#don’t come in my notes with negativity I don’t have the patience for it

[awinchestershell]

“I will miss him always, my lovely friend.”

“I lost a brother when you left us and can't explain to you what I'd give to just give you a hug one last time.”

“Payno, my boy, one of my best friends, my brother, I love you mate. Sleep well X”

“The bond and friendship we had doesn’t happen often in a lifetime.”

[bananielle]

love and suds ♡ 🫧

₊˚.⋆⁺₊ leehan x reader ୨ৎ genres: hurt x comfort. fluff.

5.7k words. cw: lowercase intended. not super proofread. reader wears a bra. negative self talk. crying. dark thoughts. kissing. bathing. if there’s anything else, please let me know! <3 @onedoornet

authors note: blew the dust off this cause i think the longer i wait the more i will want to never ever post it and this was really something i wanted to share. i wrote this a couple months ago to comfort myself when i was really struggling. i went back and took out the very dark stuff cause i felt it messed up the plot and other things and anyways! this isn’t my best writing at all but i hope it can bring even a teensy bit of comfort to anyone who might feel the way reader does. i hope it’s good enough. happy reading baby loves ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა p.s if you’re in a dark place i promise brighter days are written in the stars for u & plz remember u don’t need to be spectacular or do amazing things to be worthy of love & ur wonderful just as u are & u will be okay ♡

you wrestle with the lock of your apartment door, jamming and twisting the key around impatiently, huffing at the lack of compromise it’s giving you. all you’ve wanted to do since you left your safe haven was come right back, curl up in bed and sob into your pillow; life being too much for you to carry on your shoulders lately.

everything was difficult and stressful, and your body was barely standing upright. today was your final straw. any more stress, and you’d crumble into pieces. 

on your way home, you had looked up at the soft wash of pink and orange that was the sky, asking the universe for some kind of break. anything to ease the constant pain you felt. 

you hoped and prayed it would take kindly to your wishes, but as you’re standing here now, fighting to get into your warm home, it seems the universe ignored you. so much for asking you for any favours, you think to yourself bitterly. the thinned string of patience inside you threatens to snap as you ram the key into the lock hole for the sixth time, its stubborn self still refusing to give in. 

you take out the key, then put it back in, turn it as far left as it’ll go, and grab the door handle. you push down on it, and with all the strength you can muster, you bump your shoulder against the door, and suddenly, you’re home at last. 

you quickly shut and lock the door behind you, then kick off your shoes and switch on the main light. it’s quiet inside, despite it being the evening, only the low hum of the air conditioner floating through the place. you had thought your boyfriend would be home at this hour, as he usually is, but perhaps he had to stay longer at his schedules tonight. 

the thought weighs down on your shoulders, tears itching to escape and stream down your cheeks. a dark, heavy feeling settles in your chest. all you’ve wanted after such a long day was to see him. to collapse into his arms and feel his sturdy body against yours. and even if you did end up sobbing into your pillow the entire night, at least leehan would be there for you, laying beside you, rubbing your back and soothing you with his sweet voice, telling you that everything would be alright. 

yn: 0, universe: 2 trillion, you think. 

you’re too tired to feel hungry, and too tired to cook, so you decide to skip dinner. you switch off the main light, walking softly through the kitchen to your bedroom. it’s cold and damp inside, a fitting representation of your feelings. you don’t even have the energy to feel bothered by it. instead, you let yourself feel the goosebumps raise on your arms and the unpleasant chill caress your bare skin. 

you weakly climb onto the bed, forgetting to turn the lights on and not bothering to snuggle up under the covers. you lay there on your side, in your cold, dark room, with your knees tucked into your chest. 

for a while, your mind thinks nothing. 

until, you begin to think about all that’s wrong. a familiar feeling awakens in your veins. or maybe it’s your bones. whichever is deeper, more hurtful, it awakens there and gnaws at you.

the thoughts wash through like a tide, cruel and relentless.

you let out a sob and squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, screaming at the voice inside of you to leave you alone. your breaths come in short and panicked, and you scramble your mind to find something to tether yourself to, something to ground you and make you feel real again. 

a moment passes, and then, you see his face. 

you see his pretty smile and the even prettier dimples adorning it, a little part of you wishing you could live inside of them; safe and stored away from the hideous world. his soft eyes, all sparkling and starry appear and you try to remember how they look at you so lovingly. you see his hands tangled in yours, warm and safe and sturdy. you remember, as hard as you can, how they felt and you hold that feeling close to your heart, hoping it would soothe its rapid beats. 

leehan. leehan. leehan. you repeat like a prayer. your body relaxes. 

your breaths start to slow and you finally gulp in deeper breaths. but the relief doesn’t last for long, when you realise the pictures of your boyfriend in your mind are just that. pictures. he is not here. 

a frustrated burn settles in the back of your eyes, and you feel wet lines travel down your temples. your body shakes with every cry that escapes you, a puddle of wet forming on the covers. you sob for a while, until your head turns heavy and your eyes can barely stay open. 

please come home, leehan. i need you. 

you wish again to the universe, pleading it to do you a kindness and bring comfort to you, just this once. you hug yourself tightly while hoping for your boyfriend to come home, sniffling every now and then as your cries come to quiet. several minutes pass of you in the dark, cold and heartbroken, a heaviness stuck in the air. 

sleep nearly comes to your aid, but it’s not quick enough. you’re still awake to hear the distant, muffled sound of a key turning, and then clink of the front door unlocking. 

your heart soars in your chest. you sleepily wonder if it’s a dream, staying ever so still as you strain your ears for more sound. 

“yn? are you home, angel?” a weak sob escapes your lips at the comforting sound of leehan’s voice. you don’t know whether to smile or continue crying, so you do a strange combination of both. 

“in here”, you reply. but your voice isn’t loud enough. it’s raspy and weak, the words scraping your throat like glass as you spoke them. 

you wait a few heartbeats longer, hopeful and excited, watching the door, wondering if leehan was coming to find you.

soon enough, just as you wished, leehan finds you.

he shuffles into the pitch-dark room, turning on the light to see better. the moment he spots you, he nearly crumbles. a look of concern contort his features as walks towards your limp body and softly asks, “baby? wha- what’s wrong? are you okay? how long have you been like this?” his words spill out rushed, each one carrying more weight than the last.

he lowers himself onto the bed, adjusting himself so he’s sitting next to you, and reaches out an urgent hand out to brush away pieces of hair that stuck to your tear-stained face. “oh, baby”, he coos, stroking your hair gently. “talk to me” 

you look up at him through glassy eyes, and you break out into more sobs when you see how he gazes at you. so much concern and compassion glimmer in his eyes, it tugs at your heartstrings. his sweet words pick apart every tense nerve in your body. 

you hide your face in your hands as you cry, your breaths coming in so short and quick, they cut off every word you try to speak. 

“shh, baby. i’m here.” leehan comforts, as he leans down to place a kiss to your shoulder as one of his hands massages your back, up and down, soothingly. 

after a few more sobs and shh’s from leehan, you find a moment to take deep breaths and wipe your eyes. your limbs fight against you after being stuck in the same position for so long as you adjust yourself to sit up. you avoid his laser gaze, knowing that if you looked into his eyes, you fear the tears would never end. 

once you’ve sat up, you cross your legs and take in a shaky breath. the hand that leehan dragged up and down your back, now rests on your thigh. his other one finds the small of your back and stays there. 

you breath out deeply before speaking. 

“i’m just so tired, leehan.” your voice cracks and scratches but you don’t care enough to clear your throat. 

“i had such an awful day. i’ve been having awful days. and my head hurts so much. and my heart won’t stop beating like crazy. i feel it every second of the day and it scares me so much. everything is too much for me. i’m lost and confused and just. tired. ”, more tears stream down your cheeks, and you need to take in another deep breath before continuing. your hand finds leehans’ on your thigh and holds it tight for comfort. 

a weighted silence drifts upon the air. slowly, you look up from the random spot on the covers you’ve been trained on and meet leehan’s eyes. 

tears glisten at the edges of them, the look of concern vanished, replaced by utter sadness. his eyes trace every feature of your face, as if to find the answer to his question.

“oh, my love” he says, his voice hushed, nearly falling into a whisper. “why didn’t you tell me sooner? to know that you’ve been carrying this weight on your shoulders all by yourself, it breaks my heart. you know that’s why i’m here right? to help you carry the heavy things” 

“i-i know, leehan” you look down at your intertwined hands. “i don’t know why i didn’t, i’m sorry. i think i just, i didn’t want to burden you. i thought i could figure it out myself. make it go away on my own”, you shrug, not even realising how you’d kept your feelings a secret, subconsciously hiding them under a smile.

leehan suddenly cups your face in his hands, his eyes serious but his tone gentle. “you never have to be on your own. not as long as i’m here”, he sniffles as his eyes water more. your heart splinters at the sight. 

“please listen to me, baby. look at me” he makes sure he’s locked his gaze into yours when he says, “i am always here for you. always. i want to hear what you have to say. everything. don’t ever think you can’t come to me. you don’t have to be alone, i promise.” 

leehan kisses your forehead, so softly and sweetly, it prompts your body to shudder. your entire being is overcome by the love it holds for him. 

thank you, universe. 

“thank you” you say quietly, giving him the biggest smile you can muster. both your hands cover his own, your thumbs rubbing the backs of them lightly. “i love you. i promise to come to you. promise i’ll tell you things.” 

a slow smile spreads across his face, and he plants another kiss to your forehead, this time, lingering on the spot. he pulls away and tucks your hair behind your ears.

“let me take care of you, okay? i’ll run you a bath, get you all cleaned up and relaxed. how does that sound, baby?”, he asks eagerly.

your words seemed to have run away at leehan’s compassion, so all you do is nod your head tiredly, giving him a soft smile. 

leehan enters the bathroom with you in his arms, stopping to turn on the light before setting you down on the fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. it feels plush and warm against your socked feet, a comforting change compared to the cool draft in the bedroom. you press yourself further into it, really making sure you’re standing firmly on the ground, planted and unmoving.

he glides over to the bath, twisting the knob to the right so the dial lands right where it’s nearly too hot, just how you like it. the rush of water fills the room, the strong current of the faucet beating against the plastic tub, and again you feel comforted, no longer trapped in your thoughts when pleasant distractions feed all your senses. your eyes study leehan as he feels the water with his fingers, adjusting the dial a few times before turning back to you.

without saying a word, he scoops you into his embrace once more, bringing you to the sink and sitting you down on the edge of the counter. he kisses your cheek tenderly before opening a mirrored cabinet to sift through and bringing out your entire skincare routine, lining up each bottle in their respective order. a bright, warm glow begins to fill your chest. 

he bends down to open up a cupboard, and remerges with a small towel in his hand, then turns on the sink, checking to see if the water is lukewarm. he wets the towel, rings it, then repeats the action. after a few more soaks and rings, he places himself between your legs, then gently presses the towel to your face. 

“close your eyes for me, pretty” he instructs quietly, his voice low and smooth. 

leehan works in a methodical rhythm until every inch of your skin is made damp. his touches are so gentle and filled with love, you feel light-headed. you wonder in awe at how lucky you got with him. that such loving, gentle boy is all yours. a tiny, secret smile pulls the corners of your mouth.

“does that feel good, baby?” he purrs, taking notice of your not-so-secret smile. 

“mm-hm, more than good” you respond, looking up at him softly. he smiles back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. 

leehan moves carefully as he applies your face wash, rubbing circles on your face firmly but gingerly, then taking the same wet towel to rinse it off. he works in silence whilst massaging every one of your serums and moisturisers into your face, as he’s seen you apply them yourself a million times, slowly and thoughtfully in an effort to relax you. the cold sensation of the creams and his sturdy fingers send shivers down your spine. 

“there we go. all done”. leehan strokes his thumbs over your cheeks one last time, then leans in to kiss your lips. it’s short and sweet, his lips soft and warm. 

the sound of the rushing water must have become white noise to you both, because when you turn your attention to the tub, it’s nearly filled to the brim. leehan goes to shut off the faucet, but not before adding in your favourite soap, swirling the steaming water around with his hand, making a clean, bubbly scent waft through the air. it’s familiar to you, a reassuring sense that helps you attach yourself to the present moment.  you’re here and you’re okay, you soothe to yourself. 

he walks back to you, hooking a strong arm around your back and placing the other under your knees, lifting you off the counter and placing you back on the fluffy rug. 

“let’s take these icky clothes off of you. arms up.” he says quietly, his honey voice nearly humming the words. 

you obey, reaching your arms up in the air, letting him put his hands under your shirt and gently lift it up and over your head. he’s seen you in your bra plenty of times before, but somehow, the intimacy of this moment makes you shy away and cover up. 

“hey…” he looks down at you, a slight twinkle in his eye. he gently pulls your arms away from your chest. “it’s just me, baby” 

“i know…” you respond shyly… “i just…” you trail off, looking down at your feet. 

“don’t worry, love. i can leave to let you undress. just let me know when you’re done.” he goes to leave, but you stop him quickly, grabbing his hand.

“no! no, please stay. i’m just a little overwhelmed…with love, i think. that’s all”, you say to the floor quietly. 

all leehan does is gaze at you fondly, the tiniest giggling leaving his mouth. “okay. i’ll be gentle with you, i promise” he reassures as he reaches his hands out to unclasp your bra.

they’re warm and sturdy, like they always are. the way his fingertips brush against your exposed skin so delicately gives you goosebumps. you didn’t know how it was possible to miss him so much, despite seeing him only this morning, and having him in front of you now, but here you are, longing for him so deeply. 

he undoes the clasp, then hooks his fingers through the straps, gently gliding it down your arms. once it’s off, he gathers it nicely and places it in on the sink, along with your shirt.

his hands continue to brush down your arms, the grazing of his finger tips like a ghost against your skin. he never lets go of your gaze as he kisses down your stomach. you gasp lightly at the way his lips travel down your body so lovingly, as if he was made just to worship you. 

he stops just before the button of your pants, then carefully undoes them, easing the piece of clothing down your legs slowly. you lift each foot out of the holes. 

leehan grabs the back of your calf, lifting it slightly to press a soft kiss to your shin, then takes off your sock. he does the same to your other leg, then folds up your jeans and sets them down near your folded shirt and bra. 

his eyes never leave yours as he runs his fingertips along your collarbone, the soft pads finding your shoulders to rest there. “my beautiful baby,” he coos. “let’s get you washed up.” 

leehan rolls up his long sleeve shirt, cuffing it at the elbows, then as tenderly as he can, he scoops you up and walks you over to the tub. his eyes never leave your face as he lowers you into the hot, bubbly water, careful not to hurt you. 

“how’s the temperature? is it warm enough?” 

“it’s perfect, leehan” you say, because it was. everything about this moment was perfect. 

“good”, he smiles softly. “i’ll be right back, okay?” and then he quietly leaves the bathroom. you rest your back against the side of the tub, leaning your head back on the side. the water is so warm, it feels like it reaches your bones. it melts away your worries like butter, until every evil word you had thought to yourself becomes smudged and muddled, a distant memory. 

you play with the bubbles, scooping up a handful, then blowing it into the air, watching as the sparkly, white clouds float every which way. your heart finally begins to slow down, resuming a normal pace. you’re warm and cradled and safe, all thanks to leehan. you could nearly cry again at his loving actions. how incredibly lucky you were to have him. 

your love returns a few minutes later with a rolled up towel, walking into the separate shower to grab your wash cloth and body wash, then kneels near the tub behind you. he lifts up your head slightly, then pushes the towel underneath as a little makeshift pillow.

you study his upside down face carefully. his cheeks are slightly blushed from the heat of the bath, and the front pieces of his hair are curling slightly from it, too. there’s something so sweet in his eyes — you can’t quite explain it. but it makes you glow on the inside. 

leehan. leehan. leehan. my leehan. 

he beams down at you, stroking your head. “do you need to wash your hair tonight?” he asks, searching your eyes.

you simply shake your head no, too relaxed and soothed to speak. he nods, then takes the wash cloth and dips it in the tub.

he squirts your favourite body wash on it, then begins to rub it in your skin soothingly. the pressure of his strong hands, the warmth of the water, and the slight tingle of the texture of the cloth against your skin overwhelms you with relaxation. 

with each gentle rub, your pain washes away, lost to the mountains of bubbles. your mind goes blank, but not unpleasantly. it’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. at peace, in a way.

for a long time, leehan tends to you. his forearms are soaked, covered in tiny white bubbles, some even reaching up his cuffed sleeve. he holds every part of you so tenderly, as if you were the most precious being he’ll ever know. he’s careful to wash off any excess icky-ness of the day, humming lowly as he does. 

his fingers begin to prune, as do yours, and the bubbles begin to subside. he cups his hands in the water and uses it to wash off any leftover soap still stuck to your skin. you’ve passed the state of relaxation now, completely lost in bliss from leehan’s caresses.

as you hug your knees to your chest, he tells you to lift your head up off the little towel. two strong hands grip your shoulders, massaging them lazily. his hands rub the tense muscles for a few minutes, sending tingling sensations down your spine. 

“love you so much, darling. so so much” he purrs into your ear softly before letting his warm lips trail down your neck. he reaches one hand across your face to cup your cheek, turning your head ever so slightly. his fingers slide to rest under your chin, and he slowly lifts your head up so you’re looking right in his eyes. 

“you’re everything to me, yn. everything” he says, then presses his mouth to yours softly. he deepens the kiss by swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, asking for entrance. you let him in, allowing your tongue to tangle with his. he lingers in your mouth for a while, languidly tasting you over and over again. he finally breaks away, his cheeks slightly flushed. 

your own cheeks are blushed as well, your breath stuck in your throat slightly, in awe of the kiss. 

leehan uses his thumbs to guide your eyelids closed to press feather-light kisses to each one, then he wanders all over your face, not letting any inch of skin go un-kissed. one last time, his lips finds yours again. 

you look up at him sleepily, so relaxed and soothed, you could fall asleep right there. the harsh cold and sadness of before long gone. he notices your sleepiness. 

“ready for bed, my love?” 

“mm-hmm” you hum in response, your lids fluttering closed as you let him scoop you out of the tub and stand you up carefully. he quickly gets your robe off of its hook, then wraps it around your body, guiding each of your arms through the sleeves. he snugs it around you as tight as possible before tying the strap around your waist. he goes to empty the tub, the water beginning to drain with a large gurgle. 

leehan turns you around by the shoulders, guiding you to the closet so you can get dressed in your pyjamas. you stand in the middle of the closet, studying your boyfriend as he contently sifts through your drawers, trying to find your comfiest set of pyjamas.

“ah—these ones! these are so cute, baby. and they’re nice and warm. what do you think, hm?” he turns to look at you with sparkling eyes, a hint of playfulness in them. 

“yeah, those will work leehan” you let out a breathy laugh, completely amused by the fact that leehan thought these pyjamas are cute, all pink and adorned with hearts. 

he goes to unwrap your robe and delicately slide it off of you, letting it pool at your feet. the sudden cold air makes you cover yourself, prompting leehan to coo and hastily bring your pyjama top over your head.

“here, baby”, he says softly. the warm fabric gives you immediate relief, eliciting a sigh out of you. he bends down to put on the fluffy pants, gently holding your the back of your calves as he does so. you help him bring them up all the way, to which leehan lifts your top slightly to plant a sneaky kiss to your stomach. 

“hey!” you giggle. “that tickles” 

he smiles up at you sweetly, his fluffy brown hair covering his pretty eyes. “oh!” he perks up suddenly.  “i forgot your socks!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet to go through your sock drawer. he grabs the warmest, fluffiest pair he can find. 

once he’s put them on your feet, he wastes no time in scooping you up in his arms for the nth time that night. he walks you to the bed, switching off the bathroom light on his way out. even though it’s a brief walk, you snuggle up to him close, your head finding the crook of his neck to rest in. you place a soft kiss to the area of skin, then another, and another, until you’ve placed as many as you can before he sets you down gently. 

he adjusts the covers so you can cuddle up underneath them, and you slide your body under them and snuggle up as much as possible, making yourself cozy. 

leehan pulls the covers up to your chin, tucking in the rest around around body, making sure you’re as warm as can be. he sits down next to you, taking your hands in his. after a moment, he speaks.

“you should eat something warm. how about some soup?” he asks. 

“that sounds lovely”, you say quietly, “thank you, leehanie. for…for everything”, squeezing his hand to punctuate the words. 

“it’s what i’m here for, darling.” he stands, then gives you a quick peck on your forehead, then leaves as he says “i’ll be back soon”

my leehan. you think as you watch him go. your eyes stay trained on the door way, your ears listening to the soft chinks of the dishes and the quiet closing of cupboards, and the occasional crinkle of a packet.

you wait patiently for your love. thanking the stars a million times over for him. how lucky you were for them to align just so, allowing you to be together.

just a couple hours ago, you were laying in this same spot, curled up into a sad, miserable ball, sobbing at how cruel your mind and the world was. you had wanted nothing more than the bed to swallow you whole. 

but then, he came home to you. and here you are now, underneath toasty covers, and you felt alright. you were comforted and relaxed, but most importantly, you were loved.

you lay in silence for a few long minutes, the occasional drip of the faucet hitting the bottom of the tub floating through the room. you trace random shapes with your eyes on the ceiling. just as your finishing tracing a heart, leehan walks in with a warm bowl of soup, soft swirls of steaming from it into the air. 

“it’s still a little hot but it shouldn’t take long to cool down” he says, placing the bowl on the nightstand next to you. he gives it a few stirs with the spoon, then turns his attention back to you. he smiles softly as he sits down next to you, fiddling the with warm duvet to snuggle you up more. 

he takes the bowl of comfort food in his hands with the towel. “open up” leehan lifts the spoon to your lips, then slowly tips it so you can swallow the warm liquid. 

“is it good?” he asks hopefully. 

“mm-hmm, it’s lovely. feels good to eat something warm” you respond sleepily, opening your mouth again as another spoonful comes towards you.

leehan feeds you lovingly in the perfect, comfortable quiet that envelopes you two. he makes sure you’ve eaten it all, until the bowl is just barely streaked with soup. when the spoon stops being useful, he brings the bowl to your lips and holds the back of your head gently as you drink up the rest. 

“i’ll go wash up the dishes. it’s not much, but if you feel like you need to sleep, don’t wait up for me, okay? rest. i love you, baby”. he kisses off an excess spot of soup at the corner of your mouth, then presses his lips to your forehead.

“i love you” you tell him softly.

you watch him go with heavy eyelids and a warm, full belly. 

you don’t fall asleep just yet, even though you feel sleep tugging at your brain and body. you nearly drift off, but jerk yourself awake. you wanted to wait for leehan.

he was so wonderful to you today, so caring and compassionate. your heart squeezes as your mind recounts the details of the night. every little moment of leehan caring for you making a content smile tug at your lips. 

by the time he comes back into the room, your eyes are barely able to stay open.

“you’re still awake? you didn’t have to wait for me, yn.” he offers you a sweet smile as he brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. 

“i know, i wanted to though. i want some cuddles” you say gently.

“you’re gonna get lots of cuddles, i promise.” you feel leehan’s weight dip the bed as he climbs in next to you.

before he can say anything else, you decide to speak. “i’m sorry, leehan. i was such a mess today”, you say quietly, fiddling with the top of the covers. 

“baby, wha-what?”, a sudden look of concern paints his face, his eyebrows quirking up in confusion.

his eyes look at you sadly. “what do you have to be sorry for?” he breathes out, his hand cupping your cheek softly, his thumb making soothing strokes. 

“i-i just…” your words get caught in your throat, and you feel the prickle of tears behind your eyes. a sob threatens to leave you, so you take a deep breath before speaking again. 

“i just dumped so much on you, you know? out of nowhere. you came home and there i was, a complete sobbing mess. just dumping so much of emotions onto you, with no warning. i didn’t even ask you about your day. i’m sorry you had to see me that way…i’m such a burden”. the well-known dark feeling enters your chest again, the rampant monster in your mind waiting to pounce. 

“oh, angel” he sighs. leehan takes his hand off your cheek to grab one of yours, holding it so tightly, you wonder if he thinks you’ll slip away if he let go. 

he brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly. 

he studies you earnestly. “don’t ever be sorry for being open with me. you’re not a bother. you’re the furthest thing from it. it’s okay if you were a mess. i’m a mess sometimes. and when i am, you’re always there to care for me. why wouldn’t i do the same for you?” he pauses briefly, as if to make sure he doesn’t cry.

“it breaks my heart to know you feel the way you do, yn. you deserve the whole world” his voice cracks slightly at the end. leehan says the words with so much fervor and love, you want to believe him, so badly, but your mind continues to build blocks. you hate yourself for it, and he sees it written on your face.

“please hear me when i say this, my love” he squeezes your hand tight, bringing it to his heart. “i promise you’re good enough. i know you feel small sometimes. but please believe me when i say you are good enough. you work so so hard, and you’re so talented. i see how much you sacrifice to do well. you’re kind and thoughtful and smart. and really, really gorgeous…” he trails off, letting out a breathy laugh. his eyes begin to twinkle.

“you still make my heart race, y’know that? every time i look at you, it goes crazy. just for you and only you…i know i’m not the best with words, but, i really do love you. and you mean everything to me. i don’t need or want you to be perfect or put-together all the time. i want to see all the parts to you.  don’t be sorry for your feelings, please. and don’t be afraid to come to me, alright? nothing about you is ever too much for me, angel. there’s no such thing.” 

you quite literally feel like you could burst into a million pieces at that very moment. no one has or will ever make you feel as loved as leehan. the world would have to end before you even tried to figure that out. you really try to hear him, try to cement the words into your heart, to will away the dark thoughts. they might not disappear entirely, but you had leehan. your sweet leehan, who would never let you go through it alone. 

a few tears have made their way down your cheeks again, and his. he places your hand down gently, then leans down to kiss away your tears. he takes his time, slowly licking up the salty trails. he cups your face, stroking your reddened cheeks soothingly. he kisses every part of your face until there’s no part of skin that hasn’t been touched. 

you take his face in your hands, brushing away stray pieces of hair from his eyes. “my leehan”, you dote, “i love you so much. what would i do without you?”

he brings his lips to yours, softly at first. the kiss is light, barely a touch. he pulls away, just for a moment, to look into your eyes. he kisses you again, but deeper this time, a way for you to say i love you better than his words could tell. it’s passionate and intimate and vulnerable, and it tastes of your salty tears and his vanilla chapstick. your stray fingers tug at his hair slightly, pressing him closer to you. it’s a thank you kiss. an i love you kiss. a kiss that says i’ll never leave you.

after a few moments, he slowly breaks away from you. your eyes still closed. carefully, they flutter open to see a dazed, dreamy-eyed leehan and with every fiber of his being, with every piece of his heart, he says, “i love you, yn. i’ll love you forever”

taglist — @whyilovewhales-pdf @uriwoos2

[muiitoloko]

I had another idea that has been swirling around in my mind, this one being an Alan Rickman one. Basically he and a younger actress have been going around doing interviews on tv for their new movie which is a film about an older man being with a younger woman. They talk about how they got to know one another as they knew in the movie there would be some quite intimate scenes. The actress starts to notice with some tv presenters that they seem to have a sly dig at Alan regarding his body shape, which starts to make the actress furious. The actress can tell it is having a negative effect on Alan, so she reassures and/or comforts him regarding it and telling him how a lot of people do in fact find him physically attractive and they will love seeing him in this movie because of it. This could be a fluff, smut or both, whatever you decide.

I hope things turn around for you soon.

Title: More Than Looks

Summary: When the interviewer shifts focus to Rickman's appearance, [Your Name] steps in, redirecting attention to his talent and the undeniable magnetism that make his performance unforgettable.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: implied betrayal, criticism, implied sex.

Author's Notes: Thank you for the request! I’ll admit, I considered adding a smutty twist but got a little lazy 😅—sorry about that! I hope you still enjoy it. I based this on my story “Rehearsal” but no worries—you don’t need to read that one to follow along with this.

Also read on Ao3

It was funny how quickly things had shifted. What had started as pure excitement about promoting your film with Alan Rickman had now grown into a simmering frustration as interview after interview seemed to focus on his body, often with a subtle—or not so subtle—hint of judgment. Each time someone commented on his appearance, criticizing or even questioning his suitability for a role so intense and passionate, your patience wore thinner. Could these people not see how breathtaking he was? That commanding presence, his quiet confidence, the way he could make you feel utterly captivated with a single, steady gaze? His charm, his wit—this was the man who had brought your character’s forbidden desires to life so vividly, and they were missing it entirely.

You were seated beside him on a popular late-night talk show, the host launching into a lighthearted question about how you two met on set. As you shared stories of your first impressions and the awkwardness of those early rehearsals, you spoke openly about how you’d been a fan of his films long before you’d ever met him.

Alan smirked, his signature half-smile playing across his lips as he glanced at you with those intense hazel eyes that had you captivated every day on set. “I suppose I wasn’t quite what you imagined in person,” he said in that smooth, baritone voice, a touch of self-deprecating humor lacing his words.

The host laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, come on now, Alan. She’s not likely to say anything that would wound your pride, surely?”

Alan tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a twinkle of mischief. “Careful now, or she might mention a certain comment about my…” he trailed off, glancing down with a smirk, “…my ‘intensity,’ shall we say.”

The host leaned forward with interest. “Intensity! And how did you manage all that intensity, [Your Name]? These scenes were rather… spicy, from what I hear.”

You smiled, sharing a glance with Alan as a flush of memories filled your mind. “Well,” you began, trying to keep a playful tone, “let’s just say Alan has this incredible way of… drawing you in. He doesn’t just act the part; he lives in it. And when he steps into that kind of role—one with such intensity, that undeniable tension—it’s… overwhelming, in the best way.”

Alan chuckled softly, crossing his legs and resting his hand casually on his knee as he met the host’s gaze. “Yes, it was a difficult part to research, I’m afraid. I had to be… persuasive,” he added with a knowing glance at you. “It’s challenging, you know, making someone fall for you when they’re… resistant.”

The host laughed, clearly entertained by the way Alan turned the conversation around, but you could sense Alan’s subtle irritation at how much attention the questions kept turning toward him and his body. He was so much more than that, and you wanted everyone to understand it.

Trying to turn the conversation toward his talent, you jumped in. “Alan doesn’t just play the role of a forbidden lover. He brings this… raw energy. There’s this controlled power to his performance that made the scenes feel… almost too real.” You shot him a grin, recalling your rehearsal. “And sometimes, that energy meant improvising, going off-script, capturing moments of raw emotion. That’s part of what made those scenes so… powerful.”

Alan raised an eyebrow, his expression half amused, half intrigued as he considered your words. “Ah, yes, the ‘raw energy,’” he teased, his voice low and suggestive, but his gaze softened as he looked at you. “Well, I had some good motivation, wouldn’t you say?”

The host leaned forward, clearly delighted by the chemistry between you. “I imagine filming those scenes required quite a bit of… trust?”

You nodded, your eyes meeting Alan’s as you replied. “Absolutely. Alan made it so easy to lose myself in the role. He has this way of looking at you, and suddenly, the world fades away. There’s only him, and it’s impossible not to… fall under his spell.”

Alan chuckled, his fingers tracing the arm of his chair in that calm, deliberate way he had. “And isn’t that the essence of a forbidden romance?” he mused, his voice dipping into a rich, velvety tone that had you transfixed. “To make the audience feel that desire, that… need. Even when it’s wrong. Especially when it’s wrong.”

The host, catching on, leaned in with a sly grin. “So, tell us, how did it feel when that camera rolled and the scene came to life?”

Alan’s lips quirked, and he glanced at you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Well, I’d say… electric. When you’re close to someone, barely breathing, the heat between you almost unbearable. And then… you cross that line. It’s a moment of surrender,” he murmured, looking directly at you, his words laden with the weight of that memory.

You held his gaze, the electricity between you as real as it had been on set, and a warmth rose to your cheeks as you replied, “Every scene felt like stepping into fire. Alan made it feel like… like something dangerous. Impossible to resist.”

As the conversation on the talk show continued, the host, always eager to keep the audience engaged, leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. "Well, folks," he announced with a flourish, "before we wrap up, let's take a look at the trailer for this sizzling new film that's been making waves."

You and Alan turned to the screen, anticipation building as the lights dimmed and the first scenes unfolded. The camera panned over your character, Emily, a young woman with a hopeful, carefree spirit, enjoying a drink with friends, blissfully unaware of the storm her life was about to enter. Then came the scene with Michael—played by an up-and-coming actor—her charming boyfriend, laughing over drinks, his hand resting on her shoulder. The music took on a more tense note as Emily and Michael walked into a room, and there he was—Alan’s character, Thomas.

The atmosphere thickened as Emily’s eyes met Thomas’s across the room, the tension instant and undeniable. Even through the screen, you felt the intensity of that first encounter, the magnetic pull between them. Thomas’s sharp gaze lingered on Emily just a moment too long, his baritone voice greeting her with a warm, yet somehow calculating, “Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Michael’s told me so much about you.” The unspoken challenge in his tone was subtle, but unmistakable.

You could feel the audience's curiosity deepen as the trailer cut to a scene between Thomas and his son, Michael, the two of them exchanging loaded words over a glass of whiskey. Alan's face was shadowed, the low light accentuating the sharpness of his hooked nose and the intensity in his hazel eyes as he spoke, his tone laced with bitterness. "Michael," he said, his voice a silky drawl, "you’ve always been so… predictable.”

Michael’s response was defensive, bordering on anger, the tension between father and son palpable as the trailer hinted at a deep-seated rivalry. It was clear that Thomas’s resentment simmered just below the surface, and it wasn’t long before that bitterness took on a new focus: Emily.

The trailer flashed back to a scene of Thomas and Emily alone, the ambiance dark, thick with unspoken longing. Alan's voice, in a low, almost predatory tone, murmured, “You’re different from what I expected.” His fingers reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his gaze intense, calculating. Emily visibly tried to resist, but her breath quickened, her eyes betraying her struggle to hold back from the attraction that drew her to him.

The screen flickered to another scene—a candlelit room, Emily standing by the window, looking torn and vulnerable. Thomas appeared behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Why fight what we both know you want?” His tone was rich, seductive, layered with that familiar Alan Rickman edge that could make even the most innocent words feel like a sin.

You felt your own pulse quicken as the trailer showed the forbidden dance between them escalating. The sound of Thomas’s voice echoed through the studio as he muttered, “This isn’t about him. It’s about us. And you know it.” His fingers slid along her jawline, coaxing her to face him as his lips found hers, the scene charged with a desperate, guilty need that had both you and the audience breathless.

As the trailer transitioned into the hot, forbidden scenes between Thomas and Emily, the tension on screen thickened, pulling the audience into the dangerous web of their affair. Each stolen moment was a study in contrasts: Thomas's raw dominance against Emily's trembling vulnerability, her guilt palpable but overshadowed by her overwhelming need. The music, dark and pulsing, set the tone as Thomas’s hands slid down Emily’s arms, his fingers lingering on her wrists as he pinned her against the wall.

“Why fight this?” Thomas’s voice was a rough whisper, his hazel eyes filled with a fierce, relentless desire. “You want this, Emily. You want me.” His tone was commanding, giving no room for denial, and as his lips claimed hers, you could feel the forbidden desire practically vibrating through the screen.

In another scene, Thomas’s hands explored every curve of Emily’s body with a hunger that bordered on obsession. His baritone voice dripped with lust as he muttered in her ear, “You belong to me now, Emily. Don’t even think about him.” The camera lingered on their entwined bodies, capturing every stolen kiss, every whisper of guilt-tinged passion as Thomas claimed her, the heat between them all-consuming.

But beneath the lust and forbidden connection, Emily’s guilt simmered. In one heart-wrenching moment, Michael, her boyfriend and Thomas's son, looked at her with absolute sincerity, his eyes filled with a tenderness that twisted the knife of her betrayal even deeper.

“I love you, Emily,” Michael said softly, his fingers brushing her cheek as he held her close. She forced herself to smile, but her eyes betrayed the storm raging inside her, torn between the comfort of Michael’s love and the fire of Thomas’s dangerous seduction.

The screen cut back to Thomas and Emily in a hotel room, dimly lit and shadowed. Thomas, in full control, had Emily pinned to the bed, his hands pressing her wrists into the mattress as he loomed over her. His gaze was dark, challenging, daring her to deny what was unfolding between them.

“You think you can go back to him, pretend nothing happened?” he sneered, his breath hot against her skin. “No, Emily. You’re mine now. And I’ll make damn sure you remember that.” His hands traced down her body, his grip possessive, his words laced with dominance. Each move, each breath, each kiss felt like a declaration of ownership.

As the trailer built to a crescendo, the final scene shifted to a formal dinner setting. Emily sat beside Michael, who was oblivious to the secrets she kept buried beneath her polite smile. Across the table, Thomas watched her with that familiar, smug expression, his eyes glinting with barely concealed satisfaction as he raised his glass in a toast to the love.

“To love,” he said, his voice rich with irony, his gaze never leaving Emily. The silent threat in his eyes was unmistakable, as if reminding her of the control he held over her. The tension was thick, palpable, every word laced with the knowledge of what they shared—and what she could never admit.

The screen faded to black as the title of the movie appeared, followed by the release date in bold, with the haunting background music underscoring the forbidden nature of their connection. The final note left a lingering tension, promising audiences a twisted, seductive journey of desire, betrayal, and control.

The lights came back up in the studio, and the audience sat in stunned silence before erupting into applause. Beside you, Alan Rickman wore his usual, subtle smirk, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he nodded toward you, clearly pleased with the trailer’s impact.

The host leaned in with a half-dazed smile, clearly affected by what he’d just seen. “Wow,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and surprise as he turned to you. “That was something else. What was it like filming such… powerful scenes?”

You smiled, feeling a renewed excitement as you thought back on what it took to bring Emily’s journey to life. “Well, Emily is caught in this web of conflicting desires and guilt,” you began, glancing at Alan, who nodded subtly in encouragement. “She knows she’s making a mistake with Thomas, that she’s risking everything. But there’s a fire between them that she can’t ignore, this intensity that keeps pulling her back in. Alan brought so much to Thomas—this commanding, almost predatory energy that made her attraction to him feel undeniable. It was like stepping into fire every time we shot those scenes.”

The host grinned, clearly intrigued by the dynamic. “And it seems like that heat is definitely going to carry over to audiences!” He turned to Alan, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Alan, this role is quite a departure for you, right? Intense passion, deep conflict… I imagine it was a challenge. But, if I may say, some people might wonder if it was a bit of a stretch, considering…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Alan’s physique. “You know, the years have added a bit of… experience.”

A flicker of discomfort passed over Alan’s face, his easygoing expression tightening just slightly. You could see he was maintaining his usual calm, probably used to the subtle jabs that occasionally came his way. But this time, it irked you. You clenched your fists, irritation bubbling up as the host continued with a superficial smile. Why was it that everyone focused on Alan’s appearance as if it diminished his talent, as if that baritone voice and those intense hazel eyes didn’t already command a room?

Before Alan could respond with his usual poised deflection, you interjected, your voice laced with a calm but unmistakable edge. “With all due respect,” you said, turning to the host, “I think that question completely misses the point. Alan brought an energy to Thomas that’s raw, magnetic, and honestly, breathtaking. I’m certain audiences are going to be captivated not because of a number on a scale but because of the undeniable charisma he brings to the screen. If anything, I’d bet most people will be going to see this film just to watch him.”

Alan looked over at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude in his eyes, though he quickly covered it with a slight smile, that subtle, self-deprecating charm of his. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, dipping his head.

The host, momentarily taken aback, tried to recover with a chuckle. “Oh, absolutely, I didn’t mean to suggest anything else. It’s just that… well, Alan’s a bit of a legend, and people have a certain image…”

You didn’t let him finish. “Exactly,” you replied smoothly. “And that image is of someone who captivates, who can seduce with a look or a line. I don’t know about everyone else, but when Alan Rickman steps into a role, I don’t notice anything but his presence. And in this film, he exudes a dangerous, irresistible attraction. That’s what will have audiences glued to their seats.”

Alan’s smirk widened slightly, a glint of approval in his gaze as he relaxed beside you. He glanced at the host, his usual sly humor peeking through. “I think I’ll take that as my cue to leave all future interviews to [Your Name] here. She clearly has a much better perspective on the matter.”

The audience chuckled, and you exchanged a warm look with Alan. There was an unspoken connection between you both, a shared understanding that transcended the superficialities the host had attempted to reduce the discussion to. The conversation quickly shifted to the film’s plot and its themes, but you felt a renewed closeness with Alan. As the host wrapped up the interview, you gave Alan a discreet squeeze on the hand, a gesture of support and admiration.

Backstage, Alan turned to you, his usual smirk softened by a touch of genuine warmth. “Thank you,” he murmured, his baritone voice low. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You met his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Someone had to remind them what really matters. And honestly, I meant every word. When people see you as Thomas… let’s just say, they’re in for quite an experience.”

He chuckled, his hooked nose scrunching as he raised an eyebrow. “You think so, do you?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “And between you and me, I think I’m the lucky one, having been the one to experience it firsthand.”

Alan’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his smile lingering as he took in your words. “Well then,” he murmured, his tone laced with that rich, magnetic allure that left you breathless, “it’s good to know I still have it, isn’t it?”

[midnight1nk]

EPISODE CONCEPT #6

What if… there was a very special day at the Showgrounds?

[more under cut]

For context, the people have spoken and the poll [link] is closed, the winner being 💍 (engagement ring) so I shall reveal what it is, drumroll please...

TWO-IN-ONE DEAL: FERRIS WHEEL WEDDING 🎡 + A SPECIAL SURPRISE AT THE END 💍

SURPRISE! The Wedding Episode Concept, naturally, was the Ferris Wheel emoji, but you all get a bonus for choosing the ring! Sorry that it took so long, but I've wanted to deliver something special to you guys for my birthday! Here's to celebrating my 22nd trip around the sun!

⭐️ 🎉 🎡 🎉 ⭐️

What more could he ask for?

SMG4 has been waiting for this his whole life. He had seen dozens of romcom movies and shows, as it was his guilty pleasure, and he hoped that one day, he would fall in love and perhaps even marry his partner. Of course, it didn’t play out exactly what he had seen.

Could you imagine: him, falling in love with his rival? And a former villain no less?

If you were to tell him years ago that he was going to love, date, and marry SMG3, he wouldn’t believe you. Hell, he would’ve coughed out some water if he had a glass, or stared at you because it must be some practical joke he didn’t get. Right?

But there was no joke nor was it a lie.

Change is a curious thing; the opportunities come so many times, but it takes bravery to say, “I want to change”. It then takes a lot more to say, “I will change”. Naturally, it can be difficult as it is, change having a negative perception. But what is human if not to fear the unknown? Four knew it too well, way before he dared to ask Three out. The ‘perfect’ incident, the Meme Factory. There were a lot of moments that he wasn’t proud of, all fueled by the pursuit of fulfilling an image. To show proof that he is worthy to his friends.

This was what stuck with him for years. He was lost for so long and, although it took him a while to find his self-worth, he knew he wanted to change. It was possible because he had seen it first-hand from Three.

Standing before the tall mirror in his room, he fidgeted with his blue bowtie for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was the same bow he wore in WOTFI 2023, except for the knot coated in a rose gold metallic. This, along with the matching waistcoat, were the only things he asked to be included exclusively in his wedding attire, it felt fitting for the occasion.

Meggy: “SMG4, your wedding’s in half an hour! Don’t mess up your collar.”

Meggy and Luigi were here, helping Four prepare for his big day as well as be his emotional support. Mario was supposed to also be here but apparently, he needed to do something else. He did wish Four luck, though.

Meggy was adjusting his white coat, a fusion of a normal jacket with a tail of what seemed like a wedding dress, all with its layers of ruffles. It matched wonderfully with his white dress pants and shoes. Seeing how Four’s nerves were getting to him, Meggy left the ruffles and helped Four with his bow again. He had to look his absolute best in his suit of white, blue, and rose gold after all.

Meggy stepped back, seeing the whole picture with Luigi. Four posed modestly and a note of hesitation.

SMG4: “Well, um… how do I look?” Luigi, giving a thumbs up: “Spectacular!” Meggy: [*nods*] “Agreed!” [*looks at him with patience*] “Nervous?” SMG4, turns back at the mirror: “Meggy, I’ve been running on expresso and adrenaline for the past couple of hours. Of course, I am.”

Meggy stands behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

Meggy: “Do you love him?” SMG4, slips a small smile: “Is that even a question? I do.” Meggy: “And you know he feels the same.” [*Four nods*] “Even if things get tough, you guys can figure it out. I know you can. Honestly, out of the two of you, SMG3’s more of a nervous wreck than you.” SMG4: [*laughs*] “That’s Three for you.”

Four and Three have been dancing around each other for years, one unsure to make the first move. Much less if they felt like the other wouldn’t reciprocate. Pretty sure someone made a scholarly study on their would-they-won’t-they.

When Three dared to make the first move and confess his feelings, it was a lot for Four to take in. Four felt the same way, yes, but he was completely stunned by it that he didn’t know how to respond. That, unfortunately, spiraled into a series of misunderstandings and harsh tension between the two. Slowly, they later were able to clear things up, allowing Four to say “I love you too.”

Eventually, Four asked Three out. Four, being inexperienced in dating, was worried that his date plans weren’t enough. They ended up always being over-the-top. Three, on the other hand, was a complete mess because “No, Eggdog, just because Four invited me to watch a movie together doesn’t mean I can’t look fabulous, and that means I can’t mess up my eyeliner right now”. Over time, they learned to be less extreme and enjoy the simple things. As little as just Three hanging out while Four edits a video, it was worth something.

When they started dating, they decided to keep their relationship a secret. They weren’t exactly sure how the Crew would react, other than pure speculation. But there were certainly hints they’ve unintentionally left behind.

White flowers appearing in the cafe’s empty vases. Three and Eggdog frequently joining Four and Beeg4 for dinner. Three and Four falling sleep from cuddling on the game room sofa.

…Well, maybe they weren't that subtle, now that Four thought about it. He was at least glad that the Crew accepted the relationship when the two eventually told them. He took a breath and smiled at the indigo rose pinned in his lapel. Meggy was right, everything’s going to be okay.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG3: “Nothing is okay!”

Meanwhile, in the cafe, SMG3 was pacing around, his purple heels clicking on the wooden floor. Bob and Saiko looked at him, unfazed.

SMG3: “Oh, by all the memes, what if he cancels the wedding? What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore? I mean, look at me! I look ridiculous, of course he wouldn’t.”

He stopped to present his attire to the other two with open desperate arms. He wore a white sleeveless, ballroom-styled gown with some ruffles in shades of purple and indigo. Like a dyed rose. A white pair of long silk gloves to match. His long hair was tied up in a messy bun with pearls and golden leaves sprinkled on his do. For the final touch, he wore a choker with his skull symbol in gold.

Bob and Saiko exchange a glance, an eyebrow raised.

Bob: “Dude, chill. If anything, I bet that idiot is going to short-circuit, forget everything, and propose to you again the minute he sees you.” SMG3: “Bob, I’m being serious! Weddings can go to complete disaster just by one small thing, and that is a fact.” Saiko: “Well, if you’re done with your what-ifs, come and sit down. I have to put the veil on.” [*pats the stool in front of her*]

Three grumbled, reluctantly taking a seat next to Saiko as she got the long white veil.

Saiko: “SMG3, relax. He’s not going to make fun of you. And no, he's not going to leave you at the altar.” SMG3: [*sighs*] “It's just… so many things could go wrong and… I don't want to lose him.” Saiko: [*her face softens*] “Alright, name me one time he's left you behind. Or that he doesn't care about you.” SMG3: “…Touché.” Saiko: “You love him, don't you?”

Three gives her a look as if she grew two heads. Really?

SMG3: “Of course I do.” Saiko: “Does he love you?” SMG3: “…Yes.” Saiko: “Does he want to marry you as much as you want to?”

SMG3 looked back at the past, remembering that day. Four and Three, as always, have been dancing around the idea of marriage. They joke around and say “maybe one day”, despite them already having engagement rings for each other.

Separately, they asked the other’s son for their approval. Eggdog immediately said yes to Four. If his dad is happy, then he is. But when it was Three’s turn, he was shocked when Beeg gave his approval without hesitation. Beeg explained that Beeg was on his dad's side in the ‘perfect’ incident. Even if Four was possessed and Beeg didn't regularly show it, Beeg did care for his dad. Three was the one who saved him. Not only once, but twice. And even more times afterwards. Beeg was forever thankful for that. Besides, it would be cool to have a dad that's just as chaotic as he is.

Four had planned a romantic date in his favorite flower field, just to propose to Three. Little did he know, Three had the same idea in proposing that day. Naturally, there was shock, confusion, then laughter. Indeed, they were the type of couple who would propose at the same time. Three remembered Four’s reaction, a smile filled with excitement and tears of joy in the corners of his eyes.

SMG3: [*smiles fondly*] “We both wanted this, more than anything.” Saiko: [*nods*] “Then, there's nothing to worry about. Just take his hand and you’ll know: everything is going to be okay.” [*finishes up, clips in the indigo rose to his bun*] “I think you're ready.”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

When it comes to weddings, any newlyweds surprise themselves that they could never remember the finer details. Nerves, excitement, admiration, they all seem to cloud their minds. But even then, through the gaps of clarity, one can find a few memories. It was true when Four walked down the aisle.

Thanks to the recycled rides and stands from Puzzle Park, the Showgrounds appeared livelier than ever before. The lit Ferris Wheel served as the backdrop to the outdoor venue, the sunset painting the sky.

Walking alongside SMG1 and SMG2, Four could see every friend imaginable, all standing to watch their procession. Smiles, waves. Of pride and of silent congratulations. It seemed like the whole Mushroom Kingdom and beyond were here. Meggy and Luigi really helped get everyone settled in.

He manages to catch sight of Saiko, Kaizo, and Bob on a nearby stage, preparing to perform for the reception. They all waved when they noticed Four, Bob being more focused on the DJ turntable playing a record of soft piano tunes.

Once he reached the altar and turned around to wait for his partner, he could see the rest of the Crew in the front row. A few gave him a thumbs up, some were already starting to tear up. Four took a breath, drowning the last of his nerves. It's time.

And indeed, it was. A new tune settled in and the crowd turned to the front of the aisle. Four followed their eyes and no single thing else mattered anymore.

The long-awaited newcomer, SMG3, was the most beautiful person Four had ever seen. He've been knew, of course, but here, Three looked like an angel. A bouquet of indigo and white in hand, Three walked with their son. In tiny top hats and bowties, Eggdog throwing flower petals behind his dad while Beeg was holding the rings. The audience cooed and awed at Three's appearance. Four's heart skipped a beat, his stomach fluttered with butterflies. A lovestruck smile slipped on his face.

There was a mutter from Bob, followed by Saiko elbowing him to shut up, but he wouldn't notice. There was absolutely nothing that could top this.

Then there was Three, managing to see through the veil over his face, was drawn by his love upon the altar. Four looked amazing in the suit. It fitted him like a glove, colors and all. Breath taking. Oh, how much he wanted to run up and tackle him, pepper Four's face with kisses. With all the love in the world, he was tempted to do it. Once he reached the altar, Four offered his hand, Three swore he could melt right here and now.

SMG3, looking away in bashfulness: "Um...hey." [*Four lifts his veil*] SMG4, keeping his giddy smile: "Hi, dear." [*looking to realize they were the only ones at the altar*] "Ok. First off, you look beautiful and I'm willing to skip the vows just so I could kiss you, but... um... did you get someone to officiate our wedding?" SMG3: [*looks at him blankly*] "I thought you did...?"

As if their question was answered by the universe itself, a green pipe sprouted from the ground. Of course, the man of the hour, jumping out of it...

SMG3 and SMG4: "Mario?!" Mario: "Hello! :D" [*climbing out as the pipe went back down into the ground*] "It's about time you gays tie the knot."

Mario struck a pose, wearing his usual overalls and cap except for an additional black bowtie.

SMG4: "Wait, does that mean...? Mario: "Well, you officiate plenty of weddings, SMG4. It's only fair if Mario does it for you, as your Avatar and best friend. Besides, Toadstool gave me permission."

Four and Three looked at each other and shrugged, sure why not? Seeing that there weren't any problems with it, Mario cleared his throat.

Mario: "Dear guests, we're here today to see two of our beloved friends finally be together. Heroes, partners. Not only have they saved us countless times, they also saved each other. And believe it or not, man, how it was pure torture for Mario to see their yearning." [*everyone chuckles*] "Now, Mario may not be the most intelligent, or intelligent at all, but Mario will say this: the love and care between these two is undeniable. As much as they started as rivals, they have grown to be who they are today because of their partner. A miracle of second chances, of understanding. And as their friend, Mario can say how happy he is for the two of them." SMG4, whispers: "Wow, Mario. Thank you, that was actually very sweet." Mario, whispers back: "Dude, Mario's been captain of the ship from day one. Especially because of the igloo. Anyway..."

SMG3 and SMG4 froze, and glanced at the crowd with nervous smiles. Hopefully, no one else heard that. And no, no one did.

Mario: "If anyone objects to the wedding, speak now or forever hold your peace." [*the crowd stayed silent*] SMG3: "Good, because I was about to fight anyone that did." [*Four snickers*] Mario: "Now, for the vows." [*Beeg comes forth with the rings, offering them to his dads*] SMG4, holding a rose gold ring: "Three..."

But before Four could say anything else, a loud crash interrupted the ceremony. The ground shook violently, Three and Four held to each other protectively. Then, another rumble, this time the Ferris Wheel crashing down. The impact created a giant dust storm, the terror rising within the crowd. Fortunately, no one was hurt.

As the dust settles, a large figure emerges. Unfamiliar for most, the opposite for the Crew.

SMG4, eyes narrowed: "You..." ???: "Ah, was I too late to object? Or you didn't care to invite me?" SMG3: "Please, as if we wanted you here. At all." ???, to SMG4: "Gee, and I wonder how a hero would come to ruin, marrying a villain? Then again, with you and your perfectionism, you might've already had." [*turns to Three*] "And you, did you really believe turning yourself into a "good guy" would make you feel better for what you've done in the past? Or what, did you think villains could have happy endings?"

Three frees himself from Four's embrace to step forward, an arm shielding his partner.

SMG3: "Now, listen here, asshole! Being a villain or not, I don’t give a shit what you all think of me anymore. But don’t think I’m going to let you crash in here and ruin our wedding day!" ???: "Hmph. Well then, I would like to see you try."

With a wave of their hand, a whole army of henchmen starts to emerge from the woods, marching towards them. Somehow, SMG3 pulls out a giant machine gun out of thin air, leaving everyone flabbergasted. Where the hell did that come from?

SMG3, smug: "Bet on it."

Just as everyone else reacted, Four did as well. No, like seriously, where did Three get that gun from? Regardless of what that answer may be, Four simply seeing Three's iconic grin made him blush. Screw what Four said earlier, this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Oh spaghetti gods, that was kinda hot.

SMG4: “Three…” Please marry me... oh wait, I already proposed. Shit. SMG3, looking back at his partner with reassurance: “I know it’s not how the wedding’s supposed to go, but since when was our world ever normal?” [*offers a hand*] “Whaddaya say, want to kick some ass?”

Four, completely enamored by Three, happily accepted his hand.

SMG4: “I’d say, let’s give the audience what they want.”

He winks at the viewer. Yes, you, the one behind the screen. He then turns to Saiko, Kaizo, and Bob.

SMG4: “Drop us a beat.”

The three nodded and performed a song, unlike one that would normally play at a wedding. The two parties clash, hordes of henchmen fighting against guests in fancy outfits.

Mario and Luigi knocked out a few with a hammer and vacuum respectively while Meggy had their back with her Splattershott.

Tari shot down enemies from the sky and Melony in her god mode struck several in the ground with her sword.

In the heart of it all, there was the newlyweds. Three switched between using his machine gun to throwing bombs. Four meanwhile used his meme power and a handgun, his senses becoming hyper-sensitive. If his new abilities taught him anything, it was that he could maneuver like an actual glitch. One second, he was in front of you, and in the next, he would be right behind you to strike. To them, this was an elaborate dance that only they knew the steps of.

They supposed it was true about weddings, time moves so quickly that you never remember the finer details. But Four, protecting his partner's back, knows that, in a moment of clarity: he was lucky to have Three by his side.

Soon, the army retreated back into the woods, and the villain, tempted to hide their defeat, glared at the duo.

???: "This isn't over."

And with that, they fed in a blink of an eye. The guests cheered, celebrating their victory. Three dropped his gun and was about to ask if Four was okay. Instead, Four jumped into his arms and kissed him. Three was certainly surprised by it but kissing his love back. Their attires were tattered up in tears and stains, their hair looking like bird nests. They didn't care.

The two part, and Three raised his eyebrow.

SMG3: “Doesn’t the kissing part come after we exchange the rings?” SMG4: [*rolls eyes amusingly*] “Oh, now I’m not allowed to kiss my future husband?” SMG3: [*takes a gold ring from his gown pocket*] “Husband.”

The two exchanged the rings as they said their vow:

I, as your partner, acknowledge that we had a rough start, clashing due to jealousy and greedy desires. But despite it all, I always have and will admire you, willing to forgive you for the hurt that was done. I promise to be with you when you need me. I promise to continue to love you, be your partner-in-crime. Let me be with you in every adventure until the very last. It'll be 'you and me against the world', until the stars fall from the sky...

SMG3: “As your husband, I promise to be true.” SMG4: “As your husband, I promise to be your light.

The two shared another kiss, this time the crowd cheering for the couple. Together, always and forever. A life spent with their love is all they could ever wish.

What more could he ask for?

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

⭐️ 🎉 💍 🎉 ⭐️

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this episode (concept), I've been waiting to share this one with you guys for so long and I had the perfect time to do so!

By the way, for SMG4's outfit, I was inspired by this from Pinterest [link] AKA the most enby wedding outfit that I've ever seen. For SMG3, I kinda just made it up on the spot but thought about "pretty princess" the whole time. As for the battle scene, I had the perfect (oh yeah, gonna use that word) song that matches it [link], a remix track from Deadpool & Wolverine. Just imagine all the slowmo, *chef's kiss*.

Anyway, thank you all so much for the birthday wishes and presents, it really meant a lot to me and made my day feel special.

Hang on, I'm getting a call....

Whats this?? ...MERCH?!?!? That's right, introducing:

Ferris Wheel Wedding (Fake) Merch Line

First up we got a special acrylic keychain, where one side we have the lovely couple standing in front of the Ferris Wheel, and on the other side, here they are being totally badass.

It also comes in as a standee, WOW

Next up, we got a poster of the newlyweds off to their honeymoon. Aw, look at them riding Four's forklift! How lovely ❤️

And lastly, for a limited time only, we have the matching wedding rings, exact replicas of Four and Three's!

Share it with a partner if you have one, use it in an actual wedding, or just have it as a souvenir!

GET YOUR MERCH TODAY!

(i'm luke trust me /j)

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter three - caramel creams

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 2311

author's note: omg ive been feeling stuck working on this chapter for days so thanks for your patience and as always, hope you like this next chapter. so so thankful for all of you who have commented on my previous chapters!!!!!!!!! kiss kiss

i've also started a taglist so message me if you want to be included!!

song inspiration: you're here that's the thing by beabadoobee

A week had passed, and you still knew diddly-squat regarding the mysterious guy who had generously sent you the bouquet of moly blossoms and the adjoining note. Glances over classmate’s shoulders to peer at their handwriting were unfruitful and almost landed you in detention when McGonagall had noted your lack of attention in Transfiguration. Whoever your secret admirer was, he had made sure to cover his tracks and frustratingly stump you. No additional clue found its way to you, and no one came forward.

You’d even gone to Professor Sprout earlier in the week to inquire about her moly plants and determine if your mystery man had procured the flowers from her, or alternatively, stolen them. She’d answered in the negative to both—no one had come to her regarding your bouquet, and she wasn’t missing any stock. However, she did echo the sentiment you and Hermione had shared, that whoever he was, he had spent a great deal of money to impress you.

You rolled over in bed to peer at the blooms decorating your bedside. They were still darling as ever. However, they were a constant reminder you had no clue as to who had sent them.

If the guy really fancied me, he’d know this must be driving me mad.

You pulled the covers over your head, groaning, before resolving to go down to breakfast in the Great Hall. Your little quandary wasn’t going to be solved anytime soon, and your stomach shouldn’t suffer for it.

Joining your friends in the Great Hall, Ginny noticed you were a little quieter than normal. “You alright there, Y/n?” Breaking your reverie, you smiled at the red-headed Weasley before stuffing a piece of jam-smothered toast into your mouth.

Your muffled and somewhat undiscernible reply of “’M all good, thanks” was met with a laugh from Ginny and a scolding from Hermione to slow down while eating.

“I’ve got to hurry, ‘Mione,” you said between bites, “otherwise I’ll be late for the Hogsmeade trip. Need to clear my mind for a bit.” Hermione watched in horror at the speed with which you downed the toast, practically throwing a napkin at you when she noticed the jam lingering in the corners of your mouth. You grinned sheepishly at her.

“Still no clue then, I reckon?” Padma asked. You just shook your head, turning to dive into some fried eggs. While you had hoped to be discreet about the whole situation, you had wanted your friends’ opinions, as well as their help, in searching for your secret admirer. However, you had no such luck and your friends were just as clueless.

“It’s kind of dreamy, don’t you think? The whole not-knowing part and the expectation of another clue or a gift. To think someone in this room sent you those lovely flowers!” Hannah seemed more excited about it than you did.

“Oh, come off it. We all know it’s killing Y/n not to know—I’ll bet you she was the kid who would shake her presents under the Christmas tree to try and figure out what they were. Maybe even peer through a hole in the wrapping paper to sneak a peek, eh?” Ginny joked, nudging your arm.

The glare you sent Ginny let her know she had hit the nail on the head.

“Can I see the note again?” asked Luna. Pulling it from your pocket, you handed it to the waifish girl, with Padma peering over her shoulder. As she handed it back, you noticed the certain degree of softness the parchment now had, caused by the countless folding, unfolding, and gentle tracing of the letters by your fingertips. You looked at it once more before tucking it back in.

“Well,” you said, rising from your seated position, “enough of that. I’ve got a date with fizzing whizzbees at Honeydukes, and I will not let you lot make me late!” Laughing, the five girls stood up to join you and began to make their way out of the Great Hall.

Upon arriving in Hogsmeade, the six of you split up to run various errands or meet other friends. Luna joined you on the trip to Honeydukes, desiring to pick up some pepper imps, which she believed would ward off nargles from settling in her hair. You just nodded at your endearing, albeit strange friend. Nodding was oftentimes the best thing to do when Luna said something particularly…off. Upon entering the candy store, you separated from the blond Ravenclaw to fulfill your particular errand.   

“Mr. Flume!” You called out to the elderly proprietor of Honeydukes. He smiled once he placed your voice. Your acquaintance with Ambrosius Flume and his wife had begun in your third year, on your very first trip to Hogsmeade. Over the years, you’d heard countless stories about the store and its fantastical sweet treats. As such, when you were finally of age, you had been extremely excited to finally visit. Upon entry, in your typical coordinated fashion, you had managed to slip on and fall due to the bat’s blood soup Neville Longbottom had managed to spill all over the checkered floor. Spotting the tears quickly forming in your eyes, courtesy of your pain and embarrassment, Mrs. Flume had helped you off the floor and fixed you a cup of hot chocolate while you amused her husband with various accounts of muggle delicacies and candies. Since then, you had made it a habit to bring him a muggle candy of some sort to try, proving that even though muggle treats had no real magic in them, they could still be magical. In turn, he would trade one of his newest treats for you to try.

Finally meeting through the frenzied crowd of Honeydukes, Mr. Flume clasped one of your hands in both of his, giving it a hearty squeeze. “How have you been, dearie? Brought me something today, did you?”

You laughed at his eagerness. “You only want me for my muggle sweets, don’t’ you? How incorrigible.”

The two of you giggled like children before you pulled out the promised sweet. This time, you had brought him a small bag of Goetze’s caramel creams, also known as bullseyes. As silly as it might seem, the candies were close to your heart, something you had enjoyed with your mother as a child, eating away at the chewy caramel outside and the sweet cream filling.

“They’re my absolute favorite, you know. And after four years of exchanging candies with you, I insist you stock them just for me. Waiting for packages from my mum to get my fix is simply too difficult.”

Mr. Flume laughed at your dramatics before pocketing the sweets. “You know how much I enjoy these little exchanges with you, poppet. I’ve got something new for you to try, straight from my little lady’s oven.” Reaching into the pocket of his worn apron, he pulled out a pastry of some sort wrapped in brown paper. “Mrs. Flume calls ‘em ‘Cheering Cherry Tarts,’ ‘spose to boost your spirit for a few hours if you can imagine that. Hope you like it.” With that, he left with an affectionate pat on your arm before going to assist some of the other customers.

Taking one bite of the pastry, you had to resist the urge to moan at how delicious it was.

If you knew one thing about Mrs. Flume, it was that the woman could cook.

Scarfing down the tart, you grabbed a box of toffees and glacial snowflakes to bring back with you. After checking out, you made your way to The Three Broomsticks where you had agreed to meet to meet up with your friends after you completed your errands.

You quickly spotted your friends within the tavern. Padma was sporting several shopping bags from Gladrags Wizardwear, while Ginny and Hannah had popped into Zonko’s to pick up some stink pellets intended for the Gryffindor first-years. Ginny was more than happy to continue the pranking tradition her older brothers had begun at Hogwarts, and Hannah was always game for a good laugh. Hermione sat quietly at the table twirling one of her new quills. At the sight you let out a small chuckle. Hermione was many things, but she was not someone to pass up on purchasing new stationary. She was practically besotted whenever she saw a fine quill.

Joining the gaggle of girls, you all went over your purchases, ordering some treats and drinks, gossiping about various happenings at Hogwarts, and just enjoying the general splendor of The Three Broomsticks and its ambience. As much as you enjoyed your classes, moments like these were what you would miss most upon your graduation in the spring. It brought a little twinge to your heart, the bittersweet thought of leaving, but you were excited for the future and to see what your dearest friends would go on to do.

Your reminiscing and get-together, however, was interrupted by increasingly loud voices from a corner table. Imagining it to be some drunkards, you turned, only to see Nott and Malfoy arguing over something that had the two Slytherins particularly heated. While you had no idea what had started their spat, it was easy to tell that Malfoy had somehow provoked Nott who became increasingly incensed. Towering over the blonde, Nott continued to spew verbal fire at him and despite his best effort to hide it, you could tell that Malfoy was intimidated.

“Chi mi piace non sono affari tuoi, Malfoy. Restane fuori!” While you didn’t understand the Italian rapidly leaving Nott’s mouth, you could tell how angry he was. As he was about to continue his verbal assault, he caught your eyes and likely the look of concern on your face. His face relaxed and his next words seemed to slip his mind. Sparing one more withering glance at Malfoy, he quickly stormed out of the tavern and conversation slowly recommenced.

“Wonder what started that little fight,” wondered Padma, picking up her glass of butterbeer.

Turning back, you shrugged, “No idea.”

The six of you left The Three Broomsticks shortly after, realizing that you would have to return to Hogwarts soon. You linked your arm with Ginny as she chatted about her intended strategies for the upcoming Quidditch season. Walking towards the train station, you noticed Nott in the distance, trekking in the opposite direction of the Hogwarts Express.

Didn’t he know that the train would be leaving soon?

Removing your arm from Ginny’s, you excused yourself. “I’ll meet you guys on the train, alright? Save me a seat.” With that, you quickly followed the retreating Slytherin.

“Don’t be late, Y/n! You can’t be losing house points this early in the year!” yelled Hermione.

When you finally caught up to Nott, he was sitting on a bench located on the path that headed towards the Shrieking Shack. He was staring into the distance, those brooding eyes of his lost in thought. Hearing the crunch of autumn leaves beneath your feet, his head swiveled towards your approaching figure. He stood in surprise before sitting again. You sat down beside him.  

Bumping his shoulder with your own, you asked, “Something on your mind, Nott? You seem a little…out of it.”

At the sound of your voice, he left out a long sigh. “No—nothing. ‘M fine.” The clipped response made you raise a brow at him. The guy was not very good at lying, even if he was a Slytherin. “And…it’s Theo. Or, I mean, you can call me Theo.” Those blue eyes returned to you, accompanied by the faintest of smiles.

“Alright then, Theo. What’s got your wand in a knot…Or should I say N-o-t-t?” You let out a small laugh, winking at him as he gave you a look somewhere between horrified and disgusted.

“I don’t even want to dignify that with a response.”

“It was right there! I had to.”

“You definitely did not.”

“Don’t you mean…did N-o-t-t?”

“Alright, that’s enough.”  He paused, before continuing, “Do you think it’s too late to request a new Potions partner? I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through the year at this rate.”

You gasped in mock horror, lightly knocking him on the arm, “Oh please Theo, I’m a peach. You adore me.” You didn’t notice how Theo stiffened at your retort, your eyes turning to the autumn trees lining the path.

“That was quite a scene in there, you and Draco. Fighting over anything in particular?”

Theo let out a huff of hot air through his nose, “No…it’s just—Malfoy’s a fucking prat.”

A bark of laughter left you at his response. “Could have told you that in first year, Theo. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.” At that, he laughed, and you were happy to see a grin finally grace his normally stoic face.

“Now c’mon,” you said standing, “we’ve got to get going if we don’t want to miss the train. Godric knows how much trouble I’ll be in with my housemates if we don’t make it in time.”

Theo stood and joined you in walking back towards the platform, a comfortable silence falling over you two. He seemed to have snapped out of whatever funk had clouded his mind, as he was soon making small talk and a few jokes as you got closer.

Just before you boarded the train, Theo grasped your elbow gently to turn you towards him. He was at your eye level then, as you had stepped onto the first step of the express. You looked at him with questioning eyes. “Sorry, um—just wanted to say thanks.” At your furrowed brow he added, “for checking on me, I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Course. After all, what are Potions partners for?” At that, he returned your smile, his bright blue eyes crinkling a little at the edges.

Huh. Cute.

taglist: @melllinaa

[hunny-beann]

Hi! I love love love your first fic and your portrayal of dream!

Could I request two prompts from your hurt/comfort prompts? Specifically number 11 and number 52?

No Greater Patience

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! tysm for the request, I hope you enjoy the fic!

synopsis:

Prior to his century long captivity, Morpheus and his wife have an argument so disastrous that even after regaining his freedom over one hundred years later, he still questions whether or not he has the right to seek her out.

And yet, the yearning of an Endless is not so easily ignored by the mind, and he soon finds that regardless of his conscious thoughts, all roads lead back to her.

To you.

Prompts:

(hurt/comfort list here)

#11: Please don’t go. #52: I kept this for you while you were away // It’s been two years // I know

Warnings: A once unhappy marriage(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he still should be.

Word Count: 4,014

Having the opportunity to visit with Death again had been nice.

Far nicer in fact, than the Lord of Dreams would ever willingly admit aloud.

She had always understood him in a way that none of his other siblings ever seemed to manage, and she was far too aware of his flaws and his past to allow him to continue his typical path of avoidance without a bit of a challenge.

Of course, there had been many a time where that had been less than ideal, particularly when Dream had little interest in dealing with those things, big and large, that always seemed to haunt him so.

Still, it was nice to be reminded of the topics and people that he had neglected to consider throughout his time held captive, like Hob Gadling for example, who Dream was now almost eagerly planning to visit at his earliest convenience.

And perhaps he would have headed off sooner, had it not been for Death's one lingering question regarding her brother's personal relationships...

"Dream?"

She had asked just after he had stepped away upon making his intentions of setting off to visit Hob clear.

Slowly, hesitantly, the individual in question turned to face his sister in response, one brow cocked in question to make up for his persistent silence.

Death sighed a bit, almost looking a little unsure before she finally continued upon realizing how little time she truly had for this particular conversation.

She had a rather important deadline to make, after all.

"Have you seen her?"

She asked gently, a sort of pity in her gaze that immediately made the being standing in front of her bristle in response, forcing down the slowly increasing feeling of anger within him as he closed his eyes and took a single deep breath before opening them once more to find her still standing there, waiting.

He shook his head.

"No. Our last conversation was... less than amicable, and was several weeks prior to my disappearance."

Death took a few steps closer, and placed a hand upon Dream's shoulder, watching him fight off the urge to step away, clearly trying his best not to end their interaction on a negative note.

"Then maybe you should consider seeing her as well. Last we spoke she wanted to ask about you, I could feel it, I just didn't want to push-"

"Sister."

Dream interrupted her, his voice not unkind, but still rather stern, at least as much so as politeness would allow.

"She made it quite clear during our last conversation how little interest she had in seeing me again. I would not think it appropriate for me to seek her out in spite of that."

Death sighed, but removed her hand from her brother's shoulder, watching as he nodded toward her in farewell before beginning to move away once more.

Still, no matter how gently she had attempted to address the tense topic, Death was still an older sister, and how could she possibly call herself by such a title if she didn't do some teasing from time to time?

"You cannot avoid the wife forever, dear brother! Do not forget, you are bound to her until I come to collect!"

Dream rolled his eyes, and though Death could not see that particular movement, she could see the way that his shoulders shifted slightly as he chuckled to himself, his head shaking from side to side as he walked off to attend to his own personal duties.

Except several hours and a visit with Hob later, he found that he could do no such thing, as his mind was far too wrapped up with thoughts of his wife.

Thoughts of you.

He had always loved you after all, hadn't he?

You, a deity worshiped into existence by humans, meant to embody nourishment and nurturing, as that found in the relationship between a mother and child, or an owner and their pet.

You were unending and fierce loyalty, the fire in the pit of the stomach, and the gentle hand clutching that of a child during an afternoon walk in the woods, setting them on the right path while never disallowing an opportunity for adventure.

You were beautiful.

And so very deserving of a type of love that Dream had simply been unable to give you.

Sure, he had always been polite, and at times even kind, but considerate was not an adjective that any would have used to describe him, nor his relationship that he shared with you.

Still, you had found it within yourself to love him anyway.

He was cold, calculating, blunt, quiet, and scrutinizing. Dream saw all, every flaw and every weakness, and though it was a rarity that he would point them out aloud without prompting, it was difficult to know just how much he truly saw whenever he looked at you.

That said, none of that had ever seemed to bother you beyond what you could manage.

You enjoyed his company, particularly back when the Dreaming had been slightly less complex, and he had been able to provide you with conversations and time, both things that he would eventually cease to have very much of as the waking world began to shift and change, thus requiring the evolution of the Dreaming as well.

More people meant more dreaming, and more dreaming meant more of the Dream Lord's attention.

And what he had neglected to realize at the time, was that you were the very first thing to lose his affections, his thoughts, and his actions.

It was as if you had always been expendable without ever truly knowing it until he was long gone, a slight indent in the bed that was only ever filled after you went to sleep and before you woke up, leaving you the possessor of both of your rings as day after day he forgot his on the bedside table until it was nothing more than a habit long forgotten.

Where you had once been the love of The Dream Lord, it now appeared that you were his wife in name and nothing more, and though it stung, you had stuck to your duties for far longer than Dream ever would have allowed you to now.

You had always deserved better, even before the being had shifted his attention's elsewhere, and even if he had not known that then, he could so clearly understand it now.

You had never given up on him, not even when nearly all of your interactions seemed to end in dismissals on his part, or arguments due to his seemingly constant exasperation in general. You wanted your husband back, but he wanted to be the Dream Lord far more than he ever wanted to be a husband at that time.

And maybe he had felt that way, sure, but he never should have said it, at least not in the way that he did.

Because he had seen the way that your face fell and your eyes grew teary. Of course he had, he saw all.

But in spite of that fact, he did not go after you when you rushed off to be alone for the one thousandth time.

And the next time that he saw you, you had approached him at his throne in the evening, and quietly, meekly, in a voice he had never heard you use before, asked for a divorce.

You had looked defeated in a way that Dream had found himself surprised by, eyes shadowed, gaze cast downward, and skin slightly paler than usual in spite of how impossible it would be for you to have taken ill due to your godly status.

And any husband, or at least any good one, would have asked you what was wrong, or what had driven you to wanting to leave so suddenly.

But Dream had not been a good husband, so he had simply grown frustrated with you.

He had accused you of being attention seeking for your "childish behaviors", called your attempts at appealing to his emotions laughable, and had all but sneered in the face of your desires.

You were, after all, the Lady of Dreams, everyone knew you as such, and the idea that you could abandon such a title? It was nearly as unthinkable as him leaving his.

His creations, nightmares and dreams alike, adored you, his siblings, (or rather those of whom that cared), seemed to enjoy or at least tolerate your presence when necessary, and most importantly of all, the Dream Lord could not imagine a world within which you were no longer his wife.

It had been centuries since your marriage, and over a thousand years of knowing you prior to that, after all.

It was almost as if he thought of you as his after all of the time of you living within his shadow as nothing more than a figurehead, the wife of a powerful being who was seldom paid any attention to by the very "man" that she had married.

But to Dream's surprise, if your actions had been for attention, you were all too keen on taking things even further, because when he made these accusations in his usual uncaring and borderline insulting tone, you had shouted at him for the very first time that he could recollect.

"It hurts!"

You had cried, eyes brimming with unexpected tears of both anger and sadness,

"It hurts to know that you see me each day without ever truly seeing me, that you call me your wife while scarcely knowing who I am anymore. If me donning the title of Lady of Dreams is so important to you Lord Morpheus, then fine, call me what you will, but know that I do not consider myself your spouse anymore, and have no intentions of staying here in this suffocating realm with you any longer."

And with that, you had gone, and The Lord of Dreams had not seen you since.

Though he had thought about you plenty, as unwilling as he was to admit it.

Your words had gotten to him, though most primarily when he had been trapped for so very long, forced to consider his past actions and mull over all that he had endured throughout the passage of time in spite of how little it was meant to impact him.

You were his wife still, sure, but now only in name, and over a century had passed since he had last heard your voice or seen your face.

Were you still worshiped as you had once been? Did his nightmares and his dreams know where you were? Had you thought of him or thought to visit the Dreaming in his absence? Had you even known that he had vanished in the manner that he did?

All of these questions coursed through his mind, and thoughtlessly, without even realizing it, he brought himself back to where he subconsciously knew that you would be.

Your home.

Nestled deep within the woods of the waking world, in a rural town within a country rather sparsely inhabited, you still resided, unsurprisingly, to this day, and as Dream approached your door for the first time in centuries, he stopped himself before he could raise a fist to knock on the sturdy old wood.

What was he doing here, bothering you after so very long of giving you the space that you so desired?

Had he not made a promise to himself that he would leave you be now that he understood all that he had done to you? All that he had deprived you of by trapping a being such as yourself in a marriage as loveless as yours had been?

At that line of internal questioning, Dream sighed, and turned to leave, only to hear the door swing open behind him just as he did so, a gasp filling the air behind his back before he quickly spun to face the source of the sound.

There you were, a giggling and bouncing baby at your hip, with a bottle in your hand, staring at the personification of dreams with eyes that were beginning to brim ever so slightly with tears.

"Please, don't go."

You whispered, causing the Dream Lord's eyes to widen ever so slightly,

"I need to talk to you."

And much to his surprise, Dream was quick to oblige, stepping into your abode in only a few simple strides, taking in the familiar yet so very changed space and atmosphere found within the walls of your home.

This was where he had met you well over a thousand years ago by happenstance, though he knew all too well deep down that all things happened for a reason, and that his meeting with you had been preordained by his eldest sibling and the stars long before the humans that had created you had even existed.

It was peaceful here, in the deeper woods with you, in your fire-heated home so hidden from view.

Or maybe, it was you who brought on that familiar peace, you who made his physical form relax in spite of how tireless it was meant to be.

He did not linger on such a thought for very long, for fear of what he might come to realize.

"You look well."

He said almost timidly, eyes cast downward and body language tense as he tried not to consider how similarly you looked even still to the last time that he'd seen you.

Beautiful, as always.

You sighed in response, wrestling a lightly chiming metal pendant out of the hand of the child in your grasp before tucking it into your shirt and away from view.

"With all due respect, my lord, I have absolutely no interest in small talk."

You said quietly, watching as Dream raised his gaze to look at you once more, eyes following intently as you shifted the child at your hip slightly, eyes still not entirely rid of the tears that had so clearly threatened to fall upon the sight of him.

"You disappeared."

You stated in a whisper, sounding almost defeated even as Dream nodded in reply,

"I did."

He said.

You sighed again, and looked down at the child, gaze softening slightly as you raised the prepared bottle to it's lips, watching as it started to suckle with delight, chubby limbs wiggling within your grasp, though you notably did not falter.

You never did, you were far too good with children, a fact that Dream had always felt unsettled by.

He was discernibly not a family man, particularly back when he had married you, and the idea that you were meant for something outside of what he could comfortably provide you with...

"And now you're back."

You said matter of factly, using that same tone as before as the being in front of you was snapped out of his reverie at the familiar sound of your voice, his reaction instantaneous.

"I am."

He said simply, watching as you looked up at him once more, tears spilling slightly in a way that for a moment, caused him to freeze up entirely.

You had never been one for crying, not even throughout the many years where he had harmed you through his lack of attention and desire. What could it have been, here and now that would bring you to such tears upon his simple words?

He moved after a moment, almost instinctively, to stand before you, some longing once believed to be long lost within him bubbling to the surface as he raised both hands to your face, cupping your cheeks in order to wipe your tears away with almost trembling thumbs that had nearly forgotten the once worshiped feeling of your skin beneath their pads.

You sighed shakily, looking him in the eyes for one of the very first times that day as you shook your head slightly,

"How could you do such a thing to me, Dream? How could you vanish so entirely without a word to me or anyone that you knew would be worried for you? How could you turn up here so casually and think to turn away and leave without letting me see the realness of you for myself?"

The Lord of Dreams looked down at you with sadness in his eyes, and moved to shake his own head in response, his hands still soft and warm against your skin.

Alive.

"I did not choose to leave, my dear."

He all but murmured, the familiar nickname he had once used for you finding his lips as naturally as water did a spring,

"And I did not think you desired to see me again after our last interaction. Coming here, it was not something I thought to do. I simply did."

You gazed up at him incredulously still stuck on that first part of his statement,

"What do you mean you did not choose to leave, Morpheus?"

You whispered, horror seeping into your tone as the being in front of you faltered, before finally speaking, shame present in every word that he spoke.

"I was captured by a human, and held against my will for over a century. My freedom, as it stands currently, is new. I did not choose to leave and stay away from my duties, I assure you."

You let out a choked and humorless sounding laugh, shaking your head even further,

"And what you consider upon your exit from such a hell is not of who you want to see, but who may wish to see you? Where has my selfish King of Dream's gone?"

You asked, voice slight and smile lopsided as Morpheus sighed and thoughtlessly traced the curves of your lips with his thumb, finding much to his surprise that the shape remained familiar even to this day.

"I was not fair to you, dear wife, not for a very long time. If nothing else, I wanted to know that I had at least respected your wishes for space, though even that may have been self serving."

You adjusted the child on your hip, before you raised your hand up to your husband's, ignoring the slight way that he shivered beneath your touch.

"Whatever do you mean, King of Dreams?"

You whispered, watching as Morpheus gave a humorless sounding chuckle of his own.

"I mean that even today, I could not bear to call you anything besides my wife. I mean that by avoiding you entirely, and calling that your wish, I am able to ignore the fact that I am still not strong enough to give you the end to our union that you so justly requested. I do not wish to lose you in that way, even if I have lost you in all others."

You hummed softly in response, smile growing gently as you removed his hand from your face, giving him a glance that had him dropping the other to his side before you guided him to your sofa, where you sat the two of you down, you with a child upon your lap, and him with nothing but his most bare self, vulnerable in a way he had not felt since he had been so plainly naked behind glass for what had felt like all of man to see.

Seeking out a distraction, Dream looked down toward the child sitting upon your lap, before moving his gaze back up to yours again.

"The child..."

He began, and immediately, you shook your head,

"He is not mine. I found him roaming the woods a few days back, and have yet to find his mother, even after stopping by the nearest town. I'm hoping to hear word of someone searching for him soon."

You said casually, watching with gleaming eyes as the child took your finger and clasped it within his chubby little fist, his grin revealing his few teeth, just barely poking out from beneath his gums.

Dream could not help but smile softly along with him, though his was merely a shadow compared to that of the child sitting atop your legs.

"I see..."

He replied, and you gazed toward him with noted amusement,

"Were you worried that I had stepped outside of our marriage, Lord Morpheus?"

You teased, watching as the man in front of you rolled his eyes before responding.

"No, I was more hoping than anything else. If you had moved on, then I might find it easier now to do the same."

You looked up at him upon hearing those words, before reaching down to place the small child on the floor in front of you with a sigh, thus allowing you to better face the being sitting at your side.

"And why is it that you are so eager to move past me, dear husband?"

You watched as Dream cast his gaze downward, eyes trained on the child playing nearby in spite of the fact that you could tell his mind was far away indeed, off somewhere that you could not follow, deeply considering every event he'd ever endured in search of an answer to your question.

How nice it must have been, to be so knowledgeable.

"If I were to move past you, wife, then I might finally be able to let you go, and if I managed to do such a thing, it would be far more feasible that you could truly hope to be rid of me someday."

You sighed, and reached for the hands of the individual that you had once known so well, and perhaps even did still, causing him to look up at you in surprise at the sudden contact.

"And if I do not want to be rid of you, dear Morpheus? If I said that after a century I have found it within myself to forgive you for the husband you once were in favor of learning what husband you could be now?"

You watched as the being sitting in front of you stared for a moment, as if in complete and utter disbelief, before he slowly began shaking his head, the corner of his lips raising ever so slightly as he leaned in to press his forehead against your own,

"Then I would say that I have known no greater patience than that of my dear wife."

He murmured, causing you to laugh quietly with a subtle roll of your eyes before you reached upward, pulling a pendant on a chain out from where it had been hidden beneath the collar of your shirt.

Dream watched curiously, not entirely sure of what you were doing, until suddenly you yanked at the chain with such force that it snapped in the back, causing either end of it to come tumbling forward into your palm.

Dream raised a brow in response to your actions, but remained silent, seeing in your eyes that you were all too eager to explain, the glint there unsubtle in a way that he was immensely familiar with.

"I kept this for you while you were away"

You stated casually as you pulled one of two clinking pieces of metal off of the chain, revealing to Dream a sight he had never anticipated having the privilege of viewing again.

There, between two of your fingertips and presented to him with such normalcy, was his wedding ring, and he could see from the subtle glint still remaining in your palm that the other metal piece on the chain had been yours.

He stared in shock, reaching for the familiar symbol of his union to you in utter disbelief, even as the coolness of it's structure wrapped itself around his ring finger as he took it and slid it on to its rightful place upon his hand.

"It’s been more than a century..."

He murmured, his tone betraying his surprise in spite of how little emotion he typically showed, even in vulnerable moments like this one.

You smiled at him, shrugging slightly as you slid your own ring onto your finger again, sighing as if having arrived home after a long day of work,

"I know."

[changbinsboiledegg]

i've been a silent reader for a while now and i rlly like your works so i'm going to request something lol

so skz reactions to a hyper independent s/o? like hurt / comfort genre, you can even like idk state why they are like this as well if you want :)

take your time and remember to drink water 💦

that's all bye ✌️

Heyo silent anon 🫶Thank you for the request! I'm glad you requested! I sincerely hope this is accurate depictions and that this is what you were hoping for. I took time to research a bit to,,, not suck at it? lol but please lmk if this is okay!! I don't want to accidentally offend anybody :((( also, thank you! Please drink water too, lovely!

GN! Reader X SKZ

Warnings: vague/ brief mentions of traumas leading to hyper independence, stress, burnout, uselessness, guilt mentions, injury, hurt/comfort, brief argument?, past relationship/ betrayal mention, negative thoughts, swearing, kinda. If I'm missing any, lmk. If anything is wrong, LMK!!!!!

Note: Thank you for your patience btw! I sincerely hope you have a good day and I hope these are to your liking & what you pictured! Okay I'll shut up now. As always, if no one told you today, ily! Take care.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Chan

Chan knows you’re very self reliant and accepts that. He can’t force you to ask for help when you needed. But he wished you’d come to him and weren’t afraid to lean on his shoulder when you needed just as you offered your shoulder for him to lean on when he needed.

You were looking for your wallet that you must’ve dropped when you went to visit Chan in the studio. The studio was now empty, but Chan’s things were still inside which indicated he would be back.

Knowing he was busy, you wanted to hurry and find your wallet before he returned. You checked under and on top of anything in the studio but came up empty every time.

“Shit.” You muttered, trying to retrace your steps. You didn’t ask for help because you felt confident that you would find it on your own. After all, everything you’ve done for yourself had been on your own.

You closed your eyes, knowing you needed to find your wallet. It had everything you needed inside. You cursed yourself for being so careless.

“You came back?” Chan asked, entering the studio. You were on your hands and knees, trying to see if your wallet fell under anything again.

“Looking for something?” He asked when you didn’t immediately respond. You sighed, sitting up on your knees.

“My wallet. Don’t worry, I know where it is.” You quickly replied, looking around the studio from the height you were at. Chan started to help you look, despite having other things to do.

“Hey, seriously. I can find it. Go work on your music.” You tried to reassure him. Chan shook his head, “it’s not a problem. I want to help.”

You knew there was nothing you could do to talk him out of stopping. This was one of the rare times he knew how to help when you wouldn’t ask.

“Chan—”

“Ah ha! Here you go, babe.” He handed your wallet to you with a satisfied grin. You took it from him, relieved, yet a feeling of defeat wash over you.

“Thank you.” You sighed, glancing over your wallet.

Chan put his hands on your shoulders, gently squeezing them. “Anytime. I mean it.”

Lee Know

You never asked for help. Especially when you really needed it. It’s just how you were conditioned. From childhood to adulthood, you were forced to do every thing yourself.

Whether the task was dangerous or not, you didn’t ask for help because you never really knew how.

You were changing a lightbulb that had went out during your study session. You grabbed a new lightbulb, a chair and a screwdriver to unscrew the light fixture.

This was something help would’ve been needed for. Not changing the lightbulb itself, but you seriously needed a spotter as the chair you were standing on was wobbly.

Minho was in the other room, talking to Jisung while you were changing the lightbulb.

You steadied yourself, attempting to screw the light fixture back on but the screw fell through your fingertips and on instinct, you tried to catch it before it hit the floor.

The screw wasn’t the only thing that hit the floor. You yelped as soon as your body thudded against the floor. You were blinded with pain for a few solid seconds when you were greeted by your boyfriend rushing to your side and trying to assess the situation before touching you.

“What happened?!” Minho asked, his expression laced with concern.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Jisung asked, shocked at what he was seeing.

“No! I’m okay!” You attempted to sit up but the pain went through your arm like shockwaves. Minho’s eyes widened, seeing your arm was broken.

“Yes, please call an ambulance.” Minho spared a glance at Jisung. You were about to shake your head, but a broken arm was beyond something you could simply fix yourself.

“My love, why didn’t you ask for help? You know that chair has a bad leg.” Minho’s tone was soft, trying to comfort you through your pain. You had a frown on your face, speaking up, “I didn’t need help— and that chair never gave me an issue before.”

“Maybe you didn’t need help to change the lightbulb, but definitely needed someone to keep the chair steady.” Minho grimaced at the way your arm had broken. You didn’t want to argue and seriously considered learning to ask for help as you were in a decent amount of pain.

“It’s okay to ask for help. I would rather you… not have a broken arm.” Minho tried to keep the mood light, even if he was freaking out inside. You slowly nodded, “I will ask… next time.”

You weren’t sure if you believed yourself, but it gave Minho relief for the mean time.

Changbin

You went from feeling an extreme amount of stress to feeling an extreme amount of guilt.

You were carrying boxes to the trunk of your car. Changbin helped you with what he could grab when he swung by to see what you were up to. When he saw you moving boxes, he wanted to help and didn’t ask first because he knew your answer.

You tried to stick to the heavier boxes, not wanting him to deal with those due to the weight they held. Even though you knew he could probably carry three heavy boxes in one trip.

You picked up a box that was seemingly too heavy for you to lift without your legs shaking underneath the weight.

The stress of packing and moving, and now this, frustrated you to an unbelievable extent. Changbin saw how you struggled with the box and quickly went over to take it from you.

“No, I got it.” You argued, almost stumbling backwards. Changbin caught you— and the box, steadying you.

“Come on, let me take it. You’re going to hurt—”

“I said I got it!” You snapped. A look of hurt flashed over his face, but he still took the box from you and silently walked it out to your car.

Changbin didn’t say anything for a while, helping you move into your new apartment and you actually letting him, feeling guilty for snapping at him. Receiving help wasn’t a bad thing, but to you, it meant there was something you couldn’t do.

You wanted to prove to yourself always that you were capable of everything. Which you were, but that didn’t convince you.

“Changbin.” You spoke up as he had gotten the last box— the box that made you snap at him, inside. He wordless looked at you, still hurt from before. You took a deep breath and stepped closer to him, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry. I was just frustrated but that’s no excuse to snap at you like that.” You apologized, the guilt only slightly melting away. Changbin’s arms wrapped around you after your apology and he kissed your cheek.

“I forgive you.” He finally spoke. You felt relief, although the guilt would remain for a while.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was very aware of your hyper independence. He knew you were always busy. Not because there was anything you had to do, but because you always gave yourself things to do.

It was how you made yourself feel useful. You always had the need to be useful in some way.

Hyunjin wanted to help out in some way, ease the pressure off of your shoulders, not knowing it was how you allowed yourself to breathe.

He would clean for you, tidying things up for you, do your laundry when you were out. He even cooked or ordered takeout for you so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself after a long day.

“You really don’t need to do this for me.” You sounded slightly upset, but it wasn’t at Hyunjin. He knew this, luckily.

Hyunjin brushed off your tone and smiled, “it’s not a problem.”

You sighed, not wanting to argue with him. Especially when he showed you the smile that made your heart swell.

“I didn’t want you to feel suffocated in chores.” Hyunjin added, he took your hand and pulled you towards the kitchen now that you both knew there was nothing else for you to task yourself with.

He set the table and served dinner, both of you sitting across from each other.

You started to eat, at least allowing yourself to enjoy what your boyfriend had prepared. Hyunjin felt satisfied with himself once again, seeing how you looked when you relaxed.

“Thank you.” You finally thanked him, grateful. Hyunjin waved you off, smiling as he began to eat with you.

“Not a problem.”

You watched him for a few seconds, “this is really good. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

“You have.” He took another bite. “But again, thank you.”

Han

You never asked for help. The last time you asked for help resulted in you being hurt in a previous relationship. You tried to work through it, learn that not everyone is going to hurt you the way your ex did.

It was the day you got hurt and even though it didn’t hurt anymore, your heart seemed to think other wise. Jisung knew there was a specific day that bothered you inside, but never knew why. You refused to talk about it, even if deep down, you wanted to tell him.

You trusted Jisung, but there was always the suspicion creeping in and causing you to fight with yourself.

“Let’s go out to eat tonight. There’s a restaurant that just opened up.” Jisung invited, wanting to get your mind off of what was bothering you.

There it was again, the suspicion. ‘He’s going to break up with you during dinner.’ Your mind ran rampant with these thoughts.

‘He’s going to betray you like your ex did.’

You forced the thoughts back, telling yourself ‘Jisung is not like my ex. He’s better.’

Jisung’s heart sank at the lack of response. “Or… If you have something else in mind, I’m open to it.”

‘He’s only trying to lower your guard—’

“No! Yes, I’m up for trying this new restaurant.” You interrupted your negative thoughts. You weren’t going to let your past affect how you thought of Jisung and you certainly didn’t want to ruin his excitement.

Jisung smiled, his facial expression filling with relief. “Thank you. My treat—”

“No, I want to pay!” You objected, “you had a hard week.”

“No, no. I’m paying. I invited you, I should pay.” Jisung argued. You groaned, “no, Jisung. Come on. What if it’s expensive?”

“Then we can split the bill.” Jisung shrugged, “if I wasn’t already going to pay in full.”

And you let out a heavy sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to let up.

Felix

You found yourself looking up how to do basic tasks, even if you’ve done them multiple times before.

You tend to do this when you’re feeling particularly burned out and can’t focus properly.

“Damnit.” You muttered, slapping your hand against your thigh in frustration as you misspelled a word. You deleted the entire search and retyped it, only to misspell the same word.

You felt like crying or screaming or throwing your phone. You knew how to do laundry. You couldn’t explain to yourself why it mattered so much that you needed to look it up right away.

You were burned out. Mundane tasks were difficult to complete and you wanted it done, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Looking up how to do certain things step by step was your way of convincing yourself it’s not that hard.

“Damnit!” You cursed a little louder, your hands shaking.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” Felix asked, peeking over your shoulder at the misspelled question in the search bar.

It was then that he realized how you were struggling.

“Want me to search it for you?” He asked, even if he knew you already knew how to do laundry.

He also knew it was your way of dealing with your burn out. You, of course, shook your head.

“No. I’m fine. I just need a minute.” You took a deep breath in and retyped the question, finally spelling it right and reading what Google had to offer.

“Why don’t you rest. I will take care of it.” Felix started to lift the laundry basket before you protested. “Wait, no, I got it.”

Felix saw the way your hands were shaking from the high volume of stress. He gave you a small smile and shook his head.

“Rest.”

Seungmin

“Yes.” - “No.”

“Yes.” Seungmin stood firm on his ‘yes’. You two have been arguing back and forth, you saying no, him saying yes.

He was going to help you whether you liked it or not. Especially with something he bought.

“Seungmin, come on.” You pleaded, wanting him to let you handle putting together the shelf he bought.

“Nope. I’m helping. Look, I already have the box open— one second.” Seungmin quickly fell to his knees and opened the box quickly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose as he started to take out the parts and screws that came with it.

“Look, I already touched the instructions manual. Now I have to help.” Seungmin beamed, opening the manual.

“Um… can you help me?” He asked, handing you the manual. You sat with him and looked over the manual.

“Fine. Give me the screws and—“

“No. Then you won’t let me help.” Seungmin cut you off. You tilted your head at your boyfriend.

“Fine, Seungmin. You open the screws and I’ll hold the pieces together. Good?” You wished he wasn’t so stubborn, but then again, maybe it was something you loved about him among all of the other things.

Seungmin grinned, satisfied.

“Fine by me.”

I.N

You learned at a young age that ‘if you want something done right, do it yourself’. No one helped you unless they wanted to and you didn’t ask for help because you wanted things ‘done right’.

You wanted to come out of that mindset, feeling burned out from always relying on yourself.

But you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t something you could come out of overnight.

“Jeongin? What are you… Hey, no.” You sighed, walking towards him after turning on the light. He was trying to clean the kitchen in the dark, not wanting to wake you up.

He knew that you’d feel stressed seeing the messy kitchen.

He didn’t want to see you so stressed and burned out like this. You started to join him, cleaning up, but Jeongin quickly moved over to stop you by taking your hands in his.

“Let me. I made this mess, after all.” Jeongin reassured, trying to justify cleaning the kitchen by himself.

“But it’s my kitchen.” You countered. Jeongin shook his head.

“It’s still my mess.”

“It’s still my kitchen.” You frowned, crossing your arms. Jeongin thought for a moment, trying to convince you that you don’t need to be the one to clean up all the time. Especially since it was his mess.

“If you threw my phone off of a cliff, would I need to buy a new phone or would you need to buy it?” He asked, tilting his head.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what?”

“Hypothetically.”

“I would need to buy you a new phone because I was the one that threw it.” You replied, not understanding his hypothetical question and it’s relevancy to him cleaning your kitchen.

“Exactly. Therefore, my mess in your kitchen is my problem. Goodnight!” Jeongin grinned cheekily before getting back to cleaning.

[crescent-blades]

✦•┈ᯓ Rules For making Requests.ᐟ

ʚɞ┆ First off, I would like to clarify that I won't be writing any explicit content; hence, I would appreciate it if such requests are not made. Other than that, you are free to request anything.

ʚɞ┆I also want to mention that I don’t have any triggers, and it’s pretty hard to offend me. So don’t hesitate to share anything—any content that might be sensitive will be labeled accordingly. [Please feel free to reach out if I may have missed anything!]

ʚɞ┆While it may seem obvious, I’ll say it again—please, DO NOT repost, copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work. If you’d like to reference it anywhere (especially regarding theories), please ask for my permission first.

ʚɞ┆Please note that it might take me a while to respond to inboxes. Don’t be discouraged if I haven’t replied to your requests yet; I may have seen them and could be working on a response. My busy schedule makes it challenging to reply quickly. Your patience is deeply appreciated!

ʚɞ┆Finally, this blog is all about keeping things positive and drama-free. Anyone that aims to stir up unnecessary negativity or controversy will be promptly blocked. I genuinely welcome any constructive feedback you may have about me. However, any form of hate will not be accepted.

✦•┈ᯓ Rules For Roleplaying.ᐟ

Firstly, I want to clarify that this isn't solely a roleplay blog. I often receive various requests because I enjoy writing beyond just roleplaying [drabbles, imagines, theories etc etc]. If you have any issues with some ooc content here and there, then you are free to unfollow. Moving on:

ʚɞ┆OCs, crossovers, ships, crack fics, etc.,are all welcome. Feel free to introduce any character you wish to see the samurai interact with, including the possibility of Kokushibō and/or Michikatsu being your chosen muse!

ʚɞ┆The portrayal of my muses will be as canon to the manga as possible. I will make every effort to keep my personal headcanons to a minimum, and I would really appreciate it if my writing partner could do the same.

ʚɞ┆Regarding NSFW; you won’t find any on my blog, nor am I comfortable writing anything explicit. Light shipping, flirting, romance, fluff, or similar interactions are totally fine, but let’s keep it on the softer side.

ʚɞ┆Regarding shipping and relationships; I believe it’s important for the characters to build chemistry and have meaningful interactions first, rather than jumping straight into shipping. I would prefer if we had already written together beforehand and perhaps discussed it in advance.

ʚɞ┆When it comes to violence, blood etc, I'm fine with anything. As I mentioned, I’m open to various themes, but only if the plot calls for it. I won’t tolerate any unnecessary graphic content or spiteful comments directed at my muses.

ʚɞ┆Regarding the length of my writing; I am flexible with pretty much everything, however, I generally enjoy multi-paragraph roleplays. I can adapt to different lengths if needed.

ʚɞ┆Regarding plotting I’m comfortable with either approach. Whether you want to plan out the next steps or prefer the thrill of surprises, I’m totally on board with whatever you choose.

ʚɞ┆You will get what you give. If I find that the you aren't putting in any effort with the replies, I will not be putting any effort either. I find it hard to stay motivated, especially knowing that the other person likely isn't even interested.

ʚɞ┆So, if you ever feel like your interest is waning or you need a break, then please feel free to tell me. The main goal of roleplaying is to have fun. If you decide you want to stop engaging altogether, you’re welcome to soft-block or hard-block.

ʚɞ┆Most importantly, have fun! <3

๋࣭⭑⚝Thank you!๋࣭⭑⚝

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

kinda annoying tbh that theres not a lot that people do to show good sides of wave and storms relationship unless they're trying to ship them. got any headcanons or tidbits about how those two interact with eachother?

i have SO MANY, but i’ll list some of the more compelling ones :3 i love these too in like a “we’re so different on an ideological level, but we both love jet SO MUCH so we have to work together” notion.

- since storm is gifted in the culinary arts, he knows wave’s weakness: cacio e pepe. ONLY WHEN HE MAKES IT THOUGH. so if he ever needs to bribe her or get her to not have a stick up her ass, he says he’ll make it and she begrudgingly cooperates.

- similarly, when wave goes hermitmode in her workshop, no matter how insane she is, he will always bring her a bowl of fresh fruit. she has to eat it

- there’s a common misconception that storm is stupid, and an even futher misconception that he’s the immature one. wave can actually be extremely petty and uncooperative at times, but storm makes a point of bridging their differences. he’s patient and tries to understand her as best he can when they’re dealing with a situation and wave has gotten better with her patience

- they are both into music from completely different angles. wave is an “i learned on my dad’s kit” percussionist who would play along to records and can’t read sheetmusic well, whiplash style. storm is a composer who score studies and conducts, spending so much of his time perfecting and studying. this is one of those scenarios where wave actually has to listen to storm if she’s filling in on kit for his ensemble. yeah, percussionists are usually the timekeepers, but with a conductor the hierarchy gains another level. wave does get frustrated, but moreso with herself as she tries to play how he needs her to play

- in my lore, wave went rogue from the rogues for a few years, unbeknownst to jet. she was present during the day, but would sneak out at night for some diabolical shit and it was always storm waiting up for her with tea to make sure she came back. this is actually why in interpret her to be so jaded when it comes to storm: a sense of guilt or embarrassment. storm worrying over her makes her react negatively as it feels belittling, and reminds her that what she was doing was bad. he is a constant reminder of everything she once was, stuff she tries to forget, and she HATES how he looks at her sometimes because he remembers and he worries about her and a part of her doesn’t feel like she deserves it. sorry, did i say these would be fun? NO! SUFFERING!

- storm is very good at reading wave to filth, but he does it wholesomely and casually, and she can’t even be mad. example:

wave: i have to fix the transmission on my jetta

storm: right, because instead of staying in the passing lane, you weave in and out of traffic to save yourself 0 minutee in travel time instead of being patient and letting people merge

wave: … (“: hah. well, i mean…

storm: mhm. :”)

another example, for shits and giggles:

like, come on! storm is less aggressive than schlatt, but you can’t tell me they don’t go at it like this because they totally do.

- FINAL ONE TO MAKE THIS A TRAUMA SANDWICH THAT ENDS NICELY: storm’s birthday is october 19th, whereas wave’s is november 11th. they’re hardly a year apart in age yet there’s a boomer esque joke of storm being soooo much older than her and she needs to respect her elders. it’s either that storm is too old to get something, or wave is too young to remember the good old days. no one else finds this funny or even gets the joke, so it’s a bit they share sarcastically with one another. on that note, i think it’s pretty clear they’re always sarcastically egging each other on, but no one else picks up on it lmao

[moayase]

ㅤㅤ✱ㅤ𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗱.  𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲𝘀.  𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁𝘀.  𝗽𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁.  𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘆.   𝗸𝘆𝗼𝗸𝗮.ㅤ✱

#𝐌𝐎𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐒𝐄     :   an   independent   ,   private   ,   &   highly   selective   writing   blog   for   𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗢   𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗦𝗘   from   yukinobu  tatsu's   𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐍   (   est.   october  2024   )   manga   based.   headcanon   heavy,   crossover   friendly.

❝  𝘺𝘰𝘶  𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦  𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺  𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮  𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙡  𝘪𝘯  𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵  𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵  ,  𝘣𝘶𝘵  𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦  𝘢  𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭  𝘰𝘢𝘧 ,  𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘯--  𝘪'𝘭𝘭  𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺  𝘦𝘯𝘥  𝘶𝘱  ��𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘺𝘰𝘶  𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵  𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦  𝘵𝘰𝘰!  ❞

the   gang  :   #𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘹𝘷𝘦   ,   #𝘵𝘣𝘥  ,  #𝘵𝘣𝘥  ,  #𝘵𝘣𝘥  ,  #𝘵𝘣𝘥 

blogroll:

kyoka jirou: @auditioheros , high activity multi: @chmerical , low activity toru hagakure: @iridesheros , primarily discord

001. for the sake of my sanity, i’m remaining mutuals only! i’m very open to interacting with all kindsa muses, but i can't follow everyone back. i just wanna avoid forgetting & getting overwhelmed.

002. no minors please!! this is a 21+ blog, please respect that!

003. this is a safe space. i will not tolerate any bigotry and toxicity. i want to firmly state that homophobia, colorism, racism, islamaphobia, antisemitism, transphobia, and hatred of any sorts will earn an immediate hard block, no exceptions. we are way too grown to be misbehaving. on that note, i do not, in any way, shape, or form condone pro-shipping or anything of the sort. keep that shit away from me, thank you.

004. due to the nature of some of the fandoms i have verses for, my blog will contain darker themes such as: death, violence, drugs, alcohol. that being said, i will not write the following: inc*st, s*xual assault, extreme violence, explicit sexual content.

005. in terms of SHIPPING, i’m super open so don’t hesitate to reach out! i will say chemistry is a must! i’m open to all ships: familial, platonic, antagonistic, romantic. please note: i will not be writing out smut. no exceptions. PLEASE NOTE: while i do have a main okarun, i am happy to write with 1 or 2 mutuals who also write him! otherwise all okarun mentions default to awkcult.

006. i don't do drama or vagues or call outs ( unless the individual is legitimately harmful and/or toxic ) because of this i'm generally oblivious when it comes to problematic blogs. if you see me engaging with someone harmful/toxic, let me know privately! just no dragging me into petty drama, please!! i don't have the patience to deal with vagues and negativity, so i'll be soft/hardblocking at my discretion if i see too much of it.

007. first off, i wanna say thanks for reading through everything! my name's fio/frito/frio, i'm 31, still flirty and thriving and i work as a swim instructor as well as do teaching artistry where and when i can. i have autism, adhd & tons ( and i mean tons ) of anxiety, so i do have a tendency to dip in terms of communication, but that in no way means i don't want to write with you or i'm no longer interested in our plots! i'm a just a bit of a mess sometimes ♡ 

008. CREDIT!!! graphics made by #me. PSDs used: #vvundagore. carrd by: #hellscommissions.  adapted bios and headcanons by: #me.

[multiplicity-positivity]

any advice for (possible) persecutors? we're just realizing "oh wait we're not just really sentient imaginary friends we're a system" and i've been kinda nervous cause after doing a lot of research we think me and alyx are persecutors and that's kinda scary because persecutors can be seen as like evil and i put that behind me thank you very much /hj (i think i used that right, right?)

~ 🐤 / @the-stardrop-collective

Hello, one of our system’s persecutors is cofronting right now, and we can share a bit of advice with you.

What is incredibly important to note, is that persecutors are not evil. Even the worst persecutor in a system who has caused grave harm to others is not evil. The “evil alter” or “evil persecutor” stereotype only serves the purpose of ostracizing and othering persecutors and the systems they belong to. We can assure you, having a persecutor role does not make you or any other alter evil in the slightest. Of course, some persecutors may choose to reclaim that label, but that is a decision made by the alter as an individual, and not a reflection of persecutors as a whole.

We will remind you that persecutors form for a reason. Your anger, bitterness, or violence was needed in the past in order to keep your system safe. It may not be as evident now, especially if your system is in a safe place, but persecutors often serve important purposes in their systems and perform vital functions. It may be difficult for persecutors to effectively manage or process their emotions, often as a direct result of how and why they formed. If you or Alyx also struggle with emotional dysregulation, spending time learning how to feel and deal with big emotions could be quite useful. Our own system has been learning to build our distress tolerance and properly regulate our emotions through work in therapy, and with help from this DBT skills workbook (< amazon link).

When it comes to adjusting to system life, or feeling lost after making a big change, don’t underestimate the power in exploring new hobbies, interests, or things you enjoy. Our persecutors often live (or have lived) their lives with a lot of built up spite and malice, so finding things in life that bring them joy outside of hurting others has been quite healing and affirming for them. Perhaps spend some time asking yourselves who you are, or who you want to be, outside of your persecutor role. What inspires you? What brings you joy? What motivates you or helps you feel better about yourself?

Finally, we will suggest to practice not letting what other’s think about you affect you, define you, or bring you down. If you’ve changed for the better, own that fact. No one else knows you better than you know yourself. Focus on improving your relationships with your fellow system members, and try to ignore when others generalize the experiences of persecutors or speak negatively about them. As my cofronter put it, “Fuck the haters!!!!!” You don’t have to let the words of others bring you down. With patience and practice, you can learn to let others’ remarks and opinions roll off your shoulders.

There is so much we could say as potential advice to other persecutors. We aren’t certain what specifically you needed advice regarding, but we hope these words are beneficial for you. Do not hesitate to reach out if you were looking for something different or particular regarding potential advice. We hope that you and Alyx are treated kindly by your system and the world around you.

[kirakirabluemoon]

Happy New Year and I hope everyone has a better year ahead! 🙆🏻‍♀️💖💖💖🌻🌻🌻🍀🍀🍀

I know this Author’s notes looks long, but please don’t panic. It’s just an update, I’m still working on Belladonna. 😊👍🏻💖🙆🏻‍♀️

This is an update to let y’all know how things been going with Belladonna’s Chapter 31. It is still unfortunately incomplete, but I promise I’m trying! 🌚🙏🏻 Still ironing out some details and Chinese New Year is coming, so spring cleaning and stuff is in order. So update is probably after February. 🌚🙏🏻 I’m very sorry. 🙃😔😭🙏🏻

These three paragraphs only regards my health in slightly more detail than the previous post, (why I haven’t been able to update) so you can just skip it if you’d like. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖 As I mentioned previously, my health has been fluctuating since June 2023, I haven’t been feeling very well so my writing took a hit (on top of writer’s block). 😩🫠 The symptoms thankfully wasn’t too serious, all things considered.🤞🏻My fatigue however was the most obvious, there was also low moods, insomnia (caused by heart palpitations) and etc. However, I’ve gotten my blood tested around November and I finally know what’s going on. So at least I now know how to reduce and regulate the symptoms, I’ve seen improvements and hopefully I’ll make a full recovery soon. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖🙏🏻

But then at the end of December, I was tested positive with covid. 🌚🌚🌚🫠🫠🫠 So my fatigue worsened. At this point it’s like a triple layered stack. First from my nightly dreams, second from the issue that started in June, then now from the covid. 🫠 I have tested negative after 6 days, but my doctor did warn me that some symptoms and inflammation will probably persist for about a month after turning negative and to not do strenuous exercises, (even something simple like brisk walk). I found out sometimes just eating a meal brings me shortness of breath and my heart rate would reach 106 or so and then I gotta lie down. Feels like my heart was copying that one meme on Facebook and saying, “If you don’t stop, I will.” 😮‍💨🌚🤣 The same goes for house chores, like changing the bedsheets. So yeah. But I’m still kicking—albeit weakly—AND my low moods had thank god not plagued me lately. 💖😮‍💨🙏🏻 Bless.

I’ll be trying to get a swing back into things while minding my energy, so my health doesn’t decide to give me a sucker punch to the gut. Or a left hook, I don’t know, it’s been years and it still likes to catch me by surprise. 🌚🤷🏻‍♀️🤞🏻 Despite the annoyances, I’m still very thankful it’s nothing too serious. At this point, I’ll just let it throw a fit wherever it wants, and then let it die down whenever, while trying to get on with my life and maintaining inner peace. 🙄😑🤦🏻‍♀️🤌🏻 I’m done trying to control it to go the way I want it to, cuz it backfired, badly. 🌚

Anyways, thank you all so much and I really really appreciate the immense patience, love and support my dear readers has shown for my stories. 💖🙆🏻‍♀️🍀 I know I haven’t been updating as much as I would have liked, nor anticipated, after I graduated from school five-years-turning-six-years ago, in fact I thought I’d be able to churn out more chapters, guess I sorely underestimated the full extent of the symptoms my health could throw at me. 🙃😔

I wish everyone good health—seriously please take good care of yourself, and may all the lovely and nice things in life, be it big or small, be enjoyed, celebrated, and appear whenever you need it. 🥰🙆🏻‍♀️🌈💖🌻🍀

The very best of luck for 2024 and the upcoming Year of the Dragon! God bless everyone! Cheers! 🎆🎇🎉🎊🐉🎊🎉🎆🎇

Until next time! 😘

Ps: My inbox told me I have a new message/submission but when I click on it, there’s nothing there. 🌚🌚🌚 If someone sent me an ask, I’m sorry but Tumblr won’t let me see it. 😭🙏🏻

[pommunist]

Very unsure if you saw what was happening with Baghera and the mistranslation that spread with her, Antoine and a few other FR CCs (I don’t remember who else was in the convo, I think Mythos was there, but very very unsure my apologies :(( ). But after viewing the clip and revisiting the topic several times on my own, the “joke”/“comment” to add a translator to TDLSMP if they revamp the server wasn’t supposed to be in a negative light and was most likely a positive call back to the translator feature of QSMP. Which, ngl, would be awesome to see happen cause I (and probably many others) would love to view more French content become widely accessible with translation plugins.

People heavily took it out of context due to the english updates fan account for Bagz due to the admins of the account only clipping that section of the conversation and adding “/j” to Baghera’s comment about a translator, which was in bad taste, especially since there was no context added nor explanation as to what they were actually referring to in the clipped section. And due to the mass hate and/or confusion of many viewers, the updates account ultimately removed it (I went back several times to verify if it was in the account and if they had added context but saw that it was just scrapped and removed with no further explanation).

After the events of the mistranslation from the updates account, plus Baghera even coming onto twitter to explain herself, many French fans took their time to explain what happened properly (I gratefully thank them for this cause it actually helped many who were confused about the mistranslation from the updates account) and a space was even made by Spanish speaking fans to further explain the error that was created from the mistranslation with the help of a French viewer named Dune, and the host of the space even tried to mellow out any angry listeners with the saying "All the CCs are friends, stop assuming the worst and any issues that they have with each other is sorted behind closed doors. We don't know them, they know each other better than we as viewers do because they are friends." [Rough translation of what the host said but hopefully I stated it clearly]

All-in-all, unfortunate circumstances occurred thanks to mistranslation, but a majority of the community is trying to be better and actually hear each other out, but sadly the minority that is full of blind hate is the loudest and puts down the worst image for the rest. :( -Anon 💫

OH YES I SAW THAT AND I SURE WISH I DIDNT 😭

I couldn’t believe people were upset about that, even if it had been a joke it’s not even like it was anything bad or negative ?

Just a full on hate train on Baghera for saying it would be great to have a translator if they ever brought their smp back. Don’t even wanna discuss what was said about her and other french ccs because it’s just disgusting. The fact that french qsmptwt users had to go around trying to explain to everyone that it wasn’t anything bad and that people shouldn’t harass baghera for it, especially when you have no context/don’t know the language…. I wouldn’t have that kind of patience 🫡

Only good thing is that it gave me the opportunity to feed my blocklist /hj

And that once again seeing the great Frasil alliance in action made me so happy 🇧🇷🫂🇫🇷

Isn’t it nice to see that when the admins situation isn’t enough to drive away all ccs and fans alike, the Quackity fans will make sure to make the qsmp space inhabitable for anyone who stayed ! /sarc Between this and the bullying of Sunny’s admin two days ago they sure are on a run lately.

Note : If anyone is confused about what TDLsmp is, it’s the name fans came up with to talk about a minecraft server Antoine, Baghera, Etoiles and others french ccs played on for a little while I think two years ago ?

TDL means Team du Lundi aka Monday Team, and it refers to their friend group who stream every monday together on different multiplayer games (Lethal Company, Worms, Golf Gang, and many many more).

The server was vanilla and just a way to play Minecraft together, nothing special really, but it was very very fun to watch ! And so yesterday they talked about the possibility of it returning, but modded this time, and maybe with a translator so their international viewers can watch and understand it !

If you’re interested :

Baghera’s vods :

Antoine’s best of (if you wanna catch up quickly by watching only the best moments) :

Etoiles’ vods :

[draculasfavoritewife]

Happier Now

Summary: Alone time on a summer afternoon is a rare thing, and anniversaries are a time for remembering and realization.

Pairing: Emma Frost x Scott Summers

Warnings: More fluff than I usually write (this one is pretty nostalgic and sweet). Lots of innuendos and Emma's flirting -- which really deserves its own warning lol.

Me from two years ago has no excuses. This is purely self-indulgent sweetness because I love soft Emma/Scott moments and this dialogue was absolutely burning a hole in my brain. Sorry not sorry.

Classes finished for the day, Emma Frost takes a minute to herself, leaning against her desk at the front of the classroom and allowing herself to decompress in the quiet. The kids at the Institute test her patience at every turn and drive her absolutely mad sometimes. But she’s never wanted to be anything except a teacher, and the madness is far outweighed by the satisfaction of seeing them grow up in front of her day by day. 

She would never say it aloud, but she would do absolutely ANYTHING for these kids. 

So deep is she in her moment of reverie that she doesn’t know he’s snuck up behind her until he’s kissing her cheek, and she actually jumps. “Scott! Where did you come from?” 

He chuckles, amused that he caught her daydreaming. “Someone’s a million miles away. Or have you just spent so much time with me that my psychic signature is boring to you now?” 

She turns halfway to return his kiss, her fingertips caressing his jaw. “Yours is the only mind I haven’t grown bored of, Darling.” 

“Flattery generally gets people nowhere with me, but for you, I’ll make the exception.” He grins and hands her a single white rose. He’s learning her tastes, and she feels an odd surge of happiness that he remembers so much about her without constantly having to ask what pleases her anymore. 

Emma doesn’t go in for huge, extravagant flower arrangements unless she’s organizing a social event. Minimal elegance goes a long way in her book. 

Scott’s next words leave her at a momentary loss. “Happy anniversary, Em.” 

Which anniversary is it?

They’ve already acknowledged the four-year anniversary of their first date. And she hasn’t quite shared his room for three years. 

So she cheats, takes a glimpse into his thoughts, realizes — has it really been FIVE years since she arrived to teach here? 

“That makes me feel old,” she remarks. 

She knows him well enough to tell he’s rolling his eyes at her behind his opaque glasses. “Let’s not be gloomy, shall we? This is the day we first officially met, five years ago, Em. It’s cause for a…less negative outlook, don’t you think?” 

I didn’t know it at the time, but your arrival was the start of the happiest years of my life…. 

Emma pulls out the thread of what he doesn’t say and smiles. “Aw, you’re such a shameless romantic, Scott.” 

That flusters him for a second, and she could almost swear she sees his face flush. “I didn’t say anything,” he defends himself, though he sounds unsure of that fact. 

“You didn’t have to. Your thoughts are very loud sometimes.” She smirks at him and points to the drink carrier in his right hand. “Please tell me one of those coffees is for me.” 

“No, you’ve rubbed off on me too much. I bought two just so I could rub it in your face that I didn’t get you any.” He hands over one of the cups. 

“How I adore it when you get sarcastic, Lover. I always knew you were just pretending to be such a boy scout.” She takes a sip of the hot drink, noting with uncharacteristic softness that he remembered her current favorite — white chocolate hazelnut latte with almond milk, two shots of espresso, and whipped cream. He’s too good for her. She comes up with ridiculously complicated combinations every other month to see if it throws him off, and yet he cares so much and his memory is so unfairly perfect that he caters to her whims and she can’t even complain about a mistaken order. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” He tastes his own — strong and black, she knows from the smell of it. Hasn’t changed his own preference since long before she came into his life. She’d never drink black coffee, much as the others might think she’s suited for such a bitter drink. She loves that about him, though. It rounds out his masculine and no-nonsense personality, and she can’t deny that she likes to taste the hint of it lingering in his mouth after he drinks it. 

“What does the rest of your day look like?” she asks, pressing her body up to his. He shifts automatically to avoid spilling his drink on her immaculate white jacket. 

“I cleared my schedule. Wanted to spend the evening with you.” Scott glances out the window. “The weather’s nice, and the pool is empty. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like providence to me.” 

“I have a new bikini and no other excuse to wear it. You’re good at formulating plans even when we’re off duty.” She pulls away from him and starts down the hallway. 

“Am I watching your transformation, or are you holding out on me until we get there?” 

Emma flashes him a naughty grin over her shoulder. “I’m holding out on you this time, Lover Boy. After all, if you always get the privilege of seeing me in a state of undress, what power do I have to hold over you anymore?” 

He leans against the wall with a disappointed sigh. “You’re cruel, Emma.” 

“Darling, I wrote the definition of the word.” She sashays off, fiercely delighted that she can feel the heat of his gaze fixed on her swinging hips. 

If only the others knew what dirty thoughts sometimes cross their straight-laced leader’s mind. 

He was right, the weather is perfect for this.

She watches him swim laps as she lounges in a deck chair, admiring his toned muscles and relishing the reality that she can check him out as obviously as she likes. He’s hers now, so she doesn’t have to pretend to disguise the fact that she undresses him with her eyes whenever they’re in a room together. 

Emma has always had a deep appreciation for beauty, and the male form in motion is no exception. Scott Summers moves with an efficient grace no matter what he does. With his ample physical strength, he could be explosive, unfettered, but she finds it much more interesting that he restrains himself, not a motion wasted, every execution clean and sharp. 

Then he’s suddenly still, leaning over the side of the pool. “Somehow when I pictured this, I thought you were going to swim with me,” he complains. 

She leans further back, crossing her arms beneath her head. “What’s the point of a bathing suit as small as mine unless it’s for a good tan? You didn’t actually think this was made for swimming, did you?” 

“You’re not tanning,” he points out, with an infuriating grin. 

It’s true. She’s protected from the late afternoon sunlight by a meticulously placed umbrella, as well as a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses that probably cost no less than five hundred dollars. The sun has never been too friendly to Emma’s creamy porcelain complexion. 

She scowls down at Scott, whose more bronze tones always manage to tan gorgeously. 

He pulls himself out of the water. “Come on, I’ll put sunscreen on you if you’ll get in the water with me.” 

“Don’t get me all wet,” she tosses at him, handing him the bottle of lotion. 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

Removing her hat, she pulls her hair up and slides forward so he can sit behind her on the lounge and start working on her back. She relaxes into the familiar touch of his hands as he massages the sunscreen into her skin, firm but gentle, just the way she likes it. Can she really be faulted for demanding he give her back rubs so often?

The man is the god of back rubs. 

“Has it really been five years?” she murmurs. 

“The time has sure flown by.” His thumbs are higher than they need to be, working the knots out of her neck, and she sighs with relief as the tightness of the day finally releases. “I still remember,” he stifles a slight laugh, “how shocked I was when the Professor introduced you to me.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“Well, the way he talked about you, ‘former headmistress of the Massachusetts Academy’, I thought you were…much older, for one thing.” 

And much less sexy, is what he doesn’t say aloud. 

He catches her knowing smile and this time, she’s CERTAIN he reddens slightly. “And then you walked in, and all the puzzle pieces finally fell together. I definitely wasn’t expecting the Professor to hire the White Queen on the faculty, that’s for sure.” 

“How did you feel about that?” She’s not usually one for fond reminiscence, but the way he’s talking has her feeling strangely sentimental. 

“Confused. I think I was equal parts outraged and still trying to be welcoming. Not to mention your wardrobe is very provocative, which wasn’t helpful to my composure.” 

Emma laughs softly at his honesty. “I knew you were secretly more affected than you let on.” 

His hands move lower, and she arches her back against the delicious pressure, letting his knuckles knead into her tired muscles. “I wonder sometimes what your first impression of me was.” 

“You’re so bad at hinting.” She falls quiet for a moment, considering. “I remember seeing you there, in your tight black t-shirt and those dark-wash jeans, and I think the first coherent thought I ever devoted to you was, ‘Hmm…this Scott Summers has a nice butt’.” 

“You didn’t.” He can’t seem to make up his mind whether to be flattered, embarrassed, or downright horrified. 

“No, you called my bluff. I was much more taken by your massive —” 

“EMMA!” 

“— Thighs, Sweetheart. I was going to say thighs.” 

“Somehow I don't believe you.” 

“Pectorals?” she tries, turning to run her fingers across the muscles in question and seeing his jaw twitch at the suggestive contact. “Biceps? Or maybe it was your glorious hair — I’ve always thought you had the softest hair, even when you had it cut so short.” 

He raises one eyebrow, lips stern. He says nothing, but she can tell he knows it’s a load of bull.

She looks away again. 

“Truthfully, I noticed your mental imprint before I ever saw you. It stood out among the legions of others. Your thoughts were focused, intense, raw, even. I felt how you held yourself to crushing standards, kept up a façade, and in the midst of so many sharp and chilly thoughts directed at me, yours were like flames. The only taste of heat I could find.” 

She knows he’s staring at her, that she’s surprised him with so human a confession. 

“I held onto that as I walked past rows of judgmental eyes, wanting to meet whoever was such a brilliant flash of light in the midst of an admittedly dark time in my life. I think you felt the brush of my consciousness against yours, because that’s when you turned, and we made eye contact. At first I didn’t think it could possibly be you, since you were so well-groomed, so aloof. But then I saw that same intensity reflected on your face, just for a moment, and I….” 

She trails off, suddenly feeling like she’s peeled back one too many layers, and all of her childhood conditioning kicks in. Don’t ever open up, it makes you seem weak. 

He stops his work with the sunscreen, resting his chin on her shoulder as his arms encircle her, pulling her back against his body. “And then what happened?” he asks, barely above a whisper, and his lips are smiling into her neck, and she’s reminded all over again that Scott already knows her weaknesses, and he would never even dream of taking advantage of them. 

She’s not delicate, even if she looks it, and she’ll crush anyone who calls her so. But Scott keeps all of her weak moments and her softness cradled somewhere deep inside him, where he’ll never allow any harm to come of them. And she is hit all over again with his sweetness, and his caring, and she finds now that she does want him to know exactly what she thought of him that day, five years ago. 

“…And so I thought, ‘Maybe I’m not alone. Maybe there’s someone here who understands what I’ve been through, and I won’t be completely on my own in the world anymore’.” She lets out the breath she’s been holding, amazed at the lightness in her chest now that she’s said it.

“And THEN I started thinking about your butt.” 

He’s laughing as he kisses her collarbone. “Thank you,” he tells her sincerely, as he moves on to slather sunscreen down her legs. “That means a lot.” 

She can tell that it really does, and it makes her happy, to know that. 

“Do you want me to help you with your front?” he asks, nodding at the sheer amount of skin her risqué top leaves exposed. 

“I think I had better handle that area myself, if you want me to ever actually end up in the water with you,” she retorts.

His self-control may be better than most, but even his isn’t THAT good. 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. 

“I will, thank you. You can, however, aid me in un-suiting myself later, if you so wish.” 

When they finally complete their task and he at last coaxes her into the water, she remembers what he was thinking earlier.

You were right, Scott. I’ve never been happier since I met you. 

[undercover-monsterlover]

Hii omg i was so geeked when i saw ur page I hope its ok if I ask for a JJBA matchupp parts 4-6 a nsfw section wuld be awesum too THANK YOOOUUUUS!

My pronouns are He/She, I’d like to be paired with a guy and I’m 20 so an adult pleaazee.

Personality wise, I consider myself super easy to talk to.I can easily be pulled out of my shell and talk to you like you’re a good friend, even if we’re just meeting. I have a strong sense of humor, my humor consisting of banter and keeping a bit going. I like to consider myself cool and relaxed, but I have the tendency to geek out, I’m kind of too excitable… I’m a big shit talker, just a little judgmental. I lack empathy just a bit. I still try my best to console, but I either don’t really understand it or…… care. I’ll come to the situation with logic and a level head, but if I’m upset, then it’s almost the end of the world (I’m dramatic). 

As for preferences I can’t stand someone who can’t communicate. I’m incredibly patient, but it gets to a point. I don’t need someone funny or someone who makes jokes, them thinking I’M funny is enough. I also would need someone who’s touchy-feely, maybe not affection wise, but I'm very hands-on; playful smacks when I'm laughing, smacking them on tha butt, sorrryyy!

For hobbies and stuff, I love art. Drawing is my biggest hobby, and it has been for years and years…! I'm also really into listening to music (Rock, metal, melancholic stuff, soo awesum) I also luuv smoking, but I don’t do it alot, baking/cooking is nice toooo.

I lean towards being feminine, I.e longer hair with bangs and stuff. I’m really particular about my hair, not that I want it to look nice and clean, it needs to be purposefully messy. I love piercings, I have an eyebrow, septum, and navel. I don't really dress up.. Comfortability > Fashion.  I don’t really know what else to add for appearance, erm I have a birthmark on my hip that’s shaped kind of like a heart, so that’s cute.

Agaainn thank you SOOOOO MUCH sorry for talking ur ear off, luv u <3

Alright, I'd match you with...

Illuso

I'd say that things with Illuso start out on a bit of antagonistic note. Due to your cool exterior and slightly judgy outlook, he might think you're a bit of a prick at first, which will evolve into somewhat of a one-sided rivalry. HE'S supposed to be the nonchalant asshole around here, and your wit is overshadowing his blatant insults and trolling. Expect plenty of snark and vulgar comments, he's not one for subtlety. However, once he realizes you don't actually give a shit about his trash-talking, or have any opinion on him one way or another, his attitude quickly shifts into, "oh fuck, I need them carnally." At that point his insults would turn into back-handed compliments and negging, he's not great at romance, ok?

I think you would catch onto his affections for you pretty quickly, but instead of him just telling you, like you would expect a grown-man to do, he continues with these weird displays of backwards attentions. Your patience for this would wear thin at some point, wich would devolve into an argument, which would lead to you point-blank telling him to just come out and tell you what he wants. And he reluctantly does so. He's surprised when you rather quickly reciperocate though, he expected you to stay pissed off at him, but now that everything's out in the open your relationship is clearer. You're in looooovveeee😏😏😏.

Your relationship would involve a lot of teasing and messing with each other, his stupid pranks and your sharp comments, but nothing ever crosses the line into genuine cruelty anymore, and real arguments are very rare. Most of your bonding and relationship building would occured after you started dating. You two were a bit to busy with bullying eachother and pining before, but now you have that time to really get to know each other. It's not long before you both have a very deep, intimate understanding of eachother, which you usually don't even use as ammunition for messing with each other. How sweet. You become very close to eachother, but with everyone else you're both still a bit...unconcerned. Your seemingly low empathy makes it easier for you to accept his line of work, so no issues every really arise there, other than when he's show up drunk out of his mind after celebrating a successful hit with the boys. He also loves to brag to his teammates about being the only one in a stable relationship.

Illuso lives for your humour, and he laughs like an absolute psychopath at almost any funny comment. His jokes are more just blatant insults, but you both love shit-talking so much that it works out anyways. And he is brutal, he holds nothing back, he'll bring up people's families, appearence, sexuality, trauma, nothing is held sacred to this man. He's also great at picking up on a bit and keeping it going if you lead, and will double-down on it no matter what.

I'd say he's pretty interested in your art, he's never really had a creative streak himself, so it's cool to him, he doesn't have much constructive criticism or anything to contribute other then "looks cool" but you still appreciate it. However, if you ever draw him, he becomes an avid art enjoyer, he wants you to draw him in every pose😏. He also loves to just point out random shit and say "draw that" and expect you to do so without question. And when you don't feel like it or say no, he acts like you've just insulted him.

"Why not."

"I don't want to."

..."rude."

Illuso will eat anything you cook or bake like a man starving, you'll be lucky to get a second serving of any meal you make. He likes to joke about you being his housewife, until you threaten to never make anything for him ever again, which usually shuts him up. He usually shows affection through gift-giving and physical touch, he will blow all of his money from a job on you in one night if you want him to, whatever you want. He's also very hands-on as well, you smacking him on the butt, or him messing up your hair will always lead to play fighting, which he loves, and play fighting will often lead to...

NSFW

...him wrangling you into a position to fuck you. He loves to see your face, so any position where that can happen is ideal for him. He likes seeing the look in your eyes when you're just drowning in the pleasure of it all. Early on in the relationship, lovemaking is almost like a sexual power-struggle, as you both feel out the dynamics you like. I believe Illuso would prefer being more dominant, but either way he always likes it very rough, especially if you e been a touch too snarky for his tastes that day. (JK he loves that actually but any excuse to fuck you will be exploited.)

Pinning you down is always a turn on for him, though he does make an effort to at least keep you in a comfortable position when he does. But he loves pinning your wrists to the mattress, pushing your head into the pillow, fingers fish-hooking your mouth open, he just needs his hands to be one you in some way. He's not super into BDSM but a pair of handcuffs keeping you in place against the headboard is always nice, and a leash and collar, on you or him might come into play once in a while. He isn't too experimental, but you have tried out fucking to the beat of a metal song once or twice, and that was fun, though he prefers to just go at his own pace. Which is usually hard, fast, and deep. You don't typically go for more then a couple rounds, he puts all his energy and aggression into sex, so you're both usually pretty wiped out after a while.

He knows you aren't really a fan of dressing up, and in the typical day-to-day he doesn't care, but he loves nothing more than dolling you up in lingerie when you're at home, you'll eventually have more than you know what to do with. He also likes to just...watch you sometimes. He might ask you to masturbate or use a toy while he watches, more often than not he's not even touching himself, just enjoying the view. If you indulge this for him, he'll definitely make it up to you later though.

He's a bit into PDA and exhibition, partially because of the rush, partially because when the mood just him it doesn't matter where he is, he wants you now. If you're comfortable with it, he'd love to put on a little show, and if not, he'll just drag you to a semi-public bathroom or dark alleyway. It isn't rare for him to use his stand to pull you into an isolated mirror-realm either. He isn't great at aftercare at first, he's used to passionate hook-ups and one night stands that are over as soon as he comes, but he knows that since he gets rougher with you, he needs to be more attentive to you afterwards as well. It's not long before you both find a nice way to help each other relax afterwards.

[cryoculus]

— reparations 02 ⟢

what resumé? i'm hiring myself as your number one helper!

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 5.3k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, kuki shinobu, thoma

★ NOTES; this is the fic that i started before we even got itto as a playable character, and the same one i have Yet to finish two years since his release lmfao i hope you enjoy what i have so far!

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

You slide the door behind you when you arrive at your parents’ house—breathing in the familiar scent of leftover incense with a sigh. 

“I’m home,” you call out, and you vaguely hear your mother respond with a distant, Welcome back! from the kitchen. You’re quick to slip off your shoes by the entrance before padding further inside.

“Just in time for lunch,” your mother says with a smile, ladle in hand as she stirs a pot of savory curry on the stove. “I was a bit worried about the text you sent. Is your friend alright? You said he had a concussion.”

The way she addressed Arataki as your ‘friend’ makes a chill run across the length of your spine. Last night isn’t the first time you’ve had to watch over someone at the hospital (your father is quite the regular patient himself). But having to do so for a certain gang boss with the social adeptness of a bake-danuki pushed your saintlike patience to the limits. It’s a good thing Shinobu arrived before you could strangle him to death.

“Yeah,” you tell her dryly. “His, uh, sister’s looking after him now.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” She grins. “Can you set the table and call your father, dear? He’s fixing a leak in the roof even if I told him you’re coming over. You know how he is.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Sure do.”

Being back home, despite your prior insistence to move out, slightly abates the negative energy you’ve accumulated earlier today. But no matter how nice the curry smells, and how sweetly your mother smiles at you, they aren’t exactly enough to make you forget the proposition offered to you this morning.

It’s ten minutes to seven when Arataki nudges you awake for the fifth time. You glare at him from your seat, noticing that you’ve developed a stiff neck overnight. “What do you want now?”

“Nothing,” he says, yet the intensity of his gaze tells otherwise. And despite having little to no sleep for the past few hours, Arataki looks irritatingly chipper. “I just realized that you’ve been listening to me blab about Onikabuto Royale championships for hours but I don’t even know your name yet. Shinobu asked you to stay here, right, nee-chan?”

You huff, getting back to your feet to ease the cricks in both your neck and joints. It takes you a while to dig for your phone in your pocket, but when you do, you read through a message Shinobu sent about half an hour ago. 

Shinobu [06:25]: I’m on my way, I hope he didn’t bother you too much

“You don’t even know the person who rents out your gang’s commercial space?” you question Arataki as you type a quick OK to Shinobu. “And, to clarify, she didn’t ask me to do this, I offered.” 

Arataki sits in silence for a few moments—looking especially skeptical of your answer. Though you don’t really have the time to chide him for it because you notice that the bag of IV fluid hanging next to his bed is about to run out. You’re planning to walk over to the nearby nurse’s station, but then you feel a large hand enclosing your wrist—tugging you back with enough force to rid you of whatever sleepiness lingered in your mind.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss, attempting to yank your arm back, but Arataki’s grip remains iron-tight. “I’m going to tell the nurses to replace your IV. You don’t want air getting into your veins, right?”

“I’ve been told I have lots of that in my head,” Arataki mumbles, and you wonder if he’s aware that he just insulted himself. “But, whatever. What happened last night… It’s all on me. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve been bothering me all night, yet you never told me what happened before that stunt you pulled in my shop. So are you going to spill, or am I just going to list you off as a big nuisance again?”

You probably shouldn’t be talking to your landlord in such a demeaning way. But any normal person would plead insanity after being subject to Arataki’s tendency to be a blabbermouth. All in a span of one night, you were lectured about trivial things you’d otherwise never give the time of day. From the different onikabuto breeds to the best instant yakisoba you can find in a convenience store—his reservoir of useless knowledge knows no bounds. 

It’s no wonder Shinobu looks older than she actually is. Listening to this guy drone on for hours on end probably took five years off your own lifespan, too.

“...You’re Ranpo-dono’s kid, right?”

The moment you feel Arataki’s hold loosen, you’re quick to detach yourself from him—lightly rubbing the spot where his fingers dug into your skin. Excessive force aside, you flash him a perplexed look.

How does Arataki know your dad?

“I don’t see why you need to know that,” you grumble. “Anyways, if you don’t have anything important to say—”

“Sorry I’m late!”

Right on cue, Shinobu ducks behind the partition curtains—still wearing last night’s clothes. Her backpack is nowhere in sight, so you assumed she might’ve dropped it off at home first before going here. Wordlessly, she marches right up to Arataki’s bed and glowers at him. You’ve been giving the guy the same look every time he tried to wake you up, though, which makes you think Shinobu’s intimidation might not be that effective. 

But, as if you haven’t been surprised enough for the last twenty-four hours, Arataki shakily pulls the covers up to his face.  

“Itto,” Shinobu begins, a vein popping on her head. “What mess did you get yourself into this time?” 

He coughs up a nervous laugh. “What do you mean? I was, uh, driving under the influence is all! Don’t be furious, Shinobu. It’s not like I killed anyone.”

“That’s not what the doctor told me.” She narrows her eyes. “And you dealt enough damage to that flower shop that the charges might be on-par with manslaughter if they decide to press any.” Shinobu thrusts a finger in your direction, making you gulp nervously. This is the first time you’ve seen her so expressive. “So you better have a good excuse for this, or I’m going to tie you to your office chair for the rest of your life.”

“Now, now. Don’t be like that!” Arataki pouts, giving you the horrifying image of a big-hulking man trying to look adorable. “How about this? I’ll tell you and the boys everything once I get out of this joint, and you can talk my ear off all you want after.”

Shinobu shakes her head, folding her arms over her chest. “Not enough, Itto. You’re starting to act reckless again. How am I so sure you’re not going to do the same thing behind my back?”

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought.”

Just listening to their conversation, you’re starting to feel a bit sorry for Shinobu now. On top of dealing with her final requirements until graduation, she’s stuck dealing with an insufferable boss. Imagining how she must’ve been holding up all this time gives you the jitters. You barely even managed one night looking after the guy!

“...and that’s why I want to strike a deal with you.”

It takes you a moment to realize that Shinobu is talking to you, and not her sorry excuse of a superior. She’s wearing the same, firm smile she always flashes every time she buys flowers from your shop. But despite Shinobu’s inviting demeanor, something tells you you’re not going to like what she’s about to say. 

With that, Shinobu clears her throat. “In line with our boss, Arataki Itto’s, unbecoming behavior—”

“Hey!”

“—I’d like you to consider letting the Arataki Gang offer you compensation. We’ll try our best to, ah, replace and repair everything that got destroyed. We’re also going to assign one of ours to help you out in your shop until you can manage on your own.” 

“...One of yours?” you ask. “Sorry, but who might that be?”

The deputy of the Arataki Gang takes your question in stride—lips twitching into an uncharacteristic smirk. You should’ve walked out right then and there.

“What better helper to have aside from the same man who caused you all this trouble in the first place?” Shinobu chuckles. “In other words, we’re going to offer you our boss as your personal slave.”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Arataki shouts. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“You revoked your own rights when you went against Section Three, Article One of the Arataki Gang’s Code of Honor,” Shinobu says, uncaring about the way her boss suddenly grabbed her by the front of her shirt. “Always inform fellow members about plans and actions that may implicate the Arataki Gang. Failure to do so is subject to disciplinary action. And Itto, inside voices please. We’re still at the hospital.”

“Like hell I care about that,” he hisses but lets go of Shinobu’s shirt. “I’ve got more important things to do than tend to some dumb plants, Shinobu. You know that.”

“Boss, you brought this upon yourself,” she groans. “Now man up and deal with the consequences of your—”

“...Shinobu, it’s okay.”

The two of them whirl their heads around to glance at you with lingering surprise. You’ve gotten up from the flimsy chair next to Arataki’s bed, already patting the non-existent dust off your clothes. If they notice the way your voice strains a little, they don’t comment on it.

“I appreciate the assistance for the repairs and replacements,” you say, awkwardly avoiding both their gazes. “But you don’t have to make him do something he doesn’t want to. Not everyone is cut out to be a florist anyways. Um, I’ll be going now. Just contact me if you need anything.”

“A-Are you sure?” Shinobu asks, clearly concerned. “It’s the least we could do for—”

“You’ve offered me plenty of help already,” you insist with a slightly forced smile. “If you still feel bad, just keep on buying flowers from my shop and we’ll call it quits.”

Arataki hasn’t spoken a word since his earlier outburst, but you can’t really look at him right now. You’re afraid you might say something you won’t be able to take back. But it’s not like it mattered, right? His gang’s going to pay for the damages in the end anyways. You don’t really need any form of support aside from that. 

“Some of our men are still guarding the shop as we speak. I told them not to leave until you arrived,” Shinobu informs, realizing there’s no changing your mind. “Take care on your way back. I’ll drop by tomorrow to assess the situation.”

“Yeah,” you tell her shakily. “See you there.”

And that’s how you left Inazuma General Hospital this morning—tearing up like a school girl all because of the shit some ingrate said about your line of work.

“Arataki?” your father repeats, setting his bowl of rice on the table. “You mean that gang leader from Hanamizaka? Has he been bothering you?”

“Uh, not exactly.” You take a sip from a glass of water, letting the cool sensation wash out your budding frustration. “I’m just curious because it seems like he knows you.”

Across the dining table, he strokes his chin, as if trying to recall something he’d long forgotten already. But when your father turns up with a clueless smile, you know you’ve just hit a dead end.

“Sorry, kiddo. I only know him because of his reputation,” he chuckles. “But if he ever tries to lay a hand on my little rascal—”

“Dad, I’m twenty-four years old.”

“—he’s going to have to answer to me, Takahashi Ranpo!”

Fortunately, your mother emerges from the kitchen with a plateful of mochi in hand—effectively silencing your father’s outlandish proclamations. You decide not to bring up Arataki nor the reason behind your trip to the hospital after that. Instead, you spend the rest of the time catching up with your parents as you happily chew on your favorite childhood treat.

“Oh, Andou-san from next door has a nephew who’s getting married in a few months,” your mother says. “She told me he wants you to oversee the flower arrangements both for the bridal bouquet and the venue. What do you say, sweetie?”

The news takes you slightly by surprise. Your shop is just as green as a germinating sweet flower seed, so you didn’t really expect to receive major bookings like this so soon. Plus, you still have to deal with the mess you’ve left at the shop. 

Despite having told Shinobu you’re going back to the scene, you decided to make a quick detour to your childhood home to get Arataki’s foul words out of your head. You’ve never been overly sensitive about what people said about your job. In fact, you’ve already gotten used to dismissive statements like that in college. A bachelor’s degree in Biology often implies that you’re pursuing medicine, so when you awkwardly stutter that no, you major in plant biology, most people will just brush it off with a laugh.

Which, of course, sucks like hell. But life doesn’t always turn up daisies, now does it?

“Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

When you finish washing the dishes, you bid farewell to your parents somewhat reluctantly. Lunch was great, and you kind of don’t want to go back to living alone just yet. But you remember that Mikan and your partially destroyed shop are waiting for you back at Hanamizaka. 

“Come back whenever you feel like it,” your father says, ruffling your hair like he always did since you were a kid. “I told you living alone can be a bit stifling sometimes.”

“I will,” you promise, lacing your shoes up by the entrance. “I’ll bring Mikan along next time. I think she misses mom’s tuna.”

“And I have more than enough for her when you both drop by again,” says your mother, reaching up to kiss your cheek. “Take care.”

Once you make it out of the house, your parents don’t move from the doorway until they’ve heard the telltale sound of the gate clicking shut. Your mother sighs.

“You know you’re going to have to tell them soon, right?”

Your father brings a palm across his face, breathing in somewhat sharply. When he closes his eyes, he quietly replies:

“I know.”

You didn’t really know what to expect when you got back.

When Shinobu told you that a bunch of gang members were hanging around the block to guard your shop, you expected them to be scattered across the area—intimidating everyone that dared to pass by your street. But what you come to discover, instead, are a bunch of men hard at work as they reinstall a new sheet of glass to replace your broken display window. Further inside the shop, you can see one group picking shards of the broken clay pots off the floor, while another is busy sweeping up the rest of the carnage. 

Have gangsters always been this...tidy?

 “Oi.”

You jolt at the sound of a deep, rugged voice coming from behind. It takes you a moment to meet the gaze of the guy that suddenly appeared behind you. But your initial dread is slightly quelled by the knowledge that he looks no older than sixteen.

“You the one who owns this place?” he asks, turning his head to spit on the pavement. Ugh. Gross. “If you ain’t the right person, you better skedaddle.” 

…Skedaddle? Did he just tell you to skedaddle?

“Um, no. I’m the actual owner,” you tell him, showing the ID in your wallet for some added proof. “You can consult with Shinobu if you don’t believe me.”

The teenage gangster sizes you up for a bit longer, and he looks like he’s about to voice out his skepticism until someone smacks him at the back of his head.

“Ow! Haru-nii, that frigging hurts!” he cries out, glancing at the newcomer spitefully.

‘Haru-nii’ is someone who looks considerably older—probably around your age. He slings a muscular arm around the poor boy’s shoulders before acknowledging you with a nod. “Hope you can forgive this little brat for acting so crass. Tora here doesn’t know how to distinguish friend from foe.” 

Sighing, you cast a sidelong glance at the state of your shop. The inside was relatively cleaner compared to the state you left it last night, and the gangsters managed to clean up most of the mess while you were away. By the time you’ve gotten your bearings straight, they were already finished installing your new window. You’d probably treat these guys to lunch if their boss wasn’t the one behind the casualties in the first place.

“Thanks for, uh, helping out,” you say, definitely not feeling all sorts of awkward right now. “Do you guys want snacks or anything?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Haru reassures before cupping his hands over his mouth. “Alright, boys, the owner of the property’s here. Let’s head out and visit the boss at the hospital.”

Tora perks up at the news. “Even the minors can go see the boss?”

“No, Tora. Minors aren’t allowed inside the emergency room. You guys are heading straight back to base.”

“God damn it!”

“Oi, what did Itto say about language before you’re eighteen?”

“...Gosh darn it.”

As the last of the Arataki Gang disperses from the area, you take the time to marvel at their quick repairs. It hasn’t even been a day since their boss hurled his motorcycle into your shop, but they made it seem like the incident never happened at all. Who knew gangsters had a knack for fixing things? 

The moment you remembered Arataki’s ridiculous motorcycle, though, you’re made aware of two things. The first is that the bike is no longer in your shop. His men probably wheeled it off to the nearest repair shop or something. The second is that the crocheted tanuki plush attached to the key to that same motorcycle is still in the back pocket of your jeans.

Now you have to involuntarily see that asshole again just to return it.

“Or I could just hand it to Shinobu tomorrow,” you realize half a second later, tossing Arataki’s keys in between your hands as you chuckle conspiratorially. “Yeah! That way, I don’t have to see that plant-hater ever again. Someone who likes bugs that much shouldn’t be trusted anyway.”

Mikan, thankfully, didn’t seem to give your neighbor a hard time. Ever since you moved here, Yoimiya has always been that one neighbor who’s always happy to help out. You kind of feel bad for assuming she might take the goods out of your cash register while you were gone.

“She was a nice little kitty!” Yoimiya gushes as she hands over your cat. “I took a day-off today, and she was such good company. Did you train her or something?”

You laugh softly as Mikan purrs in your arms. “She’s just more aware than most cats, I think.”

Deciding to follow in Yoimiya’s footsteps, you decide not to open up shop for today. Most of your regulars came in the morning anyways, and they were probably going to be too spooked by the influx of gang members to drop by. You’ll have to clear up the air soon, but for now that’ll have to wait. 

Once you fill Mikan’s food bowl with some canned tuna, your first order of business is to hop in the shower for a nice, hot bath. Scrubbing away the grime that accumulated from yesterday’s altercation has never felt more satisfying. But as you let the suds of shampoo soak in your hair, you’re abruptly visited by a memory that you’d rather keep locked up in a box, never to be recalled again.

The scent of engine exhaust was heavy in the air at the time. You still remember how loudly your heart pounded in your ears as Arataki reached out to touch your face. How those deep red eyes seemed glazed over with raw fascination. 

You’re so pretty.

A soft thud echoes in the tiled walls of your bathroom, accompanied by the pitter-patter of the shower against the floor. Your face feels a lot warmer than before, and you’re sure it isn’t from the hot water.

“Whywhywhywhy…”

Steam billows out of the door when you finally get your rushed shower over with. Like hell you’re going to spend another second thinking about that douchebag. But as you put on some more comfortable clothes to lounge in, you realize it’s only two hours past noon. You haven’t had a day-off in a while, so you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to make of all the free time. 

However, the moment you sit down on the couch, the day’s fatigue immediately comes crashing down on you once again. 

“Fuuuuck,” you mumble, lying on your side as you fish your phone on the coffee table. You placed it right next to Arataki’s stupid keys, and just looking at the stupidly adorable tanuki crochet is pissing you off. Why does a dick like him have something as cute as that?!

Me [14:15]: I’m bored and sleepy. 

Me [14:15]: What should I do?

It doesn’t even take two minutes for you to receive a reply.

Thoma [14:16]: Sleep definitely (－ω－) zzZ

Thoma [14:16]: Btw, Ayaka tried calling ur landline last night. She wanted to thank u for the flowers but u weren’t answering. 

Thoma [14:17]: U okay? Σ(°△°|||)︴

You end up staring at the blinking cursor on your screen. Shit. Should you tell them about what happened last night? But that might just cause unnecessary fussing, more on Thoma’s behalf than anything else. The evidence has been duly cleaned up by Arataki’s men anyways. Maybe you should just sweep all of this under the rug for the meantime. Your friends already worry about you a lot as is.

Me [14:23]: Yeah. Just rly tired. 

Thoma [14:24]:  ρ(- ω -、)ヾ(￣ω￣; )

Thoma [14:24]: We all have days like that.

Me [14:30]: …why are you using kaomojis

Thoma [14:31]: Ayaka said they were cute  ♡ ～('▽^人)

Not wanting to frustrate yourself about Thoma’s obvious yet inadmissible infatuation, you toss your phone somewhere in the mountain of throw pillows at your feet. You grab the remote to your TV with the intent of watching some noon-time soap opera, and Mikan seems to like that idea. She chooses that same instance to soundlessly prance over to the space in front of your stomach—making herself comfortable with a wide yawn. 

“It’s been a while since we hung out like this, huh?” you chuckle, scratching her ears affectionately. “Alright, marathon time.”

Five minutes into said marathon, however, you fall fast asleep. 

Is it normal to sleep for almost seventeen hours straight?

This is the first thought that occurs to you when you groggily paw around for your phone on the sofa. Your mouth is dry, and your stomach feels emptier than a used can of Mikan’s precious tuna. God, now you want tuna for breakfast-slash-late-dinner, too. 

The numbers on your lockscreen stare back almost mockingly. 05:57. Great! You slept through dinner all because you didn’t get any decent sleep the night prior. Although, it’s a miracle your dreams weren’t plagued by onikabuto battles and instant noodles. That just means your brain isn’t subconsciously making you think about Arataki Itto after all. 

There’s also a notification from an unknown number displayed, but you decide to check that for later. It’s probably an inquiring customer, and business hours don’t start until eight.  

You rise back to your feet, stretching out your limbs as you stifle a yawn. When you look around, Mikan is nowhere in sight, but you’ve gotten used to her morning strolls around the neighborhood. She might be a housecat for the most part, but that tabby does have a knack for adventure every now and again.

But you also realize that Arataki’s keys are no longer on the coffee table either.

Running your fingers through your bedhead, you make a quick search around your apartment—checking all the nooks and crannies where Mikan liked to leave dead lizards and mice for you to clean later. She must’ve mistaken the tanuki crochet as another candidate for her corpse collection. But twenty minutes in, you’re getting no leads.

“Don’t make me have to pay for it, damn cat,” you grumble, hastily putting on your slippers as you skip down the stairwell leading to the shop. 

The fluorescent lights are a bit much for someone who’s been dead to the world for nearly a quarter of a day. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you realize that someone is squatting outside the shop. You pulled down the shutters yesterday, so you can only make out a slight silhouette. But still. The sun’s barely peaked over the horizon, yet you already have pending customers? 

You have a last-minute debate about whether you should entertain them or make them wait an hour more. But the kindness of your heart eventually wins that argument, and you end up undoing all the locks on the front door before you can change your mind. When you finally see who’s crazy enough to drop by a flower shop so early in the goddamn morning, though… 

“What exactly are you doing here?” 

Arataki looks up from where he’s crouched on the sidewalk—still sporting the bandage he had yesterday. There’s an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth, but he’s quick to put it back inside a box he retrieves from his pocket. Interestingly enough, right in front of him is Mikan, who’s lying on her back as Arataki uses the familiar tanuki keychain to play with her. 

“I sent you a couple texts, didn’t I?” Arataki tells you nonchalantly. “Said I was gonna come over first thing today for my training.”

You blink. “Excuse me, your what? And I received no such texts, sir.”

The gang boss sighs, before rising back to his feet. There’s a bit of a lag in your thought process when you take in his appearance. His style seems a bit more traditional compared to most men in their twenties. He’s wearing a deep purple yukata that’s hanging half-open to reveal that ridiculously built chest (is that his trademark look or something?). Said scandalizing article of clothing is tucked inside a pair of gray pants, and you notice that he’s even wearing wooden geta sandals. In this day and age!

“Here,” Arataki sighs, showing you the screen of his phone and—oh.

Me [20:45]: yo this is arataki shinobu told me to work for you as an apology so im heading over tomorrow morning

Me [20:50]: she told me not to tell you she told me but thats kinda too late for now

Me [20:51]: shinobu is reading all this shit over my shoulder do you think i suck at texting too

Me [20:56]: anyway im expecting gruelling training tomorrow see ya there master

Your mouth hangs slightly agape as you read each text. The digits displayed on top of the screen are enough to prove that this number is, indeed, yours. How he got it in the first place, you hadn’t the slightest clue.

You’re not even sure whether you’re supposed to be stressed about his lack of proper punctuation marks or the fact that he just showed up because Shinobu told him to. Now he knows you kept his keys all this time, too! 

“So there’s that,” Arataki breathes. “And you never replied so I took that as a go signal.”

“Usually when you don’t receive a response, you shouldn’t act on your own,” you tell him. 

He only shrugs. “Silence means yes, right?” 

“...It’s way too early for this,” you groan, scratching your head irritably. 

To your annoyance, Mikan meows from her comfortable place on the sidewalk, almost like she’s begging for Arataki’s attention. Seriously, this cat is clingy to everyone but her owner!

“Come on, how bad can I be?” he asks, almost pouting as he leans against your newly installed glass window. “Taking care of plants is just like taking care of your pets, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s so much more complicated than that! And I didn’t even know you’re going to be discharged this soon,” you argue. “I kind of resent you for what you did to my place, but it’s all good now, okay? Your men already took care of the dirty work, see?” You then make an exaggerated showcase of the spotless display window. 

Arataki sighs, red eyes staring into the distance.

“I haven’t made up for being such an asshole to you yesterday, though.”

The silence of the early dawn rings in your ears as his words settle around the both of you. You’re acutely aware of how the morning dew chills your skin slightly, but for some reason, those few words are enough to warm you up—even just a little.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat before holding out his hand. “The name’s Arataki Itto. For the most part, I run an organization called the Arataki Gang. But for now, I’m a trainee and probationary employee at the Hanamizaka Flower Studio… Did I say that right? Eh, whatever. Pleased to meet ya, master.”

You think it’s a bit rude for you to wonder how much time he spent practicing that speech in front of a mirror. But Arataki seems like someone who's used to crowds and being the center of attention. You’ll have to applaud him for actually knowing the name of your flower shop, too. It’s only been less than a month since you’ve moved into the area, so most people only know your store as “the new flower shop at Sakura Street”. 

You’ve always considered hiring a helper around the shop—just one extra pair of hands would suffice, really. But you never expected that help to come in the form of a six-foot-something gangster who actually has a modicum of self-awareness. You feel a bit bad for talking shit about him in your head now. 

“W-What happened to ‘nee-chan’?” you grumble, not wanting to dwell on your false assumptions.

Arataki tilts his head slightly before snapping his fingers. “Oh, that. I realized that I’m older than you, so.” 

You scowl. “And how in the world did you realize that without asking me?”

“Shinobu has a copy of your national registry, remember? The one you’re s’posed to submit before signing the lease?” He chuckles as he leans back down to take Mikan into his massive arms. “Let’s just say I did my research, master.”

“Please stop calling me that,” you plead. “That’s too freaky, even for you.”

“Does this little thing approach people you call creepy?” he taunts, rubbing the tip of Mikan’s nose. “How about you start showing me the ropes now? We’re burning daylight, y’know?” 

There’s no way out of this—you realize bitterly. Arataki Itto is exactly the type of person to push your buttons until you ultimately surrender to his whims, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fine, fine!” you groan, stomping over to the front door as you swing it a bit too enthusiastically. “After you, my prized trainee.” 

Arataki raises an eyebrow but the look melts into a peal of laughter that makes something flutter in your chest. Damn it!

“Thank you, master~” he sing-songs, brushing past you with Mikan still snuggled comfortably in his arms. The moment he crosses your space, though, your senses are filled with the faint scent of cigarettes and something minty, just a tad bit sweet. You sigh.

This is going to be a long probationary period. 

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