#to answer your question tho. there are very few things i would not do for shizun...

[allpiesforourown]

Would you bottom for shen yuan?

Whether I would bottom or not is irrelevant. The question is could shizun top? And the answer to that is a firm no

[saphiccarma]

Hi! I saw your requests were back to being open so I would love to send in one if that’s not an issue! Could you do a wandanat x reader where Wanda and Natasha are both professors at a university where school and notice she’s slowly getting more and more burnt out and make it their mission to make her relax/ take care of herself. If comfy mommy Wanda and if not that’s fine! Not too dark smut but smut would be great! Yoy don’t have to make this your priority and don’t forget to take care of yourself!

- Overworked 18+

Relationships - Wandanat x Reader

Summary - When your collage proffesors notice you're starting to become burnt out, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: Soft dom Wanda, Daddy Nat (barely tho), scissoring, fingering, breast play, bath sex, gentle sex

A/N: I'm so sorry 😭this took me forever to get to , but ngl pretty proud of how it turned out

You could hear Natasha talking in front of the class, her words cutting through the air sharp and clear like a knife through butter. Very few students filled the room, either the unlucky ones or the ones dumb enough to take Natasha's class - Slavic Languages. You were a mix of both. Slavic languages was a class you'd been wanting to take ever since you got accepted into the university, but everyone tried to avoid Natasha at all costs, taking other classes instead.

The paper in front of you was a mix of words that swirled together and blurred into black smudges on the white sheet. Pencil shaking in your hand, you place your other on your wrist in a pathetic attempt to stop the trembling. It was most likely a side affect of the caffeine, as was your pounding heart, another energy drink sitting in your bag. Now you regret your spot in the front of class, just another excuse to be close to your girlfriend, but it made her eyes on you all the more intense.

Sharp green eyes flicked to you every now and then, taking in your messy hair and oversized sweatshirt that hung off your frame. The article of clothing still smelled like Natasha, vanilla and something uniquely her, keeping you somewhat grounded.

As you glanced up from your paper, forcing yourself to look away from the jumble of words, you caught Natasha's eye. She tilted her head subtly, a motion that only you noticed. A slight twitch of her eyebrow voiced the unspoken question, and you gave a small smile in hopes it'll appease her. Ever attentive, her eyes narrowed at the weak tilt of your lips but then a student raised his hand, and she had to leave you be for now.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips and your tired shoulders deflate. Natasha notices, based on the way her gaze flickers to you, but she's too busy answering the question in a sharp tone of voice that indicated it was something stupid to ask. Natasha took zero nonsense, one of the things that made her class so hard to pass, but it was something you loved about her.

Unfortunately, when class came to an end, that ended up backfiring on you. She caught your arm as the rest of the students trailed out. You almost wince at her tight grip before she loosens it, but her expression remains hard, eyebrows knitted together, and lips pursed.

"What's going on with you?" She asks, straight to the point, "Wanda and I have texted you dozens of times this morning and last night, yet you've answered none of them."

There's was a sharp reprimand to her tone that had you shrinking back into yourself, but also an underlying layer of concern that peaked through her rough demeanor. You avert your eyes down, a habit they've been trying to break, and shrug.

"I dunno," you mumble, "Been busy."

"Busy?" Natasha repeats slowly, the word falling off her lips like it's the first time she's heard it. You can tell you said the wrong thing.

Hastily, you try and explain, to backtrack, "I've been caught up with school, like half of my teachers have assigned tests or projects and I dunno, I'm just having to focus on those, but I think I can come over this weekend and-" You weren't aware you were rambling until Natasha huffs out an impatient breath.

There's a long stretch of silence where her thumb simply rubs circles on your shoulder. You can see the gears turning in her head, practically hear them, as she thought out her response. It wasn't often that it took her so long to respond, Natasha was rather quick-witted, so this meant it was either something very simple or something complicated.

"I want you at the house tonight," she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument even as you open your mouth to protest, "5 o'clock sharp for dinner, да?"

You lick your lips, already considering the amount of homework you would have. Then you take in the stern look on Natasha's face and nod with pursed lips and a taught expression. She gives you a small, yet appraising smile in return.

^__________________^

You show up with a backpack slung over your shoulder, your laptop and various textbooks crammed inside as it weighs on your shoulders. The chances of you staying the night were high, almost certain, so you might as well get some work done after dinner.

You don't bother with a knock, picking up the spare key from where you dropped it and unlocking the door with shaky fingers. Fresh spices and peppermint candles drift through the air, both potent smells that you've grown used to. With the winter here, Wanda had taken to lighting peppermint scented candles, something that Natasha fought her on.

Their bickering, playful and light, echoed from the kitchen softly and you smiled. It was something familiar, something that pierced through the foggy cloud in your brain. Dropping your bag by the door, landing with a heavy thump, you meander over to the kitchen, lingering in the doorway for a second.

Wanda notices you first, eyes shining with joy that seem to glow even brighter as she spots you. You meet her halfway, steps hurried, and burrow into her embrace with a tired sigh. She smells like the candles that are lit on the counter and a hit of cinnamon. Her hands curl around your neck, long fingers toying with the short strands at the nape and you relish in her touch.

"How are you?" she murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. She slips her hand beneath your shirt and beings to scratch the skin underneath, manicured nails dragging up and down lightly. All you give her in response is a content hum.

Her fingers that were around your neck find your chin, tilting it up gently, "Words, дорогой."

"I'm good," you mumble, licking your lips before she rewards you with a soft kiss to your lips, nose brushing against yours. She pulls away, taking her warmth with her, and busies herself in the kitchen once more. Since Natasha was utterly useless at anything but baking, Wanda did most of the cooking between the two of you.

With the loss of Wanda's comfort, you shuffle over to Natasha who's leaning on the counter. The older woman opens her arms without a word, and you burrow your face into her chest. Her chest rumbles as she laughs, a vibration that shoots straight to your heart and makes you melt.

She rests her chin and chats quietly with Wanda, their conversation going right over your head, both literally and figuratively. All you can focus on is the feeling of Natasha's strong arms wrapped around you, the soft fabric of her hoodie that presses against your cheek, her hand that rubs up and down your back in a soothing motion.

In the back of your mind, you know you should work on homework while Wanda finishes dinner, probably some warm Sokovian dish from her childhood, but being safe in your girlfriend's arms was too distracting. You turn your head and place a soft kiss on her neck, meant to just be a gesture of affection. As you do so you catch a glance at the clock, internally groaning. Pressing another kiss to her smooth skin, you extract yourself from her arms and grab your backpack.

Natasha huffs in disappointment but doesn't say anything as you take a seat at the table, pulling your laptop out and setting to work. The chef glances back with a fond smile on her face that quickly turns into a frown as she notices you starting to type on the laptop.

"дорогой, why don't you put the laptop away for now?" She requests softly. It's not a command, not yet at least, but there's a good chance it will turn into one.

"I have homework to do," The keys click slightly beneath your fingers as you start on an essay, the topic rather simple, but that was exactly the problem. You could explain it in just a page, maybe even less if you needed to, but the essay required three pages. Both of the other woman exchange a glance you miss.

Wanda exhales sharply but leaves you be as she continues on dinner. The words come to you slowly, as if you're pulling every single one of them from a pit of quicksand and they weigh a thousand pounds each as you chuck them onto the paper. It was such an easy task yet you were exhausted from working on it for just a few minutes.

You bounce your leg beneath the table, foot tapping on the wooden floor in a rapid movement as you chew on your chapped lips. It's another habit that you've been trying to break but to no avail, especially with the stress of the last few weeks. Your girlfriends cast a worried look in your direction at the sound of your foot hitting the floor and a frustrated exhale.

They had some sort of freaky marriage telepathy, in all honesty you weren't sure, but they seemed to be able to communicate through just words with each other. At times it was annoying and at other times it was convenient for all three of you. Such as now, where you were so focused on your work you didn't even notice.

Faintly, you register Wanda and Natasha bustling about, plating food for themselves and one for you. The words on the document float off the screen ever so slightly and you sigh, shaking your head to clear your sight before starting again.

A plate of food is slide in front of you, chicken coated in an orange sauce that smells heavenly, but you ignore it. After a moment your laptop is snatched away from you.

"Hey!" you protest, snapping your head up and immediately curling in on yourself when you notice Natasha's firm look, daring you to say more. Your next words are mumbled, "Sorry."

She rolls her eyes fondly but jerks her head towards your plate as she sets your laptop on the counter, "Eat."

Wanda slides into the seat next to you, her hand coming to rest on your thigh and rub slow circles as you eat. It's becoming increasingly harder to focus and you can feel your head getting foggy, slipping into a familiar space. The two talk casually through the course of the meal, but your brain keeps switching between shutting down and drifting towards the impending homework assignments.

Shoveling another spoonful of food into your mouth, flavor bursting across your tastebuds and burning the back of your throat slightly. Only half your plate is gone when you stand from the table, carrying it to the sink and gently dumping the rest of the food into the trash. You can feel Wanda's eyes on your back as you pick your laptop, hardly looking at them, and plopping down on the couch.

The essay is waiting for you, daunting as ever and you almost give up and decide to watch a movie. But regardless, it was due tonight, and you only have about half of it done. The scrapping of chairs and the running water as the dishes clink together fill your ears as you hear Wanda and Natasha clean up.

A part of you feels bad for not helping. Glancing back, your heart clenches as you see the two engrossed in domestic bliss, smiling and laughing as they clean up. You swallowed thickly and forced your head to turn away, force your eyes to stop narrowing in on Natash's arms, her ass, her bright smile and Wanda's nose, the way her nose scrunched when she smiled, and her waist.

Eventually you hear the sink shut off, the chatter slow down, and the soft thump of footsteps. You exhale sharply as your train of thought vanishes, brows furrowing in annoyance and nose scrunching. The couch dips under an added weight and Natasha's arm drapes itself over your shoulders.

"What are you working on?" Her voice is a husky whisper that sends shivers. Natasha leans in close, her breath tickling the skin of your ear.

"An essay," you mumble, fingers faltering as her tongue pokes out to trace the shell of your ear. Breath hitching, you turn your head away, a ridiculously hard task, and scooch over. Your girlfriend huffed with both surprise and annoyance.

Wanda entered the living room with two wine glasses, passing one to Natahsa, "Let her work, Natalia."

You didn't notice it then, but there was a light smile on her face and an almost teasing lilt to her voice. Eyes drifting you notice the wine glasses Wanda brought and you perk up a little.

"Do I get one?" you ask hopefully, meeting Wanda's eyes. The auburn-haired woman sits down onto the armchair, her legs folding beneath her elegantly. She raised an eyebrow, face the perfect imitation of unimpressed.

"Are you working on an essay?" At your nod, she smiles sharply, "Then, no, you do not."

You pout, lower lip jutting out and eyes shining with childish desire, but neither phases Wanda. It never did. It was always Natasha who folded first, but even as you turn your gaze towards her, she merely takes a dainty sip of her wine. Puffing air out your mouth you return to your computer.

Time seems to drag on impossibly slow and you can hear the other two women sitting in silence, merely sipping their drinks. You sneak a glance at Natasha. Her thumb is pressed into the spine of a book as she flips the pages every now and then. Stray tresses of hair frame her sharp face, her emerald eyes focused on the book. A worn hoodie hides the curve of her neck, but you can still picture it and how soft it would be between your lips.

A heat curls in your stomach, low and hardly noticeable, and you force yourself to look away before you can get too distracted. You can feel your eyelids grow heavy despite the fire that sparks in your veins. The movement of your fingers grows slower, typing sluggishly along the keyboard.

You aren't sure how long it is before your computer is snatched away from you again. Wanda snaps it shut, folding it under arm with an unamused look.

"Does this mean I can have wine now?" You quip sheepishly, giving her a cheeky smile.

Wanda sighs and her hand runs over your hair lovingly, "No, it means it's time for a bath and bed."

You lean into her touch, eyes fluttering for a moment before you pull back with a slight pout. You can't go to bed now, you still have to finish the essay, but Wanda doesn't look like she'll budge. Eyes flickering to towards Natasha for help, the other woman is only focused on her book and sipping wine.

"I need to finish my essay."

"Not tonight," Wanda's tone softens and she cups your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eyes, "Sweetheart you have bags under your eyes, and I can see how exhausted you are. C'mon, we'll go take a warm bath and Natalie will make some hot cocoa after she finishes up, hm?"

Natasha hums absently to show she acknowledged the fact, yet you remain stubbornly set on the fact you need to finish your essay. Exhaling slowly at your stubborn expression, Wanda sets your laptop down on the table before sliding into your lap. Your breath hitches at the unusual position and your hands hover by her hips awkwardly.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, eyes flicking to her chest, the small amount of cleavage revealed before back to her face. There's a small smile on her pale lips, eyes shining in amusement. Her hands trail up your sides, stopping when she reaches your shoulders and Wanda leans in close.

Instead of responding verbally she ducks her head, breath warm on the skin of your neck, and her lips dance teasingly over your collarbone. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, thighs pressing together, and hands coming to rest on her waist.

She plants a soft kiss on your collarbone, then a bit higher to your jugular, and finally to your jaw. Raising her head her lips meet yours and you let your eyes fall shut. It's soft and tender, filled with love and devotion, not the usual violent clash of teeth and tongue.

When she pulls away her nail traces the side of your face, "You can be a good girl for mommy, right? Take a bath and get ready for bed?" All it takes is those words to have you nodding like a lovesick puppy. Her smile widens and she taps your nose, "Good girl."

Wanda slips off your lap and onto her feet, offering you her slender hand. You take it, letting her pull you to your feet and guide you through the luxurious house and to the room upstairs. It smells of lavender up here, a contrast to the distinct peppermint downstairs, and the bathroom is cooler than the rest of the house.

Releasing your hand, Wanda starts the bathtub, letting warm water fill the container. Steam starts to rise into the air, already fogging up the mirrors and heating the room. She turns back towards you, smile soft and eyes kind. She works delicately, slowly even, to undress you.

"Let Mommy help you," she murmurs when you try to protest, "You've been a big girl for long enough."

Her words have you melting as your arms raise to allow her to tug the shirt over your head. With familiar ease she reaches around to unclasp your bra, letting it fall on top of your shirt, and then she's undoing the button to your jeans. Graceful fingers dip beneath your panties, and she goes dangerously close to your dripping slit just to tease before pulling your panties down.

By the time she's undressed you, the tub is filled with warm water. Wanda peels off her own clothes next, much swifter than she had with you. The older woman steps into the bath, sinking into the water with a sigh, and gesturing to the space in front of her.

It doesn't take words for you to settle between her spread thighs, leaning back against her bare breasts. The warm water envelops you like a comforting embrace, wrapping around you just like Wanda's arm as she begins to dance her fingers up your side.

You shiver. One of her hands leaves your skin to pump some shampoo and her lathers it onto your scalp. You relax into the sensation, leaning even further back and letting her massage your scalp and play with your hair. A cup of warm water is dumped over your head, and you close your eyes to keep the soapy water out.

Next is conditioner, gently applied like the shampoo. Wanda takes her time, pouring love and care into her movements and small actions. After she rinses out the condition with a few dumps of water over your head, she presses a kiss to your neck.

She doesn't stop there, trailing them from your jaw to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. One of her hands swipes under your breast, teasing, and you whimper slightly.

"Let Mommy take care of you," she breathes in your ear, biting onto your earlobe.

A small whine of agreement passes your lips as her other hand trails down your stomach and settles between your thighs. Two of her fingers part your folds before dipping in, circling around your clit slowly. You let out a shuddering thigh, your head falling back.

Her touch is featherlight, not nearly enough to get off on, but you can still feel your body heating and you know it's not from the bath. Lips still dancing along your neck, she tweaks your nipple between her fingers, rolling and pinching it.

"Wanda," you whisper, voice filled with desire and need.

She chuckles softly against your neck and slips a single finger into your heat, your walls clenching around the digit and sucking her in greedily, "That's not my name, дорогой."

"Mommy," leaves your lips in a breathless plea, her thumb rubbing your clit slowly. All her touches are maddeningly slow, not enough to settle the ache between your thighs and in the pit of your stomach.

"Good girl," she praises and as a reward her pace picks up. The hand on your breast plucks at your nipple until it’s hard and straining in her touch. She switches to its twin, lathering it with the same attention while her fingers work down below.

She adds a second finger to the first, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you. A shaky moan falls from your lips as you lean on her shoulder, eyes falling shut. Wanda takes advantage of your exposed neck, biting and sucking love marks onto it, her lips not leaving a single spot untouched.

Her thumb presses against your clit, the little nub pulsing and throbbing with need. Scissoring her fingers, Wanda bites on that sensitive spot just below your ear, smoothing the sting with her tongue. She tweaks your nipple as she thrusts her fingers up harshly.

You gasp, the sound turning into a moan, back arching and walls fluttering around her digits. The need to come builds in your stomach rapidly and you tense up, thighs beginning to shake. Wanda's hair tickles your shoulder as she bites your shoulder, her lips sucking on the mark to leave a hickey.

The bath water is growing cold, but that does nothing to deter the heat that flows freely through your body. Wanda splits her fingers inside your walls, stretching you open for her and her thumb presses down harshly. Whimpering, you claw at the edges of the tub, the smooth surface providing little traction.

Lips parting, you pant slightly, "Mommy- 'm gonna cum, please."

She stretches your cunt out, pulling at your nipple as she kiss your neck. The sensations flow through you like water through a pipe, overwhelming all your senses. All you can smell is her cinnamon perfume and body wash. All you can feel is her fingers, spreading you open and playing with you. Her breath is light in your ear, hot and laced with desire as she speaks.

"Go ahead."

With a final curl of her fingers and squeeze of your breast, pure unadulterated pleasure courses through you. Your mouth parts in a silent scream, back arching and toes curling beneath the water. Wanda works you down from your high, keeping her fingers lazily pumping in and out of your cunt, while she presses soft kisses to your neck.

"Such a good girl," she praises, tilting your head to kiss your lips, "Let's get you dried up hm?"

You nod hazily, eyes glazed over and brain foggy. The sight makes Wanda smile. She slips out of the bathtub first, wrapping a towel around her frame before pulling the plug and helping you out. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself before you're wrapped in a cozy towel.

"Go see Daddy," she instructs, words gentle, "She'll get you dressed."

There aren’t many thoughts in your head anymore as you exit the bathroom, shuffling up to Natahsa who wraps your arms around you, not caring that you're still wet. She kisses the top of your head before pulling back.

Natasha dries you off with meticulous care, rubbing the fluffy towel up and down your body with soft words of praise and love. She bunches it up in her hands and drapes it over your head, ruffling your hair as she dries it, drawing a small giggle from you.

Kissing your nose, Natasha stops her fluffy assault on your head and instead snags an over-sized t-shirt from the bed that smells distinctly vanilla, a clear indication it was her. Wanda emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and wearing a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt.

When you go to move over to her, she meets you halfway, wrapping her arms around you just like Natasha had, "Sleepy time, hm?"

You nod into her neck, yawning sleepily. Words are practically impossible to form right now, so you don't speak, instead letting Wanda guide you to the bed and under the sheets. Curling into her, you feel Natasha settle next to you, her arm draping over your waist.

Humming in contentment, Wanda's fingers begin to card through your hair softly, undoing the tangles and knots from the bath. Natasha's breathing grows heavy quickly and you feel your eyelids falling shut. As Wanda begins to hum a song softly, you let sleep claim you.

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ May I have this dance? ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : It was a late stormy night at the hotel, you weren't able to sleep, but when you sneaked into the kitchen a certain red-haired demon was humming to a tune while cooking.

Pairing : Alastor x Reader

Word count : 1309 Words

Genre : Fluff

Warnings ➵ None

a/n : Dancing with Alastor? Sign me up (even tho I cannot dance and he would probably kill me for stepping on his feet..-)

Also I personally cannot dance, so I'm sorry if the description of the dancing seems a bit off!

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

For once it was storming in hell, it was a very rare occasion, but once it did storm, it was crazy. The whole city had a blackout, VoxTech was probably going crazy right now. Meanwhile, the hotel was cozy, Alastor used his magic and brought out some candles, so the hotel was clad in nice candlelight now.

Yet here you were laying in your bed, not able to fall asleep. Outside your window the rain was slamming against it, lightning and thunder could be heard every few seconds. Sighing you swing your legs back out of your bed, it is no use, you won't be able to fall asleep like this. Feet hitting the cold floor, a shudder running over your body. Slipping on some socks and a jacket, you take the candle holder from your nightstand and light the candle up again, before you make your way out of the room.

Slowly and quietly you make your way downstairs to the foyer and then to the kitchen, everyone else was probably asleep right now, so that's why you were almost going on your toes. Arriving at the kitchen, the door closed, you noticed soft light shining underneath the door gap, wondering who was in the kitchen this late at night. Opening the door a bit to slip a glance inside, you see Alastor at the stove, candles were lit all around the kitchen, indulging it in soft light. The stove was going with fire, probably thanks to Alastor's magic. He was stirring something in the pot, you couldn't see what it was, but the smell it gave off was enticing.

"How long do you intend to stand there and gawk at me, darling? Come on inside!" Alastor did not turn around at all, making you wonder how you were noticed, unknown to you, his shadow was watching you the entire time since you began to sneak a peak inside. Entering the kitchen now, you close the door behind you softly, pulling your jacket closer around you. Your feet carry you over to Alastor, glancing into the pot. He was making some stew, you couldn't really tell what every ingredient was, but it smelled good. "Open up dear~" Holding the wooden spoon up, he let you have a taste and it was incredible, he had a hand for cooking. It was a slight bit spicy, but not too much. "It's very nice!" Nodding now, as you slowly start to get the things out you actually came for, a cup of tea.

"Oh dear, let me make this for you, do take a seat." Grabbing the cup from your hands, you look at him a bit flabbergasted, yet do as he said and sit down. "Why are you even awake this late? And cooking on top of that?" Watching him, just now you notice how he was still wearing his normal attire, he hadn't changed into sleepwear yet. The only thing he took off was his coat and bow, the first button of his shit open, yet he still looked proper as always. "Oh I just felt like cooking something up, couldn't really rest." Was his answer to your question, afterwards it got quiet again.

Just now you notice how some jazz was playing from his staff, Alastor was tapping his foot along to the rhythm. It was a nice change for once here in hell, simply enjoying some music and calmness. "Do tell me, darling, do you dance?" Looking over his shoulder with a mischievous smirk, smiling and smirks were normal for him, yet this one looked daring and playful. "I'm not really skilled at it if I'm honest, I prefer watching others." Alastor's eyebrow quirked up a bit, the lid of the pot was placed on it now, letting the stew simmer for now. Your tea was almost ready too, as he strode over to you. His hand was extended out to you now, his playful smile a tad bit bigger now. "I beg to differ, my dear, I think you may be a skilled dancer, with the right person to lead you, so.. may I have this dance?" The jazz music getting a tad bit louder now, as he awaits for you to place your hand in his. For a second you were unsure, yet placed your trust in him, in other occasions this may be a bad idea, but right now it's simply a dance.

With a quick pull, you were on your feet, as Alastor slowly started to lead you, the music slowed down a bit, while he took the lead to guide you, probably taking it slow at the start right now. The dance was a swing to the jazz music playing, the more he guided you and twirled you around, the more you got the hang of it. Letting Alastor and the music guide you, the next song was slowly picking up the pace, he was obviously enjoying this, having fun with twirling you around to his heart's content.

"You see my dear, you were only missing the correct partner to make you a darling little dancer~" His words made you blush a slight bit, it wasn't unusual for Alastor to talk to you or Charlie with pet names like dear or darling, but somehow his words now had a different tune to it, they were soft, like he meant what he said with his whole heart. "I guess you're right.." Agreeing with him, as he now noticed how you were slowly getting out of breath, the music slowing down to a waltz, as he pulled you in closer to his body now, his hand now placed on your waist, as his other one holds yours in a soft grip, as on instinct your hand finds its place on his shoulder.

This felt different than before.. more intimate than the fun swing before, his face wore a soft smile, as he looked down at yours, your eyes avoiding his a bit now, too shy to face him. A chuckle makes you raise your head again though, noticing how close he was to you now, mere centimeters between you two.

"So mon amour, how did you like this?" The music was still going and so was Alastor, softly guiding you to the music, but not as concentrated anymore as before. "You definitely are a great guide, it was fun, though I was a tad bit nervous I must admit." Chuckling at your response, he nods. "Don't worry your pretty little head, you were fabulous, like a little dove." Letting your hand go now, he comes to a stop, takes a step away from you and back to the stove. Your breath was still the slightest bit harder from the dancing, you were just happy you didn't end up stepping on his feet or anything.

"Your tea darling, head on out to your room and sleep soon, it's late, can't have you missing sleep now can we?" The cup was placed in your hand, as he guided you to the kitchen door with a hand on your lower back. "Thanks, sleep well too Al!" Giving him a soft smile, as you turn to go back to your room. "Let's repeat this another time darling." His words bring a slight red hue to your face again, as you nod in agreement, before making your way back to your room. Alastor closed the door with a content smile, he didn't get to dance often, and dancing with you, his little darling? An amazing turn of events.

The next day the power was back and the storm gone, the cup on your nightstand empty and after exhausting yourself with dancing, you slept like a kitten this night.

And let's just say, Alastor pulled you into a dance here or there more often now than you thought he would.

[novemberheart]

Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

{overview} Task force 141 has gone without an omega, despite needing one. Is their decision catching up to them?

{full story warning} a/b/o dynamics, poly 141 x reader, fem reader, omega reader, cursing, violence, blood, angst, future smut and suggestive language, chapter story, medical and military inaccuracies, age of reader not specified (adult tho)

{chapter warning} Nothing really, Simon needs medical attention

“Have you thought any more about my offer?”

“Have you thought any more about my answer?” John shot back, his arms folded across his chest. Kate sighed, digging her heels deeper into the dirt.

“They’re going to pair you up with one anyways, John. Wouldn't you rather they be chosen by me?” Kate pressed, turning to face the stubborn Captain. John pressed his lips together, his gaze distant.

“This a fact?” He hummed.

“They’re doing it all over the world. I'm sure your task force isn't out of the woods with this one.” Kate reminded. “Plus don't you think there could be some benefits?” Kate pressed.

“You think we need one?” John asked, his eyes finally landing on Kate.

“Honestly, yeah. I can smell it on you- all of you.” She spoke truthfully, her head glancing behind her at the three men lounging around in the dirt.

“We can talk about it later.” John shut down. “We’ve still got a job to do.”

“Business as usual, Captain.” 

“What’s his blood type?”

“B positive,” Johnny replied following the rolling gurney. The nurse rolled the gurney into another maze of hallways.

“Alpha, yeah?” She questioned. Johnny quickly replied with a yes, his hands digging into the fabric of his jeans. “What happened?”

“Shrapnel to the leg, maybe up higher?” Johnny explained, his eyes flickering behind him to John.

“He fell from quite a height too,” John added. The nurse nodded her head, pushing open two large doors with the gurney.

“You’ll have to wait here. Someone will come and see you when we’re done.” She explained the doors swinging shut behind her. For a few seconds, the doors opened, and the sound of utter chaos filled the hall. Johnny and Kyle winced the urge to follow- the urge to keep watch weighing on them.

“Steady now,” John spoke up, his hands resting on their heavy shoulders, guiding them towards some chairs a little further down the hall. “He’ll be fine, much to his annoyance.” They dry chuckled, sitting in the hard plastic chairs.

They sat for what felt like hours- maybe it was. Johnny had a hard time sitting in his seat, the blood in his veins still hot and swarming.

“You're making me dizzy, mate.” Kyle huffed, leaning down further in his seat. John hummed in agreement from next to him.

Finally, the two doors swung open, all of them standing at attention.

“Gentlemen? Simon Riley, yes?” The doctor asked, and they quickly nodded. She smiled causing relief to flood them. “He’ll be fine. He’ll need some recovery time though. Pulled some hot metal pieces out of his left leg, and treated it for some second-degree burns. He's going to have some intense brushing on his back and side- but no signs of internal bleeding. We also had to pop his shoulder back into place. Two weeks rest at the very least.” She explained. “He's already been wheeled to his holding place, but he’s not quite ready for visitors yet.”

“Instincts?” Kyle questioned.

“Correct. It seems like he's been passed out for a while, don't want him waking up still thinking he's on the field.” She responded. “Now would be a good time for the pack omega to join him. Or if they can't come, maybe something holding their scent. It'll calm him and make his adjustment easier.”

They paused, looking at each other before John spoke up.

“We don't have an omega,” John said, with a clear of his throat. The doctor's eye widened, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Oh.” She smiled slightly. “That changes things slightly. Without an omega, his healing time will be at least four to six weeks.”

It was their turn for their eyes to widen.

“We might have some extra clothes with omega scent on them. Now because he's not bonded it might not help by much, but it could make his waking up easier.” The doctor offered.

“I think a new scent’ll throw him off,” Kyle interjected. The others nodded their heads in agreement.

“Of course.” She smiled politely. “He’s on the fourth floor, room B12. I suggest waiting till tomorrow morning for visitation.”

“Thank you, doctor.” They said in unison. They watched as she spun on her heels, steering herself back into the double doors. John pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked.

“Calling Kate.”

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The next chapter will be posted in three days! See you next time! 🤎🧡

[kianamaiart]

Hello your magical girl story looks really intriguing, the premise feels very creative, the art style is simple but good with its own identity, and the characters seem to be fleshed out with depth, personality, and backstory. In short, I love it, and I do have a few questions.

One: Is the story character driven, story driven, or something else

Two: Is the story rated G, PG, PG-13, or something else

Three: Would the story be a web comic, web show, or something else

Four: Will there be a lot of lore and world building, yes or no

Five: what other inspirations did you have for the story's characters, plot, and art style

Six: What humor do you use for the story

I'm only asking these questions out of curiosity. This is just because I love your story, and would like to know more about.

So please be free to not answer all the questions if you want. I'm also fine if you ignore this ask. so please, no pressure.

At the end of the day, please have fun, relax, work hard, take your time, and have a nice day.

I'm so glad! Thanks so much for your interest <3

Character driven (always)

PG/PG-13

Dunno! I've been reached out to already for a few opportunities but right now, I'm just trying to have fun with it and keep it mine until I feel like the idea is fully realized and ready for something bigger. Right now, I'm shooting to make a lil pilot animatic mostly on my own with help from a few friends

Depends on what you mean by a lot but I'd say a soft yes

For Aika, just generally other anime protagonists from shoujo and shonen. I feel like when you're doing a spin on something you do have to rely on the tropes from the genre at least a little bit. For Zira, Toko Fukawa was the jumping off point but they're very different. They're also both based off of aspects of myself (I feel like most artists do this with their ocs tho). Style and story-wise, I was definitely looking at Doremi and Panty&Stocking. That chunky cute look that's distinctly anime but takes some notes from Western cartoons. But mine's flipped where it's more based on my own style from working in Western animation but then having anime influence. And story-wise I like how they're more episodic with an underlying story. The magical girl stuff is more a backdrop that helps the story move forward and enhances the slice of life stuff that's being focused on.

I'm not sure what kind of humor to say other than my own? But my sense of humor has been shaped by Big City Greens (obviously) Adventure Time, Jimmy Neutron, Bob's Burgers, Smiling Friends and many other things but hopefully that gives you the gist

[changbinniescurlyhair]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽’𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓵 - Hwang Hyunjin (A Bridgerton Au)

Synopsis. Hwang Hyunjin, a charming and rebellious viscount, has always followed his heart, but it leads him to a passionate love affair with a lady determined to keep her own secrets. As their relationship grows, both must decide how much they are willing to sacrifice for love. Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x f!reader Warnings: Sexual content (Minors DNI), multiple sex scenes, secret child trope (it's not so secret tho lol), mentions of an attack, mentions of blood, reader is briefly depressed. A/N: Inspired by a fic by @enhaflixer. Absolutely loved their work and wanted to give credit! Second part here Series Masterlist

~London, 1814~

My most observant readers, I do hope you have not grown bored over the winter recess, for London has been much too quiet—until now. It is with barely-contained delight (and not a small amount of disbelief) that I report the reappearance of none other than Lady Y/N of Sunningdale. Yes, that Lady Y/N. The very one who disappeared from the social sphere nearly five years ago, just months after a rather intoxicating ball that ended with more than a few young ladies missing hairpins, and more than a few young men missing their reputations. She was once the jewel of the season, if you recall—gowned in sapphire and scandal, with a laugh that made even the most hardened dukes lean a little too close. Then, quite suddenly, she wed Lord Sunningdale, a man old enough to be her grandfather, and twice as ill-tempered. Society barely had time to blink before she vanished to the countryside, taking with her the brand-new title, a crumbling estate, and a swelling belly that raised far more questions than answers.

Now, Lady Y/N has returned to London with her son, Master Haneul—a child of five summers, with hair dark as midnight and the eyes of someone not yet named. The boy is strikingly beautiful, and some say his resemblance to his late “father” is as thin as a silk ribbon stretched to the point of tearing. The whispers have resumed. Was it love that drove her from the city, or disgrace? And more pressingly: who fathered the child now seated beside her in the carriage bound for London, legs swinging and clutching a wooden bear, his eyes bright with a familiarity that doesn't belong to her? Some secrets fade into whispers. Others return with a child who carries them in his gaze—reminding all that some things are never truly forgotten. With pen in hand and ears ever open, Lady Whistledown

~~~~

You had forgotten how London smelled in the spring.

Jasmine and coal. Horse sweat and cherry blossoms. Perfume clinging to silk parasols and the distant scent of ambition.

The moment your carriage wheels rumbled over the cobbled edge of Mayfair, you felt your lungs constrict. Not with fear—never fear—but with memory.

Five years. You’d been gone five years, tucked away in Sunningdale’s moss-covered estate in Yorkshire, where the rain fell more than the sun rose, and gossip could not reach beyond the ivy-covered gates.

Now you were back. And so was the past.

Haneul sat beside you, small legs swinging above the velvet floor, clutching the wooden fox his nursemaid had carved during the winter. He was humming under his breath—something you’d taught him. He had your voice, but not your laugh. No, that mischievous sound, the one that made governesses sigh and lords lean in—it belonged to someone else entirely.

You adjusted his coat, pressing your gloved hand over his heart. “Are you nervous, my darling?”

He shook his head. “Will there be ducks, Eomma?”

“Yes, I believe Hyde Park still has its ducks,” you said with a smile.

It was safer to talk of ducks than of debutantes, dukes, or the look the Dowager Duchess of Westbrook would surely give you when you entered her drawing room next week.

You had left London under a veil of whispered rumors and conveniently rewritten timelines. You had worn white the morning you married Sunningdale, despite already feeling the flutter of life inside your belly. Your wedding flowers had barely wilted before your husband’s temper soured, his pride bruised by the silent truths you never admitted aloud.

But now he was gone—dead two winters—and you were no longer anyone’s possession.

Still, London did not forget.

Your return was not about rekindling old ties or reclaiming your throne as one of society’s brightest stars. It was about your son. Haneul deserved his place in the world. He deserved safety, legacy, and—perhaps someday—honor.

You smoothed your skirts as the carriage slowed near the park’s entrance. Your heart beat louder than it should have.

The gossip would start immediately. Whispers at tea tables. Speculation behind painted fans.

Whose child is he, truly?

You had prepared yourself for the questions, for the glances. What you had not prepared for—what you could not allow yourself to imagine—was the possibility of him. The one who still lived in the shape of your son’s smile. The one whose name you never spoke, not even in sleep.

But that was fantasy. You told yourself that man would not return.

Not now. Not after five years.

And certainly not when you had so carefully buried him in your heart.

~~~~

The familiar scent of London’s spring air greeted you as your carriage pulled to a stop outside your new home. Ainsworth Square, with its rows of trees beginning to blossom, its streets full of whispers and secrets, was just as you remembered. The only difference now was that you were no longer a carefree debutante on the brink of marriage; you were a mother, a widow, and someone who had learned too well the weight of every decision made in these hallowed streets.

The house was yours now.

The house had no memories of your late husband, Lord Sunningdale. It had no ghosts of the nights you���d spent in his company, nor the hollow silence that followed his death. Instead, it was fresh, untouched, waiting for you to fill it with something new. Something you could claim as your own.

It was smaller than the grand estates you’d once dreamed of owning. The walls were lined with a soft shade of cream, and the windows let in just enough sunlight to make the house feel warm without being too bright. Mrs. Layton, your housekeeper, had made sure of that. The rooms were neat, the furniture fresh, and most importantly, the nursery upstairs was prepared for your son, Haneul.

You sighed as the door opened, Mr. Pembroke bowing to you with his usual reverence. "Welcome home, my lady."

It was a strange thing, being home. Five years ago, this would have been nothing more than an extravagant house that you could barely afford. Now, it was your sanctuary, your fresh start. You didn’t know what you expected when you returned to London, but it wasn’t this feeling of peace, this sense of quiet control.

The weight of your son’s hand in yours grounded you. You weren’t here to reclaim your place in society, nor to chase the ghosts of the past. You were here to make sure Haneul had a future. A future without scandal, without whispers. His future.

“Come along, my love,” you said, guiding him up the staircase to his new room. He was a curious boy, always ready to explore, always asking questions about everything around him.

"I saw a bird outside my window," Haneul said, his little voice filled with excitement as he skipped ahead of you. "I named him Bae!"

You chuckled softly, following him inside. His room was bright with the afternoon sun, the soft yellow curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. A large wooden bookcase stood against one wall, filled with books you had carefully chosen for him. At the window, a small reading nook awaited his curious mind. He had claimed it as his own before you could even finish your sentence.

“Well, if Bae is your neighbor, we must be kind to him,” you said, reaching down to adjust the collar of his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles from his perfectly pressed trousers. “We do not want to upset the local wildlife.”

He grinned up at you, clearly pleased by his own creation. “Bae’s a good bird. He won’t mind.”

You ran your fingers through his soft hair, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. It wasn’t just the resemblance to him—the man whose name you hadn’t spoken in years—that made your heart ache. It was the realization that everything you did now, every decision, every move, was for Haneul’s future. You couldn’t afford to look back anymore, not at the past or at the life you’d left behind.

“Tomorrow, we will begin calling,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing down your skirts. “Just a few ladies. I think we should start slowly.”

Haneul looked up at you, his eyes wide with suspicion. “Do I have to go?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “You must, my darling. You are a gentleman now. You have to greet the ladies properly.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Can’t Bae go for me?”

You smiled despite yourself, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “No, Bae is quite busy with his duties as the park’s ambassador. But don’t worry, we will have fun. And you’ll charm them all, just as you always do.”

Haneul sat up, his smile widening. “I will! I’ll tell them about Bae!”

“I’m sure they’ll be captivated by your stories,” you said, standing to gaze out the window, letting your fingers trace the smooth edge of the sill.

London. You were back. And with it, you carried the weight of your own reinvention. The questions about your son, the doubts about your choices, would all soon be forgotten by those who sought to write their own versions of the story.

But for now, in this moment, you were simply a mother preparing her son for the world. You were no longer the naive debutante who had entered these streets years ago, but someone who had learned what it meant to survive. And as you turned from the window, looking at the bright future that stretched ahead, you knew that whatever happened in this city—whatever truths and lies would come to the surface—you would face them all, standing firmly by your son’s side.

~Larkspur Manor, Edge of London~

The crackle of the fire filled the silence in the room as Hwang Hyunjin sat in a plush armchair, the Lady Whistledown paper in hand. His dark eyes skimmed the gossip, though his mind seemed far from the words in front of him. The name that stood out—Lady Y/N Sunningdale—pulled him from the page.

"The Return of the Lady Sunningdale: A Lady and Her Son Reclaim Their Place Among London’s Elite."

The words hit him like a wave, pulling up old memories of a past he had tried to bury. Y/N. Five years had passed since that night—the night at the ball when everything between them had changed. He could still remember her clearly: the way her skin had felt beneath his touch, the way her lips had tasted, desperate and hungry, as if they were both trying to erase the distance that had grown between them.

What had followed had been a fight. A brutal, ugly argument that neither of them had ever recovered from. And after that, she had married Lord Sunningdale, leaving him to drown in the silence that came with their broken connection.

The fire popped, pulling him from his thoughts. He folded the paper, setting it on the table beside him. Y/N’s return was impossible to ignore, especially now that she had returned to London with a child. The gossip mills would be ablaze, and her every move would be watched. Hyunjin hadn’t expected her return, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared for what it might bring.

A knock at the door broke his reverie. Hyunjin glanced up just as Bang Chan stepped into the room, his usual calm presence filling the space. The Duke of Blackwood was a friend, but more than that—he was someone Hyunjin had known for years, someone whose quiet wisdom and loyalty he trusted more than most.

“Hyunjin,” Chan greeted, his voice warm. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Of course not,” Hyunjin replied with a nod, setting the paper aside. “You’re always welcome.”

Chan walked in, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Hyunjin with a knowing smile. The two men had a long history together, but Hyunjin couldn’t help but notice how different Chan’s life had become during the past year. The Duke of Blackwood, once a figure of stoic resolve, was now a man who wore his contentment openly. His wife, the Duchess of Blackwood had a quiet kindness about her that Hyunjin admired. She treated Chan with a grace that many women of her stature could never seem to muster, and together, they had a son—Jaewon was an energetic baby boy whose laughter was a rare but precious sound in the Duke’s normally reserved life. It was a family dynamic that Hyunjin had always longed for, a warmth and security he had never known himself. Chan had the family Hyunjin wished he had—one that supported him, cared for him, and filled the gaps where nothing else could.

“Still brooding over Whistledown?” Chan asked, gesturing to the paper. “I take it you’ve read the news of Lady Y/N’s return?”

Hyunjin gave a small, knowing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems impossible to ignore.” He exhaled, staring at the folded paper for a long moment before looking back at Chan. “Lady Y/N has returned, and with a child no less. The whispers have already started.”

Chan leaned against the back of the chair opposite Hyunjin, his expression neutral. “It must be strange for you.”

Hyunjin felt a pang in his chest at the words. Strange didn’t quite cover it. He hadn’t seen her in five years. After that night—the fight, the words they’d exchanged—their worlds had separated, and not by choice. They had made love that night, a fevered moment where passion blurred every line between them. It was meant to be a culmination, something that would bring them closer. Instead, it became the catalyst for their downfall. The next morning had been full of regret, accusations, and hurt. She had married Sunningdale four months later, and he had walked away, never looking back. At least, that’s what he’d told himself.

“She’s a widow now, or so I hear,” Hyunjin said, his voice distant as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the armrest. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. She’s returned to London, with a child in tow.”

“Have you met the child?” Chan asked, an eyebrow raised. “Is he—?”

Hyunjin froze, his thoughts catching at the edges of the question. The truth was, he hadn’t been curious enough to wonder. Y/N’s life had been her own after they parted ways, and whatever had happened between her and Sunningdale was not his concern. But now… now there was a sense of dread in the back of his mind.

“I haven’t met him,” Hyunjin replied slowly. “I don’t even know if he’s… if he’s truly Sunningdale’s. If Whistledown doesn’t even know, how could anyone else?”

Chan’s lips twitched at the mention of Lady Whistledown, but his eyes never wavered. “The timing is certainly curious, isn’t it? But I suppose that’s not the question, is it?”

Hyunjin gave a small, bitter laugh. “No. No, it’s not. It’s none of my business, what’s happened between her and her late husband.”

A silence stretched between them, but it was Chan who spoke first, his voice soft but knowing. “You never really got over her, did you?”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched. There it was. The question he had been avoiding. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Chan said, his tone more serious now. “You never moved on. I see it in your eyes. You’ve never quite let go of her.”

Hyunjin stared at his friend for a long moment. The truth was, he hadn’t let go. He would never admit it, but the thought of her still haunted him—her smile, the way she had kissed him so fiercely that night. The night that should have been the beginning of something beautiful, but instead had been the end. And now, here she was again, with a child, a life, and everything he could never have.

“I don’t need to talk about this,” Hyunjin said, standing up abruptly. “I’ve put that behind me.”

Chan’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push further. “If you say so.”

Hyunjin turned toward the window, staring out into the quiet evening. He was torn between his desire to leave the past behind and his longing for something he could never have. The child—her son—was a reminder of everything lost, and Hyunjin knew deep down, though he had no proof, that the child was somehow his.

But that wasn’t something he would ever acknowledge—not yet, at least.

“We’ll see her soon enough,” Hyunjin said quietly, almost to himself. “If she’s back in society, then the time will come.”

“Then, we will see,” Chan replied, standing as well, his voice laced with both curiosity and concern. “But remember, Hyunjin, some things are better left in the past.”

Hyunjin didn't answer. He couldn’t. Not when the pull of what might have been still weighed so heavily on his heart.

~~~~

The spring air was crisp, tinged with sunlight that shimmered through the budding trees of Hyde Park. The season had officially begun, and London’s elite had poured out into the fresh air in their finest — promenading, parading, pretending all was well.

Hwang Hyunjin hated it.

He kept his hands tucked behind his back, walking slowly beside Chan, who — despite his title and the weight it carried — somehow managed to make even idle strolls seem intentional.

“You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Chan said under his breath, just loud enough for Hyunjin to hear.

“I am enjoying myself,” Hyunjin replied drily, scanning the rows of chattering debutantes and ambitious mothers.

Chan chuckled, adjusting the cuff of his deep navy coat. “For someone surrounded by beauty, you look thoroughly miserable.”

Hyunjin said nothing, his thoughts elsewhere — namely, on the fact that he’d read the name Lady Y/N Sunningdale at least three times in the Lady Whistledown paper that morning. He’d told himself it meant nothing. That it would pass.

And yet.

As the two gentlemen turned toward the Serpentine path, a sudden hush rippled across the crowd.

There she was.

Lady Y/N.

You stood not twenty feet away, laughing politely at something the Dowager Countess Greystone had said, a parasol resting lightly on your shoulder. Your deep burgundy walking dress complimented your skin, your eyes, your posture — everything about you looked softer, yet somehow stronger than before. Eunha, your lady's maid, trailed just a respectful pace behind, ensuring your path remained clear of overly curious debutantes and too-bold gossips.

Five years had passed since that fateful night, but for Hyunjin, it collapsed like paper in the rain.

He stopped walking.

Chan did not.

“Hyunjin,” Chan said lightly, tilting his head toward you, “look who it is.”

You turned — and locked eyes with the last man you ever expected to see again.

Hyunjin.

Your chest tightened as your breath caught. The memories surged forward without your consent — the way he’d touched you that night, the words you’d screamed at him after, the silence that followed for years. He looked… older. Sharper. Still devastatingly handsome in that untamed, poetic sort of way. His hair fell in soft waves, his dark eyes unreadable.

Chan was the first to greet you.

“Lady Sunningdale,” he said with a courteous bow, offering a warm smile. “It is truly lovely to see you back in town.”

“Your Grace,” you said, voice smooth, even as your pulse throbbed in your ears. “You are too kind.”

“Not at all. My wife speaks fondly of your return.”

You smiled at that, genuine. “And how is she? And your little one — Jaewon, is it?”

“Well. Very well. They were to join me today, but someone insisted on eating two servings of pear tart and needed a nap.”

You laughed, grateful for the comfort Chan brought to the moment — for the kindness in his eyes and the way he eased you back into this society that had not always been gentle.

But you could not ignore the man standing just a step behind him.

Your eyes flicked to Hyunjin.

His were already on you.

You spoke before either of you could stop it. “Lord Hwang.”

He inclined his head. “My Lady.”

The silence between you sizzled. Not angry — not yet — but full of every unspoken word that had remained trapped in the years since. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure you could say anything. Because what was there to say?

The last time you’d seen him, you were still trembling from his touch.

And then you were married.

“How long will you be in town?” Chan asked, gently redirecting the conversation, though his eyes — sharp and far too observant — glanced between you both.

“For the season,” you replied. “Though I’m not entirely sure how long I’ll endure it.”

Chan smiled at that. “You’ve always had a certain… honesty about you. I’ve missed that.”

The tension broke for a moment — until a voice whispered from across the path.

“Is that her? Lady Sunningdale?”

“She’s back — without the child.”

“She hasn’t acknowledged the father publicly, has she?”

“But Lord Hwang is right there…”

The whispers were soft, but not soft enough. You kept your chin high, your expression composed.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, stiffened.

He heard them too.

“I suppose I should let you continue your walk,” you said gracefully. “The weather is far too fine to waste on gossip.”

Chan smiled. “You are as elegant as ever, my Lady.”

You looked at Hyunjin.

He looked at you.

For a single heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then he bowed, low and practiced. “It was… good to see you again.”

You offered the faintest curtsy. “And you, Lord Hwang.”

You turned away before you let yourself feel more than you should.

But you did not miss the way the air shifted behind you.

And you did not miss the way your name fell from Hyunjin’s lips, silent but burning.

The rhythmic clop-clop of the carriage wheels over the cobblestone streets did nothing to still the thoughts swirling in your mind. You sat in silence, hands resting stiffly in your lap, though your fingers curled slightly around your gloves.

Eunha sat across from you, quiet as ever, but you could feel her gaze flicking toward you now and then, as if waiting for you to speak. You didn’t.

Not yet.

The moment at the park still lingered behind your eyes — the subtle lift of Chan’s brow as he sensed something unsaid, the warmth in his greeting, the comfort of his presence. But most of all, it was Hyunjin’s silence that haunted you.

Five years.

And not once had he written.

Not even after that night. Not even after your marriage to a man four decades your senior.

That fight — vicious, passionate, final — had left a bruise that never quite faded.

And yet there he stood today, as stunning and silent as ever. And you had been the one to speak first.

You shut your eyes as the carriage turned onto a quieter street, the sounds of Hyde Park fading behind you.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Eunha asked softly, not as a servant, but as someone who had seen you weep quietly in the dark and hold your newborn son to your chest with trembling arms.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low. “I’m not sure I know how to breathe in this city anymore.”

“You never forgot how to stand tall,” Eunha replied with a small smile. “That’s something.”

You smiled faintly at that.

Moments later, the carriage pulled to a gentle stop in front of your London residence — modest for a lady, but perfectly dignified. You stepped out with practiced grace, letting the wind brush against your face as if to clear your thoughts.

The door opened before you could even lift a hand.

“Eomma!”

Your heart leapt.

Hanuel flew into your arms, his small frame thudding against your skirts as he wrapped you in a hug that made everything else blur.

“My sweet darling,” you said, kneeling down and smoothing his hair with gentle fingers. “Were you good for Mr. Lee today?”

“I was!” he said with his toothy grin. “He said I knew more letters than anyone else my age.”

“I’m sure you do. You’re the cleverest boy in all of Mayfair.”

You lifted him into your arms — he was getting heavier, but you never minded — and carried him inside as Eunha trailed behind with your shawl and gloves.

“Did you see the ducks, Eomma?” Hanuel asked eagerly. “Mr. Lee said you were at the park. Did you see them?”

“I saw them, but they missed you terribly. They told me to bring you next time.”

He giggled, nuzzling into your shoulder. “I want to go tomorrow!”

“We’ll see,” you replied gently, kissing the crown of his head.

You took him into the drawing room, where the sunlight poured through the tall windows and gilded everything in a soft golden hue. He settled beside you on the settee, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

“I was only gone for an hour.”

“But I still missed you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of him — chalk dust and lavender soap — wash away the scent of Hyde Park and the storm that lingered in your heart.

You ran your fingers through his soft dark hair, so much like his father’s.

But he didn’t know that.

And neither did Hyunjin.

You couldn’t bring yourself to imagine what he’d do — or say — if he ever looked into Hanuel’s eyes and realized the truth.

Would he even want to know?

Hanuel laid his head in your lap, humming softly as his eyes drifted to the ceiling.

“Eomma?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why did we come to London?”

You paused. Then ran your hand gently over his back.

“To let the city remember you,” you said softly, “and to remind it who you are.”

He smiled, drifting toward sleep.

And you sat perfectly still, heart aching with truths untold, knowing that sooner or later, the whispers would reach Hyunjin’s ears — and everything you’d tried to keep buried would begin to rise again.

~~~~

The chandeliers of Lady Strathmore’s drawing room glittered like constellations strung just above the heads of London’s most calculating minds. Light and laughter filled the marbled space, though much of it, you suspected, was entirely rehearsed.

The music played — a delicate waltz you once adored — and the champagne flowed like truth among liars.

Your return to society had not gone unnoticed. No, judging by the stiff smiles and carefully timed greetings, it had sent a ripple through the gilded waters of the ton. Every head turned when you entered the room, your name whispered like a ghost slipping through velvet-draped corridors.

“Lady Sunningdale,” someone murmured with a curtsy.

“She’s still as poised as ever.”

“I wonder what she’s hiding…”

You heard it all. You were meant to. That was the dance, wasn’t it? London’s ballroom games had never been about the steps, only the spectacle.

Your gown shimmered under the candlelight — a deep sapphire trimmed in silver, the exact shade of dusk right before a storm. Your hair had been pinned with small mother-of-pearl combs, nothing too ostentatious, but enough to declare: I am no ghost.

And Eunha stood a respectable distance behind, her eyes sharp and alert.

You did not bring Hanuel tonight. This world, not yet, was not meant for him.

“Lady Sunningdale.” A familiar voice — smooth, amused, precise. Seo Changbin, the Earl of Arkwell.

You turned to find him bowing. “Lord Seo,” you greeted with a polite smile.

“You look resplendent,” he said, offering his arm. “I’m afraid half the men here are already mourning their missed chances five years ago.”

“And the other half?”

“Still wondering if they have one.”

You chuckled softly but did not take his arm. “You’ve grown quite bold, my lord.”

“Or perhaps just better at playing the game.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “London is a game, after all.”

You glanced around the room — saw Lee Felix smiling charmingly at a cluster of young women, the artist Han Jisung standing brooding near the far wall, and Yang Jeongin politely speaking to a lady old enough to be his grandmother.

And then, him.

Hyunjin.

You caught only a glimpse at first — his dark hair tied back, his coat fitted to perfection, and his lips curled in something dangerously close to boredom. He hadn’t seen you yet.

But standing beside him was Bang Chan — warm, welcoming, and unmissable. His eyes met yours, and this time, he smiled.

“Lady Sunningdale,” he greeted when he reached you. “You brighten this room more than any of Lady Strathmore’s candles.”

“Your Grace,” you said, curtsying, returning the smile. “It’s a wonder your wife lets you loose with lines like that.”

Chan’s laugh was quiet, fond. “She knows I’m hopelessly devoted. And she’s far cleverer than I am.”

“You married wisely.”

“Indeed I did,” he agreed simply.

And then, Hyunjin stepped beside him.

The air pulled tight between you both.

“Lady Sunningdale,” Hyunjin said. His voice was smooth, perfectly mannered, but his gaze never softened.

“My lord,” you replied.

There was a pause. Just a second too long.

You hadn’t been this close to him since Hyde Park. And you hadn’t truly spoken to him in five years — not since that night.

Not since the fight. Not since your bodies tangled and your heart shattered before walking away from the man you thought had loved you.

His expression gave nothing away. Yours was just as carefully composed.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” Chan offered kindly, sensing the shift.

“Thank you,” you said, accepting it with grace.

The three of you stood there for a moment, as though the universe held its breath. Around you, whispers bloomed like night-blooming jasmine.

“They were always close once, weren’t they?”

“She married so soon after…”

“I wonder what—”

You turned slightly away, letting the conversation drift with practiced ease.

Hyunjin’s voice, low and unreadable, murmured, “London missed you.”

You looked at him. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

His lips curved ever so slightly. “Perhaps it doesn’t know how to show it.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t ready to.

Chan gently guided the conversation elsewhere — light, safe, forgettable. He had always been steady like that. But you could feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you, even when you weren’t looking.

Not with longing. Not yet.

But with memory. And maybe regret.

And somewhere behind the music, the flicker of chandeliers, and the sparkle of glass, you knew that this season was not going to be kind.

Not to you.

Not to him.

Not to the truth that waited just beneath the surface.

~~~~

The whirlwind of society had not slowed.

Your days were a dizzying rotation of engagements—afternoon teas, candlelit soirees, musical recitals in sun-drenched drawing rooms. You had learned to navigate the dance again, your steps more certain, your smile more polished.

And Hanuel—darling Hanuel—had become London’s most whispered name.

The son of the late Lord Sunningdale, born five months into your marriage. Observant, gentle, intelligent beyond his years. With raven-dark hair and the most striking eyes the ton had seen since a certain Viscount vanished from the Season five years ago.

There were whispers in every ballroom. Curiosity hidden behind fans. But for once… you didn’t care.

Today was a quiet rebellion.

You’d promised Hanuel a peaceful afternoon, away from lace and titles and curious stares. A pocket of stillness, just the two of you and the ducks.

You sat beneath the trailing arms of a willow tree in Hyde Park, a lace parasol beside you, the air carrying the scent of budding blooms. Hanuel crouched near the water’s edge with a linen pouch of breadcrumbs, laughing as the ducks scrambled for his offerings. Eunha stood at a polite distance, eyes scanning the park, calm and ever-present.

“Careful, love,” you called gently, “They may fancy your fingers if you’re too generous.”

“They won’t bite me!” Hanuel giggled, flinging breadcrumbs into the water. “They like me too much!”

You smiled, heart swelling at the sound. Leaning back against the tree, you let your bonnet tilt up, allowing yourself to soak in the moment. The breeze stirred your skirts; the sky stretched wide and clean above you. For the first time in weeks... you felt peace.

And then— A change. A shadow in the light.

You opened your eyes and felt it before you even saw him.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He moved like a memory half-remembered, the past caught in the present, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair tousled from the wind, his waistcoat hanging open as though he’d come in a rush.

But he didn’t see you.

His gaze was locked—rooted—on Hanuel.

You watched as his body stiffened, as though an invisible force had seized him. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. His eyes—wild, unblinking—traced every inch of the boy: the dark, unruly hair shining under the sun, the delicate curve of his jaw, the familiar tilt of his smile. Even the way Hanuel’s laughter peeled out into the afternoon—pure, unchecked—was a sound Hyunjin knew deep in his marrow.

He took it all in, detail after devastating detail, the pieces slotting into place with brutal, perfect clarity. The boy wasn’t just any child.

He was his.

You rose unsteadily to your feet, your skirts whispering against the grass. “Eunha—”

But it was already too late.

Hyunjin’s skin had turned ashen. His shoulders sagged under the invisible weight crashing down on him. For a fleeting second he swayed, and then—

“Y/N,” he rasped, voice cracking like thin ice. “He’s—”

And then he crumpled, collapsing heavily onto the grass with a muffled thud.

“Hyunjin!” Chan’s voice tore through the stunned quiet, his boots pounding against the earth as he rushed forward. He dropped beside him, catching his shoulders. “You bloody idiot.”

Hyunjin groaned faintly, his head lolling back, his eyes fluttering wildly as he struggled to stay conscious. “I—I saw…” he mumbled, dazed.

“Yes,” you said tightly, already crouching beside him, your hands hovering helplessly.

You and Chan worked together, lifting him gently until he was propped between you, half-sitting in the grass. His chest heaved with shallow breaths; his fingers clawed weakly at the earth as though trying to ground himself.

“He looks like me,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice hollow with awe—and devastation.

Your silence was answer enough.

“How—?” Hyunjin’s voice cracked again as he looked at you, something raw and betrayed flashing in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me. You—” His hands clenched in the grass. “You hid him from me.”

“There was never a right time,” you said, barely able to force the words past your tightening throat. “And then it was too late.”

For a heartbeat, you thought you saw the heartbreak soften him—but then anger surged up in its place, burning hotter than before.

“You had no right,” he said, fury sharpening every syllable. “No right to keep him from me.”

A ripple of whispers stirred among the people nearby, drawn by the commotion.

Eunha acted immediately, spinning on her heel. “There’s nothing to see here!” she barked, her voice sharp as a whip. “Go about your business—move along!” She glared at the lingering onlookers until they reluctantly drifted away, leaving you and Hyunjin hidden once more in a bubble of fragile, breaking silence.

Your heart twisted painfully. You reached for Hyunjin again, but he recoiled slightly, dragging a trembling hand across his mouth.

Then— A small voice broke through.

“Eomma? Is he hurt?”

You turned. Hanuel stood just a few feet away, his face pinched with concern, a crumpled piece of bread still clutched in his small hand.

You rose quickly, smoothing your skirts with trembling fingers. “No, sweetheart,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “He was just... surprised, that’s all.”

Hyunjin pushed himself upright with difficulty, brushing the dirt from his hands. His eyes—still glassy, still wide—followed Hanuel’s every movement, drinking him in with a hunger that made your throat ache.

He looked at the boy like he was seeing the sun after years of rain.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he tried to steady himself before speaking. “Hello,” he said, voice hoarse but gentle. “I’m Hyunjin. I’m... a friend of your mother’s.”

Hanuel tilted his head, studying him with frank curiosity. “You have eyes like mine,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched visibly. He managed a crooked, broken smile. “Yes. I do.”

Hanuel shuffled closer, holding out the misshapen bread. “Do you wanna feed ducks with me?”

Your heart twisted as you watched Hyunjin glance at you, uncertainty naked on his face, as though begging for permission he shouldn’t have had to ask for.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you gave a small, trembling nod.

Hyunjin exhaled shakily, then followed your son to the edge of the pond and sat beside him beneath the willow tree. They spoke softly at first—small words about ducks and favorite foods and how the best bread for feeding birds was stale—but the conversation deepened quickly, like water drawn from a well.

You sat again a few paces away with Eunha and Chan, watching quietly.

“He likes him,” Eunha murmured, eyes on the boy.

“Children know their blood,” Chan added, voice thoughtful.

You looked away. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Chan’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think he deserves to know him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Eunha shifted beside you. “He’s been gentle with him. Gentle with you. I don’t believe he came here to make war.”

You turned your eyes back toward the pair beneath the tree. Hanuel was giggling at something Hyunjin said, his small hand resting trustingly against the older man’s knee.

And Hyunjin… looked like he had been given air after drowning.

Time passed.

Minutes melted into hours as they talked about animals, stars, and favorite books. You heard Hanuel ask if Hyunjin could draw, and he replied that he could—and would sketch him some ducks if he liked. The boy was thrilled.

Eventually, Hanuel leaned against Hyunjin’s shoulder with a quiet yawn.

“I think we must go home soon,” you called softly. “It’s nearly supper.”

Hyunjin gently nudged Hanuel upright, but before the boy stood, he looked up.

“Will you come to dinner tomorrow?”

You hesitated—heart snagged between fear and something softer.

Hyunjin looked at you. Not with anger. Not anymore. Only longing. Hope. Quiet ache.

“If it’s all right,” he said carefully.

You paused. Then nodded once. “Yes.”

Hanuel beamed.

As you gathered your things, Eunha stepping forward to help, Hyunjin moved beside you. His voice lowered so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I want to be part of his life,” he said. “Truly. I want to know him. I want him to know me.”

You turned to him slowly. “Even after all this time?”

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered. “And now… I see what we made together. He’s beautiful. He’s ours. And I want to be there. I want to know every version of him as he grows.”

You pressed your gloved hand over your heart. “I don’t know what this will look like.”

“Neither do I. But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t say no.

And as Hyunjin watched you and Hanuel walk away—his son’s small hand tucked in yours—there was something in his chest that burned like sunrise.

A beginning.

One he never expected to find again.

~~~~

The knock came precisely at seven.

Your heart gave a little jump as Eunha crossed the marble floor of the foyer, her slippers silent beneath her skirts, and opened the door.

He stood there, framed by the golden spill of dusk—Hwang Hyunjin.

No waistcoat tonight, just a deep blue frock coat and an open cravat, elegant in its simplicity. He held a small bouquet of wildflowers, their colors soft and sweet, as if chosen not for their rarity but for the memory they evoked.

“Are those for me?” you asked, voice light but trembling at the edges as you stepped forward.

He nodded once, eyes not quite meeting yours. “They reminded me of you,” he said, quiet as a confession. “They’re stubborn. They bloom wherever they like.”

You accepted them with a small smile and an even smaller curtsy. “Then I’m honored.”

Before you could say more, Hanuel appeared beside you, his slippers thudding against the polished floor.

“Hyunjin!” he beamed.

From behind his back, Hyunjin produced a wooden toy gun—delicately carved and painted with care.

“A gift,” he said, crouching. “For my little general.”

Hanuel gasped, accepting it like treasure. “I shall defend the entire park with this!”

“You’ll be feared by ducks everywhere,” Hyunjin murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You watched them, something heavy and beautiful swelling in your chest. Your son—your son—glowed under Hyunjin’s gaze. He had no idea the bond that tied them. And yet, some part of him must have known.

Dinner was served shortly after.

The table gleamed under the soft candlelight, silver catching the flicker of flames. It was set for four—yourself, Hyunjin, Hanuel, and Eunha, who always ate with the family unless guests were too formal to permit it.

Tonight, the presence of Hyunjin made every breath feel taut, every gesture deliberate.

Until Hanuel began to speak.

And speak.

He told Hyunjin about everything—his ducks, his favorite part of the park, a story about the pastries he liked best (strawberry jam in the middle), and the time he once thought he saw a ghost in the old nursery.

Hyunjin listened—truly listened.

And in doing so, the awkwardness between you softened just enough to allow the illusion of normalcy. You caught Hyunjin smiling more than once. And though you tried not to meet his gaze, once or twice it caught you, held you, and refused to let go.

“He’ll talk all evening if you let him,” you murmured at one point, refilling Hanuel’s cup with diluted cordial.

“I could listen forever,” Hyunjin replied, and this time, when your eyes met, neither of you looked away.

After supper, Hanuel insisted on showing Hyunjin his favorite toy soldiers.

The three of you walked upstairs together. You trailed behind, silent, as you watched them—your son proudly displaying a chipped figurine, Hyunjin nodding solemnly as if inspecting a real army.

Eunha lit the lamps and readied Hanuel’s bed while you helped him into his nightclothes. He refused to let Hyunjin leave until he’d helped tuck him in.

And then, when the stories were told and the goodnights were said, Hanuel turned sleepily to Hyunjin.

“You’ll come again, won’t you?”

Hyunjin leaned in, brushing the child’s hair back with the tenderness of a father who did not yet carry the name. “Yes,” he said, voice low. “I’ll always come.”

You turned away before the emotion in your throat could show.

You walked him downstairs in silence.

The hallway was dim now, moonlight pouring in through the tall windows, the scent of your flowers still lingering in the air. Neither of you spoke until the drawing room doors closed softly behind you.

He stood with his back to you, gazing out the tall window toward the empty street.

You waited.

“I wasn’t there,” he said finally. “For his first breath. His first steps. His first words.”

You clasped your hands in front of you. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have.”

You hesitated. “Do you want the truth?”

He turned.

“Yes.”

You crossed to the window, standing beside him now. Not touching. But close enough that your breaths moved in the same rhythm.

“I didn’t know I was with child until after the wedding,” you said softly. “And by then… you were already gone. I told myself it was too late. That nothing good could come of dragging you back into my shame.”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply. “You were never shame.”

“We had one night,” you whispered. “One night, and a morning of pain.”

He flinched at that.

“I thought you didn’t love me. I thought… perhaps it had meant more to me than to you.”

“You thought wrong.”

You looked up at him, the moonlight catching the tears threatening your eyes.

“And by the time I wondered if I had made a mistake, you were gone. I didn’t even know where to send the letter.”

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his jaw tight.

He stepped forward—not close, not close enough to touch. But enough to see you clearly.

“I don’t want to fight,” he said.

You nodded once, your voice barely a breath. “Neither do I.”

“I want to be part of his life.”

Those words settled over you like a warm storm.

“I want to know his favorite books. I want to hear about his days. I want him to know he is loved by both of us.”

Your throat tightened. “Then you shall. But… not yet. Not as his father.”

Hyunjin gave a long, slow nod. “He’ll know. One day.”

“Yes,” you said. “One day.”

A silence lingered then—not awkward, not cold. Just full of too many things left unsaid.

“I should go,” Hyunjin murmured.

You walked him to the door. He stepped onto the stoop, pausing for a moment.

“Thank you,” he said, turning to you one last time.

“For what?”

“For letting me come back.”

You didn’t smile. But your voice was warm.

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And then he was gone.

You closed the door gently and leaned against it.

The fire had been lit again.

And this time, you were no longer afraid to let it burn.

It was the beginning of a new rhythm.

Each morning that week, the sound of Hanuel's laughter echoed through the townhouse before breakfast had even been laid out. By the second day, Hyunjin had already learned that the boy preferred strawberry jam over marmalade, that he detested peas, and that he insisted on dressing himself—even if his waistcoat was occasionally buttoned askew.

Hyunjin arrived early and stayed late, and not once did Hanuel tire of him.

They played card games in the parlor, built elaborate castles from blocks, and even braved the spring rain to race paper boats along the shallow gutters. Eunha often shook her head in amused resignation, but she said nothing, quietly setting towels by the hearth and warming tea for all three of you.

One afternoon, while Hanuel napped curled up on the settee after hours of play, you found Hyunjin in the drawing room, holding something delicate in his hands.

The small leather-bound book looked unassuming, but the moment he opened it, his breath caught.

"His first year," you said softly. "Portraits. I wasn’t certain if I should show you, but… you have a right to see."

Inside were the earliest images of Hanuel—swaddled in ivory linen, eyes too large for his small face, hair dark and soft as ink.

Hyunjin traced one of the pages with a reverent touch. “He looks like a dream.”

“He was,” you replied. “Even when everything else felt like a nightmare.”

His eyes flicked up to yours then—quiet, searching.

You hesitated. But he deserved to know.

“My husband,” you began, voice barely above a whisper, “was cruel. Not always publicly. Not in the ways that people notice. But in silence. In absence. In words I would never repeat in front of our son. He was not a father to Hanuel. He barely acknowledged him.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tensed.

“He left me isolated,” you continued. “Lonely. Ashamed. But I swore I would never let Hanuel feel that way.”

Hyunjin closed the book gently. And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then his hand reached up, almost of its own accord, and brushed lightly against your cheek. His fingertips were soft, tentative, as though asking for permission.

Your breath caught.

“I should have known,” he murmured. “I should have been there.”

“You didn’t know,” you whispered. “And I didn’t tell you.”

He didn’t lean closer. He didn’t speak further. But in that stillness, you both understood what hovered between you: a past unfinished, and a future uncertain.

Later that afternoon, as Hyunjin and Hanuel took to the garden to chase butterflies and invent stories of mythical creatures in the rose hedges, you sat beneath the shade of the veranda with a cup of tea and the newest edition of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

You unfolded it with mild expectation, but your heart clenched the moment your eyes caught the inked words:

"It appears that the widow of the late Lord Sunningdale has found comfort in the presence of a rather familiar face from her younger years. While no scandal has yet been confirmed, Hyde Park’s whispering breeze carries the scent of something far deeper than mere friendship..."

You folded the paper slowly.

It was time.

You rose, stepping into the garden as Hanuel shrieked with laughter, chasing Hyunjin who’d tucked a flower behind his ear and declared himself the ‘Queen of the Garden.’

They collapsed in a heap beside the fountain, breathless and grinning.

Hyunjin looked up first, his smile softening when he saw you.

Hanuel immediately sat up, cheeks flushed and curls bouncing. “Eomma! Hyunjin-hyung says he used to play sword-fighting when he was little! Did you know that?”

“I did,” you said with a gentle smile. “He was quite dramatic even then.”

“I was a knight,” Hyunjin defended, chuckling.

Hanuel grinned and looked between the two of you. “How do you know each other, anyway?”

You and Hyunjin exchanged a glance.

Hyunjin spoke first, carefully. “Your mother and I knew each other a long time ago. Before you were born. We were… very good friends.”

“Like best friends?” Hanuel asked, eyes wide.

Hyunjin hesitated. “Yes. Something like that.”

“Did you fight dragons together too?”

You laughed softly. “We had our share of battles.”

Hanuel accepted this answer with the innocence only children possess, turning back to pluck more petals from the daisies. “I’m glad you’re my friend now,” he said.

“I’m glad too,” Hyunjin replied, quietly.

He stood slowly. “I think it’s time we tell him,” you said quietly.

Hyunjin’s expression sobered. He glanced down at Hanuel, who was now plucking petals and humming a song only he knew.

He looked back at you. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admitted. “But I’m certain he deserves the truth. And we… we deserve to say it. Together.”

The decision was made.

But decisions were easy to make in silence, in theory, in candlelight when the world was hushed and children were asleep. Speaking them aloud was different. Telling the truth—their truth—was a delicate thing. A glass bauble balanced on trembling hands. One wrong word, and everything could shatter.

It had been two days since you had agreed to tell Hanuel.

And still, neither of you had done it.

Now, the drawing room hummed with quiet anticipation. The hearth burned low, casting amber light across the thick carpet and the edges of your skirts. Hyunjin sat across from you, long legs stretched out slightly, the top button of his waistcoat undone. He looked tired—but beautiful still. Always beautiful. And now familiar, too.

You were curled into the corner of the settee with a book you hadn’t turned the page of in twenty minutes.

The weight in your chest hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had grown heavier, pressing harder each time you looked at the two of them together—how Hanuel lit up around Hyunjin, how Hyunjin watched him like he was the only thing that had ever mattered.

“Do you think he’ll hate me?” you asked quietly, not daring to meet his gaze.

There was a pause, then the sound of Hyunjin shifting. You felt him before you saw him—close now, kneeling in front of you by the settee. His fingers brushed yours before curling around them.

“I could never hate you,” he said, voice low and even.

“I didn’t mean you,” you whispered, eyes still on your lap. “I meant him.”

Hyunjin’s fingers tightened around yours. “No. He could never hate you either. You’ve been everything for him.”

“I lied.”

“You protected him.”

You looked up at that—finally met his gaze.

He was so close. His knees just brushing your skirts, his hands holding yours, his warmth like a flame curling around your heart. And his eyes—those eyes—were filled with something softer than forgiveness, deeper than anger.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you admitted. “I’ve played the moment over in my mind so many times, but it never sounds right.”

Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Then maybe don’t plan it.”

You arched a brow.

“Tell him the way you tell him stories,” he said. “Start at the beginning. Speak gently. Let him feel loved.”

“I always start stories with ‘once upon a time,’” you replied, dryly.

His smile turned wistful. “Then maybe start it like that.”

You let out a breath. “We should tell him in the garden.”

Hyunjin nodded. “It’s his favorite place.”

“I want it to feel safe.”

“It will. As long as we’re both there.”

You stared at him again, noticing things you tried not to dwell on—the faint scar near his temple, the way his hands had grown calloused since you last touched them freely, the way his voice had deepened but still carried the same gentle rhythm.

The tension between you twisted like silk in a loom—slow, tight, inevitable.

Hyunjin lifted one hand and, without asking, brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers lingered there, hovering, then ghosted along your jaw with the softest touch. Not claiming. Not pushing. Simply… feeling.

You swallowed, pulse stuttering.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, barely audible. “Being near you. Hearing your voice. Seeing your face in the quiet.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, though your body leaned into him. “It will only make everything harder.”

“I know,” he said. “But I can’t help it.”

The air between you felt thin now, delicate, heavy with all the things you couldn’t do yet. The ache was there—beneath every breath, beneath every look.

He leaned in just slightly.

And then—

A sharp creak above. The sound of a door opening upstairs.

You both froze.

You pulled away first, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands.

“Another time,” Hyunjin said quietly, offering a small, knowing smile.

You gave a slow nod. “Another time.”

The sun, now a soft golden hue, bathed the garden in a tender glow, casting long, ethereal shadows as the spring breeze whispered through the trees. The moment seemed suspended in time, as if the world itself was waiting, holding its breath for something momentous. In the center of the rose garden, Hanuel played with his wooden sword, his imagination flourishing as he valiantly fought off invisible pirates.

Hyunjin stood by your side, his gaze soft yet attentive as he watched the boy with a fond smile. Over the course of the week, an unspoken bond had bloomed between them, like a secret connection they both shared. Hanuel had taken to him so easily, as if they had always been meant to know one another. Hyunjin, too, seemed to return the affection with a quiet patience and warmth that made your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

But now, as the light of the afternoon deepened into twilight, it was time for more than just playful games and gentle laughter. It was time to reveal the truth.

You turned to Hyunjin, your voice low but steady. “Are you ready?” you asked, a quiet anxiety in your chest.

Hyunjin met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet resolve in his eyes. “I think so,” he replied, the uncertainty still present, but tempered by a quiet acceptance.

You took a steadying breath, gathering your courage. The words that had lingered in your heart for so long—so many days spent wondering how best to say them—were now unavoidable. Hanuel needed to know.

“Hanuel,” you called softly, stepping forward with a tender smile.

Hanuel paused in mid-swing, his little face lighting up when he saw you. “Eomma! Look! I’m defeating the pirates!” he exclaimed, raising his wooden sword high before sending it down with dramatic flair. He then glanced over at Hyunjin, who was standing just a few steps away. “Hyunjin hyung, help me!"

You smiled at him, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of what was to come. “That’s wonderful, my love,” you said, your voice gentle. “But I think it’s time we told you something important.”

Hanuel’s brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued as he lowered his sword slightly. “What is it, Eomma?” he asked, his gaze shifting between you and Hyunjin.

You exchanged a glance with Hyunjin, whose eyes were filled with understanding. His hand found yours briefly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a deep breath, you knelt in front of Hanuel, so that you were on his level.

“Hanuel,” you began, your voice soft but firm. “You know how I’ve told you stories about my old friends? Well, there’s something I haven’t told you about one of them.”

Hanuel’s eyes sparkled with interest, and he set his sword down with all the seriousness of an inquisitive young boy. “Who, Eomma? Who’s the friend?”

You gently pulled Hyunjin forward, and he stood at your side, offering the boy a soft smile. His voice was gentle, but there was an underlying emotion there, one that ran deeper than words.

“I'm the friend. Remember how I said that your eomma and I were best friends?” he asked quietly, the warmth in his gaze never wavering. “I’ve known your Eomma for many years. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Hanuel’s eyes flicked from you to Hyunjin, the wheels of his young mind turning. A wide smile spread across his face as he looked up at Hyunjin. “I like you, Hyunjin hyung!” he said brightly, his voice full of joy. “You’re nice, and you play with me, and you’re the best pirate captain ever!”

You laughed softly, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. The words of affection from Hanuel made everything feel a little easier. The tension that had gripped you since the moment you had decided to tell him eased just a fraction.

Hyunjin chuckled, his heart lightening at the boy’s words. He crouched down to Hanuel’s level, his voice a soft melody. “I’m glad you like me, Hanuel,” he said, his words wrapped in sincerity. “You’re a very brave pirate hunter.”

Hanuel’s smile only grew wider as he raised his sword again. “Pirate hunter? I’m going to be the best pirate hunter in all of London!” he declared, his small face glowing with enthusiasm. Then he turned back to you, his expression growing even more serious. “Eomma, will you be the princess I have to save?”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling with pride. “Of course, my brave little pirate.”

Hanuel beamed, his gaze turning from you both to the space around him. He was quiet for a moment, thinking deeply. Then, in his innocent way, he asked, “You two know each other a lot, right? But… why didn’t you tell me before?”

Your breath caught in your throat at the question, the weight of the moment heavy between you. You exchanged a brief glance with Hyunjin, and then you knew. This was the moment.

“I didn’t tell you before because… because I didn’t think it was the right time,” you said, your voice calm, though your heart pounded in your chest. “But now I think you’re old enough to understand.”

Hanuel blinked, his brows furrowed with confusion. “Understand what?”

Hyunjin stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder in silent support, his eyes filled with quiet affection. It was time. He took a step forward, crouching down to Hanuel’s level, his voice low and steady.

“Hanuel,” he began, his voice softer now, almost tender. “There’s something I need to tell you. You see… I’m not just a friend. I’m also your father.”

The words hung in the air, their weight heavier than you could have anticipated. The boy’s confusion deepened, his little face furrowing as he processed the new information. His gaze shifted from you to Hyunjin, back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.

“Father?” Hanuel echoed, his voice small with disbelief. “ I... I don’t remember you.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened, his eyes brimming with affection. “You weren't even born when your eomma and I had to part ways” he said, his voice steady, but there was a trace of sorrow in his tone. “But now I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Hanuel’s eyes searched Hyunjin’s face, seeking truth. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, as though a light had flickered in his mind, Hanuel smiled again, wide and full of innocence.

“I like you, Appa,” he said simply, as though the realization were the most natural thing in the world.

The words struck you like a sudden, sharp breath. Your heart froze, your chest tightening. But Hyunjin, too, seemed struck, his own breath catching in his throat. A fragile smile tugged at his lips, his eyes glistening with emotion as he reached for Hanuel’s hand.

“I like you too, my son,” Hyunjin said, his voice thick, nearly breaking.

Hanuel grinned, pleased with his newfound understanding, and then, without hesitation, he turned back to you. “Can we go back to being pirates now?” he asked eagerly, the confusion of the moment completely forgotten in the rush of excitement.

You laughed softly, your heart lightened with relief. “Of course, my love.”

As Hanuel skipped off, his wooden sword held high in victory, you slowly stood, your chest full of a quiet, bittersweet happiness. The truth had been spoken, and the weight of it was both comforting and heavy. There would be challenges ahead, no doubt, but for now, there was a sense of peace, a calm after the storm.

Hyunjin stood beside you, his eyes fixed on the boy in the garden, his expression a mixture of pride and wonder.

“That was harder than I thought,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere.

You turned to him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “It was necessary,” you said softly, though even you could hear the hint of unsteady breath in your voice.

The air between you shifted then, tension crackling just beneath the surface. There was so much unsaid between the two of you, years of quiet longing, and now, a new beginning for all three of you.

Hyunjin’s gaze locked with yours, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance.

“You’re a good mother,” he said quietly, his eyes soft, filled with sincerity. “You’ve done well by him. By both of you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the quiet praise settling in your chest, warming you from the inside out. But before you could respond, Hanuel’s voice called across the garden.

“Eomma! Appa! Come play pirates with me!”

You smiled, your heart full, and you turned toward the boy, who waited for you both with eager anticipation. Hand in hand with Hyunjin, you stepped into the garden to join him. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

My Dearest Readers, It seems that even the most guarded secrets have a way of slipping into the light—often in the most unexpected of ways. The whispers circulating through the halls of the ton speak of a revelation so surprising, so deliciously scandalous, that it may just change the course of the season. It appears that the charming and mysterious Viscount Hwang Hyunjin, the gentleman who has so recently endeared himself to our dear Lady L/N, is more than just a passing acquaintance. The whispers have confirmed that Hyunjin, the man of questionable repute who has so effortlessly captured the hearts of many, is none other than the father of young Master Hanuel, the child whose name has caused much speculation over the past few months. Imagine the shock when this tidbit of information was uncovered—perhaps even more so for those who believed the boy to be the product of a much earlier union. The truth, my dear readers, is far more complicated than a simple marriage proposal or affair. Hyunjin, it seems, is not merely a friend of the family. No, he is a man who has long held a place in Lady L/N’s heart—and now, it appears, in the heart of young Hanuel as well. One must ponder the question—did our dear Lady L/N keep this secret from us all out of love for Hyunjin, or was it her desire to protect her son from the tumult of society’s prying eyes? Whatever the reason, this revelation has set tongues wagging from Grosvenor Square to Mayfair, with speculation about what this means for the future of the L/N family. How will the ton react to the idea of the dashing, enigmatic Hyunjin stepping into a fatherly role? A man of his considerable charm and talents—certainly not a stranger to the finer circles of society—now found to be the father of a young boy who is already growing into the image of his noble parent. One can only imagine what may come of this revelation, for it seems that the L/N family will never be the same again. Let us, as ever, watch with bated breath as this new chapter unfolds—only time will tell what new adventures and possible scandal await. Until then, my darlings, keep your eyes open and your ears sharper. My eyes are never far from the truth. Yours, Lady Whistledown

The manor had quieted to a hush, the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound left to fill the drawing room. Outside, the moon had risen high, bathing the garden in silver light. The day’s laughter still echoed faintly in your mind—Hanuel’s delighted squeals as Hyunjin let himself be captured, “Captain Appa” falling in battle at the hands of his fearless pirate son.

Now, with your child tucked safely into bed, you stood before the window, a glass of sherry cradled in your hands, watching the night stretch out over the garden. The fire’s warm glow painted you in hues of gold, but the weight in your chest was heavier than contentment.

Behind you, Hyunjin entered the room quietly. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him—you knew his presence like breath, like memory.

“He’s asleep,” he said gently. “Didn’t even last a full story tonight.”

A smile tugged at your lips, but you kept your gaze outside. “He trusts you. That’s why.”

He moved closer. You heard the soft shift of his boots across the rug, the quiet inhale of breath he always took before saying something vulnerable.

“I should’ve been there from the start, Y/N.”

The words settled into the room like the fall of snow—soft, beautiful, and heavy with regret. You finally turned, your gaze meeting his. His shirt collar was loosened, sleeves rolled slightly up his forearms, hair tousled in a way that made your fingers itch to smooth it back.

“You weren’t,” you replied quietly. “But you’re here now.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tensed, his dark eyes flickering over your face, searching for forgiveness he still wasn’t sure he deserved.

“I think of everything I missed—his first words, his first steps… all the nights you held him while I wasn’t there.”

A knot formed in your throat. “You missed a lot,” you admitted. “But so did I. You. I missed you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was full. Brimming. Years of yearning coiled tightly beneath the surface.

He reached for your hand slowly, as if afraid you might vanish. When your fingers met, warmth rushed through you like fire. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low. “I know what people will say. I know what we’re risking. But if there’s even the smallest chance to do this properly… to raise our son together, to have something real with you… I’ll take it. I want it. I want you.”

Your breath caught.

And then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss began like a whisper, but it quickly turned into a storm. All the longing, all the restraint that had built between you for years shattered in an instant. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as his hands found your waist, then your back, pressing you flush against him.

Hyunjin kissed like he worshipped, like he remembered every curve of your mouth, every soft gasp you made when his teeth grazed your bottom lip. He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring each second—until you kissed him back with enough hunger to undo him.

You broke apart only for air, foreheads pressed together, your breaths mixing, shallow and rapid.

“I missed this,” he rasped, his voice gravel and silk. “I missed you.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you slid your hands beneath the open collar of his shirt, fingertips brushing the skin above his heart. He shuddered under your touch.

He leaned in again, this time kissing down your jaw, along the sensitive spot beneath your ear. A small sound escaped your throat—one you didn’t have time to be embarrassed about, because Hyunjin let out a low groan in response and pressed you backward until your legs met the edge of the settee.

You sank down, pulling him with you.

The weight of him above you, the warmth of his body, the feel of his lips trailing across your throat—it was dizzying. His hands explored your waist, your sides, sliding beneath the fabric of your gown just enough to set your skin ablaze.

You arched into him as his lips captured yours again, deeper now, his kiss tasting of want and desperation and everything unspoken between you.

“Tell me this is real,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulled him back to you. “It’s real. I’m yours, Hyunjin.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that threatened to unravel every bit of restraint you’d ever known.

Then—

A cry. Sharp. Frantic.

“Eomma!”

You froze.

The sound pierced the haze like lightning, and in an instant, everything stilled.

“Eomma! Appa!”

Hyunjin jerked back slightly, his chest heaving. For a breathless moment, you stayed there, lips swollen, bodies still entangled, the echo of heat still thrumming in your blood.

Then you both moved.

You hurried upstairs, Hyunjin close behind. The hallway blurred in your periphery as you rushed into Hanuel’s nursery.

The boy was sitting up, tears streaming down his cheeks, clutching his blanket with white-knuckled fists.

“Mama,” he sobbed, reaching for you instantly. “They took you! The pirates took you, and Appa was gone, and I couldn’t find you!”

“Oh, my love,” you whispered, scooping him into your arms. He clung to you tightly, sobbing into your shoulder.

Hyunjin was beside you in moments, his hands gentle as they stroked Hanuel’s back. “It was just a dream, Hanuel. We’re right here. No pirate could ever take your Eomma from you. Or me.”

The boy sniffled, hiccupping. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Hyunjin said, brushing a tear from his son’s cheek.

“Stay with me?” Hanuel whispered. “Both of you?”

You looked at Hyunjin, your heart still racing for an entirely different reason. He met your gaze and nodded.

The three of you crawled into the bed together, Hanuel safely nestled between you.

You lay in the quiet, the child’s breathing evening out, one small hand curled around your fingers, the other clutching Hyunjin’s.

Under the warm blankets, Hyunjin found your hand again. This time, he simply held it.

The fire between you hadn’t gone out.

It was just… waiting.

~~~~

The early afternoon sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft, golden rays across the drawing room floor of your London home. The house was unusually quiet—Hanuel was off on a small picnic with Eunha, leaving a rare moment of peace behind.

You sat curled into the settee, the air still heavy from the revelations of the previous evening. Though your heart ached from the weight of vulnerability shared and accepted, it also fluttered—quiet and shy—with the warmth of something rekindled. A future. A beginning. Or perhaps… a second chance.

Hyunjin entered the room with a careful step, his coat half-undone and hair slightly tousled, as though he, too, had been pacing the halls with thoughts too loud to ignore. He carried no airs today—no polished mask for society’s benefit. Just him.

Just yours.

"You’re quiet today," he remarked, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as he sat beside you.

You didn’t meet his eyes at first. “I have much to think on.”

He studied you for a moment, then reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “As do I.”

The silence that followed was not empty—it pulsed with memories. With longing.

“Do you ever think of that night?” you asked softly, surprising even yourself with the sudden boldness. “The night of the winter ball.”

Hyunjin stilled.

His thumb traced a slow circle over your knuckle. “I think of nothing else when the world dares to quiet down.”

You turned to him then, your breath catching at the sincerity in his gaze. “We never spoke of it again. What we said. What we did.”

His jaw tightened with something unspoken. “Would you want to?”

And then the memories came, unbidden and full of fire.

~Lady Danbury's Winter Ball, Five Years Ago~

The ballroom had been stifling, the air thick with perfume, laughter, and polished deceit. The orchestra played something lively, but you could hardly hear it over the pounding of your own heart.

You found Hyunjin in the west corridor, where the moonlight spilled through the tall arched windows, painting his face in silvery blues and sharp shadows. He looked like something from a dream—untouchable, distant, too beautiful to be real.

Your steps faltered.

For a moment, you simply stared. Relief hit you so fast it felt like a punch—your knees wobbled with it, your chest tightening as the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding rushed out in one sharp exhale.

“Hyunjin…” you breathed, the name barely more than air.

He turned, as if he’d been waiting, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he murmured, voice like silk and steel. “Lord Bridgerton could hardly take his eyes off you. I’m surprised he didn’t propose on the spot.”

You blinked, emotions crashing all at once—shock, anger, longing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked innocently, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. “State what was glaringly obvious to every guest in that wretched ballroom?”

“How dare you,” you hissed, your voice low but trembling, not with anger—but with everything else you’d been holding back. “You vanish for months with no letters, no word, nothing—and now you’re jealous?”

The teasing in his eyes faded, replaced by something softer, heavier. “I had to go.”

“I know,” you said. “To scrape together coin your father lost. To repair the debt, the shame. I know why you left, Hyunjin. But you could have told me. Anything. I would have waited—”

“I didn’t want you to wait,” he said, the words raw. “I didn’t want to keep you tied to someone with nothing to offer. No name, no title, no future. You deserved everything, Y/N, and I had nothing.”

You stepped closer, the distance unbearable. “You were everything, Hyunjin. All this time, you were all I ever wanted. And while you were off chasing redemption, I was here—pretending I cared about dances and suitors and—Lord Bridgerton.” You scoffed lightly. “I missed you. Every single day.”

He let out a breath, slow and uneven. “You make it very hard not to regret everything.”

“You should regret leaving,” you whispered. “But I still want you.”

His eyes darkened as he closed the final space between you. “Even now?”

“Especially now.”

And then his hands were in your hair, and your lips were on his.

The kiss was hungry, heated—full of the time stolen from you both. You clutched at his waistcoat as his mouth claimed yours, gasping when he backed you into the cold stone wall of the corridor. His hands found your waist, your spine, your cheek, like he was trying to memorize everything he'd missed.

His lips traced your jaw, down your neck. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, breathless. “I will, if you say so.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered back.

The folds of your gown rustled as he pushed the fabric aside, his hands trembling but sure. He kissed you with reverence and fire, his mouth trailing down the swell of your breast as your bodice loosened, and your skin met his.

The chill of the corridor was nothing compared to the heat between you. He entered you slowly, holding you as if you might shatter. There were no soft sighs—only gasps, breathless moans, and the sound of two people finally breaking free of restraint.

You clung to him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he thrust deep, filling you with all the sorrow and need that had gone unspoken.

When it was over—your bodies trembling, your lips swollen—you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your breath shallow and skin flushed. Tangled in his arms, your dress askew and heart pounding, you held him as though he were the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. “Please stay,” you whispered, voice fragile with hope.

His lips brushed your temple, reverent now—soft, almost shy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” you murmured, pressing a hand to his chest, where his heart pounded against your palm.

“For everything I can’t give you.”

Your breath hitched.

The corridor was silent save for the crackling of torches in iron sconces and the faint echo of the waltz from the ballroom. Moonlight spilled over your bare shoulder, illuminating the sheen of sweat along your collarbone. You looked up into his eyes, those eyes that had always seen straight through your practiced poise and self-control.

“Then why did you take me tonight?” you asked, the question low and trembling.

He froze.

You shifted in his arms, pushing back just enough to look at him fully. “Why did you touch me like I was yours if you’re going to vanish again by morning?”

Hyunjin’s brow furrowed. “Don’t say that.”

“You can’t have it both ways,” you snapped, voice cracking. “You cannot steal my breath and body and then hide behind your excuses. You made love to me, Hyunjin.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it didn’t kill me every day I stayed away?”

“Then stay now,” you said, boldly. “Stay and face what we’ve done. Face me. Choose me.”

Silence.

It stretched far too long, taut as a pulled thread on the edge of unraveling.

His jaw clenched. “Y/N… I have nothing. I have no title, no dowry, no standing. If I tie myself to you, I will drag you down. Your family—”

“My family be damned,” you cried, hands trembling. “I am not asking for jewels or status. I am asking for you. I would leave all of it behind if you simply asked me to. Doesn’t that mean something?”

He closed his eyes as if pained. “It means everything. Which is exactly why I can’t ask.”

Your heart fractured in that moment. The same man who had kissed you like a drowning man coming up for air, who had held you as though you were made of starlight and silk, was now slipping away with nothing but regret in his eyes.

“You coward,” you whispered, voice raw. “You let fear steal what we had. You let it ruin us.”

He looked at you then, and something inside him cracked—his mask falling away to reveal the brokenness beneath.

“I would rather let you hate me,” he said quietly, “than ruin you.”

Your throat closed, stifling the sob that tried to rise. You reached for your bodice, hastily tying it back into place with trembling fingers. “Well then,” you said, voice hollow, “congratulations, Hyunjin. You’ve managed both.”

And without another word, you turned and walked back toward the noise and light of the ballroom.

He did not follow.

~~~~

Your breath caught as you blinked back into the present.

Hyunjin’s face was close now, his expression unreadable.

“I never forgave myself for leaving you,” he said hoarsely. “I thought of that night every time I closed my eyes. I still do.”

You reached up and cupped his face gently. “We cannot change the past, my love… but we can choose what to do with the present.”

His mouth was on yours before the words had fully left.

The kiss was different now—deeper. Softer, but no less intense. His hands moved over your waist, then your hips, pulling you into his lap. You gasped as your skirts fanned around you, your core brushing against the hardness beneath his trousers.

“Tell me you still want this,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“I never stopped,” you breathed.

He kissed down your neck, tugging open the front of your bodice, his hand sliding up to cup your bare breast. You moaned as his thumb teased the peak, your back arching into his touch. His mouth followed, warm and eager, lips parting around you.

You ground against him, your breath catching as your pleasure built, pulse pounding in your ears. “Hyunjin…”

But then—

“Mmm… Eomma?”

The voice was small. Sleepy. Muffled by the hallway wall.

You both froze, tangled in half-undressed limbs and flushed cheeks.

“Hanuel,” you gasped, hastily pulling your bodice together as Hyunjin helped you rise from his lap.

He adjusted himself with a quiet, exasperated sigh—part frustration, part fondness. “He has impeccable timing.”

You crossed to the door, cracking it open to reveal a drowsy Hanuel in his nightshirt, thumb rubbing his eye. “I had a nightmare,” he mumbled.

You bent down and lifted him into your arms. “Come, my love. Let’s chase it away together.”

Behind you, Hyunjin exhaled a soft chuckle as he straightened his collar.

As you led Hanuel back to bed, Hyunjin trailed behind, and though your passion had been interrupted, the truth lingered in the air between you.

The past had broken you.

But the present—this strange, beautiful, tangled present—might just be the beginning of healing.

And as you tucked Hanuel beneath his blankets, Hyunjin brushing his hair with all the gentleness of a father reclaimed, you looked over your shoulder and caught his gaze once more.

~Larkspur Manor~

The candlelight flickered in the drawing room of Hyunjin’s London home, casting soft shadows that danced along the walls. The house, though large and elegant, had a comforting, lived-in feel. The smell of ink and parchment lingered in the air, reminders of Hyunjin’s hours spent working in his study. His home was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the ball you had just left behind.

Hanuel was playing with one of Hyunjin's old wooden soldiers by the fire, his dark hair slightly messy from the day's events. Hyunjin sat across from you, a glass of brandy in hand, as he watched the child with a softness that you had never seen before. He looked almost... serene. This was the side of him that no one else got to see—the man who could laugh and joke, but also one who carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

You had just finished a quiet meal together, the three of you sharing a rare moment of peace. The music from outside the window filtered through the air, a delicate reminder of the city’s pulse even within the calm of Hyunjin's home.

You leaned back in your chair, savoring the warmth of the fire as your thoughts drifted. There was a certain ease here, away from the ball, the crowds, and the masks that had become so familiar to you. Here, with Hyunjin, it felt like you could finally breathe.

Hanuel’s laughter filled the room when he knocked over the soldier, and your gaze flicked toward him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Hyunjin, however, seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed on you.

“You know,” he began, his voice light, as though the words he was about to say were no more significant than any other, “I’ve been thinking.”

You looked up, slightly startled. “About what?”

He leaned back in his chair, the flickering candlelight reflecting off the amber of his brandy. “Marriage,” he said casually, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought.

You froze. Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to gauge whether this was a jest or something more serious. “Marriage?” you repeated, your voice a little tighter than you intended.

He smiled, but there was something unreadable in his expression. “Yes, marriage. It’s a natural next step, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of his words settle on your chest. Your eyes darted to Hanuel, who was still engrossed in his toy, blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding. But the silence between you and Hyunjin spoke volumes. It wasn’t the idea of marriage that had caught you off guard—it was the casualness of his tone, the way he spoke as if it were an inevitability.

“Hyunjin, I...” You hesitated, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift. “I didn’t expect you to bring that up.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I suppose it is a bit soon, but I’ve been thinking about it. About you. About us.”

You didn’t know what to say. The thought of marrying him—the man you had loved, lost, and now found again—sent a thrill of hope through your chest. But it also terrified you. There was so much at stake, so much that could go wrong.

“I’m not in a rush,” he continued, noticing your hesitation. “I’ve waited this long to find you again. What’s a little longer? I’ll court you properly, Y/N. I’ll do it right this time. No rushing, no pressure. We’ll take our time.”

You blinked, your heart racing as his words slowly began to sink in. “Court me? After everything?”

He nodded, his gaze soft but determined. “I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. But I left because I thought I was doing the right thing. Now, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll have me, I will court you properly. I’ll earn your trust. I’ll win you over, if it’s not already too late.”

His sincerity hit you like a wave. You searched his face for any trace of hesitation, but there was none. This was Hyunjin—unapologetic, driven, yet vulnerable in his own way.

“I...” You trailed off, your voice faltering as your emotions overwhelmed you. “I don’t know, Hyunjin. It’s been so long. And I’ve been through so much—so much has changed.”

His expression softened, and he reached across the table, his fingers brushing gently against yours. “I know. I know everything’s changed. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. I just need you to trust me. Trust that I’m serious.”

You stared at his hand over yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You had missed him so much, in ways that went beyond words. But could you really trust him again? Could you allow yourself to dream of a future with him after all that had happened?

“Do you truly mean it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened with a mixture of emotion—hope, sincerity, longing. “More than anything.”

There was a long silence between the two of you as you processed his words. Hanuel, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation, continued playing contentedly with his toy soldier. But you and Hyunjin were in a world of your own, suspended in a moment of possibility.

“I’ve been afraid,” you admitted softly, “afraid to hope. I’ve waited so long for you to come back, but I don’t know if I can trust my heart again. It’s... been broken.”

Hyunjin squeezed your hand, his voice quiet but firm. “I won’t break it again, Y/N. I’ll be here. And I’ll make sure you know it. I won’t make promises I can’t keep. But I can promise this—I’ll make you feel loved, every day.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you looked at him—truly looked at him for the first time since he had returned. There was so much emotion between you, so much history, and yet, here he was, standing before you, asking for another chance.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” you said quietly. “But I think... I think I’m willing to see where this goes.”

Hyunjin’s lips curled into a slow, tender smile. “That’s all I need to hear.”

The room seemed to shift, as if the air itself had grown lighter. The tension that had been coiled between you since his return began to unravel, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel the spark of something new. Something full of hope.

As the fire crackled softly in the hearth, Hyunjin reached over and gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “I’ll court you the way you deserve, Y/N. No more running. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe him.

~~~~

The following weeks passed in a blur, a strange mix of anticipation and calm. You had never truly experienced a courtship like this before—not one rooted in sincerity, not one that didn’t feel like a calculated move or a forced gesture. Hyunjin, though driven by the same quiet intensity that had always been his, approached each moment with a tenderness that took you by surprise.

Each morning, he arrived at your doorstep with small tokens of affection—flowers, books, little notes that he would leave by the door, each one penned in his elegant script. He never pressed you for anything more than your company, never once rushing you toward something you weren’t ready for. The very nature of his patience felt like a balm to a soul that had been worn thin by time and disappointment.

In the afternoons, he often invited you to walk through the gardens of his London estate, the two of you strolling in silence, as if the mere presence of each other was enough. Hanuel, always curious, was often by your side, his tiny hand clasped in yours as he babbled about his day.

Despite the peace, whispers had begun to swirl. The ton never truly allowed a scandal to die, especially one as tantalizing as the return of the infamous Hwang Hyunjin—the young man who had vanished only to return and claim the heart of Lady Y/N, the widow of the late Lord Sunningdale.

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers:

The streets of London are positively abuzz with the return of Lord Hwang Hyunjin, the former viscount of mystery who has now clearly claimed the affections of Lady Y/N, the widow of the late Lord Sunningdale. Though many believed Lord Hwang’s disappearance would mark the end of his flirtation with the social scene, it seems we were wrong. The two have been seen together frequently of late—strolling through the gardens of Mr. Hwang’s London estate, sharing quiet moments as if the rest of the world were of no concern. And yet, the courtship, while seeming to blossom under a shroud of simplicity, has stirred the pot of speculation among those who delight in gossip. Perhaps most intriguing of all is the presence of young Hanuel, Lady Y/N’s child, who has taken to Lord Hwang with an affection usually reserved for a father. Indeed, one can’t help but wonder if this courtship is not only about passion, but the formation of something deeper. Could the affections of one widow and one reformed rogue lead to something more lasting than the gossips anticipate? Only time will tell. But I, of course, shall continue to watch... and report.

Back at Hyunjin’s estate, life continued to unfold in its delicate rhythm. One afternoon, the two of you found yourselves in the library, Hyunjin leaning against one of the bookcases while you perused a new book he had brought for you. The warmth of the afternoon sun spilled in through the windows, casting long shadows across the room.

Hanuel was, as usual, perched on the rug nearby, building what he called a “fortress” with a set of wooden blocks. He hummed a little tune to himself, completely absorbed in his work.

Hyunjin, watching you read, broke the silence. “You’re quiet today.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a soft tenderness in his eyes that made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected. “I’m just... thinking,” you said, setting the book down and meeting him halfway across the room.

“About?” he prodded, a teasing smile curling at his lips.

“About how much my life has changed since you returned,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect any of this—this calm, this... warmth. It’s like I’m waking up after being asleep for so long.”

Hyunjin’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his presence filling the room in a way that was impossibly intimate. “I’m glad I could bring you that peace. But, Y/N,” he began, his voice lowering, “I want you to know I’m not here to rush you. I want you to take your time, and I will wait for as long as it takes. You and Hanuel are everything to me now.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his words. His commitment was undeniable, and it was as if he had known all along that this wasn’t just about the two of you. It was about a future—a future he was willing to fight for.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I already know that you’re here for me... and for him.” You glanced down at Hanuel, who had begun to stack the blocks even higher, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration. “He’s just getting used to you being around.”

Hyunjin smiled and crouched down to Hanuel’s level, surprising you. “May I help you with your fortress, my lord?” he asked, his voice a playful mimicry of the formality one might use for a noble child.

Hanuel paused and looked up at him, deciding if Hyunjin was worthy of helping. After a long beat, he said, “Okay. You may help.”

You laughed softly, watching as Hyunjin sat on the floor beside Hanuel and began to stack blocks with him, their movements in perfect sync. For a moment, the noise of the world outside seemed to fade. It was just the three of you—building something together, quietly.

But outside, the gossip mills were churning as always. The ton was relentless, and the whispers had begun to grow louder, more insistent. There were rumors that Hyunjin’s courtship of you was only a means to an end—that he was simply trying to secure a title, to claw his way into the circles of London’s elite. There were whispers that his affection for you was nothing more than a game, a strategy to make up for lost time.

But as you watched Hyunjin carefully balance a block in his hands and pass it to Hanuel, his focus entirely on the child and on you, it was clear that those whispers didn’t matter. He was here. And he was showing up every single day, not for power, but for something much more important.

For love.

And maybe, just maybe, for the family he’d never known he needed.

~~~~

You sat with Hyunjin and your son in the dining room, the rich smell of roasted meats and vegetables filling the air. Hanuel, ever the curious child, chattered about his day, recounting an encounter with one of the servants who had promised to teach him how to ride a horse when he was older. Hyunjin listened attentively, his gaze flicking between you and the boy, the quiet contentment in his demeanor obvious.

You couldn’t remember the last time dinner had felt this... peaceful. After everything, after the time apart, this—this was what you’d longed for. You shared a smile with Hyunjin, his warmth and attentiveness wrapping around you like a blanket.

Hanuel was finishing his plate when there came a knock at the door. The sound of the heavy wooden door opening interrupted the peaceful evening, and a messenger stepped inside. His eyes were urgent, his pace brisk.

“My Lord,” the man said, voice low and respectful. “A letter for you, urgent business.”

Hyunjin looked up, and you saw the way his expression shifted. It was subtle but unmistakable. A tension crept into the air, and you watched as Hyunjin wiped his mouth with his napkin before standing up to take the letter.

The messenger departed without another word, leaving the three of you in the dimly lit room. Hyunjin unsealed the letter with careful fingers, his brow furrowing as he scanned its contents. The silence between the three of you seemed to stretch, the warmth of the room fading ever so slightly.

"Baron Kim..." Hyunjin muttered under his breath, the words laced with concern. “It’s urgent. There’s trouble in his lands—rebellion, unrest among his people. He’s asking for my help.”

You didn’t immediately respond, but the unease that suddenly settled over you was impossible to ignore.

“Are you going away?” Hanuel asked, his voice soft, uncertain.

Hyunjin knelt beside him. “I might have to, little one. Just for a little while. But I’ll come back, I promise.”

The dinner had long since grown cold.

The soft clink of silverware and the flickering candlelight had faded behind you, left abandoned in the dining room. Now, only the low crackle of the fireplace filled the bedroom, its glow casting long shadows across the walls. The faint scent of roasted meats and wine still clung to your clothes, a reminder of how the evening had begun—so different from how it had unraveled.

Hyunjin stood before you, the letter from the Baron folded tightly in his hand, though the weight of it pressed heavier than stone.

“I’ll have to leave before the week is out,” he said at last, his voice low and even. “Perhaps sooner.”

You sat by the fire, gown pooling around you, your fingers tangled together in your lap. “I thought we’d finally found a moment of stillness,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But peace is always just out of reach, isn’t it?”

He came to you then, sinking to one knee before you, gently taking your hands in his. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes, those dark, devoted eyes, held only you.

“Let me give you something to remember,” he murmured, voice tinged with longing. “Let me show you that I am yours—utterly, completely—before I must go.”

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat, your body already attuned to his nearness, the way his touch sent a hush across your skin like wind through wheat. With trembling fingers, you reached for him, and he rose, drawing you to your feet and into his arms.

His kiss came softly at first—tentative, searching—as if he sought permission. But then the dam broke, and it turned hungry, almost desperate. You gasped into his mouth as he backed you toward the bed, every brush of his lips against yours igniting sparks beneath your skin.

“Say stop, and I will,” he whispered, lips grazing your neck, your jaw, the shell of your ear.

You answered by tugging his cravat loose, fingers trembling as you worked at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He made a low sound deep in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh of relief. Then he was touching you—not rushed, but reverent—as though he meant to memorize every inch of you. His hands swept up your sides, unlacing the back of your gown with surprising deftness, the silk sliding from your shoulders like water. You stood bare before him, the firelight painting your skin in gold and shadow.

“God, look at you,” Hyunjin murmured, his hands mapping your curves, brushing reverently over the soft swells of your breasts, the dip of your waist. “You are... devastating.”

You drew his shirt over his head, fingers tracing the firm lines of his chest, the defined slope of his collarbone, the scars that marked his time away from you. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to one—just above his heart—and felt the way he shuddered beneath the tenderness.

When he laid you back on the bed, it was with a gentleness that belied the tension in his body. He settled beside you, one hand cradling your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper this time. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow and sensual, his body shifting to slot perfectly against yours. Your thighs parted instinctively, the heat between them growing unbearable.

“Let me touch you,” he breathed, voice like silk drawn across bare skin.

You nodded, gasping as his fingers traveled lower, dancing along the inside of your thigh. He took his time, exploring you, coaxing you open with whispered praise and feather-light touches. When he finally found you, slick and wanting, a soft moan escaped your lips, and his name fell from you like a prayer.

“You’re already trembling for me,” he said, voice rough with desire. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?”

He circled your most sensitive spot with maddening precision, pressing slow, deliberate strokes until your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in shuddering gasps. He watched you with hooded eyes, drinking in every twitch of your hips, every sound he pulled from you.

And just when your body was wound tight, pulsing with the promise of release, he withdrew.

You whimpered, lifting your hips in protest, but he was already positioning himself above you, guiding himself to your entrance with a steady hand.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice trembling. “I want to see you when I’m inside you.”

You did. And when he pressed into you, slowly, carefully, your eyes fluttered shut with a broken gasp—then opened again to find him watching you, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

He moved with a rhythm that was both tender and commanding, hips rolling against yours with practiced grace. Every stroke was deep, deliberate, designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make you remember.

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back, your bodies slipping together with the ease of something sacred. His name spilled from your lips over and over, matched by his own breathless murmurs of “mine, mine, mine.”

The crescendo built slowly, beautifully, your body tightening around him as he drove you higher. When release finally came, it did so like the crashing of waves—hot, blinding, all-consuming. You cried out, hips bucking as he groaned your name, thrusting once, twice more before spilling inside you with a shudder.

He collapsed against you, breath ragged, face buried in your neck.

For a time, there was only the sound of your breathing and the fire’s quiet song. Then he shifted, kissing your temple, your cheek, your lips.

“When I return,” he whispered, “you will be my wife. I will kneel before you and ask for your hand, as I should have long ago.”

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of love and the bittersweet ache of impending distance. You nodded, fingers threading through his damp hair.

“Come back to me, Hyunjin,” you whispered.

“I will,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “No war, no rebellion, no distance could ever keep me from you.”

And in the stillness that followed, wrapped in his warmth, you let yourself believe it.

Two days had passed.

Two days of stolen glances and lingering touches. Of quiet meals filled with unspoken words, and nights where you clung to each other in the dark as if your bodies might memorize the shape of your love before it was tested by distance once more.

But dawn had come, cruel and unyielding, and now the time had come for Hyunjin to ride.

The courtyard was blanketed in a gentle morning mist, pale gold light softening the sharpness of departure. Horses stood saddled and waiting, their breaths rising like smoke in the chill air. The air smelled of leather, of iron, and of coming farewells.

Hyunjin stood beside his stallion, dark coat buttoned to the throat, gloves in hand. He looked every inch the nobleman once more—composed, ready, distant. But you knew better. His heart was thudding as wildly as yours, even if he didn’t show it.

You stood nearby with Hanuel tucked close to your side, your hand resting on your son’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes were wide, his bottom lip tucked tightly beneath his teeth. His curls were tousled from sleep, and his little boots scuffed from the stones beneath his feet.

“I don’t want you to go,” Hanuel said softly, staring up at Hyunjin. “Can’t someone else help the Baron?”

Hyunjin’s face softened, and he knelt down before the boy, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder. “If I could stay, I would. But Seungmin is in trouble. And when someone you care for calls for help, you answer, don’t you?”

Hanuel nodded reluctantly. “You’ll come back?”

Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Nothing could stop me.”

He stood, then turned to you. The air shifted—heavier, full of words unsaid. You stepped forward until you were close enough to feel the warmth of his chest, close enough to see the storm in his eyes. He reached for your hand, pulling you in gently, his brow resting against yours for a long, aching moment.

“I’ll write,” he whispered, barely audible beneath the murmur of the waking world. “Every chance I get. And I’ll come home to you.”

Your fingers curled into the front of his coat. “I’ll be waiting. I love you, Hyunjin.”

He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I love you. More than I ever thought myself capable of.”

Then his lips met yours—firm, warm, filled with the kind of yearning that a parting kiss always seems to hold. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it delicate. It was a promise pressed to your mouth. A vow sealed in breath and salt.

A quiet cough sounded from one of the horses.

Soobin, the younger of Hyunjin’s two men, raised an eyebrow from atop his saddle, a smirk curling on his lips. “Should we give them the courtyard?” he muttered to his companion.

The older man chuckled beneath his breath. “Romantic fool,” he murmured, though there was no mockery in it—only fondness.

Hyunjin broke the kiss with a soft sigh and turned his attention back to Hanuel. He knelt again, arms open.

“Come here, my little knight.”

Hanuel stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hyunjin’s neck with a fierceness that made your chest ache. Hyunjin held him close, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Be good for your mother,” he murmured. “Look after her, alright?”

“I will,” Hanuel whispered. “Just come back.”

Hyunjin nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

When he finally pulled away, he mounted his horse with one last glance at the two of you. His hand stayed on the reins, but his gaze lingered.

“Wait for me,” he said, voice loud enough for only you to hear.

“I will,” you whispered, holding Hanuel close to your side.

Then he turned his horse and rode out through the gate, Soobin and the other man close behind, the sound of hooves echoing over the cold stone and fading into the mist.

You stood there long after he’d gone, Hanuel pressed against your leg, the two of you watching the road as if, by sheer will, you might bring him back again.

Larkspur Manor stands still, like a grand portrait painted in muted grief.

You chose to stay here after he left, against the suggestion of others who said it might be too painful. But you couldn’t leave—not this place. This house was filled with him. His presence clings to the very walls: in the lingering scent of bergamot and leather that weaves through the rooms, in the low creak of the stair he always skipped, in the soft velvet of the chaise where he once read poetry with your feet in his lap.

Here, he feels closer. And yet, somehow, the emptiness is sharper.

The first morning after his departure, you awaken in his bed. Your bed, now. The very bed where you had laid entwined so many nights before, where you whispered dreams between heated kisses, where he worshipped your body with such reverence you thought your heart might break from the tenderness of it. You had made love there again the night before he left — slow, aching, desperate — like you could imprint yourself into his soul before he rode away.

Now, the sheets are cold beside you. His pillow still bears the faintest trace of him, and you bury your face in it, breathing him in, trying to preserve what little remains.

But scent is not touch. Memory is not presence.

The first few days pass in a haze. You drift through the halls like a shadow of yourself, pacing the manor with restless hands and a heart that cannot settle. Every time the door creaks or the wind rattles the windows, your breath catches. You imagine him returning early, breathless, his voice echoing down the marble-floored corridor as he calls for you.

But the only sound is the echo of your own footsteps.

You take meals you barely taste. Hanuel babbles about his drawings and dreams of riding horses with Hyunjin, but even his bright little voice feels dulled without the man he’s begun to adore. You watch your son play on the carpet and feel the ache of loss settle deeper in your chest.

Every morning, you wait for a letter.

Every evening, you retreat to that same bed — the bed where your bodies met in fire and longing — and lie there staring at the ceiling, one hand pressed to the space he should be filling. Sometimes you fall asleep like that, curled on his side, still wearing one of his linen shirts that hangs loosely off your frame, sleeves too long, collar smelling faintly of him. You hope, foolishly, that it might bring you comfort.

It doesn’t.

By the second week, something in you begins to shift. Hope frays, little by little. Still no letter. No message. Not even a scrap of parchment or seal from his hand. You ask the steward twice daily—has anything arrived from the countryside? From Baron Seungmin’s lands?

They always shake their heads with apologetic eyes. “Nothing yet, madam.”

You begin to wonder if perhaps something happened. A courier lost. A road overtaken. Or worse.

The thoughts creep in like damp — slow, cold, insidious. What if he never meant to return? What if he changed his mind? What if—?

No. No, Hyunjin would never.

Still, the silence cuts deeper.

Your dreams become restless. Sometimes, you see him—bloodied, broken, whispering your name. You wake gasping in the dark, the sheets twisted around your legs like binding vines. Other nights, you reach for him in sleep, certain you feel the warmth of his chest behind you—only to grasp empty linens and a pillow grown cold.

Hanuel asks fewer questions now. He still looks to the door with wide eyes, but his voice has softened with doubt.

“Will Appa come back?” he asks one morning.

You smile because you must. Because you’re his mother, and mothers do not break in front of their sons.

“He will,” you say, voice gentler than the truth in your heart.

But the ache doesn’t stop. It grows heavier. You walk less. You speak less. You eat only enough to keep from fainting, and when no one’s watching, you hold your chest tightly with both hands as if you might stop your heart from splitting in two.

By the third week, you stop visiting the drawing room altogether. You take to the writing desk near the bedroom window, penning unfinished letters that never get sent, watching the quiet lane below for any sign of movement. The house continues to breathe around you, filled with staff who do their best to pretend they don’t notice the sadness pressed into your every step.

Sometimes, you light a fire in the hearth just to chase the chill away. But nothing warms you like his arms did.

By the month’s end, even the servants begin to worry. Hyunjin's housekeeper starts bringing you tea with extra honey. The footman, offers to ride for news himself. You decline with a brittle smile, unwilling to cling too tightly to hope when every passing day makes it feel more like a ghost.

You sleep each night in his bed, the place where he touched you like you were made of glass and poetry and wildfire. The same bed where he whispered against your throat that he loved you, where he’d promised you a future wrapped in silk and sunlight.

And now, it holds only your loneliness.

Still, each morning, you open the drapes. You pull back the curtains with trembling hands, searching the horizon.

And still, there is no letter. No word. No sign.

Only silence.

Rain taps against the windows of Larkspur Manor like a thousand tiny fingers, steady and soft. It’s the kind of rain that clings to the world for hours, draping everything in quiet gray. From the parlor, you can see the ivy dripping along the stone walls outside, the roses bending under the weight of the water.

You’ve been sitting by the fire since morning, wrapped in Hyunjin’s wool cloak—not because it’s cold, but because it smells like him. You haven’t moved much today. Or yesterday. You’ve been caught in the same quiet rhythm since he left.

You tried not to count the days. But they collect in your chest like stones.

Eunha appears behind you with practiced ease, soft-footed and silent. She always knows where to find you, even when you don’t speak. She carries a tray with tea and a plate of little lemon biscuits she must’ve baked herself. You didn't ask for anything. You haven’t asked for much at all.

She sets the tray down on the table beside you and begins pouring the tea, her fingers as steady as her voice when she says, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, my lady.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” you reply, still watching the rain.

Eunha doesn’t scold you. She never does. Instead, she hands you a cup with both hands and kneels beside your chair. You look down at her, and her gaze is gentle, but she sees more than you want her to. She always has.

“I had another dream last night,” you admit quietly. “He was here. Just… walking down the hallway like he never left. I woke up expecting him to be next to me.”

Her expression shifts, softening further. “Have you slept at all, truly?”

You shake your head. “Not well. Not without him.” You curl the cup tighter in your palms. “The bed feels too big. Too quiet. I keep sleeping on his side. I think it’s just to trick myself into thinking he’s gone for a moment and not… gone entirely.”

Eunha gently rises, crossing the room to draw the curtains a little tighter, shutting out the gloom. “He’ll come back, my lady.”

You nod. “That’s what I told myself, too. At first. But it’s been nearly a month now. And still—no letter. No word. Not even a message from one of his men.”

She moves closer, but doesn’t speak just yet. She knows your moods well. She’s been with you through heartbreak, through grief. She was there the first time Hyunjin disappeared from your life. She was there when he returned.

“I was ready this time,” you whisper. “Truly ready. I would have married him. I wanted to marry him. I thought, after everything we’ve been through, I wouldn’t be afraid anymore. And I wasn’t. Not until he left again.”

Eunha sits on the ottoman across from you, folding her hands in her lap. “You should tell him when he returns.”

You blink at her. “You believe he will?”

She meets your gaze without flinching. “I do. Lord Hyunjin made you a promise. And he is not a man who breaks those.”

Your breath catches. “But promises can be broken by war. By blades. By rebellion. What if he’s out there—what if something’s happened and I never get the chance to tell him what he means to me?”

Your throat tightens and the fear finally breaks through. “I thought staying here at Larkspur would comfort me, because it’s his home. It’s our home now. But every room makes me ache. The halls echo without him. The bed—our bed—it feels like a wound.”

You look away, ashamed of how fragile you feel, but Eunha only lowers her voice, gentle and kind. “It’s not weakness to miss someone you love.”

“I don’t just miss him,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’ve lost part of myself again. I walk through the manor and expect to hear his voice. I lay in our bed and pretend I feel his arms around me. It’s where we made love a dozen times, where he held me afterward, and now I sleep alone in his space just to feel close to him.”

Your breath trembles. “I feel hollow without him. And if he never comes back—if something’s happened—I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

Eunha rises again and crosses to your side, sinking to the rug beside your chair and gently resting her head against your knee, as if to anchor you.

“You will go on, because you are stronger than you know. And because Lord Hyunjin would want you to. But I do not believe he is lost. Not yet. And not to you.”

You run your fingers through her hair absentmindedly, comforted by her nearness.

“I think I always loved him,” you murmur. “Even when I was angry. Even when I told myself I didn’t. But now… I know what I want. I want to be his wife. I want to grow old with him. I want Hanuel to see us as a family—his family. And I should have told him that before he left.”

Eunha lifts her head, eyes warm but serious. “Then tell him when he returns. And he will return. In the meantime, let me stay by your side. Let me help you hold onto hope.”

Your throat tightens again, and you nod, tears slipping silently down your cheek. Eunha catches them with the edge of her sleeve, like she’s done a hundred times before.

And for the first time in days, you let yourself cry—not just for the silence, but for the depth of what you feel. You cry for the love that grew again from ruin. For the fear that you might lose it.

But also, in the smallest corner of your heart, for the possibility that you won’t.

That he might still come back to you.

You are sitting at the writing desk in the study when the knock comes. A hollow rap against the wood of the manor’s front door, barely audible over the distant rumble of spring thunder. You don’t bother looking up at first. Likely a delivery boy, or some merchant hoping to gain an audience with the lady of Larkspur. Nothing important. Nothing ever is.

But then Eunha calls softly from the hall, and her voice—her voice—holds something taut and strange. “My lady... a letter. It’s marked with Baron Kim Seungmin’s seal.”

You stand so quickly your chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

Your hands tremble as you take the parchment. It’s thick, heavy with rainwater and haste. The seal is cracked already, broken by the courier to ensure its urgency. You feel it in your chest—an ache just before the drop.

You unfold it.

The letter is written in a careful, practiced hand. It is not Hyunjin’s. That is the first thing you see.

The second thing: “My Lady, I write to you with grave news regarding the Viscount.”

The world narrows.

You read, breath caught in your lungs, fingers tightening on the edges of the page.

There was an ambush upon the road—three days after their departure from London. My men and I found them only some days later, far too late to prevent the damage done. Captain Hawthorne, the elder knight who rode with them, was killed in the attack. The young boy, Soobin, suffered wounds to the shoulder and side, though the physician believes he will make a full recovery with time. Lord Hyunjin, however... his injuries are severe. He was gravely wounded in the encounter and, though not fully unconscious, has been drifting in and out of awareness since his arrival at Eastmere. Fever has begun to set in. He murmurs at times—half-formed thoughts, names spoken like prayers—but remains weak, unfocused, and lost to the waking world more often than not. We have done all that is within our means to stabilize him. A physician tends to him day and night. But his condition remains uncertain. He fights to stay, I believe. But he is not yet through the worst of it. I am deeply sorry that word has not reached you sooner. The weather and the remote location of the estate have delayed every effort. I know how deeply Lord Hyunjin cares for you and for the boy. I know, too, what he intended upon his return. If you wish to come, know that the doors of Eastmere are open to you. You would be welcome here. And perhaps… you are needed. With sincerity and haste, Baron Kim Eastmere Hall

Your vision blurs. You don’t remember dropping the letter. But it’s there, fallen to the carpet at your feet as your knees hit the floor after it.

“Eunha,” you manage to whisper, voice shaking. “He’s alive. But he’s hurt.”

She is beside you in an instant, clutching your arm, guiding you up as if your legs might give way. You press a hand to your mouth, the sob rising without permission. The silence is broken, yes—but not by Hyunjin’s voice. And not with comfort.

You straighten, though your heart aches like it’s been wrenched open again.

“I’m going to him,” you say, already turning toward the door.

Eunha blinks. “To Eastmere?”

“Yes.” You nod once, firm. “Today. Now.”

She hesitates. “My lady, the roads—”

“I don’t care. He could be dying, Eunha. And if he is... I’m not going to wait for a second letter.”

The house comes alive around you as if roused by your grief. Orders fly from your lips with startling clarity.

“Have the grooms prepare my horse—something fast and sure-footed. Tell them I’ll need travel provisions for several days. Pack a satchel with my warmest riding cloak, gloves, and one of Hyunjin’s coats.”

Eunha watches you, eyes wide.

You look at her and say, more quietly, “And bring me the revolver from the case in the sitting room. The one he taught me to use.”

She nods and rushes out without question.

Your heart drums with purpose now, a terrible certainty. You never imagined needing to reach for a weapon again—but if something like this could happen on the king’s road, you would not travel without one.

As the rain begins to ease, you climb the stairs toward his chambers, toward the room where you've slept every night since his absence. The bed is still made, his side untouched since morning. You kneel at the edge and whisper into the sheets as if he might somehow hear you.

“I’m coming. Just wait for me.”

You press your face into the place where his pillow still smells like cedar and warm skin and something like home. You gather your courage like armor, laced with every memory you’ve shared.

You will ride toward him with a heart full of dread, yes—but also full of love.

Because if he is still breathing, if there’s even a sliver of a chance he might open his eyes and see you again, you will not let that moment come without you there to meet it.

The morning after the letter arrives is one you’ll remember for the rest of your life. The clouds hang low, casting the sky in a bruised grey, and a wind sharp with spring’s last bite rattles the windowpanes of Larkspur Manor. It feels as if the house itself knows what’s coming. It creaks and groans beneath your feet, a whispering protest as you move swiftly through its halls.

You’re dressed in riding clothes—practical, warm, dark. Hyunjin’s oversized coat hangs from your shoulders, the fabric still carrying the faintest trace of him. A cloak is fastened at your throat, gloves tucked into your belt. Eunha moves around you in practiced silence, gathering the last of what you’ll need: flint, bread, coins, and the letter itself, which you fold and slide carefully into the inner pocket of your coat.

The revolver sits heavy at your hip.

You feel the weight of every heartbeat, every breath. It’s as if the moments themselves are swollen, pressing at your chest. You cannot move quickly enough, and yet every step toward the stables feels like one further away from the version of life you had only just begun to believe in.

And then comes the hardest part.

Hanuel.

You find him in the nursery, perched on the window seat with his favorite picture book in hand. His tiny boots swing just above the floor, and the light from the overcast morning casts a pale glow across his dark curls. He looks up when you enter, his face brightening.

“Eomma!”

The word punches through you.

You kneel down before him, brushing a hand over his soft hair, pushing it gently back from his brow. “Sweetheart,” you begin, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “I need to go away for a little while.”

His smile falters. “Where?”

You take a breath. “To find Appa. He’s been hurt. He’s very far away, and I need to be with him.”

Hanuel blinks. His small hands tighten around the edge of the book. “Is he going to die?”

The question cracks something in you. You feel it deep, down to your marrow.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “But I have to go and make sure he won’t. I have to be with him, just like I’d be with you if you were ever hurt.”

He nods slowly, blinking back tears with far too much composure for a child so small.

“Can I come with you?”

You press your lips together, then lean forward to kiss his forehead. “Not this time, my love. I need you to stay here. Eunha will be with you, and you’ll stay at Larkspur, where it’s safe. Can you be brave for me? Just for a little while?”

Hanuel looks down, then gives a small nod.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. He smells of honeyed oats and sleep. You hold him tighter than you should, wishing he could stay cradled in your arms forever.

“I’ll come back,” you whisper into his hair. “And when I do, I’ll bring Appa with me.”

“Promise?” he asks, muffled.

You lean back and look him in the eye. “I promise.”

You place his hand over your heart. “You’re here. Always.”

He smiles faintly, but his eyes shimmer. “Tell Appa I miss him.”

“I will.”

You press one last kiss to his cheek, then rise before you lose the courage to go.

At the door, Eunha is waiting with your satchel and gloves. The grooms are already outside, securing your saddlebags and adjusting the bridle on the black mare they’ve chosen for you—Mira, your swiftest horse. Your breath fogs in the cold air as you step into the courtyard, your heart beating like a drum.

You mount in one smooth motion, though your limbs feel far from steady. You turn once, looking back at the manor, at the boy watching you through the window with one hand pressed to the glass. You lift your fingers in farewell.

And then you ride.

The gates of Larkspur open before you with a groan and a rustle of wind.

You don’t look back.

Because ahead of you, somewhere on the other side of the hills and forests and winding roads, lies the man you love.

You only pray you’re not too late.

The wind is sharp against your face, biting, as if nature itself is testing you. You try to ignore it, but there’s a tightness in your chest that you can’t shake. Every mile you travel away from Larkspur Manor feels like another step into uncertainty. The hooves of Mira, your black mare, beat a rhythmic, almost haunting cadence beneath you, and with every beat of her stride, your heart picks up pace. The road ahead seems never-ending.

But there’s no turning back. Not now. Not after the letter from the Baron. Not after everything.

You should be focused on the path, on the safety of the journey—on the next town, the next rest stop, the next opportunity to stretch your legs. But instead, your thoughts circle, tangled, suffocating.

Hyunjin.

Your mind conjures the image of him as you last saw him—his smile, the soft intensity of his gaze when he promised you he would come back. That moment feels like a lifetime ago. You ache for him with a desperation that makes the cold wind feel even sharper. You want to believe he’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. You want to believe that the man who swore he would never leave you again will still be there. But what if he isn’t? What if—

No.

You push the thought away, the fear gnawing at you like an unwanted shadow. You focus on Mira’s smooth gait, on the familiar rhythm of her movements. She’s surefooted, a good horse, and you’ve ridden her through enough storms to trust her. She carries you as you carry your own burden—silently, steadily, without complaint.

The road.

The landscape unfurls before you in a blur of greys and greens, the countryside passing in a haze. The cold earth beneath your boots is firm and unyielding, a stark contrast to the whirl of doubt inside you. You keep your eyes fixed ahead, yet all you can think about is how far you are from Larkspur, from Hanuel. Every mile that slips by takes you further from your son, and with every passing mile, a pang of guilt cuts through you.

What if Hanuel needs you? What if he calls for you in the night, wondering where you’ve gone, wishing for your comfort? You should be there to soothe him, to tell him that everything is all right. Instead, you are here, miles away from him, riding toward the unknown, toward a future you cannot predict.

You pull your cloak tighter around you, as if the weight of it could shield you from the gnawing fear in your chest.

What if Hyunjin doesn’t know you’re coming? What if he’s lost to the fever and delirium, too far gone to remember your name? The thought crashes into you, a cold wave of doubt that threatens to overwhelm you. You shake it off, stubbornly, trying to focus on the next goal—Eastmere. It’s all that matters now. It has to be enough.

And then there’s the fear of riding straight into danger. You know the roads are fraught with risk—bandits, weather, illness2. There are stories of travelers lost on the road, their bodies found days later by farmers, their goods long taken. And you, a woman, traveling alone… It is not a small thing. A woman of your station is rarely seen on the roads without protection.

But you’re not alone, are you? You have Mira. You have yourself. And right now, that’s all you have to trust.

A low rumble of thunder breaks through your thoughts. You glance at the sky, the clouds darkening as the day wanes. The storm is coming. You can feel it in the air—the electric hum of anticipation. You press your heels into Mira’s sides and urge her forward. You need to make camp before the rain hits. The last thing you need is to be caught in the open with the weather turning violent.

You set your course for a small inn along the way, a place you know well enough from past journeys. It’s not much—a few rooms above the common area, the smell of stews and wet dogs always present—but it will suffice for tonight.

When you arrive, the warmth of the fire feels like a betrayal to your cold, anxious heart. You dismount with shaky legs, hand clutched around the reins to steady yourself as the innkeeper greets you with a weary smile.

“Evening, my lady. Will you be needing a room for the night?”

You nod, offering a strained smile. “Yes, thank you.”

The innkeeper leads you to a small, clean room with a bed covered in faded linen sheets and a modest fireplace that crackles merrily. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and set to work unpacking, brushing off the travel dust from your coat. When you hear the door shut behind you, you allow yourself one moment of weakness. You sink into the small chair by the fire, resting your face in your hands.

You miss him.

You ache for the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice, the security that comes from being with him. Every fiber of your being longs to be in his arms, to feel his steady presence, his calm reassurance that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together. You close your eyes and let the tears fall, even though you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You’re scared. Terrified. But you have no choice but to go on.

You stand after a while, wiping your face, gathering your resolve.

Tomorrow, the journey will continue. And with it, the uncertainty. You wonder if Hyunjin will even be alive when you reach Eastmere—or if he will be so far gone that your arrival will be too late.

But you can’t think of that. You can only think of the moment when you’ll finally see him again. You only have this night, this precious time to steel yourself for what lies ahead. You pray that tomorrow, the storm will pass and the sun will rise clear, bringing you closer to him, step by painful step.

And that when you do find him, you won’t be too late.

~~~~

The cold sweat beads on Hyunjin’s forehead as his body lies prone on the bed, the sheets soaked through with the fever that burns through him like wildfire. His body aches from the deep gashes and bruises inflicted during the ambush—most notably the searing pain in his chest and the sharp throb in his leg, both reminders of how close he came to not making it at all. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind slipping between fevered visions and the jagged fragments of reality.

The room around him is dim, lit by the low glow of candlelight that flickers gently in the corners. But even this meager light seems too much for his weary eyes. His breathing is shallow, uneven. The pain throbs, sharp and unrelenting, from his leg where the wound tore through muscle, and from his chest where the sword slashed deeply. The fever is the worst of it, though. It distorts everything—his thoughts, his memories, his desires.

In the haze of his fever dreams, he hears his name.

“Hyunjin…”

It’s faint at first, like a whisper lost in the wind, but then it grows clearer, stronger, as though it’s cutting through the fog.

You.

He reaches for you, or rather, he thinks he does. He feels himself trying to move, to stretch his hand out, but his body is too weak. The pain in his leg burns like a fire, and his chest tightens as though his ribs are slowly collapsing under the weight of the world. He gasps, the breath sharp and painful, but he hears it again.

“Hyunjin, stay with me.”

A hand touches his forehead, cool against his heated skin. He tries to open his eyes, but they feel too heavy. Everything feels too heavy.

He’s not alone. You are beside him—staying close, tending to him. He can hear the faint murmur of voices now, as if there are people talking around him.

“My Lord,” a voice says. It’s calm, authoritative. A physician. “He’s burning with fever. The wound in his chest—”

“He needs more laudanum,” Seungmin interrupts, his voice low but urgent. “We need to keep him sedated for now. Let him rest.”

Hyunjin feels a sharp pang in his chest, and then it’s like the dream fades again, plunging him into another wave of delirium. He’s back there, back on the road, surrounded by dust and the crack of hooves. His body is weak, disoriented. He’s trying to move, to stand, but the pain shoots through him like an electric current, his leg giving way beneath him as he stumbles forward. His breaths come in ragged gasps as he falls to his knees, feeling the warmth of blood soaking through his shirt, the coldness in his limbs.

Then, as though from a distant memory, the image of you forms. Your face appears before him, vivid in his mind despite the haze, your eyes filled with concern. You are smiling softly, reassuringly.

“I’m here, Hyunjin. I’ll always be here…”

But then you fade, slipping from his reach once more, leaving only a vague ache in his heart.

“Don’t go,” he whispers hoarsely, his voice broken and rough. But it’s too late. You’re gone.

He struggles against the weakness, his chest aching with each shallow breath. The voices around him return, closer now.

“What can we do for him?” Seungmin’s voice is laced with frustration, worry coloring the edges of his tone. “He’s… he’s fading.”

“We’re doing what we can,” the physician replies, his voice calm but strained. “His wounds are grave, and the fever’s not helping. The wound on his leg—if we don’t manage the infection, it could turn septic. As for the chest… I’ve dressed it, but we need to ensure it doesn’t become infected. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness. It’s too soon to tell how much damage is done.”

Hyunjin wants to speak. He wants to say something to Seungmin, to the physician, but his mouth is dry, his throat too tight. His mind swims in a blur of images—visions of your smile, Hanuel’s innocent face, the warmth of your home. And yet, no matter how much he fights to hold onto those memories, the darkness threatens to pull him under.

The room spins. His body burns with fever, and he gasps for air, his mind too foggy to form any coherent thoughts. The pain is unbearable, the sharpness of his injuries too much to endure, and yet, there’s something more pressing in the depths of his mind.

You.

He can’t remember how long it’s been since the last time he saw you. The last time he felt your arms around him. The last time you whispered to him in that soft, loving voice, "I’m here."

But he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to hear that again.

As the pain and fever continue to ravage his body, he thinks again about his promise. I will come back to you. I will come back for Hanuel.

The words echo, faint but clear, in the back of his mind. But it feels so distant, so intangible now. What if he doesn’t make it? What if he’s too far gone? What if you and Hanuel never hear his voice again?

A deep ache settles over his chest, and his mind slips further into delirium, even as he hears Seungmin’s voice again.

“We’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Seungmin promises, his voice thick with emotion. “We won’t let him slip away. I’ll stay with him. He’ll be all right.”

But even as the words are spoken, Hyunjin feels the grip of darkness closing around him, the weight of fear and exhaustion pulling him under. He knows only one thing as he drifts into unconsciousness again:

He can’t leave you. Not now. Not like this.

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 -

@hyeon-yi @penny44224 @nchhuhi @soupbinlily @myfriendgavemeanegg @avokralaim @teeesthings @estella-novella @0sunshinecryptid0 @finannn @lectrice-ios @hanniebunch @astrobebba @lmhxbc

𝓜𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 -

@jehhskz @true-queen-of-mischief @necrozica

Requests Masterlist

***My works are not allowed for translation or reposting as your own without my permission***

[lucimaaie]

left behind ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - with ellie preoccupied with the city, your relationship suffers.

warnings - had to put this in that ao3 font just to finish it but i did it, angst no comfort (i'm srry), 3k word count almost 4k, still kinda short tho, was kinda battling writers block so be aware, loosely proofread, very dramatic bc i was bored, r is having a bad day :((

playlist | spidey masterlist

“You didn’t think to tell me you had this?” Ellie was exasperated, leaning against the counter as the orb stared back at her. Taunting her. 

“I..Ellie, this thing came out of you.” You’d hoped the words were enough to settle the conflict you felt brewing. You knew it wasn’t. “Do you really think I wanted to talk about it?”

Ellie scoffed. “You at least could’ve told me,” She picked it up with her gloved fingers. Having no regard for safety like you with your layers of gloves plus the tongs just to put it in the dish sitting in front of you. “Would’ve helped me figure out how a bunch of assholes got their hands on superpowered guns.”

“Well, blame it on me then.” You said through a deep sigh, crossing your arms. You wanted to be mad. To tell her she was being completely unreasonable and stormed off. Yet the droop of her eyes and the tenseness in her arms made it impossible; She looked too tired to argue, to fight back. 

“Not what I meant,” The forceful push of air from her lips almost echoed in the quiet apartment. She used the counter to brace herself, still not taking her eyes off the neon orb. She stared at it like it could move the moment she blinked.

“Yeah, I know.” The words came out mumbled as you approached her, coming up behind her. “I know,” The texture of her suit was surprisingly soft despite its markings. Tickling your fingertips as you squeezed her shoulders. The tension in them was tangible. “What are you thinking?”

Ellie didn’t respond. The stretch of her arm to grab the small dish was the only indication she was still in the moment. Closer inspection didn’t ease the frown off her face or the tension in her shoulders. “I just..need to figure out what this thing is,” 

“Okay,” You whispered. “How about a shower first?” You suggested softly, prying the orb from her hands and setting it down. “Yeah?”

Without her sight, she seemed to have more attention to give you, her face softening as she laid her eyes on you. You were right. Her limbs were weaker than she wanted to admit. Combine that with the adrenaline and confusing mix of irritation and anxiety, and she was a complete and utter mess. “Yeah,” She relented. 

To say you lost Ellie to a tiny blue orb was embarrassing to say the least. And painful, but that was a thought you didn’t want to fully unpack. It was enough to reach out and grip cold sheets each morning for the past few weeks. 

She seemed to be around in small shifts: Awake when you were asleep, away when you were awake. The most you’d laid your eyes on her was when she was suiting up and getting ready to get back on the streets. To make things worse, your parents had started to ask questions and you had no good truth to tell them. 

And you knew you couldn’t complain. That was the worst part. What a bitch you would be to complain about your world-saving girlfriend not being around.

A knock to the door was not what you expected. Seeing your parents was doubly unexpected. You thought your sunny texts and short placating phone calls would be enough. 

“Coming!” You yelled, scrambling to make your living room not look like you’d been camping out in it for the past few hours. They were starting to get impatient as you swept the crumbs off your dining table and gathered handfuls of empty chip bags to throw away. You sighed heavily, looking at the state of your kitchen. Deciding it would just have to be fine, you finally answered the door. 

“Ma, Pa. You didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.” The two practically pushed themselves in, setting plastic containers of food on the counters. The two were too presentable just to be in the dirty kitchen of your small apartment. They shared a look you couldn’t decipher after glancing around the decor of your combined living room and kitchen. Though, they didn’t have to speak for you to feel the judgement. “I’m..sorry for the mess,”

“We would’ve called, but we were..around anyway.” 

You furrowed your brows, knowing that was a bold face lie. This was the first time they’d ever been here since helping you move in and it was clear they were not in love with what you and Ellie did with the place. “Yeah?”

Your mom hummed. You looked to your dad unsurprised to see him going along with your mom’s unbelievable excuse. You knew better to go fishing for the truth so bluntly. 

“Well, I won’t say no to free dinner.” You busied yourself with putting the food up, hopefully avoiding their awkward attempt to avoid what they were really here for.

“So, where’s Ellie?” Your dad asked. 

Ah, the golden question. You wondered that yourself. “She’s at work. The..internship”

It didn’t take a mind reader to know they didn’t believe you. Maybe, two weeks ago, when your excuses were fresh to the ears. 

“At an internship you’d think they’d give her some off days.” Your mom remarked, moving leisurely into the living room. She was careful in sitting her purse down on the coffee table. It was a wonder she’d made no comments about how you could brighten up the room. She was trying at the least. Your dad on the other hand wore his intentions on his sleeve in his firm and pensive expression. 

“She volunteered for as much as possible,” The words fell off your tongue with ease as you filled up a kettle and set it on the front eye of the stove. You opted to stay close to it, instead of checking to see if they took the lie well. “She’s just trying to get ahead of things before graduation.” 

Your parents mumbled their own versions of praise for the absent girl. It soon grew quiet, neither of you having anything useful to say. The awkwardness reminded you of the stern talking to’s you’d been subjected to when you got anything lower than a B on a report card. That was the worst thing you’d done as a kid. What would they say if they knew you were covering for Ellie’s vigilantism?

“Did Ellie ever find her family? At the attack a few weeks ago?” Your dad finally spoke, his deep voice filling the cramped space. His features were firm, almost daring you to lie again. But you weren’t one of his suspects. You wouldn’t crumble. 

You turned around, giving the kettle a break from your stare. “Mhm.” You took slow steps into the living room and sat at the edge of the coffee table. “They were stuck in traffic so far back, they weren’t targeted.”

Another round of “that’s good’s” and the tension was back on. “Listen,” Your dad started, his firm demeanor softening into something almost nervous. The way your mom silently assured him only made you more afraid for his revelation.  “I wanted to reach out to her folks and check on em and..”

“And?”

“They don’t..they’re gone. She has no living family left.” He said gingerly.

Even having known the fact, it still made your heart clench as much as when you first told her. You had been careful to keep your reaction subtle, knowing pity wasn’t what she wanted from you. “She..” You started, the reminder catching you in a lie she mindlessly told. “She was talking about her Aunt and Un—“

They didn’t wait for another one of your lies to speak. “They live in Jackson. Wyoming.” Your father stated matter of factly. 

You sputtered in search of another excuse, but you had nothing left. He knew more than you were hoping he did. He knew nothing of what Ellie had told you in whispers and short confessions, he knew what was documented on paper. “You did a background check,” Your words were mumbled, barely containing your irritation. The betrayal made your blood run hot, mixing with the anger at being left neglected, and making a scolding combination bubble up through your veins. 

Your mom rushed in to desolate the impending argument. “We just want you to be aware, baby.”

“I am.” You snapped, rising to your feet. The temporary difference in height gave you confidence to let your anger loose. “I’m aware enough to know you’re lying about why you’re really here.” Your arms were tightly crossed, your own nails digging into your skin. 

“We’re looking out for you,” Your dad stood, defensiveness triggered by what he perceived was your displaced anger for the loving parents that were trying to protect you. 

“By doing a background check on my girlfriend,” You affirmed, your voice raised on the thin verge of yelling. “What the hell?” 

“Watch it,” Your father said, placing his hands on his hips. That firm warning would’ve been enough to make you eat your words and run up to your room. “By looking at the situation with an open mind.”

You scoffed, walking off to check on the boiling water for tea you barely wanted to offer anymore. You didn’t want them to stay and continue to shit on your relationship. Not when you were feeling insecure about it yourself. “What situation?” 

“How’d she really get shot?” 

“What?” You turned around to face them, face contorted in a mix of confusion and deepening irritation. They were getting more and more outrageous with their assumptions and you were just barely keeping your tone respectful. 

“The story she gave us doesn’t make sense,” Your mom said, her voice firm yet gentle. “You can’t blame us for thinking something’s wrong—“ 

“Not when you’re fishing for something wrong,” You reached over the stove to flick the knob the other way and take the kettle off the scalding eye. “Nothing is wrong, okay? So just trust me on that,” You could barely process what you were doing while you were fuming like this. That was until you felt the overwhelming burn on your palm. “Shit–” 

“Are you okay? Your mom was by your side as you pulled your hand away from the hot metal. Your dad already had the faucet running with lukewarm water. 

The burning softened into an achy feel in the skin that was already starting to blister. You rushed to the sink to drown the burn in water. The pain had your eyes filling with tears. You bit your lip, swallowing down a sob. Now was not the time to break down. “M’fine, just..go.”

They didn’t move. At the sight of tears, the firmness fell from your father’s face. You didn’t want to see it.

“Go,” You said louder. "Please?"

It was deathly quiet as the two made a slow, concerned exit. The sight of your hand blurred as hot tears ran down your face. The ache only gave you another reason to crumble.

The ache in your hand hadn’t stopped even after a few hours. Painkillers dulled the feeling, leaving it up to painful reminders of the injury. 

You had tried to busy yourself with cleaning up the pigsty that was your apartment, but nothing you did calmed you down from the earlier argument with your parents. Fighting was never something you liked doing. The aftermath was even worse. Your stubbornness had come from the very couple you’d argue with and your relationship would most likely be at a stalemate until one side caved. However long that’d take.

Yet another relationship in limbo. 

Preoccupied with your thoughts, you’d barely heard Ellie come in. Even when she hadn't come in ranting you could sense she’d made it home. Now, she hadn’t even gotten a remark about tracking dirt into the house. You didn’t have it in you.

“Hey,” Ellie breathily greeted you as she pulled off her hood and mask and padded into your bedroom to change. 

“Hm? Oh, hi.” You wrung out the dish towel, ignoring the pressure against your scared palm. The splatter of the runoff filled the space between you. “How was..” You turned around, watching Ellie down a glass of water in a set of clean pajamas. 

“Fine,” She scratched her brow. “How was— What happened?” She pushed herself off the counter to turn to grab your hand, inspecting the injury. Her brows furrowed at the sight of your patchy bandage work done with some leftover gauze from her old discharge kit.

“Nothing,” You mumbled. Her concern should’ve been heartwarming considering the growing distance. Though, it only made you tug your hand from hers. You mindlessly began to wipe the counters. 

“Well something did.” Her eyes followed you despite the lack of eye contact from you. The action only made her more suspicious. She couldn’t help it. She had woken up thinking about how much damage superpowered criminals brung onto the city while she rested. It felt like her brain was wired for only that purpose, leaving her barely any time to tend to you. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe it’s fine,” You mumbled, rounding the island to the sink. 

Ellie frowned. Your passive-aggression wasn’t lost on her nor was the current state of your relationship. She hadn’t been here long enough to see you get up and fix coffee, much less to see how you hurt yourself. She thought she could just..make it up to you once this was all over. Shitty, but she had to think of some way to balance the two. You were having none of that. 

“Then..what do you want to talk about?” She asked quietly, taking tentative steps behind you. Her hands itched to wrap around your waist and press her thumb between your brows to soothe the irritated frown you wore. Instead, she rung her hands together, hoping the pressure would distract her. 

“I don’t know, Ellie.” That was a lie. Other times, you wished for her to come home so you could talk her ear off about nothing in particular. When your parents had gone out the door, you wished she was here to listen. Sometimes you took to your memories, thinking of the times you would pass time debating over things that didn’t really matter. Now? You said a total of 15 words to each other a day. 

You wrung out the towel again, softly grunting at the throbbing in your palm. “You know what? I lied.” You turned around, gripping the counter as tight as your hands would allow. “I’m pissed. Like, beyond pissed and I feel like I’m..crazy for it. I mean, you’re a hero. You’re out helping people every day and I’m pissed I can’t have anything upwards of five minutes with you. Yeah, the city’s important. I get that. Believe me, I do, but aren’t I—?” 

“What? You know you are.” Ellie leaned against the counter, replying exasperatedly. Ironically, now the weight of the day started to be a bother now. She had done enough to make her shoulders ache by just raising her arms. She didn’t want to think about arguing with you. 

“I sure as hell don’t feel like it.” You huffed, starting to clean the sink furiously. “And I don’t like that my parents are starting to have doubts either—“

“What?” Her whole body seemed to perk up at that, tiredness being replaced with dread and uneasiness. Ellie knew she hadn’t exactly been the biggest social butterfly but she thought she’d done okay. Minus the leaving-dinner-to-go crime-fighting part.

“They know you’re not around.” You threw the towel into the sink, flexing your hand to ease the pain. “I guess my excuses weren’t good enough.” You left her alone in the kitchen and sat on the couch. The lack of productivity only seemed to make you more tense granted by the way your leg bounces uncontrollably. You practically lunged for the painkillers and attempted to open it. “Still doesn’t make what they did right— Shit.” You threw the bottle away and rested your head in your palm. 

Ellie watched the scene with conflicted eyes. She wanted to help you. She should’ve been in here in the first place to prevent any of this from happening. She had never wanted to make you so unhappy. She sat next to you gingerly, grabbing the bottle and making two pills fall into her palm. She tentatively held her hand out to you. 

You took them, reaching for the water when she grabbed it for you. You snatched it from her despite the immediate guilt bubbling in your gut. This was happening for a reason. You were right to be mad, right? You couldn’t tell. The pills went down easy, though that did nothing to ease the tension in your jaw. “Is this how it’s gonna be?”

She didn’t have to ask to know what you meant. “No.”

“No.” You parroted back as you turned back to look at her. “Really?”

Ellie didn’t meet your eyes, purposefully concerning herself with an insignificant spot on the floor guiltily, shielding herself from your annoyance. “It’s not always gonna be like this. I’m trying, okay? I swear, I’ll be all yours after I figure this out–”

“And I’m just supposed to wait here?” You mumbled, threading your fingers through your hair to the point where they got tangled. 

“Look, this isn’t forever.” Ellie scooted closer to you, clueless as to how to comfort you in this moment. Usually, she knew exactly what to do, how to hold and console whenever you got this stressed, but now she had nothing. Her words of assurance were empty and as tired as she was and her presence only seemed to be aggravating your stress at this point. Was it terrible that she wished someone needed her right now? 

“What if it is?” You blurted, roughly untangling your hair from your fingers and raising your head. 

“It’s not.” Ellie denied quickly, agitated that you were even thinking that. “It’s not.” She said softer this time. Her hand reached out to pry your arms from their crossed state, despite the rising fear of you pushing her away. Surprised you didn't, she quickly acted on the opportunity and took your hand in hers, rubbing patterns on the back of your hand. 

“But what if it is?” You insisted, struggling to keep your ground in the face of the infection. There was a part of you who hated the argument. That thought you should’ve shut up and left it alone, enjoy this time you had with her. The other part couldn’t stand the thought of letting it fester only for it to result in something bigger than just an argument. “Whether I like it or not you’ll always have the city on your back.”  

Ellie took in a long sigh and exhaled audibly. Her grip on your tightened as if you would snatch your hand away at any moment and walk out the door, tired of waiting and tired of being left behind for the strangers of New York. 

“You’re a hero. I know that and I-I love that about you. I just..” You huffed, already regretting the admission on the tip of your tongue. “I didn’t think it would feel so..lonely.”

The words stung. Ellie knew she was being stretched ten different ways across the city in one summer alone. She’d gotten so comfortable with wearing the mask that she hadn’t thought about what she was leaving behind. Her throat was dangerously dry as she fixed her lip to speak. She thought about apologizing, making it up to you with some grand gesture, but that'd only be a patch fix. “So..what do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know.” You stood, grabbing your jacket off the hook near the door and slipping it on. 

Ellie was on her feet before she could process it. The sight of you getting ready to leave had her mind jumping to all kinds of illogical conclusions. She watched your movement with unwavering focus, like a puppy dreading their owner's departure. “Where are you going?” The words came out rushed in spite of her attempts to sound calm. 

“On a walk.” You intoned, twisting the doorknob and slipping out the door. Catching a glance of her disheartened state. She looked a mess, drowning in oversized clothes and sweaty strands that had no regard for where they ended up. She’d thought you were already gone based on how she’d withdrawn, pacing languidly with a pensive expression that told you her mind was already running miles with the worst outcomes. 

“I’m coming back.” You assured her, or tried to at least. 

Her head perked up, relieved to see you still there. She looked down, inwardly reminding herself she was still in the doghouse. “I know.” She whispered, pulling her lips into a thin line. 

With one last look, you closed the door and headed out of the building and out onto the streets. 

You had no idea how long it had been since you left. Desperate to flee the tense scene, you had forgotten your phone and wallet. Though the empty space in your pockets allowed an ample space for your hands to occupy, so you hadn’t complained. You’d get home soon enough, right?

Your mind became too preoccupied with justifying everything said in the past hour to support your directional problem and soon you became lost. It all seemed to add up. First, your parents, then the burn, picking a fight with Ellie, and now you were lost. Everything seemed to come together to make your day as equally as shitty as you felt. It only seemed right to allow yourself the time to sulk. 

The bench beneath you had gone warm with your temperature, leaving the spot next to you as cold as the midnight air. Your sweatpants had become littered with barely dried imprints of teardrops. There was no denying you were a sad sight. 

But you weren’t looking for comfort. Today was just..an irritatingly challenging day. Tomorrow would be normal. 

“Don’t move.” Tomorrow became a past thought as you felt cold metal press to your temple. It didn’t take long to register what it was. Your hands immediately went up despite the impulse to wipe the evidence of vulnerability painted on your face. You knew better. Though you were sure, whoever was behind you could feel your heart beating seemingly outside your body.

 “What do you want?” No response. “What do you want?” You demanded, response coming as a hard whack to the back of your head. The ache was immediate, blurring your vision and only stoking the flames of confusion, panic, and anger all huddled up inside you. Before you could muster up a response, your hair was grabbed, making your head fall back. 

“Look up,” There was a robotic quality in the voice behind you, only confusing you further. It was soon solved as your head was moved to allow a flying creature in the sky into your view. You strained to see him, the ache making it hard to focus on anything. Your eyes widened once it became clear what you were seeing. A regular man surrounded by enough tech to make him hover in the air without a single worry of falling. That was all you were allowed sight of until another blow made everything fade into black.

thank you for reading!

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sober thoughts ] n. hischier

paring: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico appears on his best friend’s doorstep after the Stadium Series win and confessions are made

warning(s) : slightly drunk nico, mentions of alcohol (but no actual alcohol consumption involved)

author’s note : pls ignore any typos bc i thought of this while drunk and wrote it while tipsy so i will go back and edit when i am 100% sober. it’s a v short and cute thing that i wanted to write (even tho i am working on like 7 different requests rn)

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The moment ‘nico 🏒🤍’ appears on her phone screen, she thinks something is wrong. She’s especially worried because it’s nearly two in the morning. Something could be seriously wrong.

The last time they talked, Nico was getting in an Uber to go to the bar after they won the Stadium Series game against the Flyers. That was a half hour after the end of the game and nearly three hours ago at this point.

A very exhausted and confused (Y/N) quickly answers the phone as soon as she processes what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Do I need to come get you from the bar?”

“I’m outside your apartment building,” he tells her. “Can I please come inside? It’s so cold outside and I just played a game in this weather. Please let me in.”

She rolls over and turns on her bedside lamp before she walks to the window. Outside on the sidewalk stands her best friend and captain of the New Jersey Devils. He smiles up at her and waves. “Oh my God,” she gasps as she puts on a pair of slippers. “Why are you just standing outside my building like that?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you,” he tells her as she grabs her keys and leaves her apartment. “It felt very wrong that I wasn’t celebrating with my best friend after one of the most amazing games and one of the most beautiful moments of my career. If I woke you up, I’m sorry.”

Without tripping down any stairs, she says, “It’s okay. I was just worried you were passed out on the side of the road in East Rutherford.” She pushes the main entrance door open. “Yet here you are on my doorstep.”

Nico smiles and stumbles up the steps after he hangs up the phone when he sees her. He trips on the last step. She catches him and he catches himself on the doorway. She can smell the alcohol on his breath because of how close they are to each other, yet her heart races in her chest since they’re so close to each other.

“Are you drunk?” she asks as she backs away from him with a look on her face. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you drove because I might kill you and your team is going to be left without a captain.”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” he admits to her. “I took an Uber because I did have a few drinks. I didn’t drive here. Don’t worry. I still have brain cells.”

Nico walks into the building in a hoodie and jeans instead of the tracksuit he showed up to MetLife in. She’s happy he is in actual clothes because if he showed up in that tracksuit, she might lose it.

“Why did you come here instead of going home?” she questions as they make their way up to her apartment. “I thought that maybe after the game you’d celebrate with your teammates then go home to sleep.”

They walk into the apartment as soon as she unlocks the door. “I told you that I wanted to come celebrate with my best friend,” he replies. She closes the door behind her. “Especially since I couldn’t get you into the stadium to watch the game. I wanted you to be a part of this day.”

She pouts and sits on the couch as Nico turns on one of the lamps. “Your family flew in for the game,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t take priority over them. I get to see you play all the time. They don’t.”

He sits next to her. Not too close but close enough where she can feel the heat coming off his body. If he were to move his knee, it would bump into hers.

“You’re my family too,” Nico softly says. “I wanted you to be there.”

“I’m your friend, Nico,” she sighs. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife. I didn’t need to be there.”

It feels like she is trying to convince herself too because sometimes the line blurs. Sometimes she doesn’t know what she is to him. She has to remind herself that they aren’t together, and probably will never be together.

A moment of silence falls over them. She looks at her hands on her lap while she plays with her thumbs. Nico’s big brown eyes never leave her while she avoids looking at him.

Nico sighs and practically whispers, “I wished you were there as my girlfriend.”

Her head snaps up and she blinks at him. “You what?”

“I wished you were at the game as my girlfriend,” Nico repeats. “The entire time I wished that you were at the family skate and sitting in the suite with everyone else’s families. I wished you had one of those cute jackets that the wives and girlfriends had with my number on it.”

She stares at him until he’s done talking. Then she starts to shake her head. “You’re just saying that because you have been drinking,” she replies. “You don’t actually mean that.”

Never once has Nico shown that he wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her. He’s never given her any kind of hint or sign that he wanted to be more than just friends with her.

They’ve known each other since Nico moved to the US in 2017 to play in the NHL and never once did it seem like he wanted something more.

There is no way he means that.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he says.

“Then tell me when you’re sober,” she retorts. “Tell me in the morning if you actually mean it.”

Nico frowns and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Schätzli, you have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that,” he tells her. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until I wake up before I tell you again.”

Almost as if on cue, he yawns. “Go to sleep, Nico,” she says to him. “Tell me whatever you want in the morning. You know where the guest room is but do you need my help in getting there?”

He shakes his head and sinks down against the back of the couch. “I’ll get there eventually,” he replies. “You can go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she stands up. Nico’s eyes are half open so she takes off his shoes and pulls his legs up onto the cushions. She grabs a blanket to throw over him as he lets out soft snores. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that you wanted me to be your girlfriend,” she whispers to a sleeping Nico. “All it took you was having a few drinks and winning a big game before you told me how you felt.”

She presses a soft kiss to his temple before she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom just in case he wasn’t actually asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The smell of coffee is the thing that wakes her up in the morning. Not the sunlight or an alarm. Coffee. It takes a second before she remembers that Nico stayed over.

She remembers Nico telling her that he wishes she was at the Stadium Series game as his girlfriend. She has no idea if he remembers that he said that to her.

It’s time to find out.

Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen. She finds Nico standing at the coffee machine with his back to the hallway. She yawns and walks into the kitchen area.

“Morning,” she softly says so she doesn’t scare him. He turns his head and looks at her. “You making coffee?”

Nico nods and pours them both a cup. He puts cream in her cup and hands it to her. “I figured we could both use a cup,” he tells her. “Me to get rid of this hangover and you because I woke you up at two in the morning.”

She blows on her coffee before taking a sip. “How much of last night do you remember?” she curiously asks as she leans against the counter beside him.

The moment of silence that follows worries her. He probably doesn’t remember what he said, and she isnt going to remind him if he doesn’t remember.

He takes a sip of his own coffee before he asks, “Are you asking me if I remember telling you that I wish you were my girlfriend? Yes, if that’s the case. I told you that I meant it.”

“And you’re sober?”

“Very,” Nico replies. “And very hungover.”

It surprises her to the point where she almost drops her cup of coffee. Her eyes widen and Nico smiles. “Nico, I could kill you and kiss you at the same time because why did it take you playing in one of the biggest games in your career before you-”

Nico takes the cup of coffee out of her hand while she’s talking then cuts her off by bringing his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise then melts against him as he presses her against the counter. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her fingers in his hair so he can’t break the kiss.

Never in her life did she think that she would be in her kitchen kissing her best friend of nearly seven years. The thought only occurred in dreams and occasionally during games when she found him attractive, which is really all the time.

This is something she has wanted for two years. Since the moment she realized that she was in love with Nico.

He lifts her up and sits her down on the counter. He stands between her knees and rests his hands on her thighs.

It becomes too much for her and she has to pull back for a second to breathe. Her eyes meet his and finds worry in them. “I just- I don’t think you understand how long I have waited for this,” she breathes out. “Wanted this. Wanted you. I just need a second.”

Nico smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears before he cups her jaw. “I’m such an idiot for waiting so long before I told you,” he replies. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Schätzli.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper and his thumbs brush her cheekbones.

“We’re both idiots,” she tells him. “I’m glad you meant it though. I thought you were going to get my hopes up.”

He shakes his head and kisses her nose. “I would never lie to you about loving you.”

“Well I love you too,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Nico laughs and envelopes her in a hug. She smiles and happily accepts the hug.

“I told you that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“I believe you now.”

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MASTERLIST

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[redstarwriting]

the clash | vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you (sort of), you hating hobie, angry hobie, death, there’s a murder, SORT OF GRAPHIC death scene, injuries, ANGST, a plot twist!, sort of allusions to s*icide

a/n: ok y’all. this one’s a lil shorter, but this is where it starts getting whacky. the way i’m writing this is sort of like if i was writing a comic book, so this is a WHOLE ASS PLOTLINE that i could see being illustrated in my brain. i hope you enjoy, bc it’s about to get WILD. don’t worry tho the fluff will come bc i’m soft(ish)

previous chapter: v. ever fallen in love

now reading: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

next chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

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First thing’s first, Hobie needs to find out where the Prowler of your world might be. He could always call Miles and ask him where his Uncle Aaron lived, but that seems a little… insensitive. If there’s anything he knows about the Prowler, he knows that he’s a thief. So, Hobie snatches your police dispatcher and listens for some burglaries being reported. Getting any type of assistance from the police pains him to his very core, but he’s not about to wake you up and let you know what he’s about to do. He crouches on the railing of your balcony and stares out at your city. He hears calls about someone robbing a Bloodega, not the Prowler. Some kids snuck into a club, also not what he needs. “Come on, pigs,” he mumbles, “give me somethin’ useful here.”

That’s when his ears perk up.

“Reports of someone lurking around of Oscorp Labs, suspicions that it might be the Prowler. Units on standby for Spider-Goth, do not engage with the Prowler.”

Do not engage? What the hell? Isn’t he a villain? Hobie quickly understands what’s going on.

He works with the cops.

Fuck this assshole.

He leaps off your balcony, webbing his way through your city. It may not be his style, necessarily, but it’s a nice place. He can see why you like it so much. He’s actually been webbing through it more than he ever expected to with how much he visits you. He knows deep down that he’s visiting so much only to see you, but outwardly he likes to pretend it’s just to see Shadow. He knows more about your world than Miles, Pav, or Gwen’s which is interesting considering he’s known you only about 3 and a half months. Luckily, you live only a short web swing away from Oscorp, so he can’t get too lost in his thoughts about you and can end this guy faster. He lands on the top of the building and glances around. He notices a perfectly cut hole in the glass a few floors down, so he crawls down and through into the building. It’s dark. He tries to stay as quiet as he possibly can because he knows that’s how you would do it, but damn. He just isn’t good at stealth. And this is factual apparently, because he gets the feeling someone is watching him and just barely jumps out of the way from what looks like a whip covered in spikes. He lands on the ground in a crouched position when he hears a somewhat familiar sounding voice. “Who the hell are you?”

“Can ask you the same question, mate,” Hobie says, “The answer will make this whole thing so much easier.”

“You one of that freak’s friends?”

“Something like that,” Hobie responds. “I take it you’re the Prowler?”

“The one and only,” he says, and Hobie rolls his eyes under his mask. “Mate, do I have some news for you,” he snorts, and the Prowler flicks his wrist. His whip makes some mechanical noise and green and purple light starts shining through it in little places where the metal isn’t completely welded together. Hobie motions to it. “Bet you’re proud a’ that. What are you? A cybergoth? cyborgoth?”

“I’ll ask this one more time. Who are you?”

“Name’s Spider-Man, also known as Spider-Punk,” Hobie says, and the Prowler groans. “There’s another one? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“There’s a lot more than just me and them, mate,” Hobie crouches down, ready to leap out of the way if need be. “Why are you here? Where’s my insect at?”

Hobie doesn’t like the way he called you his. “They’re not yours,” he hisses at him. The Prowler is quiet for a moment before laughing. “Oh. I see. Didn’t know they had a boyfriend,” he says, before whipping towards Hobie. He jumps out of the way in time, but almost doesn’t because boyfriend? Excuse me? “Not their boyfriend!” he yells, landing on the ceiling and glaring down at the Prowler. “No? Then why are you here? I figured it was because of how badly I beat them. Their screams were so entertaining.” Hobie hates this man. He clenches his jaw. “Nowhere near as entertainin’ as yours’ll be, dickhead,” he grunts, jumping down and shooting a web at the Prowlers legs. Luckily, the Prowler wasn’t expecting that, and Hobie is able to yank his legs out from underneath him. He falls hard, and Hobie smirks. “Oh sorry, did that hurt?” Hobie says, and the Prowler growls, standing up faster than Hobie anticipated. “I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first, mate,” Hobie says, anger seeping out of his words. “A spider that willingly kills, huh? Is that why you came to find me?” he chuckles, “I feel like you and I could be good friends,” the Prowler’s chuckle turns into a laugh, and it pisses Hobie off even more. “I’d rather die than be friends with someone like you,” Hobie shoots another web at him, but this time the prowler dodges it. He flicks his wrist, and Hobie feels the whip make contact with his side. He grunts in pain. This must be what got you earlier today. “That can be arranged. You’re even worse than your little partner,” the Prowler says, and Hobie can hear the smirk. He wants to punch that fucking smirk off his stupid face. Hobie stands again, grabbing his guitar. If it’s a fight to the death this fucker wants, it’s a fight he’ll get. And Hobie will not be dying tonight. “Oh, what are you gonna do? Power chord me out of existence?”

“More like beat your ass until you kick it,” Hobie growls, “but if ya want me to do it with style, I’ll play ya a song over your dead body.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be the one dying tonight,” the Prowler says and uses his whip again. Hobie jumps out of the way, and his eyes widen as he dodges two bullets in midair. He lands on the ground and sees that the Prowler’s gauntlets are guns as well. He scoffs. “How much that suit cost ya?”

“Would have cost a lot if I didn’t steal it or invent it myself, but I did,” Hobie dodges two more bullets, but lands directly on the Prowlers whip, causing him to slip and fall. “Luckily my agreement with the police got me the state-of-the-art tech that I needed,” the Prowler confesses. “Fuck,” Hobie grunts, jumping up as quickly as he can. “I’m gonna love telling Spider-Goth I took down their boyfriend.”

“Not their boyfriend!” Hobie yells, jumping out of the way of his whip, and more bullets.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Look, how ‘bout we settle this without any gadgets, eh? See who wins then?” Hobie says, and the Prowler scoffs. “If you can’t beat me at my best, you can’t beat me at my worst.”

“Actually, yeah I can. Dunno if you’re realizin’, but I’m still alive and breathin’,” Hobie says, jumping out of the way of his whip yet again. This time, though, Hobie was prepared. He webs the whip and yanks it as hard as he can. The Prowler is airborne as Hobie swings him to the other side of the room. He lands with a thud, and Hobie webs over to him, doing a flip to land a kick directly to the face. The Prowler manages to get his whip wrapped around Hobie’s ankle and flings him back across the room. He crashes into some glass wall and groans. “As much as I fuck with your ‘fuck the establishment attitude,’ Spider-Goth ain’t gonna be too happy with me if I destroy another buildin’,” Hobie says, shaking his head, hearing some glass fall down next to him. Then, the alarms start blaring. ‘Great, probably broke somethin’ important,’ he thinks before noticing a piece of glass stuck in his arm. ‘Gotta make this quick,’ he thinks, grunting as he pulls the glass out of his arm. “Like I give a fuck what makes them mad,” the Prowler says, running towards Hobie. He leaps out of the way, webbing his leg again and causing him to slip and fall. Hobie then delivers a blow to the side of his face with his guitar, but thanks to his armor, it just hurts him more than anything.

Then Hobie hears hissing. He leaps up onto the ceiling just before a mechanical snake was about to sink its stupid metal fangs into him. “Made yourself friends ‘cause ya ain’t got any? I’d be gutted for you if ya weren’t such a dick,” Hobie says, webbing the snake and jumping off of the ceiling. He does a flip in midair, swinging the snake with him and throwing it at the Prowler. He dodges just in time, but Hobie is able to deliver another blow to him. This time, Hobie goes for his leg. And he hears a crack. Just as he wanted. The Prowler shrieks out in pain. 

Hobie lands next to him and bends down. “Hope that hurt, fucker,” he spits, striking his other leg in the same fashion. He dodges the mechanical snake again, grabbing it and using his strength to break it in one squeeze. He throws it to the side and dodges more bullets from the Prowler’s gauntlets. Unsurprisingly, Hobie goes for both arms next. He stops when the man is rendered completely useless, rolling the Prowler over on his back. “I win,” Hobie says, and even he is taken aback at how menacing his voice sounds. The Prowler grunts, “You sure you’re a good guy?” Hobie ignores him and stands beside his head. “I do what I want. Any last words?”

The Prowler is silent for a moment before speaking. “Tell them that their boyfriend would have been able to save–”

Hobie doesn’t let him finish.

In fact, Hobie has trouble stopping even after he knows the deed is done. He didn’t even give Osborn this kind of disrespect. But this guy is different. All Hobie has to do is think about the state of your back, how you still blame yourself for what this motherfucker did to someone you cared so much about, and he’s swinging his guitar again.

He only stops when there’s nothing left to hit.

He breathes heavily, observing what he’s done in the flashing red lights as the alarm blares in the background. He walks back to the window, glancing back at what he’s done before leaping out and webbing away as fast as possible. He hopes no one saw him. Doesn’t want anyone confusing you for him.

He lands on your balcony and sees Shadow waiting for him inside the doors. He opens them and hears the cat meow at him. He leans down, giving him a few scratches, before opening a portal to his world. He goes home, falling on his bed. He groans, feeling the injuries he got for the first time. The adrenaline was keeping him going that entire fight. He gets up, and begins mending his injuries. Halfway through the last set of stitches he has to give himself, he gets a call on his watch from Miguel. He rolls his eyes, ready to get yelled at for, ‘interfering with the fate of the multiverse, yaddah yaddah yaddah blah blah blah boring boring boring.’

“Yeah, what d’ya want?” he answers, finishing up his stitches. “Get to Spider Society immediately.”

“I’m a little busy here, mate can it–”

“NO! It can’t wait, Hobie! Get here now!” Miguel screams, hanging up. Hobie groans. He was supposed to go back to your world so when you wake up, he would be there and explain why he did what he did. He could just go back… but then Miguel might show up in your world. And he sure as hell doesn’t want that. Sighing, he opens a portal to earth-2099, walking through and ending up in Miguel’s multi-screened research room. “Do you know what you did.”

“Killed a bloody villain, what of it?” Hobie asks, already annoyed. Miguel pounds his fist on the desk. “You interfered with (Y/n)’s timeline, Hobart!”

“I was protecting them!”

“YOU CREATED AN ANOMALY!” Miguel screams, and Hobie frowns. “How did I–”

“You killed a villain not a part of your own world, a villain who played a role in a major canon event of (Y/n)’s and now–”

“Would you come off it with the fuckin’ canon events?! Whatever it is will be resolved in one way or another!”

“Hobie you don’t understand–”

“He hurt them! Was I just supposed to stand around and let it happen?!”

“YES! We’re Spider-People it’s part of the job,” Miguel screams, and Hobie rolls his eyes. “I thought you hated them anyways, why did you want to protect them so bad?!” Miguel asks, and Hobie freezes. That… is actually a good question. He sees your injuries in his mind again and his frown deepens. Why did he want to protect you? Surely, he doesn’t… like you? No, he wouldn’t have done what he just did for a just a friend, though he would have still hunted the Prowler down. But the thought of him hurting you drove him to do unspeakable things… which he did. Is it… does he like you romantically?

His eyes widen. It would make sense if he felt that way. He was around you 24/7. These past two days were torture. He likes the way you challenge him. He likes the way you look, he likes the way you speak, he likes– “Hobie. Answer me.” His thoughts get cut off by Miguel, and he swallows hard. “I… I actually can’t answer that right now,” he says, and Miguel frustratedly runs his hand through his hair. “Hobie. What you just did…”

“Is bad, I know–”

“It’s not just bad. It’s detrimental.”

“What do you–”

“Do you know who you killed?” Miguel asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Obviously. I killed the Prowler, probably some variant of Aaron Davis or–”

“The Prowler on Earth-666 is not Aaron Davis,” Miguel says, frowning at him. “Did I kill Miles? You know his voice did sound kind of familiar…” Hobie asks, feeling a little worse about the way he handled the situation. “No. It wasn’t Miles, either.” Hobie looks up at Miguel, who takes a deep breath. “The Prowler on Earth-666 was Hobart Brown.”

Hobie feels like he just got hit with a pound of bricks. This is too much for him to process in one night. “I… what?”

“You just killed yourself.” Hobie shakes his head. “I–”

“He sounded familiar because he was you. Just without the English accent,” Miguel says. “Did (Y/n) know?” he asks, less concerned with the fact that he technically killed himself, and more concerned with the fact that he did all of those things to you. Miguel shakes his head no. “They didn’t. They were never supposed to know,” Miguel affirms, and Hobie lets out a shaky breath. He unclenches the fists he didn’t realize he formed. He feels the indents his nails made on his palms, but he doesn’t care. He was genuinely scared for a minute there. How would you react towards him if you know he was the one torturing you for so long? He nods. “Good.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you, Hobie,” Miguel says, and Hobie looks at him. “You changed a canon event. So far, the world seems stable… but you’re not going to like what will happen next,” Miguel says, turning away from him. Hobie jumps up to the platform Miguel is standing on. “Will (Y/n) be okay?” he sounds a little too frantic, and Miguel glances over at him. “You care too much for them.”

“Bollocks,” Hobie retorts, and Miguel sighs. “I knew you would like them,” he mumbles before pulling up information on your Earth onto the monitors. Hobie sees the Venom symbiote pop up and frowns. You haven’t had to deal with that yet. “The Venom symbiote was meant to bond to Hobart Brown on (Y/n)’s Earth. Now, the symbiote is going to bond to (Y/n), which is bad. This symbiote is unlike the other Venoms. It’s angrier. Deadlier. He would have been the worst enemy they ever had to face. I’ve been mentoring them as a secret way to help them train to be able to defeat him because… well…”

“Cause what?”

“Hobie Brown with the Venom symbiote would have been unstoppable,” Miguel says, turning to Hobie and delivering information that makes a chill run down his spine.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

───────────────────────────────

『 tag list 』

@444neapolitain @afraidofshrimp @arianalovescatss* @aroaceg @astrok1dz @baefy3764 @casmosmoon* @ch6ntt* @chill-guy-but-cooler​ @cl0udyw4ter​ @cursedbitchboy​ @d1nne @death-and-rebirth-again @dotheyevenknowmars​ @epicy0n​ @f1shb0nez @faerieluuv @fisshil @fukingsad @fushiguropleasesteponme* @friendly-reject @hisdarlingabsurdity @idk-i-draw @imarealfungi @imobsessedreader* @ineedsomeconfidence @inkthgoat @iwillrisefromthefire @j3st3r-13 @jayelyyynnn* @jingliuu @jjkclub @katiebug0603 @kenqki @khaleesihavilliard @kittekat420 @lacunaanonymoused​ @lightning-wolffe* @localbeidousimp @madusas-girlfriend @marshallowy @marsyay78 @mistpx* @miwagila @naarra* @nikabearr @notbluees @notplutos* @pookiesnatcher @queen-of-the-bored @queen-of-the-grapefruits​ @romeomahbromeo​ @sadbitchhours400* @scoliobean @sillylittleguyinc @simplefools* @siriusly1 @sparklyphantom @stevenknightmarc @sxftiebee @tengen-fourth-wife @thatweirdgirlsposts @umiexe @valee1xoxo* @wannabe-fic-reader​ @weyrrii* @wheeeelys @woahrin* @xoxobabe* @zero-boxes

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

if you asked to be on the taglist and i forgot, i’m sorry :( feel free to leave a comment on this or message me separately and i’ll get you right onto it!

[4ln-stay8]

A stream full of surprises

✑ summary: you join Max for a stream that doesn’t go the way you expected to

��� pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

✑ autor’s note: so this is my first attempt on doing this so Im really sorry if it sucks

✑ warnings: some stuff might not be accurate but its a fanfic so just pretend

You sat nervously in front of the computer, joining Max Fewtrell's Twitch stream for the first time. You and Max had become close friends fast, thanks to your secret relationship with Lando Norris. Due to you being often alone for a few weeks in a row sometimes, you and Max often hung out when Lando was busy with Formula 1 commitments.

You were often busy studying to get your masters degree. You sometimes needed to stay behind on all the fun you could have by joining Lando and travelling with him but you needed to study so you could keep your scholarship.

“Hi guys! Welcome back to the stream! Today we have a guest who will be joining us, my good friend Y/N. Say hi to her chat!” said Max starting his stream.

The stream started surprisingly well. The chat didn’t payed much attention to you at first, even tho Max made sure that your presence is known. They were very busy trying to get Max to respond to their questions. It took them about 10 minutes to actually acknowledge your presence and then the hell got loose. The chat was flying with questions about who you were and why were you there. Speculations about the relationship between you and Max, people asking where Pietra was and why were you there instead of her were all you could read.

*Chatuser: who is that?

*Chatuser: where is P?

*Chatuser: is she your new gf?

*Chatuser: why is she here?

Max, being the lovely person he is tried very politely to respond to as many questions as he could.

“Guys, as I said, this is my friend Y/n and she will be joining us for today’s stream so be nice chat”

To your surprise, the stream went pretty smoothly from then on. As you chatted and laughed on the stream, the chat kept buzzing with speculations about you and Max being more than just friends. With each new viewer the subject of who you were and what was your business with Max kept repeating over and over again. You then started to blush at the comments, unsure of how to respond.

You weren’t used to being in the spotlight, one of the reasons why you and Lando were keeping things a secret. Unlike them, you weren’t trained to respond in front of cameras, how to respond to personal questions as politely as possible without actually answering them. You were totally unprepared and in that exact moment you hated yourself for letting Max convince you to join him.

You strongly disagreed to his proposal about the stream, not even Lando could convince you to join him but after Max repeatedly asking for you to join you changed your mind and agreed to do it.

Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing you wanted more than to stream with your boyfriend. Seeing him become a chaotic storm, watching his eyes light up whenever he would get a sub or have fun. There was nothing more you wanted that to hear his loud laughs and frustrated screams whenever he was gaming. You wanted to be a part of it but you couldn’t.

You were a very shy and awkward person around strangers and knowing there were thousands of people watching you didn’t sound pleasing to you, but you wanted to change that. You wanted to become more comfortable in front of the camera so you could be all the way in, in your relationship. You wanted to be more comfortable with the fans before you would announce your relationship with Lando and join him around the world. You wanted to make sure they liked you.

Meanwhile, Lando was on his way home from the airport, having just returned from the last race weekend of the season. He got bored on the uber drive and he decided to tune into Max's stream to see what was he getting up to. He was surprised to see his girlfriend on the screen. He often tried to convince you to join him on the streams but you just didn’t agree with him. He didn’t want to push you to do it knowing how shy you can get but what he didn’t understand was why did you accepted Max’s offer instead of his. He just stood there, surprised and confused, watching in silence as the chat filled with ship names and teasing messages about you and Max.

His jealousy flared, and he couldn't help himself. When he finally arrived home, he payed the driver, quickly took his bags and he burst into the house. He left all his things by the door and ran to the room you were in. He opened the door loudly, surprising both you and Max, causing you to jump in your seat.

Lando didn't waste a moment. He quickly approached you without saying a word. When he got in front of you, he cupped your face and he leaned in and planted a passionate kiss on your lips right in front of the camera. The chat went wild, emojis and exclamation marks flooding the screen. Everyone was stunned not knowing what the hell was going on.

*Chatuser: what just happened?

*Chatuser: did lando just kissed y/n?

*Chatuser: 😱

You were petrified at first, your eyes wide as you tried to process what was happening, but then you slowly melted into the kiss, your hand finding its way to the back of Lando's neck. You missed the way his lips felt on yours, the way his hands cupped your face, his thumb slowly brushing your cheek. You were addicted to his kiss. You were addicted to him. It was a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity in front of thousands of viewers. Time just stopped whenever he was near you.

When you finally pulled apart, Lando realized what he had just done. He looked at you with wide eyes and pink cheeks as he was trying to think his next move. He chuckled nervously and helped you to your feet, settling you on his lap as he took your place in front of the camera.

"Hey, everyone," Lando began, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I guess I should explain what just happened." He glanced at you, who was still blushing furiously. You got all shy and he knew it.

“So as you most likely saw, I kissed Y/n. Well that would be scandalous in different circumstances but the truth is that Y/N and I have been dating for the past year. Well, I hope we still are after that stunt I pulled” he said chuckling and he looked at you for reassurance.

“We decided not to make it public due to the fact that Y/N gets a bit shy around strangers and I wanted to make sure that she is as comfortable as possible in this relationship.” He said giving you a small smile

The chat went crazy about all that was happening. Not only did they witness a very private and intimate moment between the two of you, but they also got to see the way Lando looked at you while he was trying to explain the situation.

*Chatuser: the way he looks at her trying to make sure she’s comfortable 😫

*Chatuser: can they be any cuter?

*Chatuser: God it’s me again…

Max was sitting quietly next to you, only making his presence known with small chuckles as he read the chat. He patiently waited for you to finish your conversation before he could actually start teasing his dear friend.

You stayed quiet as well, giving small smiles to the camera trying not to seem rude. You read the comments as well, smiling even wider as you saw how nice and accepting the fans were to you so you decided to make your presence known by teasing your boyfriend.

You leaned in and whispered to Lando, "You couldn't handle the chat teasing us, could you?"

Lando laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I guess not," he admitted. “ You know I don’t like sharing whats mine” he said playfully.

You looked at him amused and decided to keep teasing him. “I mean, Max is quite charming today I’m not gonna lie” you made a small pause looking at the way his brows frowned “…but you know I only got my eyes on you, right?

You smiled looking at him, your heart swelling with love. You just adore him in ways you didn’t even know that was possible until you met him.

He looked at you with love in his eyes, trying to memorise the way you look, and answered with a simple “I know my love! I only got my eyes on you as well” he said lovingly.

The chat continued to explode with comments, but now it was filled with hearts and messages of support for the couple. Max, who had been silently watching the whole exchange, grinned and gave them a thumbs-up.

“You know guys, if I knew I had to watch you being grossly cute again I wouldn’t have let Y/n join me” said Max earning a light slap on the shoulder from you.

“Oh shut it Max… It’s not like you don’t do the same” you said rolling your eyes giggling at how chill your friend was.

“So what are we gonna do know?” Asked Max trying to change the subject while it was still in a respectful state.

“How about you guys go play something while I’ll go find P?” You said slowly standing up from Lando’s lap ignoring his protests.

“Fine we will play something. You can go and gossip with P now but first give me a kiss” said Lando trying to look as cool as possible.

You leaned in and pecked his lips one more time before slowly walking towards the door. Lando groaned as he didn’t got the kiss he was hoping for, making you giggle.

The boys went back to the stream playing games and causing chaos as they usually do while ypu and P enjoyed some quality talks while drinking some tea.

You never would’ve thought that this would be the way the world would find out about your relationship and you definitely didn’t expect the fans to be so nice about it. At the end of the day you were really grateful that Lando did what he did knowing that you now could stop hiding your love.

[xitsensunmoon]

Hi Xits! It's so nice to see you on my dashboard again :DDD

I have a few questions about your boys if you don't mind answering them (and if you can/want obv):

1) Will y/n mend their clothes at some point? Or buy the same but new outfits?

2) (dunno if it's been answered before, probably yes but-) do they need to charge in addition to drinking blood or is charging like what would be normal eating for a human-then-vampire? (They can but it doesn't do much to relieve their hunger?)

3) I remember in one of your old comics (and yes I'm still thinking about it) Sun warned y/n to stay away from Moon during one of his episodes (virus induced? Starvation? Virus induced hunger??? Mmhh) How frequently do they happen? Does Sun have similar moments? And if he does who's gonna tell y/n? I don't feel like Moon would care much about their safety at the beginning...what if they both have one at the same time?

4) do they smell the scent of blood or do they detect it like how in fanfic the dca can detect injuries and heart rate?

5) do they want to return to "normal"? Can they return to normal?  (how did they get like that in the first place. I'm still looking 👁️👁️)

7) how old are they? How many years have passed from their daycare time? How would they react if someone mentioned the topic? do you have some of your (delicious) angst at hand?

8) are there others like them? 🌚

9) moon can sing. Why he not sing. Me want moon sing.

10) they have access to a PC and internet. What do they do online? Do they try to interact with others? Do they play games? If yes, what genre do they like?

And last but not least: how was your day? Did you have nice holidays? :D

Sorry for the long ask but I might return (eventually) with more questions >:)))

Hi!!! Haven't seen you in so long!

1. It is a bit difficult to find something- anything- that will fit them, so the only thing they can do is properly fix the clothes they have. So yes, you definitely will end up taking care of their outfits and even spend a bit of time to teach Sun and Moon how to take care of them themselves.

2. Oh they wish they could renew their energy by charging.

3. All I can say as of now, the "episode" has happened because of Moon's own negligence, what exactly has happened is yet to be discussed.

4. They smell the blood, but not in the exact same way human sense of smell works. It is more of its own separate sense, disturbance in the force if you will haha. The word "feel" would fit a bit better. Like humans can feel change in temperature, they can feel blood... even if it's in a vessel.

5. :)

6. It's been less than a decade.

7. Not that they know of...

8. His lullabies were always reserved for people he cares about, when he's happy or peaceful. None of these things are the case as of now :(

9. They prefer to limit their Internet activity to a minimum, for their own reasons. But if they do use it, only as observers. And to play offline games. Like Stardew walley. They fight over it a lot. Sun even has a little notebook where he keeps quite detailed notes on how to "properly and more effectively" play the game. Moon wants to flush that thing down the drain so badly...

And as for me - I'm unfortunately spending my holidays sick<///3 I had some very tasty food tho jsjsj hope yours are better!!

Also I love long asks!! Especially when I know I can give an answer hehe. Do return :)

[gr1mstar]

Timeless lover - part II

notes: this is a second part of an one shot i did a few days ago. i don’t think it will be a part III because my account is dying? i think i was reported once and from then my post don’t get much the attention anymore. how can i fix this?

contains: sukuna ryomen x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense?

check out the first part first if you didn’t already - here

“sukuna”

“sukuna. that’s my name, keep that in mind, doll” the man in front of you spoke, taking your chin in his big hands and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

‘what a shade of red…’ you thought, analyzing the irises that looked at you with almost hatred. ‘i despise red.’ you continued, continuing to look in his direction, seeing that he was not backing up.

“not afraid, i see. what a particular sight,” he muttered, finally leaving your chin alone. after some time, he took a few steps back, running his hand through his hair. “what are you exactly?”

“what do you mean?” you found yourself asking, now looking at the tree that stood tall beside you two.

“are you not afraid to die? people usually are scared of me, fearing that i would fight them and win, resulting in their death.” the man continued, taking a few steps just to be beside you.

thinking back, when you were younger you were afraid of death. it was a terrifying thought, but after all the bullshit you went through, you found yourself not having the exact same mentality.

your time was limited, death being the only thing you were certain it was coming for you. what did you have? nothing. so that’s why you set out to live your life to the fullest, or well… how much is left of it.

you were strong. stronger than others.

“no. only the weak are afraid.”

the familiar man that stood in front of you, one intimidating, now was a big puppy, his eyes showed emotions, emotions that a curse should never have. so what was different?

“my love, no time no see…” he stared, taking a few steps in your direction, his arms parting, beckoning you to come closer to him for a hug.

‘is he crazy? what happened to yuji?’ but you were never able to answer your question, because he interrupted your thoughts.

“didn't you miss me? i've been waiting for you for hundreds of years… love-”

“don’t. i am not such a thing.” now was your time to interrupt him, taking a step back. looking at your surroundings, you found megumi looking at you with shock, a light line of blood staining his face. “megumi,” you continued, addressing the back-haired boy, “run.”

“i think i will remember you always,” you confessed, looking at the man who stood behind you, a hand on your waist and the other in your hair.

looking at the sky, you could see the millions of stars smiling happily back at you. the night was peaceful, but you knew well that the following morning would not be.

“and you will never forget about the scolding you will receive tomorrow” he continued, placing a sweet kiss in your hair.

“maybe. but it was worth it. you deserve all my time”

“and you deserve all the world, my love.” was his response, closing his eyes and praying that you would be fine.

the stars were bright and you could not stop yourself from asking: ‘when i become a star too, i will shine this beautifully?’

“so. where is it?” the white-haired man asked, hands in his pocket and looking between me, megumi, and now-yuji-really-yuji.

there was a moment of silence, the sensei looking funnily at the three sorcerers. you found the silence ironic, so you tried to break it using a fake cough, but yuji beat you to it, speaking.

“i- i kinda ate that thing.”

another pause. now you were eyeing megumi, who looked somewhat constipated. it was true really, it was a very shitty moment-

“really?”

“yes, really. i am fine, kuna. you don’t need to worry, go to your mission, beat some ass, and came back to me for my cuddles, okay?” you tried to make a compromise, but the red-eye man that stood in front of you didn’t want to listen.

“i’m not going. the maid told me that you were feeling lightheaded all morning, i want to be with you-”

“but people would die if you’re not going, sukuna. i don’t want-”

“let them die fucking hell. who is more important?” he interrupted you, his angry face making you roll your eyes. he was a stubborn bitch when he wanted.

after a moment of silence, he started approaching you, taking your neck gently with his hand and making you look at him. “answer me. who is more important?”

you wanted to scream in his face that ‘the rest of the world is more important than me. who i am? a sick woman simping over a handsome man”, but you could not do that. it was going to make him more angry than he was already.

“me. i’m the important one.”

“good girl”

“so… what’s your relationship with sukuna? the king of curses, really?” the principal asked, looking from behind his glasses at you, with an eyebrow raised.

“i really don’t know. he looked at me… somewhat differently than the rest. i think he knew me from somewhere, but i don’t know.” was your response, signing and putting your head against the couch cushion.

“in any case, we must be careful. it's sukuna after all, we have to expect anything.” gojo responded, playing with his blindfold.

it was strange to see gojo wearing a blindfold reader than the glasses you were used to. the first time you saw him, you asked about it, his response making you feel bad for him.

at the same time, you could not resist asking him: “kinky much?”

“gojo is right. let’s be careful.” yoga spoke, and then continued. “now, what about yuji?”

“what about him? he would not be a part of the jujutsu high?” you found satoru asking, his now naked eye looking at yaga.

he looked so… intimidating without something covering his eyes.

“the elders want him killed.” the principal continued.

“no”

“what do you mean no?”

“i said no, kuna. meeting my parents would be a bad thing,” you said, looking at your pale hand. sukuna was playing with your fingers.

“but why?” he complained, looking like a kid who just got his candy stolen. “it could be a great opportunity to show them you are in good hands-”

“no, sukuna.” you interrupted him, taking a break from his attitude. “they would freak out and probably never allow me to meet you ever again.”

“i could kill them-” he started speaking, but you interrupted him harshly.

“absolutely not.”

“how are you feeling?”

“the same really. i mean it was pretty gross at the beginning but it went away.” yuji spoke happily, making his way to sit beside you on a bench.

the conversation you had a few minutes ago was still fresh, but you were glad that gojo was able to convince the higher-ups to not execute yuji.

“i’m glad you are okay, yuji. i heard you can control him too?”

“yes and no. i feel his presence in my mind, i can feel him too.”

“so you… you have any idea how he knows me?” you asked, a little bit of hope lingering in the air.

“not really. he always bothers me about you, but at the same time he doesn’t want to talk with you.”

“why you don’t wanna talk with me? kuna!”

you were met with silence. you could feel that he was annoyed, but somewhat you liked how he looked all… angry. he was sexy. the red eyes that stared at you a few minutes ago were now filled with jealousy, and the little crease on his forehead was just too cute to ignore.

“are you jealous?” you continued your question, tilting your head a little bit to the right to look at him better.

‘i would kill for this man’ you found yourself thinking, admiring his attractive features.

“no. i just don’t like the way he looks at you.” and then he continued, taking your head in his big hands, leaving a little kiss on the tip of the nose. “you are mine.”

“yours always.”

“he what?” you shouted, tightly clutching the phone to your ear as if it was ready to fly out of the blue.

“he ripped his heart out.” magumi answered again, then continued “you should come here, maybe say goodbye? i don’t really know.”

and so you did, and in a few minutes, you were at the jujutsu high, ready to see a poor boy who fell pray in the hands of a curse.

“you were with him?”

“yes.” the black-haired boy answered, immediately sighing. “i saw everything.”

“where was gojo?” you asked again, getting on your feet and ready to kick the white hair man’s ass.

“i don’t fucking know.”

seeing a dead person on the table was not something you were planning to see on your holiday in tokyo. yuji, now fully naked, was lying cold on the operating table. gojo just left the room to bring shoko to examine the boy, so you were all alone with a dead corpse and possibly a curse inside.

“sukuna…”

you were not sure what got into you, but somehow you found yourself talking with yuji and in the same time with sukuna.

“i know, you hate humans and shit. and i’m sorry i don’t remember you, or that i know you? i’m confused. i just… can i ask something?”

you sighed.

“can you bring yuji back? for me?”

a few minutes passed in silence. it was childish, really. thinking that ‘the king of curses’ would respond and listen to a human.

but it did. sukuna brought yuji back.

“happy birthday, princess.” started your lover, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers to you. it was not well done, some flowers were poorly placed and some even had some weeds next to them, but you appreciated the gesture.

“it’s so beautiful, kuna.” you responded, making your way to him for a kiss. “when did you have time to make thus?”

“i’ll always make time for you, you know that.” he responded, taking another sweet kiss from you. “nos, make a wish.”

“a wish?” you asked, “but didn't we need a cake for that? and candles?”

“just pretend, you know. we don’t have a cake right now, and it’s almost midnight. you show to make a wish.”

“okay, okay.” you laughed, taking the bouquet and hugging it.

‘i wish… to be with him forever’

“no! i can’t be with you. you are-”

“i’m what? last time we met, those weren’t your words, love.” the red-eyed man spoke, taking a few steps in your direction.

“it was all in the past. last time we met? that was a few weeks ago, sukuna. i don’t know you!” you shouted, keeping a fair share of distance. “i’m not your love anymore, so just give up, forget all about it.”

“i can’t do that. you know that, my love. i can’t”

“bring yuji back,” you commanded, looking at the man in front of you with despair.

he told you the truth. all your dreams and all your nightmares were just memories. memories from your past life, and so you lied to him that you didn’t remember anything, too afraid to tell the truth.

your life has just been turned upside down by a boy who ate your ex-boyfriend's finger. what a beautiful life you have, isn't it?

“kuna,” you asked, playing with your lover's hair.

“yes, princess?”

“i want you all to myself. i want to always be with you, together.”

“bring yuji back, you monster!”

“you are not a monster, kuna. you are a beautiful man, with a big heart. people just misunderstand you.”

“i hate you. i hate you, you broke me. because of you, i have insomnia, because of you i’m miserable. because of you, i used to think i’m crazy, you piece of shit”

“i love you. i will always love you. because of you, i smile more, because of you i feel alive again and because of you i will die at peace, knowing that you will be here when i wake up again, waiting for me.” you spoke gently, taking his rough hand in yours.

“promise me, kuna. promise me that you will find me in my next life, and we will be together again, even though i will not remember anything.”

“i’m not breaking my promise, princess.”

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

the photos were taken from pinterest

tags: @wr4inn @cyzvx @sunnshinie @guinevere666 @periodbloodmanipulator @esauritamaviva @uhnanix @shadowstar123

[winniefrezcomics]

So i have 2 questions

Why do iris and perry have godparents?

Does Dale still suck as a father in your human au?

(Will get to second question in a separate post 🧡)

The short answer for the first one is that , despite being best friends in preschool, when Perry and Iris reconnected in elementary school, it literally went SO BAD that they made each OTHER mutually miserable enough that they both got assigned godparents 😬😬

Perry IMMEDIATELY recognizes his childhood friend, but B-lining to HUG the school bully on his first day went just about as well as you’d expect ☠️☠️

This hug actually freaked Iris out SO much that is took him DAYS to finally get a good look at Perry, and when he did, well…. 😬

As much as I hate to torment my bby boys, Its still Peri and Irep- The two of them having ZERO communication skills is intrinsic to my characterization of them tbfh snsndndndndjdj ☠️☠️

LONG ANSWER:

I actually wrote some drabbles about these events! (mostly so that I wouldn’t forget them if I get questions that allow me to illustrate parts of them for the blog)

I’ll put the link below! 🥰💜💙

As for why they STILL have fairy god parents even after clearing up their hurt feelings and becoming friends again-

💜Perrys mom is often out traveling for movie shoots, and Perry’s Dad is very busy with his accounting job, especially at the end of every month- tho they used to spend every waking moment with thier little man, Perrys terrible habit of people-pleasing has led to him majorly downplaying how lonely he feels, especially now that his big brother and best friend Timmy has left for college, and took thier dog Sparky with them (something that Perry INSISTED he was fine with, despite being very much not fine with it at all)

💙On Iris’ side, if you directly ASKED him why he was deemed miserable enough to get a godparent (despite coming from money and having attentive, adoring parents) I’m not sure he’d actually be able to tell you himself! Between mod and readers tho, the reason Iris is miserable is that deep, deep down, he secretly RESENTS the role of “the scary kid” that his natural fangs and unorthodox upbringing have forced upon him, but because he’s always been SO SMALL for his age (my poor evil son was a preme, and spent much of his first few months in the hospital) he committed to the bit so hard he doesn’t even know HOW to be nice anymore, instead pushing ALL his peers away so none of them ever get close enough to see his flaws and weaknesses, because being “the scary kid that no one would dare mess with” is the only thing that makes him feel safe- despite how desperately he wants to be loved and praised by his peers 🥺😭

Here’s the Doc detailing Perry and Iris’ first meeting, godparent assignments, AND eventual reconciliation! 🥺💕(Hoping to get questions that I can finagle into excuses to eventually draw the vast majority of these events tbh ���)

(Cw for UNINTENTIONAL misgendering and mild- mostly just implied- child violence ☠️)

Aaas for your second question: he’s even WORSE! 😃

Just a second, I’ll answer that one in a reblog so I can tw for Dale Dinmadome lmao (Only Half joking. Fairy Dev’s backstory is NOT going to be a pleasant read 🙃 you have been warned dbdbdjdjdjddjej ☠️)

[midnightwind]

I'm making the almost kiss messier, for me (okay technically this is a few days after, but close enough) if you don't like the idea of Spite being into the Rookanis relationship, maybe don't read this lol

Summary: Spite tries to help. Things might be worse now. (just kissing and little touches, very pg, lot of yearning tho)

Word Count: 1705

She stood numbly before the pantry door, her heart in her throat. An air of guilt hung heavy around her shoulders. She had tried to give him space, busying herself by helping Taash and Bellara outside the Lighthouse. Things had felt so fragile and she was almost petrified that she had egged him into doing something he didn't want. But she wanted to visit Treviso and it felt wrong to go without at least inviting him. So she tentatively raised her hand and knocked gingerly on the door.

“Lucanis?”

There was a quiet shuffle from inside, but it was brief. She cracked the door slightly, unsure. If he was properly resting, she didn't want to ruin that. He was perched on the cot, slumped back against the wall. A cup was cradled in his lap, fingers slack. Had he fallen asleep halfway through a cup of coffee? She couldn't help the fond smile that tugged at her lips. He'd make a mess if he startled awake. She slipped silently inside, the door closing quietly behind her. With soft steps, she padded to his side and paused.

She had reasoned the intrusion with the idea of moving the cup then seeing herself out, but now that she was close she seemed to freeze. His shoulders rose with each breath, slow and peaceful. The heavy bags under his eyes were more obvious from this close and even though he was finally, finally sleeping, the exhaustion hung heavily from his features. She wanted to ghost feather touches along his jaw, card her fingers through his hair, press gentle kisses to his skin, anything to coax the stress from him. Her hand started to reach for his cheek, unbidden, before she caught herself. Grinding her teeth in frustration at the desire, she turned the motion to the cup. Her fingers had barely brushed the dish when his hand suddenly wrapped tightly around her wrist. He moved so quickly she almost screamed, her instinct to jump backwards halted only by his iron grip.

“Rook.” Her moniker curled from his mouth with Spite's low voice.

Her heart skipped a beat, wincing as the demon pulled her closer. “Hello Spite.” She smiled nervously. “Your grip hurts a little, could you… be gentler, maybe?”

Their eyes narrowed, mulling over the suggestion just long enough for her to worry he'd leave bruises on her skin. And then the pressure lightened, still firm, but measured now. “Rook is. Trespassing.”

“I…” Her mind raced to find an excuse before she sighed. “Yup. Sure am.”

A wide, toothy grin spread across their lips. “Good. We can talk.” And then he was scowling, an annoyed growl rumbling free. “Lucanis has been. Hiding. Avoiding. Won’t explain anything.”

She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. “O-oh, I don't know if I…”

“Rook will explain.” 

It didn't sound like a request, but neither did it feel like a demand. It was more just… an expectation. An understanding that she was simply someone who would answer his questions. It left her a little dumbstruck. Explaining to the demon the intricacies of messy mortal relationships didn't thrill her, but it would be a bigger fight to try and escape. And maybe she'd get some answers herself.

“I can try.” She offered slowly. “Emotions are complicated.”

“Rook will know.” His words had more bite to them this time, grip squeezing. “You will. Stay close. Need to show.”

A thrill of alarm shot through her, heart hammering against her ribs. It felt like a bad idea. “Alright, but… let me find something to sit on. Being hunched like this is uncomfortable.” When he didn't move she offered up a wane smile. “I won't run. I promise.”

He let out a displeased hum, but let her go. She did snatch the cup as she stepped back, placing it on the little side table before she turned to assess the pantry. With only a little sigh, she dragged a crate to the cot and sat down primly. Spite closed the distance in an instant, face close and eyes bright. Nerves had set her hands to trembling, unease curling in her stomach, but she kept her face placid. 

“Why does Lucanis. Refuse himself?” He asked suddenly, voice low. When she only offered him baffled blinks he almost snarled, bringing their hand to caress her cheek. “He thinks. Of touching Rook. Like this.” Their thumb traced the line of her jaw, a little rougher than she would have expected, but it set her heart fluttering all the same. “Always wants to touch. So many different ways.” The wandering motion dragged their palm across her cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before their fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place. “Wants to be close. Thinks of it. Constantly. So why does he not?”

She could feel the flush creeping up to her cheeks. “Only Lucanis can really answer that. I'll only have guesses.”

That did earn her a frustrated growl. Her heart was back in her throat at the noise and Spite was narrowing their eyes again. A dangerous grin slowly crawled across their face. Spite brought their free hand up to tug her hair free from the pins that held it in place. She didn't dare move as it cascaded to her shoulders, barely daring to breathe. He dragged their fingers through her hair, trapping a lock and pulling it to their lips.

“Like fresh blood. Fire dancing in the hearth. Warmth in the bones.” He purred. 

A strangled noise was all she could offer. Both hands cupped her face, trapping her gaze with his purple blaze. They were so, so close again. Her breath hitched.

“Storms at sea. Sun through glass. Sharp edge of knives.”

He bent their face to the crook of her neck, beard ghosting along her skin. She shivered. Their breath was warm and it felt like the ground disappeared from under her feet. The world reduced to the space between them, a sliver of distance barely maintained.

“Red berries and jasmine. Dizzyingly sweet. Smells of desire.”

That sent an electric spark through her veins, her pulse jumping. She shouldn't be hearing this. The urge to run screamed through her, but Spite had placed a hand on the side of her throat. Their fingers were tangled again in her hair, their wrist pressing down on her shoulder, and that single weight felt crushing. She couldn't move. Their free hand traced the pointed edge of her ear.

“Lucanis wants. So does Rook. Can smell it. Hear it. Feel it.” He brought their face back to hers, head tilted, lips hovering over hers. “Yet you both. Refuse. Why?”

She swallowed thickly, her voice hoarse and wavering. “Fear.”

That seemed to give him pause, though he didn't retreat an inch. “Of what?”

“Expectations.” The words fell unbidden, rasping whispers. “Disappointment. Pain. Misunderstanding. There's… so much that surrounds feelings like this.”

Their brow furrowed as he digested the idea. The moment felt like it stretched on forever under their caging grasp. And then she watched as he dismissed the thought. “Needless. Solution is simple.”

The distance disappeared before the alarm could settle in her bones. Spite's kiss was a hungry need, clumsy but forceful. He moved their other hand from her ear to her cheek, trapping her completely. It would have made her laugh if she had been able to form a thought. Part of her was screaming to run, of course, but the other part simply felt relief. A need finally answered, content to exist in the bruising kiss for eternity. She clawed at their chest, grabbing a fistful of their shirt, but wasn't able to bring herself to push them away or pull them closer. The sharp bite of teeth ripped a gasp from her, more surprise than anything, and Spite finally relented. When he leaned back, he had a wolfish grin as he licked blood from their lips.

“Simple.” He purred.

And then his presence vanished like smoke in the wind and she was left being held by a Lucanis who was struggling to take it all in. His eyes staggered over her loose hair, the deep flush to her skin, and her wide eyes. Her breaths were too fast, shoulders shivering. He could taste iron on his tongue and something else, something new. They stared at each other, both petrified, before the curse finally slipped from his lips, quiet and wondering.

“Mierda.”

It seemed to startle them both, his hands leaping away from her as if he had been burned. She stumbled backwards off the crate, pushing her bangs out of her eyes just to have something to do with her hands. Her gaze was focusing anywhere but on him, unwilling to see the look on his face. Would it be horror, or want? It felt like both would break her heart right now.

“Rook,” his voice was staggering, uncertain, “I-”

“Sorry,” she cut in sharply, a nervous laugh coloring her words. “I just- Spite had questions and I- Sorry.” She took a clumsy step towards the door. “I think… I need air.”

It was her turn to run, stumbling past the tables and chairs. She didn't stop until the dining room doors were closed firmly behind her. Pressing her back to them, she slid to a crouch. Head in hands, she took gulping, shivering breaths. There was a knot in her chest, a confusion of emotions. She had wanted that from Lucanis, but she liked it from Spite, too. That caused a worrying flip in her stomach. She did not want to pick that feeling apart right now. Shaking fingers dabbed at her lips, feeling the shallow cut the demon had made. The bastard left a reminder for her. It caused her to groan, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“Rook?”

Her head shot up in alarm at Bellara’s voice. The elf was paused at the bottom of the walkway to Neve’s room, a bundle of papers clutched to her chest. She took a tentative step forward as Rook shot to her feet.

“Are you okay? You look… Did Lucanis do-”

“No!” She cut in sharply, launching herself from the doors and almost running past the Jumper. “That was not Lucanis.”

[seokluvs]

up all night ❀ c.jh

pairing : bf!jiho x afab!reader

warnings : SMUT!! MDNI!! phone sex (voice and video), masturbation (m&f), praise kink, pet names (baby, love), mentions of sex, slight power dynamic (dom!jiho x sub!reader), squirting

wc : 1,319 words

authors note : hopefully this isn’t too bad… erm.. also his voice is so hjgyufdryhgiubfd i’m so not normal. HOPE U ENJOY!!!

sleepless nights found you more often than you’d like, spending hours on end staring into space begging your brain to just.. turn off.

it was currently 2:41 a.m. and you had a very busy day tomorrow… well, today. you tried everything to sleep. melatonin, tea, reading, just laying there.. absolutely nothing was working.

after many failed attempts to fall asleep, you finally accepted defeat and acknowledged that you weren’t going to bed any time soon.

to pass the time, you decided to call your boyfriend, maybe he’s in the same situation as you right now, or maybe you’re gonna wake him up from his beauty sleep… oh well!

as the phone rang, thoughts of him sleeping peacefully invaded your mind.. maybe you shouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night to keep you company..

however, as you were about to press the ‘hang up’ button, you were greeted by his call acceptance

“h-hello? is everything okay? why’d you call so late?” his raspy voice indicated that you did, indeed, wake him up.

in an apologetic tone, you responded

“hey baby, ‘m sorry for waking you up, i couldn’t sleep and wanted someone to talk to.. i can go if you want tho, i don’t wanna disrupt your sleep”

immediately, he refused

“no no no.. it’s okay, i was just worried.. i’ll keep you company, i’d rather talk to you anyways”

and keeping your company is exactly what he did. talking about everything under the sun from how your days went to what would happen in a hypothetical zombie apocalypse, you were beyond glad that he answered the call

but, you had to admit, his sleepy voice was turning you on a lot more than you expected. i mean, his voice was already so sexy, but when it’s so deep and raspy from sleeping? wow, you were dripping

literally.. you were soaking wet and completely losing your focus. for the past 5 minutes, he was talking about some funny thing that happened at work, but your brain couldn’t process anything that he said because you were too hyper fixated on the way his voice softly cracked when he got too excited, or the hushed giggle he let out every few moments

you were so dazed by his voice that you didn’t even realise the way your hand slipped past your waistband, that you started to rub your clit and let out soft whimpers.. you didn’t realise any of it, but he did.

clearing his voice, he spoke up

“whatcha doin’?” he said with a small chuckle

obviously, he already knew.. he just wanted to hear the panic in your voice as you tried to come up with a convincing lie, telling you to save it and that he already knew what dirty things you were doing

“i-i’m so sorry .. i just lost my train of thought and i didn’t mean to, i swear.. oh my god… i’m so weird, im so, so sorry..” you blurted out, unable to hide the shame and embarrassment in your voice

“i didn’t tell you to stop, you know” he spoke, his tone much calmer than yours, but laced with something.. was it lust? or were you just so perverted that your mind was playing tricks on you?

questioning what he said in a puzzled tone, he responded, repeating what he said

“i said, i didn’t tell you to stop, you know.. plus, you sound really cute when you whimper.. i wish i could hear it in person” the last part was more hushed, but it still sent a buzz to your core

playing along, you spoke, this time with more confidence in your voice.

“oh? you’d have to do some things to make me whimper, you know. what would you do?”

with that, he began detailing every single thing, deepening his voice during certain parts and speaking in a sultry tone

“i’d do a lot of things to you.. i’d finger you until you squirt all over me, i’d fuck you until you’re crying.. i’d do anything you want me to do… anything”

as he spoke, your hand immediately went back to your dripping heat, this time, you exaggerated your whimpers as you fucked two fingers into yourself. listening to all the lewd and pornographic things your boyfriend would do to you, you notice his voice becoming a bit shakier.

“fuck.. baby, can you video call me?” he asked, voice slightly failing on him

and with that, you turned on your bedside lamp before requesting to video call him.

when he answered, greeting you was messy hair and a darkened expression in similar lighting as you, making it easy for you to figure out that he was also touching himself

after a moment of you both looking at each other, he spoke up

“can you maybe prop your phone up? i’ll do the same”

and you immediately obliged, propping your phone up on the edge of your bed, ensuring that it wouldn’t fall. he quickly followed, doing the exact same as you.

after you propped your phone up, you kneeled back on your bed, your full body on display now

“you look so sexy, love.. do you mind taking your clothes off for me?” he said as he took his shirt off

instantly listening, you agreed before stripping down til’ you were bare, and he did the same. speaking up again, you asked him what he wanted you to do next

“you see that pillow behind you baby? can you ride it for me? pretend it’s me?” he spoke in a soft tone, his eyes glued to yours as he discarded his pants and underwear

and as you did, you got the pillow that was behind you and situated it between your legs, grinding into it at the same pace that he was jerking off.

as your clit ground itself against the fabric, you let out soft moans and whimpers, earning a faster pace from jiho’s hand on his own cock.

as he watched you fall apart on your pillow, he cursed under his breath, wishing it was him instead. rubbing his tip with his palm, his dick grew more and more sensitive and precum leaked all over his hand and length

“mm, think you can stop with the pillow and finger yourself for me?” he asked

and like a mindless slave, you agreed. the pleasure you got from your boyfriend bossing you around and telling you what to do was evident when you sat your legs in front of the camera, leaking cunt in full view just for him to see.

fingering your hole, you threw your head back in pleasure as he cooed praises at you

“so pretty and soaking just for me, you look so gorgeous baby.. mm turning me on sooo much” he said as his hand sped up on his length.

finally, after a few more minutes, he felt his cock twitch as he sped up his hands, using his right hand to jerk off while the left palms his tip.

“fuck.. i’m gonna cum.. all for you, so gorgeous baby” he breathed, and with a few more strokes, he was a cumming, groaning mess.

the sight of your boyfriend cumming only turned you on more, making you speed your fingers up in your cunt, adding your second hand to rub at your clit

after a moment, you felt a tight knot in your stomach, signalling that you were so close to release

“‘m gonna cum.. want you inside me so bad” was all that you could get out through shaky whimpers, and as you were showered with endless praises from your boyfriend, the knot finally loosened and you squirted all over your bed.

“fuck” he muttered under his breath

coming down from both of your highs, you looked over at the clock next to your bed

4:32 a.m.

fuck. you’re gonna be up all night.

[insomniadreamzz]

I love you in every universe

Powder x Fem!Reader

Fluff, a bit of angst, fem reader likes to dress herself masculine

„Hey!! What are you working on again??“ You suddenly hugged Powder from behind as she was on her working table like always, making her tense up a little but she quickly relaxed when she noticed it was you. „You got nothing to do?“ She obviously teased you, making you roll your eyes in response. „Come on Powder you are here for hours.“ You scoff but you weren’t wrong and Powder knew that.

„I am helping Ekko with his project.“ She explained and your expression shifted a little, thankfully she wasn’t looking at you. You didn’t hate Ekko, you just didn’t like the idea of Powder and him being a thing. You knew he had a crush on Powder but so did you.

„Oh, that’s kind of you.“ You managed to say with a smile, Powder turned to you as she stood up. „Yea but you are right. It’s time for a break! Today there will be a little party in the last drop, you wanna come too?“

Oh how could you say no to her. You immediately nod in response. „Sure!“ Powder smiled so widely at you, showing how happy she was you would come too. „Good! Then we will see each other there.“ With that, both of you part your ways to get ready for this evening.

…

You were checking yourself out in the mirror, thinking that you will let your hair lose today, smiling as you thought about meeting Powder there. You never confessed your crush to her, thinking it would destroy your friendship. Plus being unsure about her sexuality, you didn’t know if she likes girls too.

You weren’t the woman to wear dresses, you preferred pants and a flannel shirt, not wanting to be too overdressed but also looking fine.

People liked the last drop, it was fun spending your evenings there and whenever there is a event a lot of Zaunties went there. It was hard to hear people by the music playing loudly but you didn’t mind as long as no one tried to talk to you. You would only give them a smile, hoping they didn’t ask a question.

When you got to the bar you got greeted by Silco and Vander, you always loved chatting with them. When you got your drink you felt even more chattier, talking about everything. „Where’s Powder tho?“ You asked and Vander nudged his head towards the dancefloor in response. „She is right there.“ He said and when you turned, eyes searching for her, you felt your heart tightening.

Powder was so beautiful, so so beautiful but the one she danced with…it was Ekko of course. You hated the view but you knew you still had a chance, a chance before Ekko would take it before you. A few drinks in and you got the courage to approach them without any doubt in yourself. Walking between all those people dancing your eyes only fixed on Powder. „Hey Ekko! Mind if I steal your dancing partner??“ You asked but in fact you dared him to back off from your girl, nudging him lightly aside. „Wow! I didn’t know you can dance?“ He teased you but you didn’t let that go near you, ignoring him as your eyes landed on Powders, she chuckled, thinking this is funny but you were staring at her with a serious gaze, smiling a bit. „You look gorgeous Powder.“ Those words came off your lips almost automatically, thanks to the alcohol but you needed that otherwise you wouldn’t have the guts to do what you did now.

„Oh thank you. Who‘s that charming woman wanting to dance with me??“ She went on with your flirting and you couldn’t hold back the next words you say. „A woman who just adores you very much and want to dance with you tonight.“

You thought you saw a blush on her cheeks, she didn’t answer, just a little chuckle leaving her lips before she placed her hand on your shoulder, the other gently holding your hand and you automatically move yours on her hip, smiling widely. Ekko went away, not wanting to disturb this moment between you and Powder. You hope he got the message and won’t try to hit on your girl again.

You and Powder danced for a long time, it felt like it was only you and her here, you could go for hours, not even getting a little bit tired or exhausted. Of course you didn’t miss Powders look, her eyes always searching yours, not even questioning where Ekko went. She was only yours for now and you wouldn’t want to change that ever. You spinned her around, both moving yours hips in the rhythm of the music. When there was a slow song, you danced slow and close together, when there was a little faster song, you both goofed around on the dancefloor, chuckling and laughing together. It felt like a dream but the best part was it wasn’t a dream, it was reality.

Soon you and Powder went to the rooftop of the building, having a view over Zaun. It was beautiful but of course you liked the view of her better. Powder had her head resting on your shoulder. Actually this wasn’t a awkward moment between you two, you were always close together but not like in a intimate way. The fact that you both danced so close together before and enjoyed yourself made this whole moment a little bit more intimate tho.

„What are you thinking about?“ She broke the silence between you two and brought you back to reality. „I just thought about how much fun it was to dance with you.“ You mentioned, her hand searching for yours before holding it, moving her head up to look at you, your gaze finding hers again and oh she looked even prettier in the moonlight.

„Now tell me the real reason. You literally pushed Ekko off me and dared me to dance with you instead of him.“ She did notice your actions and maybe even knew your intentions but of course she wanted to hear it from you. „Was I too harsh?…I mean-…I didn’t mean to interrupt you I just- I wanted to be the one to dance with you a-and I thought I am going to take my chance-…“ Your tongue tripped over your words, feeling very nervous now all of a sudden as you realised this is getting serious now.

„Why don’t you stop talking so much and finally kiss me?“ Powder said, making you blush really hard. It took you a few seconds to realise what was happening, her smile so soft and her loving gaze just told you she was serious about it. The nervousness got even more intense when she cupped your cheeks, making you look directly into her eyes. „I mean it. Kiss me.“ She dared you and with that, you leaned in to kiss her, her arms around your neck while yours move around her waist keeping her close as if being scared of losing her any second but she was here and you kissed.

When you pulled away, Powder frowned a little as she saw tears running down your cheeks, quickly wiping them away with her thumbs. „Hey…why are you crying??“ She asked you, worried she did something wrong but you shook your head, knowing it was time to tell her about your feelings.

„I-I just never thought you would love me back. The way you always looked at Ekko and he at you…I was scared you would love him and not me…I was loving you for a long time but never got the guts to-“ She cut you off by kissing you again, this time the kiss was more deeper, a beautiful way to shut you up you thought.

„Hey…no man could ever replace you. You are just, you and I love you because of who you are and I am happy you feel the same for me.“ She told you and you couldn’t help but smile, those were definitely happy tears, Powder just knew it. You shed happy tears. Happy that she loved you back and you will never stop loving her.