#brighter by the dozen collection

[thekimdelacreme]

OPI "Goin' Ape-ricot!" - a bright orange glass fleck polish with golden shimmer.  This is 2 coats. From the Summer 2006 Brighter By The Dozen collection.

#nail polish #opi #brighter by the dozen collection

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Ten

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Hello!

I'm getting to the end of my twelve Pedro boys, only two more to visit the bakery after this one! I'll be sad to see them go, it's been a lot of fun writing all these meet cutes in the same setting and exploring their different voices and personalities. But it's not over yet, so please enjoy this sweetheart.

Your little bakery has two large windows out onto the street, and it gives you a good view of people walking by, especially when the bakery is quiet. This Friday morning you’re on your own in the shop, working on decorating a cake for a naming ceremony. Having an elaborate cake out on the counter, decorating it as people walk past, is good marketing you’ve realized. And it makes for excellent people watching as you straighten up from your hunched up position and stretch your back. 

This morning, from the corner of your eye, as you put your arms over your head and crack your neck, you spot a man you’re sure you’ve already seen hanging around outside the window for some a while. He’s walked past a few times and now he’s nervously hovering around the front door, glancing in through the window. As you spot him, his face breaks into a bright smile, lighting up his eyes and he raises his hand in a wave. Pointing at the door he mouths ‘Can I come in?’, his face even brighter when you nod. It’s impossible to not smile back at him, you feel your mood lifting just as by him coming in through the front door. 

“Hello, you are already open?” he asks as the door closes behind him and he comes up to the counter, still looking a bit uncertain but giving you a wide smile. There’s an accent to his voice, Italian you think, or maybe Spanish, and his caramel colored curls are perfectly swept back from his friendly face, perfectly matching the expensive looking red shirt he’s wearing. 

“Officially not until eight, but since I’m here, you’re more than welcome in,” you smile at him and wipe your hands free from the icing you’re working with. He gives you a worried frown, half turning back to the door as if to leave. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, if you’re not open yet I won’t disturb you,” he says, “I don’t want to interrupt your beautiful work.” 

“No, no, please come in, you’re not interrupting,” you say, waving him forward again, “I need a break, my hands get tired doing this for too long.”  

You smile at him as he comes up to the counter and looks at the cake you’re working on, “What can I help you with?” 

“I was intrigued by the decorations on the cake, they are real flowers?” he asks, pointing at the delicate daisy you’ve just attached to a section of the cake. 

“No, they’re made with sugar,” you explain, “I make them separately and then attach them to the cake.” 

“They look real to me,” he says with wide eyes as he leans forward and looks closer at the daisy chain trailing across the cake, “you’re a true artist, they are incredible.” 

“Thank you,” you smile. You know your sugar flowers always impress people but you never tire of hearing it. The fiddly nature of the work makes them difficult to get just right and you’re proud of your ability to make them almost lifelike. 

“I’m in town for a few days,” the man says, straightening up again and glancing over his shoulder out at the street, “A very boring conference for work, I wanted to take a walk before it starts up again, and I saw your…” he wrinkles his forehead, waving at the bread in the baskets behind you, “I forgot the word in English,” he says apologetically, “your breaderia? No, that doesn’t sound right…” 

“My bakery,” you smile, “What language do you speak?” 

“Spanish,” he replies, his bright brown eyes lighting up as he turns back to you, “It’s panadería in Spanish.” 

“Oh, a breaderia!” you giggle, “That makes sense!” 

“¿Hablas español?” he asks and you shake your head and hold up your thumb and finger half an inch apart. 

“Un poco,” you reply, “I learnt some in high school but I forgot most of it, I only know panadería because well…” you laugh and wave your hand around the bakery and he laughs with you. 

“I’m Javi, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand to you, but you hold your hand up and show him the sticky and colorful sugar stuck to them.

“Nice to meet you, Javi, but if I shake your hand I’ll make a mess. I need to go and clean up,” you say with a smile and nod towards the kitchen, “I’ll be right back, and then I can take your order, if you want to order something, that is.”

“Yes, please, I would love to try everything but I’ll try to choose only one thing,” he chuckles, scanning the display cases as you go back to the sink in the kitchen. When you come back out after a few minutes, Javi gives you an unhappy look. 

“I can’t decide, everything looks too good, you are too talented for my stomach to make it’s mind up.” 

You laugh and walk around the counter and stand next to him, “What’s your favorite flavor? Maybe I can help you narrow it down?”

“I love everything….” he says, “I was always very bad at deciding, when I was a child my cousin would get angry with me for taking too long and then he’d decide for me.” 

“Did he pick what you liked at least?” 

“No, he always picked what he liked so it was a very bad deal for me,” he looks up at you with a grin, “I’m sorry, I must sound like the most pathetic person, I assure you I can make my mind up,” he laughs. 

“You don’t sound pathetic, Javi,” you smile, “but your cousin sounds impatient.”  

“That he is…you have no idea,” he replies and turns back to the rows of baked goods with a shudder. 

“The lemon meringue pie looks very nice, and the carrot cake too,” he mumbles, leaning forward and scanning the cakes again.” 

“What’s your favorite?” you ask, “Maybe I have it, or something like it.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums, turning back to you and frowning as he considers your question, “I think…my absolute favorite is a small cake I’ve had in Paris many times, with vanilla and rum,” he says, “they’re called canelés, do you know them?” 

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never had them,” you say, shaking your head and Javi’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline in surprise. 

“You’ve never had them? They are very delicious, caramel and almost crunchy on the outside, creamy vanilla and rum on the inside…” he trails off, the tip of his pink tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip as he salivates and you giggle. 

“You look like you got caught in a daydream, they’re really that good?” 

He nods and grins at you, “They really are, you should make them sometime, I know I would come and buy them all.” 

“Do you know how to make them?” you ask and he shrugs, giving you a small smile. 

“I tried a few times, following a YouTube video at home,” he says, “but I didn’t have the right thing to bake them in…and then I got distracted and…they burnt…” he gives you an embarrassed little grin, “I’m not a very good baker.” 

“Now you've got me curious, Javi,” you laugh, “I need to find a recipe, come on,” you motion him to follow you back into the kitchen where you open your bookshelf, dropping down the desk to show off the rows of baking books neatly lined up. Javi trails in behind you, his smile widening as he sees your book collection. 

“So many books on baking!” he exclaims, coming over to run his fingers along the spines as you look for a specific book. 

“I have more at home,” you say, “these are mainly for more technical recipes that I need to reference. At home I have the ones I use for inspiration when I’m looking for something new to make.” 

You grab a book on French baking and pull it off the shelf, “This one I think has a recipe on canelés.” 

Javi comes to stand next to you as you place it on the desk and open the book’s index. You can smell his cologne as the warmth of his body radiates in the small space between you. He smells…expensive, a rich sandalwood scent laced with citrus and something sweet underneath that tugs at your memory as you inhale. Glancing up at him you’re met by warm brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a small smile. 

“You…you smell good, Javi,” you stutter out, “I just noticed.” 

His smile curves up and he seems to shrug, shaking off the compliment, “Thank you, you smell good too, I was just thinking, you don’t smell like your bakery at all,” he says, a pink tinge creeping up his neck, “you smell like…” he purses his lips as he thinks for a second, “la toronja?” 

“I don’t know what that is, but I hope it’s a nice smell,” you giggle and he laughs with a nod. 

“I’m sorry, such a bad compliment when I can’t even tell you what it is,” he chuckles. 

“Describe it to me then,” you say, “I’d like to know what it is.”

“Like an orange, but bigger, and not as sweet,” Javi says, holding up his hands to show you the size. 

“Oh, a grapefruit?” you ask and he slaps his forehead. 

“Ah! Yes, a grapefruit, I knew that,” he laughs, “you smell like grapefruit, it’s very nice, you smell very nice.” 

“Thank you, it’s my body wash, it’s grapefruit scented” you smile back at him and then look down at the book again, flipping back to the index, “here, canelés,” you say and turn to the right page and Javi looks down too. 

“Oh, they take three days to make,” you say, skimming the recipe, “the batter has to rest three days in the fridge before it can bake.” You glance back at the clock on the wall, in about half an hour your morning rush will begin, you won’t have time to make the batter now. 

“I’ll have to make the batter this evening and then I can bake them on Monday, but I guess you won’t be in town then?” 

Javi shrugs next to you, “I was thinking of staying and exploring the city a little while, I can stay until Monday.”

“Ok, then I’ll have them for you on Monday afternoon. If you want, we can try them together, fresh from the oven. I'd love to get your opinion on them since I’ve never had them before,” you smile and close the book and turn to go back into the shop. 

Javi clears his throat nervously and stops you. 

“I wonder,” he says, his hands twitching at his sides and he clamps them together in front of himself, “I wonder, if maybe, I can help you in the shop today?” 

“You want to work in the shop?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up into your hairline as Javi gives you a small smile. 

“Yes, it’s nice here, and…you seem very nice,” he says, the pink tinge creeping higher up his neck, “and I would like to learn more about baking and I thought, maybe I could…” he trails off, shaking his head, “never mind, it’s a stupid idea, why would you want me in your way all day. I’ll leave now,” he huffs, and walks past you, into the shop before you find your voice.

“Wait, Javi,” you call after him, hurrying into the shop, “Working in a bakery isn’t very exciting but if you really want to stay, of course you can. I won’t mind, I mean…I think you’re nice too.” 

The smile Javi gives you is blinding, his face lights up as he comes back over to you. 

“You’re sure? You won’t mind?” 

“No, not at all, grab an apron in the back while I open the shop, the morning crowd is about to turn up,” you smile at him and he nods, giving you another excited smile before he grabs one of the clean aprons. 

You flip the sign, put out your street sign and come back to Javi proudly standing behind the counter, but struggling a bit with the knot on his apron. 

“Here, let me help you,” you say, “do the strap like this…” you reach up around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, “if you turn it like this it won’t slip.” With your hands around his neck, adjusting the strap, his soft curls brushing over your wrists as his eyes are on yours, you suddenly notice how still he’s standing, and how close he is. The warmth of him filters through your own apron and shirt, and you can see the rise and fall of his chest where his deep red shirt sits open just in front of your eyes. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles softly and you look up at his eyes. He draws a small breath, holding it for a few seconds as your fingers smooth out the strap around his neck, before slowly exhaling and you watch his lips part. 

When the bell above the door jingles, you jump apart as if fire suddenly erupted, and you quickly turn to the first customer. You immediately recognise the tight gray curls of Mrs Levinson, closing the door behind her and coming over to the counter. 

“Good morning, Mrs Levinson, you’re early today,” you give her your bright customer service smile and beside you Javi mumbles a low ‘Good morning’. 

“Good morning, dear,” the elderly lady says, “and who is this handsome man?” she winks at Javi who stutters over his reply. 

“I’m J-Javi, I’m helping in the bakery today,” he gives Mrs Levinson a nervous smile, “What may I serve you today?” 

“Oh, what a sweet boy,” Mrs Levinson smiles, “and you make such a beautiful couple.” 

You raise your eyebrows and bite back a snort, next to you Javi seems to be choking on something. 

“What can I get you, Mrs Levinson, the usual?” you ask, giving Javi a gentle pat on the back as he finds his composure again. 

“I’d like a dark rye please dear, and six poppy seed bagels,” she replies, “and something sweet for my afternoon coffee too, I think.” She scans the selection and taps the glass, “Give me four of these Millionaire’s shortbread things. Mrs Morales is coming over and she wants to try something new.” 

“Of course,” you say, grabbing a pair of tongs and handing them to Javi, “Put four of them in one of the small boxes, please, and I’ll get Mrs Levinson’s bread.” 

Javi nods and does as instructed, putting the box of shortbread on the counter in front of Mrs Levinson with a bright smile. 

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, anything else I may help you with?” 

“No, thank you, my dear, that’s all for now, what do I owe you?” 

You tally up the total on the till and help the old lady count out the money. As you hand her the change she takes a dollar bill and pushes it across the counter to Javi. 

“Such a sweetheart,” she smiles at you, before taking her bag, “Make sure to hang on to him, he’s bound to bring you extra customers.” She gives Javi a wink and makes her way out of the shop. You barely hold your laughter inside until the door has closed behind her and you turn to Javi, who’s grinning widely with pink cheeks.  

“Well, now you know Mrs Levinson,” you laugh and he chuckles. 

“Now I know Mrs Levinson,” he nods, fanning himself with his hands, making you giggle at his expression, “Are all your customers so…forward?” 

“Thankfully, no, only Mrs Levinson and her crew,” you grin, ”I hope she didn’t scare you off, do you still want to stay here today?” 

“Yes, please, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of being called a ‘sweetheart’ but nice old ladies,” he laughs and you giggle again.

“Alright then, I’ll let you handle all my elderly ladies, they’re going to love you, Javi,” you say, moving behind him to turn on the espresso machine, “Do you want a coffee?” 

The day passes quickly with Javi’s company, even when the shop quietens down in the afternoon he keeps your mind occupied with questions about your favorite movies while you prepare the batter for the canéles. The bakery fills with the rich vanilla scent as you cut the pod and scrape the seeds into the batter. 

“I can’t believe I never thought about that!” you exclaim as Javi laughs, “But you’re totally right, Indiana Jones only helped them find it faster, his actions have no real impact on the entire movie!” 

“I had to rewatch ‘Raiders’ so many times to make sure,” Javi grins, “I couldn’t believe it either, but he really does nothing that stops them from getting the Ark.” 

“So crazy, I can’t believe I never thought about that,” you say as you reach up to grab the rum bottle from your liquor storage. 

“Santa Teresa,” Javi says, nodding his approval, “That’s what my father always drank, you’ve got good taste, and expensive rum.” 

“Only the best for my cakes,” you smile, measuring out three tablespoons and one extra for luck. Behind you Javi is rummaging around, looking for something and he’s grinning when he comes up to you with two glasses. 

“It’s too good to only go into cakes, let’s drink some, to celebrate my new career as a baker,” he says with a bright smile that makes it impossible to not smile back at him. 

“A great idea, but I’ve got better glasses in the shop, follow me, and grab the bottle, Javi,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him with you back out to the shop. 

“Here, these are better,” you say, handing him your nice glasses, “do the honors.” 

You jump up on the counter as Javi pours the drinks, handing you a glass of the dark liquid and you take it, holding it up to him. 

“To the best shop assistant I’ve ever had, with endless film knowledge, fantastic customer service skills and all around great guy.” You clink your glass with Javi’s and a pink blush creeps up his neck again as he takes a sip. 

“Thanks,” he smiles, leaning on the counter on the other side, smacking his lips at the flavor of the dark rum, “I had fun, and now I know a lot about running a bakery.” He gives you another warm smile, lifting his glass in a salute to you again, and you both sip slowly, the rum sliding down smooth and warm into your chest. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be at a conference today?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he’d mentioned something about it this morning when he first came in.

“Yes, but who cares?” he shrugs with a sheepish grin, “I’m sure no one will miss me, and this was much more enjoyable,” Javi gives you one of his warm smiles, his bright eyes softening as you smile back at him. 

“Did you really like working here today?” you ask and he nods. 

“Truly, I had more fun today than I’ve had at work in a long time,” he says, coming to stand next to you. 

He’s so tall, almost level with you up on the counter as your eyes meet. You give him a small smile and he smiles back, a deep dimple in his cheek as he absentmindedly runs a hand through his soft curls, not as orderly now as they were this morning. A loose curl falls over his forehead and without thinking, you give in to the temptation you’ve been fighting all day, and reach forward to push it back again. Javi reaches up and catches your hand in his, pulling it down so that he can rub his thumb over your palm, his eyes locked on yours. The tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips and the movement makes you look down at his lips, Javi takes a slow step closer, his fingers closing around your hand. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his soft voice the only sound in the shop as you look up at him again. There’s a heated look in his eyes suddenly, and as you nod, he bends his head to yours, his hand moving up and gently cupping your cheek. 

The jingle of the bell pulls you apart, both of you looking at the door as Javi steps away from you. 

“Mr Gutierrez, you’re needed back at the hotel.” 

The man who’s stepped through the front door is dressed in a driver’s uniform and is looking somewhat exasperated with Javi behind the counter, “Your phone is off and your assistant has been trying to reach you all day.” 

Javi looks back at you and flashes a guilty grin before he looks back at the driver. 

“I’ll be right there, Marco, I’ve just been busy today.” 

“Of course, sir,” the driver gives a curt nod and turns around, the door jingling again as he leaves. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, turning back to you, his hand had slipped from your cheek as he stepped back, and you feel the loss of it as a warm imprint on your skin, “It seems I was missed at work after all. I would’ve liked to have stayed here longer, but I have to go.” 

“Of course,” you say, feeling the disappointment creep up as Javi grabs his phone, “It was really nice having you here, Javi.” 

He turns back to you with an uncertain small smile, holding his phone tight in his hand. 

“Can I, I mean, if you want, I’d like to come back…on Monday. To finish the canelés,” he says, his eyebrows bunching up, looking at you with worried eyes. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, excitement bubbling inside you as you see his smile creep back up and he takes a relieved gulp of air. 

“Ok, great! Thank you!” he grins and glances out through the window at his driver who is looking at you both, before he turns back to you, “I’ll see you Monday, ok?” 

“Monday, come by at noon, we’ll bake the canelés together,” you say, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek on impulse. His cologne from this morning still lingers, but it’s mixed with his warm sweat, coffee from a stain on his shirt, and something that must be his own comforting scent. For a split second you fight the urge to lean your head on his shoulder and rest your nose against the soft skin of his neck. Instead you pull back and meet his soft, brown eyes smiling at you. 

“Get going, or your driver will yell at us,” you say, putting your hand on his arm, giving him a little nudge as he chuckles. 

“Yeah, he can be a bit intimidating,” he says and walks around the counter, “Until Monday then.” He waves and disappears out through the door, and you watch as the driver stands to attention and opens the door to the back seat. 

Javi flashes you a smile through the window before he disappears into the car, and you turn back to the kitchen to clean up. 

You’re surprised to see Javi already waiting by the bakery when you turn up a quarter to twelve on Monday and flip on the lights inside. He’s sitting on the steps outside the front door, oblivious to you arriving through the back door, and it gives you an opportunity to study him as you walk across the shop. He runs his hand through his hair as you watch, the curls bouncing back and he lightly scratches at his neck before leaning his cheek in his hand. From behind you can see the saffron yellow shirt he’s wearing stretch tight across his broad shoulders, the bunched muscles a sharp contrast to the softness of his features. 

You lightly tap the window in the door and Javi turns around, his face already bright as you give him a wave. Unlocking the door you let him in as he brushes down the seat of his pants. 

“Hi,” you say, taking a step back to let him get past you before you lock up again, “You’re early, I hope you didn’t wait long.” 

“Hi,” he replies, shaking his head, “No, just a few minutes, I was too eager so I left the hotel early and walked here.” 

He’s standing in front of you, a small smile toying with the corner of his mouth and you’re suddenly reminded of where you’d been interrupted on Friday. Shyness takes over and you quickly take his hand. 

“Come on, we’ve got baking to do,” you say as you pull him with you towards the kitchen, taking the chance to recompose yourself as he follows behind you. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend,” you hear him muse,  “And not only the canelés,” he adds as you step into the kitchen and let go of his hand, “I had a great time on Friday, I…I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again…if that’s ok to say?” 

You turn back to him, he’s standing in the doorway into the kitchen, a small worry frown between his eyebrows as his fingers twitch nervously by his side, something he seems to do when he’s unsure of himself. You bite your bottom lip, trying to contain the smile that’s threatening to spill over as you look at Javi, taking a few tentative steps back towards him. 

“I’ve been looking forward to it too, Javi,” you give him a shy smile, coming close enough to smell his fresh cologne, to see the smattering of golden freckles on his neck, as you look up at him. Javi sems to let out a deep rush of air, his shoulders sinking several inches, and smiles down at you. 

“No driver this time, Javi,” you whisper, leaning closer and he mimics your movement. 

“No driver,” he echos, and the warmth of his arm presses against your waist as he closes the last few inches between you. You can feel his thumb skim over your cheek when he cups your face, his soft tongue gently running across your lips until you part them, and let him in with a low sigh. His kisses are soft, gentle presses as you melt into him, his arm around your waist holding you close to his chest while your hand finds the curls at the nape of his neck. A low rumble comes from him, groaned into your mouth, as your fingers wrap around the soft strands and lightly tug him closer. 

You hadn’t thought about what to expect from Javi’s kisses, but as soft and affable as he was, you’d never have expected him to kiss you like this. As his initial shyness retreats, his hand on you becomes firm, holding you up against him as he makes you moan into his mouth, pulling back just a fraction to catch his breath before he presses his lips against yours again. His tongue teases you as he nips on your bottom lip, finding news spots to explore. He groans into you as you wind your fingers around his soft strands of hair, returning his nips by gently biting down on his plush bottom lip and he rewards you with a downright sinful moan, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer. 

You couldn’t say how much time passes, you catch your breath in small gasps between clamant kisses, heat rising between you, the pebbled skin on his neck looking almost too tempting as you pull back a little again. You run your fingertips over his skin, tracing down from his jaw, over his smattering of freckles, Javi shuddering under your touch as he opens his eyes and looks down at you with hooded lids. 

“Even better than I imagined,” he mumbles, his eyes drifting closed again as you kiss a particularly sweet looking cluster of freckles on his throat, your tongue coming out to taste his skin. 

“You too, Javi,” you whisper in reply, looking up at him and he opens his eyes again, smiling now in that soft way that makes you think of a sweet puppy, his dark brown eyes gentle and tender. 

Running the pad of your index finger over his cushy bottom lip, giggling as he playful tries to nip at it, you smile back at him. 

“Should we make those canelés maybe? They have to bake for about an hour,” you say, “We’ll have time for more of this,” and Javi nods, carefully untangling himself from you, his warm arm leaving your waist. 

“I agree, let's make them quickly and then get back to this,” he grins, “Where is the batter? And what do you want me to do?” 

You reach up and give him a quick kiss on the mouth, smiling at his eagerness, “First we need to grease the molds,” you say, pulling him with you towards the shelf full of different baking pans, “We need these, I got them over the weekend,” you take down six copper molds, “and beeswax.” 

“Beeswax?” Javi asks, taking the molds from you as you open the fridge to get the wax. 

“Yeah, traditionally they’re greased with beeswax to really caramelize the outside of the canelés and stop them from sticking,” you explain, unwrapping the small cube of food grade wax, “Wash your hands and I’ll show you how to do it.” 

Melting together the butter and wax is quick work and then you show Javi how to brush the inside of the molds with the mixture as you fill up the ones he’s finished. The batter smells richly of rum and vanilla and Javi inhales deeply and leans down to kiss you. 

“You are so clever, they smell delicious,” he hums, stealing another kiss, “and they’re not even baked yet.” 

“Thank you, Javi,” you smile into his third kiss as he nips at your bottom lip again, “but they’ll be better baked, come on,” laughing you gently push him off you and he gives you a mischievous grin.  

He helps you prep a tray and then you place the molds on it and put the whole thing in the oven, setting a timer. Javi pulls your back into his chest as soon as you close the oven door, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Now, more time for this,” he mutters, dropping his chin onto your shoulder and pressing a kiss just under your ear. 

“More time for this,” you mumble your agreement, turning your head so that the cool tip of his nose rests against your throat. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the smell of the vanilla and rum in the kitchen, the low hum of the hot air oven and Javi’s lips as he moves them over your skin. It all blends together into a rosy haze, your eyes slipping closed as you reach up and caress his curls. Javi mumbles something in Spanish that you don’t catch, your brain going sluggish under the feeling of his wet mouth trailing over every inch of skin he can reach. Somewhere in the back of your head you’re wondering how you’ll be able to handle an hour of this and not end up on the floor with him on top, the sizeable hard length that you can feel pressed against the back of your thigh right now, sliding in- 

The gentle melody of Javi’s phone signal cuts through your train of thought, making you snap your eyes open and Javi lets go of you, fumbling in his pants for the offending item. He gives you an apologetic look as he answers the phone in Spanish. As he speaks you start cleaning up the workbench and Javi moves into the shop. Even though you don’t know enough Spanish to understand what’s going on, you can hear his tone become more and more agitated. Eventually you hear him yell a loud “No!” and the sound of the phone hitting the floor, clearly breaking on impact. You put down the cloth you're holding and slowly go into the shop, Javi is standing in the middle, his phone in two pieces on the floor. 

“Javi?” you ask apprehensively, and he sighs deeply, his shoulders rising up almost to his ears before slumping down, his whole body deflating as he turns to look at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, running both his hands through his hair, pushing through it and grabbing hold of the back of his head, his eyebrows pulling together in anguish, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, I just want to make sure you’re ok, it seems like it was bad news,” you take a few steps closer to him, gently putting your hands on his waist. He sighs again, dropping his arms down to his sides as you slowly run your hands up and down his torso, the yellow shirt bunching under your fingers. Javi groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder, cursing in Spanish, that much you understand. 

“It’s my stupid cousin, he’s mad I stayed over the weekend, he wants me back in Mallorca as soon as possible, he’s sending someone to ‘fetch me’. Like I’m a child late home from school,” Javi growls and pushes himself up again, looking down at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking anguished, “You don’t need to hear about my horrible cousin and my family problems.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, everyone has family problems sometimes,” you say, still gently stroking his sides, “I can barely stand my dad, we always fight, I wish I had a better relationship with him, but it is what it is."

“I’m sorry for that too,” Javi says, lifting his arms up again and putting them around your neck, one hand gently cupping your face so that he can caress your cheek, his soft hand warm against your skin, “My father passed away a few years ago and my cousin and I took over the family business. I hate it, my cousin loves it, and he bosses me around every chance he gets,” Javi sighs again. 

“He’ll really send someone to come get you?” you ask, “What happens if you say no?” 

Javi just shakes his head, “It’s not as easy as that, unfortunately, the business is…complicated,” he says, his thumb still smoothing over your cheek, he’s tracing the lines of your face, lost in thought. You lean your head against his warm hand, letting him work through whatever is going through his mind until he seems to shake himself out of the reverie. 

“No,” he says, his voice firm again, and he takes your hand, “I’m not going to let that ruin our afternoon.” 

With a small smile he pulls you around and leads you back into the kitchen, “I’m not wasting any more time on that, come here, hermosa, beautiful girl,” he says, pulling you into his chest as he leans against the workbench, “I’m deciding that this is how we spend the rest of the afternoon,” he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you tight, the other one finds its way back to your cheek as he leans in closer, his soft looking pink lips brushing against yours. 

“If that’s alright with you?” he mumbles, his voice suddenly dropping lower, winding its way around your brain and making you shiver. 

“That’s more than alright with me, Javi”, you mumble back at him, your voice low to match his, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel every breath he takes, slipping over your lips. He closes the distance between the two of you, and takes your bottom lip between his own lips, gently tugging at it. He smiles against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer, his tongue teasing the tip of yours. You feel your brain shut down, your eyes closing and the haze returning, all you can think about is Javi’s warm mouth and soft lips as he slowly turns you around so that he has you pressed up against the workbench. 

You don’t end up on the floor, but when the smell of caramelized sugar and butter, the rich aroma of vanilla, pulls you away from Javi, you’re pleased to see that you’ve managed to unbutton several buttons on his shirt. He’s pulled your top up over your chest, his hand leaving warm trails across your torso and he chuckles as you playfully swat his hands away. Your cheeks are flushed and overheating as he chases your lips, trying to hold you closer still. 

“Javi, I think the canelés are done,” you say, giving in and kissing him again, smiling against his eager mouth. Javi groans as if he’s in pain, reaching out to grab onto your hips but you laugh and quickly step out of his reach. 

“Now, now, Javi, let’s not burn these delicious smelling things that we waited three days for,” you tell him, your face teasing him as he follows you over to the oven. The smell of vanilla, butter and rum hits you even stronger as you open the door and slide the tray out. Quickly unmolding them onto a cooling rack, you give Javi a happy grin. 

“They look just like the photo in the book! Do they smell as you remember them?” 

“They smell even better, and they look even better,” Javi muses, crouching down so that he can get a good look at the small golden cakes on the bench. Carefully tapping one of them with his knuckle, he smiles as it has a satisfying hard shell. 

“I guess they have to cool before we eat them?” he asks, looking back up at you. 

“Yeah, they’re way too hot now,” you reply, “but we can make some coffee.”

“Or we can make out,” he says, his hands finding their way up under your top again, pulling you close. 

“Or we can make the coffee and make out?” you suggest, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the skin just under Javi’s ear, the spot that you’ve quickly learned is a favorite of his. You’re rewarded with a shiver, a gentle hum coming from him as he leans his head back to give you better access. 

“Come on,” you laugh, taking his hand and pulling him with you as he protests, “Coffee, then kisses, then canelés.” You grab the plate with the small cakes and lead him into the shop, hitting the on button on your fancy espresso machine.  

Javi leans next to it as you go through the motions, grinding the beans and measuring out the coffee. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, “espresso, cappuccino, latte?” 

“Espresso, please,” he replies, moving to stand behind you while you make it for him, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“You’re so talented, running this bakery, making all these cakes and pie, and then you’re a barista too,” he says, his short neat beard tickling against your neck as he gives you a kiss, “I’d hire you, but I don’t think you’d like my family business.” 

“That’s ok, Javi, I like running my own business,” you smile, giving him his espresso and preparing your own, “It’s a lot of work but I get to decide everything, I don’t think I could have a boss over me again.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums as he sips the espresso, turning so that he’s leaning against the counter again, “I won’t suggest it now, but if you ever want to open a bakery in Mallorca, near where I live, I could help you.” 

“I think my Spanish needs to improve first,” you laugh, taking your coffee and standing in front of him so that you can enjoy the view you’ve created by unbuttoning most of his shirt. 

“You could always hire me,” he smiles, “I’ll handle the customers, you handle the baking, we’d be a great team.” 

“I’d hire you here in a heartbeat, Javi,” you say, “you were great with the customers.” 

He smiles at that, leaning forward so that you can kiss him, the bittersweet taste of coffee sharp on both your lips. 

“Canelés”, you mumble as his free hand starts to roam up under your top again. 

“I’m not that interested anymore,” Javi smiles, pressed against your lips, and it makes you giggle. 

“We’ve waited for three days, and I’ve never had them,” you say, pulling yourself away from him with a tremendous effort, his lips really are very soft and his palms are so warm against your skin. 

“Ok, ok,” he chuckles, giving in to you as he leans over and picks up one of the canelés in his big hand and holds it out to you, “have a taste, tell me if it was worth the wait.” 

You take a bite, your teeth crunching through the exterior and you gasp as you feel the creamy inside. The cake is still warm, sweet vanilla and rum hitting your palate together with the flavor of caramelized sugar. 

“Oh my god…” you hum, slowly chewing as Javi smiles and puts the rest of it in his mouth and grabs a second one, holding it out to you again, “This is so good, Javi,” you say, swallowing your bite and letting him feed you a second one, “Thank you for getting me to make them.” 

“I’m glad you like them,” he smiles, “they are exceptionally good, not even the place in Paris comes even close to these, fresh out of the oven.” 

You reach behind you for a third one, pulling it apart down the middle to reveal the lacy center, your baker brain kicking in as you study how the batter has created strong gluten strands that criss-cross the inside of the cake, making it creamy rather than bready. 

“Really interesting…” you say, turning it over until Javi's mouth suddenly opens over your fingers and he takes the whole piece in one big bite. 

“Thief!” you exclaim, giving him a mock scolding look as he grins, his cheeks stuffed full of cake, his shoulders jumping as he tries to chew and laugh at the same time. When you pout back at him he grabs the fourth canelé and presents it to you with his deep brown puppy eyes wide open and pleading. 

“Please…he mumbles around his mouthful, “please, accept my apology,” he swallows down the last piece as you open your mouth so that he can feed you a bite. You hum around the flavors again, putting both your hands on Javi’s chest and taking hold of his open shirt. 

“I want apologies in kisses,” you demand, pulling him into you as he grins widely. 

“You wish is my command, princesa,” he replies, coming willingly into your arms. 

“That Spanish I understood,” you mumble, his lips brushing against yours again as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I’m glad, princesa,” he smiles, and lets you pull his mouth against yours. 

The bitter coffee mingles with the sweet vanilla on his breath, and you know he must taste the same on yours. He groans, angeling his face, moving so that he can reach more of you, his tongue gliding against yours as you run your fingers through his soft curls. 

The sharp rap of knuckles on the window startles you both, and you look over Javi’s shoulder towards the front door. It’s the damn driver.

With a sigh you pull back and look up at Javi again, “It’s your driver, I guess you’re being “fetched.” 

Javi glances behind him and groans, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder as he turns back. The driver is looking at you with a neutral expression, nothing betrays what he’s thinking about finding his employer in a heavy make out session inside a bakery. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, “I will have to go, or there’ll be hell to pay for me when I get back home,” he gives you a pained look, “I’m really sorry, I wish I could stay here.” 

“It’s ok, Javi, you know where to find me when you’re in town again,” you smile, “just come back soon, ok?” 

Javi nods and pulls out his phone, “Give me your number, I’ll come back as soon as I can, but I’m going to try to make canelés at home, and I know I’m going to need your help,” he smiles as you laugh. 

“I’ll make sure you set a timer this time, Javi.” 

You add your number to his cracked phone and hand it back. Javi sighs and looks over his shoulder again, “I should go, he doesn’t like waiting.” 

“Ok,” you say, giving him a small smile as he lifts his hand and strokes your cheek, “come back soon, Javi.” 

“I promise, I will,” he nods, his curls, definitely more unruly now than when he came, bouncing on his head. 

“Oh, wait,” you giggle, “let me button you up, I got a bit carried away,” you smile and quickly do up his yellow shirt, hiding the soft looking, freckled skin again. 

Javi giggles above you as your fingers work your way up, and he grabs your hands as you reach his neck. 

“One more kiss,” he says, “for the road, as they say.” 

You nod as he leans closer, bending his head so that he lips can brush over yours, a last, slow kiss, his tongue coming out to taste yours with a few small licks. 

“Good bye,” he mumbles as he pulls away, holding on to your hand until he has to let go. 

“Safe travels, Javi,” you reply, giving him a small smile. He raises his hand in a last wave and steps out through the door. 

Part Eleven

Please don't be intimidated by this recipe! They are not as tricky as they seem and they can actually be baked in a muffin tin if you have it. I've made these several times and they're really the most delicious little cake!

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

#pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #Youtube

[silver-ink-iron-words]

“Okay, look,” the villain said. “I know this isn’t ideal, but you don’t have to leave town.”

The hero shoved another handful of shirts into their suitcase. “Oh hell yes I do.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“And how can I possibly trust that?”

The villain opened their mouth to defend their trustworthiness, but then only sighed. Because, well, fair. 

“What can I do to convince you that I’ll stay silent?”

“I don’t know.” The hero looked up at them. “It’s not like it would do any good for you to show me your secret identity.”

After all, everyone already knew who the villain really was.

The villain watched the hero continue to pack. The funny, smart, brighter-than-life hero. The only good thing in this godforsaken city.

Dammit. 

“I have.” The villain cleared their throat. Fuck. “I have . . . a sticker collection.”

The hero glanced over. “What?”

The villain resisted the urge to avoid their gaze. “Normally, if you get a sticker, you put it on your shirt. But later, when it’s time to throw your shirt in the wash, you have to throw the sticker out. I don’t like to throw the sticker out. So I . . .  keep them.”

The hero still looked lost.

“On construction paper,” the villain continued. “I have folders. Dozens of them.”

The hero stared. “You run a criminal empire.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen you kill people.”

“Indeed you have.”

“And you have a sticker collection.”

“The ‘My Little Pony’ ones are my favorite.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

The villain shrugged. “You can have photos, if you’d like.”

The hero stood there a moment, looking at the villain like they’d never seen them before. “All this just to get me to stay?”

“Yes,” the villain said. “Now will you please quit packing?”

The hero did precisely that, and the villain's chest eased with relief.

They just hoped to god it was worth it.

#villain #hero #villain x hero #hero x villain #wholesome #writeblr #writing snippet #writing #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #short fic #not a prompt

[eulalielatibule]

SDS Easter Edition! I love it!

I bet Steve's most excited about decorating eggs with his kids. His are probably the prettiest decorated eggs in the neighborhood.

-Zombie

Hey Zombie!! Thank you, I'm very excited for it!!

Oh yes, Steve is sooo into decorating eggs!

So maybe this is bc my own mom collects these, but my heart tells me that Steve's ma had decorative eggs that she then put on display for Easter, something like this:

And Steve loved seeing them around the house, it made the holiday a little brighter for him.

And while Steve was able to find some of the eggs he kept after his ma passed, he still likes to make his own especially now that he has kids

He does the traditional boiled eggs in vinegar and colored tablets. But he then also goes a step beyond.

He's making designs with crayons before dyeing the eggs, and letting his kiddos help too ofc even if it's just scribbles

"Look at that beautiful egg you made! I'm so proud of you!"

And he's painting eggs, maybe with acrylic or water color? They look gorgeous though, especially the water color. So dreamy!

And Steve got into making his own decorative eggs, like the ones ma had.

It took some research, but Steve picks things up quickly.

He buys a few dozen fake eggs so the whole family can make some, but Steve's by far are the best.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #suburban dad sunday #my writing

[t3kandson]

Family’s at Friction

Word count; 8,977

Fandom; The Boyz

Pairing; Kim Younghoon X Reader

Character; Kim Younghoon, Ju Haknyeon, Kim Sunwoo, Son Youngjae, Lee Hyunjae, Bae Jacob, Moon Kevin, Lee Sangyeon, Lee Juyeon Choi Chanhee & Ji Changmin

Warning; Angst, Guns, Robbery, Hostage, Violence (not by any TBZ characters), Oral (receiving), body marking & Unprotected sex

Notes; Happy Birthday Younghoon

Taglist; @ilovechanhee

“My son Isn’t home often, but I need to go back home, his grandfather is getting lonely without me,” Mrs Kim smiled your way. “Well I can wait till he’s home in the evenings and then leave,” you said as her appearance got brighter. “Or I could offer you a room in the house and you could reside here,” she said as you looked to the table between you. “I have a daughter I can’t leave her behind,” you admitted expecting the job to be removed. “How old is she?” Mrs Kim asked. “She’s 8,” you said looking at her with hope for the job to remain. “Who will look after her while you’re here?” she query’s as she smiles back your way. “My mother, she collects her from school and takes her home till I arrive, sleeping over if she has to. She’s a widow so there’s no one at home to miss her,” you say as Mrs Kim nods. “Well seems a good arrangement to me,” she smiles offering you her hand. “The jobs yours,” she says as excitement fills you. “Thanks Mrs Kim,” you said smiling

The first week Mrs Kim stayed in the home. Due to her son working hard on a project that he wouldn’t be home for the week. That time had gone well, you had established a good teacher pupil relationship with Youngil. He was 12 and a very intelligent young man, thriving to learn everything that could teach him and you honestly couldn’t have asked for a better pupil. However, you felt for the poor child. His mother had left the family home, affairs by the dozen. Choosing money from the divorce over her own son. He felt abandoned by his mother but also felt unwanted by his father also. Kim Younghoon, had taken solace in his marital break up by working extra hard in his company. You couldn’t help but add your motherly touch, making sure Youngil ate well during the dinners Mrs Kim encouraged you to join before leaving. But also making sure he kept healthy with his vitamins.

The first time you met Younghoon, you instantly didn’t like him. Holding your hand for him to shake but he coldly walked past. “You can leave now,” he grumbled placing his coat to grab yours to shake your way. Each day he greeted you this way as you kept your head down.

“Don’t leave yet we need to talk,” he growled placing his coat a couple weeks later. “Follow me,” he demanded walking off into a room you had realised was his private living quarters. Following, your eyes noticed the large sways of alcohol in the glass cabinets, all prettily displayed. Walking to the desk he sat in his chair looking up to you with his usual expression of arrogance. “Can I ask you your credentials?” He asked filling his crystal glass with whisky. “Pardon?” You said looking at him with confusion. “I would like to know what credentials you have to assess if your actually qualified for my sons needs,” he said rather sharply looking up at you with annoyance. “Your mother vetted me,” you looked at him confused with his request. “She vetted you as a teacher yes, but I would like to know your credentials as a psychiatrist,” he said taking a swig of his liqueur. “I don’t have any,” you replied looking at him puzzled. “Well could you explain why you seem fit to discuss his personal life?” Younghoon said with a slight growl in his tone. “What do you mean?” You questioned feeling annoyed with his accusations. “Well I pay you to teach my son well. Instead your offering advice to his apparent woes,” Younghoon accused as your eyes widened. “Your son mentioned something that worried him. As a teacher who knows a clear mindset improves their work I listened,” you scoffed arms folded as his eyes widened to your own tone. “But you gave your own opinion to Manipulate him into emotions he doesn’t actually have,” Younghoon said raising his voice to match yours. “That’s poppycock, just because you don’t have time for your son, don’t presume he doesn’t have the emotions he clearly does. If he’s telling you then it’s to express himself,” you said as his jaw tightened. “Well he never expressed it before you was employed as his teacher,” Younghoon growled. “Maybe if you gave your son the time of day he would have expressed that,” you said slamming your hand onto the desk startling him. “I think it’s best you leave,” he said bitterly slouching into his chair. “Goodnight,” you said spinning on your heel. “For good,” he added as you spun back to face him. Walking towards him his eyes differed with fear. “Good now I can really express myself. Your son is failing because of you. Your too selfish to hide from your pain, punishing your son for something his mother did twice off. Not just for cheating but taking your money and leaving. You’ve made that boy feel unwelcome and placed him in so much pain he can’t focus. Ignore me all you like but if you don’t put his emotional needs first then you won’t have a son to brag about at your regular golfing events,” you snap watching his words get stuck in his throat. “Now if you don’t mind I have a daughter that I love dearly who needs her mothers attention,” you add spinning back around to leave him dumbfounded.

It had been a week and things had fallen apart. Your argument with Kim Younghoon had left you without your wages you had rightly earned the last month. You had already fallen behind terribly before the job let alone now. The final demand came through the door as you held it shakily. You had till this evening to At least supply one months rent or you would be evicted. Tears fell from your eyes as you fell to the floor sobbing. What was you going to tell Yoona? Where was you even going to go?

When the door opened you had expected it to be your mother and daughter. But to your horror it was Younghoon, witnessing your complete breakdown. “Y/N,” he coo’d coming to you as he sat beside you. “What’s happened?” He asks as you sobbed even louder instead of replying. His arms wrapped around you like this was a different person you had experienced before. He held you tightly as you sobbed not caring that tears was beginning to fall on his expensive Gucci jacket. “So now you’ve sobbed the entire sea are you going to tell me what’s happened to create such a dam break?” He said rubbing your shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, it’s something I need to fix somehow,” you said pushing yourself out his hold. “Can I help?” He asks as you stand to your feet watching him follow. “You’ve done enough not paying me the months work I’ve done,” you said bitterly as you wiped your eyes. “Yeah about that,” he said with guilt in his expression. “What?” You snapped making his jaw tighten. “What issues do you have? Why do you feel the need to snap,” he growls folding his arms. “What’s your credentials as a psychiatrist?” You hit back at him. Instead of a snarky come back he stifles a laugh instead. “Hitting me with my own words are we?” He said amused. “Look I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot,” he said as you deadpanned his way. “No your an ass,” you said earning a brighter smile. “Fine I’m am ass, who thanks to you was dished some food to really think about,” he said smiling more Warmer then you experienced before. “Is this an apology,” you said tilting your head his way. “Well yes it is,” he said accepting responsibility. “Can I get that in writing?” You said arms folded. He looked around the room in sight for some paper as he made his way for it. “Fine if I have to,” he said picking up the letter in his hand. “Don’t worry,” you said as you panicked realising he was holding your eviction letter. As you attempted to swipe the document, he pulled it out your reach his eyes bulging as he read it. “This is my fault,” he said sorrowfully as you snatched it out his palm. “Yes, yes it is,” you growled taking it and throwing it on the side behind you. “Right I will sort it,” he smiled as you felt his words lift your worry’s. “You need to pay them my months wage to them,” you said more calmer as he picked up the letter once more, then his phone. “Hi I’m the employee of Mrs Y/N, I was wondering if I could pay a month off her backlogged rent,” he said in a professional tone. “How much?” He gasped. “For this shitty apartment,” he growled. “Sod that,” he snapped hanging up on the phone. “What did you say that for?” You said closing your eyes briefly. “Your months wage wouldn’t even cover that,” he scoffed as you breathed in deeply. “It’s 3 million won you owe me 4,” you said annoyed. “Funny that, they’ve asked for 5 million,” he said making your eyebrows furrowed. Picking your phone up you dialled your landlord. “Hi it’s Mrs Y/N, my former employer rang moments ago to pay my one month of rent as demanded in your eviction threat,” you said pausing as the female voice hit your ears. “Ahh yes, he refused saying he wouldn’t pay 5 million won,” she said down the phone. “But my rent is 3 million,” you questioned as Younghoon expression slightly showed a smirk. “We’ve decided to up the rent so to stop the eviction it will have to be 5 million won,” she said as your hands fell to your face, tears threatening to fall once more. “It’s ok I will arrange something,” Younghoon said down the phone he snatched from your hands. “The keys will be in the door once she’s moved this evening,” he growled hanging up. “What did you do?” You cried grabbing the phone. “Your not going to save this situation Y/N, your waste your time and breath trying,” he said placing his hand over your shoulder. “But where am I going to go, me and my daughter are going to be homeless,” you whispered as he looked at you with concern. “What are you going to do Y/N? Beg with every inch of your life?” He said sarcastically. “Yes if I have to,” you whined feeling defeated.

“Well good thing I’m here,” he said smiling at you. “I’ve come to offer you your job back. Youngil’s been quite hesitant to have another teacher. He demands you, so you can have your job back. I will even give you more financial support,” he said smiling. “Good then can I have a sub to get my rent paid,” you pleaded happily accepting your job back. “Oh the increase isn’t in money it’s still 4 million,” he said with his smirk returning to your confusion. “I have two spare rooms, you could move in with your daughter,” he said as you looked at him confused. “Two bedrooms, meals included, no bills and 4 million wons a month,” he said arms folded excited for your reply. It was like your brain froze in that second unable to process what he was promising. “But what do you get extra of?” You questioned as he chuckled. “To be the Nanny when I’m late from work, and I suppose his new psychiatrist,” he teases as you roll your eyes. “However, I must add time is of the essence,” he added looking at the clock just three hours left to unpack. “Fine, thank you,” you said offering him a smile. “Good now you can save my ear from my son’s emotional blackmail,” he added dramatically. “Maybe I should make you wait,” you said playfully. “Ok then maybe I should withdraw my offer,” he teased that made your eyes widen. “No, no need,” you said holding your hand in fear watching him chuckle. Had you read him the wrong way before hand? Had work and stress altered his moods when you found him. Because the man stood in your kitchen wasn’t the same man that you met at his lavish home.

Younghoon and Youngil was waiting patiently when you & Yoona arrived. Comforting your only child you was amazed at the sudden change in Younghoon’s character. Bending down to your daughter size, he brushed Yoona’s stray hair behind her ear in a comforting way. “It’s ok they’re is nothing to be scared about here, I promise,” he said softly as her hug tightened around your waist. “This is your home now,” he said looking somewhat excited himself. “We even have a games room,” Youngil said in an effort to help comfort her. “I can show you if you want?” He asked holding out his hand. Yoona shyly looked your way as you nodded reassuringly before looking the elder boys way. Taking his hand they dash away to the house as Younghoon looked contented. “Your good with her,” you complimented as he chuckled. “You sound as if your surprised,” he said smirking. “Well if I can be honest,”, “that you can,” he cut you off. “That your acting different,” you said bracing for his reaction. “Maybe you just didn’t look properly, you heard Youngil’s complaints and made your painting. Yes I’ve made mistakes a load of them. But I love that boy with every breath,” he added smiling your way. “However, your correct i showed you a bad side of myself. I saw a young attractive girl who I feared was trying to use my son to date me,” he added as you tilted your head his way. “My wife was like that, very manipulative, she didn’t want me she wanted money and she took it to the men she cheated on me with,” he said looking pained. “Sorry to hear that,” you said as he pursed his lips. “What about Yoona’s father?” He asked as your own past burned. “He left me when I fell pregnant,” you said biting your lips as you looked to the floor. “So you never married him?” He gasped as you closed your eyes. Being an single unmarried mother brought you so much awful looks in the past. You didn’t know why you slipped this information with someone so upper class. Breathing in deep you prepared for the disgust to fall from his lips. “So you had to provide all alone by yourself?” Younghoon quizzed as you nodded. “That’s awful, but you’ve worked so hard you should be so proud,” he said holding on to your arms. “Thank you,” you said appreciating his comforting words. “What do you fancy for tea,” he said stepping into the house. “Anything, me and Yoona’s not fussed,” you said as he smiled. “Well let’s go out for a meal, it’s the first night of you both being here,” he said excitedly. “You don’t need to,” you said bashfully. “I’m your boss it’s my orders,” he said smirking your way. “Fine,” you said rolling your eyes.

The house had become very family like, you made breakfast for Youngil & Yoona while preparing Younghoon’s packed lunch every morning. Dropping the children to their school you dropped off Younghoon’s lunch before returning back to the house. Evening meals you cooked normally with both the children helping before you set some tutorial work. Meals in the evening normally spent like a family before a movie or two. To an outsider you looked like a family. Younghoon doting on Yoona just as much as his own son. Both the children was dearly sweet, Youngil acting very brother like. Some weekends the four of you would walk in the natural reserves or enjoying fishing on Younghoon’s yacht.

However, everything started to feel different not long after. You had already smiled at the very like couple act you was currently experiencing. Watching him dry up the dishes you past after washing as you both chatted about your day. While you was lost in Younghoon’s topic about work related conversation, you mind was floating about how you could imagine him as a husband. The sadness that he had possibly given her everything and still cheated. If you was married to him you would have cherished him. You chuckled to your thoughts when it had not been long ago when you despised him instead. “Your not listening to me are you?” Younghoon said breaking you from your thoughts. “Yes, yes I was,” you lied letting a slight blush creep up your face. “So the clients fathers death is amusing,” he asked smirking as your face fell in horror. “Ok sorry I got lost in thought I’m sorry, but before that I really was listening,” you said chewing on your bottom lip. “So what was you day dreaming about?” He asked drying the dish you past him. “Nothing much,” you said feeling let down by your warming face. “Was it something sexy,” he whispered in your ear making you shudder as you gasped. “No,” you shot out abruptly as he chuckled looking at the mess you was making of yourself. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said playfully as he nudged you. “Just was thinking that the worlds an ass to leave someone like you single,” you admitted as he looked taken back. “Think I preferred the sexy thoughts,” he said trying to brush over your words. “Would you now,” you winked his way trying to bring the awkward tension to an end. His hands reached out to the bowl you past but his fingers overlapped yours. Instead of removing them his eyes got lost. The chemistry between you zapping into the atmosphere as you watched his eyes fall to your lips. Thighs tightened as your mind imagining him pulling you to him to place them on you. Words failing you both as each second made the environment almost unbearable under both your heated glances. As he nears closer you don’t know if you think he’s about to kiss you or because you want him to. But before your body moves towards him to figure that out you hear a patter of feet enter the kitchen as you turn to face Yoona with sleepy but wet eyes on her face. “Baby,” you cry as you walk towards her. But before you can, Younghoon scoops her up into his arms. “Did you have a nightmare?” He questions as he wipes her escaping tear as she nods. “Oh hunnie let mummy,”, “shall we get some cookies and milk to help your tears,” Younghoon cuts you off as she nodded. “Sorry I should ask your,” , “no your good,” you replied, now your turn to cut him off. You watched with a warming feeling in your body as he saw to your daughter. It looked like you wasn’t the only one getting attached to the wealthy business owner.

Excitement was buzzing through you as security approved you inside Younghoon’s building. You had been invited to have lunch with Younghoon that day. He had jokingly said the previous week of a promise of a lunch date and though you wasn’t intending it to be reality. His text this morning brought a sense of excitement to fill you. You knew the blurred line of his Son’s live in Nanny was getting complicated. But while everything was innocent you didn’t want to think of that. Upon entering his office you was surprised to find it was filled with some others. Instead of suits they looked relaxed and casual and told you they was his friends. Younghoon’s confused face turned to horror and he leapt up towards you. “Mrs Y/N,” he said looking shady which had your head tilt as you felt the eyes on you. He placed his hand around you taking you to the side of the room. “Oh I’m really sorry I forgot to message you. My friends are in town and sprung this visit,” he said looking anxious for your reply. “It’s ok really,” you smiled to reassure him as your eyes took to his friends beady one’s. “I’ll make it up to you I promise,” he said letting his eyes twinkle in your view as you smile smitten his way. “You guys might as well share this,” you said handing him the picnic bag of items you made for your lunch. “Thanks I appreciate it,” he said stiffening when he heard the mocking of his friends. “Well I’ll leave you to it,” you said bowing before leaving. You barely got to the lift when you remember your car keys was in the basket. Dashing back you heard their chatter within the hallway from the slightly ajar door. “Live in nanny or paid girlfriend,” you heard a voice jibe that made you realise you was the subject. “It’s not like that,” you heard Younghoon scoff as your stomach started to fall. “Those lover eyes you both looked with tells me otherwise,” another one chuckled. “Get off, she’s paid to look after the family that’s all,” Younghoon said as you felt that you was seeing the wrong signs clearly. “So you don’t like her then? Maybe you need to send her the memo,” hit the air as the rest of them laughed with him. “No I don’t like her, I appreciate her,” Younghoon said as you felt your eyes begin to water. Not caring for the keys you turned to dash away. However, you bumped into a solid form before falling to the floor with a yelp. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, are you ok?” A worried face came into your view before he squatted to hold your arms. “Yes sorry I’m,”, “Y/N what happened?” You heard from the door cut you off. Younghoon’s eyes was fall of concern till they fell on the gentleman by your side, especially his hands gently on your arm. “She fell,” he said to Younghoon as his eyes fell back to concern to find your other arm. “Let me help you up,” he said softly with the other guy helping you to your feet. Brushing the gentleman hand off your arm to make sure you was steady before he left yours, his looked slightly annoyed. “Thanks Haknyeon, the guys are in there,” he said without his eyes on someone who clearly was also a friend. “Thanks,” you said grateful for his assistance when he could have laughed at you, like those in the very room he was entering. Haknyeon looked at you softly smiling before he felt Younghoon’s glare and entered his office. “Was you eaves dropping?” He scolded you into the hallway which was silent. “No I was coming for my keys, there in the basket,” you said feeling yourself annoyed with his accusation. He looked at you with his remaining annoyance on his expression as he left to the room. You stood there in silence feeling your heart beat heavy listening to the jibes about your incident. Younghoon emerged minutes later with your keys as he walked you silently away from the room towards the lift. It made you feel unwanted and question everything that you had believe was between you both. Maybe you needed to unblur the lines between you.

It had become clear that he felt he needed space as you received a message stating that he was going away for a couple of days with the guys. The house was quiet without Younghoon and you couldn’t help but miss his company. Youngil and Yoona clearly felt the change in your emotions. Both them being attentive with you and helping you with chores. Which made it a little painful watching the bond that they both had established. Youngil had become Yoona’s defender and very like a big brother. Even getting up to make breakfast to let you have a lay in to help you out. As much as you needed to find away to unattach yourself and Yoona from the family settings here, you just couldn’t bring yourself to, where Youngil was concerned.

You was woken with loud clatter downstairs one evening. Dashing downstairs in your silk gown over your Pyjama dress, you found Younghoon and his friends piling the house. “Oh look it’s the paid wife,” his friend with the most beautiful sun kissed skin mocked. “Sunwoo cut that shit out,” Younghoon growled slightly slurring his words. “Sorry I thought it was intruders,” you said chewing your bottom lip. Younghoon eyes looked lost in lust as he watched you bite your lip away. “Don’t do that you won’t have any skin left,” he snapped making you jump. “Sorry,” you replied as you went to return to your room. But before you could you felt a hand take your wrist to face them. Younghoon looked lost in your eyes not caring that he was showing the passion in them. But despite his deceiving eyes you knew he felt nothing for you. “Can you get us some drinks,” he finally spilled when your eyes took to his friends all amused. Nodding silently you made your way to his office to collect several liqueurs bringing them to the feisty loud living room. Haknyeon’s eyes take yours as you smile his way. Returning to the kitchen you find yourself startled when you turn to face Haknyeon stood there. Stood against the kitchen island his eyes are intently watching you. “Are you really just the live in nanny?” He questions tilting his head. “I’m only intrigued I’m not here to judge,” he said showing his beautiful smile your way. “I’m just his live in Nanny that’s all,” you said as he hummed to himself and came round to your side. Leaning into the Cupboard to reach for some more glasses he looked at you confused. “You don’t get paid to do that so let me help,” he said placing the glasses on to the tray. Younghoon’s eyes widened watching you following empty handed behind Haknyeon. “Didn’t I ask you to do that?” He snapped your way. Instead of taking it your annoyance kicked in as your jaw tightened. “I thought she’s just a live in Nanny not your maid?” Haknyeon said before you could open your mouth. “Who asked you?” Younghoon growled as you saw Haknyeon’s jaw tense. “Maybe if you learnt how to treat women with respect then your wife wouldn’t have cheated on you,” he said squaring up to his friend. Younghoon laughed in a mocking Way before attempting to swing towards his younger. His friends getting around him to pull him away. “You never could handle your drink,” Haknyeon tutted. “I’m not the one hitting their friend you can remove your hand Hyunjae,” Haknyeon said snapping at his friend who stepped back with his hands up. “Sunwoo, Youngjae let him be, let him take a swipe at me,” he snapped at the two holding Younghoon back. “If they let me go I’m going to beat you,” Younghoon growls. “Woah, woah come on guys,” another friend said standing between them all. “You shouldn’t have brought up Jiyeon,” he said at Haknyeon before turning to face Younghoon. “And you shouldn’t be treating your Nanny as a maid, let alone being rude,” he said to Younghoon, who’s eyes fell to you with a little bit of shame in them. “Unless there’s something your holding back from us,” he said looking between you both. “Shut up Chanhee,” Younghoon grumbles as you feel tears ready to spill. “Hyunjae can you take Haknyeon home please,” Chanhee says to his elder who nods. Haknyeon looks at you with concern as you nod to reassure him before they silently leave. Not before the iciness in Younghoon eyes take his, Sunwoo and Youngjae struggling to hold him back. Once the door shuts behind him and the car drives away the younger two release there hands. Chanhee turns to you smiling warmly. “Y/N maybe this is something that you don’t have to be around for. Why don’t you get some sleep,” Chanhee says as you feel your tears escape. Nodding you take yourself silently to your room as you hear Chanhee continue to scold his elder.

You woke early the rest of the week making Younghoon and the children their breakfast. But returned to your room so that you didn’t have to sit in the same room then him. You couldn’t afford to have the angry words you wanted to spill when your daughter and you could face homelessness. You still made his lunch dropping it at the front desk on the way home from the school run. The children was fed before you tutored them. Younghoon’s dinner placed ready to be heated by himself once home. There was occasions when Younghoon would attempt to communicate with you once he got back. Finding you in either in Youngil’s room or Yoona’s, but you kept him at arms length.

Mr Kim @10.55am; Thank you for my lunch it looks very yummy. Can’t wait for lunch time.

Can I be cheeky and ask that you can purchase some snacks. I’m hoping to host a party this evening. I have some apologising to be making to Haknyeon.

You @11;32pm Send me what you require and I will collect.

Throwing the items into the trolley you made your way to the counter. However, three guys in a balaclava storm the shop. One points their gun at the shop keeper making demands. The other aiming his gun in your direction as the last one bordered the door, aiming his at anyone who attempted to enter the shop. “Stand over there,” the one watching over you snapped as you tilted your head unafraid. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you,” he growled as you felt anger tense through you. He could sense your defiance as his gun aimed for the shopping in your trolley. Shooting the bottle of whisky you was ordered to buy for Younghoon to apologise to Haknyeon. The glass exploded, shards going everywhere. One scratching your arms, thankfully just a skin wound, but the blood attempt to drip down your arms. “Next shot will be you,” he threatened aiming the gun too closely. Biting your lip to ground yourself you obeyed moving to the area he pointed to. As you walked you felt your phone vibrate. “What do you hope to achieve?” You said loudly on the hope he wouldn’t hear the phone buzzing in your back pocket. You was grateful for your dark thick clothing that meant he wouldn’t see it flash from behind you. His silence continued as you continue to talk above the vibration. Walking you to the side of the building he turned his gun on anyone who he found. Your group becoming six of you by the time you reached the small staff room. He walked around the room picking the shop phone and smashing it to the floor. His heavy boots slamming down to completely destroy it. Your heart was beating heavy, the first time feeling fear. Storming out he locked the door as you looked to your five companions all of you written with fear on your face.

Slouching down you felt your phone vibrate as you dashed to the call. Mr Kim written all over the screen. “Finally you picked up,” he moaned down the phone. “I don’t need the shopping in the end, they’ve cancelled,” he breathed down the phone heavily. You heard noise from outside the door so you didn’t want to risk answering. The woman beside you her eyes beaded in fear. “Y/N, please answer, tell me you heard that,” he grumbled down the phone. “Or have you brought it already?” He questioned. Suddenly the door sounded as if it was being unlocked so you threw the phone behind you. Closing your eyes when you realised you forgot to hang up. “Get fucking in there,” the man growled tossing a battered and bruised gentleman who looked like he attempted to fight back. His eyes roamed the room as you could hear Younghoon calling in the distance. Fear setting in that he would be heard, you decided to speak once more. “Surely theirs a better way then this?” You said shakily. “What have I said,” he growls aiming his gun back in your direction. “I really will shoot you next time,” he hisses before he storms out the room locking it. As the others dash to the newest member in the room you dash to your phone. “Younghoon,” you whimper. “What’s going on?” He says sounding panicked. “The shop, three gunman,” you throw out choking in fear, not knowing how long you could keep the line of communication open. “Are you hurt?” He says fearfully. “No but one of us is,” you whimper. “I’ll get help, hold tight, keep that mouth under control please I beg you,” he pleads down the phone as a tear escapes. Before you can respond the door is opened once more, the phone placed behind you once again. This time on purpose so he can hear everything. Another two members of staff are thrown in looking in a traumatised expression. The mans eyes take you with anger once more as if he’s expecting you to speak, but you remain tight lipped. “Good you lost your mouth,” he smirks before walking out and locking the door once more. “Be careful,” the man next to you said as you nod before grabbing the phone back. “How many are they of you?” He questions when your heavy breathing hits the phone. “9 one badly injured,” you said as you can hear him passing the information to someone. “I’m on my way, the police have been notified, keep your self quiet and we’re get you out as soon as we can,” he says in an attempt to calm you. “If I don’t,” , “don’t you dare say that we’re not even talking like that,” Younghoon cuts you off. The door opens quick as a flash taking you unguarded. You know his eyes saw you throw your phone behind you. “I knew you was up to no good,” he growled storming his way your direction. Tossing you aside he picked the phone up pressing it to his ear. “Y/N, what’s happening,” you hear even from where you landed. “She’s not available at the moment, maybe check in with the local mortuary,” he chuckles hanging up the phone. He looks at your locked screen which was a photo of Yoona. “Is this your girl?,” he asks as you can’t find the words to respond even if you wanted to. “Well looks like her mummy wants to play at being our main hostage,” he grins throwing the phone to the floor. His feet stamping on it making it crunch under his shoes. Grabbing you by the collar he drags you up, your body not relenting as it tightens around your throat. Dragging you he takes you outside throwing you into the shelf. You whimper as the impact crushes against your chest. “What’s up you lost your bravado mentality,” he mocks after locking the room.

Your eyes find the other two, bags of money, alcohol and fags in sight. “As this one’s called the cops she’s gladly offered to be today’s hostage,” he snarls throwing you into the other masked man. “How long did you call them?” He said rather calmly as his hands brushed down your jawline. “I was on the phone to my boyfriend not the police,” you said scared to mention your boss was the very Ceo of Bbang express. “But he was talking to the police?” He asked tilting his head. “I believe so,” you said honestly as he brushed your hair out your face. “How long ago?” He asked softly your way. “Just before he walked in,” you said as tears pricked your eyes. “It’s ok princess, you do as your told and we’re get you home to lover boy,” he said as you could see the flashing lights outside the building. “Now If you spoke to her nicely you might have prevented this,” he grumbled at the guy who had attacked you. “Right all you need to do is do as I tell you and keep your mouth shut,” he said pressing the gun to your temple as his arm swarm around your chest. “It’s ok princess I won’t use this, unless you give me good reason to,” he coo’d in your ear. Walking to the fresh air which felt refreshing, but the sight not so much. Armed police with their guns pressed in your direction. In the distance though your eyes found Younghoon. He looked in a way you never experienced, his face full of concern and worry. “Let the hostage go,” you heard echo around you. “I will once we’ve escaped,” he smirks walking towards the car that was still parked. The other two jumped in the vehicle with their haul, he stepped backwards with you into the car. Your eyes taking Younghoon before the man pulled you in. Throwing himself to the floor the gun was pressed into your back. “Drive,” he grumbled as the car began to show life. “Don’t you dare move, not yet?” He said with a slight harshness. Tears flowing down your eyes, you watched Younghoon fade in to the distance looking distressed as he got into his own car. As you sped away, you watched as the police followed the chase. “How many,” he snapped pressing the gun into your back. “Too many to count,” you whispered. “Fuck sake put your foot down,” he snapped. You watched slowly as the cars chasing dwindled down. The clever manoeuvres and the sun being chased down, too you soon found secluded empty roads ahead and nothing following. The gun was removed from your back as your eyes looked to your captor sitting up. “Drive over,” he snapped, as his hands cupped your face. “I promised you you would be safe if you helped,” he whispered. “Your letting me go?” You questioned as he chuckled. “Why do you fancy joining me,” he sniggered as you screwed your face his way. “My life’s not one for you,” he said as he leaned over opening the door for you to escape. “Go live for you and your daughter,” he said beneath the mask. Climbing out the car your eyes took the bigger man who hurt you. He grumbled something you couldn’t hear and before you knew it the car drove off, leaving you in the pitch dark not knowing where you was.

For the first time in ages you felt vulnerable, alone and cold. Your feet stumbled as the tears fell as you made your way to find any sign of life. Your ribs hurting like hell with each step. You had walked at least a couple of miles, before a car came your way. You waved wincing almost immediately from the sharp pain, sighing in relief when the car pulled up. However, you felt even more at peace when it was Younghoon’s face that took yours. “Y/N,” he choked as he took you into his arms. “You found me,” you whimpered as the tears flooded. “I told you I wouldn’t let you out my sight,” he said patting your hair as he kissed your Crown. “Are you hurt,” he said examining you but he struggled in the dark. He grabbed his torch light on his phone checking you out, his face looking in fear at the glass cut skin in your arms. “We need to get you checked out,” he said as you didn’t stop crying to respond. Placing his jacket over you he brings you to the car holding you tightly as it takes you to the hospital.

Thankfully nothing was broken just sore muscle damage. Your flesh wound didn’t even need stitches. However, Younghoon demanded you was house bound for almost a month. He took time off work to become the home maker himself. When you was fed up being cooped up you pleaded to be left to your own devices. However, Younghoon didn’t want to pull any more chances. From now on you was all to have bodyguards. You already knew Juyeon, his own security and driver. But you soon met Jacob who was entrusted with Yoona’s care. Kevin with Youngil as well as your own Sangyeon. Younghoon ordered that no one was allowed to leave without their security. You was told not to do the school runs letting Jacob and Kevin deal with them. You had even moaned what was the point in your own security if you wasn’t allowed to leave the house. Especially as he made demands for no shopping trips or lunch time delivery’s. It was like the incident made the house go in some sort of high protection. You had to laugh that you had survived the last month since the incident why the sudden need now. But then you knew the Robbers still hadn’t been caught. You knew enough from eavesdropping that Younghoon had employed a team to investigate themselves. Ji Changmin had questioned you just as much as the police had, if not more. Changmin wanted to know every aspect of your life. Which infuriated you as how was your past life relevant to an incident where you was simply just at the wrong place at the wrong time. You appreciated Younghoon’s concerns, it felt good to know he cared enough about your safety. He had cared for you so intently while you recovered, that those butterfly feelings returned, even more so then normal. The way his eyes looked at you from the other side of the room. His friends even visiting to check up on you, he stop denying you was more then just a live in nanny. They had sniggered even more worse but after a while they became supportive. Haknyeon blamed himself. If it wasn’t for the argument he felt that you wouldn’t have been there getting his make up spread. But you told him you knew Younghoon well enough that he enjoyed his boys moments and he would have found another excuse.

Though you felt as if you and Younghoon was nearing breaking the line between you both. He reminded you as always that it was just your own Delulu mind. You watched as he left for the glamorous event at a local charity ball. He had looked dashing before you left and your thighs instantly tightened, leaving you wanting to be by his side. Your heart fell when you watched on social media him walk in with a girl on his arms. Talks of his secret relationship hit everywhere on the feeds that you couldn’t help but let the tears fall. You had obviously taken his caring nature for something else. Yet he always made it obvious that you wasn’t someone he was into. Instead he had been hiding a relationship. Beneath the jealous sizzling in you, you felt angered slightly that you was no doubt At least friends and he kept that from you. You didn’t wait up for him as planned, instead taking yourself to bed to sob yourself to sleep.

Realising that you had to create some form of distance between you, you started that following morning. Using the breakfast table to test Youngil and Yoona for their upcoming exams. It was to remember you wasn’t a paid substitute partner but Youngil’s tutor. Instead of his lunch being hand made you ordered it in for him. When Younghoon wanted to take you out for a meal you arranged for Kevin to take Youngil. While you and Yoona stayed home in your room ordering take out as you watched a movie.

“What’s going on?” Younghoon quizzed grabbing your wrist the second the children was taken to school that morning. You hadn’t realised Younghoon was yet to leave for work. “I’m waving the children off,” you smiled as you went to walk off before his hands grabbed your wrist. “Why didn’t you and Yoona come yesterday?” He quizzed looking hurt. “I’m use to your paddy’s but that really hurt you not letting Yoona come,” he said looking pained. “Because I’m just your live in nanny and Yoona is just the Nanny’s daughter. We’re all forgetting our roles here, this isn’t mine and Yoona’s home, it’s our work related residency,” you said as his eyes blinked in shock. “I’m confused,” he said as you smiled at him. “Younghoon we’re temporary, one day Youngil won’t need a tutor or to be minded. He’s 12, He doesn’t really need minding now that’s what Kevins for. When that day comes it will be painful for Yoona, she needs to be reminded we’re not a family,” you explained as you brushed his hand off your wrist to walk to the stairs to your room. “Wait Y/N,” He called behind you as you turned to face him half way on the stairs. “Why do you suddenly think this is temporary? do you think little of me that when Youngil don’t need you, that I will just brush you aside? Are you that blind to not even realise I care for Yoona myself?” He says looking pained. “So what your going to keep her here till she’s old enough to leave?” You mock rolling your eyes. “Why not?” He scoffs looking serious. “Because your not her dad Younghoon, we already confuse those kids as it is,” you spluttered as he furrowed his eyes your way. “Ok I do, I confuse them because I keep confusing your friendship with something else,” you let slip as his face relaxed almost amused. “You have feelings?” He teased as you grumbled continuing to walk up the stairs to run to hide in your room from revealing further more. “Y/N stop walking away,” he groaned following. “Why so you can continue mocking me,” you said as you go to open your bedroom door, before Younghoon’s hand press to avoid that. “I’m not mocking you I’m sorry,” he said throwing his head into your view against the door. His bottom lip playfully pouting as he try’s to make you smile. “See I’m just trying to make you laugh that’s all.” He said sweetly. “But seriously do you really like me?” He asked holding your waist just a breath away. “Please,” you said trying to brush him aside to no avail. “Can we not talk about this it’s embarrassing as it is,” you said looking up at him with pleading eyes. “If it makes you feel better i like you too,” he said his hands tightening around your waist.

You went into shock as your mind attempted to take his words. “What,” you stuttered as he laughed spinning you so you was against your own bedroom door. His hands placed either side of you, his face brought closer. “I like you Y/N,” he said whispering into your ear. “That girl from the ball,” you whispered yourself, closing your eyes as you struggled under him. “Is that what this weeks been about, her?” he chuckles. “She’s nothing special, I can promise you, it’s not like I could have taken you even though I wanted to,” he said watching you as you felt irritation attack. “Why because your ashamed of me?” you gasped as he shook his head. “Because you don’t like the spotlight, your not ready for the publicity of being with someone like me. Having to deal with the likes of my mother, Youngil’s mum,” he added as you calmed. “When I finally get you to accept a relationship with me I want to be greedy, I want you to myself, all mine,” he smirks devilishly.

Before you can speak another word his lips fall to yours. It’s like he’s held back for so long as the kisses are deep and frenzied. His teeth occasionally nipping at your lips when they don’t keep up with his desperate needy flow. His hands you can hear are fighting the handle of your door and you know he’s about to devour you. You can feel your thighs dampen in excitement. As he opens the door he winks at you having let you come up for air. Pulling you into your room he drags you to the bed. Dropping to the floor he removes your lower clothing, humming at the view of your glistering pussy on show. Pulling you to sit on the bed he hears his phone ring in his back pocket. He doesn’t even look at the device turning it off without his eyes leaving yours. Lips falling to your heat he lets his tongue swipe up and down your folds. Swirling the tip around your nub he enjoys listening to you moan into the air. It’s like it encourages him more as his tongue finds its way to slide against your velvety walls. Bringing your pelvis towards his tongue fucking you, become a messy feast for the both of you. While you feel like your slowly unwinding to your upcoming explosion. You know that your juices are flowing down his chin as he enjoys his meal. Thighs trembling you feel almost ready to jump off your high with him but he stops earning a grumble from your lips. “Don’t be so greedy my baby,” he teases wiping your juices from his chin. “I want you to be greedy with me at the same time,” he says standing to remove his clothes. Seeing him standing there naked almost knocks you into a different world. One where your mind is no longly functioning. From his chuckle your sure your dribbling in his view. Hovering over you his fingers attack your t-shirt till they remove your bra. His lips impatiently suckling over your nipple. It’s like the taste of your skin is his favourite as he enjoys licking, sucking along both your breasts. Your sure that he’s no doubt marked you as he struggles under his pleasure. Lips soon start to chase to your neck. This time there’s no mistake his suckling on purpose as he marks your skin. “Mine,” he whispers into your ear as your hand finds to his waist. Lining himself at your entrance he slowly presses into your core. His eyes not leaving you as he watches you fall apart underneath. Stilling as he bottoms out in you, your walls respond tightening around him. “Oh baby that feels so good,” he whispers with shakily breath. Lips crashing with yours, his needy inpatient kisses return, this time with a rhythm of his cock deep in you at the same time. Nails raking along his back encourages him to speed his pace as your moans are more whimpers and cry’s. Lifting your legs over his shoulder to reach a more deeper position the coil beneath you begin To evolve once more. Your own pelvis attempting to move against his own, but his hand weighs you down further restricting you. You suckled down his chuckles mixed with his own moans. Hands cupping your face gently doesn’t match the speed and harshness of his shaft hitting you so perfectly, your thighs shake as your orgasm nears. His lips leave yours as his own tethers, your name spills like a mantra. The words hitting the air is enough to send you crazy as you fall off your own. Your wall crushing around his cock that his grunts become deeper as he fills you with ropey cum. He continues as he slowly thrusts his last couple of movements against you.

Lips returning to yours he lets your legs drop. His kisses much more romantic as his hands brush down your face. “Are you really mine?” you ask between his kisses that makes him stop to look at you. “Do I really look like a man who spins words just to get them in to bed?” He questions as you smile shaking your head. “Y/N I meant what I said. Your mine, I just want to keep it private before the world, my world scares you away,” he said looking at you seriously. “I once thought i had lost you and I’m never going back there,” he said brushing his hands along your breasts watching them harden. “That wasn’t because I was connected to you,” you said trying to comfort him. “Maybe then yes, but anyone connected to me because my money, my status they could be hurt,” he said biting his lip. “I won’t ever risk losing you. It’s why I paid for that girl to be my plus one, the eyes are on her while I enjoy my time with you,” he said pressing kisses to your breasts that had your nipples erect. “You paid for a girlfriend?” you scoffed as he chuckled. “No I paid an actress to act like she was my date, so I could keep my new family safe,” he said looking at you totally in love. “New family?” You question as he smiles. “Yes you, Youngil and Yoona, my family,” he said as his lips fell to yours.

Getting lost in your moment you didn’t register the raised voices coming up the stairs. But the way Younghoon’s lips was engaged with yours he didn’t neither. Not till the door blasted open.

At the bottom of your bed was a woman looking at you both furious. Her eyes meeting Younghoon’s, guilt written all over them. “What the hell,” you hit out pulling the bed sheets to cover you. “What the hell? Is that all you can say when your in bed with my husband,” she screams angrily in to the room. Behind her seconds later walks in Youngil, his face in horror at finding you in bed with his father.

In that second you wanted the floor to eat you whole.

To be continued ……

Masterlist

#kpop smut #kpopidol #fiction #the boyz smut #kim younghoon smut #ji changmin #moon kevin #kim younghoon #choi chanhee #lee hyunjae #lee sangyeon #ju haknyeon #Kim Sunwoo #son Youngjae #jacob bae

[incorrectpizza]

Hah. So. The one-shot I posted the first day of @sabezraweek? It's uh. Not a one-shot anymore. Behold, the sequel, in which Sabine discovers a record of Ezra's time on Peridea:

Story also down below for anyone who wants to read here.

Ezra’s pod is small, but as Sabine explores it, it almost feels cavernous. There’s things everywhere.

A stockpile of dried and cured foods that the Noti taught him to preserve. Weapons he made from whatever he could salvage: stormtrooper blasters and rifles, wood, a strange metal that the Noti used that never grew cold , even on the rare days when the weather grew sour. And there are books. Made from some sort of animal skin, if her hunch is correct. Stitched together with thin, sinewy thread, pages surprisingly sturdy. 

The first one she finds, sitting on a ledge next to the pod’s tiny, Noti-sized second bed, is  a book of Noti bedtime stories. 

“Youongling’s Fables, A Collection of Noti stories as transcribed by Ezra Bridger.”

There’s a total of three charming little tales, each one accompanied by a symbol - some small splash of color signaling the beginning of a new story. Sabine studies them carefully. One is a simple  green circle with uneven splotches throughout - a planet? Another, a silhouette of a Howler, deep navy blue, just a hint brighter and more saturated than Ezra’s hair. The third, though, catches her breath. It’s a Jedi symbol. She reads this story first. 

It’s about the first Jedi to meet the Noti - not Ezra, but some old man in the distant past. The man died protecting the Noti from The Great Mother, a corrupted Force being the Jedi sentenced to ten thousand years of captivity in the mountains. Did this have anything to do with Baylan’s search? His quest for power? Sabine wonders, setting aside the book. She’ll show it to Ahsoka when she gets back from the hunt.

On Ezra’s little workbench, she finds three more books: all blank, waiting for words to fill them. Near the hatch, alongside a few odd “pots” and “pans,” she finds a “cookbook.” It has a dozen recipes, from “Noti Stew DO NOT EAT” to “Peridean Loth-Pie” to “Actually Edible Noti Soup.” She chuckles a bit and makes a mental note to show Ahsoka this one, too. Maybe they can find something that they can stomach once their ration bars are finished. 

And then, as she’s straightening up the other side of the sleeping quarters, she finds two books sitting by Ezra’s bed. The first one she picks up is a “journal.” Each entry is printed in small Aurebesh - so small Sabine puts on her helmet to magnify the words. Ezra must’ve learned quickly that books are harder to make than they look, Sabine muses.

The first page proclaims the book “Jedi Padawan Ezra Bridger’s Journal of A Galaxy Far, Far Away, Volume Five. Noti Nomadic Village, Peridea. Approximately 10 years after the Liberation of Lothal.”

Each page has multiple entries, almost but not quite daily. Most are mundane, ordinary. Sabine reads every single word of every single entry.

“Day 3,547. Jynt and I came up with a new way to attach the ropes to the pods today. Moving them is going to be a lot easier now.” Always ingenious.

“Day 3,574. I discovered a new species today. A little purple and orange caterpillar. I hereby dub it Sabineus Wrennius .” Sabine laughs and flips the page. 

“Day 3,631. I got to scare two night troopers today.” Still a prankster.

“Day 3,650. I really want to go home.” Sabine closes her eyes and sighs. He’s home now, she knows. She should be happy. And yet-

She wishes he were with her. Here. Or home. She misses him deeply, and it’s only been seventeen cycles. She finishes the book, which breaks off mid-entry. 

“Day 3,674. Nothing excitin-”

Was that when he heard my Howler in the distance? Sensed me in the Force? Or was he interrupted on another day and just never bothered to finish?

She closes the book, vowing to ask him one day about that last entry.

Then she opens the second book, the one tucked underneath. It’s tied shut with a thick cord.

She unties it and flips it open. The first page declares in bold orange letters “PROPERTY OF EZRA BRIDGER.”

“Do not look unless you are Ezra.”

Then, underneath, in small scrawl she can hardly read: “Or Sabine.”

Or Sabine? She furrows her brow, wondering what could be so important that Ezra didn’t want anyone reading it, and why she was the exception. Gently, her fingers grasp the edge of the page. 

It’s full of… starbirds?

A dozen of her symbols lie in front of her. Some sketches, others paintings. Their colors vary brilliantly, from blue to purple to green to (yes, of course ) orange. She flips the page again. More starbirds. But not just starbirds. This page also has a Jedi symbol, more crude than the one Sabine had found earlier, and an Imperial crest - crossed out with red, of course. 

As the pages go on, there’s less and less starbirds and more other symbols. Kanan’s Jaig-eyed mask. The patterns from Hera’s lekku. Zeb’s Bo-Rifle. Her helmet.

His drawings grow more detailed, more artistic as the book goes on until, by the middle, he’s got a definite, recognizable style. In the second half, he grows brave enough to try sketching them, their little family, as he remembered them. Hera and Kanan holding hands. Zeb scowling. Sabine flying around Mandalore, broad smile as she shows off her jetpack. Chopper arguing with AP-5. There are a few details off here and there - in one group sketch, her hair is too long and Ezra himself is not wearing orange, an unforgivable creative liberty, especially considering just how shockingly accurate and real the painting looks. 

It’s the very last image of the book, though, that nearly takes Sabine’s breath away. It’s them, hugging, foreheads pressed together in a keldabe kiss. The background - he painted a background? - has some vague, abstract Noti pods. The Ghost hangs in the sky, and Sabine thinks she might even spot Ahsoka’s ship on the ground. In the distance, a white Loth-Wolf looks on. Her fingers hover, desperate to trace the lines, but not wanting to risk damaging the precious painting. Underneath, there’s a title.

Someday Soon .

The next page has no art. Just words. 

Sabine, I hope you never have to read this. I hope I’m here when you come. But just in case, I want to thank you. For always being there for me. For teaching me about life, and art, and how to be a good friend. I couldn’t have made it this long without you. Even more than I ever realized, I love you.

Sabine hurriedly shuts the book before her tears can mar the pages. 

#star wars #star wars rebels #sabine wren #ezra bridger #sabezra #i miiiiiight make this a series #series title ideas would be greatly appreciated bc my titles suck lol #there will at the very least be a reunion fic set after this and hair colors #maaaaaybe more although that's unlikely

[itsfullofstars]

NASA's Chandra Adds X-ray Vision to Webb Images - Carina Nebula Composite by James Webb Space Telescope These new versions of Webb’s first images combine its infrared data with X-rays collected by NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory, underscoring how the power of any of these telescopes is only enhanced when joined with others. Chandra’s data of the “Cosmic Cliffs” (pink) reveals over a dozen individual X-ray sources. These are mostly stars located in the outer region of a star cluster in the Carina Nebula with ages between 1 and 2 million years old, which is very young in stellar terms. Young stars are much brighter in X-rays than old stars, making X-ray studies an ideal way to distinguish stars in the Carina Nebula from the many stars of different ages from our Milky Way galaxy along our line of sight to the nebula. The diffuse X-ray emission in the top half of the image likely comes from hot gas from the three hottest, most massive stars located in the star cluster outside the field of view of the Webb image. The Webb image uses the following colors: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, and blue. Full set of images and information: chandra.si.edu/photo/2022/chandrawebb/ Image credits: X-ray: NASA/CXC/Univ. Observ. Munich/T. Preibisch et al.; IR: NASA/ESA/CSA/STScI Image description: An image of the Carina Nebula, which resembles a rust brown mountain range backed by a hazy blue night sky. A curtain of dust and gas in the nebula occupies the bottom half of the image. The blue sky-like area above is streaked with vertical bands of haze which rise from the nebula below. Pale clouds of pink show hot gas that was blown away from massive stars. A starfield of gleaming pink and white specks blankets the entire image. Three long diffraction spikes entering the image at our upper right hint at the presence of a bright star just out of view. https://flic.kr/p/2nQQYHh

#IFTTT #Flickr #jwst #webb #chandra #multiwavelengthastronomy #jameswebbspacetelescope #infrared #xra

[deepautumncolors]

💅🏻 ~Manicure Monday~ 💅🏻

Hi everyone! In my last post, I mentioned that I was going to wear my green and blue glitter for Easter… but I changed my mind. This year for Easter, I decided to try a skittle manicure which is when each nail is a different color. I’ve never done one before, but I saw a really pretty one with pastel colors on Instagram that I wanted to replicate. And I love how it came out!

Doing a skittle manicure is fun, but it takes longer than regular ones because you have to keep switching bottles as well as putting two coats of polish on each nail. With all the extra movement, there is more potential for mistakes so I discovered that you have to be very careful. I didn’t keep the bottles too close to the space where I was painting so I wouldn’t accidentally smudge any of my nails on them. All the polishes I used are OPI crèmes, and I’ll talk a little bit about each one.

💛 Blinded by the Ring Light: I already reviewed this one last year. You can read about it here! I only used two coats this time, but I can still see some of my nails underneath it, so three would be better.

💚 How Does Your Zen Garden Grow?: I’ve already reviewed this polish before, too. You can read about it here! It wasn’t the same green they used in the example I saw, but it was close. The one they wore is called That’s Hula-rious! which is a bit lighter and more of a mint green.

🩵 Gelato on My Mind: I reviewed this one last year as well. You can read about it here! I would say the formula of this one was the thinnest out of all five, so you don’t need to put a lot on the brush and you don’t want to get too close to your cuticles with it. This one wasn’t the same blue they used in the post either, but it’s very close. The one they wore is called It’s A Boy! which is a sky blue that would also work very well for this.

💜 Polly Want a Lacquer?: I just happened to order this polish the day before I saw the post where they were wearing the exact same one! It’s from the Fiji Collection that came out for Spring/Summer 2017. It’s a beautiful lavender that does not lean towards blue or gray like some purples do. I considered getting Do You Lilac It? when I was looking for a light purple, but the color of that one is a little darker. The first coat was streaky and patchy just like the other three colors, but the second coat evened it out nicely.

🩷 Mod About You: Believe it or not, I didn’t have a pastel pink crème already! I have a pretty pink that’s a shimmer, but I thought it would have looked silly being the only shimmery nail when the rest were crèmes. In my opinion, skittle manis would look best when all five polishes have the same type of finish. People rave about this color, so I decided to try it. When I saw it in person, I thought it looked too pale, but I bought it anyway. I like it better on my nails than I do in the bottle, so I’m glad I did. A lot of pastels have thin formulas that require two coats because the color is so light, but this one was opaque with one coat. In fact, it was the only one that was out of all five polishes. The color is very sweet and feminine. It was originally released with the Brighter by the Dozen collection in Summer 2006, and now it’s one of their core colors. I can see why!

So, there you have it! I would definitely like to wear the purple and pink polishes by themselves sometime, since this was the first time I wore them and they are only on two nails. They are both lovely colors for the springtime, and so are the other three. I can’t even pick a favorite because I love them all!

#nail polish #OPI #nails #manicure #notd

[queerofthedagger]

Do you have some Sandman fic recs? I only just started going through them but I could use some guidance and I trust your taste.

Hey nonnie, absolutely do I have recs!! ❤️

Most of these are Dream/Hob, and I tried not to go overboard - if you do want more, you're more than welcome to hit me up, or check out my AO3 bookmarks for the show. All of these are completed, and while they aren't sorted in any particular order, the first three are my top faves <3

In the arms of Morpheus | Dans les bras de Morphée. by aalisse [Dream/Hob | 12 320 | Teen | no warnings]

Attraction to Dream of the Endless comes to Hob in a form of a slow, simmering fire. At times it burns brighter, other times it calms until it’s barely noticeable. It never goes away fully, partially because Hob doesn’t want it to. His companion is the embodiment of hope and dreaming. It would be sacrilege to give up hope in being wanted by him. _____ Death comes for a raven, and finds her brother. He doesn't ask her for help, but prevents her possible entrapment, so she finds Hob Gadling and suggests he do something about the situation at hand. Cue a one man resque mission in 1926, which leads to dozens of years of platonic, yet vaguely romantic dating both in the waking world and in the Dreaming.

an immortal's guide to contrition by trellomonkey [Dream/Hob | 6 619 | Teen | no warnings]

“I’ll win him over,” he says, resolute. “I’ll woo him.” In 1889, Hob Gadling has a falling out with his friend. He spends the next century coming up with a way to make it up to him.

King of Infinite Space by Banhus [Dream/Hob | 15 865 | Mature | no warnings]

In which Hob has a spate of odd nightmares, a collection of strays, a student with an unusual knack, and a very weird fall semester.

Hope and Stubbornness Endure by icarus_chained [Dream/Hob | 14 028 | Mature | Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings]

There are consequences to being caught in nightmares not your own, in the tormented memories of beings infinitely more powerful than you. Hob Gadling doesn't care. Nightmares can't kill him. And if this was ever real, he has no choice but to try and fight it now. To show ... to show his friend that he would have rescued him. If he'd known. He would have tried, no matter what it cost.

Heat Wave by spqr [Dream/Hob | 6 689 | Explicit | no warnings]

“Sounds like you’re horny to me,” says Matthew.

how real hunger has a real taste by ThirdActLove [Dream/Hob | 3 045 | Mature | no warnings]

Dream has one hand on the glass door, one foot almost in the Dreaming, when Hob calls out. “Wait.”

Spite (Is As Good A Reason As Any) by Blue_Sunshine [Dream & Hob, Hob & Johanna Constantine | 24 695 | G/A | no warnings]

Hob has a bone to pick with (Dream of the Endless) and damn if he isn't going to find the bastard to have it out. ~~ The White Horse Inn is officially condemned in 2009 and Hob, twenty years after being stood up, decides that he's not going to let that be the last word. ~~ Or, ten years before Paul Maguire either finally loses his nerve (or gains it, perhaps), Hob Gadling and Johanna Constantine become unlikely partners on a seemingly ill-fated search for an immortal man who never actually gave his only friend his name.

the perils of inebriation by Lilibet [Dream/Hob | 1 372 | G/A | no warnings]

Lesson number one: don’t try and keep pace with an immortal being when drinking. Spoiler: Hob fails at lesson number one.

Crystal Vision by clintorisbarton [Dream/Hob | 11 239 | Explicit | no warnings]

Hob Gadling's life, from the moment he meets Dream to the moment he meets Dream.

#the sandman #dreamling #the sandman fic #fic rec #rec list #answered asks #anonymous

[luckycheesefoodie321]

Mari wears Chat Merch fic

Originally posted under this post by @glockenzspiel, figured I may as well dedicate its own. Not a fanfic writer but I like writing, and I was feeling inspired XD Disclaimer: only watched a few eps of MLB but really wanna get into it. Most of my knowledge has been absorbed through tumblr and osmosis. Make a lot of assumptions based on y'all and your reactions, so there is the slightest of angst re: the most recent season where Chat feels like Ladybug is replacing him. I also yadda yadda past the reveal bc don't wanna touch that with my limited knowledge. But anyway! Enjoy!

2k+ words. Oneshot. About that one black tshirt with a new green paw print on it that apparently yall have collectively decided Marinette owns. Otherwise mostly wholesome.

Chat’s eyes were brighter than usual.

Ladybug watched in bemusement as he came screeching to a halt on their way back from another successful mission, and stood in front of a little street stall. The stall owner seemed to have fled to safety during the last akuma attack.

It was covered top to bottom in Chat Noir merchandise.

This wasn’t an unusual sight. There were dozens of Chat Noir-specific merch vendors all over the city. There were just as many Ladybug stalls. There were even whole department store sections dedicated to celebrating the resident heroes of Paris.

“This is so cool!” Chat gushes, his eyes glowing a vibrant green, hands clutching at a black shirt. Ladybug peered around him and noticed the black t-shirt had a single neon green paw print in the centre. She raised an eyebrow.

“Really, kitty? There’s probably a dozen like it” she chuckled, as he whirled around with a mock offended look on his face.

“How can you not appreciate how incredible this design is, milady?!” he argued as she smirked at him. “The simplicity yet sophistication. It’s bold but understated!” He waved the shirt around but she merely blinked at it. He pouted at her lack of enthusiasm.

“Bet Marinette would appreciate this” he grumbled, fingering the material.

“What was that?” Ladybug tilted her head, not having heard him. Chat’s ears twitched as he glanced back at her. “…I was saying it’s a shame you don’t realise how awesome this shirt is!” he finally said, thrusting the shirt into her face.

“Like it that much?” she giggled, gently pushing it away. His jaw clenched with playful stubbornness.

“Do you know what this says, LB?” he crooked a brow.

“What does it say, Chat?” she indulged him.

“It says, ‘I am a Chat Noir fan 100%’” he whispered dramatically. He leaned back with a bright grin. “I wonder if I could just leave some money and take this?” he mumbled to himself.

Ladybug burst out laughing.

---

Later, Marinette was driving around, running some deliveries on her scooter when she passed by the stall she had visited earlier that day.

There was still a stack of those Chat Noir shirts, but now with a bored vendor tending to the stall.

She couldn’t help but giggle, remembering how delighted Chat had been.

Marinette pursed her lips as she walked up to the stall, looking at the shirt. There really was nothing special about the shirt. It was a plain black tee, the neon green paw print stamped on. No embellishments, nothing clever. As a burgeoning fashion designer, nothing about the material or graphic design seemed exciting to her.

But Chat Noir had loved it.

As a general rule, and also because it was really, really weird, Marinette didn’t buy Chat merch. Let alone her own. That would be even weirder. But here she hesitated.

“Excuse me, miss, but are you planning on buying anything?” the vendor finally piped up, having watched as the strange young girl seemingly zoned out in front of his stall.

“Oh!” a bright flush spread across her face. “Uh, um, yes uh, this please!” she hastily grabbed one of the shirts, not even bothering to check the size and handing it to the vendor to ring up.

She paid for the shirt, gave the vendor an embarrassed smile, before running off to finish her errands, the now bagged shirt clutched in her hands.

---

An hour later, she stood, holding the shirt in front of her. It was a little big but nothing too crazy.

“I mean, I suppose I should try it on” she shrugged, and changed into it. Marinette looked in her mirror.

There she was. The Ladybug, wearing a Chat Noir t-shirt.

“Yup. About as weird as I thought it would be” she announced to the empty room, strangely embarrassed. “But it’s pretty comfy.” She played with the hem of the shirt and shrugged. Guess these were her pyjamas for the night.

---

As time would go on, the Chat shirt would naturally become part of her loungewear rotation. Marinette no longer felt self-conscious, and would often happily don it to go to sleep. It was a really comfortable shirt.

So comfortable, in fact, that she would forget she was wearing it.

Which would come back to bite her in a very embarrassing way.

---

It had been a long day of fighting another one of Hawkmoth’s akumas, and Marinette decided that a quiet evening looking out at the beautiful city of Paris on her balcony, with a hot mug of cocoa was exactly what she needed.

“That smells good,” a voice suddenly spoke. She looked to her left and saw Chat Noir perched on the ledge of the balcony. She rolled her eyes and smiled.

She had gotten used to these abrupt late night visits from Chat. Since he didn’t know she was Ladybug, she could relax and not worry about fending off his flirting.

“Hot cocoa. Want some?” she offered, preparing to push away from where she had been leaning. He shook his head and instead shifted from his crouch to sit properly on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge.

They both gazed out at the twinkling lights of the city.

“Tired from a long day saving the world?” she sipped at her drink. He shrugged, smiling down at her.

“A little, yeah” he admitted, and she looked up at him. He wasn’t usually so forthcoming.

“The job getting you down?” she asked, hesitantly.

One good thing about being Marinette and Chat Noir, was she could ask him things she wasn’t brave enough to ask as Ladybug. It was something that had long since been on her mind. Her role as a hero. His role as her partner. Living this double life. All the responsibilities they both were facing. She wondered if he felt the same way.

“Well, you know. The constant fighting gets to you after a while,” his eyes glowed in the black night, as he stared into the distance. She did know. “Well at least you have Ladybug at your side,” she offered, but all she received was a sad smile.

“Ladybug is great. She’s strong and steadfast and never seems to let anything get to her.” He went quiet for a moment. “It can be pretty intimidating, actually.”

Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re…intimidated by Ladybug?” the shock in her voice made him turn, and he shook his head vehemently.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” he raised his hands defensively. “Don’t get me wrong. I love this part about her. Her duty to the city and her role, and how fearless she is in the face of insurmountable odds! But… it kinda leaves very little room for me. Like even if I weren’t there, she’d still do just fine.”

He almost whispered that final part, and Marinette’s heart squeezed tight. She had never realised he felt this way. In her eyes, Chat Noir was unshakeable, undeterred, grinning through all the trials they faced as heroes. She looked to him as a shoulder to lean on and a support she could rely on. He was the best partner she could ever hope for. And yet she had made him feel like she didn’t need him.

She reached one hand over and laid it over Chat’s clenched fist. He looked at her and she glared at hi.

“You know that’s not true. Ladybug needs Chat Noir just as much as Chat Noir needs Ladybug.” She squeezed his hand. “I know it. You know it. And the whole of Paris knows it.”

Chat studied her gaze as she studied his, before they both smiled. “You think so?” he finally asked.

“I do. And I know Ladybug would think the same.” She gave him a pointed look. “You should tell her how you feel.”

For some reason, Chat’s ears turned red, but he coughed and looked away. “Yeah, maybe I should.” She nodded, and finally leaned back.

“Sure you don’t want some cocoa?” she asked.

He pondered for a second, before turning around. “Yeah, why not? I have time for- HEY!”

“What?!” she looked around, worried some hidden enemy had ambushed them on her balcony. It was still quiet, empty night and she looked back at him. He was looking at her clothes.

“My shirt!”

Marinette glanced down at herself, horror dawning on her.

“Oh no” she wheeled around, looking for something to cover the green pawprint, but there was no such object. She settled for instead covering her face with her hands, avoiding Chat Noir’s ear-to-ear grin.

“You bought a Chat Noir shirt!” he chimed, his voice bubbling with excitement.

“No, I didn’t!” she denied, trying to shuffle towards the door leading back into her home.

“Don’t deny it! I saw this shirt the other day with Ladybug!” he slid in front of her, blocking her escape.

“It’s not the same shirt. Not related to you at all” She tried to slip past him but the wasn’t letting her past.

“Don’t lie! Who else could be represented by a green paw print?” he demanded, planting his fists on his hips.

Marinette scrambled for an excuse.

“It’s this, uh, great indie band I know, Neon Leopards. Big fan. Yup.” Chat burst out laughing and allowed Marinette to push him inside as she re-entered her home. She stopped him before he could follow her in.

“Didn’t realise you were a Chat Noir fan, Marinette” he leaned in close to her bright red face but she locked her brows stubbornly.

“I’m a Neon Leopards fan,” she huffed. “Also, I just realised I drank the last of the hot cocoa. So I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now!”

Chat Noir didn’t even try to stop her, too busy snickering.

She slammed the door shut on his laughing face.

---

Over the subsequent months and years, the Chat shirt would becoming an ongoing joke between Chat and Marinette. When Chat Noir mentioned Marinette owning his merchandise to Ladybug, it took everything for her not to burst into flames from embarrassment and react with cool indifference.

But it would soon make way for an even bigger reveal.

“Wait, Marinette. You’re Ladybug?!”

“You’re Chat Noir, Adrien?!”

The Chat shirt would not be a topic that would come up for a good while after this, as Marinette and Adrien adjusted not only to the news that they were Chat and Ladybug respectively, but also the newfound romantic relationship they had entered into soon after the reveal.

Until one day, when Chat appeared on her balcony.

--- “Claws in!” and suddenly, Adrien Agreste was on her balcony.

Marinette poked her head out onto the balcony and huffed, coming to stand in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Hey Marinette!” he greeted her, before freezing midstride.

“Adrien, you know you can use the front door!” she complained, before noticing the creeping smile on his face.

She felt a tingling sensation on her neck and weird sense of déjà vu as he stared at her clothes. She glanced down and sighed.

“Neon Leopards, huh?” he smirked, walking over and wrapping her in his arms.

“This is why you don’t catch a lady off guard” she grumbled, leaning her red face into his chest.

“I should’ve known you were Ladybug when I saw you wearing this shirt. The fashion-forward design genius Marinette would never have bought this kind of top otherwise” he chuckled, pulling back enough to look at his cute lady’s face.

She rolled her eyes, lazily draping her arms around his neck.

“I guess I couldn’t help myself.” She sighed, smiling playfully. “I mean, it’s simple, yet sophisticated.” She teased. He nodded seriously. “Truly bold yet understated” he declared, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“I mean, do you know what this says?” she leaned in, whispering dramatically. He followed her lead.

��What does it say?” he whispered back. “It says, ‘I’m a Chat Noir fan, 100%’” she grinned, and he couldn’t resist. He leaned in and pecked her lightly on the lips. A light pink tinged her cheeks and across her nose.

“Clearly you wouldn’t survive without me,” he sighed, winking at her. She jabbed him in the ribs. He jerked before retaliating by tickling her. She giggled and swatted his hands away.

“There is no Ladybug without Chat Noir, after all,” she announced.

“And no Adrien without Marinette” he murmured. She blushed again, and how could Adrien resist that. He leaned back in once more.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb oneshot #fanfic #miraculous ladybug oneshot #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #marinette x adrien #marichat #adrienette #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #mlb ship #writing #glockenzspiel #ladybug fic #2k fic #2k+

[educatedamateur]

The Meaning of Christmas--An Essay About Christmas Movies, Nihilism, and Life

It seems like finding “the meaning of Christmas” has become such an integral part of every Christmas story and Christmas experience, that one could say that “finding the meaning of Christmas” has become part of the meaning of Christmas.  In this way, many Christmas movies and stories act as allegories for life as a whole; a microcosm for humanity’s more general search for meaning in a universe seemingly devoid of it.

On the one hand, we have characters like the Grinch or Ebenezer Scrooge who represent a nihilistic view of reality.  Life possesses no inherent meaning, so there is no reason not to pursue selfish gain or wallow in misanthropy.  Certainly, the cruelty of the world and more specifically humanity (or Whomanity) makes this conclusion easy to come to, attractive even.  In the modern era especially, it is easy to become disillusioned with the merry image of holidays past when we are bombarded by the hyper-commercialized, over-stimulating hellscape that is late-stage capitalism; abuses of the imperialist and colonial eras of the recent and not so recent pasts makes a uniform rejection of any and all aspects of western culture even more attractive, leading to more people pointing to the inherent hypocrisy of the Christian imagery and coopted pagan rituals combined with one another and awkwardly juxtaposed with blatant profit-seeking.

And yet…

Whether it is called Christmas, or Yule, or Hanukkah, or Kwanza, or any one of several dozen other terms, we still are captivated by the mid-winter celebration.  The time of the year when no crops are grown, when the world seems its most dead and cold, is when we choose to—for whatever cultural reason we desire or believe—come together and choose to celebrate and partake of arguably the most human part of our collective experience: community.

From a strictly anthropological perspective, humans’ ability to work together and operate as a collective unit has been the most effective evolutionary trait we ever developed.  Yes, we have our oversized brains to thank for developing tool use and other survival strategies, but none of these things would be nearly as effective without cooperation and complex social organization.  Our ability to socialize with one another is, in my opinion at least, the most important factor that makes us human.  Is it any wonder, then, that we choose to celebrate this aspect of our species at the time of year when it is most crucial that we remember it?  In Darwinian terms, any activity which promote social cooperation at a time when resources are scarce and such cooperation is vital would confer an enormous survival advantage for the societies that engaged in it, and thus be selected for.

But somehow, we can all sense that there’s more to it than that.  More than just the simple calculus of evolutionary survival.

Humanity’s search for meaning is as old as Humanity itself.  Ever since we became able to abstractly reason, we began to question our reality.  Why are we here?  Is there any reason for all this?  Why is there something rather than nothing?

Why do we suffer?

Why are we so cruel to each other?  Why is the universe so cold and cruel, so unfeeling?  

We invented and hypothesized many answers to these questions over the millennia, from creation myths to scientific theories, cosmograms to cosmological models.  We invented culture and art and dance and music and so many other ways to make our lives brighter.  In our darkest moments, we know, thought we are loathe to admit it, that we invented these things to distract ourselves from a deeply Uncomfortable Truth: that nothing matters; there is no meaning to all of this; it’s all random.

People, especially in our modern era which prizes cold reason and rationality, often get lost within this Uncomfortable Truth.  We become desponded, depressed.  We become angry, misanthropic, hostile.  There is no meaning to our suffering, so we seek anything to alleviate our pain.  In this situation, many choose to placate themselves by pandering to their Ego: pretending that they are superior to all those who profess belief in the meaning of life and Christmas.  There is no God, there is no meaning.  Wake up and smell the shit, we’re all living in it; you should grow up and accept the meaninglessness of your life!  Bah!  Humbug!

And yet…

In November of the year 2000, a live action adaptation of the famed Dr. Seuss book How the Grinch Stole Christmas, starring Jim Carrey, was released in theaters.  This movie expanded on the lore of past adaptations by showing that the Grinch’s misanthropy was only partly due to his inherent cussedness—he was bullied in a traumatic even that destroyed even his atrophied sense of faith in the meaning of Christmas/Life.  He spent the next few decades living apart from society and cultivating his hatred for the community that had rejected him.  The Whos certainly were to blame for traumatizing and ostracizing the Grinch, but reality is a relationship between subjects and objects, and the Grinch also chose to reject all aspects of the society that rejected him, even to his own long-term detriment.

We see that the Grinch, despite his obvious intellect, physical strength, and inventiveness, is clearly suffering from his isolation, despite his own self-deception to the contrary.  He still defines himself in reference to the society he hates, as excluded from it; even in his misanthropy, he cannot fully disengage from the community.  The community has a responsibility to face up to its mistreatment of the Grinch, but the Grinch must also face up to his misunderstanding of the nature of community.

We see that the Grinch is capable of understanding this—when he is given the community’s highest award and given a place of honor in their celebrations, he gradually begins to embrace celebration, becoming more enthusiastic as the night goes on, and the community celebrates with him…right up until things go wrong.

Here we must talk briefly about someone else—the mayor.

The mayor is a lot more like the Grinch than is immediately obvious.  He is misanthropic and selfish, as we see in his childhood when he bullies the Grinch.  Like the Grinch, he true as recognized the Uncomfortable Truth of the meaninglessness of life, but where the Grinch chose to retreat from society and hate what he perceived as the falseness of it, the mayor chose to embrace the illusion and manipulate it for his own gain.  He is just as nihilistic as the Grinch: he doesn’t believe in community, only in materialism.

When the mayor triggers the Grinch by reminding him of his past traumas, he is intentionally reminding the Grinch about the Uncomfortable Truth.  “You don’t matter,” he is saying without words.  “None of this matters.  It’s all about the gifts, and I have more than you, so I’m better than you.”  It is this which prompts the Grinch’s later actions; his attempt to spite the society he hates by destroying and stealing their material possessions, which in his view is all that matters.  He is trying to rip aside the veil of illusion and reveal to the Whos that their society is an ugly lie.

But in so doing, he inadvertently gives them the greatest gift of all.  By stripping away the illusion that is materialism, he reveals what they have left: each other.

Neither the Grinch nor the mayor can understand this.  They run headlong into the Second Uncomfortable Truth: that the illusion is reality.  Because if Nothing Matters, then Everything does.

And it destroys them.

The mayor is devastated by the loss of his material possessions, by the loss of his control over the community, and the Grinch is shocked and bamboozled by his inability to destroy the faith of the Whos in their society.  The difference between them lies in how they react.  The mayor refuses to let go of his Ego.  He has built a shell of materialism and pride to protect himself from hurt, and he scrabbles at what few fragments remain when the illusion is stripped away, desperately rejecting the Second Truth.  But the Grinch does something different, and this is critical; this is the lesson that we must take.  

He entertains the notion that he was wrong.

Just for a moment, but a moment is all it takes.  He opened the window, a tiny crack in his protective shell of materialism and hate.  And the bright, hot, searing light of the Second Truth strips him of his defense mechanisms and lays his soul bare before the light of the rising sun.

Awakening is a painful process, even physically so, and this was true of the Grinch.  He is physically in agony by the process and cries out that he is dying.  He is dying.  His Ego, the carefully crafted façade of identity that he painstakingly cobbled together over the years just like the junk machinery in his lair was being burned away by the Truth, leaving him raw and feeling everything he never let himself feel before.  The Ego struggles to preserve itself, but the process once started cannot be stopped, and the Ego must die for him to grow into the being he was always meant to be.

The process that Ebeneezer Scrooge went through was slightly different from that of the Grinch, but only in the details, and was no less intense for it.

Scrooge’s wounding by society was a more gradual one.  As he grew older, he was worn down by the aggressively mercenary attitude of 19th century London, such that he became bitter and miserly.  The childlike wonder of his youth was eroded until all that was left of him was a hollow shell, his material wealth and possessions becoming the only things he valued in the world.  Unlike the Grinch though, Ebeneezer does have other people in his life, his nephew Fred and his employee Bob Cratchit.  It is these two, and a pair of gentlemen seeking charity donations, that serve to highlight Scrooge’s attitude towards the world and his view on the material world.  He mocks his nephew for celebrating instead of seeking wealth, castigates Cratchit for asking for a day off, and rants to the charity seekers about the uselessness of the poor using language that could be construed as genocidal.  

Yet all of these people presenting opposition to Scrooge’s worldview are necessary for planting the seed of his transformation.  Their words echo through his mind and shake the foundations of his protective shell of Ego.  But their words would not have had such an effect if it weren’t for the initial catalyst for Scrooge’s transformation, the death of his business partner Jacob Marley.

Marley had died seven years before the events of the story, and while Ebeneezer Scrooge seems outwardly unaffected, it later becomes clear that his own mortality is weighing on him.  Death and its inevitability is a theme that appears constantly in so many stories across human history.  It forces us to confront the Uncomfortable Truth, and for someone who only believes in materialism, this is especially terrifying.

Scrooge’s fear of his own rapidly diminishing mortality combines with the words of Fred, Cratchit, and the charity workers to plant a seed of doubt in his mind, a crack in his shell.  This leads to the supernatural events which follow, something that Scrooge’s purely materialistic worldview would never have allowed, were it not for the chink in his armor.

What followed was a protracted Ego death, the unstoppable process which began with a vision of his dead business partner warning him of everything that he feared; that the armored shell he had crafted to protect himself from the cruelty of the world would become his chains in death.  He is then taken on a journey; he is shown his past, representing his inner child who still believed in the joys he had forgotten; he is shown the present, and those who embraced joy and love and community despite the harshness of the world around them, and their lives were made better for it.

Finally, he is shown the thing he fears most in the world: the loss of everything in death.  His material possessions sold off or stolen, people being glad of his death, and the fact that all of his materialism amounted to nothing more than a lonely grave that no one mourned.  The only mourning came from those mourning the loss of another whom they had loved dearly, a counterpoint to his own un-mourned passing.

In some depictions of the story, Scrooge, in a scene more befitting a horror movie, is pulled into his own grave by ghostly chains.  In other versions, he merely collapses upon his own grave in tears.  In either case, the symbolism is the same: the old version of him must die—his Ego must die—for him to have hope of growing beyond himself.

The experience that Scrooge and the Grinch undergo differ only in details.  The end result is the same: they are changed men.

When Scrooge awakens he feels light as a feather, freed from the unconscious burden of constantly shielding his inner child from the cruelties of the world, and instead embracing the goodness of all things, the importance of all things.  He makes massive donations to charity, raises Bob Cratchit’s standard of living, and becomes closer with his nephew’s family.

Grinch embraces his dog Max and saves Cindy Lou, restoring the material possessions that he had stolen previously.  He embraces the community that he had rejected for so long and—this is the important bit—they embrace him in return.

So, what is the point of all this?  What is the real meaning of Christmas?  What is the meaning of Life.

Well, I’m just a guy who probably thinks way too hard about Christmas movies, but to summarize this way-too-long essay: I believe that the meaning of Christmas and the meaning of Life are the same, and it’s ultimately about the defeat of nihilism by embracing the joy and absurdity of life.

Whatever justification you use to celebrate Christmas, the real meaning of the celebration is ultimately the same reason that you live your life. 

Nothing Matters.  Therefore, Everything Matters.

We as humans find joy and meaning in our communities, in our relationships with other people, and in our relationships with ourselves as well.  That in the midst of a frozen and dead landscape, we can still hold each other close and give each other whatever we can, from our hearts and not just our hands, and remind each other of the joys we had in the summertime past, and the joys of the summer to come.

Christmas to me is a reminder that everything is fleeting, temporary.  The summer must end and the people we love move on or pass away.  But the winter will end too.  There will be more joys to come, there will be a better tomorrow.  We have to believe that in order to make it so.

So, we hold onto each other now.  We take joy where we can right now, and we look forward to both the darkness and light that will come and pass.  We look up at the bright stars shining in the dark night, and remember that everything matters.

Merry Christmas.

#christmas #the grinch #dr seuss #christmas carol #nihilsm #absurdism #joy #i really overthink these kinds of things #hope this helps

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Is it weird that I thought of a name for Rogue Gai's girlfriend: "Leona."

I think it even could have been a name forced on her by the royal family after she was made into a concubine. Kind of another way to show they owned her by taking away her identity. In doing so, they tried to make it mean like she was one of a dozen women owned by the nobles. One who belonged to the king, but had no power over him. Just a beautiful prize to show his status and give him heirs.

She used to hate her name...

But then she met Gai, he learned her name, he saw it to mean she was Brave. Driven. Powerful. A valued member of the pride(freedom fighters). He would have loved to use her original name if she allowed it, but she gently refused. Later on, he asks to name their child after her: Lee.

She starts to like her name.

But when she talks to Kakashi, he adds an entirely new perspective that changes her world view completely. He's seen MANY lions in their native habitat. He once studied how they act. And he found out that the Lionesses are the true leaders of the packs. They own the land, they make the rules, they choose the Lion who gets to stay with the pack, and kick them out when they are too old, useless, or hated. Despite being smaller, they hold all the power as a collective.

After that, she embraces her name. And enjoys the idea that one day, with the help of her pride, she will throw out the useless, old man who ruined the land, and will bring forth a new, better king to rule.

(And she does.)

I really love the levels to her name, and it feels kind of Kinoe/Tenzo/Yamatoish except that it’s all the same name and her learning to love it even though it originally was a name she loathed because of the meaning behind how she received it

But then Gai came and loved her so much that he wanted to name their child after her. To continue her name and strength on into their child

And Kakashi talked to her and gave her a lesson on the animals that the king so clearly respects and wants to show respect for through how he names his servants/concubines

And slowly it stops being a name she hates and becomes a name she owes

So becomes so proud of that name that when the king finally falls she gets to be the one to tell him his time is done

His reign full of hatred and tyrant is done

And she’s the one who helped to put an end to it. The girl he thought he owned becoming the one who kicked him out of the kingdom and took it back. Who’s son will take the throne and lead the kingdom to a brighter, better future

I’m crying it’s so perfect

[em-writes-stuff]

impaled

day five of @whumpcember

982 words

warnings: killing, leading people to their death

~

I’m not excited to read this one. Reports of the last dragon, who was hunted down until it collapsed out of the air. Most people know the legend. Dragon goes after the king, nearly killing him without a reason. The king retaliates, sending his troops after the dragon and wounding him until the king runs a sword through his heart, killing the dragon and saving the kingdom from his evil intentions. After skimming, this is not the case. 

Report directly from King Edward’s journal. 

I never expected to be able to write this, but I’ve seen the Great Dragon. Its wings are brighter than any gold and its teeth big enough to split a boat in half. The horns will make an excellent addition to my collection. 

I grew up hearing about this Great Beast, thinking it was a thing of legend and beauty-although mostly used to scare me into listening to my father. It never occurred to me that such a monster existed. Then I saw it, just a shadow in the clouds, the sun shining through its magnificent golden colored wings, painting everything in a glittering, golden hue. 

I told my troops of it, to keep a wary eye out for it because it would surely kill us all if given the chance. 

I sent a patrol out to where I had seen it, they weren’t to return until they’d seen where the beast landed. They never returned. 

Another patrol went out, following the trail left by the last, this time with instructions to return only upon seeing the beast at all. For two months, they walked. 

I sent out a third patrol, ten of my newest soldiers, all begging for a chance to prove themselves. They were going to kill the monster. Bring it down to the ground and never let it come back up. 

Two returned. One survived. 

I sent my oldest, most trusted knight with a troop of his choosing to chase down the beast, never thinking they’d succeed. But three months later, I received word that he had made camp just outside the castle walls. He returned with half of his original patrol, a dragon scale tacked to his shield and the dragon following behind him. 

I wasted no time in making it to them, for I would be the one to kill this magnificent beast. 

It was covered in blood to the point where I was barely able to see the golden shine underneath. Its eyes had gone from a brilliant emerald to a dull green. Teeth were chipped and horns were snapped. They had trapped it under dozens of ropes, barely letting it move a muscle. My knight knelt before me, bowing his head deeply in respect. 

He handed me a sword, it was one given by his father and never left his side. I bowed deeply and faced the mighty dragon. 

I looked at the beast, its eyes locked on me. In another lifetime, I would have run from it, for even as it was tied down and beaten, its fierce gaze nearly had me trembling in my armour. 

I swiftly dug my blade into the beast’s heart and watched it scream in pain, fire exiting from between its scales and steam rising from the wound. 

Blood poured from the gash as I twisted the blade and pulled it out. The blood turned any grass to ash as it fell, sweeping over the large clearing and burning anything in its path. My men and I ran as quickly as we could, only a few of us made it by the skin of our teeth. 

I stared at the corpse, steam still coming off of it. I looked at my troops and nodded, each of them returning it with a bow. 

We stayed there until the smoke stopped rising, until the sun had set and risen again and was once again high in the sky. Then, we marched forward on the ashen ground. 

It was quick work, removing the scales, teeth, and horns from the dragon. My men were itching to get home, so they worked twice as hard as any of us expected. Before we turned away from the mountain of a beast, I sunk my dagger into one of its newly unprotected areas of flesh and filled up a golden flask with its blood, careful not to get any on my hands. 

And with that last detail of triumph, I end this entry. 

King Edward

~

Bastard. 

This entry will definitely have to be hidden from the public. King Edward was a hero of his time, constantly saving the kingdom from enemies. Destroying that view of him would do nobody any good. 

As for the facts. He likely didn’t sink the sword into the dragon’s heart, as dragons’ hearts are on the right side of their chest. So it was extremely likely that the dragon took hours to die. It might’ve been alive as they tore the scales off, ripped teeth out and sawed horns in half. 

The death toll of this feat is well into the hundreds, as long as reports of the patrols are accurate. I believe the one young knight who survived would be Gavalant, who was later thrown into the dungeons for being suspected of killing the Librarian of his time. Served him right. 

The teeth and horns are still displayed in the Great Hall, though some have broken down over time. The scales were used to fortify armour, though I’m not sure how. 

The dragon’s corpse is still where it was, barely touched except for scavengers eating what they could. The bones still lie there, unbothered. Maybe one day they’ll get the proper send off, though I doubt it. 

The journal entry will be locked with the others in Ezran’s chamber, and the audio recording in “Royalty-kings-King Edward-Locked” where I won’t even be able to access it again. 

#woah i hate that guy #em writes stuff #em writes #my writing #whump #whump fic #impaled #day 5 #whumpcember #whumpcember2023 #fucking. edward dedwulf #hate that guy

[uchihashisuii]

seasons change (and so do we). | Kakashi/Obito

Summary: Autumn, Kakashi thinks, is a rather terrible time. or: Kakashi and his complicated relationship with the season.

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito

Rating: Gen

Author’s Note: this was the result of a discord server exchange! I was lucky enough to write for my dear friend @kanekolinkk​ I hope you enjoy this slice of introspection x

Ao3

---

Autumn, Kakashi thinks, is a rather terrible time.

The turning of the season brings with it a dip in temperature, swift and uncomfortable enough to have him sighing behind his mask.

People are quieter in the colder seasons, something he picks up on more and more as the years go on. Though he wouldn't classify himself as anything even approaching the concept of an extrovert, Kakashi notices the collectively soured moods and overall easily exhausted masses when the season shifts. It's colder, and darker, and the rain drips incessantly to blot against the pages of Icha Icha. It makes for a abhorrent time for any shinobi, not enough sunlight to get things done (too much darkness to linger in) and the dismal weather has the nasty habit of washing away any footprints or otherwise perfectly tangible clues to follow on any basic mission. He's already a bit of a workaholic, but in those first few weeks following summer giving its hasty farewell there's always a dozen or more shinobi coming down with the sniffles or something worse, the sudden change of weather disagreeing with just about everyone. As such, their numbers thin, and Kakashi is only too happy to pick up any slack. Miserable weather makes for miserable missions, as one of his kohai used to say; but at least the incessant noise for autumnal storms is almost loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. 

That doesn't mean he's altogether thrilled about it. 

Autumn brings with it a certain melancholy for different reasons. The much too short and long-since-gone days spent beside Minato-sensei and the rest of his genin squad return to rear its head when he most expects it. That is to say: always, though awful weather and somber days drag it all to the forefront much easier than he likes. Memories cling like frost, digging and dragging tiny pinpricks of awareness to the base of his spine, demanding attention Kakashi is more than happy to give. Autumn, after all, is when things went right. And wrong.

He remembers - he remembers. The first licks of autumn rains, pelting down on him the first day he trained with them. The afternoon ending in yelling and Obito's bloodied nose, Rin's disappointment and sensei's frown. The laughter of children who weren't afforded the luxury of being children, running rampant. Obito and Rin, and their game of jumping between every fallen leaf in their path. To hear the crunch, to make leaps and bounds without slipping across rain-dampened terrain. Maples, from brilliant red to dull brown to muddy gold. Kakashi remembers their joy grating to his ears, thinking them immature and making far too much noise for a shinobi. It would only be much later that he realized he was envious, of their free and clear laughter, or their unmitigated joy. Frustration bubbling deep beneath his ribs from his own stubborn refusal to join in their games, though hands were always offered. 

He remembers Rin laying in a pile of leaves, uncaring of the grime and the damp. Hair askew and eyes closed as she basked in it, smile breaking across her face like the dawn. Cushioned comfortably, a bouquet of fallen red leaves gathered over her breast. The smell of petrichor clogging his throat, and the red painting her chest turning brighter, thicker. He blinks the memories away, shuts it tight in the box of regrets beside Obito's last smile.

An argument could be made that autumn possesses the notable date of his birth, something which any normal and well-adjusted person would consider as an overall positive. But for Kakashi it merely serves as a grim reminder that he has, despite all relatively half-hearted attempts to the contrary, made it through yet another year coasting along the long journey of life. Hooray. He's thrilled, truly, to wake up with the dawn on his thirty-something turn around the sun and feel a startling lack of anything. Ponders on his mother, who shares his birthday with the anniversary of her death; slips into his sandals as his thoughts turn to his father and his eyes take in the rain-soaked morning that feels achingly familiar. Rain is a reminiscence of things he'd rather forget but is too much of a coward to allow to slip free of his obsessive grasp, and even if he grumbles to anyone who would listen about the weather making it impossible to flip through the well worn pages of his favourite novels, he supposes the rain helps him hold even tighter to years gone by. Nothing jogs the memory quite like the familiar feeling of soaked palms and the taste of ozone lingering on his tongue; with eyes closed the rain could be blood, the blood could be rain.

Mah. Too early in the morning for his usual bout of self-imposed suffering. He's truly getting more and more maudlin as the years pass.

-----

Autumn, Kakashi thinks, might not be quite as terrible as he once believed.

The weather cools, the leaves fall. He gains three students, loses one, and again gains so much more. He sneezes into his mask -an altogether unpleasant experience, made the slightest bit more bearable at the sound of Naruto's laughter- and gratefully accepts the rough pat on his arm from Sakura. Family, friends - the years pass, and he has bright little lights following him around and reminding him with every turn of the season that there might just be a reason for him to see another autumn.

 -----

Autumn is as dismal as it's ever been, made even worse by the promise of war. Made infinitely worse when war comes for them all, and Kakashi finds himself staring down the endless and inescapable hall of responsibility. Lives, too many to count, linger in the fringes of his awareness. No matter the strife, no matter the cost - he'll see them home. He'll guide them, as he always has, to a brighter future.

The weather cools, the leaves fall. Autumn is quiet in its timely melancholy, when the sun rises on a still and grave October morning. The world is silent, locked away in Tsukuyomi; he watches Naruto make his goodbyes to his father, and for once Kakashi hasn't had to make one of his own.

Obito's hand is comforting, wrapped around his own. Warmer than the morning chill, keeping him present and here and alive. Gloriously, wonderfully alive.

The weather cools, the leaves fall. Kakashi does not witness it alone.

 -----

Autumn, it turns out, might just be his favourite time of year.

Winter is too frigid, too dark. Summer too hot, making him itch and sweat beneath his layers. Spring too rainy, though he has found a bit of a soft sport for gentle February mornings. But autumnal winds bring with it its remembrances, and Kakashi cannot find any true fault in it. They shine like gold in his memory, much like the fallen leaves that dot that path to the future; the smell of petrichor calming to his sensitive nose. Autumn, after all, had taken much from him over the years. His mother, his sensei, his friends, his innocence. But it gave something back - something infinitely precious that Kakashi has no plans to let go of anytime soon. Obito came back to him on an austere autumn day, chasing away the cold and the dark. Months, years, pass them by - but not apart. Never apart, not again.

#hatake kakashi #uchiha obito #obkk #kkob #obikaka #kakaobi #naruto #kakashi hatake #obito uchiha #jules writes #jazz hands welcome back to more jules nonsense

[divtanver]

Part Two: All What's Left

Darkness, impenetrable and omnipresent, it filled the entire surrounding space, Tails felt nothing, as if he had become a mind that had lost its shell. A few moments later, small sparks began to appear here and there, which soon reunited into a single clot of light, its glow became brighter, as if it was getting closer. Muffled and unintelligible words came from it. Finally, its blinding light filled the entire surrounding space, something heavy began to press on his body, it became difficult to breathe. Tails opened his eyes, someone was shining a flashlight into his face from somewhere above, briefly examining him.

"He's still alive! Help me get him out!" A familiar voice shouted.

From afar, the sound of approaching footsteps was heard, they stopped somewhere above him and from somewhere above, an incessant rustling began to emanate.

"Grab here and pull" Behind these words, a screech of metal was heard, the sheet of iron hanging over Tails bent away, ceasing to put pressure on his chest and allowing it to contain more of the missing oxygen. He immediately took a deep breath, but the dust that rose into the air made him cough. Tails instinctively covered his mouth with fist, but when he opened his eyes he saw his friend standing with his hand outstretched.

"I've already started to lose hope of finding you, are you okay?" There was an undisguised grin on Espio's face.

"Just a little out of breath" Tails said, grabbing his arm.

"This is bearable" Espio quickly lifted his friend to his feet "And now help me find the others before it's too late"

The sun, which had not yet gone below the horizon, barely illuminated the surroundings, but its light was enough to see what was under feet. Nearby, a muffled voice was heard coming from somewhere under the rubble, having determined his location, Tails began to rake up the wreckage and after a few minutes he pulled the victim out of there, after which he immediately began to search for the next one, and with each new rescued the process accelerated. From the noise of the debris being removed, calls for help and the work of rescuers, a cacaphony of sounds interrupting each other was formed. Meanwhile, from the dark alleys of a seemingly dead city, slowly moving shadows multiplied and reached out with their cold hands to the survivors. Reflecting the rays of the sun figures approached the wreckage of the airship and began attacking the survivors of the crash. The noise of rescue operations drowned out the first screams and for a while no one noticed the unknown people wandering from place to place, but soon the growling of dozens of zombies began to fill the entire surrounding space.

"They are already here, get those who can still be saved and leave, I will catch up with you" said Espio, moving towards the advancing horde.

Despite the crushing fatigue, Tails and rescuers continued to rake the wreckage in the hope of finding the remaining survivors, but either they were deeper or there was no one else to save. Deciding not to risk the lives of those already rescued, Tails ordered everyone to collect the few supplies they had found and leave. Having gathered, the survivors moved away from the city, the wounded were carried by those who could still walk. Soon they were joined by Espio, who arrived in time to cover the retreat. Dozens of red eyes watched the group hurriedly leaving for the darkening horizon.

Night came. After a few kilometers passed, no one else had the strength to continue moving, as a result of which it was decided to set up a camp in the middle of the forest. After making a fire, Tails suggested counting the number of survivors and resources. Of the thirty-seven who left the island, only twenty-six managed to get out of the crash site. Fortunately, among them was a doctor named Gause, who, being in a calmer environment, could more thoroughly examine the wounded. Four survivors were in serious condition, seven were unconscious, but without serious injuries. The only one who was not injured was Espio, all the others escaped with minor cuts and bruises. The first aid kit found in the ruins was only enough to bandage and anesthetize several seriously wounded. There was no food, everyone had to sleep on an empty stomach. When the majority went to bed, only three figures remained sitting by the dying fire.

"We need to decide where to go next, Tails, didn't you have a map of the neighborhood?“ Looking from the fire to Tails, Espio asked.

"Yes, I had it. But it remained in the crashed shuttle" He replied, throwing up the last remaining branches.

"Maybe then we should go back to the city? Without medicines, we won't last long anyway, and even less without food" Espio looked towards the already sleeping survivors.

"No way! We've seen how many of them there are!" Dr. Gause objected "You won't have time to look around as they will already surround you, it's too dangerous!".

"We won't survive without supplies in any case, and this way there will be at least some chances" Tails answered him in a calm voice.

"They won't surround us if they don't find out about our presence, we will move quietly and imperceptibly, only in that case everything can work out. After all, this is my main skill, honed over the years" Looking at his reflection in the blade, Espio said.

"In this case, it's worth moving out with the first rays of the sun, as far as I know, the darkness does not prevent the zombots from seeing, so I don't see any point in trying to go there at night. It is also worth considering how many and whom to take to the search group" Said Tails.

"A team of six will be enough to carry away the maximum possible amount of supplies and at the same time remain unnoticed. I will lead it as the most experienced scout, doc, you will remain in charge in the camp, someone needs to look after the injured. Tails, you with me?" Espio pointed the tip of the kunai at his friend.

"Of course, anything is better than waiting for death" Sounded in response.

"Do you at least have a plan?" The doctor asked.

"Yes, look" Espio picked up a small stick from the ground and began schematically outlining a plan of action, his interlocutors moved closer "I, Tails and the rest of the volunteers will enter the city from the opposite side of the airship crash site, most likely most of the zombots will crowd there, which will give us an excellent opportunity to conduct a search avoiding meeting with them. We will not go deep, we will only examine the surroundings. First of all, we will check the camping store, there should be travel bags, folding tents and sleeping bags and everything else what gonna be useful for us. The next destination will be a grocery store, we'll take as much as we can find and leave. Then there will be a pharmacy, for sure there is something left there. If there gonna be some free time left, then we could check out the auto repair shop, tools there will be very useful. We will return back only along the already known paths" After finishing the last line, Espio put the wand back in place.

"Okay, now I can believe in the success of your venture".

"Now it only remains to decide who will be on night duty" Tails said.

"I don't mind being the first" Dr. Gause straightened up and stretched his legs "I'm was going to gather some more branches for the fire anyway".

"When you want to sleep, wake me up, I'll replace you" Espio said after him.

Tails sat up, lay on his back, and shuddered slightly.

"Are you okay?".

"I have a strange feeling, my tails are gone, but despite this, I feel their presence, as if they are still with me and just became invisible. But overall, given recent events, yes, I'm okay".

"Alright, but if anything changes, tell me".

"Yes, of course" Tails said, lying on his side.

"You'll be fine, I promise" Closing his eyes uttered Espio.

The crackle of a burning fire had a calming effect on the exhausted mind of the refugees, the leaves of the trees beat against each other creating a rhythmic melody, the wind hummed its unknown motives, forest did not take long to turn its listeners into sleep. Only the distant crunching of branches disturbed the reigned peace.

#sth #sth idw #sth fanfic #sth au #sth tails #miles tails prower #tails the fox #sth espio #espio sonic #espio the chameleon #mobian #mobians #zombot #zombots #apocalypse #post apocalypse #sth oc #trauma #metal virus #metal virus au #metal virus: survivors au

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Wild Garden: Chapter 1

Summary: Sibyl has a rough morning and no idea what danger lies ahead.

Introduction: Link

A/N: This is essential a secondary introduction to the other main player, but the next chapters are looong (apologies in advance to my beta, @dorminchu) and full of... things.

Chapter warnings: Language, lack of coffee, referenced child abuse

Golden light dragged Sibyl to consciousness, and she knew, squinting out at the beautiful morning through her thin curtains, she was fantastically, stupendously, entirely late.

She groped around for her phone. Her evening consisted of undergrad essays, a couple (dozen) Halo matches, and last week’s dishes. She didn’t remember using her phone, but she didn’t remember plugging it in, either. Craning up with a groan, she spied it glinting beside her computer. On the other side of the room, a world away from the charging cable on her nightstand.

“Shit.”

She threw her blankets off so fast they smacked the wall, sending her framed print of Botticelli’s Primavera swaying. One hand snagged a brush, the other started yanking clothes from her closet: her “nice” black jeans, a sleeveless blouse, and mismatched socks – one black, one forest green. No time to find the right mates, and if anyone stared at her feet, that was their problem. Trying – and largely succeeding – to do three things at once, she pulled on her jeans as she brushed her teeth, combed the other side of her head with one arm through her blouse, and throw her books and laptop into her messenger bag while jamming her feet into black sneakers, all in just under three minutes. She nearly forgot to lock her apartment door behind her and tripped three times on her way downstairs.

The coffeeshop below her apartment smelled divine, but she’d cheated herself out of her daily brew. She passed the door that separated the café from the apartments’ entry space with a heavy heart. The office drip machine would serve her needs after her first class - which she really ought to start in less than a minute.

Outside, the sky looked even brighter against the wall of black in the west. The storm rolled closer, eating up the light, and she set off at a run. She’d just have to beat the weather to work.

Fortunately, she lived a five-minute walk from campus, and she was sprinting. Nothing like a wave of adrenaline to replace caffeine.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought an umbrella, and according to the laws of the universe, when a person forgot their defense against the rain, it would pour. The torrent swept in as she dashed along the main street running through campus, the clouds gathering dark and heavy so a shadow raced ahead of her. By the time she’d reached her classroom building her eyebrows were dripping.

She only noticed the sleek black town car – much too expensive for a professor or student – because of the splash it sent rolling over the curb and onto her shoes. It could hardly soak her more than the rain already had, though, and she pressed inside without waiting to see if the vehicle stopped or continued.

In her experience, rich people hardly cared for collateral damage.

And she was still late.

She smacked the call button for the elevator. As a puddle grew around her feet, reflecting the dim fluorescent lights, she spared a thought for the town car. This small university in a small town saw few new faces. It could be a student’s parent, but it would have to be a clingy family to check in with their offspring when classes had just begun. Still, a homesick rich kid could validate any expense or inconvenience.

Less than a year ago, a car like that would’ve made her worry. It could have been her own family, or one of their minions come to collect her. But not anymore. Not unless it was full of ghosts.

The elevator still hadn’t arrived, her patience snapped, and she made for the stairs. Four flights brought her to the right floor, and the empty halls echoed with her squelching footsteps. Only nine minutes late. Her students better still be in their seats.

When she threw open the classroom door, a few of the ne’er-do-wells had their bags repacked, faces bright and nostrils flared to catch the scent of freedom.

Too fuckin’ bad.

“Sit down. I’m not that late.”

A chorus of groans from the eager-leavers and giggles from their wiser classmates bounced around the small classroom. Three weeks into the fall semester, and she was pleased none of her thirteen students had decided to tuck tail and flee the English department. Yet. They still had a chance to escape without damaging their GPA, but she had faith in them.

“Sorry I’m running behind. Sorry I wasn’t fifteen minutes, late, either.” Laptop out (thankfully dry), cord plugged into the projector, class slides in order. Phone still dead. “If any of you have a spare charger, you get a free pass from group discussion today.”

Six students dove headfirst into their backpacks, but the first to find hers didn’t even pause to run it up to the front desk. She threw it will all her strength, and Sibyl just managed to catch it one-handed before it hit her face.

Thank gods for good reflexes.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Keep it up. We’re starting Wuthering Heights.”

The rest of the lesson was a breeze. Every other year, she taught Gothic Lit, and she knew the canon novels endorsed in every textbook by heart. She’d first read them when she was fourteen, and she had to reread them whenever Gothic Lit appeared on the class roster. Every time she found herself confronted once again with the Cathy’s, she tried to present them through different lenses. She couldn’t recycle many of her lectures, but it was a leap better than boring herself.

In another two years, when she had tenure and more control over the syllabus, she’d swear off Wuthering Heights for good and teach Picnic at Hanging Rock. Give the kids a challenge. Let the Cathy’s rest in peace.

She drip-dried over the next hour, so she didn’t stop in the bathroom to blot her hair with paper towels on her way to her office.

Her office.

She’d had it for all of a year, and she couldn’t imagine her job without it. She could remember her job without it, and that was bad enough. Until one of the older literature professors retired, she’d had to share the common department work area with five other professors from the biology, psychology, and chemistry departments. They all had elbow room at the long tables and access to relevant student files and submissions via shared computers, but they had no drawers, few office supplies, and no chance to keep office hours. Sibyl liked to make herself available to students in the library. A great place for hungry readers and aspiring writers – the primary camps of any English department.

Her position felt so much more official, so much more real, now that she had a (tiny) space of her own. She’d wedged two bookshelves and a filing cabinet into the space around her desk, with one shelf acting like a screen between the desk and the door to the hall. It gave nervous freshmen a little comfort as they tried to decide which course to set towards a dozen possible destinies. The upperclassmen felt more at ease sharing controversial ideas and challenging the status quo – both things Sibyl actively encouraged, even when it made her department head a little nervous.

She crafted a good space. Cozy. Rich soil for ideas and inspiration.

It welcomed her, still and quiet after her chaotic morning, and she sighed as she set her damp bag on the ground. Once she had her tech out and safe again, she went in search of coffee.

Another perk of her office was the miniature kitchen directly across the hall. It was more glorified coffee nook than kitchen, an indented space that ran about twenty feet down the hall, just deep enough for a countertop and a couple small, old tables and chairs. In theory, professors could eat their lunches there and discuss fate, the universe, and stuff over tea. Really, professors ate at their desks, and students used the chairs to wait for appointments during office hours.

The ancient drip machine gurgled as she approached. It was the prettiest sound she’d heard all day, and she watched the brew pool in the carafe with a desperate kind of delight.

“I made a full pot, don’t worry.”

Professor Falsom appeared at her elbow, smiling under coke bottle glasses. His thinned white hair disobeyed the laws of physics, pushing out in untamed, fluffy spikes.

“Thank you. I’ll take whatever you don’t need.”

Falsom, the world’s former leading expert on turtle brains, had an office just around the corner. For reasons unknown to gods and men, the English department shared the same suite of offices with the bulk of the science professors. Biology and chem stood at one end of the U-shaped hall, English at the other, and the poor souls from psychology sat trapped between the children with virus plushies and the children with too many books.

“There’s a guest on campus today,” Falsom said, happy to make conversation as they waited. “Gossip says it’s a donor for the science department. We may finally get the concrete hobbit hole above ground.”

Once upon a time, the university envisioned a four-story science center. When the funding ran out, they decided an extended basement would do. It hid under a lawn, accessible by a front entrance susceptible to floods and a tunnel from one of the other aging classroom buildings where they held food science lessons. As ugly as it was whimsical, the accidental redesign had served the campus since the ‘70s. Every year someone took their turn at a faculty meeting to ask if they’d ever see the sun again. The predictable answer was a version “Hope and pray” or “Wait and see.”

“I hope you get it,” she said. “But I’d miss the hobbit hole.”

As he filled his travel cup, Falsom sighed. “I probably won’t be around to teach in it.”

He was old enough to a grandpa several times over, but he wasn’t. He was a nerdy professor who’d grown into his sweater vests like a second skin. His shell. Like his turtles. He’d been teaching since she was an undergrad, though she’d never had a class with him. He was as much a part of the campus as the questionable art on Founders’ Lawn, and she wasn’t keen to see that change.

She flicked his elbow, mindful she didn’t make him spill his drink. “Don’t jinx it.”

He chuckled and went on his way, leaving Sibyl to pour her own oversized serving. Everyone in the department had some level of caffeine dependency, but she’d shocked more than a few coworkers with her enormous mugs. A few pithy quotes and jokes about the true liquid rushing through her veins put them at ease. It wasn’t like they had a leg to stand on to criticize her, anyway.

Junkies, the lot of them.

With several cups of coffee warming her belly and all urgent emails sorted, she decided it wouldn’t be irresponsible to check Discord.

No messages from Benji.

Her office chair creaked as she leaned back, soaking in her own disappointment.

Her best friend had grown into himself so much in the past few years, but that meant more time away from his office, probably saving the world with whichever alphabet agency he served. He said he worked as an IT consultant for a private military contractor, but they both knew that was bullshit, and he didn’t try very hard to push the story. He knew her too well.

She didn’t ask about his work, and he didn’t ask about her family.

Though they both knew the vague shapes of the other’s secrets. Benji knew more detail about hers – that her family was dangerous, that her early leap into academia was for survival as much as passion – but that was natural. He was grown when they met, already at work in his alphabet agency, and she was all of fourteen, the child his scholarly aunt had taken under her wing. Even found family – and he definitely qualified – had their secrets.

She had secrets she didn’t even know about, things that came to light after – bleeding faces riddled with sores and vacant eyes staring over hands snarled in final, grasping claws.

Benji had met her at the airport when she came home, overwrought and exhausted from seventy-two hours of questioning from the CIA, MI6, EU intelligence, and half a dozen other agencies she preferred to forget. The agents and their tests gave her more answers than she offered them in the end.

They wanted to know why she survived, how she survived, and her interrogation had as many needles as questions.  

Her bloodwork told a story: her family was not her family. The people who raised her, who she called mother and father and brothers, weren’t related at all.

Her family – she shouldn’t call them that anymore – had always clung to her, a shadow, not entirely there, but an amorphous tie she couldn’t cut away. She’d celebrate its disappearance at noon only to watch it grow back by evening. She kept waiting to catch a glimpse of that shadow again, looking over her shoulder for an old enemy, and she felt dangerously light without it. Any minute she could float away, or a strong wind would sweep her off her feet and never set her down.

At least she didn’t have to mourn. She’d grown up assuming she was the evidence of an affair, and that was why her brothers threw stones and her mother held her down in the tub.

The revelation she’d never been theirs at all only confused her. Why keep a child so hated?

Footsteps and voices in the hall caught her attention. Glad to shake off her morbid thoughts, she stepped around her desk and bookshelf to see if it was anyone she knew.

She needed more coffee, anyway.

The president turned the corner with two strangers, one who walked beside the university’s head of staff and one who moved in his shadow. Sibyl knew a rich man and his body guard when she saw them. This must be the potential donor Falsom mentioned. The rumor mill churned out something worthwhile for once.

A worthy distraction, but it had nothing to do with her. She crossed over to the kitchen and set about refilling her mug with the right blend of creamer and caffeine. When she turned around, the three men had gathered in the space between the coffee pot and her office, and the president’s guest had settled his full attention on her.

She went cage diving with great white sharks once, during a trip to celebrate her first master’s degree. He had eyes like that. Shark eyes. If shark eyes could be blue.

The president, suddenly aware of her presence, rushed to make introductions.

“Doctor Safin, this is Professor Byrde. Professor, Doctor Safin has agreed to help fund the new science building.”

Shifting her enormous mug of coffee, she reached out to shake the man’s hand. She offered a polite smile. Very professional.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded, accepting her hand in his cool palm, and his expression flickered.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He spoke slowly, like he’d considered each word before voicing it. He let go and brought his hands together at the cusps of his wide sleeves. “But I must apologize. I believe my driver splashed you on your way to work this morning.”

A fascinating accent. And such careful manners. Cold and practiced with something simmering low in his eyes.

Why was a man like this interested in small, American liberal arts university?

“It’s fine.” She glanced down at herself. “I was already drenched. And my shoes are waterproof.”

The president watched the interaction like a tennis match, smile unfailing, but a touch of panic in his eyes. He’d agreed with the board’s decision to hire Sibyl. She’d made a bit of a splash in her younger years, and showing off a former student who’d conquered four degrees well before she hit thirty drew a lot of parents with high aspirations for their children. But she was young, and full of ideas she didn’t hesitate to share, and he often looked at her like something half-feral that may turn around and bite him.

But she could be an adult. A good little academic.

She smiled again, hoping to draw attention away from her disheveled state.

“Again, nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I have another class to prepare for.”

Doctor Safin nodded again, a funny little smile flickered across his lips, and she was back to work.

She really did have a class to prepare for, and the president was more than capable of leading a tour of his university.

Sibyl didn’t have time to wonder about the stranger until night fell and she was back in bed under her (now crooked) print of Primavera. Even then, she thought very little before she fell asleep.

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@crewman-penelope

#lyutsifer safin #007 fest #safin x reader #safin x original character