#so... it is 11pm... and this looks... so ugly...

It was one night he had gotten back from work. You made him dinner wearing your apron, hair tied up, just being so natural and comfortable in the moment, all in his house. Which is why he took you to his bed and had you on all fours, pounding you from behind with no remorse. You love when Bishop gets a little rough with you. The tight grip on your hips, the smacks he’d give your ass just to get your attention or even tighten your cunt around. And well your favorite thing…

“Tell me how good it feels, baby.”

You mewl, “s— so good, Bishop…it feels so good.” It really did. Bishop has a nice long cock that would create a bulge when it was inside of you. Going in and out of you at an unforgiving pace is what always got you in a chokehold. It was everything to you.

Now, you and Bishop had already had sex with no protection. You were on the pill and the two of you were clean. So having unprotected sex was just easier for the two of you, and truthfully you both loved it.

“You gonna let me nut in you?” “Yes! Oh— oh! I want it baby.” You moaned, focused on his thrusts, you could feel his whole dick slide in and out of you. Bishop’s dick had become recognizable inside of you, you even had his veins memorized. “I want it baby...” You slur, looking back at Bishop. Face focused, mouth light agape, his eyes found yours.

“Say it like you mean it.”

And you did, making him lean towards you to give you a kiss, or well simply make out with you. You couldn’t control yourself. “Daddy I want you to nut in me...I want it so deep you get me pregnant.” Bishop could feel his balls get heavy, light slaps against your clit. “Yeah?” He huffs, a genuine question at your request. “Don’t you think so? Don’t you want me to be yours?” You led his hand to your stomach, especially where his dick was pushing through to poke out.

“Here, daddy. I want your baby here.” And Bishop came, he came right where you wanted him to.

However, you didn’t get pregnant that night. But you and Bishop decided that if the two of you were 100% in this, it had to be a true pact. So, you stopped taking birth control, and a month later, after Bishop had you on the top of the hood of his car after one date night, you got pregnant.

Months later and you and Bishop were already building the baby crib together. Well, he was while you just laid on the floor, holding a screwdriver. “My mom always said that you can tell it’s a girl if I get ugly, because all the mom’s beauty goes to the daughter.” “Then I guess it’s a boy, because you look more beautiful by the second to me.” Bishop said, while placing one of the of the barriers.

You were 18 weeks, and tomorrow you would find the gender of the baby. The two of you basically couldn’t sleep, given that it was 11pm. “I don’t want a boy. I mean— I do but I would like a girl too.” You said, standing up to see yourself in the mirror. The bump was starting to become visible, it would get you emotional to know you were having a baby with the man you loved, building a family, building love.

Bishop was admiring you from afar, I mean you looked glorious to him. You always did. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to be his forever, to be his wife, to be the mother of his kid.

“Come here.” He spoke softly, letting go of the stuff he had in his hands and dragging you to sit on top of him. You were breathtaking, the light in the room just made you look so mesmerizing to him. “The moment I met you, I wanted to be in your life forever, you know that?” He asks, his hands rubbing your back. “Yes, it’s in your vows.” You giggle, giving him a quick kiss, making him hum. “You should know that if you want a girl, we can have a girl. I want to give you as much babies as you want.” He said, seeing your reaction quickly change with an eyebrow raise.

“As much as I want? Even if I want…” You started thinking, pushing him back to straddle him, his hands finding their way to your butt. “…30?” Bishop rolls his eyes, “Both you and I know, you’re not birthing 30 kids.” You giggle at his response, quickly quieting down with a kiss. “Maybe we should fuck again, make sure I’m really pregnant.” You stood from his lap, making your way out of the nursery and onto your shared bedroom. “You said that last week.” Bishop said, standing up to follow behind.

Still, that wasn’t stopping him from undoing his belt, walking into the room to find you practically naked already, the only thing you were wearing was a necklace with his initial he had gotten you for a valentine’s gift. “You’re not saying no.” You shrugged, slowly crawling on the bed.

Bishop could never say no to you.

Your sex life is it's own battle. You're not dominant in the sense of performance. You don't need props or theatre for it. You're dominant the way you're dominant in everything else: calm, direct, knowing exactly what you want and taking it without apology. It's the confidence of it that undoes him.

Aerion is a brat in the most psychologically true sense. He pushes because being handled correctly is the only thing that settles something in him and he doesn't know how to ask for it like a normal person would.

He'll be deliberately difficult when he wants you to hold the line. He picks fights he doesn't care about just to see if you'll go cold and precise or match his heat. You've learned to do both depending on what he actually needs.

When you're on top of him, hand pressed flat to his sternum, watching him try to hold himself together that's when he's most at peace, more vulnerable. He hates how much he needs it and he needs it desperately and you're one of the only people who can tell the difference between the two in real time.

He is, conversely, extremely intent when the dynamic flips.

Aerion doesn't do anything halfway. When he's given the reins he's thorough in a way that feels almost punishing, like he's learning every reaction, every sound you make, storing evidence of your want. He likes to know things about you that no one else knows. Your tells. The exact pressure. He files it all away and uses it to devastating effect.

He marks you and you mark him back, which startles him the first time you do it deliberately by leaving a bruise low on his hip and then look at him like well. He doesn't say anything. He looks at it in the mirror later when he thinks you aren't watching. His expression is completely unreadable. He's so pleased he could throw up. Something dark and greedy in him is humming.

Post-sex he's either immediately wired and wanting to talk (rare), or he goes completely quiet and pulls you close and holds on with that specific Aerion intensity that would probably feel suffocating from anyone else but from him just feels like the truth of him. You've learned to stay still for it. He needs the weight of you against him to feel real sometimes.

Now we get to baby Maegor. He's unplanned.

You're staring at a test in the bathroom at seven in the morning, two of them actually because you do the first one wrong, and you're weirdly, terrifyingly calm about it. Your hands are shaking slightly but you're calm.

You tell him in the kitchen. No preamble. You just put the test on the counter in front of him and watch his face. Aerion goes through approximately six expressions in four seconds flat: shock, something that might be fear, something else you can't name, and then a stillness that settles over him like concrete setting. He picks up the test. Puts it down. Looks at you. "Okay," he says. You wait. "Okay," he says again, differently. Lower, like he's saying it to himself, confirming something. He crosses the kitchen and puts both hands on your face and kisses you.

He doesn't handle early pregnancy gracefully. He wants to (you can see him trying because he's proud, this intense focused Aerion energy directed at being calm for you) but the anxiety comes out as hyper-vigilance. He googles things at 2am. He reads half a book about fetal development and puts it down because it's making him catastrophise. He wants to know every symptom you have. He asks questions constantly and then gets snippy when you bite at him for asking too many and then asks another one anyway.

He's also, and I gotta say this one bluntly: very responsive to your pregnancy hormonally. You're nauseous half the time and he still looks at you like you hung the moon and is visibly struggling to keep his hands to himself at appropriate moments. He's not subtle about this n the slightest. He honestly doesn't try to be.

The horniness is genuinely a problem 😭 Not his problem (he reads you well enough to know when you're miserable and when you're not, and he doesn't push when you're exhausted or sick) but structurally, categorically: your body changing does something to him on a chemical level that he has no interest in being rational about. He finds you beautiful in a way that feels aggressive and constant. Sex is so good he would honestly get you pregnant again if you weren't already.

He's also very physical during pregnancy in the non-sexual sense: always touching you, hand on your back, hand on your belly, pressed against you in the night. Some of it is wonder. Some of it is honestly plain possessiveness. Some of it is anxiety he can't verbalise, needing to confirm you're still there, still solid, still his, that you and baby are okay.

He talks to your stomach. He would rather die than be caught doing this, but you've absolutely caught him doing it. Something low and one-sided that you can't fully hear, a hand flat against the curve of you when you're sleeping, and when you stir he looks up with that expression he gets when he's been caught out, immediately defensive, and you say nothing and go back to what you were doing. He loves you for it.

He asks the doctors questions they haven't been asked before. He takes notes on his phone. He's simultaneously the most attentive and the most difficult patient partner the medical team has ever encountered 😭

Second pregnancy (Visenya) he's marginally calmer because he's done this once already and survived. Marginally. He still wakes up at odd hours. He still tracks your sleep. He still looks at you during the third trimester with a specific awe-meets-hunger that you keep filed away.

Maegor comes out with Aerion's colouring and your stubbornness, which is a combination that's going to make everyone's life very difficult in about ten years and you can both already see it.

Aerion holds him the first time and goes completely still. The whole frenetic Aerion energy just... stops. He looks down at this tiny furious person and something behind his eyes goes still. He doesn't say anything for a long time. When he does speak it's just "hey," very softly. Like a greeting. Like he's been waiting.

He's an intensely present father in a way that would surprise people who don't know him, and exactly the way you expected. He doesn't half-ass attention. When he's with the kids he's with the kids. On the floor, building things, explaining things in far too much detail, taking whatever game or question completely seriously regardless of its stakes.

He gets frustrated easily. This is just true I'm afraid. He has a short fuse and toddlers are specifically designed to find and light every fuse in the room. When Maegor is three and enters the refusal stage, there are moments where you can see Aerion hit a wall (jaw tightening, that particular stillness before the snap) and he'll just leave the room. Walk right out. Stand in the kitchen staring at the counter for ninety seconds. Walk back in and try again. He's teaching himself, messily and in real time, how to regulate.

You level him out without making it obvious you're doing it. A hand on his arm. Lips to his shoulder. Taking over when he's at his limit without making it a commentary. Saying his name in that specific register (not a warning, not a correction, just I see you, come back) and watching him exhale and reset. He notices. He thanks you in the ways he knows how, which are mostly physical and rarely verbal but always sincere.

He reads to Maegor every night he's home. Not something you ask him to do, he just starts doing it. He reads too fast at first, impatient, and then slows down when Maegor corrects him or asks him to repeat something in a soft mumble, and the correcting just delights him. He comes to bed afterwards pleased in this private way.

Visenya undoes him completely and it happens immediately. She arrives and looks up at him with an expression of total calm assessment (not crying, just looking) and Aerion's stares right back. She has you in her, the northern steadiness, and it hits him like a sledgehammer.

He's different with her than with Maegor and doesn't fully understand why. More careful. More quiet. He still has the intensity, still the total focus, but there's something gentler underneath it, something almost reverent. He brushes her hair with more patience than you have ever seen him apply to anything.

Maegor, now old enough to have opinions, is equal parts possessive of his sister and jealous of his father's attention toward her, which means most of the household chaos involves all three of them negotiating a very complex emotional ecosystem.

Aerion referees the sibling dynamic like he's chairing a negotiation. He takes it completely seriousl. No "you're older, give in." He makes Maegor argue his case, actually listens to it, and then rules. Half the time his ruling is wrong 😭 You correct him privately. He sulks briefly and corrects himself in front of the kids without ever directly admitting he was wrong ofc.

You fight. Properly, sometimes. Not often, but when it happens it's explosive, because you're both too much and neither of you does things at half-measure. The fights are always about something underneath the stated thing. You've both learned to find the underneath-thing faster than you used to.

He comes back. That's the thing. He walks out, or you do, and one of you always comes back, and the one who comes back is whoever gets there first in terms of processing. You've both learned not to make the other person wait for too long.

He still looks at you like he doesn't quite believe you're real and chose him. The possessiveness has softened from its earlier register into something more sustainable. Still there, always there, but with a kind of security in it now, a settled claiming that doesn't need to be proved.

He tells you he loves you in the ways that are easy for him (touch, presence, the absurd focused attention, a certain soft greed) and in words only when it surprises him out of himself. When Visenya does something that stops him cold. When you've had a genuinely bad day and he sees it before you say it, and he tells you quietly and doesn't make it a big thing. Those are the ones you keep.

You need each other. In a structural way. The way a house needs its foundation. He's too much without you, that fire burning hot. You're too controlled without him, that ice turning outwards. The kids know this the way kids know everything true about their parents: not consciously, just in the fact that home feels like both of you, and when one of you is missing something in the room goes slightly off.

it was 11pm and you had just gotten home from practice, the boys were at home, the practice was for you to work on areas that you were mainly struggling with.

you enter the dorm, taking your shoes off and setting your bags down before collapsing on the couches.

the boys notice the shift in the atmosphere and go out to greet you and just talk about everything.

after talking for a while, you realize someone is missing, james.

you ask everyone and they all say the same answer, “he hasn’t came out of his room unless it was to go to the bathroom”

you felt instant worry and went to the room that you both shared. you knocked once, getting a light hum in response.

“hey james? it’s me, y/n. can i come in?”

you say quietly, not trying to come off too worried.

you hear movement and then watch the door slide open slowly. you finally see him. he looks tired, and just drained.

you don’t say anything yet, but you go inside, shut the door, and immediately embrace him.

at first he didn’t hug back, he didn’t expect it at all. soon he melted into it, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. his breathing gets heavier, and he starts to sniffle.

you hold his head and just wait in silence. when he lets go, he sits down on the bed and waits for you to sit beside him.

once you do, you ask him,

“what’s going on?”

he pauses before sighing then finally explains,

“ok, i couldn’t help but- look up my name and all i see is hate. they’re shaming me for how i act and saying how i should’ve never debuted. i tried to ignore all of it but i couldn’t stop but keep looking at the comments. they all infiltrated my head and i got in my head. what if what they’re saying is true y/n? do i suck that bad? i knew i was weird but now i feel like a loser. what did i even.. do?”

he says as he gains slight tears in his eyes, speaking with his head down.

you grab his hands, which makes him look up at you.

“oh james. you are more than what they say about you. you have such a bright and kind soul and people just can’t comprehend that someone could be so genuine that they take it out on them. you don’t deserve this treatment. we all love you james. i love you and that’s all that you need right now. you have us. so please don’t think any less of yourself james. it hurts me to know you feel that way.”

you say, also gaining wells in your eyes. james face starts to soften when he notices the tears in your eyes, and he pulls you in for a tight hug.

you both just sit there, crying, and holding each other in comfort. you both had always gotten along so well, you two had only ever came to each other for comfort so this was natural. you solved him and he solved you. this was all he really needed. the 5 of you.

soon enough, you guys pull back and share a small smile before walking out of the room, only to see keonho, martin, seonghyeon, and juhoon sitting there, crying with their heads to the door.

“what..? why are you guys crying and why are you sitting right there?” james asks.

“we listened to the conversation you guys had and it was so sad. i’m so sorry james” martin says before hugging him tightly. james freezes immediately.

everyone joins in the hug while crying then shortly after laughing because everyone is ugly crying and acting like babies.

later into the night, james hasn’t dimmed down at all and you all settle into a warm silence, watching a movie or making dinner.

all he truly did need was you guys.

If it were up to her, (Y/N) wouldn’t be working on New Year's. She would be out welcoming the new year with friends, drinking and partying. But, because she owed Samira a big favour for taking her St. Patrick's Day shift, (Y/N) was working tonight. As soon as she walked into the ED at 8 pm, it was already littered with people who pre-gamed too hard, fighting aftermaths, etc. This wasn’t gonna stop till tomorrow evening. 

She took a deep breath before putting her stuff into the locker room, mentally preparing herself for anything that was coming the ED’s way. Just as she entered the floor, people were already flagging her down. She got pulled into a code with Dr. Ellis, then into a broken bone reset, a stomach pumping, etc. Before anyone knew it, it was already 11pm. Things had quieted down just a little; people were settling in or getting discharged, and people were getting moved up to the respective floors. 

(Y/N), finally had a chance to breathe, and the first person that she went to look for was Jack. She scanned the ED and couldn’t find the attending anywhere. 

“Where’s Abbot?” she questions, walking up to the hub. Shen looked up, sipping his coffee. “Getting air,” he said. (Y/N) processed his words, nodding. Shen reached over and handed her sweater to her. 

“Thanks, Shen. I’m taking a 10. If you need anything, page me,” she says, taking it and walking to the elevator.

She got herself to the roof door, and she checked her watch; it read 11:30 pm. She opened the door to see that a soft snow had begun to fall. As she got her bearings off the roof, she saw Jack where he always would be. 

“I don’t think the snow would help break your fall,” she says. Jack turned at the sound of her voice, a small smile gracing both of their faces. 

“Dark, Dr. (Y/L/N), dark,” he replies. 

“But you love me for it,” she says, leaning against the metal rail. “Are you not cold?” she questions, clocking his short-sleeved scrubs and no jacket. 

“It’s not that cold,” he replies, ignoring the small gitter that he was starting to get. They just sat there, watching the city enjoy their night. 

“Everything okay?” she finally asked. Her hand moved to his cold arm. He jumped a little at the warm hand, but he welcomed it. 

“Nothing that we haven’t seen or dealt with before,” he said, his eyes going to her.

She moved closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder. Jack leaned his head against her’s. They didn’t have to say a word to each other; they were just enjoying each other’s company. Even though they both work the night shift, it was rare that they got moments like this to be alone.

All of a sudden, the sound of fireworks started to go off. Jack flinched; even with the years of therapy he had done, he was never a fan of fireworks. (Y/N) tightened her grip on his hand, grounding him ever so slightly. 

“Happy New Years babe,” she whispers. Placing a kiss on his cheek. 

He turned to her with a smile, looking at her and reflecting on the past year they had spent with each other. The good, the bad, the ugly, the amazing.

“Happy New Year,” Jack kissed her on the lips. “Thank you for being my rock,” he whispered. 

She smiled and brought him closer, warming him up in the process. “Thank you for being my anchor,” she replies. 

Before anyone could say another word, her pager went off. 

“Ready to go save some lives?” she asks. Jack kissed her one last time. 

Something was off. He sensed it the moment he sat down and spied the empty chair that was usually occupied by your perfect frame. You were never late, and today it was 4:08pm and you were nowhere to be seen. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his molars grinding together as his temples twitched. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go as expected. It was one of the reasons he liked you so much; you were predictable. He knew exactly where you’d be at all times, but today you’d thrown him off his schedule.

You always finished work at 3:30pm sharp. You took 15 minutes to have a catch up with your colleagues, 5 minutes to freshen up in the staff bathroom and then 10 minutes to walk from the school to the coffee house. He’d seen you through the staffroom window, had seen you smile as you spoke to your colleagues. Cursing himself, he adjusted his position on the park bench, smoothing down his grey blazer as he tried to abate his rising anger. He’d had such high hopes for you. You’d done everything exactly the way he'd wanted until today. Of course, you had no idea what it was that he wanted because you had no idea he existed, but that was the beauty of it. He could test you out from afar before deciding whether to approach you. You were so nearly perfect, but today you’d let him down.

He took another look at his watch: 4:11pm. He was a patient man, but even he had his limits. He knew you didn’t have any other plans today. The handy little tracker he’d implanted in your phone one day at the coffee house when you’d been in the bathroom gave him full access to your phone. Your diary was clear, as it always was on a weekday. So where were you? He checked again, staring at your blank calendar as seething rage consumed him. Why, why did you have to break your routine?

His hands began to shake, and he closed his eyes, taking deeps breaths as he counted to ten. Therapy hadn’t been a complete waste of time; he’d learned a few coping mechanisms to help when he felt himself losing control. There had to be an explanation for why you weren’t here. Something must have changed.

Reaching 10, he opened his eyes. And there you were. Your eyes were red, your makeup smudged with tears. You’d been crying. He’d never cried before, could never understand why people did. Nothing in life was worth crying over as far as he was concerned. But something had obviously upset you. Was it your boss? He knew from your work emails that he’d been giving you a hard time. Maybe he needed to pay the man a little visit…

He watched through the window as you dumped your belongings in your usual seat, haphazardly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, which only smudged your mascara more. You looked beautiful like this; so vulnerable and soft. He wondered what you sounded like when you cried, whether your sobs were soft and gentle, or whether your body wracked with the tears you shed. He hoped you weren’t an ugly crier; it would be such a shame if you were. He needed to get to the bottom of this, needed to find out who had done this to you.

Picking up his briefcase, he marched into the coffee house. He needed to be careful about how he approached you; the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off. Not after he’d worked so hard to learn everything about you. You were the next in line to order, and he slotted himself behind you with a quiet ease. This was the first time he’d been this close to you, so close he could touch you. The familiar scent of your perfume wrapped him in a comforting blanket. Of course, he’d tracked down the scent and bought himself a bottle, spraying it whenever he couldn’t be near you. You were shorter than him, as he’d expected, but perfect in absolutely every way. He chastised himself for the anger he’d felt for you earlier. Someone else had made you late, had made you cry, and whoever it was would pay.

“One latte please,” you said to the barista, your voice hoarse with tears. He clenched his fist at the sound of your voice, the usual melodic tones now scratchy and gruff. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. “Please.” He stepped forward without thinking, his default smile plastered to his face. “Let me pay.” You looked up at him, your red rimmed eyes filled with confusion. He watched you take in his appearance, watched the tip of your tongue dart out to wet your lips. He fought to control himself as he watched you, wondering how it would feel to for him to do it, to run his tongue over your lips before biting down until you moaned at him to stop.

He coughed, ridding the overly erotic image from his mind. He’d pictured you in a thousand positions, in a thousand different scenarios, but somehow the simple act of you licking your lips had put him into overdrive. He was struggling to concentrate, losing control of himself. He didn’t like to lose control.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your perfect eyes meeting his. “That’s very kind.” He smiled at you, brushing past you to pay for your coffee, adding his own order. The smell of your perfume was overwhelming, memories of long nights spent inhaling the scent he’d sprayed on his pillows as he pleasured himself to thoughts of you.

What was happening to him? He could feel his stomach dropping, feel a wave of nausea pass through him. Is this what panic felt like? “Would you like to join me?” you asked, taking your coffee from the barista. “Yes,” he managed to say, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead as he followed you and that damned perfume trail to the seat by the window. He was in over his head. He needed to get away.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said to him, as you sat down. “You like to sit on the bench.” You pointed to his usual vantage point, eyeing him curiously. “Yes,” he smiled, “I like to sit and watch the world go by.” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed him; you were always so engrossed in your work. There was that stomach dropping feeling again, but this time it was accompanied by the most delicious feeling, like his stomach was fizzing. His shirt felt too tight, his tie a little too snug around his neck. What the hell was happening to him? Was he losing his edge?

“You like to people watch?” you smiled, “so do I. It’s why I sit here. I find people fascinating.” He was trying to concentrate on what you were saying, but your mascara-streaked cheeks were such a distraction. He wanted to wipe them clean, to remove the inky black stains that spoiled your perfect skin. He wanted to lick away the tear streaks from your face, to tie you down and fuck you until the tears you cried were for him.

You watched him, maintained eye contact as you waited for him to speak. He was so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t remember what you’d said. “You’ve been crying,” he observed instead. “Why?” You laughed nervously, wiping at your makeup-stained face. “Oh, just ex-boyfriends,” you laughed, “nothing serious.”

Nothing serious?! In all the meticulous research he’d done, there had been no mention of an ex-boyfriend. How serious had it been? Was he still in the picture? Evidently, he was, if he was still able to make you cry. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed to say, barely clinging to his polite persona. He wanted to tear this man apart, whoever he was. He wanted to make him feel agonising pain in every inch of his body. You were his, and his alone. He managed to maintain his composure for the rest of your chat, his mind drifting between your perfect features, thoughts of fucking you until you begged him to stop, and thoughts of ripping apart the man who had made you cry. The time was approaching 6:00pm. You’d be heading home soon, to cook some dinner and watch some Netflix, or read a book. He’d have to be content to watch you from the restaurant across the road, your figure outlined in your cream curtain against the soft glow of your lamps.

“You know,” you turned to him as you pulled your coat on, “you don’t have to watch me from the window. If you wanted to talk to me, you could just come and sit down.” You smiled slyly, and left the coffee house without a further word. Never in his life had he been left speechless. He thought he knew you, thought he had you all figured out. He’d spent months learning all there was to know about you. He knew the names of your parents, knew how much money you had in your bank account, knew the name of your first-grade teacher, but you’d blindsided him in a single sentence. You knew he’d been watching you at the coffee house. You knew and you chose to stay in that same spot and let him stare at you every day. You knew what you were doing when you sat in front of the window at 4:00pm each afternoon. You were enticing him. You wanted him to play with you. You put yourself on display for him.