#oc: the lee family

[yaniluvs]

hold my hand. -k.sm 💌

❀┆pairing : kim seungmin x fem!reader ͏ ❀┆ info : oneshot / twoshot ?? , a lot of fluff , and a lot of 'apparent' unrequited love (im sorry) , happy ending , cutesy , uni love , feelings and angst , short ! ❀┆ personas + bg : uni students ; dormmates w benefits ❀┆ word count : ❀┆warnings : cute and dread but dw happy ending yall notes at the end !!

✿　　　　( ˶ᵔ ᵔ) ♡　　　　˚　　　　☒

happy seungmo day !

♥︎ ! now, we share the same dream called, 'us'.

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.

⠀⠀𓄳 ֹ ͏   ⊹   𓎆⠀.   𓂅  ֹ ͏⠀◯

a/n ♡︎

OMGGGG happy birthday to the love of my life my baby seungminieneeiensiseesn I STILL HAVENT COMPLETED LIX FIC. I AM SO SORRY YALL ILL POST WHEN I CAN 😞😞😞😞 exams start tmr kms this is a twoshot btw. so wait patiently for the final part tysmmm <3 plz reblog/comment/like if u like my fics <33 made another spam acc for skz @loveforseung ALSO I HAVE AO3 !! user's same as @loveforseung go follow !! making a masterlist for all of my posts, plz lmk if u wanna be a part of it ! <3 have a good day ~ – love, yani ♥︎

[puppyeared]

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.

[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]

but no one can stop the time, i know -h.js 🍢

❀┆pairing : han jisung x fem!reader ͏ ❀┆ info : oneshot , a lot of fluff , cutesy , highschool love (cough cough) , short ! ❀┆ personas + bg : highschoolers ; classmates ; nerdy , funny , flirty, loverboy , head-over-heels jisung, reader matches his energy <3 ❀┆ word count : 3.1k ❀┆warnings : cute af i wanna squish him :< notes at the end !!

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ♡ ㅤ۫ㅤ ೀ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤㅤ✧

happy hannie day ᡣ𐭩

✦ ! i fell in love with you unexpectedly, i think it's so sweet, my baby.

──

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 Lino 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."

 ೀ⠀. . . ﹙love = u + i﹚.

a/n ♡︎

HAPPY JISUNG DAY YALL <3 wrote this quick for the loml ♡︎ i love this man sm its crazY also chp2 for stars and raindrops comes tmr !! plz reblog/comment/like if u like my fics <33 made another spam acc for skz @loveforseung ALSO I HAVE AO3 NOW !! user's same as @loveforseung go follow !! also making a masterlist for all of my posts, plz lmk if u wanna be a part of it ! <3 have a good day ~ – love, yani ♥︎

✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿ ✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿

[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?

[sk3tchysakuraa]

Early morning 🩵💤

I’m the #1 ANDIGI FAMILY TRUTHER !!!

[braemjeorn]

CHAPTER XVII [masterlist]

pairing: bang chan x ofc

genre/notes: general audience; angst; romance; regency period drama; family fluff; domesticity; ocassional angst; slowburn; governess!oc; nobility!BC; age differences; age changes

wordcount: 4.7k

summary: despite everything, and because of everything, it is only right for the heart to let go.

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

Mari herself spent her last days in a sedate manner. She took care to take in every moment and give herself as freely and openly as she might, hoping to make up the best of the days left before the carriage would drive her away. Mari still kept to her usual hours in teaching; the oldest two begged to leave their long equations to sit with the younger ones. The eight of them ended up pursuing a subject together, raising questions and speaking out the opinions they’ve formed. 

“You must not neglect your education—it will always be of some value to you,” Mari said quietly. They had gathered on the terrace outside the study room, huddling close to her—Jeongin had the privilege of sitting on her lap. They were to nap after some walk, but they had asked if they could sit with her instead. All the same, they dozed away in this soft breeze and her softly spoken bits of advice—her last naggings, so it would seem.

Balrnshore’s gardens would bloom in full again, while the Commodore’s stables expand with more horses for the boys to ride, perhaps accompanying their travel to the creek once summer rolled in. Mari would not repeat the season with them again, nor relive last year’s memories by walking through the fields again and seeing all the changes nature blooms into. No good, warm company. That she will regret the most—for the past few evenings she had allowed herself to revel in conversations with the Commodore, whether in making up stories for the boys before the fire or over dinner with Mr Bambam. Commodore Bang would tell tales of his expeditions, and as she worked over her embroidery hoop she mused at how the company of seven children sparks evenings just as warmer and more sweetly than coffee after dinner. It will be so quiet and different in Mrs Ahn’s home. Inha will soon live with Mr Noh, and the other girls will have each other’s company, or leave to teach. And she will be quite alone with her ideas and her embroidery, not knowing when it will be the time for her to speak up and join the company, or constantly wonder if her life is finite in dreary wait for something in between running classes. As if to remove herself from that piercing dream, quietly she roused her charges before they could catch cold in the open air, and helped them upstairs to their softer beds.

Mari checked over her things and clothes again, mostly packed since five days ago from where they had been strewn through the house. Now they are all ready to be carried back but for a few things and her gifts, and now there is not much to do but to pack the last of it on her final day.

Quietly, she went through the house, from the rooms at the top to take in the sights of their halls in the afternoon light. The red tapestries in the western gallery beamed proud and brave; she passed through them to the end of the room, descending the stairs into the front of the house. Soon she was out in the open air, the breeze blowing still to sweep over her face and strands of hair. She descended the stairs into the gravel, and walked round the circular path in front of the house, hastening to near the trees on the northern side. Mari passed between pine trees into the open grassy lawn. It was empty; she laughed. She turned to the high wall behind her—in line with the house, and bordering into the gardens. The breeze called for her to run, but she dismissed it to savour and soak the sights at a slow pace. Such warm afternoon light might not come again to illuminate Barlnshore like this. 

Mari went to the flower gardens, admiring the hydrangeas and other blooms in their circular beds. She was mulling over the carnations—how can one not at the presentation of such fine blossoms!—when slow footsteps notified her of another’s presence. Her eyes found the well-cared boots, black trousers, and the long black coat. Commodore Bang was tall and stately as ever, even as he redirected his steps to approach Mari from his earlier destination, joining her to admire the flowers.

“Beautiful, are they not?”

“Yes.” She turned to meet his eyes, looking down when her face suddenly felt over-warm. “...Yes.”

“Walk with me, Miss Son?” 

The request was an offer all the same; hardly demanding, like he would simply nod and walk on if she refused, but Mari wished to move—and enjoy his company—thus soon they were pacing side by side.

“I’m glad spring has arrived already,” he said. “Thus you have seen all four seasons in Barlnshore.”

“There's an attraction for each season—all year round vivacity blooms about the grounds.”

“Did you enjoy your time here?” Commodore Bang led her under the shades of the trees.

Mari smiled, turning to meet his eyes. “Yes, very much. You have such a beautiful house, sir.”

He laughed and looked at the house, its ivy-covered side, “The imposing thing.”

“Yes, it does seem so from here,” Mari replied. “Like a great cliff by the seas. But I don’t think you’d merit any less sir, with your titles and income. Your station.”

“No material flattery now, Miss Son. It’s hardly worth it.”

“It’s a contributing factor,” Mari insisted, and the Commodore merely sighed. “And I’ve had a good deal of time to make my judgement, and thus my admiration increases more each day. I think I like this grand house better than any other estate in the country.”

His eyebrows raised, “A bold statement!”

“I approve of the arrangements and the decorations—Minatozaki-san's tastes suit mine. But perhaps the warmth of the occupants endears me more to it.”

“You are fond of them?”

“I am,” Mari maintained with warmth. “They make this mansion a home, embracing you in a warmth we all so cherish from a humble cottage.”

“Chaos, if you consider the boys,” Commodore Bang added. Mari burst into a laugh, and their conversation paused as he joined her.

“But otherwise—or even with it!—they are superb company!”

“And in such company, you would remove yourself, Miss Son.”

Mari felt her chest tighten at the words—compressed from the previous ease she had been speaking with. She wrung out a smile, apologetic, and paced ahead of the Commodore, but then he was quick to follow her.

“Forgive me. I ought not to jab you with such flippant remarks when… it is clear…” Commodore Bang huffed, “Oh, why do I keep upsetting you with my words? My apologies would be meaningless.”

Mari slowed her pace, easing her lungs to breathe deeper against the lump in her throat and shook her head. “Sir, you’ve given me much joy and warmth to amend all those wrongs,” she said. “But we each have our obligations and changes to face—and the boys will grow up… and Lady Jang might have her preference as to who will attend them.” 

Mari spoke no more, for she felt further words would betray her. Everything she wanted to say—how much she liked it here, and more so the people: the boys,  him —felt extremely wrong to come out at such a time. In such a situation where promises had been agreed upon. She wishes not to say it, or to confuse her own heart and confound both of them with her wants. But it would be miraculous if she managed that much; if anything her tears would ruin everything first to a fluster.

“Growing up takes a lot of sacrifice, it seemed,” Commodore Bang hummed quietly in the silence. “A great deal of parting is one.”

They were standing by a tall, bush of roses streaming from a wall. The Commodore pulled out a small folded knife from his pocket, with which he cut a bloomed blossom and then smoothed the stem off any thorns. He held out the flower to her, peach and rosy and sweet. Mari felt her ears grow hot while she took it; her whispered thanks were certainly inaudible to the man. She dared not meet his eyes, and cleared her throat, “I hope you’ll forgive me too, sir. For any wrongs I did, especially that time before the piano.”

“Leave with little regrets, Miss Son. You must know I have only gratitude in your regard.”

Commodore Bang only chuckled at her questioning eyes. His words came out more measured as he continued, “You have done so much for us. You struck me awake that day and had revived life and joy back in the place, of the boys. It was necessary, even if I wouldn’t approve then. You were... involved, spiritedly, in a way I should have been but could never bring myself to be. I commend your senses and briskness. Such choice of action would be easily forgotten.”

“My gratitude in return sir,” Mari bows her head. “You have been kinder to me than what I ought to have deserved in my station.” 

“Then let me take the pleasure of parting with you in good faith, better than how we met months ago.” Commodore Bang offered her his hand to shake halfway through his words, and Mari let a smile rise. She gently gave him his hand and revelled in his warm grasp. 

“Do not laugh,” he scoffed at her mirth.

Mischief had sparked to Mari as she looked up then, “You were terrible!”

Commodore Bang sighed. “You know very well I was.”

She gazed over his face, admiring the way black strands fell over his brows, shifting slightly in the wind. Their eyes met, and she stifled a gasp and the urge to look away. His eyebrows were furrowed against the sunlight, but it didn't render his eyes as hard as that night when she first saw him. Mari could not help to smile at the soft crows at the corner of his eyes, more indented with his frequent smiles lately.

 “Everything is well now, Commodore,” Mari said.

“As well as it could be,” he slowly replied. He lowered their hands, releasing hers. They resumed their pace, now turning to the front of the house. Some minutes passed in silence, but it was relieved from burdens or tensions—whatever had been contained in their chests had been said to one another. Mari looked up, turning to the man and found him regarding her. A flush might have trickled up to her face again, but she did not let his gaze deter her.

“Promise you won’t…abandon the boys again?”

“No,” Commodore Bang shook his head, sincerity in his warm eyes. “You have my word. Henceforward, I shall only seek to provide for their happiness and welfare. I have little else to do anyway. Furthermore, I have little intention of letting people coerce me otherwise. Will that do?”

“You have much love for you, sir. I have faith in it to lead you in your decisions,” Mari said. 

They fell again into companionable silence. Mari realised she would speak to him no better than as a stranger after this, and the thought made her sigh, with much heaviness as the Commodore had done. Her companion walked on by her, warm and steady. Mari wondered who else would she have such pleasant walks with. The girls back home walk to town, not on one of her meditative, snail-paced ambling through the hills and groves. Mari and the Commodore returned through the front of the house, and into the inner hall, where some ruddy, pillow-marked faces stared at them with half-closed eyes.

“Why do you stare at us so from the top of that stairs?”

The boys were as still as disgruntled owls. Mari giggled; Commodore Bang huffed.

“She asked you a question, lads. Come down now. Dinner will be ready soon.”

The morning turned cloudy even after breakfast, instead of the warm brightness Mari so adored yesterday. It changed nothing of the day's planned events. She let her trunk be carried down, carrying her outdoor garb to enter the kitchen. She bid her goodbyes and bowed to the maids with her thanks: for they have been so kind and accommodating to her, and she wishes them well. She went out to the garden to see Bernard Park and his undergardeners, saying her goodbyes with her good wishes. Then she went to the front foyer, taking her time hooking up her robe and bonnet. A hand reached up to fasten to the bands of her bonnet, and Mari turned to find Minatozaki-san gently tying a ribbon under her chin. She finished, and Mari leaned to hook her head over the housekeeper's shoulder and wrapped her hands in a hug. The housekeeper stilled for a moment, but soon her hand came round Mari, rubbing her shoulder and enclosing her in warmth.  

“I wish you well, child, wherever you go,” Minatozaki-san said.

She slipped a soft packet into Mari’s hand as they separated, and told her that there was another basket in her carriage (Mari laughed)—filled with condiments and jellies and a few salted goose eggs, like the parcel she had given Mari for the Ahns last time at Christmas. Mari rubbed her eyes as she looked at Minatozaki-san’s face, unabashed but unwilling to cry so early in the separation.

“May I write to you?” Mari asked, relieved at finding her voice still steady.

Minatozaki-san smiled, “I’d like that, Mari.”

Delighted at preserving a friend, whose counsel she cherished, Mari kissed the housekeeper on her cheek with her thanks and received a kiss in exchange. Mari stepped further out to the foyer. Mr Kang Younghyun was there, taking her hand for a cordial shake, smiling as he gave her his parting good wishes—it was like the time they first met at the inn. Mari wished him good health and blessings in return, grasping his hands warmly. Commodore Bang was by the door, in an easy stance as he waited for her. There’s an uncomfortable lump in Mari’s throat already, swelling into fullness in her chest as they face one another. But his lips were set in an easy smile, the light making a halo of his dark hair, and though reluctant, Mari was less intimidated to approach him.

“One last payment, for Miss Son Mari,” said Commodore Bang, before she could phrase anything of sense. There was an envelope in his hand, which he placed upon her hand gently, “Sealed and stamped, with good faith.”

Mari looked up, finding his eyes upon her already. Brown and warm, the lines around it kind, not stern and shadowed as when she had first seen him.

“Thus, I release you from my service.” 

Mari was glad they had spoken the afternoon before, for at this moment she knew not if she could make an apology as well as she had. Her lips let out a whispered thank you as her form hesitates to pull away. Commodore Bang offered his arm. Mari did not refuse him, and they walked out of the front door, descending the stairs to the gravel. The boys had assembled there, chattering and giggling at Mr Bambam’s jokes, but they turned upon her approaching form, and soon their eyes turned mellow. Behind the Mari’s trunks are being tied atop the carriage.

“Let me go first, but I’ll make it short. I’m less significant in your company after all, Miss Son,” Mr Bambam spoke up when the eight of them hesitated; and he gave Mari his hand to shake. “My good wishes for you, Miss Son. God-willing, I’ll be very pleased to meet you again.”

Mari’s heart ached and his earnest eyes; as much as Mr Bambam had implied that they were not close, she always cherished the cheer and friendliness he extended when they shared company.

“That would be delightful, Mr Bambam. Thank you,” she said. “My good wishes for your wife as well,” Mari added quietly. 

With a smile, he inclined his head to her and moved beside the Commodore. 

The boys came before her; the older holding the younger ones before them, much like how Mari had met them in the dark drawing room. But nearly a year, and so much had happened, so many things shared and more familiarity built between them. If her heart had swelled before, now something tightens around it. Mari knows not if it will survive today.

“All right,” she sighed, stepping closer to them and kneeling with extended hands. “One last time. As promised. Come.”

Hyunjin was first, bursting into her hold with such force it tilted her bonnet askew. He said nothing, but Mari let him hold her as tight as he wished.

“I got excited thinking about your paintings, little one,” Mari murmured. “You keep doing what you love, alright Hyunnie?”

Hyunjin nodded mutely, but he gave her a small peck and held her again with a shuddery sigh. She thanked him; there was a wry smile as he made way for his brother. Jisung latched to curl under her neck and sighed deeply as she kissed his brows, somewhat content to nestle into her as he promised to practise his piano better.

“I’ll keep those words, you know?” Mari hummed.

“I suppose you can—I’ll try not to hurry as much.” Jisung leaned back, looking up at her, “Do you think Appa will let me go to that music school if I want?”

Mari heard Commodore Bang shift behind her. “To a conservatory?” she asked. “Do you want to? I think it only matters whether you want to.”

“I do,” Jisung whispered, his nod firm.

“Then you only have to tell him.” 

More assured, Jisung kissed her cheek and stepped away. Then Yongbok bounded to her—she had expected him to join Jisung, but this was just better. Like his twin, he tucked himself under her, and Mari laughed for then it was as if he purred under her. Then he looked up, in all his soft brown eyes and pale-haired cheerful being, and whispered, “You must never take a grave illness, Miss Son, that’s all I ask.”

Her smile came with a laugh and a sigh, the long breath she took to ease her tears back, “I’ll do my best, sweetling.”

It satisfied Yongbok, for then he gave her cheek a long kiss and separated from her for Seungmin. The second youngest toddled to her, making Mari laugh as she held his warm form.

“My strawberries got flowers already,” he declared quietly.

“It did?” Mari asked, a spark of excitement lighting in her.

“I just saw them earlier.”

“You’ll get the fruits in June then, I think.”

Seungmin hummed, muttering that he’d eat them well, then gave her one last warm grasp before letting go. Mari kissed his forehead and rose with a chuckle from where she had been kneeling towards Changbin’s outstretched—with grabby fingers—arms. He was just as tall as her shoulder, so his hands could rest about her waist while she kissed the top of his head.

“Our Changbinie,” she sighed, squeezing his form closer. “My handsome, steadfast, Binnie. I shan’t worry as much knowing you’re here—you’re a very good hyung you know?”

He looked up at her, those dark eyes in soft light, “Do you know you’re a pretty lady, Miss Son? Has anybody told you that?”

Mari chuckles, “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you should know that much. But then I like you more than that,” he finishes, cuddling into her one last time before releasing her.

Jeongin looked up at her from where he was clutching Minho's hand. He had walked into her room as usual this morning. It only took him five seconds to remember that this was her last day with them. He sat on her bed the entire time she brushed her hair, fingers fidgeting over her bedcover. Mari had seen the eldest earlier this morning when they were all dressing up; ushering the others quietly into a huddle and overheard him telling them not to be very distressed about the parting—Mari could not blame him, it would be very hard if the eight of them all cried. But Jeongin took a lot harder time to contain it; his brothers can put on some good humour, restraint or distraction despite the sombre eyes they shared; and Mari would not blame the youngest either for his downturned lips and red eyes. She kneeled back and reached out for him, smiling as she met his watery eyes, just a drop away from flowing out.

“I’ll cry for the last time. But I promise I won’t again,” he whispered, then throwing himself into her arms. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise. I’ll be better.”

She rocked his shaking form and brushed his strewn hair and tears. “You are a good boy, Jeongin, whether you cry or not,” she assured him. “Remember that.” 

She could not hold him long enough until his tears subsided; Minho’s hand on his back reminded him of it. But despite his tears, the boy was not in a fit of cries, his shaky sniffles restrained. Mari kissed his brows and touched their foreheads, finding it harder to tear away from the boy. Hyunjin offered his hand, and the two stood away side by side—the elder being most affected by the younger, thus they shared their sadness leaning toward one another.

Minho approached; grave yet assured. His trembling lips could not speak much, but steady enough to give a smile. Mari pulled him in; being nearly as tall as her, he could hook his head easily upon her shoulder.

“I think I’ll miss you the most,” she whispered. 

There was a hum. “Thank you,” he said after some pause—words did not glide easily out of him today. “I don’t think we’ve said much about how grateful we are. But…—thank you, for everything.”

He nodded, as if assuring himself. But Mari waited. His mouth opened, then he pressed it close and licked his lips, took a breath. “I might as well add that we love you. Lots,” Minho added, a whisper to her hearing.

Mari’schest tightened, so she pulled him close and kissed his brows, with all the love and blessing she might return to the boy. But soon they parted let—and the lack of his warmth alarmed her with the realisation that this was the parting. She had barely comprehended their goodbyes.

The seven of them had assembled back together, and Mari only needed to turn on her heels and step into the carriage to have it done with. But she took one last look at each of their faces; duty reprimanding her to not linger while fondness beseeched her for just five more minutes to remember the lines and angles and the warm light over their tresses. She tried picturing their gleeful face, those days she let them run rampant on the fields. But in the present sombre ambience, they would not be provoked to. Unless she proposed it.

“Do you know? If a ground mole was to poke his head out of the ground today, I believe it would have shaken itself and declared this day as sunny as any other grand one.”

Their blinks seemed to happen together, and soon bewildered frowns or gaping mouths appeared before her. Mari bit her lips to hold her smirk, letting them stare at her long enough before easing her still face into mischief.

“He can feel the warmth but the clouds would have been very blurry to him. If you get the nonsense I’m saying,” she shrugged.

She would have left them in confusion, but it only took one second for Minho to snort out a laugh, and Jisung followed him in realisation—and soon the understanding was shared with everyone. Half of them might have remembered the amusing picture books they read a few days back, and the others might have not a single knowledge or recollection about it, and merely found decent hilarity at her sudden declaration. Ridiculous, but it does the work, for once Changbin made a strangled whimper in holding back his laugh, and everyone bursted into cackles—even Jeongin could not help the smile through his tears.

"Boys?" she called, steadying her smile as they all looked at her. 

"I love you all very much."

Yongbok made a noise between a surprised laugh and a cry, but he nodded even as his fist pressed to his eyes to stop the tears from flowing. Jisung steadied him, and with blotched-faced Hyunjin murmured their love in return. Seungmin and Jeongin stared, the second youngest's tears now breaking out. Minho and Changbin could only smile through the tears. The eldest raised a hand in a wave, and with a warmer heart, Mari turned to the carriage. 

Mari lets Commodore Bang help her in and settle inside. He stood by after closing the door, watching her with a smile and sorrowful eyes. Again, his hand rested upon her window as he shut her door, and it was nearly thoughtless how her hand reached out to it and how he grasped hers back in return. His hold was familiar, and his gaze no less assured and steadfast as it had been the past few days. Some pull compelled her to reach for him, to hold and kiss him as she did to the boys. But no. She blinked away the unbidden thoughts. But the warmth of his palm remained enclosing hers—selfishly she savoured it, the strength and warmth it gave her. Mari looked again into his eyes and saw in them... an urgency. She waited for a breath, then another. But nothing came, and her hand slipped back to her lap. The Commodore let out a heavy breath. She cursed her thoughts upon the man, engaged and promised to a fine lady as he was. 

Still, his shadow loomed over the window, and Mari found his eyebrows now raised in concern to her. Mari would have laughed at the prospect that she might never find another man as attentive, had this day been more humorous. She let out a smile to assure him all was well, while her eyes trailed over that kind face—pale and lined as ever—but loving; nothing less but love and fondness emanating through it. She feared she would forget it. 

He seemed alerted by the lengthy pause they had made by the side of the carriage, so Commodore Bang sighed with a shudder and forced out an easier facade. “Safe journey, Miss Son,” he said.

Commodore Bang stepped away and bid the carriage to drive on; as it shook with motion, her heart felt as if a great hole had been punched into it. Before she knew it they were turning around the fountain. She looked out of the window, turning back to the eight figures behind her.

“Thank you!” she cried out, despite her tightened throat. When she could no longer look from the side window, she turned to the small window on the back. Jisung and Yongbok were running after the carriage, running past the Commodore. They did not make it far until they could only stand still, but Mari looked on—until the carriage turned north, out of the gate, and the house and the parks were completely obstructed from her sight.

For some moments she did not let herself think of anything—neither despair nor disappointment nor happiness. Her eyes trailed over the moving fields and rising hills, until she became aware of the bundles in her hand. Slowly, she opened the one from Minatozaki-san and found inside the softest handkerchief of linen, embroidered with cornflowers in the corners, alongside her initials. She knew it would be a treasured kerchief, to remind herself of the kind housekeeper, a dear friend. The other is from the Commodore, her payment. She could not help but open the flaps, just to savour an item they exchanged. But to her shock, it contained not only the fourth part of her payment but also a cheque for four times the amount. ‘For a good service’ was written on the flap, and for the hours proceeding she could do little but stare at the note, emotions clashing inside her.

sure. talk about flowers, give her one, give her an outrageous bonus, hold her hand, but don't vomit your feelings, chan.

their handholdings would have been outrageous for the time except for the fact that aside from the handshakes, one of them wears gloves when the others don't.

my girl mari and her sense of obligation and her deep longing. we're nearing the end of the tale folks, how are we feeling? please look forward to the grand finale, if I can attempt to conclude it this semester break.

[imoosgnaj]

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Jang Soomi (Hangul: 장수미), is a fictional Chinese singer and dancer, and is the only female member of co-ed group Stray Kids under JYP Entertainment. She debuted in March 25, 2018 with the song 'District 9'

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