#if after all of this time after him already apparently saying it and after her saying it to him and writing it to him...

[nightingale-prompts]

Deathday Party

Part of this post series > link

Tim had no idea he was being courted by Danny and was making his way to an official engagement at this rate. What he did know was that Danny had invited him to an important party at the mansion of none other then Vlad Masters.

Danny had mentioned that his family and Masters had a rocky past but it had gotten better before he left for university. Tim wasn't convinced due to the stories Danny had offhandly mentioned. The guy had tried to out Danny to his parents and rallied the town against him. So excuse Tim for not wanting Danny to go back to a homophobic town like that and a bastard who did something so petty just because a kid's mom wouldn't sleep with you.

But Danny was his friend. The only normal friend he had who treated him like this. Sure he really likes giving gifts and has a fascination for flowers but that's all the more reason to look after him. It was pure luck that Tim befriended him before a cult did.

Tim was still going to supportive and still needed to make it up to Danny for not visiting Amity Park last time. So he packed and boarded the plane a few days before the party.

Danny began introducing Tim to everyone in his family. For the most part, it was a warm welcome. Danny's dad told him that they would have to sleep in separate rooms because "He knows how boys could be and there will be no funny business."

Tim was indignant but reminded himself to be polite. Danny's dad may not be the most accepting of LGBT people but this was his home.

Danny only blushed and brushed his dad off, after all, he and Tim hadn't even kissed yet.

Danny's friends were cool though. Sam was definitely the source of Danny's gothic tendencies. She and Danny discussed herbs, crystals, and graveyards together while Tim got to know Tucker.

The next day they went to the Masters' estate and Tim met Danny's other family. Dani or Elle was Danny's little sister or cousin or something. It was confusing but she immediately took a liking to Tim.

"Ooo, he's cute~ You dont mind sharing right Danny?" She teased linking arms with Tim.

"Knock it off Elle. He's too old for you anyway and if Vlad heard you he'd set Tim on fire." Danny admonished her pulling her off by the hoodie.

Tim didn't catch that Danny was being completely serious about the fire part.

Vlad Masters would be out of the house until the party that night but the mansion was being set up for the event. Apparently, the "Deathday" party was a bigger deal than Tim thought. The guest list was a mile long.

From what Tim gathered a death day was a celebration of life after a near-death experience. Like if someone flatlined during surgery and are brought back. Its actually a pretty smart way to deal with trauma by making the event a reason to celebrate.

Tim had heard from Danny of the day he was electrocuted and that it changed his life. He definitely had the scar to prove it. Danny had gotten a UV tattoo over it or something because it glowed faintly at night. It was pretty cool.

That evening Tim was handed his costume for the event. The party had a royal theme, something that didn't seem like Danny's idea. Still, Danny's silver and ivy green dublette looked...pretty good. Tim dressed in a similar red and gold suit.

"You look good." Danny pulled out an ornate emerald cravat pin and pinned it to Tim label.

"You too," Tim said without thinking but Danny smiled before going back to putting the finishing touches on their outfits.

It was...intimate to say the least as Danny pulled back Tim's hair. He fastened their capes and a (fake) dagger to his belt.

Danny put put on a subtle layer of makeup. Darkening his eyes, cheeks, and lips. It gave him a pale and deathly appearance.

"I have to look my best. I don't want anyone to think I'm just using you as arm candy." Danny laughed.

"That implies that you are using me as that already." Tim jested but stopped when Danny pointed to the makeup trey. "You're joking."

"Im not. It's an important event and this isn't Gotham. There are alot of people i want you to meet. Just play along." Danny begged.

Tim agreed letting Danny put on a bit of black and red makeup.

"Aww, Tim. You look absolutely ghastly. Your funeral ready." Danny gushed as he turned to grab the last things they needed. Two circlets with stars emblems embedded in them.

Tim laughed internally. Danny was always to positive Tim forgot just how goth he was. Tim knew he shouldn't be surpised.

Tim and Danny walked to the mansion's ballroom which was full of guests dressed similarly to them. The room glowed eerily under green-flamed torches. Very gothic. On second thought this suited Danny.

A staff member er...servant announced their arrival.

"His Highness the High Prince of the realm of infinite space and his guest."

None other than Vlad Masters approached. He had thrown this party for his godson and wanted everything perfect. He eyed Tim critically before speaking to Danny.

"Daniel I heard about your...friend from Elle. Its that what he is?" Masters studied.

"He's my-"

"Boyfriend! I'm his boyfriend." Tim interrupted. He was not going to let this homophonic piece of shit undermine Danny's sexuality again and try to embarrass him. Especially on such an I'm day. " Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne and head of Wayne Industries. I've heard a LOT about you Mr.Masters."

After a moment Vlad nodded and smiled.

"You've chosen well. He's quite the catch my boy. Happy Death Day." Vlad patted Danny on the back before going to mingle with Danny's parents who where tearing up the cheese platter.

Danny blinked owlishly at Tim. Tim had never used that word yet, Danny thought they were not at that stage yet.

"Sorry Danny, i got caught up." Tim sighed.

"You know he's going to tell everyone right?" Danny laughed "I hope you're ready."

Danny dragged Tim to meet his ghost friends for the rest of the evening between dancing and eating.

Tim had fun meeting Danny's fellow goth friends who complimented him a lot. They were definitely strange but they really loved Danny. The whole party was like a Renaissance festival meets one of those novels that Jason loved. Actually, Jason would be so jealous of him right now. Tim made sure to take pictures. Some of them came out fuzzy but it was enough to make Jason mad.

[ja3yun]

Our Life | P.JS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this day a little more bearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They get that from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

And then his eyes land on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you’re placing yourself home in his heart.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” you respond, intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if I say no?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to make you this happy forever.

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

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

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

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

In more ways than one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are in love. So incredibly in love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he sees you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

But none of that came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

Too still.

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

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

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

There, lying on the bed, is his father.

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

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

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

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

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

There is a sweet irony in this moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21

@diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee

@haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii

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@star-hoon @heelee-01 @wonnienyang @alternativelix

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

“O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[cheriladycl01]

Crash into my life - Lance Stroll x Civil Servent! Reader

Plot: You work in a fancy government job, pretty boring 9-5 but Lance Stroll and his insurance claim makes your job that little bit better

Your job wasn’t exactly fun, wasn’t exactly boring. It was one of those jobs that you’d got it at a young age and worked your way up through the ranks as you’d got better and better and because it was safe and something you were good at you stuck with it.

To keep it short and sweet you were a civil servant. Not like 007 kind of crazy stuff but you did work for MI6 in their fraud, tax and insurance department.

You basically took over insurance claims that were over a certain threshold and had to go through the government for … whatever reason whether they are a foreign National claiming in the UK or something.

Usually it was boring matters such as Chelsea Football Club claiming compensation for things as simple as water damages etc. You didn’t even really get to see anyone, you had the data and you analysed it against the scenario and hey presto you made your pay out.

Your favourite time of the year was winter. More claims came through and life was more unpredictable thanks to the whether. Delayed train into London St Pancreas? No tubes working so you have to make the 20 minute walk to your office building from the station. Slipping on ice, it was the only excitement you got in life which was honestly kind of sad.

For you it started at as a normal Monday. You woke up at 7am, brushed your teeth, got into a nice corporate appropriate outfit, got on the train, got a coffee from Pret before heading into your building.

That was your routine, and you didn’t often differ from it unless you had holiday booked. But working a 9-5 Monday - Friday often meant that you

But it felt like there was a different buzz today around the building like there was something going on.

When you all went into the morning briefing for the cases you’d get today, everyone was way too excited for 9am and the start of the day. You sat down next to your office buddy Shiv and looked around confused.

“What in earth is going on with everyone?” You ask looking over at Shiv who’s typing away on her laptop taking in information.

“Apparently there’s some really interesting cases to work on up for grabs today” she explains and you nod knowing once every blue moon some exciting things would crop up and have the whole office acting like kids on Christmas.

You’re all still waiting for the department boss to come in, joining in conversations about what could possibly be happening today.

“Ladies and Gents please take a seat for the meeting to commence. Thank you. Thank you” he offers smiling and everyone gets comfy.

“So we’ve got some exciting stuff today. I’ve formed a team to deal with the Train Networks Claim, that’ll be Shiv, Brayden and Ravi” he says and they all nod writing in their pads what tasks they’d have to do today.

He went through all of them apart from you, before dismissing the meeting. You were slightly confused and therefore packed up yours things a little slower than everyone else to see if you could stay behind and ask why you hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Y/N could you stay behind so I can talk to you for a moment” he asks and you nod, going to the end of the long conference table where he was stood.

“I like you, you’re young and learn quickly and I want you to progress more than you already have so I’m giving you a really important case. You’ll actually get to meet the said person affected, he’s … of high value so be considerate of your wording when talking to him. Alright thank you, here’s the case! Have a report to me by Friday” he offers and you nod happily. You take a seat opening up the material seeing the name of the claimer immediately.

Lance Stroll

You read through the facts, apparently he crashed his Aston Martin driving down the M1 to get to Silverstone into some sort of government van.

After analysing some of the data yourself, a knock comes on your office door from one of the younger interns.

“Erm, Y/N there’s two men in suits here to see you?” She asks rather than tells you, it wasn’t common for people to come in and out of the building due to the confidentiality of the work conducted here.

“Send them in please, but before you do ask them if they want anything. Tea, Coffee, Water” you smile and go back to reading another report from a police officer who was on the scene of the accident.

You watch as two men walk into your office space. One looking younger maybe the same age as you and one looking significantly older which you assumed was the dad.

“Good morning” you smile lightly before going back to some data on your computer. They took a seat, patiently waiting for you to address them.

Lawrence, who you’d just read about in the report who was indeed the father, cleared his throat as if to get your attention.

“Give me one minute Mr Stroll and I’ll be right with you” you smile, still nose in your computer.

“We’ve come all this way to the city centre to see you it would be appreciated if you didn’t waste our time” he huffs and even just from this reaction a bubbling of excitement started in you, just at the promise of actually seeing a client and talking to them in the flesh.

“I understand that, but I won’t be able to tell you much unless I see all the data” you say looking up at them through your glasses. This time you notice Lance and how he’s just sort of staring at you.

“Can I help you Mr Stroll?” You ask looking over him.

“No, I’m all good. Take your time” he smiles and you nod. In 5 minutes you believe you’ve combed through enough data to talk to them.

“This is awfully interesting I almost never get to see the people behind the claim” you smile happily and they both nod.

“Okay so so far from what I can see is there was a crash in your vintage Aston Martin that was for an event at Silverstone, the race track and that you got into a collision with a government van trailing a foreign national?” You ask.

“In short terms, yes … but” Lawrence tries to declare.

“And you weren’t present Mr Stroll” you say looking in the direction of the older man.

“No I wasn’t” he huffs out.

“Okay, then I will ask you to just step out my office while I get an account of the events from your son, if that’s alright with you. Just down the corridor there’s a waiting room there, help yourself to the food and drink in there” you smile hoping to butter him up a little to get him out.

“Alright” he says before taking his leave.

“Okay Mr Stroll lets…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Lance, please just call me Lance” he offers and you nod.

“Well Lance, it’s not … looking great” you start of slowly and he looks at you shocked.

“What do you mean? Your guys went into me?” He says raising his voice slightly and you give him a stern look that has him sinking into his seat.

“Don’t come into my office and raise your voice when I’m doing my best to help you!” You exclaim placing a pad in front of him.

“Sorry it’s just that my dad isn’t happy already that i totalled a car that was needed for race day” he sighs rubbing his temples.

“Ahhh so you’re an F1 driver. Or is it NASCAR because of the accent?” You ask and he looks shocked as if you were supposed to know who he was.

“Er F1” he offers and you nod.

“You any good?” You ask writing done some more notes as you watch the camera on the government vehicle as Lance’s car didn’t have one.

“Excuse me?” He chokes out and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I mean im currently looking at your claims for a super car that you totalled and so I can’t help but ask if your any good” you tease and once he heard the tone he gets it and just rolls his eyes.

“Oh haha laugh it up” he says and you do.

“Im sorry but this is quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had in this job. It’s rather boring most days so I’m just making the most of it” you smile and he smiles back.

“Okay I can see that they did in fact turn into you. And of course I’m here for the people. The issue is where your Canadian. I can pay out what the car was worth when you originally brought it, but 50,000 for the fact that it was an accident on our part” you say and he thinks for a moment.

“No” is all he says and you look over at him in shock.

“Sorry? What do you mean no, no is my final decision” you say crossing your arms.

“I would like to add something else to the 50,000 on top of the car value” he smiles and you nod, wondering what it could possibly be and admiring the boldness of his statement.

“Id like to take you out to dinner” he smirks and your head shoots up from your laptop.

“I- i cant do that… it’s not professional. I could get told off. I could loose my job.” you admit knowing that if people were to find out about your payout and think it was bad then they’d be asking questions to you.

“Oh come on it’s just dinner to say thank you for being so … helpful” he smiles leaning forward in his seat and you shake your head.

“Fine, dinner it is” you smile.

That was the start of something way bigger than just dinner.

y/user

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y/user: Work has been rather interesting lately 👀🏎️

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-> lance_stroll: you’re making me feel old ☹️

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user: Civil Service < Serving Cu*t 🥰

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[1moreff-creator]

DRDT Rulebreakers!

It has come to my attention that MonoTV seems to be lacking in its responsibilities as a killing game host, in particular regarding the punishment of vile, despicable rulebreakers. Apparently, it’s willing to let breaches of rules go if they’re, quote, “funny.” This is unacceptable.

So, since I was rewatching DRDT for other purposes anyways, I decided to make a list of every participant who’s broken a rule so far. You’d be surprised at how many there are, given there are only three rules they can break. “No violence against MonoTV”, “no sleeping outside the dorms during nighttime,” and “no significant property damage outside of murder.” And yet, all of them have been broken at least once. Here are all the instances of this happening.

Rule Number 5: “Nighttime” is from 10 pm to 8 am. During nighttime, sleeping outside of the dorms is prohibited.

Rulebreaker: Rose

To the surprise of no one, I imagine. If I’d given you three guesses as to who broke this one, your guesses should have been “Rose, Rose and Rose a third time.” Indeed, Ms Lacroix takes the dubious honor of being the first person to break a rule after the students were given their monopads. As in, she literally breaks the rule in the scene the rules are handed out, in CH1 EP2. Right after the nighttime announcement, she falls asleep while standing. For shame.

Thin Ice: Ace

(Ignore the numbers)

I mean. Top right does say nighttime, and he is in fact sleeping. I feel like we could forgive him for this one given the situation, but I suppose it’s up to the jury.

Rule Number 6: Violence towards MonoTV is prohibited.

Rulebreakers: Levi, Arei

Levi is the only person who actually got punished for breaking a rule, and that’s especially funny considering he is the only one who did it before the rules were actually presented to the students lol.

Arei, meanwhile, has no excuse. While strangling a robot that doesn’t require air to breathe is a generally unadvisable as a genuine method of inflicting harm, it’s still very much violence against MonoTV. I actually can see no reason why she wouldn’t be punished for this. I guess she must be the mastermind! /j

Thin Ice: Nico, Charles, J

Nico holding MonoTV by the tail wasn’t an inherently violent act, but it still could cause harm.

Charles, in a twist of fate, got jumped by MonoTV, which isn’t a violation in itself. However, if he fought back at all… it’s curtains. Unconfirmed, but possible violation, hence he’s on thin ice.

Finally, J didn’t actually attack MonoTV in a way that matters, but she basically attempted to murder it with her remote. Watch it, young lady.

Rule Number 7: Significant property damage is prohibited. This rule may be waived in the case of committing a murder.

Rulebreakers: Teruko, Xander, Whit

Teruko: Could anyone use this to commit a murder? The materials these things are made out of are really cheap. This hammer is plastic. Oops. I already broke it...

Whit: Jeez, you trip and faceplant into the wall once and [Charles] will never let you forget it.

Whit is the latest student to be confirmed a vile rulebreaker, and as you might expect, the reason this post exists. He admitted to face-planting on the computer lab wall, and MonoTV admitted it only let it slide because it was funny. This implies the rule was broken, meaning even small things like that count as “significant” property damage.

And with that, we can confirm Xander as a rulebreaker too. No surprise, he’s the Ultimate Rebel for a reason. He actually has multiple counts of breaking this rule, with the elevator doors, but the most straightforward case is the table he broke while arm-wrestling Ace.

Finally, we have Teruko, who has broken this rule in more situations than just one. I chose her breaking the plastic hammer provided to everyone (CH1 EP1) because it’s the most straightforward, but there’s also the icing gun which breaks in her hands when baking cake in CH1, possibly a plate later in the same scene, and probably more. See, this is why Xander was in the righ-

Thin Ice: Ace's Attacker/Nico

(Aka whoever actually broke the fan)

(I could get images without numbers. I'm not going to)

This one's an interesting grey area. The property damage rule can be waived "in the case of committing a murder," but what about attempted murder? Since the murder wasn't successful, should the person who broke the fan be punished for it? Up to interpretation.

———

And that’s as far as it goes (unless I missed something which I most likely did). So, while Ace, J, Charles, Nico, and maybe the Ace attacker (if they’re not just Nico) are all on thin ice, Rose, Levi, Arei, Teruko, Xander, and Whit, are all rulebreakers! And are hereby BANNED from the DAYCA-

Wrong fandom sorry.

These six are all rulebreakers, and are thus liable for execution and/or mastermind allegations. Do with this information what you will.

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Chaos Lineage Stellaworth Special Booklet Short Stories ☽ Orange ver.・A New Menu?! Ruki’s Got His Hands Full!

Original title: メニュー開発！？ルキがてんてこ舞い！ English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the scans (as always, kindly provided by @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's been a little while since I translated a short story! This one's set in the Orange mansion in the Chaos Lineage timeline and written from Eve's─so, in a way, Yui's─perspective, before the regains her memories. It's a fun little story that contains some brotherly bickering and a LOT of innuendos (hello, yes, I'd like the soup please...) ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ Have fun reading!

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since I fled from the church and found refuge in the Orange mansion, I hadn’t been granted permission to return to the guest room. Instead, I quietly sat in a chair in the living area.

Ayato unceremoniously called out to me. “You. Hurry up ‘n become mine already.”

“What? Um…”

I was taken aback by the redhead’s sudden remark and found myself unable to reply right away. The small pause inadvertently gave his two brothers the time to say their piece as well.

“Become Ayato’s? Stop this nonsense. This girl will be mine. I’m sure that’s what will make her happiest as well. Isn’t that right?” 

“Ha. I told you—she doesn’t belong to either of you. Better not misunderstand, Ayato. Kanato. We brought Eve here to help Brother become the Demon King, y’know.”

“You with your ‘Brother this, Brother that.’ Shut the fuck up already.”

The three clearly had no intention to consider my opinion on the matter, and their bickering only intensified. I felt myself becoming nervous. It looked like they might even start punching one another if they kept going like this. 

That was when the living room door quietly opened.

Ruki let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re fighting again.” 

Again? The eldest made it sound like his brothers had pestered him with similar fights before, many times over. 

“It’s been days since we acquired Eve, and yet you’re still being hostile towards one another.”

“What does it matter? That has nothing to do with you, Ruki.”

“Sorry, Brother. I’ve been trying to tell them the same thing. It seems both of them still think Eve is theirs.”

“You’re the delusional ones for assuming Eve belongs to Ruki. This chick belongs to Yours Truly. I won’t hand her over to anyone.”

“Enough. Remember that we’ve acquired Eve and that we’re on track to becoming King. If we don’t work together, our enemies will take it as an opening to steal Eve from us, and all our efforts will be for naught.” Ruki seemed worried about his brothers’ willingness to cooperate—that, if the brothers kept quarrelling amongst themselves, the enemy might come to steal me away. 

A sense of restlessness lingered in the air after Ruki spoke. I cast my eyes downwards. The prospect of being at the centre of such a violent dispute left me feeling melancholic. 

“I’m not telling you to get along. But I am telling you to reduce the friction at least a little. I urge you, as my younger brothers, to do what I say.”

“That’s my line! You’re getting in Yours Truly’s way.”

“I don’t like this either. This is ridiculous.”

“That’s exactly the reaction I expected from you. So, let me propose something as a countermeasure: a cooking contest.”

“...Huh?” 

Ayato was speechless. And it wasn’t just Ayato: Kanato and Shin were looking at Ruki with equal suspicion. Even I stared at him, wondering why on Earth he would suggest something so strange. Ruki wanted his brothers to work together to come up with new dishes, apparently.

“It’s the perfect solution to work on your team spirit. Besides, you’ll join forces to expand our repertoire of things to eat for dinner. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?” Ruki said, his facial expression exuding confidence. 

After turning it over in my head for a moment, I supposed that… it might work?

“Got it. If you want us to, Brother, then I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

“Great. Ayato, Kanato—I expect you to help, too, of course.”

“Like hell I would. Why’s Yours Truly gotta do it?”

“I agree. I have no desire to participate in such ridiculous activities. Whoever else wants to participate can go ahead.”

Shin’s immediate agreement stood in stark contrast with the reactions of his younger brothers, who were quick to complain. Ruki stressed that it would have no meaning this way, and proposed his plan on different terms. 

“...There’s no helping it. I’ll let you compile our new menu, then. You may suggest whatever dishes you’d like to eat. We’ll add whatever is picked to our regular dinner menu from now on.”

This idea clearly made Ayato and Kanato more willing to cooperate. The atmosphere in the room immediately became much lighter, and the brothers became a little restless as they thought about what foods they wanted to eat. 

It was decided that I would be the fair judge to taste each dish. I was happy to be afforded a role in Ruki’s plan as well—with my spirits lifted a little already, I joined the others’ conversation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few hours later…

“What? Why’d only this part turn green? …Ugh, smells fuckin’ rancid!”

“Don’t you think it’s lacking sweetness? Oh, well. I’ll share some of my cream with you, then.”

“Hey! Don’t mess with my cooking! Puttin’ cream in there’s no joke!”

I stayed in the living room while Ruki and the others were in the kitchen preparing their dishes for me to try. Things seemed to be progressing smoothly: Ruki seemed to be the one doing most of the cooking, but I could hear the relatively friendly conversation between the brothers all the way from the living room.

“Stop it, Kanato. We won’t get anywhere if you waste this much food. That’s why I told you not to add any more.”

“Kanato! Stop meddling in other people’s business and concentrate on your own cooking. Or, actually, your… cooking looks more like a mass of sugar.”

“Yes, of course. I suppose I should finish my dish. I’ll just have to add one more thing to finish it off…”

“Hold on, are you serious? Covering chocolate in more chocolate is ridiculous. What’re you even doing?”

While it was good that the brothers were engaging in lively conversation with one another, I still felt anxious after hearing that exchange. I was the one who’s supposed to taste-testing everything, after all. I contemplated going to the kitchen to help them before things went downhill, but they’d actually finished already—the four brothers came back into the living room, each carrying the dish they’d prepared.

“Ah, have you already finished cooking?”

“Yes, indeed. It seems like you’ve been waiting here in the living room like the good girl you are.”

“All of the sample dishes are here. Let’s start the taste test, shall we?”

“Right. So, which one should I try first?”

“Yours Truly’s should be first, of course!” Ayato said before setting down a huge plate on the table in front of me with a loud clang. “I’m calling this ‘Yours Truly’s Specially Made Super-Gigantic Takoyaki’! Be grateful ‘n eat up!”

“Wow! It’s so big! It’s bigger than my face, even.”

“Right? Bigger’s always better. It’s not very round, though. It’s lumpy. It probably kinda fucks with the taste.”

“You made me prepare it, so keep your complaints to yourself. Besides, it’s your fault for constantly butting in while I was cooking.” As there was no dedicated pan large enough to make takoyaki this big, it seemed that Ruki had used a single-handed frying pan to shape it somehow, and that’s likely why it looked a little sunken and uneven. 

According to Ayato, there wasn’t just octopus, but various other fillings in it as well—he himself didn’t quite seem to know for sure, either.

“A-Ayato, this is…”

“What’re you doin’?! Hurry up and eat it!” Ayato yelled when he saw my reluctance to take a bite. Even then, I couldn’t quite work up the courage to dig in. 

The redhead lost his patience and grabbed my chin with one hand. Then, he brought a spoon to my mouth with his other hand, ready to force-feed me. 

“Geez, it can’t be helped. C’mon, I’ll feed you. Hurry up ‘n open wide.”

“W-wait! Ah—Mm…!”

The spoon quickly came my way, holding a chunk of the giant takoyaki. I had no time to protest before the spoon was thrust into my mouth.

“Hehe, you’re gettin’ teary-eyed. That’s not such a bad sight, is it? Hey! No slackin’ off. Keep eatin’. I wanna watch your face while you struggle even more.”

“Ayato! At least do it gently… Mm!”

With enough force to make me choke, the spoon was mercilessly rammed deep into my mouth again. Even if I wanted to run, I couldn’t—Ayato had a tight grip on my chin. I had no choice but to eat the takoyaki that I was given. A cruel smile played on Ayato’s face as he watched me struggle.

“Ugh, mm… Ha...”

I somehow managed to swallow what was in my mouth. I didn’t risk asking what exactly I’d been eating so far to avoid ruining the experience—mostly because it had actually been quite tasty.

“This is so good, Ayato!”

“I know, right? Though it’s only natural, since I cooked all this up!”

Ayato seemed satisfied with my response. His chest swelled with pride, confident that his dish was going to win tonight.

“Eat mine next, please. I’ve made something much more delicious than Ayato’s takoyaki.” 

Unsurprisingly, Kanato had prepared a dessert. The base was a parfait, loaded with pudding, crêpes, cake, and ice cream on top, and covered in an unholy amount of chocolate. It looked almost sickeningly sweet.

“It looks delicious, but… It seems very sweet, doesn’t it?”

“But really, I’m gettin’ heartburn just by looking at it. You might as well call anything a dish if you load it with enough sweet stuff.”

“You’re hopelessly tasteless, Shin. This is obviously incredibly delicious.” As he spoke, Kanato stared at the sweets as though he were spellbound. “Ah… It doesn’t get any better than this. I’d love this to be added to the menu so that Ruki will prepare it for me every day.”

After having stared at his parfait for a while, Kanato picked up a spoon. 

“Since you’re nothing but a doll, you must be bad at feeding yourself, right? Just for today, I’ll feed you. Please be grateful.”

“It’s alright, Kanato. I can eat by myself… Mm!” 

I tried to move away, but Kanato forcefully grabbed my wrist to keep me in place and thrust a loaded spoon at me. Once again, food was forced into my mouth. I tried my best to chew and swallow each bite, but I couldn’t keep up with the speed with which Kanato was feeding me. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, Kanato’s hand stilled.

“Oh, you have some cream on your face.”

“Ah!”

Kanato put down the spoon and his tongue darted out when he moved in, licking the cream off my cheek. My heartbeat jumped a little at the sensation. 

“Hehe… Very sweet. My cooking is the most delicious after all, isn’t it?” he asked expectantly, slowly leaning in further as he spoke. 

The strange atmosphere made me increasingly uncomfortable. Still, though… Kanato’s dish was particularly sweet but no less delicious—like he had said—and so I honestly shared my opinion.

“Right? I see you’re able to tell how great my cooking is. It’s quite admirable.”

Kanato left my side, clearly pleased with my answer.

“It’s my turn, then!”

Shin moved in and placed a small plate in front of me.

“...? Shin, what’s this brown, cream-like stuff?”

“It’s peanut butter. Can’t you tell?”

“The hell? How much of an idiot do you gotta be to consider that a dish?” Ayato sneered at Shin, clearly making fun of him.

“Hehe. Who’s the real idiot here? You know fuck-all about cooking,” Shin replied. Then, he went on to expertly spread the peanut butter on a piece of bread. “This peanut butter goes well with a lot of different kinds of cooking. It’s a great all-purpose condiment for bringing out the flavour of stuff like bread and cakes. I’d like you to use it in many different dishes.”

“I object. Won’t everything just start tasting like peanuts?”

“Right, right! My takoyaki’d taste like peanuts!”

“Ha! You can yap all you want, but it won’t matter. Eve’s the one who has to like it. So, here you go.”

I reached out to take the bread he held out to me, but Shin seized my hand in mid air. He pulled me in close with a sharp tug. 

“I’ll feed you.”

“Um… I already said it just now, but I can eat by myself, you know?”

“Just be good and eat. C’mon.”

My lips parted when the bread touched my mouth, and when I took a bite, the sweet flavour of the peanut butter (1) spread across my tongue.

“Good, isn’t it? Make sure to savour the taste.”

Contrary to Ayato and Kanato, Shin slowed his movements to match my eating speed and held the bread to my mouth for me to take bites. The peanut butter went well with the bread. It was really good.

“Hehe. You kinda look like a greedy little pet dog eating from your owner’s hand right now.”

I tried to argue that no, I wasn’t a dog, but I kept getting interrupted by Shin holding the bread to my mouth. Before long, I’d already swallowed the last bite.

“Thank you, Shin. It was delicious!”

“I told you! If you pick my peanut butter, you’ll be able to eat it whenever you like, so… You know what to do, right?” Shin’s mouth curved into a smile, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

There was clearly no safe way to answer that question. I forced a wavering smile in response.

“Well, then. Lastly, it’s my turn.” Ruki put his dish in front of me with more confidence than all his brothers before him.

“Is this… soup?”

The soup in front of me looked to contain a well-balanced mix of vegetables, meat, and beans, giving it a delicious-looking golden colour. However, it looked no different than what Ruki usually made for dinner.

“Soup? How boring. Couldn’t you come up with something else? This is not even a close contender compared to my dish.”

“Just take a sip and you’ll know. Eve, please turn your face my way.” 

Ruki took a spoonful of the soup and carefully raised it to my lips. 

“Drink it. It’s a rather fine soup to give to livestock, but I suppose I should feed you something nice every once in a while.”

I felt myself becoming curious how it tasted, too, considering Ruki was brimming with confidence. Still, it was a little embarrassing to have him feed it to me, so I tried to tell him I’d like to drink it by myself.

“No, drink it like this. You wouldn’t want to trouble your master, would you? Or… would you rather have me feed it to you mouth-to-mouth?”

He looked like he would seriously do it if I didn’t go along with him. Finding myself unable to resist, I obediently opened my mouth.

“Yes, that’s it. Savour it.”

Ruki slid the spoon between my lips. I tried to swallow it neatly, but my nerves got the better of me. A small drop of soup dribbled from my lower lip.

“Mm. Ah…”

“You spilled some of the soup. Good grief, what ill-mannered livestock you are.”

With a stroke of his thumb, Ruki wiped the soup from my lip. My face flushed.

“What’s that face for, staring at me like that? Was that not enough to satisfy you?”

Not wanting to go through something so embarrassing another time, I desperately shook my head. Still, Ruki’s soup tasted amazing. It may have looked no different from what he usually cooked, but I wondered if this was some kind of secret recipe of his. 

I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and asked him what was in the soup.

“It’s a secret. I’m not so kind a master as to teach you my recipe, Livestock,” Ruki said, dodging my question, and traced his thumb over my lips again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

With all four dishes taste-tested, the cooking contest was over. Now, I had to choose which one I liked the most.

“It can’t be anything other than Yours Truly’s giant takoyaki, right?”

“That’s unthinkable. My dessert was clearly the most delicious.”

“Nah, you’re choosing my peanut butter that goes with any dish, right?”

“Judging from your reaction, Livestock, the answer is clear as day. My soup wins.”

Whatever I picked would be added to our dinner menu from now on, and everyone was passionately advocating for their respective dishes. 

I recalled the flavours of the dishes I’d tasted tonight. After a moment of deliberation, I opened my mouth to speak.

“All four dishes were delicious, so how about adding all four of them to the menu?”

My proposal made the room fall silent for a moment.

“Seriously? It’s a competition! You gotta pick a winner. There’s no way in hell I’m agreein’ to this!”

“What a fool you are. We’ve told you many times over that you can only pick one winner.”

“Besides, aren’t you trying to wriggle your way outta this by giving such a diplomatic answer?”

“That seems likely. Or did Livestock perhaps not understand the meaning of this from the beginning?”

After Ayato first broke the silence, the brothers aimed their discontent at me one after the other. Still, I stood my ground and once again explained to them that I’d truly enjoyed all four dishes. Even though it might put even more strain on Ruki, I insisted that we should add all dishes to the menu since everyone had put in so much effort. 

Ruki contemplated the idea for a little while before letting out a small sigh and agreeing with me. “...If that is Eve’s verdict, so be it. Let’s add all dishes to the menu from now on.”

“The fuck’re you sayin’?! I can’t accept this unless I’m crowned the winner.”

“B-but Ayato, if you kindly ask Ruki, he might make that gigantic takoyaki for you every day, you know?”

“...Heh, that’s true. Well, I’m just gonna make Ruki do it, then!”

“Hold on, please! If that’s the case, then I’d rather he make my parfait every day instead! I won’t lose to an inferior dish like takoyaki!” 

“I won’t put up with having either of your dishes every day. This peanut butter goes with anything, so you’d better use it every day, Brother.”

In the end, the brothers got into a heated argument about whose dish we should eat for the days to come. Even though this contest was intended to foster a cooperative spirit among his brothers, Ruki held his head in his hands as he watched them fight over the results.

Nevertheless, I found myself thinking that I couldn’t imagine this family any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Look, I’m not trying to ignite a discussion but… is peanut butter really sweet? It’s considered more of a savoury thing where I live (or at least it rarely—if ever—contains sugar), though I do suppose it’s versatile in that it goes well with both sweet and savoury things. 

[utilitycaster]

On the heels of your critique of C3's pacing and the sludginess of it all—something I have been contemplating lately is how the perceived need (certainly ICly and seemingly OOCly) for BH to move at a breakneck speed from event to event has had an effect on inter-party discussions and bonding that I find really pretty tragic. I can't help but wonder, would we be dealing with the indecision and rehashed circular debates we're seeing now if the party had been able to take the downtime they needed to really get to know themselves and each other, and to better define what's important to them? I often see people expressing frustration about how badly certain characters "need to TALK to each other!!!" but to date, I just don't know if the pace of the campaign has created many opportunities for that. And that's the thing I miss the most about the previous campaigns, just having more breathing room to let the characters and their relationships develop organically. I dunno. Increasingly I feel like these are interconnected issues.

I think I've talked about this before so I don't want to get too in the weeds but: yes. I think at this point Matt is like...making space deliberately for them to talk in-game, but at this point the party has spent so long not really talking and we're so late in the game that no one really takes him up on it or when they do it's the old Gods Debate again.

I really think the problem is once again what I've been saying for like, well over a year now. I don't think the cast was given as much direction as they were for campaign 2, nor was the campaign deliberately tailored to this party, so it has always been ill-fitting. Even some of the pre-planned elements have fallen flat (I have innumerable reservations about the Laudna book, but I do want to read it if only because I still could tell you basically nothing about her and Imogen's time together pre-campaign - it's one incident in Gelvaan, helping Zhudanna one time in Jrusar which wasn't even pre-planned but rather their "session zero", and apparently they saw someone with boob tassels one time). Things like Ashton and Imogen's relationships with the gods feel tacked on after Taliesin and Laura realized that having some sort of pre-existing opinion on the gods was in fact deeply relevant to this campaign; I do genuinely want an answer from both of them of whether "I had prayed to the gods and they never answered" existed in their backstories more than 5 minutes before it came up in game because I'd bet good money it was "no, I threw that in on the fly." So you have characters that are a little more broadly sketched, which would normally be fine (I mean, I don't think most of Vox Machina in the original birthday party one-shot had a terribly deep backstory to start), except for the fact that they never had to take watch, they had a patron giving them jobs and a generous stipend from the start of episode 2 until his demise in episode 38, and both Imogen and Laudna; and FCG and Ashton already had apartments in the city so no one needed to bunk up with anyone they didn't already know. The party did not need to take watches; they did not need to decide on a direction; and they didn't have to learn to resolve conflicts and make choices as a collective group. And yes, the pace has been pretty breakneck throughout, so there wasn't space early on for the cast to feel out their characters and what motivated them and how they'd act. I think the first time I saw a large number of people in the fandom going "MAKE A FUCKING DECISION ALREADY I DON'T CARE WHICH ONE" was with the party doing a similar endless handwringing about Dusk in episode 29, and I don't think they've really gotten better. Like, I do think episode 29 is already on the late side anyway, even for a long-running campaign with a lot of wiggle-room; for a long-running campaign with some very specific plot beats planned, this really needed to be done in character creation.

So now that there is more room to debrief and talk, because in-character they're still on a deadline and the world's been ending all campaign, and because that groundwork wasn't laid, they don't talk about anything except the task at hand. Like...I think a defense I've seen of this campaign is that it's about a group of people who really aren't suited for what has been laid before them, but the problem is that's kind of every D&D campaign that starts from a low level and this is a particularly weak example thereof. Vox Machina didn't show up ready to kill dragons nor Vecna, and the Mighty Nein are still Wildemount's best kept secret; both of them grew into their current hypercompetence. Bells Hells don't really belong to their story, nor does it to them, so yeah, hard to talk within that framework.

[xf-cases-solved]

S2E6: Ascension

Case: Part two of our three part (+ one fever dream) arc begins with a very Will Graham-esque "this is my design" bit with Mulder visiting Scully's apartment, which has now become a crime scene. (Ik X-Files predates Hannibal, it's just what it reminded me of, leave me alone. Plus, Red Dragon predates X-Files by over a decade, soooo) 

Anyway, Scully has been kidnapped by Duane Barry, oopsie daisy! He needs someone to take his place for the next abduction, and he has selected Scully for the job. Good thing Mulder and Krycek are on the case and manage to get her home safe and sound before the end credits roll!

Or... maybe actually they do the opposite of that.

Mulder gets progressively scruffier throughout the episode and nearly kills himself and Krycek on the road bc he hasn't been sleeping since Scully got kidnapped; Scully loses her necklace for the first, but CERTAINLY not last time; Mulder and Krycek take a couple's vacation to a ski resort and Mulder holds a tram operator at gunpoint for suggesting that the tram is "not safe"; Krycek messes up his carefully slicked back hair while pistol whipping the tram operator and then fails to murder Mulder in what may or may not end up being just one of many assassination failures in his pathetic assassin career; Scully is taken by "THEM!" (whoever they are); Duane Barry is dead and the military performs the autopsy bc "there wasn't an FBI pathologist available this morning" (☹️); and Assistant Director Skinner apparently has had the power to reopen the X-Files this whole time??

Does someone die in the cold open: No, but Mulder does do the worst consoling job ever by approaching Scully's mom with Scully's blood on his outstretched hand and then staring blankly at her when she asks where her daughter is.

Does Mulder present a slideshow: This man should not be operating any sort of heavy machinery be it a car, a tram, or an early 1990s projector. (Of the three, though, the only one he doesn't operate during this episode is the projector.)

Does the evidence survive the investigation: Loooool. Nah. Scully's gone, Duane Barry is dead, Krycek has disappeared, and Mulder is left with nothing but some overgrown stubble, scruffy hair, and a worsening of his already substantial insomnia problem.

Whodunit: THEM!!! (Aliens? The shadow government? Both? Neither? Who's to say?)

Convictions: Oh hon. You had to have known Duane Barry was never getting out of this alive, right?

Did they solve it: I am going to go with "no, but." No, but Mulder (and Skinner) are at least aware that they have been massively screwed over, and so Skinner reopens the X-Files in retaliation, and I'll consider that a leveling up. You may have lost all your evidence, almost got framed for murder (tho tbf you did strangle the shit out of him), and got your only real friend in the world abducted by aliens/the shadow government/THEM, but at least you got your special files back, Mulder! I'm sure the first X-Files case you take on after their reopening will be very important, and not one that is just a fourteen year old emo kid's wet/fever dream fantasy...

But, ah, you know what? I'm getting ahead of myself. Ad break! 

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Quitting your job and disconnecting your home phone number. Are you currently leading a double life, pretending to be someone you're not in order to gain the trust of someone you intend to royally fuck over for your bosses in the shadow government? Have you completed your mission and are ready to move onto bigger and better* things? Well, then that means it's time for you to try quitting your job and disconnecting your home phone number! Don't worry, it's the 90s, you don't have a cell phone with a tracker on it, nobody will be able to find you. Go live your life, free as a bird. I mean, at least for now... *We do not guarantee that the things you move onto will be bigger, and we CERTAINLY don't guarantee that the things you move onto will be better. In fact, they might be worse. There's actually a high likelihood that they will indeed be worse. But don't worry about that right now. Everything is going to be probably possibly maybe just fine.

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 15 (streak not broken bc i didn't bother to restart it in the first place 👉🏽😎👉🏽)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me": 9 (teeeechnically she does say "mulder, it's me" in this episode, but it's the same one from the end of the previous episode, so counting it felt like cheating)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 6

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 10 ½ (if only krycek were competent 😔) 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 10 (i think as long as we don't know her whereabouts it's valid to consider her as being in mortal danger)

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 15 (mulder climbing a hill and staring longingly at the sky is so insanely melodramatic that i'm counting it)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 5 (ngl the line "there wasn't an fbi pathologist available this morning" hits the feels a bit)

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 19!! (and he was extremely unhelpful 😃)

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Times Someone Correctly Guesses a Password: 3 

Total Number of (Plot Relevant) Nosebleeds: 5

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 3 (no, but he did completely ignore all warnings in regards to using the unstable tram thing, which is similar in spirit, if not in practice)

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 3 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 4 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 2 

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 13 (but he NEVER. FUCKING. FINISHES THEM. look at that fucking ashtray at the end of the episode. he takes like one drag and then puts them out. why? why not smoke the whole thing?? drives me insane)

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 2! (she's not having a good time!)

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 2

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 3!!!!!! (get outta town, rat boy! no, seriously, get outta town. we'll call you when we need you to fuck something up later)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 11½ (ascend to the stars, mother fucker)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[swagging-back-to]

worst trope is found family separating as soon as the antagonist is dealt with.

[chirpsythismorning]

📝 💐 🛼 💔⏪️💭🧊🌄❤️‍🩹

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

previous ⏪ now playing ⏩ next back to playlist

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny adopts himself

It's a common joke in Gotham that Bruce Wayne will adopt any black-haired and blue-eyed traumatized boy he finds. So much so that even he leans into it. But he was completely shocked when Damian confronts him about having a new brother that he did not want.

Bruce could barely get a word in when the rest of the family arrived upset that they weren't told about getting another sibling after Damian texted the family group chat (for once).

Damian had encountered a boy around Drake's age moving stuff into what was an empty room. The room was now furnished top to bottom with glowing green lights, tapestries of stars, random artifacts, several telescopes, and model rockets.

He knew the moment he saw the black hair and blue eyes that his father had taken in another ward.

Apparently Bruce was the last the know about his new "son" who was currently rearranging furniture and asking to helf Alfred with dinner.

Said dinner was an uncomfortable as Bruce was grilled by his kids on his addiction to adoption. Simultaneously they tried to get to know the new addition to the family.

It was easy to see that Damian didn't like Danny but it was equally easy to see that Danny could cow the boy like a border collie on a lamb. When Damian thew a dagger the teen caught it with one hand as it passed his face and then slid it across the table back to Damian.

"Try again. " Danny said "And this time don't aim to miss on purpose. If you want me dead you need to do better."

Damian put the knife away and huffed.

Tim and Danny hit it off almost instantly. The way they were able to bounce their thoughts back and forth made Tim believe that he found an equal.

Danny was able to understand Cassie immediately with just look in eachothers eyes like he was reading her mind but not in a creepy way.

Jason of course noticed the strange energy in the air around the kid. It was soothing. Like lavender wafting in the air. Well lavender for everyone else for him it was like opium. His eyes felt heavy like he had eaten a handful of poppy seeds. At the same time he felt full, like he had eating a full meal after starving for a week.

Whatever it is Damian was feeling it too. The demon looked even more his age as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The crease in his brow gone.

Duke on the other hand was more on edge as his eyes flickered towards Danny before looking away. He had something he wanted to ask about the glowing boy but since no one can see it or just isn't saying anything he will keep quiet for now.

Next was Barbara who teased the new kid.

"So how do you like your new family? Ready to be the new robin?" She asked.

"Im robin." Damian mumbled groggily.

The others were waiting for Damian to finally fall asleep and glared at one another in a challenge to be the one to pick up Damian and put him to bed. Dick was winning.

Speaking of Dick, as expected he was off the wall excited to learn more about his new little brother. He wanted the full story as to why Bruce took him in. He could almost certainly guess it was because of a tragic situation and Dick was already ready to handle it as the greatest big brother ever and he wasn't sharing the title no matter what Barbara said. Even if she was Stephanie's favorite.

Bruce cleared his throat and the table went silent. "So, Danny. Where exactly did you come from? Why are you here? And how did you know who I am?"

Everyone went white. Did they all just risk their identities believing that Danny was a new Robin? Why didn't Bruce say something? Not even a signal for the protocol they would use.

Danny frowned looking a bit hurt.

"What do you mean, Bruce? You said you owed me. You said you'd give me anything I wanted if saved your son. I even helped you get back home when you got lost in time." Danny huffed feeling betrayed.

The table went silent.

Bruce made a few calculations in his brain before something must have come to mind. "I lost my memory for a bit so I need a bit of proof."

Danny placed a batarang on the table. The batarang had an engraving on it in a code that only Bruce knew.

"You told me to show this to Alfred when I came. We had a deal, Bruce. You promised me whatever I wanted." Danny huffed clearly insulted.

Just like Danny had said the code was the one Bruce had made. However this code wasn't a promise to grant a favor but to welcome someone new to the family. Past Bruce must have had plans to take the boy in but told Danny something else to lure him here.

Bruce recognized that everyone was right and he has a problem now that he's looking at it like this.

[transxfiles]

lost phineas and ferb episode where perry is called to investigate what dr doofenshmirtz is up to because carl the intern got ahold of some intel that doof has been seen speaking to lawyers and looking up the endangered species act at internet cafes and as major monogram says, "something fishy is going on"

meanwhile phineas and ferb's subplot of "i know what we're gonna do today!" is that isabella needs her environmentalist fireside girls badge so they start researching which species are in urgent need of help in the tri-state area so that they can use new cloning and gene therapy technologies to bring at-risk animals back from extinction

(yes there is a c-plot where buford and baljeet argue the ethics of this idea, i don't have time to explain it all for you rn)

we cut back to🎵doofenshmirtz evil incorporated🎵where we see perry carefully maneuvering around doofenshmirtz's lab scared he might fall into a trap but he hasn't set off a single booby trap and it's clear something is off

he runs into doofenshmirtz and goes to kick him in the gut action movie style but doof steps back one overly confident and says, "nuh uh uh, you see perry the platypus, you are TRAPPED! by the danville section of the endangered species act of 1973!"

doof goes on to explain his tragic backstory: "you see, perry the platypus, when i was a child my parents did not show up for my own birth! but you know that already, yadda yadda yadda they did not love me and then they loved roger more, ANYways i was raised by ocelots! i had a lovely foster mother who took me in and made me one of the pride, and so you see, perry the platypus, i am still legally considered an ocelot. did you know that there are only 50 recorded ocelots still alive in the continental united states? very sad for me as a member of a near-extinct species. it would be immoral for you to hurt someone critically endangered... in fact, you have made many attempts on my life this summer"

[montage of doof's security camera footage of their battles]

"which is why i have decided to bring you... TO COURT!" we cut back to phineas and ferb's back yard where they've decided to start cloning ocelots in their kiddie pool

candace storms outside enraged and says, "phineas and ferb are you cloning ocelots in my duckie momo kiddie pool!?"

ferb's one line of the episode is "well, i guess it's more of a kitty pool, now"

candace storms away saying, "i'm going to tell mom!" and isabella turns to phineas and says, "oh, does your mom have experience in wildlife conservation?"

we cut back to the doof and perry plotline where the two are now in the danville hall of justice and we learn that doof has spent his monthly alimony check on a defense lawyer and perry turns and sees the lawyer and then vanessa helping her organize her briefcase and perry chitters at her and vanessa shrugs and says, "i'm thinking about going into legal defense. sorry perry."

the rest of the doof and perry b-plot is spent in court and perry is about to ask for a public defense lawyer when carl runs into the room and explains that he's owca's official legal defense and perry looks at him like, "uhhh is that even allowed?"

it doesn't matter because apparently the judge is out sick today but because it's danville roger's the judge now because he's the mayor and everyone loves him.

the court case continues.

meanwhile phineas and ferb have successfully cloned multiple ocelots from the original ocelot dna they had on hand and isabella asks phineas if these clones will experience health problems like premature aging, phineas casually explains that ferb figured out the problem while they were experimenting with stem cell harvesting.

back in the courtroom, doof's ocelot foster mother has been brought to the stand along with an ocelot to english translator. doof gets emotional seeing her after so long. she says that he was one of her favorite child and he was as strong a hunter as anyone else in the family. it's incredibly sweet. the jury's in tears.

meanwhile, isabella has established connections with a group in texas who are going to release the ocelots back into their natural habitat and, using the cloned ocelots to prevent inbreeding, help establish an ocelot breeding program. the group explains that they are going to send a helicopter to retrieve the cloned ocelots from danville and bring them to texas soon.

isabella gets her fireside girls badge.

candace manages to get mom to see the backyard only after the ocelots have been helicoptered off to coastal texas, their primary habitat.

mom makes it into the backyard as phineas stares wistfully over the fence and says, "if you love something, you have to let it go." candace goes, "look mom look look look!" and points at the ducky momo kiddie pool, devoid of cloned ocelots, where baljeet and buford are now chilling out, having settled their philosophical debate about the ethics of animal cloning.

back in the courtroom drama, doof looks like he's about to win when an attendant walks into the courtroom and whispers something in roger's ear.

roger looks up, grinning, and says, "good news, everyone! my attendant here has just enlightened me that ocelots are no longer considered critically endangered!"

this settles the case, with perry being decreed not guilty and the entire affair being called off. the courtroom cheers, roger walks over to doof and personally congratulates him on his species' return from the brink of extinction.

doof shouts, "curse you endangered species classification system!" at the ceiling of the danville hall of justice.

perry arrives back home just in time for mom to say, "who wants pie?"

the end.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[writingouthere]

singlemom!reader x neighbor!sukuna. you miss having a baby and Sukuna is dying from a combination of your sexual tension, his lowkey(highkey) baby fever and the drudgery of attending a child's birthday party

cw: Sukuna's breeding kink, red flags are present and accounted for, no one gets laid tho so sad face. this actually ended up being way more sincere and heartfelt than I intended but honestly very typical of me

"Oh we're not together, Sukuna's just been letting me and Bug crash while we look for an apartment."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends!"

"He's actually not Bug's dad. No, no. But, they get along really well. She enjoys having someone else to hang out with aside from me, I think."

Your laughter after the last one plays on repeat as he goes to grab the two of you some refreshments. Sukuna feels like he's living the world's worst version of groundhog day, except instead of being some sad loser who relives the same day over and over, he's apparently a sad loser who is going to live the same conversation over and over again.

"Fuck this shit."

"Um, excuse me but could you watch your language. This is a kid's birthday party." Sukuna wants to ask the bitch who is correcting a grown man's language if he would mind watching his own fucking business but you seem to care about what these losers think and he won't make life difficult for you.

If he happens to step on the guy's foot as he leaves with two cups and a juice box caught in his elbow, well, his steel toed boots need the exercise.

Sukuna knew that if any of his acquaintances, he didn't have friends after all, could see him now, they would die laughing. Die ,because he would kill them for laughing, but fuck he couldn't even really blame them, even in his hypothetical.

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a feared criminal. People pissed themselves when he cornered them in a dark alley. Other bad guys would look at him and say, "wow that guy's a real piece of shit" and now look at him. Stuck at some three year old's birthday party. One more kidzpop butchering of an already shitty song away from committing another felony.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was at least getting some pussy out of it, but he had just spent the past two hours hearing you deny him to anyone who asked and it was really starting to get to him.

He knew he was being a little bitch about it, and he wasn't upset just because you weren't fucking him. He was upset that all the things you were telling people, they were technically true. He was just letting you and your daughter crash. He was just your friend, not your boyfriend. Even the comments about him not being Bug's dad, but him being positioned as some kind of really invested babysitter, those might have stung more than the ones about your relationship but you thought that was true too.

Thinking about the kid made him look for her, not that Sukuna ever wasn't aware of where you and your daughter were. It had become instinct before he was even aware of it.

Bug was laughing with some kids he recognized from daycare and others from their regular trips to the park. Her happiness was contagious and Sukuna found his lips twitching up at the ends despite his shitty mood.

Your daughter's eyes found him from across the playground. "kuna!" she called, waving her little hand at him. He waved back with his available hand and made his way towards her. She met him halfway, her little legs unsteady on the wood chips but she didn't seem to notice. She was always like that when she saw him, she ran fearlessly. Maybe she just trusted he'd catch her.

Was it so wrong of him that he didn't like the reminders she wasn't his. That it stung, not just because of his feelings but because it just couldn't be true. He might not have fathered her, but fuck anyone who said this little girl wasn't his.

"I got you a juice, you've been running around so much you gotta be thirsty."

"Not thirsty," Bug argued leaning into him. He held up his hands that were holding the grown up drinks for the two of you, and moved the package still lodged in the crease of his elbow towards the petulant toddler. "Take it, or I'll drink it."

Bug stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed it. She struggled to get the wrapping off the straw and Sukuna didn't even notice what he was doing until she had the straw stretched out towards him and he was pulling the wrapper off with his teeth. He spit it out on the ground as your daughter gave him a polite thank-you and then walked away, sipping her juice as she went to catch up with her friends.

What had become of him?

"Need a hand?" You smile at him and Sukuna hands over your cup before taking a sip of his own. There was unfortunately no alcohol in it but drinking it occupied his mouth before he acted like a pussy and asked you, "what are we?" or "should we get married?" or something equally as pathetic.

"God, I want a baby."

Sukuna almost spit out his drink but he manages to tone it down to just a little cough before turning to look at you. You don't even seem a little embarrassed which is just infuriating. Sukuna's about to make a suggestion on how he can help with that when you sigh and point to where some loser is holding their ugly baby.

"Aren't babies just the cutest, I miss when Bug was that age."

Oh, so this was just you looking at other people's red-faced brats and feeling nostalgic and was not in fact a call to action. Sukuna rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hand closest to you so he didn't touch you as he was so tempted to do these days.

"That baby, like all babies, is hideous. All they do is cry, shit themselves and vomit and I'm not even sure Bug is the exception to that and she's the best kid there is."

You look touched at his affection for your daughter but also fired up on behalf of babies everywhere.

"You can't just say a baby is hideous, Sukuna. Those are the Zenin's. Bug is friends with some of them."

"Well are the older ones cuter, because that baby looks like someone fucked one of those hairless cats."

"Sukuna!" you hiss but he sees you smile, despite yourself. "Okay, maybe that baby isn't like the cutest baby-"

"Hideous."

You continue after smacking his arm. "But Bug was cute, okay. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom." You take out your phone and quickly swipe until you get to what you're looking for. "See, cute baby."

Sukuna grabs your phone and looks. It's not the first picture he's seen of a young Bug and he's taken his share of photos of her himself, but he finds himself taken in by it anyway.

It has to be a picture from when Bug was really young, she still had the scrunched up, red face that he associates with newborns. But he thinks you're right, she's still cute. He doesn't know if it's because he knows that baby will grow up to be your daughter, but he finds his thumb caressing her little baby cheeks, the wisps of hair he can see peaking out from where she's wrapped in a baby blanket. It's then he sees she's not alone in the picture and there's a different version of you holding her.

The thing that stands out to him is how tired you look. He thinks this couldn't have been too long after you gave birth but still, he wondered if you'd gotten any rest those first few months. You still didn't like talking about your ex, or the circumstances that had led you to his apartment, but Sukuna knew that chances are you were taking care of Bug single handedly and that couldn't have been easy, cutest kid or not.

"She was beautiful, she still is." He reluctantly hands the phone back to you and you look at the picture again, tears building up in your eyes.

"She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I-I wish that the circumstances were different in how I got her. Sometimes, I wonder how I'll explain everything to her when she's older. She just deserves so much better than him, you know?"

"You both do." Sukuna reaches over and brushes away one of the tears that had managed to fall down your cheek. He leaves his hand there a moment, holding your cheek in his palm, just appreciating the warmth.

"Do you want any?"

"What?" Sukuna isn't sure what you're talking about anymore. He can only see your lips right in front of him, the way that your eyelashes brush against your cheek as you blink faster and faster.

"Babies, do you want any?"

Something short circuits in Sukuna's brain and he wants to say, fuck yes.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about it every day. Every time you put Bug on your hip or send him youtube videos of hairstyles you want to try on her. Whenever it's late at night, and little feet pad out of your room and Bug asks him in the loudest whisper he's ever heard, if he can get her some water because she's so thirsty.

He thinks about it when the sun streams through the curtains of his apartment in the morning and it lights up your hair as you move throughout the kitchen, a force of nature, a creature from somewhere far too good to have ended up here with him.

He thinks about it when the three of you go out and people just assume you're a family, because of course you're a family. When you and Bug play some made up game, or Bug gets tired even though she denies it and he carries her sleeping form against his chest. When he holds her in his lap on the subway and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder and he feels like this, this is what he's always wanted.

He's not all pure and good though, because he thinks about it late at night in his bedroom too. After a day of your smiles, of seeing your thighs stretch out of those sleep shorts you started wearing when the weather warmed up, whenever he remembers the feel and smell of your panties when he's lucky enough to find a pair in the laundry basket, he thinks about how the two of you would make some really cute fucking babies.

He's imagined it a million ways. He's imagined you telling him you've gone off your birth control and you need him now after he takes you out on an anniversary dinner. Or him crowding you up against the kitchen counter and you begging him to put a baby in you.

His favorite fantasy is currently one where you get so carried away when you finally finally fuck that you don't ask him to wear a condom and he spends the whole night making sure you're nice and good and full of him and when you tell him a few weeks later you missed your period, he'll let you freak out. But then he'll tell you that he'll take good care of you, and Bug, and your soon to be little one and he'll finally have you, all of you and once you have your second, he'll knock you up again, as many times as he can because there could never be too many mini-you's running around.

At this point, Sukuna remembers he's talking to you, the real you and he swallows a few times before he speaks.

"I do," he says simply but something must show on his face because you're looking at him in a way you never have before. He hears your breath hitch and he leans in to kiss you, and you smell so good and his thoughts are consumed by the little family he just knows you're going to have when suddenly he's pelted by a variety of sharp, little objects.

Sukuna immediately holds up his arm to shield you from what he now sees is a barrage of wood chips which are being thrown at you by an army of toddlers, including your daughter.

You immediately get up and start talking to the kids about the danger of throwing what are basically large future splinters at people's faces and Sukuna is contemplating the murder of every child that isn't his own when you turn to look at him.

You're not just looking at him, you're seeing him and oh. Maybe he would be getting laid tonight, after all.

The slow burn is almost done folks.

thank you to the amazing reception to this series and the one-shot I posted(which there will be a prequel of soon!). it's literally so insane. Masterlist will be up tomorrow which I hope helps with accessibility!

edit: masterlist is up!