#zen is emotions and shes the pink one

[small-sketch]

Rare drawing of me and the brain gang!!! My little guys!!!

[astridthevalkyrie]

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door. 

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence. 

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work. 

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay. 

I’m right here, I’m here for you. 

You have me forever. 

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

[toweroftickles]

Hi (:

What do you think about characters of "Inside out 2"? Do we have some lees here?

Ok I somehow didn't experience the original Inside Out until like 2 weeks ago, and then immediately rushed to theaters for the second one, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since! Of course the first thing I started daydreaming about was the chaos that would ensue in Brain HQ during tickles. So yes, I've definitely got headcanons. XD

EMOTIONAL * RESPONSES

When Riley Gets Tickled

Joy squees, claps, bounces up and down, the usual. "AAAH Tickle time! Awww, our girl is still so adorable..."

Disgust: "Mm-mm. I hate this. Hate it. Majorly messing with my zen."

Sadness: *confused and a little uncomfortable*

Fear: *open-mouthed and deeply uncomfortable*

Envy gasps and hops up to the screen. "Omigosh omigosh they're touching us. That means they like us and think we're cute, right? Right?!"

Anger: "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh?! You want a fight, kid?! I'll give ya a fight! Right up your -"

Anxiety: "Wait! There's a million possible variables in what'll happen if we decide to fight back! Accidentally punching them would be devastating to our network!"

Joy's not paying attention, she's too busy laughing and hammering the serotonin injector.

"I-I got it! Scream! Just holler, really loud!"

"GUHH, get out of the wayyyy; stop hogging this thing! We have to run! Come on!"

Ennui: *exists in French*

*Meanwhile Embarrassment is just spread out like a starfish and rolling his entire girth back and forth across the keyboard.*

When Riley's Tickling Someone Else

Joy takes the wheel here. The others know not to disturb a master plying her craft. She's an expert tickler, so she feeds Riley a whole bushel of fun ideas, and Envy is her eager troublemaker minion.

There is in fact a dedicated "Tickle" command button. The plastic is slightly stuck in the slot because it hasn't been used much.

Anger keeps trying to grab his levers and switches, but Joy usually shoves him to the side with her foot.

*tries to wrest control from Joy and rein her in*

*barfing in the corner somewhere*

When a Tickle Scene Pops Up in a Movie

Joy giggles happily and squirms in her seat, then boops the control panel so that Riley follows suit.

Disgust is a tiny bit antsy...she's not influencing Riley yet but she's on standby in case stuff gets weird.

Embarrassment gingerly taps the console at increasing intervals until Sadness pulls his arm away.

Ennui: Probably watching something else. Or doomscrolling.

When Someone Asks Riley if She's Ticklish

*screams like a little girl*

*hides, bangs head on the desk*

"That is NOT funny!"

"Oh no! What do we do; whaddawedo?! Riley's way too ticklish! What if they tickle us and don't stop for the rest of eternity?! What if they think Riley's laugh is weird and we're socially ostracized and forced to get a job in a fish cannery?!"

“Ew ew ew ew no. Lie. We have to lie right now!” *jumps for the controller*

*Joy grabs Disgust's arm* "Whoa whoa whoa, eeeaasy there. Let's just calm down...this is a fun question; we're having fun..."

Envy: "Ooo, what if they're ticklish and they want us to tickle them?" *already wiggling her fingers in the air*

"But if we misread that signal and make them mad at us, then..."

Ennui: *groans and taps her console app*

Riley, being super casual: “Meh…a little. Not really.”

Suddenly Riley's eyes dilate. Her throat hitches and there's the tiniest bit of pink in her cheeks. Everyone turns their heads to look at -

“EMBARRASSMENT!!! *dry heave* WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

"Ohhhh boy. There it is. We're doomed now."

When They Get Tickled Themselves

Come on, we all know that Joy always draws first blood. (Er...first giggle?) She's such a switchy monster. Tickling is her default method of cheering others up. It's canon. Case closed.

As someone whose default setting repels positivity, Sadness is not ticklish at all, and this actually upsets her.

*silently grabs the tickler by the neck and tosses them out the window*

Nobody protests like Disgust. She gets mad. She slaps. She hurls insults. She runs away. Disgust is both extremely ticklish and extremely touch-averse, so this is Code Red for her.

Fear is the type who doesn’t so much “laugh” as “have a shrieking, spastic outburst and breakdance like Sonic the Hedgehog in a malfunctioning taser-testing facility."

At first, Anxiety is overcome by stressful jitters, miserable and whimpering, and her whole body contracts. After a few moments of tickling, though, she starts to let all that tension out and relaxes into nervous vibrato laughter. It becomes sort of a therapeutic stress release, like her special chair.

It's not exactly the physical sensation of tickle torture that Envy craves, it's the attention. The sound she makes when tickled oscillates between wild, snorty cackles and the dulcet hoots of a baby owl trapped in a pinball machine.

Ennui is dead. No reaction. Her body is a neurological cemetery. ...EXCEPT for her heels and the back of her knees. (And if you thought phone loss made her experience Vietnam flashbacks...)

What do you think Embarrassment does? He plops himself down on the floor and pulls his hoodie so tight around his face that no one can tell if he's laughing or sobbing.

Misc.

As Riley's primary protector, Fear is always scouting ahead for any potentially-tickly environmental hazards, and gently nudges her away from catastrophe ("you forgot your shoes! put them back on before you walk on grass;" "don't lift your arms up around Bree and Grace;" "those massage chairs in the mall are actually full of rusty knives and drug dealers sleep on them;" etc.)

When Riley gets tickled, the emotions don't "feel" it, exactly, but they perceive something of a contact buzz.

These are typically how the reactions go, but they're not universal. If Riley's been in a bad mood, Anger might be more proactive in grabbing the handles. Embarrassment may have more or less of his body mass pancaking the buttons, depending on who's tickling her. (Like...a boy?! Or Val?! Or -) Standard variations like that.

Riley

Riley has an extremely ticklish tummy! That's her spot. (Just the vibe I get; IDK.)

Bree and Grace are really ticklish too, but Riley is the weak link... the member of the trio that the other two team up against. Lots of tickle fights and sneak attacks.

She obviously loves to laugh and goof around with her friends, but probably isn't over-enthused by that last part.

Val

The most popular girl in school, the tough athletic one - her adulating devotees wouldn't think it, but beneath that too-cool exterior, Val is very weak to tickling.

All the other Firehawks know, and like to tease Val by poking her.

She's a good sport about it and takes it like a champ - just yelps and laughs and pushes back. They have fun.

Her big weakness is her feet.

Lance Slashblade

Crop top alert. The abs are asking for it. (Just sayin.')

The thought of being tickled is intolerable to him. Even in this...what should be a moment of joyous camaraderie...he is haunted. Forced to laugh like...like some sort of...clown swordsman?! How could he be so weak...so degraded...so unworthy to carry the holy blade of his ancestors, they whose destinies were written in the stars ere these centuries long past? Will he never be a true warrior, with the strength to stem the tide of encroaching night? It is too painful to think about...the icy whips of humiliation, always ravenous and bitter in their lashes, strike! and cast him into the shadows and okay the joke's over now we're getting long-winded and edgelordery big words drama sparkling vampires and junk

(Also, yes, he Morph-Balls himself.)

[knifedancer]

Unsigned Gifts

Marinette has a secret admirer that keeps giving her really thoughtful gifts with no signature. But who is it?

OR

The five times Marinette received unsigned gifts and the one time she guessed who all the gifts were from.

AO3 Link

~~~First~~~

It all started one day when Lila and her lackeys broke her favorite marking pens. Not that she had any proof, except for the cruel light in Lila’s eyes and the way certain classmates weren’t meeting her eye – and hiding their hands in their laps – as she discovered the mess near the back of the classroom. Marinette had returned to the classroom after lunch and found the set of marking pens that her grandmother given her snapped in half, their vibrant inks smeared into a grotesque brown all over her desk surface. Luckily it wasn’t the whole set, but her favorite colors were in her bookbag for work on a commission… The bluenette hid her glistening eyes, not allowing a single tear to escape, as she began to wipe what she could from the desk. Her only response a silent nod when Madam Bustier, whom assumed it was not caused by someone else, told her that she needed to stay after school to make sure it was properly clean.

Honestly, she was glad to be alone after the last bell rang. The room was empty and silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. It gave her some private moments to let out those tears that she kept hidden – she would never let anyone see her cry from their bullying attempts – while she mindlessly went through the movements of scrubbing the tabletop. The gentle rasping sounds of the cloth against a hard surface and the familiar circular motions, long ingrained from cleaning parts of the bakery, gave the pigtailed girl a sense of Zen. It was oddly calming for all the emotions she had bottled up inside her earlier; at least she would not be visited by an akuma today. When she was finally done, she gathered up the empty cleanser bottle, dirty rags, and mangled pens to dump in the garbage near the teacher’s desk. Marinette gave one last sorrowful look at the pens, recalling all of the designs she had illustrated with them and the joy she had felt receiving them from Grandma Gina… On the bright side, they had not found her precious sketchpad to ruin. The designer wiped her damp cheeks with her jacket sleeve before dropping the pens into the can with a sigh. She trudged out of the class and down the steps, completely missing a pair of calculating eyes that watched her from the shadows…

~~

At the end of the next day, Marinette found a brand-new set of expensive Copic Marking Pens and five Bosco Wood pencils tucked into a simple pink ribbon bow on top in her locker, no note was attached. She looked around, feeling eyes watching her but not seeing anyone standing out in the crowd of random students gathering their things and chatting with friends. She reverently touched the beautiful clear case and hugged it to her chest, a small genuine smile gracing her features as she imagined all the stunning designs she would make, before tucking them safely into her bookbag. Perhaps one of her classmates felt bad for what happened and wanted to remain anonymous for fear of Lila? Whatever the case, these would be safer in her room.

~~~Second~~~

A few days later, Marinette sat at one of the tables in the library during lunch, off in her own world with her headphones playing the latest Jagged Stone single just loud enough for her to block out any passing sounds but low enough not to disturb others. She found it easier to focus on her work not surrounded by her former friends and the kindly librarian allowed her to eat at the tables so long as she didn’t make a mess. Today the designer was working on a dress for Clara Nightingale’s next award show appearance. The overall look was done but the colors… She tapped the end of her new oak pencil against her lips as she contemplated. The margins on the page were filled with tiny smudges of carefully erased notes. She pulled out her phone, looking through various Pantone color chip options through Qwant. Unfortunately, like with all electronics, the inherent settings and hardware capabilities altered the tones just slightly – making the decision even harder.

“I wish I could afford those Pantone Color chips…it would make it so much easier to choose,” Marinette murmured to herself with a sigh. “Perhaps I can buy one with the money Maman’s family will send me for New Year but that’s still months away...”

The five-minute warning bell signifying the end of lunch rang, pulling her from her thoughts. The girl packed her sketchbook and headphones away before sweeping any remaining crumbs and rubber shavings into her empty lunch containers, then headed off to class without a second thought to the other students meandering through the book stacks or lining up to check out something last minute. Her mind was elsewhere, dreaming of which colors would combine best to fit Clara’s style and still wow people on the red carpet, when she knocked into something solid. Marinette’s elbow was caught in a firm grip before she fell backward, finding herself hauled up against a familiar grey vest.

“Hello Angel, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” came the smug voice of the other blond boy in her class. Just great. She righted herself with a scoff, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous pick-up line while brushing imaginary wrinkles from her blazer. She knew he was only doing it to get a rise out of her but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of losing her temper.

“Not as much as when they kicked you out of hell, Felix,” she replied sweetly as she pulled away.

“Are you saying I’m hot?” he asked with a predatory grin.

“You’re about as hot as a dumpster on fire and only half as pleasant!” Marinette sing-songed before quickly brushing by him and walked back towards class, missing the playful look on his face as he followed her at a respectable distance. She settled into her seat with a huff, zoning out while Madam Bustier droned on about the Revolution, the girl’s mind lost in the details for Clara’s dress once again.

~~

The next gift unexpectedly appeared at lunch the next day. The librarian called her over and presented a small parcel wrapped in pink striped paper. “This is for you, dear.”

“What? Who…,” began the confused bluenette. She spied a small, unsigned tag with her name on it taped to the top. The tag itself was not handwritten, instead seemed to have been made on a typewriter. Who, besides her Grandpa Roland, even owned one of those anymore?

“Sorry but I don’t have any idea. It was left here with just your name printed on the card while I was busy with a phone call. Seems you have an admirer, dear!” chuckled the librarian as she patted the girl on the shoulder, then went back to sorting a stack of returns for reshelving.

Marinette settled the parcel on her usual table, carefully unwrapping to preserve the lovely paper for another of her crafting projects. She pulled off the lid of the plain white box and unfolded the tissue paper inside – her breath caught in her throat. Inside were four Pantone Color Guide fans for fashion and home design, each with 350 different swatches, in every shade of the rainbow. Her fingers trembled as she lifted one from the safety of its tissue bed, fanning it open with a look of awe. Who had done this? First the pens, now this… She was overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, her face lighting up with palpable joy as her mind buzzed with questions and plans.

‘I need to take these home, immediately!’ she thought, returning the Pantone guide back to the same spot she had pulled it from. She closed the box and pressed it to her chest as she quickly departed from the library, barely preventing herself from bumping into a student that was about to depart through the doorway. She threw a quick “sorry!” over her shoulder as she ran, only catching a blur of gold hair in her periphery as she exited the school.

~~~Third~~~

A couple weeks later, after the commission for Clara was done, Marinette found herself with some free time on the weekend. Time to find a nice spot to draw! She had planned to wander through the park near her house, but discovered Adrien was doing a photoshoot with Lila. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something rotten.  Not that she didn’t still enjoy watching Adrien’s photoshoots – on the contrary, it was fun to see the modeling process and clothes – but the motivation had changed. She had found her feelings for the model fading as time went on; eventually she accepted that it was a temporary obsession rather than love that she felt. Being around him wasn’t as awkward as she expected but she preferred to avoid being around Lila – which meant not hanging out with Adrien as much as he was constantly around her due to his father’s wishes.

She hummed softly and turned on her heel, deciding to seek out another spot that might inspire her. The pigtailed girl wandered along the Siene, giving a friendly wave to Andre the ice cream vendor as she passed and enjoying the light breeze against her cheeks. She decided her time would be best spent at the Luxembourg Gardens – it had been a while since she had visited. Marinette took a deep breath as she meandered along the sunlight paths, surrounded by trees and flowers, the calming effect of the garden and architecture washing over the secret bug-themed heroine with each step. She found a bench near one of the buildings that caught her eye, settling down with one of her drawing pencils and losing herself to the sketching of various designs that began to form in her head. A few gowns inspired by flowers and the stream nearby, jackets and hats noted with colors of the various leaves overhead, but what appeared the most on the pages were men’s three-piece suits with embroidered vests… Marinette paused, gazing at the newest vest she had drawn. Deep twilight blue, bordering on black; with barely imperceptible golden and green abstract detailing that was vaguely reminiscent of peacock feathers.

It reminded her of Felix for some reason – not just the vest itself but the stylization she had added. She glanced up to the building again, taking in the architecture with a discerning gaze. It and part of the surrounding garden was of English design, merging in with the French touches seamlessly. Adrien’s cousin was from London, perhaps that was why it reminded her so much of him… She dropped her gaze back down to the page, her eyes widening as she realized she was unconsciously doodling Felix’s face and shoulders into the vest she had created. It was rough but the sketch – hair, jawline, and the beginning curve of a grin – was distinctively him. Marinette’s cheeks pinked at the realization, hurriedly attempted to flip the page only to discover it was the last sheet. Her book would need to be replaced!

“Well,” she said as she closed and halfheartedly tucked the pad away, “looks like I’ll have to buy a new sketch pad with my allowance next Friday.” With one last look at the beautiful garden around her, she began her journey home through the afternoon crowds. Marinette failed to hear the soft plop behind her as her sketchpad fell from her bag until she was back in her room. She returned to search for it with no luck, lamenting the loss of her work but hopeful that her luck – Tikki’s really – might just bring it back to her. After all, this was why she always wrote her name and address on the inside cover. Someone must have found it and would turn it in!

At school the following Monday and Tuesday, she relegated herself to making little doodles on her notebook’s lined paper. Nothing too serious or professional – little flowers and birds that she remembered seeing at the Luxembourg Gardens, black cats chasing peacocks through a field of flowers, ladybugs on leaves cleaning their antennae or snoozing in a pollen covered pistil bed... She didn’t want to waste a great design on paper that was too thin to accept her bold pencil strokes, not to mention whatever was left would not withstand the colored marker ink without becoming an oversaturated, soggy mess. At one point Marinette caught Felix staring over her shoulder at her drawings during free period; she was so taken aback that she was at a loss for words as his green eyes met hers.

 He propped his elbow on the desk and casually rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his trademark smirk spreading across his face. “Like what you see, Princess? Take a picture, it will last longer.”

Marinette gasped at the audacity and turned away, “No, you simply reminded me of a ‘before’ picture I saw on the TV the other day.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll do more than make you gasp,” he replied close to her ear.

“I’d slap you, but I don’t want to accidentally make your face look any better,” she murmured sweetly, her eyes alight with playful mockery as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A tingle went up her spine as his breath tickled her ear and they seemed frozen as their gazes met, the moment only being broken by the bell. Without turning her head any further, she heard him chuckle with mirth as he sat back in his seat.

By the end of class on Tuesday, she returned home to find a thick envelope tucked into the mail slot beside their apartment entry in the alleyway. She pulled it out and found yet another typed tag on the front addressed to her. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she ripped it open right there on the doorstep. She cried with joy when she saw the contents! Inside was her lost sketchpad tied to a brand new one, its cover a pale pink and covered in plum blossoms and irises. Marinette looked up and down the alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person that had left the envelope, but no one was there. Did she really have an admirer? She blushed as her hand traced the pattern on the cover idly. Whomever they were, they didn’t waste time with cliché gestures of flowers and chocolates… Instead, they seemed very attentive to her likes and hobbies. Every gift was centered around her designing but still found a way to incorporate a personalized touch. She had never felt so special or seen before. A warmth blossomed in her chest at the thoughtfulness this mysterious figure had shown her; this feeling leaving her floating through the rest of the week as if on cloud nine.

~~~Fourth~~~

On Thursday, Marinette sat at her table after lunch and felt something bump against her knee unexpectedly. She shifted and felt something small fall onto her knees. Trying not to look distracted in class, she brought it into her lap proper and held back a squeal as she caught a glimpse of pink striped paper. They must have stuck it to the underside of the table to avoid someone else finding it. The pigtailed girl slowly opened the wrapping, careful to keep it as silent as possible, to reveal a spool of delicate lace edging in a creamy white. She contemplated uses for it and decided she had plenty left over for a little display of appreciation…

Friday morning, she checked herself in the mirror one last time and received the nub’s up from Tikki. Marinette made her way to school and happily skipped up the steps, ignoring the looks she received – didn’t matter to her if they were in envy, anger, or judgement. Let them look! The designer had raised her hair into her Multimouse space buns but pinned small segments of lace around the base of each, giving her a Chun-Li look with her usual red ribbons trailing from each bun. She had paired the look with a red qipao top with a peplum hem, which flared slightly at her hips, over tailored black pants. She had also exchanged her usual pink purse with one covered in upcycled cream colored doilies.

Surprisingly she entered the class with a couple minutes to spare, nearly stumbling into the two blond cousins conversing at the front table. Adrien was the first to see her, his eyes slipping up to her hair as his smile turned warm and fond. “Hey Marinette! I love the new look; did you design it yourself?”

“Hey Adrien! Yeah, just haven’t had the chance to wear it before now. Felt like wearing something new today,” the designer smiled in return, giving him a little twirl. In the meantime, Felix had turned around and standing eerily silent as he stared at her. She could have sworn his ears had turned slightly pink when he finally glanced at her hair. “Cat got your tongue, Felix?” Marinette asked cheekily.

He cleared his throat before he replied. “Can I take your picture so I can show Père Noël what I want for Christmas?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “Don’t you know? Only good kids get presents, I’m afraid you won’t qualify.”

“Well, if I must be a Grinch, then I’d rather steal you instead,” Felix stated with a grin.

She leaned in close and dropped her voice low, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint. “I guess I should add ‘body bag’ on my list this year then, because it sounds like you’ll end up in one.” The boy seemed temporarily speechless, so she smirked with victory and headed back to her seat. Vaguely she could hear the imperceptible murmurings of the two blonds get cut off by the bell as she settled in.

Marinette felt – and ignored – Felix’s stare on the back of her head the rest of the day. If she had turned around for even a moment, she likely would have seen the rouged complexion that he was unable to tame in her presence.

~~~Fifth~~~

A week later, after a long day dodging Lila’s machinations and having to stay late to handle Class Representative tasks, Marinette was relieved to find the locker room empty. She mentally ran through the list of books she would need to complete her homework and opened the lock, the door immediately falling open due to an unbalanced package within. Her heart leaped into her chest as she took in the memorable pink stripped paper. The bluenette sat on the bench and brought the package into her lap, noting that it felt soft under the crinkling exterior. Just as she did with the Pantone Guides, she carefully removed the paper. As the last of the tape was peeled and the boundary fell away to reveal the contents, Marinette audibly gasped. There in her lap lay the most beautiful silk she had ever seen, the same shade as the vest she had sketched at the gardens!

She blushed as she thought of the drawing and the image of Felix wearing it in her mind’s eye. She shook her head to free herself from such thoughts. Knowing him, he’d probably think her designs were not worthy enough to be worn. The designer brushed her hand over the material adoringly, unfolding the fabric slightly to gauge the length. There was enough to make a few vests or a skirt or a cocktail dress… Her fingers found a card hidden within the folds and pulled it free. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she read it. Printed in the same font as the others, it simply said:

The vest will only be half as beautiful as you.

~~~Plus One~~~

Marinette spent the next few days sewing the vest and adding the detailing. It now hung on her mannequin as pictured in her sketchpad but…it didn’t feel right. Incomplete. She trudged through school, distracted by the design and what it seemed to be missing. Even Tikki couldn’t calm her or help in any way. The girl wasn’t even sure why she was so focused on it! It wasn’t like she had a way to deliver it to her admirer… she had no way to tell if it would fit him either!

The girl was so unfocused all morning that, when it finally came to be lunch time, she tripped over something on the ground unexpectedly. She groaned from the floor as she brushed her knees off and sought out what item might have caused her fall. In the middle of the walkway was a nondescript black pencil case and – if the solidness she felt through the toe of her flat was any indication – it was full of writing utensils. Marinette grabbed it as she stood up, searching for a tag or name on it to figure out whom to return it to. Nothing was on the outside except for the zipper and a smudge of dirt in the shape of her shoe print. She unzipped it and peered inside, digging her fingers around to loosen the contents. She must have jostled something too hard because pens and pencils popped from the opening and spilled onto the floor.

“Damnit, Marinette…you’re such a klutz,” she muttered as she crouched back down to collect the items, hoping nothing was damaged. She knew how important good pens were. She smiled warmly as she looked at the case, remembering the pens and pencils she had received in her first gift from her admirer…

Just then a pencil caught her eye and she froze; it couldn’t be… As if afraid it was just one of Trixx’s mirages that would evaporate when touched, she reached out slowly and picked it up. There in her hand was a Bosco pencil, exact matches to the ones she had received. Looking around the semi-busy walkway, she quickly gathered up the rest and ran down an empty hall to the supply closet she sometimes used to transform during an akuma attack. The designer knew these came as a matching set of ten and had thought it was odd that she only received five…assuming whomever the giver was that they may have kept the others. She didn’t blame them; these were expensive pencils! She pulled her own pink case out and extracted one of the Bosco pencils to compare it against.

The serial numbers matched.

Marinette gasped and fell to her knees on the floor of the closet, staring at the zippered pouch in shock. “This is…this is my admirer’s case.” She sat dumbfounded for a moment before springing back into action to search for any name that might give away their identity. However, even after emptying it of all further contents, there wasn’t a single thing with initials or contact information. The girl groaned in frustration before carefully replacing the contents and cleaning the dirt from the outside. “I’ll bring it to the office, perhaps they will report it missing to Lost & Found. They brought me back my sketchpad, it’s only fair to find a way to bring this back to them too.”

The designer opened the door and stepped back out into the hall, keeping the case snuggly held against her stomach like a precious artifact, then made her way towards the front office. As she approached, she caught a familiar voice drifting from the open doorway and into the hall, a voice that no longer held the same haughty tone but one filled with anxiety and concern.

“It’s all black with a zipper down the side. Contains several wood drawing pencils and pens which mean a lot to me. Felix Fathom, 01-XX-XX-XXXX. Did you get that?” He paused and she could hear the dulcet voice of their receptionist responding the affirmative. “Thank you. You’ll call me if you find it?” She didn’t wait to hear the answer, instead she ducked into a bathroom nearby and stared at the case as if it had grown legs.

‘Felix is my admirer…he gave me the gifts…this is his case…’ Her mind whirled as it connected the dots. All the times he had shown interest in her drawings and hobbies without calling attention to himself, the times they had bumped into each other in the library or the hallway, the pick-up lines and terms of endearment taking on a whole new meaning as she blushed… He had been there on the cusp of her periphery and paid more attention to her interests than she ever thought he might. And he sounded so worried about losing this case, which contained the matching ones to her set. Then a knowing grin crossed her face – the note cards! She recalled Adrien once mentioning that Felix’s father used to type all of his movie scripts on a typewriter. ‘He did all this…for me?’ Her heart swelled with warmth.

With a flash of brilliance, Marinette suddenly knew just how to finish her design!

But first, she needed to drop the pen pouch off at the front office.

~~

Marinette arrived early the next day and took her usual seat in the empty classroom, deciding to doodle as she waited for others to arrive. Well, one person in particular. Her nerves tingled with the impending confrontation. What if she was wrong? What if he did this as some sick joke? No. She and Tikki had talked through all those issues last night as she hand embroidered the lining with ladybugs flitting between Tudor Roses. It was folded and wrapped in her lap, covered by her jacket.

She heard the sound of his footfall in the hallway and held her breath, forcing her eyes to remain on the paper pad in front of her as she heard those footsteps falter at the doorway. Within a few moments, they restarted and walked up the aisle towards his desk before pausing next to hers. Marinette looked up and met his eyes, noticing he had already dropped his bookbag onto the ground next to his desk on the tier above hers. They were all alone, this was her chance!

“You’re here early, finally decided to be a good example, Miss Class Rep?” Damn him and that smirk!

“On the contrary, I had an important appointment to make this morning.” In one fluid movement she stood, unfolded the vest, and draped it around his shoulders like a cape before he could react.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the material swathed around his torso in awe, his eyes taking on a nervous shadow as they rose once again to her face, “You… How did…”

“You know what that’s made of don’t you?” Marinette’s voice took on a serious tone as if lecturing a student. Her fingers gently fiddled with an edge near his shoulder, pretending to assess the fabric before tucking it beneath his shirt collar. His eyes became searching, but he didn’t reply, his lips parted as if too stunned or unsure to answer.

The pigtailed girl leaned in close to his lips and whispered, “Boyfriend material.” Then closed the distance to seal it with a kiss.

~~~Author's Notes: Do I sound like I am an artist knowing these things? Because I'm not. I just research A LOT when I write. 😅

[ceallachs]

Redesigned Fantasy AU Akira 🍁👑

→ Akira 🍁 BakuTodo Love Child

He is a bit different from the usual Akira I draw in MHA timeline; you can read more about him below!

. .

Some Trivia:

The Crown Prince and son of the current rulers, Bakugou Katsuki & Todoroki Shouto.

Akira is fluent in both Northern and Southern dialects. He more commonly speaks and writes in Northern dialect (Shouto’s language) unless speaking with Katsuki, with whom he uses the latter.

He is a seasoned ice magic user but is also skilled in swords.

He can play a variety of instruments such as piano and violin, taught to him by his parents.

Kirishima Zen is his personal attendant and bodyguard.

-------------------------------------

"Your Highness, someone here came to visit you," Zen calls out into the room before opening the door wider, whispering a small 'go on' as a girl takes a step inside.

“Y-Your Highness!" she chirps in a small voice, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before quickly adjusting her hold on the box in her hands. "My a-apologies for interrupting your morning tea. The King had this delivered for you, so um, ah…"

Akira turns a page from his book, eyes not leaving the text, but he makes a casual gesture to one of the seats in the room. “Thank you. You can leave it there."

Miki is a cheerful young girl, bright eyes and all smiles. Zen had the pleasure of meeting her the night before and had witnessed her excitement fitting into her new uniform. But now in front of the prince, she is quite demure. Understandable; this is her first time speaking with Akira and she is close to his age.

"O-Okay!"

Her cheeks turn pink as she scrambles into the room to deposit the box on an empty seat. She gets distracted through it, slowed in her movements to observe the prince in silent awe, and almost peers at him under his fringe once she's close.

"Is there anything else?"

"N-No! I mean – thank you, Your Highness!" Miki backs away and straightens up in a panic, pushing her palms down her skirt to mask a nervous laugh. "I’ll be going now!" She does a little curtsy then, pausing once more to get one last look at Akira before turning for the door. Zen gives her an approving grin and a thumbs up on her way out, and takes note of her own smile reaching from ear to ear.

"Who was that?" Akira asks once they're alone. He hasn't moved from his seat, seemingly still absorbed in his book, but Zen sees him visibly relax when he lifts his cup to his lips.

“The grandchild of the retired Misaki-san, she started work today. Very excitable, that one. Cute, too." Zen chuckles as he glances at the box she left behind; he guesses it's an item of clothing considering the size and the large bow tied around it. "You could have asked her yourself, you know. You didn’t even look at her. Honestly, as the heir, you should set an example to–”

Akira sets his cup back down on the saucer, the punctuated clink of it, though not harsh, interrupting Zen's words. “I won't be taking over the throne until the next few decades.”

Zen smiles inwardly and tips the teapot over Akira’s empty cup. The clink of ceramic and the wisp of book pages fill the silence between them, and after a beat, Zen says, “Your eyes really are pretty. You can’t blame anyone who wants to look.”

Akira spares him a glance, the first of the day, clearly not pleased but not quite angry either. More exasperated than anything. Specks of silver and gold glint in his gray and crimson eyes, beauty and emotion manifested in one look and proving Zen's point – not that anyone but he can see this right now.

Sighing, Akira leans back on his chair and rests the side of his jaw on his knuckles. Zen almost mourns the loss of Akira’s gaze when his eyelids flutter close, his book now left forgotten on his lap.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you her name, so you can ask her yourself once you see her again. Introduce yourself like a good prince." Zen says playfully as he takes the novel from Akira’s lap, closes it, and places it on the table instead. He sees Akira's brows furrow but doesn't make an effort to retort and it feels like a victory, somewhat. "She's not going to turn into stone if you look at her."

"You don't understand."

Akira doesn't elaborate, and it stays quiet for the rest of the morning.

-------------------------------------

Context:

* Heterochromia is known to be an extremely rare physical feature, said to be blessed only to those of royal blood as evidenced by one of the current rulers, Todoroki Shouto, and his ancestors before him. Although such a feature is a symbol of nobility, power, and prestige, Akira considers his heterochromia as a source of insecurity. Everyone knows who he is, and those who don’t, need only to look at his eyes. He feels that his eyes hinder how people treat him and even to some extent judge him for it, so he has started avoiding making direct eye contact with anyone who is not familiar with him unless necessary. He also started growing his hair out a bit for the same reason, finding it helps to “hide” his eyes.

[samslvrgirl]

Waitress - pt 1. Bad Baby Pie

Pairing: doctor!Sam x Reader

Summary: Y/N, a struggling waitress trapped in an abusive marriage, finds out she is suddenly pregnant. While in her appointment to make sure she is, she meets Dr. Sam Winchester, her new doctor since her old one is on vacation.

Characters(in this chapter): Reader, Lisa Braeden, Jo Harvelle, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker, and Bobby Singer(mentioned) No Sam in this chapter. (in the next one)

Word Count: 2,028

Warnings: Language, emotional abuse, pregnancy, (Let me know if I missed any)

A/N: This is my first story so please be advised that it's not the greatest.

An oven opens, a pair of hands remove a baked pie to cool, only to add another to bake as well.

Making pies has always relaxed Y/N, putting her in a zen-like state. All her troubles float away and it’s just her and her pies.

“Honey, You’ve put it off long enough.”

Looking up, Y/N sees her two co-workers and friends, Jo and Lisa.

“What?” she replies.

“You know what.” They both said at the same time.

----

“Negative. Negative. Come on, negative… Come on!” Lisa rambles on.

All three women are huddled in the small employee bathroom, waiting on Y/N’s pregnancy test.

“Dear Lord above, please protect our Y/N from the hell of unwanted pregnancy.” Jo says while pacing back and forth, her hands in prayer.

“I don’t need no baby. I don’t want no trouble. I just wanna make pies. That’s all I wanna do. Make pies.” Y/N anxiously says.

“I thought you don’t even sleep with your husband anymore? Lisa questioned.

“He got her drunk one night.” Jo quickly says.

“Got me drunk. I should never drink. I do stupid things when I drink, like sleep with my husband!”

She gasps.

“Oh no…It looks like a pink line is forming…shit..!”

“One line or two lines. One line or two lines!?” Lisa frantically says.

“Two lines! The control line and the other line. The bad line, the yes line!” Y/N starts to freak out. Not wanting what she thinks is happening.

Lisa rushes up to Y/N, swiping the test out of her hand.

“Let me see that now…Two lines. Two definite lines. No mistaking them.”

The women all look at each other. A bit horrified. Then, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? We have customers! Where are my waitresses?” Dean, the manager, yells out behind the door.

“Hold your balls straight Dean! Y/N ain’t feeling well” Lisa answers back.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“None of your business, ya blowhard!”

“Nothing, Dean! I’m fine. We’ll be right out.” Y/N quickly ending the confrontation.

“Hurry UP!” Dean yells back.

They wait a minute, for Dean to walk away. Lisa and Jo both look at Y/N. Her eyes are closed, deep in thought. “Honey, you okay?” Jo asks Y/N.

“Shh…I’m inventing a new pie in my head. Tomorrow’s blue plate special.” She softly says.

A quiche is being made. Scrambled eggs, ham and cheese are quickly poured, then blended into a crust.

“I’m calling it,’I Don’t Want Gordon‘s Baby Pie’.”

“I don’t think we can put that on the menu board, hon.” Jo says.

“Then I’ll just call it,’Bad Baby Pie’.”

“What’s in it, honey” Lisa asks. “It’s a quiche of egg and brie cheese with a smoked ham center.”

“Sounds good, baby.”

Y/N opens her eyes. She stares off into the distance, spacing out.

“I ain’t never gonna get away from Gordon now.”

Finishing the rest of their shifts, Y/N, Jo, and Lisa sit outside on a bench in front of their workplace, Bobby’s Pie Diner. Y/N is carefully wrapping a slice of pie in tin foil while Lisa smokes a cigarette, offering to pass it to Y/N for her to drag.

“Want it?” Lisa asks.

“No, are you crazy? Can’t have no cigarette. I’m having a stupid damn baby. So, if I’m smoking, she’s smoking.”

“She?” Lisa asks. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Boy. girl, whatever. Anyway, Gordon don’t let me smoke. He’s coming any second to pick me up.”

Y/N was miserable in her marriage. She thought she was stupid to marry young, thinking Gordon and her were young in love, but that wasn’t the case. He ended up controlling everything. From her own finances, to not owning anything at all. Everything was his, not hers.

“You gonna tell him?” Jo quietly asks. Knowing Gordon, it’s a death trap for her and her child.

“Not sure. If my plan comes true and I can make my big escape from him in a couple months, maybe he never has to know.” Y/N said.

“Are you sure it’s his child?” Lisa suddenly asks. Y/N looks at her shocked, her mouth in awe.

“You know everything I do. I ain’t never cheated. I’d never do that.” She answers back defensibly. “No, you’d just run away from him without any warning, abandoning him forever.” Jo says.

“That’s different from cheating. That’s escaping to Lebanon where that big pie bake-off is held, then winning the prize money, and starting a fresh new life for myself.” Starting a new life is just what she needed. Her original plan that is, but now she is having a baby. A baby she was stuck with.

“I feel sorry for you, Y/N. I mean, I’d do anything to meet a man, and Lisa’s husband is a downright senile fruit cake…” Jo starts off. “JO!?” Lisa yells out, cutting Jo off mid-sentence. “Well, I’m sorry, it’s true. But now, here you are, married to this handsome guy…”

“Who’s got a very good smile…” Lisa jumps in.

“Who’s got a very good smile…” Jo agrees. “And pregnant with a little girl.” “We don’t know if it’s a girl.” Y/N butts in. “But neither one of us would trade places with you for one second. Would we, Lisa?”

“No, we wouldn’t Jo. No we wouldn’t. Except just once in my life, I’d like to make a pie half as good as Y/N can make a pie” “Yeah, me too.” Jo mutters wistfully.

“Oh come on. So what if I can make a decent pie. Who cares?” Y/N doubtfully says. Pies did in fact bring a great deal of comfort and a piece of mind in her times of need, but she didn’t see how it has affected others around her. They’re just pies.

“Your pies are magic.” Jo perks up. “You don’t have no self-esteem.”

“Look at this, Y/N.” Lisa started. She pulls her jacket slightly open, “As you can plainly see, my right boob is much higher than my left boob.” Lisa closes her jacket, now pointing her hand out to Jo. “Jo here has pasty,pasty skin. I’m stuck in a marriage to Drooling Phil, the invalid, and Jo eats TV dinners alone, but we still wouldn’t rather be you, Y/N.”

“I do have pasty, pasty skin…” Jo says, ashamed. Just then, they hear honking. Gordon, pulling his black Buick up. He’s honking non-stop. “Yeah, I know you’re here…” Y/N says under her breath. “See you tomorrow, honey.” Jo says as Y/N stands up from her seat. “Good luck. If you do tell him you’re having a-” Lisa begins as Y/N gathers her belongings. Y/N shushes her, not wanting her husband to overhear. Gordon, who is alongside them in his car, rolls down the window. “Hey!” He shouts out over his loud music. “Hi.” She replies quietly while walking around to the passenger’s side. “Hiya Gord! We all just agreed that your smile is super attractive. Hooray for you!” Lisa jokingly says. Both Jo and her woo-hooed at the same time, but Gordon doesn’t respond and speeds off as soon as Y/N settles in the car.

“I don’t care if she is a pie genius, I wouldn’t trade places with her.” Jo says to Lisa as they watch the car drive away. “No, me neither.” Lisa agrees.

Gordon, driving, glances at Y/N for a second, who's sitting with her hands folded in her lap. "You don't look happy to see me." He bluntly says. "Aren't you happy to see me?" "Yes, I'm happy to see you. I even brought you a piece of today's special, Kick in the Pants Pie. Cinnamon spice custard." She replies with a fake smile. Gordon has no response. "You didn't give me a kiss." Silence. "Give me one!" Y/N hurries to to lean over to kiss him on the cheek. "That's more like it." He smirks. "Where's the money you made today?" "Right here, in my pocket." "Well now, hand it over." She takes the money out of her pocket and hands it to him, while trying hiding her smile. The rest of her money is in her bra, hidden away. "Not much here, is there?" He questions.

"Slow day, you know." Gordon then puts the money in his own pocket. "You've been having more and more and more of those. I'm really not sure it's worth you working there anymore." He says. That's the last thing she needs right now, him trying to take away the once source to run away. To a better life. "I think I might rather have you be at home, making ME pies all day long. Me and me alone." He continues.

"I don't like those girls. Or your boss." "Yeah, I know.." There's a slight pause.

"You didn't ask me how my day was." He complains. Here we go again. The same routine. Over and over. Y/N was sick of it. "How was your day?" She asks, in a monotone voice, already tired. "Ask me like you care about it." Y/N sighs. She turns her head towards him, and in a fake caring and sweet voice, "How was your day, Gordon?" "...Well you know. Johnson was on my case again. About the mortgages and everything. But I can't control the policies of the bank, and I told him that. But he doesn't listen..."

As Gordon rants and complains, Y/N shuts her eyes, in deep concentration. ' I Hate My Husband Pie'. You take bittersweet chocolate and don't sweeten it. You make it into a pudding and drown it in caramel'

"You're not listening to me!" Gordon suddenly shouts, breaking her train of thought. "Yes I am." She flusteredly says. "What did I say?" "You were bitching about Mr.Johnson." “But what were my exact words?” “I can’t repeat them verbatim.” “You don’t listen to me! Hurts my feelings. Say you’re sorry so I can let you out of this car so you can start on my dinner.” Without missing a beat,“I’m sorry, Gordon, for not being able to to repeat your words verbatim. It’s something I should be able to do.” She really didn’t mean this. I mean, who the hell can? “Whenever I need it?” He asks. “Whenever you need it.” “Okay, then.” The car pulls up in the driveway, in front of a modest, depressing house. Small, without any charm.

Y/N and Gordon sit at their dinning table, eating a spaghetti pie that she had made for dinner. Y/N has barely touched the food on her plate.

“You look handsome tonight, Gordie.” Y/N suddenly says.

" Thank you honey. It’s been a long time since you called me Gordie, I like it.” He slightly chuckles, going back to eat his dinner. “And you look pretty tonight. Maybe a little tired is all. You’re not eating your spaghetti pie, Why not?”

Y/N was too nervous to eat, wanting to ask him about the bake-off she had mentioned to Jo and Lisa. In reality, asking for money was to hurry the process of leaving. “Because I’m…I’m thinking I want to borrow some money from you.”

“My answer to that, of course, is no.”

“There’s a big pie bake-off in Lebanon in a couple of months and I’d like to go.”

“And my answer to that, of course, is no.” He repeated.

“Prize money is pretty good.” She says, trying to convince him.

“Why do you need money? I give you everything you need, don’t I?” He questions.

“Absolutely.” “You want for nothing, don’t you?” She really wanted the money, but not for nothing.

“Yes Gordon, I want for nothing.” Not wanting to argue, she quietly stops talking. There’s no point. “You’re pies aren’t bad. But what’s so important about that when you got me to take care of?” Gordon says, putting her in her place, manipulated.

‘Good point, Gordon.”

Taglist: @isntthatsweetiguessso

Make sure to add me to your notifications so you won’t miss the next part!

[password-door-lock]

Can you tell us your hyper-specific RFA wedding headcanons? Specifically the one about napkins, I am sososo curious

Yes, I can; thanks for asking! RFA wedding napkin preference headcanons under the cut!

Zen doesn’t really care about what kind of napkins the two of you have at your wedding— he’s much more concerned with big-picture things like the rings, the vows, the ceremony, and the first dance, not to mention securing venues and vendors, etc. He probably won’t come into the planning process with any strong opinions about the napkins, and if you tell him that you want something specific, he’ll defer to you on this matter. However, if you also don’t really care about napkins, and you ask him to take matters into his own hands? His priority would be to create something memorable to make you smile. I think he’d google search “romantic napkin folding,” which (at least from my experience) would yield a lot of tutorials on how to fold pink and red cloth napkins into a heart shape. I don’t think either one of you is interested in spending the afternoon before your wedding folding napkins, though, so I’m sure he’d delegate this task to someone else and take you to the spa instead. That being said, he would absolutely go out of his way to fold your napkin (even if that means scheduling some extra time to swing by the reception venue on his literal wedding day while you’re busy getting ready) and of course he’d be sure to unfold it on your lap once the two of you are seated. 

Yoosung has a lot of very specific fantasies about lot of different things (if some of the phone calls on his route are anything to go on) I think he probably has a lot of ideas for his wedding— some of them, he came up with before he even met you, and some of them really solidified as the two of you started planning for the big day in earnest. He wants cream-colored cloth napkins in a pocket fold (exactly what it sounds like; the napkin is folded so that it’s shaped like a pocket) with cute little cards in them— each guest would receive a personalized message from the both of you thanking them for coming to the wedding. It’s a very sweet touch, and it gives the two of you an opportunity to sit down together and think about how grateful you are for all the people you have in your life. He might get a little emotional ordering the cards and seeing your names written together on them for the first time. I think he’d invite the whole RFA to come over and fold the napkins the day before the wedding, but since the little notes are a surprise for your guests, the two of you might have to put together place settings later on your own. Of course, he has a special note for you, and you have a special note for him, but those will stay secret until you’re sitting down for dinner for the first time as a married couple. 

Jaehee knows a lot about napkins— and so do you! By the time the two of you get married, you’ve been running a coffee shop together for a WHILE. In fact, you’ve already had a conversation like this before when you decided what kind of napkins to purchase for the shop. Both of you are intimately familiar with the best kinds of paper napkins, what you can get in bulk, and even how many your guests might use over the course of your event, which would take a lot of guesswork out of the equation and free up more time for other parts of the planning process. You may even be able to get a discount with vendors that you know and trust, especially if you have a good relationship with them already. Of course, industrial napkins don’t necessarily look very nice, but Jaehee has a plan for that! She’ll order custom napkin dispensers (like the ones they have in restaurants) displaying your engagement photo as a special surprise! She’s already thinking about all the places she could put them after the wedding— maybe it might even be cute to get photo-display napkin holders for the coffee shop! Even if you end up wanting cloth napkins in the wedding colors or something along those lines, I think the restaurant-style dispensers are a really personal nod to the business the two of you run together. 

Jumin has probably never used a paper napkin in his life, and he’s not about to start at his wedding— especially since it’s likely to be a very tasteful event all around. He would opt for a fan fold, where the napkin is folded over several times and placed into an empty wine glass/water goblet. It would look elegant and draw attention to the glasses, which I’m sure would be very high quality and pretty to look at. I think he would probably leave the folding to a professional, because neither one of you needs any more stress in the days before what I can only imagine would be a very high-profile wedding. As far as the designs on the napkins go, I think they would probably be custom-made and embroidered with the silhouette of a cat alongside a motif that’s important to you in gold and/or silver— the color scheme would probably depend on what you prefer, as it would have to be coordinated with the wedding colors/your outfit and jewelry. I think it would be very important to Jumin that the wedding decor reflects both of your personalities while still being very luxurious. The two of you will also probably be sure to have the napkins washed and returned to you after the wedding so that you can use them for special occasions as you build your life together. 

Saeyoung has a strong preference for paper napkins for a lot of reasons. First of all, the two of you are probably planning to have a cotton candy machine, a chocolate fountain, and fifteen other food stations with a wide variety of dishes of varying messiness, and the reception is most likely to be a very dynamic environment with a lot of dancing and other fun activities. People will be on the move and might lose track of their napkins and need a replacement, or they might need to use more than one napkin at a time. Plus, it would be easier to find paper napkins with fun prints like cats dancing in space, math equations, and/or whatever patterns you happen to be into at the moment. You two have such a playful relationship, and this would be one very simple way to incorporate that playfulness into your wedding decor, which I think would be eclectic all around. Maybe there would be different napkin prints at every food station or every table! All that being said, the environment is very important to both of you, so the napkins you choose would be compostable and recycled (as would any other paper goods you use for food packaging), and there would be clearly-labeled places to dispose of them near every garbage can. And once he learns that biodegradable spaceship napkins exist, Saeyoung will make sure that there are never boring, plain napkins in the bunker again!

V may be an artist, but I don’t think he would put very much importance on the aesthetics of your wedding napkins. While I do think he would favor cloth over paper for simplicity and appearance, I think the deciding factor would ultimately be that he sees folding napkins by hand as much more personal than simply ordering paper napkins in bulk. It’s an opportunity to spend time alone with you the day before the wedding, going through a calming and repetitive motion while you reflect on the years you’ve been together and touch base about your feelings going into the marriage. I think he’d like something simple like a triangle fold, especially because it would be easy for the two of you to have a conversation and relax together while you’re folding. If you have your heart set on another way to fold them, he’d be open to it, because what’s most important to him is getting to spend that quality time together before the hectic last-minute stage of wedding planning. The color scheme would be highly dependent on your tastes, but I think he would prefer a solid color to a pattern or print. As he’s putting his napkin in his lap at the reception, he’ll smile a little at the memory of folding them with you. 

GE Saeran sees nearly every moment as an opportunity to share his love and gratitude, and it goes without saying that he would keep this mindset at your wedding. He’d be open to a variety of ideas, and obviously if you have a strong preference for a certain type of napkin, he would hear you out. But if left to his own devices? He’d choose something simple but meaningful, like a plain white cloth napkin, rolled. Instead of a napkin ring, I think he’d want to use a ribbon in your favorite color with a lily of the valley tucked into it. That’s right, even the napkins would be deeply meaningful, and both of you would probably get a little emotional just talking about them, let alone actually seeing them in front of you on your wedding day. If the reception is small and intimate enough, he might even use flowers from his own garden, though if you’re expecting a lot of guests, he would need to enlist the florist (who he’s had on speed dial since the moment the contract was signed). He’d probably plan to put everything together by himself, but obviously the moment you see him taking out spools of ribbon, unfolded napkins, and bushels of flowers, you’ll ask if you can help him, and the two of you will make an afternoon of it. Because the flowers are fresh, this would likely need to be done day-of, but that’s fine: Saeran doesn’t really care that it might violate tradition for y'all to see each other on your wedding day, especially since as far as he’s concerned, the two of you have been married in your hearts since the day you left Magenta.

[natasha-in-space]

I FINALLY have the time to gush about the new CG for mm's 7th anniversary, so I'll make the most of it despite my tired and sleepy brain!

AHHH AND I MUST SAY, this is SUCH a soft CG this time around! The last one we got was so fancy and grand, while this one gives off much more wholesome and sentimental vibes. I LOVED the 6th anniversary CG btw! Just pointing out the details! Everyone's masquerade outfits still have me in a chokehold ngl

It's wedding themed! Which we knew already, but boy, oh boy, does it hit different to actually see it. I have such a huge silly grin on my face as I look at this CG. It just makes me feel all happy and fuzzy inside! :) I love how the artist managed to make each and every one of them similar yet different in one way or another. They're all happy, and they're all looking at you, but their facial expressions are unique to their each individual personality and their journeys up until this point. Makes me all emotional to just think about it.

I'm not one for analysis, but I do wanna gush! (Plus Imma start reblogging and crying over other people's wonderful analysis' soon enough ♡)

I love those pink accents on Zen so much!! 😭 Especially the ribbon in his hair. It's so simple and yet so very charming and cute in a way. Never knew how much I needed to see Zen in some pinks before today. And dare I say he looks absolutely smitten with his mc's. I sure love seeing that dreamy and peaceful look in his eyes. He has nothing to worry about. Because you're by his side to support him.

I AM VIBRATING AND PUNCHING MY PILLOW, LOOK HOW GORGEOUS JAEHEE LOOKS OH MY GOD

Ahem, yeah, we love and adore Jaehee Kang on this blog. I love seeing her dressed up in a way that makes her feel pretty and true to herself. She wasn't allowed that much in her life. But now, she is literally glowing from within. Sure, her dress is beautiful, but it's her inner beauty that makes me get all mushy. I would honestly just look at her with hearts in my eyes like a cat does to its favorite person. That's me. I'm that cat.

I love Jumin's smile!! Look at him!! He's so happy to see you! We need more of Jumin just being comfortable and happy. I love that for him. His full smile is really lovely <3

Saeyoung is my best buddy, and I am SO happy to see him with his glasses on for once! But, more than that, I love how they depicted him here. Sure, it'd be great to see his huge mischievous grin, but his smile here is bashful, light, peaceful. It's the type of smile you make without even realizing it. He's completely relaxed here, and that fact alone makes me feel emotional. He truly looks at you like he sees an entire galaxy in your eyes. And, he's more than willing to get lost in it. Because he knows you'll keep his heart safe.

Is this my new lock screen? Yes. Did I cry about it? Yes. Were those happy tears? Absolutely.

Saeran, oh, Saeran... His eyes say it all. We don't have to see a big smile on his face to know that his heart is fluttering right at this very moment. You just know he'd gladly stay with you in this moment for all eternity if he could. I am crying over his adorable blush. Saeran is a blushy boy, and I adore that about him. His cheeks still go all red even after all these years of knowing you. I just know he's gently pressing his lips to the petals and imagines that it is your lips he's kissing. It may be silly, since he can kiss you anytime he wants now, but he still finds these small things a little sentimental. I certainly don't mind.

Yoosung and Jihyun are looking absolutely wonderful as well, I just didn't really have anything noteworthy to say about them! And yes, there are flowers, and like I said in my tags, flowers are something to cry over. I won't be analyzing the meaning of them in my post, but I will cry my eyes out about them under other people's posts!

Happy 7th anniversary to Mystic Messenger and all the wonderful folks in this lovely fandom I hold so dear! Time sure does fly...

[claudeng80]

Between Your Teeth, The Taste Of Wanting

Another unused event piece - this one an ABO AU from Bingo.

The Lilias cold is something of a relief, to Obi. Where bodies are packed close for heat and windows shut tight against the wind, even the betas he’s always wading through can’t miss the scents of their compatriots. It’s inescapable. But out here in the street, even the nose of an alpha numbs in the cold. It levels them all.

And he doesn’t have to be right there for every detail of her courtship with Zen. He’s known for years how she feels about him - Zen may not have the nose to pick up on her every cue, but Shirayuki’s an omega. Obi’s an alpha. He knows her now like she knows her favorite reference books, can read her cycles and her stronger emotions better than anyone else knows.

That’s exactly why he’s been trying to leave her space. Nobody wants to know exactly how the woman they love pines after another man.

The crowd parts around him, which he will never get tired of. His height and his shady face get him deference here, his alpha gifts disguised as just preternatural reflexes and careful hearing. They’re rare enough that nobody puts the clues together and nobody thinks twice about it, because certainly a man of his dangerous background has to have developed skills like that just to survive. Everyone is more than happy to make use of his skills when they need something from him.

When they don’t, however, it’s like they forget it all. It doesn’t even take alpha senses to see Shirayuki and Zen duck into a cafe, and he doesn’t have to smell them to feel their eyes locked on his movements. It was supposed to be their time alone, to catch up on the talking they’ve had so few opportunities for or perhaps even do something about the arousal his mistress has been struggling with lately. She’s missed Zen. They have a hard-earned opportunity.

And yet here they are, trying to tail Obi when he least wants the details of their reunion in his nose. There are certain things he doesn’t want to know, but his sense of smell doesn’t lie and doesn’t turn off. He could disappear right now, leave them wondering what he’s up to.

He’s far too irritated to give them the pleasure.

***

He’s played the good dog all night, showed his belly and smiled while all the time simmering underneath. They’re all blind to it, only Shirayuki paying the slightest bit of attention. And even then, she only looks confused, her eyes flickering away whenever he catches them turned in his direction. She still smells agitated, but not in a way he can separate into meaning. It all blurs as she drinks, too, turning warm and chaotic and at last settling into sleep.

“Hwah?” Everyone at the table thinks Shirayuki is adorable and wants to protect her; Obi’s rarely smelled so unanimous a sentiment. But he’s her guard, and that’s how the two of them find themselves alone walking back.

Her little nap hasn’t made a dent in her tipsiness- she’s pink with the chill and the drink and she holds tight to his arm in the snow. The whiffs he catches of her are odd, strangely possessive and he can’t help but wonder why she’s there in the cold with him when she wants Zen so badly. 

“Hey!” shouts one of the knights from a side passage and he whirls her behind a column before he can even think; it’s presumptuous of him to hide her like this, but she seems content enough to stay out of it, listening and fiddling with the hem of his glove.

It’s innocent enough until her fingertips pry up the leather’s edge and dip beneath, and he doesn’t hear another word of the conversation.

He clamps down on her wrist, trying to stop her teasing, but her pulse throbs against his fingers, fluttering like a prey he can’t help but chase. He feels as bad as these Clarinese think of alphas, a mindless hungry brute enthralled by the slightest whiff of an omega, and only his locked knees and a lifetime of iron control keep him from simply turning around and taking what he wants. It’s just not any omega, it’s her.

The interloper wanders off at last, and this is when he should let go, when she should take her wrist back and put the appropriate distance between them and he should walk her back to her room. There, she should lock the door and put a wall safely between them.

But he doesn’t let go.

He traces her pulse again with his thumb, feeling it speed beneath his touch, and she steps around his side, backing him against the column. Her cheeks are pink with the cold, or with the mug of beer she nursed before she started falling asleep at the table, but her eyes are bright as she turns them up to meet his.

One hand steadies her on his chest as the other turns in his grip; under her fingers the scar across his chest tingles in the cold, but the tension between them doesn’t diminish at all. She’s the one moving, but it’s as though she’s reeling him in, mesmerized by her touch and the smell that only gets stronger as she gets closer. Her hair smells like flowers, but underneath it all is the bread and honey of her wanting.

Perhaps it’s time to stop assuming he understands what she’s thinking and actually listen.

His back is still frigid against stone, but the air between them is like a summer day, warmed with her radiance. She doesn’t touch him anywhere but the hand he already holds, but he leans in to meet her. She doesn’t flinch, but stretches up on her toes.

So close to her throat, her scent has weight and depth, and he’s drowning in her gladly. He breathes deep, watching as the skin pebbles with the motion of air. “May I?” His voice is barely more than a whisper, surely nothing beside the revelry going on just the other side of their sheltering column, but her hand twists in his, trading his grip on her wrist for linking fingers and pressing palms.

“Yes, Obi,” she groans, and the skin of her throat is like silk beneath his lips. It’s delicate as flower petals, just the kind to bloom with bruises if he were to suck or bring teeth to bear- at the thought of his mark on her skin he nearly gives in to the temptation. That not only would she be his, but that everyone would know-

Reality intrudes like a breath of Lilias winter. She’s been drinking. He wants this, can taste the desire like blood between his teeth, but his self-control is stronger still. Tonight’s pleasures are not worth tomorrow’s trust. He lays his head on her shoulder, and just breathes, too stubborn to take what she can’t offer and still too selfish to move away.

She squirms, then when it’s clear she’ll get no more out of him like this, stills. “You are the most stubborn alpha I’ve ever met,” she whispers, and her fingers thread out from between his as she backs away. She’s standing in the snow a polite two steps away when he can move again, eyes green as emeralds in the dark and far too calm.

He wants to play it off as a joke, to pretend the way he’s pretended everything else. But he owes her more than that. “With Raj as an example, I feel like I should take that as some kind of compliment,” he says instead. She huffs, and together they turn to continue their way back to her room. Whatever else might be burning down in these few minutes, at least their body language attunement is still intact.

“Do you think Zen has plans for tomorrow?” she asks, light and conversational as they leave the market behind and stroll into the colder, darker academic grounds.

If she doesn’t want to talk about it, then Obi won’t either. Another minute’s walk and he’ll see her to her door, where she can finally lock herself away and he can go back and try to forget everything that happened tonight. “He’s not one to leave time unscheduled. Maybe he’ll try to fight the knights again.”

“I think they’re expecting it,” she says, then lapses again into silence. It’s more comfortable than he would have thought possible, after all that.

But back at her building, two steps up the stairs, she stops. “Obi-”

He steps closer, not as close as he wants but closer than he should. “Miss?”

She turns and sets a hand on his shoulder, then leans in close. He stands frozen as she breathes deep beside his ear, then sinks her teeth into the side of his neck. She doesn’t hold back; there’s the sting that means she’s broken skin, and there will be quite a bruise. He clamps his hand on the railing. “Remember this, tomorrow,” she whispers, and the lock clicks behind her as he’s left alone in the snow.

[moonlight-cp]

Proxy in Command (Creepypasta x Reader) Chapter 53

Series Masterlist

The fifteen-year-old boy ran into the forest as he kept kicking leaves. He was tired of the stress his parents were giving him. His parents were forcing him to take self-defense classes and taught him how to use weapons. He never understood why yet his parents never cared to explain. They only claimed he was important and this was all necessary.

"Zen this, Zen that. I fucking had it!" He yelled as he stomped onto the ground of leaves. 

He felt he was being watched which made him take out his pocket knife. 

"Who's there? I know how to use it and I'm not scared to hurt you no matter who you are!" He yelled.

Slenderman appeared in front of him making him faint due to the static in his head.

(~~~)

It had been three years since he was taken in by Slenderman and trained by him. He had to admit that his lessons with Slenderman were much better than with his parents. Slenderman wasn't harsh on him and gave him a year to improve his skills before going on his first mission.

"You can't mess it up." Slenderman's voice echoed through his head. "You must kill them. They pose a danger to me. Think of it like a test. If you pass, you will prove your loyalty to me and I shall give you the gift of immortality."

He walked through the empty streets as he looked for the given address. He grew up in this city and wondered how his parents were doing. Had they given up searching for him? Have they decided to move out? He didn't regret joining Slenderman and leaving his parents though. 

He sighed as he finally recognized the address. It was the house his parents were eyeing before he left. He walked to the door before using a bobby pin to unlock it. Once he got inside, he quietly shut the door, not making a noise. 

Pink balloons were scattered everywhere: on the ground, the stairs, and the walls. A girl's birthday was celebrated yesterday. Too bad she had to die the day after her birthday. 

He thought about the memories he could have made with his parents in this house. More training, more lectures, more screams. 

He heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He figured out where to go for his first kill. He sneaked up on the woman, a familiar smell hitting him. He ignored it as he stood behind her. She was making formula on a baby's bottle. 

Using his hand to cover her mouth, he slid her throat as he stared with no emotion at the pink bottle filled with milk. Her chokes were muffled but not loud enough for her husband to hear. Once he was sure she was dead, he dropped her corpse on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look at the woman he just murdered. 

He walked away as he headed toward the stairway. He had to kill the father first before killing the child. As much as he didn't want to take her life away, he had to prove his loyalty. 

Turning the doorknob, he saw a male laying on the king-sized bed. Shutting the door, he studied the male. He froze when the man moved to turn on the lamp. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

"Zen?" His father spoke. "Wh-where have you been?" He was about to get up but Zen signaled him to stop with his hand.

"I've been busy."

Zen's father widened his eyes as he looked down at the bloody dagger he had in his hand.

"What did you do?"

"I killed your wife."

His breath hitched as he shook his head as he cried. "Why did you kill your mother!"

"Slenderman's orders."

His father pulled his hair in distress. "Zen! You can't trust him! He's one of the immortals that wanted to kill us!"

Zen stood still as he looked at him without emotion. He didn't want to believe him.

"Zen, I was going to tell you about our bloodline backstory in a few years but I see now how that was a mistake." He glanced at the bedsheets as he took a deep breath. His life depended on it. "Long ago, Silas L/N achieved immortality from a witch. He thought immortality ran through his generation but when his kid died, he murdered her. The witch cursed our bloodline with us being the bodyguards of others while having inhumane strength. Our kind was spreading fast and immortals were killing us. I even had to kill one immortal with your uncle that was planning on killing us. Your uncle died!"

"But why did they kill them? What was the reason!"

"Because an oracle stated the last L/N descendant will kill the most powerful immortal! The immortals took that as a threat! You and your sister will be seen as a threat to Zalgo if you kill me. We're the last ones Zen."

Although Zen has been with Slenderman for a few years, he knew how dangerous Zalgo was. Slenderman stated how he was a threat to him but hasn't mentioned anything about his backstory. Zen kept his last name a secret. Slenderman didn't know he was a L/N descendant yet he was sent to kill them. 

"Sister? It seems you guys were busy instead of searching for me!"

His father started to cry. "Zen, please! You can't kill your sister!"

Zen's eyes darkened. "So you guys were busy finding a replacement instead of searching for your son." He stepped closer to his father.

"Zen please!" His father begged. "She's special! You can't kill her! She's the first female with the L/N bloodline."

"Watch me." He grabbed a small dagger that was strapped from his thigh and threw it in the middle of his father's head.

Blood scattered throughout the bed, leaving the white sheets stained. His father's face froze with a shocked expression as he died. 

Zen left the room, not caring about the corpse in the room. He glared at the door to the nursery room. This baby was his replacement; he only cared about killing her with no mercy. 

He opened the door to the room. His eyes widened, dropping his dagger. He fell to his knees at the sight of her. He felt something that he couldn't explain as if something sparked inside him. A feeling that made him want to protect her.

His sister stood on the crib with a pacifier in her mouth. Her eyes glowed with curiosity as she looked at him. The white curtains were slightly open, letting the moonlight shine on her as if she was an angel. 

He stood frozen for a couple of seconds as he remembered his father's words about them being personal bodyguards. He started to believe everything he said.

Zen slowly got up to walk up toward her, not taking his eyes off from her. He gently carried her in his arms, placing her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, embracing his warmth. 

He softly used his thumb to run across her cheek. He swore he would protect her from everyone including Slenderman and Zalgo. After all, it's them both against the world. 

(~ Four Years later~)

After the girl took the hit to protect Slenderman, she had been unconscious for hours. Zalgo said before leaving that she would die if she didn't wake up in twenty-four hours. Twenty-two hours passed and Zen grew desperate. He couldn't let her die, he had to do something. 

He went to the underworld through the pillars. His only hope was Zalgo. He never thought he would be on his knees in front of Zalgo, begging him to heal his sister.

"I'll heal her if you pledge your loyalty to me. Switch sides in this war and she'll wake up."

As much as Zen hated Zalgo, he knew he had no other way to save her. He could only hope Y/N would be able to forgive him in the future. 

"I will be giving you powers. You'll be healing her yourself but for her to wake up, you must steal her memories."

A few minutes later, Zen laid next to her as he placed a hand on her head, crying about what he was about to do. 

His appearance had changed since he joined Zalgo and got his powers. His H/C hair had turned white and his E/C eyes turned black.

It hurt him how she wouldn't remember him. If she encountered him in the future, he would be seen as an enemy when in reality it was the opposite. He kept assuring himself it was for the best. If what his father said was true, one of them would kill Zalgo, there was a chance they would live a happy ending.

His hopes were shattered when he got banned from the forest by Slenderman when he tried to save her and when Zalgo told him about the mark. He was connected to Zalgo so there was no way to escape from him. He knew his story wouldn't have a happy ending. 

(~ 11 years later~)

Zen used his hand to heal her wounds in the cave. Zalgo had stabbed her in the forest and it didn't help that she was already wounded when she arrived from her international mission.

"She still has a fever! You should have gone easy on her!"

Zalgo scoffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I wasn't going to make it obvious this was a plan."

"A plan I didn't agree to!" Zen growled. 

"Zip it Zen, you know I can always reverse the spell so she can die." Zalgo lied. "So if I were you, I would follow my goddamn orders to protect your little sister."

(~A few months later~)

"You need to let her go!" Zen whispered and yelled at Zalgo who had Y/N laying on his chest. Zalgo's plan had succeeded so Y/N was now in the underworld."This is ridiculous, I don't want her to be in the same bed as you!"

"I'm only offering her my body heat, plus look how comfortable she looks." He felt her lean closer to him, making him smirk.

Zalgo raised her chin before she slowly opened her eyes, making Zen cover himself with his hood. He couldn't tell her that he had been working with the enemy all along. 

Zalgo moved some hair strands away from her forehead as he continued to look down at her.

"You're paralyzed, it's an effect of my mark."

She slowly moved her gaze to the side to see Zen. Zalgo signaled him to leave with his hand and then grabbed a small red bowl filled with pomegranate seeds from the nightstand. Zen bowed as he left the room, screaming at himself he should stop Zalgo. If he tried, Zalgo would kill him and Y/N would be left alone with him. He couldn't let that happen.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't trust Slenderman that he would protect her nor could Zen himself because of Zalgo's mark. He had to think of something before Zalgo gets his way with her.

His thoughts all changed when Slenderman came to try to save her. This was enough evidence for him that he could trust Slenderman. But when he finally figured out a plan to help her escape, it had been too late. Zalgo had punished her and she was close to death. He brought her to the mansion and would secretly visit her sometimes. One day he got caught by Splendorman who swore not to tell Slenderman or anyone. 

"You brought her here, didn't you?" He asked the young boy. 

"Of course I did. I raised her for four years, I couldn't let her stay there any longer."

"Then why did you join Zalgo, Zen? I was shocked to see you with him."

Zen couldn't tell him the truth. He didn't want pity. 

"Slenderman isn't what he seemed."

(~~~)

Zalgo couldn't figure out how she escaped until a few hours later when he confronted Zen. 

"You helped her, didn't you?" He growled as he stood in front of him in the throne room

"You were about to kill her. Of course, I would protect her."

Zalgo grinned. "Because of that, you will now be the bait to lure her into the forest. I will kill her either way but I will make it painful if you choose not to cooperate."

"I'm not agreeing to anything." Zen huffed.

"I don't think you have a choice, my boy."

(~~~)

I couldn't stop thinking about the memories Zen gave me before he died. 

I squeezed my dagger tighter as I kept my gaze at Zalgo who was grinning at me. He knew I was grieving and would use my emotions to fight and he would use it as an advantage. 

"What's wrong, Y/N? It seems like you just lost a brother. Oh wait, you did."

I felt the adrenaline and used it to sprint at him, forgetting the wound on my shoulder. 

He swung his sword toward my side, just below my ribcage. I was somehow able to dodge him, but I made the mistake of swinging at him. He grabbed my wrist in time, squeezing hard enough to hurt me.

"The pain you feel right now will be nothing compared to the pain you will feel in the future if you somehow make it out alive, my dear. But don't worry, I will make sure to kill you and then revive you in the future so you can be stuck in the underworld with me for eternity!"

I tried to ignore what he said but the truth was, I was absolutely terrified. I wasn't going to win either way. If I kill Zalgo and I survive, whatever Zalgo was talking about will happen. But if I fail to kill him, I would be stuck with him. My future was at stake here.

With my other hand, I grabbed another dagger I had on my thigh strap and threw it directly at his neck. He let my wrist go as he took a few steps back. He kept his gaze on me as he pulled the dagger out of his neck. He smirked before he disappeared in front of me.

I scanned my surroundings, not finding him anywhere. 

"Show yourself, you coward!"

I felt lightheaded before I looked at the pastas from across the fire who were afraid for me. My eyes widened when I saw Zalgo behind Slenderman.

"No!" I screamed as I reached my hand towards him. Immediately someone blocked my view in front of them and I felt a burning sensation in my stomach as I realized I had fallen for his trap. Zalgo stood in front of me as his smirk got bigger. My eyes slowly trailed down only to see that he had stabbed me with the same sword he used to kill Zen. I let out a loud gasp as I felt my lungs squeezing for air and a burning sensation all across my abdomen.

Zalgo grinned as he pulled his sword out, causing me to fall to the floor with me holding my wound. 

I tried to turn my body as I slowly crawled away from him, trying to reach for a dagger that was a couple of feet away from me. I felt the blood come out of my mouth which made me spit it out.

I didn't notice I was crying. Not because of the pain, but because I was scared. Zalgo was winning and I couldn't let him. I can't be stuck in the under realm with my soul being tortured for eternity or as his bride. That's not the future I wanted to live in.

My mom's words kept repeating inside my mind as I kept crawling. 

"Zen will kill him if you choose to stay with us, Y/N."

Of course, because if I died, Zen would be the last L/N descendant alive and he would have killed Zalgo. My mom even gave me a hint we were siblings but I didn't catch it. But Zen is dead and now it was my responsibility to kill him.

I barely moved a few feet when Zalgo used his foot to flip me on my back. I struggled to breathe as I felt panic settle in. I feared this was it. This is how I'm going to die and I haven't hurt Zalgo yet.

Zen's sacrifice would be in vain and the pastas would be in danger if Zalgo survives. He would somehow get even more powerful just by proving he can avoid his destiny. No one would be safe. I had to do something, I couldn't let him win.

Zalgo got down on his knees, trapping my body beneath him. 

"It seems like the vision is coming true, my love. The only difference is, you're the only one dying in this forest." I quivered as I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and cover up the wound on my stomach. I tried to ignore his words and focus on breathing but the pain in my abdomen was throbbing. I couldn't imagine what Zen felt. 

"It's a shame it had to come to this, my love. We could have been powerful rulers and have everyone on their knees for us. We could have lived forever in peace as we enjoyed our luxuries. But you just had to be foolish and choose Slenderman over me. I'm going to make you regret betraying me."

Zalgo grabbed my chin and forced me to look at the pastas who were screaming for Zalgo to let me go. I couldn't make out what exactly they were screaming but I heard their yells.

"Do you have any last words for them? For him?"

I stared at Slenderman as I sobbed. I no longer had any resentment toward him because I was afraid this was the last time I was going to see him. I closed my eyes and did something I hadn't done in years. I opened my mind to Slenderman for the first time in eleven years.

I allowed him to see what I imagined my funeral would be like. Offenderman would pick the finest roses he could find as Trenderman dressed me up in a dress he always wanted me to wear. Splendorman would spend time with Sally, the niece he always wanted seeing as I acted so cold towards him for the past months. I wish I could have apologized to him. Slenderman and the pastas would get along and be one happy family, even if it meant I wouldn't play a role in it. They wouldn't have to worry about any dangers or keeping their existence a secret. 

I slowly opened my eyes as I felt my eyelids getting heavier and my breathing became difficult, making me gasp for air. I only have a few seconds left to change my destiny.

Slenderman shook his head. "You'll live Y/N! You have to be strong!"

But I've been strong for so long...

"I'm still debating whether I should revive you or not but just know, whatever happens, you will always belong to me. Both you and your soul are mine." Zalgo wrapped his hand around my waist, bringing me closer to him as his other hand relaxed on my cheek. 

I closed my eyes as I felt his breath on my face. 

"Any last words, little one?" His nose touched mine and felt our lips centimeters away.

I opened my eyes as I gasped for air for the last time, whispering my final words. 

"I won."

I grabbed the golden dagger with red rubies on the handle from my back pocket and stabbed him in the heart. I had gotten it before Slenderman entered the office where we had our last confrontation. I couldn't have used the dagger earlier in case Zalgo would have destroyed it. I was just waiting for the perfect time.

(~An hour ago~)

Going downstairs and holding the rail for support, I saw some pastas watching TV but they didn't notice my presence. I slowly walked to Slendermans empty office as one thought came to mind.

I had to take the dagger to kill Zalgo and take matters into my own hands. 

Entering his office, I looked at every corner of the room to find the familiar black box. It wasn't until I went through his desk that I finally found it. Hiding the dagger in my pocket, I made my way in front of his desk to look at it for the final time.

Memories of me bowing down to him at the exact place flooded through my mind, making me cringe. 

I heard the doorknob slowly twist before a book fell. 

"Y/N?"

I sighed as I kept my gaze on his desk for a few seconds before turning around to glare at him.

"You shouldn't be here, you're supposed to be resting in bed."

I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms in front of my chest, and leaned my lower back onto his desk. "Last time I checked, I'm not marked by you so I don't have to follow your stupid orders."

Our last interaction was a confrontation and we both didn't realize it. I couldn't say I regret it nor was it worth it. 

Zalgo screamed out in pain as he let me go to try to attend to his wound, making my head slam onto the ground.

If living meant I would suffer more, I choose death. 

(~~~)

The pastas froze in shock when Y/N let out her final breath. 

"No!" They screamed. 

Zalgo stumbled back as he tried to pull out the dagger. He groaned in pain as he saw her dead on the floor. His vision had completely come true and there was nothing else he could do. He couldn't change his destiny when it was already written down. 

The ring of fire died down, making the pastas run up to her. 

Zalgo let out his final breath as he smirked at Slenderman. "He comes." He warned them before his seventh mouth opened.

"No!" Slenderman raised his hand at him to stop him, but it had been too late. His souls were free and would cause destruction. His body slowly turned into golden dust, like Zen. Zalgo was now dead.

Slenderman teleported in front of her body before he sank to the ground and pulled her into his arms.

E.J.who was previously trying to find a pulse before Slenderman arrived, shook his head. He stood up to join the others watching Slenderman in silence.

"I'm so sorry Y/N!" Slenderman sobbed as he held her tighter. "I didn't want you to die!" He gently stroked some hair strands behind her ear. "I just got you back, you can't leave us again."

His brothers had warned him of this. He would realize he cared about her but it would be too late. She was now dead and now he had to carry the burden for the rest of his life. He was barely dealing with the consequences after years of constant mistakes. 

The proxies were on their knees as they took off their masks, paying respect to their former head proxy. Poor Toby cried uncontrollably as his twitches worsened. Masky and Hoodie pulled him into a side hug, as a way to silently comfort him.

Painter also took off his mask and kept his gaze on the floor while Puppeteer placed his hand on his shoulder as he looked at her with a sad expression. 

Liu and Jeff hugged each other, realizing how lucky they were both alive and had each other. They both kept a neutral expression but fought their urge to cry. Y/N made them reunite as brothers. Without her, they would have killed each other or would have had no communication. 

Ben and Dark were also on their knees as they paid respect. Y/N had brought them together yet they weren't able to thank her. The last time Dark had a proper conversation with her was when they formed a plan. After that, everything happened too fast. She got influenced by Zalgo, got hurt multiple times, and now she was dead. 

E.J. and L.J. were standing with sad expressions as they stood behind the proxies. L.J. recalled when Y/N and he went out and brought Sally to the mansion. Ever since then, Sally was a bundle of joy in his life. E.J. recalled how he was the only one that didn't get brought into the mansion by her but their first interaction was on the same night. He helped her bandage her wound when she tried to stop Liu and Jeff from killing each other. How could he have forgotten that when the topic of immortality was brought in? 

They all couldn't accept that their friend had gone. She had brought them all to the mansion and had done so much for them, they weren't able to repay her. They weren't able to save her from Zalgo.

"I'm so sorry! Please come back to us." Slenderman pressed her body on himself before kissing her forehead as he sobbed. He looked down at her wounds, making his heart shatter into a million pieces. He couldn't imagine the physical and mental pain she had felt throughout the years, especially with this fight. 

Regrets swirled through his head as he kept trying to think of ways this could have been avoided. It all began when she came into the mansion and he was so cold towards her.

She wouldn't need to prove herself to him if he was kinder. She wouldn't have taken the hit and Zen would have stayed in the mansion. Y/N wouldn't have grown with Zalgo's secret visits, nor would she sacrifice her freedom to save the pastas. She wouldn't have died if he just gave her immortality and told her the actual way to kill Zalgo when they had their battle. If only he trusted her sooner.

One thing for certain, it was all his fault and now everyone was paying the price for it.

~Little A/N~

For anyone who wants to read back the chapters with a different perspective after reading the memories at the beginning of this chapter, I will be commenting them below. It sucks how I can't comment on each paragraph like Wattpad to make it more organized. 

Where Zen agrees to work with Zalgo- It follows up after a random memory Y/N remembered at the end of chapter 46

Zen getting banned from the forest- Beginning of chapter 35

Zen healing Y/N in the cave - Takes place before Y/N woke up at the beginning of chapter 20

Zen (kinda) confronting Zalgo when he's laying in bed with Y/N- chapter 38 (little shocking, I know) 

Series Masterlist ---Next Chapter -> (Chapter 54)

[twistednuns]

October 2024

Kissing.

Meeting Sri in Würzburg. A calm train ride and ancient trams. Working in harmony. Learning. Accepting that our exercises won't be perfect but they'll be good enough.

Reading so much. I just finished Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic series.

C. went to the bakery to buy dessert and asked me what I was in the mood for (creamy and fruity). No special occasion. Such a treat.

Visiting the garden exhibition with Tine. Overseeing Lian's playground time, giving him little challenges. Walking back after sunset with a cup of warm Chai Masala in my hands. Staged photographs.

Feeling very patient and calm. Taking the time to explain something thoroughly, playing a 4 hour board game; enough energy to manage my emotions and even go grocery shopping.

Heart-shaped pink Begonia blossoms.

Marjolien and Tobi visiting us for dinner. I made a yummy pasta bake. And pumpkin quiche the next day.

Quality time with Findus, the cutest of the cuties. He's so gentle and playful.

Fast-acting nasal spray.

My cozy, autumnal mood. The light just after dawn - foggy and high-contrast. Taking an additional soft blanket to bed. Pumpkin Spice porridge with apple slices.

Realising that I need stillness to get in touch with what I need and come back to myself. I even drew two matching OSHO Zen cards: Patience and Success.

A full day of consistent energy.

I went to Schauburg theatre with Becky to see Die kleine Hexe and loved the play. The witches' costumes, dances and the eerie music were perfect and the guy who spoke everyone's lines was so funny. And time with Becky is always so nice. She really is one of the best friends I have.

Support from a few people in my Gestalt therapy group after I shared the news about my current situation. Talking to Markus who's been through the same shit as me. Feeling hopeful.

A blind intuitive touch exercise with Friederike. I felt very comfortable with her, especially when she put pressure on me and held me.

I found a postcard with a beautiful text from a local Gestalt therapist: Lass es sein.

A moment when I realised that my was body annoying me - which meant that I was actually IN my body at the time! And it was so much easier to be present and look at people!

More self-diagnosis: I'm a Highly Sensitive Person and a High Sensation Seeker, possible also highly intelligent. Which explains my contradictory nature. I need to rest AND I'm easily bored. Understimulation is just as stressful to me as overstimulation. Which probably means that what I've experienced at work is a qualitative bore-out, not a burn-out. I need more excitement and challenges in my life! I want to learn and apply my creativity. I want to stop all the hesitation and avoidance to find the courage to create the circumstances I need to thrive!

I took the same road to my seminar on Saturday and Sunday and on both days a kitty was waiting in the same spot. It talked to me and allowed me to pet it. A blessing for the day!

Doing improv comedy. I completely over-acted like the little drama queen that I am and made people laugh. I was surprised by how much fun I had!

Noticing that my jungly, artsy apartment is so me. I feel quite at home here.

Roasted cauliflower with lemon, garlic mayo and feta. A clementine and a crisp apple with tahini for dessert.

Writing a letter about fall vibes, sending witchy novels to a friend.

Going to the supermarket for some fruit and milk just to find my favorite snack of all time on the shelf: Smash. Highly addictive. So tasty.

Painting at C.'s kitchen table while waiting for him. Listening to podcasts. Switching to illustration when abstract painting felt a little frustrating.

The moment when all that talk about problems and negativity switched to playfulness and we started laughing, teasing each other, interacting freely and joyfully.

Cuddles from Andrea after a boring choir meeting.

All the yellow flowers I keep seeing at the moment. Whole fields of late-blooming canola and sunflowers.

Revisiting an old favourite after lunch with Frank at Café Beethoven: hot chocolate with whipped cream and sea salt.

An extra blanket in bed.

Journalling.

Crisp, tart apples.

Fall colours. Leaves in all shades of yellow, orange and red. Muted greens and browns.

Driving towards the bright full moon illuminating my path.

Double trouble with the kitten bois trying to "help" me with the laundry.

A weekend with Christian and his housemates. Cooking together, long walks in the mountains and along a lake, playing games and getting to know each other a little better. Feeling really happy even though it wasn't always easy. Perhaps living in community really has its benefits.

Consoling C.'s son, making him laugh.

Squeezing into a small hostel bed together. Occasional touches, smiles and winks.

Austrian supermarkets.

C. remembered my story about chest pockets and surprised me with a little heart doodle in his shirt pocket. He also left a lovely note for me on his kitchen table in the morning.

Feeling euphoric. Loved. Cared for. When he massaged me. Told me to take it slow. Pinched me. Kissed me. I told him it was the best sex I'd ever had and meant it.

Walking through the forest looking for mushrooms. Stepping on huge puffballs, also finding several edible ones. Spooking a few kittens. The late afternoon light coming in through the trees. Eye contact with a horse.

All three kitten bois asking for attention at the same time.

Hugging my Gestalt therapist.

Stumbling upon Wood Soup Girl's ASMR videos.

Snake-like movements in yoga class. So good for my spine.

Celia reaching out to me with her vision of a collaboration. I have so many thoughts about community, working with purpose, helping yourself and others. Is this the time to start something big?

Painting on a stone. Just because.

Making coconut sticky rice with frozen mango cubes.

A relaxed vision after yoga class: imagining spending some time with my mum in the forest. Hugging, feeling and smelling each other. Encouragement and smiles. Wrapping our arms around a tree.

Talking to Miri and Lucie about late career changes, crisis, and accepting help.

Waking up with the impulse to do weight training. So I did. I even practiced with my FeetUp trainer and went for a long walk through the forest. An old man greeted me and made me smile. A magic moment: I thought about a cat I'd sometimes met on the street I was on and right that second a beautiful red cat came out of a driveway. Kitty manifestation.

Coming home. Taking a shower. Lying down. Feeling the warm, soft blankets. Relaxing.

Hanging out at Frank's place like in the good old times with Fabi, Marie and Christian.

Planting 22 fruit trees with Christian's neighbors and two cats. It was hard work I'm not used to but I had fun nevertheless!

Doing breathwork together. We both had a beautiful journey! I drew a mandala card before and after: gratitude - follow your bliss.

Enjoying each other's presence. Cuddles, fantasies, fun, lots of healing touch. Our last weekend together before my month in the clinic. At one point he picked me up from the bathroom door singing Heal the World, dragging me along into a little dance.

Meeting beautiful Celia. Walking over to Westpark together. Talking about our lessons, difficulties, visions. Making plans. Mercury in Gemini team!

A little test from the Universe demonstrating that I'm not as well as I thought I was. One little problem and I'm nervous, afraid, helpless. However, I managed the crisis and was rewarded with a graceful solution.

Doodling faces. Using my sketchbook. It felt nice.

Smelling the cat's earthy toe beans. Cute aggression is real.

Holding hands with L. when he came into our bed in the morning. Getting up with him. Starting to build a marble run out of cardboard.

My huge room at the clinic. The fantastic food. Good company.

Showing my vulnerability openly by asking for help with something as simple as the candy in my mini bar.

Realizing that other people don't perceive me as awkward and incompetent. Quite the opposite actually. It's all in my head.

[hecalledme-jagi]

No stop 😭 I love flower language!

And comparing their wedding bouquets to their Christmas ones???

- Zen gave Pink Roses, which mean adoration, happiness and love. UGH it’s such a perfect compliment to his wedding bouquet ＿|￣|○

- AND THE FACT YOOSUNG GOT DAY LILIES FOR BOTH OF HIS BOUQUETS!? 😫 White Day Lilies mean purity, innocence, and tranquility. That paired with the meaning of Green Day Lilies?? Just take me out now 😭

- Jumin gave Red Roses, which everyone knows that they mean passion and love. I never particularly liked Jumin with Red Roses, they felt a little mismatched for him, but now that we have his bouquet of Serbian Bellflowers I SEE THE VISION!

- Seven’s is probably the most interesting to me bc unlike the others, his Christmas bouquet seems less like a description of himself, and his feelings, but more of a description of how he sees MC. Seven gives MC Baby’s Breath, which most commonly means purity and innocence. Although, it can also mean everlasting love and devotion. The common meaning seems detached from Seven, but the secondary meaning seems more on the nose for him and really works wonders with his bouquet of Clivias.

DUDE AND IF YOU LOOK AT EVERYTHING TOGETHER YOU SEE THAT EACH BOUQUET DESCRIBES WHERE THE LEADS ARE EMOTIONALLY IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE MC!

- Zen adores MC and is just so insanely happy to be with her from the very beginning. And as their relationship grows he truly commits to her and vows his loyalty—as well as his purest form of love—to her. Like a true knight, Zen loves his princess thru and thru from beginning to end and will devote himself to her continually.(this theme of loyalty towards the MC can also be seen throughout other routes too! UGHHHH MY BOY 😭)

- Jumin passionately loves the MC the moment he realizes what his emotions mean, and we’re shown this throughout his Route and in his Valentine’s Day Ending. However, as his feelings mature and he calms from the initial frenzy of emotions, he comes to have a far more everlasting sort of love. He is grateful for her bc she stayed with him during his lowest points, and so he makes the decision to consistently and meticulously love her always.

- Yoosung, when he starts his relationship with the MC, is very innocent and pure in a lot of ways; however, he is the farthest thing from tranquil. He’s immature and is experiencing a lot of grief when he first meets MC, but has no idea how to work through that grief or how to mature out of his immaturity. It isn’t until he feels encouraged and supported by MC and all of the RFA does he start to make the decision to grow as a person, so that he can hopefully support MC in return. And eventually, as he grows with MC and his feelings for her mature, he begins to move on, or forget, his painful memories.

- Seven, when he first meets MC, thinks she’s too pure for his world that’s soaked in darkness. He tries to rid himself of his growing feelings of love towards MC bc he refuses to let her be tainted by his darkness. However, before long, he is entirely devoted to her and his seemingly everlasting fountain of love for her. And after they save Searan, everything is finally complete for Seven. He’s allowed to passionately live, unlike before when he only lived bc he wanted Searan to live. He’s allowed to be happy, and even more so, he’s allowed to be kind bc he no longer has to fight and survive nor does he have to push those he could love away. And in turn, he’s allowed to feel the kindness of others.

As a big lover of flowers and their language, I couldn't help but do this uwu Every flower match each guy's heart color, but also hold some meanings that suits them well. Wanna hear me out?

Clivias mean happiness, passion and kindness.

Serbian Bellflower means everlasting love, gratitude and constancy.

White Roses mean loyalty, pure love and commitment.

Green Daylily can mean romantic love but also "forgetting painful events from the past" 😭🥺💖 sometimes is called "the flower that helps forget sorrow" 🤧🤧😭💞💕

Please check part II!!

[bluejay-writes]

A sort of Fairy Tail - Chapter 13 (Ending)

Rating: T / PG-13, SFW.

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Relationships: 707/MC (Jaena)/Saeran

Chapter 13 Wordcount: 1938

You can also read this on AO3! <- Also a good place to check tags.

The bell above the door jingled, and Jaena looked up to see an impeccably dressed Jumin Han walking into her coffee shop.

“Good afternoon, Jumin!” She said, slipping out from behind the counter to steal a hug from the man.  He was still working on understanding the human concept of emotions and even platonic physical intimacy, but to his credit he was trying.

“Hello, Miss Jaena.” He said, smiling. “Have you seen Assistant, erm, Manager Kang lately? I gave her the afternoon off, but I forgot to give her something before she left the office and I haven’t been able to reach her.”

Jaena chuckled and just pointed to the couch that usually contained a Jaehee when she was in the shop.  It did in fact currently contain a Jaehee, her head pillowed on Vanderwood’s lap. Vanderwood, who was busy reading and petting Jaehee’s hair while she napped. The rest of the shop was practically empty at this time of day, which was the perfect excuse to make her dad take an extended break.

“Ah.” Jumin said, a light blush on his cheeks. “I would not like to interrupt her afternoon. Can I ask you to give her this when she awakens?”  Jumin held out what was very clearly a greeting card.

Jaena reached to take it, but was interrupted by Jaehee’s voice ringing out into the room. “I’m not asleep, Mr. Han.” 

“Oh.” he said quietly, and turned to walk over to Jaehee, handing her the card, with a quiet “Happy Administrative Professionals Day, Miss Kang.”

Jaehee sat up and took the card, her cheeks an embarrassed pink.  “I thought the afternoon off was my gift?”

Jumin shook his head. “That was a whim. This is your gift.”

Jaehee blinked, staring at the contents of the envelope, her eyes misty. “Really?”

“Yes. Zen’s off-broadway tour is coming here for your birthday. I know it’s still most of the year away, however I could not wait to gift these to you at the earliest opportunity.”

“Jumin…you reserved the entire Box.”

“I did. You may choose who can join you. The box can seat six.”

Jaehee looked around the coffee shop and grinned. “Sure. Myself, Vanderwood, You, Jaena, the twins. Six.”

“I’m Seven!” Saeyoung called from the register, and Jaehee facepalmed. 

“I don’t need to invite you.” Jaehee called back.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Saeyoung responded meekly.

Jumin turned back to the counter, a rare smile gracing his face.

“What can I get you, Jumin?” Saeyoung said, a smile matching Jumin’s making its way onto his face. Jumin smiles were contagious.

“Coffee.”

“Flavor shot?” He asked, despite knowing the response.

“Just coffee.”

“Room for cream?” Jaena asked, trying her best not to laugh as she poured Jumin’s usual cup of coffee.

“No.”

“Jumin, are you getting that famous coffee flavor ‘brown’?” Saeran said from the kitchen, causing the entire trio to break out laughing. 

For his part, Jumin just took his coffee and went to sit down, chuckling the entire way.

  “No one can stop Superman Yoosung!” 

The announcer’s voice rang out through the stadium as Yoosung once again wiped the floor with the enemy team.  His team, formerly the underdogs in the US LOLOL Professional Arena (LPA) had been entirely undefeated since his addition to the team. It would be an understatement to simply say he was carrying them.  He was clearly using their practice time to bring the rest of the team up to his level, and their dedication showed.  

Saeyoung and Jaena shared a grin, but couldn’t get Saeran’s eyes off the screens. He loved this game, and one of his best friends being a professional player for it only heightened his enjoyment.

After the game, handily won by Yoosung and his team, Jaena and the twins made their way backstage to greet him.  Yoosung of course wasted no time finding them, and throwing his arms around Saeyoung, then Saeran, and finally Jaena.  Also as usual, he’d forgotten that cameras and interviewers existed.

“You came!!!” He said, overjoyed.

“Of course we came, it’s your big tournament this week, how could we possibly miss it!” Jaena said, and Yoosung just shook his head.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to get away from the shop for that long.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s watching the shop, and he’s been training Liz on the register, so he’s not alone.”

<<It’s so weird to think of Vanderwood as your dad.>> Yoosung muttered in Korean. <<Especially when I thought she was Seven’s maid this whole time.>>

Saeyoung just laughed his maniacal laugh, but then looked up suddenly as someone approached their little cluster.

“Superman Yoosung!” The pre- and post-game host for the arena was there, microphone in hand, pet cameramen behind her. “Would you introduce us to your friends?”

Saeran blinked, a light blush on his cheeks. Lightning was his favorite LPA personality, so seeing her in person was more than a little bit of celebrity shock for the poor goth child.

Yoosung, much better at both talking to people and talking in English than he’d been when the season started, turned to face her, his smile bright for the camera.

“Hey Lightning!  These are my friends from home, though they live in the states now.  Saeyoung and Saeran Choi, and Jaena Starkey.”

Jaena waved when Yoosung introduced her, and watched as who they were connected in the hostess’ mind.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were friends with Saeyoung, Yoosung!” Lightning said, and Jaena felt both of her boys instinctively tense.

“Yeah well.” Yoosung said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Who do you think taught me to play LOLOL?”  he gestured at Saeyoung with both hands, like a Will Smith meme.

“Wow, really?” Lightning turned her analyst gaze on the ginger, and grinned. “Will we get to see an exhibition match with you at some point Saeyoung?”

Saeyoung laughed and shook his head. “Yoosung surpassed his master a long time ago. I’m afraid I’d just disappoint you.”

Saeran snorted, but kept his mouth shut. Saeyoung could still give Yoosung a run for his money. The four of them regularly played ranked matches when Yoosung wasn’t practicing with his team, but they sure weren’t going to tell Lightning and out themselves in front of the entirety of the fanbase.  Yoosung’s stream knowing their voices was more than enough notoriety for the three of them, thanks.

“So, Saeyoung, just to sate my curiosity…” Lightning said, “Is Miss Jaena here the Perfect Scarlet you were looking for back on Noprah?”

“She sure is.” Saeyoung said, planting a kiss on Jaena’s cheek the way he always did when someone asked that question. “I mean look at this hair!!”

Jaena laughed, but at this point she was too used to the situation to even blush at the kiss on the cheek. It was too normal in her life.

“What are you three doing these days?” Lightning asked, and as usual, Saeran answered.

“Running Paradigm Coffee in Minneapolis.” he said, his usual dry tone especially jarring in comparison to everyone else’s energy, despite the color in his cheeks. “Come visit sometime.” The last bit was said directly into the camera, with an accompanying wink.

“Maybe after the finals, though.” Jaena said, elbowing him. “Since we’re all here right now, not there. Brat.”

Lightning laughed and closed out her segment, and wandered off somewhere else.  Jaena turned to Yoosung and apologized.

“Sorry, ‘Sung. I hate how anywhere we go people’s attention are always on us, when you’re so much more deserving.”

Yoosung just shook his head. “No, it’s nice to have a break from attention, to be honest.  Hey, I need to get a drink, do you want to meet my team?”

“Yes.” The twins chorused, their eagerness palpable.

Jaena rolled her shoulders, the weight from her Black Wing armor almost foreign on her shoulders after having missed two years of the con circuit she was used to.

“Doing okay, Scarlet?” Jellal asked from her right, and she laughed. 

“Yeah, just getting back used to my armor, it’s been awhile.”

“If your wings are anything like these staves….” Mystogan said, grumbling about the weight of the costume he chose.

“Oh!” Jellal said suddenly. “Is that Zen?”

Jaena turned over her shoulder where he was pointing.  Yep, that sure was Zen cosplaying as Daemon Targaryen. Her attention, however, was stolen completely by the Rhaenyra by his side.

“Lucy!” She said, turning the rest of the way, and half-sprinting towards her friend, with her blue-haired shadows following her.

“If this isn’t just a cosmic coincidence.” she said, winking. “Good to see you, Jaena.”

“I never thought I’d see you here, and as a Targaryen, no less.” Jaena said, laughing.

“Well, Zen really didn’t want to wear a wig, but I talked him into contacts, so…”

“Yeah, well, if there was anyone who could tame a dragon, it’d be the two of you.” Saeyoung said, grinning.

“Tell me about it.” Zen said, chuckling, and Lucy giggled.

“Jaena, we have some news for you.” 

“News?” The Mystogan to Jaena’s left said in Saeran’s voice, ducking under her wing so he could actually participate in the conversation.

Zen looked between the two blue-haired characters on either side of Jaena and blinked. “Wait. I thought this one was Saeyoung but…”

“You seriously can’t tell us apart just by voice?” Saeyoung said, his energy obvious at least to Jaena any time he spoke.

“Yeah, seriously Zen, that’s embarrassing.” Saeran’s calm almost-deadpan tone followed, and Jaena just grinned.

“Whatever, news!” Lucy said, and held out her hand, a sparkling ring on her finger. “We’re engaged!!!”

Jaena squealed, Saeran quietly applauded, and Saeyoung shared a high five with Zen.

“Congratulations!! That’s so exciting! Any idea when the wedding’s going to be?”

“Next summer, after my current show is over.” Zen said. “Actually, we’re going to be spending the summer in your neck of the woods - Jumin’s offered C&R’s Rooftop for our ceremony.”

“Wow.” Jaena said. “That’s going to be gorgeous.”

“Yeah.” Lucy grinned. “You wouldn’t be willing to be my maid of honor, would you, Jae?”

Jaena paused and blinked. “Me?! Really? Of course I will!!”

Zen chuckled. “See babe, I told you she’d agree.”

The wedding was a lavish affair, with a bigger budget than anyone would have expected - Lucy came from a family with Money, and they were happy to see their doctor daughter marrying someone with social status - even if it was entertainment industry status.

For her part, Jaena enjoyed wandering around the event in her emerald green dress. She’d walked down the aisle with none other than Jumin Han, Zen’s best man of course. Those two had become inseparable friends once they’d gotten over their odd rivalry in the messenger.

Dancing with first Saeyoung, then Saeran, made her heart sing. She’d have to come up with more excuses to get those two dressed up in suits, they looked amazing that way.

When the time for the bouquet toss rolled around, Jaehee grabbed Jaena’s hand and all but dragged her out into the crowd of women.  Of course, Tall Jaena in heels had no problem at all snagging the flying bundle of flowers out of the air, as if on instinct.  She shared a giggle with Jaehee, who had a look on her face like that was exactly what she expected was going to happen. In her joy and silliness, Jaena completely missed the looks on the faces of the rest of their party.

Zen looked smug. 

Yoosung was dumbfounded.

Jumin was smirking knowingly.  

Lucy looked like she’d planned this all along.

Vanderwood looked resigned to this eventuality.

Saeyoung and Saeran were looking at each other in a blind panic.

Author's Note: And that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed my little story. Likes are encouraged, Reblogs would be a dream. Thanks fam.

[90secondnewbery]

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

1953 Newbery Honor Book

Adapted by Emina M., Tarik C., Laila M., and Ajnur C. of Community Middle School (2022)

From Plainsboro, NJ

Judges' Remarks: What a hilarious concept, executed with style and skill! In both the book and this movie, Charlotte the spider helps Wilbur the pig, who's worried he's being fattened up to be killed and eaten. In this movie, though, Charlotte has a different plan for helping Wilbur: instead of weaving messages in her web, Charlotte teaches Wilbur karate so he can fight his way out of his bad situation! I loved the training montage (set to "The Eye of the Tiger," natch) in which Charlotte toughens Wilbur up, teaches him spiritual techniques, and shows him how to fight. The costumes were simple but effective (Wilbur's pink sweater and pig nose, the goose's paper mask, and Charlotte's costume which employs some good visual storytelling when she is slowly losing her "legs"—setting us up for when she loses the last one, and dies). The script was tight and often funny ("Thank you, Charlotte!" "It's sensei"), and the cinematography and editing were smooth and professional. The performances were fantastic: Wilbur's nervous hysteria, Charlotte's calm Zen-like demeanor, and the goose's mocking bullying. There were so many great moments, like at the emotional climax, in the fight after Charlotte dies, the way it goes slow-motion with a tinted visual effect and Wilbur hears Charlotte's advice in his head: "Look your opponent in the eye, and hit them." This movie works on so many levels! It's a triumph!

[phoenix-manga]

Bede’s Team

Fairy-Type Team

Bede is known for being the strongest male trainer in the Fairy-type Gym that has been announced as Opal’s successor. His Fairy-type team is nothing to scoff at either. Anyone who tries to look down on him ends up eating their words. Don’t mess with the pink!

Hatterene ♀

“What is it with these guys trying to flirt with my Pokémon?! Hatterene doesn’t need this kind of perverse attention!”

Moves: Psychic, Dazzling Gleam, Dark Pulse, Calm Mind

Ability: Anticipation

⊖ Despite the lovely appearance, Hatterene is ruthless and she makes it known if she is displeased by using the limb on her hat to strangle them.

⊖ She also hates noise! Anyone even sneezing in her prescence is getting their necks bent!

⊖ She's fine with Bede though. Bede can do anything around Hatterene and he'll be fine.

⊖ Bede has no idea why students left and right are trying to flirt with Hatterene when she clearly looks nothing like a person.

Gardevoir ♀

“Ugh! Honestly, why do people assume that Gardevoir is an actual person?! I’m not going to stand idly by if I hear another vulgar comment about her!”

Moves: Shadow Ball, Energy Ball, Psychic, Dazzling Gleam

Ability: Synchronize

⊖ Gardevoir is more polite than Hatterene, the two are a contrast to each other's personalities. Gardevoir is less likely to strangle someone, she'll just teleport away.

⊖ Gardevoir has a motherly nature, often calming down when the situation gets a little tense. Using her future sight, she always makes sure her trainer doesn't get tangled in trouble.

⊖ Poor Bede though, even Gardevoir is getting hit on by NRC students much to his dismay.

Mawile ♀

“Do be careful when Mawile turns her back to you. You might end up between her razor sharp teeth, and she won’t let go that easily.”

Moves: Iron Head, Fake Tears, Crunch, Play Rough

Ability: Intimidate

⊖ Mawile is quite but deadly like a ninja of sorts. She follows Bede's orders immediately and with deadly precision. Bede would use Mawile to keep trouble away simply by standing there.

⊖ Who would dare try to test the patience of that gaping maw, after all? No one unless they want to lose their torso!

⊖ Mawile does have some tender moments, she actually likes sweets but she always eats it when no one is looking because she thinks someone might come snatch it away.

Galarian Rapidash ♂

“Hmph, of course they’d be impressed with Rapidash. His elegance and strength must’ve captured their attention.”

Moves: Zen Headbutt, Smart Strike, Dazzling Gleam, Drill Run

Ability: Pastel Veil

⊖ He's basically got Bede's prideful personality, he always keeps his coat and mane all clean and pristine. Bede doesn't ride on Rapidash that often because the Pokemon will make a fuss if he stays on his back for too long.

⊖ If one must apporach Rapidash then they need his permission first, if not then they get a nasty kick. He regards himself as royalty, from what Bede told the others.

Sylveon ♀

“Are you done making fun of my Sylveon? She’s still itching for a proper fight from you simpletons.”

Moves: Moonblast, Shadow Ball, Light Screen, Psyshock

Ability: Cute Charm

⊖ Very sweet and charming, you might end up falling for those doe-like eyes easily. But don't try to think Sylveon is tame, she's cunning!

⊖ If she is nearby then she's simply spying on people to know their weaknesses. It makes so much sense if she starts to wrap her ribbon around your wrist to know your emotions.

⊖ She only does this to people that Bede is displeased with, those who are neutral won't be involved.

⊖ She'll read your emotions to find what makes you tick! Bede is unaware of this side of Sylveon as she is such an angel around him.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

My Beloved Cherry Blossom ~ Yamaoka Kazan/The Oni x Fem!Reader

Note: Since Kazan lived in the feudal era, and died there, his S/O would be someone from that time, so, just like him, she'd be dead, so the shock of seeing the dead back alive would be great for him...Who also died in a painful death. Haha.

"My son, you reached the age when you have to marry and ensure the continuation of our bloodline. Since you haven't bothered looking for a potential wife, I took the liberty of finding you a pretty girl. She is the daughter of a respectable samurai who guards the Emperor, and her father ensured she is a very capable, smart and understanding woman, so she will be able to deal with your...Temper." Kazan's father sat down with his son, who scowled, offended at what he heard, but despite all this, he was well aware of this bother he had to deal with. "...Yes, father." he muttered, sharply looking down at the floor. "We will go to meet her tomorrow, at her home, an in less than a month, we will have the marriage. I know you are not the type to care about families and women...But you have to do anything in your power to ensure the honor and survivability of the Yamaoka bloodline." yes, of course, his father just had to sigh in disappointment. "I understand, father. I will make you proud." Kazan answered before leaving the room to train, as a way to let out the pent up rage.

Who needed women and a family? He certainly didn't care about that. They were a nuisance. A weakness, at best. Father is too much of a sentimental, even for a samurai. What a ridiculous charade...

And his displeasure continued even the next day, as he dressed in a rich, official kimono, to show off his heritage, but at the same time, his long hair was put in a disheveled ponytail, rebel strands flying with the wind, and the neck of his outfit was lowered down enough to show his outlaw-ish predisposition. Needless to say, his father was angered by this side of his son - Surely, he taught him better! - But it was far too late, and they had already arrived at the L/N estate.

Just outside the big, beautiful house, a petite young woman, her long dark hair shining like ebony, her skin as white as snow...She looked so frail that she'd almost resemble a snowdrop. And she was delicately playing a soft, yet sorrowful tune on her bamboo flute, while her father put a pink flower in her hair, looking at her with nostalgia and love.

Kazan look at his own father, before glancing back at the girl whom he found out was named Y/N, and realised how big of a difference it was to was a son, compared to having a daughter. The difference in the two men's behaviour was huge.

He once heard a samurai, whose wife had just given birth to his daughter, "Treat your daughter the way you wish her husband would treat her." He didn't care at first, obviously - Kazan's mind was never on marriage - But now he was beginning to understand the meaning of his words, for they were wiser than anticipated.

Her father was tender, and treating her as if she was the soft petal of a cherry blossom, and his voice was low, loving and respectful, not wanting to startle her in any way...He was talking as if he was trying to keep the zen equilibirum intact at all costs.

The love between a man and a woman is supposed to be like Yin and Yang...

But how could Kazan possibly behave in such a way, when all he knew was to be a rageful brute who would destroy everything in his path in the loudest, brashest way possible?

"Ah, Yamaoka-san, you have arrived. And you brought your son with you. It's an honour finally meeting you, Kazan. Here, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, dear, why don't you go prepare some osmanthus tea for our tired travelers, while I guide them to our table in the cherry blossom garden?" her father pat her hair, and in return, she bowed slightly at the guests, offering them a gentle smile, that would put all of Spring's flowers to shame. "Yes, right away, father. I hope you will like our flower garden. Papa had them all planted in honour of my mama. They are all her favourite kinds and colours." ah, yes, of course. Women have a special kind of bond with their mother - That was something he would never be able to fully comprehend, Kazan realised very easily, by the way the girl was close to shining as soon as she talked about her birth-giver.

The son of the Yamaoka family obvious saw women before - He wasn't an idiot - And he had enough experience with them...But there was something different about this one. She was...So...Innocent? She seemed to naive and not from this world, almost as if she had no idea of the terrors of the world outside of her residence.

It was such an endearing thing, almost exciting - But the young samurai wasn't sure if he wanted to protect this innocent ignorance at all costs...Or if he wanted to shatter it into pieces and taint it completely.

But that question was easily answered as soon as she came back and started pouring tea for him. And then later in their marriage, the way she behaved so gently with him, it was so weird, so foreign to him, and yet, it made him feel something else...Something completely different from the bubbling, infernal rage he could feel in his chest all the time.

It was soothing, mending his soul completely, for some reason that he couldn't comprehend at all.

But why should he, anyway? He was content just having her by his side whenever he was home. Only she was able of taming the storm that clouded his mind and soul.

His little cherry blossom.

And only the Gods knew how many men he had to kill to make sure she isn't harmed, or prayed upon. He never realised how many desperate, disgusting, dishonorable and lecherous men could be, but Kazan wasn't going to let her see anything other than the honour of a samurai - Like him, his father, and her own father.

However, not even her gentle soul would be able to contain his rage whenever he'd hear that dreadful, shameful nickname they would call him.

"Oni-Yamaoka"

Why was he an Ogre, all of a sudden? Because he brought justice upon the fakes who made a mockery of the code of the samurai? Because he wanted to protect the sole person he cared for in this life? Even his father was against the aggressiveness he displayed on the battlefield, and in the actions he took...It almost felt like even his father was agreeing with that stupid nickname!

"Here, Kazan, lay your head on my lap and forget about your worries, at least for tonight." Y/N pat her lap with a sweet smile, her eyes gleaming with love and benevolence as she reached out her other hand to reach out to him, and as if possessed, he followed her lead absent-mindedly. "Y/N." Kazan called out after a few minutes of having his eyes closed, feeling himself relaxing as her fingers were soothingly playing with his long, untameable hair. "Why do you always tell me to lay on your lap, whenever I'm angry?" "Do you not like it, darling?" she asked, but the passive smile on her face showed that she knew that wasn't the case at all. "I do. I was just wondering why." he grumbled in a lower voice, which made her muse, her smile shaping into an almost kitten-like one. "My mama always did that to papa. She said that the best place for a man to relax is on a girl's thighs. I don't think she was wrong." oh, what a sweet giggle she had. It sounded crystalline, like a river of diamonds going through the forest. "...I won't comment on that." the man closed his eyes, not wanting to give in to the flushed sensation he felt hearing something so embarrassing. "You do not have to be embarrassed, my dear. We are man and wife. There is nothing we could do or say that would be worth or deemed as embarrassing." she reassured him with an amused tone, as her small hand touched his bare chest, just where his heart would be. "Why are you not afraid of me, like the rest of them? You are nothing more than a frail woman. You have the eyes of a baby fawn, and the frail bones of a rabbit. You are nothing more than a flower in comparison to me. I could snap your neck like a twig if I'm not careful touching you. And yet, you allow yourself to be vulnerable around me, and while at it, you encourage me to be the same as well. I will never understand the complexity of women and their thinking." the samurai sighed, grumbling in faux annoyance. "My, my, was that what was on your mind? How lovely of you to be concerned about me. Well, I will tell you a little secret, since you are so curious, but make sure it stays between the two of us, alright?" she giggle softly, almost like a little child kissing her crush on the cheek, and it made Kazan's heart flutter. Was she truly trusting him with a secret? What did he do so worthy to her that she deemed him the perfect candidate as a secret-keeper? "I would not dare tell your secret even to the Emperor himself, or my father." came the samurai's vow with such seriousness, that made the girl grin. "You see, women aren't physically strong like men are, but what we lack physical prowess, we make up for our incredible emotional strength. So, I believe that, at least in these times of war and bloodshed, a man's role is to protect the physical body of the woman, while the woman's role is to protect her man's heart and soul. Without balance, there is no future and no happiness, wouldn't you agree? If we don't make the best out of this life, and look at the beauty of the world...Then have we even lived at all?" there was wisdom in the words that Kazan deemed rather naive, and yet...What she said wasn't wrong, per se. In fact, it was true. He was well aware that, with his body, the best he could do was protect her, but he would never be able to sooth her broken heart the same way she does to him...And likewise, he remembered the mirthful laugh he let out when she tried lifting his weapon from the ground.

However, he wasn't going to say anything out loud, and decided that, instead of voicing his opinions, he'd rather grunt and close his eyes, letting sleep take over him, his head still resting on her soft thighs.

Maybe having a wife wasn't as bad as he once thought...

But times change fast - Years pass, lives pass, the river passes...And yet, only one thing doesn't pass, and that is Yamaoka Kazan's rage, which only grew stronger and stronger with each day, and each time he heard himself getting called "The Oni".

He was desperately angry, and not even Y/N's loving touch or sweet voice could save his soul, so much, that in fear of accidentally hurting her, he decided to stay out and train or go on and kill more and more samurai impersonators, hoping to somehow release all his anger and be able to return home.

He knew Y/N would be worrying for him, but she needn't do such a thing, it would only hurt her heart, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was strong, and feared - Who would dare go against Yamaoka Kazan, anyway?

The days away from home multiplied, and he was away for a stupefying month...Y/N must be crying, worried sick. He wasn't afraid of anything physical in this world, yet the thought of her doe eyes shedding tears...It was something he was terrified of, especially if he was the cause of that.

But on the way home, he found a pink lotus flower, and he thought she would love it, so he gently took it with him back home. It was raining, and an ominous feeling crept into Kazan's heart, and he realised there seemed to be an almost dark aura around his home.

It wasn't yet sleeping time, so why were there no candles lit? There was no sign of any living being there? Where were the servants? Where was his beloved Y/N, waiting for him on the porch, playing the flute the way she always did?

Something was not right...

The man rushed inside the house, and as soon as he slammed open the sliding door, he was met with nothing that he expected - Pools of blood on the floor, while the otherwise neutral-coloured walls were splattered with the red liquid, and the corpses of the servants were brutally mangled and thrown around as if they were defect ragdolls.

It wasn't the horrifying sight that scared him, but the fate of his wife - So he made haste and ran to their shared room...And there she was.

In more pieces than she should be in.

Her hair was a mess, her kimono was a mess, her make up was a mess...And she had been tortured, from the way her wounds, slashes and cuts looked on her body.

Who...? Who could do something so...So...Disgusting...To a defenseless woman who had no means of fighting back? Where was the honour in defeating a weak civilian, such as her? What was the purpose of this massacre?! Was it to anger him? To bring out the Ogre from him? Is it what they all wanted? To see The Oni they feared and hated so much? They got revenge on a small woman, just to get to him?!

"Ah, Kazan, finally. Took you quite a while to return home...I thought her body would rot away and get swarmed with maggots by the time you'd return. And what's that in your hand? A flower? Did you want to apologise to her with a stupid flower? You have caused my daughter immense distress, and yet, she loved you to the very end. You should have seen her cry out your name, praying for you to come back home and save her...But, alas, the Ogre is never home! He is so busy killing, that he didn't realise he killed his own wife! Hahaha! Yamaoka Kazan, you are a pathetic excuse of a man, you could never come close to her strength! I tried everything to get her to tell me your secrets...But she didn't say a word. She ignored me. In the end, she came to hate me, her own father, who cared and loved her since she was born...And she loved you, some spineless monster who knows nothing but carnage!" what...? What was this man saying...? Is he truly implying that he tortured his own daughter to death, for...Information...On him...? "What...Did you do...?!" red was the only thing he could see, as he couldn't help but stare deep into her dead eyes that still held the fright and agony they last felt when she was still alive. "I KILLED HER! I KILLED MY OWN DAUGHTER, Y/N! This whole marriage was meant to bring down your stupid family of brutes and uncontrollable monsters! It was meant to kill YOU! But she was stupid! Nothing more than a sentimental woman! She LOVED you, a monster who knows only bloodlust! It's YOUR fault that she is dead, Kazan! YOU killed her! YOU!" her father yelled at him only meaningless gibberish.

In fact, Kazan couldn't comprehend words anymore. Instead, he could only hear whispers - They were soft and feminine...They sounded like Y/N...Could her ghost be talking to him? Was she trying to calm him down one more time, from beyond this world?

Yes, you were a saint, truly...It was a pity you had to meet him...If you hadn't, you'd have still been alive...And your beautiful flute song would still resound around the forest, along with the thrill of the birds.

"I am sorry, Y/N" was the last thing Kazan thought...

As The Oni took over completely, and went on the greatest blood shed known to mankind at that time...

------

What am I doing here...? What is this strange place...? It looks nothing like the beautiful flower garden Kazan made for me...So where am I?

The girl looked around like a confused meerkat, asking herself a limitless amount of questions, only to look down and realise her beautiful pink kimono was dirty with mud, and she gasped in shock. How could she let that happen! She can't let Kazan see her like this, what would he think?!

Ah, yes, that's it, just look around for Kazan, he'll surely know what's going on!

However, instead of finding her strong samurai, she saw three other people, all looking of a different race than her, and wearing such strange clothes...

Was she behind fashion, and she had no idea? She was sure she was buying only the best kimonos there were...!

"What are you just standing around for?! Run! We have to repair the generators!" a girl with unnatural coloured hair yelled at her before she sprinted the hell out of there.

Generators...? What are...Generators...? And why is this place so creepy...?

Hold up...This paper wall maze...This was from her home! Yes, that means she was close to home!

She ran through the little maze with a smile on her face, only to see one of the man working very focused on some kind of contraption, and he urged her to help him out. She sheepishly crouched opposite of him, frightened, but she carefully tried to do something, but instead, a loud noise and sparks came out, and she shrieked in fear, shielding her face as she fell on her back.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!" she cried out, her eyes watering. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you want to die that badly?! Get a grip and do something useful for once!" the man screamed in her face, before running the hell out of there.

Why were they all so rude to her...?

She was so used to her family, her servants, friends and Kazan to be nice with her, that she didn't realise people like these existed too.

A bit shaky, Y/N got up, trying to pat away the dust from her dirty kimono, and continued to look the estate...Only to find her home...But why was it in such a deplorable state...? Surely, she wouldn't allow her beloved home to end up like this...!

As Y/N made her way inside the home, she noticed the scary amount of blood splattered all over the place...Almost as if there was more red than colours of walls an the floor. It was so frightening...And confusing.

Who died here? And how in the world...I mean...She was sleeping, and then...

Oh.

Oh.

No.

She wasn't sleeping...

As soon as she stepped into her room, she didn't notice the blood on the floor, but the discarded pink lotus that laid on her pillow. As she crouched to take the flower in her room, she got a sudden flashback of her memories from the night she died...

She waited for Kazan, and the elderly servant woman was comforting her, pouring her tea and patting her back, as she played the same flute song she did when she first met beloved.

But then, her father paid her a visit...And a true hell was unleashed...

Her own father did something so atrocious...Such a betrayal was nothing she could ever phantom in her own life, and yet, her life was ended not by a stranger, but by her own kin.

As silent tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her delicate cheeks, a loud roar shook the whole estate, and the brusque blurting in the room of a huge man was enough to fright her to fall on the ground with a startled yelp.

And yet...

The raised weapon, the samurai garments he wore...And that Oni mask... There was only one person in the world who could look like this.

"Kazan...?" her voice came out weaker than a whisper, and she wasn't sure if he even heard her calling out his name. For a split second, she was terrified of the thought of that horribly enormous weapon striking her down where she stood, in her own bed, for the second time...And yet...

The monstrously big man dropped his weapon and slowly crouched in front of her, picking up the flower and putting it in her hair, pinning it away from her gorgeous face.

"Y/N...It really is you..." his voice came out as a dark grunt, in fact, in very much sounded like a demon, and yet, his moves and actions seemed more delicate than even this lotus flower.

The girl started laughing from happiness, allowing more tears to escape her eyes, being reunited with the love of her life, and she threw herself in her arms, feeling safer than she ever did in her life.

"I missed you so much, my dear Kazan...I missed you so...I can't believe such things happened to us...And yet, here we are, together again, even in death, even in hell." as she said that, she slowly took away his mask, and revealing his rugged face, obviously one of a man seasoned in war and tortured to death - She put her hand on his cheek, just as he used to do with her, and caressing him, she leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead.

It was meant not only as a lucky charm, but as a 'home sweet home' as well, for there was no home without Kazan's arms wrapped around her protectively...

And there was no home without the petite body of his beloved S/O in his strong embrace, watching her fall asleep.

"I promise you never leave you again, my beloved cherry blossom." he said so, and yet, having been in this Hell longer than her, he knew of the atrocities she, as a Survivor, would have to endure, and the hell the Entity would put on the both of them.

And yet...

If anyone even dares to look at her the wrong way, The Oni would make sure that, no matter how immortal the Killer might be, he would bring an end to them.

He already lost her once, and he's not going to let a tragedy befall her ever again.