#I cannot even care for hobbies currently.

[blackwaxidol]

I don't think I've been this violently upset and miserable at myself in years.

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻

[lovscb97]

synopsis: nerd!chan headcannons. that’s it. that’s the tweet.

tags: nerd!chan x cheerleader!fem!reader, fluff, meet cute, nerd!chan being in love, mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, nerd!chan being an inexperienced cutie, etc

wc: 1.48k

add. notes: while you guys wait for nerd!chan pt. 2 as i need to complete writing it and cannot really Do that w/ my current busy schedule (im nearing the end of first sem so i have lots of assignments #sad), i thought i’d treat u guys to some headcannons about him in the nerd!chan universe :3 enjoy!

pt. 1 / pt. 2 (coming soon!)

. . . 

#one. meeting you for the first time

chan has always been a shy kid. he doesn’t stray from his introverted bubble of close friends that he’s either grown up with or gotten to know through extra-curriculars, nor does he ever participate in social activities like parties the way most people in his university do. it’s his firm belief that he has no means to engage in stuff that will, in his words, lower his intelligence and distract him from his studies. he’s perfectly content remaining the way he is; a social outcast (according to changbin at least), because at the least in that sense he’s gaining something from not wallowing in alcohol every other night.

you, on the other hand, are actively always taking part in gatherings as such, having fun with your cheer girls and drinking to drown out the bitter reality of life (although you’d never admit that out loud). it’s your firm belief that college is for letting loose and having fun before entering the corporate world, and what better way to do that than to grind against strangers and throw away all your responsibilities for a night (or ten)? you don’t have too much regard for your studies, but you do have a strong policy on your social life.

it’s because of these reasons that in terms of both hierarchy and hobbies, you and chan couldn’t be any more different. you’re two sides of two separate coins, and if you were to swap lifestyles, you’re sure neither of your friends would recognise you both. what he likes, you loathe, and what you like, he loathes. so why did you do mesh so well? why did you two even begin this charade? 

and how in the everloving fuck did chan even get to know you in the first place? 

it all started before the first day of the first semester. orientation was about to finish right around the corner, and everyone was obviously buzzing with excitement on commencing their first term in university. one guy made the mistake of mentioning throwing a party at some nearby club, and it quickly spread to the entire group of first year students. naturally, it spread to you and your friend group, and it also just happened to spread to the small circle of chan’s best friends, who dragged his ass to the party the day of despite his incessant complaining that he wanted nothing to do with what was happening.

that was, until he saw you.

you’d had one too many shots to drink, stumbling into the balcony after having been separated from your friends and coincidentally landing up where chan just so happened to be admiring the scenery. he’d caught you in his arms as you lost your footing, heart racing and ears reddening at the sound of your drunk giggles. “i bet you’re a ladies man.” you’d teased him, raising a finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which only made him stutter even more. 

your friends eventually did come to find you and take you back with them, barely even batting an eye at chan who tried to make sure you were being cared for properly as his pleas and tips on handling a hangover the next day fell upon deaf ears. and when jisung and changbin came up to find him, he was completely out of it, stuck in a daze as he repeated all the random information about yourself that you’d rambled to him in his head. he’d pressed a single hand to his chest whilst ignoring his friend’s questions about what the hell he was doing, instead focusing on the feeling the rapid rhythmic beating of his heart under his palm.

it was that night, that chan's love for the moon transcended to his love for you.

#two. kissing you for the first time

chan is just as much of a nerd as they come in every cliche. 

when he met you, when he got to know you, and when he first began whatever twisted relationship he currently has with you, he was completely inexperienced. he knew next to nothing about pleasing a girl that wasn’t acquired from his knowledge of scouring the internet, and he also knew next to nothing about the world of pleasure he was in for. when you’d first leaned in to initiate a kiss, he’d merely pushed you away gently, gasping over his words as he tried to explain to you how new this was all to him.

but you didn’t mind. you didn’t mind that he’d never even gotten close to holding a girl’s hand unless he counted his elementary school crush, and you didn’t mind that he barely knew what to do with you. you didn’t mind that you had to teach him the ropes of everything (mostly because it fed into your corruption kink), and you didn’t mind it even when you had to reassure him you weren’t going to judge him as you got him to relax before leaning in once more.

and when your lips had touched his for the first time, chan swore he felt sparks fly. you were soft, and sweet, and real. instead of being a mere figment of his imagination or the skin of the back of his hand, your presence was electrifying. the way your mouth had moved against his, the way you’d let out a soft sigh at the feeling of it pressing back into him, and the way you’d pulled away and flashed him the prettiest smile he’d ever damn seen in his life before, it was all so dizzying. 

“you’re a pretty good kisser.” you’d winked at him afterwards, and he felt himself flush under your gaze which only made you double over in laughter. you’d even leaned in once more to plant another soft kiss on his lips before motioning for him to continue with whatever demand and supply topic he was teaching you about. chan didn’t give a fuck about that anymore though, the only thought on his mind the entirety of the rest of your study session how to get better at kissing you, and when he could look forward to doing it the next time.

#three. what he likes about you

if anyone asked chan what he likes about you, he’d be at a complete loss for words. not because there’s nothing he can come up with beyond superficial reasons, but because there’s too much that he has to say and isn’t sure of where to actually start.

chan isn’t even sure when he fell for you in the first place. yes, when he first met you that fated night on the balcony at that premature freshmen party he caught feelings for you, but those feelings snowballed and grew into something much larger as the days went on. each night was filled with replaying your conversation (although he barely spoke out of his shock upon seeing you) and wondering what it would be like to be in your presence once more. it got to the point that his friends began asking him why he was spacing out so much during classes and staring at one specific section of the lecture hall, but he didn’t have the courage to admit it was because of you sitting there. 

to simply put it, chan likes everything and nothing about you. he likes the fact that you’re nobody like he’s ever met before, you have a fire to yourself that nobody comes close to claiming, but you laugh sweet enough to extinguish that flame at the same time. something about you draws him in, tantalising and captivating in nature but all too consuming to the point he can’t get you out of his brain no matter how hard he tries. the time you came up to him to ask if he’d help you with tutoring, his mind almost short circuited because holy shit, were you actually talking to him in real life instead of the made up interactions he plays out with you before going to sleep? and you knew his name and who he was on top of that? it was too good of a dream to be true.

that’s precisely why chan can’t let go of you now. even if it hurts him, even if it’s painstakingly hard to be hidden from the public eye whilst being together with you, he doesn’t want to let go of you. because letting go of you entails that he’s giving up on his aspirations of being with you, and chan is nothing next to a quitter. he’ll have you in any way he can, even if that means not abiding by his friends’ requests to just let you go and being kept in the dark by your lack of confrontation for your feelings.

at the end of the day, chan is head over heels for you, and that’s something that’ll never change. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[bangfantanfic]

Our Own World: Chapter 12.

Warnings: Possible mentions of stalkingand yandere behaviour.

tags; @miss-jupiter @imagine-forlife @blaaiissee @millenniumspec @toughbook @darkuni63 @badbyeyoongi @iloverubberduckiez-blog @missseoulite @singukieee @potterbrooke @suhappysuho @doublebunv @sevenpersona @blancflms @childfmoonn @caffeineandreveries @cryingpages @gato-dumbo @xicanacorpse @devilzliaison

A/N; I am alive! Thank you all for being so patient, life has been life-ing and I cannot say it's been enjoyable lmao. I hope this update is okay, please let know! I am also currently going through Our Own World and my other works editing everything! So there may be some changes, so please bare with me while everything is a bit messy. If you would like to be removed or added to my taglists please let me know <3

Being holed up in Jimin’s room had surprisingly been a nice refresher. The only person coming and going from the room had been Jimin, taking clothes to his roommates, bringing fresh clothing to you, and meals whenever they were ready. He spent nearly every second glued by your side, chatting away like he had known you his entire life. He had millions of questions, wanting to know every intimate detail about the life you lived before finding yourself stuck here, although he worded it much nicer. 

In turn, you asked Jimin a million and one questions. You asked about his life, what it was like living with your brother, did he have hobbies, and of course, questions regarding life as a hybrid. You hadn’t ever spent much time around normal animals despite the never-ending line of pets your parents bought home, and so obviously hybrids were a whole new ballgame. Jimin had been thrilled by your interest, answering every question in length and always making sure you understood everything. The hybrid had shown you so much patience and care, more than you had expected or ever even experienced before. It had been a shock and left you feeling embarrassed and ashamed of the way you had behaved around them all. 

Growing up, despite your parents' interest in hybrids, they never got any. Nobody you knew had hybrids— well obviously other than your brother but his ownership over them had been a surprise! You had very little knowledge of them, only what you had learned through the media, which even you should have known wasn’t the most reliable source at times. All your information, the knowledge you thought you had? Useless. You may as well have watched Fox News all your life. Thankfully, Jimin didn’t seem to mind your lack of knowledge, in fact, he seemed thrilled to share everything he could with you. The two of you had started to form a surprising bond. 

For the first time in almost a week, you woke up alone. It had left you feeling strangely disappointed. The first night you had spent in Jimin’s shared bedroom, he had insisted you sleep in his bed, and you both had bickered for a ridiculous amount of time until you caved in. By the second day, he had rejoined you in his bed, being careful to keep his distance. It was sweet. By day four you were waking up to Jimin curled up around your body, his nose buried into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. Strangely enough, you weren’t bothered by the skinship. Your skin didn’t crawl at his touch, even the gentle brushes of his tail on your calf. It was almost comforting. Jimin had picked up on the change in attitude toward touch, slowly amping up his skinship. 

But it was strange to wake up to the disturbed routine you had so briefly experienced. Usually, you woke up before Jimin, the fox hybrid stayed up later than you and slept in longer. Today was different. Deciding to shrug it off, you rolled across the bed blindly reaching for your phone on the bedside table. The blinding white light from your screen caused the device to slip from your hands for a moment before you recovered from temporary blindness. Speedily scrolling through the notifications on your lock screen, your thumb froze upon noticing a familiar name. 

HY- U free today? Was thinking about going on a walk… u interested? 

Staring at the words, rereading, and then reading one more time, you threw the blanket off your body, throwing yourself upward. You still texted the man from the grocery store, Hanyoon, nearly every day, unfortunately, you hadn't run into him again since your first meeting. Covid’s lockdown rules had thankfully finally started to ease up. Whilst masks and international travel still hadn’t gone back to normal, you were allowed to roam the streets again... Exercising for a few hours outside of the house in the neighborhood you lived in was encouraged. Getting out of the house was just what you needed, even if it was with a man you had only met once. Keeping yourself cooped up like this was crazy, of course, it was. Jay wasn’t able to return anytime soon, and just because Hoseok and Jeongguk had scared the shit out of you, it didn’t mean you should close yourself off to the others who hadn’t done anything wrong. A day out was exactly what you needed to clear your head. 

Y/N- sounds great! Whenever you're ready :)) 

Dropping your phone back onto the mattress, you stumbled out of the bed, ankle snagged in one of many blankets that Jimin kept all over the bed. You made a quick mental note to fix his bedding when you got back. Digging through the pile of your dirty clothes that had been shoved behind the door, you found a decent enough outfit. Sure, you could go to your bedroom but the fewer stops the better. If you could avoid alerting the whole house of your departure that would be ideal. 

You were thankful for the one sink in the ensuite that still worked, getting to quick work brushing your teeth. Unfortunately, your hair was disgustingly greasy, but with no time to shower you would just have to steal some of Jimin’s dry shampoo and pray it could fix the cesspool on top of your head. Not bothering with makeup, knowing your unfit ass would sweat it all off, you were quick to ditch your glasses in favor of contacts. Deeming yourself presentable for the public, you quickly grabbed your phone from Jimin’s mattress. Hayoon’s contact alerted you to his arrival at the park nearby. 

To your complete surprise, you managed to make it out of the house without a single soul making an appearance. If you didn’t know any better, you would have assumed the house was empty. Knowing better than to test your luck, you had been quick to slip into your sneakers by the door, taking off down the driveway. Despite enjoying Jimin’s companionship the past week, you craved normal human interaction. Jimin was a sweetheart, but there was something that lingered under that sweetness that often left you feeling uneasy. It could just be you overthinking, subconsciously comparing him to his two packmates that had spooked you, but you weren’t going to completely ignore your gut. You had learned to be better than that. 

“Y/n!” 

A grin pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with Hayoon, your legs picking up pace to meet him faster. Hayoon looked good, dressed in loose black shorts and a baggy white tee. His hair which had been completely buzzed off the first, and last, time you saw him had started to regrow. Thick dark hair had started to flower across his head, making you wonder what kind of style his hair had been before it had been shaved off. 

“Hayoon, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?” You asked sheepishly, keeping a little space between your bodies. 

He waved you off, smiling down at you. You forgot how tall he was, definitely an inch or so taller than Namjoon. You weren’t short, in fact, you were considered tall for a woman in your country, but Hajoon made you feel tiny, something you couldn't say happens often. 

“Nah, I haven’t been here long.” He assured you, gently bumping into your shoulder as he started to walk along the dusty path. The crunch under his shoes finally jolted your legs into gear after what seemed to be a moment of short-circuiting when the skin of his arm brushed against yours. 

The sun felt amazing on your skin, something you never thought you could say. Even the gentle breeze didn’t bother you. It was still early, the only other people in the park being an elderly couple walking with their arms linked up ahead. Despite how warm it already was, the couple were dressed in thick coats as if braving the city's harsh winter. Watching the way they interacted so freely with one another warmed your heart, they seemed so in love. Growing old didn’t seem as scary if you did it with someone you loved. 

Hayoon must’ve been watching the same scene as you, a soft smile on his lips as he admired the affectionate couple ahead. A comfortable silence had settled over the two of you rather quickly, and you were grateful. Something you liked about Hayoon was how easy it was with him. There were no forced conversations, no bitterness over slow responses. There were many similarities between the two of you, making it almost effortless to keep any conversation going. Any differences were discussed, debated, and settled. Those differences weren’t drastic, nothing that could end the bond that slowly was forming. 

A sound of disgust broke your thoughts, Hayoon’s eyes were still looking toward the elderly couple, only now a third person had appeared. A short woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties had been walking in front of them and now separated off to the left with her arm linked with the elderly woman, the two admiring a shrub of flowers. The short woman had pretty honey-colored hair with ears of the same color poking out– a hybrid. 

Hayoon looked down at you, an apologetic look on his face. His tanned cheeks had a cute pink flush to them. “Sorry– I didn’t mean to.” He stumbled over his words, his cheeks going brighter in embarrassment. 

“Not a fan?” You laughed, glancing back toward the elderly woman and her hybrid. 

Hajoon snorted, shaking his head. He kept quiet as you approached the trio, waiting until a good distance had been made before he answered your question. 

“It’s just.. Weird?” He sighed, his thick brows pulling together. “It’s not natural.” 

Humming, you found yourself agreeing. Hybrids were a strange concept, you found it incredibly difficult to understand why anyone would go out of their way to warp genetics in such a way. What was the real reason for creating such a mess of DNA? Only to ban them twenty years later? What was the reason for banning them? They were a hot commodity, every facility selling out within weeks, the waitlists being years long. The money the government had made from their creation had been staggering, and yet twenty years later facilities were shut down and forced to stop producing. The last few generations were sterilized, and the older generations were also encouraged to be as well. The government was trying to completely erase their creations without an explanation. As anyone could imagine, it didn’t go down well with the public. Hybrid trading has become a huge issue over the last few years, with huge rings being found and shut down every few days. 

What about Jay’s hybrids? When exactly did he get them, and where from? They were all born before the ban, that much you knew. So maybe he got them legally? Did he follow the government's advice, suggesting (demanding) to have all hybrids sterilized? Jay seemed to want to hide the fact that he owned hybrids, was it because of how many he had? Maybe there was a limit on how many hybrids a person could own that you weren't aware of. Seeing the elderly couple out with their cat hybrid, not a concern in the air, had you confused as to why the seven back home were kept under lock and key. Was it because of their breeds? They were all exotic animals, the laws might apply differently to different breeds. After the ban on hybrids, many laws shifted, and still to this day they are constantly changing, it is difficult to keep up to date. 

The topic of hybrids and Hayoon’s opinions on them piqued your interest. You were still clueless on the topic, no matter how much research you did into it you still felt uneducated on it all. Hayoon had been an excellent source of information, leaving you almost speechless on how much he seemed to know about them. If there was one thing you admired about the man, it was how educated he was on all topics. He always made sure to have himself as well informed as possible before making an opinion, he was a pool of knowledge. He never looked down on you for things you didn't know or understand and explained things as many times as you needed. It reminded you of Namjoon. 

A knot of anxiety pulled at your stomach. Had they noticed you were gone? Were they upset... Maybe you should have told someone, or at least left a note. You know Namjoon has a shitty old phone that's shared amongst the group, but you never bothered to get the number for it. You hadn’t seen a need for it, the only time you had spent away from any of them was to go get groceries. A part of you also just didn’t want them to have your number, the thought of them being able to contact you in the only time you had alone was distressing. Quickly shrugging off your concerns, you turn your attention back to Hayoon who had thankfully not noticed you spacing out. 

They’re fine, they’re grown men, and they can live without you for a few hours. 

“She’s gone!” 

Namjoon slammed his laptop shut, glaring up at Jimin for bursting into the bedroom he was temporarily residing in until Y/N was ready to go back to her own. 

“Have you forgotten how to knock?” He snapped, earning a frustrated hiss from the young fox. 

“Are you deaf!” He shot back, tugging at his hair. “Y/N is gone, I can’t find her anywhere!” 

Jimin’s panic was already distressing enough, the emotion suffocating the room the longer he stood in the doorway, but the anxiety that flooded his nerves was enough for him to feel bile rising in his throat. Namjoon had heard one less heartbeat when he woke up late this morning, but he had pinned it down to either one of the boys had gone walking at the back of the property, somewhere too far for his hearing to pick up, or Jeongguk was sleeping so deeply that his heart had slowed to almost nothing again– a common occurrence when the snake hybrid had a late night. The possibility of it being your heartbeat missing hadn’t even crossed Namjoon’s mind. You had been locked away in his bedroom for some time now, nobody but Jimin had seen you, and nobody would have suspected you leaving. The smell of your fear still lingered upstairs, Jimin would herd everyone downstairs before you would agree to go use the upstairs bathroom to shower. Going as far as making Jimin stand guard on the door until you were done. When did you lose that anxiety? 

Ripping the blanket, Namjoon’s laptop hit the floor as he jumped off the mattress. “Where have you looked?” 

“I’ve been through the yard, the kitchen, our bedroom, and all of downstairs. I haven’t checked Jeongguks room, I was on my way–” 

Namjoon was speeding down the hallway before the fox could finish his sentence. This was a new kind of fear he had never experienced before, his throat closing up and his eyes burning. His lungs were on fire, struggling to keep up with how quickly he was breathing. At the end of the hall was Taehyung and Jeongguk’s room, the door shut and only the sound of one heartbeat fluttering peacefully. Had you found your way into their room? Maybe you had gotten lost and ended up in the wrong bedroom? These things happen all the time! He’ll open the door and you’ll be curled up in someone's bed, and the crisis will be averted. 

With the force that Namjoon pushed open the door, he almost fell flat on his face. Stumbling into the room, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, squinting as he took in two groggy men peeking out from their blankets. 

“Hyung, what the fuck?” Jeongguk groaned, his heart going from nearly stopped to racing. 

“Well, is she there?” Jimin huffed, shoving past his leader to look for himself. To his great disappointment, the room held no signs of you ever being there. Cursing, Jimin shoved past Namjoon, his usual gratefulness replaced with clumsy heaviness. 

“What’s his problem?” Taehyung whined, pulling his blanket over his head to shield himself from the brightness of the hall. 

Namjoon, for the first time in his life, couldn’t find words. You’re not here. There are seven heartbeats, not eight. The knot in his stomach tightened, the bile in his stomach rising higher and higher. When did you leave, how long has it been? Your car is still here, you couldn’t have gotten far. How didn’t anyone hear you leave? A house full of hybrids and not a single one heard you get up and out the front door? 

Impossible. 

“Did you hear anyone leave the house this morning?” He asked as calmly as possible, the shake in his voice far more noticeable than he would have liked. Both grunted out no’s, begging the elder male to close the door. 

It was Jeongguk, finally ripping the blanket off his head ready to start a war over the damned door still being open, that noticed Namjoon’s pale sweaty skin. He looked like he was about to projectile vomit. Frowning, the snake hybrid slinked out of bed and heaved his tired body toward his sickly leader. Pressing the back of his cold hand against Namjoon’s forehead, he sighed in relief. He wasn’t running abnormally hot, so it wasn’t a fever or some kind of sickness. Even with his less advanced hearing, he could still hear the erratic beating of his hyung’s heart. 

“Joonie, you okay?” He murmured, his hand cupping the back of the man's neck as he tried to get closer to assess him better. “You don’t look so good…” 

The concern in Jeongguk’s usually smug tone had Taehyung flying into a sitting position, his hair standing in every possible direction. His puffy eyes zeroed in on his pack leader, his brows pulling together in concern. 

“Is he sick?” 

Jeongguk shook his head, keeping his eyes on the wolf hybrid. Gently squeezing at the muscle in his neck, the snake hybrid was starting to get antsy. “Hey, come on. Talk to us, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what's wrong.” He cooed, the money hybrid making a sound of agreement from behind. 

Namjoon’s tongue pressed against his cheek, his eyes going glassy. He couldn’t get his tongue to work, he couldn’t get himself to say the words his packmates needed to hear. How could he admit to everyone that he had lost you? He could hear Jimin tearing through Jay’s room downstairs, Hoseok and Seokjin hot on his heels trying to calm the younger man down. They didn’t know what was happening either, nobody else had figured it out. 

“We can’t find Y/n.” 

[csuitebitches]

Going From a Fixed Mindset to a Growth Mindset

Lesson #1: growth is not linear. You will not improve drastically overnight. As I’ve stressed this before, things take time and consistency and concentration.

A fixed mindset is basically a belief that the person you’re born as - your intelligence and talent - are fixed. They cannot be changed, no matter what.

Science has shown that this is not true. It’s 100% possible to get smarter over time and with dedicated effort.

This is what a growth mindset is - believing that you can be better over time, and that your current level of intelligence and talent is temporary.

People with fixed mindsets are insecure, and it shows. Fear of failure; taking constructive criticism to heart; feelings of jealousy when someone they know is doing well… we’ve all known a person like this, and been this person ourselves at some point in our life.

Growth mindset is therefore the opposite but the effects are as grounding; it can help battling anxiety, depression, burnout issues, behavioural issues and so on.

I understand that a lot of you don’t have people in your life with a similar mentality of personal growth. I’m therefore reopening my Discord. My followers can meet, connect and help each other out.

Now, how does one transition from a fixed to a growth mindset?

Here are some things I think could help:

1. Detaching yourself from the definition of failure

If you’ve already decided the outcome of a certain situation without even trying, then you’re still stuck in a fixed mindset. Things like “there’s no point in me applying for that job because I don’t have the skills and I won’t get it anyway” - applying for that job wouldn’t hurt, even if you don’t get it. Stop limiting your opportunities that you never know could actually work out. A growth mindset person will always try to make most of the opportunities they have.

2. Not getting attached to any outcomes

Don’t get attached to favourable or unfavourable outcomes. When something goes well, have gratitude in your heart but don’t let it get to your ego. Life is about constantly learning. Don’t get attached to compliments and don’t get disheartened by criticism.

3. Actively working on yourself

You can learn a language at any age. You can start learning how to dance or sing or ride a horse at any age, if you’re doing it for the pleasure of learning (getting into competitive stages could be challenging if you’re not young). Someone who works on themselves has a growth mindset.

4. Stop self depreciating yourself

If I see one more IG bio that says “I’m so boring uwu” I will literally throw hands. Stop talking shit about yourself. Classic fixed mindset case. It’s childish and people pleasing behaviour.

5. Stop the comparison game

Stop resenting the people around for the good work they do in their life/ if their life is easy. We all have our challenges, whether we show them publicly or not. The more you work on your inner peace and inner self, the less you’ll feel the need to compare yourself to someone else. Jealousy is a disease and a sign of a fixed mindset.

6. Appreciate and thank yourself for being you.

If you’re nice to your mum, siblings, friends when they need your support… you can be nice to yourself too. Growth mindset does not come from berating yourself.

7. Recognise mistakes and take accountability

Admitting that you’re wrong is never easy. However, I’ll always have respect for someone who can admit that they messed up, rather than someone who will make up stories to justify their antics.

8. Provide yourself with at least 3 productive self-care hours a week

Self care here doesn’t mean skin care or hair care. I mean brain care. You feed your brain good things that it needs to stay calm and ever-growing.

These could include: brain games, mediation, a hobby, watching an educational documentary, doing a short online course, reading… anything that’s good for your brain.

9. Stop being a chameleon

Have you ever met those sort of people who will do anything to fit in? It could adopting that group’s mannerisms, thought processes, opinions… now, to an extent, that is normal and subtle. However, when it starts going too far to a point where you can’t be yourself anymore, thats a problem. In my opinion, that’s an example of not being able to practice your growth mindset publicly.

Privately, you may be growth oriented - but it needs to reflect in your words and actions. If you’re holding yourself back in doing certain things because you’re afraid of what other friends will think of you, you need better friends. Embrace people who have a growth mentality.

10. Using social media for better purposes

I made a separate Instagram account where I only follow educational stuff - think history, geography, arts and architecture, science, tech, business - and absolutely no people. It’s my way of using social media to ensure I learn more. Social media may be the devil, but you can be smart and alter it to your purposes, to give you that kick that you need to educate yourself.

[babybatss-blog]

WHEN STARS ALIGN

sirius black x f!reader, 950 words

cw: Sirius has familial issues, crying, mostly just angst.

summary: fate has brought both you and Sirius to the astronomy tower after a rough night. Lucky for you two, you know just the way to comfort each other.

Letting out a deep sigh, you walk promptly towards your dorm. Merlin, you just need a break from all the stress. Between school, friends, and hobbies, you haven’t even had a moment to rest the last couple of days. It feels as if your head is underwater, and just when you break the surface a rough hand pushes you down. And right now is no exception. Bursting through the door, you see your dorm mates chatting on the floor.

“Oh hey hun! Want to join us?” One of the lively girls ask. You politely refuse, then shuffle over to your bed, pulling the curtains around it’s four posts and putting on your headphones to have a moment to yourself. Now that the music is on you close your eyes, letting yourself get pulled away by the rhythmic instruments and soothing vocals. It’s such a comforting thing, music. No matter how soft or loud, it’s there through thick and thin. Unlike your friends, who you can still hear squealing and giggling at jokes despite the volume of your music. You attempt to continue focusing on the music, but the incessant squawks from your friends completely draws you away from it.

With a huff, you get out of bed and march to the door. “Are you okay?” One asks, but you just throw a “yes” over your shoulder to her. All you need right now is some peace and quiet, high above every issue and noise. And you know exactly where to go.

Flights of stairs take you higher and higher and higher, up to the top of the colossal castle. It’s sunset now, so no one would be where your planning to go as it’s only really a night occasion. Therefore, the sight of the extroverted Sirius Black, sitting on the stone is a surprise for your weary eyes.

“Sirius?” You tentatively ask, unsure if he is just a vision from your delirious mind. The boy turns around to face you with those grey eyes that cause you to know certainly this is real. But they don’t glimmer like they usually do, instead they are misty and red behind wet eyelashes.

“Oh… Hey.”

Could he be crying? Surely not, you’ve always known him as such a enigmatic man, coated in an air of mystic and confidence that is unattainable to anyone else. “Hey Sirius. I didn’t expect to see anyone here.” He huffs a chuckle. “Me either.”

“Can I sit with you?” Ignoring your past timidness you poise the question. Why? You don’t know. But the sight of your friend whom doesn’t care about your issues seems like a welcome one, something that could ease your current tension. He nods, so you sit next to him. Against your better judgment, you ask the question weighing heavily in the air. “Are you alright…?” He thinks. Like really thinks. His brows crease and his bottom lip curls inwards at the question, as if he is a toddler asked about quantum physics. “No, not really.” He confesses, looking down at a crumpled piece of paper in his clenched hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Without a second to think, he sighs and hands you the piece of paper. It contains a long, written note, in dark blue ink and swirly cursive writing. It’s from a woman of the name Walburga, who seems to be his mother. But you wouldn’t guess she was if it wasn’t written in the piece, due to the long list of profanities and harsh words she berates him with. It outlines her disappointment in the boy for not appearing at his cousins birthday, and therefore he is a “regret” and “scorn” on the family name.

“Merlin Sirius…” You knew his family were pureblood purists who he doesn’t associate with, but not to this extent. Looking at the boy next to you, who now has tears streaming down his face you cannot believe his strength to put up with this for so many years.

“I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back and see them again I can’t take it” He admits, voice shaking and weak. You envelop him in a hug, his trembling shoulders dissolving in your touch. The two of you sit there for at least half an hour, him crying into your skin and you whispering words of affirmation as you rub his back.

“I’m here for you.” “Your safe.” “I’ve got you.”

After a bit, he calms down. You stroke his hair as he rereads the letter, before ripping it to shreds! “Sirius what are you-?” You start to laugh after realizing what he is doing, before picking up the remnants from the stone floor and throwing them off the balcony, watching them float down to the grass far below. Sirius does the same, before throwing an arm around you and smiling at your face watching the wisps of paper disappearing below.

“Thank you.” He says, more sincere than you have ever heard him before. You look up to his piercing eye contact, smiling at his gorgeous face. “Of course. I wouldn’t want my favourite friend to sit here sulking! “Favourite hey?” He wiggles his eye brows in response. You of course roll your eyes, because there is no way you would let him have the satisfaction of your softness any longer.

“Hey, want to go and steal some cake from the kitchen?” He asks.

“Hell yeah.” You respond.

[idv-sweethearts]

Hi! Um can I request for a wax artist with a very dere dere type reader? Just totally affectionate and sweet on the guy even if the others can’t understand it! Thankies in advance! ^^

Philippe (Wax Artist) Headcanons with an Energetic Reader🧁

Note: Sorry about the long wait! I've just been doing other things. Also, sorry if this is incoherent in any way. It is currently 1AM. Warning for implications of hypothetical crime directed at the reader.

♥︎ He's not energetic, himself. He is bitter. Angry, and motivated by that, but not energetic. Perhaps there was a time when he was as cheerful, but he cannot be so carefree.

♥︎ As much as he would absolutely hate for you to smother such a delightfully cheerful personality, it would be terrible if someone, believing you to be a naive fool, attempted to hurt you. Physically, emotionally, it does not matter. The idea that you, or any good person on earth would be hurt sickens him. It is all that he intends to stop.

♥︎ In truth, you are not the fool. They are fools to think they can hide like weak prey animals, when they are anything but prey. To think that one might hate you for the refreshingly positive energy you fill every room with. Such a perspective can only be utterly foolish.

♥︎ All he asks is that you remain calm and reserved in public so no-one incorrectly assumes you're a good target. By his side, no-one will hurt you and escape unscathed. He'll be damned if he lets any scum that has dared to twist itself into a human shape even come close to harming you. Deception and pain are not your fault. It is not your responsibility to ensure that every beast remain in its den where it ought to stay until it shrivels up and dies.

♥︎ One day, you will die. He will die too. It is an unfortunate fact that cannot be ignored. Until then, he believes it is best to make the most of every day. Progress in art and science as much as you can in your lifetime. Fight endlessly for the world you wish you could live to see. In his free time and even while he works, it is soothing to have you by his side.

♥︎ I think his favorite form of affection to recieve is physical contact. The pressure of it, the reminder that you're there. He's not terribly inclined to give physical affection, however. Quality time is important to him as well. He enjoys just existing in the same room as you. All that being said, he's very content with compliments regarding his physical appearance, as well as his creations.

♥︎ He also wouldn't mind if you read to him. While he works or while he's trying to sleep. If reading to others is something you like, he'd like to listen. Just try not to be too loud. You can ready any book you like, or you can ramble about your interests. It does not matter, as your voice alone is a comfort to him.

♥︎ As for affection he prefers to give, he's most inclined to give handmade gifts and help with various tasks as long as he's not busy. It's no trouble, really. And, if you happened to cook for him, he'd greatly appreciate it. One can get caught up in their art so easily and forget to care for themselves.

♥︎ Speaking of art, if you enjoy art or writing or anything like that, he'd love to see what you create. He will critique it, but he means no harm. He just wants you to improve to the point of perfection and bring your talents to the world for all the worthy and unworthy to behold, even if it's only a simple hobby to you. He'd have a hard time understanding wanting to remain unknown and uncredited for a creative ability no-one will ever be able to replicate.

♥︎ No-one will ever replicate you. No-one can. Maybe imitated, but never replicated or replaced. Perhaps there are others like you. Perhaps they have similar interests or behavior. But you are you. In every moment before and after your birth, every intricate detail of your identity is transformed and arranged into what is known as you. Others will surely be outwardly similar, but none can compare to you.

[lightsovermonaco]

Wedding Date, Part 1 (Pato O'Ward)

an: requests and comments always welcome! There will be at least two more parts to this series.

wc: 4900

Summary: Pato is in need of a wedding date, desperately. Despite hating him, and despite him knowing it, he asks you to be his date and you agree.

"I need a date to this wedding next weekend."

"So? Take your sister." You don't bother to look up from the magazine you flip through. Pato is always in need of a date for something and he always takes his sister. If she's busy, he'll take his mother, or a cousin, or another relative until he's exhausted all options. You're not entirely sure why he's pacing in his trailer now like a caged beast, because even if by some rarity they were all busy, there's a slew of women around the paddock that would jump at the chance to go with him... just not you.

Your distaste of Pato began long before you were ‘promoted’ to the glamorous role of being his pseudo-handler. His flirtatious personality, womanizing one liners and general flippant humor surrounding racing rubs you the wrong way. Racing is a serious business and should be treated as such. It's his lifeblood, not a hobby. Some days you question his dedication, honestly- but voicing said opinions isn't your place. 

Oh, and women. He loves women, too. And the occasional man- You don’t judge him on that front, but god would it kill him to be discreet?

Besides- he's so loud, physically as well as mentally. Being around Pato drains your social battery quicker than a meeting with Zac Brown, and that's saying something. All the Mexican driver does is yap- and not in the fun, gossipy way that people do with their friends.  

In short, you cannot stand the man and would rather walk a mile over hot coals than spend an unnecessary minute with him. 

However, unfortunately for you, your exemplary ability to separate your personal feelings from your work made you the prime candidate for being an assistant. If you had to pinpoint the core tenet of your day to day life, it was the importance of separating church and state; wherein this case, the church is a race track and the state is yourself. People like that apparently, because multiple of your colleagues recommended you for your current role when the job opened up. 

Cue your transition to being Pato's personal therapist slash coordinator slash problem solver. 

Pato scoffs and throws his hands up like a child denied their favorite treat, "so she's busy. And last time I took her to a wedding, she made me leave so early I didn't even get cake! It was horrible.”

"Honestly, from what I heard that's not her fault. Who waits until eleven pm to serve the wedding cake?"

Pato pauses, his half undone race suit swaying slightly at the waist as he turns to wag a finger at you "Someone who doesn't want to interrupt the party, that's who. We were all out on the dance floor, having fun and enjoying ourselves!” You roll your eyes, but Pato either doesn't notice or doesnt care as he continues, “And I'm getting kinda sick of having her at every event... she likes to steal the spotlight."

"Here we go," you mumble, flipping the page and preparing for a long winded Pato-themed rant. 

“I love her, but when I'm the one that's invited in the first place I don't want to leave early. I want to enjoy it, you know? This is Felix's wedding, I want to bring someone fun… hey!” Pato snaps his fingers and turns to you with wide eyes and a grin that has you instantly on edge. You know that face; it means he's got a wild idea, particularly one that requires your assistance to complete. 

“Who am I messaging,” you deadpan as you pull out your phone. No doubt there's some obscure influencer that he's set his eyes on. It'll be up to you then to set up the date (using Pato's Instagram of course, to which you have full access), arrange her flights, ensure her dress is suitable so as to not cause a scandal, and secure two hotel rooms for however long Pato decides his holiday should be. 

“No one! No one- I was just thinking…” Pato’s eyes twinkle like stars. He rolls his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he contemplates his request, until finally he says, “why don't you come with me?”

You choke on air at the absurd suggestion. A million reasons flood your mind: because it's unprofessional and because you'd rather endure nails scraping on a chalkboard until the end of time to name a few. 

“I'm not hearing a no,” Pato sing-songs as his stupid grin grows wider and wider. 

“No!” You would like to tell him to fuck off, but your self respect keeps you from doing so. “Where the hell did that insane idea come from-”

“Come on,” Pato holds his hands out in front of him like a beggar in search of pocket change. “Come with me! I'll pay for whatever dress you pick out, the hotel room, flights, everything. I'll take care of it all. Who knows,” Pato shrugs then, the corner of his mouth lifting again in a devilish smile. “Maybe you'll even have fun.”

“Uh, no. Hell no. Even if it wasn't completely unprofessional, I would lose my mind before we even got on a plane. So thanks, but no thanks to being your fake date.”

Pato throws his hands up, the action causing his black fireproofs to come free of his race suit and expose an inch or two of his stomach. Not that you notice. Or care. “Oh come on! Am I really that horrible to be around?”

“Yes,” you respond without looking up from your phone. You make a note on your calendar to have Pato's mental sanity checked before the end of the break, because clearly the music city GP has knocked something loose in his head. 

“I'll give you my race bonus next time I score points.”

That finally gives you pause. You've seen those checks, even deposited them on his behalf once or twice. Tempting, very tempting. Possibly enticing enough for you to throw all thoughts of work-life balance out the window and commit to a few days of torture.

“Can I get that offer in writing?”

**********

“This is insane.” Despite the excessive force you exert on your suitcase, you can't zip the damn thing shut. You've tried sitting on it, rearranging twice, and removing a few things that you decided you don't absolutely need. Maybe the stubborn luggage is the first of many bad omens, the start of the bad luck you've brought upon yourself by accepting Pato's bargain. Perhaps the wisest thing to do is to call him and cancel, even if doing so at the last minute makes you a bit of an ass. 

But doing so would mean you miss an all inclusive, all expenses paid trip to Copenhagen, and who could pass that up? You've never stepped foot outside the Midwest, let alone outside of the country. Passing up an opportunity like this seems wasteful. Anyone else would jump at the opportunity. You shouldn’t let your dislike of the man supplying the credit card stop you from enjoying something.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble under your breath. You can't change your mind now, not after Pato's bought you a dress that's more expensive than the one you wore to your senior prom. The guilt of leaving him to fend for himself and arrive at his best mate's wedding dateless would eat you alive. And besides, you are not returning the dress you picked out. 

“One more go. If I can't get this dumb thing closed in the next three minutes, I won't go.” You tip your head towards the ceiling, “hear that? Three minutes!” 

Your aimless skyward shout is answered by your upstairs neighbor, who stamps their foot. “Ah- sorry Miss. Underwood!” The cranky old woman that lives above you has reported you more than once for bogus reasons; you would rather not have to deal with the front office before your international trip. 

Someone, somewhere must have heard your plea and responded with much more grace than Miss. Underwood, because the suitcase zips closed near effortlessly on your next attempt. “Aha! Finally! God, that was close.”

A message pops up on your phone with near poetic timing, coming not a second after you've dramatically wiped your brow and dusted off your hands. 

I'm leaving now, should be there in about a half hour. You ready?

The idea of riding in a car with Pato alone sounds less ideal than following his strict diet for a single day. Reminding yourself that this is a professional weekend away in Europe and not a personal venture is enough to settle your nerves for now. You can be professional, no problem. Easy peasy.

Yep. I'm still fine with an Uber if you don't want to drive me.

Too late I made up my mind :) see you soon!

“Insufferable.” Dread sets in where excitement lived earlier. You aren't a hundred percent sure you can survive four days with Pato O'Ward in a foreign country. Your limits will be tested, that much you know for sure because you can count on Pato to push every available button you have in order to get a rise out of you. 

Opting for a balance between comfort and style, a simple pair of black leggings and an oversized vintage indy 500 sweater is your preferred travel outfit. Your hair you leave in your usual casual style, not bothering to put in the effort to do anything special with it when it'll likely be ruined by the time you touch down in Copenhagen. 

Pato knocks when he arrives, which seems far too polite to be correct. Part of you expected him to barge in unannounced and make your one bedroom apartment his own. “Hola bella,” he greets with a smile. His hands stay in his pockets. He doesn't invite himself in, despite you leaving the door wide open when you step away to grab your things. 

Interesting. 

“You can come in,” you call over your shoulder. “I have to finish packing up my makeup since you're here early.”

“Oh, yeah sorry. Traffic was lighter than I expected.” It’s odd seeing Pato in anything that isn’t papaya colored or decorated with some sort of racing logo. He wears a forest green hoodie with a little red heart in the center with a pair of matching sweats. It’s one of those outfits that seems cringe on the average person, but works infuriatingly well on Pato.

Pato doesn't venture further into your apartment than the three steps that are required for him to be able to close the door without it hitting him. You purse your lips and motion to the sofa as your hosting instinct takes over, “you can sit if you want. I should only be a few minutes.”

“Take your time, our flight doesn't leave for a few hours. No rush.” You hate it when Pato tips his head and smiles like that because for a split second every time you hate him a little bit less. Thankfully, it all comes back in full force when he looks away from you. 

Despite Pato’s reassurance you do rush, because the idea of him scrutinizing your place is mortifying. Like, ‘oh fuck me I forgot to wear pants to the board meeting' level of embarrassing to know that he’s out there judging your decor or wondering how you’ve shoved so much into such a tiny one bedroom apartment. Sure, it's small, but it's home and you couldn't imagine living anywhere else. While a bigger place might be nice someday, your paychecks remind you to keep your dreams in check on a biweekly basis. 

To be safe and avoid giving Pato time to linger, you sweep the contents of your vanity into a zippered bag and stuff it into your carry on. You do a final cursory lap through the attached bathroom to ensure all hair dryers, candle warmers, and taps are turned off or unplugged. Once satisfied, you drag your overweight suitcase out. 

“Okay, I think I'm ready.” 

Pato stands in your living room checking out the knock off vintage style race posters that decorate the walls. As expensive as authentic race memorabilia is, you can’t exactly afford to spend hundreds on a single slip of paper for the sake only of hanging it on a wall. Only one poster is real and that is the poster you purchased from the first race you were trackside for with Arrow. Pato points to that one with a cheeky grin, “that's the first race you worked with us, isn't it? I remember that being the first time I saw you on track.” 

“Yes, it was. Now can we go?” You shift on your feet, uncomfortable now that Pato is seeing a side of you that you don't normally share with anyone but your close friends and family. Heaven forbid he notices the family photos on the lower shelf, then you'll be mortified when he laughs at how silly you looked in your Halloween costumes when you were little. 

“Oh yeah, of course. I'm sure you're excited to get a move on!” Pato reaches for your suitcase which catches you off guard. You snatch the handle before he can. “I can help, I really don’t mind. You’re doing me a favor after all.”

Your stubborn independence does not allow you to accept unnecessary help, so you shake your head. “Sorry,” you mumble as your cheeks heat. “I can take care of it.” 

“Alright, note to self… don't be too polite or it'll set you off.” Pato winks, then holds the door for you as you both exit. He waits at the stairs while you lock up, then leads the way to the Mercedes parked at the curb. 

“Right, just the one suitcase? You've got your dress packed in here right?” Pato hefts the suitcase into the car and grins. “Actually I know the answer to that. I told you that you could've spent more on a dress. A hundred dollars? That's it?”

“I don't like wasting money,” you snap. “To some of us, that's expensive.” 

Money has been, and always will be, a touchy subject. Growing up with very little means that you now scrutinize every penny, only spending regularly on things that are strictly necessary. Your budget each month is airtight and you are always careful to save a fair amount before you so much as consider treating yourself to something off your wishlist. 

Pato holds up his hands in apology. “Wasn't trying to insult you, just trying to make conversation. You're doing me a favor here so I just wanted to make sure you got what you wanted.” 

“Right, sure.” Spinning the ring on your left index finger has become somewhat of a nervous tick for you. Pato’s eyes flick to your hands, which immediately sets you on edge. Racing drivers are an observant breed, which is something you silently curse the universe for. 

The ride to the airport is filled with awkward silences. The quiet is broken by the sound of the engine and the occasional directive from the gps on the dash. Pato’s playlist is a mix of spanish and english and you willfully ignore when he occasionally sings along under his breath. So you keep quiet with your attention locked on your phone to avoid being dragged into any small talk. 

The plane ride is more of the same: quiet and tense. Which is partially because despite you insisting on a simple, affordable coach ticket, Pato had ignored your wishes and booked both of you in business class. At least the long flight would be comfortable if nothing else. Granted it would be more enjoyable if you weren't sitting next to a five-foot-something racing driver, but beggars can't be choosers. 

“It's a long flight, so I thought I'd give you the window. The sun will be coming up when we're over Europe, and the view is always to die for. I got us seats on the left side of the plane so you can have the best photo opportunities.” 

That's the second time today that Pato has surprised you, though you would rather eat soap than admit that to his face. “I usually like the aisle, but thanks I guess. I'll probably be sleeping anyway.” 

Pato's expression is one of regret, like maybe he's realizing how insane of an idea this is. “Err, right. I guess I should've known that, considering how often we fly together.”

“We don't fly together. When we have to fly to a race, you fly business class and I sit in the back with the rest of the regular people,” you remind him without remorse. You hate when he throws his wealth in your face, like the seat you're occupying doesn't cost a month's worth of your salary. 

“Right…” 

You almost feel bad. But then you remember that Pato has everything he could ever want or need, and you’re right back to where you started. 

Despite how well you think you hide it, Pato is fully aware of your feelings toward him, or rather lack thereof. Where the relationships you nurture with your other colleagues are fun and friendly, the one you maintain with Pato is strictly professional. Seeing you pivot from laughing with Rossi- Rossi of all people- one minute, to relaying instructions to him in a mechanical voice is evidence enough of how little you think of him. 

Pato has no idea why you're so set on hating him. He has no inkling what he might have done to deserve such animosity. It seems like no matter what he does, your frosty attitude only worsens into an arctic chill. He thought that bringing you on this trip might open your eyes to the other side of him, that maybe allowing you to see what he was like outside of the track could prove to you that he wasn’t the devil that you thought he was. 

So far, no dice. You declined his invitation to join him for breakfast at the highest rated cafe in the city this morning, so he'd gone alone instead and relished the fact that not a single person asked him for a photo or shoved a scrap of paper in his face for him to sign. Once in a while it was nice to fly under the radar, to pass by hundreds of people on the street and have them be none the wiser to his achievements. 

The concept of downtime is foreign to Pato. Being alone and unbothered gave him time to ruminate, which is why he generally preferred to surround himself with a certain level of chaos. In the paddock, that generally meant entertaining himself and others by being the class clown. Cameras are everywhere on a race weekend, watching him like a bug under a magnifying glass, so he generally humored them by putting on a bit of a show. In his personal life, the chaos came from the frequent visits to his hometown where he would be surrounded by family and pets that kept him on his toes. 

Now that he has had time to reflect, Pato is beginning to see the foolishness in his impulsive decision. Asking you to be his date was arguably up there with the dumbest things he's ever done, and that's saying something considering he'd once poured honey in Rossi's boots on a race weekend. He understands now, at least partially, why you were hesitant to accept. 

It doesn't bother him, the fact that you can't stand him. Pato enjoys poking you, seeing how far he can press before you snap at him. It's his way of flirting because yes, he thinks you're gorgeous. There's no point denying it so he might as well embrace it. Perhaps his invitation was wholly selfish, his way of trying to cope with the offseason and knowing he likely wouldn’t be seeing you for weeks at a time. You would miss him as little as one might miss the sticky summer humidity, while Pato would miss you like the sun misses the moon. 

Which is fine. It's fine if you don't laugh at his jokes. It's fine if your lip curls like you've smelt rotten milk whenever he speaks and you don't think he's looking. It’s fine that you don’t spare him a second of your attention, even now when he’s brought you on a trip that he thought could be the start of some positive change. That's all fine, because it doesn't matter if you like him or not. 

Okay, on second thought, maybe it does bother him a little. 

If anything, Pato hopes that this weekend will be the start of you at least tolerating him. Salvaging a scrap of understanding from you cannot be impossible, and even if it were, Pato has defied the odds numerous times before. No one believed in him when he was coming up through the karting ranks, but he did. And he believes in himself now, that he can begin to alter your opinion of him one small gesture at a time. 

Pato unlocks his phone to message you. 

Do you have plans today? I was gonna go to a few museums and see the sights if you wanna join. Up to you!

He debates for a minute about the exclamation mark. Is it too in your face? Too cheery or forceful? Eventually he deletes it before hitting send. Better to sound nonchalant than overdo it. 

His phone remains face down on the table until he finishes his tea. Seeming too eager could be his downfall and he is determined to make this seem as casual as possible. Only once an appropriate amount of time has passed does he allow himself to read your response: sure. I guess so but I don't want to blow my entire budget in one day just fyi

That's fair, dw a lot of it is free!

I'll be ready in an hour 

An hour, Pato can keep himself busy for an hour. Popping in an earbud and exploring for a bit seems like a decent option; he spends thirty minutes listening to music and just walking with no real aim in mind. Once back at the hotel, just on time as per usual, he freshens up in his room. 

Bare bones and necessities is what Patp prefers when he travels. He doesn't like the pomp and circumstance that comes along with a suite; the hotel staff treat him differently when he stays in the expensive rooms even if they haven't the faintest clue who he is. He prefers unassuming, single bed rooms that are no fuss, no muss. And that sort of room is exactly what he booked himself in Copenhagen: low nightly rate, plain but clean white bed sheets, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. 

The room Pato picked for you was this room's opposite. The queen suite was available on the website when he made the last minute reservation and he had not seen any reason not to treat you to a taste of luxury for the weekend. Silk sheets, a fully decorated sitting room, and walk in waterfall shower were only the tip of the iceberg. Included in the weekend rate was a night at the in-house spa if you chose to use it. And while Pato is quite certain you won't bother, he thinks the choice might be nice nonetheless.

Pato had selected that room without a second thought and gone as far as requesting your favorite drinks be stocked up in the suite fridge for your arrival. Since arriving last night, you haven't mentioned the room. Which doesn't matter, because Pato doesn't need the praise; in fact, kind words would feel slightly out of place from you. 

The elevator takes Pato to the top floor, where he finds your room at the end of the hall. It's not hard to find, considering there's three doors in the entire hallway. Pato knocks twice, then steps back to wait. 

“Yeah, coming,” comes your muffled call from inside. The brass room number plate on the door reflects a slightly distorted version of Pato. He can't make a decent impression looking wonky with his hair a mess; how unattractive is hair that stands up on end in every which way? Pato runs his fingers through his hair to loosen up the extra putty he'd applied. The door opens suddenly and you catch him red handed, one hand in his hair and the other holding his phone. 

Perfect.

“I guess I'm never escaping the vanity accusations huh?” Pato's laugh is shaky, awkward even to his own ears. He drops his hands and does his best not to let his gaze wander over you, as tempting as it is. He's determined to make a good impression this weekend, and blatantly checking you out probably wouldn't help his case. 

“Nope, never.” You shake your head and let the oak door click shut behind you. “Well then, you're the man with the plan. Have you been to Copenhagen before or are you just going to the typical tourist places?”

“Hold on, hold on. I think that's the most you've ever said to me at once that wasn't work related. I need a second to process this- you have a personality? This is big news!” Pato grins, hoping to ease into things. He knows it's bad when you don't immediately return the smile. 

Pato doesn't really tend to think around you,  hence the near constant shitty jokes. His brain takes a break from its normal high strung, ping ponging thoughts and empties itself of unnecessary noise. When in your presence, Pato is unfiltered and unapologetically himself. 

When you started at McLaren, he quickly learned that you were safe. Judgment was not something you leveled lightly upon someone. Your prickly exterior was a way of ensuring you don't let the wrong people get close enough to hurt you, but Pato knows that's not all of it. Regardless of how you presented yourself to the world, Pato knows you care deeply for those you choose to include in your life. He also knows you'll always be there when he fails, a steady shoulder for him to lean on- which is more than he can say about many of his previous driver assistants. 

Being comfortable is freeing, but it also gets him in trouble with you more often than he would like. Judging by your current deadpan, he's qualified deadlast as far as ‘appropriately timed humor’ is concerned. “That was a joke,” Pato says after a pause that stretches for an eternity.”

“I am aware that was your attempt at being funny.” You cross your arms and Pato notes the tiny papaya indy car embroidered on the cuff of your cream sweater. “Has anyone ever told you that you're insufferable? You know what, on second thought maybe I'll just stay here.” 

All at once, Pato flies through fear, regret and guilt in the half second it takes you to turn towards the door. He fucks everything up, doesnt he? Gets a good thing going for once, finally convinces you to spend some one on one time with him, and he winds up spilling the marbles. This isn't racing; he can't act on instinct and expect the best outcome. He has to be calculated, hold his tongue and not speak until he's sure the words are the one he wants to say. 

“No wait.” Pato’s fingers brush your arm to stop you. “Look, I'm just trying to be sure you enjoy your time here. I've never been here before,” he adds in answer to your earlier question. “I'm as much of a tourist as you are, so having an exploration partner would be good.” 

“I don't really feel like doing anything with you if you're going to be a dick. No, let me speak,” you say when he opens his mouth. “No macho bullshit alright? Just be normal. I don't need all the bravado and the jokes that make me feel like shit. Just… be Pato, alright? Be yourself for once.”

Pato knows he deserves all that and more. You let him off easy, really. He's been focused on creating a persona instead of being real with you. So Pato nods, centering himself like Rossi taught him last season. Once he feels like himself again some handful of breaths later, he offers you a genuine smile. 

“Let me start again. They have an aquarium here,” Pato says, voice light. Without willing it, a half smile appears on his lips when you tip your head ever so slightly, indicating for him to continue. “I love aquariums, sea otters are my favorite animal. And the jellyfish are cute too! With their squishy bodies and the tentacles-”

There he goes again, his mouth racing a lap ahead of his good sense. Pato's apologetic wince isn't a proper apology, but you accept it nonetheless and throw him a bone that he'll happily chew on. 

“I like aquariums. That sounds like it could be fun.”

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Male Yandere Deep Sea-Creature x Female Mermaid Reader x Male Yandere Human

I don’t think you’ve ever done 2 yanderes pursuing the same darling, so think you could try it? (Unless I’m just stupid and aren’t remembering your other stories right)

We all know of the classic mercreature x human forbidden romance story, but what if there was another from the same marine world added into the mix? Yandere deep sea-creature is also in love with mermaid reader darling, so imagine what he’d do to keep her with him. Same goes for yandere human

This story you can hopefully have fun with as there’s so many ways it can turn out. And another note on why deep sea-creature…it was because I think a merman can be a bit boring, and it’d be interesting to explore a deep sea-creature instead (or straight up eldritch monster of your own creation). Just remember…deep sea-creatures usually get bigger the deeper you go. Much bigger thanks to deep sea gigantism…;)

(Re-sending this to you, because you said you only got 3 requests when I think I sent you 4. But if you had this request, just ignore this ask with this additional message at the end)

Thanks!!! 💝

Yandere! Male! Deep sea creature x mermaid! Fem! Reader x Human! Male! Hunter

OH THIS IS A DOOZY TO WRITE

By the way, guess whose birthday it is today (Hint: it's me LOL)

Got a little bit sidelined on this fic, but i tried. Two men pursuing darling ain't for me but for you, 💝anon, I'll do it ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

This one starts with (and focuses on) you, the reader, since I can't exactly make a yandere man focused fic with two men without making it really long. So unfortunately I cannot put that much of their lore.

Wait, so what does this mean? Do they belong to the same number, or separate? (I mean, I am targeting 16 yanderes in one set. So do they count as one or nah? Eh...)

Yandere! Deep Sea creature name: Viper (from the viperfish) Yandere! Hunter: Orion

It was truly an unfortunate day for you.

You, a mermaid living in the ocean, swimming freely without any people's judgements and even other mermaids.

You aren't exactly a woman of fear.

You love exploring. It's one of your favorite hobbies and actively seek out new thrills and discoveries.

In a world where mer/werpeople were still a newly discovered concept by humans, your folks were adamant on telling you to keep safe from them. Since humans are cruel and what not.

But you didn't care. You wish to see humans and their inventions.

Because of this, you became an outcast from your people, and live on your own in one of the trenches. Just a tad far away from oceanic civilization.

You felt bad for yourself, honestly. Why can't they just accept you're just thirsty for knowledge?

You want to swim up top, where the sun shines and the huge boats reside, with legged people running around in water vehicles. You want to know how they operated it, how they made it, and stuff like that.

Contrary to popular belief, Humans are the uneducated ones. They went on for years upon years not knowing about wer/merpeople other than their mythologies. Yet these other species had always blended with them seamlessly.

Foolish, but that's what made them fascinating for you.

But you only knew what's up above, but not...

The current suddenly felt cold as you lounged at one of the trench dugouts, and you looked down from your side.

It was deep. Too deep for you to explore.

You love the light, but hate the dark.

And it was dark down there. An eerie, dark blue of emptiness.

You're the only one in this abandoned trench, teeming with other sea life other than merpeople, with corals so beautiful and sea anemones that sway with the waters.

But as the trench go down... And down... And down...

They decreased in numbers till they got swallowed by the darkness.

You heard of deep sea merpeople sometimes, but a lot agreed to not look for them. For they are hideous and ugly. Some use them as a scare tactic for young merchildren, that these hideous and large merpeople will eat them alive.

Unfortunately, you believed those stories due to your parents drilling it in your head to not head down.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag, before swimming upwards as you saw a weird mechanism suddenly being dropped in the water via a boat.

You swam around it, curious to this weird ball. It's clearly cut in half then somehow glued together. It's tied to a rope, with little baits decorating the sides.

"Weird, how do humans catch fishes with this?" You asked to yourself, tilting your head as you swatted away the fishes from trying to eat the baits.

Curiosity got a hold of you though. And as you accidentally pulled a bait out from trying to carefully remove it, the ball bursts open and spews out a net, catching you off guard as you got enveloped by the fishnet.

"WHA--?!" As you got enveloped, your body got hauled back to the surface.

Your heart is beating wildly as you broke through the water tension. You can feel the heat of the sun now enveloping your body, which was once only can be felt by your face. You can feel the water dripping from your body down to the waters below, and the net digging onto your skin as your weight made the machine creek.

"Oh? A mermaid?"

A sultry voice said, snapping you from your fear. You looked up, and saw not two, but only one human in such a big boat.

He stood tall, with long legs in a fitted pair of pants and boots. He's wearing a dress shirt that hung loosely on his torso in an inserted fashion. He had a hooded look in his face, examining you over.

"This is the first time I saw a mermaid. Hey there, love." He said again in that voice that made you shiver.

He leans to the edge of the boat, his elbows on the railings. Looking at you with an inquisitve look.

"My name's Orion, love. What's yours?" He asked in a deep tone that made you gulp.

"Y/N..." You whispered, gripping your bag.

"Pretty name for a pretty mermaid." He smiled and you flushed red.

Due to being a recluse, you never got the chance to find a lover, let alone a mate.

As you started to dry out a bit, you scratched your skin, uncomfortable from the direct heat.

Orion saw this and went to the machine.

You curiously looked at what he's doing, trembling from the sudden realization that you're so close to a human invention!

You clutched your bag once more and intently watched as Orion hummed and pulled the lever, making you jerk back as the machine whirred to life and lowered your net.

"Forgive me, love. Thought I caught a big octopus or a huge school of fish." Orion said, making you nod as your body got immersed with the water.

The net unclasped from the bottom, which was held together by a strong magnet as it retreated back to the ball.

"Thank you, Orion." You whispered.

"No problem, love. I'm sorry for catching you like that again." Orion chuckled at your voice.

You didn't make a move from your place, still so curious about the boat. Orion noticed it and chuckled once more.

"Want to know stuff about boats?" He asked and you nodded eagerly. "Alright."

And, as Orion and you talked the afternoon off, you didn't notice a pair of eyes from down, down below look at you with such intensity, hostile.

Orion. A rich man who got a vessel by himself to know more about sealife, hunt them, and display them as catches.

He's always been interested marine life. Living by the seaside most of his life due to his yacht investing father and a beach resort owner mother, he's drawn to the sea in more ways than one.

Due to being mostly by the sea, he developed such tan skin that glistens under the sun whenever he walks by the port. Plus the way his face is built, he looks like a Carribean prince waiting for his mermaid to appear on the beach while not being able to speak.

But due to his parents' financial status, most of the time he only spends time by himself. Other children his age in that port town were intimidated. Despite him trying to be friendly, he can't catch himself a friend at all.

That goes for lovers too. Yeah, there are people who are brave. But in the end, they get overwhelmed from his clinginess.

This made him more clingy and possessive.

He just doesn't want them to run away. He's too lonely for such an extroverted man like him. And with so much love (baggage) to give, how can he make somebody stay in such a demanding and overwhelming way?

It's honestly a draining cycle for both him and the lovers he had.

Now, he only hunts fishes and and examine them. If they're edible, he eats them. If it's interesting, he taxidermies them somehow.

Then, while testing a new net system he developed, he catches a mermaid, you.

He's surprised, but got his heart speared when he saw your clear, fearful, yet curious eyes.

You're so pretty that he swore he's in heaven rather than the sea.

For the first time, an aggressive want to make you his filled him inside that it scared even him.

But he doesn't want to scare you. So, rather than being overwhelming immediately, he took his time.

Why not start with fulfilling your thirst for knowledge?

Everyday, he goes back to that specific spot only for you. You always asked him about his boat, about the machinery, about technology that he brought... He filled your head with information that made you so giddy it was adorable in his eyes.

But he can't shake off the feeling of somebody staring at them. It's honestly unsettling. Sure, it may be other merfolks, but you swore that nobody other than you goes here.

It's strange, but he shrugs it off. He's happy to solo you anyways.

What you didn't know is that he's already ordered a large aquarium type habitat on his home. The size of city wide aquariums of sharks, whales, etc. He made sure to put everything that he thinks you will like.

He wants you in his arms.

He wants to jump down to the sea, hug you in such a tight embrace, and devour your salty lips that will probably taste so sweet on his tongue.

You're so sweet, inquisitive, kind, and understanding. Too lovable. And just thinking that other merfolk have interacted with you before and some probably saw you as a potential mate darkens his mood to no end.

He hasn't tried hunting mermaids yet, should he?

Somehow, he's grateful that you're a social outcast. That means he could just solo you like this.

Not until you didn't show up in a meeting, and his heart dropped to the floor.

Hours before the daily meeting.

You plucked some kelp from a nearby kelp farm that you personally oversee. Hungry, you rolled some and continued to find more proper kelp to join in a fish salad.

Hey, some sealife here are the equivalent of meat consumables for humans.

Getting some oysters, you continued to get food for dinner when a light flashed from your peripheral vision.

"Hmm?" Your body swayed as you looked to the side where the light came from.

Putting what you got in your basket, you swam to the trenches again and tried to find where the light came from.

Some fishes got out of your way as you tried to find it once more, before it flashed again.

"Aha! Now, where... Huh?"

The flash came from the deepest part of the trenches.

The cold current got to you again, and you shivered.

It flashed again, enticing you to swim closer.

But you knew not to do it.

The stories of the deep sea merpeople flashed your mind again, and you almost shrieked in fear from the memories.

But the light is so enticing...

"Just a bit..."

You swam down, passing by the corals and the anemones. Your heartrate picked up, feeling the cold current once more.

Then, you noticed how the corals and anemones are thinning out, but you pushed through, telling yourself that it's not that far.

It's really not that far... Right?

The light flashed once more, now a bit bigger.

So, with a burst of energy and the adrenaline, you swam harder, wanting to see what's the flashing light is.

Then, the light went out.

You gasped in fear and astonishment as suddenly, it got so dark.

With nothing around you at all. Not even the trenches' walls kept you company as the vast, dark nothingness filled your vision.

Cold currents on warm waters, water rippling around you as if some kind of entity kept swimming past you, and you swore you saw beady eyes look at you from afar.

Should you go up?

But wait, where is up?

You felt your stomach drop.

Then, the flashing light blinded you, making you yelp and cover your eyes.

Feeling a sense of deja vu, you felt a presence in front of you.

No, around you.

You trembled, not wanting to open your eyes, but you knew you have to face whatever was in front of you.

So you opened your eyes, and almost shrieked once more from the person in front of you.

He's huge. With beady, ghost like eyes and sharp teeth as he unhinges his jaw in such a grotesque way that made you squirm in how uncomfortable it is to look at. His antenna, the one flashing, shone in now a dimly light as he swerves his body around you. Almost coiling his tail on your body.

He's triple your length, maybe quadruple even. And he laughs deeply at your scared face. He had a sick joy flashing his eyes before he tilted his head.

"Upper Dweller, didn't know you would follow my light." His voice, a ghost like quality with such roughness that it's gravelly. "I'm surprised you're still alive with such curiosity inside of you. Tell me, little one, what's your name?"

"Y/N..." You gulped, cowering from his stature as he swam around you once more.

He looked so creepy, yet had this look that's attracting you to him. Is it the antenna? Who knows.

"A name that matches you." He chuckles and you squirm. Was it a good thing or bad?

"My name's Viper. Nice to meet you, Upper Dweller Y/N." He smiles, his jaw now back in its place yet the sharp teeth still shone. "Hmm... Tiny mermaid, so easy to crush..."

He fully coiled his tail around you, and it felt so cold. The scales felt so cold and uncomfortable against your own tail and skin.

"You dwell on the trenches that nobody dares to live due to being the entrance to my lair." He whispers, closing his face against yours. "Did the people not tell you that?"

You felt your blood run colder than usual. Nobody did. Did they send you there knowing a deep sea dweller lives at the bottom?

Suddenly, you felt helpless against his hold as you realized that you got sent to your what's essentially your death.

Viper smiles from your reaction as he kept himself from pulling you down to the abyss completely.

The first time you got to the trenches, Viper was thoroughly surprised. The abandoned trenches suddenly got a resident once more? Who's the stupid mermaid who dares to live on his what's essentially a frontyard?

And he got a good look on you. Despite being of a viperfish specie, his ghost like eyes were useful for him, making him look at your face fully even though the distance is so far.

You. You look so precious, so pure as you swam around above. So small and puny that just one bite from his powerful jaw can crack you open.

But he didn't lure you yet, just observed his prey as you swam around, trying to watch the boats on the surface.

Viper's a lonely man.

Deep sea merfolk are rare, and in this place, it was only him.

So, he never really got the proper education on what to do in social contexts. Not like he had a chance to do so.

The only time he got is when people still reside the trenches up above when he's still a fry. They looked so happy and chatty, friendly and kind.

And he wants to experience it too.

So, he swam up, trying to form relationships, but this only scared the merfolk away from the ghost like appearance of Viper and his sheer size despite being only a fry back then.

And all of them left the trenches.

It broke small Viper's heart, and he steeled them in the years to come.

But now, you moved in.

Fortunately, Viper's in that age that he's finding a mate to be with for life.

And, with how much he observed you, taking in your smiles, curious glances up above, and fearful looks you gave down below, he slowly fell in love with you.

Well, in one way or another.

So, when he saw you talking to this puny human, he knew he had to make his move.

So, he lured you here.

"Little one..." He whispered, nudging your hand open with his sharp claws.

You opened it nervously, and gasped in terror as he gave you a black pearl.

A symbol of wanting to be mates.

"NO!" You screamed in fear as you got the strength to break free and swim with all your might up to the surface.

Viper growled and tried to catch up with you.

"COME HERE!"

You shrieked in terror as his hand is only a smidge away from your tail.

The darkness slowly got lighter, and you were tired from exhaustion but you knew you cannot stop.

Viper was angry. How dare you reject him! A little upper-dweller that he can just crush with one hand yet he graciously let live reject his offer to be his mate?

But the light got too much for him, and he had to hiss and retreat.

"You will be back." He whispered, watching your retreating figure. "I just know it."

Viper remembers the other man, the human, who somehow saw through him one day when he observed the both of you. Viper felt the hostility and bloodlust from him as he looked directly at where Viper is.

Viper swore up and down it's just coincidence, but the way Orion's eyes never left his spot was unsettling. How can Orion even see Viper?

But Viper knew that this man is not an easy opponent.

So he retreats...

And Orion also retreats as he realized you aren't going to be in the meeting place today.

Two men. One up above, and one below.

Both wants you in their arms.

One will offer you the light but in such a restrictive way,

And the other will offer you the darkness filled with uncertainty but within the waters you know and love.

So, who will it be, love?

Time is ticking, little one.

It will not be long until these two go face to face.

And one will not live to see the tale.

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Hi, is your request still open? If not just ignore this ask, if it still open. Can i request Slashers with a kid!reader who can cooking any foods as they hobbies?

The last sentences are hard to read but I think you meant who can cook any food as their hobbies? I'm sorry this turned into a kid reader knowing how to full out cook

Requests currently not open! I'm just trying to empty my inbox

Slashers with child! Reader who's hobby is cooking!

Michael

Michael doesn't really care that much for food but he likes seeing you cook. He's just watching you and occasionally helps you out by getting ingredients that are too high for you on the shelf.

We don't know the last time he ate even he doesn't know but he'll eat your cooking. Good or bad he likes it.

'my child is a chef'.

It's been decades since anyone has cooked Michael anything and having his kid do it warms his cold heart.

Sinclair brothers

You're the one cooking and taking care of them most of the time. These three men do not know what self care is.

That's right, your fun cute little hobby became a necessity every few hours.

It's funny to see the sinclair brothers just sitting at the dinner table while their little sibling cooks for them *tears in eye*. Bo thought it was lame at first but later warmed up to it and gave you vegetables and shit for your cooking, Lester excitedly sits, happy that he's finally getting some fuckin homemade food and Vincent is being the cute little psychopathic artsy boy that he is. <3

These poor bby need some love.

Hannibal

You two can be cooking together so cute!

You have plenty of meat and organs to cool with, and he'll be there to be your guide. Gives you needed criticism and tips. Like father like daughter. Yippie!

If it makes you happy he'll let you be the chef for tonight. You'll have so many things to cook with ong.

Makes his friends try your cooking and if someone makes a rude comment? Oh well, they can be in your next meaty dish.

Billy n Stu

Both of them cannot cook for shit. But only because they can't take anything seriously and they'll end up burning or causing a fire cause they're too busy goofing around.

And that's when you come around and save the house and plates!

Everytime you cook they're just always ready to try it. It's better then buying snacks and junk food AND having to ration it because, money. (this is during their families are on a trip something idk)

Sometimes they two will try to learn cooking too but fail miserably.

[ksnfangz]

EPISODE TWO — POLYAMOROUS COUPLE?

karaoke invites, date or no date?, hot basketball players and a jealous, jealous, jealous boysssss

You beam at the boy's note, fully content with the fact that the boy hadn't immediately shut you down. You chose to ignore the slight dig at your studying habits. Sunoo silently judged your giddiness as you smiled down at the crumbled piece of paper as if it were gold. " So I take it he's joining us tonight." Sunoo says currently doodling on his hand with a pen.

" Well not exactly! but he didn't say no." you replied tucking the note into your desk. " So are we supposed to wait all night to see if he shows up." Sunoo scoffs "Why couldn't he just give you a straight answer"

You shrug not at all bothered by Jungwon's indecisiveness you were just happy that he seems to be considering coming. Speaking of coming Sunghoon finally enters the class. "Rigged I tell you!" the boy shouts earning stares from his fellow classmates. " Hiw did Riki already make the basketball team when I've been trying to join since last year?" Sunghoon rants as he plops himself down into his seat. " I mean it isn't fair that he can just come into the school and already be a valued player!"

It was true, Sunghoon had been trying to join pretty much every sports team that the school had to offer, and the only one that gave him a chance was hockey since the boy was a very skilled ice skater, but Hoon complained about how he didn't want to turn a personal hobby into something competitive. Which you understood, but why the hell is he so obsessed with basketball all of a sudden?

" Maybe he's just as good as Heeseung and Jungwon! like Nabi said the other day." You claimed. " 1. Heeseung cannot be topped! I heard he's never missed a shot! 2. Jungwon is a team manager, not a player and Nabi never mentioned him." Sunghoon exclaims.

"There's no way he’s never missed..."

" That's so hot ."

" excuse me." You and sunghoon shout in unison.

"While I agree that Jungwon is hot I prefer to use the terms cute! or Handsome." you explain only to be waved off by Sunoo.

" I think basketball players are hot! especially Lee Heeseung and I wasn't referring to Jungwon he's like my brother." Sunoo says defensively. " I'm gonna go to the bathroom before class starts, be right back."

Sunghoon frowns. His eyes watched as Sunoo exited the classroom he knew the boy hadn’t really been feeling well today. Jealousy builds within the boy's stomach as he recalls sunoo’s earlier words. " You know what, I'm gonna be the best damn player on the team!" he states firmly.

“ dream on hoonie!”

"have either of you seen Ni-ki? he usually joins me for study hall but he wasn't there today." You ask approaching Sunghoon and Jungwon at their lunch table. Throwing your bag down without care not giving the two any time to respond as you rant about Sunoo leaving school early because he was sick. Which ultimately resulted in being alone and bored for most of the day when you weren’t with Sunghoon or Ni-ki.

Speaking of Ni-ki, over the past week, you had grown quite friendly with the Japanese boy. Sometimes help him study his Korean while he teaches you and Sunghoon how to play basketball and some Japanese. Though you’re positive he’s only taught you both curse words so far. Sunghoon recently received a detention after saying hello to his teacher is Japanese.

When the two boys shake their heads in response to your previous question a pout forms on your lips as you finally sit down at the table. “ I even brought him some Bungeoppang he says his mom used to make it all the time.” you say pulling out a small plastic container and grabbing one of the fish-shaped pastries for yourself.

“ you really can’t be away from him for an hour?” Jungwon asks his tone coming off a bit harsher than he expected. You look up at the boy confusedly before a teasing smile creeps onto your face.

“Aww is my jungwonie jealous? Don’t worry I have not given up on you yet! Ni-ki is my friend, I always miss my friends” you shrug ignoring the way Sunghoon rolls his eyes at your persistent flirting.

“ t-that’s not what– I’m not jealous … whatever.” Jungwon mumbled stuffing rice into his mouth hoping that the burning sensation in his cheeks came from the steam.

“ y/n-chan~” said an all too low voice.

“ Ni-ki! where were you? you skipped study hall you know you could get into real trouble for that.” You scold pulling the male to sit next to you. “ For your information, I was with the basketball coach he gave me an official schedule! we have a game coming up soon and I want you guys to be there.” Ni-ki says gesturing to the group. “ oh and Sunoo too, if he’s feeling better by then.”

“ We would love to come cheer on our star player! right hoonie?” You smile hugging Ni-ki's arm, Sunghoon sending you a knowing glare before agreeing to come. “ what about you jungwonie?”

“ I’m team manager I have to be there y/n.” Jungwon states coldly eyes locked into the way your arms are wrapped around the male next to you. “ Oh yeah! I almost forgot. Well, I’ll make sure to text Sunoo and let him know.” you nod mostly to yourself letting go of Ni-ki to offer him the BUNGEOPPANG you’d made for him.

“ Also Ni-ki we’re going to karaoke tonight! you should join us.” You say once again catching Jungwon's attention.

so it isn’t a double date …

“ As much as I would love to I have some studying to catch up on and my dad wants me to practice more.” Ni-ki replies politely declining the invite. You and Sunghoon groan in annoyance. “ come on Ni-ki you’ve practiced enough.” Sunghoon claimed with a mouth full of rice.

“ Exactly ~ all you’ve been doing is practicing and studying ever since you got here let’s have some fun.” You whine dramatically.

You were technically correct. When he wasn’t with you he was usually in the library studying or in the gym with his father. Also, the way you were currently looking at him and holding his hand made him want to immediately accept your offer, so he did. One missed practice couldn’t hurt.

“ Fine it’s a date, but you owe me! I’m gonna get in huge trouble for this.” the boy said taking some of the rice from your untouched plate. “ That’s okay if someone tries to scold you send them my way… I know a guy.” you whisper into the boy's ear causing him to laugh.

“ wait does that make us an official polyamorous couple?” Sunghoon asks earning a stare from the pair across from him. “ What he’s the one who called the group hangout a date yet I’m weird for wanting more reassurance on our relationship status?” Sunghoon exclaims lifting his hands in defense.

“ as if you’d ever let Sunoo near another man.”

“ says the girl who hasn’t let Ni-ki go since he got here.”

The sound of silverware clattering pulls your attention to the male across from you. Said male quickly dismissed himself leaving the table without another word. “ What’s up with him?” Ni-ki questions.

“ That’s just how he is you know. Kinda like an angry cat.” Sunghoon claims. “ A cute angry cat.” you correct.

“ here she goes again.” Sunghoon sighs. “ You know some people say i also look like a cat.” Ni-ki adds before the table falls silent.

prev . masterlist . next

a/n : sorry for slow updates and sorry for this shitty chapter!! school is kicking my ass as usual, it’s end of the year exam/ test season. || sorry for any spelling / grammar errors i’ll edit this later. enjoy!

Tag list : @aloloveswonie @soobs-things @yerisrev @gudkc @wonitten @jwonistic @kangseulgithegreat @icepshrince @hizhu @nyfwyeonjun comment or send ask to be added :) !! if your name is not tagged it means i wasn’t able to tag ur user, please check ur settings!

©KSNFANGZ. please do not plagiarise, repost, copy or translate any of my works without permission!

[sleepynoons]

DIE 4 YOU BY DEAN – kurapika kurta (hxh) x gn!reader, lovers to enemies!au + canon divergence!au, nsfw / 18+

genre – angst, horror word count – ~4,400 warnings – manga spoilers, graphic descriptions of gore/blood/human anatomy, murder, references to body dismemberment, violence, major character death, slight suggestive content, explicit language synopsis – kurapika's methodical, thorough, determined. there are very few things that can throw a wrench in his plans. for instance, he doesn't expect you to get in his way. at all. notes – i cannot stress enough how dark this fic is - like ao3 dead dove: do not eat level dark. please, please, please read at your own discretion. there's gore, graphic descriptions of said gore and the human body and blood. also, IN NO WAY SHOULD YOU REPLICATE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE. DO NOT MURDER PEOPLE FOR YOUR HOBBIES. the reader is a psychopath and does fucking horrifying things like killing people for the sake of their own interest. i do not romanticize this behavior, nor do i condone it in real life in any shape, way, or form.

Kurapika’s never been happier to see Yorknew City. He should be more alert, with all the people around him, hidden alleyways and towering buildings perfect hiding spots to attack him from afar, but really, he can care less. He defeated Prince Tserriednich, and he’s made it out alive from the Black Whale – he can finally rest, with his brethren’s eyes safely at his side.

He walks up to an apartment complex, a little shoddier and older than the rest. Entering a pin code, the entrance door slides open, revealing a shaky elevator, an antique otis with rusted hinges and grimy metal plating, orange instead of black from a lack of maintenance. He steps inside and presses the topmost button marked with an “R,” and the door closes with an ear-grating screech.

Despite its battered appearance, the elevator flies up, cables pulling and spinning with sturdy force and propelling him upwards to the rooftop. And surprisingly, there’s even a bell that chimes when the elevator comes to a staggering halt. The screech returns, followed by a clang as the elevator shudders in its spot, before the doors split apart. Kurapika scrunches his eyes as he’s hit with a gust of wind. From this height, he can barely see the ground, the crowns of people’s heads no different from dots of paint. He walks to the edge of the box, presses another button that is colored blue, and he hears metal grating against stone. He peers out to see an iron ladder attached to the wall on his left unfolding.

With his right hand gripping onto the door pocket, Kurapika kicks a leg out, propelling and swinging himself out of the elevator so that he can easily catch a rung of the ladder with his left. He steadies his feet on a lower rung and hoists himself upwards. It’s a short climb, and he leaps onto the roof of the complex when he’s close enough. There’s nothing here, except for a tall rectangular unit.

Just like the ladder, the unit is composed of metal walls to withstand the loud currents of wind. Shielding his face with an arm, he paces, resisting the force of being swept away, towards a side of the iron box where there’s a bolted door.

When he steps inside the unit, he sees you sitting on the ground before an easel. Your wrists and forearms are smeared with paint, colors a little stale underneath the glow of the cheap light fixtures around the room. Your hands are wrapped around a thick and wide brush, but you’re not using it, simply staring at the large square canvas sat in front of you. You’re intensely scrutinizing your work, eyes tracing the streaks of azure and black striped over white. It seems you haven’t noticed him, so he simply leans back against the door and patiently waits.

Kurapika probably stands there for at least an hour. It’s hard to tell time in a confined box with no windows, and he doesn’t want to check his smartphone. But it’s a restful, satisfying hour as he watches you diligently work, making a few broad strokes before sitting back down, repeating this process over and over and over again. It isn’t until you run out of paint and you pick up a large tube of azure that he makes his presence known.

You’re using oil paint, there are no windows, and you’re not wearing a mask of any sorts.

He doesn’t want to scare you, though, so he clears his throat first before saying loudly enough, “You shouldn’t use that in here.”

You still startle, shoulders jumping slightly at the sound of his voice. Your head quickly swivels around, and he sighs with a soft smile as you yelp in surprise. Before he knows it, you’ve dropped both the tube of paint and the brush onto the floor and are racing over, arms stretched out above your head.

He catches you with ease as you jump towards him, his hands resting at your waist and under your thigh like always.

“You’re back!” you shout. Kurapika doesn’t respond, simply burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply.

He can smell turpentine, wood, and your shampoo. You wrap him in a tight embrace, leaning your cheek onto the side of his head, and the two of you stay like that, unchanging and unmoving for several more minutes.

But of course, Kurapika has to let you go so that you can clean yourself up.

“You can’t use oil paint in here,” he repeats as he brings you back down to the ground.

You gasp and begin to profusely apologize. “Oh, gosh, you’re so right! Sorry, Kurapika, I totally forgot! I just had this idea last night, and something in me just knew I had to use these new paints I got, and you know, since  I –“

You continue to ramble as he gently guides you to the bathroom. He listens as he helps you rinse your hands, towels them off, leads you back to the living space, and sits down beside you in front of the easel. He enjoys the sound of your voice and your stories even more.

He’ll never say it out loud – not that there’s a need to because you both know –, but he loves you and your brilliant mind. The creative and childish wonder in his body has ceased long ago, but it’s not like he was that kind of person in the first place. But you (your ability to source inspiration from lingering glimpses of your dreams that are somehow at times as grotesque and tortured as his, the coffee shop you frequent every day, even the bare walls of this unit; the way you articulate your thoughts so cogently and transfer them through the languid motions of your palms and fingers as you guide the handle of a brush; the deep-set look in your eyes, because he knows you never stop thinking and imagining and dreaming) are so admirably different.

He feels so light-headed, lulled into delirium by fatigue, the soothing pitches of your voice, the gentle swipes of your fingertips against his forehead when you brush his hair out of the way, and this high sticks with him through the rest of the day. He doesn’t know how he does it, but it’s as if he’s stuck in a trance. The heat of the stove as the two of you cook dinner does nothing to stimulate him awake. If anything, he feels himself sinking deeper into this state as the two of you shower together, condensation and body wash sticking your bodies together, before tumbling into bed, your lips and slick smooth and tacky against his skin. You make his head spin in the most pleasurable and comforting of ways, and Kurapika thinks this is as happy as he can get in this life.

–

Kurapika stirs from the incessant buzzing of a phone. He squints at the light coming from the dining table and realizes that it’s a call from his. With a grunt, he pulls himself out of your hold, upset at the loss of your warmth, and pads over.

HIs annoyance dissipates, though, as soon as he recognizes the caller.

He hasn’t told you anything – you know nothing about his upbringing or his job or his ability to use nen or what he intends to do in the future –, so he has no choice but to slip outside, even if he knows you never wake without incessant prodding. But now that he’s less tired, he can think more clearly, and even in your presence, he can never be too careful.

“Melody, what’s going on?”

Kurapika thinks he’s lucky that the night is relatively still. He doesn’t have to scream just to have his voice heard.

“Kurapika.” Melody’s voice crackles through. “Are you in a good spot to talk?”

“Yes. Did something happen?”

“I know you’re exhausted, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.” Melody pauses, allowing Kurapika to brace himself, before resuming, “We looked through all of the prince’s belongings. We’re missing a set of the eyes.”

Kurapika thinks he’s been punched in the gut – no, actually, it feels as if his innards have been torn out of his body, and his tormentor’s holding them in front of his face, laughing hysterically at his shock and despair.

He doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to croak, “How.”

“I counted multiple times, but there’s definitely one less than what you told me. I’m already looking into where the last set could possibly be.”

Devastation cannot even begin to describe what he feels.

As always, though, he needs to move. He cannot rest until all of his clan’s eyes have been claimed.

“Where are you?” Kurapika asks as he walks to the edge of the rooftop.

Melody sighs. “I’ll find you. Please, Kurapika, breathe.”

–

It seems, right before the Black Whale took its leave, Prince Tserriednich had made one last transaction. Though it’s not clear what he had received in exchange, he had sold a single pair of eyes to an unidentifiable individual.

The transaction was made online with a new user. Despite intense hacking and scavenging, none of Kurapika’s sources could find communication logs between the prince and this user, aside from the prince’s first and only message offering the eyes. That must mean whatever this person wanted to trade was so desirable that even Prince Tserriednich himself would buy it at the cost of two irreplaceable Scarlet Eyes.

Kurapika has been stuck in the same hotel room for days. He’s also been barely eating or sleeping. His haggard state must be significantly more worse than what he thinks because even his always disheveled master eyes him.

It’s been several days since Melody broke the news to him, and he’s made no progress since the discovery of the transaction. Any minute now, though, she should return from where the computer on which the account was made was located, and he’s praying that there’s some lead that he can work with.

The doorbell rings, and Izunavi gets the door on his behalf.

Melody can tell that Kurapika’s not up for any stalling, so even with a gentle cadence, she cuts straight to the chase.

“It was one of the computers located in the chemistry wing of a public library. I asked if anyone frequented there, but I was only able to get a list of high schoolers that attend a nearby school.”

“Interrogate them.” His voice is chilling. He can sense Melody and Izunavi tense at his demand.

His mentor’s the one to intervene. “Kurapika, they’re just kids.”

“You don’t know!” Kurapika yells. “There are children who are professional Hunters – hell, I became one at 17. You don’t know!”

“I already looked into them,” Melody speaks. He can hear the clicks of buckles being undone, no doubt Melody opening her flute case. “They’re innocent.”

He can’t hold back, seal, extinguish the curdling scream in his throat. “Then what do you expect me to do?!”

His anger is sedated by the warm and round timbre of Melody’s flute, a tune soft and slow, an adagio in the face of his collera. Try as he might – teeth piercing lip to draw blood, nails biting into calloused palm –, Kurapika cannot resist Melody’s nen, and he feels his body relax into the back of his chair against his own volition.

Melody does not sway despite Kurapika’s fury. She continues to inform him kindly and gently. “The others have decided to stay back to watch and follow any suspicious visitors. This might take a while, so I suggest” – she rests a hand on his shoulder – “you try to rest. Remember, Kurapika, breathe.”

It seems he’s always stuck in a limbo, the success of his singular, feasible goal always somehow managing to escape him. But Melody’s right. There’s nothing for him here, so he might as well go back.

–

While you know nothing about Kurapika, he knows quite a bit about you. He’s aware that you’re an aspiring artist , you have a distaste for green bell peppers, and you have a weird fascination with colors. In fact, concerning that last point, you’re very specific and precise with your colors. Kurapika’s no art aficionado, so he doesn’t get it at all, but for each painting, you spend most of your time constructing and mixing and swirling the exact palette of hues you plan on using.

This time, when he comes back, you’re on the bed staring at an open notepad and a large color palette in your lap while balancing a graphite pencil with an upwards quirk of your lips. You spot him instantly, so there’s no delay between Kurapika stepping into the room and you hopping onto him.

As always, you cheer. “You’re back!” You don’t comment on his appearance.

And as always, he breathes you in, smelling faint wisps of charcoal, eraser shavings, and laundry detergent.

“What are you working on?” he asks as the two of you pad over to the bed.

Before the two of you sit down, though, you twirl around with a beaming, excited look on your face. “Kurapika,” you yelp, “I’m holding an exhibit!”

He leans over to congratulate you with a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations,” he says as he pulls away. He glances at the notepad, now sprawled on top of the covers, and says, “I’m guessing you’re drafting then?”

“Yes!” You begin to explain the theme of your gallery, something about how colors are perceived similarly, even by vastly different cultures. You explain how purples are usually associated with royalty, golds with wealth and prosperity, reds with sacrifice – it seems you’re very interested in the psychology that undergirds all of these relations. “It’ll be the central piece of the whole thing!” you exclaim as you gesture with your whole upper body.

“Will you let me come see the exhibit?” he asks once you finish.

You laugh, eyes closed and head thrown back. He loves it when you laugh like this – without a goddamn care in the world.

“Of course! When have I ever denied you?” you giggle. 

After a bit, Kurapika excuses himself to take a shower. On his way to the bathroom, though, he passes by your oil paints. They seem a little flatter. He simply shakes his head, noting to remind you later to not use them inside again.

–

It’s quite rare for him to be at home while you’re out. And recently, you’ve been going out a lot, always leaving with a pep in your step, either going to speak with the exhibit manager or to a studio where you can paint without choking on fumes. There’s been no news from his colleagues either, so really, Kurapika’s never felt so aimless or restless in his life. He considered taking on a few brief missions, but he was sternly told off by Leorio to “just be.” Usually, he has no qualms about defying Leorio’s desperate pleas, but given that his friend really saved his ass on the Black Whale, he has no excuse but to listen to him for once.

Kurapika alternates between sleeping and reading books. He never realized how many books you had in this unit. Now that he thinks about it, this place is practically all yours at this point. He owns this place – bought it as a shelter – but had asked you to move in here out of concern for your safety. At the time, he was still hunting down the Spiders and was afraid they’d target you. But in this bleak, isolated space, you’ve managed to create a brimming sense of life. 

Anyway, Kurapika comes across a row of environmental science textbooks you’ve stored in a cupboard meant for mugs and glass cups. He’s not surprised when he sees all the dog-eared pages and sticky tabs jutting out of it, but it’s strange that you’re reading such things. He never knew you were fond of science.

But there’s nothing better to do, and Kurapika would take any opportunity to learn more about you, so he thumbs through one of the textbooks, spending extra time chuckling over the pages you’ve practically made illegible with your penned annotations and doodles.

–

Melody doesn’t contact Kurapika until three weeks later. Basho had been tailing a man and arrived at a theatre four towns away. Apparently, during Izunavi’s and Melody’s shifts, they also followed separate library-goers to the same place. Though there was never a specific time or frequency at which these visitors came and went, they always sat at the same computer, reading up on the same topic of odorants. After some digging, it turns out the theatre is home to a collective of Fine Arts Hunters.

Kurapika wastes no time in reconvening with his colleagues at another hotel. After thorough investigations, he learns that, though the collective is large and a community for many musicians, artists, writers, and more, there’s a sub-group of members who’d go to extreme lengths to collect their desires, whether that be specific artworks or coveted tickets to ballet shows or even artists themselves. When he learns about this, a chill runs down his spine. Kurapika almost wishes that you won’t make it big, so you won’t ever be in such danger.

The next step then is to find the specific member who placed the transaction. Melody is more than happy to take on this infiltration mission.

“It might help me locate the Sonata of Darkness. I’ll report back soon.”

While it’s impossible for his anger to subside, even by the slightest degree, it’d be remiss of Kurapika to not feel immense gratitude and appreciation for his colleagues. Not only did he drag them into the succession fiasco, but he’s also now bringing them into his personal business. It’s almost ironic, really. Kurapika doesn’t like involving those that are important to him in personal matters, whether that be out of safety concerns or fear of betrayal, but it seems receiving aid once in a while can be immensely gratifying and beneficial.

Kurapika spends the next two days waiting for Melody’s return. As promised, she returns swiftly. Though she has no name, she is completely confident with her information.

“They’ll be at the exhibit.”

–

You don’t expect Kurapika to come home in the middle of the night. It’s not that you usually know when he comes home, but rather, you know he cares for you so much that he’d rather sleep outside than come back in the middle of the night with the risk of disturbing you, even though that’d never happen.

The unit is dark, aside from a single lamp that stands beside you. There’s also a stool placed next to your canvas, the largest that you’ve ever worked with, and your reference placed on top of it. It’s normal – and actually very encouraged – for artists to use references to aid them in their work.

You look at Kurapika’s frozen expression.

“Kurapika! You’re back!”

There’s no jumping into arms or tight holds on each other’s bodies or deep breaths of each other. You realize, then, scattered around you, on the floor, are several uncapped tubes of oil paint.

You scramble and fumble with your apology. “I-I know you said to not use oil paint inside, but you know, my exhibit’s in literally two days, and I’m still not happy with this painting, and –“

“Why do you have that.”

It’s not a question.

You can’t answer, regardless. You’re confused, so instead, you follow his line of sight to your reference.

“Oh, that?”

You drop your brush onto the ground, paying no mind to the smears of burgundy against the stone floor, and walk over.

You’re always mesmerized when you look at it. You mumble, feeling yourself entering an entranced daze, “It’s my reference. They’re really pretty, right?”

You have no idea what’s going through Kurapika’s mind. You’re no longer paying attention to him, so you can’t see the way his face contorts and distorts. You can’t hear the roaring in his ears or the pounding of his heart or the terrified, desperate, furious scream that is itching up from the pit of his stomach, up his esophagus, threatening to spill forth from his pharynx.

All you can think about is the red of these Scarlet Eyes you managed to get and how you want to replicate the same red in your painting.

“You know,” you whisper, hands delicately stroking the canister that holds the eyes, “I can never seem to get the right shade. But that’s because it’s not just red. There’s… gold, some flecks of hazelnut… For once, I can’t even describe a color with words…”

Kurapika swallows thickly.

In as steady of a voice as he can manage – which is not at all, so his voice just sounds low and is only a little louder than a grunt –, he grits, “Why do you have that.”

This time, you look up. Again, you don’t comment on his appearance. “I told you, it’s for my painting.”

“I didn’t know you were a Fine Arts Hunter.”

You startle at this. “Kurapika,” you gasp, “are you a Hunter, too? I didn’t know!”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes!” you chirp. “But just collecting is no fun, you know?”

“What do you mean.”

You shrug. “Well, I’m an artist, too, so I want to create the very paintings I want to collect! It’s a little weird idolizing those of my own kind.” You say the last part in a whisper, as if it’s some inside joke or reference that he’s supposed to be understand.

Kurapika knows he’s no damn artist. Now, more than ever, he’s glad that creative part of him, if it ever existed in the first place, is gone and dead.

“Why do you need those eyes.”

“You’re so interested in them. I can give them to you as soon as I’m done with them!”

He wants them now, but really, he wants them after prying it out of your cold, dead, rotting hands. Kurapika lurches forward, but you jump back in response.

“Hey! If you really want them, you can take them now!”

He lunges again, but you move away just in time again. This ferocious chase continues around the entire unit with you screaming at him to calm down while escaping his every attempt to catch you.

“Kurapika!” you yell, as you leap into the air, almost touching the ceiling of the unit. “I’m going to help calm you down, alright?”

He’s seething, but his combat instincts tell him to pay close attention at this very moment. “What are you going to do!” he shouts, frustrated that he’s missed you once again.

But before you can answer, Kurapika suddenly feels a sharp pain in his head, forcing him to still in his movements. You try to approach, but he backs away with every step you take, even though every movement makes him feel dizzier and dizzier. Eventually, he collides with the kitchen counter, where he can barely hold himself up.

“I’m a Transmutation nen user,” you explain. Kurapika doesn’t understand why your voice sounds so distant, as if it’s muffled by water or several compact cotton balls. But you don’t know that, so you continue explaining, “I can change the quality of air molecules, so I’m going to put you under for a bit.”

Kurapika can only manage to lazily look up at you. You’re chewing on your lip, guilt evident on your face. “That’s why it never really bothered me to use oil paints here because I studied how to neutralize the turpentine.”

That’s the last thing he hears before collapsing.

You scream in terror, running to catch him. But it’s too late as the side of Kurapika’s head collides with the sharp edge of the stone countertop. You hold onto his shoulders, preventing his unconscious body from slipping further down onto the floor, and you take off your apron to dab at the blood trckling down the lines of his neck and ears.

But that’s when you notice it. Or rather, that’s when it clicks.

You’ve always been annoyed at yourself for this, but Kurapika loves this about you. You’re so inconsistent, inspiration only coming in waves and bouts, but when it does hit you, you’re on a roll until you’re done. It’s frustrating, especially since becoming a professional artist usually necessitates having to consistently produce bodies of work to make a living, but it’s never been an entire hindrance.

Truly, though, you’ve never had as big of a revelation until now. You heave Kurapika’s body over to the lamp that is now lying on its side, most likely having been knocked over by your game of tag earlier. You swipe at his blood again, this time with a crumpled sheet of notepad paper, and you watch as the color blooms and spreads through the corner.

It’s not like you’ve never used blood, or the human body for that matter, before in your work. Now that you recall, the one who gave you the Scarlet Eyes made you create a series of artworks out of some dismembered body parts he had. You crinkle your nose at the recollection, having remembered how horrible of an experience it was given that man’s fetishes.

You come back to the thought of Kurapika’s blood, and you know that he’s what you need. Your artwork lacks the haunting depth of the red in the Scarlet Eyes, and no amount of blue or purple or brown can fix it. Kurapika’s blood, though, is already so vivid and striking against the cream of the notepad, and you have no doubt it will blend beautifully with the snow white of the canvas, as well as the other colors you already have painted on.

You make a mental note to check how blood reacts to oil paint. It shouldn’t change much in color or smell, you hypothesize, but you’ll have your friends look it up for you like always.

You lean down, kissing Kurapika softly on the lips.

In a loving, gentle whisper, you say, “You know, Kurapika? You’re always so kind and helpful to me.

Even in death.”

winter event masterlist

[pokegyns]

“but would you still want to transition if gender was abolished once and for all? would you still be dysphoric?”

how could i possibly know that, when we do not currently live in such society? we cannot talk about the “what ifs”, we cannot talk about a utopian future right now, while genocides are occuring, while female people around the globe are still being denied basic human rights, while homosexuals are still being victimized by conversion therapy. in a post-gender society, it is likely that our terminology would undergo a complete reform, that it would be switched up & changed all around and over again– “transness” probably would have a new term, as would “dysphoria”, as would “gender affirming care”. dysphoria is an extremely unresearched phenomenon, and there are many different theories surrounding it. some forms of dysphoria could potentially still occur, while others would most likely fade. personally, i believe the neurological type sex dysphoria/incongruency would still persist. however, in our current society, we can observe & realize the numerous ways in which dysphoria & transness itself are linked to societal norms, and the way that some people’s brains simply react differently to societal norms imposed upon them than other people’s brains do– birthing the sociological type of dysphoria. certain people might even experience & develop what some refer to as rapid onset gender dysphoria (ROGD)– but that is a heavily unresearched, controversial, and relatively non-evidenced theory.

i feel like a lot of radical feminists forget that the abolition of gender hasn’t happened yet. they live in their ideal utopia fantasy world, and they are scared of confrontation. it actually reminds me of the way that extremist trans activists go on about their beliefs– they also live their own cloud of fantasy idealism. gender has a large impact on us & influences the way we think. dysphoria is most definitely worsened under a hierarchical society, where children are constantly told that their chromosomes & genitals determine their iq, abilities, hobbies, personality traits, and capabilities– but denying that dysphoria can be neurological is just no way to approach this subject. as long as trans people all around the world are being fetishized, discriminated against, murdered, raped & having their rights taken away for trying their best to survive under the heteropatriarchy– i will not be willing to answer the heavily invasive questions on whether i would still have dysphoria if gender was abolished. gender is a prison, a cell, and we are all locked in it, left to rot. including dysphoric & trans-identified people. dysphoric people do not have the key that will allow us to freely exit the prison-cell: dysphoric people are not the overlords that decided upon locking us all in the prison-cell; rather, we are your allies in the project of gender abolition. we are your allies in revolutionary feminism & we want gender to cease existing just as much as you do. gender isn’t helping us. it hurts us just as much as it hurts you, if not more.

– mod zoroark

[tricitymonsters]

You’re bed rotting, watching trash tv. Whatre the bois (side babes too) doing while you binge reality tv? Are they watching with us? Some other hobby?

Mori - likely to get drawn in to the tv, will definitely want to rustle around under your blanket while you veg out even if you forbid him from getting Too Frisky. Mori usually multitasks so he might also do stuff on his phone or doodle on something at the same time if there’s any hope of him being chill for 10 minutes.

Amir - absolutely gets drawn into whatever you’re watching especially if there’s drama. Unfortunately he wants to talk through a lot of it to give his take and how to either make the drama worse or more entertaining. Might ignore his clients to continue giving you his trash tv hot takes.

Akello - This is a prime excuse to nap. He’s not super big into most tv but akello enjoys sharing the same space with you even if he’s not doing the same activity. If he’s not using the opportunity to catch up on sleep, Akello has a really hard time being idle so he may bring a book or or some work with him to stay productive.

Raath - Complaining that you’re not using your energy to pay attention to him. You’ll need to maybe embellish the context of whatever you’re watching to get him distracted by it. Or put on a slasher movie to get him more engaged and prone to sitting with you the whole time. Otherwise he’ll pop in and out a lot to make sure the “perimeter is safe” while you’re “weak and vulnerable”.

Kazu - Cannot relax. Will probably spend time working in his garage and come up to check on you / doordash food several times during the day. He’s a creature of ritual and schedules and he cannot deviate from his regiment without feeling like the world is imploding so it will take a crisis to get his full attention unfortunately. He will, however, text to check in with your current status often enough to let you know he cares.

Marcel - This is the perfect excuse for him to ALSO rot in bed and ignore his obligations in favor of trash tv. I like to think he watches a lot of that anyway so he might be just as well versed as you in the show.

[darkvenus3]

Sooo...

I was wondering if I could have your input on something.

I'm someone who can't stop fantasizing about being cucked. The emotional pain is so addictive. In the past with an ex-boyfriend, I tried simply role-playing the idea of being cucked during "sexy time". We just sort of pretended he was seeking out another girl. We talked about how he'd find a "better" woman, someone "more attractive" and "more suited to his physical preferences". There were phrases such as "she will be better than you" and "she will be prettier than you could ever be".

While this turned me on like crazy, I was deeply hurt for days and days after. Even though it was a hypothetical situation and fantasy talk.

He gave me care before and after this happened. I know the words weren't real. But, I carried them with me for weeks to maybe a month after. I'd randomly cry with anxiety, or insecurity for a long time after this fearing I wasn't good enough or attractive to him.

We decided to NEVER try that again. Now that partner and I have separated.

Now years later I'm with someone new. But, in my own time, I cannot resist this cuckquean fantasy. It's the first thing I read on tumblr, first adult content I look for, and I just cannot stop fantasizing about it, even though i don't think this is something i could ever handle, or even necessarily want to handle.

Nothing turns me on like this, but nothing hurts me like this either. Is that normal? Is it okay to keep obsessing over my cuckquean fantasy all alone, in the dark depths of my mind, as my own little secret?

First off, I think it’s smart that you tried this out in fantasy form first. Secondly, I do think even when you find something very sexy as a fantasy, you may have to build up a tolerance for that kind of emotional masochism. For example, when my husband and I take a break from cucking, diving right back into it can send me reeling, so we try to start back with him seeing other people less frequently. It’s always good to start out small and see how we handle things.

Perhaps being degraded is sexy in your head but not in practice. Would it be attractive for you instead to role play having a threesome with your current partner? Rather than him degrading you, he could praise you for how well you’re pleasing him, bringing him extra women to fuck. How sexy you are to him that you find this hot, etc.

Also, if you ever do decide to find a woman to try this with in real life, I would recommend starting out with threesomes that way too. When I first started sharing my husband, it was during threesomes, and gradually over time the focus became more and more of him with other women.

I think the reason this is such a difficult fantasy to explore is because we are taking something we fear and making it real. On one hand, it’s empowering. It can bring us closer to our partner, bring us out of our shell, and conquer our worst nightmare by turning it into something pleasurable and sexually enlightening. On the other hand, it’s literally turning our fears and insecurities into a reality, so there is definitely a delicate balance there.

My last suggestion would be to take care of yourself while you’re exploring this fantasy. Whether that means having a close friend or partner you can confide in, a therapist, or just an outlet, like yoga or a hobby you find stimulating. Do something that makes you feel good about yourself because even though the bad things we tell ourselves aren’t true, it can be easy to believe our worst fears when they’re all we think about.

All that to say, it’s definitely normal and okay to have a fantasy like this, and yours doesn’t have to stay in the closet unless you want it to. Our dark desires don’t define us, they just make our lives more fun in the bedroom. 😉😘💕

[creampie-capital]

║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 3 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Male Monster x Fem! Reader

Word count║23,548

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 2 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ Found on Pinterest, so I'm unable to cred the artist. If you know who created the image, please let me know.

Do not steal, copy, or repost anywhere. My work is currently on both CREAMPIE_CAPITAL on wattpad and Imtropicalbaby on Quotev. If posted on another account or website, please report and notify me immediately.

Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You're kidding!"

Ambrose grinned while shutting his rust-red eyes and leaning in the booth. "I cannot lie, my love." He hums.

A frown replaced the smile that was once on your lips while you settled down your half-eaten burger. "I know we've been together for some months, but moving in? Isn't that a little too fast?" You murmur carefully, although you can't help but feel warm from his dedication to your relationship.

The police chief shrugged his shoulders like it were not such a significant matter. He merely munched on a few of those deliciously salty and crunchy fries while continuing his handsome smile.

"I suppose it is a little fast, but honestly, I'm f*ckin stressed with you still working all those jobs and staying in that bad part of town." The half-Fae states. "You're still pushing yourself like you've got fines to pay, and the idea of still working to the bone makes me feel like an incompetent boyfriend."

You hum in acknowledgment before reaching over to hold his free hand. He's quick to respond, rubbing his thumb over the burn scar in soft, tender strokes.

"If I move in with you, then I'll feel like I'm mooching off of you. You're already well off, so how will I contribute? And then there's Tyrion, and he's already in the middle of his semester. And-And then there's also my dad-"

"(Y/n)." He cuts you off and squeezes your conjoined hands. Your lips purse curtly while your shoulders sag. "I know it's a lot and a bit fast in our relationship, but I'm only offering it because I care and want to make things as easy as possible for you." The man suddenly grins again and presses one of his fries to your lips. "If it makes you feel any better, I've already mentioned the idea to Tyrion, and he was on board."

You sigh but munch on the delicacy. "Of course he is. What sixteen-year-old would give up the chance to live in a mansion and be catered to by servants?"

Continuing to feed you his fries, the police officer nods his head in agreement before resuming his persuasion. "You don't need to make your decision now, but the offer will always be on the table. If you do, then you'll have the chance to do whatever you like finally. Maybe a hobby or a sport. Baby, it can be anything that you want now that you finally have the time to be selfish."

His offer is very tempting, and it is not something you can just disregard or tell him no. For years now, you have been working day and night to cover all kinds of bills and necessities.

The selfish ideas of ever continuing your education or finding a career you'd enjoy were so very distant that they would have not even existed at all.

But it has been so long that you really do not know what you would like to do. What do you even like? What is there to do if you had all that free time?

And there was also the situation with your father. He's a terrible human being who abused and neglected his ex-wife and children. His jealousy and obsession ate him alive and turned him into a repulsive creature who was left to rot in his room.

But even as awful as he was, the man was still your father. And you know just because you share the same blood doesn't mean you have to care, but you cannot help it.

If you were to kick him out of the house and have him fend for himself, he'd be homeless and jobless on the streets. Always drunk and highly inebriated, he could easily be killed or taken advantage of.

You hated him for how he treated Tyrion, but abandoning him would make you feel just like your estranged mother. And you'd rather be caught dead than be anything like that woman.

"Alright, Ambrose. I'll think about it."

The half-Fae appears to grimace as you speak his name. He raises your conjoined hands to his face, where he allows your fingers to graze over his warm lips. "Can you also think about calling me something other than my name? I'm your boyfriend. After all, be a little more loving."

"Okay, then I call you my moneybag."

Ambrose shrugs his shoulder but sighs with a lopsided smile. "A wins a win."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The fragrance of curry fills the kitchen first before invading every room of your home. A random video plays from your laptop on one of the counters.

It was one of those rare nights you had off from the hostess club, Sin Maria. Usually, you'd retire to your bedroom to get extra sleep, but considering the fact that it has been a while since you've cooked, it would be nice to make something fresh.

Though your cooking usually clears your head, you can't help but continue to think about Ambrose's offer a week ago. You still haven't provided him with a clear answer, and you really don't think you can any time soon.

Your gaze wanders across the kitchen walls to the tiled floors. There were so many memories in this place, many before your mother left that have you standing there missing the nostalgia.

Never had you ever given the thought of leaving this place. It was your childhood home, and as someone that didn't like change, you preferred what was familiar.

You sigh and lower the turner to simmer, and begin washing the dishes. Tyrion and Ambrose should be home soon, and they're probably starving.

The policeman was already so f*cking big, so it was a no-brainer that he ate just as much. And your brother was still a growing boy but towered over you like you were the younger one.

Even if you ate like them, you'd never reach their height or build.

"We're back!"

Tyrion's muffled voice from the foyer brings you back from your thoughts. "Hi, boys. Everything went okay?" You ask while finishing the dishes.

You can hear their heavy footsteps near, and when your partner's warm hands caress your hips and kiss just below your jaw, you practically melt.

Who would have thought there would be a man out there that holds you close and make you forget all your worries?

Definitely not you.

"Thank god(s) you made curry. I wanted something thick and filling." Tyrion murmurs as he removes his jacket and shuffles onto the high chair at the island.

"Lucky sh*t," Ambrose whispers before leaning down to kiss your lips real quick. "I'd love to stay for supper tonight, but I've got a family dinner with my relatives."

You feel slightly dejected and disheartened, but you push it aside. He wasn't your first love, but he still tends to make you feel like a young girl obsessed with her relationship.

"I see. I hope everything goes alright. Just keep me updated, okay?" Although you try to hide it, you know the older man can tell you are upset.

He tends to know your emotions better than you do.

One of his hands rises to caress your face as his rust-red eyes meet yours. He's in his officer uniform with his dark bomber jacket still on. Even his utility belt with his weapon and cuffs was still around his hips.

"I'll make it up by cooking for you next week when I sleep over. It'll be your favorite meal and everything."

You attempt to fight a smile, but you cannot hide it from him. Nodding your head, he places a lingering kiss on your lips before peering over at your brother.

"Take care of your sister, yeah? I'll be over tomorrow morning to pick you up for work." He states. Tyrion nods his head with an exhausted expression but does not fight back like he used to.

He's gotten the hang of his new schedule, and though he likes to complain about being babysat, you know he genuinely enjoys working beside the police chief.

With the larger man leaving, it was just the two of you left in the kitchen.

"How big of a bowl do you want, Tyrion?"

"A big one with a lot of rice."

It's nice and comfortable as the both of you settle in the living room on the couch. You put on a show that you usually watched for dinner and ate in a cozy silence.

When you were nearly done with your meal, your brother began to speak up.

"I'm ready for a new change." He abruptly murmurs with his green eyes still focused on the screen.

You swallow the bite in your mouth and shift your body to face him. "Hmm, what do you mean?"

He doesn't respond at first before laying down his empty bowl on the coffee table. "I mean... It would be a good idea to accept Ambrose's offer. If we move, then I'll have to change schools, but honestly, I don't mind. I'd rather go somewhere else where no one knows me than stay at the academy with people that look at me like I'm just a problem every day."

Tyrion sighs and leans back in his seat. "Everyone knows what happened at Everlong Crest. The kids talk about me behind my back everywhere I go, and since the news reported that we were affiliated with the Rigels, they want to get close to me to be near his money." You can hear the exhaustion in his voice and feel his sincerity. "I hate this place. I hate my used-to-be friends. I really don't want to be here anymore."

You don't know what to say. There has been a lot you've done for the benefit of your brother, and putting him in that overly-expensive academy was one of your ways to give him a better future.

Your eyes descend from his face to your left arm, where the burn scars are visible.

For as long as you can remember, you've done everything on your own.

The thought of asking others for helping or accepting others' generosity would make you sick to your stomach. People could easily take advantage of your need for help and spin it around on you.

Just like your desperation months ago to pay for the fine.

Sometimes, you swear you can still smell the stench of your burning flesh, a horror that still keeps you up at night.

"Tyrion.." You sigh and set your bowl down as well to scoot closer to your sibling. He refuses to look at you, even as you grasp his hand and hold it tight. "Are you sure? We'll be moving to a whole new area. You'll be put in a new private academy in the middle of your school year. And we'll be using Ambrose's generosity. Who knows what-"

"Do you really think Ambrose would manipulate us just because he's helping?" The green-eyed boy questioned as he finally turned to face you. "He's not like everyone else who has hurt us. I trust him."

Your lips are pursed tightly together as you take in his words. Ever since the fire at Everlong Crest, you've become even more closed off from asking for help. That fear of being lied to and betrayed still lingers so heavily in the back of your head.

It was your own flesh and blood that looked you in the eyes and said you should be thankful for her help.

"I...I'm still thinking about it. Quitting all my jobs and moving everything we have into Ambrose's home feels like we're intruding. He already has everything that it's hard to help or offer assistance in anything."

Nodding his head of dark hair, the boy descends slowly until his head rests on your lap, and he covers his face with his arms. It's dark in the living room except for the glowing light of the Tv.

There's a lot to think about...can you really be selfish and leave everything behind to be cared for and pampered by Ambrose Rigel? Will he ever betray you? Will he ever threaten his support to get you to do what he wants?

You love him, that is for sure, and if anything were ever to happen...you don't know how you will ever make it through.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your stomach rolled and coiled, and sweat beaded down the side of your face as your right leg bounced against the floor in an erratic manner.

In the meeting room, your coworkers sat around, either bored or exhausted, whilst your manager dragged on about the monthly production rating.

His voice was mind-numbing, and the sound was annoying you more than anything. Everything seemed to aggravate you like a pot of hot water about to boil over.

The cathartic taps of rain against the office windows had your fingers twitching and desiring to form into a fist. Beeping and mechanic whirring from the printers and scanners could have blown your damn eardrums apart.

"-/n). (Y/n)...(Y/n)!"

Like being pulled out of the water, your eyes flung to your manager's hazel ones as he frowned beneath his beard.

"I-I'm sorry, what were yous saying?" You ask after clearing your throat and anxiously smoothing out the ends of your pencil skirt.

His small nose scrunched as he sighed. "It's time for your monthly report on our data intake and input." He states while settling in his seat at the head of the table.

"Oh." You swallow thickly and nod your head even though a wave of vertigo is sweeping through your skull. "Y-Yes, of course."

You stood to your feet and stalked over to the live whiteboard. The beating of your heart felt so strong yet so slow in your chest.

The irregular palpations had risen to your ears and overtook every other minuscule racket that boiled your blood.

Was the floor caving in, or was your mind just playing tricks on you? You attempted to grasp the pointer on the desk by the wall, but you missed and grabbed nothing but air.

"What?" You attempted it again, only for your coordination to be completely off and your knees to give out. Your body tumbles into the desk, and though you try to grasp the edge to catch your fall, there is no strength in your limbs to do as such.

The first thing to strike the floor was the right side of your hip before your head collided with the carpeted floor of the meeting room.

You can hear your co-workers speaking and yelling, but you can't understand a single thing. It was like you were underwater, with liquid filling your lungs and pressure building in your head.

Strength in your body dissipates, and the last thing you saw was the blurry figures of the other workers hovering above you.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It felt like only a second had passed by the time you opened your eyes again. Instead of hearing the slowed palpations of your heart, you hear the rhythmic mechanical beeping of a heart rate monitor beside you.

Your eyes weigh heavy with exhaustion, desiring to remain closed, but the scenery before you were not the office meeting room.

There is a tv hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room that plays some old Spanish telenovela. It's muffled with your monitor being the loudest noisemaker in the place.

Ambrose is on your left, slumped in a chair by your hospital bed. His muscular arms are crossed over his broad chest while his head is dipped down to signify that he is asleep.

On your right is Tyrion, who held onto your hand as he leaned over and slept on your bed. His face is turned the other way, but the grip on your fingers is rather firm.

You attempt to speak, but it seems your throat is nothing but dry sandpaper. Rough, coarse, and painful, you needed anything to drink.

Thankfully there appeared to be a pitcher on a small table by the Chief's side.

"Oh, baby, you're awake."

You're so lethargic that what should have scared you merely felt like another normal moment. You peer over at the older man, who begins to pour you a glass of water and holds it to your lips.

"I'm glad you're awake now. Any longer, and I would have freaked." Ambrose murmurs as you drink so desperately.

You exhale a breath of hair through your nose like a laugh. The last time he freaked had been at the hotel when it was burning down. Everyone got to see what a powerful and talented Fae he was, even more so than a full-blooded one.

Luckily these poor overworked doctors did not have to deal with a worried and pissed-off police Chief.

"What happened? I was just at the office in the middle of a meeting." Your voice cracks and softens due to your unconsciousness, but the man still understands.

He reaches over with one of his large veiny hands to caress your leg, which is covered in a thin blanket, as he meets your eyes. "You passed out at work, and the ambulance had to bring you over to the hospital. They called Tyrion, who was with me, and we both rushed over as soon as we heard."

The right side of your head aches from where you hit it on the ground and prompts you to shift awkwardly. Through the large windows in your personal room, you can see that it was dark out with the moon hidden behind thick clouds.

Rain still pours from the storm across the city, thumping against buildings, and you could practically smell that petrichor scent.

"It was probably just the stress. There's been a lot on my mind, and it doesn't help that I haven't been eating as much." You try to joke and smile to lighten the mood, but it appears the usually goofy half-Fae wasn't grinning this time.

You immediately dropped your expression and subconsciously squeezed the hand that your brother was holding.

"You're not wrong; it was partially the stress. But baby..." He swallows thickly. "The doctors said you are pregnant." Your eyes enlarge and pop out of their sockets as your lips fall agape.

Maybe you misheard him; the Tv probably distracted you for a moment.

"You're three months pregnant, and the stress of you constantly working and not caring for yourself had your body overwhelmed." He states, the warmth of his hand nearly burning your skin.

"I-I..." You don't know what to say. It should have been expected, considering how intense and loving Ambrose is...and how everything you do provokes him to give you 'your reward.'

Though, there really had never been a moment you ever thought of being pregnant. Life had not had you in their favor, and it had just been about enduring until the next day.

For the longest time, it's just been you and Tyrion. You were each other's family; nobody else needed to be part of it.

But now there's a baby growing inside of you. It was your child...yours and Ambrose Rigel's. Your very, very small and minuscule family tree just grew exponentially.

Ambrose's hand on the left side of your jaw gained your attention. He smiles as he caresses your skin, and the magic from his fingertips manages to calm your raging mind.

"I know it's so sudden and a lot to take in, but baby, I'm so f*cking happy. I love you so much, and this-" His other hand finds its place atop your stomach, which you hadn't even noticed was slightly pooched. "-I wouldn't want to be having a child with anyone other than you. You're the love of my life and family. No one can ever replace that."

A sting in the inner corner of your eyes began to ache as tears welled over in your eyes. His comforting hands, his genuine words, and that loving look in his eyes had you feeling overwhelmed, but in a good way.

Ever since Ambrose showed up in your life, he's done nothing but help you. He's given you so much good, allowing you to look forward to the joys of partnership.

He was the best male role model your brother needed and the best support system that you weren't even looking for.

"I'm not trying to pressure you, my love. But now I'm even more adamant that you both move in with me. You're working two jobs for no reason." The half-Fae leans closer. "All that stress while not taking care of your body can have you get really sick, baby. I thought I lost you in that fire, and it was like having my whole world destroyed. If anything else happens-If, I really do lose you. I swear I-"

You cease his rambling by covering his lips with your free hand. He's confused at first, but as you grace him with a small smile, he calms and releases his boxed shoulders.

"It's not easy for me to just let you do everything. But I trust you."

Sharing a grin, you both lean into a soft and tender kiss that feels so affectionate.

"Alright, it's time for me to go." Tyrion suddenly speaks as he rises from his slouched position and rubs his eyes.

You don't scowl or grimace. Instead, you reached to scratch his head. "Guess you should start packing, Prince."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You returned home that night, exhausted but filled with so many emotions due to the news. Ambrose decided to sleep over, becoming suddenly even more protective than he already was.

His arms were even more secure as they held you to his chest. The scent of him holds you in a bubble of comfort, and his presence makes you feel like you're the most protected person in the world.

In the morning, he nearly missed work to stay home with you. Worrying over leaving you home alone was tying him down, but with a kick in his butt, you managed to get him and Tyrion out of the house in time.

You were supposed to work at the office as well, but you called in and quit. Usually, you would have given two weeks' notice, but a.) Ambrose probably was already going to have you move before that. and b.) you hated that f*cking place.

The old yokai from the hostess club was more understanding as you told her the news. She had watched over and wanted the best since you joined years ago.

It feels as though she's more satisfied that you found a competent and rich partner than finally getting to quit working, but you know she's happy that you're happy.

Now...the biggest issue was your father. You didn't know what to say or how to break the news to him. Thankfully, Ambrose decided to take it into his own hands. While you were at your jobs to pick up your things one day, you came home to find that your estranged father was nowhere to be seen.

That's when the half-Fae informed you that he had Sorren transferred over to an institution for supposedly 'people like him.'

You didn't want to know more. He's someone you don't want to be involved in your family anymore. He's just another x on the tree.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Oh, wow." You murmur as you lean over through the open truck window. Ambrose lived in the rich neighborhood of the city where the sky was bluer, the air was more breathable, and the houses were several stories bigger.

Your old home was situated on the farthest side of the city, and this drive was at least an hour and a half long. To think your partner had been driving so far to be at your house and to work at the station.

This was going to be the view you'd see every day, the streets you'd now walk through when you needed a breath of fresh air.

Tatiana Belle Lane was where your new home was situated; it's your new address, your new identity.

Where the rich look down at the poor beneath these hills.

You suddenly grow very anxious, shifting in your seat. It was so sudden and hasty, a pregnancy and a new move.

"I can feel your nervousness from here." Ambrose's voice cuts through your fluctuating thoughts as he reaches over to grasp one of your hands. "It's okay to feel like that, my love. I know it's a big change."

His warmth is so reassuring, and the tingling sensation of his magic really grounds you in your place.

It feels like you've been through so much that you're afraid to be happy. Was it all fake? Will this new life be ripped away?

"Right here. Your guy's new home."

You and Tyrion's jaws drop as fancy golden gates part, and the half-fae continues down a long driveway.

All throughout your relationship, you hadn't once stayed over at his house. It was out of your way for work that you hadn't once accepted his offer, well, until now.

The home is modern, but instead of being made of sleek material, it is more like a comforting home of bricks and stone. Made of four floors and what appeared like three different extended garages, wealth seeps into the air and spurs your stomach to roil.

Or was that just your baby doing front flips?

Pulling up by the front, Ambrose shuts off his truck and exits the vehicle. You're slow and tedious as you undo your seatbelt, but the half-Fae is already by your side to help you out of your seat.

"Come on, Tyrion. I'll show you to your room." He beckons your brother over so the three of you can enter together.

His hands were firmly around your body, and you were sure it was to keep you upright from the sight of money everywhere.

Just like the outside, everything inside could easily be discerned as expensive and luxurious—fine walls, chandeliers, maids, and butlers who bowed while going on with their jobs.

"Do you think if I stayed here long enough, I'd become gold?" The young teen murmurs to himself as his green optics shimmer in amazement.

Both you and your partner share a laugh before the Chief walks the two of you on a tour. There were so many rooms, so many hallways and corridors that you were going to have to remember.

Tyrion's bedroom, study, gaming room, and observatory were on the east wing on the third floor, while yours were situated on the west.

Your baby's nursery was already set up close to yours, and the sight nearly brought you to tears. It felt so surreal to see it.

You were really pregnant, growing a baby that is a part of you and Ambrose. The tiny family you were breaking your back to care for had grown like a flower blossoming.

And that flower had become rooted in better nutrients, where it didn't have to fight for sunlight or scavenge for water.

Everything it needed was provided.

Leaving your brother to get situated in his new bedroom, Ambrose settled you on the vast and luxurious mattresses covered in (soft/smooth) sheets and comforters.

He kneels in front of you to hold one of your hands while caressing the small of your back.

"You okay, baby? You look like you're about to pass out." He jests while smiling that handsome grin and cocking his head of sepia brown hair.

You nod your head and focus on his face, viewing his rust-red eyes that glimmer like jewels and pale skin that flushes brightly when he blushes.

"It's just...a lot, you know? This big home, maids and servants...this just isn't me. Everything I owned, I worked for."

The half-Fae nods his head in understanding and holds you close. "I know there's so much going on; a new home, our baby, but this is what you deserve. You deserve to be pampered-" He leans forward to kiss your nose. "-and spoiled." His lips drag down to reach your lips, where he graces you with a deep and intimate kiss.

He's lowered his smoking intake after being informed of your pregnancy, so the taste of tobacco on his tongue is not as potent as usual. It's more of strawberries and mango.

Gingerly you are pushed onto your back as he holds down one of your hands above your head while caressing your pooched tummy over your sweater.

The scent of spices mixed with his masculine fragrance practically makes you drunk in your spot. Your mind melts like ice, and your strength weakens to where it feels as if he were sucking the energy out of you.

His massive hand on your belly migrates to slip in through the hem of your leggings, but before he can go farther, his phone rings from the back pockets of his dark jeans.

Ambrose pulls away with an annoyed huff and snatches the device from the pouch. He glances at the screen and sighs as he gets off you to answer the call.

"Hey, dad." He speaks while wiping his mouth with the back of his costly button-up. "Yeah, (Y/n) and Tyrion are here and are getting settled into their rooms."

You sit up to center your ragged breathing and clench your thighs to alleviate the need for friction. The human father and full-blooded Fae mother live very close to the main building, just off in one of the annexes less than a minute's walk away.

It feels weird to be spoken of by his parents, but it's like they acknowledge your presence and your relationship with their son.

"Mmm, it's already a lot for her right now, so I don't know about that," Ambrose states as he glances over at your figure. You tilt your head curiously, and apparently, you must have looked so cute because the older man blushed like fresh flowers took their place on his cheeks.

He rushes over to kiss your lips in a desperate manner so that you can feel his magic spike and shoot warmth through your veins.

"Mhm." He murmurs while grasping the back of your head and deepening your intimate closeness. The talking on the other end is mumbled and barely coherent, but you can make out your name being mentioned a few times.

Abruptly pulling away, he sighs and glances down to meet your hazy gaze. "Fine, I'll ask." The Chief pulls away his phone to provide a little privacy. "My parents want to come over for dinner to meet you and your brother."

"H-Huh!?" You exclaimed while your eyes nearly bug out. It hasn't even been a day since you've come to your new home, but now his parents want to meet you!?

Yes, you do hold their grandchild in your tummy, but it feels all so sudden.

Easily taking your shocked reaction as an answer, he brought the phone back to his ear and answered with a bit of annoyance. "She's not feeling good, so not tonight. Now goodbye."

"Wait!" You called and grasped one of his firm forearms. Ambrose raises a thick brow out of confusion, and for a moment, you feel rather timid. "I-It's okay. Dinner shouldn't be too bad."

The older man seems worried by your answer. "Baby, are you sure? We can reschedule for another day when you've settled and are more comfortable." He offers.

His words bring you comfort and remind you of the many reasons why you love his man. With you, he's so considerate and caring. Your feelings are a priority to him, and before he does anything, he asks for your opinion first.

"Yes. Better sooner than later, and I'm going to meet them eventually, considering they often stay in the main building."

"Ah, if you weren't already pregnant, I'd be giving you a baby right now." Ambrose gushes, his face flushing as he kisses your lips once more before standing to his feet. "If the dinner doesn't drag on too long, it should be alright. Around six in the main building? We'll have some vegetarian options as well."

They speak not too long before the call ends, and he returns his full attention to you. Your tummy is so warm from his gaze that you don't think that you can get used to it.

"Do you want to shower now or take a nap before getting ready?" He sought while taking a seat next to you on the massive bed.

You meet his gaze, a mischievous gaze glinting in your eyes. "If I shower now, you should join me then."

A smirk grows on his lips, and before you can even react, he sweeps you into his arms like a fresh new bride. A squeal echoes out as you clutch onto the back of his neck in surprise.

"Oh, baby. We've got a little time before dinner, so I think I'll snack on you for a bit."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"(Y/n), if you keep fixing my damn hair like this, it's all going to fall off." Tyrion laments which freezes your movements.

You stand stagnant, realizing your hands have been combing through his hair anxiously as the time nears closer.

"Sorry." You whisper and drop your hands by your side. The first time you meet your boyfriend's parents, it's when you're pregnant, just moved in, and now no longer working.

They probably are going to think you are some freeloader that trapped their son with a baby.

Ambrose's hands settle on your hips and keep you from toppling over. "It's okay, my love. You can go to our room, and I'll send someone to bring over dinner so you can eat in private." He offers while meeting your gaze.

Even through everything, your feelings are what matter. But it probably would look bad if you left right now.

"No, it's alright. I-I think I need to sit down." Your brother and boyfriend help you into a seat at the head of the table as you drink from your water cup.

"Rose. My dear, we are here." The voice of an older woman infiltrates the corridors of the mansion, and you immediately freeze up in your seat.

You can literally feel the authority reeking in her tone. His mother was a cutthroat businesswoman who was the reason why they had the money they did now.

All of these luxuries were because of her, and she could take them away as she deemed fit.

"Mom, dad, glad to see you both in good health," Ambrose announces as he leaves your side to meet his parents at the entrance of the dining hall.

He hugs his father first, who is nearly the spitting image of himself. The same sepia brown hair, only greying at the roots. They share the same prominent jaw shape and physical build. Their both tall, and their presence holds space.

But then your eyes divert to his mother, and your blood runs cold like ice. She, too, was tall, at 6'3 (190 cm), with a slender build. Cold rust red eyes stared into yours, and her golden hair pulled into a thick tight bun at the top of her head hardened her expression.

Wearing a navy blue blouse and a similar colored skirt that reaches the ground, you see the confidence in her stance, not to mention the eye-catching and massive wings that looked so ethereal and sprouted from her upper back.

"(Y/n)'s not feeling well, so I apologize if she doesn't stand. Come meet her." He ushered them both closer to your figure in the seat, and you swear you're shrinking under their gaze.

"Mom, dad, this is my partner and the woman with your grandchild. This is (Y/n) and her younger brother Tyrion. (Y/n), Tyrion, this is my father, Oberon, and my mother, Ursula."

What you had not expected was for the father to smack the back of Ambrose's head and tug on his ear. "You little sh*t! Your partner looks like she could pass out right now, and you're forcing her to attend dinner with all of us?" He reprimands him harshly.

"N-No!" You catch their attention as you rise from your seat while holding onto the table to keep yourself up. "He desired for me to rest, but I said I wanted to be here for dinner to meet you both."

Oberon releases his son to hold his hands together and turns to face his wife. "Look at her; she's being so cute!" He gushes though the wife's stern expression remains the same as she stares at you.

"Well, we shouldn't let the mom-to-be starve any longer," Urusula states while taking a seat at the other end of the table. "Let's commence with the dinner."

You sink into your seat as Tyrion gives you a sympathetic look. "Just say the word; I'll start a distraction so you can leave." He whispers.

This was a serious moment, but you couldn't help but crack a smile and push him away to his seat. "Alright, I'll let you know."

Once everyone settled down and took a seat at the table, servants came in with delicacies and cuisines only those fancy restaurants would serve for hundreds of dollars. Ambrose, Oberon, and Ursula do not seem phased at all at the sight, but you and Tyrion share a side-eye expression.

No one speaks at first, everyone just eating to their heart's content with the adults drinking wine. God(s), you could go for a glass yourself if you weren't pregnant.

You glance down at your stomach beneath your turtleneck and breathe in deeply. Every once in a while, you need to remind yourself of this fact.

As much as you love this little thing in your tummy, it's hard to accept the reality that your body isn't just yours anymore. There's a baby completely dependent on you for safety, nutrients, and nurture.

"Is the food to your liking?"

Your vision shifts over to the golden-haired Fae, who swirls the wine in her glass. Her pomegranate-hued wings flicker behind her, and speckles of light fall from the tips.

"Oh, yes. I'm just not used to such cuisines; I usually cook at home."

"You cook?" She rephrases and crosses one leg over the other. "I should have you over the annex for a session then. Do you prefer Asian or European cuisines?"

"I don't have a preference." You respond and smile to appear as harmless as possible.

The older woman hums while nodding her head. "I see. I should have a nutritiousness doctor visit. It's obvious you don't eat well or often. Your body isn't your own anymore, and you should really remember that fact."

It feels like you are being reprimanded at the table, but you know she is right. Ambrose and Tyrion look over at you to see your expression, but you merely nod your head and resuming your eating.

"You are right, and I will. I thank you for your consideration and will follow through with the nutritiousness."

The golden-haired Fae nodded, too, as if she were pleased with your response. There's a small smile just barely noticeable on her face that she conceals behind a wine glass.

"You should rest more and lay off your feet. And also hold off on the intimacy until later on your pregnancy."

Your face burns at her words, and your boyfriend blushes in bright ruddiness. Tyrion scrunched his nose in disgust and turned to face you. "It's time to take my leave." He whispers.

"Mom." Ambrose nearly hisses, and she faces him like she is wrongfully being accused of a crime.

"What. You're the exact copy of your father, personality and all." She states while crossing her arms beneath her bust.

It was a moment where you couldn't help but laugh at the embarrassed expression of the half-Fae and his father. They both were making the exact sheepish gaze with their head dipped down, eyes closed, and twitching smiles.

You don't know what it was, but you found enjoyment in the scene. It's obvious he was relatively close with his parents, and they shared a connection of deep love.

But that was soon interrupted by the salivating in your mouth, the pressure in your throat, and a sharp stab to your stomach.

"Baby?" The Chief questions with all attention landing on your figure, but you are unable to respond as you bolt from your seat.

You're lucky a half bathroom was near, but the harsh burning of retching was less than desirable. Everything you just ate had left your stomach to desecrate the once clean basin.

Ambrose was quick to be by your side, grasping your hair to keep it away while rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Tears well in your eyes with the acid burning the back of your throat.

"My love, if I could take away all your pain, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Your boyfriend sounds so pained, like your distress was shared with him as well.

There's a knock at the door, followed by his mother speaking. "(Y/n), you should take a rest now. I'll be back to bring over some tea and some snacks I ate when I was pregnant." The older woman informs.

You want to thank her, but your focus has returned to the intense dry heaving.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Heh, you don't look very nervous."

Tyrion peered over at the older man beside him in the truck before leaning against his hand against the door. "It's whatever. All schools are the same." He murmured.

Ambrose laughed to himself while driving with one hand. He subconsciously reached for his pack of cigarettes, but after a moment, he realized what he was doing and shoved it into the side compartment of his vehicle.

"I went to this one back in my day, my brother and me."

Your brother's clover green eyes flickered to view the strong side profile of the Chief. "You don't talk about your brother often."

"Well, he's dead for one." Ambrose utters before reaching over to pat the top of the teen's head. "It's been years, but it's why I can understand your pain. It is traumatizing, something you just can't easily forget."

'Sh*t, why did I say ask that!?' Your sibling reprimands himself as he hides his mouth in the palm of his hand.

In the distance, they could see the massive private academy nearing. His old school was expensive and costly, but it barely compared to what he was seeing in front of him.

The air from his open window reminded him of the chief, infused with magic that was so warm it could be numbing.

"Hey, there's been something I've been wondering for a while." The green-eyed teen begins so he can gain the older man's attention. "I've always wondered why you work as a police chief and not take over your mom's position."

Ambrose licks his bottom lip before leaning back in his seat. "Mm, there's quite a few reasons, I guess. Originally the heir position was supposed to go to my older brother, Preston. After what happened, It was 'transferred' to me. But it didn't feel like it ever belonged to me, so I found something else that I enjoyed. Plus, I think it helps my mom to work still and busy herself so she doesn't think about it."

Tyrion hummed. "Do you think you'll ever quit as chief to take over?"

"I don't know." The sepia-haired man laughed and glanced over at your brother. "Maybe one day it'll be you who takes over."

Your brother feels his face heat up and snap away to hide his expression. "W-What about your own kid?" He questions.

"You are my kid." Tyrion had to swallow down a sob. "But they'll have a choice to be whatever they want when they grow up.

It's quiet in the vehicle, with not a single male speaking. Just quiet ambiance and the rumble of the vehicle.

Only after a bit does the half-Fae interrupt the silence. "There aren't many humans in the academy, but you have our family's pin, so wear it with pride."

Tyrion stomach rolls and flips. It wasn't 'My family'; it was 'Our Family.' It's still difficult to accept that it was no longer just you and him against the world. But the presence of Ambrose was like a father, and it felt too good to be real.

Sometimes, he fears that one day he's going to open his eyes and that all of this is just his imagination. He'll be right back at the old house, staring at his bedroom door and worrying if his father will ever step through.

"Everyone here comes from prominent families or clans. You'll meet other Fae's, Elves, and dragon descendants. They each wear a brooch to signify their 'power household'-" The sepia-haired adult rolled his eyes at the words but continued on. "-and you know its, the typical stuff where one feels more entitled than the other because their family has a deeper history or their ancestors won wars."

They pull up to the front, where other students are bustling around. Some wear wings like Ambrose's mother; others have pointed or angled ears, and a few even sport horns.

"But don't feel discouraged, and don't feel like you have to bow your head. The Rigel clan is a powerful and prominent family, and we hold our heads high."

It's a foreign concept to Tyrion. He's always felt like a lesser being to his old schoolmates, who looked down on him for being impoverished.

They took advantage of his desperate situation and manipulated his fitful heart to fill it with false recognition.

But things are different now.

Your brother and partner step out of the vehicle to enter the private academy. Ambrose hadn't been in the police uniform, instead dressed in a fine dark suit with a black button-up. He looked expensive and like a man that belonged to the Rigel family.

On the other hand, Tyrion wore the uniform for his sophomore grade. Dark slacks, a black button-up with a cyan-green vest.

The Rigel family brooch was a pair of gold wings encrusted with diamonds and a pearl-shaped blue diamond dangling from the middle of the wings.

Easily anyone could tell that this one simple brooch could buy the country. Never before did your brother think he'd be wearing something so precious and pricey.

"Come, let's go meet your headmaster." Ambrose articulated in a comforting tone as he placed his hand at the top of your bother's back in between his shoulder blades.

The students were eyeing them up as they passed, ceasing whatever they were doing to stand and watch.

He felt those judging eyes before who looked at him like he were filth. But now they seemed like the gaze of a predator, eyeing up the new bait.

"Mr. Rigel! I can't believe how much you've grown!" An older Fae with grey hair in a high ponytail and straight bangs exited an office to stalk over to the two. Her lilac eyes seemed to reminisce at the sight of the older man while holding her hands on her hips. "All big and tall, you look just like your mother!"

Tyrion snorted, which earned a small glare from Ambrose. "It's good to see you as well, Ms. Nimue. It appears like you haven't aged at all since my day."

The headmaster waves her hand like she is embarrassed before training her angled eyes on the teen. "This must be Tyrion. Hello, how are you, my boy?" She sought.

He feels nervous now. "Oh, I'm good, Ma'am."

Nodding her head, the older woman reaches down by a desk to grab a packet and hand it over. "For reasons, you'll find out later, your last name in the academy will be Rigel." She shared a wink with Ambrose and began down the wide corridors. "You appear to be farther ahead in your academies, so you should have no trouble settling in. Your home room is here; math, English, and creative writing will be over here in the Green Wings. The other courses are down by the Blue Wings."

The headmaster continues her tour, with Tyrion and Ambrose following behind. It is a huge academy, even larger than his old one. He's sure to struggle and get lost multiple times.

Other students continued their staring, but it wasn't a bother anymore. Not only was he wearing the Rigel family brooch, but he was also aided by Ambrose Rigel himself; no one would even think about messing with him.

Finally, the tour was done as they returned to the homeroom. "I trust you'll be good." Ambrose muses as he messes with the teen's styled hair. "I won't be able to pick you up after school since your sister and I will be at the hospital for natal care, so my dad will be here instead."

The headmaster holds her face like she is in disbelief. "I still cannot believe you finally have a child. I thought the bloodline would end with you." She gushes.

Your brother sighs, feeling exhausted already. "Alright. I'll see you later."

"Be safe, and remember what I told you. Oh, and try not to cause trouble."

"No promises."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Going from the kid everyone used to make fun of that came from that side of town to now the new guy everyone wanted to get to know...was a nuisance.

It was easy to tell that the other students were trying to suck up to him because he was a 'Rigel.' Apparently, good luck would come to those associated with the family, or so the legend goes.

Kids his own age wanted to carry his books or offer their snacks. They presented their notes and homework, anything to get on his good side.

He was getting sick of this.

In his last period, it was a study hall in the massive library that finally got him a chance to take a break. For the first time, he was alone and could finally think for himself.

The teacher kept it quiet and serene, and he was thankful for it. His phone suddenly buzzed, and he peered down at the screen to see that it was a text from you.

◤

Lord & Saivor🙏

Hey, I'm about to head to the doctors with Ambrose.

How's your new school going? No one is teasing you or causing you problems, right?

◢

He found himself laughing at the message. Shouldn't you be asking if he were the one causing trouble or getting into fights?

◤

1 (XXX) XXX - YYYY

It's going okay. I'm being treated like a prince.

◢

"Oo~! What a bad boy you are."

Tyrion's green gaze flung up to meet molten golden ones. A girl wearing the school uniform to his grade but completely styled in an almost alternative way descended into the seat in front of him.

Her hair was white like untouched snow and pulled into pigtails that reached the floor. Clips and bows decorated it and were similar colors to her eccentric makeup and eyeliner.

What caught his eye the most were the two charcoal-grey baby horns protruding from the top of her head.

"What do you want?" Tyrion snapped as he concealed his phone in the pocket of his slacks. The girl shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in her seat.

There was a pin on the white button-up of a golden dragon. The eyes were a yellow diamond, and the claws were made of ruby in a manner like they were dripping blood.

"Just checking out the fresh meat." She states while raising her left hand to examine her painted nails. They were long and almond-shaped, painted golden with glitter. "I'm Zafira. Zafira Drakkoth Ormr."

Your brother scrunched his nose and raised a brow. "Kay, now that you're done. I'm leaving." He stated while rising to his feet.

"Wait!" Zafira called only to get hushed by one of the librarians. She sneered before training her attention back on the teen boy. "How rude. You don't just walk away from someone trying to talk to you."

The green-eyed boy snorted and reached for his bag. "I'm not interested in getting to know you or anybody else. If you want to get involved with the Rigel's, you'll have to figure out another way-"

His speech was interrupted as the dragon descendant shanked him in the waist with her hand. Tyrion toppled over, holding his side as he lay dazed on the marbled flooring.

Zafira squatted down, his face in line with her cyan-green skirt that just barely covered her modesty. "You little sh*t. You may be a Rigel, but I'm an Ormr. It's obvious you don't know my history, but I'm from a family just as old and ancient as yours."

"Ormr! Go to the Headmasters." Orders the librarian, who flung to her feet from her desk.

The white-haired hair girl scoffed, and with a raise of her finger, Tyrion's body flew back into his seat. She stands in her chunky boots and meets the other teen's eyes. "See you later, Rigel. And next time, try being a little nicer."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A few months have passed since the two of you moved into Ambrose's home. It was hard to adjust, hard to accept this easy, pampered life was really yours.

But the baby growing steadily in your belly really grounded you to reality. You were going to be a mother, and even though you didn't have a good one, there was no way in hell that you would ever create a traumatic childhood for your youngin.

It was an early morning on a Tuesday; you hadn't slept at all the night before, so you decided to go for a walk. Ambrose didn't want to leave you alone, so he sluggishly followed you.

Draped in robes with your initials, the both of you traversed through the gardens on the land. Your boyfriend held a mug of coffee to his lips as he yawned for the umpteenth time that morning.

Straying from caffeine, you drank from a cup of hot chocolate that contrasted against the cool early breeze.

The sun was rising, just about peeking through the horizon.

"Should we return back soon and get ready for your appointment today?" Ambrose questioned as he sat on one of the benches. His eyes barely could stay open, with his wide shoulders sagging from exhaustion.

It's still funny to see that this almost perfect man is not a morning person.

"Just five more minutes." You mumble quietly, just appreciating the scenery and fresh air.

"Okay." He yawns, wrapping one of his arms around your hip and resting his head against your bulging belly.

You've been thinking about what to do with all this free time. You wanted to work, but with your pregnancy, the Chief was highly against it.

And surprisingly, even his mother was as well. Ursula would have your head if she found you working or pushing yourself.

Initially, you thought she was going to hate you, but it seems just's more of the type to give tough love. It might have been due to losing her oldest that she closed herself off from being too emotional.

"Madam...Madam, you have a phone call." Your gaze turns to the side where a maid is approaching with a vase in her hand of fresh flowers.

You raised a brow before lightly patting the half-Fae's face to wake him up. "Who could that be so early?" Your words are to no one else but yourself.

The three of you travel back into the mansion and into the tea room, where one of the home phones was at.

Ambrose collapses on one of the long couches as he shields his eyes with one of his arms. You settle on a loveseat while bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this (Y/n)?" It was the voice of a young boy in early adolescence, for sure.

With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, you respond cautiously. "Yes, who is this?"

"I-It's Tyr." You're surprised by this response: Tyr, your younger brother from the other marriage of your mother, is calling you.

"What's wrong? Why are you calling me?" It is not your intent to sound harsh, but that side of the family is a side you don't want to be involved in.

With what happened at Everlong Crest, you're practically even more resentful.

There's screaming in the background, followed by hysterical crying. "U-Um, can you take us away? Just for a little bit. Mom is...she's not well." He whispers through the other end.

You peer over Ambrose, whose already sitting up, now appearing fully awake. "Angus, inform my parents that'll we'll be out and ask them to give Tyrion a lift." He orders one of the butlers standing about, who quickly scurries off to follow through.

"Tyr, It's a six-hour drive to your house. Who-"

"Please." The ten-year-old whispers, which were followed by a sound of glass shattering

They're just kids, and you're the adult in this situation. It's not right to still hold this grudge against them when they are the innocent party.

By the sound of it, your mother is having a full mental breakdown. She's screaming and shouting, throwing things, and breaking glass.

"Alright, can you get your brothers into a room that locks from the inside? A room that your mother can't get into."

Tyr stutters but answers with a weak 'yes.'

"Hold off for as long as you can. We're coming."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Hey, big shot!"

Tyrion sighed but hadn't turned around to face the Ormr descendant who called behind him. He merely continued his way through the busy corridor.

He could hear Zafira cussing him out and cracked a smile before letting it disappear once the girl caught up to him.

"You're so mean~!" She whined now that she strutted alongside him. Her arms were covered in that pretty pink jacket crossed below her chest as her heeled boots clicked against the floor. "How do you even have friends?"

"Ormr, I already told you that I don't care about that stuff," Tyrion murmured in a dreary tone. There was some time before their next lesson started, so your brother wanted to find a quiet place to nap.

But with his classmate following, he wasn't even going to get a wink.

"Emo~." She teased while sticking her pierced tongue out.

The green-eyed boy sighs at her remark but doesn't say anymore as the two venture out into the garden.

Its clear and bright, thick fluffy clouds formed shapes, and a crisp breeze felt so good in his lungs.

"What's going on, big shot? You've been more quiet than usual." Zafira comments as she skips around to stand in front of your brother.

The dragon descendant was short, even with her chunky boots. He's 6'2 (189cm), but it feels like he towers over the girl.

Her pointy teeth stuck out from her top lip, and for some reason, it looked really cute.

His face suddenly burned like flames were pressed against them, and he snapped his gaze away. "Nothing. It doesn't involve you."

Huffing, the girl smashed her fist into his shoulder before turning away to show him her back. "Hmph! You're going to be a loner if you keep acting like that!" She warned, but your brother didn't take it seriously.

He simply found a bench beneath a shaded tree and lay across it, using his school bag as a pillow under his head.

Even so, Zafira followed him and collapsed on the seat as well, right next to his pack. She was tapping away on her phone that had dangly little chibi dragons and hearts stringed from the bottom of the pink case.

"Somethings bothering you, Rigel, I can tell. I've known you for a couple of months now, and you're usually a lot more talkative. Even if it's only to argue with me."

Tyrion sighs and parts his eyes to come into the view of the dragon descendant. Even though her molten golden eyes are on her cellular device, he can feel the warmth that comes from it.

"Do you have siblings?"

Zafira scoffs and shakes her head. "You f*ckin bet. I've got three older sisters and two younger brothers. You're an only child, right? Well, for now, at least. I've heard your mom's pregnant with Ambrose Rigel's child."

Your brother grimaces before glancing toward the blue sky. "She's actually my sister but technically adopted me. But, yeah...(Y/n)'s not due for another couple of months-"

"I see what's going on."

He sits up swiftly at the white-haired girl's word and rotates to face her.

She smiles while turning off her phone, her little fangs on display as her eyes shine in the light. "You're jealous of an unborn child! How cute~!"

Tyrion could feel his face burn at her statement and swiftly grabbed her cheeks, tugging on them so crocodile tears welled in her eyes. "What are you talking about!? You have too much of a vivid imagination!"

Zafira snatches his face, and the two begin pulling each other's cheeks, but the tugging, unfortunately, leads to the two tumbling off the small bench.

Her back strikes the grassy floor first, with Tyrion just barely catching himself above her. His hands are pressed into the ground beside her head while his knees are on either side of her hips.

Their faces on near each other, and her hands are pressed firmly against his chest. For a moment, their both stunned and unable to move; even their breathing seems to stutter.

To his surprise, Zafira's hands suddenly begin to squeeze around his pectorals. "For a human, these are quite developed..."

Your brother's face burns so hot he nearly passes out and flings himself off of her. "You pervert! This is why you have no friends yourself! Manhandling everyone!"

The dragon descendant pointed a finger at him and shouted back. "It's not my fault your big a** boobs fell in my hands! Maybe you're the pervert!" She bellowed.

In the garden that was scarce of any other students, the two began to bicker back and forth until the bell rang, and they went their separate ways...

...With their faces burning and hearts beating.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Later that day, Oberon picked Tyrion up from the private academy, and the two shared a conversation until they returned home.

Ambrose's truck was parked right in the front, which had the teen raise a brow. If he were home, then why didn't the Chief pick him up?

Entering the mansion, Tyrion made his way towards the living room, where he heard laughing and the sound of your voice.

Curious, he stepped closer with his hands in his pocket and parted his lips to speak, but they fell agape at the sight.

To his surprise and horror, the three Qadir siblings sat on the couch while drinking hot chocolate from small mugs.

"What!?" He can barely get his voice out as he meets the boys' scarlet red eyes before meeting your gaze. "Why are they here!?"

"Tyrion, calm down." You scold while standing to your feet. "Their mom is having a breakdown, and it's not safe for them to be around her. They'll be here just for a bit until she gets better."

Your brother sneers at you while pointing a finger at your left side. "I don't give a f*ck! You almost f*cking died because of them! Because of him! You wanna test it again by having them here!" He bellows, his body filling with so much fury that his ears are popping.

You frown, eyes drooping and lips scowling. It's easy to understand your brother's hate, the fury hidden in his heart. All that envy sticks to his throat like glue.

To have your own mother not love you at all and have another family, she cherished must be eating him alive.

"Tyrion." Ambrose calls as he nears your brother, but the teen steps back like the Chief's hands were poisoned.

"Don't touch me!" He sneers while backing up. "I should have known better. I'm always going to be nothing but a burden you'll try to get rid of. To think you'd replace me with them pisses me off!"

"Tyrion, wait!" You attempt to follow after him, but you feel so heavy with your bulging belly and nearly lose your footing on the kitten-heel shoes you are wearing.

The half-Fae sighs before strolling closer to you. "It's okay, baby. We knew this would happen, and it's a lot for him to take in. He probably feels overwhelmed."

You can only nod your head and slump in your seat again. The Qadir siblings are observing you, their eyes following your every movement.

They are just kids, but kids are incredibly observant. It's not difficult for them to understand that their Older half-brother Tyrion doesn't like them; in fact, it's just easier to say he despises them.

Tyr, Mikhail, and Raoul had the good life with a loving mother and a doting father. But now, the powerful old vampire is in prison, and the mom is mentally ill; their perfect world is crashing down.

Now they're in a foreign home, with an older half-sister they know nothing about and a half-brother who hates them.

This could lead to a lot of developmental issues and have them struggle to grow attachments or connections. Tyrion already struggles with abandonment issues and other problems.

It might not be too late for them.

"Are you guys tired? Hungry?" You ask softly, finding that there is no strength to speak any louder.

The half-vampire brothers glance at each other for a second before nodding their heads. "We haven't eaten in a few days," Tyr replies, and your heart nearly splinters apart.

"I'm sorry. I'll make something really quick; wait a little while." You tell them before meeting the eyes of your partner. "Can you watch them for a moment?"

He nods his head of sepia-brown hair and struts closer to kneel in front of the boys. "How about we take a walk around the stables? Would you three like to see the horses?" He questions in a tender tone.

They're hesitant at first, but they cautiously stand from the couch to follow after your partner.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You're acting like a little b*tch," Zafira states on the other end of the headset.

Tyrion scoffs and swiftly kills her character in the game before returning to what he was originally doing. "Mind your own business." He snaps.

The dragon descendant scoffs as her player respawns on the map. In his game room, it was only him with his friend from school in a video call on one of the other monitors.

She can be seen biting into a lollipop before flicking the stick into a trash bin. Her room that he can observe is exactly what he thought it would be.

Pink and girly. White walls with posters of her favorite artist and hello kitty decorations. Her pillowcases and comforters are hot pink with hearts and stuffies.

Even on a Saturday when they had a day off from school, the girl is dressed in a white tennis skirt with dark stockings that have hearts cut into them and an oversized pink sweater full of baby chick prints.

For once, her hair isn't in those iconic pigtails, but she has it up in a messy bun, so it was easier for her to wear her cat ear headset.

"It is my business, Rigel. You're my friend."

Tyrion's shoulders sag at her words, and he slouches in his gaming chair. "It's family stuff. You wouldn't want me getting involved with you and your siblings."

She giggles and continues gathering materials in the world. "Please, my sisters are just like me, and you can barely handle one Ormr, let alone five."

Your brother shudders; merely thinking about it makes the tips of his fingers tingle in dread.

"Every time you're upset, you get even moodier. And when you're upset about your sister, your extra snappy."

"Zafira!"

"Exactly!"

He respires heavily and returns to the game.

"It's been a few weeks now since you yelled at your sister. Why don't you talk to her now."

"Why should I?" He snaps. "I didn't do anything wrong. I'm right!"

"Are all men this dense?" Zafira asks herself before pausing her game. She reaches for an energy drink while giving her attention to the camera. "(Y/n) is an adult, so she's obviously more mature than us. But they're just kids and had their whole world turned upside down. No father, and a psychotic mother, now they have to live in a home they know they don't belong in. You need to pipe down the jealousy because your sister is giving other things her love and affection."

Tyrion throws his hands up. "Why am I being reprimanded!?"

"Because you're acting like a selfish, petty little boy-

A knock at the door interrupted her words before they were opened. Ambrose's giant figure peered in from the small space as he glanced at your brother.

"Hi, Mr. Rigel." Zafira greets him as she waves on the monitor.

The Chief smiles as he waves back. "Hello, little Ormr. Are you two busy right now?"

The dragon descendant shakes her head while scooting closer to her computer. "No, we were just done playing. I'll message you later, Tyrion."

Nodding his head, the schoolmate ends the call leaving the two males alone in the game room. Ambrose's shut the door behind him before grasping one of the other gaming chairs and heaving his giant figure into it.

It's awkwardly silent, with tension filling the air.

"Look..." Ambrose begins, and the two meet each other's gaze. "I'm actually not supposed to be here, Y/n wanted me to give you space, but this is enough. I'm very lenient and sympathetic with you, but I'm not going to let you continue to act this way-"

"Why, or you'll kick me out because this is your house?" Tyrion snaps, but the Chief has no negative reaction to it.

He merely clasps his fingers together and folds his bottom lip inward. "Never. This is your home, and it's not something I'll ever threaten you with. But that doesn't leave you exempt from punishment either."

Your brother scoffs. "You're not my father or even my guardian."

"Your right; I'm not. But I do care about you, Tyrion. I understand that you've been upset with us for a while, and it just got worse after the Qadir brothers began to stay here." Ambrose respires a deep breath and leans in his seat. "We've already talked about this, but (Y/n) is never going to abandon you. Both she and I are not going to forget about you just because there is a baby on the way. Nor because we're fostering the Qadir brothers until their mother gets better."

The green-eyed teen doesn't respond, instead looking everywhere else but the man in front of him.

Clasping one of his massive veiny hands on Tyrion's shoulder, he wanted the boy to look at him, but they both knew that if he looked up, tears would fall from his lids.

"I noticed for a while you started to become quieter when all everyone started talking about was the baby. When I couldn't pick you up due to the natal care checkup, you'd be extra snappy when I'd see you later. And when (Y/n) didn't want to play games with you because she was too tired, I could see the resentment and disappointment in your eyes. Just because me and (Y/n) are now having our own child doesn't mean that you don't matter or your needs are being put onto the side."

Ambrose sighs before leaning down to attempt to meet his eyes. "You're like a brother and a son to me. I think about you and your future all the time, and I think about things that we can do, just you and me. You've gone so long alone that I try to be as involved with you as I can so you can remember that you're not just by yourself or going to be abandoned."

Inhaling a shaky breath, Tyrion snaps his gaze up as tears befall his warm cheeks. "How am I supposed to believe you when you bring those f*ckin' kids in? For f*cks sake, even one of them has practically my name!"

The Chief frowns and attempts to wipe the tears away, but they only continue to pour. "I know, Tyrion, I know. It's a lot for a kid to take in when you finally thought things were going to get better. You were handed a rough start in life with what you dealt with. And then having all these other people suddenly show up and take your spot as our main attention, it feels like you're going to be replaced." Your brother's head falls forward to rest against the older man's chest. Almost immediately, the teen was surrounded by your partner's arms and hugged firmly.

His magic tingles through his nerves and warms his stomach. The headache that was once forming had dissipated with that familiar sandalwood scent grounding him to reality.

Ambrose Rigel feels like a miracle that not only showed up in your life but Tyrion's as well.

"That's never ever going to happen. None of us are ever going to abandon you like your mother or beat you like your father. The Qadir brothers may come from the life your mother left you for, but they are not your enemies. They are not the ones who hurt you or the ones who made it all happen. Just kids, Tyrion. Their only worries are what they're going to eat next and how long they can push their bedtime."

Your brother huffs and squeezes his hands together. "I hate how you always know the right things to say. I can't even be mad at you for it, either." He manages to release a weak laugh that has the man patting his back tenderly.

Finally calming down, the green-eyed teen pulls away to wipe his face and run a hand through his hair. "I'm tired of you always making me cry." He rues.

Ambrose snickers before standing to his feet. "You're just a big crybaby when you're with me. You might as well clean up and get ready for dinner. (Y/n) and my mom is cooking something together."

Before leaning, the Chief turns back to your brother while snapping his finger. "Oh, and you should also bring over that Ormr descendant soon. It'd be nice to meet a girl able to put up with your attitude-"

"You're done! Get out!"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your eyes are drooping, and your head feels heavy.

The words in the book you are reading are dancing across each other, and you find yourself repeatedly reading the same sentences over and over again.

Wood splinters and cracks in the fireplace only a few feet from where you sit in a sofa chair, your feet resting on a footstool.

Subconsciously you're stroking your bulging stomach through your shirt, caressing the mound where your child sleeps peacefully under your protection.

The sudden sensation of a blanket being set on your body awakens you slightly. Your shoulders fly upwards, and your eyes fling to your left, where Tyr appears to be covering your body in the comforter.

"You'll get sick, and your baby can get hurt if you don't cover up." The ten-year-old states before holding his pale hands behind his back once he is done.

Your smile is lethargic due to your drowsiness, but you still sit up slightly. "Thank you. But it's rather late, and a tutor will be coming tomorrow morning. You should be sleeping."

It wasn't certain when the Qadir brothers would be returning home, but it would be unfair to let their academics fall behind. To put them in an academy when they could be taken out at any moment would do more harm than good.

Highering a tutor would be the best option to keep them up to date until their mother's health gets better and she can handle caring for her sons...so she doesn't ruin any more of her children's lives.

Tyr purses his lip, twiddling his thumbs together while spinning slightly. "I just...I couldn't sleep." He murmurs faintly.

"Okay." You hum before standing to your feet. Your joints hurt from carrying the weight of a baby, but you ignore it as you cover your body with the blanket like a cape. "Let's get a drink."

The both of you held each other's hand as you traveled from the tea room over to the kitchen. It's dark, but the boy swiftly flicks on the light so you don't stumble into anything.

"Do you want warm milk or hot chocolate?" You ask while opening the fridge.

"Hot chocolate is fine."

You boil milk until it's at a perfectly heated temperature and pour it into mugs of chocolate powder. (You're a wh*re if you make hot chocolate with water! Milk gives it a taste! Using water makes it bland, bland! You are exempt from this if you're lactose intolerant.)

Handing him one of the mugs with a small spoon in it, the both of you mix the powder until it's just right and sip from it.

"Do you think mom will ever get better?"

Your eyes flicker down to see the half-vampire staring into his warm mug. His slightly long hair was more curly than usual at the back of his head.

"Your mother is going through some hard times right now." You articulate softly while tightening the blanket around you. In no way do you want to make excuses for that woman, but you'd be horrible yourself to speak badly of her in front of her son. They don't know how she abandoned her oldest son and attempted to sell off her only daughter. It's not fair for you to ruin their childhood just because yours were awful. "People don't get better in an instant; it takes work and sometimes medication to get better."

Tyr's lips are in a straight-lipped expression, with his tiny fingers twitching against the cup. Even though he was tall for his age, he was still just a kid and in a vulnerable state.

"I don't want to go back. I like it here, with you, with Rose."

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. "Tyr, what are you talking about? This isn't your home-"

"Mom and dad are obsessed with each other. They only ever paid attention to each other and rarely took care of us. My nanny was more of a mother than her." The boy's words come as a surprise.

You thought they had a perfect life, with a mother who actually wanted to be around her sons and a wealthy, well-off father who finally had his heirs.

But to think that f*ckin woman was being so selfish and raising three boys like they were a bother suddenly had your blood boil.

Maybe it was because your hormones were uncontrollable or because you've had to deal with Thyra for so long, but you felt like hitting something.

"You are nice to me, and I don't feel like a burden here. I don't want to go back there...please don't send me back." He sounds like he's going to cry, his voice wavering and his throat tightening.

What do you do?

For the longest time, you've considered them not even of the same blood, even if it's half. You've assumed the brothers had the life you wished Tyrion could have had.

But maybe you, too, were pushing an unreliable narrative on siblings that you didn't even know.

This is all just a big a** mess.

"Okay, Tyr." He glanced over as you spoke, and you reached down to hold one of his hands. "I'll talk with Ambrose, and we'll see what we can do."

Gradually he nodded his head before clasping your fingers with his smaller ones firmly. The both of you venture over the main elevator and ride until you are on the third floor.

You can hear Tyrion in his game room with muffled talking echoing out. Apparently, Ambrose says there's a girl...friend in his life.

When he's not super mad at you like he is now, you'll tease him about it later.

Entering their bedroom, Mikhail and Raoul are already asleep in their beds. The second oldest is practically upside down with his feet at the headrest and his head nearly hanging off.

Unlike the middle child, Raoul practically slept like a log. Straight and almost unnatural, but the loud snoring from his open mouth showcased that he was sleeping well.

Tyrion used to sleep like the both of them when he was younger; he had tossed, turned, and snored so vociferous you had to wear earplugs.

It was hell when he wanted to sleep in the same bed as you after a nightmare, but there are times you miss holding the small boy close to you.

Climbing onto the mattress, you helped tuck in the oldest while sitting at the edge. You can feel his scarlet eyes on the visible skin of your left side.

The scars are healed, but they've left a white waxy texture that catches anyone's attention when they see them.

Still, to this day, you do not regret saving him from the collapsing columns. As an older sister, it was both your duty and role to help if you could.

It didn't matter if you hated them; they were innocent in the animosity between adults.

"It doesn't hurt." You murmur quietly, not to wake the others resting. "I'm all healed up."

Tyr flickers his eyes to meet yours and sinks slightly so the blanket covers his lips. "I'm sorry."

You sigh and begin to run a hand through his soft hair. "It's okay, Tyr. None of this was or is your fault. You're just a kid. It's the responsibility of the adults to worry about these things." Softly pinching his nose, you grace him with a small smile and lean down so your lips can kiss his warm forehead. "All you have to do is grow up big and strong."

"Big like Rose? So I can protect you next time?" He asked, and it was the cutest thing you'd seen all day. Those big red eyes gleaming in hope and admiration were breaking the cuteness meter.

Pressing your forehead against his, your smile grows, and your fingers caress his chubby cheeks. "Yes, Tyr. Now have a good night's rest, and I'll be here in the morning to wake you up."

The ten-year-old nodded and closed his eyes, calming his heart to fall under sleep's hold.

After putting him to bed, you snuck out as quietly as you could and made your way to Ambrose's office. His reading glasses were on with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down to show bits of his pectorals.

His rust-red eyes flickered up to glance at who entered before swiftly setting down his files. "Baby, what's wrong?"

You don't exactly know what to say or how to feel, so you make your way over to him and lay in his lap. He's quick to surround you in his thick arms and hold your body against his chest.

It's dark in here besides the lamp on his desk, and it highlights the much police paperwork he's been taking home to do so he could spend more time here at the mansion.

"Tyr just told me that he doesn't want to go back home to his mom. They apparently don't get a lot of attention from their parents, and their nanny is the one who took care of the brothers." You say after taking in a deep breath.

The Chief appears to think for a second before he responds. "I see-"

"You know what makes me furious?" You suddenly begin, which prompts the man to raise a brow. "Even though we are human, anyone from my mother's bloodline is born immune to charms and curses. So that means it's not like Quillion has my mother enchanted. She's voluntarily obsessed with him to the point where her other sons were just an afterthought."

For some reason, you can feel the inner corners of your eyes sting and tears well up. "Even when she left to be with that man, and she had everything, she still couldn't raise her own children."

Ambrose doesn't say anything, merely holding you close, so his magic touch gives you comfort.

You want to cry for yourself, for Tyrion, and even the Qadir brothers.

"Some people are just not meant to be parents, my love. They hurt everyone else for their own happiness and don't care about anyone else but themselves." The half-Fae comments while migrating one of his hands to rub at your belly.

The child within your tummy awakens from their slumber and kicks at their father's touch.

"So what do you want to do? We could adopt the Qadir brothers, but Tyrion's going to have a fit." You laugh at his words and sniffle softly. "We could just keep them here and send them back when the mother gets better like we originally planned?"

It feels too cruel to send them back to a place where they will never be the first priority.

"I'll think about it later. Can we go to bed now?" You don't need to tell him twice as he carries your body bridal style and strolls back to your shared bedroom.

He surrounds you with his delightful smell and holds you close like you would disappear at any moment.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Tyrion descends on a chair in front of Zafira at the library. The girl glances up from her pink laptop covered in stickers before grinning at the sight.

"To think you'd come to sit by me first~! Have you finally warmed up to me~!" She cooed, which spurred your brother to scrunch his nose.

He takes out his homework while settling his own computer on the desk. "All the other tables are full-"

"Sure." She murmurs while returning her attention to the essay on her screen.

The two sit in silence for a while, productively completing their work so they don't have to do it at home.

After forty minutes or so, the green-eyed teen flickered his gaze to the girl in front of him. Her lashes look longer than usual, darker too, and grazing over her faux blushed cheeks.

"Am I ugly?" Zafira abruptly questions; however, she makes no move to look up.

"Extremely so." He replies without any hesitation before leaning back in his seat. "Are you busy after school?"

She giggles and grasps her screen to tilt it down. "Are you finally asking to hang out? The ice prince is actually melting!"

Your brother sighs and raises his long arm to flick her forehead. She immediately recoils back and holds the area, tears welling in her eyes with her bracelets jingling from her movements.

"My da-" He stops himself quickly and clears his throat. "My guardians want to meet you. Apparently, they're shocked I have a friend."

After the pain goes away quickly, the dragon descendant hums like she is contemplating, but Tyrion already knows what her answer is going to be.

"Sure! I can't wait to meet Ambrose Rigel and-" Her eyes suddenly widen, and her lips fall agape.

Your brother raises a brow and parts his lips to speak, but he is interrupted by his classmate. "Oh, my god. I'm going to meet your sister."

Surprisingly, Tyrion began to laugh at her reaction and held a hand to his stomach. "What, are you scared? You're more scared of my sister than the...Ambrose Rigel? (Y/n)'s not even that-" Your brother fell silent before he could finish his sentence. His mind flickered through his many memories, which spurred him to slouch in his seat. "Actually...you should be scared."

"That's not funny!" Zafira snaps and throws a pencil at his head. "You're supposed to comfort me, not make my anxiety worse!"

"Sshhh!" The librarian hushes the girl as usual, which prompts her to huff and cross her arms beneath her chest.

Tyrion glances at the clock before packing his things away into his bag. "It's going to be fine. My sister is heavily pregnant and doesn't get as mad because of her blood pressure, and she likes cute things, so you're going to be okay."

The molten gold-eyed teen frowned at his words before raising her brow at the end. "You think I'm cute~?" She gushes.

"I think you're annoying now. Come on; the bell is about to ring." He snaps back while standing to his feet.

Giddly, his friend swiftly packs her things while whispering to herself: 'He thinks I'm cute.'

Heading to the front of the academy, they see that Ambrose is there with his truck to pick them up. The Rigel and Ormr family have known each other for years, so Zafira was not too uncomfortable with the half-Fae.

They regularly conversed about the small things, and the Chief asked about how her mom and dad were doing. He shared funny moments with her parents from when he went to the academy with them, and the ride continued comfortably.

It wasn't until their home came into view that both Tyrion and Zafira found themselves growing anxious. Your brother has not been giving you as much attitude since his talking with your partner, but he's still been keeping his distance until he felt like he could get the right words out.

And you've never liked any of his friends from his school, albeit some were bad influences and other's just stuck up.

"If I pass out, will you pick me up and carry me?" The girl beside him suddenly questioned.

"I'll drag you if it comes to it."

"Still a win."

The three exit his vehicle and enter the mansion. Some of the servants greet them as they pass, and it appears like his friend is used to that as well.

"Angus, do you know where (Y/n) is?" Ambrose questions one of the butlers.

The elderly man nods his head and points down the north corridor. "I believe Madam is out in the garden with the Qadir brothers."

Tyrion rolls his eyes at the mention of his younger half-brother, but Zafira shanks him in the waist with her hand to stop him.

He glares at her with narrowed eyes and has yet to drop the stank face as they all traverse to the side door.

Outside, the sun is high, with thick fluffy clouds creating shapes. The breeze is cool and perfect, too, shaking the leaves on trees and blowing flowers into the air.

Under the pavilion by one of the koi ponds, your figure is there, sitting at the table. You're attired in a bodycon dress to your knees that show your baby bump with a kimono over your arms.

Tyr is right beside you and being fed snacks from a treat tray as Mikhail and Raoul play a game of tag around the garden.

"We're back." Ambrose comments as he leans down to kiss your lips and settle in one of the chairs beside you.

You smile at him before dropping it when your attention falls on the white-haired girl's figure. Zafira freezes for a moment, appearing unsure if she should bow or curtsy, or kneel.

It's not like you were royalty, but damn, did the teen girl feel intimidated.

"I-I'm Zafira Drakkoth Ormr. One of Tyrion's friends from the academy." She finally manages to greet you.

Your expression is unreadable and doesn't help the intimidated as you appear to eye her up. If the dragon descendant knew she was going to meet her friend's older sister, she would have dressed a little more normally!

Her hair was up in its usual high pigtails with all her clips and bows and hair decorations. Her makeup was flashy and bright with her big eyelashes. Not to mention she was wearing her pink jacket and legwarmers over her turquoise blue boots.

Usually, she doesn't feel so insecure about her appearance, but she wants to make a good impression.

"She..." The girl could feel her throat tightening upon your response. "She's so cute!" You smiled brightly while holding one of your hands to your face. "I always wanted a sister, but all my life, I've been surrounded by men."

Both Zafira and Tyrion released a breath they didn't know they were holding in.

Ambrose grins at your words and reaches over to feed you one of the treats. "Should we visit the doctor soon to find out the gender?" He sought.

"I kind of want to be surprised, but I hope it's a girl!"

You and the Chief begin to go back and forth in a real lovey-dovey manner that has Tyrion pretend to retch. "We're going to go to my game room now."

"Okay." You wave them off and give Zafira a discreet wink. "I'll call you both down for dinner when it's ready."

The two teens swiftly leave and make their way through the corridors. "That went really well." He abruptly mutters.

"How, we barely talked." The golden-eyed girl questions.

"You don't know my sister well enough. For some reason, she's always been able to tell which one of my friends was a good person without even hearing them speak."

Setting down their bags, they hop onto the plush couch while Tyrion turns on his console. They begin to play multiple games together, conversing here and there when needed.

They're both quite good players, so every game was evenly matched. A few hours passed by relatively quickly until they decided to cool it on the competitions and switched to open world game they could play together.

It's rather chill and quiet besides the ambiance of the music. By this point, Zafira had chucked off her shoes and rested her legs on Tyrions lap.

"Hey, I've got a question." Your brother abruptly asks, which gains his friend's attention.

She raises a brow but nods her head.

"Why did you suddenly get close to me? It's not like you needed to benefit from getting close to the Rigels or gain advantages from being associated with me." He doesn't look at her even though he feels her eyes burning holes on his face. "You've stuck by my side even though I'm mean and don't usually reach out to you first."

Zafira pursed her lips firmly together and gazed back at the large Tv screen in front of them. "Some people need a friend-"

"Don't lie to me." Tyrion pauses his game and shifts to face the girl beside him. "By now, I can tell when you're not telling the truth. You squint your eyes and tap your foot."

She hadn't even realized what she was doing and swiftly ceased her actions. It's apparent the girl is starting to become nervous.

The dragon descendant pauses her game as well and sets her controller on the coffee table. "Um, well..." She laughs awkwardly while rubbing at the back of her neck. "It's because you smelled good."

Your brother is taken aback, blinking at first before slightly grinning. "Well, it is an expensive cologne Ambrose gave-"

"It's not like that," Zafira interjects and shifts so her body is now in line with his. "I may be a descendant, but that still means I'm a dragon. My hearing is better, and my sense of smell is intense."

"O...Okay?" Tyrion's dumba** is not getting it.

It provokes her to sigh and hold a hand to her heart. "Tyrion, when my kind meets someone who smells so good it's irresistible, it means they're a potential mate."

Slowly, your brother begins to take in her words. His brain is whirring like a machine, and his breathing is slowing.

"I wanted to get to know you after I smelled your scent, but now I don't just want to be your friend. I want to be with you. It's okay if you don't feel the same. You're not the only potential mate out there, and it's up to me to choose who I want, even if they don't have that scent."

Tyrion didn't appear to have any reaction, and it scarred the white-haired girl. She swallowed thickly, and the fear of having ruined her relationship with the green-eyed teen was making her stomach roll.

"Look, we can just forget-" Her speech came to a halt when your brother rushed forward. One of his hands found its place on her throat and squeezed as he neared his face to hers.

"You have other potential mates!? You're going to leave me for them!?" His voice is hostile, and his fury is evident.

Zafira stares up at him with wide eyes before smiling as tears well in her golden eyes. "Oh, you f*ckin' jealous dog. I don't want anyone else." She raises her hands to caress his face. "I want you."

Your sibling appears shaken for a moment before gingerly releasing her throat and holding his weight up by the side of her head. He presses his forehead to her sternum with what appears to be warm tears wetting her top.

"I'm sorry." He barely manages to whisper. "I shouldn't have done that...but when you said there were others you could choose from, I got so angry. I already lost my sister; I can't lose you too."

The dragon descendant hums and runs her long nails through his thick hair. "You're such a baby, Ty." She mumbles while continuing to comfort him. "You're not going to lose me, and you haven't lost your sister. For one, you haven't apologized to her for flipping out, and two, I've practically fallen in love with you, so I'm not leaving anytime soon."

She suddenly giggles, which spurs Tyrion to raise his head so he can face her. His teary-eyed expression was so beautiful that Zafira had to calm her heart down from exploding.

"What? Are you making fun of me?" He's not as snappy as he usually is.

She shakes her head leisurely before speaking. "No, but did you know that dragon's mate for life? So if we complete it, then you'll really never be able to get rid of me. Plus, you will start to get some of my attributes!"

To her surprise but delight, Tyrion's head dipped down to capture her plump lips in his. For their first kiss, it tasted of soda and sugar.

One of his hands dips into the arch of her back to push their body closer, with his other holding her jaw firmly. She responded just as eagerly, one hand buried in the back of his hair to deepen the kiss with her other pressing her nails into his back.

Their faces are burning heat, and their minds are swirling in pleasing hormones.

A knock at the door echoed in before the hinges squeaked as it opened. "Tyrion-Oh my!"

The teens snap their eyes open while turning to face the entrance. Both you and Ambrose stood in the doorway, shielding grins behind your hands. "Ou, um, dinners ready, but you guys can come down when you're both hungry."

The Chief giggled. "For food, that is." He mumbles, which provokes you to elbow him in the rib.

Before you closed the door, you winked at Zafira, who returned a wink.

Now alone again in the room, Tyrion removed himself from atop the dragon descendant to hide his face and rub at the back of his neck. "Well, that was embarrassing. She's never going to let me live that down." He mumbled under his breath.

Zafira giggled as she sat up leisurely. "I think they already had an idea." She states, standing to her feet to go up behind him and hug his back. "So...I guess you're my boyfriend now~!"

He can feel her grin against his skin and smiles to himself as he bites into his bottom lips. "I guess I am."

Her hands caressed his fit abdomen above his shirt as she sighed pleasantly. "You know, you're really attractive when you're jealous."

"Do you wanna break up?"

"I'm sorry~! :p"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It's around midday on a Saturday. Both Tyrion and Ambrose had off work at the station, so they decided to stay home for the day. Everyone in the family was slacking off in the manor, relaxing.

The Chief had a long night before, so he was sleeping in just like your brother, who stayed up all night gaming. Ursula came over from the annex to bring you to the new garden she constructed and just began to plant.

Tyr, Mikhail, and Raoul remained in the study room in the morning to catch up on their work. It's now their main mission to do everything they can to make you and your partner satisfied with them.

So on this Saturday, it was just an undisturbed day.

...

Tyrion's phone began to ring, awakening him from the deep slumber he finally fell into just as the birds outside began to tweet.

He barely even parts his lids as he answers the call. "...Hello?"

"Wakey wakey, lazy a**. How long are you gonna sleep in?!" It was his girlfriend on the other line, with what appeared like yelling in the background. Sounds just like her other siblings were as active as her at the moment.

Groaning, the teen turns over onto his stomach as he continues to obscure his eyes from the sunlight peeking in through the open windows. "As long as I want." His reply is clear and concise, which prompts the dragon descendant to release a hefty sigh.

"You're so annoying!" She snaps before respiring heavily. "Sorry, I'm just mad because I wanted to invite you over, but since you slept all day, everyone else is awake- Wait a sec!" Zafira must have covered her phone with something considering the noise in the background became more muddled. "Hey. Hey! Shut the f*ck up before I come over there and knock ya' a** out!"

Her interaction with her siblings spurred a teeny smile to form on the teen's lip.

"Sorry 'bout that. My brothers have way too much energy."

"It's okay. I'm sorry we couldn't hang out today, so how about tomorrow? I'll be over early, and we can go out."

Tyrion can practically see the beaming smile on her face. He knows that whenever he offers to do something or comes up with a plan, she really appreciates it.

"Okay! You should get up, though, and do something so you can sleep early tonight." She reminds him, and by this point, your brother has leisurely sat up while rubbing his eyes.

He's sluggish with his movements as he heads over to his private bathroom and turns on the light. "Alright. I'll text you after." He murmurs, staring into his reflection, where his hair is disarrayed and eyes crusty.

The call ends, and he spends the rest of his time brushing his teeth, showering, and changing into a new set of clothes before departing towards the main set of stairs.

All the servants were either performing their jobs or resting as well. It really was just a slothful day.

Making his way into the large kitchen, he hadn't expected to view the side profile of the oldest Qadir brother. Since he's come here, his bangs have grown along with the bottom of his hair.

It's curled more to appear as somewhat of a styled mullet. Tyr seems to be cutting something on a small board, filling the room with a sweet aroma.

Heaving heavy breaths inwards, Tyrion ignored the boy as he made his way to the fridge. Behind him, he can hear the sound of the knife slicing across the cutting board with every contact.

"You should apologize to (Y/n)."

Your brother knits his brows together while his grip on the handle tightens at the sound of the boy's voice. He's starting to get irritated, so he ignores him to continue scavenging for something to eat.

There doesn't appear to be any more speaking, but the sound of him cutting has ceased.

It feels like his skin is burning alive at the sensation of half- vampire's eyes on him. "You should apologize," Tyr repeats, which earns him a scoff from the older boy.

"And you should learn your place. You don't belong here." It came out in one breath, something he's been holding back for a while now.

He cannot help the fury in his heart at the mere thought of the Qadir brothers. His own envy clouds his mind, along with his disdain for the fact that you risked your life to save him.

You were his sister; you shouldn't have even done something so selfless for somebody who shouldn't have mattered to you.

"Oh, I know my place." Those words spurred Tyrion to whip around, his eyes narrowed, and lips pulled into a sneer.

Though, that expression fell when the sight of Tyr right in front of him nearly gave him a fright. His blood-red eyes, which were already round, appeared wider as if he were staring right into the teen's soul.

It was no help at all, considering his expression was oddly impassive, but his gaze held the hostility he felt. No help at all when the knife he had used to slice the fruit was being held tightly in his left hand, down by his side but pointed upwards...

...As if he were going stab Tyrion.

"I know my place very well, right by (Y/n)'s side."

Your brother swallowed thickly. This little sh*t... Whenever the oldest Qadir brother was in your or Ambrose's presence, he acted meek and innocent, like he couldn't even hurt a fly. But right now...this wasn't the look of a little boy but a psychopath ready to lose it.

"All you do is make (Y/n) sad...I'm tired of it." Tyr states as his voice drops and fangs press into his bottom lip. "So apologize before I make you."

Why did Tyrion freeze the way he did? Ha ha, he's six years older than this kid. He's the big one, yet...why did he feel small and incomparable beneath this kid's gaze?

Abruptly, the half-vampire raised the knife upwards by his chest and pressed his pointer finger at the very tip of the blade. "You know, I'm very envious of you, Tyrion. You get to be (Y/n)'s full-blooded brother and the one she has always sacrificed a lot for. Every choice she makes has your well-being and feelings put into consideration...You know...I'd kill for that."

Tyr spun the blade so the light caught the sharp end. His eyes were down at the knife at first before rising to meet Tyrion's. "I'll be nice for now, but if you continue to take big sister for granted...sleep with one eye open." He murmurs.

Before the eldest could retort or even breathe, footsteps echoed from the hallway, and the half-vampire nearly teleported back to his position behind the island. His knife returned to the cutting board as he turned his head to the entrance and smiled innocently.

"Big sister! I cut some fruit for you and your baby!" He calls with his voice in a light and joyful tone with a vibrant grin on his small face.

What a complete turnaround! That two-timing little sh-

"Tyr, how thoughtful!" You call as you and Ursula step into the kitchen.

Flyaways stuck to your foreheads with sweat from being under the sun for so long. The both of you were outfitted casually, in light dresses and sunhats.

Ambrose's mother seemed pleased with the boy's words, holding a thin finger to her chin while nodding her head. "Yes, what a competent little boy. Rose nor Preston ever did such a thing when they were his age." She comments.

Tyrion couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

Your gaze abruptly darted to his green ones, which prompted you to tilt your head to the side. "What are you doing up? I thought you'd be asleep longer." You tease, and he nearly heats up from being put on the spot.

It doesn't help that Tyr is staring at him, smiling all cocky and sh*t.

"W-Well, Zafira called me, and we made plans to hang out tomorrow, so I needed to be able to get up early tomorrow." He got it all out in one breath; he felt lightheaded

The blonde-haired Fae hums as she struts over to the cabinet to pull out a bowl. "Ah, yes. The Ormr descendant. I'm somewhat familiar with her mother, a relatively good girl that had such a green thumb."

You laugh lightly while transferring the knife Tyr was cutting with over to the sink, where you begin washing it. "Should we invite the Ormr family for dinner then? I met their daughter, and she seems fairly like a good girl. She's cute too!" You gush before returning to the young boy's side.

Both Ursula and you continue a conversation, with Tyr holding your free hand.

At that moment, it felt like Tyrion had realized something. When had this distance started? The three of you stand right in front of him, yet he feels like he's miles away, only able to watch from a distance.

It must be mental of him to wish for those times again where it were just the two of you...before the Qadir brothers, before the baby, before Ambrose.

Really, the green-eyed boy had taken you for granted. No, he has been taking you for granted.

"I don't feel good." It mumbles from his lips before his brain can even register what he said.

You peer up, assessing his figure before slowly nodding your head. "Okay, why don't you lay down, and I'll bring you some soup later." You offer.

Ursula and Tyr look over at your face. "You shouldn't push yourself." The Fae states with the half-vampire nodding his head.

It brought a smile to your face as you waved them off while waddling over to your brother. You grasp his shoulders as you meet his eyes. "It's just soup. Now come on, go lay down."

He stands stagnant for a moment before hesitantly nodding his head. Though, before he leaves, he finds he meets the boy's gaze one last time, who doesn't say a word or make a single expression.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The ceiling of his bedroom appeared so muddled as he cracked his eyes open. He had not a memory of when he fell asleep, but now sunlight no longer pours in through his open curtains but the dim light of the moon.

A crick has formed in his neck from sleeping in one position for so long, and he's sweltering beneath the thick comforter placed above him.

Gingerly he rises into a sitting position to lean against the headboard. His body hurts, and he feels sore all over.

There's a pounding in his head and burning dryness in his eyes; he doesn't even want to grab his phone and look at the screen.

So he sits in silence and looks about his room. On his nightstand, there's an empty bowl with a pitcher of ice water and a cup on a tray. He doesn't even remember eating; he didn't even remember falling asleep!

His throat is so dry. He wants to drink something, but his arms feel as though he forced them passed their limits.

F*ck, he feels like shit.

His eyes water, yet they do nothing to aid the dryness. The teen could only sit there, staring at this huge bedroom where he felt so small.

So minuscule...and so distant.

Cursing under his breath, your brother pushes himself off the bed. Cracks rumble from his back, and his knees almost give out from carrying his full body weight.

Despite the aches, he pushes forward while grasping his blanket to wear like a cape. A migraine is ravaging his head as he attempts to walk down the hall.

Where is he even going? He doesn't know.

But even though his head hurts and his own body is just pleading for him to give up, he pushes forward. He needs to find you; he needs to see you.

He misses his big sister.

A bout of coughs ripped through his chest, and he almost keened over if he weren't leaning against the wall.

Sudden footsteps echo out as they approach. It prompts the teen to gingerly raise his head, blinking rapidly from the movement.

Dread infiltrated his stomach with his already raspy throat tightening.

Tyr Qadir was traversing through the corridor, strolling towards him with his hands clasped behind his back. It seems the ends of his hair were braided and tied in colorful bands that should have been embarrassing, but all it did was build envy in Tyrion's chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" The half-vampire questions once he stalls his movement in front of the older brother.

He attempts to speak, yet the only thing he can squeak out is a wheeze.

Humming, the boy cocked his head to the side. "Are you really going to see big sister when you're like this? You want to bring your sickness to her when she's pregnant?" He clicks his tongue while crossing his arms over his dark sweater. "Can you be even more selfish?"

Tyrion can barely swallow, his bottom lip slightly trembling and his eyes glossing over. The inner corners stung, and he had to do everything to bite down and hold back a sob.

He feels so pathetic.

"I just...want to apologize..." His voice is hoarse and raspy, with the vowels wavering and a wheeze at the end.

Tyr scoffs. "I don't like how you treat (Y/n)." He abruptly clutches onto Tyrion's wrist and rests it on his shoulder. "But big sister cares a lot about you."

Effectively, the small boy is holding up almost all of the green-eyed teen's weight. It's easy to forget that even though the Qadir brother is half human, they come from a strong and ancient vampire bloodline.

It's silent between the two of them as they continue down the hallway. Not one speaks or even acknowledges the other until they arrive at the nursery.

You're only a month away from your due date now and soon will welcome your own child...your own baby.

Inside, you are sitting on a rocking chair as you rub your bulging stomach. Ambrose is slightly by your side, kneeling as he holds a large veiny hand on your knee. You're laughing at something the half-Fae is saying while he raises a small stuffed wolf.

It's no longer just you and him against the world. Your small family has grown exponentially, with Ambrose, the Qadir brothers, and soon this newborn.

He's terrible for wanting it just to be the two of you again. But for his entire life, you were the one who sacrificed everything and more for him.

You deserve to be at peace, finally.

Tyrion hiccuped, gaining both your and Ambrose's attention. Tears are cascading down from his blurry eyes, yet he makes no move to wipe them.

"I'm sorry." He can barely wheeze it out. His vision is fuzzy, and his entire chest is burning alive. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The teen breaks down into hysterical sobs as he falls to his knees. "I love you so much! Please don't leave me! Please don't abandon me!"

"Tyrion..." You utter his name as if you were in pain. "Tyrion, sweetie, it's okay." Ambrose helps you to your feet as the both of you near him. "I'll never ever leave you. Not ever or again."

Your brother can barely breathe. He's hyperventilating as his face heats up and his throat tightens. "I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry! I-I've been so t-terrible!" His entire face is glossy and wet, shining illustriously in the light. "I can't l-lose you! You're my everything!"

The teen feels so overwhelmed that he could throw up. His crying ripples through his already weak body, snatching away all his strength and air.

You coo softly, kneeling right in front of him, and attempt to touch him, but Tyr places a hand in front of him to block the contact. "He is sick, big sister." The boy states.

Ambrose touches the middle of your shoulder blades, with the scent of his magic suddenly spiking in the air. "It's okay. You can touch him now."

There is no time wasted as you reach forward to comfort the teenager. He's slumped against your chest as you wrap your arms around his head and shoulders, running your nails through his shaggy hair.

"I love you, Tyrion. You're my brother, and you'll always be one of the most important people in my life." His crying finally begins to cease and become hiccups and whimpers. "No one is replacing you or going to abandon you. You're family, my family. So what if it became bigger?" You rub his face clean of tears. "You'll always be my baby brother that I gotta beat some sense into every once in a while."

Gingerly, you raise his head so he can meet your gaze. He can see you smiling, looking at him with so much love and adoration that he cannot help but feel so terrible for all the stress he has caused you.

After a moment, the Chief grasps one of your brother's arms and heaves him to his feet. "Now that it's all resolved, you need to go to bed. Actually, the both of you."

Tyr displays a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his neck. "I'll take you back, Tyr." You offer while reaching a hand out for him. He nods his head, though before the two of you depart, you pat your sibling's face lightly. "Goodnight, little brother. Get some rest, or you won't be able to see your cute little girlfriend tomorrow~."

He doesn't have the energy to argue back, so he nods his head in silence.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You sigh in contentment as you swallow down the soothing tea Ambrose's mother left you the day before. Your due date is creeping closer and closer, and so your anxiety is on the rise.

It's nice to have someone who understands your position and knows what you're about to go through. No way would you have ever thought there would be so many people who care about you.

You are glad the things that happened before did because then you would never be in this position with a loving family.

The warm sun beaming in through the windows feels good on your skin, on your face. It makes you almost want to take a nap.

Yeah, a nap sounds really nice right now.

Reclining on the soft sofa, you relax your head on the armrest and gently caress your round tummy. Soon that little baby inside can be physically held in your arms.

A part of you and a part of Ambrose; it feels so sentimental even just thinking about it. There really was a man out there who loved you with all his heart despite your flaws and wanted to give you the world.

You don't know what you did to be blessed with him, but you are so very thankful for it happening.

"Madam. Your phone was ringing from the kitchen."

You open your eyes to view one of the maids approaching and struggle to sit up with your bulging belly. "There's always something when I try to nap."

The staff member laughs lightly as she passes your phone before bowing and departing from the tea room. You don't even look at the caller's I.D. as you answered; your mistake.

"(Y/n), it's your father." You nearly throw up at the sound of his voice. "I need you. I need your help..."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Bonus:

When The Teaser Get's A Taste Of Their Own Medicine

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Zafira giggles between the kiss as she wraps her arms around the back of Tyrion's neck.

"Don't laugh. I'm pissed off." He snarls while he pushes her harder against one of the columns in the corridor at the academy.

She hums in delight and raises one of her legs to wrap around his hips. "I can't decide whether you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

Your brother huffs, biting her lip until he breaks the skin before pulling away. She's grinning so devilishly, gazing at him with desperate eyes as she licks away the blood with her long, pierced tongue.

"You're going to be the death of me, Zafira." He declares before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeves. "You already know I'm insecure about losing you."

The dragon descendant merely shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just talking to our classmates; it's you freaking out about it."

He snatches her cheeks and squashes her lips together as he leans down to be in front of her face. "You're not dumb, princess." Her knees could give out at the sound of his voice calling her those little nicknames. "You know when guys are eyeing you up, practically undressing you in their mind."

Zafira whines and grasp his wrist to pull his hands off her face. "You know what will make you feel better, Ty."

Tyrion immediately shakes his head. "No, Zafira. We can't do that."

"You meanie~!" She whines and stomps her feet like a child throwing a tantrum, but it has no effect on your brother.

He merely glimpses down the empty corridors before glancing at his golden watch. "Call me whatever you want, but we are not doing it. It's a permanent thing-"

"It's my decision." She snaps and crosses her arms beneath her chest. "I already chose you; I already declared you as my mate, so why not just make it official!"

Your brother stares at her as if she said the dumbest thing possible. "Are we not official now!? Does everything we've been doing not matter unless we complete the bond!?"

Zafira's eyes are glazing over with tears. "We are, but that's not what I'm getting at. I want to do it with you even if it means that one day you will leave me. If that happens, it's my fault, but right now, it's just us. Why is this coming from the guy with abandonment issues!?"

Tyrion shakes his head like to signify that he is done with the conversation. He backs away and begins treating down the hallway.

"Wait, don't just walk away from me!" Her voice bellows through the empty corridor, but your brother waves her goodbye. "Tyrion, ugh!"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Zafira's nails dance across her desk as she stares (more like glares) at the back of Tyrion's head. He's a few seats in front of hers and a row over.

His expression is barely visible, and his eyes are focused on the professors at the front. Notes are opened on his table, and his hand twiddles a black pen between his thin nimble fingers.

She can't focus on the lesson at all.

The teacher's voice is mumbled like he's speaking underwater, and the beating of her ragged heart is the dominant nose in her ears.

It's been half a day since they argued, and they haven't really spoken to each other. He's not even avoiding her, but he's undoubtedly become quieter.

Finally, the instructor ceased his rambling, and the fifteen-minute free time began. The dragon descendant wanted to get up and make her way to her boyfriend; however, she froze at the sight of another classmate nearing him.

It was an elven girl from one of the Alreda households. Her chest-length silver hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and pointed ears were decorated in jewelry; one of her piercings dangled her family's pin of a silver staff with blue diamonds decorating the stem.

Peering down at Tyrion's notes, her sapphire eyes danced across the papers before training her attention to the Rigel teen's face.

"Hi, I'm sorry, but I haven't been paying attention. Did you get all the notes from section eight?" She asks, and her voice sounds so f*cking high that it's sickening.

Zafira's grip on her desk tightened, and cracks formed.

Your brother glances at his notebooks before nodding his head and opening one of them. "Yeah, here. It's a bit of a mix with section nine, but it's easy to discern which ones which." He utters in that dreary tone he usually uses with people he didn't give a f*ck about.

Hearing this, the white-haired girl nodded her head as if she were proud of him.

The elf smiled to show her perfectly shaped white teeth and took the notes, her thin fingers grazing against his, which provoked your brothers' girlfriend to suck in a breath.

"Thank you very much. You're honestly a lifesaver. If I keep failing this class, my sister will have my head-"

It was obvious that this sentence caught the green-eyed teens' attention. His shoulders perked up, and he leaned forward. "Your sister?"

Zafira raised a brow.

Giggling, the elf nodded while holding the notebook close to her chest. "Yeup. My parents passed in one of the stupid wars between the other elves when I was a baby, so it's been my older sister raising me."

'Oh, no, no.' This girl was using her sob story of being raised by her older sister to get Tyrion interested in her because he could understand and sympathize.

"You know, if you're struggling with this subject, I could help you. I know what it's like to have an older sister breathing down your back."

By this point, her blood was boiling. Was he doing this on purpose!? Tyrion's not nice to people, so why is he suddenly offering his help to some sl*tty elf girl?!

Tyrion wasn't even this nice to her until months into their 'friendship.' If she knew this was how she could have gotten his attention, she would have made up a sob story about an older sibling months ago!

That f*cking sl*tty elf! She knew what she was doing!

By this point, the bell rang, and students flooded out without another thought. She raised her hand to wipe her nose, but a piece of her desk was stuck in her hand from ripping it off.

"Hey."

She flung her gaze up to see Tyrion in front of her as he held onto the strap of his bag. His expression is the usual impassive and emotionless face he always has, but there's slight inquisitiveness in his clover green eyes.

"I'll be in the library tutoring someone. Just send me a text before school ends, and I'll pick you up." He mumbles, and before Zafira can even respond, Tyrion is already walking away to where that elven girl is waiting for him.

She beamed brightly as he neared and began talking once they exited the room.

The golden-eyed descendant felt sick to her stomach. If it weren't against the academy rules, she'd bolt right out of her seat and kick her a**.

For a minute, she had a moment of clarity. Is this how sickly jealous Tyrion gets when other's get too close to her?

Swallowing thickly, Zafira found herself marching to the library like a woman on a mission. Making sure to stay out of her boyfriend's line of sight, the teen hid behind some of the thick bookshelves and spied on her partner.

Notes and textbooks were open on the desk, and Tyrion appeared to be speaking about something seriously.

His shaggy dark hair framed his head shape so nicely, and his green eyes contrasted pleasantly against his (s/c) face.

She found herself growing warm at the sight. Ever since she first laid eyes on him, she began to simp for him like it were no one's business.

His cold attitude, his disinterest in other people, his fit body, and his tall height. She could go on if her thoughts weren't interrupted by an overly forced laugh from the Elven student.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about how you remind me of my sister." Aerin mused as she leaned her head in the palm of her hand.

Zafira's fingers grasped onto the wooden bookshelves and squeezed to the point where the wood splintered.

"I see. We're getting off-topic here." Your brother stated as he reached over to grab another textbook.

The elf laughed awkwardly before clearing her throat.

It felt like a win to the dragon descendant, but it didn't last long, with the silver-haired teen scooting closer to Tyrion. "I don't have my glasses with me. Can you bring it closer?" She asked while folding a strand of hair behind her head.

He nods, either way too oblivious or playing along, and scoots closer to her. The teen didn't know that his girlfriend wasn't here, so he's obviously not putting on a show.

'IS HE JUST THIS DENSE!?'

Aerin's dark uniform had a few buttons undone at the top to showcase her massive cleavage that not only had Zafira hating in envy but also wishing hers was that big.

Did Tyrion like big breasts? Well, she liked his.

As she continued to watch this scene, her heart was getting closer and closer to exploding. But when the elf's hand touched his bicep and slid down to his elbow, Zafira saw red.

Bolting forward, the Ormr descendant snatched Tyrion's face and connected her lips with his. He was frozen for a moment, his eyes wide, but as the girl pushed her tongue down his throat, he succumbed to her wants.

Golden eyes met sapphire, and the clear fury on Aerin's face was the best thing Zafira had seen all day.

Pulling away, she kept her hands on your brother's face while displaying a sickly sweet smile to the other classmate. "Sorry, elfy, but my boyfriend and I got somewhere to be."

The silver-haired teen attempted to speak and stuttered over her words, but the descendant was already pulling the human away.

"Zafira-"

She tightened her grip on his wrist that she had grasped before flinging him into one of the benches in the garden.

"Are you dense or stupid or both!" She snarled, her fangs glinting in the sunlight and her fist shaking.

Tyrion raised a thick brow while tilting his head. "Princess, what are you talkin' about?" He asked, clearly sounding like he had no understanding.

Tugging on her white pigtails, she stomped her feet like throwing a tantrum. "What!? You can't notice when girls are flirting with you!? Or can you not get it through your thick skull that it's not right for a girl to touch someone else's man!"

Once again, his brain was whirring, and his body froze as he thought to himself before suddenly smirking. It was a sh*t-eating grin that provoked his girlfriend to blush brightly on her tan cheeks.

"Oh, I get it now. Is my princess jealous?" He teased and reached to touch her face, but she slapped it away.

"I'm not jealous! I'm possessive because you are mine!" She stepped closer to snatch his collar and yank him down to her height. "My boyfriend! My partner! My mate!"

That grin had yet to fall from your brother's lips as he reached for their hips and pulled her body closer to his. "You know, you're kind of hot when you're jealous."

She screamed and stomped her feet. "You motherf*cker! I'm going to hurt you! This-You did all that on purpose, didn't you!"

Tyrion scrunched his nose and scowled. "Come on, I'm better than that, and you know it. I don't want anyone else other than you." He stated in a calmer voice than his counterpart.

Zafira pursed her lips with her molten golden eyes glossing over. Her feelings are so strong and overwhelming, and as much as she can blame it on the mate bond, it's truly just her own insecurities.

In her eyes, in her heart, the teen in front of her was her literal soul partner. His attention was everything, and his touch drove her wild. Never before had she felt so alive when he kissed her or so important when he referred to her as his girlfriend when introducing her to other people.

Because of his abandonment issues, he fears losing her. But the descendant was not perfect either and felt like she would never be good enough for him.

"I'm scared that you'll find someone better than me." She whispers, finally cooling her boiling blood. "Everyone wants to be friends with you, to get to know you. I fear that you'll meet someone that gives you exactly what you want."

Swallowing thickly, your sibling pulled his girlfriend to one of the benches and sat down to settle her on his lap. He holds her close by her small waist while grasping her chin so she faces him. "Princess, that's never going to happen. I opened up to you. I told you my life story that I find so embarrassing. I introduced you to my guardians because their opinions are so important to me. I don't do that with just anyone, and I most definitely do not care about others' feelings like I do with you."

Clover green met molten gold as the teen girl reached to hold his prominent jaw. "I know. I know that I'm different, but it's hard for my kind. We love our mates so hard, and you walking around without my scent makes it so hard even to breathe." She expressed.

Tyrion's expression looks as though he's fighting back and forth with himself. His thoughts are conflicted, and he can't manage to get the words off the tips of his tongue.

"Princess, I can't do that. I can't hurt you like that if anything ever happens and we have to separate. You'll be bounded to me for life. And If I die, you can die as well-"

"Please." Zafira pleads and wraps her arms around his neck. "I'm willing to take that chance. You're the only one I'm ever going to want."

"Zafira, no. We are still just sixteen, and this is a rash decision-" The dragon descendant ceased his speech by connecting their lips together and pushing her chest against his so their hearts could practically connect.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Tyrion stared up at Zafira's ceiling, her LED lights pulsing between a multitude of colors. He laid bare beneath her pretty pink comforter as his girlfriend snuggled up against his side.

A grin was plastered on her lips that had yet to fall while humming to herself. In her hyper-feminine bedroom, your brother finally came to a realization hours later.

"Did you just manipulate me to get what you wanted?" He abruptly questioned the descendant.

She peered up leisurely, her grin widening and white hair pooling around her smaller figure. "Yes. Yes, I did. Now give me a kiss, mate."

The green-eyed teen laughed to himself before grasping the back of his partner's head and yanking her closer to him. "I get now why Ambrose practically kisses the ground my sister walks on."

"Oh, are you going to do the same to me~?" She mused, only to be silenced by a hand grasping her cheeks.

The human bit his bottom lip and tightened his hold. "You f*cking wish."

"But my prince, I always get what I want."

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At this point, it just became a Tyrion and Zafira love story, but I support it.

Essentially, I just ended up writing a book. Every single one-shot on here could be its own book.

I did kind of leave off with Y/n on a cliffhanger for a pt.4, and I might get to it one day, but I'm trying to update my other books and work on other monsters.

Tell me if you guys liked it even though it was all over the place, lol.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 2 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out