#oc: the lee family

[yaniluvs]

⋆. ˚ ⛇☃︎ ⌇ 승민 : HOLD MY HAND ── you might have just crossed a boundary– catching feelings for your fwb, who is also your dormmate.

𓍯 fwb!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）3.3k ── ༯ TWOSHOT, fluff, 'apparent' unrequited love, tense, dormmates | friends with benefits, uni au, angsty, happy ending, short? ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ kim seungmin the man you are. suddenly im obsessing over fanfics so here's the outcome :3 comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy seungmo day and happy reading <3

the night was thick with the kind of silence that made every little sound feel magnified. the rustling of her sheets, the faint crack of his breathing, even the soft creaks of the bed beneath her felt louder than the thoughts swirling around in her restless head.

she turned over again for what felt like the hundredth time, face buried in her pillow as she tried to will herself to fall asleep. 

but her mind was wide awake, racing in that frustrating way it did sometimes, hopping from one thought to the next with no intention of slowing down. the warmth from the body beside her, instead of comforting you into rest, only added to your awareness. 

he lay still, his back rising and falling gently in rhythm. his arm, usually flung over her waist, had fallen away sometime in the night, giving her space, but her squirming was testing the limits of even his patience.

a loud sigh slipped out, unintentional but filled with the kind of frustration she only felt when she’s tired, and can't do anything about it.

she felt movement before she heard him, the mattress dipping slightly as he shifted beside her. “y/n,” he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, dripping with sleep. "what are you doing?"

startled, she froze. she hadn't meant to wake him. 

he really didn’t wake easily, so the fact that he was up meant she’d been tossing and turning for a while.

"sorry," she muttered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her as she turned on her side to face him. the dim light filtering through the window barely illuminated his face, but she could make out the mess of his hair and the way his eyes, barely open, squinted in her direction.

"seriously," he continued, rubbing his hand over his face before letting it drop lazily on his bare chest, his voice thick with sleep. "why are you moving so much?"

she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, biting her lip. "i can't sleep," she admitted quietly. 

it was a stupid response, one that obviously didn’t explain why she was writhing like a fish out of water, but it was the truth. she just couldn’t sleep.

he blinked at her, clearly processing her words through his sleepy haze. 

then, to her surprise, he shifted closer to her. his arm reached out, wrapping lazily around her waist, over the thin, black camisole she wore, as he tugged her towards him, pulling her into the familiar space against his chest.

"then just stop moving," he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair as his lips brushed against the top of her head. 

he wasn’t fully awake, that was clear. 

this was seungmin in his most unfiltered state, without the usual layers of sarcasm or that teasing grin he wore during the day. 

this was him in a space where he let her in more than either of them were willing to admit out loud.

his body was warm, radiating heat in a way that made her immediately feel guilty for disturbing him. his fingers, though a little clumsy with sleep, rubbed slow, lazy circles against her back.

the motion was surprisingly soothing. she let out a long breath, slowly sinking into him as her muscles began to relax.

"you’re restless," he murmured after a few seconds, his hand still moving against her back in that gentle way, keeping her anchored against him. his lips brushed the top of her head again, a ghost of a kiss that she wasn’t sure he even knew he gave. 

"always overthinking."

she felt her chest tighten at his words. he knew her too well. and maybe that was why it was so terrifying—the way he could see through her, even in his half-asleep state. 

but at the same time, it was why she kept coming back, why she never left his bed after nights like these. he knew her, and despite that, he stayed.

"i’m not overthinking," she mumbled, but the words lacked conviction. he let out a small scoff that vibrated against her forehead, assuring her that he was definitely conscious yet sleepy. cute. 

"sure," he muttered, but his tone was softer now, less teasing, more understanding. his hand slid from her back to beneath her the fabric that hugged her waist, fingers tracing mindless patterns across her skin.

"just… try to sleep."

"that’s exactly what i’ve been doing for the past—"

"shush."

at his lazy voice and his hand slowly prompting her figure, she nestled deeper into him, her body naturally curling against his, her cheek resting against his collarbone. 

he smelled like the faint traces of his vanilla scented cologne mixed with warmth—seungmin’s warmth, something uniquely his that made her eyelids feel heavier.

"close your eyes, and don’t focus on anything other than sleeping."

"i’ll sleep if you stop talking,"

he let out a quiet, annoyed breath, his grip on her waist tightening just a fraction, pulling her closer to him. 

"you’ll sleep," he replied simply, his voice now barely above a whisper.

his body was comfortable, solid against hers, and his steady breathing began to lull her in ways her own mind couldn’t. 

the itch to move, to toss and turn, slowly began to fade as his fingers danced across her clothed waist, occasionally slipping under the hem of the same camisole once again to skim her skin.

she wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, caught in a limbo between wakefulness and sleep, with his heartbeat beneath her ear acting as her lullaby. 

but eventually, the weight of the day began to catch up with her.

just as she was on the cusp of sleep, she felt his lips brush against her forehead, barely there, like a secret.

"sleep well," he whispered, so soft that she almost missed it.

"night, seung.." she whispered back, letting herself finally fall into sleep, comforted by the fact that, for now, things were exactly how they were supposed to be.

no nonchalance. no heavy talks.

just the quiet, unspoken connection that somehow made it all make sense.

next morning. 

the first thing she noticed was the cold.

it wasn’t the kind of cold that came from a draughty window or a forgotten blanket. 

not really. 

no, this was the absence of warmth—the absence of him. 

her body, once cocooned in his embrace, now lay exposed to the chill of the early morning air. 

she blinked her eyes open slowly, the sunlight beginning to creep through the half open curtains, painting the room in soft shades of orange and gold.

but his warmth? gone. just like always.

with a heavy sigh, she turned her head toward the empty space beside her, the sheets already cooling where his body had been only a few hours before. 

the faintest outline of his presence was still visible—a wrinkle in the bedding, the faintest impression of his form in the pillow. 

but seungmin? he was long gone.

it had become a routine by now, one she was all too familiar with. no matter how late the night before — no matter how close their bodies were tangled up in each other, or how intimate the way he held her — he always left before she woke. 

sometimes, she’d wake in the middle of the night, find him still there, his arms snug around her waist, his breath soft against her hair. but by morning? always gone.

she stretched out a hand, her fingers brushing against the cold pillow where his head had been, and a familiar pang of emptiness settled in her chest. 

it wasn’t like she expected anything different. this was their agreement, after all — being friends with benefits, emphasis on the “friends” part. 

no strings attached. no feelings to complicate things.

just two music majors, as close as dorm-mates, fulfilling their hollow desires. 

or at least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

with a groan, the girl pulled herself up into a sitting position, running a hand through her messy hair as she stared at the empty side of the bed for a moment longer. 

the apartment was quiet, the early morning stillness only punctuated by the faint sound of birds chirping outside the window. if she strained her ears, she could probably hear him in the kitchen, going about his morning routine like nothing had happened. 

like they hadn’t spent half the night wrapped up in each other’s arms, skin pressed to skin, whispered breaths filling the silence between them.

pushing the thought aside, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, the cool floor beneath her feet sending a brief shiver up her spine. 

she grabbed her robe from the back of the door and wrapped it around herself, over her camisole, tying the belt with a quick knot before stepping out of her bedroom.

as expected, he was already in the kitchen.

the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the small apartment, mingling with the sound of soft clinking dishes. he stood at the stove, back turned to her as he focused on whatever breakfast he was making. 

his hair was still slightly tousled, sticking up in a few places from sleep, but otherwise, he looked like his usual self — calm, collected, completely unfazed by the night before.

yet, adorable. enough for her to fold over. 

she lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him. he was wearing a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, his usual morning attire, and he moved around the kitchen with an easy grace, like he belonged there. 

like this was just another normal day.

because to him, it was.

or, at least that’s what she assumed. 

she sighed, pushing the door of his room open a little wider as she stepped out of it, walking to the kitchen. 

"morning," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

seungmin glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable as always, yet he gave her a tiny smile, which she knew was genuine. 

"morning, insomniac." he replied, as if he hadn’t left the bed they shared, just an hour ago.

she made her way to the counter, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee from the pot he had brewed, a small smile tugging her lips at his reply. 

she leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers wrapped around the warm mug of coffee. she took a small sip, letting the heat spread through her as she watched the guy move around the kitchen with his usual quiet efficiency. 

but as she took another sip of her coffee, she couldn’t help but feel the growing weight of those unspoken feelings, the ones that clung to her chest like a secret she didn’t want to acknowledge.

she glanced at him again, the way his hair was still a little messy, the way he absentmindedly hummed under his breath as he cooked. her chest fluttered, just a bit, at the sight.

“slept well, did you?” 

his voice broke through her thoughts, casual as ever, but there was a softness to it – obviously since he already knew the answer, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

she shrugged, setting her mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “surprisingly,”

he didn’t respond right away. he flipped the eggs with practised ease before turning off the stove, and when he turned around to face her, there was something unreadable in his eyes. his usual teasing smirk was absent, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful.

she was sitting on the chair, fingers idly tracing the hem of the mug, gaze right on it but mind elsewhere.

for a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy with all the things they never said. 

the guy’s heart did that stupid thing again where it skipped a beat whenever she seemed like that – he could see straight through her.

her baby hair framing her face, the sunlight bouncing off of the curves of her head. pretty, black, eyes concentrated on the green mug, carrying the same depth they always did, and he would oh so fondly dive into them.

“coffee too strong?” he asked, breaking the silence as he moved to pour himself a cup.

she let out a small breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “it’s fine, just kinda tired,” she chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze. 

“how.. about you? sleep well?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “slept fine until someone decided to practise gymnastics at 3 am.”

his words were teasing, but his voice was gentle, and for some reason, that made her heart skip a beat again. 

she awkwardly smiled, scratching her arm, a habit she grew familiar with, and he knew it quite well.

“i’m sorry, i was– warm, okay?”

he chuckled, “warm, and sleep-deprived but lost in thought? yeah, i know,” he replied softly, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary before he looked away, focusing on his coffee instead.

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he always knew. even when she didn’t say anything, even when she tried to brush it off, he always knew.

she hated that about him. and she loved it too.

“thanks.” she suddenly murmured, “i mean, for uh, h-helping me sleep. last night.”

he smiled, this time, softer than ever. “it’s nothing. at least you had a good sleep after.. i don't know, weeks?” 

“it wasn’t that long!”

he shot her a look that she knew too well.

“okay maybe it was. but that doesn’t matter for now,”

the corners of his lips curled up at her indignant reply, but he didn’t press further, simply shaking his head as he took another sip of his coffee. 

his eyes flicked back to her, soft and observing, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in the simplicity of the scene – the quiet morning, the soft golden light filtering through the windows, and her, sitting at the counter, her sleepy, tousled appearance making her look unfairly adorable.

for a while, they just stayed like that, bantering and sipping their coffee, the easy silence between them filling the room. 

it wasn’t awkward. it was never awkward with him. 

that was part of the reason she kept coming back to this – whatever this was. it was easy. comfortable. 

but lately, that comfort had started to come with a twist – a knot of feelings tangled somewhere deep in her chest that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

his eyes were still on her, his teasing grin fading into something more thoughtful as the quiet stretched between them.

“you’re doing that.. thing again,” he said suddenly, voice low.

she blinked, tilting her head. “what thing?”

“the thinking thing. the kind that keeps you up all night.”

she felt her cheeks flush slightly and quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her coffee instead. “i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in, his voice soft but firm. he set his mug down on the counter and took a few steps closer, stopping just a foot away from her. 

“you get this look when you’re overthinking. your eyebrows scrunch up, and you kind of space out, like you’re solving the world’s most complicated puzzle.”

her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how easily he read her. “so you stare, hm?” she grinned, trying to lift away the tension.

she didn’t know what to say, so she just stared down at her coffee, feeling a little too exposed under his knowing gaze.

“it’s kinda hard not to.” he replied a minute later, the same expression on his face.

“well, i’m not always thinking about something.. deep.” she mumbled, but the protest was weak, and she knew it. “it’s just about uni, and other stuff, nothing to worry about.” she shrugged.

seungmin just chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made her chest flutter. “sure,” he teased lightly, but then his voice softened. “look, if something’s bothering you—”

“nothing’s bothering me,” she interrupted quickly, her gaze flicking back to him, trying to muster a convincing smile. “i’m fine.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “you know, for someone who’s known me this long, you’re terrible at lying.”

she let out an exaggerated groan, sinking further into her chair as she covered her face with her hands. “you’re so annoying,” she muttered, but there was no real heat behind her words.

“i try my best,” he quipped, the smirk back in full force. but then his expression softened again, and after a beat, he reached out, his hand ruffling her hair gently. “but seriously, y/n. if you need to talk, i’m here.”

she peeked out from between her fingers, surprised by the sudden contact. his hand was warm, his touch soft and uncharacteristically gentle. she wasn’t used to this side of him—the one that was careful with her, the one that wasn’t constantly teasing or sarcastic. it made her chest tighten in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“i know,” she whispered, her voice small.

he gave a small nod and pulled his hand back, leaning against the counter again like nothing had happened. “good.”

the room felt warmer now, despite the cool morning air seeping through the windows. her heart was beating a little faster, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of his touch or the way his gaze lingered on her for just a second too long.

she cleared her throat, desperate to break the tension that was creeping in. “so,” she said, trying to sound casual. “what’s for breakfast?”

almost 5 minutes later.

“you know,” she spoke, her voice casual now. “you’re really good at this.” she took a bite of the toasted bread, looking at him.

he glanced at her over his shoulder, flipping the last omelette, eyebrow raised. “good at what? making breakfast?”

“what? no,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes judging him. “why do you think i don’t let you make lunch or dinner? i don’t want to be fined because someone blew up the oven.”

“hey, i'm not that bad,” he glanced her way, defending himself. “i’m literally making breakfast right now.”

“you’ve cooked the same eggs or burnt pancakes for breakfast for almost 4 weeks in a row, seungmin.” she rolled her eyes, speaking again. “but, what i meant was.. you’re good at comforting me.”

for a second, the air between them shifted, the teasing banter falling away as her words hung in the space between them. he turned fully to face her now, his expression softening as he met her gaze.

“well,” he said slowly, his voice soft, “you make it pretty easy.”

her heart did that stupid fluttering thing again, and she quickly averted her gaze, suddenly feeling shy under his intense stare. “you’re such a sap,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the usual bite.

he chuckled, his smile reaching his eyes as he turned back to the food, finishing plating the eggs and toast for himself. “maybe,” he admitted, sliding on the chair beside her. “but only for you.”

she blinked, silently, as her heart skipped a beat at his words. she stared at him, but he didn’t seem fazed by what he’d just said, casually sitting down across from her and taking a bite of his toast like he hadn’t just made her entire world tilt on its axis.

oh, but little did she know, he was as surprised as her at those words leaving his mouth. the fluttering feeling inside his heart, the way she was looking at him, when he tried so hard to act nonchalant.

she picked up her fork, her hands suddenly feeling clumsy as she poked at her food.

[puppppppppy]

vincent voice claim!! hes auggie and anton's son ^_^

VA: Catbug from Bravest Warriors, voiced by Sam Lavagnino

[annepsilvaauthor]

Begin Again - Lee Dutton

Pairing: Lee Dutton x OC (Natalie WentWorth)

Summary: The life of renowned lawyer Natalie WentWorth was quiet in Boston, but everything changed when she received a call from a former Harvard colleague, Jamie Dutton. After reflecting a lot, Natalie agreed to solve some problems at the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch, but she did not imagine that her life would change completely when she arrived in Montana. One of the reasons for this change was Lee Dutton, the eldest son of John Dutton, cowboy and livestock agent, who would represent all the comfort she needed to have in the midst of the chaos of the Dutton family. Natalie could begin again at that ranch.

Warnings: Subtle sexual innuendos, brief language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, fluffy.

Parte II

Boston folks

Natalie stared at the steering wheel, frustration bubbling over. She turned the key in the ignition once more, but all she got was the same pitiful click. Her Volvo refused to start, as stubborn as she was. After everything—being brushed off by John Dutton, navigating a tense auction hall full of Montana’s roughest ranchers, and dealing with Jamie’s half-baked plans—the last thing she needed was a dead car.

She leaned her forehead against the wheel, taking a deep breath. She’d been at this for what felt like forever, but the car wouldn’t budge. Damn it.

Just then, she heard the unmistakable rumble of a truck pulling up behind her. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"Car trouble, Miss Wentworth?" Lee’s voice carried that familiar mix of amusement and concern. He was enjoying this far too much.

She sat up straight, took another breath, and forced her face into a mask of calm before turning to face him. "Nope. Just sitting here for fun."

Lee chuckled, his grin widening. He stepped closer to her window. "Need a hand, or are you too proud to admit defeat?"

Natalie narrowed her eyes at him. "I’m perfectly capable of handling my own car, thank you very much."

"Sure you are," he said, leaning against the side of her car, clearly settling in for a long conversation. "But you’ve been at it for a while now, haven’t you? You can keep fighting it, or you can let me help."

She glanced down at the key in her hand, contemplating her options. She hated asking for help, especially from someone like Lee who seemed to think he had the world figured out. But, unfortunately, so did her car.

With a heavy sigh, she turned back to him. "Fine. You win. What can you do?"

Lee straightened up, a cocky grin playing on his lips. "That’s more like it." He walked around to the front of her car, lifted the hood, and took a look. After a few minutes of tinkering, he stepped back and shrugged. "Looks like your battery’s shot. I can tow it for you if you want."

Natalie pursed her lips. "I didn’t realize Montana hospitality involved towing cars for damsels in distress."

Lee gave her a look. "You ain’t no damsel, but we help our own out here. Whether they like it or not."

She crossed her arms, stubbornness flaring up again. "I don’t need rescuing."

"No one said you did," he shot back, heading toward his truck. "But you do need a ride. Now, unless you plan on walking to your new apartment, I suggest you let me do what I’m good at."

She bit her lip, watching him as he hooked up her car to his powerful truck. The man was infuriating, but there was no denying he knew what he was doing. Eventually, she relented, slipping out of her car and making her way toward his truck.

"Just… don’t think this means I owe you anything," she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Lee drawled, sliding into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life beneath them. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Natalie found herself watching the landscape pass by, the mountains cutting into the sky like jagged teeth.

After a few moments of silence, Lee glanced over at her. "You know, you could’ve just flown in. Would’ve saved you a lot of trouble."

Natalie shrugged, her eyes still on the horizon. "I don’t like flying."

He raised an eyebrow, expecting more. "Bad experience?"

"No," she said simply. "I just don’t like it. I like driving. I like the control, the speed. The feeling of being on the road. Planes… they take that away from you."

Lee chuckled softly. "You like speed, huh? That why you drove thirty-six hours straight just to deal with a bunch of stubborn ranchers?"

She smirked. "Among other things."

He shook his head, half-impressed, half-amused. "You Boston folks are something else."

Natalie shot him a look. "Oh really? And what makes us so different from you ‘cowboys’?"

Lee grinned. "Well, for one thing, we don’t mind helping folks out when they need it. Seems like you city types are too busy trying to prove something all the time."

She bristled at that. "That’s not true. In Boston, people help each other. We just don’t go around assuming everyone needs saving."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think this is? Me trying to save you?"

"You tell me," she retorted. "I didn’t ask for your help."

"No," he agreed, his tone calm. "But that doesn’t mean you didn’t need it."

Natalie opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. She hated that he had a point. Back in Boston, she was used to fending for herself. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and asking for help was seen as a weakness. Here, though, things were different. People just… helped, without expecting anything in return. It was disconcerting.

"I guess we see things differently," she muttered after a moment. "In the city, no one has time to stop and offer help. Everyone’s too busy."

"Maybe that’s the problem," Lee said quietly, glancing at her. "Out here, we don’t see kindness as a weakness. We just see it as the right thing to do."

She scoffed. "Kindness? You call this kindness? You’ve been teasing me non-stop since we met."

"Hey, I’m just having a little fun," he said, smiling. "Can’t blame me for trying to lighten the mood."

"I can, actually," she replied dryly. "And I will."

He laughed, his deep, warm chuckle filling the cab of the truck. "Alright, alright. I’ll tone it down. But you’ve got to admit—it’s better than sitting in silence, brooding."

"I don’t brood," she snapped.

"Could’ve fooled me," Lee teased. She shot him a glare, but he just smiled wider.

They fell into a more comfortable silence after that, the tension between them easing as they drove. When they reached her new apartment building, Lee parked the truck and got out to unhook her car.

As he finished up, he turned to her. "Need help with your bags?"

Natalie shook her head immediately. "I can manage."

Lee leaned against his truck, folding his arms over his chest. "You sure about that? You don’t have to prove anything to me, you know."

"I don’t need your help, Lee," she insisted, her voice firm. "Just because I’m from the city doesn’t mean I’m incapable of carrying my own bags."

He chuckled. "Never said you couldn’t. Just thought it might be nice for you to take a break, is all."

"I don’t need a break," she replied sharply. "I’ve been taking care of myself for years, and I’m not about to stop now just because some cowboy with a hero complex thinks I should."

Lee’s smile faded, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, Miss Wentworth. Have it your way."

She nodded once, satisfied. But as she grabbed her suitcase from the back seat, she couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was still standing there, watching her with that infuriating calmness, like he had all the time in the world.

Finally, she spoke up. "Why do you even care? You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything."

Lee shrugged. "Doesn’t have to be that complicated. Sometimes, it’s just about doing what feels right."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of his words. In Boston, everything was calculated. People didn’t do things without a reason. But here, in this strange, wild place, people seemed to operate on a different set of rules—rules she didn’t fully understand.

"Maybe you’re right," she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

Lee smiled again, but this time it was softer, less teasing. "Maybe I am. Or maybe we just see the world differently."

With that, he tipped his hat and climbed back into his truck. "Good luck with the rest of your night, Miss Wentworth. If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

She watched him drive off, the rumble of his truck fading into the distance. As she carried her bags inside, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her time in Montana was going to challenge her in ways she never expected.

And somehow, she didn’t entirely hate the idea.

[braemjeorn]

CHAPTER XIX [masterlist]

pairing: bang chan x ofc

genre: general audience

notes/warning: general audience, fluff, angst, relationship discussion, age gap concerns, domesticity, tissues might be necessary

wordcount: 3.2k

summary: well-settled ending.

also available in ao3, if you prefer that format

© Do not repost, copy, or republish into another site or under another name.

⚠️ All characters that shares the name of real life person in this story are represented in a fictional manner for entertainment purpose, and not to be alluded with real life.

TAGLIST: @spookykryptoniteperson @nixtape-foryou @do-you-know-what-else-is-big

The country was quiet in the summer. Few families remained in the country in favour of the bustle and the cheery capital. Mari revelled in the tranquillity, finding some wicked mischief to rush and trample about the hills with unladylike steps, laughing as no one was looking at her. She descended a hill one day and had rounded up a turn in the road to return to the cottage when Inha appeared from the other side, calling out and rushing to her in relief.

“Mari, how could you forget?” she exclaimed between gasps, locking her arms with Mari's. “Changjin—Mr Noh that is, wishes to meet Mr Park, and the entire house is invited as well for Mrs Park’s cakes and lemonade…and we just let you walk off for the hills!”

Mari winced when the recollection resurfaced. “I’m sorry, it escaped me"

“As it did mine!” Inha laughed. “Imagine how hankered I was running out of the house to chase you back, gasping with Mother scolding behind me.”

Mari teased the other girl with an accurate impersonation of such gasps, enough to make Inha laugh and shake Mari in mock offence. In such humour they turned to the parish, opening the small gate to Mrs Park’s fine garden. Their hostess was soon by the door to receive them, ushering them in with a bright smile. 

“Come in, come in! Quite the assembly we have gathered now,” Yoo Minseo chirped, taking Mari and Inha by the hand to the sitting room. “Mr Kang, Commodore Bang, we have our final company. This is Ahn Inha, Mrs Ahn’s daughter, and you Mari.”

Mari jerked still from undoing her hat. Few noticed her rigidity as the two men rose—Mr Kang and Commodore Bang in the flesh—and greeted Inha politely. Then they turned Mari’s way, who remained still with wide eyes.

“Dear, Miss Son, do you think of us as ghosts?” Mr Kang chuckled, approaching her with an open hand. Mari let out a deep breath and took his hand warmly.

“How do you do? I can scarcely believe you are here, Mr Kang.” She turned to his companion and felt a flush rising on her cheek while her throat tightened. Mari inclined her head. “You as well, Commodore Bang. I thought I would not see you again.”

He was a warm sight to behold: forest green waistcoat under a black coat and his favoured high boots over dark breeches. A curl fell over his brows while his lips lifted in a smile when his bright eyes met hers. Commodore Bang held out his hand for hers, which he lifted to touch his lips upon her knuckles. “And yet, here we are.”

“My friend is to thank for,” Mr Kang interjected, turning all eyes to Mr Park. “He’s very much the generous host.”

“I ought to be, am I not?” Mr Park returned as his friend clapped him in the back. “My dear Mrs Park, we do have cakes today?”

“Indeed we do,” Mrs Park replied. “It shall be out in a few moments. Please have some lemonade first.”

Mari moved to sit beside her, holding her hand out for the baby in Minseo’s arms. Jiwoo was removed to her lap, relieving his mother’s hold to pour the drinks.

“Mari child, why do you sit apart so?—Are they not your acquaintances?” Mrs Ahn called out from her seat beside Mr Noh.

“They are,” Mari replied. “But why not make them your acquaintances for now?”

The others laughed good-naturedly at her quip; Mr Noh resumed the conversation by inquiring to Commodore Bang of his estate. Mari looked up to find him describing the state of Barlnshore, to everyone's rapt attention. She shifted Jiwoo closer, clucking her tongue to the confused baby. Mrs Park, Yoo Minseo that is, poured her some lemonade and cut her a piece of cake. She was a few years older than her and Inha, with a youthful and unaffected air that easily drew the three of them close the moment she appeared in the parish.

“How did you manage it?” Mari found herself asking.

Minseo’s wide eyes turned to Mari. “Manage what?”

“Was it hard?” Mari asked again, then lowering her voice, “Being married to Mr Park?”

She remembered seeing an unfamiliar bonnet with white and blue flowers that Sunday morning, sitting at the foremost bench. Mrs Ahn had seated them two seats behind, but Minseo had heard them arriving, then turned and bowed with her greetings. Mr Park had made the introductions at the end of the service; she impressed Mari with her sensible air, who was still in disbelief with Inha that Mr Park Sungjin had gotten himself a wife. But the few outings after she saw how well they suited each other—Minseo somehow had managed to persuade the vicar to play cricket with the other gentlemen—and how the parish household flourished better under their union.

“Not because he’s a priest or…I presume to know of his character. But your age is quite… different,” Mari shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing but—I wonder if it makes things difficult?”

Minseo chuckled. “It might be different with other people. I’ve rejected three proposals,” she added hushedly.

For all their talks about music and lace trimmings, this was one thing Mari had not expected of the lady. Her mouth gaped before whispering, “Three?!”

“Before I met Mr Park—and I never thought that I was good enough in the Lord’s favour to ever think that I would be suitable to support a man of His words. But Mr Park was pleasant—and I enjoyed his company better than the previous gentlemen. Then one night, he was elaborating a Bible verse in my cousin’s parlour and did it so well that—I thought what a wonderful man he is to have as a husband, for he was a wonderful man otherwise. And my little heart prayed—that if he is the one for me, if he liked me as well as I did him and God gave us his blessing—I might have an Angel’s strength and guide to be what he needs of me. Of course, Mr Park laughed when I told him of it during our engagement. I thought he might not receive my jokes well, but he proved me wrong many times. Our housekeeper remarked how often I made her master laugh compared to his bachelor years.” Minseo let out a small laugh. “I think since we share many points of interest and value—the understanding necessary to build marriage is not hard to hone, despite the age difference.”

“You do compliment each other well,” Mari mused.

“I was quite prepared to bother my brother by being dependent on him, or settle for someone worse,” Minseo shrugged. “I ended up happily here, though it took some time. I couldn’t ask for anything more, with him and little Jiwoo here.”

The little girl turned at being mentioned by her mother; she babbled and reached her hands out. Mari let her move to another lap, turning to take a sip of her drink and a bite of the cake. Mr Park had called his wife into the conversation, with Mr Kang's questioning. Mari heeded a few of their remarks about hometowns and travels. Her gaze flitted to Commodore Bang’s figure and quickly shifted away when finding his attention on her. The windows were open and the hearth cool, like the lemonade in her glass. Still, she felt it took minutes for the heat in her cheeks to recede acceptably and let her look up again. Mr Kang and Mr Park were teasing one another of their youths, dragging the room into mirth. A breeze picked up then behind Mari from the door opening to the side garden. It was rather cloudy, but she set her glass on the table and turned to her hostess.

“May I walk ‘round your garden?”

“Of course, dear,” Minseo hummed. “The rhododendrons are lovely this time of the year.”

Mari slipped away among the chuckles and rising voices; only Inha took notice of her, and Mari quietly excused herself as she passed. The breeze rose again, engulfing her entire form and caressing her cheeks. The flowers were lovely, as Mrs Park had said. Mari only glanced at them, noting a few open blossoms before trailing to the gate, unlatching the little door and ambling to a nearby oak.

Even in the open air, breathing took too much effort. Three months had passed and the rhythms of her previous life had picked up its pace around Mari. There was the new school term to prepare for after summer and Inha’s wedding. Those were something to occupy her mind and hands, and on the day they were idle she’d walk far. Though soon she found out her mind would wander and think of Barlsnshore, wondering and undesirably aching. Such little time for her mind allowed reflection and acceptance slower into her consciousness. But it came and settled, some miraculous way and another.

Then during the walks, she found herself calling at neighbours from out the gates, though only sitting down twice at the parish with Mrs Park. There was news to hear and neighbours and parties to be concerned about, enough to immerse her back in the neighbourhood. She evaded frequent inquiries of her work as a governess and cut them short—not that it helped to enquire of their sons, her previous pupils. Most were Minho and Changbin’s age, out of Mrs Ahn’s school to further institutions for boys. Yet these were few, by and by soothed with time to ease and low simmering reminiscence. Then the Commodore came—directly to the heart of her neighbourhood, of all things!—hale and smiling, not a touch of change in him.

Mari thought her tears would fall when he spoke to her if not for the company distracting her. How good it is to see him. She had missed him so, yet being in such proximity was too much for her mind. Out of surprise, her heart had decided to rush up and down her being, only the reminder that he was unattainable to the end of times let some cool—if not heavy—calmness fall over her. She does not know if she can return inside. As a proper guest, she must; but perhaps she can give Minseo the excuse of a sudden headache and sit on the roots of the oat and lean back to its solid trunk instead, letting the breeze embalm and lull her.

“Mrs Park kept a fine garden.”

Mari started, rising as she registered the figure to her left. But Commodore Bang raised his hand just as fast, easing her. He greeted her with a bow, which Mari returned.

“It’s her speciality.” She smiled, “She does the parish proud.”

Commodore Bang lowered his hands, and Mari walked up beside him, heading back to the house where the windows were open at its side. It was like her last afternoon; she led this time, and he stepped easily with her. Mari dared not look at him, fiddling with her fingers at her front. But the Commodore Bang took the lead in conversation, “How are you, Miss Son?”

Mari nodded. “Well. I hope you are the same, sir.”

“Delighted to see you well.” 

His words were soft and earnest; she took a full breath before asking in return, “How are the boys?”

“Rambunctious. But that you know.”

Mari bit a chuckle, “Minho and Changbin?”

“They will attend school at the end of summer,” Commodore Bang replied, picking up her meaning. “They will torture me back home, once they hear I rode away and came here to—...came and see you.”

This time she let out a small chuckle and felt him glance at her. “Is Minatozaki-san well?” she asked

“Sana is in good health.”

Mari hummed, much pleased. The housekeeper had kept her promise and sent a letter two weeks ago—perhaps late, but Mari did not mind the news. Though some parts of it quirked her bewilderment. She supposed she could ask of it from the Commodore—steeling her voice to be detached, “What of Lady Jang?”

“Nayoung?” A pause, two steps. “I haven’t heard from her for a while, though I believe she is well,” he murmured, and Mari started. 

“Aren’t you two…?” she turned to the Commodore, stopping their pace. “The wedding is proceeding surely? Are congratulations in order? I left without extending it.”

“It was dissolved.”

“What?”

“The engagement.”

Mari blinked, “What?” 

“Yes,” Commodore Bang nodded.

“But the boys—what… I thought you intended for them to have a… new mother?”

“I still intend to,” the Commodore started slowly. “But Lady Jang settled it between us how inadequate she felt for the position, so we made an understanding of her stepping back that day before she left. Which also dissolves our engagement. I spoke of it to a mere few—but it’s not something you should worry about. It was our mutual wishes as friends, no party is at a disadvantage.”

Marii stared away, taking in the news and rewinding the days after Baroness Jang had left. All those sunny days—was that the reason for his lighter air? Birds chirped from the trees about them, and she turned back to the Commodore as nagging anxiety returned to her, “Then what will you do? What of the boys?”

Commodore Bang stared at her, then licked his lips and started carefully. “Miss Son, you like Barlnshore. Still?”

“Of course,” Mari said. “I meant my praises.”

“Good.” Commodore Bang nodded a few times. His voice was fainter when he spoke again, “Would you…would—” 

He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. Mari tilted her head, frowning. It wasn’t like the Commodore to lose his composure. Heavens—all these months she thought he would be doing well, growing happier and more contented in his new family. Yet here came, a harriedness in his eyes. Those orbs glanced back at her before turning towards the bushes, somewhat abashed.

“Jeongin asked if I like you and if I'd marry you instead,” he slowly intoned.

Mari’s stomach twisted inside her. It was a miracle she did not faint despite the tightening of her heart and the flush rising to the tips of her hair happening simultaneously.

“He’s but a boy, you must excuse him,” the Commodore reasoned, unaware of Mari’s stillness (as if she would begrudge the youngest anything.) “But I cannot help but feel that he perceives things better than I do.”

He dared a look at her, and very much aware of her spooked figure, Mari wondered if one could blush purple. 

“That boys are far too frank at times,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Commodore Bang laughed, eyes fixed on her. “In such a way that I cannot help but acknowledge some… truth, at his suggestion. The house was very empty without you, Miss Son,” he added softly.

Something in Mari slacked and she shook her head and shifted back, “I cannot…”

“There was one dreary cold, snowy morning after the new year,” Commodore Bang cut her. “I saw you at the top of the stairs; you saw me and bid good morning—you smiled at me. At that moment, a while after I returned your greetings, the sun peeked through the clouds and rained on you with its warm light. I was rather stunned if you remember. You looked magnificent, in that golden light. But even without the sunrays, just with your smile and your soft words… I was reminded how a particular person’s mere presence can make a miserable day delightful. For such are the days with you—you make my days, my every moment brighter and lovelier. You warmed my heart when I never thought it would chip away from the cold. I would crave and claim able to cherish that warmth—but I don’t think I have that much… I am not worthy, dear Mari, you are too good for me—you are, aren't you?”

“Sir, you are a baron—I am the one who’s nothing to you,” Mari whispered.

Commodore Bang shook his head. “You are no less honourable—”

“I’m just a teacher,” she insisted. “An orphan. I have little to my name, no relation, no standing in your society. What will that do for your sons?”

A pause fell between them. But the Commodore’s eyes remained on her, and after a few deep breaths he spoke again, words strained to be even, “I can do without those things. The boys cannot do without you. You left me three months ago, and here I am because…”

Suddenly he laughed, mirthless. A hand ran through his locks with a sigh. “Sweet Mari, I do not know how to phrase this any more elegantly than pure plainness. I am asking if you will have me for a husband. It’s for the boys, yes, but I, I’m—I love you. I’m in love with you. Horribly so. You know what I am. My faults, my character, my wealth—those blessings in life I offer to share with you. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you refused. You could do with a much better man, unattached to a brood of rascals. But I cannot help but feel that you are sent to be their mother. Should you refuse me, I would not speak of this anymore if you wish, and I will remove myself from your sight to the end of time, if—”

“Do you like me?” Mari asked.

His frazzled words disrupted, Commodore Bang barked a laugh. “Like?! Since that day on the ice, even more, when you held Jeongin during that blasted lunch, my heart is yours. And then you left and came back, and I thought my heart couldn’t soar any higher at the sight of you at the end of those stairs. But you were adamant about duties, and I had let you go again—”

“You wouldn’t make it any longer without me,” Mari said. His face on that first night returned to her, shadowed, haggard and bitter. It broke him, Miss Son—I’ve never seen anyone so crushed by death.

Commodore Bang froze. “Gods,” he breathed, staggered by the statement but shaking his head as if the prospect horrifies him. “For the sake of the boys, I’ll try my hardest but…”

“I will,” Mari whispered.

Truly? His gaze asked. Mari’s tears melted down her cheeks, which rose unbidden into a smile. Her hand trailed to hold his arm, rounding with the other to hold his entire form, as he engulfed her in return—for how many nights had she gazed at him and wished to hold him, wondering if her hug could enliven or rouse a little of his spirit to good cheer. Now he is asking her to do so for a lifetime, the cup of his hands behind her back and head the promise of his everlasting warmth. Mari curls herself further into it, feeling fullness in her—like it was something she’d searched unknowingly all her life, and finally found.

“I think what’s left is for me to swear that I will cherish your happiness,” Commodore Bang murmured from where his head rested at the top of her head.

From where her gaze rested towards the window, Mari found Inha staring stock-still behind the glasses. Their eyes met: Mari’s contented and hers growing wider, torn between screaming in scandal, politely ignoring the sight for proper revelation, or staring on. Mari smiled, nestling deeper into the Commodore’s hold.

I thought the final chapter would need to take more time but also like I was pretty certain I had written Mari and Mrs Park's conversation and was delighted to find that I actually had and just needed to add and revise some things, yey! (I think this is less uwu than what a resolution to romance should be though, I am terribly sorry.)

“I’m happy, worry not.”

I worried a lot about the proposal dialogue because… well, one I’ve never been proposed to and like… do men really prepare and practice a paragraph of speech (or bullet points) before kneeling down or sometimes it just flows out of the brain and you just say whatever? Or if you’re a tsundere but your relationship is going well you just say, ‘wanna we get married? I like you, let’s get married.’ if I had that tsundere boyfriend but we were serious I would’ve laughed out loud and said yes, people around us would think we’re crazy or something—anyway! (on a more sensible thought I should’ve done proper research.)

Will it be a quick or long engagement? They might marry by the end of the summer, just so Minho and Changbin could attend before going to school. But I read—and I hope I am correct—that at balls you can do more than two dances with your fiance(e) but then after marriage, you can’t dance with each other (in the Regency and even the Victorian era—I know right? Like what the blooming heck? Too much tension for you single folks to handle?) I don’t know how well Christopher would handle his new wife being swooped away by young men and his naval friends but he felt duty-bound to introduce her properly to his circles. So he would invite her to 20 (or less, obviously fewer) parties just to satisfy dancing with her from June to August and dance with her privately in his ballroom every Saturday afternoon throughout their forty-year-long marriage.

I think Chan here had bullet points but also he wants to see what situation can come up for the two of them just to talk together and just go from there—also because he needs to explain about Nayoung and be very persuasive and that "we haven’t seen each other for twelve weeks and God your hair grew longer Mari, and that’s very pretty, you’re very beautiful, why-why-why have you gotten prettier? How? Heavens I need to swoop you away from here—"

Anyway, this be the ‘proper’ end of braem’s first, long-length fanfic.

Baksu.

I AM SO HORRIBLY LATE TO POST THIS ON TUMBLR I AM SORRY, but my well wishes remain the same. I would to give many thanks to the people who came to take a glance, the people who read and gave kudos, and the people who were so kind as to drop comments (some multiple times, and I am very touched by it)—anyone who gave this fic a chance and support. Thank you for liking Mari and this concept of Bang Chan being a dad, eheh. It did take a while to progress and I apologize if the writing is lacking in some parts or places. I can give myself kudos for persevering—this fic did give me a chance to improve my skills, in some way or other. Either way, I’m thankful that you readers are enjoying this.

Unfortunately, this might also be the finale to my fanfic writing career. I love writing, and I’ve enjoyed toying with some concepts with my favourite people. But in the future, I would like to focus on my original works. The account will remain—I know I still have some stories that are not updated yet, and I might take some time to wrap them up—I’d like to, but you know my pacing. Other than that, don’t expect any new work.

I’m thankful to each of you who has given my fics a chance. The niche for my works doesn’t follow the trend, I think. Too strange or too safe to spark interest, that’s me needing to take a larger leap I guess. But if I don’t offer new perspectives, I hope it has at least been an enjoyable read. That’s the point of all these fanworks, am I right? Nothing but for pure, extra-entertainment from canon.

I thank you again, and for one last time, I hope you have a pleasant day. Much love, braem.

[sk3tchysakuraa]

Haven’t posted in forever but have some andigi family magma doodles

[okthatsgreat]

oc-tober day 2: somebody get her a sword

[imoosgnaj]

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[lyramundana]

DOLLHOUSE

The Kim family are seemingly perfect in the eyes of everyone who meets them. Rich, nice houses, gorgeous children and marriages built upon pure love and respect.

It started with Kim Felix and his wife, Jeonjin, a cheerful, if a bit excentric married couple. They had two healthy, handsome sons, Seungmin and Jisung. When they grew, Jisung met Hyuna at his workplace, where she worked as a model. He spend months pining from afar before he finally asked her out and, eventually, brought her home as his formal girlfriend, marrying her soon after. Then Seungmin met Lina some years later and, after weeks of mostly bickering and agressive flirting, he asked her out on a date. He brought her home to his parents as his the same way Jisung did, and ended up getting married too.

Jisung and Hyuna had two adorable sons, Changbin and Chan. Seungmin and Lina took their time, but when little Chan was five, Lina gave birth to a precious girl, Lixie. The ball of joy became made Seungmin's smile brighter than ever and brought a soft side of Lina that no one thought possible.

Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen

This is the story everyone knows. It sounds like the dream family, right? They make such a pretty picture...as long as you don't look too close at it.

Don't let them see through the curtains

Because if you do, you'll see the cracks surrounding it. And you'll hear the dirty secrets the walls will whisper to you.

The wallpaper listens

She became Lixie's babysitter by a recommendation from her friend, Jeong, Lina's younger sister. Hearing the woman's complaints about not finding a proper caretaker for her babygirl and knowing Nessa could use some extra cash, Jeong decided to kill two birds with a single stone.

She's been in this practically since Lixie was a newborn, exactly three years and half. It was supposed to be a short-term job until Lina managed to find an alternative so she could stay more at home, but she grew to adore Lixie and got used to the routine of taking care of her, so she stayed. At least that's what she explains to whoever asks about the matter. she's trapped, can't bring herself to leave

As babysitter, her job is very simple. Feed the baby, change her diapers, shower her, play with her and make sure she's healthy and happy at all times. That's all she must do.

As a babysitter, her only focus should be Lixie. She's all she needs to care about. And if she happens to hear or see something she definitely shouldn't have like Seungmin's brother coming out of Lina's room or the breathless moans and dirty words when Seungmin isn't home, that's none of her business. Oh, what is it? Is Lixie hungry? Let's fix that now and forget everything else.

She's been the family's housemaid since Channie was still in the crib. The bills don't pay themselves and she was struggling when Jisung contacted her. He and his wife had demanding jobs and two kids, so they couldn't handle everything, he said. They needed someone to take care of the things they didn't have time for, and she needed quick money. It was an easy deal.

Officially, her duty consists on doing the house chores, like laundry and cleaning the rooms, but eventually she also began to look after the kids too. It was only natural, since they were the main sources of dirt she had to clean after, and in some way, they were house chores too. If Mr Jisung and Mrs Hyuna aren't around, she helps them with homework and entertains them, even thought it isn't part of her contract. There were talks about her quitting the job to move somewhere else, but it never happened. She clearly prefers to stay here, with this cozy job where she gets to spend time surrounded by luxuries she couldn't bare leaving them behind, not after everything

A housemaid's duty is simply keeping the house clean and comfortable for when her masters arrive. She does the laundry, cooks their meals, fixes their rooms and does as she's told until she returns home.

As a housemaid, she has mastered the art of being invisible. Her presence remains subtle unless she's needed. She's the ears and eyes of the house, nothing wents on there without her knowledge. Nothing. Mrs Lina's husband visiting them when Mr Han leaves the house. Hands and whispers wandering where they shouldn't. She's merely an spectator, unable to intervene. Look at that, the boys left their toys out again! She better put them back before the Masters arrive.

Taglist: @channieandhisgoonsquad @2chopsticks2eyes @moonlightndaydreams @linlinaert @queenmea604 @hanjisunglover @kpopsstuffs @noellllslut @bangtanmix73 @thightswideforhanin @boi-bi-ahaha @grayscorner @rosierosaaa @ren0325

Important: That's just how I envision the girls in my head, but you're free to self-insert yourselves. Imagine them however you prefer.

[sualne]

made Luffy and Law in tomodachi life like a week ago and im testing their compatibility with the girls (cant be gay in this game 😔) and while luffy best love compatibility is with a gnc lass named Jade Azhure aka Captain aka the fucking sea as person. he has little to no love compatibility with the rest of the girls which is so funny! He also has a 100% friendship compatibility with a guy called hamster (full name Pikimin Popuko).

Law on the other hands as a +90% love compatibility with four ppl including my fucking wife. (my wife and i love compatibility is 40%…..) why is he so popular??? is he going to steal my wife??

Law and Luffy friendship compatibility is fine, they haven’t met each other yet tho, living next to each other.

also bonus:

[hyacinths-in-a-storm]

Favorite au you’ve made?

Damn this was hard to answer because I love all my AUs, but I would have to say Cannibal Ursa AU, I had a lot of fun making it up and talking about it with my friends. But a close second would definitely be either Twin Azula and Zuko AU and ATLA in LOK Setting (it’s a long story) AU, because in both of those AUs Azula and Zuko have a more complex relationship which I always find fun to write (or at least think of writing). Thanks for the ask anon!

[trappedinchemicalplantzone]

sleepy little guys

more scourge being a girl dad ig

bonus doodle of them

[yaniluvs]

𓏲.⊹ ࣪ ﹏ ˖🎐 (한) : BUT NO ONE CAN STOP THE TIME, I KNOW ── your nerdy classmate is crushing on you. what happens when he notices you struggling in math, and offers to tutor you?

𓍯 classmate!han ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）1.8k ── ༯ ONESHOT, nerdy and head-over-heels sungie, kissing, shying, slightly corny flirting, highschool love, dorky, fluff, short, skz ensemble. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ im in love with nerdy hannie so bad. the glasses, the hair, and his dorky self.. ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ !! comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy hannie day and happy reading <3

it was a weekday like any other, the kind that slipped through the cracks of senior year, unnoticed in the blur of exams and deadlines.

the late afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden beams across the desks. the faint murmur of students packing up and chattering about weekend plans filled the room, but a certain fluffy-haired guy's focus was elsewhere.

he sat at his desk, fingers lightly drumming on the surface, his guitar case leaning beside him. across the room, she sat with her head bent low over her notebook, the tip of her pen moving in quick, precise strokes.

her brow furrowed slightly, lips parted as she was focused. the golden light hit her hair just right, creating a soft halo around her, the strands cascading down her back in waves of deep black.

the loverboy had always admired how she seemed to glow when she was lost in thought.

he swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face, the way her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, the tiny mole just beneath her left eye that he’d noticed a thousand times before but never tired of admiring. his heart did a small, familiar somersault—something it had become accustomed to doing whenever he looked at her for too long.

ask her, idiot, he urged himself, his pulse quickening. it was just a study session—completely innocent. yet somehow, the idea of spending that extra time with her made his stomach churn with nerves, excitement mixing with anxiety in a way that left him breathless.

"and then minho hyung almost choked me with tis..- ..ssues."

what?

jisung barely blinked, still half-lost in his thoughts about something, or rather someone.

"interesting," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the way the sunlight caught the edge of her notebook.

the guy next to him narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers in front of his face. "dude, are you even listening?"

jisung jolted, pushing up his glasses awkwardly. “uh, yeah..! minho hyung, tissues. totally with you.”

the blonde groaned, running a hand through his hair. “you’re hopeless, man. just ask her out already.”

jisung’s face turned red as he shot hyunjin a panicked glance. "what? what are you talking about?"

“you’ve been all heart eyes for her for the last fifteen minutes. ugh, young love,” his best friend normally let out a dramatic sigh.

"you're only a year older..?" jisung grumbled under his breath, trying to focus back on his notes. "i wasn’t staring at anybody,"

taking a deep breath, the guy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and finally got up from his desk, raising a question out of his friend's mouth.

"hey- where are you-" he frowned, shaking his head at his best friend's usual lover-self. "typical jisung.." he mumbled.

meanwhile, jisung was quietly walking up to the desk, only a few steps ahead from his, each step making his heart thud a beat quicker.

and then, he was right in front of her desk. her hands, firmly holding onto the black ink pen, black streaks of hair framing her face like the icing of a cake.

"hey," the guy formed the first word, much to his surprise.

he saw her lifting her head, doe-like eyes meeting his. for a moment, the rest of the classroom blurred, and it was just the two of them for him. "oh, hey, jisung."

he could swear he almost fainted right there and then, at her gaze. it was as if time had stopped — her eyes seem to hold certain depth which nobody could identify.

"what are you noting?" he replied, an awkward smile etching his lips as he leaned onto the desk, ever too lightly.

"oh, nothing, just some calculus.. it's been irritating me for 2 days now," she chuckled slightly.

"ah, i see," he tried for casual, but there was an edge of nervous energy in his voice. "if you want, i can try helping you, you know since the test is near as well,"

her eyes softened, "i'd appreciate that, but i think the free period's ending in five minutes..?"

"oh."

"well, i-i uh, didn't realise that," he chuckled nervously, glancing to his own desk, and earning a fake cough from the same, where his wingman was tiredly spectating the scene unfold, ever so slowly, probably motioning, god get it together, do something!

"actually! my uh, dorm’s empty tonight. it’d be quieter there than the library."

han, are you crazy?

he was already sensing his dorm-mate shooting him sharp daggers from his desk, clearly disturbed by his stupid move. guess hyunjin'll have to spend another evening at the crowded dance studio.

anyway, the girl's eyes softened, and a small smile curled on her lips, the kind that made his chest tighten. "you’re inviting me to your dorm?" she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.

he chuckled, trying to mask his rising heartbeat. "uh, yeah, for math, obviously. i’m not secretly planning to serenade you with guitar solos or anything."

"shame," she grinned, closing her notebook. "but yeah, i’d love to. i could use some extra help with derivatives."

"cool, yeah. same here, d-derivatives, right." he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. but inside, his nerves buzzed, and he could already hear hyunjin's teasing in his head.

hyunjin raised an eyebrow, eyes rolling. “derivatives, huh?”

jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut up.”

“no, no, that was smooth,” hyunjin continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “my dorm’s empty tonight. real subtle, loverboy. you really think she’s buying the whole study excuse?”

the dorm was quiet by the time she arrived, too quiet, almost like the room had been waiting for this moment. the guy had spent the past half-hour tidying things up—scattering textbooks and notebooks across the floor to make it look like they’d been studying all day.

his guitar, ever-present, leaned in the corner of the room, a few half-finished music sheets peeking out from beneath his laptop. he had left the window slightly open, letting the cool evening breeze flow in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the campus winding down.

when the doorbell rang, his heart jumped. he crossed the room quickly and opened the door. there she was, standing in the warm glow of the hallway light, her eyes bright and curious.

"hey," he said, smiling that wide, gummy smile that never failed to make him feel a little self-conscious.

"hey," she replied, stepping inside. her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the slight mess of papers, the cozy clutter of his space. "seems cozy," she chuckled.

the room was modest, with a bed pushed against one wall and a desk cluttered with papers and notebooks. his guitar leaned against the corner, its polished wood catching the last rays of sunlight. the space felt inviting, a reflection of jisung’s quiet, creative world.

jisung shut the door behind her, trying to steady his nerves. “i hope it’s not too messy. i wasn’t sure if i should clean up or leave it as it is.”

“it’s fine,” she said, her gaze returning to him. there was a soft smile on her lips, and jisung’s heart skipped a beat. “i like it. feels warm.”

they settled down on the floor, their backs resting against the bed. jisung gestured to the array of textbooks and notes spread out in front of them. “so, um, let’s get started?”

she nodded, her smile widening. she sat cross-legged on the floor, her book open in front of her. the guy couldn’t help but notice how her eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she flipped through the pages. he found himself studying her, taking in every detail—the way the corner of her mouth turned up slightly when she was concentrating, the way her fingers moved gracefully over the pages.

as they worked through the problems, there were moments when their hands brushed against each other, each touch sending a jolt of electricity up jisung’s arm.

he tried to focus on the calculus problems in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to her, to the way she looked under the dim light of the room.

her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her face like a dark, silken curtain. the light from the lamp cast a gentle glow on her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek and the soft, pink hue of her lips. there was a tiny mole just beneath her left eye that jisung found himself staring at, mesmerized by its subtle perfection.

every now and then, the girl too, would glance up at him, her gaze catching his. when their eyes met, there was a moment of shared understanding, a silent conversation that seemed to speak louder than words. the room seemed to pulse with the unspoken connection between them, a tension that was both exciting and comforting.

at one point, her gaze lingered on jisung’s face, her eyes tracing the lines of his features with a look of soft contemplation. she noticed the way his bangs fell over his eyes, the dark strands brushing against his glasses. there was something so endearing about his shy, boyish demeanour, and she found herself captivated by the way he looked in the dim light.

jisung caught her looking and felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks. he tried to look away, but found himself drawn back to her. the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her eyes shone with an almost ethereal light—it was all too mesmerizing.

without realizing it, she found herself reaching out, her fingers brushing gently against his temple. the touch was light, almost tentative, as she tucked his bangs behind his ear. jisung’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as he felt the delicate warmth of her hand against his skin.

her eyes were locked on his, their closeness making the rest of the world seem to fade away. there was a tender smile on her lips, and her gaze was filled with something he couldn’t quite define—perhaps a mixture of affection and something deeper.

“sorry.. t-they were getting in the way,” she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

jisung’s heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. her touch, her words—they all seemed to meld into a single, perfect moment. he looked into her eyes, seeing a depth there that made him feel as if he were falling into an endless, beautiful abyss.

before he could fully process what was happening, she had leaned in. her lips brushed against his with a softness that sent shivers down his spine. the kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, but it carried with it a depth of emotion that spoke louder than any words could.

jisung responded instinctively, his hand finding its way to her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin. the kiss deepened, their lips moving together in a slow, tender rhythm. it was as if time itself had stopped, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

when they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and the room seemed to exhale, the tension melting away into something soft and comforting.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for that to happen."

[vmygdvlv]

Fault lines !

Genre: hurt/comfort. one-shot

Pairing: vittorio x leonardo. italian boys!au

Summary: vittorio, arriving late and injured at Leonardo's door, finds solace in an unexpected moment of care, revealing deeper themes of vulnerability and redemption after the unfortunate altercation

Warnings: moral dilemmas, subtle harassment, emotional distress, minor injuries

Vittorio did not know why he had felt the compulsion to step into this bar tonight. He had meant to be elsewhere — with Leonardo, at his apartment — but the streets of the city had seemed strange and distant, filled with an alien quality that pressed in on him from all sides. The shadows stretched long and uneasy, and the lights from the windows above seemed like the eyes of many indifferent witnesses.

The bar itself was dim and cramped, a place that seemed to shrink and distort under the weight of its patrons’ voices. At the counter, a young barista moved with a practiced efficiency, her hands quick and deft as she served drinks to the men leaning heavily against the counter. Vittorio could hear their laughter, low and jagged, like the scraping of glass on stone.

One of them, a man in his twenties with an angular face and a smile that did not reach his eyes, leaned forward. “Bella, you look tired tonight,” he remarked, his tone almost gentle, but there was something beneath it, something that unsettled Vittorio in a way he could not quite explain. “Maybe you need someone to cheer you up, eh?”

The barista’s smile was thin and practiced. She replied in a tone as smooth as the surface of still water, “I’m fine, thanks. What can I get you?”

The man did not seem to hear her. “Maybe you’d look happier if you smiled a bit more, no?” he continued, his words hanging in the air like a bad odor, and his friends chuckled in low, knowing murmurs.

Another leaned in, his voice slick with false concern. “Yeah, a smile would do wonders. Come on, just for us?”

The barista’s smile tightened, her eyes briefly darting to the side, as if looking for a way out of a room with no exits. “I’m fine, really,” she said, her voice still calm but her fingers gripping the edge of the counter just a bit harder than before.

Vittorio, standing off to the side, felt a discomfort building in his chest — a kind of pressure that started in his lungs and spread, like an invisible hand pushing down on him. These remarks were nothing, just little comments, words tossed out casually, but they felt like barbs. He could see the flicker of frustration in the barista’s eyes, the way she forced her smile to stay in place, and it gnawed at him.

He stepped forward without quite knowing why. “You should stop,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. The men turned to look at him, and for a moment, the bar seemed to hold its breath. “She doesn’t need to hear that.”

The leader of the group — the one with the angular face and the hollow smile — raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Who are you, her protector?” he asked, his tone a mix of mockery and incredulity.

Vittorio felt his cheeks flush, but he did not move. “No,” he replied, his voice steady. “But you shouldn’t speak to her like that. It’s not right.”

The leader laughed, a sound like dry leaves crunching underfoot. “Not right? We’re just having a bit of fun. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Vittorio felt a strange heat rising in him, a mixture of anger and something else — something he could not name, but which had been simmering just below the surface for too long. “Because—,” he said, and then found he had no more words, only that heat, only that pressure, building and building.

The leader’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold irritation. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” he asked, and before Vittorio could answer, he felt a sharp pain explode in his cheek, a bright flash of white behind his eyes. The man’s fist had connected with his face, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

He stumbled back, his vision swimming, and the laughter around him grew louder, more pointed. “See?” the leader sneered. “That’s what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Vittorio touched his cheek, feeling the heat of the bruise spreading under his skin, the dull throb of pain radiating outward. He blinked, trying to steady himself, to make sense of the room that now seemed to spin and twist around him like some grotesque carnival ride.

The barista, her smile faltering now, came over quickly, a look of concern in her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, her voice a mix of gratitude and exasperation. “I’m used to it. It happens all the time.”

Vittorio looked at her, his vision still blurred, the room around him still swaying. “That’s—that’s the problem,” he muttered, but his voice sounded strange in his own ears, distant and hollow.

She shrugged, a resigned, almost tired gesture. “It’s just words. I’ve heard worse,” she replied, her voice calm, but there was a faint tremor there, a hint of something brittle and fragile. “But thanks, anyway.”

He nodded, unable to find more words, feeling a sense of futility settling over him like a thick fog. He turned and began to walk away, out into the cold air of the street. The laughter from the bar still echoed in his ears, like a sound trapped in his head. Stepping outside, Vittorio’s mind was a turbulent mix of regret and frustration. He navigated the narrow streets, the evening air a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the bar. His face throbbed with a growing discomfort, a consequence of the encounter that had left him shaken.

Arriving at Leonardo’s apartment building, Vittorio’s steps were uneven, his thoughts a fragmented swirl of anger and dismay. He pressed the intercom button, the chime echoing in the stark hallway. He waited, the hum of the intercom a jarring reminder of his current state. The delay in Leonardo’s arrival at the door seemed interminable, each second stretching into an eternity.

Leonardo’s apartment in Milan was an oasis of tranquility in the heart of the bustling city. The minimalist décor and soft lighting created an atmosphere of calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had been brewing just hours before. As evening draped itself over the city, the calm of Leonardo’s home was a fragile veneer, masking the storm of emotions within him. The pallid light of sunset began to seep through the slits of the window blinds, casting long, angular shadows across Leonardo’s small, sparsely decorated apartment. The quiet was broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock, each second a reminder of the waiting, the anticipation that gnawed at the edges of Leonardo’s patience.

He had been pacing restlessly, the anxiety of the past hours manifesting itself in his agitated steps. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, a chaotic reflection of his concern for Vittorio and the strange sense of foreboding that had settled in his gut. When the doorbell rang, it felt like a sudden, sharp break from the monotonous tension that had built up within him. When Leonardo finally opened the door, his expression shifted from surprise to immediate concern as he took in Vittorio’s disheveled appearance. His face a canvas of bruises and cuts that spoke volumes of an encounter far more brutal than Leonardo had anticipated. Vittorio entered the apartment with a stiffness that betrayed the extent of his injuries, his face marked by a dark bruise that seemed to absorb the light around it. His entrance was not marked by fanfare or dramatic flair; rather, it was a subdued acknowledgment of his own suffering, an acknowledgment that seemed almost foreign in the context of Leonardo’s sterile living space.

“Vitto,” Leonardo said, his voice betraying a mixture of relief and worry. “You’re late. I was beginning to think—”

“I got held up,” he interrupted, his tone carrying an air of casual detachment that was at odds with his condition. He stepped inside, his movements deliberate but marked by an underlying weariness. “Sorry for being late.”

Leonardo’s gaze lingered on the black eye and the swelling that had begun to discolor Vittorio’s face. Everything was unsettling, a stark contrast to the composed demeanor Vittorio usually maintained. The sight of his friend, bearing the physical evidence of a recent and violent conflict, struck him with a force that left him momentarily paralyzed. The contrast between the serene interior of the apartment and the raw reality of Vittorio’s condition was almost surreal

“What happened?” Leonardo asked as he guided Vittorio towards the couch. His voice was flat, almost detached, as if he were struggling to reconcile the scene before him with the ordinary reality of their lives

Vittorio’s eyes, shadowed by the bruise and the weight of the encounter, met Leonardo’s with a resigned gaze. “It’s nothing, really,” he said, though his tone was hollow, devoid of the conviction that would normally accompany such a statement. “Just a bit of trouble at the café.”

Leonardo’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Trouble? At the bar? Vittò, you look—”

Vittorio sank into the couch with a weary sigh. His body seemed to sag under the weight of an invisible burden, as if the violence he had endured had seeped into his very bones. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice a monotonous recounting of events, “Really. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Leonardo fetched the first aid kit with an urgency that belied his otherwise calm demeanor. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, but there was an edge of frustration in his movements, a sharp contrast to his usual precision. As he began to clean Vittorio’s wounds, his words came out in a frustrated rush. His face twisted with a mixture of anger and confusion. The sterile comfort of his apartment seemed to warp around him, as if he were caught in the grip of some nightmare where the boundary between personal safety and societal cruelty had become imperceptibly thin.

“What were you thinking?” Leonardo demanded, applying antiseptic with a force that bordered on the aggressive. “Why did you get involved? You know how things can escalate. Why did you—”

“I couldn’t just stand by,” Vittorio interjected, his voice tinged with a weariness that spoke to more than just physical fatigue. “I saw the way they were treating her. It wasn’t right.”

“And you thought you could handle this alone?” Leonardo’s voice cracked with frustration. “You can’t just—you can’t just walk into a situation like that and expect it to resolve itself neatly. And I hate to say this, but those kind of interactions will always unfold, you can’t—“

“I didn’t think,” Vittorio interrupted, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “When you see someone being mistreated, there’s an instinct to act. I thought I could handle it.” Leonardo’s frustration grew, a relentless tide that seemed to sweep away any semblance of rational thought. His jaw tightened as he worked. “But you’re not a fighter. You know that. You should have called for help, or at least—”

“And let them continue?” Vittorio’s voice took on a sharp edge. “I couldn’t just let it go. I’m not built to watch passively.”

Leonardo’s eyes were fixed on Vittorio’s face as he applied a bandage with a more controlled touch. “You’re built to act,” he said, his tone softer now. “But not to be a martyr. You have to consider the consequences of your actions. You never know how people could react.”

The conversation fell into an uncomfortable silence as Leonardo finished tending to Vittorio’s wounds, marked by the oppressive weight of unspoken thoughts and unacknowledged fears. Leonardo’s mind raced, grappling with the paradoxes of Vittorio’s actions. The violence that had occurred was not just physical but seemed to infiltrate the very essence of their being, challenging the foundations of their understanding of justice and morality.

Leonardo’s eyes fell on Vittorio’s injured face, the bruise a stark and jarring reminder of the brutality that lay hidden beneath the veneer of civilized society. The early evening light cast a faint, almost surreal glow over the scene, amplifying the stark contrast between the tranquility of the apartment and the chaos that had preceded it. Vittorio’s gaze remained fixed on a point in the distance, his expression a mix of introspection and resignation. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said quietly. “I thought I could make a difference.”

Leonardo sat down beside him, his own frustration ebbing away to reveal a more nuanced understanding. “You did act with good intentions,” Leonardo said, his voice gentle. “But sometimes, even the best intentions can lead to unforeseen consequences.”

Leonardo’s heart ached with a complex amalgam of emotions. The sight of his friend, caught in the grip of a Kafkaesque nightmare of his own making, was both profoundly disconcerting and deeply moving. The stark reality of Vittorio’s injuries seemed to undermine any attempt at understanding or solace. It was as if the very fabric of their existence had been frayed, leaving them to grapple with the raw and unsettling truths that lay beneath the surface of their lives. The time stretched on, marked by a slow and painful acknowledgment of the night’s events. Leonardo attended to Vittorio’s injuries with a careful, almost mechanical detachment, the act of tending to wounds a mere formality in the face of the deeper wounds that remained unspoken.

Vittorio’s eyes met Leonardo’s, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. “I suppose,” Vittorio said, his tone reflective. “But it’s hard to reconcile the gap between what we hope to achieve and what actually happens.” Leonardo sighed, his own thoughts mirroring the complexity of the situation. “It’s easy to feel that way,” he said. “Especially when the outcome is so far from what we envisioned. But that doesn’t mean your actions were in vain. They were born out of a sense of justice.”

Vittorio’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he absorbed Leonardo’s words. “I just wish it didn’t have to come at such a cost,” he said softly. “I wish I could have found a different way.”

Leonardo’s hand rested gently on Vittorio’s shoulder, a gesture of solidarity and understanding. “Sometimes, the cost is what makes us reconsider our choices,” Leonardo said. “But it’s also what makes us grow.”

As the evening light grew darker, the room seemed to take on a new perspective. The earlier tension began to dissolve, replaced by a tentative calm that allowed for reflection and understanding. Leonardo and Vittorio sat together in this fragile moment of clarity, their shared experience a testament to the complex interplay of action, consequence, and the search for meaning in a world that often defied easy answers. In the quiet aftermath of their conversation, the echoes of the night’s conflict lingered, a reminder of the delicate balance between intention and outcome. The apartment, once a stage for their emotional confrontation, now held the promise of a renewed understanding, a fragile peace that offered a glimmer of hope amid the chaos of their inner lives.

The evening light filtering through the blinds, casting pale lines across the room. The stillness felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter the delicate truce that had settled in the air. Leonardo leaned back against the couch, his fingers tapping absently against the fabric, still processing the conversation, the tension in Vittorio’s words, the conflict he saw in his friend’s eyes.

It was unlike Vittorio to be so reckless, to step into the fray like that. Usually, he was the one pulling others back from the brink, his calm demeanor a counterweight to the chaos that often surrounded them. But now, it seemed something deeper had driven him, something that had unsettled the very foundation of who he was. He looked over at Vittorio, who sat quietly, his gaze distant, unfocused, as if caught somewhere between the memory of what had happened and the reality of the room they were in. The bruises on his face had started to darken, purple and blue blooming beneath the skin, a stark reminder of the violence he had encountered.

“What are you thinking?” Leonardo finally asked, his voice softer now, the earlier frustration replaced by a genuine concern. Vittorio’s eyes flickered, as if coming back from somewhere far away. He took a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I’m trying to make sense of it, I guess. Trying to understand why I felt so compelled to step in.”

Leonardo nodded, sensing the turmoil beneath Vittorio’s calm facade. “It’s not like you to get involved like that,” he said carefully. “I know you want to help, to make things right, but—it’s like something snapped in you tonight.”

Vittorio sighed, running a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the pain in his side. “Maybe it did,” he murmured. “I just—I saw the way those men were treating her, the way they looked at her like she was nothing, and I couldn’t stand it. I thought if I just—did something, it would make a difference. But now I’m not sure if I did the right thing at all.”

Leonardo’s brow furrowed, trying to find the right words. “You did what you thought was right,” he said finally. “You acted on your principles, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But sometimes—most times, the world doesn’t respond the way we want it to. Sometimes it pushes back.”

Vittorio looked down, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. “I thought I could handle it,” he whispered. “I thought I could just say something, make them stop. But they didn’t care. They just—they laughed. And then it got worse. I felt so powerless, so angry—and I didn’t know what to do with that anger. As you said I’m not a fighter, far from it actually, but I just wanted to be upfront for once.”

Leonardo felt a pang of empathy, recognizing the struggle in Vittorio’s voice. “It’s okay to be angry,” he said gently. “It’s okay to feel powerless. Especially when it comes to these kinds of issues, being powerless is the main sentiment you’ll get to feel. It’s unfair, but you’re not alone in this okay? ”

Vittorio glanced up, meeting Leonardo’s eyes, and for a moment, something like relief crossed his face. “I just don’t want to feel like this,” he confessed. “I don’t want to feel like I failed.”

Leonardo reached out, placing a hand on Vittorio’s arm, a small gesture of reassurance. “Oi, you didn’t fail,” he said firmly. “You stood up for what you believed in. You tried to make a difference. That’s not failure, that’s courage.”

Vittorio’s expression softened, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I needed to hear that.”

Leonardo nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Anytime,” he replied. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up a bit more. You look like you’ve been through a war.”

A faint chuckle escaped Vittorio, and for the first time since he arrived, his tense shoulders seemed to relax, if only a little. “It feels like I have,” he admitted.

Leonardo stood, heading to the kitchen to fetch a damp cloth and a fresh ice pack. He returned, carefully dabbing at the dried blood on Vittorio’s face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” he said with a smirk.

Vittorio winced but smiled back, a tired but genuine expression. “Guess I had to prove it somehow.”

Leonardo paused, his hand still for a moment. “Just—please, don’t make a habit of it, alright?” he said, his voice more serious now. “We need you in one piece.”

Vittorio nodded slowly. “I won’t,” he promised. “I don’t think I have the stomach for it, anyway. I’ll leave it to you or Cesare, it suit you guys the most.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional drip of water from the cloth and the distant sounds of the city waking up outside. There was a sense of calm between them now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

Finally, Leonardo spoke, his tone lighter. “Next time, maybe just call me before you decide to take on a bunch of assholes, yeah?”

Vittorio laughed softly, a sound that felt like a balm to the tension that had filled the room earlier. “Deal,” he said. “But you’d better be quick to answer.”

Leonardo grinned. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The light grew stronger, flooding the room with a soft, golden hue, and for a moment, the bruises and cuts seemed less severe, the weight of the night a little lighter. And in that fleeting moment, there was a sense that, somehow, they would find a way to move forward, together.

[sapphiretanto]

How Dorothea got her name

Based off of @xxlea-nardoxx’s characters in the Universes AU.

Don: *walking by the kitchen after having just announcing his pregnancy to his family*

Lee: *humming/singing softly because of the good news* You know you’ll always know me Dorothee-ah, Dorothee-ah.

.

Lee: *Smiling at the pic of the ultrasound of his niece or nephew while sitting next to Don* Hey Dorothea do you ever stop and think about me… *continues humming the song*

.

Lee: *At Don and Alex’s. Don is starting to show* Damn Dorothea, they all wanna be ya, but are you still the same person I met under the bleachers? *humming happily as he continues to hang out with his family*

.

*Several Months and lots of humming Later*

Alex: *admiring their baby girl* What should we name her?

Don: … *the song has now been stuck in his head for a while* How do you feel about Dorothea?

[braemjeorn]

mari and chan's moodboard for my fic the warmth in brightness

[sk3tchysakuraa]

Early morning 🩵💤

I’m the #1 ANDIGI FAMILY TRUTHER !!!