#unlike you hiding behind a feature

[sysmedsaresexist]

People really out here thinking that turning off reblogs protects you from criticism when you say something really shitty and stupid on this great site, tumblr.com

[darkst4lker]

crawling back to you. // sirius black

marauders era!sirius black x slytherin!reader

plot: sirius and you had been forced to be engaged by your families with the intention of maintain blood purity since you were twelve and he was thirteen. as time passed you became very close in an attempt to survive the situation together but you didn't expected him to leave you behind when he escaped from his family home. months later you decided to follow his steps and like clockwork, you were on the doorstep of the potters, crawling back to sirius one last time. tw: fem!reader, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LENGUAGE!!, a lot of fluff, mentions of smut (nothing graphic), trauma, abusive families, forced engagement, very slightly unhealthy romantic dynamics between reader and sirius, a lot of angst and trauma bonding. maybe a bit of ooc sirius. notes: hiiii, this was supposed to be a christmas special but i didn't got to post it on time lmao, please enjoy it. this has a couple references to some songs!! iykyk, also my apologies for being so slow with requests i swear i am working on them i just can't help writing a thousand things at the same time. AND YES there's another sirius one-shot in the making that will be ready soon!! stay tuned!!

your steps were quick even in the cold, cruel snow. it was christmas eve, and a fast look to the clock on your right wrist announced that in two hours would be midnight.

the truth was that you never left your home this late without your parents. and for the first time the wand with a dragon heartstring core hiding in your sleeve didn't provide the safety feeling it did inside of hogwarts.

godric's hollow was full of christmas lights in every house, but the tears that left your eyes proved that you weren't in the mood to acknowledge the beauty of that special night. unlike the last sixteen years in your life, christmas felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

nervousness flooded your guts, doubts of the possible resolutions surrounding what you were about to do. the violent and suffocating memories of better times, or worst times (if you looked at it from the perspective of the person you shouldn't have fallen in love with) were destroying your insides.

and not to mention the ghost of the choice you made, lingering on your face in the form of a bruise you dear mother had planted on your cheek just like a loving kiss.

the irony of the matter was, that your mother was the one to blame for all the things that were happening.

she had personally arranged your engagement with sirius orion black when you were twelve. she had made you fit into pretty dresses for all the parties in the black family home. she had taught you to care for him, to like him. she put sirius in your life and now that you loved him, fulfilling her desires, she hated you for it.

yet your loyalties were set, and there was no turning back now.

you remembered the night you met sirius, in his family home. grimmauld place was full of pureblood friends of both of your parents and your whole families.

in a display of respect, your parents had put you in a lovely and quite formal black dress. it was uncomfortable but for your mother, you tried.

you always tried.

you were born trying.

and in the moment you saw sirius, who you had seen before in hogwarts but never in detail, a sigh left your lips.

sirius was beautiful, dark. an obscure aura surrounded his face features, proving in an instant he had inherited all his family traits and even perfected them. yet the detail that stayed in your heart was the rebellious look on his face that never left even years later.

his eyes spoke in a secret language, subtly announcing he was a miracle of nature, the lion who was born in a snake nest.

and you quickly understood him. from the way his tie and hair were a bit messy, to the glass of wine he "accidentally" spilled on his mother. you noticed every act of silent revolution, and in some way you adored it.

almost by the end of the night, your parents left the both of you alone in the living room while his parents made a tour of the house for the guests.

to sirius, the first words you said to each other were always haunting his home and when he left, he carried them his chest like a knife, a vestige of resilience.

“i'm sorry.” it was the only words you could say. if sirius was angry before, you managed to escape from his temper radar.

he looked at you, a tortured sigh leaving his lips. his eyes now meeting yours and clouding your brain for a moment. the mesmerizing effect the sound of his voice provoked in your guts prophesied the sweet fate you would suffer one day.

“i'm sorry too.” he answered.

the two of you stayed in silence. you were quite aware that sirius was starting to be known in hogwarts as a player even if it was in an innocent way. he was at the age when hormones spoke by themselves and following their counsel, sirius flirted with every person who caught his eye, that leading to some broken hearts.

you were not one of the people he would be interested in and you knew it.

he did not mess with slytherins and he had made it clear thousands of times. the known fame of being blood purists and dark wizards catched up with every kid who followed the serpent path even if you liked to think you were not like that because if you really weren't, most of your friends were.

in the end, you were associated with lucius, narcissa, evan and barty. you had hanged out with regulus multiple times, they were your friends and sirius obviously believed you were exactly like the most of them.

another pureblood perfect girl, raised to be tied to a man, bear an heir and die in the resentful solitude of her own home after a long unhappy and painful marriage.

but you knew from the start that you hated just the idea of it, even if was the life your parents planned for you. in your eyes, every single one of the things surrounding this kind of living was completely and utterly fake from the very beggining.

it was a game flooded with unhappiness, made to drain the life out of boys like sirius and sacrifice the girls like you by throwing them to the hungry wolves of motherhood.

yet, sirius had the typical greed of a young man and you wanted him to live the teenage love you craved to experience too. you had found a common ground, a piece to move on this board to save the both of you and help you stick together.

you clinged on this hope for dear life before speaking again.

“we don't need to love each other. i won't mind if you keep dating people .” you said, now avoiding his deep eyes. “the only thing i ask in return is for you to not treat me like an enemy.”

and that was the last thing you said to him before your parents appeared to announce you were leaving, bringing you back to the cold reality outside sirius presence.

after that night, you assumed he would ignore you in school but he didn't. it was a slow process for the both of you but after some time, he showed he now cared for you and you reciprocated.

the couple of times you were sick in the nursery, sirius would come around to check on you and he always brought you chocolate frogs. if he was irritated after losing a quidditch match, you would join the marauders and take him to hogsmeade to cheer him up. for now, you were just two kids supporting each other.

but things took a turn when the rough love your families had caught up with both of you. when your parents pressured you if you didn't had perfect grades, sirius would hug you. and when his parents got angry with him for just being him and sent threatening letters, you would hug him back.

sirius made you realize how abusive were your family and his, and how awful were your blood purist friends.

“someday i will leave my house.” he said to you one day while you were having lunch together in the gryffindor table. he didn't seem like he was joking. “and you need to leave too.”

“i don't know sirius. i'm not brave like you.” you answered. “i won't last outside my home, i love my parents.”

“you can't tolerate those assholes telling you what to do all your life.” he always answered when you had that same discussion. “they're going to ruin you in the end.”

and every single time, you fought back the urge to say that you were already ruined, that this was the life you had.

after a year you became friends, you thought. and when you reached your fourth year, it was clear you both were growing up. he got awfully handsome and a part of you started to fall for him.

every time the feeling invaded your chest, you dismissed it, because you knew he could never love you by just looking at your life, parents and friends and even less if you added the situation you were in.

yet, he was still a man, and you started to caught his eye.

a new tradition settled between the both of you: once per week, you would have a date. more like a date, it was an excuse to hang out together and talk about your problems. it was all friendly, you said to yourself.

it was in one of those "dates" where things would get even more messy than before.

“sirius.” you called him while you walked.

the hogsmeade streets were covered in thin snow, and you had insisted for hours to go to honeydukes but he had been too distracted in zonko's to hear you. now that you were outside, you were desperate to get something sweet.

“i know, honeydukes.” he answered, smilling. “i heard you the first million times you said it.”

“that means you were ignoring me!” you complained, taking your hand to your chest in a gesture of obvious fake offense. then a smile betrayed your little act. “you didn't answered at all inside there!”

sirius softly laughed, and you couldn't avoid noticing the way his leather jacket made him more attractive than you already thought he was.

“oh please, (y/n). you were being awfully persistent and i'm not a man of patience.” he said, jokingly. “would you have rather for me to shut up my beautiful future wife in front of everyone?” sirius added with certain sarcastic tone in his voice and then, he proceeded to softly ruffle your hair.

all he said was a painfully obvious joke, because he was messing with you. there was not a single hint of seriousness on his words and yet they went straight to your soul, making your heart painfully skip a beat.

after a while, you got to honeydukes and he decided to wait outside to smoke while you bought sweets. in the exact moment you were about to go outside with a plastic bag full of candy hanging from your hand, you casually saw through the store windows how sirius flirted with a girl you had seen in hogwarts multiple times. just as you opened the door to come back to him, he gave her a little peck and she left quickly like a breeze passing by.

it was not the first time you had seen something like that, nor the worst. many times before you even saw him making out with different people in hogwarts, but this had never happened in the middle of one of your weekly dates.

after that, you were incapable of hiding your new found bad mood the rest of your date, and sirius suggested in a caring gesture to get back to the school. of course he didn't knew why you were suddenly irritated, but he did noticed that something was happening and his first guess was that you needed to rest.

while you walked back to hogwarts, the bomb in your chest exploded. you stopped on your tracks and sirius walked a few steps before turning, a bit worried.

“hey, (y/n)." he said. "are you oka-...?”

the sudden sound of your voice interrupted him.

“are you really that good kissing girls?” it was the first thing that came out of your mouth. the words came out bitter. “or everyone says it because you just look good?”

“what?” his reaction was truly sincere in the amount of surprise he felt. that was probably the last thing sirius expected to hear from you, but he kept listening.

“seriously, i want to know. are you a good kisser?” you insisted. “because your brains are surely not enough to have the whole school crushing on you.”

“are you calling me stup-...?”

“i am asking why every single person who made out with you has to talk about how good you are.” you continued, still bitter. “because i don't wanna know, and i don't wanna hear it or see it. and i do think you're stupid indeed.”

of course you didn't really took sirius orion black for a stupid man, it was the anger in your throat talking shit you did not thought with the sole purpose of making him feel a bit bad.

sirius made a pause before talking, all the puzzle pieces suddenly falling into place and slowly revealing the motives of your fury. if you were another person he would probably stormed off by then, but you weren't.

and he surely was kind of enjoying this.

“(y/n), are you jealous?”

his question punched you in the face with the strength of a storm.

“no.” you quickly answered. a prideful word that slithered from your tongue in a desperate try to not appear vulnerable, until you fucked up by adding a question. “but why did you had to do that shit in one of our dates?”

a playful smile settled itself on his lips and you noticed he saw right through you. he always did, in some way.

“so you are jealous.” sirius stood with his arms crossed, looking at you. in a matter of seconds, you felt disarmed.

“of course not, why would i-...?” a desperate gasp drowned in your throat at the feeling of getting caught so quickly.

“for a slytherin, you're a terrible liar.” he said, shutting your words off. “but you're right, i'm sorry. i shouldn't have done that in our date.” he was still smiling like a tease.

“i-i-...” you stuttered.

your heartbeat was feral, and the way he calmly dismembered your worries made it all worse.

“you know, love, if you wanted a kiss you just had to ask for it.” sirius bet was high, he knew it. but he could see that you both needed this.

you felt your brain malfunctioning over his words yet you stayed prideful, not wanting to bend your dignity for him.

“i don't want-...”

suddenly, sirius approached you with brutal impulsiveness and got his final revenge for the multiple times you had interrupted him minutes ago. his lips met yours so fast that you dropped your bag of candy in the bare floor before your hands moved straight to hold his face.

he held your cheeks too, keeping you close as he took control. you were now trapped on sirius spell, and he surely proved how good of a kisser he truly was.

your first kiss, now layed on his heart forever. it would be another thing for him to treasure in the deep core of his soul when he ran away from his house years later.

after your mouths separateed it was clear that your irritation was gone. the look you gave to him in the close intimacy of the moment reminded him of a deer with big eyes.

“look at you, it this what it takes to soothe you?” he teased. “a couple of kisses and you're back to normal?”

you started to like the thought of marrying him.

“shut up, siri.”

it was in that exact moment when your relationship took a step further and making out in empty classrooms in the middle of the night at least once per month became a normal thing between you.

yet you knew he did the same with almost every walking girl on hogwarts so your illusions never grew because they were dead from the very start. it was okay. you didn't needed any exclusivity from him, sirius was feeding all the feelings you didn't fully notice you had and he was enjoying his teenage years.

it is okay, you repeated all the time to yourself. thinking about him with another person made you awfully jealous, but it was really okay. everything was right.

you didn't loved sirius black. yes, you liked him, he was handsome, mysterious and charismatic. the obscure aura that surrounded him still had its claws firmly dug into your skin since the first time you met him but still, you didn't loved sirius black.

or at least that was what you convinced yourself of.

then you got to fifth year and your parents got persistent with the fact that you needed to remain a virgin until you marry sirius. his parents were insisting too and before the year ended you were absolutely tired of it. in a new form of revolution, you and sirius got wilder every time you were alone.

your nights became the tale of a stygian lion hunting a dragon snake and sirius firmly believed he was hooked up to your venom made of a soft, sweet serenade of kisses drowned in moonlight. but the innocence of it would die one specific night when he sneaked you into the gryffindor dorms while the students were partying in the common room.

you watched everyone drink and dance the night away while going up slowly by the stairs, sirius holding your hand. remus and james gave you a fast yet playful stare from the sofas of the common room and then you looked at sirius, who was distracted.

in that moment, like a melancholic joke of fate, sirius turned his head for a second to look at you. it was quick and barely noticeable but it was there, almost like orpheus guiding eurydice trough hell with the sole purpose of saving her yet carrying enough love inside of him to not resist the ought of looking if she was still there, with him.

once inside the dorm he guided you to his bed, he made sure to kiss your hands, arms, face and almost every part of you he could reach. sirius took care of all so you could focus on experimenting every single act of love executed that night.

he sneaked his hand between your legs and talked you through it softly, compelling you to fall apart into his arms. he held you tenderly when he went inside you, trying his best to not cause any pain and whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he guided you to your release.

it felt like if he had devoured your soul while allowing you to do the same to him, a ritualistic exchange that from that moment on, stayed in his skin like a tattoo.

you had your first time in sirius arms, and after you were done you knew that hurting you would never be part of his rebellion.

crying in each others arms after spending nights togehter also became more and more common as he started to fight more with his parents. as your fingers played with the dark locks of his hair before you felt asleep, it was clear that the doom for both of you was near and you could feel it.

“shh, everything is okay.” it was almost the tenth time you said that same sentence in the dark of night, holding sirius head against your chest as he silently cried. “i'm here, siri. we're going to be okay.”

“i just can't understand why they have to do this.” he whispered. “they don't see how much this is hurting us?”

you caressed his hair and his arms locked around your waist.

“i'm not sure what is crossing our parents minds.” you answered. “but i know we're going to survive this. together.”

sirius hid his face against you. his tears had stopped but his face was slightly red.

“one day i'll run away, and i will become a rockstar. and you will write and publish all the books you want.” he said. “we'll be free, i swear it on...”

he took a moment to think his next words.

“on...?” a weak smile settled on your face.

“on james. or maybe his mom.” sirius joked. “maybe on both of them so it's more important.” he laughed softly still having a sad undertone on his words.

you did the same as him, and your fingers interwined with his hair almost like rewarding the way he had managed to make you laugh.

“please don't leave without me.” you pleaded and words came like a whisper but sirius wasn't there to hear them, because he had fell asleep on your arms.

before you could noticed how cruel of a prankster fate can be, when you started your sixth year sirius instantly fleed his home and moved in with james potter.

chaos infested your families. your parents and his were livid, your mother was desperate to find you a new fiancé and sirius started to completely avoid you in hogwarts.

no more kissing, or long nights in each other's company. no more talking and sharing your worries. sirius made clear that you were now in different sides of the coin, and it destroyed your whole world in a second.

but at the same time you were in pain, the situation had woken a fierceness in your insides that you believed you had inside since you were born, but it was repressed for the sake of the peace in your family.

you were furious with your parents for controlling you, with sirius family for what they did to him, and with sirius himself for leaving you behind.

and that was the reason you were now approaching the potter's home with the money you stole from your parents in your pocket and all your luggage in the cold snow of christmas eve.

the truth was, you didn't know what you were exactly expecting or seeking. what you did know was that you wanted sirius to look at you in the eyes one last time and acknowledge your existence, your presence, your tears.

you wanted him to know that even if his family didn't care, you were in pain because you did.

so, with your heart in your throat and your soul hanging from your hands, you knocked at the door and patiently waited.

you were freezing outside the house but it didn't mattered anymore. the motivation in your chest eliminated all the doubts you could ever have.

when the door finally opened, james potter face received you. he had a smile on his face that almost faded in disbelief when he saw you.

“oh shit- sorry, hello (y/n).” he said, clearly surprised but polite. “are you okay? can i help you?”

“sorry james, i don't mean to intrude this late on a day like this one” you said, a certain weakness clouding your voice in melancholic chords. “can i speak to sirius?”

james looked at you, not really knowing what to say.

“i- yes, sure.” he finally answered. “do you want to come in?”

“no, it's okay. i don't want to be invasive.” you said. “it'll be really fast.”

the boy in front of you sighed and fixed the position of his glasses. then he gave you a weak smile.

it was not that james didn't liked you because in fact he did, he just had the fear that you were here to convince sirius of coming back home.

a quick and more detailed look at your bruised face, and he realized that was not the reason you were in his doorstep.

“i'll go get him, give me a second.” was what he said before entering the house again, leaving the door a bit opened.

you peeked briefly and a warm light recieved you along with the smell of food, making painfully obvious that you hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

a few seconds later, sirius appeared completely opening the door in a fast and almost desperate move like if you were going to vanish if he didn't got to you quick enough.

james was behind him, distant to the conversation but still supervising to defend his friend if necessary.

“(y/n)” said sirius, looking at you like if you weren't real.

“merry christmas, siri.” you said, greeting him. the first words you both exchanged in months.

the nickname pierced his skin with violence, the vestiges of you and him were standing strong like an unforgettable oath in the corners of his brain.

your face was wet by tears, a red subtone clouded your face because of the cold and the bruise on your cheek was getting more purple as time went by. his eyes met yours, speaking that same old secret lenguage you now understood. then, you took a deep breath.

“what happened? what are you doing here?” he asked, confused and quite worried. “who hurted you? where are your parents?”

“i ran away from home.” you confessed, answering every single one of his questions from just one clean shot. the sentence painfully twisted sirius guts into oblivion and he stayed silent, thinking what to say.

he wanted to take you in, bring you to live with the potters, shelter you from the cold, heal your wounds and kiss your forehead even if he knew it wasn't that easy. you continued speaking.

“i don't expect you to welcome me into your life again, i assumed you wanted to distance yourself from the part of you that obviously includes me.” you started saying, measuring every word. sirius sighed. “but before we don't see eachother again, i need to tell you what i feel.”

there was a brief silence, and you swallowed back tears.

“i have imagined a thousand times what could be the result of coming here and speak about this, none of them had exactly a happy ending because i know by heart that you don't feel the same as me.” every word hurted you more than you thought. “but now that i've burned to the ground everything i once believed in and followed your path, i have nothing more to lose.”

sirius looked at you and again, he saw righ through you. an understanding smile appeared on his lips, inviting you to continue.

“im listening, love.” he dared to say, noticing you were struggling to continue.

you took another deep breath before speaking.

“i've hated my parents since i was born, im sure of it. and just like you, when they trapped us in this mess, i was livid.” that was it, words started to come out one after the other. “but i was trained to endure so i tried my best to get along with you like my mom taught me. she always said to me that love wasn't important when it came to duty, and that my duty was to learn how to love you, respect you and give you kids. and if i didn't wanted to obey, she would hit me.” you sobbed, and sirius took a couple of steps closer to you.

the nasty mark on your cheek made clear to him that obeying your mother was exactly what got you that bruise. a bruise earned out of devotion for sirius, even if he didn't fully knew that yet.

he used his hand to fix a hair that kept falling on your face, and dismissed one of your tears carefully with his thumb.

“i know you're thinking how terrible that is, because i thought the same every single time she explained it to me and yet, i tried to follow her words the best i could. and after getting to know you better and speaking of our shitty parents, i started to feel things. i was too young to notice but i know now that i've been going trough this for ages.” air got stuck in your throat, you talked too fast. “and i know i am giving it way too much thought, but my point is that i love you. and i've been doing so not long after i met you. i died inside everytime we layed on your bed and you spoke of getting away from your family because even if it was by the will of our sick, twisted parents, i really wanted to marry you.”

sirius wiped your tears again, giving you all his attention.

“but with time i changed my mind. i don't want to marry you because we have to but because we have the desire to do it. i really just want you to be happy siri, but before leaving me like that you need to tell me because-...” you sobbed again, and sirius caressed your cheek, soothing your cries. “you need to know that your parents, your brother, your cousins; they may not care but i do, i desperately do. im in an awful pain because i care for you so much that when you left everything fell apart in my life, and now im once again crawling back to you like i always do, hoping that you may want to have me.” you finished your monologue, one that you practiced a thousand times before this moment only to end up saying everything by heart and not by practice.

when you ended up talking, your body finally gave you proper permission to burst into tears. sirius recieved you in his arms by hugging you tightly and that was the first moments of warmth you got after a long time.

“shh, it's okay. you're okay now.” one of sirius hands caressed your back and the other went tenderly to your hair. “i'm sorry i left without saying anything and i'm sorry i ignored you after.” he apologized, holding back some tears because seeing how you were crying was starting to make him to cry too.

“i really thought that you would be happier and better marrying someone picked by your parents because i had nothing to offer and being seen with a blood traitor would had ruined the image you once valued.” he continued. “i-i know it's a stupid reason, but what you said years ago sticked with me. you said you weren't strong enough to leave your parents, and i knew you loved them and didn't wanted them to be disappointed so i decided you didn't needed to get your life ruined because of my choices”

“b-but we talked about us running away before.” you answered, raising your head to look at him.

“we did, but once i did it i got so scared-.. ” tears finally won over him and he sobbed. “because i had nothing to offer you, not a home, not a way to protect you and even less money. i would be ruined if it wasn't for james and his family.”

you held him more tightly, as if you were about to melt with each other.

“and the cherry on top was that i thought you didn't loved me.” he admitted. “i was convinced that you didn't wanted to marry me or be with me. leaving was also my way of freeing you from us.”

you broke the hug for a moment, just like the first time he kissed you, you suddenly pulled him to you to lovingly smash your lips against his.

for the first time in a long time, sirius black was genuinely surprised. he grabbed your face and you kissed him softly, showing him the love you spoke of was real.

all his doubts vanished in the cold wind, almost like sealing an oath of devotion. nothing in your sixteen years of life would had prepared you to reveal the secrets you've held inside your heart, but now that you did it and he did too, there was no turning back.

you quickly understood that your place, your home, your family, had always been sirius. the only person who understood the living hell you were going through and who did his best to make it better just like you did with him.

finally, the tale of the the snake and the lion was getting a resolution and they were now finding their ways back to each other's hearts like a forgotten mantra coming back from the death to be recited one more time.

“i love you, sirius.” was the first thing you said when you separated.

“i love you too.” he answered, still holding your face.

after a moment, when the both of you finally stopped crying, sirius interrogated you about where were you going to spend the night.

you didn't planned to stay at the potter's that night, but james had listened everything from where he stood and being the blast of sun and sweetness he was, he spoke to his parents and in an instant you were spending christmas in a warm house with sirius, james and his family.

that night in sirius room, the two of you layed together like many times before. his head on your chest, arms in your waist and your fingers playing with his hair while your other hand sweetly caressed his back.

this time was completely different though, because the whispering conversation wasn't about running away from your parents or his. this time, for the first time, you spoke of what you felt for each other.

“i love you forever.” he said in one moment. your heart jumped of emotion.

“i love you too, siri.” you answered.

he sighed in your chest.

“you don't know how much i awfully missed you” sirius admitted, moving to kiss you innocently on the neck.

“i missed you too, more than i thought i could.” you said, closing your eyes, ready to sleep intertwined with him.

those were the same exact words you would repeat to each other years later when you finally reunited again, after fate violently separated the both of you and your thirteen year old godson, harry potter, managed to reveal the truth behind the man who betrayed his parents, proving sirius innocence.

and once again you would hold him in the deep night, now inside of grimmauld place, the very house he was raised in.

the house who saw your love being gestated in the middle of a poisoned river.

but now, you both were cleaning the violence, the traumatic memories and the haunted voices out of every wall; writing in the ceiling that a love this strong may never die.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!! i do think the ending is awful oh my god i might change it. anyways, be safe. xoxo.

[mac-tirs]

the not-insignificant differences between the omen twins

so, i saw this picture posted by @amanaci which inspired me to write this rather lengthy piece on the contrasts between morgott and mohg. i decided that, instead of dumping this whole think-piece on their post, i'd make my own separate post and ramble here.

this difference in their height really tracks for how their fighting styles and personalities are like, i feel. i always found it peculiar how different they are despite being twins; i feel like there's a rather stark resemblance between miquella and malenia in their soft-faced features, pale skin, and long flowing hair, and a close resemblance between the carian siblings with their red hair, but morgott and mohg are rather different from each other, only bearing similarities due to their omen nature. i looked a little bit into that and found that there's pretty good reasons behind why.

firstly, morgott is severely malnourished and unhealthy in comparison to mohg. you can see it in his body and how his skin sags, how his ribs and bones show, and how dry it looks. below is a comparison between his hands and mohg's hands.

morgott's hands are dry, almost rubbed red and raw around the knuckles and fingers. it reminds me a little of psoriasis, or some kind of skin discolouration caused by his poor health. it's likely he isn't eating well, or at the very least, he isn't eating as well as mohg. his twin, on the other hand (ha!), has shiny, veiny skin with a healthy colour and gleam to them. it's like he wants to call to attention how well moisturised he is (which, in this case, compared to morgott, he is).

above is a comparison between the twins' horns. the difference is extremely evident to me; morgott's horns are dry, almost seeming brittle, like sun-dried bone that hasn't seen rain or moisture in years. it reminds me of the horns of a very neglected ram, almost, but despite that, the horn growths seem more controlled, less like the wild growths all over the royal omens of the shunning grounds and more controlled as a sort of jutting crown from mainly one side of his head. meanwhile, mohg's horns are shiny, curling wildly to the point of injury, taking his eye in its path of growth. they grew wildly enough to replace his hair altogether, if he ever had any, and give him an even more imposing silhouette with a literal crown of horns (and a beard to boot). beyond this, his horns look healthy, with clearly defined rings to each growth that shine under the light, much like the rest of him. he's oiled leather to morgott's dry hide.

another somewhat interesting detail of morgott is his tail. i know a lot of people see it as soft, and it certainly looks the part, but what i find interesting are two things: the first being that his fur looks quite matted in some lightings and angles but overall looks soft to the touch, and the second being that his tail's horns look much healthier than his own horns on his head. this is in clear contrast to the rest of his body, which looks dry and unassuming with smatterings of coarse white hair up and down his body, and i believe its a matter of the limits to his own self-care. he utilises his tail as another weapon in his arsenal, so he cares for it that it might serve him well in battle, unlike his head of horns, which only serve as a detriment to him with how they must obscure some of his vision, if not most of it. additionally, he likely could bear to look at his tail and care for it, but for an omen that hates his nature more than the average, he probably doesn't enjoy looking at his own face in the mirror enough to properly care for himself.

which brings me back to the sheer differences between these two. morgott, unhealthy and self-loathing, neglects many visual aspects of himself likely because he sees vanity as a luxury not afforded to someone like him. mohg, healthy and self-obsessed, cares and grooms himself to appear very much so like the lord he claims to be, loving himself to a heretical extreme (in the eyes of the golden order). their statures reflect this too; morgott hunches low to the ground, ready to pounce at any given moment but also due to his own shame and humility, while mohg stands tall and proud, though not as tall as he could possibly be due to his upbringing being one of likely having to hunch low to fit beneath the ceilings of the smaller parts of the shunning grounds.

above is a picture of an omen from stormveil, which bears resemblance to all the omen you see in the game. in terms of clothing, one of the big ways people set the omen twins apart, morgott is completely naked save for the ragged cloak of animal hides he wears, signifying he is not fit to even dress himself in a shirt or trousers as befits a king, much like the omen pictured. he wears even less than that, actually, since he lacks even the slightest adornment save for the rope that clasps his cloak together. on the other hand, mohg is entirely adorned in finery, wearing a beautifully embroidered, fashionable priest's robe with matching vestments, and beneath that (as seen in the first image) some underclothes, a plain black button up and some pants. mohg's entire silhouette changes with the removal of his robe, while morgott's barely makes an impact once you realise he has only taken off the one article of clothing he had.

then, of course, there are their fighting styles. there's this fantastic video on youtube that i recommend watching of the twins fighting every major boss in the game, and you can clearly tell them apart from their fighting styles alone. morgott is fast, his size making him look deceptively slow only for him to dart out and do sick flips and somersaults and pirouettes that rival even the most flexible dancers, and he fights with speed and almost animalistic ferocity, save for when he conjures his weapon incantations. mohg is slow but strong, capable of swinging that large trident around like it weighs nothing while hitting with the force to knock down most enemies in a few hits, and most tarnished in just one, but he fights with a steady gracefulness in his every move, walking slowly and carefully while casting spells that hurt a lot.

even their phase 2 transitions are markedly different, with morgott's being one where he drops to his knees, vomits, and releases his cursed blood(?) all over the battlefield, causing his weapon to become alight with his curse and for him to fight with more in-your-face aggression, and with mohg's being one where he simply ignores your attacks and begins stabbing his spear into the formless mother for power at your expense, gaining a majestic set of wings that put distance between you and him so he can cast more of his spells at safer distances. where morgott is pushed to his limit and forced to confront his nature, mohg has long since embraced it and enjoys the fruits of his bloody labour with the mother of truth's blessing.

speaking of the mother of truth, even their patron orders are at odds with each other. the golden order was built upon the foundation of a very carefully-guarded lie: that marika is the one true god, which she can't be, with the existence of radagon (as per goldmask, perhaps the number 1 fundamentalist we meet in game). the formless mother is known also as the mother of truth, existing in direct opposition of the golden order's lies and craving the honesty of one of the purest expressions of life: blood. these two ideals would war against each other, with one being dedicated to the upholding of a beautiful, corrupt lie and the other being dedicated to the instillation of a dynasty of raw, pure truths. as such, even morgott and mohg's own great runes reflect these contrasts in faith, though, remarkably, these two great runes are ones that fit perfectly over each other, with mohg's slightly elevated (seen below, taken from the fextralife wiki).

so, where does this leave us? i don't know, exactly. i wasn't really writing this with any sort of ultimate conclusion. i just found it really interesting how different they were, and i wanted to talk about all the noticeable, significant differences between them here. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[ixloom819]

Him Above All (P2)

I never expected this to turn into a multiple part thing, but you guys have helped the brain worms go double time ._. There will probably be character inaccuracies but pls be patient with me

This is following this part. Please see the previous posts for trigger warnings and let me know if I’m missing any :)

If you had told yourself a year ago what your life would be like, you’d think it was a cringy self-insert fic.

But this was real, and it was agonizing.

The most unsettling part was how nothing seemed to change. Sylus was still as flirty and affectionate as he always was, like he was unbothered by the blood of his former beloved on his hands. Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto weren’t affected by Miss Hunter’s death either. Then again, you realized too late that you had taken up her role in this place. To them, Miss Hunter was someone who had taken up a bit of interest before disappearing. It was like she was never there.

Indeed, the only one that seemed to be affected was you. When before you’d shy away from Sylus, now you would go out of your way to avoid and ignore him. When you woke up from nightmares, now including her ghost condemning you, you refused to go to him for comfort, knowing that he was the cause of them.

Yet, nothing would deter Sylus. He’d follow you around and even hold you in place if he was feeling clingy. He’d be fine talking to you about anything, even when you didn’t respond. When the night terrors came, he’d come to your room when you didn’t come to his. You didn’t dare ask how he would know. He would hold you even when you protested, pressing your head against his chest, running his fingers through your hair, and speaking in a soothing tone. Much to your disappointment, your willpower wasn’t as strong as his, and you’d end up curling into him for comfort and falling asleep there.

Sylus had shown you his dragon form, something he got once he took back the part of his soul that was in Miss Hunter. He could choose to shift into this form whenever he pleases rather than having them be a permanent part of his appearance.

Hard black scales that looked like a volcano covered his already nearly indestructible body. A tail, not unlike a scorpion’s, curled behind him. Horns with a twisting design similar to vines sat on the sides of his head. Velvety black wings, ones that made you think of a bat, were bunched up behind his back, resting from his shoulder blades.

In that moment, you forgot what had happened and stared at him in awe. You traced your fingers lightly over each new feature, marveling at the texture. You chose to ignore the shivers that seemed to inflict Sylus as you did so, making sure to be as light as possible.

“In my last life,” he has said in a low tone, “I considered these features a curse. Something that made me a monster. Powerful, yes, but undesirable. I tried to hide them, shaving down my horns and-” he paused, then smirked. “Then again, you know that already.”

“But now,” he continued, “I know better. I’ve learned what a true curse is, and this is not a curse.” He stretched his wings open, the wingspan taking up the entire length of the room. “This is power.”

Normally you would have agreed with him, or if you were feeling bold, made a slight teasing comment. But his words served to remind you of what he did to gain that power and you fell silent again, dropping your eyes to the floor. You remembered a soft sigh of what you believed was disappointment. Then the conversation shifted, Sylus taking up a new topic that you didn’t respond to.

That’s how things were for a while. Overall normal while you tried to figure out how to navigate this situation.

But with you coming a new element in this game, the winds of change were not far behind.

You had noticed the signs. Everyone seemed busy with something. Luke and Kieran were out more, you hardly saw Mephisto anymore, and Sylus seemed to either be out, on calls, or on his computer. You would have welcomed the space from him, but you couldn’t ignore the slowly growing sense of dread.

After almost a week of this activity, Sylus called you into his office. He was normally fine talking with you whenever, so this sent your body on high alert.

Sylus motioned you to come around his desk and look at his computer. Too worried to question, you complied. There were three windows open on the screen. As you watched them, your stomach dropped.

One was footage of Xavier in his Lumiere outfit traversing around the N109 Zone. Another was Rafayel in his assassin costume sneaking into an apartment complex - likely Miss Hunter’s. The final one showed a report written to the Farspace Fleet on the dangers Onychinus posed and the need for action against it, signed by Colonel Caleb.

“It would seem your prediction was correct,” Sylus spoke smoothly. “Miss Hunter’s admirers are closing in on me.”

You turned to him, core filled with fear. For him? For them? You weren’t sure. “What are you going to do?”

He gave you an amused look. “Well, I’m certainly not going to just let them have their way.” He sobered up a bit. “But I’m going to need your help.”

A shiver ran down your spine. “…What?”

“You’ve shared with me their pasts with Miss Hunter,” Sylus explained, “but not much about their powers, what they can do. I’ll need that information if I’m going to win.”

“Sylus, I-” a lump formed in your throat, “I can’t do that. I can’t- I can hardly stand being the indirect cause of MC’s death! If I tell you that, then I…”

I’ll be the reason they’re dead. You couldn’t get the words out, but they hung in the air regardless.

Sylus seemed to consider your words. Then he placed a hand on your cheek and guided your face to look at him. “Darling,” he murmured softly in a tone that spoke only of love. “I know how hard this has been for you, and I know I’m asking a lot now. I have great confidence in my abilities, but I don’t want there being a sliver of a chance for them. They’re not going to be satisfied handing me over to the authorities. You know what they’re here for.”

Yes, you did. You weren’t a naive idiot. They were coming to kill Sylus…

You wished that you could say you came from a place of logic. You had been miraculously transported into this world, meaning you had no history, no records, nothing someone your age should have. You’d have no way of getting a job and heaven forbid Ever turn their attention towards you. And that was only if you managed to get out of the N109 Zone without Sylus’ protection. You needed him here. You’d always known that, which is why you never tried running before.

But that wasn’t what came to mind at that moment. The thought that ran through your mind was ‘I can’t lose him…’ As much as you hated to admit it, you still loved Sylus and you didn’t want him to die, even if he might deserve it.

You could feel tears rising again at your choice. You hated how much you had cried lately. “…You have to promise me,” you finally said in a shaky voice. “Promise me that… that you won’t kill them unless you absolutely have to. I can’t- I can’t live with blood on my hands. Not like you can…”

Sylus’ eyes flickered with pain. Why? From your pain? From being asked to make an unkeepable promise? He slowly swiped his thumb under your eye, catching an unshed tear.

“I’ll do my best,” he finally said. “I hate to cause you pain, my love-”

You cut him off. “Promise me.” You couldn’t let him have any leeway, no loopholes to exploit. You needed him to give you his word.

He paused, then sighed. “Of course. I promise, darling. I won’t kill them unless I have to.”

It took a moment, but you finally started talking.

You told him about Xavier’s swordsmanship skills, the abilities of his Light Evol, and his upcoming deadline.

You told him about Rafayel’s Lemurian powers, the strength of his Fire Evol, and his background as an assassin.

You told him about Caleb’s mechanical arm, the potential of his Gravity Evol, and the toring chip Ever put in him.

Your knowledge wasn’t perfect. It may not even be enough.

But you gave it all to him. Because in the end, you couldn’t betray the one you loved the most.

You were slightly out of breath when you finished, the weight of what you had done slowly pressing down on you.

Sylus gently pulls you into an embrace and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you, my treasure,” he cooed. “You’re such an amazing person… you’re so strong, doing something that hurts you to protect me…”

Funny… you never felt weaker.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Fix it For You

Igor x fem!reader

You meet Igor at a bar and he somehow worms his way into your heart by being your personal handyman.

word count: 10k

This is in collaboration with the talented, brilliant, amazing, show stopping @the-witty-pen-name! Love you, Cole!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) oral (both m and f receiving) mention of grief and loss of a loved one

The bar is nothing but busy when Igor enters it. He was hoping a small place like this would be quiet but it’s fucking loud that he can barely even hear himself think. He’s about to just leave when he sees you behind the bar, a bright smile on your face as you serve drinks. He thinks he can stay for a minute. 

He shrugs off his jacket and sets it on a still before sitting down. You turn towards him and your face lights up as you make eye contact with him, almost as if you’re old friends. He’s trying his best to hide his pink cheeks, hoping that you can’t see them. 

He catches your eye immediately and you think you might actually flirt with him for real and not just to get tips. He’s cute, unlike most of the guys you see around. He seems shy and you’re not sure that he feels comfortable here considering his constant looking around the place. 

You stare at him for longer than you should, taking in all of his features, wondering if already slipping him your phone number is too much since he’s just entered the door. You finish up with your customer then head over to where he’s sitting, already starting on your closing side work so you’re guaranteed to get out of there at a decent time.

“What can I get you, handsome?” You ask and as you wipe down a glass and all of the English words he’s learned for this very situation have disappeared from his head. Trying to save himself, he picks up the little menu to the left of him and points at one of the beer names he recognizes and you nod, turning your back and fetching it for him. 

A guy sits to the left of him and in unison, they light up some cigarettes which you are quick to notice, whipping around and setting the beer in front of Igor before breaking the bad news. 

“Sorry guys, you can’t smoke in here,” you tell them and Igor mumbles a quick “sorry” before stubbing it out onto the bar before grabbing a napkin and sweeping the ash into it and discarding it into the trash. 

“Says who?” The guy asks and Igor has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He will never understand why people always want to put up a fight. 

“Me,” you point to yourself then the giant “no smoking” sign above your head, that in Igor’s defense, he couldn’t read since he’s still learning to read in English. He can understand it just fine but reading and writing and speaking it are just so difficult for him no matter how hard he tries with all of the different apps. 

“And all of the signs all over the place.” 

“Well,” the guy’s about to speak but Igor nudges his shoulder and motions with his hands to tell him to cut it out. 

“Fucking bitch,” he mutters under his breath and that’s the final straw for Igor. Before he can stop himself, he pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and tosses it into the floor, stubbing it out. He then throws a hard punch directly at the guy’s nose, making you and everyone else in the place gasp. 

Once he feels like the guy’s gotten the message, he grabs him by the hair and forces him to look you in the eye. 

“Apologize,” he commands and the guy mutters the words “I’m sorry” to you before Igor drags him over to the door and throws him out onto the sidewalk. 

He then makes his way back over to the bar and sits back down on his stool as there are scattered claps for him and his cheeks are bright red now even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol. He hates having attention on him, but seeing the way you’re looking at him, it all seems to be worth it. 

It looks like he just did that whole thing on a whim, but what most people don’t know is that this is his job. He’s so used to throwing people around for a living that even off the clock, he feels like it’s his job to dispose of the people who are causing problems even though he’s not getting paid for it.

He takes a sip from his beer and you set a plate with a burger and fries in front of him to which he looks at you with a questioning look. 

“It’s on the house,” you tell him. “Along with anything else you’d like. For being my hero and all.” 

“Oh-“ He wouldn’t want to take advantage of your kindness, but he just feels so lonely all the time so he’s going to take what he can get. He of course has his grandmother, but his job just makes him feel so isolated because he always only gets seen as the muscle, told what to do and when to do it and no one really makes small talk with him like they do with the others. Most days, he just feels like he only has himself. 

And being from another country that doesn’t speak English doesn’t help either. He’s been learning but it’s been a struggle for him, the app he uses for his lessons being his only company most days. He’s been trying to speak with his new words, but they sound weird, heavy on his tongue like he’s trying too hard so he just doesn’t say anything. People have made fun of him multiple times because of his accent so he just doesn’t want to even try anymore.

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before so you deserve it.” He doesn’t want to believe that but the sad look in your eyes is leading him to believe that you’re telling the truth and that breaks his heart.

“Thank you,” he nods, then takes a bite out of the burger which somehow has everything he likes on it. 

“It’s y/n,” you tell him as he smiles as he continues to chew. Once he swallows, he takes a sip of his beer then sits there, trying to repeat it like you said it. 

“Y/n,” he repeats and even though it sounds foreign on his tongue, he has to admit that he likes it a lot. So he says it again. “Y/n.” 

“Yep, just like that. What’s your name?” You ask, leaning down on the bar and you’re surprised when he maintains eye contact, not even trying to sneak a peek at your cleavage. 

“Igor,” he replies, his accent thick as he introduces himself. 

“Igor,” you repeat and he hates the way he melts at hearing you say it. It sounds so much better coming from your mouth. “I like that. Where are you from?”

“Armenia,” he replies before taking a sip from his beer and you nod. You begin to wipe down glasses and he’s becoming disappointed that this might be the end of your journey together. He just likes your company. You’re easy to talk to and you don’t get onto him about being a man of a few words. You go at his pace like no one else seems to want to do and he really appreciates that. 

“I’ve never been there,” you reply and that makes sense to him. It’s a country that most people don’t even think about. “But I’ve always wanted to.” His face lights up at your words and he doesn’t even care if he looks silly. It’s like you’re saying all the right things to make him feel like he finally has a friend. 

“My mom is actually Armenian. Was,” You correct yourself. “She was. Sorry, she passed away last year and this is all still new to me. We were supposed to go this fall. I still have my ticket, but I’m too afraid to go by myself. Sorry,” you shake your head, suddenly realizing who you’re talking to. “This isn’t your problem.” 

You’re now wiping down the counter and he’s trying his best to scarf down his meal so he can get out of your hair as he holds up his plate so you can wipe down right there. You laugh at him holding his plate under his chin as he eats but he just hates when people overstay their welcome, especially at establishments like this. He should be going to bed anyway since he’s got an early morning. 

But instead of going home like he planned, he sits there at the bar, watching you close up because you insist on having the company and who is he to say no? You’re just so persuasive-not that he would need much convincing to hang out with you. Even in just the few hours that he’s spent with you, it’s like all of the screaming in his head has stopped. It’s now filled with your laugh and the jokes you’ve made throughout the night. 

You’ve been scared to get close to people since your mom died and you know that you just met Igor, but there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, appreciated. Even though he doesn’t speak much, you just love that he listens and only adds input when necessary. A lot of men you’ve come across, especially when working, seem to love the sound of their own voices, so everything about Igor is refreshing to you. 

The bar is clean and everyone is gone besides the two of you. You make sure that everything is good to go for whoever is opening and Igor is still there when you come from the back with your purse and jacket. He gets off his stool and holds his hands out, gesturing to your coat. He holds it open for you and you try not to let your heart melt at the sweet gesture. Once he’s got his on, he makes sure that you’re in front of you, making sure to open the door for once the two of you exit the bar. He stands close to you as you lock up, constantly looking over his shoulder because he knows that the freaks always come out at night. 

Once you’re settled, you drop the keys into your purse and head down the street, Igor following closely behind, still on high alert in case he needs to take action. If he didn’t feel like he was overstepping, he would wrap his arm around you for extra protection. He wants to so badly, but he settles for walking behind you since it’s easier to block if someone tries to come from that direction. 

You seem to be feeling the same way because before he can even register what’s happening, you’re grabbing his arm and wrapping your own around it like it’s something you’ve done thousands of times. Igor goes stiff at the sudden action but he doesn’t dare stop you. Something about it just feels so right having you hold onto him as you yap away. 

And you don’t even seem to bat an eye that he’s walking you home even though he didn’t ask. You can defend yourself if need be with your pepper spray or stun gun, but there’s something about a man being protective of you that makes you feel special. Especially since Igor barely even knows you. In fact, he doesn't even know you at all. 

But maybe you want him to. Maybe you want to invite him inside where you can share a joint and have a glass of wine while you watch something on the tv. You don’t think you can take any more than that but that actually sounds nice. 

You used to spend so much time with your mom that it still feels weird doing things by yourself even though the idea of letting anyone else in is terrifying. After she passed, you cut off everyone who mattered to you unintentionally and now it feels weird even possibly letting someone else into your little bubble. 

You have to remind yourself that this is just one night. You don’t have to fully let Igor in if you don’t want to and you’re sure that he would be okay with whatever you wanted. You don’t have to make any big decisions right now so you don’t know what you’re so worried about.

When you finally get out of your head and turn to him, he’s smoking a cigarette, taking a long drag before holding it out to you. You take it from him, your fingers brushing as you do so and he tries his best not to stare at your mouth as you put it between your lips. He does his best to not think about what it might be like to kiss you. 

He doesn’t even know what’s going on here, but he’ll stay as long as you’re willing to keep him around. All his life, all Igor has wanted was to be wanted. He’s always a last resort, the person people hang around when the person they want isn’t available. But you picked him when there were so many men in the bar you could have gone home with. For the first time in his life, he’s feeling wanted. 

You hand the cigarette back with a polite “thank you” before pulling him along as a gust of wind comes your way. And without even a second thought, he turns you to face him, puts his cigarette between his lips and zips up your jacket for you. It’s your turn to stare at his lips now, wanting to know what they’d feel like against yours. You wonder if he’d be sweet or if he’ll push you against the brick wall behind you. 

“Oh,” you say, the sweet gesture catching you off guard. “Thank you, Igor.” Hearing his name fall from your lips again, laced with so much sweetness is making his heart grow even more. You’re smiling up at him as you take hold of his arm again and he doesn’t know how he’s going to leave you after walking you home. Maybe he’ll just have to come back to the bar again after tonight. 

“You’re-” he says and even though you know what he’s trying to say, you don’t try to finish his sentence, letting him get there on his own. You can only imagine how hard it would be to learn English of all languages. “Welcome?” He asks and your smile widens, almost as if you’re proud of him. 

“Right,” you nod as you pull him down the street. He has no idea where you’re taking him and he’s afraid that he’d follow you anywhere. Even if you were to lure him to his death, he’d still follow you because there’s something about you that’s alluring. 

He follows you a few more blocks, now holding your hand as you pull him along and he feels disappointed when you stop at what he assumes is your apartment building. He’s waiting for you to let go, but you’re staring at him with that pretty smile as you swing your linked hands back and forth. God, he could do this for hours. 

You’re stalling now, not wanting to go inside, contemplating inviting him to come with you, but you don’t know what the protocol is here. This has never happened to you before. You normally know exactly what’s going on when you’re spending time with a man, but you can’t get a read on Igor. You know that he’s into you, or at least likes spending time with you because he willingly walked you home from the bar, but other than that, you’re not entirely sure what’s going through his head. 

He holds the door open for you, his other hand still holding yours as he does so and you nod your head towards the lobby as you head inside. 

“You can come in if you want.” He nods once then follows you towards the stairs, the elevators having signs on them that say that they’re out of order. You let out a sigh and roll your eyes. They’ve been like that since you moved in three years ago. 

He follows you up the stairs as you tell him all about the building which you know because you have way too much time during the day to google things like that. He’s fascinated by all of your knowledge, not bored in the slightest as he nods along even though you’re in front of him and can’t see what he’s doing. 

“I know a lot of fun facts. What about you?” You ask and he wracks his brain. “Anything you find interesting?” You he wants to say but decides against it even though he wants to know everything about you. He wants to know your favorite color, what side of the bed you sleep on, how you take your coffee in the morning. 

This is all so new to him. He’s never felt the way before, especially not about a stranger and it’s making him feel crazy for wanting to be close to you, to want to talk to you all night. Maybe if he plays his card right, he might get your phone number or maybe even a kiss if he’s really lucky. 

“No,” he replies as you open the door to your floor, holding it open for him this time and he thanks you as he steps through it. 

“What interests you?” You ask, suddenly feeling guilty for only talking about yourself but little do you know is that he doesn’t mind one bit. He thinks he’s quite boring in comparison. All he likes to do is sit with his grandmother while the two of them crochet while watching television. 

“Crochet,” he replies, his cheeks heating because he knows it’s not a manly thing to do but you smile at him again and he swears he’s going to faint right there. 

“I love that,” you reply as you unlock your door. “You should make me something sometime.” He knows you don’t really mean it but you have no idea that he will do whatever you fucking ask. 

“I can do that,” he nods, already examining your apartment when he steps inside to see what kind of things you like. He’s too shy to actually ask, so he’s just going to do what he does best and observe. 

You’re trying not to fall for him, you really are, but how can you not when he tells you that he crochets and zips up your jacket and walks you home? He’s the perfect gentleman, the kind you only read about in books and he’s here, right in front of you and for whatever reason, you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t have him. 

He’s just going to be a friend. He has to be because all men do is hurt you and you really can’t have that happen again. Keeping him at arm's length just makes sense for right now. 

As soon as the door is closed, he helps you take off your jacket and you hang both yours and his on the rack before turning to him. 

“I really have to go to the bathroom, but please, feel free to make yourself at home.” You gesture towards the living room then disappear down the hallway, leaving Igor alone for the first time since you met him. 

He can’t help but notice your apartment feels like you. It’s hard to explain but your essence is everywhere in this space. Even while you’re away in the other room, he still feels surrounded by you. It’s so full of life. 

It could be all of the fucking plants that seem to be living on every space. Your bookshelves, your tables, on top of your cabinets…it seems like they’re invading every nook and cranny. He admires it, knowing how much effort and care must go into keeping them alive and thriving like you’ve done. He grew up helping his grandmother garden so he can understand how much work it can be. He smiles to himself, thinking how telling it is that you have so many things you have cared for that just surround him. 

The buzzing in his head is coming back as soon as you leave and he looks around for something to distract him. He sees a package of lightbulbs on the island and when he looks up, he realizes that the buzzing isn’t in his head, but the lightbulb above the island that won’t stop blinking. He doesn’t know why it hasn’t been changed because it’s only been a few seconds and he’s already about to go crazy. 

He sits on the island and takes one of the bulbs from the package and quickly switches it out with the one that’s almost out, discarding it in the trash can that’s on the side of the island just as you’re coming out of the bathroom. 

You can’t help but gasp as you immediately notice that the flickering and stupid buzzing has stopped and resist the urge to throw yourself into Igor’s arms and pepper his face in kisses. You had spent months trying to get that bulb unscrewed but it just wouldn’t budge. And you’re fucking super wouldn’t send someone to fix it so you’d been stuck with that stupid light for ages. 

“Oh my god, did you just change the bulb?” You ask and he steps back, afraid that he’s offended you but when you smile at him yet again, he has to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t fuck up this time. 

Before he can register what’s happening, you’re standing on your toes and pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It feels warm when you pull away so he’s sure that he’s blushing, turning away to make sure that you don’t see it. 

“You’re cute,” you tell him as you pinch his cheek and if he didn’t think so before, now he’s really thinking that you and his grandmother would get along so well. He’s convinced that she’d love you. He’s never brought a woman home now and then she’d start asking about marriage and great grandchildren and that would definitely be far too much for you, he’s sure of it. 

“Cute?” He asks with a scoff. He’s only heard that word to describe animals and small children, not grown adults. It’s weird, he has to admit, but he’ll take any compliment you’re willing to give him. 

“Adorable,” you pinch his cheeks again, loving how you can make this scary looking man weak in the knees. 

“I think that’s you,” he says and you can’t help but smile again. You’ve been doing that so much tonight that your cheeks hurt more than normal. 

“No,” he shakes his head, leaning closer so that your faces are only inches apart. “It’s not a competition but if it was, you would win.” 

“Igor,” you gasp, followed by a giggle. “Who knew you were such a flirt.”

“I should go,” he says and you pout. You now don’t know what you’re going to do without him. “I can give you my phone number.” Your face lights up as you fish your phone out of your back pocket and pass it to him. He quickly types his number in then hands it back to you before heading towards the door reluctantly as he grabs his jacket. 

He really hopes you call soon because as he’s heading down the hallway and to the stairs, he already misses you. This has never happened to him before and this is why he doesn’t get attached because it just complicates everything, especially his job. But he can’t help but be aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you and for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to stop it. 

You close and lock the door once he’s gone and decide that you should head to bed. As you do so, can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have him on the other side of the bed, cuddling you to his chest as his fingers run through your hair, murmuring sweet nothings to you as you fall asleep. 

_

As you wake up to go to work a few days later, you notice that the cabinet in your bathroom that the mirror is attached to is screwed up. It’s hanging off one of the hinges, looking like it’s seconds from falling to the floor. You know your super won’t send anyone out to fix it (He never actually does his fucking job.) so you have to take matters into your own hands and figure out what the fuck to do. Part of you wants to call Igor, but you feel like you’d be bothering him and he also has a job so you don’t want to interrupt his day.

You go back and forth in your head, and you let your finger hover over his contact as you try to decide what to do. Screw it. You think to yourself. The worst thing is that he will say no. So you press the call button before you chicken out, and your heart is in your stomach as the phone rings and rings. Voicemail. 

“Hey- um, it’s me. Uh, (Y/N)… we met a couple days ago at the bar, you walked me home and saved me from the horrific buzzing lightbulb in my apartment?” You chuckle nervously, you can feel yourself rambling but you can’t help it. It’s compulsive. “Listen, I hate to ask this of you, but I don’t have anyone else to ask- my super actually fucking sucks. My bathroom cabinet is like one step away from just giving out so if you’re around- I can pay you. If you don’t mind! Just let me know! No worries either way!”

He’s so thankful he’s wearing air pods. Igor would never hear the end of it if the guys in the car with him could hear him listening to the same voicemail over and over again. He can’t let himself get swept up in the giddiness he feels that you finally called. He needs to be on. No one can be intimidating if they’re blushing- especially him. He just hates that he needs to wait until after this job to call you, he hates that he can’t just drop everything he’s doing and head straight there. 

It’s a few hours later when he finally calls, and you feel like your stomach does a flip when you see his name pop up. You answer maybe a little too quickly but you’re too anxious to talk to him again you can’t find it in you to care. 

“Hey,” you say brightly, maybe coming off a little strong. 

“Hey, sorry. I just got your message.” Lie. “I was working. I can come over now if you‘ll be home?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He hates talking on the phone but he could do this with you for hours. He instantly feels calm around you, no longer feeling the stress of his job that’s always on his shoulders when he’s speaking to you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’ll be home all day so just whenever.” 

“I’ll be on my way in a minute.” He doesn’t tell you how fast he plans on driving fast to get to you quicker. He has to see what you need and maybe he’s just desperate to see you again since he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the other night. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Igor. I really appreciate it!” You hang up before he can say “you’re welcome” and he gets into his car to head to you. 

He’s there in a flash, knocking on your door as he stands there, out of breath. You pull the door open and he stares at you, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives an awkward wave. 

You’ve never had someone drop what they were doing to come meet you so you’re caught off guard by how quickly he showed up. He’s standing there with his little tool box and you’re wondering how you’re already falling for him after only seeing him twice. This never happens and now you’re wondering if fate has anything to do with it as opposed to your apartment just being shitty. 

You’re going to choose to believe that it’s fate even if your apartment is that shitty. Because this is the first time since your mother passed that you’ve felt like you can trust someone. You feel safe with Igor despite having only seen him once before now. Something about it just feels so right and now you want to take a leap and dive head first into whatever this is. 

“It’s straight through here,” you lead him to the bathroom and he sets his tool box down, following you to assess the situation, but as soon as you both enter the small space, the mirror gives and falls to the floor, the glass shattering into a million pieces. 

Igor is quick to grab hold of you and pull you back, tucking your head into his chest with his hand while his other holds onto your waist in a protective manner. You’re both breathing heavily, still holding onto each other even after the loud crash. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been and there’s just something about it that just feels right. You feel safe, protected. And this is unlike how you’ve felt with any other man. 

Igor feels the same way, loving holding you in his arms. In this moment, he feels like nothing can hurt you because he’s got you. It feels so intimate and he’s not sure when the last time he held someone like this was. Something about it just feels so right and now he’s not sure he wants to let go. 

You stay like that for a little longer until he finally pulls away, making sure that you’re almost before he asks where your broom is, sweeping up the mess without a word. He’s so thoughtful and you keep wondering how no one has snatched him up but you’re secretly grateful because now you have him all to yourself. Your own personal handyman. 

_

It’s to a point where Igor is at your apartment more often than not and now you’ve given him a key to the place so he doesn’t have to knock every time. It might just be a key but it means so much more to the both of you. That this might be becoming more than just a friendship. 

You’ve cuddled on your couch after he’s finished up your tasks for him more times than either of you can count. You order dinner for the both of you and you talk over your meals, laughing about things on the tv. You’re not even official yet but you both know that there’s something there. Maybe if either of you could get it together, you’d get the guts to actually ask. 

-

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The sound of your kitchen sink was driving you absolutely insane. It has been days, and you did your best up until now to ignore it. It was becoming unbearable. It was all you could hear and you swear it was becoming louder with every passing day. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

I’m so sorry to ask another favor. My landlord will not send someone out to fix my faucet and it’s driving me crazy. Do you know what to do to fix it? 

Igor couldn’t help the way he was smiling to himself when he read your text. He couldn’t help but feel practically giddy at the idea that you need his help- that you need him. It was an indescribable feeling that bubbled up and made his entire body feel overwhelmingly warm. He’d fix everything, solve all your problems- anything you asked. He liked being the one you turned to. 

I can come by today

Whenever you can! Don’t worry about it- no rush. 

He chuckles to himself, as if he wouldn’t drop whatever he was doing to help you when you call. He appreciates how sincere you are, not wanting to take advantage of his kindness. He wishes you’d realize how much he wants you to take advantage of him. He wants to help you, he wants to do anything to just make you happy. If fixing a leak, a light bulb, a loose hinge… if that made you smile, he’d gladly do it no questions asked. He’s at your apartment within the hour and you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are.

“Hi,” he says simply, and you can hear that he sounds a little breathless. Did he run up the stairs? You can’t help but feel a little flustered at the idea as you step aside to let him in. 

“Hi,” you say back, grinning. 

“I brought the stuff,” he says matter of factly, holding up his tool box. 

“I really appreciate this, honestly,” you say, leading him over to the kitchen- directly to the offensively loud kitchen sink. “You’re a lifesaver.” Your praise makes his heart swell, and he does his best to look the other way so you don’t see him blush. 

He takes a moment to just observe as he puts his tools down on the counter. You noticed that about him- how incredibly thoughtful he is with everything. He doesn’t ever rush- except when he threw that guy out at the bar. But even then, everything was just so concise. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone like him. You have to physically shake your head to expel the thoughts before you let yourself get so wrapped up in watching him. 

“This shouldn’t be difficult,” he muses. “I have it handled, just do whatever you need to do.”

He opens the cabinet doors under your kitchen sink so he can look at the pipes, and he sees the source of the problem. You watch as he lays on his back and sticks his head into the cabinet to get a closer look at the pipes, shining a flashlight in the right spot. You don’t want to hover, or annoy him with a million questions so you decide to just follow his advice and continue on with your day. 

You look down at your appearance as you walk out of the kitchen into your bedroom. You were still in the clothes you slept in and your hair was one or two days past your normal wash day. You hadn’t thought about that and now you’re a little embarrassed he’s seen you like this but you rationalize that he didn’t notice or even care. 

Peeking out into the kitchen again, Igor’s head is still buried under the sink as he tinkered away so you decide you can probably sneak into the shower without him noticing. You escape back into your bedroom and peel off your clothes, tossing them haphazardly into your hamper. You pull on your robe, which is suddenly feeling so much shorter than it usually does. 

You tie the belt of your robe securely around your waist and use one hand to keep the top closed snugly across your chest. You poke your head out to see if he’s still working. Thankfully, he is so you tip toe across the hallway. But of course, your apartment is ancient so the floor creaks loudly as you forget to avoid that one spot on the floor. You wince, hoping he didn’t hear it, pausing for a moment. You hold your breath, even though you aren’t sure why. 

The unexpected sound makes him jump, and he curses in Russian when he hits his head on the pipe. You rush over to him as he clutches his head and kneel beside him to get a look at his wound. His skin is red when you pull his hand away, but he’s not even thinking about that. He’s distracted by your robe and what’s underneath it, scolding himself for the impure thoughts, but he can’t help it. What would happen if he just reached up and-

“Igor?” You ask and his eyes snap up to your face, hoping that you didn’t catch him staring at the top part of your robe that opened just a bit. He couldn’t see anything, but god does he want to. “I’m gonna get you some ice, okay?” You ask and he totally doesn’t get a glimpse up your robe when you stand up and head to the freezer to grab an ice pack. 

“Here,” you tell him as you rest the ice pack that you’ve wrapped in a towel on to his forehead. He doesn’t even need it now but he appreciates the gesture. 

“Thank you,” he says, as he moves so he can lie back onto the floor but he notices something soft underneath his head. You got him a pillow. You’re so sweet and he has no idea what he did to deserve this treatment but there’s no way he’s going to deny it. “I’m fine, really.” 

“Right, because a concussed man wouldn’t feel fine enough to look up my robe.” You say it as a joke, but his cheeks are burning, his eyes widening as he realizes that he’s been caught. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you kneel beside him again. “I don’t mind. In fact, you can look all you want.” You’re being so flirty and he can’t believe this is happening. It’s something he only thought was possible in his dreams. 

You lean closer, your face only inches from his. So close that he could just lean in and-

“Can I try something?” You ask in a whisper and he nods enthusiastically. Whatever it is, he’s down. He watches you get up on your knees and in a flash, you’re sitting on his face. 

You sit there for a second then panic when he doesn’t do anything, wondering if you read the situation wrong. If you completely fucked up the whole thing you had going on. You go to get off him, but in an instant, he grabs hold of your thighs and pulls you back down, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. 

Just when you’re about to ask what’s going on, you feel him spread your legs, his tongue gliding over your cunt as you lean forward, pressing your hands against the hardwood because you know that your legs already feel like jello. 

You let out a moan as his tongue moves down to your slit, licking and sucking before introducing his teeth, eating you out like he’s a man starved. This is exactly what the both of you needed and you can’t believe it took so long to get there. 

You’re hitting your fist against the floor as he continues, not even caring if you get a noise complaint from your neighbors because it just feels so good. 

His hand reaches up and unties your robe before he gently rolls you onto your back, pulling away as he pushes your robe open to get a good look at you. He mutters something in Russian that you’ve heard multiple times but you still don’t know what it means. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, staring down at you and he prays that you can’t see how lovesick he really is. Seeing you lying there completely naked for him, that you trust him that much, it’s making him fall for you even harder. 

“You think so?” You ask, your skin feeling like it’s on fire as he’s now looking like wants to eat you whole. 

“Swear,” he nods before hooking your legs over his shoulders then going in again, hungrier as he continues, feeling his cock straining in his jeans as he hears you moan over and over, feeling you grabbing at his shirt, balling it in your fists just to have something to hold onto. 

You’re already close, feeling an orgasm build and for once, you’re not in your head, wondering if you’re doing it right. With Igor, something just clicks and you’re able to stop yourself from overthinking. All you can think about right now is that he definitely knows that he’s doing.  

His name spills out of your mouth in a breathy moan as you reach your climax, your back arching as you scratch up the part of his back that’s exposed by his bunched up shirt. He goes for one more bite before pulling away, wiping his face with his shirt. 

He closes your robe and gently ties it before leaning down, his face only inches from yours. You’re sure, positive that he’s going to kiss you, but he just smiles, the one that’s only reserved for you. 

“Go shower,” he says and you nod as he stands to help you up but as soon as your feet hit the floor, your knees give out and he’s quick to catch you. He picks you up and carries you to the bathroom and sets you on the toilet before turning on the water for you. He then wordlessly leaves, shutting the door behind him to go finish the pipes, both of you not able to think about anything besides what just happened. 

All Igor can think about since he left your apartment the other day is you. Well, more specifically, how he should have kissed you when he had the chance. You were right there but he was scared. He doesn’t normally kiss people during sex because that’s just too intimate for him so he avoids it at all costs. But he wanted- wants to kiss you so badly that it hurts. 

It’s plaguing his mind, all he’s been able to think about ever since. He just sees your lips and wonders what they’d feel like slotted between his. He just knows they’d taste like that lip balm he always sees you putting on and he desperately wishes he could rewind time and just go for it. It’s been days and he can’t escape it, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. He feels like he’s reaching a breaking point and he needs to do something about it. 

Fuck it. 

Before he even thinks about what he’s doing, and it’s so unlike him to not think something through, he’s knocking on the door to your apartment, silently praying that you’ll be home. He can’t stand it anymore. He’s sick of waiting, he’s sick of holding himself back- 

“Igor, what-” 

His lips are pressed against yours and you both feel sparks, butterflies, electricity- whatever you want to call it. He feels everything when he’s around you, and he can’t let himself deny it anymore. Your lips are just as soft as he dreamed about, and he worries he took things too far until he feels you relax into his touch and kiss him back, your lips slotting against his in perfect rhythm. 

His hands cup your face, his thumb affectionately rubbing gently over your cheek as he walks you both back into the apartment. He kicks the front door shut behind him, not even caring in the least at how loud it slammed shut. Your hands rest on his chest, melting against him. You feel practically dizzy. He takes up all of your senses. 

You don’t break the kiss until you're both breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you try your best to calm the beating of your heart. Your chests rise and fall in sync as you both just silently bask in the aftermath of the kiss. You can’t help the lovesick smile that spreads across your face as you open your eyes to see him smiling back at you. 

“я тебя люблю.” When he musters up the courage to finally fucking say it, it feels like a weight has been lifting off his shoulders. He’s burdened him by keeping his emotions hidden for far too long. He’s done, he’s never felt more confident in anything before. This is it- you’re it. He knows it. “I love you,” he reaffirms, making it clear. 

Your breath catches in the back of your throat at his confession. His statement hangs in the air for a moment as your eyes scan his. You can’t believe what you’ve heard for a moment- it all feels too good to be true. But, you let yourself believe him. You finally feel ready to fully let him in. You know you can trust your heart with him. He’s who you want, always. 

“I love you too.” 

You press your lips to his again, not wanting to be apart for as long as you have already. You feel like you have so much time you need to make up for and you don’t want to waste another second. With your lips never leaving his, your tongue is in his mouth as you pull him further into your apartment. He lets you drag him, happily. He’d follow you anywhere. 

Guiding him into your bedroom, you gently push him down onto your bed. He’s sitting on the edge as you straddle his waist. He wraps his arms around you, his hands slipping under your shirt to rub your back and your arms wrap around his neck. You smirk against his lips when you feel his bulge underneath you. Emboldened, you grind down on it and elicit the softest moan from his lips. You’re already addicted to hearing it and you want more. You do it again, proud of yourself, for being the one who makes him feel like this. 

He’s disappointed when he feels you pulling away from him, and he pouts until he sees you sinking to your knees in front of him. His eyes widen, watching you so intensely and it thrills you. You fumble with the fly of his jeans, pulling the zipper so tantalizingly slow that he thinks he might combust. 

“Always take such good care of me,” you purr, and you tug on the waistband of his boxers. He helps you get them down his legs and you swear he hasn’t even blinked. “I want to show you how much I appreciate it… how much I need you.” 

Oh, he’s completely and utterly fucked. He wants this so bad that it actually hurts. He can feel it straining in his jeans and he just needs some release. You’re pulling his pants down and both them and his boxers drop to his ankles. 

You stare up at him with that flirty look and he’s glad he’s sitting because if he wasn’t, he’s sure that he’d need to. He presses his hands against the mattress as you spit into your hand, wrapping it around him before pumping. 

He watches you, a shuddered breath falling from his lips as his eyes flutter closed. No one’s done this to him in so long and he forgot how it felt. And maybe this is because it’s you, but he’s convinced that this is the best handjob he’s ever received. The sensation is overwhelming, and he can’t help but throw his head back as he chokes back a moan.

“I wanna hear you,” you coax, running your hand up his thigh encouragingly. He nods, biting his lip as he watches you. Fuck, you’re so pretty. He’s mesmerized by every little thing you’re doing, taking it all in. He watches as he’s wetting his lips because suddenly his mouth feels too dry as you tilt your head down, licking a long stripe from the base of his cock to his tip. 

He whimpers, gasping at how good it feels as you kitten lick the precum from his slit. You look at him with these doe eyes as you sink your pretty lips down on his cock and he can’t even think straight. His breathing his jagged as he brushes your hair out of your face for you, and he can’t help but just admire you. He swears he’s never felt this good. 

“Fuck,” he moans, as he feels your tongue swirl around his shaft. He feels like he might pass out if you keep going like this. You’re going to make him see stars and he’ll forget his own name. “You feel so good… красивая девушка,” [“beautiful girl,”] he gasps, stroking your hair as he gazes down at you like he’s in a trance. “So close… fuck.” 

He feels like all of the blood in his body is rushing to his cock as he feels that familiar coil winding inside him. He wants to ask you what to do, he doesn’t want to assume. It’s like you can sense the question before he’s able to ask, because you quicken your pace almost like you're daring him to finish. His eyes shut tightly, and his whole body shivers as he cums and you still don’t stop. 

He’s struggling to catch his breath, his body practically feeling like putty in your hands as your fingers stoke his thighs comfortingly as he comes back from his orgasm. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he’s at a loss for words when you open your mouth- sticking out your tongue just enough to show him how you’re swallowing everything he gave you. Fuck. 

He’s quick to cup your face in his hands, leaning down to kiss you again. With a gentle touch, he’s guiding you back up towards him as you peel your sweats and your soaks panties down your legs. You’re shocked that he still wants to keep going- guys you’ve been with before would be done by now, but not him. He’s so completely obsessed with getting you closer, keeping you closer- you both are nowhere near done. He has too much time to make up for. 

As you straddle his waist, he guides you down gently on his cock and you softly moan against his ear as you feel the way he stretches you out perfectly. The atmosphere around the two of you has changed- neither of you frenzied, but ready to settle into each other. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nuzzles into your collarbone, pressing kisses over the fabric of your shirt before pulling it off of you. 

God, you make him feel so warm everywhere. His breath catches in his throat when you finally sink down on him completely and he worries perhaps that his heart stopped. He presses his forehead against yours, his large hands wrapping around your back pulling you close- your bare chest flush against his. 

“You feel incredible,” he praises, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck and down your shoulder. You tentatively move your hips and his hands find your waist, holding you still and at first, it confuses you. When you realize what he’s silently asking for, you’re more than happy to oblige. You hold his shoulders, nuzzling your face into his neck and he strokes your hair. 

It’s so intimate. And you feel so strange by how much that it doesn’t scare you- not anymore, not when it’s him. 

It’s a few moments until you're squirming, desperate for a little friction. You start small, grinding your hips again slowly, drawing out your movements as you carefully observe his reaction. He must feel the same desperation as you do, because it’s all he needs. He groans, throwing his head back, overstimulated at the sensation. His hands slide down, holding you securely as he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss and thrusts up into you messy and desperate. 

“Love you,” he pants, your breath hot and jagged in your ear. It sends shivers up your spine. “Only want you,” he promises, and he says it like a needy whine as you feel his movements getting sloppier. 

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, and you're leaving red marks all over his skin. He loves it, wanting to see all the evidence that you were everywhere. He needs the reminder when you’re not around that this was all actually real. Your nails against his skin make him shiver, and he suddenly is hyper aware that he loves the sensation. That’s not even something he’s even thought before- he’s just so attracted to every part of you that he’s infatuated with your nails for fucksake. He loves it, he loves you, he wants to spoil you if you’d just let him. He’ll pay for you to get your nails done pretty however you like if you keep using them to mark him up like this. 

You’re moaning, his name falling from your lips and you look so pretty sitting on his cock that he can’t focus on anything else. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, overwhelmed entirely by how well he’s hitting that one spot so well that it’s making tears prick in the corners of your eyes. He’s feeling so close, so desperately on edge that he can’t think straight- but he still reaches up, and gently wipes them away with his thumb. It’s a touch that’s way too tender in contrast to the way he’s fucking you. 

You feel yourself getting close, and you swear that you’re seeing stars as your orgasm washes over you. You cry out, burying your face in his chest because you’re feeling so sensitive. He can feel you tighten around his cock and he knows he won’t be able to last much longer. He can see that your orgasm exhausted you, so he skillfully flips you both gently so you're laying on the bed and he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck, you did so well,” he praises, continuing his pace, kissing you. He’s holding his upper body up on his hands as they rest on either side of your head. He’s gazing down at you, taking in how you look in this moment- your hair splaying out on the bedspread, your chest rising and falling as you breathe, your eyes looking up at him… it’s all too much. 

He feels like all of the emotion, everything he’s feeling, all of it just begins to bubble over and he pulls out just in time before his orgasm hits him like a large wave. He finishes on your stomach and he rests his head against the crook of your neck as he takes a second to catch his breath. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you both lie there for a moment, the haze taking over both of you. He kisses your cheek, pushing your hair back from your forehead. He gets up, promising he’ll be right back. You can hear the sink running, and he waits for the water to warm before he runs a cloth under the stream for you. 

You can hear him puttering around, and you’re starting to wonder what he’s doing that’s taking so long. Just when you begin to wonder, he’s walking back into the room with a warm damp cloth in one hand and your reusable water bottle in the other. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, kissing your temple, and putting the water bottle in your hands. “I emptied the filter so I wanted to refill it before I forgot.” 

How did you end up here? You wonder what you did to somehow deserve this treatment. He drags the cloth gently across your skin, cleaning you up carefully. He disappears again to toss it in the hamper and then rejoins you on the bed, pulling you in close to him. You rest your head on his chest, your fingertips gently tracing the tattoo on his chest aimlessly. 

__

Not too many days after, you’re waiting outside Igor’s house- the music from your car’s speaker is making the bass vibrate as you tap your hands on the steering wheel. You sent him a text, letting him know that you’re here- cause who just walks up to the door these days? Not you. You pull down your sun visor, taking one last look at your appearance in the mirror- you were nervous. You’d never been to his house before, never met his grandmother who he spoke so highly of. It was intimidating. 

Your phone vibrates, and it’s Igor calling. Your brow furrows in confusion, wondering why he’s calling you instead of meeting you at the door. You answer almost immediately. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound more relaxed than you were. You were trying desperately to make your heart stop beating so fast with nerves as you looked over to the house. You turn off your radio. “What’s up?” You ask, trying to sound casual. 

“I’m so sorry,” He apologies, and he sounds completely sincere. “I’m not home yet. It was-uh, work thing.” How does he even begin to explain all the shit he saw today? He wants to tell you in person. He wants to just see you, knowing that would be enough to make all of the stress of today melt. “I will be there soon- as soon as I can.” He can sense your hesitation over the phone. 

“Please, go inside,” he urges, and you bite your lip feeling unsure. “My grandmother- my tatik is home- make yourself comfortable. She wants to meet you…”

“She wants to meet me?” you ask, a shy smile spreading across your face. He’s talked to his grandmother about me. The thought itself is absolutely dizzying, and you can’t remember a time you felt like this before. 

“Of course she does,” he says, a little surprised by your question. “I told her about you- please, I won’t be long. She’s expecting you to come anyway.”

“She doesn’t speak English well,” he adds quickly. You feel anxiety rise in your chest. You worry about how this interaction will go if he’s not there to translate. You decide to not let that apprehension win, and you decide to just say fuck it and go inside. 

“Okay,” you resolve, “I’ll see you soon.” 

With that, you pulled your key out of the ignition and walked up the front steps. You take a deep breath before you knock not knowing what to expect. Igor spoke so highly of her, and you wanted her to like you, desperately. 

You weren’t expecting to need to look down when she answered the door. Hunched and slow moving, she opens the door with a smile on her face. In her house and fuzzy slippers, she didn’t seem at all bothered to greet company in her pajamas. She ushered you inside before you got a chance to introduce yourself. You slide off your shoes and leave them in the front entry, and she nods approvingly. 

“I’m (y/n),” you introduce yourself and offer to shake her hand. She extends her fragile hand out to you and you smile, gently shaking her hand. “Igor told me he’d be late…”

“Always late,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. You can’t help but giggle at her disdain for his tardiness. “Come- help me,” she says, hurrying you into the kitchen. “Need young arms.”

Before you even realize what you’ve gotten into- you are elbows deep in kneading dough with your forehead covered with flour. She watches your technique over your shoulder and nods approvingly, appreciating your effort since she doesn’t have the strength to do it anymore. 

Igor can’t help the way his heart swells, hearing the laughter of the two of you from the entryway as he gets home. His grandmother sees him first, walking over and swatting him on the arm. 

“Почему вы не привезли ее раньше?” [“Why didn’t you bring her over sooner?”] She asks, and she sounds angry. You tilt your head confused, worried you did something. Igor offers you a gentle smile, melting at the sight of how quickly you’ve seemed to settle into his world. He sends you a reassuring look, and he watches the anxiety melt away as you continue what you’re doing. “Пришло время привести домой хорошую девочку,” [“It’s about time you brought home a good girl.”]

“Она великолепна. Не правда ли?” [“She’s great, isn’t she?”] He replies, blush forming on his cheeks. “не смущай меня” [“Don’t embarrass me.”]

She waves him off, walking back over to my side and she pats me on the shoulder for a job well done. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. 

Spending time with Igor’s grandmother in a way, made you feel more connected to your mother again in ways that you didn’t fully expect. You find yourself back in the midst of your mother’s culture, and it’s almost like you can feel her presence again. It feels like family, and it terrifies you and excites you all at the same time. 

You want to hold on to the feeling so tightly and never let go. You were so afraid of getting hurt again but if you find yourself longing for more days like this as the three of you sit around his grandmother’s dining room table. It feels so normal that you could cry. It’s stable, and it feels safe. For the first time you let yourself relax into your feelings and you can’t help but smile as Igor’s grandmother forces you to take thirds, which you know better to decline. 

After dinner, he walks you to the door and you have three tupperware containers of food in your arms his grandmother insisted on giving you to take home. He rests his hand on your back as he walks you out, guiding you gently out onto the porch so you can have a few minutes alone. 

“I think she likes me,” you smile, triumphantly and he can’t help but nod in agreement. 

“Mhm,” he murmurs, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. 

“I wanted to ask you..” you trail off, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. 

“Yes?” He asks patiently. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The sweet gesture makes you shiver. 

“I have that trip… the one I was supposed to go on with my mom…” You begin, not sure how to ask him. You second guess yourself, wondering if this is all happening way too soon. You take a steadying breath. “Would you ever consider coming with me?” 

“Of course,” he promises, smiling widely. He chuckles, and it relieves all of the anxiety that built up while you sat on this question for weeks. “There are so many places I’d love to show you.”

[hawkinsbnbg]

nightingales

Written for @steddieangstyaugust Day 13: "Please, stay."

tags: mutual pining, mildly dub-con, slight daddy kink (1 word), hurt/comfort, hookups to lovers, idiots in love, post ss2/post starcourt

rated: M | words: 3k | ao3

"Please stay."

That halted Eddie's movements briefly. Only briefly. And then he resumed zipping up his flies and buckling his belt as if nothing had been said.

Eddie's heart trembled in his chest, begging him to obey the voice of his Adonis, but he resisted. Because he had gone into this with his eyes wide open and head cleared of any delusional thoughts.

He knew his place, knew how to get his job done, knew what parts to hide safely away from prying eyes and protruding ears, knew just the way to make every night worth the time.

And knew he wouldn't find real love in one Steve Harrington—the town's sweetheart and golden boy—however lovely their rendezvouses had been so far.

"You're drunk, Harrington," he dared a look over his shoulder, sighing when he found the bane of his existence was already snoring softly.

Unable to help himself, Eddie cursed under his breath and stepped over to the bed once more to tuck Steve under the blanket neatly, safe and sound, and lingered for a bit to admire how young and carefree Steve looked while asleep.

Mouth slacked, eyes closed peacefully, features softened from all the edges, so unlike the bone-deep exhaustion that clouded those pretty hazels with gloomy shadows.

At least, after their little arrangement started, Steve seemed to have benefited from it judging by the lack of his heavy eye bags.

Two months ago, Steve had come asking for something to help him sleep and somehow left with a bag of weed after blowing Eddie's brain out.

It was so surreal that Eddie thought he had hallucinated the whole thing while high off his ass.

Except, Steve kept seeking him out, going from paying for drugs with intense blowjobs to something more, something Eddie could give him without affecting the Munson household's finances.

Since then, Steve would wait for him at the Harrington's residence considering it was easier and safer that way, and Eddie would do his best to pound Steve so good he would conk out by the time they were done.

And yet, more often than not, Steve would already have taken a few swigs from daddy dearest's pricey liquors and would be quite tipsy by the time Eddie arrived.

Not that Eddie hated it. He was obsessed with a tipsy Steve actually. Because tipsy Steve was always sweeter, more open and pliant with everything Eddie gave him, more expressive and vocal in a way that made Eddie weak on the knees.

Then again, tipsy Steve also got quite a loose mouth.

He asked for things Eddie would be dying to give him, he said things that were too good to be true, he sang Eddie's name like prayers, and he always begged Eddie to stay.

None of that helped Eddie's stupid heart to stay at bay at all. Because the moment Steve's pretty mouth pressed on his ear and whispered "Daddy", he was a goner.

Nonetheless, Eddie hadn't survived to this day to not being aware of how dangerous Steve Harrington was.

A rich straight boy who was curious about the world around himself. Who would stamp on Eddie's heart once he got bored and decided to move on. Who would leave Eddie behind to go get a perfect family with a beautiful wife, two kids and a half, and a white-picket-fenced house.

It didn't take Eddie long to make up his mind.

He looked at Steve once more before turning on his heels to leave the room, somehow feeling less hollow and cold after two months of witnessing them together.

So long as Steve needed him, he would be there. And Eddie would make himself sacred when the time came.

———

"Stay the night?"

Eddie glanced up from the task in his hands—wiping Steve down with a warm washcloth—and smiled humorlessly.

"You know I can't, Harrington."

"Why, though?" Steve asked softly, eyes still hazy and bottom lip jutting out petulantly.

"My uncle will worry sick if I stay overnight outside," Eddie offered a half-truth considering Wayne had stopped giving him curfews since he started dealing.

"I'm flattered you wanna keep me in your chamber, princess," he leaned forward to press a kiss on Steve's forehead. "But I gotta go."

For a fleeting moment, Steve seemed sobered up enough to regard him with an unreadable look, like he could see right through Eddie's lie.

But the moment just passed as quickly as it came when Steve let out a teary yawn that shouldn't be as endearing as it was.

"Good night," Eddie whispered as he pulled the blanket up to cover his sleepy boy.

"G'night," Steve smiled, small and sweet, and was off to dreamland within seconds, leaving Eddie sitting by his side and gazing at him longingly.

———

When Steve wasn't drunk, he would be more tense and on guard, which Eddie could completely understand given their circumstances.

What Eddie couldn't understand, though, was that Steve still asked him to stay.

"I, uhm, have nightmares," Steve averted his eyes, he did that a lot lately, like he was afraid Eddie would figure out the secret in them if he looked too long. "It'll help to have someone hold me while I sleep."

It was so sly of him to use that card on Eddie, knowing full well how much of a bleeding heart Eddie was.

Therefore, Eddie knew the decision had been made for him even before he opened his mouth.

"Alright, I'll stay, but only 'til you fall asleep."

It was the right and wrong thing to say.

Eddie realized with great displeasure that he didn't like the way Steve's eyes dimmed right after having brightened up just seconds ago.

When Eddie left that night, he tried to not think about the disappointment on Steve's face when the younger boy woke up to his cold side of the bed in the morning.

(He failed.)

———

Steve didn't ask him to stay anymore.

And Eddie pretended that it didn't crush his heart just a bit when Steve refused to receive the aftercare.

In response, Eddie simply fucked him harder for that so he wouldn't have any strength left to protest by the end of it.

It was worth all the glares and pouts Steve shot his way when he just gave up on the charade after a while and let Eddie take care of him again.

"Stay, please?"

It was said so quietly, and if Eddie wasn't always paying attention to Steve, he wouldn't be able to catch it at all.

Eddie swallowed dryly, wanting nothing more than to return to Steve's side and scoop him in a cuddle until they both drifted off in each other's arms.

But reality was always cruel. And Eddie had learned that the hard way. He couldn't afford to make mistakes now when everything had been going smoothly so far. Especially when his traitorous heart was constantly on the verge of running away from him.

"I can't–"

"Sorry," Steve let out a sigh. "Just... Just forget about it."

When Eddie finished dressing, he turned to look at Steve and was greeted by a sun-kissed back.

He squashed the urge to come closer and run his fingers on it, mapping out the constellations and tracing love lyrics with his lips on those moles and freckles.

Instead, he walked over to the door and saw himself out.

"Have a sweet dream, Stevie."

He lingered a bit, only leaving once he was sure Steve had fallen asleep.

———

They didn't meet quite often anymore. Steve was busy with his summer job and Eddie was well... hung up on the what-ifs.

What if Steve was also a trailer kid? What if Eddie wasn't a drug dealer? What if they both came from normal families that loved and accepted them for who they were? What if then?

Eddie liked to think they would always meet each other at some point in their lives no matter what the circumstances. Eddie liked to think they were star-crossed lovers who couldn't get together because of the period they were living in. Eddie liked to think Steve also loved him back.

And yet, Eddie had seen Steve flirt with endless girls at Scoop Ahoy, making eyes with some guys who looked like college jocks, who could guarantee him a good time once he dropped Eddie like a sack of potatoes.

Eddie had stood on the sideline and watched with burning, acidic jealousy as Steve threw his charm carelessly at everything that could breathe and walk on two legs.

When Steve turned to look at him with that same charming smile, Eddie realized it was time for him to wake up from his dream.

And so he did.

———

"Can you come tonight, Eddie?"

"Sorry, man, I've gotta sell all of this new stuff by the end of tonight 'cause the bills are due next week, ya know?"

"'S okay. Uhm, see you later?"

"See you later."

———

"Are you busy tonight?"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I have band practice until midnight. And Wayne will be home by the time I'm done. So..."

"Yeah, I got it."

"Uh-huh."

"Rain check?"

"Rain check."

———

Eddie turned up the volume of his music until it drowned out the ringing of the phone.

———

Eddie bit his nails, watching Steve's beamer park outside the Mayfield's trailer, watching him talking and laughing with that red-haired little girl, watching him finally get back into the car and drive away once the sun set.

He didn't know if he should feel relieved or disappointed when Steve never looked at the Munson Trailer once.

———

Eddie jolted up by the sharp knocks on the trailer's door. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only two am, too early for the police's raid and too late for his customers to linger outside.

There was only one answer to that and he hoped Franklin would be cowed away by a broken beer bottle just like the other night.

Stumbling out of his bed and pulling up his jeans hastily, he blearily thanked his lucky star that Wayne wasn't home yet.

Because for all the patience the older man had, he didn't doubt Wayne would pull the shotgun on Franklin and well, Eddie wouldn't be sorry for the drunken bastard but he didn't want Wayne to get involved in his mess too much.

On his way, Eddie picked up his weapon from under the couch as he passed by it and marched straight to the door.

When he threw it open, scowling and ready to swing at his enemy, he was greeted by not Franklin but Steve Harrington instead.

Eddie faltered, feeling sick with worry and cold dread as he took in the sight of the younger boy.

"Jesus Christ," he dropped the bottle, ignoring the clang! it made on the floor, to hover his hands over Steve's face. "What the fuck had happened to you, Harrington?"

Steve honest-to-god giggled.

"S'not important anymore," he slurred and swayed on his feet, eyes swollen in purple and red, face caked in blood and bruises and scratches. He was a bloody mess.

Eddie pulled him inside as gently as possible, trying to stay level-headed for both Steve and himself because it wouldn't do either of them any good if he panicked now.

Carefully, Eddie guided Steve to the couch, flipping on just the lamp on the side table, knowing from experience that too much light would cause discomfort to someone who had just got beaten to a pulp.

He poured Steve a glass of water, watching him drink it slowly before getting up to retrieve the quick aid kit, clean towel, and wash his hands thoroughly with soap in the bathroom.

Once he was done cleaning the cuts on Steve's face, he applied some antiseptic cream on the injured areas—which didn't look that bad after the blood was gone.

During the whole time, Steve remained oddly silent, eyes slightly glazed over like being high or in shock, just watching Eddie do all the work and only letting out a few quiet hisses when the cuts burned.

Eddie had apologized plenty for that, wishing he could share half of the pain Steve was feeling at the moment.

Then he asked Steve about the other possible injuries and concussions, not wanting to overlook anything and receiving a simple "Yes" to both questions.

("Christ, we should bring you to the hospital, Stevie."

"No, no hospital. Please."

"... Have you had anyone besides me checked your injuries, yet?"

"Uh, yeah, the paramedics. They cleared me after a bit. 'Cause there's nothing really bad, though.")

"Can I sleep now?" Steve sniffed, sounding small and lost, making Eddie's heart ache terribly.

"Not yet, Bambi," Eddie smiled softly when those pitiful doe eyes looked at him. "We gotta bathe you first, wash away these dirt and grimes before bringing you to bed."

And he wasn't lying, either. Wherever Steve had been all night had soiled his cute sailor uniform and turned him into a real Cinderella.

"C'mon," Eddie guided him up with a hand around his waist while ducked to shoulder one of his arms. "The quicker we do it, the sooner you can get your beauty sleep."

Fortunately, Steve didn't protest and allowed Eddie to half-carry him all the way into the bathroom.

———

Eddie took in a sharp inhale when he got to see the damage beneath Steve's clothes. It was far more severe than he had anticipated and he wondered if the paramedics would've let Steve go had they seen this.

Sighing inwardly, Eddie used a washcloth and gently scrubbed all the mud and blood off Steve's body, shushing the younger boy softly when he whimpered at the stings and dull aches.

Eddie had half a mind to kiss them better, but he reined in his desire to soothe Steve's pain and concentrated on making the shower as short as possible.

By the time they left the bathroom, Steve was trembling minutely but the fog in his eyes had dissipated and he seemed more conscious than when he appeared on the Munson Trailer's front porch.

After putting on one of Eddie's old Metallica tees and a pair of red flannel pants by himself, Steve ran a hand through his dampened hair and gave Eddie a crooked smile.

"Sorry for bothering you this late."

"I wanted to help," Eddie corrected him quickly.

"Of course, I know you would," Steve swallowed, eyes flickering back and forth from Eddie's eyes to his pale tattooed chest. "But I'm still sorry for having turned up without calling ahead. I was lucky enough I didn't ruin your uncle's sleep."

"He'd do the same for you, you know that right?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, chest tight with possessiveness at the sight of Steve wearing his clothes, standing in his bedroom, and smelling of his shampoo.

"Look," Steve spoke up before Eddie could say anything. "I gotta go now."

"No," Eddie reached for Steve's hand and held on it tightly. "You're not going anywhere."

"Why?"

Eddie clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, wanting to know what made Steve think it was wise to sleep without supervision while having a concussion and cracked ribs.

"I'm not letting you go back to your place alone like this."

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, a hint of King Steve peeking through the veil. He tried to pull his hand back but gave up once he realized Eddie wouldn't let him go.

He settled with a tired sigh instead.

"I don't want your pity, Munson."

"I'm not pitying you."

"So what is this?" Steve hissed as he raised his captured wrist and shook it lightly for emphasis.

Eddie only tightened his grasp further, paranoid that Steve would slip through his fingers like sand.

"It's not pity," Eddie met those hazel eyes, still burning with that same fire he always loved. He brought Steve's hand to his lips, pressing shaky kisses on those bruised knuckles.

He still wanted to run away. But the idea of leaving Steve caused him such unbearable pain that he just knew would break him down if he ever did it again.

"I care for you, Steve," his voice cracked as he confessed quietly, "I care for you a lot."

Steve breathed in sharply, eyes glassy with unshed tears and lips quivered.

"Then why did you never stay?" He asked softly. "Why did you always leave even when I begged you not to?"

Eddie stepped in closer and used his free hand to hold on to Steve's as well.

"'Cause I was scared, sweetheart," he whispered. "Scared of having my heart broken. 'Cause I knew, always do, that I don't deserve pretty things like you. That I can't give you all the good things that you deserve."

"So I'm begging you now," he blinked away his tears and looked at Steve beseechingly.

"You don't have to–"

"Please, stay," he pleaded. "Please give me another chance to show you how much you matter to me. Please trust me to make it right this time. Please."

Steve became worryingly silent at that. But Eddie still waited patiently, knowing it was a lot to take it all at once. Even Eddie himself was reeling from what he just said.

"You ignored my calls."

"I'm sorry."

"You always left although I begged you not to."

"I'm sorry."

"You lied to me."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't tell me what I did wrong," Steve mumbled, lips wobbling and nose turned pink.

That cut him deep.

"No, sweetheart, no," Eddie tugged him closer and embraced him gently, heart swelling with fondness when Steve melted in his arms.

"You did nothing wrong, baby, it's all my fault," Eddie sniffled, walking them both to his bed carefully. "I'm so sorry for making you think that way."

As Steve let out a wounded noise and started shaking with small sobs, Eddie cried with him and stroked his back soothingly, knowing he would kill and die for this boy in a heartbeat, knowing that he could never not be in love with Steve Harrington.

When they finally settled on the mattress together, Eddie spooned Steve from behind and pressed kisses everywhere he could reach.

Steve giggled quietly, too exhausted to say anything but still leaning into Eddie's warmth all the same.

Eddie knew they still had a lot to discuss to make their newly found relationship really work, but as he listened to Steve's soft snoring, he was certain they would be fine this time.

As long as they were together.

[lizthewriter]

like snow on the beach / theodore nott

PAIRING  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader

SUMMARY  christmas is your absolute favorite time of the year! the tree, the lights, the music, the food . . . however, to you, the most important thing about christmas is spending it with your loved ones.

your world falls apart when you find out you can't go home for the holidays. you're stuck at hogwarts with a bunch of stuffy professors and zero loved ones. however, you make an unlikely friend who also happens to be stuck at hogwarts for the holidays . . . and you find out he despises christmas. you make it your mission to prove him wrong.

TAGS  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader, christmas, holiday cheer, the power of belief, reader loves christmas, this is soooo dash and lily coded, inspired by dash & lily's book of dares, grumpy!theodore nott, simp!theodore nott, i'm a slut for pathetic men 😩

QUOTE  "i've never seen someone so lit from within, / blurring out my periphery, / my smile is like i won a contest, / and to hide that would be so dishonest," - snow on the beach by taylor swift, featuring lana del rey

WORD COUNT  5.7K

WRITTEN  12.4.2023

You shoved your hands in your pockets - despite the fact that you were wearing gloves in this freezing weather, you could still feel the harsh wind nipping at your skin. Here you stood at Hogsmeade station, your friends boarding the train as you watched in discontent. They were all going home for the holidays this year, but you were going to be stuck at Hogwarts. No Christmas tree, no baking gingerbread cookies, no sipping on hot chocolate while snuggled in a warm blanket, no watching holiday movies. Just the freezing cold and your own company.

You plastered a grin on your face when the train began to move and waved to your friends. They bid you their last goodbye from their compartment window. Once the train disappeared from your sight, you trudged your way back up the path to Hogwarts. Well, the sight of the castle was beautiful, in the very least. You could see snow capping the towers and covering the shingles. But even then, it was just another reminder that you were here and not there, at home, with your family. There was only one thing to cheer you up.

-

"Afternoon Madame Pince," you greeted softly as you walked into the library. She sent you a stiff nod in return. While she didn't really like anyone in paticular, she was at least kinder to you than other students.

You knew exactly which books you wanted to cozy up with by a warm, crackling fire. Dashing across the library, you ammassed an entire stack of books, one that was tall enough to obstruct your vision. You waddled through another row, searching the shelves for one paticular title. Spotting it on a high shelf, you found a rolling stool and pushed it with your foot until it was directly under the book you seeked. You tried to place your pile of books somewhere, but it wouldn't fit on the sheleves and you couldn't plop them onto the floor without angering Pince. Stupidly, you decided to step up onto the stool, carrying the pile of books under one arm all while reaching for the desired book. Of course, you should have expected what came after.

You lost your balance, the books tumbling backward out of your arm, the weight of them pulling you down too. You fell off of the stool and expected your head to meet the bookcase behind you, but in your suprise felt someone catch you as your books loudly clattered to the ground.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, to let the adrenaline and fear run it's course before you turned towards your savior. He was tall, devilishly handsome, but with oddly dead eyes. He had an odd way about him - devastatingly beautiful, yet there was this aura of melancholy around him. It was unusually attractive.

"You all right?" He asked, his tone short and gruff.

"Yeah . . . sorry about that. Should've just put my books down somewhere, I suppose."

"What is all this noise?" Madame Pince's striking voice ring throughout the library, her footsteps approaching rapidly. Soon enough, she turned around the corner and let out the most horrified gasp, hand flying to her mouth. She glanced at the two of you with a dark, murderous glare. You suddenly became aware of the fact that his hands were on your shoulders and your back was resting against his chest. "You two! Out of the library at once! I will not have you diabolic teenagers destroying the sanctity of this library! Out! Out!"

She shooed the both of you out of the library and slammed the door in your faces. Now there you were, banned from the library, with no means of proper entertainment. Of course.

Bah humbug, you thought.

"Great," said the boy sarcastically. "As if I have anything else to do now." He sighed and turned around, bumping his head against the wall.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeaked, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Don't be," he responded, turning back around. "It's not your fault."

Realization struck just then - you recognized him. "Wait . . . you're Theodore Nott, right?"

"You've been stalking me, have you?" His tone was always one of solemnity, so it really wasn't your fault that you couldn't tell he was joking.

"No, of course not, I've just seen you in a few of my classes is all," you responded, quite defensively, but mostly out of embarrassment. "You're in Malfoy's gagle of friends . . . shouldn't you be at home with your family?"

"Shouldn't you?" He returns swiftly.

"Point well taken," you respond with a grimace. He didn't respond and neither did you - what was there to say? You had never really had to interact with him, you weren't friends . . . yet you felt some sort of pull towards him. Like an invisible string that kept you hooked. He did save you from falling to possible death after all. "Well, you know, now that neither of us have anything to do, we could . . . I don't know, hang out or something?"

"Why?"

You arched a brow at him. "You got anything better to do?"

A flash of a smile flitted across his face. "Point well taken."

-

You were once again snuggled in a large coat, a knit hat atop your head and a large wool scarf pooling out of your jacket. Theodore's hands were shoved into the pockets of his thick, plaid trench coat. His hair billowed in the wind as the two of you wandered the ground, snow falling around you.

"So!" You jumped in front of him and began to walk backwards, keeping the same pace as before. "What is your absolute, favorite part about Christmas?"

Theo simply shrugged. "I don't have one." Your jaw almost dropped to the floor - how could he not have a favorite part about Christmas? Christmas, to you, represented love, family, and compassion. You loved everything about it: the tree, the lights, the music, the food, the presents. In fact, there wasn't one thing you could pick as your favorite because you adored all of Christmas too much.

Your shocked expression didn't seem to suprise Theodore in the slightest. "You don't have one?" You reiterated in disbelief, stopping. He jolted when you stopped walking, the two of you damn near as close as you were in the library. "But it's Christmas?" Theodore shrugged again. "You don't like Christmas?"

"No, truthfully . . . my family doesn't really do Christmas," he responded begrudgingly, glancing out at the Forbidden Forest as though he were disinterested. Really, he just didn't want to get into detail about his personal matters.

"Oh," you could only respond. Now that you thought of it, you could only imagine what Nott had to deal with at home, being a pureblood and all that. You knew that a lot of pureblood families were abusive and strict.

Suddenly, everything became clear. His family may not do Christmas, but you certainly do . . . you want him to feel the Christmas spirit that you do. Doesn't he deserve to understand exactly what the holidays are all about?

He tilted his head in curiosity as a grin spread across your rosy cheeks. Your eyes glittered with excitement and something akin to child-like wonder. "You know what? No. I'm going to prove to you that Christmas is the best time of the year."

Nott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He kicked at the snow, staring down at the ground as he shook his head. "I don't think you can."

"Do I hear Theodore Nott turning down a challenge?" You asked, cupping your ear with a mock judgemental expression. "Are you scared that I'm right, is that what it is?"

Nott sighed, biting back a grin as he finally met your eyes. "Fine. But I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."

"Oh, we'll see."

-

Theodore would be lying if he said he hasn't had his eye on you. How could he not? How could anyone not? You were quite literally the most outgoing person in your year. You were friends with mostly everyone, give a select few, and participated in many different student organizations. You were modest yet brash, kind yet firm, intelligent yet open-minded. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, even if it made you unpopular with certain crowds. He admired that about you.

So admittedly, the main reason he had gone to the library was in hopes that you'd be there. He's trying building up the courage to talk to you in the past, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Must be the reason why he's not a Gryffindor.

He felt an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you - as if he were so light he could float away, but also regurgitate his lunch all over the hundreds-year old carpet. He built himself up in his head and finally followed you into the rows of bookcases. When he saw you struggling with your pile of books, he froze, insecurities clouding his mind like a thunderstorm hurtling through his head. But when you were about to fall down, he instantly forgot whatever he had been thinking about and jumped to your rescue. Catching you, feeling you pressed against his chest, his nose burrowed in your sweet-smelling hair, he couldn't help but feel his heart beating incredibly fast and hard.

Finally, when the two of you were outside touring the grounds and you had so optimistically wanted to prove to him that Christmas was the best time of the year . . . he couldn't help but want you to prove him wrong.

That's why he was fussing over his hair as he stared in the bathroom mirror, tilting his head back and forth. It took him a whole ten minutes before he decided his hair would never comply and threw on his favorite plaid trench coat. You hadn't told him where the two of you were going, but he trusted that you weren't trying to pull anything funny.

You turned around as he exited the Slytherin dorm, the portrait slamming close behind him. He felt his stomach twist nervously as he looked at you - you were dressed rather festively, wearing a short green and red plaid skirt along with a mahogany turtleneck. Mini ornament earrings hung from your hears, gently bobbing as you turned to face him with an excited smile.

"Ready? Wonderful!" You exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!" He joined your side as you began walking at a brisk pace up the stairs. You lead him outside, chattering about holiday traditions you and your family had. He couldn't help but be enraptured by you - the way your eyes twinkled with joy and your hands gestured feverishly. Your bright rosy cheeks and how your scarf made them look plump and adorable.

"Oh, sorry, I've been rambling on so much you haven't even been able to get a word in!" You said, chuckling nervously, hoping that he wasn't annoyed with you.

"No, I like listening to you talk," he assured you pointedly. "Go on."

"But -"

"Honestly. I don't mind."

He could see your shoulder visibly sag with relief and you continued to explain to him as you walked down stone steps towards a small little hut next to the forest.

"What's that?" He asked you, gesturing to the hut.

"You'll see," you replied with a secretive smile. Once you were standing on the front steps of the house, the sound of a dog barking resonated from within. You knocked on the door with force, three times.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" A gruff voice responded from within. "Oi Fang, back! Get back, you mangy mutt!" Suddenly, the door swung open and Theodore was taken aback. Before him was a man towering at eight and half feet, a long, gangly beard running down his front, and a rather excited dog at his heel. "Ah right! You told me you were coming down today - and you've brought a friend I see!" The giant man turned towards Theodore with a friendly smile. "Rubeus Hagrid - I be the Groundskeeper. Ah! Don't want to keep you two out here in the cold - come, inside! Inside!"

He ushered the both of you into his hut, which was rather quaint. While Theo's eyes danced across the hut, you were already removing your coat and making yourself comfortable. His eyes fell upon a pine tree sitting in the corner, as well as a pile of boxes sitting next to it. He glanced back towards you and found you placing a kettle on the gas stove and setting out three teacups.

"I thought we'd start with one of my most favorite traditions - decorating the tree. Hagrid keeps a tree in his hut and he's asked me to help him decorate this year!"

"Them boxes over there are filled with ornaments!" Hagrid told them, gesturing to the boxes. Theodore noticed that the dog (Fang, he supposed it's name was) had approached you with a wagging tail and you had bent down to pepper kisses all over it's face. "I really appreciate youse two's help! Tha's why I made some of my famous rock cakes for ya to take back up wit' ya to the castle!"

"Thanks Hagrid, that's really nice of you!" Hagrid handed you a large, bulky package wrapped in a floral tablecloth. You placed it inside the bag you had brought with you. All the while Theodore watched as Hagrid slung some kind of bag around his shoulder and called Fang to join him by the door.

"O' course! Just remember to eat them while they're fresh!" He exclaimed with a chuckle. "Don' want 'em too hard. Ah, anyways, must get going. I've got to do my rounds about the grounds with Fang. You two young'uns have fun."

"Bye Hagrid!" You said as he closed the door behind him, offering a cheery wave. Once Hagrid left, you went back into the kitchen to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the two of you some tea. "Here you go," you said slowly, more focused on not spilling the tea you were handing to Theo than what you were saying.

He took a sip of the tea, swallowed it, and then stared down at the yellowed water. You watched him in amusement, holding back your laughter. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

He placed the cup back down on the table. "That is absolutely abominable," he told you with a sour look, pushing the cup towards you. You laughed, placing down your cup as well.

"It's not the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, but Hagrid found these incredibly rare plants in the forest with healing properties! So he's been using them for tea."

"How did you come about to be friends with the Groundskeeper, I wonder." Theodore pulled out one of the kitchen stools, rather large in comparison to himself. It wasn't easy to sit atop it, but in the end he triumphed over the chair.

You shrugged in response, taking another sip of your tea. "Well, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have known him for ages so they introduced me as well. People are kind of - I don't know - weird about him, but he's honestly lovely and gentle. He's not anything like he seems at first glance." Moving on from that topic, you clapped your hands together excitedly and ran over to the pile of ornament boxes. You separated and opened each and every box, displaying all the different ornaments. Theo approached, scrutinizing the glass balls with the tilt of his head.

"Some of these are . . . interesting, I must say." He grabbed an ornament of a brown bear and turned it around in his hand. You plucked the bear from his hand, placing it back in the box. In your other hand was a long string of tinsel.

"There are a few rules to decorating the tree," you started, walking backwards towards the mantle over the fireplace. You flipped on the radio, Celestina Warbeck's "Nothing Like a Holiday Spell," softly playing in the background. "First, you must listen to Christmas music. Second -" You held up the tinsel in your hand. "- you always do the lights and/or tinsel first. Okay? So, I'm going to need help wrapping this around the tree. I'll stand on one side and wrap it around my half, then I'll hand it to you so you can wrap around your half and you give it back to me, all right? Sound good?"

Theo nodded - this didn't seem too hard, nor unenjoyable. You didn't notice, too caught up in your jolly Christmas spirit to notice the way Nott was fondly watching you humming under your breath, tinsel trailing on the ground behind you as you stood on the opposite side of the tree. Standing on your tip-toes, you leaned up to wrap the tinsel around the top branch but struggled. When he noticed you were getting nothing out of your efforts, Theo walked behind you and grabbed the tinsel out of your hand. His chest was pressed against your back as he reached up with ease and wrapped the tinsel around the first branch.

You froze when he had come up behind you, a blush painting your cheeks. It wasn't your fault he had decided to come so close and that he was so damn attractive. You did your best to hide how flustered you suddenly felt, no matter how dimly veiled.

He didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with wrapping the tinsel around the top area of the tree that you were too short to reach. "Uh, thanks. Just, um, when you're wrapping the tinsel, make sure you don't wrap it too tight or too close to another row, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he responded absent-mindedly, brows furrowed as he gave his task the upmost attention. He wanted to make the tree look perfect, just for you. He was trying to figure out how he should space the rows - as of now, are they too close together or too far apart? Maybe he should separate them a little.

"Don't think too much about it. It's not supposed to be perfect," you said, as though reading his thoughts. You grabbed the tinsel and began to wrap it around again. You handed it to Nott, who wrapped it around his side of the tree and handed it back to you. "It's supposed to look imperfect and wonky and unusual - that's what makes it your Christmas tree. Trying to make it look perfect takes all the fun out of it."

"So . . . the uniqueness is what makes it special?" he asked as he took the tinsel from you yet again. You were pretty special . . . unique. You stood out from your peers. Maybe that's why he was attracted to you - all his life, he was pushed for excellence. He was pushed to be perfect all the time and finding someone like you, so free-spirited and imperfect, well . . . he couldn't help but admire you.

"Yeah, exactly!" When you handed him the tinsel again, you said, "well, we're getting near the bottom. Just hand me the - yeah, the tinsel." You took the tinsel again and bent down as you wrapped it around the bottom of the tree. He followed you to the other side of the tree, preparing to finish the job once you passed the tinsel to him. "And I'll just finish this - oh!"

He hadn't realized you were planning on finishing the tinsel yourself and the two of you walked straight into each other. Your noses accidentally brushed together, your lips only centimeters away from his. You noticed an odd sort of glance in his eyes. It disappeared only a second later, but you were certain you saw it. A hunger, a longing. Like he wanted to kiss you.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not moving from where he was bending down.

"Yeah," you said breathlessly, quickly standing straight and clearing your throat. It must have been a flicker of light - there was no way the Theodore Nott liked someone like you. He was prim and proper, you were disorganized and eccentric. Not exactly a match made in heaven, especially in the eyes of his parents. "Sorry . . ."

-

You couldn't think clearly after that - all that was on your mind was a tall, quiet, brown-haired Slytherin boy who hated Christmas. But his especially those lips of his. Pink, full, just begging for a moment of your attention. Scenes in your mind played our what could have happened if either of you had made a move. Many ended with both of you in rather interesting positions.

Maybe it had just been you. Or maybe there was a spark there. You hoped, you dreamed, that he was feeling exactly how you were. You held onto this hope as you left your common room and rushed down the Grand Stairs to the Great Hall. You had another grand adventure in mind.

"What is on the roster for today?" Theodore had asked when you met him by the tall, oak doors of the Great Hall. The two of you set off towards the courtyard path.

"It's a suprise, silly!"

"Ah, suprises."

"What, you don't like suprises?"

"I didn't say that."

"How can you not like suprises?"

-

"If you don't mind me asking . . . why aren't you home for the holiday break?" Theodore asked as you slowly made your descent into Hogsmeade. He was kicking at the snow with his feet, secretly nervous. "You're not usually here."

"You've been stalking me, have you?" You replied with a wicked grin, remembering your first encounter. Theo flushed a bright red, his ears turning an especially poinsettia-like red. "I'm just joking." You sighed, your grin turning to a dismal frown. "Yeah, usually I'm at home for the holi's, but my parents are both away on buisness for work . . . so I had to stay here this year."

"You don't want to," he stated simply. You grimaced, shaking your head.

"Nope. I just want to sleep in my bed, my real bed, and wake up home on Christmas morning, surrounded by my family. But I'm stuck here." You sighed - talking about this didn't make you feel much better. You decided to brighten things up, sending a grin Theo's way. "At least I have you, Nott."

He stopped you. "Theo," he said, staring at you with those dark, alluring hazel eyes. "It's what all my friends call me," he added sheepishly.

The corners of your lips curled up, your heart fluttering like a fall leaf in the wind. "Theo," you repeated softly. "Well, Theo . . . perfect timing. We're here." You looked towards the shop on your right, the exterior wood painted a forest green with faded lettering. The window was frosted over, Hamilton depicting the festive scene inside. Warm fairy lights floated around the window, a variety of holiday-themed presents and objects on display not three inches from their eyes. "Holiday store. Perfect for getting gifts and getting in the holiday cheer."

"This was here all this time?" Theo asked.

You made a grand gesture towards the entire road you were standing upon. "I like to call this the Forgotten District. Great stores, but only the locals come here really. A fair few students know of it, but not many. Let's go inside."

You swung open the door, keeping it open with your foot as you entered so that Theo could enter right behind you. Though the ceilings were low and the room was so filled with whimsical trinkets and do-dads that it did feel a bit tight inside. "Hi Fred, how're you doing?"

"Good, good, and you?" Replied the man standing at the registers. He was a rosy-cheeked, middle-aged man with a round belly who looked rather friendly indeed. Almost like Saint Nicholas come to life.

"Great! This is my friend Theo! I'm introducing him to Christmas."

"Introducing him?" Fred responded in disbelief, looking towards Theo as though he were a puppy that had been ran over by a car. "My dear boy, you must have a look around. Take any one item you'd like with you, for free, I insist."

"Thank you, sir." As Theo gradually made his way into the shop, scrutinizing every little object, whether it was a spinning top or a rocking chair. You sent Fred a wide grin behind Theo's back, gesturing towards him with excitement. When Theo turned around, you stopped and quickly made your way to his side.

"Find anything eye-catching?" You asked, your exuberant mood quite obvious to all who could see you. You were grinning, watching Theo with that child-like wonder, standing on the balls of your feet while you took a good look at the place. You let out a gasp and grabbed a cute snowman mug. "Look at this! This is cute. You know, Mrs. Weasley would probably love this."

While you began to chatter on, grabbing various items and displaying them to him with starry-eyes, he couldn't help but watch with a sense of fondness. At some point, you realized he was staring at you oddly and paused. "What?" You asked with an awkward laugh, wiping your mouth with edge of your sleeve. "Is there something on my face?"

Unsure how to recover from having so blatantly worn his heart on his chest, looks away from you, his gaze void of any emotion now. "Nothing."

-

With each passing day, his fondness and adoration for you grew. You were so bright and exuberant, so careless in the way you bestowed that angelic smile of yours upon anyone. He felt honored, still, that he was a receptor of one.

You had begun to spend a lot of time together. Sneaking into the library and nabbing plenty of reading material, wandering about the castle and grounds, stealing food from the kitchens. However, whatever else you had planned to convince him that Christmas was indeed, gay with yuletide cheer, had not yet occurred.

You both were spread along couches by the fire in the Slytherin Common room, void of people except for the both of you. You laughed and talked until your lungs couldn't handle the action anymore - he was the first to fill the silence.

"My mother . . . she had loved Christmas," Theo said softly, his head still hanging off the couch. "As soon as November 1st came around, she would pull the decorations out of the cellar and start putting them up. Father insisted that she let the house elves do it, but she was firm in the belief that decorating was a holiday tradition that we should all celebrate together. It was her favorite time of year."

His tone sounded almost . . . sad. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and watched him. His eyes were just glazed over, water bubbling at the edges of his vision. "Your mother -"

"She's dead," he said in an empty tone of voice. Suddenly, as though realizing himself, he wiped his eyes and sat up. "Sorry, I don't really talk about that with anyone. I shouldn't have -"

"No, no, it's okay," you assured him with a kind smile. "I don't mind. Tell me more about your mom, she sounds really cool."

He hesitated, fidgeting with his fingers, before he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch. "One year when I was a young boy, she got me Fiabe italiane a cara di Italo Calvino for Christmas, or Italian Folklores by Italo Calvino. She would read it to me every night. After my mother . . . died, my father tried to erase everything that reminded him of her. Including that book."

"Oh no," you whispered, a hand hovering over your mouth.

He gave you a grimaced smile. "Yeah, but it's been so many years . . . I don't really care that much anymore, it's not a big deal."

To you, however, it seemed like a very big deal.

-

On Christmas morning, you woke up extra early and gathered your presents. You knew you looked ridiculous - hair frizzy and wild, still dressed in pajamas, presents flying in the air behind you. Finally, you entered the Slytherin common room and clambered up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, finding Theo's room.

Your pounding upon the door startled him awake and he practically ran to the door to yell at whoever decided to wake him at this ungodly hour. Instead, he found someone he didn't expect to be there at all - you.

"Merry Christmas Theo!" You shouted in excitement, throwing your arms around his neck. In your fervor, your focus was drawn away from the hovering presents and they soon clattered to the floor. He swung an arm around you, envolping himself in you, but you pulled away too soon to look back at your presents. "Oops."

"Merry Christmas," he responded, quite late due to the fact thatft he had just woken up. He opened the door wide so you could enter, and you sauntered inside with your presents hovering behind you once more. You say down on the floor, placing your presents gracefully down in front of you. He closed the door and turned to see you watching him expectantly.

He hadn't opened presents with anyone before, at least, not since his mother was alive. He had thought at first that he would be upset, you falling into his life and pushing him back into the world of Christmas . . . but he found that he actually enjoyed your company. More than he liked to admit. "Do you . . . want to open presents together?"

You flashed him a toothy grin. "Why else did you think I came over here, silly? Come on!" You patted the ground in front of you.

He shuffled over, gathering the small cluster of presents by his bed next to yours, and seating himself on the ground. "You go first."

"All right then." You grabbed an oddly-shaped parcel that looked like a lump of under-cooked bread. You unwrapped it with care, making sure not to tear the packaging. You pulled out a forest green sweater with the initial of your name and a container filled with mince pies. "It's from Mrs. Weasley! She knits sweaters every year for all her kids and their friends." You raised it to your nose with a content sigh. "Smells like her cooking too. All right, now you go on!"

Theod can't remember the last time he had recieved a homeade present, from someone so kind and motherly. He pulled a neatly-wrapped parcel towards him and unwrapped it, revealing a set of books he'd been wanting for a while. From Blaise. Don't go reading it all at once :)

"See? Opening presents can be fun!" The two of you continued to unwrap presents, chatting about what you had gotten. Finally, a wrapped present sat in front of you - both of you stared at it.

"You're not going to open it?" Theo asked. You shook your head with a knowing smile, pushing it towards him bashfully.

"Actually . . . it's for you," you said slowly with a nod of your head. Nervously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression. He looked rather . . . confused.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said, pulling the present into his lap. He stared down at it stubbornly, because he felt too guilty accepting a present from you.

"Oh go on, open it!" You encouraged, nudging him. He couldn't help but smile at your excitement, nothing the way you fidgeting in anticipation.

"All right, all right," he responded, raising his hands in mock defense. He untied the ribbon and gently unwrapped the present, making sure not to tear the paper. He froze once he saw what was sitting in his lap, staring up at him.

You watched him with trepidation. You didn't go to far, did you? You hoped that - well, you weren't sure what you hoped, but you wanted him to treasure the gift. You wanted him to say something, but didn't dare question him. You were afraid of his reaction.

"Fiabe italiane," he spoke softly, running his fingers along the spine of the book. It didn't have the weathered grooves his mother's copy had, but it felt like home. He turned towards you with an expression of disbelief. "How - you didn't have too -"

You offered a sheepsih shrug. "I wanted too. You sounded so . . . happy when you talked about your mother. But also sad, so I thought this might cheer you up. Brighten up Christmas a bit."

Theo kept staring at you with an odd expression - you weren't sure what to expect from him. You certainly didn't expect his lips to smash against yours, resting his hand on your thigh. The suddenness of the kiss left you in shock, unable to move. He took this as a sign that you were uncomfortable and unreceptive. But, as soon as he pulled away, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and tender. You couldn't help but smile as you pulled away and you noticed that his eyes had lost that melancholic darkness and was instead replaced with something much more merry.

"I think I'm starting to like Christmas."

You giggled, bringing a wide grin to his usually stoic face. "C'mere," you said, pulling him into a cuddle. "As long as I'm here, I will make sure that every Christmas you have is filled with love and comfort. All right?"

He glanced up from where you had buried his face in your shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?" He asked, starry-eyed.

You offered a mock uncaring shrug. "I know." You were both silent before you burst out into laughter. "I'm not." As Theo started to protest, you interrupted him. "No really! I'm not, I'm just showing you what a caring relationship is like."

"I still think you're amazing." He paused. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

You glanced down at him and brushed the hair out his face, pecking him on the nose. "Me too."

[sanjisprincesswifey]

loves embrace ⋆ sanji x reader

summary: all sanji needed was a little bit of love to open up to you

notes: this was a modified request that takes place post whole cake, i suppose, so spoilers! angsty, sad sanji (sadji) x gender neutral reader! lots of comforting! no cw warnings! around 1,300+ words!

every morning sanji had a routine. he’d wake up fifteen minutes before his alarm, making sure to turn it off so as to not wake you. spending this allotted time drowning in your smell; he tangled his long limbs within yours and held you tightly to him.

he’d depart with a few too many kisses, surely bringing you out from your slumber, neatly fixing his side of the bed, and beginning his day with a spring in his step.

today was an anomaly of days, your eyes slowly blinking open, the room swallowed by a dim light. the overcast in the sky seemed to cause you to wake later than you anticipated, the clock on your wall reading 11:37 am.

the sheets beside you, usually folded over as pristinely as sanji could make them, sat in disarray. had it been anyone else, you’d disregard the notion; perhaps he had run too far behind schedule this morning.

but it was unlike sanji, even in a time crunch, to leave a mess in his absence. he was incredibly anal with situations like these, you knew him too well to brush the idea off as forgetfulness as you approach him in the kitchen.

the creaky door that franky keeps forgetting to fix would normally signal your entrance and cue your boyfriend to fawn all over you, but he remains behind the kitchen sink, not budging an inch.

his blonde hair hangs low, hiding his expression from you as he gingerly places the wet plates on the drying rack.

“sanji?” you question, investigating his face once he notices you’re there.

your brows furrow upon further examination; his blue eyes are accompanied by dark under eye bags and his milky skin is dull, the loss of color noticeable, even for his complexion.

“oh, my swan, how’re you? you missed breakfast.” he smiles, but the way his lips loosely hug, you know it’s purely a facade so as to not draw attention from you.

though you had only been dating for a few months, you knew you had to plan out your next moves carefully and approach the situation with caution. sanji would “i’m fine” himself death had he got the chance.

“was dreaming of you, so i didn’t really want to wake up,” you tease, earning a light laugh from him.

from this point on, he’d usually take the opportunity to discuss his night and what his dreams consisted of, but silence then falls over you two.

“did you eat?” you speak up.

he pulls his hands out of the water, drying them off on a nearby dish towel. “wasn’t hungry.”

as soon as he moves around the counter, you step in front of him.

you tsk in response, blocking him from exiting the area with arms crossed over your chest. “well, i’d like for you to eat something. you didn’t eat dinner last night either,” you reply.

sanji stares down at you, a melancholy look in his eye, but he obliges, dropping two slices of bread into the toaster.

“that’s it?” you argue, a mused smile curling his lips.

“i’m really not that hungry today, my darling,” he assures, leaning against the counter.

you know better than to accept that justification, arms reaching out to cage him between the kitchen and your body. “and why is that?” you ask, pressing yourself against his chest, eyes boring right back into his.

he flicks his gaze between your eyes, then your lips, and then your eyes, once again. he knows what you’re doing, but he bites anyway, strong arms hugging you snug against him.

“i’ve been a little sad these past couple of days,” he explains, another forged grin coaxing his features. it was the one of the first signs that he was asking you to dismiss this conversation.

“sanji—“

the toast pops from the toaster, causing the both of you to release your grip as he refocuses his attention on his unwanted meal.

with his back turned to you, you take it upon yourself to latch onto him again. “i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me sanji. i’m here. i want to help,” you whisper, a shaky breath escaping your throat right after. “please, let me help.”

your eyes shut tightly as the only response you receive is silence. sanji was never one to discuss his own feelings freely, it was something he had always deemed a luxury for a reason you hated reminding yourself of.

a shaky whimper reverberates against your body and you take the cue to release your grip, turning him around so that you can see him again.

his hand grips tightly onto his face, though it proves futile as a tear streams down his cheek; then another, and another, and another. his fingers twitch as they reach out for you, desperately seeking your warmth and comfort as his body slumps into yours.

sanji’s frame is much larger than your own, his strength of his weight was much stronger when he didn’t remember to hold back.

but you’re greedy for this vulnerability, soaking in every ounce that he’d offer as you wrap your arms around his neck.

his tears slowly seep into the fabric of your shirt, while he lets out a few more choked cries before confessing. “have i ever told you about my mother?” he finally speaks.

when he pulls away you shake your head, reaching up to wipe away the tears that stain his face. your gentle expression urges, pleads, for him to continue, an act that melts his heart.

“she was so kind,” he explains, a sad smile grazing him. more tears fall before he says anything, but you allow him that grace which gives him the time to finally gather himself. “she’s the reason i wanted to be a cook.”

the burning sadness that bites at your heart leaves you speechless, unable to fathom how he could’ve kept this inside for so long.

“i know she would’ve loved you.”

now, you have to bite back your own tears, the agony that accompanies his words hangs on to each sentence that tears at your heart.

“she passed fourteen years ago today,” he admits, a shaky sigh heaving from his chest.

as you watch his lip quiver, you pull him flush against you again, unsure if it was for his benefit or that he wouldn’t see the heartbreak that washed over your face.

“i’m so sorry,” is all you can mutter before the both of you sink to the floor, sobs now emanating from the both of you. “she would be so proud of you, sanj,” you murmur, a light cry echoing throughout the room.

sanji perches himself against the closed cupboards, his head rests against the wood as he wraps an arm around you.

“i miss her,” he admits, lying his head against yours.

you nod, only able to physically act in fear a verbal response would elicit more of your tears.

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a worn, folded up picture.

the woman on the paper is stunning; her porcelain features mirror sanji’s, the resemblance being uncanny. “she’s so pretty,” you say.

sanji chuckles, nodding along, “yeah, she was.”

the both of you stare at the image for a couple of minutes, basking in the beauty that sanji’s mother had. you can’t help but admire the curvature of her lips, the shape of nose and eyes, all qualities that your boyfriend possesses.

“you look just like her,” you comment, reaching to grab his hand.

“so i’ve been told,” he breathes, finally able to catch his breath. “thank you, by the way.”

with a puzzled expression, you glance up at him. “for what?”

sanji shrugs, squeezing your hand within his. “listening to me. feels good to talk about her,” he confesses.

the air in the room eases, it hangs lighter over the both of you; rather than an all consuming fog, it sits delicately upon the both of you like a warm blanket on a cold day.

“that’s what i’m here for,” you emphasize, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated !

[007reid]

request for reader having dated spencer (early seasons) and then she finds out what happened w lila </3

hi hi hi!! sorry this took a while hun :( you were vague with your req so i just wrote whatever i wanted to write and because of that i meant for this to be a drabble but it didn't work out that way... enjoy!

secrets. spencer reid

part 1 | part 2

pairing: spencer reid x jealous fem!reader, 1.8k

summary: spencer will never be able to escape the effortless wrath of derek morgan, not even when it's the weekends and breaking bad is playing and you're pulling on his hair.

warnings: no smut you filthy animals, though i did intend there to be smut im just in a fluffy mood rn :// tiny angst if you squint, spencer's blushin a LOT, morgan's evil, bickering and just cutesy couple stuff. me when.

spencer’s secret was the last thing that you were, and you know this.

you and spencer have been dating for three months now, not including the two months talking stage because spencer is deadly afraid of commitment, and between all that time, you’d say you’ve gotten to know spencer pretty well. you know him well enough to trust that he knows what’s best, anyway. it’s been three months, and spencer hasn’t uttered a word about you to his team, his family, and you understand why.

really. you do.

“they’ll never let me live in down,” spencer had whined, one person imminent on his mind. derek fucking morgan. spencer dreads just thinking about it, the teasing, the inappropriate jokes, the winks and the whistles. it’s dehumanizing. “when someone ask me or mention something about it, i will tell them. until then…”

the unspoken reason was there. spencer’s a talker, definitely a talker, but he doesn’t spend much time talking about himself. he never reveals a bit of himself unless he’s directly asked it, and he feels uncomfortable sharing otherwise. the team’s too used to spencer being physically and emotionally repellent to the female race to really ask about stuff like you anymore, and spender’s not too eager to share neither. not out of the blue. it’s unlike him. this you understand. 100%. locked safely in the noggin.

you never think much about it anyway. it doesn’t bother you. what bothers you, though, is secrets.

you know spencer has loads of those, tucked behind that carefree and open-hearted smile and attitude of his. you examine him carefully, searching his face for ticks—okay, maybe you were just looking really creepily because he’s pretty and you try to commit every feature into memory but you are, searching for ticks that is.

you know he hides things. somethings not worth bringing up again because it’ll only bring up bad memories. some other things, however, definitely worth mentioning again. you just have to find the right target questions. sometimes it feels like you’re dating a stranger, with how little you know about spencer’s life. sometimes it feels like you’re dating the love of your life. it’s all very relative.

you and spencer are cuddled up on the couch, breaking bad playing on the tv. it’s one of the shows spencer doesn’t like pointing out the scientific inaccuracies of because he’s too fond of the main character to really say that he’s wrong, and sometimes you miss his voice chiming in between all the movie’s dialogues, but you think the reason why he’s quiet today is because he’s not in the mood to talk. the last case’s gotten him pretty shaken up, and he’s still healing, head in your neck every night and when he pulls away your skin is damp with tears.

“you okay spence?” you say, moving your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. he hums softly, and then you both suddenly hear the vibration from under your asses. spencer shifts around, digging his phone out from where it’s lodged in a random cushion of the sofa.

he groans inwardly, showing you the screen, not having to explain. in big letters, the caller says: bau--derek morgan.

“he usually never calls me on weekends,” spencer frowns, watching the phone vibrate. “you think i should answer?”

“he’s a friend,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair under his ear. “answer him.”

“okay,” spencer says hesitantly, then swipes the green button on his screen. he clears his throat as the call connects. “you’re on speaker,” he warns, looking at you anxiously and then back to his phone again. morgan’s a wildcard, and spencer would have to hide his face everyday for the next three weeks in front of you if morgan happens to drop something embarrassing about him just out of pocket. spencer isn’t ready.

“not like there’s anyone with you to hear,” morgan scoffs, and didn’t let spencer answer before continuing. “the team’s planning on a bar night tomorrow—“

“the team?” spencer questions, suspicious. morgan sighs loudly.

“garcia and i,” he corrects reluctantly, “are planning for a team bonding night tomorrow. what do you say?”

“no.” spencer says immediately, looking at you and hope you get his unspoken answer. spencer never goes out on weekends, not unless it’s with you. with his highly demanding schedule at the bau, it’s rare that he has any time off at all, and it’s hard to maintain a healthy relationship that way. any time he gets to spend time with you he’d take.

“come on,” morgan says, enthusiastically. “when was the last time you properly went out, huh?”

“last month, when you and garcia planned another of these team bonding bar nights,” spencer says monotonously. he rolls his eyes. “morgan—“

“don’t be rolling your eyes at me now, genius,” morgan warns. you stifle a laugh, and spencer sends you a wounded look. you forget that they’re basically family, like siblings to knows each other to a tee. “listen, have some fun in your life. who knows, maybe we can find you another lila at the bar.” morgan’s tone is suggestive. and now, that got your full, undivided attention.

and spencer, predictably, looks like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at you in horror was you narrow your eyes at his screen. you prod at his leg, prompting him to answer so morgan can elaborate.

lila?

“i don’t think—“ spencer starts, but got immediately cut off.

“don’t lie and say you didn’t like it, lover boy,” morgan whistles and spencer cringes. “now that we’re talking about lila, actually—“ spencer’s mind is screaming, shut up shut up shut up! as morgan proceeds to feed you more information, completely oblivious to his sins. “do you guys still keep in touch? she looked pretty into you. never knew you had it in you til then, man--”

by now spencer’s beet red head to ears to toe and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, but also off of yourself. you’d say you’re a jealous woman. not too jealous but definitely not not jealous.

“morgan,” spencer starts again, voice a little wobbly and embarrassed and morgan laughs.

“seriously though, do you guys still talk? them eyes never lie,” and morgan sounds so casual, so nonchalant while destroying spencer’s life.

it’s not that spencer doesn’t want you to know about lila. he couldn’t careless if lila waltz into his life right now because he knows they would be nothing more than friends—you’re all he’s ever wanted and he would trade you for nothing. it’s just embarrassing, is all, him being exposed like this, and he feels smaller, feels like he’s actually 5’3 with the glare you’re sending him.

“anyway, that don’t matter,” morgan remains completely ignorant and in his own world and still on speaker. oh morgan. “i want to see you at our bar tomorrow. it’s a yes, right? good. i’ll tell garcia you said yes.”

“morgan!” spencer says quickly. “i have a gir—“

morgan hangs up.

spencer dreads looking at you, so he takes his time getting out the app and then clears all of the background apps on his phone. he doesn’t like seeing you mad and he can basically sense it, the fumes blowing out your ears.

“who’s lila?” you say casually and he looks up. he doesn’t mistake your tone for friendliness, your eyes are narrow and suspicious.

“someone on a case a while ago,” spencer responds honestly. because that’s all there was to lila. it’s not like he’s never had his first kiss before her, so she doesn’t even count as his first kiss (she’s his second) and other than that minute-long moment they shared there was nothing else remarkable. she just happens to the only girl the team knows about who’s spencer been involved with and they are encouraging to help him find another ‘lila.’

it’s all very complicated. and humiliating. he should’ve definitely told you the entire backstory beforehand, because it’s not scandalous or weird or anything. it’s innocent and harmless. but now the problem seems to be blown out of proportion.

“just someone?” you press. spencer hesitates. he hates lying, especially when he’s lying to you. his hesitation gives you all the answer you needed.

“we kissed once,” he says, and gawks at you for approval, for forgiveness. “but that was it. i swear.”

something awful bubbles in your stomach. you know spencer’s not lying, and it’s not worth getting upset with him about because it’s all in the past—it’s not like you go talking about your precious conquests to spencer anyway. but you can’t help the envy and jealousy boiling so hotly it makes you dizzy.

spencer feels obliged to fill you in, to patch up the little bump and to get back the sweet atmosphere that was before morgan called. he knew morgan would somehow manage to ruin his life in some kind of way. he knew it before he even accepted his call.

“she was an actress in this case we were working on and she just, i think, really liked me or something and she was in a pool when i came to see her just to ask some questions and she just pulled me—“

his rant got interrupted by you seizing him to a rough kiss, hands coming up to rest behind the nape of his neck and nails unconsciously digging into his skin. spencer remains mostly unresponsive and soft, surprised and don't know how to respond. you keep prying, teeth digging into the soft of his bottom lip and spencer starts nipping at you back, gentle like he always is.

it frustrates you, how hard it is to be frustrated at spencer. you pull away from him and spencer tilts his head curiously, lip shiny and eyes looking at you like he's never seen you before and he just looks so sweet, so innocent and eager, like a precious pup. you roll your eyes, swatting at his chest, annoyance and jealousy and anger evaporating from you like a cloud.

spencer licks his lips and you collapse back into him again, returning to the position you were before morgan so unmindfully interrupted your weekend. breaking bad continues to play on the tv. long limbs wraps around you and spencer presses a kiss in your hair.

"i'm not going tomorrow," he declares.

"you should," you say nonchalantly. you cuddle up closer to him, turning around until the both of your are facing each other, wiggling your way on top. you begin to trace stars on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "and maybe you should bring someone with you. just to act as a guard for future lila's. maybe you can introduce that person too," you flick your hair behind your back and shrugs at spencer's amused smile. "it's just a thought."

"okay," he says quietly, eyes so soft. "okay. who do you suggest i bring?"

"that's for you to figure out, doctor reid," you say flippantly, turning back to the tv. "now shush."

[sp4ceboo]

The Way You Were: Ken Sato x Reader

genre: the one who got away, canon universe, happens post movie, ANGST (gets resolved), fluff, romance, childhood sweethearts, healing old wounds

summary: in which you spot your long lost love from across the club, and he spots you. as he makes his way over to you, you can't help but wonder which side of him will greet you: the one you fell in love with, or the one who left scars all over your heart.

a/n: finally i get to pull this one out of the vault. it's very unlike my normal writing but i'm still very proud of it, pls give it some love :))

tw: no smut just feelings, mentions of sex tho, heavy making out and a bit of grinding, one (1) briefly mentioned hard on, mentions of breakup, crying, ridiculously angsty at the beginning, ridiculously soft, ridiculously nostalgic, lurve lurve lurveeee

wc: 3.7k

If she’s real, Fate sure has a cruel sense of humour.

There’s no other explanation to why Kenji Sato, a man so deeply intertwined into your past, a man you’d tried so many times to extract from where he was embedded into your soul, stands across the club, his back to you.

You know the smile that softens his angular features before he even turns around. You know those hand gestures, that oozing nonchalance, that false cockiness, and yet, all the same, you don’t know who this man is at all - you know the old Kenji Sato, the one who would wait awkwardly for you after class, the one who gripped your hands nervously while watching the baseball championships, the one who kissed softly you under the bleachers.

The one who got away.

Years have passed since those nostalgia sweetened memories. You have no idea how much of that old Ken is left, or if he’s transformed himself into an invincible stranger, one without those insecurities and weaknesses that made him your Ken.

It had started with wide eyed firsts at seventeen years old: kisses stolen between lessons, hands fumbling over each other’s bodies in the dark of his bedroom. By the time Ken was scouted by a baseball team, it had turned into something more solid: the two of you were star crossed lovers, and you fit together perfectly - until you didn’t any more.

You’re not exactly sure who changed. Maybe it was both of you, but you felt the absence of the awkward, lanky teenage boy more acutely than anything else, for he was not your highschool crush any more, but a man who felt the pressure of his reputation as much as the weight of the baseball bat in his hands. He became cocky to hide his fears from you, as if you could ever see him as weak.

The more the baseball critics talked, the less Ken did.

He hated it when you prodded him, when you tried to get past the walls that had been erected overnight. You loved him, even when half the time he came home drunk and damningly silent, his eyes narrowed and his knee bouncing when you could say nothing in response to the sceptics’ articles. You tried to hold on to him, but in the end it was inevitable.

The love of your life slipped from between your slack fingers like the sands of time, and all you could do was watch - all you could do was become increasingly aware of how the two of you had been acting like stupid, starry eyed kids.

When it ended, he was vicious with the same strength of an animal on the verge of death, and you took it all, bearing the pain and the hurt because maybe it was your fault that you hadn’t seen it coming sooner.

When it ended, the sorrow felt as if you had just passed off the opportunity to have your soul completed.

When it ended, it broke you.

It broke you, and he disappeared. He removed himself from your life with surgical precision, as if to prove to the spectators that he didn’t need you and the warm baths you drew when he came back from a game or the softness of your hands or your loyalty, your never wavering faith in him that no one else even tried to pretend they had.

You didn’t even realise he’d left Los Angeles behind for the greener pastures of Tokyo baseball until you recognised him on your TV screen years later.

And now, you’re in the same room as him.

Had your friends chosen a different club or had you stayed home, had you not taken that job in Tokyo almost two years ago, you might have never seen him again. Or maybe Fate would have twisted your paths together anyways, if just for a laugh; maybe he would have gone back to visit his mum and bumped into you on the street, maybe he would have reached out over text. Maybe, whatever path you took, he’d still be weaving his way towards you through the crowd like he is now.

You can see his face now. He’s taken off his reflective shades - they’re tucked into the neck of his black tee, hanging just above the simple gold necklace that sits at the dip of his collarbones. His build is as lean as it ever was, but you can tell he’s gotten stronger, his shoulders broader; his face has slimmed down, matured, lost the last of the baby fat he still had when he was twenty, yet his eyes are the same bright ones that you used to get lost in.

You wonder if he’s changed from the Ken that you couldn’t keep beside you however hard you tried. You wonder if he’s become the cocky, mean Ken who you saw the makings of, that would be walking towards you now just to get in your pants and one up you out of spite, so he could prove you mean nothing to him now (worse, you wonder if you’d let him, just to hold him one more time).

He stops in front of you, and although his expression is soft and surprisingly open, you can’t help but doubt it, can’t help but hide your heart deeper in your chest so he can’t snatch it for himself as easily as he’d done before.

Ken’s lips tilt upwards, but it’s not a smile yet. “Hey.”

You stare at him. You haven’t seen him in years, and the empty space between the last time you saw him and now is so starkly obvious. He’s gotten taller, somehow, and there’s an ease to his confidence that wasn’t there before; you can smell some sort of fancy cologne on him and although there’s bags under his eyes, of course he looks fucking divine.

Yes, Fate has a cruel sense of humour.

Very cruel, and not funny at all when you’re the butt of the joke and when the man before you makes you want to cry as much as the last time you laid your eyes on him. You’ve never sobbed, wept, the way you did when he turned his back on you as he left, cold and unreachable and never to be seen again - until now.

“Hello, Kenji,” you reply stiffly.

He winces. “Not even Ken, huh?”

Mutely, you nod, not knowing what else to say when all you can think about is whether his embrace still feels as comforting as it did all those years ago. You think it might, with those shoulders as broad as the ocean.

“Back to strangers, then?”

You swallow. “No. I’d - I’d like to think I still know who you are.”

“Me too,” he sighs.

“Not sure it’s possible, but I guess it would do us good to start over,” you admit with a dry smile.

“I don’t think so,” he says, voice soft, words slow. “It hurt - I hurt you, but I wouldn’t want to lose all the good parts.” His eyes meet yours, and there is so much in them - almost too much. “Remember that one camping trip?”

Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“And when we went ice skating?”

You can hear what he’s saying, the meaning beneath those words. He’s asking if you remember the tender nights, when you held each other, swaddled in the soft blanket of youth; he’s asking if you remember feeling that magnetic tug in your soul when you touched. He’s asking if you remember how you loved him - how he loved you.

“Never said I was going to be good at that,” you huff, cracking a smile.

“And how we used to go to the playground near your house after parties?”

This time, you chuckle. “Can you imagine? You look out the window and there are two deranged teenagers trying to squeeze down the slide at three in the morning.”

Ken throws his head back and laughs, really laughs, loud enough that you can hear it over the pumping music of the club, and the sound hurls you right back into the past. You’ve heard that sound so many times, you’ve replayed it in your head as a longing memory, and now he’s here, in the flesh, and all you can do is try to fight the tears welling in your eyes.

Turning your head, you look away, painting a smile on because you don’t want him to see you cry. Of course he notices - he always did, even though there were times where he would pretend he didn’t - but this time, he faces it head on, placing a gentle hand on your arm, light enough for you to shake off if you want to. All it does is make you want to cry harder.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”

With a hand at the small of your back, Ken leads you out of the club and down a few streets until he can sit you down on a park bench; he plops down beside you, not touching you but not far away, either. The night air is gelid compared to the club, nipping at your cheeks, and he waits quietly until you can meet his eyes again, his gaze steady as he searches yours.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, then swallows thickly and steels himself. “I’m sorry I treated you like shit. I never - “ He pauses when you sit up a little straighter. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m listening. I… I’d like to know how you feel.”

Slowly, Ken nods and swallows again. The streetlights cast shadows across his face, deepening his cheekbones and limning his skin, and you watch him struggle with his words for a moment. You watch as he prepares to tear down walls that are years old for you, while you wonder what has changed him that he is so willing to try to bare his soul to you in a way he never could back then, what shifted while you slowly became strangers.

Gently, you reach out to take his hand to find his already waiting. Stroking a thumb over his knuckles as he works his jaw, finding words, you wait, letting him formulate his sentences; you know it is as hard for him as it is for you to be so close, and yet something in you burns with the hope of new beginnings.

“I was so afraid that you wouldn’t want me if I showed any weakness that I locked myself away, and - and that wasn’t what you deserved,” he chokes out. “I was all wrapped up in myself and too fucking stupid and stubborn to even crawl back. I’m sorry for the things I said to you, called you that night, and I’m sorry I can’t take them back.” He takes a shaky breath. “I took you for granted and hurt you, and I should have never - ”

“No,” you cut in. “The blame isn’t just on you, Ji. I - I should have fought so much harder for us. I saw what the pressure did to you, what the sceptics said, and I did nothing. At that point I may as well have warmed my hands in the fire they used to burn you at the stake with. I fucked up. We fucked up. I’m sorry, too.”

When you look up at him, he’s smiling. A tear slips down his face, and he catches it with the back of his hand; you’re not sure how you’ve held your own back for so long, but now they fall as you fall towards each other, his arms wrapping tight around you as he envelops you. You were right - his embrace is as comforting as it was, and a lump forms in your throat because beneath his cologne you smell his familiar scent, the scent of home.

You stay tucked together, sheltering in each other’s arms for a while. Eventually, he shifts, pulling back a little as his hand brushes over your hair. His eyes are soft, bright like they always were; you think you like this Kenji Sato, who is so similar yet so different to the boy you knew from highschool in LA.

You think you’re falling in love again.

No, not quite; you never stopped loving him.

That revelation almost makes you cry again, but instead you smile at him, and when he returns your expression you feel something mending deep within your heart, knitting itself together after being rent apart for so long. The way he looks at you is tender enough, raw enough, to make old wounds heal. 

“Let me help you get back home,” Ken bids you. “I can call a cab?”

“We can walk,” you offer. “It’s not too far.”

“What brought you to Tokyo?” Ken asks as the two of you enter the lift up to your apartment.

“I came here almost two years ago,” you reply. “My company had a big office here and when they gave me the choice to move here or London, I chose here. I don’t really know why, exactly. Everyone says it’s always raining in the UK, and, well, at that point I knew you were here. I didn’t think we’d ever meet but at least there wouldn’t be an ocean between us.”

“Oh, so you’ve been waiting for this to happen for two years?” He teases as you turn the key in your door.

Rolling your eyes, you herd him into your flat before becoming serious again. “No, Ji, I didn’t even understand if I wanted to see you again. You were my first love, and deep down, I, I still lo - ”

Abruptly, you cut yourself off. Ken’s eyes have widened almost comically, but you find you can’t laugh at him with the sincerity of your words still hanging in the air; the pound of your heart in your chest is too loud, like it’s trying to break free of your ribcage. Maybe, to him, you’ve changed as much as he has to you, and he hadn’t been expecting you to so freely confess that you still feel that inexplicable pull of your soul towards his.

Biting your lip, you scurry across your kitchen and open the fridge door, if only to give yourself a barrier to hide behind. Did you just ruin everything? You didn’t even ask if he wanted to come in, you just ushered him into the flat, and although he offered to walk with you and come up in the lift with you, maybe he was just being polite.

“Want anything to drink?” Your voice comes out higher than it should as you turn to glance at him over your shoulder. “O - oh.”

He’s right there. You hadn’t expected him to follow you to the fridge, although you know now that this new, mature Kenji is in tune with your emotions, could definitely sense your embarrassment, and isn’t afraid to face it, yet also that he is the same as the old Kenji - just with his sharp edges softened and a bit more wisdom under his belt.

“Sorry, I didn’t…” He trails off.

You’re staring. You can’t help it. He’s so close that your head is spinning and you haven’t fully appreciated how good his hair looks tonight, sleek and half falling into his eyes, nor the flawless way his black t-shirt fits his arms and shoulders, nor the absurdly perfect bridge of his nose and how it complements his cheekbones and -

You realise with a jolt that he’s staring too. That his eyes just darted from yours down to your lips and back up again, that he’s leaning closer and closer to you until you’re sharing air, and that you really, really, really want him to take your clothes off.

Ken Sato takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and kisses you.

His fingers slide to cup your jaw, his other hand finding your waist and pulling your body closer to his, your lips moving against his in a way that is so achingly familiar; he nips and sucks at your lower lip and you don’t think you could ever get bored of kissing him like this. Running your palms up his back, you bunch your fingers in his shirt - like hell you’re going to let him go, now that you’ve found him again, like hell you’re going to let him even think about walking out while he’s got his tongue moving against yours like this.

Gliding down your sides, his big hands settle at your hips and squeeze. You curse against his soft lips and he dips his head to mouth at your throat, right over your jugular, his nose drawing a line down your skin before he travels lower, his tongue laving along your collarbone. Fumbling to close the fridge door behind you, you steady yourself with a palm on the handle. Fuck, your knees haven’t felt this weak in a while.

You realise that all this time, all those years spent without him, this is what you were missing, searching for it even if you didn’t know it. The way he navigates your body is effortless, as if you’ve only been apart for a few days and not a few years. He knows to kiss you at the hollow of your neck, he knows to cup your waist in his hands, he knows how to drown you in him in a way that still leaves you hungry.

Sighing into his mouth, you slip your hands under the hem of his shirt, bringing them round to feel the hard planes of his chest under your palms. Unhurriedly, you drag your nails down his abs, hooking your fingers in his waistband and tugging him closer; he groans in response, biting down on your shoulder, and you feel him, hard against you as you lean into each other.

“Fuck, Ji,” you gasp as he rocks his hips into yours.

Cursing, he grits out your name, and you tug at his shirt - he pulls away, just long enough for you to wrestle it off him before he’s crowding against you again, as if he can’t bear to not touch you. A smirk tugs at your mouth as you run your hands appreciatively over his torso, over his sculpted chest and arms.

Maybe it’s the touch of your lips on his skin, right over his heart, or maybe it’s the way your hands coast over him, eager to feel all of him, that sends a jolt through him. Ken grabs your wrists, halting your progress, and you look up at him, quizzical.

“Wait,” he breathes. “We, I… we can’t do this the same way we did this last time.”

You blink, mind still foggy with wanting. “Ji?”

He cups your face. “It’s not that I don’t want you, my love, it’s the opposite. I’m not going to let myself just fuck you and go to sleep. I haven’t seen you in years. I - I need you to know I’m not here just for that. I want to take my time with you.”

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he said. You gaze up at him, drinking up those sparkling eyes, feeling the gentle way he positions his hands on you, one cradling your chin and the other holding your waist, and realise that you’re seeing your Ken Sato - grown, yes, but still yours, eternally yours.

What he’s saying is right. The old you would have jumped straight into his arms, and he would have let you - you would have spoken with your bodies, not your words, leaving the tears and rips in your hearts to fester and rot, never acknowledging them for long enough for them to heal.

But somehow, Fate has gifted you a second try at love, and this time, the two of you will do it the way it should be done; he’s looking at you so tenderly, so hopefully, and it makes your stomach flutter. There’s no rush. Now you’ve got him in your arms again, you won’t be letting him go.

You brush his hair out of his eyes. “Okay, then. Shall we talk instead?”

He smiles. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

The lens you see the world through after that night with Kenji makes everything brighter, more beautiful. You find new appreciation for the ads of him plastered all over the city when he tells you funny stories behind the shoots, for the way the littlest things make you think of him, for the regular date nights and the hours you spend staying up late, talking with him.

For a famous baseball player, he sure has a lot of time for you.

He hangs on to your every word, looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky; he listens to your rants about work and your favourite show and your fucking landlord. You make sure you show up to his baseball matches, cheering whether he’s winning or losing, knowing that he’ll be in your arms the moment he’s off the pitch.

You watch him open up to you like a flower leaning towards the sun, his words muffled as he rests his head on your shoulder late at night and tells you how his mum disappeared, how he used to avoid his dad but how recently they’ve gotten closer after they found some common ground.

And when he tells you what that common ground was - a bright pink, baby kaiju - everything falls into place.

Finally, you understand what changed him on his course, what softened him after the critics forced him to build walls: a baby as cute as her size, and a secret life as Ultraman. You kissed him when he told you, melting the tension right off his wide shoulders as you whispered against his lips that you’d love him even if he confessed to eating your leftovers (he had).

It’s not perfect, because love isn’t, but on the nights when you’re tucked into each other beneath the blankets, fitting together like puzzle pieces as you kiss his scars, you know that this time round, you’re doing love right.

[notenoughgauze]

Lovesick

There’s always those men, the type that once they want something they’d do everything they can to achieve it. That’s how Dazai was now. He was so desperate, so in need of you. He could hardly contain himself whenever his eyes flickered towards your desk. It was empty still, still so empty. He couldn’t wait for you to arrive. Not to talk to you of course, but to admire you from afar. 

 Dazai never had issues with women, that’s simply the truth but with you and your priceless smile, he folds like a chair. A big, tall, dumb chair who can’t get words out around you. He sputters and falters. His words come out as a jumbled mess.  It was completely unlike himself, but when he’s around you he acts like a normal 22 year old who tries to clumsily talk up a pretty girl. 

Now, He knows he’s smart. He’s a genius and he always knows what's coming next, but when you show up this morning, dazzling him with that goddamn smile and those beautiful eyes, he doesn’t expect you to look at him and ask him how his night was.

“Oh uh” he splutters. His face warming, he feels like a teen boy with a crush, but that can’t be this. He’s Osamu Dazai, womanizer, genius, ex-mafia. Yet here he was with rosy cheeks, trying desperately to not look down at your low cut shirt and focus on what your plush lips are saying to him. “Dazai?” you call to him, waving your hand in front of his face. “Are you alright?” He nods, eyes wide and locked with your soft ones.  “Y-yes.”   

He couldn’t take it, you were so close, one moment and he could lock his lips with you. Fuck his bones were screaming at him to just move, to finally grip your face in his hands and show you why you should give him a chance. But he doesn't move. He just stares into your big eyes and tries to formulate a word. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, Beautiful.” He pulls out a harmless smile and encourages you to return to your desk. 

Your beauty wasn’t your only key feature, it was a plus but not why he’s beginning to fall for you. You were kind, you were insightful, you were smart and funny and so fucking cute. How could anyone not fall for someone like you? He flippantly goes through his paperwork, daydreaming about you, every so often flicking his eyes over to you and watching you work, the sweet little secretary. 

God he’d love one chance to show you how good he can make you feel. To take you into the supply closet and show you how a real man treats beautiful women like yourself. Or maybe he’d take you home, lay you down and really take his time with you. Showering you with affection,  showing his feelings without actually saying anything at all. Sex was what he knew best, he was so used to using that method to get his emotions out instead of just talking about it like a normal human being. He wonders if finally fucking you will get this out of his system and then he could go back to his own ways and put all these feelings behind him.

Oh but when he finally gets that chance, so many weeks later. It exceeds his expectations. The first kiss came after a long celebration the company threw. Everyone of age was drinking and cheering, including you. You were in a booth in the back with Atsushi and Kyouka, smiling and sipping on your drink. Dazai and Yosano sat at the bar, clinking glasses. “So, when are you gonna make a move?” she says with a knowing smirk. Dazai Smiles softly, of course he wasn’t hiding it very well. This was all so new to him. “Maybe tonight will be the night?” he replies. “I’d go for it now, that bastard over there is making eyes at your girl.” She nods her head towards another patron. Dazai follows her eyeline and watches how this random man is oogling his sweet little coworker. 

Dazai felt a mix of emotions. Sure he was jealous, though he’d much rather commit suicide than show it. On the other hand he was filled with a sort of bittersweet emotion. You COULD give him a chance, or you could bat your eyes at this new contender and fall for someone with likely a lot less blood on their hands. He wanted to give you the choice, he really did. He wanted to let you decide if you’d take on a new venture, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t allow it, not with his full heart; and so He stood up and stalked over to your booth. Slipping in next to you with an arm finding purchase around your shoulders. 

“Oh Beautiful” he calls, not using his normal pet name, that was used for just any woman, this was you. “You haven’t talked to me this whole time, I was quite sad, y'know.” He acts drunker than he is, wanting to chalk it up to the drink if he was to make a mistake, not that he makes very many anyways. “I’m sorry Dazai, I didn’t mean to ignore you.” you reach up with almost teary eyes and hold his face, looking deep into his eyes. Seems you were tipsy yourself. His face heats up and he curses himself for melting into your touch. You don’t mean it. You don’t, he knows you’re just drunk, but god does he want you to mean it, to promise you’ll give him all your attention from now on. 

“Beautiful, don’t apologize,you can make it up to me now.” He gets closer, pulling you in till your sides smush together. He shot a look towards the man, sharp and pointed.  The man’s face was red and his expression was a mix of shock and frustration. Satisfied, Dazai turned back to you with a smug smile. He reaches out and plays with your hair. Wishing he could lean in and smother himself with your scent. 

“Osamu.” you coo, laying your head down on the table. “I missed you, I really did.” His smug look gets wiped off his face at that. He wants to fall into what you’re laying out for him. Kyouka and Atsushi silently scoot out, leaving you behind with their senior.  Your face was flushed and rosy. Your eyes glazed and full of some sort of emotion towards him. He feels warm, like a hot bath. You’re drunk. He wants to remember that, but some part of him deep down wants you to mean everything you say. You slip your hand against his, playing and fiddling with his long fingers. He’s silent. What was he supposed to say? 

You bring your head up again, sitting somewhat straight with a small sway. You whisper “I missed you” again and lean in. Nose brushing against his, you close your eyes and push forward, kissing him. His eyes stay wide for a moment, before he closes them and dives in Kissing you with fervent passion, hoping to engrave this moment into your memory for tomorrow. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you close and feeling your soft skin. 

It was his first magical kiss. The first time it has ever felt outer worldly. He let out a whine when you finally pulled away. You kissed his cheek, then his nose and giggled to yourself at his expression. “Will you walk me home?” You ask. He nods bashfully and he leads you out the doors. 

The walk to the ada apartments is quiet. You walk hand in hand, fiddling with each other’s fingers. Dazai hums a song, breaking the silence, and you just listen as you keep walking. You were more sober now, awake and aware, but you didn’t make a noise, not wanting to ruin the moment you've sought after for so long. “You alright?” he asks with a soft tone. “Mhm” you mumble, looking down at the intertwined fingers. “I meant it y’know” you say , still mumbling your words a bit. “Meant what?” He asks, knowing full well what she means. “The kiss…I know I had a lot to drink, but I’ve been wanting to do that for way too long.” Her face warms and she continues to stare at the ground, embarrassed at how forward she had to be to get it all out. 

He looks down at you, thinking over your words. In his only response, he leans down and lifts your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes once more. He leans further and kisses you again, soft and sweetly. 

You return home, he regretfully pulls away from you, holding on for a moment too long. You look at each other with flushed cheeks and bashful smiles. You almost invite him in, invite him to stay, but this moment was too perfect to add on to. You'll talk to him tomorrow, and you'll get definitive answers before you do that. 

Dazai practically skips away. He wanted to stay, to keep you in his arms all night long, but he needed to talk to you tomorrow, to see how you react to him then. Until then, he'll enjoy the feelings blossoming in him.

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi there! I hope you’re doing well!

I was hoping to send a request. Do with it what you will…but I had the scenario in my head of reader going on dates and always wearing a lot of makeup. (Nothing against makeup)

Anyway, she and Alastor are friends, although Alastor always thinks the people reader dates are not worthy of her. After this particular date that was maybe a 2nd or 3rd date, she comes home in tears. While he’s comforting her he begins to tenderly wash her face. Eventually wiping off all the makeup and he simply says “There you are.”

I love the idea of Alastor believing that a woman doesn’t need makeup to be beautiful.

Thank you! ❤️❤️

I only began wearing make up like, last month, so I’m purely using info from watching the Welsh twins. personally I like to think Alastor would respect a person taking the effort to express themselves with make up, and also appreciate people who can feel no pressure to do so. There’s something very attractive about people who do things purely for their own enjoyment. Assuming it’s not like—- watching porn in the bus or killing snakes or stuff like that. Anyway what was I supposed to be doing aga-

Alastor x GN! Reader

「warnings/promises: not an ounce of smut, he may love you in any sense of the word, but he does love you dearly, Alastor knows how to remove make up because he likes to sneak up and scare Charlie when she’s getting ready for bed and has had many a product thrown at this head」

It was normally the mornings when he’d see you after your dates, and you’d spill the tea about the good and the bad. It was fun for him, drama was always best enjoyed from a distance.

There was no distance great enough that could make him miss you as you slunk into the hotel quietly, head down and turned away purposefully. Your arms were straight to your sides and balled into fists, back stiff as a board as you power walked through the lobby. How unlike you in every way.

He waited a beat until he was confident you’d made it to your room before following.

You considered not letting him in, but you knew he would come in if he really wanted to. Why pretend?

There was no point either in hiding your makeup streaked face. He clearly knew something was wrong, why else would he have come to your room.

“It went badly?” He asked somewhat rhetorically, closing the door behind him softly. “You know, I could always eat them. Avoid awkward run-ins downtown.”

A laugh, half hearted and more a glorified exhale than anything else.

Alastor came to your bed and offered you both hands. Setting yours in his, he guided you to the bathroom. Odd, a room you’d definitely not shared before, but you didn’t question it.

There was something deeply soothing about the way he moved around you as he led you around your own space. After lifting you onto the counter, he leaned past you to fiddle with something.

You smiled genuinely as you watched him rub your make up removing cleanser between his large hands. His palms were warm on your cheeks, tears both fresh and dried were mixed with the layers of setting spray, powder, cream, and lotion. Closing your eyes was the natural thing to do, but you couldn’t have kept them open if you had wanted to. Your brain was going fuzzy, clashing with the nauseous pain in your gut.

“As much as I adore the way you jazz up your temple, I’m quite fond of your natural features.” His voice seemed so close to you in the darkness. A hummed response was all you could muster.

The sound of running water, a few cabinets opening and closing, and then the soothing warmth of a hot and sopping face towel sliding down your cheeks.

“Another dud.” Alastor announced, the word ‘dud’ popped with an annoyed static. Even with your eyes shut, they stung with newly summoned tears. “The pain of realizing someone is not for you on a third date is much more tolerable than on the third year.” His large thumbs wiped away errant tears and liquified eyeshadow.

“Not to discount your pain!” You heard the facial cleanser lathering between his palms before he began to cover your face in gentle soap. “Just, well, I’d hate to see you cry too long over nothing and no one.”

A nod from you.

His careful fingers rubbed the suds into your skin gently, sharp nails barely grazing you. “I still don’t see how my idea was discounted so quickly!”

He could see your eyes roll behind your eyelids as you ground out, “Alastor I can’t make people be interviewed by an overlord to take me out.”

“I prefer the word interrogate.”

“I don’t!”

He tsk’d, wiping the soap away with wet hands and a damp cloth. “You sure are making your dating life all about you.” His hands left you and as your cheeks began to cool you opened your eyes.

Alastor was beaming down at you. You stayed still and let his finger follow the length of your nose that you cleverly reshaped with your skills,

his palms ran over the redness of your cheeks you calmed and covered before every outing,

his claws brushed over freckles reassuringly,

his eyes settled on your two tone lips,

and he purred happily at the sight,

“There you are.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ���Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

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@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

World's Only 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 390 With a Factory Sunroof Comes out of Hiding

Introduced for the 1969 model year, the Mach 1 was one of no fewer than six performance Mustangs available at the time. Sold alongside the GT, the Boss 429 and 302, and a pair of Shelby models, the Mach 1 became hugely popular. Specifically, Ford sold a whopping 72,458 units, almost a quarter of all Mustang production that year.

What made the Mach 1 such a big hit? Well, for starters, the package included more goodies than the GT. It came with a matte black hood with racing-style pins, a scoop, a unique stripe package, and an upgraded suspension. And unlike the Boss and Shelby models, it wasn't restricted to a specific engine.

Ford offered a more affordable version equipped with the two-barrel 351-cubic-inch (5.8-liter) Windsor V8. Customers who wanted more than 250 horsepower had access to the four-barrel variant, which delivered 290 horses. The options list also included the FE-type 390-cubic-inch (6.4-liter) unit good for 320 horsepower.

But unlike the GT, the Mach 1 was also available with the mighty 428-cubic-inch (7.0-liter) Cobra Jet V8. Offered in both Ram Air and non-Ram setups (Q- or R-code), the Cobra Jet mill generated 335 horsepower. While not quite as potent as the NASCAR-spec V8 in the Boss 429, it was the most potent mill customers had access to in the regular-production 'Stang.

High sales numbers also mean that first-year Mach 1 is quite the common classic nowadays. Sure, the Cobra Jet version is rarer at around 13,000 units, but it's a model you won't have issues finding. And it's not awfully expensive either.

That's not to say that some Mach 1s aren't very rare or unique. But that depends on features and the color combo. Sometimes, it takes a tiny item like air conditioning combined with an unlikely exterior/upholstery color match-up to turn a Mach 1 into a rare gem. This 1969 example in Gulfstream Aqua blue is a tad different because it flexes an option you won't find on any other Mach 1.

You won't notice it at first glance, but look closer, and you'll eventually see that this Mustang rocks a sunroof. Wait, what? A first-generation Mustang with a sunroof? You bet that's a weird feature because Ford did not offer such an option on the Mustang at the time. But a sunroof was available on the Mercury Cougar, and apparently, someone convinced Ford to put it on a Mach 1.

That someone is none other than Carroll Shelby, the man responsible for the cool GT350 and GT500 that turned the first-gen Mustang into a proper muscle car. And the story goes it's one of only two 1969 Mach 1s with a factory sunroof, so it's pretty much a one-of-one if we also factor in the options and the paint.

So what is the story behind this 'Stang? Did Carroll order it for his personal collection? Well, not exactly. Apparently, the car was specified for a doctor who took care of Shelby's mother. He asked if there was anything he could do for him in return, and the doctor requested a Mach 1 with a sunroof. Still working with Ford at the time, Carroll made some calls and turned the doctor's request into reality.

More than 50 years later, this unique Mach 1 is still around. And based on the way it looks, it went through a rotisserie restoration. It's spotless from every angle, and the Gulfstream Aqua color shines better than when this muscle car was new.

The blacked-out hood hides a 390 FE V8, so this Mustang wouldn't normally be as desirable and valuable as a Cobra Jet. However, that factory sunroof gives one-of-one status and puts it into six-figure territory. Hit the play button below to watch it sitting pretty at the MCACN show.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter11 

Silent Language

*The Crimson Serpent - Fifteen Years Earlier*

Mingi crouched in the shadow of a storage crate, his small knife moving carefully over the piece of wood in his hands. At eight years old, his fingers weren't as skilled as they would be later in life, but even now, his talent was clear in the small figure taking shape beneath his blade.

The ship creaked around him, its movements a rhythm he'd learned to recognize during six months of captivity. Three decks above, sailors would be adjusting sails to catch the afternoon wind. Two decks above, the captain would be checking charts with the navigator. And one deck above, Hongjoong would be studying those same charts, soaking up knowledge that might someday help them escape this floating prison.

But here in the hold's deepest corner, Mingi had made himself a quiet sanctuary – a place where, for a little while, he could escape watchful eyes and harsh commands.

The wood under his knife gradually took form – a small bear with simple features, its proportions carefully balanced despite its tiny size. He'd been working on it for three days, stealing moments when chores and supervision allowed, hiding both knife and carving in a loose panel behind his sleeping mat.

"What are you making, Puppy?"

The small voice startled him despite its softness. He looked up to see Daniela watching from behind a nearby barrel, her five-year-old curiosity temporarily overcoming the caution she'd developed during her weeks aboard. Mr. Hugs was clutched to her chest as always, but her eyes were fixed on Mingi's hands with genuine interest.

Mingi stayed silent, not because he was unfriendly but because words often tangled in his throat. His thoughts were clear in his mind but somehow unreachable when he tried to speak them aloud. Instead of trying to answer with words, he held out the half-finished carving. Unlike adults who demanded speech and got frustrated with his silence, Daniela simply moved closer, accepting his wordless answer without judgment.

"It's a bear," she said quietly, settling beside him with the easy trust she showed all five boys. "Like Mr. Hugs, but smaller."

Mingi nodded, grateful she understood without explanation. Having someone sit so close would usually make his shoulders tense up, a defensive reaction to potential threat. But Daniela's small presence carried no expectations, no demands he couldn't meet.

"Is it for me?" she asked after watching him carve for several quiet minutes.

The question made him pause. He hadn't really decided who the carving was for, focusing instead on the simple joy of creating it. But her question brought immediate certainty – of course it was for her. Who else would he give it to?

He nodded again, sending more wood chips falling as he continued working. The bear's face grew clearer with each careful cut, its expression somehow matching the solemn watchfulness of the real teddy bear clutched in y/n’s arms.

"Thank you," she said, her simple gratitude needing no response beyond his continued work. Unlike adults who demanded acknowledgment, her appreciation needed no confirmation or formal acceptance.

For nearly an hour, they sat in comfortable silence – Mingi carving with growing confidence while Daniela watched without interrupting. The quiet between them wasn't empty but filled with a shared understanding that went beyond words.

"I don't mind that you don't talk much," she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Hugs doesn't talk either, but I always know what he's thinking."

Her observation, delivered with childish certainty yet surprising wisdom, created an unexpected warmth in Mingi's chest. Unlike others who saw his limited speech as a problem to fix, Daniela accepted it simply as a different way of expressing himself.

"Grown-ups think talking is the most important thing," she continued, adjusting Mr. Hugs against her chest. "But sometimes the quiet people see things noisy people miss."

The insight, remarkable coming from someone so young, showed wisdom beyond her years – understanding perhaps born from her own recent trauma. Mingi's hands paused momentarily, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that said what his voice couldn't: agreement, appreciation, recognition of their shared understanding.

"You see everything, don't you, Puppy?" she asked softly, the nickname containing no mockery. "Even when you're so quiet everyone forgets you're there, you're watching and remembering."

Her question showed such a perfect understanding of his experience that Mingi felt momentarily disoriented – as if she'd somehow seen straight into his mind without needing words. His persistent silence wasn't absence but a different kind of presence, observation rather than withdrawal.

Without thinking, Mingi reached into the inner pocket of his tattered shirt and pulled out something he'd kept hidden there like treasure. He held out his palm, revealing a small wooden sparrow.

"It's beautiful," Daniela whispered, reaching out but stopping just short of touching, unsure if she was allowed.

Mingi gently placed it in her small palm, the gesture giving permission where words weren't needed.

"Did you make this too?" she asked, examining the bird with careful fingers.

He nodded, watching her exploration with satisfaction. Unlike the tools and useful things others made out of necessity, this served no practical purpose – it was beauty for its own sake, creation beyond mere usefulness.

"A little bird, like Woo calls me," Daniela observed, turning the wooden piece to catch different angles of light.

The connection hadn't been conscious in Mingi's mind when he made it, but her observation felt right.

"Can I keep it?" she asked, her question showing both hope and understanding that she'd accept his answer either way.

Mingi considered briefly, then shook his head. He pointed to one of the areas in the ship, a panel he'd made removable to hide her.

"Hide," Mingi said.

"You want to hide it," she translated immediately, understanding with no frustration. "So the bad men won't find it and take it," she added, glancing toward the upper deck.

Her simple understanding – interpreting his meaning without needing more words – created another wave of warmth through Mingi's chest. Unlike adults who demanded proper sentences before accepting his communication, Daniela moved easily between different ways of understanding without forcing him to follow just one.

For the next half hour, they worked together in comfortable silence – Mingi completing the bear's basic shape while Daniela held Mr. Hugs as an attentive audience. Their partnership needed no constant reassurance or explicit direction, their shared purpose flowing through occasional glances and small gestures rather than complicated explanations.

When Seonghwa's voice called softly from the corridor – warning of an approaching inspection that meant Daniela needed to hide quickly – their peaceful time together ended abruptly. She slipped away toward their established hiding place, Mr. Hugs clutched to her chest, while Mingi quickly hid his carving materials beneath loose floorboards.

Just before disappearing into shadow, Daniela turned back with a whispered promise: "I'll remember this, Puppy. How we talk without talking."

The moment hung briefly in time – a connection established through something other than conventional words, understanding flowing without reliance on traditional speech. Then practical necessity took over, survival requirements forcing them back into their respective roles within this hostile environment.

Yet something had shifted between them, recognition established without needing to be spoken aloud. The quiet boy who struggled with speech and the small girl clutching a worn teddy bear had found a connection that went beyond words – a shared understanding that created genuine interaction despite the limitations around them.

The night of Daniela's failed escape and her ultimate auction, Mingi removed the panel, taking the small bird out. He cried silently at the loss of his little shadow, the one who didn't need words and explanations to understand him. Who kept him company while he carved. He made a decision then to carve as many animals as he could, for as long as he had to. He would place them wherever they went, a silent message that they were looking for her.

Mingi gripped the bird, walking to the dock and throwing it as far as he could into the Halazia streets. His first breadcrumb. Unknown to him, a child following his owner would later stumble upon it and give it to a scared girl to bring her hope.

The medical bay's lamps had been dimmed to evening setting when Mingi first regained consciousness. Pain immediately hit him despite whatever medication was flowing through his system. His right side burned with an intensity that reminded him of combat injuries rather than simple accidents – explosive force rather than just impact.

Memory returned in fragments: the naval battle with the Southern Trade Company vessel, his modified cannon mechanisms performing better than expected, then a sudden explosion as return fire struck the gun deck with unexpected precision. After that, nothing but darkness and distant voices, awareness fighting against the drugs as medical treatment happened without his participation.

The first thing he noticed beyond the pain was an unusual weight against his left side – something substantial yet soft, warm pressure that felt like a person rather than medical equipment. With effort that showed his weakness, he turned his head slightly toward this unexpected contact.

The sight that met his gradually focusing eyes left him momentarily disoriented. Ella was asleep in a chair pulled alongside his bed, her body leaning forward to rest partly against his uninjured side, her head nestled against his shoulder.

Even more disorienting was the object clutched against her chest: Mr. Hugs, immediately recognizable despite fifteen years of wear and careful repair, the teddy bear's remaining eye button catching the dim light just as it had caught lantern glow aboard The Crimson Serpent.

For several long moments, Mingi simply watched this impossible vision, uncertainty mingling with his discomfort. Had the explosion damaged his mind? Had the medical treatment caused some kind of dream?

"She's been there since yesterday," came Yunho's quiet voice from his other side. "Refused to leave even when Yeosang insisted she needed proper rest."

Mingi carefully turned toward this familiar presence, relief flowing through him as reality reasserted itself – Yunho's concerned expression confirmed this was no hallucination. His closest friend occupied another chair, evidence of a long vigil visible in his disheveled appearance and the shadows beneath his usually bright eyes.

"How long?" Mingi managed, his voice rougher than usual after being unconscious.

"Two days since the battle," Yunho replied, understanding the question's multiple meanings. "You've been unconscious since the explosion. And yes, it's really her. She revealed herself when you were brought in injured."

The confirmation created complex emotions. This wasn't a hallucination or wishful thinking; Daniela's presence meant the actual end of fifteen years of searching – real fulfillment rather than just continued pursuit.

"How?" he asked, the single word born from both physical weakness and his usual economy with words.

Yunho's expression softened with understanding, his familiarity with Mingi's speech patterns allowing him to grasp the full question. "When you were brought in wounded after the battle, she broke through all her careful disguise. Called you 'Puppy' in front of everyone. There was no question after that – it was the final confirmation."

The specific detail – that childhood nickname rather than just general recognition – affected Mingi more deeply than a long explanation would have. This particular reference represented genuine emotional connection – personal relationship rather than just operational significance.

"She's barely left your side since," Yunho continued, warmth evident in his voice despite his fatigue. "Hongjoong gave her Mr. Hugs yesterday."

Mingi absorbed this information carefully despite his discomfort, his focus entirely on the sleeping figure leaning against his uninjured side.

"She knows," he stated rather than asked, confirmation clear in his simple observation.

"About all of us," Yunho confirmed, understanding the layers in the question. "Our search, our oath, our transformation from cabin boys to the officers of the ATEEZ.

Mingi's attention returned to Daniela's sleeping form, his gaze lingering on Mr. Hugs visible in the dim light. The teddy bear looked older, worn by fifteen years of handling and careful repair, yet unmistakably himself – recognizable despite time's passage.

"She knows about your carvings too," Yunho added quietly, following Mingi's gaze. "That you've been leaving them in every port, hoping she might find one and recognize your work. And Mingi," his voice softened further, "she did.She found a bird. Another time a wolf." Yunho smiled. 

The information created unexpected emotion. Unlike his usual controlled response to information, this revelation triggered a genuine reaction that broke through his habitual restraint.

"One reached her," Mingi whispered, disbelief mingling with profound gratitude despite his weakness. "All these years, all those ports – one actually found her."

"She called it her talisman," Yunho confirmed, a genuine smile warming his tired features. "Said it reminded her that beauty could exist even within Blackwell's walls, that someone had taken time to create something with no purpose beyond its own existence."

As emotion threatened to overwhelm him despite his habitual control, Mingi deliberately shifted toward practical matters – temporarily displacing personal response as protection against vulnerability.

"Ship status?" he asked, deliberately focusing on operational context.

Yunho accepted this transition without comment, understanding the necessary protection against overwhelming vulnerability – a temporary shelter rather than permanent distance.

"Significant damage to starboard gun deck but structural integrity maintained," he reported, matching Mingi's professional focus. "Three wounded including yourself, none critical. Hongjoong managed an impressive tactical victory despite our damaged firing capacity – Blackwell's vessel withdrew with substantially greater injuries than ours."

Mingi nodded slightly, processing this information despite his discomfort and weakness. "Innovative strategy?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his question.

"Extremely," Yunho confirmed, admiration evident in his voice. "After your gun deck was hit, he ordered a reconfiguration that exposed our damaged section while concealing intact weaponry. Made us appear more vulnerable than we actually were, drawing Blackwell's vessel into an overconfident approach that placed them within range of our remaining hidden guns."

The tactic represented classic Hongjoong strategy. Unlike standard defensive positioning that might have minimized existing damage while protecting remaining capabilities, this innovative approach had transformed apparent weakness into actual strength – vulnerability into opportunity.

"Casualties?" Mingi asked, professional concern evident.

"Minor injuries beyond your own," Yunho assured him. "Nothing requiring extended recovery or creating permanent disability. Yeosang handled everything well, though he was a bit less formal than usual. Daniela seems to bring out a more approachable side of him."

The observation created a subtle shift in Mingi's focus, his attention gradually returning to the sleeping figure leaning against his uninjured side.

As if sensing this renewed attention despite her continued sleep, Daniela shifted slightly, a subtle movement that seemed more like unconscious response than deliberate adjustment. Mr. Hugs remained clutched against her chest, protective even during sleep.

"She's exhausted," Yunho observed quietly, his perception encompassing both physical and emotional assessment. "The revelation, the battle, your injury, reconnecting with everyone after fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned – it's been overwhelming despite her remarkable composure."

Mingi's hand moved without conscious thought, fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair from Daniela's forehead with a careful touch that avoided disturbing her sleep. The gesture – protective tenderness rather than just practical adjustment – emerged from his essential nature beneath the tactical persona, genuine expression beyond professional presentation.

"Little shadow," he whispered, the childhood nickname coming without deliberate thought.

The nickname created a subtle response despite her continued sleep: a slight smile touching Daniela's lips, minimal pressure increase against his uninjured side, fingers tightening fractionally around Mr. Hugs' worn form. 

For several comfortable minutes, they remained in quiet tableau – Mingi gradually adjusting to consciousness despite his discomfort, Yunho providing reassuring presence without demanding interaction, Daniela continuing her healing sleep against Mingi's uninjured side. This moment represented a remarkable reunion against impossible odds. 

"I didn't think we'd ever actually find her," Yunho admitted eventually, his voice barely above a whisper to avoid disturbing the sleeper. "I kept searching because we'd promised, because giving up hope seemed worse than continuing without realistic possibility. But somewhere deep inside, I'd started believing our oath was more about honor than actually finding her."

The confession revealed personal truth beneath professional assessment – human uncertainty despite continued commitment.

"I never stopped believing," Mingi replied, an unusually long response flowing despite his physical weakness and habitual economy with words. "Not because of greater faith or stronger commitment, but because the alternative seemed impossible to accept. Finding her wasn't just a goal - it was a necessity. Like breathing."

Yunho's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Mingi almost never spoke this much at once. Instead of his usual few carefully chosen words, he'd actually opened up, sharing something deeply personal rather than just sticking to the bare necessities.

"That's why you made the carvings," Yunho said softly, his eyes full of understanding. "They weren't just keepsakes or reminders. They were messages you were sending out into the world, hoping somehow they'd find her. You kept doing it all these years, even without knowing if she'd ever see one."

Mingi nodded slightly. No words needed. That simple nod said everything.

"And one actually reached her," Yunho continued, his voice still filled with wonder even though he'd had time to process the news. "Against all odds, your little wooden bird and wolf, somehow found its way to her. It gave her comfort when we couldn't be there, protected her in a way even when we were worlds apart."

Before Mingi could respond, Daniela stirred more deliberately against his side – gradually waking rather than just shifting position, consciousness returning as sleep faded away. Her eyes opened slowly, momentary confusion crossing her features as she oriented herself.

When her eyes met Mingi's and saw awareness there, her face transformed. Behind the careful self-control that fifteen years of captivity had taught her, real joy broke through.

"Puppy," she whispered, the childhood nickname holding fifteen years of memories. "You're awake."

Those simple words carried so much more than they said on the surface. In that quiet moment, all the years of separation seemed to collapse.

"Little shadow," Mingi replied, his voice growing stronger despite his weakness, as if the emotion itself gave him strength.

Just those two childhood nicknames, exchanged after fifteen years apart, said more than a thousand words could have. They recognized each other—not just the people they'd become, but the children they once were. Something essential had survived in both of them, unchanged beneath all the ways they'd had to adapt.

For several long seconds, they just looked at each other. Then the careful composure Daniela had maintained for so long finally cracked, real emotion showing through.

"I thought we'd lost you," she admitted, vulnerability emerging. "When they brought you in after the battle, there was so much blood, and you were so still, and Yeosang looked so worried despite trying to hide it.”

Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, a rare crack in the careful control she'd developed during fifteen years of captivity. For just a moment, she let her guard down, showing a vulnerability she normally kept hidden.

"Hard to kill," Mingi assured her with a hint of humor beneath the serious reassurance. "Too stubborn."

His simple response drew an unexpected smile from Daniela, a flash of genuine amusement lighting up her face. It wasn't just politeness or appropriate response—there was a real connection between them, as though the years apart had somehow never happened.

"That much hasn't changed," she said, her voice warm despite her lingering worry. "I remember how you'd keep carving even with bleeding fingers, or how you'd fall asleep right over your knife. Always pushing beyond what anyone would consider reasonable."

The specific memory seemed to hit Mingi harder than any general recognition could have. His eyes widened slightly, as if amazed that she'd kept such details after all this time.

"You remember," he said softly, wonder in his voice.

"Everything," Daniela confirmed, understanding all the questions behind his simple statement. "How you taught me to whittle simple shapes when my hands were too small for your knife. How you'd leave tiny carvings under my blanket when nightmares kept me from sleeping. How we figured out our own way to talk without words when speaking was hard for both of us, just for different reasons."

These details visibly affected Mingi. His usually composed face showed more emotion than anyone had seen in years, despite his physical pain and weakness. Those precise memories proved she hadn't just remembered the broad outline of their friendship—she'd held onto the small, intimate moments that defined it.

Yunho watched them with a gentle smile, clearly pleased yet careful not to intrude on their reunion. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he remained quietly supportive, present without inserting himself.

"I should tell Yeosang you're awake," he said after a while, giving them a natural reason to be alone. "He'll want to check on you now that you're conscious."

His thoughtful exit created privacy without making a big deal of it. He slipped out of the medical bay quietly, leaving them to continue reconnecting without an audience.

As the door closed behind him, a brief silence fell between Daniela and Mingi—not awkward, but a moment of adjustment to being truly alone together after fifteen years apart. Their connection felt surprisingly natural, as if understanding between them ran deeper than mere memory or simple recollection.

"The sparrow..wolf," Mingi said after several comfortable heartbeats, unusual initiative flowing despite his habitual verbal restraint. "Yunho said you found my carvings.“

Daniela nodded, reaching beneath her shirt collar to withdraw a small leather pouch suspended from a simple cord around her neck. With careful movements that showed how precious this was to her, she opened the protective container and extracted not one but two tiny wooden figures – a sparrow with folded wings and a small wolf, both small enough to hide completely in her closed fist yet carved with remarkable detail.

"The sparrow appeared after a storm knocked down part of the garden wall," she explained, holding the carvings where the dim light caught the distinctive compass mark carved into each wooden base. "And later- a friend gave me the wolf. He found it."

Her fingers traced the tiny figures with obvious tenderness. "I never knew they were yours, just that they were beautiful and worth the risk of keeping them hidden. They became my talismans during the worst moments – proof that beauty could exist even within Blackwell's walls. Something small I could hold onto when everything else was taken away."

The way she spoke about his carvings hit Mingi hard. She hadn't just kept them as objects – she'd understood exactly what he'd meant them to be: messages of hope, reminders of beauty in the darkest places. She'd grasped their meaning without ever knowing they came from him.

"I've made hundreds over the years," he admitted, unusual verbal extension flowing despite his habitual economy with words. "Left them in every port we visited, hoping somehow one might reach you. That you might recognize my work and remember our connection even without knowing where it came from."

The disclosure represented significant emotional investment despite his physical weakness and continued discomfort. This elaboration revealed unusual commitment beyond his habitual restraint – extraordinary import transcending normal limitation.

"And one did find me," Daniela marveled, She spoke with wonder in her voice, even though she'd had time to process this revelation. "Against all odds, somehow your wooden friend reached exactly who it was meant for – bringing comfort when we were apart, keeping us connected even when we couldn't be together."

"I always knew you'd stay yourself, no matter how hard they tried to change you," Mingi said quietly, showing unusual eloquence. "That who you really are would survive, no matter what happened to you."

His words showed he understood something deeper than just recognizing her face. He saw how she remained herself underneath all the changes she'd had to make.

"Sometimes I wondered," Daniela admitted, showing a rare vulnerability. "How much of me survived fifteen years of them trying to crush my independent thinking. Whether the girl you knew on The Crimson Serpent was still in there, under all the changes I made to survive being someone's property."

A meaningful silence fell between them after her confession. Her honest doubts invited him to explore this together, creating a genuine connection.

"Who you are deep down doesn't change, no matter what happens to you," Mingi replied with quiet certainty. "The real you survives underneath all the adjustments you had to make."

He nodded toward Mr. Hugs, still clutched against her chest even though she'd shifted position since waking. "You still fix his bow tie the same way you did on The Crimson Serpent," he said softly. "You still break honey cakes in half before eating them, line things up at right angles when you're distracted, and watch the horizon with that mix of wonder and tactical awareness."

These simple observations clearly touched Daniela more deeply than grand statements would have. Mingi gave her concrete proof that parts of her had survived fifteen years of attempted erasure.

"I never realized," she whispered with genuine emotion. "That so much of me was still visible, even after years of hiding and disguising myself."

"Not to most people," Mingi clarified gently. "Only to those who knew you before, who can spot the patterns under the necessary changes. To everyone else, you appear exactly as you want them to see you – composed and revealing nothing you don't choose to."

His words showed he understood both how well she'd hidden herself and the special connection that let him see through it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As the medical bay's lights adjusted automatically to early evening setting, they continued their comfortable conversation amid remarkable circumstances. Their interaction flowed with natural ease despite extended absence – recognition beyond mere memory, understanding transcending simple recollection.

Daniela adjusted Mr. Hugs against her chest with an unconscious movement identical to the childhood ritual she'd performed countless times aboard The Crimson Serpent. The teddy bear looked older, worn by fifteen years of handling and careful repair, yet unmistakably himself – recognizable despite time's passage and necessary maintenance.

"Hongjoong kept him all these years," she explained, noticing Mingi's thoughtful observation. "Carried him in a locked sea chest wherever you sailed, made careful repairs whenever the fabric wore through or stitching frayed. He returned him yesterday after confirming my identity beyond any doubt."

The information created visible impact across Mingi's features despite his habitual emotional containment. This disclosure represented significant continuation beyond mere material preservation – symbolic connection maintained through physical manifestation despite extended separation.

"We used him for our oath," Mingi said quietly, memory flowing despite his typical reticence regarding emotional history

"I never imagined you'd actually keep searching," Daniela admitted, genuine wonder flowing beneath the careful composure that fifteen years of captivity had ingrained. "That five boys would remember a promise made under desperate circumstances, maintain commitment despite passing years and changing priorities."

"Not merely remembered but defined by it," Mingi corrected gently, unusual eloquence continuing beyond his typical verbal economy. "Everything built since that night – the ATEEZ, our operations against slave traders, our reputation for precision and unwavering purpose – all originated from that single promise made during childhood failure. We found our identity through that commitment when circumstances eliminated all other certainties."

Before conversation could continue further, the medical bay door opened to admit Yeosang – not a rushed entrance suggesting emergency but deliberate arrival indicating scheduled assessment. His expression revealed both professional focus and personal pleasure – genuine satisfaction upon seeing his conscious patient.

"Good evening," he greeted, formal introduction suggesting intentional acknowledgment of interruption rather than just casual entrance. "I'm glad to see you awake, though I would have appreciated being notified."

The gentle criticism nonetheless contained warmth beneath its measured delivery, genuine care flowing beyond medical responsibility. Unlike clinical assessment that might have maintained emotional distance regardless of patient identity, Yeosang's approach integrated professional expertise with personal connection – technical competence balanced by genuine relationship.

"My fault," Daniela acknowledged immediately, protective response flowing naturally despite years of separation from her childhood friend. "We've been talking since he woke, and I completely forgot to tell you."

The admission revealed connection beyond casual acquaintance or recent introduction. Their interaction suggested established understanding transcending official designations – genuine friendship beyond merely practical alliance.

"It's understandable with everything that's happened," Yeosang replied, diplomatic phrasing containing gentle understanding beneath his professional demeanor. "I'm just glad to see him awake."

Yeosang moved to Mingi's bedside, setting down his medical bag and withdrawing basic examination tools. Despite the precision of his movements, there was a warmth to his actions that had been absent during his first days aboard the ATEEZ.

"How's the pain?" he asked Mingi directly, his tone both professional and genuinely concerned.

"Manageable," Mingi replied, though the slight tension around his eyes suggested otherwise.

Yeosang nodded, clearly reading beyond the simple response. "I'll adjust your medication after the examination. No need to suffer unnecessarily." He glanced at Daniela with a small smile. "He's always been a terrible patient. Downplays everything."

"Some things never change," Daniela agreed, returning his smile with a warmth that spoke of their shared history. "He once sliced his finger open carving and told no one until Seonghwa noticed the blood trail."

"Still does that," Yeosang commented as he checked Mingi's pulse. "Last year he worked through an entire battle with three broken ribs. Didn't mention it until we were counting casualties afterward."

"Unnecessary distraction," Mingi muttered, though there was no real irritation in his tone.

"It's not a distraction to take care of yourself," Yeosang countered, his voice gentler than his words. "Your well-being matters to everyone on this ship."

The simple statement, delivered without flourish, carried more weight than an elaborate speech might have. Mingi's eyes met Yeosang's briefly, silent acknowledgment passing between them.

As Yeosang continued his examination, Daniela observed the careful respect between the two men – a relationship clearly built over their two years together aboard the ATEEZ, yet different from Yeosang's interactions with other officers. There was a shared understanding in their quiet exchange, a recognition of similar experiences despite vastly different paths.

"The wound is healing well," Yeosang announced after inspecting the bandages. "Better than I expected, actually. The explosion damaged mostly soft tissue – painful, but without long-term consequences if you follow recovery protocols properly."

"When can I return to duty?" Mingi asked, the question clearly foremost in his mind.

Yeosang shook his head, unsurprised by the query. "Limited duties in one week, if healing continues at this rate. Full duties in three weeks, depending on physical therapy progress." His tone softened slightly. "Your gun decks aren't going anywhere, Mingi. Hongjoong has already ordered materials for rebuilding the damaged sections according to your specifications."

This information seemed to ease something in Mingi's expression. "The modified firing mechanisms?"

"Salvaged and secured in your workshop," Yeosang assured him. "Yunho personally oversaw their recovery and storage."

Daniela watched this exchange with growing understanding. The quiet gunner's creations represented more than mere tools – they were extensions of himself, physical manifestations of his mind's workings. Their preservation mattered beyond practical utility.

"Now," Yeosang continued, turning to include Daniela in the conversation, "as your doctor, I need to insist on proper rest for both of you. Mingi needs uninterrupted sleep to heal properly, and you," he fixed Daniela with a pointed look tempered by obvious affection, "haven't had proper rest in days."

"I'm fine," she protested automatically, the response ingrained through years of pushing through exhaustion when circumstances demanded.

"You're swaying in your chair," Yeosang countered gently. "And those shadows under your eyes speak for themselves."

Before she could argue further, Mingi spoke up unexpectedly. "He's right," he said quietly. "You need rest."

The simple statement, coming from the man who had only just regained consciousness after a life-threatening injury, created a moment of surprised silence. Then Daniela sighed, recognizing the truth in both men's concern.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I'm coming back first thing tomorrow."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Yeosang replied with a small smile. "Your quarters have been prepared – Seonghwa arranged for your things to be moved from the guest cabin to more permanent accommodations near the officers' section."

The information created a momentary pause in Daniela's thoughts. Despite Seonghwa's emotional distance following her identity revelation, he had apparently been making practical arrangements for her integration into the ship's daily life – actions speaking perhaps more honestly than his carefully controlled demeanor.

"That was... thoughtful of him," she said finally.

"Seonghwa expresses himself through arrangements and order," Yeosang explained, understanding evident in his measured words. "When emotions become too complex, he retreats to practical matters where he feels more certain."

This insight aligned with Daniela's own assessment. This perspective offered understanding beyond immediate reaction – recognition of human complexity rather than just operational distance.

"Give him time," Yeosang added quietly. "He's been searching for you longer than almost anyone."

The gentle reminder created space for patience beyond immediate expectation or simple judgment. This perspective allowed natural development without artificial acceleration – genuine process rather than forced outcome.

"I will," Daniela promised, rising slowly from her chair beside Mingi's bed. The movement revealed more fatigue than she had admitted, her body swaying slightly as she found her balance.

Yeosang steadied her with a supportive hand on her elbow, concern evident in his expression. "I should walk you to your cabin," he said, the suggestion carrying more weight than mere courtesy.

"I can find my way," she assured him, though the words lacked conviction even to her own ears.

"Humor me," Yeosang replied with gentle firmness. "Doctor's orders."

The familiar phrase – echoing countless similar exchanges during their childhood in Blackwell's household – drew a small smile​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The familiar phrase – echoing countless similar exchanges during their childhood in Blackwell's household – drew a small smile from Daniela despite her exhaustion. Some patterns remained unchanged across fifteen years, connection persisting despite extended separation and drastically altered circumstances.

"Fine," she conceded again, then turned back to Mingi. "I'll return in the morning. Try not to escape the medical bay before then."

A ghost of a smile touched Mingi's normally solemn features. "No promises," he murmured, the hint of humor revealing more about his improving condition than any formal medical assessment could have.

Daniela hesitated briefly, then leaned down and gently squeezed his hand. "Rest well, Puppy," she whispered, the childhood nickname flowing naturally despite years of careful concealment.

"You too, little shadow," he replied, returning the pressure with fingers still weakened from injury yet carrying genuine warmth.

As Yeosang guided her toward the door, Daniela clutched Mr. Hugs closer against her chest – an unconscious gesture identical to her childhood habit developed aboard The Crimson Serpent. The teddy bear remained a tangible connection between fragments of her existence, a physical link between past and present despite fifteen years of systematic attempts to sever that connection.

"He'll be here tomorrow," Yeosang assured her as they moved into the corridor. "Mingi's too stubborn to do anything but recover, especially now."

"Especially now?" she repeated, curiosity momentarily overriding exhaustion.

Yeosang's expression softened into a genuine smile – a rare display of emotion beyond his usual composed demeanor. "Now that he has something beyond duty to recover for," he explained simply. "Now that you're here."

The observation created unexpected warmth in Daniela's chest despite her physical fatigue and emotional exhaustion.

"It still doesn't seem real," she admitted as they walked slowly through the ATEEZ's quiet corridors. "Finding all of you after fifteen years believing myself forgotten. Discovering that five boys not only remembered me but transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill a childhood promise."

"Sometimes the most impossible things turn out to be true," Yeosang replied, his philosophical tone tempered by genuine warmth. "Just look at us – who would have believed we'd reunite aboard this particular ship, under these specific circumstances?"

The simple observation acknowledged extraordinary coincidence – meaningful connection rather than accidental collision.

"Apparently the universe has a strange sense of humor," Daniela replied with a tired smile. "Or perhaps remarkable sense of symmetry, depending on your philosophical perspective."

For a moment, they simply stood in the quiet corridor, absorbing this additional connection beyond already extraordinary coincidence. This particular intersection suggested pattern beyond mathematical probability – meaningful design rather than mere statistical anomaly.

"We should keep moving," Yeosang said finally, gentle concern returning as he noticed her increasing unsteadiness. "You're about to fall asleep standing up."

The assessment acknowledged reality without exaggeration. This simple statement recognized genuine condition without inflation – factual evaluation rather than emotional response.

As they resumed walking toward her new quarters, comfortable silence settled between them – not awkward vacancy but peaceful connection, understanding flowing without requiring constant verbal affirmation. Their relationship carried natural ease despite years of separation – recognition beyond mere memory, connection transcending simple recollection.

"Here we are," Yeosang announced eventually, stopping before a cabin door that appeared identical to others in this section yet apparently represented significant transition. "Officers' quarters section, port side. Wooyoung is two doors down, Yunho and Mingi across the corridor when he returns from medical bay."

"Thank you," Daniela said sincerely, gratitude encompassing more than mere escort assistance. "For everything, Angel. Not just today but fifteen years ago. For being the one person in Blackwell's household who saw me as human rather than just property."

The acknowledgment created visible impact across Yeosang's usually composed features, genuine emotion flowing beneath characteristic restraint despite years developing professional detachment. This specific recognition addressed particular connection – meaningful relationship rather than just incidental contact.

"You did the same for me," he replied softly, showing a rare vulnerability. "When all they cared about was what I could do for them, you saw me as a person worth knowing. When Blackwell tried to keep us all isolated, you risked getting punished just to be my friend."

There was a quiet moment between them, a silence that said more than words could.

"We survived," Daniela said quietly.

"We did more than survive," Yeosang corrected gently. "We kept what really mattered even when they tried to take everything from us. We stayed human when they treated us like objects. We found ways to connect when they did everything to keep us apart."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

His words gave her more than just comfort - they gave her a deeper understanding of what they'd managed to hold onto through all those years. It wasn't just about staying alive; it was about keeping their humanity intact when everything around them tried to strip it away.

Before they could talk more, the corridor lights dimmed automatically to evening mode - the ship's way of marking time passing even below deck. The subtle change pulled them back from their memories to the present moment.

"You need rest," Yeosang said, his doctor's concern showing through again. "We can pick this up after you've had some sleep and caught your breath from everything that's happened."

The way he said it showed he cared about her, not just as a patient but as a friend. He understood both her physical exhaustion and what all this meant to her emotionally.

"You're right," Daniela admitted, unable to ignore her exhaustion any longer. "Though it feels weird to just sleep when my whole world has flipped upside down in less than three days."

"Big changes take time to process," Yeosang said warmly. "And your body needs energy to handle it all. You might want to stay awake and think about everything, but your body needs to recover first."

He explained it simply but kindly, like he was helping her understand rather than just telling her what to do.

"Always the doctor," Daniela teased gently, affection in her voice despite her tiredness.

"Someone has to be," Yeosang replied with a genuine smile, a warmth showing through his usual professional manner. "Especially on a ship full of people who think sleep and recovery are just optional suggestions."

The comment showed both his frustration as the ship's doctor and his fondness for the crew - he understood them even when they drove him crazy.

"Goodnight, Angel," Daniela said softly, using the childhood nickname that had gotten her through seven years in Blackwell's household and eight more without him.

"Goodnight, Daniela," Yeosang replied warmly. "Sleep well. Everything will still be here tomorrow - all these connections, all these discoveries, all these impossible reunions."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As Daniela entered her new quarters – permanent accommodation rather than temporary arrangement – she found herself momentarily overwhelmed by yet another tangible manifestation of her changed circumstances. Unlike the guest cabin that had emphasized temporary status, this space clearly represented integration beyond mere visitation – genuine incorporation rather than just tactical alliance.

The room itself appeared similar in size to her previous accommodation, yet subtle differences created significant distinction. Personal effects had been arranged with obvious care and deliberate attention to detail, someone's precise handiwork evident in their thoughtful placement.

Seonghwa's touch was unmistakable throughout the space – from perfectly aligned furnishings to mathematically spaced decorative elements, his characteristic precision evident despite his emotional distance following her identity confirmation. Unlike a haphazard transfer that might have emphasized functional necessity, this careful arrangement revealed thoughtfulness beyond mere practical requirement – genuine care despite apparent withdrawal.

Too exhausted for detailed exploration, Daniela moved directly toward the bed that dominated one wall of the cabin. Mr. Hugs remained clutched against her chest, protective habit maintained despite safe environment, childhood comfort preserved despite adult circumstance.

As she settled onto the surprisingly comfortable mattress without bothering to remove her outer clothing, bone-deep weariness claimed her consciousness with irresistible force. Unlike regular tiredness that might have permitted gradual transition, this profound depletion created immediate sleep.

In her last moments before consciousness dissolved completely, Daniela automatically whispered her nightly ritual – childhood names flowing across fifteen years of separation despite systematic attempts at connection's elimination: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy, Angel."

The familiar litany carried new significance beyond mere comfort routine. Unlike protective mechanism that had maintained essential connection during extended isolation, these references now acknowledged actual persons beyond just remembered designations – real individuals rather than simply preserved memories.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy @soulphoenix1618 @wxnderingthoughts

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all the love you gave my most recent au! Here's a continuation of the Disir au! Enjoy!

Merlin caught on quickly that there was something... different about Arthur after his return from the Disir's cave.

He was jumpy, constantly on edge, and clearly losing sleep over something. And, worst of all, he was hiding something from Merlin.

Or, more like trying to hide something from Merlin. Because Merlin knew that something had happened at the Disir's cave, and he knew that it had something to do with the old religion.

Really, Arthur should know better than to hide a wooden worship effigy of one of the gods of the old religion in his wardrobe. The very same wardrobe that Merlin digs through every morning to find some outfit to dress his royal pratness in.

But Arthur's laughable attempts at hiding anything from his manservant aside, the crudely carved effigy in Merlin's hands raised the rather uncomfortable question: what was Arthur doing hiding an object of worship tied to the old religion in his wardrobe? If he was trying to learn more about druid customs or attempting to gain some advantage over Morgana, why hide it from Merlin of all people?

And it did seem like Merlin was the only one he was hiding this from, if the knights' shifty behavior and the unusual amount of time Arthur spent with Mordred over the past few weeks was any indication.

Even Gwen was in on it! The queen had started carving out time in the evenings for Arthur to be alone in his study, doing... something. Gwen had not told him what Arthur was doing during that time, only telling him that no one, not even Merlin, was to disturb him.

It felt like the entire castle was conspiring against Merlin! And given that it was mostly likely connected to the Old Religion based off of the presence of the worship effigy, the entire situation set Merlin on edge.

(Plus, there was a strange tingling in the back of Merlin's mind that had started the night after Arthur had returned from the Disir's cave. The odd sensation came and went at seemingly random times, but it didn't hurt. No, it felt more like something inside his mind was trying to get his attention, as strange as that sounded. Merlin wasn't sure what it was or what to make of it.)

The first question that popped into his mind was "do they know?", but something seemed too strange about this entire situation for the explanation to be as simple as his magic having been discovered, as disastrous as that would be. No, if his magic was truly discovered, the reaction would be loud, explosive, like Arthur's temper. There would not be this shifty, sneaking around behind Merlin's back if that were really the case. If Arthur felt betrayed by Merlin, he would not turn to conspiracy. That wasn't who Arthur was.

So no, Merlin's magic hadn't been discovered. Merlin's next guess was that Mordred's magic had been discovered, but that too seemed unlikely, since the king's prophesized killer was still alive and meeting with the king frequently.

Perhaps Arthur was planning on brokering peace with the druids and wanted to keep it hidden from the council to avoid the protests from Uther's lords? It seemed like something Arthur would do, and the thought of it filled Merlin with hope. But still, if that was truly what Arthur was doing, he would have told Merlin by now!

So then what could it be?! What reason did Arthur possibly have for possessing a handmade worship talisman and hiding it from Merlin?!

Merlin even tried to glean some information based on which god of the Old Religion the worship effigy was dedicated to, but the face was carved so crudely that there were no identifying features, and the base was plain, devoid of any symbols of worship that could point to the identity of the god in question.

With all of his other options having been exhausted, Merlin turned to the one method of getting answers that had yet to fail him: eavesdropping.

(Gaius could admonish him all he liked for not being able to mind his own business, but the old physician couldn't deny that Merlin seeing and overhearing things that he shouldn't have had saved the kingdom at least a dozen times over.)

Fortunately for Merlin, Arthur's newfound alone-time was at around the same time every evening, right after he had finished his dinner, and Merlin knew every nook and cranny of the king's chambers better than anyone.

It was almost laughably easy to sneak into the antechambers off of Arthur's bedroom through a hidden and rarely-used servant's passageway. These chambers would normally be where the king's manservant lived, but since Merlin lived with Gaius, they were just used for storage now, with the door between the antechambers and the king's chambers remaining locked for security purposes.

All Merlin had to climb over a few chests to get to the door and peer between a gap in the door's panels, and he now had a full view of the king's chambers without anyone even knowing that he was there.

... He probably should warn Arthur about this gap in his security at some point, since an assassin could easily make use of it, but that would have to come after Merlin had gotten the answers he needed.

Merlin sat and waited, watching Arthur's back as he stood up from his desk, stretched, and started sorting through his paperwork from the council meeting earlier that day. Merlin relaxed slightly at the sight, and as he watched Arthur do paperwork and other mundane tasks over the course of an hour, he began to wonder if he had gotten all of this wrong.

Maybe Arthur had started carving out time alone to fulfill his tasks as the king more independently? Arthur had done similar things in the past after all, pulling away from his friends and believing that he should shoulder all of his burdens by himself.

With his fears appeased by a familiar and plausible explanation for Arthur's strange behavior, Merlin considered leaving for the night, seeing as how nothing seemed to be amiss.

Well, Merlin was considering leaving for the night and dropping his suspicions there, up until Mordred silently snuck through the door and approached Arthur with a nervous smile. Merlin's body tensed at the sight, his anxiety skyrocketing at the sight of Mordred so close to Arthur with no one else present.

But Mordred didn't sneak up on Arthur with a weapon in hand, but instead greeted him warmly and led him over to the chairs in front of the fireplace. Arthur sat a bit stiffly, trying and failing to not let his discomfort show as Mordred ran around the room, gathering an odd assort of supplies from various hiding places around the room. Merlin narrowed his eyes at the sight, his jaw clenching with concern for Arthur and hatred for that little snake. What was Mordred doing to Arthur?

Merlin nearly threw stealth out the window and crashed through the door when he sensed the faint traces of magic on the supplies- ritual supplies, he finally recognized- that Mordred gathered. The only thing that made Merlin hesitate was the lack of magic on Arthur. If the king was already under some sort of spell or enchantment from that treacherous bane posing as a knight, Merlin would be able to sense it.

Then why was Arthur just sitting there and letting Mordred gather objects for a ritual?! Why would he-

"I'm glad that you're taking so well to the basics of the Old Religion, sire. I'm sure that the Disir would be pleased with your progress. Now that you've gotten the hang of the general worship rituals that druids perform to all the gods, we can start focusing more on the rituals and ceremonies specific to Emrys."

Merlin jumped at the mention of his druidic title, knocking over multiple pieces of furniture in his shock. It was only a quickly placed spell to dampen sound that saved him from revealing his presence.

What was Mordred thinking?! Why was he teaching Arthur about Emrys of all people?

Or... was he trying to sow a distrust of Emrys in Arthur? Yes, that was exactly what that nefarious puppet for Morgana was doing. Turning Arthur against his own protector would allow Mordred the opportunity to drive a wedge between them, leaving Arthur vulnerable and Merlin would not allow this!

Merlin called upon his power, the magic always swirling underneath his skin, and aimed it at that snake Mordred, ready to strike him down before his plans could come to fruition. But, before he could direct his magic to strike, Arthur finally spoke.

"Thank you, Mordred. I don't know how I'd do this without you. I cannot regret agreeing to the Disir's demands, of course, but never thought that the worship of the Old Religion was this complex."

Arthur's words made him pause, freezing in his cramped hiding place. So, it wasn't Mordred pushing Arthur into this?

Hm, shame. It looked like Arthur's prophesized killer was still waiting to play his hand. Merlin would smite him with all his might when Mordred finally revealed his true colors, but it seemed like that day was yet to come.

So, it was the Disir at fault for this? They were the ones responsible for this perversion of destiny's will?

Merlin's lips curled with disgust as he watched Mordred instruct Arthur on how to properly pray to Emrys using a talisman. His irritation only increased as that buzzing headache suddenly came back.

Because this?! This was never supposed to happen. Merlin- and by extension, Emrys- was made for Arthur, to guide and protect him as he fulfilled his destiny. The druids could worship him all they liked in the meanwhile, but Arthur was never supposed to kneel before Emrys, never meant to pray to him.

Emrys is Arthur's servant, not the other way around.

This had to stop. Now.

And that's all for now! I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! I'll probably do a part 3, since I have some ideas on where this will go next!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

A big thank you to everyone who requested this continuation! I'll try to tag you all here, my apologies if I missed anyone!

@rocks-d-xerxes, @lolazoel, @griffonskies, @error-username-not-available, @thesuperstitiousoldelf

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[hanniescookie]

DESPERATELY IN NEED OF JEONGHAN. GIRL!DAD JEONGHAN. (I've already requested sm from nini, it's time for you.)

HOW ABT A MISCHIEVOUS DAD JEONGHAN WHO, ALONG WITH HIS LITTLE BABYGIRL, LOVES TO DO SILLY PRANKS ON READER?!!?!??! OH MY GOOODDDDD. (pls make him down bad pls llsplsplsplslpslspsl)

silly little pranks - yjh

—⁠☆ your husband and his carbon copy collectively make you want to pull your hair but you love them too much so you let it pass ~

warnings/genre - fluff, slice of life, comfort, est. relationship, married life, dad! jeonghan, menace jeonghan and menace daughter, extremely cute stuff ig, not proofread

word count - 1K

@kissbyoon i hope you enjoy your girl dad jeonghan feast even though it didn't entirely turn out like i expected 🫶🏻

“Daddy, can I draw a cat on you?”

Jeonghan stares dumbly at his five year old daughter who's gazing up curiously and innocently at him. She looks like she's had the best idea ever, and she will collapse if she doesn't turn her dad’s face into a cat's.

He purses his lips, before smiling softly. His fingers thread in her hair as he keeps his phone aside. “Yuwonie, my baby, how will you draw a cat on me?”

Yuwon huffs, as if he's asked the most obvious question. For a while, she seems like she doesn't want to answer, but then she climbs up on the couch, and reaches up to his face. She touches his nose with her index finger, “I'm going to draw the nose here,” then she moves to his cheek. “And whiskers here.”

Oh.

Jeonghan giggles, holding her closer to himself. Honestly, he would let his baby do anything to him, and doodling a cat on his face is very mild. He doesn’t mind the idea of going out with cat features if it means he can tell people that he has the most adorable daughter who did this to him.

But he's Jeonghan, and his love language happens to be silly little pranks. His daughter is a tiny baby, so he doesn't tease her as much. He just spoils her, and compliments her, and never says no to her. But he does tease the mother of his baby. His bigger baby.

His brain autopilots in any situation, thinking of how he can turn it into a harmless prank towards his wife.

There have been instances where Jeonghan hid your phone and watched as you frantically searched the entire house for it, only to reveal it was in a ridiculously obvious location. He's also set your alarm clock to go off an hour earlier than usual, just to see your reaction when you realize you've been fooled.

And ever since Yuwon has grown up, he's made her his accomplice.

On many occasions, they have joined forces to play pranks on their favorite target. They often hide together behind the couch, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and startle you. He's also been caught teaching his daughter how to make silly faces and noises behind her mother's back, only to burst into a fit of giggles together when they're caught. And then there was the time they conspired to cover the kitchen floor in a sea of cereal, just to see the look of horror on your face.

He can't wait to turn this idea of his precious little one against you. “Okay baby, I get that, but I have a better idea.”

Yuwon’s eyes widen in fascination. She doesn't even have to ask before he speaks up again.

“How about we draw a cat on mommy’s face instead?” His voice is a conspiratorial whisper, and he knows he's succeeded in convincing her if her excited face is anything to go by. “Yes! She'll be surprised when she wakes up, right?”

“Right!” He remarks, confirming her assumption and earns a louder giggle from her. It makes his heart warm and he instinctively presses a kiss on her cheek. “Let's go, then!”

You are a heavy sleeper, unlike Jeonghan. There could be a loud concert in your room and you would still be dead asleep.

Hence, it's easy for Jeonghan and Yuwon to execute their plan. The bed dips beside you when they both get in, still making sure to be discreet and silent in case you wake up.

Jeonghan urges Yuwon to start with it, and for a second she looks scared of waking you up. But then she reaches out, and carefully draws a triangle on your nose, making sure to not let her hands touch you too much.

Jeonghan watches with a proud grin on his face, trying not to laugh aloud as Yuwon adorns your beautiful face.

She sits back, holding her laughter back once she's done. Jeonghan pulls her closer to himself, giving her a deliberate, silent hi-fi.

Now he just has to wait till you're up. He's ready to hear a Yoon Jeonghan get here right now from the bathroom once you see your face in the mirror.

But that's not what happens. It has barely been twenty minutes since he came out with Yuwon and is now building Lego sets with her. You storm out of the room, fixing your hair and rubbing your eyes.

He is surprised to see you like that, but more amused. You look so cute, barely woken up and looking like a cat. He nudges Yuwon to see, and she can't help the giggle that leaves her. “Good morning, mommy!”

You spare your two sunshines a glance, giving them a heartfelt smile while still walking towards the main door. “Good morning, baby. Hannie, did the bell not ring? There's a parcel at the door.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widen a little as you swing the door open, but it's too late. You're already in front of the deliveryman — a stranger who sputters a little at the sight of your doodled face.

You have no idea why your husband and your daughter are suddenly beside you, their faces threatening to burst into laughters. And you are super confused because why is the deliveryman suppressing his smile too?

Once you've closed the door and kept the parcel on the table, you face both Jeonghan and Yuwon, who look at each other and burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” You inquire through an even tone despite your heart warming at the sight.

“Mommy, it was daddy’s idea!” Yuwon points at her dad, who widens his eyes. “Hey baby! You can't just blame me! You said you wanted to draw a cat!”

You stand there, watching the exchange between them before you frown, annoyed at being left out like that. You turn on your heels, and make your way to the bathroom to freshen up — huffing aloud to show that you were mad.

Jeonghan can't help chuckling more at the pout that Yuwon sends his way. "She's mad now."

He scoots a little closer to her, and as if on cue, she joins him in his counting, both of them opening their fingers one by one.

"3..."

"2..."

"1..."

"Yoon Jeonghan, get here right now!"

Your voice echoes through the house and Jeonghan sighs knowingly, his mischievous smile intact as he holds Yuwon's tiny hand in his large one before standing up. "Guess we're gonna have to make it up to her."

You are beyond baffled by the time your husband and his carbon copy come to the bathroom. You point at your face in exasperation. "You're telling me that the deliveryman literally saw me like this?"

Yuwon uses her best technique instantly — affection. Her tiny arms wrap around your legs as she stares up at you with big, innocent eyes. Exactly like her father's. "Mommy. You look so cute like this!"

Jeonghan senses the flicker of ease on your face as he leans against the doorframe, smiling fondly at you. "I'm sure the deliveryman found you cute as well."

You glare at him, except you're threatened by your own emotions. You struggle to not smile. "This isn't funny, dear husband. What if I went out like this? What if I attended my scheduled zoom meeting like this?"

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head like he knows you're talking nonsense. "Come on dear wifey, do you usually go out without using the bathroom first? Do you attend meetings directly after waking up? Of course Yuwon knew you were gonna see yourself in the bathroom mirror. Are you saying our baby isn't smart enough to limit the prank?"

You open your mouth to say something but Yuwon detaches herself from you, pouting. "Mommy, am I not smart enough?"

Jeonghan snickers, knowing well enough that his daughter is putting up an act. He gets baffled at how good she's at using her charms to get out of situations. Just like him.

You stare at Jeonghan in astonishment, before looking back down at the precious creature who almost convinces you that she's indeed upset. Almost.

You pick her up, sitting her on the counter. "No, baby. You're very smart. Extra smart. You can fool anyone. And you're lucky that I love you."

She giggles aloud, making you smile. "What if this doesn't come off now? Do you expect mommy to stay like this all day?"

Yuwon instantly shakes her head mid-laugh, watching as Jeonghan comes behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Daddy will help you wash it. He has solutions for everything!"

You feel Jeonghan's lips on the side of your head, and your smile only widens. "That's right. I'll wash it off for you."

You twist your neck to look at his gorgeous face, and sigh defeatedly. "You're also lucky I love you."

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© HANNIESCOOKIE - plagiarism is strictly prohibited