Nasia

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RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP┆𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 ─ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ early update for the 2.5k milestone !! < 3 anyw, can we get some Ws in the chat for the ultimate goat nishimura riki. as usual, please lmk what u guys think. i < 3 talking to y'all in the replies bc u guys crack me the Fuckkkk up 😭🙏

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled

𓏵𓏵

Okay so. I’m sorry this took so long to come out I genuinely didn’t know what to do so I’m sorry that this isn’t the best..summer break is officially here tho so I plan to work on this more !!

Because here’s the thing; you kept your pregnancy a secret. It was a difficult endeavor, harder than keeping your marriage to Jiyong a secret those first few months before it all exploded across headlines. Once it was out in the open, more eyes were on you, and the internet had done what the internet does, which was speculate and produce rumors at a steady rate that you have done your best to ignore. It’s been easier lately, with Ji-na here and this new, strange, exhausting, extraordinary life you have now, but you can understand why it’s been on his mind.

“I don’t know yet,” he says and looks down at Ji-na. “But not her face. I just want…”

You smile. “You want to show her off.” 

He laughs softly, the small movement making Ji-na stir against his chest with a tiny sound of protest. He immediately lowers his voice. “Maybe. Honestly it’s a miracle I haven’t gone up to the roof to scream I’m a father now.” He pauses, then repositioning Ji-na again, he continues to pat her back. He then looks up at you. “But I won’t do it if you don’t want to. I know that posting something opens the door to everything.” He pauses again to press his lips to the side of Ji-na’s head, a brief and unconscious gesture, the kind that has become almost a reflex in just a few weeks. “I suppose I also want to do it on my own terms. Most of my life has ended up in the news whether I wanted it to or not, even private moments I didn’t want anyone to see.”

You know this, he’s told you how for most of his life he felt like everyone was watching him everywhere he went. How he’d look at social media and find clips of his own private outings, how at his lowest moments, he’d be paranoid that his own phone and home weren’t safe. He’d been extra careful for some years now, especially with you. I don’t want any of that touching you, he’s said once. 

“I trust you,” you tell him. “I know you will protect her, so post whatever you feel is right.”

You lean forward to press a soft kiss to the top of Ji-na’s head. Jiyong puckers up his lips and you smile as you comply, giving him a kiss too. After, when Ji-na is sleeping against his chest, you rest your head on his shoulder and you look at her, at this tiny person who is completely unaware of how much she’s about to change with just one picture. 

********

You forget about this conversation for most of the day. 

This is the thing about the first few weeks postpartum that no one fully prepares you for: the way hours dissolve. Time no longer moves the way it used to. It’s now measured in feeding intervals and nap windows and the small victories of a shower taken or a full cup of coffee consumed while it’s still warm. Whole hours go by before you even notice. You’re always either exhausted or feeding Ji-na or watching her breathe like it’s the most important thing in the world, which it might be. 

Jiyong’s parents arrive around noon. There is food, lots of it, neatly packed into containers that fill the fridge so that you and Jiyong don't have to worry about dinner for the rest of the week. His mother sits you down and feeds you seaweed soup and tells you how it helped her after Dami and then after Jiyong, and then she takes Ji-na so you can sit on the sofa and do absolutely nothing. Jiyong tolerates this for fifteen minutes, which is five minutes longer than last time, and then approaches his mother to take Ji-na back. He’s rebuffed, and then he proceeds to pace around his mother for another ten minutes before his father eventually takes himby the arm and steers him to another room. 

Ji-na gets her first proper bath with his mother’s guidance. The hospital had given you instructions for this moment, a pamphlet that Jiyong had immediately taken for his collection, but having someone show you in person is something you are very grateful for. Ji-na makes her feelings known with cries so loud that Jiyong abandons his father in the living room to stand behind you both with his hands locked behind his neck, the very vision of a man stressed beyond reason, as he does his best not to intervene.

“Do we have to do this now?” he asks. “Is this hurting her?” He paces behind you and his mother. “Eomma, I think—”

“She’s overstimulated,” his mother says without looking up from Ji-na. “New sensations, new experience. Of course this is upsetting her. And you’re not helping hovering like this.”

“I’m just asking—”

“Jiyong! Watch and learn. You’ll need to do this yourself to help your wife,” his mother says and that makes Jiyong shut up. He moves to the side and watches, talking to Ji-na in a low, calming tone throughout the whole ordeal, and at some point her cries stop. 

“I’m her favorite person,” he tells you and his mother. 

Afterward, when Ji-na has been fed and wrapped and handed back to Jiyong, his father takes her. Jiyong sits beside you on the sofa and leans close to whisper. 

“How rude would it be to tell them to leave?”

“Very,” you say. “So don’t.”

You then watch him pull out his phone and type a message to his sister. You need to have another baby. PLEASE. New baby needs to exist by tomorrow if possible. I haven’t been able to hold my baby today.

You press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing as you lean against his shoulder, watching his parents coo at Ji-na across the room.

********

You wake up to Ji-na whimpering.

“Sorry.” Jiyong is already walking towards you. “She’s hungry.” 

You push yourself upright on the sofa, still half asleep but your arms already reaching for her. You have one eye open. “Your parents…. Did they leave? Did I fall asleep while your parents were still here?”

“Yeah,” he settles Ji-na in your arms. “I was given strict instructions not to wake you unless it was feeding time.”

“Were they offended? I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah,” he says, sitting beside you, his arm coming around your shoulder. “Mom was glad you were relaxed enough to sleep. She left happy knowing she helped her daughter in law and grandchild today.” Ji-na’s whimpers quiet down the moment she latches. “Fridge is full but she also made food for today. Want me to heat it up while my princess eats?”

My princess. You smile at that. 

He nudges your shoulder with his, smiling too. ”Yah. Don’t make fun. She is my princess.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” you say. “And yes, please. Dinner sounds good.” 

He gets up and then pauses. “Oh, by the way, I posted something.” 

“Oh?” You look around, looking for your phone, before remembering you left it somewhere in the bedroom. 

“Here,” he says, and hands you his before heading to the kitchen. 

You settle Ji-na more comfortably in your left arm before opening the app, You navigate to his profile. 

The thumbnail on the grid is small so you cannot see all the details clearly. It’s compressed into its square, sitting alongside other squares, pictures of events and selfies and behind the scenes pictures of the tour that just ended. You tap it. 

It fills the screen and then you see it.

It is a simple black and white photograph. There’s enough light that you know he took this earlier in the day, perhaps when you were taking a shower before his parents showed up. It’s a close crop. Close enough that the whole frame is just hands. 

His hand, large and familiar. The hand you know the way you know your own, the softness of it, the small rough patches he gets on his fingers when he spends long hours in his art studio. And there, on the back of it, the small tattoo. The smiley face. The one that’s been there for years, the one you’ve looked at across tables during dinner dates and when he holds your hand. 

And beside it, just an inch or two away from his, Ji-na’s hand. Small with perfect skin, soft in the way only babies have. 

Her whole hand is just barely the width of his thumb. And on the back of her hand, positioned with great precision over the exact spot where his tattoo is placed on his, is a small yellow sticker. 

A smiley face. 

Under the picture, in the caption section, six words and a hashtag. 

The light of my whole universe. #matching

You look at the whole picture of it. At the fact he had thought of this, had found the sticker somewhere, had placed it deliberately so that it would match the placement of his tattoo, and had then taken this picture in the early morning to announce the birth of his daughter. 

You read the caption again. The light of my whole universe. No name, no gender reveal. Just his hand and Ji-na’s hand, the smiley face tattoo and its small yellow mirror, and six words that tell you everything about who Kwon Jiyong is turning out to be as a dad. 

You look down at Ji-na who is nursing with her eyes half-closed, her tiny hand resting flat against your chest, directly over your heart, and you wonder if she knows how loved she is. You hope she knows. 

“I love you,” you say it in case she hears the words and understands them. “We love you so much.”

Then you look at the phone again, because you are only human and curiosity sometimes wins, and you scroll down to the comments. 

There are already thousands of them, some of them posted just seconds ago. You scroll slowly, reading:

_youngbae_: welcome to fatherhood, brother 💙 

famnation: THE SMILEY FACE STICKER I AM GOING TO NEED A MOMENT

kwonjinetwork: DAD REVEAL 😭 😭 SO HAPPY FOR YOU

d_lable_official: Hyung! A bit late (like a year) but thank you so much for promoting my song. Stream #Universe

You laugh out loud at that one, loud enough that Ji-na startles slightly before settling again. “Sorry, sorry,” you whisper before looking back at the phone. You see that Jiyong has already replied, also laughing at Daesung’s comment. 

jiyongdaily_official: he put a sticker on his newborn’s hand to match his tattoo I have to go lie down on the floor

vipfam: No filters to kill my eyesight. That’s how you know this is serious!! 

usergdbaby: I can’t believe this is how he chose to reveal that he went and made a whole baby. We have two dads in BIGBANG now 🥲

damikwon_: Can’t wait to hold my precious baby again. Tomorrow ❤️

And underneath, Jiyong’s reply. xxxibgdrgn: 🚫🚫 Wait a month or four. Need to hold my child for more than five minutes. 

You snort. 

dolgoraebap: this is the same man who refused to hold the parasol on zip daesung because taeyang and daesung were already holding it and he said he won’t do what everyone else does. he was just waiting to match with his baby 🥹 

fam4ever: The light of my whole universe. Gonna go cry now. 

You scroll a little longer and you see comments from his friends, your family, and what must be thousands of people celebrating this new adventure Jiyong is now part of. 

Jiyong comes back a few minutes later. “Food is almost ready. Want me to take her to the—” His phone buzzes on the cushion beside you where you left it. He picks it up. “—nursery so you can eat?” He glances at it, just to check who’s calling. He’s been letting most calls go to voice mail these days. “We can….” 

You look up from Ji-na when he trails off. He’s staring at his phone. 

“What is it?” you ask.

“It’s uh…” He looks at you, then back at his phone, like he’s making sure. “It’s Seunghyun.” 

“Pick up!” you tell him. “Go. Go on.” 

“Dinner—”

“Forget dinner. Go. Talk to him.”

He walks towards the bedroom and you watch as he brings the phone to his ear, his voice soft as he speaks. You can’t hear the words and you don’t try to.

You know it’s been a long time since they last talked. Too long, perhaps. It’s something that pains Jiyong in a way he rarely talks about. You’ve learned to notice it in the way he sometimes trails off when he’s talking about the early years, about the way he goes quiet sometimes when certain songs come on. You hope this is the first call of many. 

After a while you get up, settle Ji-na against your shoulder, and go turn off the stove yourself. Then you come back to the sofa and sit with Ji-na the way you do multiple times a day, every day: watching her, talking to her, bringing your face close so she can study yours.

That’s how Jiyong finds you twenty minutes later. 

He sits beside you and you notice that his eyes are red rimmed. “Everything okay?” you ask.

He smiles. “Everything is perfect.” He looks at Ji-na. “He saw the picture and she now has another uncle who wants to meet her.” 

You look at him, and you notice his eyes are shiny in that way they get when there are tears he’s trying to hold back. “Jiyong… that’s wonderful.” 

 “He said he couldn’t miss this milestone.” He laughs softly. “He’s also already appointed himself her art mentor.”

You smile and you don’t ask for more than that. You know there’s more that was said, twenty whole minutes of conversation, but you know Jiyong will tell you when he’s ready.

“Let me get dinner,” he says. He leans down to press a kiss to Ji-na’s forehead, then to your temple, and gets up to go to the kitchen.

You look down at Ji-na, milk drunk and already asleep, her small chest rising and falling with each soft breath, completely unaware of what she’s just done. 

“Good job, baby,” you whisper. 

********

Later that night, Ji-na decides to cry her little lungs out. 

It’s not the crying that happens when he’s hungry or when she needs changing. This is something else, a sustained, inconsolable crying that started somewhere around nine at night and hasn’t really stopped since.

You know because everyone told you, from your mother to Jiyon’s mother and the nurse at the hospital who’d handed you the discharge papers, that this is completely normal. That there are times when babies cry and it’s difficult to understand why. That there is no amount of reading or preparing that gets you ready to witness this at one-fifty in the morning.

You know this, but it still doesn’t make it easy. 

In the last five hours, Ji-na has been fed three times, changed twice, once in a way that required a full outfit change and a brief crisis, and then was held by both of you in every position the internet had suggested. She’s been swaddled and unswaddled and re-swaddled when the absence of her blanket was met with contempt so strong she turned red from the effort. She has cried for what feels like the last five hours, but you know that in reality there were brief intermissions where she settled and you both got your hopes up before another whimper that quickly turned into crying extinguished them. 

Nothing seems to be wrong. She has been fed. She is dry. She is warm. You had called the pediatrician’s after hours line around midnight, feeling slightly ashamed of needing to, and had been told in a calm voice that babies have these moments where they cry because they’re still adjusting to the world. That this is normal, that you’re doing everything right. 

Knowing that it’s normal does not make it less upsetting to hear. There is something about the sound of Ji-na’s crying that bypasses every rational thought and lands somewhere deep in your chest, and by two twenty-six you are standing in the nursery with Jiyong, Ji-na against his shoulder still crying, and you feel your own eyes beginning to sting. 

Jiyong, looking just as upset, notices. “Go lie down,” he says. 

You shake your head. “I’m fine—”

“You’re not. You’re still recovering.” He adjusts Ji-na, his hand moving in slow circles on her back. “There’s no point in both of us being awake right now. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up for feedings. I’ve got this.”

“Jiyong—”

“Sweetheart.” The word is quiet but firm. “I’ve got her. Go. I want you to rest.”

You look at him, then at Ji-na. “Only until a feeding,” you say. “And if anything—”

“I’ll come get you, I promise.”

You step closer and you kiss Ji-na’s cheek, then Jiyong, and you go to bed. 

********

You are not asleep. 

You lie down, which is the most you can do to comply with Jiyong’s request, and the bedroom is dark and your body is exhausted, but you’re still awake. You’re holding the baby monitor you usually have on the nightstand. You told yourself you were going to check it once to make sure the picture was clear, so that you could see both of them properly in case Jiyong needed your help. 

That was fifteen minutes ago. 

The nursery in night vision is that sort of greenish tint but you can see everything clearly. You watch Jiyong as he paces around the room, Ji-na against his chest, one hand gently cupping the back of her head, his head bent slightly toward her as he whispers to her. 

She’s still crying. You can hear it through both the monitor and through the open door. 

You watch him unswaddle her only for Ji-na to make her feelings about this known with even louder, piercing cries. He swaddles her again and tries a different position, her head at his shoulder and his chin just touching the top of her head. She doesn’t stop crying. He tries giving her a pacifier and she rejects it with furious contempt.

"Ok, I'm sorry. Bad idea, huh?" he whispers.

You watch him pace for a couple of minutes. Then he starts to sing. It’s a lullaby, an actual children’s lullaby that you remember your mother singing to you when you were a child. It’s something old and traditional, gentle and meant to soothe. 

Ji-na cries through all of it. 

He tries another one, something softer and slower. He walks and sings and pats her back, and when she continues to cry, you watch him wipe his free hand across his face. Not frustration. This emotion has never existed when it comes to Ji-na. He is feeling what you are feeling. There is anguish in knowing Ji-na is upset and not knowing how to fix it.

He tries a song from a popular children’s program next. You can’t make out the words, but you recognize the rhythm from the many times you heard it while shopping for baby clothes. You watch and you know Jiyong performing a song from a toddler’s television show at almost three in the morning is something you will remember for the rest of your life. 

Ji-na, however, remains unmoved. 

He walks, then sits in the rocking chair in the corner, then stands up to pace around the room again. At three fifteen, he stops in the middle of the room, Ji-na still crying in his arms, and he tips his head back briefly toward the ceiling. You sit up, intent on going back to the nursery to give him a break, to help. 

But then he looks down at Ji-na again, adjusts her in his arms, and begins to rap. 

You recognise the song immediately. Something from years ago. One of his own, and Seunghyun’s. Knock Out. Jiyong’s verse. His voice drops into that register he uses when he’s rapping, the one that belongs on stages and studios, and now, apparently, in Ji-na’s nursery. 

The crying softens. 

You smile.

Jiyong keeps going, finishing the whole song, as if he’s afraid that stopping early will undo this tiny miracle. When it ends, he starts the song again, this time he sings all of it, Seunghyun’s verse and his own. 

The crying softens more until it’s just a few hitching breaths, the kind that come after a long crying session. Jiyong pauses when the song ends. And then he starts Doom Dada. He has fun with this one, moving a bit more now. Performing the song. 

Ji-na makes a small sound and settles, her head turning toward his chest, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as Ji-na feeling content enough to sleep. He continues, but his voice lowers, softens until it’s barely sound at all. He comes to a stop and just stands there, looking at her. Ji-na is not quite asleep yet, you can see it in the way her tiny hand curls against the fabric of his shirt, but she is quiet now. 

Jiyong laughs, you hear the sound through the monitor. Soft. Delighted. You cannot see his face from this angle, but you know he’s smiling. You can hear it in his voice when he speaks again. 

"You have excellent taste in music."

In the bedroom, you laugh softly. And you cry a little, too. Hormones and exhaustion, a combination that always seems to hit harder at night these days.

Through the monitor you watch as Jiyong starts moving again. "That first song, I performed it with your uncle Seunghyun. Want me to tell you about him?" You watch as he walks, Ji-na still awake but quiet and settled comfortably against his chest. 

You lower the volume, just enough to make sure her crying will wake you up if needed, but low enough to make Jiyong’s voice a soft murmur. You give this conversation the privacy it deserves. This conversation belongs to them, to the father and his daughter and the uncle she’ll meet soon.

You put the monitor down on the nightstand and you close your eyes. You let the dark and the quiet settle over you. 

In the nursery, Jiyong is smiling as he tells Ji-na stories about the days before he was G-Dragon and Seunghyin was T.O.P.   next>>

Have you guys seen that video of GD with the lap and Soohyuk takes it away? GD's reaction? That's him when someone takes Ji-na away from him. Here's the video. And here's the video of GD singing Doom Dada. Tag list:

@daesungsleftnostril @hex-girls-stuff @bunnygirlgonewild @missleezylou @chocomintlatey

@nessas-archive @coffea-16 @itsonlyskye @aemrsy @idkkpop

@bearleez @jiyongsraven @bitchynightkitty @valkeryiexx @stacyyyystami

@svetamillss @clemetinesis @moonlight52moonlight @anonymous2505 @shooo00taaa44

@jiyongieahx @vfihvffn @gabrielleqz @beaferni @supertrouble143

@choiseunghyunwifwxx4 @bi-panic03 @lyation @kiraaazz000 @million-dollar-baby

@thevelvetseries @honeymoonheartt @alyfff @issysato @mariaemiliasblog

@ivush @hadesismyimaginaryfriend @leajanesblog @sanniix33 @nsainmoonchild

"appa."

"hm?" jay turns to look at his little girl behind him showing all the displeasure her 3ft self could master.

"you said we were leaving 5 minutes ago."

"right."

she stares at him. "your hair looks fine."

"are you sure its not messy?" he sighs turning back to the fridge.

"it looks the same."

"....thank you?"

i-rae shrugs before running off to pick out her clips for the day, while jay rubs his face trying to get a grip before grabbing his briefcase ready to send his little 'judger' to school.

the past few pick ups and drop offs have been nothing short of pathetic. awkward exchanges that were always cut short by the yelling of either i-rae or her classmates or the classic 'meeting' pulled by the beloved principal.

sometimes when he gets back to his car he runs his hands through his hair thinking what the hell has gotten into him.

he owned a god damn company, he has made countless pitches to the richest conglomerates of south korea. yet the moment you were in his line of sight, his palms start to sweat, toes curling in his shoes, eyes started admiring the fucking door frame.

most of the time he spent reassuring himself that you didn't notice but the thing is you did and you found it cute. but strictly professionally cute if you catch the drift...

fastforward a couple weeks and halmoni saying that she wants to stay in busan longer, jay ended up sat in a kiddie chair for the first time since his kindergarten days, opposite you while i-rae plays in a corner.

his palms covered his knees, his eyes darting from the floor to you to the table. one would think that you're his supervisor evaluating him.

you were flipping through your folders, hair being tucked behind your ears with a pen in the other. your pink lips muttering about how you were sorry for the delay but you had trouble finding some things.

was this a kindergarten parent-teacher meeting? didn't seem like it from the way jay was behaving. his thoughts were swirling about how pretty and kind you were, i-rae's voice echoing in his head.

"appa."

"appa."

oh wait it wasn't a hallucination. i-rae had walked up to him and tugged at his black trousers, big eyes staring at him. that sure does it pulling him out of his daydream.

"oh, yes sorry." he sighs and turns back to see you looking at him concerned. "what were you saying?"

"i just wanted to briefly mention about i-rae's developmental pace and her overall performance in class." you closed the folder in front of you and smiled at him gently, voice calm and polite. "she's very smart and i would even say she might be faster than most of her classmates."

"she's adjusting very well to the change in environments, and has become alot more confident speaking during group discussions and that's an improvement from what i mentioned at the beginning of the year to her halmoni."

"however she can be a little bit stubborn at times, but it can be seen as a good thing." you chuckled smiling as i-rae ran over to you.

"sounds like her for sure." jay smiles, nodding.

well i-rae is not the most easy-going, jay likes to think it came from his late wife but he is no better.

"i'm not sure if i should mention this but," you paused.

jay looks up at you, eyes waiting.

"i think your involvement in her life is making a good impact on her."

you inhaled slowly. "i don't mean to overstep, but i think i-rae's confidence improving recently has something to do with you being there for her more instead of just her halmoni."

the words caught him completely off guard.

"but i understand with your schedule it is pretty hard-"

jay cuts in gently. "no, i understand. i will do my best to spend more time with her."

your eyes softened with a smile.

that. that makes him feel calmer. seems like he's starting to get why i-rae likes you so much.

"anything you'd like to ask?" you looked at him with a smile while ruffling i-rae's hair. his brain turns to mush and to think that a few weeks ago he was getting annoyed with how much his daughter talks about you, now he's about to be i-rae 2.0

his mouth opened and shut with no words coming out before his word vomit starts. "how are you?" his eyes widened in shock, before he fumbles to save himself. "i mean, i hope i-rae's not been bothering you, i hear you stay back to take care of her when i'm late to picking her up."

he heaves a sigh of relief after he saves himself.

"no, not at all. i-rae's very sweet and well-behaved." you grinned as you pinched i-rae's cheeks as she giggles and opens her arms as you picked her up and sat her on your lap.

"halmoni says i'm cute, just like appa!" she announces with a wide toothy grin, eyes squeezing into small crescents.

tilting your head to face her you smiled widely and started tickling i-rae. "oh is that so?"

jay's heart skips a beat hearing the mix of your giggles together. music to his ears. he was literally gonna melt into a puddle when your principal yells for you.

"oh excuse me i have to go. but that's all for the parent teacher meeting. you and i-rae are free to go home and i will email you her progression chart before the weekend." you informed before setting down i-rae and petting her head.

"i'll see you in school next week okay i-rae?" you kissed her temple before bowing politely to jay and running off towards the office.

jay freezes in that moment, words stuck in his throat. what just happened...

i-rae tugs at his trousers again. "appa, why are you a tomato?"

"what?" and he dies a little on the inside.

✩ ◜▿ TAGSLIST [OPEN] : @heeunleash, @maewybakes, @wonscrchy, @kikidoul, @nishizzn, @zoe1love, @simsimluver, @aruhoon, @fentylux, @genienha

can comment if uw to be tagged!!

“What kind of mischief are you two planning here?” you whisper as you come closer and crouch down beside them, as if you want to become part of their secret little club. “It’s early. Why aren’t you sleeping yet?”

“You’re not sleeping either, eomma,” Kian says, and Kion nods in agreement. “We wanted to see if appa is awake already,” he adds right away, explaining this whole gathering taking place in front of your bedroom door.

“Appa needs to sleep. He worked a lot and you need to let him rest,” you explain patiently, even though you know it’s pointless, because you can’t negotiate with the twins as well as Jiyong can.

“But he promised he’d play with us first thing this morning, and it’s already morning,” Kion protests a little too loudly, forcing you to press your index finger to his lips so you don’t wake Jiyong.

“He’ll play with you as soon as he rests. I’m sure he will.”

“Maybe he’s already awake... Can we check, please?” Kian asks, and you know that if you don’t let them, they’ll spend the whole day standing by the bedroom door, because they’re both incredibly persistent and patient, which is yet another trait they inherited from Jiyong.

“Fine, but we’ll only peek in, and if he’s sleeping, we’ll let him sleepkeys,” you agree after a moment and slowly open the bedroom door, which swings open with a soft creak. Kian and Kion immediately step over the threshold. The bedroom is drowned in dim light and pleasantly warm. Only Jiyong’s head is sticking out from under the blanket, and at first glance, it really does look like he’s asleep.

You glance back and forth between Jiyong and the twins, already deciding to end this little performance and let Jiyong sleep, when Jiyong suddenly speaks in his hoarse, sleepy voice.

“I can hear you…”

“Appa!” the twins shout almost in unison and throw themselves onto the bed toward Jiyong like an avalanche. With mild concern for Jiyong’s health, you watch the bed dip under the twins’ attack while Jiyong, still half asleep, tries to protect his stomach and head from these relentless little warriors.

“Oh God...” Jiyong groans when Kion accidentally tumbles into his arms in an unguarded moment. “You’re my happiness, aren’t you?” he mutters once he manages to calm the twins down and pull them into his arms, tucking one on each side. It’s not as easy as it used to be. The twins are growing like weeds, and they’re going to start school soon. “I hope you didn’t give eomma any trouble while I was gone. You know what you both promised me, right?” Jiyong says, giving both of them a meaningful look with one eyebrow raised.

“We didn’t! We were good!” Kian says seriously, adding a firm nod to give his words proper weight.

“Well, I’ll have to ask eomma about that…” Jiyong says with a smile, finally moving his sleepy gaze to you where you’re still standing in the doorway.

The sight of those three in the messy sheets is the most perfect thing life could’ve ever given you. Jiyong was gone for a long time because of his tour, and now you finally have all three of them home. All of them with you again. This is the home you’ll always want to come back to, no matter where in the world you are.

Jiyong is the most amazing dad you could’ve ever imagined for the twins. Despite everything you went through from the beginning of your pregnancy, all the questions you asked yourselves and all the questions you were afraid to ask out loud, Jiyong is the most loving father in the world. You want to lock this image in your mind forever…

“…right, eomma?”

You blink a few times before your thoughts return to the bedroom again. “Of course,” you answer, even though you didn’t actually hear what Kion asked you. “I’m going to make something good for breakfast,” you add before stepping away from the bedroom doorway to give the three of them some space.

The twins may not have shown it very often, but they really did miss Jiyong, because you were always very careful and watched their wild games with fear in your chest, especially when the living room turned into an unconquerable fortress and more than once a pillow landed on your head when you came in to tell them dinner was ready. These crazy things were simply something only Jiyong could pull off. He could always entertain the twins in the most creative ways whenever he was home.

You don’t overthink breakfast too much and make scrambled eggs with toast, cutting up some vegetables to go with it. You smile when you hear soft, bare footsteps on the floor behind you.

“Good morning again, beautiful,” he says against your ear, and right after that, Jiyong’s arms wrap around your waist. He presses a gentle kiss to your ear and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you answer quietly with a laugh, still focusing on cutting the vegetables.

“I’m so glad I’m back with you all again... with you,” Jiyong murmurs tiredly but contentedly as he brushes his temple against your cheek, then buries his face in your neck and exhales in relief.

“We’re really glad you’re home with us again too,” you say, picking up a piece of chopped bell pepper and holding it to Jiyong’s mouth. “Open,” you say, and Jiyong laughs as he eats the piece of pepper you’re offering him. Before you return to cutting, you press a kiss to his cheek. Jiyong’s hands begin to gently stroke your sides, slowly pushing your T-shirt up.

“Ji, come on, the boys could come in any second,” you mumble, but you put the knife down and turn to face him. You run the fingers of both hands through his messy hair and watch him for a moment.

“Come here,” he says with a conspiratorial smile, already pulling you by the hand toward the bathroom, where he safely locks the door behind you.

“What are you doing, Jiyong?” you roll your eyes, but you can’t hold back a laugh.

“Shhh,” Jiyong says, placing his index finger against your lips before replacing it with his lips. “I need at least a moment of privacy without two curious pairs of eyes…” he mutters as his lips touch your neck, and you close your eyes in pleasure, letting out a soft sigh. His hands glide gently over your lower back beneath the fabric of your T-shirt, dangerously close to the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Jiyong…” you breathe into his ear, running your fingers through his hair. “We shouldn't be doing this right now, because—”

“Appa! Are you eating candy in there?” one of the twins calls from right outside the door, while you both hear the other twin running toward the bathroom too.

“No, Kian, we’re not eating any candy in here,” Jiyong says calmly while resting his forehead against your shoulder and laughing softly. “Although, actually…” Jiyong mutters quietly enough for only you to hear as his hands slide down to your backside and squeeze firmly. You can’t help laughing under your breath either, and you gently stroke Jiyong’s hair.

“Looks like your plan didn’t work... maybe next time,” you wink at Jiyong as you finally unlock the bathroom door, and the twins burst in after you, looking for any candy wrappers, but finding nothing...

Jiyong sits down on the edge of the bathtub, and the last thing you see before leaving the bathroom and going back to the kitchen is him shaking his head, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to laugh.

You return to cutting the vegetables, and Jiyong starts setting plates on the table once all three of them follow you back into the kitchen after a while. Jiyong is wearing a clean shirt, but his hair is sticking out in every direction after the twins’ attack, which makes you guess some kind of secret battle happened in the bathroom while they were washing their hands and brushing their teeth.

You watch them from the kitchen counter as they all sit down at the table, and Jiyong begins preparing their plates with absolute, natural ease. He used to be so afraid that he wouldn’t know how to raise sons. He was afraid of expectations and the pressure of society. And now? Now he’s the gentlest and most amazing dad. He’s a safe haven for the twins, a place where they can cry without shame, laugh, goof around and be themselves. All those fears really were unfounded. Jiyong doesn’t shape the boys into any mold or into society’s expectations. He simply gives them space to grow.

“Alright, boys,” Jiyong says once he finishes his last bite of toast and claps his hands. “I promised you I had something for you. Ready?”

The twins bounce excitedly in their chairs as Jiyong walks into the hallway and pulls a large bag with four boxes from the closet. Each box holds one pair of completely clean, snow-white canvas sneakers, and from the bottom of the closet, he pulls out two large boxes full of colorful fabric markers, different patches, shoelaces, sequins and all kinds of other things.

Jiyong lifts one sneaker into the air. “These sneakers are still boring, so how about we each make our own?” he says with a smile, looking at you, and you immediately shake your head.

“No, no, no,” you say, shaking your head as you lift your hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m nowhere near as artistic as the three of you, so I’ll just supervise and then clean up the mess you leave behind.”

“Eomma, you have to paint with us!” the twins plead in unison, furrowing their brows in protest because you’re trying to ruin appa’s genius plan. Jiyong gives the boys a conspiratorial smile and walks over to you to place your sneakers into your hands. “You can’t just leave your sneakers plain white…” he whispers, winking at you. He ignores your next protests and already starts leading you by the hand into the middle of the living room, where only a moment ago he spread a large plastic tarp directly over the carpet.

He leads you between the twins, and you sit down cross-legged, staring at the white sneakers resting in your lap. In the end, you can’t hold back a laugh, shake your head and give up your protests. You all sit on the floor in a circle, with markers in the middle, and a pleasant, focused silence settles over the living room, broken only by the scratching of marker tips against the fabric of the sneakers.

You watch Jiyong as his artistic soul comes alive, and with absolute precision and ease, he draws his signature daisy with one missing petal on the side of his sneaker, then adds abstract strokes of yellow and green.

For a moment, you doubt your own abilities, but when you see all three of them drawing with such focus and excitement, completely lost in their imagination, you reach for a deep purple, blue and yellow marker and start drawing. Under your hands, a deep, imaginary universe full of tiny silver stars begins to appear, and later you add a few colorful imaginary planets that come to mind. Jiyong keeps watching you the whole time with a warm look in his eyes, while the boys excitedly comment on each other’s creations.

At one point, Kian’s hand slips and he draws a thick black zigzag line across the side of the shoe, cutting through the car he was trying to paint. Kian freezes, his forehead creasing, and tears begin to fill his eyes. “I ruined it…” he says sadly, placing the marker back into the box between you, deciding he doesn’t want to paint anymore.

Jiyong immediately reaches out to him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he says, taking the shoe into his hand and holding it out so Kian can see it too. “See? That line looks like lightning. What if we turn the car into a super-fast lightning car?”

After a moment, a smile appears on Kian’s face again. He wipes the tear running down his cheek with his sleeve and reaches into the box for a yellow marker so he can transform the black line into lightning.

“See?” Jiyong nods approvingly. “Always remember that every mistake can be the beginning of a new idea. And that’s true for everything you’ll ever do in life,” Jiyong says, and you just can’t help but be amazed by how naturally he’s able to pass on these deep thoughts, with such effortless ease…

***

The day slips by far too quickly. Your sneakers dry out on the terrace, so in the evening you’re finally able to try them on, and the twins run around the whole penthouse in them, screaming with excitement. A deep darkness starts settling outside the windows, and the true peace of home fills your apartment.

The boys are already in their pajamas, and after the long day, you finally make your way into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed. You curl up under the blanket and leave only the bedside lamp on. You listen to the muffled sounds coming from the children’s room next door. As usual, the boys managed to convince Jiyong to tell them a bedtime story, and he agreed without protest.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, smiling at the thought of what Jiyong’s incredible imagination has created for them tonight. Jiyong doesn’t read books to the boys because the boys want their dad’s imagination. You know you could never come up with stories like his because you don’t have that wild, colorful imagination he carries inside him.

Right now, he’s probably sitting between their beds, spinning a story in his head full of magical animals or giant robots flying between the stars. He’s definitely found a way to weave in the sky, constellations, or mythical dragons, the kind of things the boys love listening to so much. Jiyong’s bedtime stories simply have no limits and no rules. They’re like his music, unpredictable, fascinating and full of details. Through the wall, you can hear the boys excitedly adding their own ideas, calling things out, and Jiyong is patiently weaving every single one of them into the story. It’s their shared ritual, their little world that only the three of them have access to.

After a while, the noise fades and absolute silence takes its place. The bedroom door opens quietly and Jiyong steps inside. He lets out a relaxed breath, strips down to his boxers, and climbs under the blanket beside you. You thought that after a long tour and a whole day spent with the twins, he’d fall asleep from exhaustion right away, but instead, Jiyong is filled with a strange kind of energy from finally being home.

He immediately curls up against you, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. He buries his face in your neck and breathes in your scent deeply, and you feel his lips brush against your skin in a quiet but incredibly warm kiss.

“I missed you. For weeks, all I kept waiting for was the moment I could hide beside you like this.”

“I missed you too, Ji,” you whisper, pressing yourself even closer to him. With one hand, you start gently stroking his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the beat you missed through so many nights when you had to fall asleep alone. Jiyong places his palm on your back and starts rubbing your back in slow circles. After a moment, he pulls back slightly so he can look at you.

“Do you know what I was thinking about today, when we were all sitting in the living room?” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with his fingers.

“What were you thinking?”

“About how scared I was back then… When we first found out they were boys, I felt completely lost. I couldn’t imagine raising sons at all. I had so many of my own hang-ups, so many fears about what this world would expect from them and from us. And now? Now I can’t imagine a single second of my life without them and without you…”

You smile, tilt your head back and kiss his neck. “I know... I know how much you were fighting with yourself back then…”

“I was crazy,” he mutters, kissing you on the lips. “They’re so incredibly pure, and there’s so much joy inside them… I think they teach me far more about life than I teach them.”

“You’re everything to them… You’re exactly the dad they need.”

Jiyong lets out a quiet, content breath, pulls you close again, and this time you rest your head on his chest and place your hand on his stomach. Jiyong keeps one hand behind his head while the other strokes your hair.

“Today, you painted the most beautiful universe with planets on those sneakers… I was thinking while I watched you, and my whole universe is in this bed and in the room next door. I have absolutely everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t have to search for anything anymore…” he murmurs just before his hand slowly stops stroking your hair, as he drifts off to sleep, and maybe in his dreams, he’s replaying the whole day that reminded him he’s the happiest man in the universe…

You leaned against the barricade. Your hands on the camera around your neck, your grip tightening every other moment. It takes a second before you remember the main reason you’re there. You lifted the camera, finding a good angle of the guys on stage as you took their pictures. You take a moment as you check the preview. The way Soobin looks and how he’s smiling at something, it made your heart skip.You caught yourself before your thoughts could continue on.

You have to be professional.

No...you can be professional.

You looked back up at the guys. Yeonjun and Beomgyu are tuning their guitars. Kai is looking around for his sticks that have suddenly gone missing, and then there’s Taehyun. He’s clicking a few keys on his keyboard, testing the volume for the amps. You tried to keep your eyes focused on them and away from the main source of that one little word echoing in your head but you betrayed yourself. Soobin was there, oversized hoodie on and joking about something. You tried to avert your gaze but couldn’t as you watched him throw his head back as he laughed at something Beomgyu said.

Your stomach immediately betrayed you at the sight of him. The stupid annoying flip that seems to only exist when Soobin is involved. You've been trying too hard when you acted casual around him. Too worried that others would catch on to the way his heart melts. Unfortunately, you’re surrounded by people who seem determined to make your life harder.

“Are you okay?”

You nearly jump out of your skin hearing the voice. Manager Kim appears beside you like he’s been summoned by your distraction.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You stutter over your words, eyes finally dragging themselves away from the stage.

Manager Kim studies you for a moment. The look alone is enough to make you straighten. “You finished editing the pre-rehearsal clips?”

Your stomach dropped. “Almost.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Almost?”

“I just need to—”

“The social team wants them before soundcheck.” He cut you off before you can finish.

Right. The clips. The job you’re supposed to be doing.

You glance toward the stage one more time. Unfortunately, Soobin chose that exact moment to look over at you. Your cheeks burned a soft pink at the sudden eye contact.

Manager Kim followed your line of sight, not suspiciously. Just taking inventory of the room the way he always does. Then he looked back at you. “The clips.”

“Right.” You nodded as you looked back at him.

“And the fan content schedule.”

“That’s just on my tablet.” You gesture toward your bag.

“The sponsor photos." He kept listing your tasks off.

You winced, your head tilted down. “Right.”

He paused for a split second. “Do I need to reassign something?”

Your head snapped up. "No." The word comes out sharper than intended, defensive. You hated how transparent you feel, how obvious your distraction must be.

“Then focus.” The words aren’t harsh. Just matter-of-fact.

Manager Kim gave a short nod before he moved on to the next crisis that demanded his attention.

You waited until he was gone before letting out a long breath. Then immediately your eyes drifted back towards the stage. Which is exactly the problem. You can't stop looking over at him. Can't resist wanting to be near him, even when you know you shouldn't.

By the time you finally escaped your place beside the stage, your face was warm and your patience was hanging by a thread. Yet, somehow you were still thinking about that stupid text.

Baby please. The words echoed with a weight that makes your chest ache. You've read them so many times the screen should have burned the letters into your retinas. The worst part is that it hadn’t sounded forced. It didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded natural, like he’d typed it without thinking. Like it belonged there. Like that stupid playful name belonged to you for him to say.

The rest of rehearsal felt like torture. Every time you thought you’d finally get a moment alone with him something got in the way. An intern needed approval on content, someone asking about scheduling. Then soundcheck. Then the show. Hours disappeared while the question stays lodged stubbornly in the back of your mind, pulsing with every heartbeat. Does he even know what he was doing to you?

The performance was incredible, you have to give them that. The crowd was loud enough to shake the floor beneath your feet. Fans screamed every lyric. You moved around the stage capturing content, taking photos, recording clips. Yet despite your best efforts, your attention kept drifting back to him.

Not just because he was performing, but because he’s different. The comments you read earlier while doomscrolling weren’t wrong, he’s lighter. Still dramatic and always sarcastic during his ments like always. But still Soobin, just a happier version. He looked like he finally learned how to breathe again. It looked like he finally stopped carrying every burden by himself and every time he smiled, you caught yourself smiling too.

At one point during the show he laughed so hard at something Beomgyu said that he doubled over. The sight hit you so unexpectedly that you missed the photo op entirely. You lower the camera once the opportunity had passed and smiled. Immediately annoyed with yourself, but your smile stayed, stubborn and real.

The annoyance isn't because of him technically and that was exactly what was becoming the problem. Somewhere along the way, his happiness started feeling important to you. Important enough that seeing him smile could change the entire direction of your day. Which feels wildly unfair. Especially considering he has no idea what he has been doing to you. How he lived in your head now, occupying space you didn't invite him into. How you wake up thinking about him and fall asleep doing the same.

The show finally ended but the night didn't just yet. Crew members began tearing everything down, equipment got packed away and people slowly filtered out of the backstage area. You carefully moved around the commotion as you finally spotted him near one of the equipment cases backstage. For once, he’s alone.

No members. No managers. No staff hovering nearby asking questions.

Just Soobin.

He had a towel draped around his neck from the show, dark hair damp with sweat from the stage lights, skin flushed and glowing. He looked electric and beautiful in a way that made your throat tight. His sleeves were still rolled to his forearms, veins visible beneath flushed skin. He’s looking down at his phone when your eyes landed on him. Completely unaware that you’ve spent the entire day thinking about him.

About one stupid text. About one stupid word. About how desperately you want to hear him say it again, out loud, with his actual voice instead of pixels on a screen. As if he can feel you staring, his head lifts. Your feet stop moving immediately. This was the goal all day. To find and ask him. To stop thinking about that stupid text and now that the opportunity is finally here, your brain decides this is a terrible idea.

You could leave, pretend you never saw it. Pretend he never sent it and pretend you’ve spent the last ten hours functioning like a normal person. His expression shifted as he watched you. Not dramatically but enough. A smile spread across his face with the blissful unawareness of what his words did to you all day. It's the kind of smile reserved for one specific person. The kind that appears before he can stop it.

Your stomach immediately flipped. It’s so deeply annoying now that you have realized his effect on you. You walked over quickly not letting yourself think about it.

You stopped right in front of him, clearing your throat. “So.”

He looks up to the sound of your voice. A smile immediately appearing on his face.

“So?” He echoes you with confusion.

You cross your arms. “Baby?”

The reaction you get is instant. His entire face changed, his smile disappeared, Returned, then disappeared again. “Oh my God.”

You pointed at him. “No.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “You really opened with that?”

“You called me baby.” You raised an eyebrow.

His face turned a deeper shade of red. “I know.”

“Twice.” You kept looking at him, waiting for some response.

“I know.”

“And then you vanished.” You pouted slightly.

“I was embarrassed.”

You stared at him and he stared right back. Neither of you said anything. For the first time, since your date there isn’t a screen between you. No typing bubbles, no deleted messages, no chance to rethink what you’re about to say.

Just the two of you face to face and suddenly he actually looked nervous. The realization stole the teasing right out of you. Because you suddenly see this isn’t a joke to him.

You softened. “Soobin.”

"I tried really hard not to." He paused as he swallowed hard, throat working. "Like you." The admission hung between you, fragile and enormous. You felt it in your chest, warm and terrifying.

Your heart immediately tripped over itself, stuttering and wild. You felt it in your throat, your fingertips, everywhere. “Soobin—”

“I’m serious.” He shook his head. “I knew it was a bad idea.”

You stared at him as he spoke.

“I work with you.” He continued. “It's also bad because you’re also mean to me.” He exhaled dramatically.

“I’m not mean to you.” You looked at him in absolute disbelief.

“You absolutely are.”

That almost made you laugh.

His cheeky smile faded after a moment. “But then I started looking for you.”

Your chest tightened.

“Every room.” His eyes stay fixed on yours. “Every schedule. Every event. Every conversation.”

Your breath caught as you listened to him speak so delicately. 

“And somewhere along the way…” He swallowed. “You stopped being the person I worked with. You became my favorite part of the day.” His eyes met yours. Something shifted and his smile disappeared completely. “I like you.”

Your heart stumbled, not because you didn’t know. You did, but hearing it out loud is different. It’s real and not just a hope that has been fueled by Harua's texts.

“I know that’s probably obvious.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

You laughed softly. “A little.”

“A little?” He held back his own laugh.

“A lot.” You corrected yourself.

That earned a small smile from him. He looked down before he kept going. “I think about you all the time. I try not to.” A quiet laugh escapes him. “It doesn’t work.”

You couldn't look away, not from him. Not when he’s talking straight from his heart.

“When something good happens, I want to tell you first.” His voice is softer now. “When something bad happens, I want to tell you. When that article came out, my first thought wasn’t the company.” His eyes find yours again. “It was you.”

Your eyes locked in on his, watching the way he tried to keep his eyes steady. It felt wrong to see him so nervous.

“I was scared you’d think there was someone else.”

“You know I wouldn’t.” You spoke softly.

“I know.” He paused. “But I still cared.”

The honesty settled somewhere deep inside your chest. Too big to ignore.

“I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends anymore or this something in between.” He looked at you.

You take a step closer. “Then don’t.”

He blinks. “Don’t what?”

“This.” You gestured between the two of you. “Let us linger in the almost.”

Understanding immediately crosses his face.

You shook your head. “No more dancing around it.”

He looked anxious that you could practically feel his nerves burning.

“Either we’re doing this or we’re not.” Your words came out strong and as if it was final.

The answer came from him instantly, without hesitation. “We’re doing this.”

You smiled. “Then ask me.” You waited for a moment as silence took over. You let it linger for only a brief minute before finally speaking again. “Soobin...?”

His eyes lifted and suddenly you forgot every sarcastic thing you planned to say. Because he looked nervous. Not stage nervous or interview nervous. This was the kind of nervous that comes from caring too much. The kind that can’t be hidden behind a microphone or a camera.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then he laughed quietly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I had this whole thing planned for when I asked you.”

Your brows lift. “A speech?”

“No.” A beat of silence passed. “...Maybe.”

You laughed. His shoulders loosened slightly at the sound, then immediately tensed again as he spoke. “Now I don’t remember any of it.”

“Good.”

“What?” His eyes winded slightly.

“Speeches are usually terrible."

That earned a real laugh but sound faded quickly. His eyes stayed on yours as his smile disappeared. Not because he’s unhappy, he's far from that when you're standing in front of him. Especially since you're waiting on him to ask what feels like the scariest question he has to pose.

Every ounce of confidence disappeared as he looked at you. It’s almost impressive. The same man who performs in front of thousands of people suddenly looked terrified. Only because you matter so much to him. He laughed nervously. “I thought you already knew the answer.”

“I still want you to ask.” You smiled up at him.

He studied you for a moment. Then took a breath, like he was stepping off the edge of some life threatening cliff. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because watching him panic was a little entertaining. The way he stared at you like a deer in headlights, nervously swallowing making his adams apple bobbed. It looked like complete torture until you grinned. “Finally.”

His eyes widened slightly. “That’s not an answer.”

You laughed at him. “Yes. I would love to be your girlfriend, Soobin.”

For a second, he just stared at you. The answer taking a moment to register. Then his entire face changed. The tension left first, then the panic and then something softer wrapped around him. Relief. So much relief that it almost made your chest hurt.

A laugh escaped him, quiet and disbelieving.“Really?”

You rolled your eyes immediately. “No, Soobin. I made you confess your feelings for fun.”

His grin appeared instantly. “Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head at you.

You barely finish speaking before he stepped closer. Not rushed or desperate. Just certain with the decision that’s been made. Like he’s spent months wanting to do this. His hand found residence on your waist as your fingers curled into the front of his jacket. 

His plush lips pressed onto yours. The first kiss is soft, almost careful. Like he’s still making sure this is real. You kissed him back before he could overthink it. That seems to be all the encouragement he needs. His hold on your side tightened as he pulled you closer to his body.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that." He mumbled against your lips.

You feel your face warm immediately. “Then why haven't you?”

“I wanted you to be ready.” He pulled away to look at you. Pupils wider than before. "I also wanted to be ready for you." His smile only widened as he kissed you again. 

he sounds offended by consciousness itself it could not get more ridiculous and adorable than that.

you simultaneously want to laugh and pounce at him because he just looks so soft!

yuji continues make grabby hands at you and unable to resist you walk over, perching on the edge of the bed making the mattress slightly dip.

bad decision.

because suddenly both of them gravitate toward you like magnets.

yuji crawls directly onto your lap with all the coordination of a sleepy toddler, burying his face into your stomach while sukuna exhales deeply beside you, eyes already falling shut again as he tucks you close to his side almost pulling you on top of him.

someone is being clingy..

his cheek is warm against your neck, hair tickling your skin. he smells like sleep and something comforting you can never name properly.

“you’ve both been napping for so long” you whisper, “it’s time to wake up” while both of them grunt a daft refusal and curl into you tighter.

yuji is already dozing off again, tiny fingers curled into your shirt.

sukuna shifts quietly before mumbling, barely coherent, “cold without you”

you blink at him.

then at the child asleep in your lap.

then back at sukuna, who seems to realize what he admitted a full three seconds too late because one eye opens again, glaring weakly.

“don’t”

“i didn’t say anything”

“don’t let it get to your head”

“oh it’s getting to my head alright”

he groans.

“too late” you grin.

despite the threat in his voice, he presses closer anyway, half asleep again before the conversation even finishes.

and somehow you too fall asleep surrounded by tangled blankets and warm bodies and terrible bedheads.

firefly; i just LOVE soft sleepy nap time fics it’s the most domestic thing ever RAHHH (do u guys want me to write longer fics? i kinda like the bite-sized format but lmk!)

The entire evening had been a mistake.

One failure after the other. One wrong glance stacked on the next, following her like vultures throughout the night. Whispers behind her back that tracked her every move, always clinging to her, always taunting.

It had been a disaster, and the worst of it? Bucky didn’t seem to realize.

Not a single worry line appeared on his forehead, his brows never furrowed like they so often did, his eyes never turned into that dark and menacing stare he sometimes came home with after a particular rough day. Nothing. As if gossip didn’t touch or concern him. Well, it obviously did not, because he was James Buchanan Barnes, leader not only of New York City’s underworld but of the underworld of the entire East Coast. He didn’t concern himself with the gossip of the minor families. But she was fair game—and everyone made sure she knew.

Sometimes, YN asked herself how the hell she had ended up as the girlfriend of America’s most notorious mafia leader. She didn’t belong in this world—her family never had troubles with the law or ever even gained a speeding ticket—and yet, she couldn’t withstand the charm of one Bucky Barnes after quite literally running into him on her way home from work. He had insisted on buying her dinner because she had dropped her overly overpriced Whole Foods salad she had just gotten after working another night of grueling overtime at the law firm she had just transferred to. Usually, she wasn’t the type of woman who would agree to dinner with a literal stranger, but something of Bucky Barnes had compelled her to throw everything she knew out of the literal window. It turned out to be the most fun she had had in a while, she had to give him that after hours of flowing, easy conversation, quick banter, and lingering smiles and thrown glances.

The night had ended with his number in her phone—he hadn’t asked for hers because, in his opinion, the woman should have all the power over the matter of reaching out again or not, effectively ghosting the guy she didn’t feel comfortable with in the “worst” case—and from there, everything seemed to be history.

“You are so quiet and far away over there, love.” His smooth, soft words pulled YN right out of her thoughts, but she couldn’t bear to look over at him, sitting on the other side of the backseat of the expensive Mercedes Maybach. Usually, she would hold at least his hand, fingers laced, and his thumb would rub patterns onto her skin, only he knew the meaning of, but not tonight. Tonight, she felt like a peasant dressing up and playing masquerade in the glittering world of the filthy rich. When she didn’t answer, she heard the leather as Bucky slowly turned to her and felt his gaze watching her intently, as if she was a piece of one of the old masters he considered buying—and not to hang it in his brownstone, or townhouse on the Upper East Side, or the family home just outside the city. No, he would lock it away in some vault or another.

YN had never understood it and probably would never understand because she would never buy something this expensive in her lifetime, only to lock it underground.

Silence stretched between them, and not the companionable kind. Everything was different tonight, and it physically hurt her to think about what this could all mean. Not only for her, but for them. Perhaps he would wake one fine morning in the middle of the week and realize what a horrible match he had made with her and would just send her back into the world, fighting for herself again, finding someone of better rank and better breeding.

How she had learned to loathe that phrase ever since being his plus one for the first time.

“YNN,” he spoke again with soft urgency in his tone. Bucky knew her too well, she now realized. Blinking, her eyes watched the passing streetlights on their way home. “I’m just tired, Bucky. It was a long day.” A bullshit excuse because if she were so tired, she would have snuggled into his side the moment both of them had entered the car, falling asleep on his shoulder with his lips pressed to her hairline.

Bucky knew that, too, but didn’t press the matter. Not now, at least.

It changed when the Maybach stopped in front of the townhouse she had grown to love so dearly; it would hurt her to leave it behind. The view across Central Park on the uppermost floor and patio was breathtaking every moment of every day.

Opening the door without waiting for Bucky to round the car and open it for her, YN climbed onto the sidewalk, the noise of Manhattan surrounding her, and her heels carried her across the stone toward the entrance, passerby instinctively waiting to let the woman in the evening gown pass. “YNN. Love, wait.” He tried to be calm in public, she knew, because he wasn’t one of those people who fought openly on the streets unless absolutely necessary. But she didn’t wait; instead, she opened the door to the townhouse with the fingerprint scanner to her right, pushing the masterfully crafted iron door open and vanishing behind it, hearing Bucky huff in frustration as he closed it behind himself.

“Would you mind telling me what has gotten into you? Something clearly happened, and don’t try to sell me some sorry excuse, love.” He was angry—finally something they had in common tonight—and she huffed softly while kicking off those torturous heels she already had to wear every day when she headed to work. Even quiet nights at home on her rare nights without work had been taken from her. “Go and ask your dear friends to hear what exactly has gotten into me,” YN mumbled, pulling her phone out of the clutch she had probably strangled at some point during this evening. Notifications of work-related emails and some newsletter or another scrolled across the glass, and she wiped them all away, only to face her lock screen without obstacles.

A picture of Bucky and her at Santa Monica Pier, her sitting on the railing with Bucky’s sunglasses propped on her nose she had stolen from his only moments before Steve had taken the picture, grinning brightly and raising a hand to wave at Steve, Bucky’s arm protectively wrapped around her waist as he stood right next to her, looking at her with a smile so filled with love, it almost shocked her every time she saw it. It had been such a perfect day that not even the sunburn on her nose could ruin it.

One of his hands took hold of her arm and gently turned her to face him, a finger under YN’s chin made her powerless to look anywhere but into his eyes. They were so incredibly blue, she sometimes lost herself in them when she wasn’t careful enough. And now, they stared at her in confusion and something else. “What would they tell me, love? Hm? I would prefer to hear it from you.”

It was almost laughable how clueless he seemed to be if it wasn’t so sad. With a flip of her chin, she released herself from his hold and took a step back, away from him and his distracting closeness, because she wasn’t as headstrong if he was too close. “You know exactly what they would tell you, Bucky. It’s the same tune they have sung since the first time I showed up at one of their precious gatherings, intruding into their sacred halls, dripping and sparkling with gold no normal person would ever be able to afford. And that’s what I am: normal. Ordinary. Not of the respectable and acceptable breed to mingle with everyone.” YN took a steadying breath before she continued. “I am scrutinized whenever I dare to show my face right next to yours. Does anyone care that I was the best of my class at Yale? Or that I am one of the youngest partners the law firm has ever appointed, and that I do a hell of a job? No, of course not. Because that’s nothing they care for. All they care about is money, family, and connections. Things I cannot provide. Everything else is secondary at best.”

Bucky watched her ranting, eyes focused on her face, never letting it out of sight. And when she finished, he slowly cocked a dark brow ever so slightly. “I think you give too much on gossip, YNN,” he started to smile, making her irritated. A frustrated sound escaped her, and she slammed the phone on the sideboard lining the hallway opposite the grand staircase.

“You don’t get it. People like you don’t end up with people like me!”

And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? She was no one in everyone’s eyes. Just a tiny light easily diminished if they just so much as pleased it. Just a lawyer with a fancy corner office and nothing else to her name. They never even heard of it before Bucky had tucked her into his side and turned her into something else, something seemingly important but not important or special at all, as soon as they had gathered firsthand evidence. Just a fluke. Nothing more. The older ladies with unmarried daughters or granddaughters of the right age whispered behind her back how Bucky would easily tire of her, and then their time would come, because everyone wanted a piece of the most powerful man they knew.

And that jewel had been stolen by a peasant thief.

Bucky’s soft and melodic chuckle forced YN to stare him into the ground, but his delight and love were too strong for her to budge under her gaze. He didn’t even flinch and instead pushed both his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored black slacks.

“The ring in my pocket begs to differ, my dear.”

She wanted to scream. “You still don’t get it, you moron! You—… The what?” Only after her little outburst did her mind process his words, forcing her to pause and blink. Had he actually said what her mind struggled to accept?

Bucky sighed softly and stepped up to her, closing the distance physically and emotionally. “You heard me right, dearest.” With that, his hands pulled from his pockets, and a wine-red velvet box appeared between his fingers. He didn’t open it, just let her take it in before her eyes jumped back up to his, staring without daring to breathe. “I couldn’t care less what everyone is talking behind our backs because I have learned something ever since meeting you and guilt-tripping you into a dinner date with a stranger.” That made YN laugh under her breath. “Everyone has their expectations of life and how they want to live it—my parents certainly had them for me, but above all, they wanted me to find real love. The kind of love you crave coming home to every day. The kind that ignites you and makes you want to become a better man. I have found that with you, YNN. And I do not doubt the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s as easy as that. And if you want that too, then I suggest you stop ruining my attempts of proposing properly to the most incredible woman I had ever the pleasure of running into, okay?”

Nodding with tears in her eyes, YN cupped his face with both her hands, coaxing him down to kiss his soft lips, and Bucky happily obliged after putting the ring box back into the pocket of his slacks. “I’m sorry if I overreacted,” she whispered against his skin and felt his strong arms wrapping around her lower back, being pulled into his strong body honed by hours of training. “Don’t apologize, my love. We just have to get you a better armor against the evil vipers in the pits of hell.” His smirk was almost wolfish, devilish even, kissing her again. “Perhaps wearing my name will help you, my dear,” followed in a whisper YN felt more than she heard before a laugh was ripped out of her when Bucky hoisted her into his arms, carrying her upstairs with laughable ease, and making sure she understood who she belonged to since the day they met.