#spy x family x reader fluff

[thehusbandoden]

And Nothing Else Matters -Husband!Loid Forger x Wife!Reader

A/n: it's so easy to write now! I'm so glad that stupid writer's block is gone. :3

I hope I'm not badgering Loid's character lol. Pls let me know what you think! <3

General info:

Genre: pure fluff \\ wc: 711 \\ female reader \\ posted: 03/14/24

Summary:

You feel super clingy.. and you know exactly who your victim is. Your husband.

You giggle, kissing your beloved husband’s cheeks. His dazzling azure eyes instantly meet yours as he frowns, hand held up in defense. He retired from his spy career last year, but he was always on alert. You kiss his warm palm, giggling into his skin as you rub your cheek against his large, warm palm.  

You’re not sure why, but you feel extremely clingy... and your perfect victim was of course, your husband. You loved him to pieces, even though he could come off as distant at times, you stuck with him, bathing in the affection whenever he gave it to you, and beaming with gratitude as he showed you his love through several acts of service throughout the day, everyday.  

Loid looked at you with a blank look as you nuzzled into his palm, giggling happily. As you continue to giggle, inching closer to him, he can’t help but let out a small sigh, his lips lifting into a small smile. Your giggles grow louder, you’re now full on laying on top of him, rubbing your cheek against his chest.  

“Love you baby.” You giggle, kissing his jaw, cheeks, and nose.  

“I love you too, y/n.” He mumbles, smiling ever so slightly down at you, stroking your hair softly. You bathe in the affection. If you were a cat, you would be purring.  

“You’re so comfy.” You giggle, stuffing your nose into his neck.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah! So warm, snuggly, and you smell sooo good.” You rub your nose against his jawline, giggling at the sensation of your skin on his. You were addicted. You push your nose to his, rubbing them together as you fawn over him.  

A warm blush coats Loid’s cheeks, causing you to grin in glee. Your giggles continue as you rub your cheek against his.  

“What do I smell like?” He smirks softly, raising an eyebrow. You giggle even more when you see his playful side coming out. Something rare, and a blessing that he bestowed on you and Anya, his girls. You two were his world, and you knew that as well as he did.  

“I don’t know. You smell like you.” You shrug, giggling as you kiss his forehead, peppering kisses all over his skin.  

“You’re going to give me a breakout...” he sighs, though there’s still a small smirk on his face.  

“Oh yeah?” You giggle, kissing his skin harder.  

He chuckles, his hands moving to your waist. He pinches your sides, causing you to let out a squeak of surprise, your hands quickly grabbing his to stop his playful assault.  

“Meanie, that hurt!” You pout, attempting- and failing- to stifle your giggles. His smirk widens into a grin as he frees his hands from yours, tickling your sides.  

You squeal in surprise, giggling as you desperately try to get his hands away. Your giggles turn into laughter as you decide to get revenge, attacking his own sides with tickles and soft pinches. He attempts to keep a straight face but ends up grinning ear to ear as he watches your smiling face.  

He continues to tickle and gently pinch your sides, nipping at your ear. You squeal in surprise, laughing uncontrollably as you continue to assault his chest and waist. You run out of air, panting from the playful attack.  

“I give up! Cease fire!” You giggle, slumping onto his warm chest. He pinches your waist one last time before stilling his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.  

His grin softens into a smile as he looks down at you, kissing in-between your eyebrows, the tip of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, and finally your lips.  

The kiss was slow and gentle, melting you into a puddle. You kiss back sweetly, silently expressing your unconditional love and undying devotion to the man of your dreams. 

Loid pulls back, giving your lips one last peck before he rests his forehead against yours, breathing softly. You close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of having your beloved so close. “I love you.” You whisper, entangling your hands into his blonde hair.  

“And I love you, my dearest.” He whispers back. Your smile widens, he rarely uses pet names, and when he does, he’s showing you his soft side. The side that hasn’t been bruised or broken, the side of him that he has fought desperately for years to protect, to hide.  

It made you feel like the luckiest woman alive. And to be frank, you were. You were the luckiest, happiest woman in the world. You had your beloved husband, and your precious little girl.  

And nothing else mattered.  

~~~~~

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~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[the-midnight-blooms]

PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES | smg

pairing: spy!song mingi x assassin!reader AU: marriage of convenience au (inspired by spy x family, set during the cold war) word count: 19.0k warnings: blood, violence, mentions of death, strong language

masterlist

Apollo, to many, is an Olympian deity in classical mythology, characterised as a being of light, truth, music and prophecy. A strong entity bestowing his benefaction upon the humans who revelled in his myth.

To the Agency, Apollo is a venerated spy whose identity is obscured by the night, hidden in plain sight as he traipses the corrupted land atoning for all of its sins. There wasn't much to be said about Apollo, except for the many that were blessed enough to catch glimpses of his shadow looming in the restive airs.

He was handsome, with a cutthroat jawline, siren eyes and pink lips. He was tall, therefore heightening his attractiveness; which he was not oblivious to as he strode down the hallways of Headquarters seeing his fellow female colleagues steal glances at him only to hide behind their desks in a desperate attempt to conceal their blushes. Apollo was indifferent to their emotions, in his line of work there was no time for love, hence he was perfectly content with remaining single and rejecting all marriage and courtship prospects. Such was to only be pursued if he was on a mission.

Harsh winds roar in the dim wake of the evening light that streams over the serene atmosphere, oblivious to the churning pit of darkness overwhelming the esteemed states. The great wheels of the steam train grind against the train tracks where Apollo is settled in a private compartment, the sliding door sealed shut as the carriage sways from side to side. Before him sits a decoded letter from his superior, Athena, his sharp eyes reeling in the information.

“Good day or, perhaps, evening, Apollo

Well done on your last mission. Thanks to you, you have managed to restore a moment of peace to both conflicting states.

Your next target is the ex-member of the Agency and Chairman Hades. He is a great threat to the truce between Hala and Westonia. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate 'The Cosmopolitan' and obtain information regarding his whereabouts and any seditious activities from his wife Park Eunha, alias Persephone.

In order to achieve this, you will get married and have a child."

Excuse me, what?

"Hades has gone into hiding, therefore it is currently unable to track him down. The only way to locate him is by extracting this information from his wife, who, herself, will not readily give this information. His children attend a nursery school, where some of the mothers congregate and form close friendships with Mrs Park, joining 'The Cosmopolitan'.

You will have your child enrol in this school and have your wife infiltrate one of the social gatherings. The enrolment deadline is drawing near, meaning you have 13 days to pull this off.”

Where am I going to find a wife and child in thirteen days?

Releasing a deep sigh, he leans back in his chair caressing his temples.

For the peace of Hala and Westonia, Apollo will do what he must.

"This is one of our single-family apartments. The unit comes furnished, including central air conditioning and heating, and… Um, sir?" The estate agent stands awkwardly at the door as Apollo's careful eyes observe the contents of the room. On the second floor, it overlooks the city with easy access to the fire escape. The walls have good soundproofing, and despite the fact some of the floorboards are out of place; there's enough gap to hide some of his equipment. Best of all, there are no wiretaps.

"I'll take it." He proclaims eagerly. A relieved grin settles on the estate agent's face.

"Excellent, Mr Song now if you sign these documents..."

Name: Song Mingi.

Occupation: Physicist.

Quite a job to be having in the midst of a Cold War, but some of Hades' associates work down at that end in a research lab and what's better than killing one bird with two stones. Besides, Mingi doesn't remember much about his father other than the fact that he was a physicist; so he supposes the job he has created for himself has sprung from a personal touch. It's a good way to not get lost in one's forged identity, like how some agents keep their initials the same so they can remember who they are.

"How nice that you and your family are moving into a new home. Do you have a boy or a girl?"

Uh—

"We'll find out soon." He ignores the look of bafflement on the man's face before grasping the keys in his hand.

“Take whichever one you want.” The orphanage director scowls at all the children running around chasing each other. It's Mingi's time to look puzzled, the establishment itself is particularly run down, the ceiling looks as if it's going to collapse in on itself. Though he supposes these kids will all have complicated pasts, so it will be easy to manipulate. "Looking for any child, specifically?"

“Around 5 years old? One that can read and write.” He ponders out loud. He needs a child with potential to pass the entrance exam.

"In that case...we have Mieun." He gesticulates to the little body in the corner, sitting on the window sill with her legs crossed. Her hair dark, wide eyes boring into the abacus resting upon a stack of encyclopaedias. “Go on, say hello.” Tentatively, Mingi approaches her, the worker loitering behind him. He'd love to get Mieun out of his hair, the devious child is notorious for biting. Clearing his throat, the child turns to meet his gaze before looking back at the abacus.

"Mieun, will you not say hello to the nice man? He might be your new daddy." Her head whips in Mingi's direction, her doe eyes looking at him up and down.

"Appa?"

"Yes, yes. This is your new Appa." The man provokes with a sly smile; the sooner she's out of his hair the better. He's even willing to get rid of her without the paperwork, she doesn't even have a birth certificate having just been abandoned outside the orphanage two years ago.

Hold on a minute. Mingi cranes his neck to meet the Orphanage Director's gaze, huffing before looking back at the child. Well if she can read and write...

"Appa!" She squeals, kicking her feet. Her arms stick out towards him and Mingi sighs.

I guess this child is mine now.

Outside of his apartment complex, he stops at the steps looking down at his daughter. He registers how little she is. Was he that little at four years old? He remembers being the tallest in his nursery. Lifting her up from the floor, he makes his way into the flat—the old ladies coo at Mieun who simply blushes at them. He cannot deny she is a cute child, however he cannot get too attached. After all, when the mission is over he may have to send her back. Or, if he has enough pity, put her in a better establishment.

"Right, this is your new home." He declares, Mieun immediately darts towards the TV, her finger hovering over the buttons to change the channels. Her wide eyes are merely two inches away from the television screen; he deduces it's not good for her eyes immediately yielding her small body back to the sofa. "House rules. One, sit on the sofa when you watch television. Two, when I watch the news, you watch the news. Three, you eat what you get given or go to bed hungry. Understood?" Her baby head bobs up and down in agreement, he raises an impressive eyebrow, he didn't think she'd agree so quickly. Before he can blink, she crawls towards him wrapping her arms around him, her face snugly fits in the crook of his neck—Mingi freezes in his spot.

"Papa." She squeals, "I want a hug."

Ah, so this is her negotiation.

Tentatively, Mingi's powerful arms encircle her delicate frame, drawing her closer to him. They cocoon her entirely, enveloping her in his warmth. Mieun's long lashes flutter gently as the comforting heat that surrounds her sings a careful lullaby, basking her consciousness into the distant seas.

Understanding the other party is the first step towards peace.

Apollo learns very quickly that his daughter's love language is physical touch. Perhaps she is touch starved, a consequence of her infancy being wrought with neglect by her biological parents. In every moment of the day, she must be attached to her father, refusing separation. Whether it's hugging, holding hands, sitting on his lap: distance is not an option. It's somehow difficult for a man who can not remember a time where a touch felt like it was borne from the conquest of love rather than violence. Each vibration against his skin feels like the burning of a hot knife pressed against the surface of his body. He gulps, as Mieun swings her limbs around his long legs, he knows he cannot outright neglect her right for affection, but he doesn't know long he can cope with the hugging and kissing.

"Mieun please get off me, I need to go shopping." Her tiny brows furrow as tears begin to spill from her wide, innocent eyes. With lips that quiver with each sob that wracks her small frame, Mieun's fists clench at her sides, and her chest heaves with the effort of each breath, as if her tiny body cannot contain the overwhelming surge of emotions. The tears stream down her flushed cheeks, catching the light, as her cries grow louder in desperate need of comfort. Releasing a defeated breath, he raises her from the ground, hesitantly, pressing his lips to her rosy cheeks. "Fine, I'll take you with me." Grumbling, he fits her coat around her, hauling her out of the home with him.

The kitchen is bathed in the golden light of the early morning, casting gentle shadows across the room. The air is still, cool with the quiet calm that only the dawn can bring; he huffs as an unusual feeling of unsettlement roams within him. He has just posted Mieun's application form for Hala Academy, he knows that when he's found his wife he'll sneak in and write her credentials in on the form, which he has currently left very ambiguous.

"Fatherhood is a funny look on you, Apollo." A familiar figure wanders into the apartment, Mingi rolls his eyes as he attempts to feed Mieun another spoonful of porridge. He heard the merciless pounding of his platform dress shoes from the bottom of the staircase, he twists his neck observing the Black Cat's disposition, who's adequately dressed in a three piece suit, hair slicked back and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his long nose. In fact, his attire almost mirrors Mingi's who somehow looks better than him in it.

"What are they calling you here?" Mingi inquires, hastily shoving the spoon inside Mieun's mouth before she can refuse. Her face scrunches up in protest before distastefully swallowing what she deems gruel.

"Jung Wooyoung, an office worker in the City Hall." Apollo can trust the Black Cat to go for the most boring jobs— they pay a lot.

"I thought you were doing the The Graveyard mission?"

"I will after I'm done here." A beat of silence fills the room, before Mieun's whines permeate the room; shrinking under her father's hard stare she receives the last spoonful of porridge before scampering to the television to watch the latest episode of the notorious spy show. "So Hades has been a bad boy then?" Mingi raises a brow at the subject before placing the bowl in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"That's one way of putting it." He retorts, plainly, with no enthusiasm to continue the issue, but he should know better. Wooyoung is exceptionally prying. "I wanted to help but Athens told me—,"

"What, exactly, is your point, cat boy?" He mocks, jaw clenched.

"Are you not in the slightest bit, hurt? Like, at all? It is ok to feel angry and disappointed, he was your best friend. You knew him better than anyone." Apollo's head dips beneath his shoulders, slender finger tapping against the worktop as he comprehends Wooyoung's sympathy. He's not wrong in any sense, but being a spy does mean disregarding one's emotions for the betterment of the country.

"No. I really couldn't care less." Wooyoung hums, unbelieving of Apollo's statement. "I need a favour from you. Collect me the records of all the single women who live in Oka. I need to find a wife." The Black Cat wolf-whistles, ignoring Mingi's scowl.

"What's the magic word?" He teases, ignoring the look of vexation that exceeds on his associate's face.

"Please!" Mieun shouts, jumping off her seat as she pads to the television to watch her cartoons.

She really should start revising for that entrance exam.

"I copied all the files of unmarried women from the City Hall." Wooyoung throws the files down onto the coffee table, whilst grumbling. "I'm doing way too much for a mission that isn't even mine." Apollo highly validates his help, even if he'll never show it. Mieun looks up from her seat at the coffee table, where sheets of arithmetic are littered across; her father has already got her working on Hala Academy's entrance exam.

"Why couldn't you just marry Demeter? Everyone knows that woman is head over heels for you." Mingi shoots Wooyoung a look of annoyance. Demeter, alongside Apollo, is one of the best spies in the field known for her ability to extract information out of almost anyone without the use of torture. Apollo finds it impressive considering he’s had to get his hands dirty a few times. Regardless, she’s also known for pining over Apollo seeing that she’s attempted to pursue him a multiple of times, and has failed: horrifically.

He supposes that if he was that much in love with another, he wouldn’t want to let go of them too—but then again Apollo has never been in love (and doesn’t intend to either) so he cannot help but frown at her.

Grabbing both his and Mieun’s jacket off the hook, he kneels down to wrap her in the duffle coat. Wooyoung purses his lips, visibly impressed.

“Mieun and I are going to the library, I need a bunch of physics books because my knowledge has rusted."

Morana, to many, is a tyrannical mythological being characterised by death. rebirth and dreams. To Legion, she is their truest assassin, notorious for being Death's greatest servant providing him with an abundance of souls to take over to the afterlife. She held an unwavering stare as she grasped the night’s weapon, striking it upon Legion's enemies. Led by a convoluted moral compass, the mere concept of her seemed unreal, there was no way a being could be so light on her feet that when she travelled, it was like she was floating through air. Yet, she did it as if it was a gift she was born with.

Morana proved to be the stark opposite of her male counterpart. Where kidnapping, maiming, murdering and torturing was frowned upon by the Agency: Morana openly exercised her free will without a second thought. However, where the Agency ensured their members never had to worry about money: Morana was denied the privilege of having all resources. Granted her practises supported immoral beliefs, but her devotion to Legion remained unrivalled, thus heightening her formidable reputation as the highly skilled assassin.

They say she is unabridged of a ghostly void, holding no space for emotion as the potent elixir of death dribbles from her lips. Perhaps she is death, even. In the form of a human woman, estranged from society for the scar cutting down her face. It's not poignant, but the fact that it is there, is enough.

The esteemed mercenary sits in the public library, deciphering the message that was allotted between the pages of the book that she was told to retrieve. A key, she’s informed in the possession of a woman named ‘Park Eunha’, who runs a club that goes under the name of: ‘The Cosmopolitan.’ Letting out a relentless sigh, she caresses her temples, knowing this is not a mission to complete in days but rather months.

It’s easier to infiltrate the club with a child, but where on earth is she supposed to get a baby from?

"Miss?" Her head snaps up from the book, snapping it close and holding it close against her chest. Her gaze drifts to the volunteer who awkwardly shuffles her feet, staring back at the librarian in anxiety. Truth be told, the volunteer is slightly scared of her for reasons that Morana will never know why. It could be the scar. Smiling to alleviate her nervousness, she nods to instigate the volunteer to speak. "Mrs Sam is calling you."

Sauntering down the aisles, she makes her way to the front desk where the old lady stands amongst other women Morana's age. The old lady smiles, leaning on her walking stick before she speaks. She pauses, a breath hitched in their throats. It's weird how they're afraid of a little grandma with dementia but the old lady loves her library and will love those who cherish the essence of literature with her. She says nothing in the end, scuttling back to her office, to find the sheet of paper with all her notes on. Everybody loves Mrs Sam, Morana included who has a soft spot for the geriatric and little children. Coincidentally, they're the largest demographic that even still attend libraries (aside from university students who attend out of obligation rather than interest).

There are four librarians, excluding Mrs Sam. Morana, herself, Riko, Inger and Jia. The volunteer (whose name she will never remember) loiters by the typewriter machines being the antisocial one out of them. Inger is from Germania but moved to Hala with her husband and son on account of his new occupation here. Out of the other librarians, she is the nicest and most tolerable. Sometimes she can stand Riko, when they keep a distance and exchange polite words, but Jia. Jia, Morana cannot stand and refuses to. All she does is whine about how she never got an admittance into medical school—even at her big age of 28. Morana knows Inger can't stand her too, but neither would dare to admit that out loud since Jia is Mrs Sam's niece. They stand at the front desk as the library slowly fills in the early hours of the morning, a slight chatter amongst them before a haughty laugh escapes into the air.

"Only a man would do that, don't you think Inger?" Jia prompts.

"Ach yes, but my husband is too afraid of me to say no if I asked him to do basic household chores."

"Atta girl." Riko adds.

"What about your husband?" Jia looks at her, with her wide eyes before her lips form an 'o'. "I forgot you're not married, sorry, it's just we are all so I assume you are too." It feels like a taunt, it is a taunt.

The women of Hala firmly believe that marriage is at the heart of a fulfilling life for a woman, therefore those who are unmarried are readily ostracised. Living in the midst of strained tension between Hala and Westonia means that individuals' lives are now invaded by the secret police, probed to see if they’re involved in espionage; she knows that if she wants to stay alive or out of the public eye, she’ll need to get married. Unfortunately, there are no “Find my Husband, and quickly” schemes in Hala. The best bet is to finish her mission and leave Oka.

“Does anyone want to man the desk?”

“I’ll do it.” Morana offers, to which they appreciate. The married women disperse throughout the library with their trolleys to return the books back to the shelves.

Mieun's heavy pants enter Mingi's ears as he finishes taking the final step, making his way into the warmth. Her short legs could not make it past the fourth steep step, her arms holding out for her father to pick her up. He shakes his head at her, he must admit her into a sports club; how embarrassing would it be if one learnt that a child of a spy was unfit?

The library exuded an air of quiet reverence, the room was rather grand in scale yet suffused with a sense of seclusion; the scent of parchment and aging wood lingered in the mien. Muted light of the early morning faded through the tall, arched windows spilling across the worn carpet and leather-bound novels— poised delicately upon timber stretching at least seven feet from the ground. Nestled in the corners of the library were a circuit of soft leather sofas. With the current of academia, Mingi struggled to find the children's section, his eyes occasionally flickering to Mieun's eyes lit up in wonder as her gaze bored into the array of books. He did have to bring home a massive stack of encyclopaedias she refused to give back to the orphanage director.

"Never mind, just keep them." It wasn't like any of the other children were interested in reading, to the same extent as his daughter anyway, he claimed.

"Ok, why don't you look for something to read? What about this one: 'The Tiger Who Came To Tea?'" She shook her head. "'The Tale of Peter Rabbit'?"

"I've read that. I wanna read that book." Raising herself to her toes, her finger points to the spine of a book, Mingi crouches to pull it out.

'Harriet the Spy'?

"Are you sure? Might be a little hard?" He's not sure why he's second guessing her reading level, he has watched her read a children's astrophysics book but the cleverest children in Hala are scrutinised carefully. Intelligence is a curse, not a gift. "What about 'Winnie the Pooh'? My favourite character is Tiger." Mieun holds her ground, trying to pry 'Harriet the Spy' from his hands.

Very well.

"I like Roo, Papa." She scuttles past him to look into the boxes that are low enough for her to rummage through.

She'd make a good spy.

Manning the desk is probably the most boring task when there are no takers of books. The job is a little too easy for her taste, but the hours are great—it's better than working a measly corporate job in the City Hall where it's customary to stare into a document for over thirteen hours. Her primary role is the bringer of death, Magere Hein—as they would say in Germanian, and there are plenty of bodies this city needs disposing of.

A little body dashes towards her, her eyes lit up, watching as a mop of raven hair bounces up and down—her brown duffle coat is one size too big for her, black tights are too small. The skirt is the only one of perfect size. Her parents must be horrible at sizing.

“Hello, darling. How can I help?” She makes a poor attempt at trying to put the book on the table that’s too high up for her. Gently taking her arm, she guides the girl to the smaller table.

"I want this book." She cheers, it seems above her reading level.

“Mieun, don’t run off again.” Her head piques up from where she’s looking at the child, to find a tall man clad in a suit. A stack of books rests in his arms. “Sorry about that Miss, my daughter would like to check out this book.” Her eyes dart between the book, then himself.

Surrounding him is a stream of intimidation, perfection and control. His beauty is unparalleled, his suit is of perfect size hugging his physique with such perfect solidarity. Not a single strand of hair is out of place, his dominance keeps his daughter standing beside him with a decent posture as if afraid of his vexation. Her eyes paint a line down to the bridge of his nose over the curvature of his plump lips. No pimple, no pustule, no redness on his face. He is not a labourer, his hands are not calloused as he places his own books down on the desk; tender, one—no—two paper cuts indent his right index finger. He works a desk job, not at the City Hall. The physics textbooks tell her everything.

"No problem!" She chirps, opening up the book to the front page to steal the front card. "What is your name, darling?"

"Song Mieun! I am Papa's real daughter!" She cheers, a smile tears through her face as her father clarifies the spelling of her name.

Mieun, why would you say that? A look of quiet fear flashes over his face, gone unnoticed by the infamous assassin.

Stamping the due date box, she slides the card to the side to file it behind the circulation desk later. Then, she stamps the back of the books. The only pitiful thing about being a librarian is sending out notices for overdue books when you have to rifle through stacks of book cards. "You have two weeks to read the book and return it, ok?" Nodding eagerly she grabs the book from the table dashing towards the sofa in the corner of the room. Her father releases a sigh of despair turning his gaze back to the librarian.

Mingi finds she emanates a resolute presence, preceded by composure. Her shoulders are tense, her posture straight as she is ready to defend herself against something. It had dropped when she spoke to Mieun, now alone with himself, it is there again. There's also something about the way she carries herself, like an unmarried woman would. Perhaps her single state is due to the faint scar running down her face.

There are many things he cannot deduce about her, it astounds him.

“And these are for me…” He trails off placing down an abundance of physics textbooks. She completes the same order of work as she had done for Mieun scribbling his name down on the sheet paper, the way she masticates the syllables of his name on her tongue does not go unmissed. It slips from her lips in such a dulcet way, he feels warmed by it. "Thank you, Miss."

Teikoku Research stands, proudly, in the bustling arena of the city of Oka; the hum of pelican crossing signals the pedestrians to move as the cars stop, patiently, before the stop line. At half eight in the morning, the city is already alive with small feet pounding down the roads and adults pushing their way through the teeming crowds to get to their workplace on time. At half eight in the morning, the citizens of Hala are not friendly; not when money is their lord, saviour and religion; they may have recovered from a recession but Hala is constantly wrought in a fragile state of political unrest. Mingi's towering frame pokes through the sea of heads dashing down the crossing, his gaze fixated on the tall building in front of his eyes.

Whilst he awaits to hear back from Hala Academy, and Mieun stays with Wooyoung, he needs to work on Project Waffe, Hala's very own development of a powerful weapon. To avoid suspicion, he applied to the vacancy via the traditional route and passed the interview with his exemplary record as an atomic physicist.

His polished black shoes click against the marble flooring, leather satchel clutched in hand, his immaculate disposition summoning undivided attention from the passer-bys. A man stands in front of the double doors, almost as tall as Mingi himself, a little thinner, blonde hair with a frame of rectangular glasses sat on his crooked nose. He wears a dark grey suit, a little shabby, though it seemed as if he forgot to iron his clothes the night before. As Mingi approaches, he clears his throat, polite smiles exchanged between them.

"Mr Hans Schmidt?" The older male nods, gesticulating for the spy to follow through the doors.

"Welcome to your first day at Teikoku, you must be a spectacular man of a sort, Tanaka isn't easily impressed." Mingi remembers the old, short man, bushy eyebrows glaring daggers at Mingi throughout the interview.

Hans Schmidt rambles about basic housekeeping rules, quickly points at key rooms Mingi may have to wander through in the building. Has him wave at the tea boy, the receptionist and a few other 'crucial' members of staff before completely diverting the topic of conversation.

“I’m assuming you have a wife, Mr Song?” Hans asks, his thick Germanian accent spilling through. Fifteen years in Hala, but some things will never change.

“Ah I did. Unfortunately she passed away five years ago during childbirth, so it’s just been my little one and I.” A crushing stifle oppresses the air as the two men walk in synchronisation down the hallway.

“Ach, I’m so sorry to hear that. The little one is five, ja? Girl or boy?” A genuine look of compassion pulls over Hans' face, which Mingi perceives as a possible indicator that he has experienced some kind of loss in his life. After all, Hala has been in and out of dictatorship and stuck in a century old feud with Westonia, everyone has lost someone.

“Correct, she’s five. Her name’s Mieun.” Mingi smiles as he proudly announces his daughter's name. This baffles him.

“What a beautiful name. I have a young one, Luuk. He will be starting Hala Academy, in about a few weeks time. Will she be attending H Academy too?”

“I should hope so.” Hala Academy are very picky when choosing from their candidates. There is a list of criteria, Mingi is unsure if he will be able to fulfil when he walks around the city unmarried.

“Well, this is your department Mr Song. Your supervisor will be here, shortly, to direct you. I hope you enjoy your service in Teikoku. And, remember, no question is a stupid question.”

When the day is over, Mingi closes the cap of his pen, organising the sheets of paper neatly, into a folder before packing his satchel to leave. He bids his supervisor goodbye before rushing out of the building to catch the bus home. It is five 'o'clock in the evening, in Hala, and the roads are much quieter than they were in the morning—a cold gust of air slaps across his face before he double takes reeling in the figure walking past him.

Every evening, for the next week, he finds her at the bus stop, five minutes past five waiting for the bus that arrives at nine minutes past five. Sometimes he walks slowly down the staircase, to realise he must rush across the road to catch the bus that has arrived early. She stifles a giggle as he stumbles onto the bus, panting as he slides onto the seat next to her. They share a smile before she begins interrogating him about his daughter.

One evening, she is not at the bus stop, or the next and Mingi walks the long route home to try and find her at every stop. He's unbeknownst why, but she's the only choice for a wife he has otherwise his mission has already failed. There she is, standing outside of a convenience store, bags in hand, nose nestled into a scarf searching her surroundings.

Is she waiting for someone?

“Sorry Miss, are you waiting for your husband?” The grip on his own bag tightened as her doe eyes stare up at him.

"Mingi? What are you doing here?" A pause lingers in the air as he contemplates his next few words. They stand outside the shop, the dusk seeping into the sky as the roads begin to empty, its silence reminiscent of a time before.

"I didn't see you at the bus stop, so I was worried about your whereabouts." He utters.

Morana blinks twice before regaining a hold on her rationality. "No, I'm not married, Mr Song. I was just waiting for the next bus."

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. In that case, would you like me to walk you home?” His offer is one forged of consideration, a type she has never foreseen before—it almost has her wondering what has intrigued him to display an act of compassion, towards her. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have even asked. Lead the way, madam.” He’s a gentleman, bred of a unique kind that seems to have gone extinct.

“Your wife is a very lucky woman, you’re a very polite man.” She begins, as they stroll down the cobbled pavement to her home.

“She was.” Was? As if having read her mind, he continues. “She passed away during childbirth, it’s only Mieun and I, now.” Her lips uplift into a sympathetic smile, as if to reassure him of his loss. Morana does not remember her parents herself, after all she was taken in by one of Legion's assassin's at nine years old.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now I understand why the baby’s clothes are all the wrong sizes.” The joke rolls off her tongue effortlessly, but is replaced by a sense of unease as he's quiet for a second too long.

“Oh it’s that noticeable?” The anxiety prescient in his tone warms her, he's evidently a man who cares.

“Perhaps I could go shopping with you! To shop for Mieun, I mean.” She quickly adds, as her face turns beet red in embarrassment.

“I’m afraid you’d have to marry me first.” A quiet laugh escapes her lips, she shakes her head at his proclamation. "I'm serious, Mieun would love to have you as her mother. She's finished her book already, and pesters me to take her to see you." Morana is in awe, Mieun is a darling. (And her father is, too, of the attractive kind).

“Marriage, marriage, marriage. It's all the women of Hala care about." A sigh of despondency is released before she confesses to him, "Truth be told, the women at the library were going to report me to the police for suspicion of espionage, all for being single. If you were being serious, I would actually take you up on that offer." Mingi stops in his tracks, the luminous blaze of the streetlight forms a halo over his slicked back hair. She, too, stops in her path, turning to face him.

“Would you be willing to be my wife, so Mieun could have a mother?" His question suspends in the thoughtful atmosphere, the minute wisps of wind are hitched in their wake as they anticipate her response.

“Yes.” She answers, a relieved smile settles on Mingi’s face. “I guess, I need someone to be a mother to and your child needs a mother.”

“So you’re saying it’s ok size up for trousers, shirts and dresses?” Mingi quizzes, as he browses with his wife in the girls sections.

“Yes! It’s much more comfortable, leaves room for movement and she can go a while wearing them too. Saves us buying more clothes until she’s grown out of them.” Her eyes searched across the racks until they bore into a dark brown skirt. “We should get this! Then Mimi and I can wear matching outfits!” She squeals, a soft smile painted on her husband’s face before she rifles searching for the right size. Glancing over the price tag, her movements falter before Mingi takes the skirt from her hand to rest it over his arm, like a rack.

“I like that blue dress.” He points out, ignorant of the price tag. “It’s similar to yours.”

They’re Mr and Mrs Song now, it somehow feels odd that with some sudden twist of fate, she now remains at his side—her name in conjunction with his. Who ever would have thought that the enigmatic librarian had caught the eyes of the quiet, single father? Yet it had happened, and in a whirlwind she had moved into his home, and was practically sharing a room with the man. He was more than happy to give her the spare bedroom, though she had insisted that sharing a room wouldn’t make Mieun feel that there was some sort of particular divide between them. After all, this relationship wasn’t just orchestrated for the world, but also for their daughter too. She needn’t know that this was merely a marriage of convenience.

Morana learns off Jung Wooyoung, the civil servant at the City Hall, who often decides to drop by for dinner. Mieun calls him a ‘Cat Boy’ to which this confuses her.

“He somewhat resembles a black cat, don’t you think?” Mingi provokes at the dinner table as Wooyoung rolls his eyes. Morana takes the time to observe Wooyoung’s disposition carefully. She’s seen him before, but where?

“Has he told you about Hala Academy?” Wooyoung prompts, she nods as she chews her food. "Hear that Mimi? You have to get in, it's what would have Amma wanted, right?"

Would I—oh…

Mieun's real Amma.

"I thought...your wife passed away during giving birth, how would...Mimi know..?" She tentatively raises, stopping in between words in some hope that Mingi picks up what she wants to ask.

“It was one of the things we used to talk about when she was pregnant with Mimi.” As married couples do.

As lovers do.

"I'm sorry about Wooyoung bringing up my ex-wife, that idiot always says the first thing that comes to his head." The tablecloth in hand wipes down the surface of the ceramic plate before he settles it down onto the pile of dry dishes. Shaking her head, she waves him off as she organises the containers of leftovers in the fridge. They may have not been married very long, yet some odd systematic domesticity is established through their routines. Every evening, she will wash the dishes as Mingi clears the table. Mingi dries the dishes and she will arrange the leftovers into smaller bowls, then wipe down the table; then wash the cloth. Within it, they will always talk about their day, gossip about co-workers before exchanging gentle smiles.

"It's ok, Mingi. I know you don’t see me as a replacement for her.”

“That doesn’t mean I still don’t value you, and your role in this household. First and foremost you are my wife and Mieun’s mother.” He, quickly, interjects���his stern expression tightly fixed on her. Some odd consternation steers in her, his sincere words are the first to be spoken to a man of his kind. He is a rare creature, she deduces. Yes, many are tall and handsome; but the soft-spoken and considerate have gone almost extinct. Almost, she remembers, her husband exists. Song Mingi, exists and is hers.

It's enough to make a grown woman swoon at night.

Hala Academy stands in the centre of Oka, in all its grandeur—its imposing silhouette barely visible in the moonlight, now towering over them. A loft edifice of dark, weathered stone, the building perpetuated an air of class and sophistication subduing the couple with a sense of inferiority. The arched windows were adorned with intricate wrought ironwork, their glass panes slightly fogged with age. Ivy crept up the sides, entwining with the stone, the main entrance called for them; above, a stone plaque read simply: Hala Academy. Pushing past the mahogany door, the entryway was lit by the flickering glow of gas lamps, the stone floors covered by traditional Persian rugs. The ceilings were high, the walls panelled with a rich, dark oak, the corridors were long and narrow and despite the array of candles in their pristine silver holders it still felt significantly cold and dim. On the contrary to its suave demeanour, the rooms are filled with anxious parents and carefree children; excited chatter infiltrates out into the entryway.

They look like a composed couple, with their outfits that complement each other, colours and styles an ode to their age-old marriage and comprehensive understanding of all matters intelligent. Mr Song, the physicist, and his wife, the librarian, stride into the rooms, their daughter settled at her mother's hip, elegant in her smart clothing. Still, she doesn't understand why Mieun could not wear pink but according to Mingi, "The school's dress code is black, maroon, grey and dark brown. It’s better to follow their dress code. Remember, the first impression is the last impression."

Ah yes, 'to impress'. That is the main reason that they're here: Hala Academy organises interviews for all candidates that have fit the school's criteria. This is where the children must complete a 'simple', two-hour entrance exam, which topics include: Literature, Mathematics, Science, History, Geography and Politics. At the same time, the parents are interviewed to assess 'Familial Politics'. In other words, children of divorcees, single parents, parents who are separating are not given an admission on the grounds that their child will not perform well. It's a clever tactic as most parents would be too concerned about their child's education than about their marriage. As grim as it seems, this is one rigid rule of the eminent 'H Academy' and is the primary reason it stands as the world's best international academy.

Mieun has skipped to the exam hall, standing behind a line of nervous students all sweating and shaking as they receive firm looks from their parents. Morana deems she is the only child that has been kissed goodbye, standing with her husband in the foyer awaiting for them to be called to interrogation. An old man, with short grey hair, a pair of half-moon shaped glasses and a cane stands outside of the door—his hawk-like eyes, cautiously, observing his surroundings.

Andrew Anderson, Mingi recalls. An ex-Westonian Major turned English teacher, who has a keen eye for marriage authenticity. He also retains the excellent sixth sense of seeing through lies and has even made a mother run out of the room crying snot and tears. Anderson makes, seemingly relaxed, interviews intense; cutting down the candidates down to the bone.

"Mingi." Mrs Song whispers, he averts his gaze to her, leaning down slightly as her lips inch closer to his ears. "I think we should hold hands." She professes, her fingers grazing against his own. He noticed Anderson's hawk-like gaze from across the room. Whilst is constantly watching, Mingi is constantly performing. Enveloping her own smaller hand within his, they share a polite smile before he smooths the crease on her blazer collar.

We must prove to them that we're a happy couple.

"Mr and Mrs Song?" Their heads pique up in synchrony, somehow the grip on her hand has tightened as they scuttle towards the office, feeling the burning stare of a number of parents, who are too, awaiting their turn in anguish. The room is particularly large, like most of the rooms in the academy, with a sizzling fireplace crackling embers; daunting, as if the couple were expectant of their death. There are three interrogators, inside the classroom, Mr Anderson, Mr Jansen and Mrs Beck, all of whom Mingi is thoroughly educated on. Upon Mrs Beck's allowance, they seat themselves together on the plush sofa opposite.

The Songs shall prevail in this game of information warfare.

"Mr Song, I was informed that this is your second wife, may I ask how you met?" Mrs Beck asks. She's a mild-mannered woman, very conservative and prioritises logic; the older students love her with her concise explanations of advanced biology. Nevertheless, she's an exceptionally 'gradist'; therefore only intelligence entices her.

I see we're getting straight to the point. He looks over to Mrs Song, who matches his placid composure. "I met my wife in a library, I was in awe of her grace. Ever since the passing of my first wife, I've been hesitant on moving on but on meeting her, I felt that I had been given the privilege of being able to fall in love again." Mrs Song returns his smile, clutching the fabric of her silk dress to steady herself.

"And what about you, Madam?" Beck inquires.

"Mingi is a wonderful person who cares so much for his daughter. He's also exceptionally considerate of me." Before Beck can open her mouth to retort, she is uncouthly cut off by her colleague.

"Why would a pretty girl like you choose to be with a man with baggage?" Mr Jansen inquires, furtively, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the aghast stares of his associates.

"Why that's uncouth of you, Jansen." Beck hisses, she quickly dismisses Jansen's question proceeding forward with the interview. "As for our next question: Could you tell us why you chose to apply to Hala Academy?"

"The quality of the instructors at this establishment is superior. Of course, you are all very knowledgeable and cultured, and are excellent at guiding your students to fruitful pathways in order to become successful citizens of Hala." Anderson nods his head, impressed by Mingi's elegant response.

"Now then, how would the two of you describe your daughter? Are there any strengths and weaknesses we should be aware of?"

After a single pause, Mingi opens his mouth, contemplating his words. He remembers having this conversation with his wife last night. "Mieun is a very inquisitive child, she's quite reserved at first—which isn't necessarily a weakness but after some time she's exceptional at opening up and conversing with others." Morana watches as the deputy headmistress scribbles down her notes on the clipboard, she can just about make out some of the letters; although the pink flush of her cheeks is discernible as Mingi speaks.

“It's a shame this whole second wife/second mother ordeal is quite a...tragedy for you, Mr Song.” The deputy headmistress looks up from her clipboard, sending her colleague a look of irritation; she finds some of Hala Academy's traditions to be rather...unconventional.

"I think it's hardly unfair to be penalised on the account of death, don't you think? After all, he is a man and what use is a man without a woman and what use is a woman without her husband." Mrs Song interjects, her head held high challenging Mr Jansen's cunning gaze.

"Jagiya—" Mingi reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently to dissipate her brewing anger. Yet she ignores his attempts at trying to conceal her animosity.

"Lest we forget, you're on your third marriage—aren't you, Mr Jansen?" A spectral silence is suspended in the air, all three of the chairman's jaws go slack in sheer astonishment. Mingi narrows his eyes at her, how much does she actually know?

"And just HOW would you know that?" He barks at her, fists clenched, restraining himself from baring his teeth.

"Courtesy of Mrs Jansen, she often visits the public library and we've got chatting." Her shrewd stare boils Jansen's blood, she's eerily calm despite having ripped open his lies apart.

"The library?" A deep chuckle is eructed from Anderson, leaning forward on his cane. "I thought your wife was dyslexic? Humour me, Mrs Song, what does she like to read?"

"She has a taste for erotica." A wave of startlement succeeds the room, the face of each male going bright red--even Mingi. "The world will read what it cannot get." After a tense moment of silence, she stands up from her chair.

“I’m sor—,”

“No.” She holds out her hand to cease his futile attempts at an apology, perhaps it should be her who apologises. She did just ruin his career. “You can apologise when my daughter scores top in the entrance exam. Auf Weiderhen.”

“I’m so sorry, Mimi, I ruined your admission with my short temper.” Sulking, Mrs Song wraps the blanket tightly over her shoulders before sinking her face into the armrest in despair. Her daughter falls onto the space beside her, wearily attempting to pry open the blanket.

“Mama, opennnn.” Mieun whines, lifting up her blanket she shivers slightly before her daughter crawls in next to her, both girls cocooned warmly in the blanket. “It’s ok, I think I did good. I am sooo bad at geography, I hate it.”

“Well it’s a good thing Hala Academy lets you choose to either keep the subject or drop it in year 8.” Mingi, ambles into the living room placing the tray down on the coffee table before sitting on the leather chair adjacent to the sofa. “You said nothing wrong, we can just hope Mieun has performed well.”

A letter slides in through the letterbox, hitting the ground with a gentle thud as the family settle themselves around the dining table; in the early hours of the morning. Morana freezes, as Mieun climbs down from her chair to pick up the letter.

"It's from the school!" She cheers, which has Mingi springing up from his seat to grab the letter. Restlessly, he aptly tears the seal, his sharp eyes scanning the contents of the letter. He remains silent, in a state of shock as he reads, and re-reads. "Appaaa, what does it say?" Mieun prompts, tugging at his dress trousers. Standing up from her seat, Mrs Song, considerately, seizes the letter from her husband’s grip.

"MIEUN! YOU SCORED FIFTH! YOU'RE GOING TO HALA ACADEMY!" Morana shrieks, she swoops up the tiny body in arms, spinning her around both of them screaming and laughing as Mieun's father takes a seat on the sofa. His ears drown out the discourse of passionate laughter, his back hits the soft fabric with a thump, eyes fluttering shut.

Happiness. Is this what it is supposed to feel like?

"Like I said, if it's getting too much for you, you don't have to work. I earn good enough for the both of us." Mingi explains, as he leans against the kitchen worktop watching as his wife, skilfully slices the vegetables with point blank precision. It's odd, he thinks, that each slice is exactly 1.3cm in thickness. Despite the full background check Mingi has run on her, a small figment of him believes that there's more to her than meets the eye; as if the interview wasn't a testament to that already. Flicking her gaze over her shoulder, she returns back the pot of stewing broth.

"I like to be kept busy, besides the library isn't too far from Mieun's school so I can drop and pick her up." He can't help but agree with her, though if she's in one place at a time and not scuttling all over the city, he'll find it much easier to scrutinise her: if need be. His ears dial out the sound of the pots whirring, and the obnoxious commotion of the broth boiling; attuned to the light patter of feet trailing to the front door. Before the fist pounds against the wooden door, "Mingi, will you get the door? That will be Mimi."

The knock doesn't resound. It never does, Mieun doesn't knock in the 30 staggered seconds it takes him to reach the door, because she's too busy grabbing sweets off the granny in the neighbouring apartment to them.

How did she know Mieun was at the door?

Her slender fingers dance across the surface of his lips, his brown eyes fill with tears, muffling incoherent noises as a devilish smirk is strewn across her lips. "Quiet." She snaps, picking up the scarlet red telephone; placing it to her ears. "Stella, darling, I'm great—will you shut the fuck up like I told you to?—oh, just some pathetic guy, I'm killing him soon anyways— No, sorry, I'm picking the..." Her dagger cuts cleanly through the air, lodging straight into the midline of his torso, the metal, deviously, sunk its teeth into his skin, tissues erupting into a roar. "I think I was very clear about telling you to shut up. Sorry, Stell, I'm picking Mimi up from school. Send the cleaners, please." Her stilettos echo in the abandoned building, carelessly making her way around the masses of dead bodies lounging on the Grim Reaper's bridge.

"MAMA!" She shakes her head at her daughter's congenial nature, as she dashes towards her, after waving her little crowd of friends goodbye. They're all children of very wealthy families, Morana notes all of their faces and the mothers that wave their children over to them. Luuk Schmidt, that's Inger's son, who sends an amiable smile; he blushes slightly at Mieun's actions. Sasha Ivanov, daughter of the CEO of a large pharmaceutical company. A few other children whose parents are politicians, doctors but none are important to her. Finally, Park Kira. Daughter of Hades and Persephone. Morana can't help but be impressed at Mieun's friend group, it must be her intelligence and undeniable beauty. "What's for dinner today?" Ruffling Mieun's hair, she guides her daughter out of the exit as they discuss dinner options.

“Mrs Song?” She turns in her step to look behind, a woman slender in physique with a fitted dress, long, black silky hair stares at her in sincere judgement. She is dressed to the nines, but Morana's sleek look somehow makes Persephone feel inferior.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Park.” Her hand settles on her daughter’s shoulder who stares back at Kira, sensing the underlying tension between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She instigates.

“My daughter, Kira, would like to organise a play date with your daughter—if that’s ok with yourself?”

“Ah yes, of course. Mimi, would you like to play with Kira over, let’s say, the weekend?” She suggests, darting her eyes to Eunha who gives a subtle nod of agreement. The weekend works best for them. Mieun is quick to agree, Morana is relieved—she admits she would be annoyed if her daughter disagreed; that would soil her mission.

"If you don't mind staying over, Mrs Song? The ladies and I usually arrange a tea party but seeing Kira only wants Mieun over, you and I can have a natter, can't we?" Morana conceals the smirk simmering beneath her skin, a look of innocence feigned instead.

"That would be lovely."

Mingi is mildly taken aback by how quickly Mieun has become close friends with Park Kira; yet, he is not one to complain as his wife eagerly announces that both of them have been invited to the Park Estate. Absent-mindedly, he fiddles with the microchip between his fingers, watching as his wife slips on a pair of pearl earrings before hastily rummaging through her cupboard for a pair of heels. He remains silent, simply observing from the corner, as she flurries around in a slight panicked state.

To begin with, Mingi is cautious for two primary reasons.

First, Mrs. Park had always been considered a reserved woman, and the idea of her inviting another woman to tea—especially one not a member of The Cosmopolitan—strikes him as somewhat dubious. Second, Mrs. Song is an enigmatic figure. Though he can't tell if it's because his knowledge of women is rather lacklustre, or that it is, in fact, the truth that she has somehow been moulded into a different human. There are late nights she justifies by claiming to close up the library, and the bruises that mark her body seem to be symptoms of anaemia. Her sharp intellect, which many attribute to her love of knowledge, only adds to the mystery. If she really was Mieun's mother, he would have been able to understand why the child was so bright. Therefore, the chip isn't just to spy on Park Eunha, it's for her too.

Stealing one last glance of herself from the mirror, she turns on her heel, summoning her husband's attention. Her hands clasp into fists at her side, "How do I look?" She asks, softly, her breath like a cloud of heaven, dropped from the sky to bless his ears with her voice.

"Beautiful." A relieved smile settled on her lips, he stood up from the bed, strolling towards her. He stops in front, adjusting the clip in her hair and smoothing down the collar of her dress shirt. "You are beautiful." He whispers. His sincerity has her heart fluttering in awe of him—their intimate moment is cut short by Mieun stomping into the room.

"Mama! I can't find my red shoes!" Shaking his head at her, Mingi ushers her out of the room towards her own as they begin to hunt for her 'Dorothy slippers'; as her father likes to call them.

The Park Estate stands as a grand testament to an ancient opulence, nestled amongst sprawling acres of manicured grounds. It's coppery stone façade, boasts arched windows and intricate wrought-iron balconies. In the middle, stands a large water fountain where mist lightly sprays against the surface of the cobblestone path that paves the entrance down to the home. With Mieun sitting in her arms, she tightens her grip sauntering down the lane, to the doorway of the home where the household's domestic staff run up and down the corridors. Morana shifts the weight of her feet, standing uncomfortably in the foyer as she is instructed to wait for Mrs Park; Mieun wiggles out of her grip persisting to be put down. Inside, the rooms are vast and richly decorated, with heavy velvet drapes, antique chandeliers, and polished mahogany furniture. The manor emits the quiet confidence of old money, with its precise refinement. There is no doubt Eunha keeps the household on a tight leash.

The terrifying click of heels down the staircase snaps her away from her thoughts— her gaze follows Eunha walk down with Kira skipping to Mieun in front of her. “Mrs Song! Welcome! Come join me in the parlour, are you ok with Mieun playing Kira outside? My butler will supervise them?” She nods in agreement, pinching Mieun’s cheeks before following the lady of the household. She’s seen this place before, having infiltrated it, under the cover of the night, they've just passed the East wing where she knows Hades keeps his information. Passing the butler perched outside Eunha's wing, he swings open the door before gently shutting it behind them. They settle on a plush maroon sofa, her weight sinks the sofa enveloping her in a secure warmth.

In the shadowed silence, a figure glided effortlessly through the corridors, his every movement fluid and purposeful. The air was thick with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the sigh of relief as he watches his wife saunter into the room, unbeknownst of his presence. His butler's attire blended seamlessly with the surroundings. Nestled among the towering oak doors and gilded arches, he ventured deeper into the quarters; the glint of the brass handles guiding him through the halls. Each nook and cranny was carefully articulated into his mind, he knows to the right unfolds Hades' rooms but the study is more useful to him. Shallow breaths infiltrate the tense atmosphere, his hand brushing the surface of the door handle, twisting the knob before pushing himself in.

In the drawing room, the delicate clink of porcelain on fine china punctuated the room, the faint scent of chamomile filling the air. The assassin sat with poised elegance, her fingers wrapped delicately around a teacup; beneath the soft, maternal façade, lay a woman far more dangerous than she appeared. Across from her, Eunha sipped her tea with a languid grace, unaware that the pleasant conversation flowing between them was, in fact, a carefully crafted performance.

"Well I told you about our meet cute, where did you and your Mr Park meet?" Morana feigned a melody of curiosity with just the right amount of innocence.

"Our marriage was arranged, you see. My father was eager to marry me off, and consulted the youngest business partner that he knew. At the time, Hw—Seo—." She stutters over her words, Morana narrowing her eyes as Eunha presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth; she is unsure of how she is supposed to address him. "Seung Cheol wasn't interested in me but my father is a persuasive man." A faint blush falls on her cheeks, yet Mrs Song nods her head with a mild understanding.

"Well, all things work out in the end, don't they?" Eunha's hands tremble slightly as she lowers the teacup from her lips.

"I guess." Releasing a shaky breath, she regains her carefully, composed exterior. "Where did you say your husband worked again? Teikoku Research? No wonder, your daughter scored top." Morana lets out a succulent laugh, leaning back into her seat.

“Yes, but do not ask me of the specifics of his job role. I’ve often wondered about the more… serious matters, the ones that always seem to pull our husbands away at the oddest times. Does your husband ever speak of such things? I imagine his work takes him to all sorts of places, doesn’t it?” A moment of silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Then, with a smooth, calculated grace, Mrs Park replied, her voice now a shade colder.

“My husband is a very private man. He prefers not to discuss his affairs with me.” The assassin leaned back slightly, her smile never faltering; the pieces were starting to fit together. With a casual flick of her wrist, she refilled both their cups, her eyes scanning the room for anything out of place.

"Of course," she said gently, eyes glimmering with a hidden agenda, "Some things are better left untouched, aren’t they? After all, what would us, women, understand?" Eunha's eyes glaze with an amalgamation of emotions that include sadness and fear, it betrays the façade she has tried so hard to maintain. She is just too innocent for this world, forced to hide and stay quiet under her husband's sins.

Mingi creases his brows as he adjusts the ear piece glued to his canal; Mrs Song's artful questions are something for him to praise as he assesses there is an underlying current of inquisitiveness laid within them. Something that extends the mere nature of curiosity, as if there is some deeper knowledge she is aiming to acquire. At this point, it is hard to believe that this arrangement doesn't benefit her in more ways than one. His hands rifle through the cabinet of useless files, sliding open drawers, slender fingers sliding down each corner of furniture in an attempt to find something. He should know better, Hades would never keep something so valuable to him in sight, and by Eunha's own statements, it seems she isn't exactly willing to disclose any information about her husband.

"Is your husband affectionate, Mrs Song?" His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, freezing in his action as he anticipates his wife's response. A chorus of high-pitched merriments entrail in his ear.

She...giggled?

"We've held hands and Mieun isn't my biological child so I think that tells you everything. What about your husband, is he affectionate or does he like to keep to himself, too?"

"When I see him, again, usually at this time of year, he might give me a kiss on the forehead if he's in the mood."

Usually at this time of year, huh?

He probes his head for important dates, anything that could provoke Hades' entrance into Oka. His ninth wedding anniversary is coming up soon, if his marriage means anything to him.

"I'd love to stay longer, Mrs Park but I think my husband might be getting hungry, hence I have dinner to prepare." The resounding click of heels against the ancient wooden floorboards, tears him away from his thoughts. He aligns the sheets of paper back into a uniform fashion, before his eyes dart to the copy of the 'Odyssey' perched on the table. Two copies.

Both Apollo's and Hades'.

"We had samgyetang, and then played tag before the old lady told us to go inside." Her stubby finger points to the butler, who sends Mrs Song a sheepish smile. Adjusting the scarf around her neck, the two girls embrace each other before bidding their goodbye's. Before her, Eunha knits her brows, staring ahead of the figure sauntering to them. Calculatedly, she throws her eyes over her shoulder before, briskly, spinning on her heel.

“Mingi? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be seeing Wooyoung to the train station?”

“Yes, but then I missed you.” She blinks once. Then twice. Thrice, for consolidation. Stalking towards her, he presses his lips to her forehead, breath catching in her throat. His pinkie finger slides under the collar, swooping up the microchip before placing his hand into his blazer pocket. “Besides, the days are getting shorter and it’s unsafe for my wife and child to walk home, unchaperoned.” Eunha coos at the couple, her lips twist into a genuine smile as she ushers for Kira to come back inside. Scooping up Mieun's figure, she rests her head on his chest, sliding another arm around his wife's waist before they bid a final goodbye to the Park's. Mingi wonders if Eunha has recognised him, whether it be from his stature, to the sound of his voice. After all, they've met in a time before. A time where Hades had introduced him to his wife.

"I didn't know you were growing out your hair, what's with the change?" Both agents are crouched behind a low wall, the cool wind tousling their hair.

"Just felt like it. Why is it weird?" Hades asks after a single beat.

"Apollo, there's a target—" The gun fires at the target behind him, hitting his enemy straight between the eyes.

"No, it's not weird." It's Hades' turn to fire his gun behind him. "I think it's a good look actually, where are you hoping to grow it out to?" Gunshots resound the air, bodies dropping to the floor like dominoes.

"Just above my shoulder, maybe I'll dye it later."

"No, don't be an idiot—."

"Are you both, fucking, deaf?" Athena snarls, panting as she lands on the roof out of breath. "There's a fucking bomb about to detonate in about two minutes and you're sat here like you're having a tea party."

"Now, now, Athena, all that language isn't good for the baby." She rolls her eyes at Hades' remark, as they tumble through the skylines as fast as they can. "Oh, Apollo, will you come meet my wife? She's been asking about you."

Apollo huffs, as he skids across the cobbled rooftop. "You know, I still can't believe you're married."

"The Dad was paying good money." They both snicker, as Athena rolls her eyes.

Men.

The wind submitted to her every command, the delicate air carrying her away through the desolate city with a melancholic heart. Her body fell into the shadows as she leapt from one building to another, Morana's movements were slick. Careful. Deliberate. Perched like a spider on the wooden ledge of a collapsing ceiling, she cocks her head to the side as the room fills with important disciples of her establishment. They stand in their long black robes and silver masks, in two long rows either side of the room, awaiting for their leader to arrive. She has never met the Liege, not in person anyway, and she doesn't intend to either. A meeting with their leader means death. Instead, her legs dangle over the edge, eyes fulgurating around the room as she notices an influx of her fellow assassins enter; tucked away in corners. They wave at each other in their own funny little fashion. Morana is one of three women called, so she blows her kisses to the men, who are evidently charmed by her. Whilst seduction is not her best skill, her undeniable beauty has always drawn the scrutiny of lustful men.

"Let the meeting commence."

"May our client, Hades, come forth." A man steps out from the line of men, standing in front of the leader— he, who himself is masked in gold, clearly distinguishing himself from his disciples. "How may we help you, Hades?" The assassins' taunting laugh resounds in the room, their figures unseen as they become at one with the shadows.

"I see that my key is both a magnet for Legion and the Agency, yet should I remind you that setting your hands on it would merely mean imminent death?" His voice is deep, emanating with an authority that commands attention; his words reverberate through the air like a distant thunder preceding his primal essence. "You promised me, you would take out Apollo."

"You did, when the time comes, I will send my men." The Liege promises; it feels rather hollow in comparison to the weight of Hades' intimidation.

"You don't see me as a threat, do you?" He taunts, instigating a spectral silence to befall over the room. "In fact, make it interesting, send me your best and I will send you their head."

“Oh I will send you my best, and she will give me your heart.” A sea of eyes flicker to the corner of the room where she is enveloped within the barge of shadows.

“Everybody has a weakness, Your Honour. Even your General Morana.” Her brow raises in interest. She, herself, wonders what her greatest weakness would be.

“And only God would know what it is—do you believe that there is a God, Hades?”

“I believe that there is a higher power.”

“Then do you believe in fate or destiny?” Morana's eyes narrow, where, exactly, is this going?

“Somewhat, what should I make of this, your Liege?” Hades responds, as if he has read her thoughts and is disinterested in his Liege's provocations.

“That fate has parted you from my General to save the satisfaction of your blood befalling on her hands.” The night releases a harsh sigh upon her Liege's declaration, her hand slides off the aging timber of the abandoned church, feet fixed to the narrow ledge she stands upon. Her body shifts, ever so slightly, the moon casting a fateful light upon her body, illuminating her presence. Those who have not seen her, have seen her now. Hades has seen her now.

"Where have you been?" He sits in the armchair, just across from the fireplace, a steely gaze boring into her. With a breath hitched in her throat, she remains silent as he approaches with an air of intimidation, his round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, loose strands of hair framing his sharp cheekbones; clad in grey sweatpants and a baggy jumper as he towers over her. There's no doubt Mingi always looks good, but when he's stripped bare of his sobriety: he looks even better. With the minimal distance between them; she cannot help but admire him— god, he's beautiful in some sort of sadistic way. As if he stole the fires of beauty from Aphrodite and had been carved from her prowess. As if he was forged from some kind of celestial plane, naked to the human eye, forced to submit under his divine grace. He's apollo, a thing so eternal. His large hand moves to settle on her delicate waist, "I was so worried about you. Where did you go?" His whispers are echoes of hymns sung by a choir of angels.

"I—,” She stutters under his potent eye, heart palpitating faster than it has ever done in a life-threatening mission. Hell, she's even been close to a detonating bomb and still, it is Song Mingi, who has raised as the beat of her heart as if he is the vessel that keeps her moving. Her fingertips graze the soft fabric of his sleeve before firmly resting on the back of his neck, his siren eyes flutter under her supple caress. Why does he feel so weak? "I went on a walk." Snickering at her own poor excuse, she dares herself to not move, the warmth from his palms is all she needs.

"A walk?" He repeats, raising an eyebrow in inquisition. Her eyes trickle to the mole beneath his eye, she wonders what it would feel like to just press her lips against it.

"Yes, there's a very nice park around the corner. I don't recommend going around this time though, there's many prostitutes." She warns.

"Ah, all the more reason to go then." He jokes, Mrs Song snorts, her chest suspiring as the melodious chorus of laughter spills from her soft lips. A grin pulls on his face, when she realises: has she just seen Mingi smile for the first time? Snaking his arms to her back, she is pulled in, sinking into him, feeling the weight of his chin upon her head. "I'm joking. You’re enough for me.”

Stella. An associate of Morana, or rather she likes to call her, a subordinate. The infamous assassin strolls into the library, making her way down the aisles where a woman stands on the farther end, stacking books onto the shelf. They're all books in a language, foreign to Hala, hence who better to ask than the woman herself whose name roams the seven seas. "M." Stella greets, with the subtle dip of her head, her grey eyes boring into the decaying books on the antique shelf. "Alles ruhig an der Westfront." Her mutter prompts the book to fall out of the shelf into Morana's hands, her heels click purposefully on the floor towards the front desk with Stella passing by, throwing down War and Peace.

"Why did they send you here?" Morana asks, as she files the card behind the front desk. Stella eyes the lollipops in the jar at the front desk that Mrs Sam has left to lure the kids into reading books.

"Didn't think marriage was in the cards for you but then again, I don't know you that well." Legion doesn't think she can balance domesticity and murdering. "Though, your husband is one hunk of a man. I'm almost jealous." Her fingers flip open the pages of All Quiet on the Western Front, slipping out the clean sheet slotted between the pages, tucking it into her skirt pocket.

"Is Legion questioning my capabilities?" To any other they may have been perceived as two devotees of literature, with the way Morana tilts her head to the side, Stella clutches her book as if she is conversing about it. "They can cut ties and I can find jobs elsewhere, I don't need them but they need me." Her shrewd, low voice sends a scathing shiver down her associate's spine.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." As Riko slips into her line of sight, Morana slides out a sheet from under the desk, handing it over to the lady in front; taking the hint she receives the paper with a smile.

"I would be because I didn't sleep my way up to the top, I'm not tied down by my body." They switch to a dialect of Arabi. Stella's grimace doesn't go overlooked by herself. The telephone at the front desk sends a startling ring, Morana steals the line before Mrs Sam wakes up from her nap and answers it, baffling the caller.

"Hala Library, how can I help—Mingi? You're going to be home late? Ah ok, yes the school bus will drop Mimi. What about dinner? Ok. I'll see you at home, don't overwork yourself." Within Stella's eyes there holds a barge carrying her emotions, her morals, her modesty; all trapped in neat containers that she had locked away when she had devoted her life to Legion. Morana has sent a sturdy blow to those shipments, kicking the balance straight under Stella's feet. "Oh baby, don't be so upset. Next time try to use your head, instead of your heart."

Ahead, the coffee shop came into view, its warm, amber glow spilling through the large windows, contrasting with the sharp chill of the evening air. The door swung open with a soft chime as Apollo stepped inside; the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit him first, its comforting bitterness masking the tension that coiled beneath the surface. He sends a single nod to the barista before slipping his way to the back, where he saunters up the stairs and to the room right at the back. The café is a front for Agency business and each aspect of it coordinates to its said trade.

A current of air follows his salient prescience into the room, where Athena is perched behind a desk, bayonetta glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flicker up at Apollo, through the top frame of her glasses, she closes shut the file she was scrutinising; sliding it across to him as he takes a seat in front of her. They speak of important fixtures with minimal words, he takes the hint that the file is important to his current operation.

NAME: ? ALIAS: MORANA BODY COUNT: 100+ CLASSIFICATION: DANGEROUS

His sharp eyes stare at Athena from across the table, "Do you want to tell me something I don't already know?"

"You're not the only one after that key. According to one of my informants, Hades is essentially under Legions' witness protection but they want what he has. As Morana is their most powerful associate, I have a feeling she's after that key too." Yet, it has always been hard for him to identify her in a crowd of people. She is at one with the night, blended amongst the silhouette of buildings, blinking down at him with the stars — mockingly, as he searches the ends of the earth for her.

"Well it would be helpful to know what she looks like, or even if I was just at that meeting." He resists the urge to scowl, throwing his head, long limbs slumping across the chair; a stark juxtaposition to his usually composed act but here he is with his age-old friend— Apollo can be a different man here. "December 16th, Moscow. We lost all five of our highly-trained operatives to, her."

The wind howls, as an unbridled phantom slips through the slither of light beaming from the transparent windows of their base. Apollo rubs his hands together, the frictional forces generating heat as his body withstands the harsh pressures of cold lacerating their supple skin. He remembers sliding his unwavering gaze over to Hades, who stares in such an unemotional state at a photo of his wife, thinking if the man truly loves her. But love is not an emotion neither of them can ever afford having. Athena rests her hand on her baby bump, it's a wonder the board has still deemed her fit to run missions in the field. He recalls the silence of the moment, as all three of them eventually lock their gazes onto the burner phone. When it buzzes Athena throws her whole body for it, only for her steely face to drop at the news; they've never seen her this disappointed before.

"We've lost all five of our contacts. Apollo, I need your eyes. You, with me." Athena and Hades disperse from the base faster than he can blink, his tall body dashes over to where his sniper is. His siren eyes peer through the cold, glass lens of his sniper scope, following the swift movements of his associates as they dart towards the building opposite to them, but that is not the focus of his attention. Rather, it lies in the window, fronting his own—where his client lies; dependent on the Agency's protection. In the darkness of the room, a shadow moved with unnerving precision, closer towards his client. His finger brushes across the trigger guard Hades dashes up the staircase, a full floor below where chao is about to ensue.

A gleam of silver haunts Apollo, the projectile scream of his *client* terrorises the air. Hades has stopped in his path, Athena's gaze snaps up to the staircase laid before her.

Three fingers raised: the forefinger, middle and ring, on her left hand. Her M.O.

Morana has seen them.

"You've got one more week." Stella adds, sipping on her cup of tea as Morana stirs the brimming cup of coffee almost overflowing into the porcelain saucer. Mieun pats her arm gently, ushering for the half-cut muffin. "You'll make her plump with all of those sweets." Morana gives her subordinate a harsh stare before handing over the muffin.

"She's a child, besides she doesn't eat sweets at home." Griping, she downs the coffee in one gulp, wiping her lips with the handkerchief. "What are you doing about, Hades?" Stella waves her away her question, as if it's pointless. Perhaps it is, even if Legion gifts him her presence; it will be his heart that she ships back to Persephone.

"He's just a loose end. If the worst comes to worst, take him out. Even the Agency doesn't need him, they just want to stop him, imprison him, whatever. Who gives a shit, just get that key." Stella darts her siren gaze across the cup, "Oh, and be careful about Apollo. He's probably after that key too. So make sure he doesn't get his hands on it."

It is her turn to dismiss Stella, "That man can't hurt a fly."

"Careful, sixteen men down in three minutes. You've done twelve in four." Cocking an eyebrow in amusement, she leans back in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind Mieun’s ear. “You’re getting soft.”

“Careful.” Morana mocks, a flicker of the devil himself tugging on her sharp features. “I can dismember you with that butter knife.” Stella smirks.

There she is.

A deep sigh rolls from his pink lips, he scrunches his nose before placing his coat on the peg. A faint aroma of washing up liquid lingers in the air, he passes his gaze through the immaculately clean kitchen. It's 8PM now, Mieun has closed her books and gone to bed, whilst his wife occupies the living room with a book in hand. He settles next to her, resting his briefcase onto the table casting his gaze over the words scrawled across the page. "What are you reading?" He asks, so innocently, as if he hadn't come back from a small mission of defusing a bomb in Oka's clocktower. Most likely a Hades antic, he thought as Athena paged him.

"White Nights by Dostoevsky." She remarks, turning a page, before her gaze moves to him. "You know, he mentions Nastenka’s name at least 138 times or so in the entirety of the novel and she never asks for his." He hums in response, shifting his body to face her.

"I couldn't imagine someone saying my name that many times, in a lifetime." A thought so literal to her entity. Hasn't she only been gone by her alias?

"I can start now if you'd like. If I go at the correct rate, I can reach 138 by the end of the night." Mingi, light-heartedly, jokes. Shaking her head at him, she closes the book in hand. "You know I realised that I haven't taken you out on a date in a long time."

"You've never taken me out on a date."

"We snuck out for cake two weeks ago. Wasn't that a date?" Mingi argues, as a grin forces his way to his lips. He frequently feels a peculiar consternation with his wife. Apollo always knows the right things to say, yet with his wife he does not quite know where his rationality disperses to. He’s always been a stoic man, yet with her his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "I can take you out next week." After the mission. After he has dealt with Hades and hands him back to the Agency.

"Oh no, I can't. I'm closing up the library— what's that? Is that a cut?" A small gash permeates down the side of his face, almost obscured by his long locks. Ah yes, he also had to encounter a few loose ends. 'White Nights' is abandoned somewhere, and Mrs Song scuttles to the kitchen coming back with a damp cloth. "How did you get this?" Mingi can't help but feel intimidated by her authoritative tone, her clothed finger gently rubs down his temple—most of it is just dried blood. He watches the way her eyebrows furrow with careful concentration, softening as the touch of the soft curves of her lips.

"I'll take you out on a date, Mrs Song, next week. Whether you like it or not."

Morana stood motionless atop the clocktower, the night air biting against her cloak as the sprawling city stretched beneath her feet, its lights flickering like a thousand unbroken stars. Her cold, unwavering gaze was fixed upon the distant horizon, where the grand silhouette of the Park estate loomed. With an almost imperceptible shift of her weight, she descended from the tower, moving with the practiced grace of a shadow. Navigating the winding rooftops, the pulse of the city was drowned in the rhythm of her movements, both purposeful and silent.

With poise, she slips between the cracks of Park’s security force, sliding through the window; the tips of her toes trailing amongst the floorboards towards Persephone’s rooms. It’s a shame that a woman bred from the tree of debauchery could not be as conniving as her predecessors. She’s cut from a fabric of sheen, of delicacy and vulnerability — Eunha adores her husband and would lay down her life for him, but the key is not with her. It's with him.

A patter of silent footsteps crawl into the room that she’s concealed within. Yet she’s not alone, the rooftops are busy with another figure. Apollo, probably. Her lips curl into a knowing smile.

This is going to be fun.

Simultaneously, another two figures draw into the room — as if the next act of this grand performance has begun. A spectral stifle diffuses through the room, Apollo stood with his usual stoic presence, the weight of years spent in the shadows barely registering on his sharp features. With a gaze cold his siren eyes were neatly obscured behind his hood and mask; there resigned a flicker of painful nostalgia as he casted a calculated gaze over his adversary. Standing across from him, Hades cut a striking contrast. Tall and slender, his figure was draped in a dark, almost ethereal manner. His raven-black hair framed his face in a way that softened the sharpness of his features. He was clad in a dark, tailored suit that gave him an air of nobility, exuding a quiet, unsettling charisma. Where Apollo had once been his friend, Hades had become a phantom—an enigmatic figure who walked past the line of salvation, to damnation. Apollo’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile, but something borne of recognition. "I never thought I’d see you again, Seonghwa." He said, his voice low, cutting through the silence.

Hades met his gaze, his lips curling into a smirk. "And yet, here we are," He responded coolly. Hidden in the shadows of the room, Morana breaths ceased as the deep voice travelled to the crevices she was tucked within. Apollo. There was something so familiar about his voice, as if she had heard it before in a comfort that only existed when the stars were untamed by the night. His figure too, tall with broad shoulders. His face. She just needed to see his face. "I've missed you, brother."

"You can't call me that." Apollo interjects, steadfast in his words. Not after he had spent haunting nights mourning the loss of one he had poured his heart out to and trusted, as if there was the same blood running through their veins. Seonghwa snickers, shaking his head slumping down onto the maroon leather chair legs sprawled out before him. His nonchalance startles Mingi for a split second, with his rationality restored the spy subtly begins a careful stance, almost slipping from Morana's field of vision.

"I really pity you, Min. You've always been blinded by your allegiance to the Agency. No matter how intelligent you are, you'll never realise that their morals are just as convoluted as any other network of assailants I now work with." A single blink, Seonghwa cocks his head to the side, a nefarious smile tugging at his lips. "What is it about the Agency that makes what they do right? The fact that they're legal?" Morana can't help but agree with Hades, the Agency have got their fair share of dirty secrets and innocent blood on their ledger. At least Legion takes out those the Agency holds a blind eye to.

"You've never been a rule follower, Seonghwa." A vicious drawl of laughter empties into the room. "Let's just end this here, tonight. I'll ask you nicely, hand yourself over to the Agency."

"Or?" Seonghwa provokes, resting his chin in the palm of his hands. A cold gust of air permeates into the room, the window is large enough for her to fit through.

"Or I will hand you over to them myself, bloody, bruised, broken or dead."

"That's my boy." Hades rises from his seat, Apollo takes a step back initiating a threatening stance. Morana darts from her corner, swinging her body towards Hades, her fingers reaching for the silver chain looped around his neck. With a robust pull, she tears the chain from him before tearing her body out of the window with Hades firm behind her.

The moon hung low, casting silver shadows over the sprawling mansion; Morana leaped from rooftop to rooftop, her heart pounding like a war drum. Each footfall was silent on the slate tiles as she darted past chimneys and skylights, her eyes briefly scanning for Hades behind her, then Apollo behind him. Quickening her pace, the rush of wind in her ears nearly drowned his menacing laughter. Apollo observed, his pulse racing as he followed Hades' every move. He propelled himself forward, landing just behind Seonghwa.

Hades lunged forward, his long strides closing the distance between them in seconds, his slender fingers curled around her forearm. With a swift movement, he pulled her towards him, fist connecting with her jaw in a brutal punch. The crack of bone echoed in the night air, and she staggered back, her vision momentarily blurred. “Is that all you’ve got?” She spat, wiping blood from her lip. She pivoted, launching a kick aimed at his abdomen. Just as Hades advanced again, a blur shot past, and Apollo tackled him from the side, tumbling across the rooftop - the tiles scraping against their skin. "Oh no, darling, this ones mine." Tearing away from Apollo's mighty grip, Hades charged at Morana like a bull, his fury driving him forward. With little time to react as he closed the gap, in a swift motion, she drew a knife from her belt and thrust it forward, the blade glinting in the moonlight. It found its mark, slicing into his shoulder. Grunting, Seonghwa stumbled backwards, falling to his knees and he began panting heavily.

Apollo flickered his gaze between Morana and Hades, before darting her way, himself.

I still need that key.

No myth, no legend or number of transcripts could truly depict Morana’s brutality; he’s lost count of the number of punches she throws per sequence, her movements are fluid and she moves in such fashion, that it seems inevitable that she will win. Blood dribbles, ruthlessly, down his mouth, he spits it out before turning with a crazed look. He must win now, to get the Key. To complete the mission and save Hala. To go back home to his wife and daughter.

Swinging her leg, a powerful squall of wind hits Apollo’s side, whilst her leg is still heading for his temple, he leans back, swooping his longer leg under her feet. Losing her stance, her body falls backwards, back hitting again the slate pummelling a wave of agony through her. Apollo dives, straddling her hips, securing both of her hands above her head. His fingers loop around the hem of her mask, her eyes widen in realisation of his intentions. Wrestling his robust grip, her hand fires out toward his own mask; before they know it the pair rip, synchronously, rip away their disguises.

It has never felt so quiet in Oka. Nor in the Park Estate, even when the owner’s staggered breaths persist through the silver dagger pierced through his collarbone. At the moment, Apollo doesn’t care about Hades, Athena will get to him should he decide to run away. His eyes cast over Morana, her identity no longer obscured by the night. Years chasing after her, running through files, latching onto every clue of her. Years of chasing, for her to become his wife in a single night.

“You—Mingi?” She questions, with staggered breaths as he rises from his knees, feet frozen to the ground as he stares down at his lover in confusion. “Mingi? Who are you?” She asks, her eyes flooding with tears in quick realisation that she had almost slaughtered her husband.

Yet all Mingi can feel is his heart shattering, the pieces sinking into an abyss sailing over the length of his body.

She’s a liar. So is he.

“Mingi! WHO ARE YOU?” She shouts, lips quivering as she, pathetically, fights back the tears. He cannot speak, she’s grabbing his shoulders now, throwing questions at him, shaking them. Screaming at him, holding herself back from pounding her fists against his chest; she may just batter the air from his lungs. “You lied to me! You-you said you were, you said that—,” She stops, breath lodged in the crux of her throat. Song Mingi has said a lot of things. None of them have ever been true.

“You lied to me t—,”

“You’re Apollo.” She interjects, the pieces have fallen into place. The lies, the façade, the quick thinking. The baby, the apartment, his coordination. The late nights, the cuts and bruises, the exhaustion. The warning from her establishment of him, a spy, roaming the city terrorising the land with his altruism. Protecting the demons from her wrath.

Apollo is here.

Apollo is him.

Apollo is Song Mingi.

Apollo is my husband.

“You’re Apollo.” She repeats, her voice cracks, palm pressed against her mouth to hold back the pained sobs. Because she knows what they really wanted her to do to him. Because it’s finally registered for some reason, that of course, Apollo is Song Mingi and she is just a woman riddled with hurt.

"You’re Morana." Tears well in the corners of Mingi’s eyes, his chest tightening as he struggles to breathe. A hollow sorrow envelops him, his heart aches—a stinging pain that pulses through him with each passing second. Each second surpasses in anguish, his head throbs, heart palpitating; feeling as though the ground beneath his feet was slipping under him. His sadness swiftly morphs into something darker, more dangerous, as the anger intensifies—raw, uncontrollable. "You lied to me too." Mingi's voice trembles, laden with fury, yet there's an undercurrent of sorrow that seeps through. "You’re a threat. A danger." He hisses through gritted teeth.

“Oh, how rich of you to say that to me when you’ve got just as much blood on your hands.” A shaky breath escapes her lips, eyes glossing with tears. Moving her body away from him, she takes gentle steps away from the rooftops, leaving him stranded with Hades. He lets her, because Mingi already knows that from the moment she knew of his real persona, he had lost her anyway.

Her back collides against the wooden panels, she grits her teeth as Mingi holds an unwavering stare, her shoulders plastered to his hands. The dim light of the living room drapes over the side of his profile, his hard eyes penetrate into her own. Tackling his brute force, she pushes herself off from the wall, his neck strangled by her forearm. Falling to his knees, his fingers claw at her strength every wheeze like a beg for salvation. Reluctantly, he stops prying away from her; her heart skips a beat at his subservience. Instead, he raises three fingers, like her M.O. Her eyes well up with tears, again, the grip around his neck loosens. Mingi pants for air, his wife turning away from him as pearl tears slip down her cheek. “I can’t do it, I can’t hurt you like that. Not now that you’re you.”

“How didn’t I know? How did I just foolishly believe that you were my wife?” Whipping around, her eyes fulfil with a sense of fury.

“I am your wife, Mingi. I’m also the mother of your daughter. Before you, I am a member of Legion.”

“You were my wife and the step-mother of my daughter. You are first and foremost a member of Legion.” Stepmother. How is it possible that a word can hurt more than an open wound? 'First and foremost you are my wife' he had once proclaimed. Men are such liars. "I've thought about it. I want you gone. I will willingly let you take my life, but I won't live with an assassin. It is against everything I stand for." He squeezes his eyes shut, an odd tingling sensation filling his nose. His throat burns with dejection, heart consumed by such sorrow. His hand grips the arm of the sofa, in hopes he won't bow before her. All he wants to do is kneel under the jurisdiction of her love; his poor heart has been compromised by her.

"I thought you stood for me." Mrs Song whispers, curling her paling fingers into a tight fist.

“Leave.” Is all that he can say. Her vision blurs as she shuts the door to their shared bedroom, reaching for the suitcase above the wardrobe. When the night sighs, and she knows Mingi has collapsed on the sofa, Morana sinks to her knees as tears spill down her cheeks, tickling her jawline before they patter onto the floor. Painful wails permeate the air, pharynx wrought with suffocation as she can barely breathe under his despotism. But his judgement is neither tyrannical or unfair. Rather it is justified, and she had just grabbed the short end of the stick. 

The following morning is sombre, her suitcase and bag are left near the front door. With the key given to Stella, she's no longer required to stay in Hala, but there's a small cottage on the outskirts of a village that she's been allocated a temporary stay before her next mission.

"Amma, are we going on holiday? I still have school tomorrow." Mieun's doe eyes stare up at her as she's perched by the doorway, slipping on her shoes. Mingi stands just behind Mieun, resting a hand on her shoulder, uttering for her to do her homework. "If Amma's going on holiday I want to go too."

"Mimi, listen to your Appa, ok? Amma is just going away for a while, for work." Not a complete lie. Her gaze is firm on her daughter, refusing to look back at her husband.

"You'll be back?" Her voice is timid, as she begins to realise that her parents have not shared an interaction since the morning has begun. Before she can speak, Mingi has already denied and Mieun's eyes brim with tears. Turning away, the door is swung open, bag slung around her shoulder in an attempt to hurry before she reasons with Mingi to stay. They both know it's not possible, their morals are too different.

“Mama!” Mieun’s painful sobs fulfilled the atmosphere, her arms outstretched for her mother, pearly tears streaming down her little face. “Mama, come back!” The ropes tied to her heart snapped under her innocent wails, bags dropped at the door rushing back towards Mieun. Mingi steps forward, yet before he can blink his daughter’s little body is swept up in a safe set of arms.

“Just let me hold her, Mingi. One last time. Let me hold her, please.” Her daughter’s body rocked within her arms, little hushes ceasing her sobs followed by soft sniffles. “It’s ok, Mimi, Amma is here. I’m not going anywhere.” This false delusion, she prays, her daughter does not hate her for. Soon, she will have nothing but the mere thought of Mieun to soothe her. Then at one point, Mieun may not even remember her at all. That’s the thing about children, they are blindly devout to the pursuit of love — hearts so pure even her daughter doesn’t know her parents’ hands are drenched in blood.

“Mimi, Amma won’t be gone for long.”

“Promise?” A breath is hitched in her throat, followed by an overwhelming urge to erupt into a fit of terrorising sobs.

“One way or another, Mama will be back. Ok?” The tears are gently wiped away from Mieun’s face, her eyes flickering towards Mingi’s stoic demeanour. It hurts her. Did she mean absolutely nothing to him?

The autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Mieun stepped out of the ivy-clad institute, her plaid skirt swishing around her knees. The clocktower chimes as the hour strikes three, her obedient eyes scour the sea of parents awaiting to pick up their children. She knows it's her father who will be picking her up; affirmed by the recognition of his tall figure standing by the wrought-iron gate, a small smile on his lips. However, it is her mother she is always seeking, standing closer to the entrance of the school her black kitten heels firm into the cobbled pathway. With a small grin, Mieun runs to him, he meets her halfway. She never needed to meet her mother halfway, she's distinctly told him this on many occasions. Mingi reaches for her leather satchel, encapsulating her minute hand into his; before he can proceed forward he is stopped by a soft voice.

"Mingi." He turns, meeting Park Eunha, who is holding Kira's hand. There's an amalgamation of Eunha's emotions in her eyes: hurt, guilt, betrayal, sadness. She must have only learnt of her husband's demise now. It's interesting, to him, how a woman wrought with poise and sophistication is now so timid before him. "Uhm, I haven't seen your wife in a while, is she ok?" His heart stuttered in his chest, sinking below the cavity. Mingi does nothing but nod because the thought of her does nothing but render him silent. Before he can move away again, she stops him.

"I don't blame you, for Seonghwa. He had it coming. I was just hoping you'd let me know when I can see him again, or if there's anything I can do to discharge him, a sum-," Mingi pivots, furiously, on his heel yet his hate is shattered as soon as he is met by her innocent face.

"No amount of money in the world can compensate for his sins, Eunha. You'll be contacted when you can see him."

He travels through the skylines in the midst of the night, just like his wife used to, soul heavy with emotions that he attempts to bury each night Athena sends him on a mission. One after another, each dreary escapade, the sounds of bodies thudding on concrete does not bring him relief for every sigh that the earth takes with its pollutants gone.

"You're not the same Apollo." His superior retorts as he throws the folder onto the table. With a raised eyebrow, he dismisses her words, watching her carefully as her steely eyes reel in the report. "Your wife is Morana, isn't she?" Gulping, Mingi resists the urge to nod. For every time he is reminded of her, it hurts.

"Was." He interjects.

"Oh you got a divorce?" Profusely shaking his head, she scoffs, "So then she's still your wife then, isn't she? Tell me, is she pretty?" Briefly Mingi shuts his eyes close, as if he's reliving the days where he would wake up to her puffy face, her pouty lips and ruffled bed hair.

"She's my Aphrodite."

He stood tall on the edge of the rooftop, dark silhouette blending in with the shadows of the night. The cold breeze tugged at the collar of his black coat, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze, sharp never left the building across the street, where chaos was unfolding. The sounds of muffled shouts and the occasional crack of glass echoed through the air as a fight broke out on the upper floors. His breath misted in the night air, siren eyes scanning each movement, analysing every shift. He had seen this kind of thing a thousand times — the slow resolve of control, the way the violence spread like wildfire — but tonight was different. As the moonlight flickered behind the building, Apollo’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something in the fray. A flash of familiar movement — a fluidity in the chaos.

There, among the shadows of the fight, was a figure he knew all too well.

His wife.

Morana moved like a shadow, each strike landing with precision. Her movements were both theatrical and deadly, as though she was in complete control of the situation. His breath faltered as a sigh escaped, shifting his position as he leaped from one rooftop to another towards the fight. Towards her.

Yamuriko - a beautiful small town on the outskirts of Hala, near the mountains as its name would suggest. Legion's safehouses are usually located in rural, unnoticeable areas. In a cottage, just about two miles away from the centre, the esteemed assassin sits on her porch as a steaming cup of jasmine tea sits beside in a fancy porcelain cup, one lowly assassin's are not even entitled to have.

"You look pathetically bored." Humming, she looks up from where she was staring intently at the lush grass, into her peers' eyes. 'The Black Fox' stares down at her from where she is sat, a folder fixed between his fingers. "Missing your daughter?" He questions, settling beside her, his broad shoulders almost push her out of her seat. Shuffling down, she simply hums holding out her hand for the file.

"Yeah, I miss my daughter too." A quietude is held amongst them, at least 'The Black Fox' can go back to his daughter. Her husband won't take her back. "I miss my wife." Biting on the inside of her lip, she flicks through the file, ignoring his words.

Site: Oka, Hala

A trembling whisper, "I miss my husband, too."

Releasing a sigh wrought with exhaustion, she takes her seat on the limp torso—her head sinking beneath her shoulders. Eighteen in two minutes, thirty seconds. Maybe Stella is right, she's gone all soft and slow. Tugging off the hood, she rips away her gloves, stuffing them deep into her pockets before her eyes steal the hands on the clock, again. Her ears tune into the heavy footsteps of a figure dashing up the staircase. Right, left, right, left. It holds a certain weight that she has only heard in its less panicked state. "I never thought I'd see you here, Apollo." Her voice holds a slither of spite, she raises her head slightly as the enigmatic figure stands, plastered to the doorway. A shaky breath escapes from him, as he seals the clasp holding his dagger. "I just realised, I have ruined your job, again. " Morana's taunts disorientate him as he takes careful steps towards her, pushing his way through the room full of dead bodies. It's her, she's taking his missions. Killing all of his men, so mercilessly he was forced to believe that maybe the devil had really left hell. He remains silent, whether to provoke her or that her presence has really left him stunned; he will never know. It disgusts her, like excess skin and oily hair, like grime under nails and unclean spaces. She feels so repulsed by his ignorance of her, all this for him to say nothing and stare into her as if she is nothing but a transparent soul, eradicated from his life.

"It’s been six months and twenty-seven days since you left." He utters, his large hand moving to raise her chin—as she stands to her feet, his eyes are complete with grief.

"You counted the days."

"Do you want me to tell you the hours?" Her fingers curled into fists, her body trembling as she fights to keep the tears at bay.

He even counted the hours.

His palms gently cradled her face, a quiet warmth in his touch, his lips move in disorientation as if he is unable to commit to the words that are begging to be expressed. She laughs, it almost startles him yet he holds his ground with concerned eyes boring into her. The laughter becomes less sardonic, brewing into a melancholic kind wrought with immense agitation.

It’s no longer laughter.

It’s sobbing.

“I don’t know who’s worse, or if we’re just as bad as each other?” He remains as quiet as the night they both revel in, in a state of despair that for the first time he is the villain in this story. “Every moment I had spent with you, I felt like a wife and a mother. I believed I had a husband providing for me and a baby who needed me to keep her warm.” They’re words she has spent nights scribbling away in books until the words can no longer form the same sorrow that resides with her. Words she had so wished she had least spoken aloud to him, on the night he let her go.

“Instead. I got a man who deceived me and a child that still thinks I’m her mother. I don’t care that you hurt me, but Mieun? Is she even your baby? I could never forgive you." Tearing away from his grasp, the warmth of his touch dissipates leaving her separate—yet wholly yearning for his touch, every fibre of her being aches for him. To be held by him, to be loved by him, to be honoured and worshipped; why were these notions of the past?

“I—I adopted Mieun for the sole purpose of this mission. I just needed to get to Hades and you were both the key.” Scoffing, she averts her gaze outside of the window; Legion has always been two steps ahead of the Agency, has he not realised how useless Hades really is? Closing her eyes, her chest surges as it fills with the burning sensation of despair.

"What have you done with her now? Where is she?" That same authoritative tone, no longer withstanding care.

"She's still with me. I am not a tyrant, I would never send her back to that orphanage." He argues.

"Well, I wouldn't know Mingi because I don't really know you, do I? As far as I believed, I was wrong."

"Don't say that." His voice is weak and almost cracks under her brusque proclamation. “I’m struggling.” He confesses, they may have just been the two hardest words Apollo has ever proclaimed in his lifetime. His whole life he has lived, pushing away his emotions, trapping them in Pandora’s Box, as if were to be so vicious plague to horrify the earth. He never said anything when the Agency cut him down to the bone, he never said anything when Hades had betrayed him, he never said anything when she left. Anticipating his next response, she fears moving. It’s always been hard to elicit a response from Mingi, so staying still, giving him time and space is perhaps the best she can do in this reconciliation. “I’m struggling without you. I cannot breathe, I cannot sit or stand. Or breathe, or eat and drink.” He makes his way towards her, again, craving her touch like it’s oxygen, Mrs Song lets him because the truth is she’s been suffering without him, too.

"Just please come home and shout at me, scream at me, tell me how much you hate me. I let you back, just come home.” He begs. Mingi sinks to his knees before her, siren eyes welling up with tears, lips pouting as he almost screams in agitation. He was just supposed to be here for the mission, now here is wrought in a state of vulnerability— betraying his morals and beseeching for his wife.

How can you say that after much you've hurt me?

Her palm connects with his cheek, a jolt of pain rushes through him, sending a wave of electricity through his supple skin. “I hate you!” She howls through tears, the anguish in her voice terrorises him. Her fists grab his collar, sending an outbreak of beats that hurt even more than the last. The sight of his cheeks rushing red makes her cry more. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” A sudden pause, and she sinks to her knees to meet his eyes; before another relentless influx of torture permeates her body, instigating her wails to plague the earth.

Falling to her knees, her head sinks into his chest in a frenzy of emotions, his palm presses against her back to steady her. Her body wracks with a profound anguish as he encases her frame within his hold. “Come back to me, please.” He rocks her back and forth, her cries cease under his benefaction.

“But—,”

“If there is a world in which I can hold you, love you and be with you eternally, then I want it to be this one.” He proclaims.

“And your morals you have sworn allegiance to?” She questions, his fingers move along the surface of her supple skin, wiping down the tears staining the front of it.

“Oh my Aphrodite, I have sworn my allegiance to you.” Scoffing, Morana buries her face into his chest, concealing her cries by baring her teeth. But Mingi has always made it so easy for her to be vulnerable around him. “Let me forget my morals tonight, let me take you home with me Mrs Song.”

“Tonight you forget your morals, tomorrow will they be there again?”

“Perhaps, but the heartache I feel in your absence is much worse.” There is no dilapidation of his essence as the words release from him, a catharsis is purged from the pits of her arrogant soul. May it be that they’re the light and the dark, or that their loyalty will soon again divide them. But Mingi knows this much is true: he will find his way to her. Shifting his gaze to her, he finds himself lost in the depth of her eyes.

“Your next mission, should you choose to accept it,” She begins, her voice a soft yet commanding whisper, “is to be my husband for all eternity. To never leave my side, to never lie to me, to love me until your heart stops beating. Tell me, Agent Apollo, do you accept?”

•••

All Rights Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘mieun’ meaning beautiful grace.

A/N: FINALLY! WAR IS OVER! I love spy x family so much, I remember watching s1 and thinking, which ateez member gives loid forger vibes, and my brain went: mingi. I don’t know if it’s because of the dilfism, but Mingi felt so perfect to me? as always, BIG THANK YOU, to @poartz-writes because she’s always my go-to when i need a cure for writer’s block.

Question: Any guesses on who ‘The Black Fox’ is? 👀👀

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @devilzliaison

[tootiecakes234]

I am a sucker for guys that can’t verbalize how they feel about you. Guys that would actually serve you the world on a platter if you asked for it, but can’t even meet your eyes when they are trying to pay you a compliment. Same guys who are more comfortable throwing little insults your way, even tho in their head you are the most perfect thing to walk the face of the earth.

These are the same guys that everyone thinks are rude and standoffish, but behind closed doors are actually just needy babies that want your attention only. From the outside people are probably confused why you’re even together because he seems to be uninterested, but little do they know.

They dont pay attention to the way he looks at you, or the way he can almost read your mind through your facial expressions. They can’t see the way he memorizes every detail about you. Outsiders will never know that almost any free time he has is spent by your side.

He loves you more than anything else ever. He doesn’t have to show the world that….. only you. And he definitely does every single day

Katsuki Bakugo, Kei Tsukishima, Megumi Fushiguro, Aki Hayakawa, Loid Forger, Shota Aizawa, Wakatoshi Ushijima…any of your faves💕💕

[noteriii]

Hello there ^-^ I hope you're doing well. I saw your requests are open, so I wanted to request headcanons for Loid Forger x soft female s/o, please, if that inspires you :)♡

(I know Yor is technically "soft" too, but, here the reader doesn't have that kind of strength nor has a personality where she could handle the type of work Yor does or anything like that. Just a very soft gentle reader, please) and thank you 🌸

oh.. loid with a soft! reader would be so cute.. i picture this to be where you're his stand-in wife. he thinks this is all for a mission but he can't help but feel..

he gets so flustered around you. he knows this partnership is just for convenience, but having you around the apartment going about your day? god, does it do something to poor mr. forger.

once you move in, he feels like the house is warmer- more friendly. loid would never admit it to anyone, but he liked it better having you moved in. your room was so cutely decorated and the scented candles you put on every free table somehow reminded him of a home he had tried to block out.

he can't help but have a smile on his face when he comes home after a long day, hanging his coat up as he smells whatever you cooked for dinner that night (with anya's help, of course). he finds it endearing that even if this was all just some awkward circumstance, you do still really play the housewife role well.

you try to plan "family" activities. whether it's just a small trip to the park for anya and bond to run around, or a treat at the bakery (your personal fav), the forger family will almost always be out and about on the weekends.

anya absolutely adores you. she loves how you cook and how you do everything in your ability to make her and her papa happy. she loves when you include her in conversations and play along when loid wont.

loid finds you incredibly endearing. he is not used to being on the receiving side of someone so gentle and affectionate. at first, he thought he might've embarrassed himself with how warm his face got when you had first made him a cup of tea after his shower so that he could settle down after a long day. he's so used to being the protector, the one in control, so when you're so naturally soft and considerate with him- it catches him off guard. he might try to hide it, but the small lift of his lips and pink tint on his face will always give him away.

he sort of short circuits when you compliment him? like i said before, he's too cool and collected. too nonchalant. so, when you call his bed head cute one morning, he kind of just stands there confused. its not like he was trying to woo you or anything there. he wasn't doing anything particularly specific- and you called him cute? he was not, and still not, used to the random compliments. he has gotten better at recovering from, though.

he's a lot more attentive with you. while loid is already a caring person, being around someone so soft and loving would make him even more attentive. he would start paying attention to the smallest details about you — the way you laugh, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, or the way you curl up with your favorite blanket. he’d take note of these things and try to replicate them in sweet ways when he’s around.

he secretly loves attention. you can't prove me wrong. loid is very good at hiding his emotions, but when you do something cute — like cuddling up with him for movie night or showing him how excited you are over a new book — he can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart. he might not always show it, but it makes him feel content in a way he’s not used to. when you ask for his opinion on something small, he secretly enjoys that feeling of being needed, but in a gentle way.

he is such a sucker for you. you bring out the softer side of loid that very few people get to see. despite his stern spy demeanor, he’s incredibly protective of you. if you're feeling sick or down, loid will drop everything to take care of you, even if it means he has to adjust his mission schedule. he might not show it outright, but his actions will speak volumes, whether it's making you tea or tucking you into bed when you're not feeling well.

loid would take his time with you, iykyk. despite his best judgements, he finds himself taking you out on dates and thinking of you as his wife rather than just a roommate- a friend. he finds everything about you so..cute.. sometimes he thinks he wants to squish your face in his palms.. yk, like you would a baby? the cute aggression gets to him and sometimes it catches anya off guard.

[syerra-637]

hey!! i'm a new follower and i'm very interested and love your work<33 can I request yuri briar (spy x family) have a huge fight with the reader because he's jealous of their coworker, he intimidates the reader and the reader can't move because he pinned them against the wall, and they start crying because he applied pressure on both their wrists and is scaring them, but only then does he realize he scared them, so he comforts them? (angst to fluff) sorry if it's too detailed!! and thank you so much <33

Trigger Warning: Physical violence (wrist restraint), emotional intimidation, fear reactions, anything else? Type: One shot / drabble (I don't really understand the difference) Genre: Angst to fluff Word Count: 422 A/n: Tomorrow this request will be 2 years old, it was sent to me on June 16, 2024 💀 I'm not even sure if the person who requested it remembers

♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_

Yuri didn't know why he felt this way. Irrational jealousy had overwhelmed him as soon as your colleague began spending more time with you. Every word exchanged, every shared laugh seemed to amplify the tension building inside him. And that night, the tension finally erupted.

"Why are you spending all your time with him?" Yuri spat out the words, his tone heavy with anger.

You tried to calm the situation, to explain that he was just a friend, but Yuri wasn't ready to listen. He moved closer to you menacingly, causing you to step back until you were against the wall. His gaze was intense, filled with jealousy he couldn't control.

He grabbed your wrists firmly, pinning them against the wall behind you. You felt the pressure on your arms, the brute force of his grip causing you to involuntarily lift your eyes to meet his gaze.

"Yuri, stop, you're hurting me…" your voice was weak, mixed with fear and confusion. Never would you have imagined seeing him like this, so far from the gentle, caring man you knew.

An instant of silence followed, during which Yuri seemed to realize what he had just done. His eyes widened slightly, realizing he had frightened you. The anger that had given him the strength to press you against the wall vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by deep remorse.

"Oh no…" he murmured, immediately releasing your wrists as if they were burning. His hands fell limply to his sides, completely dejected.

You slowly slid down the wall, tears welling in your eyes. The physical pain was already fading, but the emotional impact of this confrontation remained heavy.

"I'm sorry…" His voice was barely audible, full of sincere regret. Yuri knelt before you, his eyes desperately searching yours. "I didn't mean to scare you. I… I'm so sorry."

You didn't know what to say. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but seeing Yuri like this made all the anger suddenly seem so insignificant. You needed time to forgive, but you also knew he needed comfort.

Finally, you let your arms open, and Yuri rushed into them, resting his head on your shoulder. His arms wrapped around you cautiously, as if afraid to hurt you again. You stayed like that for a while, finding solace in this silent embrace.

"I'm really sorry," he repeated softly.

"I know," you simply replied, gently stroking his hair to show that you weren't angry, just hurt.

_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_

[cherripie32]

Rely on me | Arlecchino x Reader

Where you are hired as the “mother” of the Hearth to take care of the children and to act as the partner of the ever exhausted Arlecchino.

(Heavily inspired by spy x family chapter 86)

TW: none! Just pure fluff. Reader is fem - referred as mother

It’s been a long week.

“So exhausting…” Arlecchino muttered in annoyance as she mentally reviewed all the tasks needed to be submitted to the fatui. She was so tired of it all: the endless requests from the Tsaritsa, the straining tasks with almost no time to complete them, infuriating peers with bigger egos than she ever thought possible.

And all the demands of her work had lead her to work on a weekend, only being able to walk back home to the orphanage at midnight.

“I have a strong feeling she’ll complain..arriving home at this hour.” Arlecchino’s thoughts swirled as her lips formed a bitter line. “I suppose reasoning to her is just another task I have to finish” She concluded, preparing herself for your grievances.

Her hand grasped the metal of the doorknob, twisting it ever so slightly, making sure to be quiet as to not disturb the children sleeping. Her face was serious, ready to see you huffing your complaint.

“Welcome home, Arle!”

You chirped, a soothing tone ringing in the air

…

“…what?” Arlecchino heard you the first time, but her head grew blank at the sight of you. Seeing you and hearing your voice caused an uneasy peace she wasn’t used to, always accustomed to her mind racing from work. For some reason she couldn’t think anymore, and she didn’t know why.

“I said welcome home” you repeated, your smile still as gentle as ever. “you must be tired from working all day” You slowly took a step toward her direction, but were surprised to find the sight before you.

Arlecchino fell to the floor!

“Arle! Are you okay??” You rushed toward her, concern dominating your face as you knelt to her level.

“I’m alright..” She tried to stand up but couldn’t as hard as she tried. She had no clue why. She wasn’t injured or anything, every bone in her body was working perfectly until she saw you. Her mind was able to think rapidly until she heard your voice. It was as if she was carrying the weight of the world before she opened the door..Perhaps you carried all that weight away.

All she could do was look up to find that worried look on your face. “How are the children?” Arlecchino asked, trying to distract from the fact that she plummeted to the floor.

“They’re all fast asleep. I took them out to play today and they got so exhausted they conked out as soon as they went to bed…” You replied, a small smile settling on your face as you remembered the children playing.

“Arle, if you’re that tired, i suggest you do the same!” You uttered, now sitting on the floor in front of the poor Knave.

And all the Harbinger could do was sigh, head slightly tilting forward to lean on your shoulder. She could notice the faint scent of fresh laundry with a hint of Vanilla.

“Are you okay? Do you have a fever? Should I check your temperature?” A slight tinge of anxiety wavered in your question. Arlecchino could tell heavily you were worried about her state.

“No…but i do have a request. Im sorry for placing this burden on you but..would you mind if i asked you to shoulder my share of the housework? Only for today and tomorrow.” She managed to ask, a pang of guilt as she waited for your reply.

“I wouldn’t mind at all, i’d be happy to!” Your eyes squinted as you smiled in reply.

“How strange.” The harbinger thought.

“Why are you happy about this? I thought people detest chores”

“Well, I do agree that chores aren’t the most enjoyable thing …but, i guess what I wanted was to be able to actually take care of you. I enjoy you being able to rely on me a little”

Arlecchino didn’t say anything in reply. How could she when such sweet words were spoken?

“Peruere, I..know that you can do pretty much anything by yourself. And when times are hard, you try to spare me from it. But I don’t think you need to be so perfect all the time. You continued, a slight thump in your heart from the mention of her name. It felt genuine, serene.

“…”

“You shouldn’t have to put up that front so often. So when you asked me for help just now, that made me sort of happy.

“…”

“I want you to be able to relax from time to time, you work so hard even on days off. So please, don’t hesitate to rely on me a little.” You finished, a small tint of embarrassment on your cheeks as you realized how much you confessed. But Arlecchino didn’t mind at all. And you realized she didn’t when she gazed up at you, an uncharacteristic curve of her smile showing.

“Thank you. In all honesty, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Although her common replies are distinct and straightforward, often not having a convey of emotion. This was different. Her voice wavered as if all of her emotions were coming together. Every part of her felt so relieved, she felt like putty in your hands as you held her in your embrace.

She had never felt so much, until you.

[ambiguouslady42]

Roman Holiday

Pairing: Agent Twilight/Loid Forger x (implied) Chubby Fem! Reader

CW: Fluff, smut (fingering, PinV), angst

WC: 7K

Summary: You're a royal princess on a Commonwealth tour in Europe. Your last leg of the tour is in Rome. One night you snap and decide to run away. The mysterious Agent Twilight finds you, unaware that you're a princess. He takes it upon himself to show you around Rome, unaware that his life is about to change. FYI: this is very self-indulgent

Tags: @lazyjellyfish300, @pixelcafe-network, @himenoakuma; dividers by @/bronzewasp

If you see a mistake, no you didn't.

You're on a Commonwealth tour for your country. You've been on this extensive tour of Europe for nearly a month. Your days are packed with meetings, parades, and greetings from morning to night. You smile from ear to ear, never commanding that this must cease immediately. The last leg of your tour brings you to Rome. Your feet ache from constantly standing and wearing shoes with uncomfortable heels. The outfit changes are draining; you can't wait for the same dress that you wore for the meeting with some diplomat or other royal to dinner. The press is constantly waiting for you to slip up so they can write whatever slander about you.

On this particular evening, you lost your shoe while slipping it off to let your foot be free of the constraints of discomfort. While greeting the 100th person at this ball tonight, you lost your shoe in the shuffle to accept the hand of the individuals to dance with you. You remained calm, and your face never shifted into shock or fear, always keeping the façade that everything was perfect in your royal world. As far as the public knows, the princess loves the royal engagements and always has a smile on her face.

You desire privacy when you're back in your sleeping quarters at the Italian Embassy. The decor is regal, but you were hoping it was plain and normal like the bedrooms seen in films. Your secretary goes through your appointments for the following day while you sit in bed eating your milk and crackers. You weren't fond of this snack, but whenever you made an effort to speak up that you would like to skip your bedtime snack, the consensus was, "You speak nonsense, you enjoy your bedtime snack." You are trapped in the monotony of routine, and you feel desperate to fly free like a bird.

"At 11 am, we need to go down to meet the journalists from various parts of the world. At noon, we will head out to speak to the Prime Minister, and at 12:30 pm, you will have a tour of the parliamentary building. At 1 pm, we will make our way to …"

"PLEASE STOP. I'm so exhausted. I just want to do nothing, I can't do this anymore!" This was a moment of weakness for you. You didn't want to endure any more of this routine. If you had to be honest with yourself, your deepest desire was just to have a day outside in Rome and do whatever your heart desired.

"Come now, princess. Finish your milk and crackers, it'll make your feel better." You were repulsed just looking at the glass of milk and the tray of crackers.

"You're not listening to me, I don't want to do this anymore. I want to die!" You sob into the pillow to let it be known just how tired you are.

"I'll go get the doctor," your press secretary says.

It doesn't take a long time for them to return with the doctor. You roll over to see the doctor there with a needle.

"What's that?" you say meekly.

"It'll make you feel all better, it's a new drug to help people relax. I think this is all you need." The needle pricks your skin, but you don't feel it. You wonder if it's from exhaustion.

"There, that will make you feel all better. Sometimes, all you need is rest. Good night, princess."

Your press secretary removes the glass of milk and crackers from your bedside table, curtsies, and then quietly leaves the room. She leaves the light on for you; you're afraid of the dark. You don't feel anything, so you wonder if this drug even works at all. A lightbulb illuminates in your head. You get up from your bed and walk over to the window. You see the people enjoying their night with music, dancing, and drinking. You want to be just like them, free of duty and just living your life on your terms.

You quickly get out of your nightgown and dress into a plain white-collar shirt, a skirt, and the most comfortable shoes that you have in your collection. Your feet still ache, but you don't have a choice right now. You look around to see if anyone is standing guard by your door; it's empty. You stealthily move to the next part of the embassy, where you can find access to the nearest exit. You keep looking in both directions, double-checking that you remain unseen. At last, you're outside but not out of the woods yet. You hide behind a wall and see one guard. When the guard turns around to walk in the other direction, you move to get closer to the gates. Alas, you find a truck that's going to exit the grounds. No one is in sight, so you hop aboard in the back, concealing yourself with the random goods that are stored there. A whistle is heard, and you hear a door slam and the sound of an engine starting. You're moving! The creaking of the embassy gates is loud. You hear a clink when it closes. You take a small peak, and you're dancing internally; You're outside. You have no idea where you're going, but you're free at last.

Meanwhile, on the Roman roofs, a figure is standing. He removes a mask and takes a deep breath. "I know HQ is short-staffed, but I need to stop accepting three missions in a day." He sighs and takes a deep breath in. Agent Twilight, a spy, is not here on holiday but on back-to-back missions. He is also exhausted, but if you want to achieve world peace, spies can never take a day off. As a spy, he needs to remain unseen and invisible to the public. He has been jumping from abandoned building to another these last 48 hours, to just rest his eyes for 2 hours before continuing to move to his next target. He's used to this, but he feels it the way that his back aches and his head hurts. "I really should try to get some rest tonight. I'll leave tomorrow, unnoticed."

He moves down to the streets in a civilian's outfit that consists of a green 3-piece suit and a suitcase; he's just a tourist on holiday. As he is walking by, he notices someone hop off the back of the truck.

"Strange…that seems like suspicious behaviour. That's none of my business. I've completed all my missions for today…but just to be sure."

You're unaware that you have eyes following you. You're moving and looking around at the people enjoying their drinks and cigarettes in cafés. Just as you're twirling and taking in the sights, you begin to feel very drowsy. The world looks like it's spinning for you. You keep moving, unsure where you are or where you're going. Away from the crowds, you find a low wall and sit on it. "Maybe I'll lie down here, just for a few minutes," you quietly tell yourself.

You suddenly don't feel the cool air blowing or the hardness of the concrete. You can hear some sounds, but it wouldn't be enough to wake you at this rate. The spy caught up to you, he is standing right over you.

"Miss, are you alright?"

Going deeper and deeper into your sleep, you can't find the words to respond. You grunt and smile.

"Miss? Can you hear me?"

You grunt again.

"Christ. This woman is drunk," Twilight says aloud.

You begin to roll over, and he grabs you. "No, no, we don't want to do that! Here, let's try to stand up."

He quickly grabs you, and you lean on him. You can smell something wonderful against you, but your eyes are too heavy to open. Your arms are limber and lack the strength to hold on to anything. He starts to shake you.

"Where do you live? Come on, lady."

"Who is this stranger trying to wake me up?" you kept thinking.

"Come on, wake up." The shaking becomes more persistent.

"I live at the Colosseum."

His eyes roll. "Seriously, where do you live?"

"I already told you, I live at the Colosseum."

"This is going nowhere. Okay, Twilight, think. You've been with countless women before for a mission, but she's not a mission. She's just a stranger. What's the right thing to do here?"

He sees a taxi driving by, and he hails it. The cab driver asks where to. "Take her wherever she lives." He gently sits you down in the backseat.

"Signora, where do you live?"

"I keep telling you, at the Colosseum."

"Signore," the cab driver calls out. "I cannot take her anywhere; where does she live?"

Twilight hops onto the cab with you. This time, he tries to gently ask you where you live. "Come on, miss, I need you to try to remember where you live."

Your sleep has defeated you, and you can no longer hear the questions being asked of you. Twilight admits defeat to himself, sighing that he must find a hotel to sleep in tonight. It was his plan anyway, but now he's stuck babysitting some random stranger.

"Please, just take me to a decent hotel in the area," he states with resignation.

The cab driver just nods and begins to drive. Twilight looks over to you and sees you asleep against the window. "She will not be my problem tomorrow, I'll make sure of that."

The drive is short, and both of you arrive at a decent-looking hotel. To add to his frustration, he is forced to carry you inside. It was embarrassing having you lean on his arm while he's trying to just get a room for the evening. The concierge seemed indifferent, likely because it wasn't the first time a couple like this has strolled in like this on hotel grounds. "Can you please just deliver tomorrow's paper to the room?"

"Of course, signore."

After carrying you, he opens the door to the room. It's spacious, with one large bed, a desk with a chair, and a beautiful view of the city from the window. He gently lays you down on one side of the bed while he looks around the room. You can never be too sure if there are wiretaps present. He opens up the suitcase and finds a pair of pajamas to change into. The moment he's about to change, he makes one final effort to wake you.

"Hey, can you hear me? Hello?"

"Mmm. What is it?" You open your eyes just slightly. You see a man with the most beautiful eyes, but you can't quite make him out clearly.

"Can you open your eyes and listen to me?"

You make an effort to open your eyes. "You need to change and put these on."

"What are those?" Your brows furrow, and you close your eyes again.

"They're pajamas."

You're not conscious enough for this, but you're aware that you're not small enough to wear these.

"They're not going to fit."

"I assure you they will," He tries to comfort you.

"What if they don't?"

"Just try them on, come on, get up." He helps you up to find the bathroom. He opens it for you and closes the door.

You lean against the door and start giggling to yourself. You slowly begin to get out of your clothes and attempt to put on the shirt. One of the buttons in the middle opens up due to your bust, but at this moment, it doesn't matter. These bottoms do not fit due to your waist-to-hip ratio. You don't feel shame but just giggle because this has never really happened before. All of your clothing is bespoke and made for you.

"If it's not too much trouble, could you please close your eyes while I exit. The bottoms did not fit, and I am not decent."

"My eyes are closed; I'm not going to look." You walk, and your eyes are closed too. You bump into something, and that's when he intervenes. "Okay, miss, let's get you to bed." He opened his eyes; he tried to be a gentleman in this moment, but he did take notice of the buttons that remained open. He tried not to let his gaze linger any longer than needed. He gets to lie down on the side of the bed. You immediately go to sleep face down. Your long locks cover up your face. For a moment, he wants to move your hair out of your face, but he resists. Twilight walked to look for an extra pair of pajamas; he did not have any. He notices the pair of pants you left near the sink. Well, he could just wear those, but that would mean he'd have to be indecent above the waist. "I don't have time to think about this, Maybe if I wake up before her, I'll get dressed. It'll be like this never happened."

His chiseled chest and biceps are exposed as he walks over to his side of the bed. "I don't sleep anyways, but this bed does feel nice right now." He closes his eyes, and for once, the exhaustion defeats him.

The sun is shining bright the following morning. He is the first to wake up. You have not moved from your spot. He wonders if you'll wake up anytime soon. He looks for his watch to look at the time; it's 11:45 am. He gets up to open the door to pick up the daily newspaper for the day, as he requested. On the front page:

The Palace Says: The Princess is Suddenly Ill. All Engagements in Rome Are Cancelled.

"People still believe in royalty?" he questioned to himself. He takes a look at the front page picture. A young woman wearing pearls and a tiara and a charming smile. "Let's hope she gets better soon, I suppose."

He sits on the desk, reading the paper quietly. You slowly begin to open your eyes, and you notice a difference in the lines on the bed. "This isn't the bed I went to sleep in last night." You look around and notice that the windows look different from the ones in the embassy. You look around some more, and then you see a man not wearing a shirt.

"Ahh! What are you doing in my room?" You're frightened.

He sees your face. "Shit, right. I was supposed to be dressed before she woke up. Remain calm, it's reasonable for her to react this way."

He chuckles, trying to simmer down the situation. "Apologies, miss. Do you not recall what happened last night?"

You try to remain calm, but your heart is racing. You're also distracted by the fact that an extremely handsome gentleman with tousled blonde hair is not wearing a shirt. However, he must not know this fact yet. "Oh no," you thought. "I'm also not wearing pants."

"Did we?…" You use your fingers to ask the obvious, but you have no memory of last night.

"Oh. Not at all. You have no memory of what happened?"

"I only remember that I got a shot in my arm, oh…"

"Yes?"

"I was given a stress reliever of some sort last night, and now I'm remembering…I ran away."

"Where are you running away from?"

"From a school trip. It was much too stuffy, and I was seeking freedom."

"You don't often hear of people running away from school trips."

You change the subject for a moment. "Would you mind closing your eyes and turning around for a moment? I must get changed."

He nods, staring at him directly as you grab your change of clothes. You slam the door to let him know that you are out of sight. Twilight goes back to focusing on the newspaper when he takes a look at the picture again. He realizes who was the start of his woes last night; you're the princess. He also realizes that you have no idea who he is, so for appearances sake, you can't know what he does. He has to think quickly to come up with a lie.

You come out of the bathroom dressed in yesterday's wardrobe. Your hair is pinned back, and you smile at him.

"Ah, much better. Thank you so much." You hand the shirt back to him, neatly folded. You try not to stare, but this is the first opportunity that you're alone with a man. Although he is also staring at you. "Got to admit, she is very adorable." He clears his throat to distract himself.

"If you don't mind..pr…I mean, miss, I need to get changed."

He quickly gets up and moves to grab his suit and change in the bathroom. You sit at the desk and notice the newspaper. It's your face on the front page cover. You twiddle your fingers, wondering if he has recognized you by now. If he did, he might take you back, and you can't have that.

Twilight steps out of the bathroom. While he was changing, he came up with an identity and a backstory to not blow his cover. He must not tell you that he is a spy.

"How impolite to not introduce myself. I'm Loid. Loid Forger."

You're unsure if you should tell him your regal name, but you can't do that. After a couple of seconds, you tell him your name.

"Lovely to meet you, miss," he says as you're both shaking hands.

"You said you ran away because you wanted freedom. What would your ideal day look like to you?"

"Oh, Mr. Forger, well, if I could, I'd go to an outdoor café, take the time to explore the sights, and then see where the day takes me. No real concrete plans or schedule, just freedom to do what I please."

"It's Loid. You know what? We can do that today."

"Don't you have work?"

"For today, I don't work. We're on holiday."

Together, you make your way out of the room. "Loid" goes to the front desk quickly to extend his stay in the room while you wait by the door. While they're processing the paperwork, he thinks to himself, "I know it would be good to return her to where she needs to be, but I don't see the harm in keeping her out for another day or so." The room is secured once more for the evening, and you head out.

You take in all the sights; people are out and about, eating, drinking, and smoking. "Is this what real people do every day?" you thought to yourself. You see a gelato stand and wonder what it'd be like to have gelato as the first meal of the day. "Do you have any money?" Loid asks.

"Me, money? No, I've never carried money before."

"How about this? I'll cover whatever costs for today."

"If you can, just tell me the final total, and I'll find a way to mail you what I owe you."

"If you'd like that, sure."

Both of you get a scoop each in a cone. The sun is blistering today, but the refreshing treat allows you to focus on how wonderful it all feels to be outside and not stuck in some stuffy, royal engagement. You walk side by side together, window shopping, and you see a barber shop. You see a couple of models with different styles of short hair, and look at the mirror and imagine yourself with short hair. You decide to walk inside. The barber immediately sits you down on the chair. "I want my hair to be short," you instruct.

"How short?"

"This short." You guide the barber with your hands to where you want it below your ear. You've always hated your long hair; it's such a hassle when getting ready for any event. The moment your hair falls on the floor, there's no going back. The barber works on styling, making sure that the cut perfectly frames your round face.

Meanwhile, Loid is outside and studies how you're reacting to the changes in your hair. You look petrified, but somehow you manage to smile and laugh. He doesn't necessarily know how to remain relaxed in this moment, but there truly isn't any harm in letting you have a little fun. He goes to stand in the shade and waits for you to signal him so he can pay for your haircut. However, once you're done, you run up to him.

"He just let me have a free haircut, but get this. He invited us to a party on a boat tonight. Doesn't that sound grand?" The dimple on your face is noticeable to Loid as you mention the details of where this party will be. You mention that there will be a live band and that they'll be playing different kinds of music. He is not listening very well, as his attention is on how happy you are at this moment. At this point, as you're about to walk, he offers his arm. While you're curious about the gesture, it feels natural in the moment, and your arm locks with his. You walk some more, and there's a shop that allows people to rent Vespas.

"What if we rent a Vespa to take a look at the sights?" He asks

"Oh, sure! I don't know how to ride one, though."

"I can, don't worry."

There's a thrill about having to place your hands on someone's waist while riding on a motorbike. He needs to have faith that you won't try to do anything while holding on to him, but you need to trust that he won't try to do something reckless while driving. He's driving around and pointing out the sights to you as you hold on gently. The breeze feels wonderful as he drives around, but your heart is racing because you're touching a man. You can feel the muscles on his torso, and it causes your face to feel hot. While driving around, he gets flagged by a traffic officer.

"Wait, here." Loid gets off to talk reasonably to the officer, and you're looking around. You decide to sit at the front and fiddle with the gears on the Vespa, and it moves forward.

"Ahh!"

Loid immediately sees you jetting off on the bike and runs after you to get on. He is now the one holding on for dear life. His eyes are wide as he's trying to see where you're driving towards. He tries to take a handle on the gears, but you place your hands on top of this.

"No, no! Please let me try!"

There is screaming and laughing coming from your end as you clumsily navigate the bike through the town square. You start to run through café patios and accidentally rip someone's painting. You try to remain on the main road but struggle to keep the balance. Loid is squeezing on to your waist as you drive, hoping that this isn't his last day on Earth. Sirens are heard, and he looks behind to notice that you have the police chasing after you. You got your bearings on driving the vehicle, but it was a little too late. You were pulled over and taken into custody.

The police don't recognize who you are, but Loid manages to smooth things over. He shows the police a fake ID showing that he is a member of the secret police and that you're his newlywed wife on your honeymoon. The police officer laughs, doesn't even challenge the validity of the identification. You're both off the hook, and you both walk towards a local cafe.

"What would you like, signora?"

"Can I have a glass of champagne, please?"

"Champagne? Whatever for?"

"Today is a celebration," you say with excitement.

His lips curl upward, and he doesn't try to discuss with you. You're happy; that's what matters.

"I'll just just have an espresso, thank you."

You both just look at each other for a moment. You're in awe of how kind he's been to you and doing everything you've ever wanted. Meanwhile, he's basking in how radiant you look, a smile so bright that the sun should be ashamed. Your short hair does compliment you; how rude of him, he hasn't complimented you.

"Your hair looks lovely. Do you like it?"

"Oh! Thank you! I love it! It feels a lot lighter and perfect for those pesky roy…"

He knows that you were about to tell him about your royal engagements. He knows who you are, but he doesn't want to ruin the day. When he thinks about it now, he has never really felt this relaxed, even with the Vespa incident.

Your drinks are served, and you decide to make a toast. "To a perfect day. Cheers."

"Are you married?" you ask him

"Me? No."

"You've never told me what you do for a living."

"I'm a doctor. I just happen to be on a trip, that's all."

"Oh? When is your trip over?"

"Tomorrow night."

"I suppose we have to make tonight the best one yet."

You don't know how long you'll be away from the embassy, but so far, you haven't been recognized by anyone, to your knowledge. The one person who knows who you are is sitting next to you, wondering why a royal princess ran away from her duties. After all, is it his place to ask what it's like to be royalty?

The sun starts to set. The night is young now, the party is soon to start. Loid settles the bill, with the both of you making your way to the docks to go to the party. He immediately notices the number of secret police present. He can identify them by the suits they're wearing, along with a certain type of hat. They could fool anyone, but they can't fool him. You remain unaware that you are being looked for.

You go up to greet the barber, who asks you to dance right away. Loid looks from a distance, paying attention to the way you dance. He notes that you move very stiffly, but that's probably due to the type of dances that you've been exposed to as a royal. You try to loosen up and end up laughing from being unable to relax with the music playing. The tune changes to something slower, and Loid cuts in. "May I have this dance?" You nod.

His hand rests on your waist, just the way it did earlier while you were on the Vespa. You're standing very close to one another, your breath hitching from how close you are to him. Due to the height difference, you look up, blushing from how handsome he truly is. The way that his hair is parted, his eyes have a soft gaze as he looks at you. You rest your head on his chest as the music sways you. The song ends; you clear your throat as you go around to greet other strangers. He goes to the bar to order a drink but keeps an eye on you. Another song starts with someone new dancing with you. You're not allowed to excuse yourself, so you're suddenly very uncomfortable, trying to keep a polite smile. ,

"We've been looking for you, princess."

The moment you hear the word, you try to get away, but the grip tightens. Loid immediately recognizes that the individual is part of the secret police.

"Excuse me, I need to talk to her right now," Loid makes an effort to politely interrupt the dance.

"That won't be necessary," the policeman says.

Your eyes look at Loid in horror, begging him to get you out of this situation. Loid understands, using force if necessary.

"I think she doesn't want to dance with you," cutting in between the two of you.

Loid shoves the man, starting a scuffle at this party. Punches are being thrown from left to right. Loid takes an opportunity to punch the man, but it escalates into a full-out brawl. Backup shows up, and the barber intervenes to help. You feel guilty that it's come to this, but you're not ready to go back. Two other policemen grab you to get you off the boat. Loid sees you trying to free yourself, but it's to no avail. He rushes to tackle one of the policemen while you are now able to push the other into the water, throwing a life raft just in case he can't swim. Loid grabs your hand, now running to try to get away. You are being chased by a group of them. You're able to outmaneuver some of them, but then eventually, one finds you and tries to grab you. Loid quickly punches him into the water, allowing both of you to keep running. Suddenly, another swarm is coming directly towards you. Feeling cornered, you decide to jump into the water to run away; he jumps in with you. You start to swim to the other side of the shore, away from all the commotion.

As you walk onto shore, you're shivering. It is freezing now compared to how hot it was earlier today. You break into laughter as his arm wraps around you; today, indeed has been an adventure.

"I know you're cold; come here." He takes you into an embrace, but you still don't stop laughing. He joins you in the laughter, noting the absurdity of the events that just took place moments ago. There is a pause as you gaze at each other. You start to lean in closer; he follows. You take a final look at his eyes right before you close yours. His lips press to yours. Your heart beats harder than any drum you've ever heard of. Your palm finds his face as you melt into the kiss, not wanting this moment to end. He releases you from the kiss and holds you tightly, with your lips accidentally making contact with the pulse point of his neck. He sighs, out of impulse and lack of control.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I…"

He leans forward again to kiss you, the hold on you becoming tighter. The kiss becomes hungrier, with your wet clothes clinging to your skins. Your hands travel to feel the nape of his neck while his arms wrap tighter around that perfect waist of yours. There's a pause, not one to stop but to indicate that both of you want this to go further than a kiss. He stands up and grabs your hand to hail a taxi. His leg shakes as he knows what's about to happen, but he is ever the gentleman; he needs to make sure you want this too. You've had kisses before, but you've never felt this type of excitement around the opposite sex.

You make it back to the room, standing at a distance from each other. You make the first move, kissing him again for a third time. This kiss feels different from all the other ones you've had. You feel pressure pooling in your stomach; something is building up, and you want it to be released. You remove his jacket, slowly starting to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. He unbuttons your top, wanting to press all the gentle kisses against your skin. He feels like a dog because he honestly was curious what it'd be like to kiss you between your breasts. However, you're not stopping him, giving him the consent that he needs to continue.

You're both topless at this point, moving towards the bed. He lays you down gently, pressing kisses on your neck. He's careful to not bite or suck on it, can't have a princess covered in love bites. On the other hand, how wonderful would it be if he was able to claim a piece of a princess for himself. He controls himself, focusing on caressing the nipples of your breasts as he remains attentive on kissing your lips. You have a beautiful smile, but he craves to be the one to make you smile right now. You're smiling in between each kiss, moaning as his fingers pinch your nipples, and you're suddenly craving more. You close your legs, trying to relieve the ache. He catches this, and he prevents you from trying to keep them closed. His hands move to go underneath your skirt, gasping as his hand finds your warmth. You pause the kiss just to look at him.

"Is this okay? We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I want to, but i'm…I've never done this before."

"Don't worry. If at any point I do something and you want me to stop, I will."

You nod and kiss him again. His fingers travel to find the elastic of your underwear to tug and remove them. You gasp as his hand rests outside of your sex and starts to stimulate it. You moan and then pause the kiss as you've never done that before. He chuckles and moves to press his lips on your nipples. His hot tongue on your cold nipples is euphoric, with his hands and fingers making their way inside of you.

You gently tug his hair as the kisses become licks and nibbles around your breasts. When one finger finds its way inside of you, you gasp. The finger curls inside of you, causing you to whine.

"Please, please, I need more."

He inserts one more finger inside of you, and the pace quickens. The pressure that was building up is reaching a peak where you feel you can't contain it any longer. He laps your nipple faster, making eye contact with you. You can no longer control yourself, your back arches, and you feel relief. Your body is full of aftershock as he removes his fingers from you; he kisses you to create relief for you. He's so gentle to the touch, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close to you. He sits you up, looking at you.

"Do you want to take it further? We can stop if you want."

You look down and notice that his length is showing.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You feel bold and decide to sit on his lap and kiss him once more. You want to show him how much you desire him. You grind against him; he releases a soft moan. You pause and nod. "I think I want to keep going, if that's okay with you."

"Yes, it's completely okay."

He tries to find the zipper on your skirt so he could take it off you. Once he finds it, he motions to help you stand up so he can take it off. He pauses so he can remove his trousers, along with his underwear. You're both naked, and he takes control now. He lays you down and presses kisses along your soft tummy. He takes a few small nibbles from the side of your ribs, kisses your hips, and then kisses your abundant, angelic thighs. You react with whines and gasps every time, pushing him even further to the edge. He positions himself on top of you, directing his length towards your sex.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He cups your face to kiss you as he enters you. You cry when you feel the pinch inside of you. "Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?" You shake your head as he continues to kiss you and goes further into you. The pain subsides; he starts to thrust gently. Your cry shifts into a moan as you feel the same pressure building up again. His tongue dances with yours; your hands start to travel to feel the rest of his body. Every time you touch his skin, he feels his body is on fire, wanting to give you everything you've ever wanted. He pushes harder into you, and this time, you moan very loudly. He smirks, feeling proud that he could bring that out of a royal princess. Faster and harder each time, you moan each time.

"Loid! Loid! Don't stop!"

He knows that's not his name, but saying his alias name makes him wish he could tell you everything about him. You want to tell him right now that you're a princess, but you don't this moment to be ruined. In this moment, you wish this was the only man for you. His hands grip tighter around your hips, and he can't hold back. He thrusts harder and faster, you're both moaning now from the pleasure.

"You feel so good right now, but where do you want me to finish?" He struggles to ask.

"You can't finish inside of me, sorry!"

He hears enough and continues to pump into her and pulls out the last second, releasing himself on the sheets. You're both out of breath as you lay next to each other. You giggle from how amazing this moment felt. You crawl towards him to kiss his lips. This intimate moment deepened something that had started last night. Your only wish is that it could last forever.

You both discuss how you're going to clean up. He lets you take a shower first before going to bed. Loid decided to turn on the radio to a news program. As you step out, you hear your regal name. "Her Royal Highness is yet to be seen; her country and her people depend on the success of this tour. With the last leg on pause, the country is feeling the anxiety and wondering if Her Royal Highness is in good health." You move to turn off the radio, and your expression tells Loid what he needs to know.

"I have to tell you something," he says.

The tears are welling up in your eyes. "Please, not now or today or ever. I don't want this day to end."

He holds you close, kissing your cheeks and your forehead. Initially, he thought this was just going to be another day with another stranger (who is a princess), but now he dreads the idea of never seeing you again. He experienced so much life in a day; for the first time in a long time, he felt he lived his life to the fullest. He doesn't want the night to end.

"I have to go now…" You sniffle. You grab your clothes and change. Loid proceeds to change and then makes a phone call to get a rental car at the last minute. He wants to make this last trip with you very personal.

He drives in silence as you sit with your hands clasped together. You know that this is over and that you'll never have a day like this ever again. He drives you to the designated area where you told him to drop you off. He makes it and then turns off the engine.

"This is it…I don't know how to say goodbye," your voice cracks.

"So don't," he says quietly.

You move your hand to open the door, but at the last second, you leap to embrace him. You can't help but release all the tears all at once. He holds on tighter, knowing that this will be the closest he'll ever have you again. He presses a kiss onto your lips one last time, so he can commit them to memory. He hopes that someday he'll be the reason you smile when you look back.

You release yourself from his embrace and walk towards the Embassy. He continues to look onwards and waits. After a couple of minutes, he turns the car on and leaves, only left with the memory of today.

You come back to your Personal Secretary asking you where you've been. A royal maid is present to get you out of your clothes.

"What did you do to your hair? What will they say?"

"As your princess, I demand that you stop asking me these questions. It's late, and we do have a long day tomorrow after all. You are all dismissed."

When you're left alone, you sob into the pillow to allow yourself to free yourself of this pain in your heart. You hope that he won't forget you at all and that he'll think about you once in a while. In the end, all you want is for him to be happy.

The next morning, you appear for a press conference. A majority of journalists are asking about you're well-being and if you're in better health today. You remain calm and unemotional; you've been trained to answer each question with eloquence and never to show any bias to one country.

"I'm here today for the people of my country and to represent my family in good faith. Thank you all for your kind wishes."

The last question comes from a journalist in the back, "Princess, is there any part of this tour that was your favourite?"

You look around and reflect on this question. Suddenly, you see him again. He's standing in the back. He remains unemotional, but the moment you make eye contact with him, his eyes become glassy. You can feel all the emotions from the day before come back, but you take a deep breath and remain calm. "Each country is significant..Rome." There is shock and chatter when you make this statement. "My favourite part of this tour was Rome. I shall cherish it and remember every moment for as long as I live." You kept eye contact with him as you made this statement. He knew that you meant him. You bid farewell to the press as you're on to the next part of your royal engagements. You look at him one last time before being escorted out.

That was the everlasting moment - The final moment where they will ever see each other again. All the small and significant caresses and kisses are just a memory now, never to be relived again.

He walks away, knowing that the only life he has is that of a spy. However, he's so grateful to her for allowing him to let himself go, even for one day.

[v1sque]

i'm not exactly new to the fanfic world, and mainly wrote on wattpad. i'm thinking of moving my stories from there to here. lately i've also been inspired to make fanfics based on: jjk, hq, naruto, fruit basket, spyxfamily, twilight, batfamily (xyou - as family, gf, etc) star wars (mainly anakin & padme or anakin x reader etc)

here's my wattpad link if any of you are curious, so far i only have two public anyways. the rest are in my drafts. ANYWAYS the whole point of this post, was to ask if maybe any of you had any ideas that you wanted to be written into life? i'm very open to writing except for hard gore, nsfw, all that.

[giggly-squiggily]

Ahh, does it make me cringefail if i talk about Franky twice in a row? Can you blame me? (You don't gotta write anything if you don't wanna! Just figured since we're sharing and all.... (ノ´∀｀*))

Considering his history with finding a partner, once he (somehow) sweeps [Y/N] off their feet, you bet he's gonna be boasting about it! EVERYONE is hearing about how awesome his partner is, how sweet they are, how skilled they are, etc etc..

ESPECIALLY Loid.

He tries to make it a competition between the two of them against Loid and Yor, but nobody else in either party really cares...

~💫Forgetful Anon (i guess we're sticking with that!)

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

Forgetful, my friend, my ally, my Franky-centric dabbler who brings me and the Fuzz so much joy; you are the farthest thing from cringe and this HC is truly precious! I love Franky both being so stupid in love and also just ridiculous it's a hilarious combo and I'm happy! I've gotcha covered! :D

“Hey there, Forgers! Have you met (Y/N)- wait, of course you have! They’re my partner now!” Your boyfriend announced with such glee- like a child who got their dream toy on Christmas morning. It was utterly adorable, if not a bit embarrassing.

“Yes, Franky. You’ve told us that- repeatedly.” Loid tsked with a small sigh, no real malice in his voice as he gave you a smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, (Y/N). I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad in this weather.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t bad at all! I’m used to this kind of thing.” You laughed as Anya ran over, taking your hand and bringing you to Yor. The three of you went about to the living room as Franky puffed his chest with pride.

“Aren’t they just amazing? Tough as nails, but sweet as candy! How’d I get so lucky to meet them?”

“Through me. And the agency.” Loid reminded, softening as he watched the informant swoon, head over heels in love. “You really do like them, huh?”

“Like? I’m so in love, Loid! I’ve never met anyone like them! They’re talented and smart and considerate of my time-” He paused briefly on that one, side eyeing Loid before continuing. “They always make me feel like I’m important, even when their plate is full.” He leaned in his arm as he watched you chat with Yor and Anya, laughing and smiling without a care in the world. “I owe you one.”

“You really don’t. I didn’t expect this to happen, but I’m happy for you both. Truly.” Franky eyed him suspiciously, but found no lie. He smiled after, lightly punching Loid’s arm.

“Say- we should do a double date soon. Maybe I can teach you the ropes on how to properly woo your lover~”

“No thanks.”

“Come on, I’m basically an expert on romancing people now!”

“You really aren’t, and I think I’m doing just fine with that.”

“I-” Franky raised his brows, not expecting that. Loid seemed to stiffen at the accidental confession. “No way, you’re-”

“Fuzzy head! Papa! Come play with us!” Anya’s cries of joy reached out to them, a pack of Bondman playing cards in her hands. “(Y/N) brought me a present!”

“We’re gonna play old Bondman! Is-is that what it’s called?” Yor asked as you grinned, lifting a shoulder.

“Sure- let’s go with that. Franky, you’re on my team.”

“Be right there, gorgeous! Winning couple reigns supreme!” He cried, laughing like a gremlin as he ran over. Loid shook his head with weary amusement, joining the party as Franky kissed your cheek.

He might be a bit of a show boater with this kind of thing, but his feelings were true. Franky clearly loved you, and to Loid; that was worth putting up with his informant’s antics.

[celestial-jay213]

HELP PLEASE!!!!! I wanna start writing HC’S but I don’t know what to start with i have so many ideas but what would you guys like to see?

[thehusbandoden]

Just Let me Explain -Husband!Loid Forger x Wife!Reader

A/n: I'm not sure how good this is, feel free to let me know! <3

General info:

Genre: angst, slight comfort at the end \\ wc: 2,711 \\ posted: 03/14/24 \\ unclear ending

Summary:

You find out about Loid's mission.. how he was using you- and Anya.. that's what set you off the most. What hurt you the most.

Warnings!: a lot of angst, being used, misunderstanding, miscommunication, crying, confrontation, being ignored, ignoring, partner refusing to let go of you (briefly), Loid's mission, mentions of an orphanage, mention of an orphan, fear of putting a child back into an orphanage (briefly), mentions of a nightmare, child crying (briefly). I think that's all? Lmk if I miss any! <3

You lived the dream life. You were married to the love of your life, you had a darling young girl you’ve adopted, and you were loved by your small family unconditionally.  

Or... so you thought. That all changed when you found out your husband’s secret. A spy... he was sent on a mission to get married and have a child. Your entire relationship... was it all a lie? 

Tears stream down your face as you process the information time and time again. All of it... was for some mission of his? Did he ever even love you? You weren’t even sure at this point.  

You were currently curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, your back pressed against the door. The man in question spoke to you softly on the other side, asking for you to open the door and let him explain. You don’t respond, continuing to drown in your sorrow.  

Every minute that crawled by felt like an hour. Loid kept calling to you, his voice filling with more concern as you continued to stay silent.  

“Y/n... please... open the door. Let me explain, you’re worrying me.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Loid. I’m done with these mind games.” You whisper, your voice hoarse with sorrow. 

“Y/n... I-I don’t know what to say to that. Please... open the door.” 

“Why? So you can lie to me more? So you can gaslight me? So I can melt into your eyes and go back to believing that everything is okay?”  

“Y/n... please.”  

“No, Loid. I’m done. I’m so done with letting you control me by playing with my feelings. It was all a lie... wasn’t it.”  

Loid hesitates, his voice faltering as he attempts to fix the mess he made.  

“And Anya? She’s a part of your sick game too, isn’t she?” You mutter, your tears drying against your skin. Your sorrow was slowly growing into acceptance.  

“She is a part of my mission, yes.” He whispers.  

You let out a low chuckle filled with bitterness. “And what? What happens once your mission is finished? Do you leave? Stay with us? End us? End *me* now that I know?”  

“No, I wouldn’t ever kil-” his voice falters once more. 

You let out a low laugh that expressed your pain perfectly. “You’re a pathetic excuse as a father. I used to think you were so good to Anya. That you were the perfect father for her- but you plan on *leaving* both of us. Or do you plan on making it worse!? Are you going to end me and leave her in that run-down orphanage again!?” You snap, standing up. 

You feel your acceptance turning into anger as you throw the bathroom door open, glaring up at the man you once called yours.  

“Y/n I-”  

“Why Loid!? Why do you plan on ruining our lives?!”  

“Y/n it’s not that simple.” He sighs, moving aside to give you a path. You take it, storming out of the bathroom. You pace around the living room and kitchen.  

“Don’t give me that. You played friends until you captured my heart, gave me a flimsy love confession-” he flinched “-and then slid an *engagement* ring on my finger for some stupid mission!?”  

He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. “What about Anya!?” You yell, shoving a finger into his chest. Your anger boiled over at the thought of your precious little girl. She’s been through several homes already; she can’t go back to that horrid orphanage.  

“I-” 

“Are you going to leave us!? Kill me and leave her as an orphan again!? Tell me, Loid!” You demand, staring into his eyes. You used to think you would never treat him like this no matter how angry you got... but the thought of your baby losing another family threw out all self-control.  

“You know me better than that, y/n.” Loid sighs.  

“I don’t Loid. I used to think that you were a good man that worked hard to support his family, but I was wrong. All you are is a selfish pig who cares about nothing but himself.” You spit.  

Loid’s eyebrow twitches. You don’t notice. 

“Anya deserves better than this, Loid! Were you really planning on leaving us alone once your mission is finished!? Were you going to give us a goodbye or were you going to just leave!?”  

He still doesn’t say anything. Your anger slowly boils over, every second he ignores you adding another drop into the already over-filled cup of self-restraint. “I... do not know what I was going to do.”  

Another drop falls, spilling the rage over. You pull yourself away, so you don’t physically lash out. “I can’t believe I loved you!? I can’t believe that I trusted you, Loid! Was it all fake!?”  

Loid doesn’t respond.  

“Was it fake!” You repeat, trembling with rage and hurt. “Answer me!”  

Loid has an unreadable expression on his face as he looks into your eyes. “Yes, it was fake...” his eyes twinge with something you can’t read. Shrugging it off, you desperately try to hold yourself together.  

“So every time you said you loved me back. It was all a lie?”  

“Yes...”  

“Every time you told *Anya* you loved her back. It was a lie!?”  

An unreadable look in his eye makes your lip tremble. “Yes...”  

“So, you were planning on leaving us? All along?”  

“Stop asking questions, it’s annoying.” His gaze hardens.  

“Loi-”  

“I said, stop asking questions.” He glares down at you. “I do not love you, nor Anya. Either keep quiet and continue to help with my mission, or you will no longer be needed.” 

You feel something crack deep inside you. You try to hold yourself together as your hands shake uncontrollably. “I hate you.” You whisper. Loid flinched, watching you walk to the guest room. You close the door, locking it behind you.  

Once the door closes, you break down once more. Falling to the floor as your body is wracked with sobs.  

~~ 

Hours pass by before you come out again. Loid was sitting on the couch, reading a book. You would have smiled at the simplicity earlier this morning, but now all you feel is numb. You slip a pair of slippers on, grabbing your keys.  

“Where are you going?” Loid speaks up, his gorgeous blue eyes finding yours. You turn away, refusing to maintain eye contact.  

You don’t respond, walking out the door. Loid lets out a long sigh but doesn’t follow you.  

~~ 

“A-and then Sy-on boy made fun of Becky! I didn’t punch him though mama! I smiled like you said!”  

“Good job baby.” You mumble, a plastic smile on your face. The words of your precious girl weren’t registering in your head, you were too focused on the fact that your husband- ex-husband? You don’t even know anymore- is really planning on leaving both you and Anya when his mission is over. 

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, you see Anya close to tears. You immediately go into protective mode, your eyes hardening as you pull over. “Anya what happened sweetie? Did something happen at school? Are you being bullied? Did someone hurt you??” You bite your bottom lip to confine your rage, the metallic taste of blood staining your tongue.  

“N-no mama! Nothing happened at school!” Anya sniffled, trying to contain her tears.  

“What is it baby? You can tell me, I’m your mama.” You coo, rubbing her hair gently, pressing a comforting kiss to her forehead.  

“I-I u h... umm...” Anya starts to sweat, looking around the car. 

“Shhh it’s okay baby. You can tell me.” 

“B-Bond ate my peanuts!” Anya blurts out, showing you an empty bag of peanuts. There was no sign of damage from your family dog, she must have just forgotten that she ate them, which happens frequently.  

“Oh baby, it’s okay. We can buy more, alright? Next time tell mama what the problem is so we can fix it, m’kay?”  

“Yes mama.”  

“That’s my smart girl.” You kiss her forehead once more, savoring the relationship you have with her. You’ve always wanted to be a mother, and Anya fulfilled that desire. You were hoping you and Loid could have a few of your own one day, but that’s not going to happen... 

You make sure Anya is buckled before moving back to your own seat, strapping your seat belt on before pulling back onto the road. 

~~~ 

“Daddy! Look at what mama got me!” Anya squeals in excitement, bursting through the front door. She runs into the kitchen where Loid was pacing, embracing his legs. He flinches at the sudden entrance, but gives the girl a small smile, leaning down to her level. 

You walk in afterwards, shutting and locking the door. “Anya, don’t forget to change!” You call, placing a few grocery bags on the kitchen counter.  

“Yes mama!” She calls, pouting up at Loid. 

He chuckles, leaning down to ruffle her hair. “Go listen to your mother, Anya. And don’t let her see you with your shoes on the carpet, alright?” He smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye.  

You would have melted at the scene... if you didn’t know.  

Loid catches your gaze, causing you to frown. Even though he’s planning on completely ruining not only your life, but Anya’s he looks so... relaxed. 

You open your mouth to say something, when you notice it. 

His eyes... were red. Your frown deepens... you’ve only seen Loid cry once, and he never mentioned it when you did.  

~ 

It was before Anya, in the first few months of your marriage. You had woken up in the middle of the night to see him whimpering in his sleep.  

He whimpered “mom” and “dad” several times, tears slipping down his cheeks as he cried for anyone to help him. You gently woke him out of his nightmare, pulling him to your chest. He was shocked from the whiplash of being in such a traumatizing past one moment to being in your arms the next.  

He let you cradle him to your chest, his head comfortingly resting on your breasts. You stroked his hair, murmuring soft words of comfort to him, letting him recover from the terrifying dream.  

You laid with him for several hours before falling back asleep yourself. You don’t know how long he held onto you, but he was up the next time you woke up. He hasn’t mentioned it, and he probably never will.  

~ 

Words catch in the back of your throat. Before you’re able to formulate anything, Anya catches your attention. You look back at your red-eyed husband once more before turning to your little girl.  

“Anya, what have I told you about taking your shoes straight away?” You gently scold, lifting her off of the carpet.  

“Sorry mama!” Anya’s cute pout makes your heart melt, causing you to grow even softer. You sigh, placing her down in the entrance of the home. 

“Just take them off now and do better next time, alright?”  

“Yes mama!” Her giggle was worth the stress. You smile fondly at your baby girl, watching her take her shoes off.  

“Y/n.” Loid whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his head in your neck. You stiffen, clenching your jaw.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, biting your lip.  

“Y/n, let me talk.”  

“Let go of me.” 

“Y/n-” his voice cracks. 

You pull away, walking over to Anya. Loid’s voice cracks again. You don’t turn to look at him. If you looked at his guilt-ridden face for too long, you would break. 

~~ 

Later that night. You were silently washing the dishes after Anya went to bed, your expression unreadable. Loid was in the living room, watching you work. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Y/n?” He murmured.  

You don’t respond, your eyebrow twitching in irritation. Loid let out a strained sigh, standing up. He takes a step towards you, hesitating.  

“Y/n, please don’t ignore me...”  

You don’t say anything, biting your lip to maintain a calm composure... well as calm as you’re able to be. 

“Y/n.” His voice grew sharper as he steps into the dimly lit kitchen, his voice full of frustration and a hint of something you can’t understand.  

You continue to ignore him, causing him to let out another sigh, longer this time. “Y/n please.” He steps closer.  

Your fingers dig into your palms as you continue to ignore him. Your shoulders tremble from intense emotion, tears bubbling in the corners of your eyes.  

“Y/n...” he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. He gently takes your hands, intertwining your fingers so your nails dug into his hands instead of your own. You lift the pressure, not wanting to hurt him.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, your voice trembling.  

“Y/n, just let me explain.” He whispered in your ear. Your breath hitched at his warm breath on your skin, wanting to give in to his comfort and break down in his arms. You get a hold of yourself, stiffening in his hold.  

“I don’t want to hear you explain.”  

“Y/n-”  

“Loid. Let go of me.”  

“Baby. Baby listen.” He whispers, shaking as he holds you close to his chest. You gasp softly, tears slipping down your cheeks. Loid has rarely used pet names for you, telling you that he thought it was childish and would much rather call you by name. You didn’t mind it, but it did make you feel so loved when you heard any pet name from his lips.  

“My love, it’s not what it looks like. Let me explain. Let me earn your trust back, just please... Please don’t leave. Don’t take my beloved away, don’t take our baby girl.” He sniffled, causing you to stiffen.  

Was he... about to cry...? 

You don’t protest any further, letting him talk. He hesitates at first, holding you tighter as he buries his face in your neck. “You’re right. This started as a mission. I was tasked to get a wife and child, enroll the child in Eden Academy, and get information on a man that is a great risk to us. It *started* as nothing but a mission, without any feelings attached.” Loid muttered, sounding exhausted and... ashamed?  

“Y-you don’t love me? Or Anya?” Your voice cracked with inexpressible hurt.  

“No! No baby I do. I love you; I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than myself- more than anyone, anything! And Anya too! I would do anything for my girls.” Loid quickly protests, holding you tighter, like he was afraid of letting you go; like you would disappear if he ever let you out of his hold. 

“B-but you said...”  

Loid spins you around, looking you dead in the eye as he fondly cradles your face, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “In the beginning, it was all for my mission. I’ll be dead honest y/n. When I met you, when we dated, I had zero feelings for you. But that changed. I fell in love with you-” his voice cracks, tears streaming down his own cheeks, “-I saw you for you saw how much you loved me, how perfect you are... that love confession was real. My love for Anya is real. And I would rather be gruesomely killed than ever let anything happen to my girls. I would- nor could never leave either of you. You are my world, and I cannot live without you.”  

Your tears quickened as you stared into the eyes of your husband, truth and overwhelming guilt swimming in their deep blue depths. You choke on a response, tears dripping off your chin.  

“Shhhh it’s okay baby.” He whispers, pulling you to his chest. He caresses your head, leaning his lips against your forehead. He kisses your forehead slowly and lovingly, adding another and another to the pile as you break down in his warm, comforting arms.  

“I promise baby. I would never leave you. I could never leave you. You are my world, my universe, my everything. I am nothing without you and our little girl. Our beautiful little girl.” He whispers, kissing your tears away.  

As you sob into his chest, he gently and lovingly dries off your hands before lifting you into his strong arms. He carries you to bed, cradling you to his chest as he lays down, cooing comforting words.  

You peacefully fall asleep in his arms, your face buried in his chest as you sob, listening to his soothing words as he slowly strokes your head and back.  

~~~~~

Loid's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here<3

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[haravath0t]

𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚

𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐚

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 - 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝟻

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : ̗̀➛ the night of christmas eve has come! are the dishes a pass or fail? ask anya.

☕🤍🌿 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ! 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 ! ☕🤍🌿

𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚊

“PEANUTS!” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Anya was quickly shut down by her father, a comical sight that has become almost a regular thing. 

“It’s okay, Anya. More for you,” You gently say to her, patting her on the back as her pout disappears at your assurance. 

“Eee!” She practically squeals, almost happy to hear your voice. You didn’t know it, but she knew after a few good reads of your mind that when it came to her, you were telling the truth. You always did. Loid could depend on you when taking care of Anya, especially whenever he fell short on predicting outcomes with her involved. Now that your daughter was at peace, having a bag of peanuts to herself, he’d be able to focus on what to bring to the dinner table with your family. 

Now, Loid was a good cook, that much was for sure, but a problem for him arises that can surely be tackled tonight too: having your family be pleased with his cooking. So he tells you his plan: you four (yes, Bond is coming along too) show up to your parents’ place early. Of course, your parents are quick to greet Anya, Anya’s cuteness and her glee of seeing her Lola and Lolo making their hearts soften. Perfect, for now Twilight can strike. He greets his in-laws like you had taught him to, holding their hand and pressing it against his forehead. “We all figured it may be easier to just cook here, if that’s okay!” Of course your mom agrees, so happy to be familiarizing herself with her son-in-law. 

You and your dad distract yourselves with Anya, and Loid talks to your mother with ease, making up all the entrees he can think of: some shrimp, some nicely barbecued skewers. He’d even make some mashed potatoes, help your family make some rice on the rice cooker, but then your mother asks something of him. “Loid, could you be a dear and also cook some dinuguan as well?” He hears your mom ask, hearing her struggle to be setting the long table of food and cleaning up the living space. However, he didn’t expect this, feeling his world simply shatter around him. As always, Twilight feels his chances of impressing you and your family plummet, but it’s not long till he gets it together. 

“Of course.”

He’s left alone for some time, trying his best to recall what might be involved in this dinuguan, but something stops him: your mother. “Loid? Is everything okay?” He hears her say, and as practiced, he gives her his killer smile. “Of course it’s okay! Ha, it couldn’t have been better!”

“You’re lying, papa.” His daughter answers flatly from the dining table, snacking away on puto (“rice cakes”) that her grandpa had given her. “It smells weird. Sorry, papa.” Anya always seemed to be so frank, as all children were, and Twilight couldn’t help but feel frustrated being called out for shortcomings. Your mom only laughs after getting a taste of his rather subpar dinuguan. “It’s okay,” she waves off. “You’ll get it next time.” But then there’s you, who insisted that you can manage to redo it, making sure the well-demanded dish was present in time for the noche buena. “Loid! I’m going to go to the market, okay?” You tell him, already putting your shoes and coat on, but it’s not just you coming out of the house, but your “husband” too. Your mom couldn’t help but laugh as Loid trails after you like a dog, his face red of embarrassment and shame. You couldn’t help but blush with him, seeing him drive you to the market with your directions. He’s never been to a filipino market, now that he thought about it, and he’s almost quite ashamed to see your face practically light up at the familiar sight and the familiar bustle. He watched you take all the necessary ingredients with ease, putting each thing within the basket he carries. He watched you speak in your native tongue to the person ringing up the items you two decided to buy, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes had a glow to them he has never seen before. It is only when you two exit the store that he decides to speak up. “I didn’t consider you missing this…I owe you an apology,” Loid starts off, his eyes looking oddly guilty. How could he have known? After all, you two weren’t really married. It was a part to play, after all, so that not only did it benefit Loid, but it benefits you, letting your parents and family stop all the talk of you being an old maid. 

“You couldn’t have known.” You say as you two now take the paid items to the car. Settling the bag on your lap as Loid starts the car, putting his seatbelt on. You wouldn’t admit it, but you did miss the environment during the holidays, missing the way things were just full of noise, full of the bustle of excitement, full of the distinctive aromas of dishes. 

“As your husband, I should.” He says with a tiny smile, not knowing what led him to reach out and fix your coat’s collars before he decided to back out of the parking lot. “Anya would be very happy tonight seeing her mother feel at home tonight too. She’ll hope you’ll feel that way in our own home too.” A quick pause enters the air of the car before he speaks up once more. “I would love to see to it that you smile that way more often too.” The words bring a smile to your face, no ounce of regret for making this arrangement with Loid evident on your face. Without a doubt, the smile stays as you two return home, as you teach him how to make a successful dish of dinuguan just before the family members come in, waiting for midnight to strike. He doesn’t miss the way Anya dozes on your lap comfortably, as if you were her mother all along. Neither does he miss the way you’re smiling in content watching the fruit of Loid and your work being enjoyed by the family. 

He’s no longer paying attention to the time, but now paying attention to every single thing there that makes your muscles twitch into that content and ecstatic expression. It is then that Twilight remembers that he can learn a thing or two to become a better agent, a better husband, a better father, a better man. He may not be able to achieve something as wide as world peace right now, but seeing you smile amidst the crowd made him…a little more at peace than he’d admit. Or perhaps it sends him spiraling again. Does she like me that way? Oh, I don’t know. Get it together, Twilight, you have been with many women before. You are simply refining your skill set. Nothing new. 

Not only was Loid Forger a mess when it came to you, but Twilight as well. Truly no one can shake his world the way his daughter and his wife would. 

[noteriii]

[loid forger masterlist]

mini stories for our favorite family man and loving.. spy?

꩜ .ᐟ

☾ i want you || loid forger x reader series

[prologue 00] [01] [02] [03] ....

˚✧₊ sweet tooth (soft! reader headcannons)

[hoomandoescosplay]

Reunited | Loid Forger x Reader

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[syerra-637]

Hello.

Can I please ask for Yuri x gn!reader fluffy sfw headcanons, with reader being really physically and verbally affectionate, constantly hugging, patting and praising their boyfriend Yuri, and how would he react to that! Thank you very much..

𝓨𝓾𝓻𝓲 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

ᴛᴡ : ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ? ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱꜰᴡ

ᴛʏᴘᴇ : ꜱꜰᴡ , ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ , ꜱᴏꜰᴛ

𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐢, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭����𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐠, 𝐩𝐚𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.

♡_______♡_______♡_______♡ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ: ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴏʀ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴇxᴄᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴇʀʀᴏʀꜱ.

ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ.

[apollowhoo]

Masterlist

Black Butler:

Alois Trancy X Protective!OlderSister!Reader+Claude

Demon!Ciel x Human!Sebastian

Hunter x Hunter

Killua x Gon x Reader (friendship hcs)

Chrollo x Sibling!Reader

Main 4+ Adult trio x Oc!Leah with various powers

Hazbin Hotel

Alastor x Insaine Child!Reader

Alastor x Child!Reader

Saiki K:

Saiki x Child!Psychic!Reader

Percy Jackson;

Percy x Sister!Reader

Embracing Mortality

Eldest Daughter of Hades!Reader x Nico, Bianca and Hazel

Danganronpa:

Kazuichi Soda x Leon Kuwata x Kaito Momota x LittleBrother!Reader

Match up 1

Owl House (I don’t take requests anymore):

The Collector x Parental!Reader

The Collector x Twin!Reader

Yandere!The Collector x Reader

Alice in Borderland (I don’t take requests anymore):

Match up 1

Hazbin Hotel:

Match up 1

Alastor x Child Reader

Arcane:

Silco x Child!Reader

Gravity Falls:

Gravity falls x Older Sister!Reader

Bill Cipher x Child reader

Creepypasta:

Jason the toy maker x Doll Like!Reader

DC:

DC matchup

One Lump or Two, Bird Boy?

The Boys

nothing.