aching to be set free. he feels the pull on his heart, its desperate to let you in.

when he finally opens his mouth, his voice betrays him.

"maybe we both do.” he paused,“but... you shouldn't say things like that unless you mean them."

・୨ ✦ ୧・

his mind was everywhere but where it needed to be.

he hadn’t slept—not with your words still echoing in his head and the weight of his own response haunting him long after the moment had passed.

he couldn’t focus, he wouldn’t let himself. his mind keeps circling back to yesterday's conversation.

how could he be so stupid? he had you right in front of him but he let you slip from his grasp.

you were so close yet so far.

maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe nothing had changed.

god, he hoped so.

you laughed it off, changed the subject like it was nothing. he didn’t want you to—but what could he have done? he wasn’t going to force you into a conversation you don’t want to be apart of.

he wanted you to say something, to add on to what you were saying, maybe even explain what you meant, anything—but he just sat there, letting you grow distant.

you didn’t act differently on the drive home.

if anything, it was the same as the ride to the lake. it was your playful teasing and easy laughter paired with his sarcastic remarks and lighthearted banter.

you both parted briefly to shower—the lake air still clung stubbornly to his skin after the drive.

sunghoon thought that you would take that chance to no longer be in his vicinity, but surprisingly, you still came over to watch star wars with him and yeji in honor of may fourth.

you even stayed for dinner and shared laughs with his family; it was nothing new, but the twisting in his gut never left. the weight of what he didn’t say rested on his shoulders like judgment—unshifting and brutal.

you acted like everything was normal.

but that’s what scared him. because he knew you.

he knew how you avoided conflict. he knew how you’d smile through discomfort and pretend everything was fine, just so things wouldn’t get weird.

you wouldn’t tell him if he had hurt you. you wouldn’t call him out for messing up. you’d just carry it alone—and that thought alone made the ache in his heart grow sharper.

you didn’t deserve that.

you don’t deserve someone like him—someone who couldn’t even say what he really wanted without being terrified of what could happen.

you deserve a love without hesitation, and he longs to be the one to give it. he'd give up everything without a second thought if it meant he’d have an eternity with you.

it’s not even about whether you return his feelings anymore. it’s about whether you’d still choose to stay his friend, knowing he wants something more, when you don’t.

if he knew for a fact that you would still be by his side one way or another, he would confess and take the rejection. he really would.

but the thought of you pulling away, drifting so far that the two of you stopped speaking altogether—that would break him.

at least, that’s what he tells himself.

you’ve been part of his life for so long, so woven into every moment that mattered, that he simply cannot imagine a future without you in it. and now, all he could think about was how he could be the reason why you’d want to distance yourself.

he hated the thought that it might’ve been his fault.

you offered him something delicate, something unspoken and real—and he broke it before he even realized what he was holding.

that mistake might’ve cost him the one thing he never wanted to lose: you. and the only person he has to blame is himself.

or maybe… maybe he imagined it all.

what if he took it all out of context? what if he overanalyzed every word, every glance—searching for signs that weren’t even there?

maybe he was reading too far into things, twisting moments into something more than what they really were.

obsessing over gestures that were never meant to mean anything—because deep down, he so desperately wished they had.

though his mind swirled with endless possibilities, what bothered him the most was that he hadn’t seen you all day.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon’s leg bounced anxiously under his desk—eyes flickering between the board, the clock, and his phone as if it’s going to make time go by faster.

with an irritated huff, sunghoon slumped back into his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest—impatient and clearly annoyed by how painfully slow the class was dragging on.

every second felt deliberately stretched, like the universe was playing a cruel joke on him.

he needed to get out of this classroom.

his eyes scanned the room, trying to find something to distract him as he waited for the bell to ring.

his thoughts drifted back to this morning, he found it strange when you didn’t come out to walk with him to school at the time you usually do. still, he waited.

as the minutes ticked by and the first bell crept closer, his confusion only deepened.

what was taking you so long? you hated being late.

his mouth pulled into a faint frown.

were you avoiding him?

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, debating whether to knock and ask your mom if you’d left early or just leave.

he wanted to do the former but what if you needed space? he knew you wouldn’t tell him if you did—not because you didn’t care, but because you’d never want to hurt him.

you'd never been good at saying no, it just wasn’t in your nature.

so, he walked to school alone.

jake sat beside him, eyeing sunghoon with concern—to him, sunghoon was acting weird. nothing like his usual demeanor.

sunghoon wasn’t exactly known for being cheerful and all smiles, but even for him, this felt off—and he had no idea why.

jake leaned in slightly. “sunghoon,” he whispered, careful not to draw the teacher’s attention.

sunghoon stayed lost in thought, seemingly unfazed, offering no response.

jake glanced at jay, seated on his other side, who looked just as worried.

“what’s up with him?” jay murmured, nodding toward sunghoon.

jake shrugged and glanced back at sunghoon once again,“i’ve been trying to figure it out all day. he’s just been.. out of it.”

the two exchanged hushed theories, voices low, trying to piece together what could’ve left sunghoon so distant, so unlike himself, so distraught.

the sudden sound of their teacher clearing his throat brought their whispers to an abrupt halt.

they tensed as they recognize the previously unnoticed presence behind them.

they laughed nervously as their teacher shot them a sharp glare. they quickly turned back in their seats and sat up straight.

sunghoon observed the exchange with a quirked brow, only now realizing the teacher had moved from the front to the back of the class.

somehow, he missed it entirely—but there was no time to dwell on it as the bell rang, echoing through the halls, signaling the end of class and the end of the school day.

sunghoon shot to his feet so fast it left jay and jake exchanging bewildered looks before they rushed to catch up to him.

by the time they finally caught up to him, they were at the far end of the school.

jake and jay paused, trying to catch their breath before confronting sunghoon.

sunghoon did a double take when he noticed them.

“what are you guys doing here?” he asked, glancing between them with a questioning look.

“we were trying to—” jake began, panting, “—hold on.”

he doubled over coughing between words, “oh my god, i’m dying.” jake said dramatically.

jay and sunghoon grimaced and patted his back, trying to help him with whatever it is that he’s slightly choking on.

jay turned to sunghoon after giving jake his water bottle and making sure he was okay. “what he was trying to say is… what’s going on with you today? are you okay?”

jake's forehead creased with worry as jay's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning sunghoon for answers.

at the question, sunghoon’s eyes avoided jay’s, landing on the door in front of him, like it held all the answers.

he nodded slowly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet,“yeah.. why wouldn’t i be?” his hands constantly readjusting the strap of his bag.

jake followed sunghoon’s gaze, and the moment his eyes landed on the door, his mouth parted in realization.

he nearly smacked his forehead, kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner. nudging jay to get his attention, he subtly nodded toward the door.

jay turned to look—and only then did it hit him where they had followed sunghoon to.

they stood in front of the student council room—the place the council always hung out when they weren’t in class.

there was only one reason sunghoon would come here, and it’s to find you.

jay and jake exchanged a look, the pieces starting to come together—they finally had an idea of what might’ve been weighing on sunghoon.

the only problem now was figuring out how to get him to open up to them.

right before any of them could do or say anything, the door swung open with frustrated mumbles trailing behind it. their attention snapped back to the door, expecting to find you.

instead, they were met with jungwon—and a look of confusion from the student council president himself.

he stilled, eyes scanning each of their faces trying to recognize them. the four of them stood there for a moment, wrapped in a brief, awkward silence.

the three older boys stood frozen, unsure of what to do or say. it felt like they’d been caught red-handed despite not having done anything wrong.

jake opened his mouth, prepared to break the silence, but jungwon spoke first.

“ah, sunghoon hyung.” jungwon’s stiff posture relaxed slightly as recognition settled in. “sorry—it took me a second to figure out who you guys were.”

he greeted jay and jake as well, giving a quick bow before continuing, “we’ve been stuck in meetings all day because of your graduation coming up so my head is a little scrambled.” jungwon let out a sheepish laugh, clearly embarrassed.

sunghoon stood back, quietly observing as the three of them caught up—jungwon had been swamped lately with end-of-year duties, so it had been a while.

sunghoon chimed in occasionally with a comment or two, but for the most part, he stayed reserved. content to just listen.

he zoned out for a couple minutes, thinking of the other places you could be when jungwon suddenly perked up beside him. sunghoon’s eyes drifted back towards him due to his sudden movement.

“oh! sunghoon hyung, i almost forgot to tell you—” sunghoon hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. “noona asked me to let you know she had to leave about thirty minutes ago during her free period. she got a call from home and said she’d explain everything later. she also apologized for not messaging you—said she didn’t have her phone on her, and that she’d explain that too. although, i’m not totally sure what happened. she was kind of rambling and talking really fast while running around trying to grab all her stuff.”

sunghoon smiled softly, knowing that was very on brand for you.

he already felt lighter knowing that you had promised to talk to him later. “thank you for letting me know jungwon-ya.” jungwon only nodded before jake started poking at him.

as jake teased jungwon over something trivial, sunghoon laughed and joined jake’s antics—noticing how relaxed jungwon looked for once.

jay’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “yah, give the poor kid a break,” he said, grinning. “he’s barely had time to breathe, and here you guys are messing with him.”

jungwon let out a dramatic groan. “next time, I’m just going to pretend I don’t know you guys and walk right past.” a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he added,“or i might just pull the student council president card on you.”

the three of them gasped in mock disbelief.

“you wouldn’t!” jay accused, pointing dramatically.

jungwon smirked, raising his brows. “oh, i would.”

“no way…” jake clutched sunghoon’s shoulders. “is this what betrayal feels like?”

sunghoon fought the urge to laugh, turning away from jungwon with exaggerated flair.

“i—i can’t even look at you right now.” he suddenly collapsed onto jake, dramatically wailing,“oh, what has my precious child become!”

the four of them burst into laughter at the sheer stupidity of their conversation. the air around them feeling light and tender.

jungwon grinned, his dimpled smile shining bright. “oh, what-ever! i’ll do what i must to survive. besides, you senior citizens are graduating this weekend. talk about going out with a scene.” he shook his head, clearly joking.

sunghoon found the conversation around him fading into a blur.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

he wasn’t sure how he got there, but sunghoon was at your doorstep, torn between raising his hand to knock or going back home to wait for you to find him first.

he glared at your front door, teeth tugging at the cracked skin on his lips—anxious, uncertain.

he wasn’t sure what to expect.

were you just going to move on like yesterday never happened? the idea made his brows crease.

he didn’t want you to brush off what you said yesterday—but he had no idea how to bring it up himself.

what if you didn’t mean it the way he thought you did?

had he really let himself believe you meant something more?

had the line between his desires and your intentions blurred so much that he couldn’t tell when you were just being friendly?

his jaw clenched in quiet frustration.

when had your actions become so hard to read that he couldn’t tell where genuine affection ended and casual kindness began?

maybe the line was never blurred—you were just kind, and he was just foolish enough to hope it was something else.

with a heavy sigh, sunghoon’s head dropped into his hands as the weight of it all pressed down on him.

his mind was spinning, thoughts pounding so loud it hurt—each one louder than the last, his skull throbbing.

it shouldn’t be this hard, but it always was.

he stood there, swallowed whole by the never ending spiral he always found himself in.

he scoffed under his breath.

why did he have to be such a coward?

a voice spoke up behind him, startling him. “unless you’ve got secret powers, you might want to try knocking, sunghoon-ah.”

sunghoon stepped back, heat rising to his cheeks as he turned to face your mother.

he dipped his head with a sheepish grin, “ah, sorry, imo.” he laughed nervously, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “i wasn’t sure if anyone was home.”

she glanced at him with amusement.

“i see,” your mother said with a knowing smile, brushing past sunghoon to unlock the door. “there’s no need to stand out here like a stranger, sunghoon-ah.”

once the door was unlocked, she pushed it open and gestured him to come in. “you know you’re always welcome here—so don’t to hesitate to knock. you’re practically family at this point.”

sunghoon smiled faintly, bowing in gratitude before stepping inside.

his gaze swept the room with a quiet kind of recognition—that familiar feeling from yesterday settled over him again.

it was déjà vu, laced with something heavier. a hush of melancholy lingered in the air.

it was that same quiet ache, longing mixed with sorrow—as if he’d slipped into a memory he desperately wanted to relive.

sunghoon refused to acknowledge it, pushing the feeling aside.

instead, he made small talk with your mom—asking how work had been, how your dad was doing and when he’d be back from his work trip.

not even an hour had passed when he heard the soft click of the front door.

everything around him faded into silence the moment he saw you. all he could do was take in your presence.

“eomma! you won’t believe who i saw at the market.” you groaned, placing the grocery bags on the floor and slipping into your house slippers with practiced ease.

you rambled on, only to pause mid-sentence when your eyes finally met sunghoon’s. your features lit up.

“i was wondering when you’d show up.” you said, smiling so wide, it reached your eyes. “what took you so long?”

he hadn’t realized you could shine this brightly—your smile lit up the room, your eyes glittering with something pure.

sunghoon felt it hit him all at once, like light pouring through cracks.

the noise in his head faded, the heaviness in his chest eased, replaced by something warm and light that touched the sore parts of his heart.

you always had that effect on him—your presence settled into him like sunlight seeping through closed curtains.

you made him feel seen, even without him having to speak. and he kept chasing that quiet sense of peace, drawn to the only thing that ever truly grounded him.

you.

you went on,“have you been waiting long?”

sunghoon shook his head and walked over, “i got here around the same time as your mom.” he replied. gently taking the grocery bags from your hands.

your fingertips brushed his, lingering like fire on his skin—a sensation that burned deeper than he’d ever admit.

after a quick glance at the time, you gave a small nod with a faint smile. “so, about thirty minutes ago? that’s not too bad.”

sunghoon set the bags on the counter and began handing you items as you put them away, falling into an easy rhythm beside you.

the two of you slipped into conversation, unaware of the fond smile your mom wore as she watched from across the room.

she excused herself, saying work had worn her out and she needed to wind down for the night.

you both wished her goodnight after confirming she didn’t want anything to eat.

once you finished organizing the kitchen, you dragged sunghoon to the living room.

“seeing that you’re here, i figure jungwon was able to reach you, right?” you question with a knowing grin.

sunghoon let out a soft chuckle as he settled onto your sofa.

“didn’t expect you to forget your phone—you’re usually glued to it. for you, that’s like saying you forgot how to breathe,” he teased, flashing a dimpled grin. “what happened? decided you finally wanted to touch grass?”

you rolled your eyes. “ha, ha. very funny.” you flicked his forehead lightly. “i’m laughing so hard, i think i might pass out.”

he laughed. “you should be grateful, you basically have a comedic genius for a friend.” he tilted his chin smugly,“not many people can say that.”

“oh my gosh, you’re so right!” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “how could i not when i have front-row seats to your one-man show, delusions and dimples? truly, i’m blessed.”

he leaned back, still grinning. “i’d ask for a tip, but i already know i’m your favorite act.”

you scoffed. “oh, absolutely. i tune in every week just to remind myself what not to laugh at.”

he shot you a playful look,“just say i’m funny—your pride will survive, i promise.”

“yeah, you’re funny—” you paused, a mischievous glint in your eye,“—looking. ohhh!” you gasped dramatically, yelling as you covered your mouth and pointed at him before bursting into laughter.

he threw his head back with an exaggerated groan. “you’re unbelievable.” he bit back a smile, shaking his head in mock defeat.

once your laughter faded, you finally took the chance to explain yourself.

“anyways, like i was saying before you decided to be funny,” you said, shooting him a playful glare. “i forgot the council had meetings all day today. i was rushing to get ready and thought i put my phone in my pocket, when i didn’t. i didn’t even realize until i got to my first meeting at seven. so i couldn’t text you not to wait on me since i was already stuck at school with the rest of the council.”

sunghoon nodded along, eyes focused on you as you spoke.

“then, when we were done with the meetings,” you continued, “my dad called the school trying to get a hold of me since i wasn’t answering my phone—he wanted me to pick up the gift he got for my mom for mother’s day this weekend. i tried seeing if i could go after school ended so you could come with me after your class, but he said the store wouldn’t hold it if someone else wanted it. so i left in a rush again and asked jungwon to do me the favor of letting you know.”

you pursed your lips, trying to think if you’d missed anything.

“and once i got home, i was waiting for you—but then my mom called and asked if i could grab a few things from the store. and now…” you gestured loosely around you, shrugging. “here we are.”

he blinked slowly. “wow. you really know how to keep a guy on his toes.” he tilted his head, voice light. “next time, just send a carrier pigeon.”

you arched a brow, fighting back a smile.

“and spoil you with instant updates? i’d hate to ruin the suspense.” then, with a dramatic hair flip, you added, “you know i’ve got a mysterious and nonchalant persona to maintain.”

sunghoon scoffed, “yeah, right! you’re like, the least nonchalant person i know.” he threw a pillow towards you, chuckling lightly. “you’d trip over your own ‘mysterious aura’ five minutes in.”

you waved a hand dramatically. “well, being unforgettable is kind of my thing. i keep things interesting.” then, with a pointed stare, you added, “you clearly don’t understand the art of subtle chaos.”

sunghoon hummed, then gave you a small smile, his eyes softer now.

“you really didn’t have to explain all that.” he nudged your knee with his. “but i’m glad you did.”

you gave him a small smile in return.

“i just didn’t want you to think i was avoiding you or anything.” your voice dropped a little. “i would’ve told you if i could.”

“i know you would’ve,” he gave a small shrug. “i just didn’t expect an explanation. i mean… it’s just me.”

you looked at him, expression gentle.

“you don’t have to be ‘someone special’ for me to care. you just… matter to me.” he felt your eyes on him—careful, almost hesitant, like you were trying to read him. “i explained myself because i wanted to, not because i had to.”

his heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears, and for a moment, he wondered if you could feel it too.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

confetti surrounded everyone after the principal congratulated the graduating class for the final time.

cheers in the stadium echoed, the moment felt euphoric.

students tossed their hats into the air, laughter and tears being mixed in the breeze.

happiness lingered—the kind that comes with endings, beginnings, and everything in between.

sunghoon turned to you with a wide smile, met instantly by yours. your eyes shined beneath the confetti filled sky.

he swept you into his arms, spinning you in a whirl of celebration and color, your laughter rising above the chaos in a way that made everything else fade.

his heart felt light, full of pride and something softer, as he thought about how far you both had come.

after the ceremony and dozens of photos, both your families came together for a celebratory dinner—laughter, stories, and congratulations shared over clinking glasses and full plates.

sunghoon watched as his family effortlessly blended with yours, the familiarity between them clear in every laugh and shared memory.

moments like this had always stretched into hours—it was just how things were. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

his eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, sitting beside his sister.

the sight made him smile—he cared deeply for you both, and watching you get along always stirred something warm in his chest.

his head tilted slightly when he caught yeji’s mischievous expression, paired with your confused one as you tried to follow whatever she was saying.

it wasn’t until yeji caught his eye and shot him a wink paired with a smirk that his heart sank.

what was she telling you?

he shifted in place, debating whether to walk over or let it play out. but the way your brows furrowed had him already taking a step in your direction—just in case.

once he was close enough, sunghoon caught yeji saying,“he once cried over a dog in a movie and blamed it on ‘allergies.’ don’t let the cool act fool you.”

he let out a quiet groan from behind her. “will you ever let that go? seriously, it’s like your life mission is to embarrass me in front of people who aren’t family.”

he had no idea what the conversation was about before that, but he could only hope yeji had stuck to harmless stories and nothing more dangerous.

you laughed before teasing,“ i thought he was nonchalant.” you glanced at him with a grin. “guess the act’s been cracked.”

“nonchalant is literally my brand.” he side-eyed yeji. “you just love ruining the mystery, don’t you?”

yeji rolled her eyes. “oh please. unnie’s been in your life longer than i have—she already knows you’re not nearly as mysterious or nonchalant as you think you are.”

sunghoon frowned,“with all this betrayal, it’s obvious who the favorite park is—and which graduate you’re rooting for, yeji.”

you nudged his arm. “don’t worry, you’re still my favorite… most of the time.”

yeji crossed her arms, smugly. “don’t be mad because she likes me more, oppa. i’m just the better choice.”

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you two are unreal.”

the three of you kept talking, laughter fading into softer conversations as the night wore on.

slowly, the house settled into silence as people slipped out the door with quiet goodbyes and others deciding to call it a night.

yeji followed soon after, claiming she was tired before bidding the two of you goodnight and retreating to her room.

sunghoon glanced to his side when he felt the warmth next to him vanish—your absence noticeable the moment you stepped away.

he stayed quiet, simply watching as you walked toward the front door, stopping before you reached it.

you turned back to him with a grin. “you coming, or not?”

his smile softened. “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

he stood and made his way over to you, grabbing his jacket and keys along the way.

with a small gesture, he nodded ahead, letting you guide him through the quiet night—because somehow, being with you always felt like the right direction.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon’s fingers tapped along the steering wheel, matching the rhythm of the song blaring through his car speakers.

he drove toward a familiar spot—the one the two of you always seemed to end up at when it felt like it was just you and him against the world.

you sat beside him, singing along without a care, creating your own little performance as he drove.

a faint smile lingered on his lips, your presence grounded him, yet stirred the familiar ache in his chest.

being beside you felt like holding onto something precious with both hands—afraid it might slip away, even though it was right there.

you slip so seamlessly into the cracks of his world, filling spaces he didn’t even know were empty.

you’ve become the quiet force holding him together, the part of him that made the rest feel less scattered.

he glanced back at you, his gaze tracing your features like they were something he could never get tired of looking at.

his eyes shifted back to the road.

in a world where everything kept changing, you were the one thing he always wanted to stay.

the moment sunghoon pulled in, you were already out of the car—like the place had been calling your name.

sunghoon watched you jump out with a shake of his head and a grin.

“you know, normal people wait for the car to stop first,” he called after you, though his tone was all fondness.

he lingered for a second, eyes trailing after you as you ran ahead.

there was something about the way you lit up in certain places, like this one, that made following you feel like the easiest choice in the world.

he made his way to you, breathing in the crisp mountain air as the city shimmered below.

you spun toward him with a glowing smile, eyes glistening like the city lights dancing behind you.

“you always take your time, huh?” you teased, hand slipping around his wrist as you led him to the bench—your shared place to watch the world glow from a distance.

he smirked as he took a seat beside you. “maybe. or maybe I just like seeing if you’ll wait for me.”

you laughed softly, as the lights below flickered like stars. “well, you make it really hard not to.”

while you admired the city below, sunghoon’s gaze never left you, quietly memorizing the moment he already feared of losing.

you both sat in silence, your presence a quiet comfort against the cool summer night.

it’s not like he didn’t want to say anything, he simply didn’t trust his voice. you were just inches away—yet somehow, you still felt out of reach.

he wondered if you knew.

if you could feel how his heart always settled in your presence, how you turned the weight he carried into something lighter.

if you noticed how silence never felt heavy when it was shared with you.

he didn’t need the city lights or the view. he just needed this—whatever this was. whatever you were.

he desperately wanted to reach towards you and tell you everything that he was so afraid of saying.

he ached to tell you, to unravel every truth he’d buried.

he longed to close the distance, to finally speak of the weight in his chest, but the fear that opening his heart would drive you away still lingered—the fear that honesty might cost him the only thing that ever made him feel whole.

but he could feel the confession resting on the tip of his tongue—ready, waiting, willing to let you into his heart.

and though those quiet fears still lingered, their grip was loosening, slowly releasing him from the weight they carried. because right now, in this moment,

it was just you and him.

“this view always has been beautiful.” you murmured, glancing over. but when you turned, he was already looking at you—like the view didn’t matter at all.

“it is beautiful,” he whispered, eyes still on you.

your expression softened into something tender before you turned your gaze back to the city below.

the silence stretched between you as his gaze followed the gentle curve of your profile, admiring how the lights kissed your skin.

he called your name under his breath, barely audible—like part of him hoped you wouldn’t hear it, and the other part needed you to.

a curious hum escaped you as you turned to meet his eyes.

“I…” sunghoon sighed, pressing his lips together.

he looked away for a moment, searching for the right words, before turning back to you.

your gaze hadn’t wavered—still fixed on him, calm and patient, as if you were giving him all the time he needed.

your expression remained soft, touched with quiet curiosity, silently urging him on.

just as his mouth parted, ready to tell you everything—the words stalled on his tongue, trembling at the edge of something real.

for a heartbeat, everything stood still.

but then, almost subtly, the moment began to slip.

the lights dimmed, the cold crept in, and your face, that so clear just seconds ago, blurred around the edges.

he reached for you, hands trembling—desperate to hold onto you as you disappeared into the dark.

you were slipping through his fingers like something that was never meant to stay.

the memory of you blurred, fading into a silence that felt heavier than anything he’d ever known. he felt like he was drowning as the unfamiliar darkness swallowed him whole.

he had been so close. so unbearably close, with his heart in his throat, ready to pour it all out—ready to tell you how much he cared, how deeply and hopelessly he loved you, like his heart had been shaped only to hold yours, and no one else’s.

how loving you had become the only thing that made sense, the only thing that felt like it was written into his bones, something he was meant to do.

something that just came naturally.

how you were the quiet ache behind everything he touched, how his heart had been quietly, endlessly breaking with a love he never quite knew how to give—but had always, always wanted to give to you.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon shot up from his bed, breath shaky and uneven.

it took him a moment to remember where he was, to realize you weren’t there.

the silence in the room felt colder than it should’ve, your name still clinging to the back of his throat.

sunghoon jumped at the sudden voice that pulled him out of his daze,“you okay, sunghoon?”

his gaze landed on the two figures standing across the room, having just stepped through the door.

jay and jake stood still, concern written all over their faces—whatever they had been talking about before was clearly left behind the moment they saw him.

it wasn’t until then that he truly registered where he was. not with you. not under the city lights. but here, in his college dorm.

he blinked, trying to slow his breathing, but the weight in his chest hadn’t left. it sat there—heavy, hollow.

sunghoon gave a small nod, though it was far from convincing. “yeah,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “just… a dream.”

jake looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. instead, he shared a glance with jay—one that said enough.

jay’s frown deepened, concern etched across his face, but neither of them pushed.

the room fell into a quiet tension, the kind that only came when something important went unspoken.

sunghoon didn’t meet their eyes. he looked down at his hands, and they were still trembling slightly.

he had been so close.

the dream still clung to him like a second skin, impossible to shake. it settled in his chest, quiet but suffocating.

all he could do was dwell on what could’ve happened—what he should’ve said when he had the chance.

his eyes drifted to the photos pinned to his wall, pictures of you and him frozen in time, smiling like nothing would ever change. but he knew better.

he was just the friend you grew up with—the one you’d never see that way.

he’ll always yours in silence, never in name.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ MIV— hope you enjoyed! i also apologize if some of the wording does not make sense, i did go over it but in a rush so it's not perfect. i spent days on this because i kept getting side tracked. the amount of times i paused bc i was crashing out is crazy. but i can’t really complain bc im the one that’s writing it so i could quite literally change whatever i want LMAOOO. now that i finished this, i actually have to do my homework. i do not think i will be posting a story or update until maybe the end of next week because of my finals. so, i apologize in advance but college is just kicking my butt rn 😢

please DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate ANY of my works in any way.

[imvec]

Sunshade

-> Sequel

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 51

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Minors DNI. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

51. don’t cry for me, argentina

You are lucky that you have traveled enough that you practically arrange everything for your journey on autopilot, operating in a daze of excitement and dread, daring to hope yet beating yourself down at every turn. 

This isn’t going to amount to anything. 

You’re flying to the bottom of the world just to crush yourself again.

Yet in the grand scheme of things, an 11 hour flight seems like the least you can do, to indulge this mystery. 

You’ll just go, and see. What’s the harm? Besides to your barely clinging last thread of sanity? 

You’ve never had the luxury of planning a trip without a budget. There is something incredibly convenient about just being able to book whatever flights and hotel you want without giving a fuck for the price. The zeroes in your bank account are vast, and this is really the first time you’ve splurged with them. 

The hardest part is arranging for the care of Dog with someone you trust. You know Winston would take him if you asked, but the Continental is not a kennel. You think there is some synergy in the Universe, when you recruit a girl from the coffee house who you befriended to housesit and watch your faithful pooch. Dog can tell that the energy of the house has changed as you pack, seeming both anxious and curious in that sage way canines have about them. 

“I promise I’m coming back soon,” you tell him, kissing him on the snoot. 

You hope you’re telling the truth.    

***

You feel as though you are holding your breath for the entire plane ride. 

You do not sleep, and when at last you land in Buenos Aires you feel as though you are walking amidst a fever dream, collecting your bags from the carousel on autopilot. A press of people await their loved ones outside security. There are smiling faces, laughter, embraces. You search the crowd, but no one is familiar. 

No one is waiting there for you, and you are scared to admit you’d even entertained the slightest sliver of hope. 

As though you’re afraid of jinxing yourself, you’ve hardly allowed yourself to consciously admit the purpose of your mission here. Certainly not aloud, and you didn’t even tell Winston where you were going, afraid he would talk you out of it. 

The warmth from outside presses through the windows of the last atrium of the airport; you have to take off your coat or you will cook. Stray dogs nap politely in the shade by an unmanned counter. This is a different world than what you’re used to at home, and at last that old familiar energy greets you; the beginning of an adventure. 

Anything could happen. 

You get your second wind, and with new courage you walk out into the warm day to hail a taxi.   

This beautiful city racing past the window seems like a fairyland out the corner of your eye, the bright purple jacaranda trees in full bloom dreamily painting the landscape. You see poverty and wealth existing side by side as you motor down the highway, and you think maybe it’s not so different from the other big cities you have known. 

You chat politely but haltingly with your driver. Maybe he can tell that your reluctance to talk has less to do with your grasp of the language than your mind being elsewhere. He gives up halfway to your little hotel in Palermo; you hope he doesn’t think ill of you, and you give him a big tip in American Dollars, the coveted currency in this part of the world where the value of the peso dives on a whim. You packed lightly, but he still insists on carrying your bag into the lobby, and you thank him profusely. 

***

Once you are settled in your room, you find you are reluctant to leave it again, and not because of jet lag. Out there lies a whole city to comb; out there you could find redemption–or the absolute devastation of one final disappointment. 

In the end, you make yourself go. You didn’t come here to stare out your second-story window, as nice as the view of the tree-lined street is. Your first plan is to check out the travel agency that printed the flyer, which is now crumpled and folded from your repeated perusing of it. They’d seemed perplexed about it over the phone, but very eager to sell you a tour anyway. 

It’s a modest little office within walking distance of your hotel, and you would have enjoyed the stroll down the shaded streets, if your heart wasn’t trying to escape from your chest, and your hands weren’t shaking from adrenaline. Posters line the windows advertising gaucho tours on horseback of the Pampas grasslands, epic views of the great Iguazú Falls, and the penguin colonies of the Peninsula Valdés.    

All of these things sound interesting, but it’s not what you came for. 

You go inside to find a young lady behind the counter. She is wearing a sleeveless pink shirt, showing off toned arms covered in tattoos. Her ears are studded from lobe to helix with silver. She looks intimidating, until her generous mouth parts in a smile. “How are you today? I’m Ava.”

You exchange pleasantries before you pull out your heavily-handled flyer, presenting it to her. “Does your company print these?” 

She looks it over with a little frown. “That is our logo,” she says, tapping the paper. “But I’ve never seen this before. Where did you get it?” 

“It was sent to my house, in New York?” 

This puzzles her even further. “I’m sorry ma’am, we do not do print advertising in the United States? It would be too expensive.” 

Of course it would. 

You are strangely elated to hear this, a fluttering in your belly like waking butterflies. “I’m looking for a man,” you say. “He’s tall. Handsome. Dark eyes, dark hair.” 

She lifts an eyebrow at you, her green eyes veritably sparkling, and you realize you’ve described a great deal of the male population of this country–and it sounds like you’re trying to solicit something untoward. “I have a photo!” you exclaim, your cheeks fiery with embarrassment. 

You dig through your phone with trembling fingers until you find a good picture of John (that won’t make you blush even harder). “Have you seen him?” 

She studies the photo. Then she studies it a little more, her lips twisting, and you can’t help it. Even with tears in your eyes, you burst out laughing, and she joins you a minute later. “I know, right?” 

She covers her smile with her hand, handing you back the phone. “I’m sorry, but I have not seen him. I think I would remember, no?” 

“Yeah. You probably would.” Your burst of elation is replaced just as quickly with disappointment as you tuck your phone back into your bag. It’s a dead end, then. Or at least…you’re left with more questions than answers. Someone made that brochure, used this agency’s logo and address, and sent it 5000 miles to your door.

If it wasn’t John, and he’s truly gone…then who? Was it a trap? 

Don César was certain the Aragón cartel was all but finished that fateful night, and according to Winston the Camorra were all too glad to be rid of Dante. You know that John Wick had a list of enemies longer than his arm, but why the fuck would any of them care about you? 

“Can I give you my hotel?” you ask. “Just in case, you could leave me a message?” You think that might be a little better than your cell number. Can’t you be tracked that way? Should you change your sim card? Should you get a burner phone? 

You’re not a spy, and you really don’t know what to do, both wanting to be found, and fearing it. 

“Sure,” she agrees. “How long will you be in Argentina?” 

“A couple of weeks.” The answer is actually indefinitely, but you figure she doesn’t need to know that. 

“I am leading a tour around the city sites tomorrow. It includes wine tasting and lunch at one of the best parrillas in Palermo. There are still openings if you might be interested?” 

“How many people are in the group?” 

“Right now, there are eight.” 

You’d surely be safe in a group, wouldn’t you? You still can’t shake the feeling like you’re caught up in some kind of old school spy craft game, so you agree. 

It can't hurt to get the lay of the land from a local, right? And maybe…she’ll take you somewhere you’re supposed to go?

What could go wrong.

***

It's strange pretending that you're a normal tourist, amidst the group of happy couples and young backpackers out to see the city. You make the obligatory smalltalk, though the whole time you are searching the faces of passersby, and the buildings around you, hoping for a clue.

As though she senses you might be a little fragile, or maybe because she feels sorry for you as the only loner in the group, Ava sticks close to you, and you enjoy getting to know her as she leads you all around this beautiful city like a line of lost ducklings in her stompy black boots.

By the end of the day you do feel like you have your bearings more. The tour’s big finale is a feast of various beef cuts grilled on a wood fired parrilla. The red wine flows, and the wooden interior of the restaurant is made extra cozy when it starts to rain, and the waitresses light candles to combat the gloom. 

It would be a lovely place to dine with someone special–but even in your little group, you are alone. 

By the time you make it back to your hotel room you are soaked, exhausted, a little drunk, and you fear no closer to solving your mystery. You’re not proud of it…but you curl up on your bed, and cry yourself to sleep. 

***

You have a checklist of the places to go that were mentioned in the brochure. You visited some of them briefly the day before, or at least went past them. You start with the Gardens, because they’re nearby your hotel. 

You don’t really know what you’re doing, of course. 

You are operating on the slim hope that if that flyer was sent to you with purpose…he will come to you at one of these places. So you leave your itinerary with the front desk, just in case your “friend” comes looking for you. Maricella, the bespectacled older woman at reception, accepts this routine with poorly disguised annoyance in this day and age of handheld computers that masquerade as phones, but she cheers a little every time you leave her a generous tip. 

Maybe it’s silly, but you’re finding your favorite part of having money is the freedom to spread it around. 

Though you haven't used your account in ages, you consider leaving breadcrumbs on your Facebook too, just in case. But that little fear in the back of your mind wins out, that maybe this is some kind of trap, so you decide not to project your movements that openly. 

At least, not yet.

You tell yourself that you’re not that desperate, yet, even if deep down that scratching feeling inside you only multiplies with every passing day that you do not find even the slightest clue of John. You search the faces in the crowd on the street, in the parks and museums and the fabulous restaurants, hoping. Truth be told, there is no shortage of lovely brown-eyed men in this city…but none of them are the right one. 

You go to El Ateneo Grand Splendid, marveling at the multi-story bookstore staged in a resplendent old opera house. You peruse the stacks slowly, praying that you will look up and see a familiar face. 

You tour the Japanese Garden, sitting on the bench when your feet hurt, looking around and thinking, John would love this place. 

You wander the Plaza de Mayo, marveling at the grand buildings, the pink Casa Rosada where the president headquarters, and the pleasant paths and plantings around the towering white Pirámide de Mayo obelisk, marking the beginning of Argentina’s bid for independence from Spain. 

You traipse through the museums of art and history, your attention only half engaged by the displays, even though MALBA contains one of the best collections of Latin American art under one roof. You do stop to give your attention to your old friend Frida. You remember the headlines when it sold for 33 million dollars not long ago, purchased by an Argentine businessman for the museum. It’s titled, “Diego y Yo,” one of Frida’s numerous self portraits, and you think, one of her more haunting. Her black hair frizzes free and wild across the canvas; her gaze daring. Diego Rivera’s likeness sits upon her forehead, her third eye, ever foremost in her thoughts.

The love of her life, and the source of her worst anguishes. 

You think you understand this piece better than ever, now.  

These excursions all end in disappointment, and the señora must see it all written on your face when you return to your hotel, exhausted inside and out. 

“You should never pin your happiness on a man,” she tells you, not looking up from her book where she sits behind the reception desk. “It only ends in heartbreak.” 

Are you that obvious? 

With a sigh, you nod, agreeing with her. “But how do you go back, when you know you’ll never be happy without them again?” you ask, hoping for some gem of advice in your time of need. 

“You have to stop lying to yourself, for one,” she answers frankly. “You don’t know what the future will bring.” 

This makes you smile a little, even if her words don’t really help, at least at that very moment. “Gracias, señora,” you say, making to climb the stairs up to your room. 

She huffs, as though she suspects you haven’t listened to her at all. “Sientate,” she orders you, pointing at a grouping of chairs in the courtyard connected to the lobby, then she disappears into the back. 

Puzzled, you do as you’re told. 

Your only other plans for the day were to sit in your room and cry, anyway.

Soon she re-emerges carrying two gourd cups with metal bombilla straws. You recognize the national drink, an herbal tea made of yerba-maté leaves. “You’ll feel better,” she says, setting it down in front of you. 

“Thank you.” 

You sit in silence for a while, waiting for it to cool. When she takes her first sip you do the same. It’s bitter, but not bad. An acquired taste, for sure. 

She breaks the silence with, “My country knows a thing or two about loss.”    

You nod, knowing it’s true. 

“You have to let it go, niña, or it will eat you alive. And what is the point of living like a ghost? The decision is yours, in the end.”

“I’m not ready,” you admit sadly, staring down into your guampa. 

“Well. You’d better get on with it. You seem like a nice girl.” 

You look across the table at this woman who does not know you, and yet somehow it seems she can see into your soul. You’re not exactly a fan of tough love, (who is?), but it’s more than your own mother was able to give you over the phone not so long ago. 

Are you still a nice girl? If she knew the things you did to survive one fateful night on a boat in the Caribbean, she might think otherwise. 

You sigh, tracing the metal rim of your cup. You appreciate the consideration this stranger has paid you, but you know, deep down, you can't. “I’ll think about it,” you say, if just to be polite. 

She pays you a look over her glasses that says she knows all too well, but she takes mercy on you with a slightly softened gimlet stare. “Sure you will.”

“Thank you for the maté.”

She waves you off with a smirk, like she knows you need to go crawl off into a hole and mope.

***

But you do think about what Maricella said, more than you actually want to. 

Are you just going to stay miserable forever and ever? 

You honestly don't know. 

You do know that you’re running out of places to go, and you’re running out of hope. 

You’re not exactly a religious person, but you find yourself wandering into the massive Catedral Metropolitana off the Plaza. Its neoclassical facade gives way to an opulent baroque interior, and its impossible not to feel an appropriate sense of awe. You walk around slowly, looking and thinking to yourself in the venerated quiet, the low murmurs of tourists and worshippers echoing through the cavernous space. 

In truth Catholicism has always felt a little like witchcraft to you. If you say the right magic words enough you can win forgiveness, the answers to your prayers, and maybe even salvation. At a side altar you buy a candle, lighting it and placing it with a cluster of others. 

You do not talk to God, per se…but you do talk to John. Whether it's healthy or not…he is the principal deity in your personal pantheon. 

Wherever you are…I hope you’ve found peace. I love you. I’ll always love you. 

When you leave, you can’t say it’s with a sense of closure or anything so helpful. But maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of weight lifts off your shoulders. 

Maybe it’s time you stop chasing ghosts and go home, to your Dog who loves you and needs you, to your life that’s been on hold. If John was here…he would have come to you. You find you are able to admit that to yourself, now. You’ve done your due diligence. 

Maybe it's time to get back to the living. You find you are able to even think about giving yourself permission to do that now, in a way you just couldn’t, before. 

When you get back to the hotel you buy your return ticket to New York.

***

It does occur to you, now that you’re finally starting to accept the idea that John is truly gone, that someone sent you that flyer to lure you here, and that’s probably not a good thing in your world. You’ve been careful, and somehow so far you’ve skated by unscathed, though a part of you starts to wonder if you’re being watched. It’s a tingling little feeling on the hairs of the back of your neck that you mostly chalk off to paranoia, as you walk down the street. 

You decided you want to spend your last day in Buenos Aires at the epic Sunday street fair in San Telmo. It’s a neighborhood that dates back to the very beginnings of the city. Once the home of the first settlers, then the wealthy, then the wave of new immigrants from all over Europe at the end of the nineteenth century, now it is a bohemian enclave filled with markets and galleries and restaurants. 

It’s the only place on the brochure where you haven’t yet been. 

The stone cobbled streets are closed down for the feria. Market stalls line either side of the roads, and the crowd teems shoulder to shoulder. You marvel at the handmade goods on offer. Carved gourd maté cups and leather goods of all kinds, textiles and knickknacks and antiques. You didn’t think you wanted to shop so much as you just wanted to see it, but you find yourself infected by the energy of the crowd, and you are handing money over left and right for little things that tickle your fancy. 

A booth with silver jewelry set with natural stones takes you for most of the rest of your pocket money. You pick out a necklace set with pink rhodochrosite, the national stone of Argentina, a malachite inlay cuff bracelet for your housesitter back home, and pair of filigree earrings with dangling garnets that remind you of pomegranate seeds. You wear them immediately with a poignant pang in your heart.  

Tired and hungry after hours of wandering, you pick up a choripan sausage with bread and chimichurri sauce, and find a place to sit on the bench in the tree-shaded Plaza Dorrego. There are more booths here, and street performers as well. After you finish your late lunch you sit and watch a pair of dancers performing the Tango on a makeshift square of flooring set down for their stage. They’re beautiful, their movements sweeping and graceful yet so precise, full of the push and pull emotion that embodies the spirit of the mournfully romantic dance. She struts away, only to forcefully be pulled back again into his arms. Through twists and turns and dips and lifts, variations of the same struggle play out again and again. 

You wonder if the partners dancing are in love. They certainly make it seem like they are, but maybe it’s all for show. You find yourself hoping for a cynical moment, for their sakes, that their passion is all a facade. 

This thought sideswipes you. Are you going to turn into a bitter old woman now, cautioning youngsters against the dangers of love? 

If you could go back, would you caution yourself to love John less? 

You realize the answer is no. No matter how you feel now…all the anguish was worth the elation, even if you only possessed it for a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things. 

Just when you thought you’d managed to cry yourself dry, fat tears fill your eyes and you have to hide your face in your hands for a good long minute before you get ahold of yourself again. You’re quiet about it, but passersby are looking at you with worried expressions. You feel a supporting hand on your shoulder. Everyone is so sweet in this country. You’re going to miss it. “Estoy bien, todo bien, gracias, gracias,” you stammer with an apologetic smile, and they nod sympathetically, letting you be.  

Deciding it’s time to go back to your hotel, you gather your things and take a long pull off your water bottle. You’re fine. 

You’re going to be fine. 

If you keep telling yourself that, maybe eventually it will be true. 

You throw some money in the bowl for the dancers who ripped out your heart with the beauty of their performance, and make your exit. 

Yet, as you pick your way through the crowd to a less packed street, hoping to find a taxi…it starts to become apparent that you are not fine. Your limbs feel heavy, and you lean against the side of a stucco building, struggling for a deep breath. As your vision goes blurry at the edges and the darkness trickles in, your last thought is: Motherfucker, not again.

TBC...

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-all chapters buenos aires photo collage II

[all-about-kyu]

𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒙𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅

Summary: You've had enough of being at this familial social event... here's how the boys would comfort you. Pairing: Ateez x gn!reader (individually) Tropes: established relationship au Genre: fluff, slight angst Rating: PG Warnings: emotional exhaustion, mentions of illness, crying Word Count: 70-80 per member Note: thank you to @stardragongalaxy @anyamaris and @sanjoongie for looking over this <3 this may be a bit extremely self-indulgent after Thanksgiving

Before You Interact

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂

Quitely checks in on you

When you just nod silently, he goes to get your jackets and announces that you’ll be leaving

During your trip home, he holds your hand 

By the time you get home, he knows you need a bit of space and lets you know where he’ll be, but still offers little things incrementally that may help out a bit

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈

Immediately notices something off with you

He gives you a specific look 

You’re off in space somewhere mentally, and he immediately takes you home

He knows you don’t want to be fully alone, so coexist in your living room together while you recuperate from the day (with added reassuring looks and holding your hand)

𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐

Doesn’t say a word but starts rubbing your back in comforting motions

Knows it’s time to go when you drop your head against his shoulder 

He kisses your hair lightly and lets you know he’s going to collect your things

Doesn’t say a thing but cuddles you as long as you need when you get home

𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈

Doesn’t even tell anyone you’re leaving… he just takes you home

He gives you a concerned look and asks if you need anything

You start snapping at him, and he knows you just need some space for a bit

He quietly does little things to help you out, and when you’re ready, you cuddle up in his lap he doesn’t say anything and just lets you relax

𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏

Quietly finds one of your family members and tells them you’re not feeling well

It’s not a lie it’s not his fault they think you’re physically ill

He makes you some tea when you get home and cuddles up with you on the couch

Immediately reassures you and validates what you’re feeling

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊

Honestly, he didn’t even process you hit your emotional wall until you dismissed yourself

He seeks you out and asks if you’re okay

When you break down, he holds you for a while you cry it out

As soon as you calm down again, he gets the car for you to sit in and relax while he collects your things

𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈

He’s completely unaware of your state because he’s busy talking rather loudly with your cousin

He only realizes when he goes to ask you something, and you’re just not in your seat anymore

He immediately panicked and went searching (he found you on the back porch silently sipping tea)

Made it up to you by cuddling you and let you do whatever you need to recover from the exhausting day with little jokes to try to cheer you up

𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐

He didn’t even need to do anything he just knew

When you hit your emotional wall, he already has your coat ready, and the car started

He got your favorite blanket and some chill music playing the moment you’re back home

You end up breaking down after everything still, and he just quietly holds you while you do what you need to calm down (which may or may not include a nap or holding you really close overnight)

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[beuhakkaka]

What is Fugis backstory

[THIS POST IS NO LONGER CURRENT. PLS DISREGARD IN TERMS OF CANON]-Beuh

YOU GREEDY PEOPLE, YOU WANT MORE?!?!? (Jk I've been wanting to info dump about this au for the past thousand years)

⚠️TW FOR MENTION OF DEATH/SLIGHT BLOOD ON ONE PIC ⚠️

OKK so Fugi was born in a poor home. His father was a drunk and wasn't around very often, and his mother was a little crazy. His home life would have been TERRIBLE if it wasn't for his twin sister, Angelica. As her name would indicate, she was a total sweety pie and was the complete opposite of Fugis grumpy, cold self. He loved her deeply and was very warm with her, and her alone.

Everything would have stayed relatively fine if it weren't for him and his sisters little escapade in the woods. There, they stumbled across a terrible creature. With teeth as long as his head and sharp as a blade, the beast would have killed Angelica if it weren't for Fugi stepping in.

He fought off the creature, but sustained a bite wound from the ordeal.

The wound healed shockingly quickly, and within hours, it had scarred over. He was now able to return home without his mom noticing (thank goodness!) but if he had known WHY it had healed so quickly, he wouldn't have felt so relieved.

That night, he went to sleep a boy, and the next, he woke up a monster. Long claws, sharp teeth, pointed ears, and above all else utterly massive. He had turned into what they called a giant nosferatu overnight. He ran away from home, knowing his mother would surely turn him in to hunters if he stayed.

BUT, his sister followed his tracks and managed to find him. She begged for him to stay, saying she would never forgive him if he abandoned her. At first, he was, of course, hesiant, knowing how easily he could hurt her and the nature of the creature he had become. But her tears convinced him, so he agreed to try and visit her. Before she left, she gave him a parting gift, her prized mirror. She couldn't give him a photo of her, but if he looked at his reflection, she was sure he would be reminded of his sister, who shared the same smile as him.

Fugi learned to hunt for animals and lay low to remain undetected. He eventually managed to sneak back to town and visit his sister without being seen, which, of course, was a little nerve-wracking for Angelica, but she loved him. So Angelica helped repair the tears in his clothes and made sure he knew the best places to find food.

One day, while taking a nap in his cave below a cliff, he heard the cries of a little girl. He peeked over the cliff to get a look at her, staying hidden. He did not recognize her bright, red hair, and he knew he surely would have if she had been from his village.

Whoever she was, she clearly needed help. So, keeping himself hidden beneath the cliffs edge, he spoke. Telling her where to go. She 100% should have questioned the echoy, disembodied voice coming from the cliff, but she was so scared she listened anyways, following his directions to the main village.

Fugi thought that was gonna be the end of it, but then the next day, she came back??? She clearly had no sense of preservation and was very lonely, as she loudly declared that "Mr. voice" was to be her friend.

Fugi learned her name was Annora and that she was rather...odd, and annoying.

But with time, he found he didn't mind her company.

He kept himself hidden from her, despite her begging for him to show himself, saying that if she looked at him, she would turn to stone. Of course, being a stupid nine year old, she believed him.

Everything was actually really nice for a few weeks. He got to chat with Annora when he was in the forest and visit his sister at night. Sure, it was a little cold, and sleeping on the caves ground was uncomfortable, but he made it work.

However, everything changed when raiders attacked his village. Fugi hadn't been there when the attack happened, so when he went to visit his sister, all he found was a town, consumed in flames. His sister, his mother, and his father were all dead, along with the rest of the village. Annora never returned, he assumed she had been caught in the fight as well.

Living in the forest he had once had so much fun in, became a constant reminder of his loss. So, to escape the grief, he made his way to where all nosferatu's congregated. The formation of canyons cleverly named "Deaths ledge" thanks to the fact that any human who went there, ended up dead!

It was quite the journey, but he eventually arrived. A desert in the middle of nowhere, there weren't animals or ready running water for him to live on. He could have went back home, but the idea of that made him ill with sorrow. So, he remained.

He struggled at first in the nosferatu's populace, not only being young but also very naive to their ways. Even if they had all been human once, the years of being a monster had shifted their views of empathy. None cared about the dirty child, focused on their own survival and lives.

Such a cold world would have been the end for others, but Fugi managed to scrape by, growing to be a very competent adult.

It was in these adult years, that he happened to hear about a bunch of humans whom were known for plundering villages, and burning it thereafter.

It didn't take long for him to connect the dots.

Now fully grown, and with years of grief turned into rage, the man now had a new goal.

Revenge.

Journeying back to the lush lands of humans, he hadn't thought the first day he took a nap. He would encounter a human girl with bright, red hair.

GRAAHAHH that was so fun to write!!! Ugh, au's are so fun...anyways this isn't 100% solid and is subject to change! But for now this is what I have hehe👹

[iratempestatis]

So for the longest time I've had this au in my head in which like. The adepti all get frustrated about Xiao working himself slowly but surely to death and try to contrive various plans to get him to gradually stop, but as subtly as they can because they're afraid that if he finds out he won't speak to them for the next hundred years. Getting him to ignore his duties- which truth be told aren't even his duties anymore, since his contract is now null- would take some very precise and delicate engineering. Xiao's sense of self worth depends on it- he thinks he's only worth anything if he devotes himself to being the spear that protects Liyue, after all.

So they all try various methods. Houzhang and Jiehu take him camping and kite flying in the mountains of Jueyun Karst. He enjoys the hike somewhat but gets sick of the kite flying after a few hours- it's not the most stimulating activity once the kite is far enough in the sky that you know it won't drop. He leaves.

They ask Fujin for help. She requests him to scour Chenyu Vale to see if there's any Spirit Carps that haven't yet been found and retrieved. After all, the only way he'd stop protecting his people is by helping someone else. This is a terrible idea because now he's running amok slaughtering monsters in Chenyu Vale and ruining Lingyuan's naps.

Xianyun tries to ask his help. They make all sorts of silly inventions together. Xiao soon realises making just one contraption takes several prototypes, grows impatient and bids her a cordial but firm farewell. He hasn't checked Guyun Stone forest in a while, after all. He's horrified to see the sheer number of Hilichurls and the elaborate colony they've made. He kills them all.

They turn to Ping for help. She tries to engage him in pottery. He tries, likes it, feels guilt for wasting his time playing with clay whilst there's likely some poor sod out there in need of his help and leaves in the night with a cordial farewell. Yaoyao asks if he could stay just a little longer. She wants to spar with him! And they could play badminton together! He almost does stay. Almost.

Finally it's Zhongli who speaks with him- and Xiao can hardly say no to the lord who granted him this life to begin with. He hears Zhongli out. Zhongli is careful with his words. He addresses Xiao as his dear friend. He doesn't want Xiao to feel as though this is an order to be obeyed- but rather a request to please consider.

Xiao hears him out. About how everyone is concerned for his health. The adepti are all finding their place among the mortals. Why not give it a try? Surely you can serve the mortals in a less strenuous way. Perhaps you could help Herblord run her pharmacy? With a faux identity, of course.

Xiao hesitates, but agrees. Perhaps this way he could also keep a closer eye on Baizhu. Ensure his pursuit of immortality doesn't end up harming him.

Rambler speaks with Changsheng. She agrees, with much delight. She tells everyone who works there- we're getting a new errand boy! Gui celebrates. Reader sighs- Gui never wants to work. Qiqi worries about forgetting his name, then forgets what she worried about to begin with when Baizhu sets a glass of coconut milk before her. Baizhu is apprehensive. He cares about Xiao dearly, but it's going to make this whole immortality thing a lot harder...

When Xiao finally descends upon Bubu pharmacy's doorstep early in the morning on a frightfully bright Monday, Reader is mostly just surprised to see the kid they told off some months ago for "chasing Hilichurls across the marsh in these ridiculous clothes! Did you steal your father's sleeves? Where are your parents? It's nine in the evening! By the archons, go home! Where do you live? Qingce Village? How have I never seen you before-"

"I am not a child!"