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callsigns-haze · 1 month ago

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Hi there! Not necessarily a new one-shot idea, but would you consider adding onto Maybe Us Soon from where it left off? More Xaden and their baby girl, along with all the family fluff 🥰 thank you thank you and you’re amazing!

Finally us

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden's life has changed completely. Ever since he became King of Tyrrendor, your lover, overcame venin, his life has been perfect. Hs squad now grows, in many ways, and the old Xaden Riorson would have not suspected this to be his faith, now you, his wife, are pregnant with your daughter but the problem with you is that you can't sit still.

Stand alone but could be part 3 of Maybe us one day and Maybe us soon

This contains mature themes: mentions of giving birth, kidnapping, blood, injury, throwing up, war I don't think there is any spoiler in fairness, it's just what I'd love the ending to be.

The world around you was soft and hazy, painted in the dim glow of lanternlight and the low hum of post-birth stillness. The sheets clung to your skin, damp with residual sweat, and your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache—your muscles trembling, your limbs heavy, your chest hollowed and full all at once.

But none of it mattered.

Not when you looked to your left.

Xaden stood shirtless beside your bed, cradling your newborn daughter against the bare skin of his chest. His broad hands were impossibly gentle—one supporting her tiny back, the other cradling her head, his fingers almost engulfing her entirely. She was so small. A little pink bundle wrapped in a soft blanket, her head resting just beneath his collarbone, her ear pressed to his heart like she already knew it was home.

He hadn’t stopped staring at her since they placed her in his arms.

His shoulders were tense—shaking just slightly. His onyx eyes, glassy with unfallen tears, were locked onto her tiny face, his jaw clenched tight like he didn’t know whether to laugh or sob. His shadows slithered restlessly at his feet and up his calves, trembling like they, too, didn’t know what to do with this new, fragile piece of your world.

“Xaden,” you whispered, voice hoarse and barely there.

He blinked, finally pulling his eyes away from her to look at you. His mouth parted slightly, as though trying to form words—but nothing came out. Instead, he looked at you with a reverence so raw it nearly broke you open again. He looked ruined by love.

“You did this,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice rough and full of awe. “You gave her to me.”

Tears spilled over the corners of your eyes, helpless, unstoppable. “We did.”

He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle you, keeping your daughter nestled close to his chest. “She’s perfect,” he breathed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t… I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love you. And then I saw her. And it’s like something broke open in me.”

You reached a hand toward them, fingers trembling from exhaustion. He shifted, leaning into your touch, and gently tilted your daughter so you could brush your knuckles across her impossibly soft cheek. She let out the tiniest sigh and curled against Xaden’s chest, utterly content.

“She already loves you,” you whispered. “She knows you.”

Xaden let out a shaky breath, lowering his head, pressing the barest kiss to the top of her head as his voice cracked: “She’s mine.”

On the other side of the room, Brennan stood near the doorway, arms crossed but with a soft smile tugging at his lips. His hands were stained with blood still—your blood—and the weariness in his eyes mirrored your own. But he was steady. Grateful. Proud.

The two nurses flitted around the room quietly, one checking the chart at the bedside while the other changed your IV. Your thighs ached where they’d been stitched from the small tear, and your lower back pulsed in time with your heartbeat—but even as Brennan approached to check your vitals, none of that seemed real.

Only the warmth of Xaden beside you. The soft little grunts your daughter made in her sleep. The way Xaden looked at her like she held his entire soul.

“She’s going to be strong,” Brennan murmured with quiet certainty, gently checking your pulse. “She’s got both of you in her.”

“She’s got your nose,” Xaden added without looking away from her, a lopsided, broken smile on his lips.

“She has your mouth,” you replied, unable to stop smiling despite the sheer exhaustion tugging at your bones.

He nodded. “Gods help the world, then.”

You laughed, then winced from the ache, and he immediately leaned closer, eyes sharp with concern.

“Rest,” he said softly, his free hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. “I’ve got her. I won’t let her go.”

As the haze of sleep pulled you under, your fingers still laced weakly with Xaden’s, the last thing you remembered was the warmth of his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles and the soft, rhythmic breaths of your daughter against his chest.

Your chest rose and fell in slow, deep waves. The room had quieted, bathed in golden lamplight and the fading adrenaline of birth.

Brennan stepped closer to Xaden now that you were fully asleep, his steps soft but confident, years of battlefield experience making him unshakable—even now, with his blood-stained sleeves and the exhaustion in his bones.

He peered down at the little bundle in Xaden’s arms, folding his own over his chest. “You know,” he said casually, arching an eyebrow, “for all my years as a mender, I’ve never actually had to deliver a baby until tonight.”

Xaden glanced up at him, a rare smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“I almost did when she screamed at me to stop hovering.” Brennan rolled his eyes dramatically, then leaned just slightly forward to peek at the baby’s face. His expression softened. “She’s beautiful. Not that I expected anything less, considering who her parents are.”

Xaden looked down at the bundle in his arms, his entire body relaxing despite the fire still simmering behind his eyes. “She hasn’t even opened her eyes yet. And I already know she’s going to destroy me.”

Brennan chuckled. “She probably already has.”

There was a long pause, both men looking down at the baby—then Brennan cleared his throat, voice mock-serious. “Listen. I think I deserve to be her favourite uncle, since I was the one who made sure her mother didn’t bleed out on the bed and stitched her up afterward.”

Xaden gave him a sideways look. “I don’t think you can bribe a newborn with medical credentials.”

“I’m not above trying,” Brennan shot back with a grin. “I’ll start visiting with sweets the moment she can eat them.”

Xaden chuckled lowly, something fond and exhausted in the sound. He shifted the baby just slightly, her soft sigh puffing against his skin. “You can try,” he murmured, his gaze drifting back to your sleeping face. “But she already has her mother’s stubbornness.”

Brennan smiled and stepped back. “Just don’t let her have your brooding silence. One of you in this household is already more than enough.”

Xaden rolled his eyes, but there was no malice. Only quiet joy, and a grateful, protective love that filled the entire room like a vow.

Brennan gave one last glance at the tiny bundle curled peacefully against Xaden’s chest, then to you—completely still, your breath slow and even, exhaustion finally claiming you after the hours of labour.

“I’ll let you two rest,” he said quietly, backing toward the door. “If anything changes, let me know. And Xaden—”

Xaden’s eyes lifted.

“She’s perfect. Congratulations.”

The shadows curled around Xaden’s ankles in acknowledgment, twitching softly as the door whispered closed behind Brennan.

And then it was just the three of you.

The room was quiet now, with only the muted flicker of candlelight playing across the walls and the hush of your daughter’s tiny breaths.

Xaden didn’t move, not for a long time. He just sat there, back slightly hunched, every muscle relaxed but coiled—ready. Watching over you, his mate, his love. And watching over the impossibly small life in his arms.

His thumb brushed the side of her cheek, barely grazing the downy skin. She stirred faintly, a tiny wriggle beneath the blanket, a breath that shuddered softly against his chest before settling again. Still asleep. Still safe.

He lowered his head until his lips touched her forehead. His eyes closed.

“I’ve faced armies,” he whispered into the stillness. “Storms. Death. But you—” His voice cracked. “You terrify me. Because now I have everything to lose.”

He looked back over at you, your face soft in sleep, hand still resting palm-up on the blanket beside you like you’d never meant to let go of his.

And he knew in that moment—he’d burn kingdoms to the ground for the two of you. Again and again. Without hesitation.

A soft knock came at the door then—tentative.

Xaden’s eyes didn’t leave you as he called quietly, “What?”

The door cracked open, and Mira peeked in with a quiet smile, holding something bundled in fabric.

“I brought the name ribbon,” she whispered. “In case you’re ready.”

Xaden looked back down at his daughter.

He was.

Xaden stared down at the tiny girl tucked against his bare chest, her soft breath misting faintly against his skin. For a moment, his shadows curled protectively around the rocking chair’s legs and stilled completely—as if even they understood the weight of what was about to happen.

Mira stood in the doorway, holding out the delicate ribbon embroidered with golden thread—the traditional naming band. Her voice was barely audible over the quiet flicker of flame. “Do you want to wait until she wakes?”

Xaden shook his head once, eyes still on his daughter. “No.”

He didn’t need to ask you. You’d had the conversation so many times over the last few months—sometimes in whispers under the covers, other times with your head in his lap, laughing about how it had come to you in a dream. Even just three days ago, when you’d rested your palm over your swollen stomach and murmured, “She already feels like Annavella.”

That name had wrapped around his heart the moment he first heard it from your lips.

Annavella.

It was soft and elegant—like you. But strong too. A name that sounded like it could echo off the walls of history and still whisper in a lover’s vow.

Xaden reached out, his long fingers brushing the edge of the ribbon Mira held. She passed it over gently, her expression soft.

As he took it, he murmured under his breath, “Annavella.”

The name settled like a promise. Like a shield.

He gently shifted her in his arms, mindful of her head, and slid the naming ribbon around her tiny wrist. It was too big—it would be for a while—but the moment it touched her skin, it pulsed faintly gold. A formal, ancient recognition of identity. Of belonging.

Of family.

Mira placed a hand over her heart and whispered, “It suits her.”

Xaden nodded, emotion tightening his throat as he looked down at his daughter’s perfect, delicate features.

“She’s ours,” he whispered. “She always was.”

Behind him, the covers rustled. You stirred faintly but didn’t wake. Not fully. You shifted just enough to let your hand drift back toward his side of the bed, searching for the bond even in sleep.

Xaden reached across and caught it in his own, threading your fingers together.

“She’s Annavella,” he murmured to you, voice low and steady. “Just like we said.”

And though you didn’t respond aloud, your bond pulsed warm in his chest—slow and sure.

You already knew.

Mira lingered for only a breath longer, her eyes flicking between you—still sound asleep, curled into the pillows with your fingers now laced gently with Xaden’s—and the man himself, who hadn’t once stopped looking at his daughter.

There was a softness in her expression, something reverent and quiet as she backed away. She didn’t speak again. She didn’t need to. The door clicked shut with a hush of finality, and the quiet that settled afterward was sacred.

Xaden stood slowly, careful not to jostle Annavella as he rose from the rocking chair. The old wooden legs groaned beneath him, and the candlelight painted bronze shadows across the room as he moved.

Annavella stirred slightly against his chest, a tiny wriggle under her blanket. Her face scrunched up, her mouth puckering with the beginnings of a fuss—but the moment Xaden adjusted her, one hand curled over the back of her tiny head, she stilled. Her ear rested over the steady beat of his heart.

And he began to walk.

The room was quiet save for the soft pad of his bare feet on the wooden floor and the gentle rustle of her swaddle. His long fingers shifted along her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the fabric like he was mapping her—memorizing the exact weight and presence of her in his arms.

“You don’t know it yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with awe, “but you changed everything.”

Annavella breathed softly against his skin, her warmth seeping into him like sunlight after a storm.

Xaden’s eyes drifted to the bed—to you, to the way your body curled protectively even in sleep, as if some part of you was still aware she was in the room. His throat tightened.

“I didn’t think I’d get this,” he whispered. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

He paced slowly, gently bouncing her now, not because she needed it—but because he did. Because standing still with that much love threatening to break out of him felt impossible.

His voice dropped further, meant only for her.

“I’ll give you everything, Annavella. The stars, the skies, the safest piece of this broken world. Whatever’s left of it—I’ll make sure it’s yours. I swear it.”

He stopped at the edge of the window, where the moonlight cut through the veil of night and cast silver against the hardwood. The stars glittered beyond the glass—soft, distant.

“You’ll never know war like we did,” he promised. “You’ll never bleed for a cause. Not if I can help it.”

She shifted again, a little sigh falling from her lips. His arms adjusted instinctively, his palm warm and firm across her back.

“You’ll grow up knowing peace. Love. A home.” His shadows flickered lightly at his feet, curling like ribbons of smoke around his ankles. “Because of her.” His eyes returned to you.

“She gave me the world when she gave me you.”

Annavella let out a soft, squeaky breath in her sleep—something like a baby sigh, so delicate it made Xaden’s chest ache.

“I’ll protect you until my last breath,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently to her temple. “You and your mother. Always.”

And in that moment—just the three of you surrounded by quiet and the hum of life newly begun—Xaden Riorson, warrior, leader, and the shadow-wielding King of Tyrrendor, was no longer made of war.

He was made of love.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden rirorson x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fanfic

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gweelczz · 1 month ago

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“My woman”

Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x Y/N (Honey) (Honey is just a nickname smoke uses, it’s still a x Reader)

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: Honey gets self conscious, Smoke reminds her of who the fuck she is

The afternoon sun had started to slip low, casting everything in that syrupy golden light as you stood out front with Mary and Pearline. All three of you had just come back from town, brown paper parcels clutched in your arms, dust from the road still clingin’ to your shoes.

It was Mary’s idea — to get matching dresses.

Bright, swingy little things stitched by Miss Callie at the general store, paid for in wrinkled bills and nickels. Yours was a soft shade of cornflower blue, just like theirs. Sweet and simple, catchin’ the light every time you moved.

You stood there laughin’, watchin’ Mary spin, the dress clingin’ just right to her curves. Pearline gave a shy twirl too, the hem floatin’ around her slender frame.

You pulled at the hem of your own dress, suddenly too aware of yourself. The way the fabric hugged your hips a little too tight, the way your arms looked bared to the sun, the way your middle pressed against the stitchin’.

Next to Mary — with her pale golden skin, a waist that turned heads without even tryin’, and curls that framed her face just so — you felt… plain. Heavy.

You smiled and laughed, same as them, but somethin’ cold curled up behind your ribs.

By the time you and Smoke got home that evenin’, walkin’ the dusty road back to your little wood-frame house, your heart was heavier than the bundles you carried.

Smoke noticed.

Of course he did.

You moved ‘round the kitchen like a ghost, lightin’ the oil lamp, settin’ water to boil, settin’ the table — but with none of the life you usually had.

He watched you from his chair in the corner, his suspenders slack against his chest, a cigarette burnin’ slow between his fingers, the radio hummin’ low from the shelf.

Finally, when the house was bathed in soft lamplight and the night wrapped thick around the walls, he spoke.

“Come here, girl,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel.

You wiped your hands on a worn flour sack towel, heart thumpin’ loud as you crossed the room.

Smoke reached out, catchin’ you by the hips, pullin’ you in close to stand between his knees. His hands were warm, familiar, strong. He tipped his head back to look at you, brows knit tight in that way that said he already knew, but he needed you to say it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, thumb movin’ soft against the side of your waist.

You tried to shake your head, tried to brush it off, but the hurt was too thick to hide.

He waited. Like he had all the time in the world.

Finally, you whispered, “I saw myself standin’ next to them today… Mary… Pearline… and I—”

Your voice cracked, hot tears pricking your lashes.

“I ain’t built like them,” you said, voice breaking smaller. “They look good in them dresses. I look… wrong.”

Smoke’s hands tightened, not rough, just certain, like he was anchoring you there with him.

“Look at me,” he said, low and sure.

You did. Even when it hurt.

He searched your face, those steady brown eyes catching all the pieces you tried to hide. His rough hands slid up slow — reverent — over the curve of your waist, up your ribs, to the bend of your back.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ wrong when I look at you,” he murmured. “Ain’t never felt nothin’ wrong when I got you in my arms.”

He rose to his feet, taller than you, the heat of him sinking right into your skin.

He hooked his finger under the strap of your dress, easin’ it down your shoulder, barin’ your skin to the soft night air. His mouth brushed there, kissin’ the curve of your shoulder, tender like he was kissin’ a prayer.

“These arms,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough, full of truth. “These arms held me together when the whole damn world was tryin’ to pull me apart.”

He kissed the crook of your elbow, his hands cradlin’ your wrist gentle like you were made of somethin’ precious.

“This belly,” he said, hand flattening tender against your middle, thumb strokin’ circles slow. “Ain’t nothin’ but home. Ain’t nothin’ but soft and warm and where I belong.”

He pressed a kiss there too, right over the cloth of your dress, lingerin’ like he wanted the feel of you burned into his mouth.

Then — this man you loved — dropped down to his knees right there on the rough wood floor.

“Ain’t no other woman built like you,” he said, his big hands slidin’ slow down the sides of your thighs, squeezin’ like he needed the feel of you. “Ain’t no other woman strong enough to carry what you do.”

He rested his forehead against your belly, breath warm against the fabric. You carded your fingers through his hair, trembling, tears spillin’ hot down your cheeks now.

“You hear me?” he rasped. “You’re it for me, baby. Ain’t no other woman. Ain’t even no other world without you in it.”

You broke then, sobbin’ soft into your hand as you sank to your knees with him, wrappin’ your arms around his neck, holdin’ him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

He gathered you up close, rockin’ you slow against his chest, lettin’ the silence fill with all the words he couldn’t say. His heart beat steady against your cheek.

And for the first time that long, heavy day, you let yourself believe him.

The house was still wrapped in that hush, the lamps throwin’ soft golden light against the wood walls. You were still sittin’ there on the floor with Smoke, pressed close to him, when you heard it — the faint crackle and hum of a record startin’ up from the parlor.

Sammie’s voice floated through the house — raw, rich, scratchin’ against the edges like the cotton fields themselves were singin’ through him.

You and Smoke both froze for a breath.

Sammie’d been scratchin’ at his guitar for years, singin’ in juke joints and church halls when they let him, but he finally scraped up enough coins to put down a real record — his first. Y’all bought it from his cousin’s shop, handed over two wrinkled dollars like it was gold.

And now here he was, croonin’ through the cracklin’ speakers.

“Ain’t no storm gonna break me, no woman gonna leave me…”

Smoke pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand slidin’ up the side of your neck, thumb catchin’ at your jaw.

“C’mere,” he whispered.

He stood up slow, haulin’ you up with him, his arms slippin’ low around your waist. He pressed his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, just breathin’ you in, before he started swayin’ you gentle to the music.

There wasn’t no proper dance steps to it. Nothin’ real fancy. Just the two of you movin’ slow, back and forth, feet scuffin’ quiet against the worn wood floor.

You pressed your cheek against his chest, hearin’ the steady thump of his heart under your ear, lettin’ the rise and fall of his breath lull you.

Smoke’s hand rubbed slow up and down your back, gatherin’ handfuls of your dress like he couldn’t get close enough. His other hand cradled your head careful, like you were somethin’ breakable and beloved all at once.

“You my whole world, girl,” he murmured against your hair. “Ain’t never need to look at nobody else. Ain’t never wanted to.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, holdin’ on tighter. Sammie’s voice dipped low and mournful, singin’ ‘bout love found in the middle of nothin’ — love that was the only thing that kept the walls from fallin’ down.

The night stretched around you, thick and warm. The house creaked now and then, the screen door rattlin’ soft in the breeze comin’ off the fields.

But there wasn’t nothin’ outside that little bubble of you and him, swayin’ slow to a song from a man you both loved, in a house you built with your own two hands.

And when Smoke bent his head and kissed your temple, whisperin’ your name like a prayer, you finally believed it — deep down in your bones — that you were enough. That you were his.

No dress, no other woman, no shadow of doubt could take that from you.

Not ever.

#smoke sinners #sinners film #sinners fanfiction #sinners #elijah smoke moore #smoke x black!fem!reader #smoke x black!reader #smokestack twins #smoke x reader #smoke fanfic #smoke and stack

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crossstitchforgaza · 2 months ago

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The Pattern Bundle is LIVE!

The 'Cross Stitch for Gaza' bundle contains 63 patterns from 35 artists, and is available to anyone who makes a donation of €15 or more to Hadeel Mikki's GoFundMe page, where she is raising money to help get her family out of Gaza and into safety in Egypt.

Hadeel and her husband and daughters have suffered immensely in the past eighteen months-- they've lost their home, much of their extended family, and, most recently, Hadeel's father.

Their one path to safety is to raise enough money to pay for the crossing into Egypt: for a family of their size, it can cost anywhere from €20,000 to €35,000. It's a formidable amount, but we are committed to do as much as we can to help them-- we're setting our goal at €20,000, and we would love your assistance in helping reach it!

To get the full pattern bundle, head to CrossStitchForGaza.com; you'll be prompted to make a donation to Hadeel's family of €15 or more, after which you can fill out a form on the website to submit a screenshot of your receipt. Once the form is in, one of our volunteers will email you back within 24 hours with your full copy of the bundle!

Thank you so much to the artists and designers who have donated their patterns to this fundraiser-- we have truly been blown away by the response we have received! We'll be posting more pictures here later, but you can also see the full lineup at the Pattern Gallery on our website.

#cross stitch for gaza #cross stitch #embroidery #craftivism #palestine

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mathysphere · 2 months ago

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Marsh Sampler | 2025 | Available (along with 62(!) other patterns) in the Cross Stitch for Gaza Bundle

#cross stitch #embroidery #marsh sampler #made by me #pattern of my life!!#(so far at least ;)#the plants and animals of the marsh hold my entire heart

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riboism · 3 months ago

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frankenstein

》 pairing: frankenstein! s.mg x mortician! fem reader

》 wc: 4.0k

》 plot: in the wake of her husband’s tragic death, a grieving woman defies nature itself to bring him back. but the man she resurrects is not the same one she lost. his memories are wiped, his mind fragile, his body stitched together by her own desperate hands. as he relearns the world through her guidance, he begins to question the life she has confined him to and the strangeness of his appearance, unaware of the terrible truth she cannot bear to tell him.

》 content tags: frankenstein! mingi, mortuary school student! reader, story takes place in the 1800s, reader is low key manipulative but it’s okay because she’s still in grief, insecure mingi MY SHAAYYLAAA, smut, oneshot, angst, subby bby mingi, body worship, blowjob, riding, multiple orgasms, creampie, very sweet love making :(, this is for the REAL freaks, morally gray area warning, mentions of scars and stitches, this is heavily inspired by the movie Poor Things (2023).

》 song: frankenstein by rina sawayama

You were itching to go home. The streets were quiet, the cool night air nipping at your skin as you hurried along the cobbled path. But it wasn’t the cold winds that urged your hurried steps; You worried about Mingi. You knew he didn’t like it when you were away from him for too long. He’d grow lonely and bored, and each time you returned home late, you would find him sulking in your room, curled up in the corner, his silence like a quiet punishment. He never voiced his grievances out loud, but his sulking made his feelings clear.

Perhaps you had only yourself to blame. You spent too many hours in the library at the university, fingers ink-stained as you skimmed over anatomy texts and alchemical treatises. You should have been home with him, tending to the life you had so desperately clawed back from the grave.

At last, you reached the old manor. Fumbling with the iron key, you locked each of the heavy bolts behind you, securing the house as if the world itself might try to pry open the secrets hidden within. The wooden stairs creaked beneath your hurried steps as you made your way upstairs.

“Miiingii,” you called in a playful tone as you pushed open the door to your bedroom.

You found him lying on the bed, facing away from you. His back was stiff like a wall shutting you out.

“Mingi?” you tried again, softer this time. You crossed the room, settling onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped under your weight, but he didn’t stir. Your fingers wove into his silky, dark strands, still holding on to the scent of lavender oil from the rinse you had given him the night before.

“I’m home,” you whispered.

You waited for him to turn toward you, but his body remained still.

You leaned closer, brushing your lips over his ear. “Dear, what’s wrong? Look, I brought you something special.” You rattled the small paper-wrapped bundle in your hands. “Figs, fresh from the market.”

His only response was a slow, quiet sigh.

You scooted even closer, resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. “Won’t you let me see you?” You pouted. “I missed you all day. You used to meet me at the door before I could even set down my books.”

Before, he would pull you into his arms the moment you stepped inside, clinging to you as if afraid you might vanish. His unrestrained affection had been overwhelming at times, but now, you almost longed for it. Now, he was different. More withdrawn. More aware. It almost scared you.

This wasn’t the Mingi you had first fallen in love with. That Mingi had been strong, independent, a force of nature. He was your guardian angel, your protector, the one who made you feel safe and loved in a cruel, heartless world. When he was taken from you, the emptiness was unbearable. Life without him was an unfathomable reality you refused to accept.

In your grief, you buried yourself in your books, drowning in theories, alchemical formulas, and desperate calculations that defied both God and nature. You searched for a way—any way—to bring him back. And in the end, you succeeded. But what returned wasn’t truly Mingi.

His body was whole, his limbs moved as they once had, but the man you knew was gone. His memories had been erased, his mind an empty slate, his gaze void of any recognition. He was like a newborn, unable to walk, to speak, to feed himself. And so, you taught him. Day by day, step by step, you guided him through life once more, as if he had been born again.

He clung to you and depended on you for everything. It was exhausting at times, but every time he looked at you, something inside you softened. He was here. He was with you. That was all that mattered. Or so you thought.

Now, looking back, you realize how much simpler things had been when he was still learning, when his world revolved only around you. He was different now. He had grown. He devoured your books, and pored over your notes, his mind hungry for knowledge. With every page he turned, every lesson he absorbed, he grew more aware. His mind was sharp, restless, and full of thoughts and questions. Questions you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Who was he?

What had happened to him?

Why wouldn’t you let him leave the manor?

You knew the truth was closing in. Soon, he would figure it out. But still, you tried to keep it from him for as long as you could. Because once he knew, you’d lose him forever.

You leaned in closer, nuzzling into the curve of his shoulder and neck. “Please say something,” You whined into his cool skin. “You’re making me sad.”

For a moment, he laid still, not letting your words tempt him. But soon, he gave in to your whines, sighing deeply before shifting onto his back.

You smiled, relief washing over you as you looked at him. Even now, with shadows cast across his face from the flickering gaslight, his features brought you warmth, chasing away the cold that bit at you all night.

“There you are,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. Mingi lay motionless, his eyes wide open, lips refusing to move with yours. You pulled away slightly, your brows drawing together. “What’s the matter?”

Mingi lowered his eyes, hiding from your gaze. “You said you’d be back before sunset. It’s past eleven.”

Your shoulders sagged, guilt settling heavily in your chest. You reached for his hand, but he didn’t take it.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice soft with regret. “Professor kept me longer than I expected. He needed my help with a post-mortem examination, an elderly man. His family wanted a full report before burial. By the time we were finished, I rushed to the library to work on my essay. I didn’t mean to stay out so late.”

Mingi said nothing, but the way his jaw tensed told you he was still upset. His fingers idly twisted at the hem of the blanket, his mind working through his thoughts.

You placed your fingers under his chin, tilting his face toward you, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry, my love” you whispered, sincerely. “Please don’t be upset.”

His lips parted slightly, hesitating as if the words were too difficult to push out. Finally, he spoke.

“Why don’t you let me come with you to your lectures?”

Your heart clenched. You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself. “Mingi, we went over this—”

“I feel so lonely in this big, empty house,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration. “Why can’t we at least take a stroll outside? Just once?”

You hesitated. The room was so quiet you could hear the soft creaking of the wooden beams overhead, the wind whispering through the cracks in the window.

He faced you now, his eyes dark and full with a heavy sadness. “Are you that ashamed of me?”

He spoke so quietly, yet his words struck you harder than any shout ever could. You steadied yourself as you spoke. “Ashamed of you?” You asked. “Why on Earth would I be ashamed of you, Mingi?”

“Because I’m a hideous monster!” he roared, his voice breaking. “My complexion is pale and gray, my body stitched together like some grotesque experiment gone wrong! I look like the creatures in those horrible Brothers Grimm tales!” He panted, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His gaze met yours, filled with raw, agonizing pain. “You’re ashamed to be seen with me. That’s why you keep me locked in here. Just admit it!”

Before you could reach for him, he shoved himself upright, his sudden movement forcing you back. His shoulders shook as he sucked in a ragged breath, but it did little to steady him. He turned away, his back to you, his head bowed as his body shuddered with suppressed sobs.

A hollow ache carved into your chest. You had seen him in so many states—curiosity, fascination, confusion, frustration—but never like this. Never so broken and angry.

You pushed yourself up, the bed frame creaking beneath you as you rose to your feet. Slowly, you tip-toed around the bed carefully, afraid he might flinch away. But he didn’t. He remained still, his head hanging low, shoulders trembling with each uneven breath.

Gently, you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cold cheeks. His lashes, dark and wet with tears, fluttered as he hesitantly lifted his gaze to meet yours.

Your heart sank. “Oh, Mingi,” you whispered, the words carrying all the tenderness you could muster. “You are no monster.”

His lips parted, but no words came at first. He swallowed hard, his breath warm and shallow against your fingers.

“Yeah? Then what am I?” He asked in a low voice.

You held him tighter as if your grip alone could hold him together and ease the ache buried deep within him.

“You are my greatest love,” you said, your thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against his skin. “My beating heart. My light, my darkness. My gentle giant.” You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, your breath mixing with his own. “My most beautiful creation.”

His lips quivered, his brows drawing together as more tears spilled down his cheeks. He searched your face as if trying to find some hidden deception in your words, but there was none. Only love.

“That’s why I have to keep you here,” You explained, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, tracing the faint lines of stitches that held him together. “You’re far too precious to me. What would I do with myself if you were to wander outside and hurt yourself, hmm?”

Your voice was gentle, but firm. A careful balance of love and control. “The world out there is dangerous and unpredictable. People wouldn’t understand you the way I do. They wouldn’t see you the way I do. But here… here, I can keep you safe. I can protect you. I can’t ever lose you, Mingi. You understand?”

The thought of you suffering because of him was far worse than any pain he could endure himself. He never wanted you to be hurting. His loneliness, his longing for the outside world, meant nothing if it meant keeping you safe. If staying within these walls was the price to keep you happy, then he would pay it willingly, again and again.

You felt his resistance softening, the tension in his shoulders easing beneath your touch. He nodded his head eagerly, convincing you that he understood. Yes, you were only protecting him. And where else would he need to be than be here with you?

Mingi buried his face into your chest, his breath warm against the fabric of your dress. His arms wrapped around you, desperately clinging onto you as if you might slip away on account of his emotional outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice small and fragile. “I just… I look at myself, and I worry that I’m not enough for you.” His words muffled in the soft folds of your clothing.

You sighed, your fingers weaving through his dark hair, stroking it gently. You had known for some time that he struggled with his appearance. How he would glance at the mirror only to turn away, jaw tightening, shoulders slumping under the weight of his self-loathing.

It felt like a cruel joke, that you, with your flawless skin, and warmth and radiance, could love someone like him. It didn’t make sense to him. He was the beast, an unnatural creation held together by a thread. And you… you were his beauty. The light in his darkness. The one thing that made him feel human.

“How do you look at me and not run away?” His voice was raw with insecurity. He curled his fingers into the lacy fabric of your dress, gripping tightly, as if bracing himself for an answer he feared.

You didn’t hesitate. Gently, you cupped his cheeks, your thumbs reuniting with the cool, uneven texture of his skin, feeling the faint ridges of stitches beneath your fingertips. You lifted his face, urging him to meet your eyes.

“Because I love you,” you said, your voice filled with certainty. “You are my darling husband. Must I need any other reason?”

Your eyes searched his, willing him to believe you. To see himself the way you did. Not as something broken, not as something unnatural, but as yours. Entirely, unconditionally, yours.

Though you spoke fondly, your words didn’t land. Mingi’s brows drew together, his lips pressing into a thin line as doubt clouded his mind. No matter how many times you reassured him, no matter how gently you held him, he struggled to accept that someone like you could love someone like him.

You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his. "Let me show you," you murmured softly. Slowly, you closed the distance, capturing his lips with yours in a tender kiss. His initial hesitation melted away, replaced by a tentative hunger as he responded to your touch. His hands found your waist again, and he pulled you closer, the erratic beat of his heart thumping against yours.

As your kiss deepened, you felt Mingi's hands exploring, sliding up your back with a newfound confidence that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if his self-doubt unraveled with every touch you brought him. The way you melted into him, the breathy moans slipping past your lips, served as undeniable proof that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his, silently asking for permission and offering reassurance. His gaze held nothing but trust and longing, a silent plea for you to continue, to take the lead.

Carefully, you began to undo the buttons of his shirt, your fingertips grazing over his bare skin. You pushed him gently down onto the mattress, a spark of desire burning in your lower abdomen as you climbed on top of him.

Your lips reconnected with his, and you couldn’t help but rut your hips, grinding yourself over his growing bulge. His moans vibrated against your lips, a low, primal growl that sent shockwaves through your body. He was always so reactive to your touch, his big body seemingly getting smaller as he melted just beneath you.

Your kisses trailed down his neck and over his exposed chest, lips lingering gently over the scars just above his heart. Your hands roamed over the hard plane of his muscles, tracing over the contours of his body with a light and playful touch. You could feel Mingi stirring beneath you, groaning as his big hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer, wanting to feel every inch of your body against his. He moved you back and forth, a sticky wetness already staining his freshly worn trousers.

Mingi's head fell back, his eyes shutting tightly as you took his nipple into your mouth, suckling gently. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation taking over as you played with his tender flesh, biting and pulling ever so slightly. A wanton moan escaped his lips, a low, pleading sound that filled you with glee.

“Y/N…” he whined, his voice soft and pleading. His hands rested on your shoulders, his fingers lightly gripping your skin, silently begging you for more. When you looked up at him, your mouth still busy on his nipple, you felt a rush of power. His hair was slightly disheveled, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look even more breathtaking. His eyes, wet and glassy, met yours, and his puffy lips were slightly parted, as if he was going to cry out your name again.

Your clothes had fallen to the floor, discarded in the heat of the moment. Your naked body, now warm and flushed, pressed against his own, his large frame resting back against your soft flesh. You kissed him passionately, your lips trailing down from his jawline until making home over his neck. Your hand reached around and stroked his hard cock, a gentle caress that made his hips buck.

"So pretty,” you breathed, your head resting against his shoulder as you studied his long length. “Every inch of you is a work of art, made just for me…Look how perfectly you fit in my hand."

His cheeks flamed at your words, his eyes lowering as he melted in your hand. Only you could say such filthy things to him and make it sound so eloquent. It made him wet, forcing a dribble of precum to escape his slit, which you thumbed over and circled against his throbbing head.

You then moved around his large frame until you were kneeled before him, dipping your head just enough to spit on his cock, his breath hissing as your saliva dripped down his shaft. Mingi watched intently, his breath catching as you took all of him into your mouth, your lips stretching wide around his girth. He whimpered at the sudden warmth of your mouth. His own hung open as he sat and watched in awe as you sucked and slurped him, making sure to give him all the attention he needed. His eyes rolled back, and for a moment he felt weightless, as if he was floating on a cloud, a strong bliss taking over his senses.

You bobbed your head and took him deeper, forcing your hair to fall forward and frame your face. Captivated by the sight, Mingi gently gathered your loose strands and tucked them behind your ear. He desperately wanted to tell you that you looked so beautiful at this moment, that he admired how hard you worked to make him feel good, but the words got stuck in his throat each time your throat gagged around him, so he kept tending to your hair, pulling the strands away from your eyes so they didn’t bother you. His touch, so tender and loving, made your heart flutter in your chest.

“You taste so good,” You moaned against his cock, gripping a hand tighter at its base. “I can’t get enough of you.” He shuddered as you traced wet kisses along his vein, your tongue exploring every ridge and curve.

Sucking on his tip, you pumped him up and down, your grip becoming even tighter. Mingi's eyes widened, and he shuddered again, unable to hold back any longer. His breath hitched, and his body tensed as a wave of relief washed over him.

With a powerful thrust, his cum shot into your mouth, filling it with his warm seed. You moaned, your eyes closing in satisfaction as you took him deep, a sensory overload that left him breathless.

Mingi turned a delightful shade of pink, embarrassed to see his cum dripping from your lips. It was adorable seeing him so flustered. He started to apologize and offered to get you a towel to spit on, but your actions left him speechless. You hummed in satisfaction, a deep, contented sound that turned his brain to mush. Without hesitation, you swallowed his load, licking your lips clean, a sign of your complete devotion to him.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his sensitive cockhead, a gesture that made him snap back to reality. Looking up at him, you saw his flushed, sweaty expression, and your heart skipped a beat. The sight of him, so vulnerable and raw, made you sigh in adoration.

"You're so handsome when you cum, honey” you whispered. “Such a good boy for me.”

He blushed, a subtle pink tinting his cheeks. He could feel your love radiating toward him, and it felt almost overwhelming, a beautiful connection that he just couldn’t describe. Something inside him ignited, both a hunger and a need to give back, to be the one to pleasure you. With a swift and gentle movement, he pulled you onto his lap, your bodies aligning perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

His lips crashed against yours, tasting his saltiness on your lips. You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The feel of his hard cock rubbing against your wet folds sent goosebumps all over your body, a delicious friction that had you wanting more.

Mingi pulled away, his eyes darting down to your wet heat, admiring how pretty your slick juices look all over his cock. Meeting your gaze, he spoke softly, his voice filled with undeniable want. “I want to make you feel good, Y/N. I want to be good for you…please, I’ll be so good.” It almost pained him to want you this way, to desire you this badly, and he needed your permission to put out this fire that burned within him.

Your heart bursted at his words, a rush of love and appreciation washing over you. You nodded, a subtle gesture of consent, and he smiled, a sweet, loving smile that melted your heart. He leaned in, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, his hands roaming all over your body before settling them at your waist. He guided you over his cock, and you sank down, gasping at the stretch. His brows furrowed with concern, a fleeting moment of worry before you leaned in and kissed him to reassure him. You rocked your hips back and forth, getting used to his length.

“Mingi,” You whined, your pace quickening as you found your rhythm. He was buried so deep inside of you that it made tears well in your eyes. You continued kissing him hungrily, your lips moving from his mouth to his neck, leaving behind a trail of purple bruises. His hands roamed your back, a comforting touch that contrasted his hardness that rocked inside of you. As you pulled away to catch your breath, you caught sight of Mingi's eyes, which were as teary as your own. His gaze was fixed on you, an intense lock that spoke volumes about the deep love that he undoubtedly had for you. You almost wanted to cup his sweet face and kiss away his tears.

Before either of you could speak, his grasp on your waist tightened, a silent plea for you to stay put. You felt his cum releasing inside you, a warm sensation that mixed with your own, filling you to the brim. You cried out, your eyes locked on his as you reached your climax. It all felt so overwhelming, but he worked you gently and slowly over his cock, bringing you down from your peak with a tender and caring touch.

Exhausted, Mingi collapsed against the bed, pulling you down with him. You tumbled forward, your body molding against his as you rested atop him, breathless and sweaty. With a soft hum, you began peppering his face with tender kisses over his eyelids, his cheeks, and the sharp line of his jaw; each one a silent prayer, a vow of devotion. Your fingers traced the familiar contours of his face as you sighed, content.

“My Mingi,” you whispered, a gentle smile curling at your lips. But then, a sudden darkness took hold of you.

He wasn’t your Mingi.

The man beneath you, holding you, loving you, was something else entirely. A being shaped by your grief, your desperation. A body stolen from the earth and brought back by your own hands. A carefully crafted illusion of the man you lost. And he had no idea, no idea that you stole him, reimagined him, all for your own selfish intentions.

The realization threatened to crush you, your chest tightening as the weight of the truth nearly pulled you from the moment.

Mingi, ever attuned to you, sensed the shift in your expression. His brows knit together as he reached up, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. Though he didn’t understand the sorrow behind it, he smiled softly, his eyes full of adoration, his love for you unshaken.

He pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, anchoring you back to him.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he whispered to you. And just like that, he drifted off to sleep, his own qualms put to rest, while yours just began to crack at the surface.

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