#that there was still some affection in that gaze

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you write a story where the reader, a BAU member, is on maternity leave after she and Aaron just had a baby? One day, she goes to the office to bring their daughter to visit Aaron, only to find him in the bullpen with the agent who replaced her while she’s been on leave. The replacement has a crush on Aaron and doesn’t know that he’s married to the reader. The replacement becomes jealous when she sees how much attention Aaron is giving their daughter and confronts the reader, but Aaron gets angry and ends up firing her."

Family first | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Fluff, mom!reader, they have a daugther, bitch of a replacement coworker who doesn't know her place.

As you stepped into the all too familiar bullpen you were met with the usual sound of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the occasional laughter bubbling up from conversations between team members. You hadn’t stepped foot in the office in months — your maternity leave had been an endless storm of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and indescribable moments of joy. Now, cradling your six-month-old daughter in your arms, you stood at the threshold of the office, taking it all in — realizing how little you'd missed working, as long as you got to spend your time with your daughter.

“Ready to surprise Daddy?” you cooed to your baby, brushing a soft kiss against her fluffy head. She giggled in response, her little hand grasping at your necklace — the one Aaron had gotten you with a charm of your daughter's initial. Her chubby fingers wrapped around the charm, and you couldn’t help but smile at her curiosity.

Heads turned as you had entered, and a wave of warmth spread through you as familiar voices from your friends greeted you.

“Y/N!” Garcia’s exclamation came first as she flew across the bullpen, pulling away from her conversation with Morgan, her colorful dress trailing behind her. “Oh my gosh, let me see that precious little angel!”

You laughed, carefully handing over your daughter as Garcia immediately began cooing at her. Emily, Morgan, and JJ soon gathered around, their faces lighting up at the sight of the baby.

“Look at those cheeks,” Morgan said, his voice soft as he tickled her tiny hand. “Hotch better have her signed up for karate classes already. Gotta keep the boys away.”

“Or girls,” Emily added. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker either way.”

You beamed at their affection, the team’s love for your little family filling your heart. “Where is Aaron?” you asked, glancing toward his office. The blinds were drawn, but you knew he wasn’t inside.

JJ nodded toward the conference room. “He’s in there, showing something to Agent Morrison.”

Your smile faltered slightly at the mention of Morrison, the agent who had been brought in temporarily to cover your leave. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard through the grapevine that she was ambitious, skilled, and confident — maybe a little too confident.

You spotted Aaron through the windows, his back turned as he reviewed what you assumed were some case files with Morrison. He looked relaxed yet tired, his tie slightly loosened, though his usual air of authority remained in place. Morrison stood close to him — a little too close �� her laughter ringing out at something he said.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you pushed the feeling aside. Aaron was your husband, your partner, and the father of the baby currently making grabby hands at Morgan’s face. You had no reason to feel insecure.

Morgan handed your daughter back to you as you went to greet your husband.

And still, as you approached, you couldn’t help but notice the way Morrison’s body language leaned toward him, her hand brushing his forearm as she laughed again. Aaron didn’t seem to notice — or if he did, he wasn’t encouraging it.

When you reached the conference room, Aaron glanced up, and the moment his eyes met yours, his entire demeanor softened.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and surprise. His gaze immediately dropped to the baby in your arms, and he stood quickly, coming around the desk to envelop you both in a hug.

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before gently brushing a finger across your daughter’s cheek. She squealed in delight, reaching out for him, and he took her into his arms with ease.

“It wouldn’t have been a surprise if I told you,” you replied, grinning as you watched him cradle her. “I figured you could use a break.”

Aaron’s smile widened, and he kissed the baby’s forehead before turning back to you. “I always have time for my girls.”

Morrison’s voice cut into the moment, a hint of confusion lacing her words. “Wait, your girls?”

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Aaron’s wife.”

Her eyes widened, darting between you, Aaron, and the baby. “Wife?” she repeated, her tone almost incredulous.

Aaron’s arm settled protectively around your waist as he nodded. “Yes, my wife. Y/N used to work here before going on maternity leave.”

Morrison’s expression shifted, her initial surprise giving way to something more guarded. “Oh. I… I didn’t realize.”

“Well, now you do,” Aaron said firmly, his tone polite but edged with finality, hoping that your visit would make Morrison drop her antics.

The tension in Morrison’s posture was clear as day, but she pasted on a smile. “She’s adorable,” she said, nodding toward the baby. “You’re very lucky.”

Aaron’s grip on you tightened slightly. “I know I am.”

The interaction seemed to conclude there, and Morrison excused herself, claiming she had paperwork to finish. But as the day went on, it became clear that the encounter had unsettled her. You noticed her watching you from across the room, her eyes narrowing whenever Aaron’s attention lingered on you or the baby.

Finally, as you were gathering your things to leave, Morrison approached you near the elevator. Her smile was tight, her tone clipped.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked, glancing around to ensure no one else was within earshot.

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Her polite facade dropped almost instantly. “You don’t have to flaunt your relationship in front of everyone,” she said sharply. “It’s unprofessional.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice calm. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She scoffed. “You know exactly what I mean. Walking in here with your baby like you own the place, acting like Hotch is your personal property… It’s distracting and completely inappropriate.”

You blinked, stunned by the audacity. Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Agent Morrison.”

Aaron’s tone was ice-cold, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his expression thunderous. “A word, please. Now.”

Morrison’s face paled as she stammered, “I… I didn’t mean…”

“My office. Now.”

You watched as Aaron led her away, his posture stiff with fury. The bullpen had fallen silent, and you could feel the eyes of your colleagues on you, but you held your head high, refusing to let Morrison’s pettiness rattle you.

Minutes later, Aaron returned, his expression softer but still serious. He placed a hand on your arm, guiding you toward the elevator. “Let’s go home,” he said quietly.

As the elevator doors closed, you glanced up at him. “What happened?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Morrison won’t be returning. Her behavior was unacceptable, and I made it clear that we won’t tolerate that kind of attitude here.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the man beside you. “Thank you.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “No one disrespects my family,” he said firmly. “No one.”

[blueblossomrose]

Pleaseeeee I wanna see more on leona from the parent thing 🥺

Course! Here we go!

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, Leona being a tired dad, fem!afab!mc, fluffy.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Being a father was never something that really crossed his mind. Dealing with Cheka, and his own childhood problems, made him skeptical about the idea.

MC kind of knew about it, but she was ready to tell him anyway.

Leona was surprised and at the same time not. He wouldn't verbalize about it, but after the wedding, his mind turned to children for the first time.

He wouldn't say it was a desire to have children, but more like a concept, imagination.

Well, now he didn't have to imagine anymore.

In the first few months, he's sounds neutral. He doesn't hate it, but he has confused mixed feelings about it.

He doesn't feel the huge appeal, and deep down that makes him angry and sad.

Because he knows he's probably not making you feel safe, because he knows he is behaving exactly like his own parents, ignorants of love.

He refuses to ask Farena anything at first, but it gets to a point where he's so upset that he ends up venting to him.

Farena was straightforward in pointing out that Leona doesn't need to force himself to be something he's not. That he doesn't need to doubt his own emotions because of other people's emotions.

And after this conversation, he goes to talk to MC. She, despite being slightly confused too, didn't crucify him for it. Leona continued to protect her with all his might throughout her pregnancy.

When MC's belly grows and he feels the first kick, his mental confusion worsened, conflicting feelings hitting each other, and even though he still seemed indifferent... there was something between and MC notice.

When he held the babies in his arms for the first time, however... his gaze, which had been different, changed completely.

He loved those children. There was no way he could hate them.

He was: "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to them."

And MC was: "I know 😊"

He is a tired father, as expected of him. Yet, he's doing well there.

One of the common scenes is him lying on your lap while you fold clothes or do some other activity, and your children on top of him, pulling his ears and tail while he sleeps.

When they are babies, Leona is ok to stay up with them while MC sleeps. He understands how tiring it is. Plus, he likes to feel important when he sees that the little ones fall asleep more easily when they are in his arms.

Many times you wake up with the babies on top of you because Leona put them in bed to sleep with you two.

As the babies grow, you notice more clearly how docile Leona is with his daughter.

As if anything Zuri asked for, Leona would give it to her.

He would play with her dolls wearing a pink dress if she asked.

Which honestly wouldn't be impossible for her to ask for. Zuri is very demanding.

Totally different from Zayne and Sekani. Zayne is calmer, really quiet. Sekani is a shy, very sweet boy, and slightly fearful...

Zayne enjoys playing board games even at a young age. Leona doesn't mind playing with him often. It's pretty funny when sometimes he ends up losing and looks at his 6 year old son like this: 🤨

He compliments Zayne anyway.

Sekani is undeniably more attached to his mother, since he is the type of child who likes to be pampered with affection and MC is always holding him in her arms.

But Leona also showers him with affection (in a more discreet way), so he enjoys being with his father as well. Leona makes him feel safe, so whenever he is scared, Sekani runs to his father.

Despite sometimes complaining, Leona spends a lot of time with them. A lot of time. MC soon realizes that it is him giving his children the affection and attention that he did not receive.

Also, Cheka joins his cousins to go and bother his uncle. He loves having someone to play with now!

Leona having his three children and nephew glued to him 24 hours a day. Okay, maybe I exaggerated. 8 hours a day.

MC often joins in on the fun. When playing tag, Leona is usually quick to catch her because he knows where she usually hides. He will jump on you without mercy and probably scare you, but he will quickly make you laugh with involuntary tickles.

Leona finds the kids easily. And the kids can find you easily when it's their turn. Hide and seek with beastmen is no fun.

At the end of the day, Leona watches you sleeping in his arms along with the children... and he thinks that love and being loved like that isn't bad at all.

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you. 

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory. 

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now. 

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself. 

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile. 

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well. 

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers. 

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field. 

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end. 

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.  

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk. 

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair. 

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye. 

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line. 

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk. 

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face. 

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this. 

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you. 

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.” 

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush. 

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans��”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting. 

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious. 

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin. 

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.  

[liyawritesss]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜱᴡᴏᴏɴ

-> synopsis: What are some actions that make the batboys swoon, their hearts stop, and have them softening like butter in your hands?

         -> characters: bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, duke thomas

-> from: dc’s batman

         -> contains: nothing but some tooth-rotting fluff because we need it lol.

-> a/n: It all started with Bruce, I blame him! They all need some comfort to be honest, and these little mini-scenarios are the result of that. wanted to put something soft and sweet on the dash for this holiday season!

         -> join my taglist!

-> tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe @babyboiboyega @romiantic

TOUCH THEIR CHEST. It is probably the single most domestic act you can do to them. When they’re rushing or moving too fast, thoughts running a mile a minute, pause them for a moment. Bring them back to center, focus their attention on you. Tell them to breathe, to close their eyes and take a moment to still themselves. You’re not going anywhere. Tell them that no matter what, they’re doing great, and that if it gets too much, just remember that at the end of every day, they have you to come home to, and every morning you’ll be there to wake up with them in the morning. Then, fix up their clothes and send them on their way to tackle the city they’ve dedicated themselves to serve.

->BRUCE WAYNE, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

HOLD THEIR FACE IN YOUR HANDS. Focus their attention on you. Shoo away their thoughts and racing mind, bring them down back to earth. Hold their gaze for a moment, and let them see all the love and passion and care you hold for them. This is their safe space, in your arms, in your hands, feeling the softness of your skin surrounding them and the smell of your perfume. Run your thumbs along their cheekbones and let your fingertips tease the ends of their hair. Tell them how handsome they are, how much you love them, and let them drown in your sweet affection; they need it more than you’ll ever know.

->JASON TODD, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

CARESS THE BACK OF THEIR NECK. Let your fingers trace the skin at their nape, tangle your fingers in the curls of their hair. Let them lean back into your touch, cup the back of their heads, and let them fall into the peaceful surrender that is your protection. Your fresh set tracing along the edge of their hairline, giving them that blissful shiver that makes them bite their bottom lip in relief, that shoots through their body so refreshingly that their eyes close and they relish in the feeling. Gaze at them like they’re the only person in the world, and feel the way they relax and surrender themselves to you.

->DUKE THOMAS, DICK GRAYSON, Tim Drake

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow _ Part 3 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2  — Part 3 (here)

“Arise!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE TWO CHANCES REMAINING.]

“Arise!!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE ONE CHANCE REMAINING.]

“No… I can’t lose you…” Jinwoo hugged your cold body close, ignoring all the blood that dirtied his clothing or the scene he was making in front of his Shadows who watched with bated undead breath. “I shouldn’t have been with Hunter Cha… I shouldn’t have let you leave…”

It all happened within less than an hour. Jinwoo heard from Igris—with the help of Beru, who was the only Shadow to speak—that you left for some time alone and wanted to be completely alone. He thought it was fine as long as you were near him and he could go to you the moment he was done with Hae-In. But it took longer than expected and look what that led to.

You were the target of some people that saw Jinwoo through a negative lens. Since it was impossible to harm the S-Rank, it was simpler to put their anger and envy on people close to him. You happened to be unguarded at the worst time possible. When he got the news from his patrolling Shadows, it was already too late. Your body was cold and you had lost too much blood for his potions to do anything.

Jinwoo pleaded, he wished, he begged, he hoped. This was his last chance.

“Arise.”

From your body, misty tendrils formed and flickered around until it started to create a figure he was all too familiar with. There was you, standing before him with purple eyes and a body of shadow and darkness, dressed in what appeared to be robes like a mage—just like Min Byung-Gyu—but also some form of armour at the joints, everything outlined by neon purple like his Shadows. 

[SHADOWS HIGHER THAN RANK KNIGHT CAN BE NAMED.]

It was weird that you could be named, and even more bizarre that you were ranked as high as Igris was when he was first extracted. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was what to name you. It felt wrong to give you your original name because this was just a Shadow version of you, but then he can’t just give you another name. 

Just then, he had the answer. He stared at you in the eye and brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Blank. You’ll answer to that from now on.”

His heart ached when you bowed to him with a hand over your heart area. Your gaze fixated on him when you straightened up, and there was wonder and eagerness in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be reminded of your memories. 

Well, he might as well say it now. Still, with all his perceptive point investment, he somehow failed to notice his Shadows giving you a particular look. Particularly Beru and Igris, who appeared most fidgety, as if they had something to tell but couldn’t. 

“I have loved you for so long… Will always love you. I am so sorry for letting that happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have been with you.” Jinwoo leaned down where his forehead lightly touched yours and his eyes closed. “I love you.”

Hm!

??

Jinwoo’s eyes opened with confusion. The sound was way too close to be from the outside source. Not to mention… He raised his head and stared at the Shadow newly added to his army. He definitely felt a flinch from this Shadow. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the Shadow that stiffened for no reason. “Hey…”

Your eyes blinked and somehow avoided his gaze. Which was weird already since his Shadows never does something like this. They never act this human, nor were they affected by what he says on an emotional level. This was very suspicious. 

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Jinwoo’s eyes stayed glued to your facial expressions.

You shook your head and made a cross with your arms in front of your face, anything to shield you from Jinwoo’s intense gaze.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Jinwoo sighed your original name. “Stop acting.”

You tried maintaining your Shadow act as much as possible. It was too much and you ended up nodding in defeat with a droopy attitude. 

“How is this possible?” Jinwoo questioned aloud as his eyes widened, bewildered by the relaxed posture you suddenly took after your admission. You were acting the same as before, like nothing has changed and he didn’t just extract your shadow from your dead body. Wasn’t there an urge of loyalty placed on you that directed your attention to him? A force that compelled you to act inhuman?

You shrugged and pointed at your neck, no, throat to be more specific. Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. 

“Are you saying ‘you can’t speak’?” Jinwoo guessed your meaning.

You nodded enthusiastically and clapped your hands with a smile. Your lips moved, but once more, Jinwoo couldn’t hear anything from you. 

“My Queen is calling you smart and quick on the uptake, My Liege.” Beru spoke up suddenly, his wings fluttered with pride as he was now more important, being a bridge between his master and his master’s love. 

“You can understand?!”

“I can understand you now!?” 

Both Jinwoo and you exclaimed. The two of you looked back at each other and giggled. Soon, some changes were made. Instead of Beru watching over his mother and younger sister, Jinwoo had a legion of knights, mages, orcs, ice bears, and ants to guard them. Since Beru was the only one who could deliver your words to him, Beru had to be close by. 

Then he wondered how you could have your voice back. His only answer was to raise your rank. However, sending you into battles was something he swore he’d never do to you. He wanted to protect you, but not have you serve him. Now that you weren’t any ordinary Shadow but something akin to a reincarnation of yourself, he can’t do this to you. 

“My Liege.” Beru’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “My Queen wants to fight as well.”

“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.” Jinwoo spoke without missing a beat. “Never.”

Beru continued to relay your words, “My Queen wants to fight your battles with you, to be next to you. Rather than listening to your hardships.”

Jinwoo looked over to you, who was busy mingling with his Shadows, seemingly trying out a sword or a mage’s staff. Needless to say, the Shadows were ecstatic to finally communicate with you, even though it was your death and their master’s powers that allowed it. Still, they all made the best of things and kept you busy. 

“We will ensure The Queen is never in danger, My Liege.” Beru promised. 

It wasn’t like he and the other Shadows wanted their master’s beloved to fight alongside them. Yes, it’s an honour. But they shared their master’s worry when it came to your safety and health. When you told the Shadows this, they were against it until they heard your reasoning behind it. You wanted to be able to talk to Jinwoo again, to accept his confession by your own voice. For you, too, saw this as your second chance in life or the afterlife.

Jinwoo sighed, though a small smile was on his lips. “I could never say no when it comes to that, huh? Fine.”

As if you heard the resolve, your head turned over to Jinwoo while you waved with a beaming smile, not caring that you were swinging a sword in the air. 

“Let’s do some levelling up.”

Note: Welp, first one of the Christmas update is out~ And this is the end of this series. Thanks for following this series! (even though I never planned for it to last this long)

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @lunavixia @o-qi-shisme @skylar896 @marydragneell @bri602 @posionapple24 @akemityan @shaq-27 @the-dumber-scaramouche @mydearestbeloved @icefox8155 @loudlylovingcreator-blog @kaeyasoccs @rozuburedo @shineinouzen15

[oldsoul007]

secret santa

joel miller x reader

summary: joel miller your boss is your secret santa

joel miller masterlist

I sat in the break room, nursing a mug of hot cocoa, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of the ceramic cup as I listened to the chatter around me. It was Christmas Eve, and the office was abuzz with excitement. The holiday decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smell of cinnamon and pine in the air made everything feel magical—except, perhaps, for the lingering tension I couldn’t quite shake.

I glanced over at Joel, my boss, who was standing by the coffee machine, his tall frame leaning casually against the counter as he chatted with some colleagues. Joel was older than me—by nearly a decade—and always so composed, so professional. He had this way about him that made my heart flutter, a quiet confidence that had always intrigued me. But there was a distance between us, an unspoken line neither had ever dared to cross.

The secret Santa gift exchange was underway, and I had just received mine—a small, velvet box. I had never been one for extravagant gifts, but when I opened the box, my breath caught in my throat. It was a bracelet. Not just any bracelet, but the one I’d been eyeing for months. The delicate chain of gold, with small, sparkling diamonds that seemed to capture the light in the most enchanting way.

How had they known?

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I admired the gift, the piece of jewelry catching the light just as it had when I’d first seen it in the store window. It was exactly what I’d been dreaming of. But there was one problem—I had no idea who my Secret Santa was.

My gaze drifted across the room, landing on Joel, who had just finished his conversation and was now looking at me with a curious expression. He caught my eye, and for a moment, there was something between us—something more than just the usual professional exchange.

My heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be him, could it?

I swallowed, trying to shake the thought, but it lingered. Joel had always been kind to me, a bit aloof at times, but there had always been a quiet warmth in his eyes when we interacted. I’d never been able to ignore the way he looked at me—almost as if he were seeing something beyond the surface.

“I see you got your gift,” Joel’s voice broke through my thoughts, warm and low. He had stepped closer to me now, his eyes glancing at the bracelet I was still holding in my hand.

I nodded, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the delicate box. “Yeah, it’s… perfect,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“I’m glad you like it,” Joel said, a small smile tugging at his lips. There was something in the way he said it that made me wonder if he was the one behind the gift. But no, that was impossible. He was my boss. We could never cross that line.

“I’ve been eyeing this bracelet for ages,” I confessed, unable to stop myself. “I didn’t think anyone would remember it.”

Joel’s smile softened, his gaze intense. “I have a way of remembering things.”

I felt a sudden jolt of warmth spread through my chest. There it was again—the unspoken connection, that subtle undercurrent of something more. But just as quickly as it came, the moment seemed to pass. He shifted his weight, breaking the spell, and took a step back.

“I… should get back to work,” he said, glancing at his watch. “But I’m glad you liked the gift. Merry Christmas, y/n.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” I said, my voice soft, the words lingering between us.

As he walked away, my fingers brushed the bracelet again, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier, as though it symbolized something more than just a thoughtful gift. It felt like a bridge between us, an unspoken gesture of affection. Could Joel have gotten it for me? Or was I reading too much into it?

My heart raced as I thought back to the times we’d shared—those little moments when our eyes would meet across the room, when our conversations lingered a little longer than necessary. It was clear to me now that the attraction between us was mutual, but neither of us had ever dared to voice it.

As I sat back in my chair, staring at the bracelet, I made a decision. I couldn’t ignore the feelings any longer.

Later that evening, when the office had cleared out and the only sound was the hum of the vending machine in the hallway, I grabbed my coat and slipped out the door. The night air was cold, crisp, but filled with promise. I walked across the street to the little bar where I knew Joel liked to go after work. It was quiet there, intimate—just the kind of place where conversations could drift into something more.

The bell above the door chimed when I entered, and I saw him sitting in a corner booth, a glass of scotch in hand. Joel looked up as I approached, a surprised but pleased expression crossing his face.

“Y/n,” he said, setting the glass down. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to ask you something,” I said, my heart pounding as I stood before him. “About the bracelet. The Secret Santa gift.”

Joel’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward, his gaze never leaving mine. “You really like it, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost shy.

“I do,” I whispered. “It’s perfect. But I need to know… Did you get it for me?”

Joel hesitated for a moment, the brief silence between us stretching out like a promise. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

Joel’s gaze softened as he took a deep breath, as if he were gathering courage. “Because I’ve been wanting to give you something for a while now,” he said quietly. “Something more than just a gift. I’ve been… thinking about you, y/n. For longer than I care to admit.”

I blinked, feeling the words sink deep into my chest. Was this real? Or was I just dreaming?

“Joel,” I whispered, stepping closer. “I…”

Before I could finish, Joel stood up and reached for my hand. His fingers brushed mine, and suddenly, all the space between us vanished. He was close—so close—that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice a mixture of relief and longing. “I’ve wanted this, too. But I didn’t know how to say it.”

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that felt like it had been a long time coming. It was gentle, tentative at first, but as the seconds stretched on, the kiss deepened, both of us giving into the unspoken tension that had been building for so long.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads rested against each other, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Well, I guess the Secret Santa gift wasn’t the only surprise tonight,” I said, my heart soaring.

Joel smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Merry Christmas, y/n.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” I replied, my voice full of promise.

And for the first time in a long time, the holiday season felt truly magical.

[knoepfl]

A Crazy Christmas in Zaun

15/24

Characters:

• Viktor – The brilliant yet workaholic inventor from Arcane. Often consumed by his projects, Viktor rarely indulges in personal connections or sentimentality. However, he holds a deep affection for the Reader, appreciating their creativity, warmth, and ability to draw him out of his usual stoicism.

• Reader – Someone who brings light and warmth into Viktor’s often cold, logical world. They are skilled in their own right, crafting and tinkering in ways that mirror Viktor’s passions, but their focus is more on bringing joy and connection to those around them.

Themes and Trigger Warnings:

• Lighthearted Romance – The story centers on a sweet and tender holiday moment between Viktor and the Reader, celebrating their connection amidst the chaos of Zaun.

• Gift-Giving and Sentimentality – The Reader’s handcrafted gift symbolizes their love and effort, and Viktor’s reaction reveals his vulnerability and gratitude.

• Contrast Between Settings – The warmth of their shared moment contrasts with the harsh environment of Zaun, emphasizing the beauty of finding love in an otherwise bleak world.

Masterlist

Words: 688

--- Zaun’s streets were their usual chaotic blend of smoke, dim lights, and the buzz of machinery, but tonight, there was something else in the air—a rare warmth that could only mean one thing: Christmas. The makeshift decorations strung between crumbling buildings glinted faintly in the dim glow of the chem lamps, and you couldn’t help but hum a mangled version of a holiday tune as you darted through the streets, a package clutched tightly in your arms.

You were late. Not that Viktor would mind too much—he was used to your unpredictability. Still, you had been planning this for weeks, and nothing was going to ruin tonight.

Bursting into the small, cluttered lab he called home, you stopped short, your grin widening at the sight before you. Viktor sat at his workbench, hunched over some contraption you couldn’t begin to understand, his golden eyes focused intently as he adjusted a delicate gear with his gloved hands.

“Viktor!” you called out, your voice echoing through the room.

He flinched, nearly dropping the tool in his hand, before turning to look at you. A soft smile spread across his face as he saw you, his ever-watchful gaze sweeping over your slightly disheveled appearance.

“You’re late,” he teased gently, his accented voice laced with affection.

“I know, I know,” you said, bouncing over to him and plopping the package onto the table. “But I brought you something!”

His brow arched, and he tilted his head, the curiosity in his eyes unmistakable.

“A gift? For me?”

“Of course, for you!” you replied, your hands clasping his. “It’s Christmas, silly. You can’t just work through it without any presents or fun.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I am not one for such traditions. But since it is you…” He gestured to the package. “Shall I open it now?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Open it!” you said, bouncing on your heels with barely-contained excitement.

Viktor’s thin fingers worked carefully at the wrappings, untying the haphazard bow you had knotted at the top. As the paper fell away, his eyes widened in surprise.

Inside was a beautifully crafted pocket watch—though it was unlike any he had seen before. The gears were exposed, spinning elegantly beneath a layer of glass, and the face glowed faintly, almost as if powered by a shard of hextech.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

“Of course, I did!” you replied proudly. “Took me weeks to figure out how to make it work without exploding. But I know how much you love things that tick and spin, so… Ta-da!”

Viktor’s eyes softened as he ran his fingers over the watch, taking in every detail. “This is remarkable, miláčik. Truly.”

Your grin grew wider, and you leaned closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I may have also inscribed something on the back.”

Flipping the watch over, Viktor read the words etched into the metal: ‘Even when time stands still, my heart ticks for you.’

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, perching on the edge of the table and resting your chin in your hands.

He nodded, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that made your chest tighten. “Yes. I do.”

You leaned forward, pulling him into a hug. Viktor stiffened briefly, as he always did with physical affection, before melting into your embrace.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured against your hair.

“And you deserve every second of it,” you replied.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the hum of the lab fading into the background. Outside, Zaun’s chaos continued, but here, in the soft glow of your shared sanctuary, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

“Merry Christmas, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he replied, his voice filled with a quiet kind of happiness that was rare in a place like Zaun.

And for once, it truly felt like peace had found its way to you both, even if just for one night. ---

[fushiguruuzzzz]

ALL I WANT 4 CHRISTMAS .ᐟ

What are the jjk & aot boys doing this Christmas season?

Somehow, mistletoe is left in his wake like a trail of breadcrumbs. Nobody knows exactly how he acquired all of this, but as he continues to swerve the advances of anyone else he meets under the green and red decoration, his intent grows more clear. There's also a mysterious bundle of it in his pocket, which he explains as his "just in case" backup. Before you knew it he was taking you by the hand and leading you through the house, much less subtle at scanning the doorways above than he thinks. At first you're oblivious, wondering if someone had spiked his eggnog or something of the sort, but no. When he halts abruptly and you follow his gaze upwards, every oddity of his behaviour makes much more sense.

"Would you look at that? Mistletoe. Wonder how that got there."

You can still feel his proud grin against your lips, even after he kisses you.

⤷ Satoru, Jean

He’s lounging on the sidelines, eyeing you over the rim of his mug as you enjoy the winter day, unaware of his lingering eyes. The hot chocolate sears his tongue, but he can't find it in himself to react. How could he care, when you're laughing across the room? What was so funny? What was so special about those people that prevented you from talking to him? He's got plenty of other people gabbing in his ear, they always end up flocking to him, as odd as it seems. He only feigns interest in their words, but if it were you, he'd hold on to every syllable like they were life's greatest treasure. he'd take note of every shift, of every breath you took. But for now you were across the room and all he could do was stare, frozen in place.

⤷ Suguru, Eren, Toji

Ah, yes. The personification of Christmas, your very own worker elf at your side. Clad in a ridiculously festive sweater and some reindeer antlers, Santa Claus might as well have thrown up on him. You're sure that if it weren't for you, he'd be wrapped in Christmas lights and singing carols on doorsteps. "It's holiday spirit! Don't you like Christmas?" he'd say. He makes you out to be some sort of grump, but you know deep down that he's just a total dork.

⤷ Toge, Yuji, Connie

Your boy isn't one for grand gestures, he never has been. Even around the holiday season, his love is quiet; soft. His chunky sweater wrapped around your shoulders, a steaming mug in your hands because he noticed you were chilly. A batch of sugar cookies made just for you, icing of your favourite colour decorating the tops. A pretty little box with a ribbon tied into a bow (or at least it was supposed to be) atop it, even though you made him promise not to go out of his way more than he already has. He just can't help himself. A photo snapped of you when you're looking particularly docile, just for safe keeping. He looks at his little album of you when you're apart, but he doesn't tell you that part. His affection is a collection of small sweetness, like a box of trinkets filled with the little things you hold dearest to your heart.

⤷ Yuta, Armin

He’s doing all of the sappiest things without even realizing it. Who would expect this big, beefy oaf of a man to be so whipped? “Yeah, those decorations are really pretty. I’d rather look at you, though.” “Sorry for staring, baby. You just look so pretty. If you were the only present under the tree I wouldn’t mind.” He’s buying you reindeer plushies just because they’re cute, and when he gives them to you his eyes shine with something so sweet it’s hard to believe it’s him. So you take them, you accept all of it, every little thing teetering on the fence of cute and corny, because maybe that’s what love does to you.

⤷ Reiner, Choso

You know how I said Toge, Connie, and Yuji are the personification of Christmas? Yeah, he’s the grinch. No, he doesn’t need another candy cane. No, please don’t turn up the radio, if he hears another Mariah Carey song he might implode. It would be easier to hide his disdain if you weren’t so adamant, so pushy for him to “get in the spirits.” Get that damn hat away from him, he tells you he won’t allow himself to be subjected to your childish antics. But when the festive shine in your eyes dulls ever so slightly, when you retreat with a defeated huff, he doesn’t know what changes. He doesn’t understand why, but he knows he doesn’t like it. So he tugs you back with an annoyed huff, grumbling under his breath as he falls victim to your will. He always ends up doing that, somehow. Always ends up at your mercy, even though if it were anyone else he’d have blocked them out long ago.

⤷ Megumi, Levi, Sukuna

He seems like something straight out of a hallmark movie. Okay, maybe he isn’t as cheerful as your picture perfect husband, waltzing around like Buddy the Elf. Maybe he’s got that passive expression on his face, the one that’s just barely grown easier to read over the years you’ve grown to know him. But he’s cooking you meals and massaging your back, he’s sliding you his card over the kitchen counter before he leaves for work and telling you to do something nice for yourself. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets to see the results; see how happy they make you. He trusts you, he trusts that you’re just as his as he is yours, and that means all of his work benefits him just as much as you. Because he gets to see your face light up, see the subtle curl of your lips with every act of service, and knowing he’s the only one is well enough for him.

⤷ Kento, Erwin

a/n — I wrote this randomly at 4am because one of my mutuals asked if I was doing a Christmas special. Yes apparently I am. Also Gojo fit a few of these but I decided on that one :3 I was thinking about doing more fandoms but I’m not 100% confident in my characterizations for hq, hxh (been a HOT minute since I’ve watched), etc. so aot and jjk it is <3 most people are only here for jjk anyway so

[girlactionfigure]

In one of the last groups to arrive in Bergen-Belsen towards the tail end of World War II was a Jew of charismatic appearance who became known to all the other inmates as Reb Shmelke. His full name was Shmuel-Shmelke Shnitzler, a chassid and Torah scholar from somewhere in Hungary. He was very tall and distinguished looking, with strikingly warm and penetrating eyes. Most amazingly, he maintained a mood of genuine cheerfulness, a rare disposition to find in the hellish environment of the camp.

He underwent the harsh terrors and the suffering, the hunger and the abuse, that was the daily portion for the Jew’s in the camp, just as all the other prisoners. But, somehow, his demeanour and behavior seemed to indicate that he wasn’t affected the same way as everyone else, almost as if he weren’t really there.

How was he able to live in such a manner under such conditions? Nobody knew. But it was clear, nevertheless, that he was he drawing immeasurable fortitude and inspiration from some unlimited source.

He even was able to be a fountain of encouragement for his fellow prisoners. He would say to his companions at every opportunity, “A Jew and despair are contradictory in essence; they cannot co-exist.” Whenever possible he would organize a minyan for prayer, especially on Shabbat. At nights he would enliven all those around him with stories of the great Chassidic rebbes, momentarily transporting them to other worlds and places, enabling them to temporarily forget their sufferings of body and soul.

To the amazement of all, Reb Shmelke even found favour in the eyes of a few of the cruelest S.S. guards in the camp. Through these connections he was able to aid a number of the inmates.

He was assigned the job of removing from the barracks the dead bodies of the many who died from starvation. He would try to treat them with as much respect as possible, considering this to be the ultimate of holy work that he could do under the circumstances.

In addition to the prevailing conditions of horror in the camp under which the Jews barely managed to survive, Reb Shmelke was nagged by another compelling problem, one that was increasing in urgency with each day that went past: how could he possibly obtain oil with which to kindle the lights of Chanukah. The holiday was only a few short days away.

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible.

Still, Reb Shmelke did not give in to despair. The mitzvah of kindling the Chanukah lights was much too important to him. He also realized how much encouragement and hope it would offer the Jews in the camp-to shine light into the deepest of darknesses, to celebrate the victory of few over the many, the pure over the impure….

On the day before Chanukah, Reb Shmelke had to hurry to one of the barracks near the end of the camp, where someone had died just that day. Not far from the fence at the edge of the camp, he stumbled when his foot sunk into a patch of red earth that turned out to be covering a small hole. It was clear that someone had dug this hole on purpose.

He gazed at the shallow depression, and after a moment perceived the sun reflecting off something in it. He looked closer and saw there was a solid object buried there, now slightly revealed. He knelt down and scooped out some dirt with his hands. It was a small jar, half-filled with congealed liquid! Could it be? Could it possibly be!

He removed its cover as quickly as he could and dipped his finger in gingerly. It was oil! He thoughts immediately flashed to the original Chanukah miracle of the finding of the single flask of oil. How could this be happening? Was he dreaming?

Then he noticed that the jar had been concealing other objects beneath it. He dug some more with his hands and uncovered a small package wrapped in a swatch of cloth. In it were eight small cups and eight thin strands of cotton!

Now convinced that someone had intentionally buried this Chanukah stash, Reb Shmelke quickly replaced everything back into the hole and filled it in with the dirt he had removed, carefully smoothing the surface. It would be too dangerous to keep the materials in his possession until Chanukah began the next day in the evening. Besides, perhaps it belonged to someone.

After he completed he job he had been sent upon, Reb Shmelke circulated among as many of the inmates he could during the rest of the day and the, casually asking with an air of innocence if anyone had concealed a quantity of oil in a hiding place. Everyone stared at him as if he were out of his senses.

The next night, all the Jews of Reb Shmelke’s barrack crowded around him as he stood poised to light the first candle of Chanukah. He struck the match, and then recited the blessings with great emotion before touching the tiny flame to the thin strands of wick projecting out of the little cups. It was a scene from a storybook in stark contrast to the dour, harsh environment of the concentration camp, a ray of hope that repeated itself for a total of eight nights.

The elderly Reb Shmelke managed to survive the next few months until finally the conquering Allied forces liberated the camp. His faith and hope had proven victorious. After the official conclusion of the war, he returned to his town in Hungary, to try to reassemble the pieces of his broken life.

Several years later, he was able to make the journey to the United States of America. One important stop for him there was to visit the Satmar Rebbe, Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, who lived in Brooklyn. The Rebbe, it turned out, already knew of Reb Shmelke and his deeds, and welcomed him with great warmth.

After they conversed for a while the Rebbe suddenly switched subjects and said to him, “I hear that you had the great honour of lighting Chanukah candles in Bergen-Belsen.”

“How does the Rebbe know that?” sputtered Reb Shmelke in wonderment.

“I heard, I heard,” replied the Rebbe, smiling mysteriously.

A few moments later the Rebbe bent over to his astonished visitor and whispered in his ear, “I am the one who hid the oil, the cups and the wicks in that hole next to the fence. I did it when I was imprisoned in the camp the year before you, before my miraculous escape.

“At the moment I did it,” the Rebbe added, “I believed with all my heart that at the right time it would be found by the right person who would know exactly what to do with it.”

—

Source: Rabbi Yerachmiel Tilles, Ascent Tzfat, with fact checking from Yad Vashem: World Holocaust Center, Jerusalem, Oral History of Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe. Oral account of Bergen-Belsen Survivor Jack Eisenstein.

(Pictured here: A Chanukah candle lighting ceremony in the Westerbork transit camp, Netherlands, December 1943. Photo: Yad Vashem)

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

just a drink

older!sirius black x reader - just a drink

word count: 4k

summary: after a long meeting with the order sirius invites y/n to stay for… just a drink

warnings: kissing, mentions of age gap, absolutely infatuated sirius (bc i like men who shower me with compliments and affection) also slight dumbledore hate

a/n: once again i went insane with this. there are so many other things i should be writing for you but i just have to share this

     The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long shadows across the mismatched chairs and the weathered wooden table. The members of the Order of the Phoenix sat packed tightly together, their faces solemn as Dumbledore spoke. The tension in the air was palpable, the kind that settled deep in the bones and refused to let go.

     Y/N sat near the middle of the table, between Remus and Sirius. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her jaw tight as she listened to Dumbledore outline the latest developments. Her patience was thin tonight, thinner than usual. The constant weight of the war, the sleepless nights, and now the decisions being made without enough consideration for their consequences—it was all too much.

     Dumbledore’s voice carried on, steady and commanding. “We need to establish a stronger presence near Diagon Alley. The Death Eaters are becoming bolder in their attacks, and we must be prepared for the possibility of a strike closer to the heart of wizarding London.”

     Y/N’s fingers tapped against her arm, her brow furrowing. She could feel the frustration building, a knot tightening in her chest. “I don’t see how that helps,” she muttered under her breath.

     Her voice was quiet, but Sirius, sitting to her right, caught it. He glanced at her, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. She always had something to say, always pushed back against authority when she thought they were wrong. It was one of the things he admired about her— her fire.

     Dumbledore continued, unbothered. “A visible presence in the area will serve as both a deterrent and a warning. However, we must exercise caution. Any unnecessary provocation could lead to—”

     “With all due respect, sir,” Y/N interrupted, her voice cutting through the room, “standing around looking official isn’t going to stop them. They already know we’re here, and they’re not afraid of us. If anything, it’ll just make us targets.”

     The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her, some surprised, others wary. Y/N felt the weight of their stares but held her ground, her gaze steady on Dumbledore.

     “Y/N,” Remus murmured beside her, his voice low and calm. He placed a hand on her back, a gesture meant to steady her. “Not now.”

     The touch was gentle but firm, and Y/N felt herself deflate slightly. She bit back a retort and leaned back in her chair, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest.

     Sirius’s eyes flicked to the spot where Remus’s hand rested on Y/N’s back. His smirk faded, replaced by a subtle tightening of his jaw. He knew the gesture was innocent—Remus had always been protective of her, just as he was with everyone in their group—but it still bothered him. There was an ease between them, a quiet understanding, that Sirius couldn’t help but envy.

     And yet, he had no right to feel that way. She wasn’t his.

     He leaned back in his chair, forcing his gaze away from them and pretending to focus on the parchment in front of him. But his thoughts refused to cooperate.

     The age gap. That damned age gap.

     It was the reason he hadn’t made a move, the thing that held him back every time he caught himself watching her for too long or thinking about her late at night. She was young, vibrant, full of life. He was weighed down by a lifetime of mistakes and regrets. What right did he have to want her?

     Dumbledore’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Now, onto the matter of Hogsmeade,” he said, gesturing to the map on the table. “There have been reports of suspicious activity near the Shrieking Shack. I’ll need volunteers to investigate—discreetly, of course.”

     Y/N straightened slightly, her interest piqued. Sirius could see the determination in her eyes, the way she was already considering the assignment. But before she could speak, Remus gave her a subtle nudge with his elbow.

     “Don’t,” he murmured, his tone light but pointed.

     She shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. Sirius felt a twinge of something—jealousy, irritation, he wasn’t sure—as he watched the exchange. They had their own unspoken language, a bond that had formed over years of shared experiences and trust.

     The meeting dragged on, Dumbledore moving from one topic to the next. Y/N’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, evident in the way she tapped her fingers against the table or shifted in her seat. Sirius found it hard to focus. His attention kept drifting to her—to the way her hair caught the candlelight, the way her brow furrowed in concentration.

      And then there were the little things, the details only he seemed to notice: the way her lips pressed together when she was deep in thought, the soft sigh she let out when something annoyed her.

     By the time the meeting adjourned, Y/N had reached her limit. She stood abruptly, muttering something about needing fresh air.

     Sirius watched her go, his eyes lingering on the way her hair swayed as she walked. He wondered if she realized how captivating she was, if she had any idea how much space she occupied in his thoughts.

     “You’re not very subtle, you know,” Remus said, breaking the silence.

     Sirius turned to him, frowning. “What are you on about?”

     Remus smirked, his tone dry. “You’ve been staring at her all night.”

     “I wasn’t staring,” Sirius said quickly, too quickly.

     “Right,” Remus said, gathering his things. “Just try not to make it so obvious next time.”

     Sirius let out a huff of irritation, running a hand through his hair. 

     But it was hard to look away.

     As the room emptied, Sirius stayed behind, slumping back in his chair. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the walls. He closed his eyes, letting out a low sigh.

     The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d tried—Merlin, he’d tried—but she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Her voice, her smile, the way she carried herself with so much confidence and determination.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     The cold outside felt like it seeped into her bones as soon as she stepped through the door, the chill from the air making Y/N pull her coat tighter around her. She had rushed out earlier, frustrated with the meeting and the constant back-and-forth of words that never seemed to result in any real action. But now, standing alone in the cold yard of Grimmauld Place, she realized she’d left her coat and bag behind in the rush.

     With a resigned sigh, she turned back toward the house, the heavy wooden door creaking slightly as she entered. The warmth of the house immediately wrapped around her, but it wasn’t enough to shake the unease still lingering in her chest. She moved quickly through the entryway, making her way back to the sitting room where she had left her belongings.

     The house was eerily quiet now. The voices, the laughter, the bustling of the meeting—it had all vanished. The flickering candlelight in the sitting room seemed to magnify the silence, making everything feel still.

     She paused when she saw him.

     Sirius was sitting at the table, the same spot where the Order meeting had been held just a short while ago. His elbows rested on the edge of the table, his hands folded loosely in front of him, and his gaze was distant. He hadn’t noticed her entrance yet, his focus still on some faraway thought.

     Y/N’s steps slowed as she studied him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the stillness that seemed to surround him. He didn’t appear to have noticed her yet, his focus still on something she couldn’t see.

     She cleared her throat softly, breaking the quiet.

     Sirius looked up at the sound, his gray eyes meeting hers immediately, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of the past few hours hanging between them.

     “Forgot my coat,” Y/N said, her voice a little more subdued than usual as she gestured toward the chair where she had left her things.

     Sirius nodded, sitting up straighter in his seat. “You left in a bit of a hurry,” he said, a wry smile on his face. “Cold out there.”

     Y/N glanced down at her coat, then at him. “I guess I didn’t think about the cold.”

     “Would’ve figured you for someone who’d remember that,” he teased, but there was something softer in his voice now.

     Y/N stepped forward, picking up her coat from the chair. As her fingers brushed against the fabric, she hesitated. The frustration she had felt during the meeting had yet to leave her. The weight of Dumbledore’s decisions, the helplessness of their situation, had settled deep within her.

     Sirius observed her, his gaze softening. The silence between them was now something different, something more reflective. "You alright?" he asked quietly, his voice devoid of teasing now, the softness lingering in his words.

     “I’ll be fine,” she said lightly, tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders. “I just... I need to clear my head.”

     Sirius raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look like you could use a drink. How about you stay for a bit?”

     Y/N hesitated. She knew what he was offering: a brief escape, a chance to let their shoulders down after the weight of the meeting. It was a kindness, one she rarely turned down when offered, but she wasn’t sure she was in the mood for conversation—at least, not the kind he seemed to want.

     She smoothed a hand over her coat, then met his gaze. "I don’t want to be a bother.”

     A small chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually did. He was trying, she could see that, but there was a quiet undercurrent in his voice now, one that didn’t have the usual playfulness. It was something else—something deeper.

     “You’re not a bother. You never are.” He paused, watching her closely, as though he were searching for something behind her guarded expression. “Come on. Let’s just... have a drink. Relax a little. Please.”

     Y/N could feel the hesitation in her chest, that resistance she’d built around herself, but she also knew she didn’t want to go back to her flat alone—not after tonight. Not when she could still feel the sharp sting of everything they had just discussed lingering in her mind. Maybe, just maybe, a drink with Sirius would help take the edge off.

     She sighed, stepping away from the doorframe. “Alright. Just one drink.”

     Sirius’s smile, though small, was genuine. It reached his eyes this time, and for a brief moment, Y/N caught a glimpse of something in his expression—a flicker of hope or perhaps relief. But then he masked it again, as he always did, with that ever-present, charismatic ease.

     “Excellent,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I’ll let you pick the poison. But if you say Firewhisky, I’m warning you, I’ll be pouring myself a double.”

     Y/N shook her head as she followed him through the hall. “I’m not in the mood for something that strong,” she replied, though she couldn’t hide the slight smile that tugged at her lips.

     He led the way into the kitchen. It was a small space, cozy even in its slightly outdated decor. Y/N had always thought there was something oddly comforting about the kitchen in Grimmauld Place—it was a place that felt lived in, not cold and sterile like the rest of the house.

     He moved to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of something dark, his fingers brushing over it in a way that suggested familiarity. “How about this?” he asked, turning to her with a raised eyebrow. “A little bit of something to take the edge off without turning us into complete wrecks.”

     Y/N smiled at the offer. “I’ll try it. But I’m holding you to your word—just one drink.”

     “Of course,” he replied smoothly, though there was an edge to his voice now, a quiet sincerity. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, Y/N. I just thought... after everything today, maybe a bit of peace wouldn’t hurt.”

     He poured them both a generous measure of the amber liquid, handing her the glass with a soft smile. She accepted it, their fingers brushing ever so slightly as she took it, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Sirius’s presence always had this magnetic pull on her. Even now, as he leaned back against the counter, watching her with those dark eyes of his, she felt something shift in the air around them.

     “So, what did you think of the meeting?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but she could hear the underlying edge of exhaustion in his words. He was tired. They all were. But Sirius... Sirius had always worn his exhaustion differently. He carried it with a certain grace, a way of making it look effortless when it was anything but.

     Y/N shrugged, taking a small sip of her drink. “It’s the same as always. We talk strategy, we pretend like we know what we’re doing, and we leave with the same uncertainty as when we came in.”

     “Yeah,” Sirius muttered, his eyes darkening as he swirled his drink. “The war doesn’t exactly give us much to work with, does it?”

     Y/N looked at him, her gaze lingering on his face. There was something about the way he said it, like he had seen the world through darker lenses than most. She couldn’t deny that part of her was fascinated by that—by the depth of everything he had been through. And yet, there was always a part of him that seemed so light, so full of life. It was that contrast that both intrigued and unsettled her.

     “I think we’re all just waiting for the next bombshell to drop,” she said softly, her eyes not meeting his. “And in the meantime, we try to keep it together.”

     Sirius watched her closely, his eyes fixed on the movement of her lips as she slowly sipped her drink. His gaze lingered, and for a moment, he forgot about everything—about the weight of the meeting, about the ever-present tension of the war. It was just her, sitting across from him, and the soft glow of the kitchen lights casting shadows across her face. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he noticed the way the soft candlelight made her eyes shine, the way the curve of her lips looked even more inviting with every sip.

     Y/N felt his gaze before she saw it. The weight of his attention pressed on her, as though his eyes were tracing every line of her face, every small movement. It made her heart beat a little faster, a warmth spreading through her chest despite the cool air around them. She looked up over the rim of her glass, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were soft, but there was a flicker of something deeper, something more intense. Something she hadn’t noticed before—or maybe she had, but had ignored.

     “What is it, Sirius?” she asked, her voice teasing but with a subtle undercurrent of curiosity. “Do I have something on my face?”

     Sirius blinked, caught off guard for a moment. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts. But the truth slipped out before he could stop it.

     “No,” he said softly, “just thinking... you’re beautiful.”

     Y/N’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a small laugh escaping her lips. She set the glass down on the counter and crossed her arms, her gaze locking onto his. “Really?” she said with a playful smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

     Sirius chuckled, though there was a touch of nervousness beneath the laugh. The air between them seemed to shift, the tension thickening, and for a brief moment, he forgot all about the age gap that had kept him at bay for so long. The difference in their years had been a wall in his mind, one he had built to keep things at arm's length. But now, standing here with her, so close, so real, it felt like that wall was crumbling away piece by piece.

     He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and rough. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something for a while, and I’m not sure if I should say it.” His heart was hammering in his chest, the words threatening to spill out before he could stop them. “But... would you want to kiss me?”

     Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the question. It was so direct, so unguarded. And it was like the entire world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. She blinked, the shock of it mixing with something else—something warmer, something she hadn’t been expecting. She felt her pulse quicken, her eyes flicking to his lips before she caught herself.

     For a moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a teasing smile, the spark of mischief flickering in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

     Sirius didn’t need any more encouragement. The restraint he had held onto for so long—the years of wondering, of doubting—slipped away in that moment. He moved closer, his hands coming up to gently cup her face, and then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers.

The kiss was soft at first, but it wasn’t long before the gentle pressure of his lips grew more urgent, more insistent, as though the need to be close to her had been building for far too long. Y/N responded in kind, her hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she deepened the kiss.

     Sirius let out a soft groan as he felt her pull him closer, her body pressed against his. The intensity of the kiss surged, and he could taste the warmth of the alcohol on her lips, the tang of it mixing with the sweetness of her kiss. His hands roamed to her back, pulling her flush against him, his breath quickening as he kissed her deeper, harder, the world spinning around them.

     “Y/N...” he muttered against her lips, his voice thick with desire. “You’re... heavenly.”

     Y/N’s heart was racing now, her hands tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. She had never imagined this—never imagined that the distance between them could close so quickly, so completely. But now, with him so close, with his lips on hers, she couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

     She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her gaze locked on his. “Sirius...” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but thick with emotion. “Kiss me again.”

     Sirius didn’t need any more prompting. He kissed her again, this time with a desperation that was new—raw and hungry. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her with a depth that left them both breathless. The kiss was no longer soft. It was passionate, consuming, as though every doubt, every fear, was being kissed away in that one moment.

     He muttered a few curses, his lips trailing down to her neck, tasting the soft skin there. “God, Y/N... you don’t know what you do to me.” His voice was rough, strained, as he nipped gently at her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

     Y/N gasped, her fingers threading through his hair as she tilted her head back to give him better access. His lips were on her neck, hot and insistent, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to. Every part of her was alive with the sensation of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his body against hers.

     The kiss deepened once more, and without thinking, Sirius picked her up, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed her back against the wall. The sudden movement surprised her, but it only made the moment more intense, more real. She gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, and he groaned at the closeness, at the feeling of her body against his.

     His lips moved down her neck, kissing her in slow, deliberate strokes, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered her name. “Y/N...” he murmured again, as though trying to make sure she was still with him, still there. “You’re... perfect.”

     Her heart raced as he kissed her neck, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin there. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She only knew that she wanted more.

     When their kiss finally broke, both of them panting for air, they slid to the floor. Sirius’s head rested against her shoulder.

     Slowly he sat up, his hands still holding her waist. He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of longing and something else—something deeper.

     “I was... worried,” he confessed, his voice low, vulnerable in a way she had never heard before. “Worried about the age difference. About whether you’d... feel the same. It’s always been in the back of my mind.”

     Y/N’s heart softened at his words, and she placed a hand gently on his cheek, brushing her thumb over the stubble there. “Sirius, I don’t care about that,” she said softly. “I’ve never even thought of it.”

     He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time, it was only a soft graze, a reminder of how easily he could lose himself in her.

     “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough with the emotions he could never fully hide. “So damn beautiful, so bloody lovely...” He chuckled softly, a spark of mischief lighting in his eyes. “It’s maddening, really.”

     Y/N’s chest fluttered at his words, at the vulnerability that she could hear in his voice. She leaned in, gently kissing the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering for a moment longer than expected. “I’m really glad you convinced me to stay for a drink,” she whispered, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.

     Sirius’s breath caught at her words, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something else, but instead, he moved, his hand rested on her leg, a soft touch that conveyed so much more than words could. Then, slowly, he shifted again, lying down with his head in her lap, the two of them surrounded by the quiet of the kitchen.

     He gazed up at her, his eyes filled with a kind of wonder, a touch of awe. “You’re so perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and warm. “I can’t believe I’m here with you. I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. For so long.”

     Y/N blushed, a soft smile curling on her lips. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the warmth of the moment.

     Sirius let out a breath, as though he’d been holding it for far too long. His lips turned upward in a small, tender smile. And for a long moment, they stayed like that—him lying on her lap, her fingers in his hair, the weight of everything unspoken and everything new hanging between them, untold but not needed.

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

Early Christmas Gift

Paring: Stucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Steve surprise you for Christmas.

Word Count: 820

Warnings: None just some Christmas fluff.

A/N: Happy Holidays to all💗

It was a crisp December morning morenotably, it was Christmas Eve when Steve and Bucky decided to surprise you early for Christmas. The plan had been simple. They'd show up unannounced to your apartment, sneak in, and catch you off guard before you could finish whatever holiday preparations you had in store. They’d expected to see you wrapped up in holiday cheer, maybe a little frantic, but still festive.

But when they arrived at the door and slipped inside quietly, they found something entirely different.

The apartment was warm and smelled of cinnamon, gingerbread, and butter, the scent of holiday baking filling the air. The kitchen, however, was another story. Flour was scattered across the counters like a soft dusting of snow, and pots and pans cluttered every available surface. You stood at the stove, hair tied up in a messy bun, flour streaked across your cheeks, and a little bit of icing smeared on your cheek as you worked over a batch of cookies, humming softly to yourself.

The sight made Steve’s heart swell with affection. Bucky, for his part, couldn't stop smiling as he leaned against the doorframe, taking in the chaos that somehow felt like home.

You didn’t notice them right away, lost in the rhythm of cooking and baking. You were wearing an oversized red sweater with a reindeer on it, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and a pair of old leggings that had seen better days. A pair of mismatched Christmas socks peeked out from beneath the leggings, and your feet shuffled back and forth as you worked, clearly oblivious to the world outside the kitchen.

It was the perfect kind of mess. The kind of mess that told them you were relaxing, wrapped in the joy of the holiday spirit and the comfort of your own home.

Bucky cleared his throat, and You jumped, nearly knocking over the bowl of cookie dough in your hands. You spun around, wide-eyed, a little flustered, and immediately blurted out, “You two are home now! I’m in the middle of baking, I look like a disaster, and—”

But Steve was already stepping forward, grinning as he gently cut you off. “You look perfect, Doll. We didn’t mean to surprise you this way, but we couldn’t wait for Christmas.”

Bucky snorted, stepping into the kitchen. “Yeah, Steve’s right. We love seeing you like this—chaos and all.”

You blinked, then looked back at the kitchen. You hadn’t expected your boyfriends to see you like this, especially not before Christmas. There were flour smudges on the floor, sticky sugar dribbled down the front of your sweater, and you felt like a mess. But as you met their eyes, both men looked at you like you were the most beautiful, glowing person in the world.

A little self-conscious, you wiped at your cheek. “Well, I guess if you two can handle the kitchen disaster, I’ll just have to finish baking,” you said, with a teasing tone in your voice.

Bucky chuckled and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t mind us. We’re happy to watch and eat whatever you throw at us. This smells amazing!.”

Steve leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze soft and affectionate as he watched you. “Yeah, we came early to help, but looks like you're handling everything just fine.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned. “You want to help?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, and Bucky immediately jumped up.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his enthusiasm making Steve laugh.

You handed him a bowl of pre-made dough. “You can start by rolling out these cookies. Try not to eat too many of them, alright?”

Bucky saluted you, then began rolling the dough with a level of focus that was almost comical. Steve found himself a spot on the counter, watching you both work in a comfortable silence, the sound of flour dusting the air and the soft hum of the oven filling the room.

At that moment, you caught Steve’s gaze again, your smile soft and genuine. There was something about this chaos, about sharing it with them, that made the holiday season feel even more special. They weren’t just coming home for the cookies or the presents or the decorations—they were here because they wanted to be with you, mess and all.

Steve smiled back, his heart full. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, than with you” he leaned over and kissed your forehead. You hummed before going back to helping Bucky.

Sook the kitchen was filled with laughter, the clinking of baking utensils, and the warmth of love, it was clear that this Christmas would be one they'd all remember. No perfectly decorated tree, no perfect holiday meal could ever be more meaningful than moments like these. Just the three of you, together, enjoying each other’s company in the mess of the holiday season.

Tags 🏷️

@caothicshit @missvelvetsstuff @hallecarey1 @just-another-blog34411 @foxherder @springdandelixn @hannibals-favourite-meal @imyourbratzdoll @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @sarahrogersevans @tomandcakes @lyds247 @raajali3 @supraveng @kingkamk @loopsisloops @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @nana1000night @ladyofthestayingpower

[spiderm444rk]

LOST IN TRANSLATION - mark lee smau

20. can you two stop flirting ?? (written)

not proofread

You glance at Mark, who keeps absentmindedly picking at the strings of his guitar with one hand. He’s nervous, you can tell, and honestly you get it. This is a big day for everyone after all - all students want to know who will become the newest member of the band.

“You got this man, okay ?” Donghyuck dramatically places his hand on Mark’s shoulder, patting it repeatedly. “You’ll do good. You’ll do the best, actually. If someone’s capable, it’s you.”

“Yeah, fuck those losers who think they’re better just because they major in music.” Jisung scoffs. “We’ll see if they’re really as talented as they claim to be. Or if they’re just too dense to study a real major.”

“You say that like you aren’t failing two subjects already.” Mark mumbles, but doesn’t look up from his guitar.

Jisung’s eyes widen when Donghyuck giggles at him and puts a hand on his chest. “M- me ? Failing ? I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Donghyuck snorts at him. “We all know that’s a lie. You got like 6 points from the last physics exam.”

“But I can retake it ! It doesn’t mean anything !”

You look over at Jeno, who’s mostly been quiet ever since he joined you and Mark here, scrolling through his phone. It seems like he’s used to the two boys always bickering. He’s munching on some chips that Donghyuck and Jisung brought, and as soon as he notices your gaze, he smiles, still with his mouth full, and offers you the pack.

You smile back gratefully and grab a handful of chips from the pack. “Thanks.”

Jeno is definitely the most peaceful one in the friend group. You didn’t even have to spend that much time with him and you could already tell he’s kind and respectful, and also always willing to be there for the people he cares about. You’re starting to understand why Jaemin likes him. And honestly ? Good for him. He definitely needs someone stable in his life.

But since you’re usually the one doing most of the talking, it feels odd, sitting in silence with Mark who barely said anything in the last two hours and his three friends who you saw like twice in your life. But you understand that Mark needs you right now and you’re willing to sit this one through if it makes him feel better. The boy almost had a meltdown when you tried to stand up and go get some coffee, thinking you’re leaving him there by himself. You can’t do that to his pour soul.

Mark suddenly groans again, stretching a little in his seat and resting his head against the wall behind his head. “Y/n.”

You pause in surprise and turn to him. “Yeah ?”

“Will you be mad if I don’t make it ?“

You blink and have to chuckle a little, leaning closer to him. “Mark… this is your chance. You aren’t doing it for me, or the boys, or anyone else. You’re doing it for yourself. Why would I be mad at you ?”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, but it turns out to be a little too deep, resulting in a cough. “I don’t know. What if you trusted me a little too much and I’m just not good enough ? You spent so much time with me while I practiced, had to listen to me rant and stress over everything-“

“And I did it willingly, didn’t I ?” You tilt your head, your eyes full of affection. “Have I ever complained about it ? I liked spending that time with you. I’m glad I got to share your experience and learn something about you. And even if you don’t get in, it’s alright. Stuff like that happens. There’ll be other opportunities. It’s not the end of the world.” You smile reassuringly, nodding at him a little. “But I know how you play and I genuinely believe in you. Stay calm and show them what you got, guitarist boy, hm ?”

Mark raises his head, finally meeting your gaze. His lips are parted in surprise and he stays silent for a few seconds, just taking your words in. But before he can even get the chance to respond, Donghyuck scoffs, crossing his arms. “Can you two stop flirting for one day, at least ? Ugh.”

Mark’s cheeks immediately heat up. “We weren’t flirting-“

“You’re just mad that there’s a hot redhead present and she’s not giving her attention to you, but someone else.” Jeno chuckles and throws the now empty pack of chips away from across the room, surprisingly getting it into the dustbin. Jisung nods appreciatively at the shot and Jeno shakes his head again.“You don’t have to pretend that you don’t, Hyuck.”

You look between the boys, suddenly feeling a bit out of place. “Uh…”

Mark chuckles and rubs the back of his neck shyly, not enjoying the heavy atmosphere right now. “Don’t mind them. They’re being stupid.”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to defend himself but is interrupted by the sound of the speakers turning on:

“Hey everyone ! This is Taeyong speaking. All students who are going to audition for the position of our new guitarist, please gather in the auditorium hall and pick up your number. We’ll call out your number when it’s your turn to perform ! Good luck, everyone !”

The speakers turn off again and all five of you just kind of sit there in silence, stunned. Then you notice the slight pressure on your thigh and look down, only to see Mark’s hand gripping your leg, hard. Mark follows your gaze and curses, retracting his hand immediately. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m just so nervous-“

“It’s fine.” You stand up, turning around to face the boys. “So this is it, then. Are you ready ?”

Donghyuck and Jisung exchange glances while Jeno just looks between Mark and you suspiciously, but you don’t pay any attention to that. Mark groans and grips his guitar a bit tighter. “I hope I am…”

“You can do it, Mark.” Jisung speaks up. “You’re talented. Embrace it.”

“Exactly. Just stay confident and don’t fuck it up, hm ?” Donghyuck ruffles his hair, to which Mark scoffs and pulls away.

“Plus, we’ll be in the audience.” Jeno stretches a bit and also stands up. “You aren’t alone.”

Mark takes a deep breath and nods. “I know. It’s not the end of the world either. I just need to stay calm…”

You grab his free hand and pull him to his feet. “Yeah, but if we don’t hurry up, you’ll be the last one to perform and I don’t think you want that, Mark.”

His eyes widen and he looks at you in horror. “God, no I don’t wanna go last…”

“Yep. So let’s go.” You wave at the boys quickly, already dragging Mark away. “We’ll see you guys later.”

Mark also waves at them, walking away like he’s dreading every step, basically hugging his guitar tight to his body for comfort. You snort but don’t comment on it until you both reach the auditorium hall. When you look at him, Mark is already staring at your face, looking like a deer caught in headlights. You coo at him, carefully fixing his clothes as you both wait in the queue for his number. “You’ll do well, Mark. There’s nothing you should be worried about.”

“I know, I can’t help it. Sorry.” He watches your fingers play with the button of his shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” You shake your head. “I’m just saying, I believe in you. And I’m already proud of you, no matter what the results will be. You proved yourself to me already, you know ?” You smile and look up to meet his eyes, a little taken aback by the intensity of his gaze on you.

He reaches out, gently pushing a few strands of hair away from your face. You gasp quietly in surprise, your breath catching in your throat at the unexpected action but you let him, not pulling back. He doesn’t look away from your face either, appreciating your closeness silently.

“I really can’t ever thank you enough, Y/n.”

“You thanked me plenty of times already. It’s getting pretty annoying, honestly.” You grin, crossing your arms.

“Yeah, but I mean it. I’d probably chicken out and not audition at all if it wasn’t for you. You push me to be good. I didn’t- I didn’t know how to do that before.”

You stare at him, not knowing what to say. Yeah, Mark was always a bit shy, and also quiet as hell before you practically forced him to be friends with you, but you wouldn’t say you’re the reason why he’s doing so good right now, after all he’s the talented one-

“Next !”

Mark breaks the eye contact to go pick out his number and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You watch him check the small paper, turning it around in his hands. “I got 38.”

You also glance at the paper. “Well, that isn’t so bad, is it?”

Mark shakes his head, putting it in his pocket. “Nah, it’s fine.” He takes a deep breath again, rubbing his arm, visibly stressed as hell, even though told him not to be. “I’ll try to find you in the audience, yeah ?”

“Mark-“ you groan and wrap your arms around his shoulders firmly, not giving him any room to protest. But based on how his hands practically fly up to your waist to hug you back, he wasn’t going to. “I told you you’ll do great. I love the way you play. And I’ll love seeing you on that stage. Take deep breaths, okay ?”

Mark nods against your neck, ignoring how the guitar is poking both of you right now since he’s still refusing to put it down entirely. “I know. I know…”

You pat his head affectionately, a smile starting to spread on your face. “Do you want me to record you ? So you can watch it when you’re done ?”

He freezes. “You’d do that ?”

“Of course I would. What do you have me for ?”

He nods against your neck again, still not letting you go, but then he sighs and takes a step back. “I should go in… I’ll find you later, yeah ?”

You chuckle and nod reassuringly. “Mhm. I’m not going anywhere.”

He starts walking backwards slowly, not wanting to look away from you yet. “Yeah. So see you later.”

“Later.” You smile to yourself as you watch him leave, and you have to turn around and hide your face so you dont start giggling out loud at the way he almost knocks down an entire shelf with his guitar. This is going to be a long day.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─

A/N: i wrote this last night while drinking champagne i hope it still makes sense somehow🤗🤗

prev || main || next

༘♡ ⋆｡˚ taglist: @chenlesfavorite @injunnie-lemon @cyjzzl @morkiee @aek1ra @luvtyunn @nosungluv @mystverse @kittydollzz @6682dni @urslytherin @nanaxwi @dokgrayson @winwintea @lampcults @sunghoonsgfreal @onlyhyunjin @candied-czennie @gomdoleemyson @clean-soap @xuimhao @peterm4rker @remgeolli @222low @docilismo @en-dream @nemonemoz @idkwatodoanymore @pinklemonade34 @cosmic-marauder @drkgeranium @yewshi @413ktz @sunflowerbebe07 @yewshi @markeroolee @drkgeranium @urlocalbeaner5 @skzfairies @luluvhs @fakeuwus @4yunogf @daryaa8a

[lenny-link]

made a lil engiespy fic as a continuation of the sniperscout comic and basically the 7th comic too, hope you enjoy :>

——————————————————————-

The war was long over. All the mercenaries had returned to normal, peaceful lives they had almost forgotten. They were older now, lines drawn on their faces, but the bond created in the heart of battle remained. Tonight, they were all here, gathered at Jeremy’s for Christmas.

Jeremy’s house was filled with the chaotic energy of his children, the laughter of his old teammates, the smell of pine tree and smokey turkey that was a far contrast to the gunpowder and battlefields that had infested their lives for so long.

Christmas candlelights shined, reflecting Spy’s surprisingly softened gaze. He watched the children, the miniature versions of Scout, running around, their laughter a sound he hadn’t realized he have been missing.

 

Surrounded by the energetic children who were unknowingly his own grandchildren, felt a pang of longing. He kept his relation a secret from Jeremy, a part of his past he had buried deep a long time ago. The children, however, had jumped into his carefully constructed walls with ease, their innocent affection had created a desire he thought he had long forgotten: the desire for a family.

 

As the night went on, each ex-mercenary made their goodbyes and took their leave. Dell stayed finding himself cleaning up the dinning table spontaneously while Jeremy had slipped away with Mick to his bedroom, leaving Spy to manage the energetic youngsters. He didn’t mind. He found himself surprisingly content telling stories and playing charades with the kids, a different warmth bloomed within him with every giggle.

 

Eventually, the children fell asleep, their small forms tucked into their respective beds. The house fell silent. Engineer and Spy were the only ones left, cleaning up the rests of the festive party.

 

As Spy dried and stacked the plates, he felt a wave of melancholy washing over him. He yearned to stay, to be a part of this family, his family too, but the secret he held kept him from getting this chance.

Dell, being the smartest of the bunch, had noticed the change in Spy’s attitude, from his usual cold, rude persona in battlefield to his new softer fatherly side. He saw him, he understood the unspoken conflict within the Frenchman.

At some point, in their old absurd lifestyle, they had become close, two strategics, two intellectuals, they understood each others with just a glance, despite the counterintuitive nature of their classes, they felt like two side of the same coin, they matched each other’s minds, they knew they belonged together.

 

“They’re good kids,” Dell stated softly, breaking the silence. “Reminds me of… well, reminds me of simpler times.”

 

Spy offered a small, sad smile. “Indeed.”

 

Dell paused, then spoke with a quiet sincerity. “Y’know, my place ain’t far from here. It gets… lonely. I’ve got plenty of room” He looked at Spy who had his gaze still on the plates but had stopped drying them.

“You’re welcome to stay there. As long as you like. It would… it would be nice to have some company." he hesitated slightly "Y-you’d be closer to the kids too"

 

Spy’s eyes widened slightly, surprised with a flicker of hope shining in him. Living with Dell, close to Jeremy and his grandchildren… it felt like a new chance for him to have the warmth of a family he long loved, it was more than he could have wish for this Christmas.

“Dell…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion, he puts the plate down.

 

Dell, sensing the unspoken emotions of Spy, stepped closer, placing carefully both his hand on each of Spy’s shoulders, turning him around to face him. “We’ve been through a lot together, me and you, through thick and thin, and well, we’re not getting any younger" he laughed slightly "I’d love to spend the rest of my days with you Spy, and Jeremy and the kids" he gets even closer "Come, live with me" he slowly slides his hands down Spy’s arms now holding his hands "Only if you want this too"

 

Spy was speechless, his eyes widened as he looked straight at Dell’s eyes, not able to muster any word. He wants nothing more than this, having a family once again, how ideal could it be.

As they stood there, a small shiny light caught their attentions. Above them, hanging from the kitchen doorframe, was a branche of a mistletoe.

Time seemed to stop as they exchanged a silent, meaningful look, years of unspoken understanding passing between them.

 

Slowly, hesitantly, they leaned in. Their lips met in a tender, gentle kiss. Spy cupped Dell’s face deepening the kiss, his brows met in a focused expression, he needed this. Dell on the other end, had pressed his hands on Spy’s lower back, pressing their bodies against the other, his heart beating like a drum frantically in his chest, he wanted this.

It was a kiss of shared history, of unspoken longing. It wasn’t their first, but felt entirely new.

Moments later they broke the kiss, they stared at the other’s tender eyes, a silent promise of partnership in the years to come. The chaos of the day has faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of two men who had finally found their way home, to each others.

[solecism444]

I bring you my favorite scenes from Season 1 of ROP and I’ll explain why some of them give me mixed feelings about Haladriel/Saurondriel 💗

Part 2

The argument scene, definitely my favorite of all. I feel like Sauron is completely transparent and sincere here. Galadriel's words truly pierce his heart. I love that focus on Galadriel’s gaze toward Halbrand/Sauron and how that gaze conveys an endless array of emotions. Every time I watch that scene, it gives me chills. Her eyes convey SO MUCH, but at the same time, they’re hypnotic—too persuasive. I’m sure those words deeply affected Sauron, and personally, I think that’s when he really thought, “Damn, I’ve fallen.” Of course, this wasn’t the first time he broke character in front of Galadriel, but I still believe this is by far their most significant interaction. Both finally open up and show their vulnerable sides. And well, I’d like to add that I think Sauron wasn’t upset about Galadriel wanting to take him to Middle-earth. He was upset because she treated him superficially, and on his part, he felt extremely used by her. He didn’t want that—he wanted her to be genuine with him, and that’s why the whole drama and argument happen in this scene. You know, just a petty fight over something small between a couple.

[captainquake42]

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ four

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

summary:

You go out to a bar with your team and kwon sees an opportunity.

OR reader teaches kwon a few moves

notes:

I can't dance so I did my best describe it.

Also, if you are the person who asked me to write a fic of the reader getting hurt. I accidentally deleted your request, but that is something that i'm working on a little bit.

part one // prev part

1.1k written by:

S A R A H

You sat with Sam and Robby a table away from Dimitri and Eli. The bar buzzed with music and chatter, but you were more focused on your water (you didn’t like drinking, same as Robby, and pop was off-limits during the season—you were strict about keeping your body in peak condition). Sam and Robby were deep in conversation about Tory and Miguel, their voices low but laced with tension.

“ I hope Carmen is okay.” Robby said idly, spinning his straw in his glass “ Did you talk to Miguel before they left?”

Sam shugs, “ for like thirty seconds. We were excited to go exploring but now…” 

You nudged your twin with an elbow. “ You feel any better?” 

He scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “ No, honestly I'm actually thinking of adding rum to this coke.”

Sam smiled a little thinking he was kidding. “ Yeah right you don't drink.” 

Robby’s gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers tightening around the glass. “ might be the time to start, I've been screwing everything up since Tory put us on break and it's not even affecting her.” 

“ Like salt on an open cut.” 

“ Yeah, she's fighting better than ever.” 

 Sam leaned forward letting her arms rest on the table. “ Tory chose the other side and I feel terrible for her but we can't keep letting her get in our heads like this. We just have to accept she's against us.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “ You guys are acting like we're at war, she's not against us.” You said with a shake of your head. “ She picked a different team because she was vulnerable, and a master manipulator took advantage of that. It’s not that simple. You of all people know that, you were talking about it last night.” 

Sam stared over your shoulders without replying, her facing falling. “ I'm gonna get some air.” She said getting up. 

Both you and Robby turned confused  following her gaze to the door. That’s when you saw them—Tory, Kwon, and a few of their teammates walking in, looking every bit like they owned the place.

Kwon stared at you and gave you a little nod. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he made his way across the bar.

Your back straightened unconsciously, and you had to put your hands in your lap to stop yourself from messing with your hair. 

Kwon stopped beside you, his smirk growing wider. “ Hey,” he said smoothly, his eyes locking with yours. “ Dance with me?”

Before you could say anything, Robby’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly, squaring his shoulders. “ She’s not interested.”

Kwon barely glanced at Robby, he only had eyes for you. “ I’m pretty sure she can speak for herself, man.”

“ Robby cool off, it's fine.” You said, trying to defuse the situation.

Robby frowned, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything else.

“What do you say?” Kwon asked, his voice low enough that it felt like the rest of the room disappeared.

You hesitated, glancing at Robby, who was still standing stiffly. Then you looked back at Kwon.

“ Okay,” you said, taking his hand.

Kwon’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he led you to the small dance floor at the center of the bar. “ I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“ Why?” You looked up at him.

“ You don’t like disappointing your team.” He huffed. 

“ One dance won’t kill them.”

“ Just one?” He teased, slipping an arm around your waist. “ I plan to keep you here all night.” 

You felt your cheeks get warm, but put an arm around his neck anyway. “ One,” you repeated, though your lips twitched into a smile. 

“ Counter offer, ten and a kiss.” He said with a sly grin. 

Your jaw dropped, and your eyes went wide. “ Damn you got a drink in you already?” 

“ Nah don’t drink in season.” 

“ That right?”

He hummed swaying with you to the beat. “ That’s right.” 

“ Five and I teach you how to two-step and a shoulder dip.”

“ Deal.” He said almost before you could finish talking. “ Sounds like you know your stuff.”

“ My mom used to take me and Robby to bars all the time, I learned a few things.” You took both his hands and held them up by your sides. “ A two step is easy, all you do is step forward with your left foot, then follow with your right foot. Then go back, right foot first and repeat.”

“ Just go back and fourth?”

“ Yep, super simple.” 

So that’s what you did, a back and forth two step until he seemed to get bored and spinning you. “ Alright now show me the other one.” 

“ Okay,” you laughed. “ First thing, take my hand,” he did. “ Now you're going to spin me out, away from you.” 

He did as told, spinning you out and pulling you back in, “ Like that?” He asked. 

“ Just like that,” You encouraged. “ But when you pull me back, spin me in twice, so towards your body.” 

He did both steps again. 

“ Perfect next cross your arm over and slide while I drag my hand around your back.” You explained while showing the moves you were talking about. “ Now I do a half spin so my back is facing you and I am going to fall.”

“ A trust fall?”

“ Yes. There is more but I don’t think your ready to carry me on your shoulders.”

He scoffed playfully, “ I can, promise.”

“ Swear you won’t drop me?”

“ Yes.” He says, “ what’s the saying?”

“ Cross my heart?”

“ And hope to die, yes that one.”  

“ Okay in that case, grab my waist.” He did. “ I’m going to jump onto your shoulders, on three ready?”

“ Yes.” He effortlessly picked you up, and ducked his head under your spit legs. 

“ Next I’m going to swing my left leg around and you are going to keep hold of my right, when I do that my body will fall into your arms while I keep an arm around the back of your neck to support you. When we both are standing again you will spin me one more time with the hand you have around my thigh. Got it.”

“ Understood.” He yelled back over the music. 

“ Ready?”

“ Yep.” He confirmed. 

You did everything you said you were going to, albeit a little clumsy, with it being his first time, but at least he didn’t drop you like the guy who taught you did. He was spotting Robby, who was holding you, the two of you were only ten and thought it’d be a cool trick to show mom. Instead you got your first concussion, and Robby broke his nose when he fell face first into the floor.

Kwon steadied you as you spin back to him, his arm loosely draped around your waist. His grin was wide and infectious, “ real speed this time?”

He didn’t wait for your answer before he spun you out and back in while you giggled.

[leftoverghosts]

round and round

canon!patrick zweig x nonchalant!user (gn)

or you're tired of arguing with patrick zweig.

requested by @diorrfairy this one is sfw, it wouldn't get spicy even after i begged it. :( xoxoxo

The city sprawls beneath you, the lights flickering like distant stars against the night sky. The cool air from your high-rise balcony is a welcome contrast to the heat building between you and Patrick. The panoramic view of the skyline feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, someone who doesn’t have to deal with the chaos you two have created.

Patrick needed a place to stay during his tour break, and, as always, you let him in. It’s a habit by now, one you don’t question. The familiar tension between you both is something you’ve grown accustomed to, but tonight, it's especially annoying.

“I’m too emotional? Maybe if you showed some emotion, we wouldn’t be here!” Pat’s always liked to play the victim.

You remain composed, your gaze still fixed on the nightscape below. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s frustrated, maybe even hurt. This is his coping mechanism; he brings everything to the surface when he wants his loneliness to become your responsibility.

“I’m not the one making things complicated,” you say, voice calm, controlled. As the wind stirs your hair, you take a slow, deliberate sip from your glass, your face a mask of indifference. You've heard it all before— the same accusations, the same frustrations. And yet, as soon as the tour picks back up, he'll be gone, proving that he never cared enough to change anything.

“Patrick.” His name is an admonishment as you turn to face him finally, one eyebrow arched, the air of nonchalance you’ve perfected hanging around you like a cloak. Patrick stares back at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, frustration painted on his features.

He remains determined as he moves closer, his hand reaching up to cradle your face and slipping into your hair. “You always shut down. It’s like I’m talking to a wall. I’m here, trying to make sense of this, and you—” He falters for a second, before he steels himself again, voice tight. “You just float through it like none of it matters.”

“You know what you’re here for, what you’re good for, Pat.” It’s a cruel statement, but it is just one of the many hurtful things that have been exchanged between the two. He stares at you as if he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth before his hand in your hair tightens its grip.

You watch as realization dawns on Patrick's face, his features twisting in anguish. "How can you say that?" he spits, his grip on your hair tightening. You feel a sharp pain shoot through your scalp but you refuse to flinch. He can be rough, but you don't mind it, and deep down you know he would never truly harm you physically. He knows that the best way to hurt you is by withholding his affection and attention.

"You know it's true," you respond coolly, meeting his gaze head on. "You come back to me whenever things get tough and then leave when it's convenient for you. It's always been about what I can do for you, never about how I feel."

Patrick's eyes flicker with guilt and something darker. "That's not fair," he says, his voice strained.

You shrug, feeling a numbness settle over you. "Life isn't fair." It's a phrase that has become all too familiar to you over the years.

He knows you're right. He can't outwit you, so he does what he's good at and kisses you roughly, anger evident in the harsh press of his lips against yours. You let him, knowing that this is just another part of the twisted dance you two do. His other hand grips your waist tightly, fingertips digging in like he's trying to leave a mark, to prove that he was here.

When he pulls back, breathing heavily, his eyes are stormy with a mix of lust and resentment. "You think you have me all figured out," he says, voice low and dangerous. "But you don't know anything."

A humorless laugh escapes your lips. "I know enough. I know that by this time next week you'll be gone, off to the next city, the next bed, the next distraction."

Patrick shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "It's not that simple."