#and who better than a funeral home?

[naluwalker]

Zhongli and the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor

Sometimes I start thinking about how Zhongli could have started working with Hu Tao.

Considering how careless Zhongli was in his attempt to act human, with no preparation (especially financial), I find it hard to believe that he simply made up papers with his identity and past records, even to try to hide his non-human status, and not He just showed up one day at the port and just went on with his life.

Then I remembered that Hu Tao is the 77th director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, that her grandfather was the 75th, and that she was quite young when her grandfather died so she shouldn't have immediately become the director. I'm keeping this in mind that Hu Tao in the game must be between 17 to 20 years old.

So who could have been the 76th director? Yep, I'm talking about Zhongli.

I don't think they are either of Hu Tao's parents because there is no record of their existence beyond creating Hu Tao, so I think they died a long time ago and she was raised by her grandfather. I also don't think he was Mr. Hu's brother because my headcanon is that he died before Mr. Hu.

So, according to my headcanon (and some canon information), Zhongli has been planning his retirement for years (those years could mean more than a decade or two, considering Zhongli's personality).

He and Hu Tao's grandfather, whom I will call Hu Feng, by some coincidence or accident met, probably Zhongli went to ask how the records were about Adepti's funeral and Hu Feng quickly discovered his identity. I would say that since he is Zhongli, they became friends and our Dijun could have given him some clues about his plan, Mr. Feng, quick to pick up on clues, understood what Zhongli wanted to do and helped him create a fake identity.

Thus Huang Zhongli was born, the son of her adorable but non-existent cousin Xuanyu, who had recently died and asked in her will to take care of her little son since she had no one else to turn to.

Little Hu Tao would play with him for a couple of years and Zhongli would disappear into thin air with the excuse of going to study in Sumeru or Snezhnaya while Zhongli contacted the Tsaritsa and told her of his plan to give her his gnosis in exchange for her help in his retirement plan.

The beloved but absent uncle Zhongli would return to Liyue shortly before Mr. Feng's death and when the old man passed away, he would say in his will that he would leave Wangsheng in Zhongli's capable hands until Hu Tao came of age.

Thus, Zhongli would be known as the cultured 76th director of Wangsheng until he was succeeded by his eccentric niece and became simply her consultant.

Mr. Zhongli is a little strange? Well, he's a member of the Hu family, it's not unusual. It has absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Zhongli not being human. Who is it that is spreading rumors about the esteemed Mr. Zhongli being an Adeptus? He is a totally normal person, don't talk nonsense, lest it bother a true Adeptus and decide to curse poor Mr. Zhongli.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[kissingwookiees]

i like to describe malorn to my sister who is the sole existing person in my life who still plays wizard101 as a fully grown adult as, like, if harry potter, death the kid, and seto kaiba were one singular short 12 year old kid.

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alba's Version) III

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You wonder if it could have been different for you

*TW: suicide, death, depressive thoughts, overdose*

Sometimes, as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you wonder if you were always doomed to become this.

This shell of a person that no one can recognise.

This phantom inhabiting someone else's body.

You wonder if your life would have turned out differently if Alexia had given you away.

Maybe straight at your birth, to some couple that actually lived half a world away. Would you have even known you were Spanish?

Certainly given away to Jenni when you were younger. Would you have even been a Putellas anymore?

Jenni has faded from your mind a bit now. You used to see her regularly as a kid, back when she and Alexia were dating. But then she went to Mexico and the visits faded. You never went to Spain camp so you never saw her.

Jenni was firmly entrenched in the world of football.

You had always been an outsider.

You wonder if there's something you could have done to make yourself more appealing to Alexia. If something as simple as being good at football was enough to make her like you.

You didn't need her to love you.

You just needed her to like you.

That could be enough for you.

You didn't need a seat at her table or a home in her house. Just a warm feeling from her towards you could be enough.

Anything but the air of neutrality that you know she feels when she looks at you.

Anything but the non-committal hums when you spoke to her.

Anything but the way she so proudly showed off her son but left you in the background, the afterthought that only got brought up when people mentioned that they're sure she had a daughter too.

You don't recognise yourself in Alba's bathroom mirror. Whatever sad, fractured version of yourself that looks back at you can't possibly be who you are, can't possibly be what you look like.

Alexia's face clouds your version, like she's taken over your reflection, like she's trapped inside you every time you look in the mirror.

You wonder if she sees any of herself in you when you meet eyes.

You wonder if in another world, any world, she truly sees you as a daughter.

You wonder if you were always heading here, to this destination.

To the temporary refuge of Alba's home.

You wonder if you were meant to have jumped into the ocean that night. You wonder if your body was meant to have floated out to sea where no one could find you.

You wonder if outrunning your fate then meant it had worked doubly hard to catch up to you now.

The ocean would have been peaceful. You would have been rocked to salvation by the waves.

Now, it will not be so peaceful and you can accept that.

You have always been a runner, always sprinting away from your problems only for them to come back. Worse. Meaner. Holding you in a grip so tight that you suffocate.

You could have taken the easy way out.

But instead you are making everyone suffer with you.

Because of you.

You wish you had taken the plunge then. You wish you'd had the courage to take it all away then.

No one would have known.

You would have been written off as just another one of those people that randomly disappeared. You would have left things open for your family to imagine where you were, living a life better than this.

A runaway to greener pastures.

Not a dead body buried in a watery grave.

You suppose, now that you didn't do it then, that you'd have a proper grave now.

No one ever really thinks about how they're going to go, not truly anyway. People think about what will happen at their funerals, what kind of music they'd want, if they'd want to be buried or cremated.

But people rarely think of their deaths outside of falling asleep one day and never waking again.

You suppose that must be peaceful too, in a way.

You wonder if people at the end of their lives know they are. You wonder if they go to sleep one day knowing they won't awaken the next.

You wonder if they have such clarity like you do now.

Your reflection turns back into you now, not that twisted version of Alexia. You but not you but not Alexia either and there's peace in that.

You sink into the bath, the water rising to your shoulders.

It's only precautionary really.

You know what's really going to take you, the pills you'd swallowed a scant few minutes ago.

But this is reassurance.

This is to make sure it sticks.

You were never made to last. A portrait of a young girl, a snapshot that never ages. Made to look pretty and stand in the background of things. Made to be unimportant, unassuming until you're needed.

There is clarity in this, you think as you glance at the door.

There is peace.

But you could still get up now, go downstairs to your aunt and explain. Tell her she needs to take you to the hospital to pump your stomach. Tell her that you need her like you needed her as a child when she took you away from Alexia for those few days and you felt more alive than you ever did before.

Than you ever did again.

But you don't.

It's too late now.

In a few minutes, a few hours, however long it takes, she will find you.

She will find you and your note.

You thought about writing to others but you couldn't put words to paper, you couldn't work out what you wanted to say.

But Tia Alba has a note because you know she loves you and you know she will blame herself for this.

You know she deserves to be told why you've done this, why her love alone couldn't keep you from imploding on yourself.

You wonder if she will show Alexia. You wonder if Alexia will wonder why she didn't get a note as well.

You wonder if Alexia will even care.

You wonder if she ever felt enough love for you for this to be heart breaking to her.

You don't think it matters though.

This isn't her choice.

It's yours.

And you've made your peace with it.

It's as easy as falling asleep.

[luvyeni]

LUCIFER ✦ ( 02z series masterslist & intro )

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ demon!02z x female!reader

𓄷 warnings 𓈓 murder (sunghoon has a back story and your grandma had some problems). death. supernatural themes. pwp. some angst. some fluff. will add more if needed...

genre. smut mdni. supernatural au. demon au.

nia's notes. a few weeks ago i got an ask to do a fic based on lucifer— so why not make it a series? the song gives me demon vibes idk why, but i hope everyone who reads it will like it,, all the fics will have bits and pieces from each other, but you can read stand alone if you want. ENJOY!!!

(🎧) ...playlist: lucifer ( 02z ), fatal trouble ( enhypen ), bite me ( enhypen )

TAGLIST. ASK TO BE ADDED !

THE DEMON IN MY CLOSET ...

wc. 6.1k+

synopsis. a week into moving into your deceased grandmother's mansion; everything goes smoothly; you've gotten most of your grandmothers things out of the house; still wearing the necklace you found everything is going good— except the door to your closet that won't stay closed.

𓄷 warnings smut mdni. mentions of abuse. mentions of death. oral (f. receiving). unprotected sex. softdom jake.

STATUS: READ HERE

THE DEMON IN THE KITCHEN ...

wc. 5.2k+

synopsis. sunghoon didn't want anything to do with you really; the only reason why he agreed is because jay had the upper hand on his vote. he hated your grandmother, he wished he could avoid you forever— so why is he currently sitting in your kitchen wondering why you've come home late?

𓄷 warnings... smut mdni. mentions of murder. sunghoon actually hates you. attempted murder ( twice ). reader likes some weird stuff. sexual tension. oral ( m. receiving ). rough sex. degradation.

STATUS: READ HERE

THE DEMON IN MY MIRROR ...

wc. 4.7k+

synopsis. he watches you through the mirrors of the house; watches how you interact with the boys, even sunghoon. he's enchanted by you; you're meant to be his; theirs, he can feel it— knowing that your time is almost up here, it's time he finally introduces himself.

𓄷 warnings jay is half human. mentions of a curse. jay is guiding her in her head. exhibition kink? mutual masturbation. oral ( m. reciveing ). unprotected sex.

STATUS: READ HERE

FOREVER OURS ...

wc.

synopsis. it's your last week here; you have a decision to make; will you put the necklace away leaving them behind— or will you start your new life in the city; not with your parents but with three new demons???

𓄷 warnings foursome, oral ( m & f receiving ), unprotected sex, breeding kink, rough sex , double penetration, lots of cum, heavy degradation

STATUS: READ HERE

you were freshly graduated from college; you should be spending your last summer as a non working adult having fun with your friends— hell doing an internship for your future company; anything really, anything would be better than this. because instead of doing any of that; you were stuck going to the middle of wherever emptying out your dead grandparents mansion.

“I didn't know the lady.” you tried to complain about it to your parents. “Mommy, this was your parents, why can't you do it?” your mother and her mother; your grandmother, never really got along growing up; your grandmother never approved of your father, so it put a strain on their relationship, which resulted in your mother moving out and moving to the city. She then married your dad and had you a year later.

you met your grandmother; well your grandmother met you, because your eyes were barely open, having been on earth a month when your mom came back home so your grandparents could meet their only grandchild, your mom told you that was the last time you saw your grandparents— they did send christmas presents, and birthday cards with a hefty check in it. “I didn't know anything about her except she was extremely generous when it came to money.”

your grandfather passed when you were five, that was the last time your mother went back, for his funeral. Instead of going into a home, your grandmother chose to stay in the huge home; by herself and live out the rest of her days, which she did; she died in her room, being found by her caretaker in the early morning.

The funeral was small; and you were being nice by saying that— it was only you and your mother; your father didn't bother to show, the lady didn't like him. Why would he bother? After putting her in the ground next to her husband, your mother was ready to put that part of her life to rest finally… that was until you got her will in mail.

“Everything?” your mouth hung open. “She's giving you everything? I thought she hated you?” your mother scoffed. “she didn't really have a choice, she cut all her family off; and she would rather be buried with the money than to give it to a charity.” your mother said. “at least she left you some.” she pointed. “to my granddaughter— she couldn't even remember your name.”

That's how your parents were able to retire early, with the huge settlement of money and new house, they decided to settle down and live out the rest of their days in solitude. “So why can't you do it?” you said, your mother turned to you as seriously as ever. “she died in that house, she was a spiteful woman, the type to find a way to become a ghost just to haunt me just in case I brought your father in the house” she said. “I want you to go up there and clear it of all her things and then we'll be up there in the early fall.”

That's how you found yourself driving up the extra long driveway to the huge mansion; the vines growing up the walls really added to the ghostly aesthetic. “she had a caretaker but not a gardener?” you parked right in front of the house, getting out of the car. “This house is scary.”

“Girl, we're having so much fun!” Your friend, Yeji, yelled into the phone. “really?” you said sarcastically. “I could totally hear you over the blasting music in the background.” you heard her giggle, before she told you to hold on. “Okay I'm alone.” The low music confirmed that. “Did you make it up there safely?”

You settled on a room, it was huge much like the rest of the house, unpacking the clothes you would need for the rest of the summer. “Is the house nice? Does it come with a pool?” You scoffed; “this house was made in the 1600’s , no it doesn't have a pool.” you said. “and it's okay, if you like creepy dim lighting and cold hallways even though it's 84 degrees outside.”

“Yikes.” she said, you nodded. “Yeah, this lady was loaded, but god did she not have any taste.” your face turned up in disgust. “Hopefully my parents will brighten this place up when they get here.”

After talking to yeji a bit, you let her go back to the party; at least one of you could enjoy the summer— meanwhile you had to find someone to eat. You weren't stupid the town was like a 30 minute drive out, so you made sure to pick up enough groceries to last you at least a week on your way here. Looking through the options, you settled on ramen; cause there was no way you were cooking anything else after a 5 hour long drive.

taking your bowl of noodles, making your way back to the room, you pass the many portraits of your mother as a child and a teenager— for your mother and grandmother to never get along, there surely were many; after making it back to your room, sitting the bowl on the nightstand.

Unfortunately there was no wifi, but you had data so that was good; you'd definitely had to change that wifi situation soon though, your mother was just obsessed with the Internet as you, there was no way she was coming here without it. Eating your noodles, scrolling through the stories with envy in your eyes, of all your friends enjoying their summers.

After finishing your food, and making yourself depressed; you decided to just go to bed, and start fresh in the morning— where you actually had to clean out her things.

The next morning you woke up at 11:30 feeling a little better than before, starting your day with a shower since you didn't have one in the morning; stripping yourself of your clothes, stepping into the warm shower, letting the water hit your skin, you let out a sigh of satisfaction; at least the water made you feel better.

after cleaning yourself; getting rid of yesterday, you stepped out of the shower, the foggy mirror in front of you. turning around to turn the water off— you turned around to face the mirror again. “what the fuck.” squinting your eyes, you rubbed them. certainly that wasn't a fucking person in the mirror. You quickly wrapped a towel around your body, wiping the fog off the mirror, your own reflection still there. “Great, not even 24 hours later and I'm already going nuts.”

You got dressed; deciding to finally tour the house— it was beautiful, despite the haunted nature of it; the furniture a bit outdated for your taste, but your parents will love it. you made your way to her bedroom; almost scared to go in— she died in there anyone would be scared. you pushed your worries aside, pushing the door open; walking inside.

The bed had been made after her passing, but everything else was still in the same place according to the caretaker. You started by stripping everything from the bed, throwing the sheets in the trash, emptying all her drawers; your mom said you could keep any jewelry she had, and she'll give the rest away to your cousins on your father's side. you then moved to her closet, separating all the clothes that you were keeping and the ones you were giving away, and finally the ones that you were tossing.

About 2 hours later you were done separating everything, putting the donation boxes in your car to take into town, throwing the clothes in the trash at the end of the long driveway. you kept a lot of things, turns out she kept a lot of clothes and her style wasn't that bad. “I’m gonna need a new suitcase.” you said to yourself.

You scrubbed everything down in her room; per your mothers request. “Yes mommy, I got rid of her ghost.” You rolled your eyes when she called to ask. “Great, is everything else okay?” you hummed. “Well despite the no wifi and being completely alone, yes.” You said. “Well we're still trying to sell here, we've found a realtor.” you let her go on and on, until she'd managed to talk for 2 straight hours— your stomach rumbling being the thing to interrupt the conversation. “Gosh love , have you eaten today?”

“I had some yogurt for breakfast.” you could hear her sigh. “It's 5:30 y/n and all you've eaten was yogurt?” She questioned. “Well I've been busy cleaning up your mothers home.” You said, she laughed. “Thank you, my daughter.” you mocked her. “Seriously honey, get yourself something to eat, I will call again.” you hummed. “And don't leave those clothes in your car, take them to the goodwill.” you nodded. “okay.” you hung up. “Really let's get you something to eat.”

After showering for the nights— luckily your eyes didn't create delusions this time, you settled on ordering take out, luckily someone was willing to bring you a pizza. “Thank you.” You handed the delivery guy the money. “Is this your new house?” he looked up. “My parents.” you said, he handed you the pizza box. “Scary.” was all he said before walking away. “Yeah.” You closed the door.

Taking your pizza back to your room; you almost made it back to your room— when you noticed the door to your grandmother's room was still open. “Hmm?” You were certain you closed it, you went to close it— but something caught your eyes on the dresser. It was a jewelry box. you don't remember putting that there; you don't even remember seeing it before.

You picked up the box, taking it with you to your room; sitting it on the nightstand. You finished your pizza; making an appointment on your phone to have wifi installed. “Sorry grandma, you might've lived in silence, but I need tv.” You finished the last bit of pizza, taking the box to the kitchen, returning back to your room, climbing under the covers; the wooden jewelry box still sitting on the nightstand.

You reached over, grabbing the box; it looked pretty old. You stopped admiring the details on the box; opening it. A thin silver necklace with a red and black pendant sitting in the box; it was the only thing in the box. You picked up the necklace, examining it. The necklace was beautiful, probably the prettiest piece that you took from your grandmother— yes of course you were gonna keep it, you wouldn't dare let your destructive ass cousins destroy something as beautiful as this. “Thank you grandma.”

You sat the box in between your legs, unhooking the necklace, placing it around your neck, snapping it. “Let's see.” you picked the box up, looking into the mirror. “So pretty.” You smiled, closing the box, sitting it back on the nightstand, yawning.

reaching over; you turned the light off; pulling the covers over your body, touching the pendant one last time before you fell into a deep sleep…

So unaware of what you had just done; who you just awakened, what you just invited into your life…

©️LUVYENI

[rosenclaws]

Different Side of the Track || 50's Greaser!Logan smut

summary: All your life your parents had created the perfect image of their daughter that you were forced to fit into but when you went off to college and came back with a degree they were nothing but ashamed. Claimed that it wasn't a ladies place to be educated like that. So why not ruin their good family image even more and sleep with the older hot and mysterious man with a motorcycle.

warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, fem!reader, breast play, doggy style, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, borderline abusive family, sexism, harassment from a group of assholes, violent Logan.

wc: 4.6k

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a/n: It's my birthday! So to celebrate I wrote this fic because I couldn't get the idea out of my head and god he's hot. Also I didn't really try to do proper 50's talk because I'm lazy and I cannot handle all the research jaldfk;s. This ended up a little angstier than normal, as my fics usually do lol. The ending isn't my favorite but I tried im sorry asdfjkl. Okay anyways I really hope you like it!

You truly hated this town. College was a breath of fresh air and while it wasn’t always easy, it was better than home. You got your degree, proudest day of your life. Even if your parents didn’t show up. Even if you had to smile in the picture by yourself, watching everyone else celebrate with their families. Your parents never understood your want to go to college.

You thought they’d be proud but if anything they were ashamed. They think that a woman pursuing higher education was unladylike. That a woman's place was to stay at home and take care of the kids. They were embarrassed of you, refused to acknowledge any of your achievements.

You wished you could have stayed in your college town but then you got the letter. Your grandmother had passed and you needed to come home. You were heartbroken. Your grandmother was the only one to support you, and helped you when you worked countless hours at the diner to pay for it. She celebrated when the acceptance letter came in and she gave you the biggest hug when you left.

Coming home was a no-brainer, needing to be here for her funeral but now you’re stuck at home with your parents and life is miserable. You were counting down the days until you could get out of here again. You spent as much time as you could out of the house.

Going to work, dreaming of another life. Doing literally anything you could to stay out and away from your parents. That’s how you found yourself here. Taking midnight shifts at the diner to stare at the man sitting at the counter.

Logan. It was sewed onto the patch on his jumpsuit. You don’t even know his last name but you do know that you want to know everything about him. He worked at the mechanic shop right across the street. He was dark, brooding, mysterious. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just ordered one black coffee and sat there with the paper. This was a small town and you had never seen or heard of him before.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth there pumpkin.” You feel a hand on your jaw and you swat it away. Betty, your coworker was grinning like a madwoman. She was a sweet old lady who has worked at this diner for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Oh hush.” You look down at your order sheet. Sketches of your patrons fill the empty sheets. Mostly drawings of Logan.

“I don’t blame you sweetheart, he’s a dreamboat if I’ve ever seen one.” She sighs dreamily as she looks at him.

“Who is he?”

“Not sure, rolled into town one day. Plenty of rumors, though, say that he was an army guy. Some say that he’s running from the law.” You gasp at the idea.

He couldn’t be a convict could he? You’d never met anyone like that. Though, you feel yourself grow curious instead of fearful. Your whole life you lived in the perfect world. Perfect family with a lot of money and a perfect reputation to uphold. You got the perfect grades, had the perfect friends and still your life felt anything but perfect. You craved something more, needed it. You couldn’t live the rest of your life as someone's housewife. That wasn’t your dream.

“Looks like he needs a refill..” Betty nudges your arm and pushes you forward. You eye the apple pie sitting in the case and steal a slice. No better way to get a man to talk than give him pie right? Clearing your throat you head over and put on a smile.

“Hi Logan.” He looks up from the paper with his usual stony face. A beat passes and he doesn’t speak.

“This is for you, on the house.” You place the pie down in front of him. You shift nervously in your spot as you pour coffee into his cup. He’s never told you his name, does he think you’re a freak or something?

“It’s on your uniform, you know. Your name.” You wince at how horribly awkward this feels. He looks down.

“That supposed to be me?” He grunts out. You tilt your head in confusion before following his gaze. Your guest checks with drawings all over them. Drawings of Logan. You slam your hands down and stuff them in your pocket.

“No! I mean, yes but it’s nothing. Just drawings I. I’m sorry.” Logan just looks at you and you walk off in shame.

Mentally kicking yourself as you sulk back to the kitchen. Betty takes over serving him as you silently wait on the remaining people. By the time your shift is over your back aches and you’re still replaying that moment in your head.

“See you tomorrow Betty!” You say as you put on your coat.

“Hold on dear, this is for you.” She hands you a napkin and winks. Confused, you open it up to see messy handwriting. 

Thanks for the pie doll

-Logan

Logan has come by every night since then. Ordering one black coffee and you sneak him whatever pie is left. Sometimes it’s apple, other days it’s pecan. Today’s pie is pumpkin. Just in time for the fall season. He’s still a man of few words but he’s always polite. Pays and says thank you with that handsome voice of his. You’ve gathered some information on him. Mostly from the town gossip.

The group of boys, greasers who would often come by and cause a ruckus, idolized him. He drove a motorcycle, fixed cars, and smoked like there was no tomorrow. In some weird way he’s become their parental figure. Not that he really gave a shit but he worked with them at the shop and he took care of them when he needed to. He strolled in again today. This time he looks at you and throws you a wink. It’s a little routine the two of you have now. Not much talking but it’s nice. You think you’ll be able to get him to open up soon enough.

“Thanks doll.” Logan says as he sits on the worn stool. You hand him his coffee and pie, already prepared just the way he likes it.

“So, do I get to know your last name yet?” He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“How about you fetch me a napkin first. Then I’ll think about it.” You roll your eyes playfully and he smiles. The door jingles and you hear the sound of obnoxious laughing. You look up to see the jerkiest looking boys you’ve ever seen. They wore letterman jackets that seemed too small and talked too loud.

One of the boys, a blonde guy who seemed vaguely familiar whistles at you. You hold back a scoff as you walk over to their table. They’re looking you up and down with a gaze that makes you shiver. Absolute jerks.

“Hey sweetheart, why don’t you be a good girl and get us some milkshakes.” You clench your jaw as you jot down their order.

It dawns on you that you know exactly who that guy is. David Scott. He was in your high school class. Quarterback, the popular guy every girl in school wanted, and the worst human being you’ve ever met. He was nothing but a no good bully. It seems fitting he’s never truly moved on from this town as he was dumber than a bag of rocks. Logan catches your eyes as you head back to the counter. Preparing their order and trying to tune out their annoyingly loud voices. Before you head back with their order you top off Logan’s coffee.

“You know drinking this much caffeine can’t be good for you.” You say.

“And yet you’re still serving me.” He shoots back. You shrug your shoulders and smile, he’s got you there.

“Hey! You done serving grandpa over there.” Logan growls and his grip tightens on his cup.

“Ignore them, they’re nothing but a bunch of idiots.” You say under your breath. You bring the tray of drink over and set them down.

“Anything else?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“Nope.” David whispers something to his friend before moving his hand and spilling his shake all over you and the floor. His friends burst out laughing and you bend down to clean up the mess. Counting down the seconds until they leave. You’re too focused on cleaning to hear David whisper to his friend.

“Watch this.” You hear the stool fall and suddenly you’re pushed to the ground.

“Get off me!” You turn around and see Logan holding David by the collar of his shirt. Teeth bared and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Logan!” You scramble to your feet as he shoves David into the booth.

“Think you’re funny bub? You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat you to a pulp.” He growls, eyeing his friends who are now cowering in fear. You stand stunned as Logan seems to command the room.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to scram or I’ll make good on my promise.” He rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and grins. You’ve never seen a group of boys in so much panic.

“And don’t forget to pay.” Logan says with a smirk. They throw down more than enough money and bolt out the door.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” You say softly as Logan seems to calm down.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” He shakes his head and gently pushes you away from the mess.

“Broken glass doll, gotta be careful.” Silently the two of you clean up the mess, him scooping up the glass and you cleaning the table.

You watch carefully as he handles the glass, watching to make sure he doesn’t cut himself. You see a piece of glass slice his hand and you hurry to the back to get a band aid. However when you come back the cut is gone, maybe it was just strawberry? The clock strikes 4am and the new waitress comes through the door, relieving you of your duties. He waits for you to clock out and walks you out the door.

“Thank you again Logan.” He just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

“Let me walk you home.” He offers and you accept. The walk is silent as you head to your home. You eye his cigarette and he notices. He holds it out to you and you take it. Taking a puff and immediately coughing it back up. Logan chuckles as he takes it back.

“Never smoked before?” You shake your head and he just smiles. Figures.

You’re much too sweet to have done anything bad. Just looking at the houses around him he knows that you’re as high society as they come. When you reach your house Logan stands on the sidewalk, watching as you walk up the driveway. You look at your door and then turn around to hurry back to Logan. Leaning in you kiss his cheek and he almost drops his cigarette.

“Bye Logan.” You bite your lip as you slowly walk back. As you walk through the door you hear him call to you.

“Howlett, my last name is Howlett.” 

Your sweet night with Logan turned sour the minute you woke up. Your parents were down at the breakfast table. Scowling with disappointed looks on their face. Oh great what else is new.

“You need to quit.” Your dad says and you laugh.

“What?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is for us to tell people you’re working at a diner? You come home smelling like smoke? It’s insulting the family!” Your mother hisses and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You knew they were cruel but to hear those words from your own mother. It hurt.

“I am an adult, I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“As long as you’re living here you do. Now go down and tell them or I will.” Your father stands and stares you down. You feel so fucking helpless. It’s true. You’re stuck here and the money you’ve saved up isn’t enough to get out of here just yet.

You storm out of the house, letting the tears fall once you’re out of their view. The walk to the diner is miserable. You don’t want to quit, you like your job. Tears fall as you tell your manager, apologizing and leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. You hated this. You longed to be free and now you’re trapped at home.

Sitting on a bench outside of the diner you let yourself cry. Not wanting your parents to see any sign of weakness from you.

“Hey, everything okay doll?” You look up and see a blurry Logan from your watery eyes. He’s got grease and oil on his face and suit. Wiping his hands with a rag.  You shake your head and Logan sits next to you.

“My parents made me quit.” He scoffs in disbelief.

Oh Logan knows all about your father. He wasn’t sure until last night but once he saw your house he knew exactly who your family was. Flaunting their money and status to spit on those lower than them. He serviced your fathers car a few times. Adding pointless upgrades. On the bright side he charges him double and your father doesn’t even bat an eye.

“That’s bullshit.” Logan says angrily. You’ve told him about your life. How disrespectful your parents are. How stupid they can be, anyone should be proud of their daughter getting a degree but they think it’s shameful. You’re smart, pretty, a real perfect girl.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say in such a defeated tone.

“You can always spend time at my work, don’t know if it’s the kind of place you’re used to hanging around but-” He gets cut off as you lunge at him. Hugging him tightly as you seek comfort in his arms. He freezes but slowly places his arms around you. Your perfectly crisp and clean dress was now dirty by his hands but you don’t care.

“I owe you so much Logan, you’ve been a real life saver.” You don’t want to let go. He’s toned, even with the jumpsuit over him. He’s strong and his arms are so warm and welcoming.

“Don’t worry about it doll, can’t stand to see a pretty girl like you so upset.” You lean up and kiss his cheek again. He grins as you scoot closer to him. Suddenly he pushes you back. You’re confused until you see your father pulling up next to the diner. Oh god did he see anything?

“You quit?” He asks, glaring at the dirt on your dress.

“Yes. I quit.” You say unhappily but he doesn’t care. He shifts his eyes to Logan.

“What happened there?” He says accusingly, you know your father wouldn’t hesitate to threaten Logan despite Logan being much stronger. It’s the egotistical nature of him.

“She fell, I caught her.” Logan lies so easily. Your father hums and drops it to your relief.

“I need you to look at my car tomorrow, something’s wrong with the brakes.”

“Got it.” Logan says casually and you can see your father roll his eyes. He drives off leaving the two of you on the bench.

“Say, why don’t you come by with your father tomorrow. I’d be happy to show you a few things” Logan offers, a flirty tone to his voice.

He walks off before you can respond, needing to get back to work. You throw the idea around in your head as you head back home. There’s no denying that Logan is hot. Really hot. He’s everything your parents hate. Lower class, older, doesn’t care about their status. It would drive them insane if you started to hang around a guy like him.

Though you don’t want to just use him to get back at your parents. You really do like him. It’s a win win in your head. Smiling to yourself you already start to pick out your outfit for tomorrow.

Ready to cause a little chaos. 

Your father didn’t understand why you wanted to come with him but you gave him so stupid excuse and he bought it. Your father pulled the car in and threw the keys at Logan. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but Logan does it for you. Despite Logan being much more knowledgeable about cars, your father still talks down to him. It’s rude and classist and you hate it.

“I’d like to stay, you know, make sure nothing goes wrong.” Your father scoffs but leaves you be.

“He’s real lucky I don’t punch his lights out.” Logan mutters as he pops the hood of his car.

“I’m really sorry, you don’t deserve that.” Logan shrugs. He’s used to it by this point.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” He leans over and kisses your cheek.

He wipes off a seat for you to sit on and you watch him work. There’s something about the way he moves that’s just…attractive. His muscles strain in his jumpsuit, sweat drips down his face. And the noises, god the noises. The grunts when he moves something heavy. Then he does the unthinkable. He unzips his jumpsuit, taking off the top half and tying it around his waist. Leaving him in just a white tank top.

Now you really have a show. You don’t know how much time has passed and you don’t care. Slowly the garage empties as people head to lunch until it’s just you and Logan. Logan can feel your eyes on him. In fact he loves it. Your cute face is staring at him like a piece of meat. He can see you shift on the leather stool. He can smell how bad you want him. It’s desperate, almost pathetic how badly you want him. He stands up, making sure to flex his arms as he sets down the wrench. 

“You alright doll, you look a little hot?” Logan feigns concern as he steps closer to you. Placing his hands on the workshop table. Caging you in.

“I’m okay.” You eye his chest shamelessly, eyes traveling down to the bulge in his suit.

“Yeah? I don’t know…” He slowly takes your sweater off. Leaving your arms bare and your cleavage on show for him.

“I’m not sweet doll, not gonna treat you like a good girl.” He growls in your ear and you whimper. Oh you need him bad.

“I’ll break a sweet thing like you, but something tells me you want that.” You grab his face and smash your lips to his. It’s messy and dirty, teeth knocking against each other as you fight for dominance. Logan slips his hands under your dress, lifting you up to the workbench and stepping in between your legs. Your hands are locked in his hair. Tugging hard as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth. His hands rip your dress at the top. You gasp as his lips trail down your neck leaving sloppy wet kisses until he reaches your boobs.

“Fuck.” He squeezes your chest roughly, purring at the feeling of them in his hands.

“So cute.” He says with a wink as he leans down and bites your nipples roughly. He promised he wouldn’t be nice and he meant it. He shamelessly grinds his bulge against your wet panties.

“Dirty girl, letting a no good mechanic touch you like this. What would your daddy say hm?” He taunts as his hands move to slip up your dress. Pulling your panties down and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Who fucking cares?” You spit out as you grind your hips. Soaking his suit with how wet he’s made you.

“Oh, pretty girls got a mouth on her.”

“Just hurry up!” You whine as you slip your hands under his tank top.

Lifting it over his head so you could get the view of his muscular body. He unties his jumpsuit and yanks it down, letting his hard cock free. To your surprise he picks you up and brings you to your dads car.

“Turn around.” He lifts your dress up and bends you over the hood of the car. His hands run across your ass, squeezing and admiring the view as he slowly grinds his cock along it. The tip of his dick slides in and you moan.

“Yeah, feels good doesn’t it doll.” He says cockily as he renders you utterly speechless.

The stretch is unbelievably amazing as he bottoms out. You whine as you feel every vein, every twitch of his cock inside of you. He’s so big. Everything about him is big. His presence, his arms, his cock. He was just big. He barely gives you anytime to adjust before fucking hard into you. Your hands claw for anything to hold onto. The hood of the car is too slippery so Logan just pins your arms behind your back instead.

“Naughty, naughty girl.” Logan huffs as he leans down to bite your ear. His pace is relentless. Pounding the words right out of you.

“Letting me fuck you on your daddies car.” He puff his chest out proudly. He’s tearing you apart on your asshole fathers car. Making you moan his name as he desecrates his car.

“Feels so good Logan. Oh god!” His cock hitting that perfect spot in you every time. Over and over. It’s unrelenting. You involuntarily shift your hips. The pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Where are you going doll? I’m not done with you yet.” He lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, pulling you back on his cock with a bruising grip.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg wildly as you move your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Not planning on it.” He tilts his head back in pleasure as he pounds into you. He feels you clenching tightly around him. Your legs are quivering under him. There’s grease smudged all over your body, your face.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the windshield. You’re completely disheveled, hair a mess. Makeup smeared and clothes torn. You look absolutely filthy and you love it. You can see Logan’s abs flexing as he thrusts his hips. His hands run up your sides. Taking you by the shoulders to slam you back on his cock. A weak cry leaves your throat with every thrust. Finally you break. A desperate, strangled moan as your body quakes. Shaking and rocking you right to your core.

“That’s it doll, I’ve got you.” He leans down and nudges his nose into your neck. Kissing softly as his thrusts slow just for a moment. Letting you breathe. You’ve never felt more happy in your life.

Logan kisses the side of your head as his hips grow sloppy. Chasing his release and savoring the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. With a loud groan he pulls out and finishes on your ass. Your eyes close as your body feels like it's melting. You can barely stand. Logan wipes you down with a clean rag, loving how fucked you appear to be. 

“I got you.” He gently picks you up and brings you to a bench. Laying his clean jacket over you as you will your legs to stop shaking.

“You alright?” He’s got a devilish grin on his face as he redresses himself. Somehow it’s like he’s back to normal while you’re wrecked.

“Perfect, oh my god you’re amazing.” You lean back into the bench and sigh happily.

“What the hell is going on here?!” You shoot up and see your father storming towards you angrily. You’re a mess and you don’t think Logan can lie his way out of this one. He’s angry. Really angry.

“You are nothing but a disappointment and you have been ever since you were born! A disgrace to the whole family! To the town! Doing such horrible things with the likes of him.” He snarls as he points at Logan. You’re stunned into silence.

“I have the right mind to never let you out of the house again you ungrateful little-”

Logan steps in front of him and he tries to hit Logan right in the face but fails miserably. You gasp as Logan pushes him against his car. You watch as boney claws shoot from his hands. Your father squirms in fear as the tips of his sharp claws grow closer to his neck.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan growls.

“You’re a real fucking dick and a sorry excuse for a father. If I ever see you come near her again I’ll fucking kill you.” He lets go of your father and watches as he runs away. Yelling about mutant freaks. Logan turns back to you, a cold look settling on his face when he sees your face. Now you know his secret.

“You’re a mutant.” You say in awe. To his shock you reach out for him instead of running away.

“I am.” You admire the claws, how amazing.

“Beautiful.” His mouth gapes open as you pull him closer.

For once someone is looking at him like he’s normal, like he’s not a freak of nature. He longs for this but he knows your dad won’t go down quietly. He’ll tell the whole town.

“Look doll, you’re too good for this town. You’re too good for me.” He brushes your cheek softly.

“I can’t stay here anymore and you need to go home. Pretend you never met me. You’re a smart girl and you have a bright future ahead of you.” Logan takes his hand away and walks away.

“Logan!” You throw off his jacket, you're limping slightly but you refuse to let him go. He’s quick on his feet, already shedding his work clothes for his normal ones. A leather jacket thrown over his tank top. His motorcycle is out back. He’s got a backpack already packed and ready to go. Like he was waiting for this moment to happen.

“Take me with you!” You stand in front of his bike.

“What?” He asks in disbelief.

“Please, I hate this town. I have money saved. I can help but please don’t leave me.” You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Logan. I’d give it all up to be with you”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine so please, take me with you.” He wants to say no. To leave you here. It would break your heart and his but it’s what's best. But a part of him wants to be selfish. He could protect you, he could take care of you. But he fears you’d regret it eventually.

He’s overthinking and you can tell. You grab his jacket and kiss him gently. He groans as he slips his arms around you.

“Please.” You beg softly.

“I can’t promise you the life you’re used to.” He warns but his resolve is slipping.

“I don’t care.” He sighs and kisses you again. It’s becoming addicting. You’re completely addicting.

“Hop on doll,” He throws his leg over the bike and waits.

You waste no time jumping on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he revs his motorcycle. You lean into him and smile. He stops so you could say goodbye to Betty and grab a bag of clothes. He waited at the door, a grin on his face as his claws were proudly shown off to your parents.

Then he drives. Away from your horrible family and the horrible town. Your future is uncertain but with Logan, you’re confident things will work out.

He’s all you need. 

[klaus-littlestwolf]

I am Yours, You are Mine -Aemond T.

This is an A/B/O fic. You have been warned.

Everyone knew, they had always known.

It wasn’t hard to figure out from what I assume, my mothers children are all boys with brown hair and brown eyes, I have white hair and purple eyes. Everyone knew my older brother Jace and my younger brothers Luke and Joffrey were Harwin Strongs children and just like that, everyone knew that I was the daughter of Daemon Targaryen.

Laenor hadn’t been able to give my mother a child and I looked nothing like him, Daemon however…I’m told I’m the spitting image of him. So while I am technically a bastard, I’m also full Targaryen, so I was never treated like it. I was born only 5 moons after Aemond was and therefore was raised with him in a way, as we grew up his older brother Aegon and my older brother Jace got close, at least closer than they were to us and Aemond got picked on a lot. He didn’t have a dragon, and while I didn’t either, everyone knew to leave me alone, whether it was because I was a girl or because I was Daemons daughter I don’t know. My father is the only current Targaryen Alpha in the world and that made people so much more terrified of him than they already were.

Most people in the world present as Betas, it’s normal and no one really thinks twice about it, an Alpha however is a blessing from the Gods. He will be stronger, and tougher, and defend your family better than a Beta can, at least that’s what people believe, an Alphas instincts being so much stronger than a Betas, the only presentation stronger still is an Omega, and an Omega is considered a blessing from the mother herself. Presentation happens around puberty but usually you can see certain traits in children to tell if they will be anything other than a Beta, my mother believes I will be an Omega because even with a father like Daemon I’m quiet and sweet, always the most submissive in the room which for a Princess is a good thing.

Aemond and I spent more and more time together as we got older, him being shunned from the group with his older brother and mine, along with Luke who followed them around like a puppy and didn’t mind getting pranked once in a while. Aemond was the smartest of all of them, he enjoyed learning, and training, but most of all, he had no dragon. Neither of our dragon eggs hatched and the both of us bonded over that, and I always tried to make my uncle feel better when they had been particularly cruel, like the day they gave him a pig instead of a dragon. We skipped dinner that night and sat together in the library for hours just talking. He was my best friend, and my closest ally in the world, we made promises to always be there for each other.

The promises of children never seem to last though…even if the children weren’t the ones to break them.

After Joffrey was born mother moved us back to Dragonstone, me kicking and screaming, clinging to my uncle who held me just as tightly until our mothers gave up. We had a small second of hope as I wrapped my arms around his neck and he held me to him so tightly it almost hurt. That’s when our mothers called for their guards and we were yanked apart harshly and I was carried all the way to the ship that would take us home.

We weren’t apart for long after that, my fathers wife dying in childbirth brought us back together for her funeral. As soon as I saw him I pulled away from Jace and ran to Aemond who held me close and breathed in my scent as I did his, it was a comfort that only we seemed to give each other. I stayed by his side holding his arm while everyone spoke about Laena, saying kind words about a women I barely knew while my “father” stood in the ocean below, crying for the Gods only know how long.

Aegon was with us for some time, watching the maids and being his normal vile self and eventually we were alone, speaking as if no time had passed at all. That moment as we sat on the steps talking would be one I regret for many years to come, watching Aemond as he gazed at Vhagar. I knew my uncle wanted a dragon, more than even I did and I told him he should go, as the sun went down and people filed inside to bed, I encouraged him to mount her while he had the chance. 2 hours later I was awoken to a knight running into my room to check on me and seeing I was in bed and fine. I followed him downstairs to my mothers relief, Luke was bleeding from the nose, Alicent was angry beyond belief and my uncle and best friend sat with a maester stitching his eye up. I moved to his side quickly, taking his hand in my own and holding it tightly, allowing him to squeeze it as he got stitched up and everyone continued screaming. I didn’t care for the politics, I didn’t care for the threats, or insults, only that my favorite person sat beside me maimed and my brothers had done it. I stayed by his side for the rest of the evening, even as the maester gave him milk of the poppy to be able to sleep, snuggling into his chest and feeling his arms around me as he slept soundly and all the while I felt sick to my stomach knowing that what Jace had said to me when I hugged my mother had been completely true… ‘This is all your fault’

I was taken from Aemond’s bed late in the morning, he had awoken to eat and been put back to sleep, all the while clinging to my hand. My mother took us home immediately, we went back to Dragonstone and so did Daemon who quickly married my mother as soon as Laenor passed.

Jace and Luke were quick to blame me for everything, knowing that I had encouraged Aemond to mount Vhagar, maybe if I hadn’t he would still have his eye and I wouldn’t have had to leave again. Maybe Rhaena wouldn’t despise me for “helping to steal her mothers dragon” even if I don’t believe you can have claim to a dragon if it hasn’t chosen you. Jace and Luke spent all their time with Baela and Rhaena and I was left alone, not wanting to be near my brothers to hear about how much they and Aemond despise me, how the only person I had ever truly loved besides my mother wouldn’t even write to me anymore no matter how many times I wrote him apologizing. My mother and father were the only people I ever spoke to anymore, Daemon practically claiming me as his own even if he couldn’t “officially” do that and I learned that being alone is better for everyone, especially once I presented. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena had all presented as Betas as expected but I was “blessed” to a life as an Omega, suffering through my heats alone in a locked room, only maids to bring me food and try to relieve my pain which never worked.

I was 15 before I was truly blessed with anything in my life, out for a walk by myself, having escaped my guard and stumbling upon a dragon. The Grey Ghost was a name given to a shy, pale dragon, one I never hoped to even get a glimpse of in my life and I suddenly had, his eyes locked on mine as if waiting to see what I would do and so I reached into my bag to get the bread I brought with me and the fish I planned to cook on my little adventure, tossing them to him and watching as he snubbed the bread and ripped the fish apart. I had sat down on a boulder, watching as he ate, assuming this would be the only time I would ever see this elusive creature but it wasn’t. He had laid down to nap after eating and the next day he sat at the same spot as I brought him an even bigger fish. That went on for nearly 2 weeks of me bringing him food and talking to him before he approached me and allowed me to touch him, letting me mount him after that. I kept him away from the pits, away from everyone who only saw him when I went flying, knowing he was just as comfortable around people as I was, which was not at all. I even had all of my riding gear dyed as close to his color as I could, making it truly impossible for anyone, even another dragon rider to find us in a cloud bank. Daemon was impressed, believing it was a useful skill, especially for an Omega to be able to hide like that. Life continued on like that until Corlys’ injury, resulting in all of us needing to return to Kings Landing to fight for Luke’s inheritance. I was less than enthusiastic about going but my mother forced me onto the ship.

In Kings landing once again I was stuck with Jace and Luke as mother and Daemon wanted to go see Grandfather, forcing me to follow them to the training yard that I hadn’t seen since I was a small child. Everyone’s attention was on a fight in the center of the yard and I pushed between Jace and Luke to be able to see, seeing Criston Cole fighting a young man with an eye patch and knowing instantly that it’s Aemond, and that he is winning, dodging the mace repeatedly before his blade was at Cole’s throat and I ducked behind Jace and Luke, catching a very strong Alpha scent as I did and feeling my stomach twist into a knot.

‘Nephews. Have you come to train?’ He questioned and I knew they were no where close to as good as he is, he would kill them. They had continued training but not very much and Aemond is clearly quite passionate about it. ‘Niece, lovely to see you again…or smell you I should say, and what a lovely scent it is. Hmm?�� I blushed darkly, not moving from behind my brothers until Jace turned and pushed me to walk back the other way.

‘I would stay close if I were you sister, wouldn’t want to be alone with him, would you?’ Luke teased and I wanted desperately to strangle the cocky little bastard but the last time I had hit him I’d given him a black eye and made him cry like a bitch, mother made sure I knew Omegas should never be violent, especially when they’ve been trained by Daemon and could make a man feel emasculated enough to be murderous.

I sighed, rolling my eyes and following them inside, finding my room as quickly as I could and locking the doors. I sat on the windowsill and stared out over Kings Landing, seeing a dip in the clouds and knowing my dragon had followed us, it was a comfort in case I needed an escape and knowing my family, I definitely will.

I stayed in my room until my mother came to get me, walking all of us together down to the throne room where I stayed as close to my father as I could, feeling men’s eyes on me, flinching from one who leaned in to smell me making my father turn and glare down at him, the man moving to the other end of the room quickly. I held onto his belt as Otto Hightower spoke, feeling eyes on me and knowing Aemond was staring as well. That same Alpha scent was back and my stomach felt like it was quivering as the wonderful smell assaulted me. My attention was only drawn when the doors opened to reveal our grandfather looking rough…half dead honestly as he walked into the room, stumbling up to his throne, Daemon helping him as he dropped his crown and leaving me exposed with no one to hide behind until he came back. I watched on, thoroughly entertained as Vaemond shouted about Luke and Jace being bastards, and actually couldn’t contain my snort as Daemon cut off his head though as expected nothing happened to him and Luke keeps his inheritance.

‘Now, if we’re through with this useless event, I think we can-‘

‘Actually my King, if I may?’ Otto asked, approaching the throne and mumbling something to him quietly.

‘Are you sure? Rhaenyra! Why was I unaware of your daughter presenting as an Omega?’ The King asked and my blood ran cold, Daemon pushing me completely behind him.

‘She was not ready for every noble man in the kingdom to be vying for her hand Father, I was protecting my baby. I apologize if you think I’ve hidden it from you but that was never my intention.’ She explained.

‘My girl, this is wonderful! Otto is right, there’s no need for anyone to look for a husband when we have a perfect Targaryen Alpha right here. Honestly I always did believe Aemond and Y/n would end up marrying, they were so sweet when they were babes.’ I backed away from Daemon, moving around the crowd and moving towards the doors the maids use to get to the kitchen quickly. ‘My son, you will take Y/n as your wife, do you have any objections?’ The King asked and I waited a moment, waiting for him to start yelling, or begging to get out of it…but he didn’t.

‘It will be my honor Father. Thank you.’

‘Well then it is settled, there will be a wedding, right here tomorrow night-‘

‘Tomorrow?!’ My mother exclaimed.

‘I’m a sickly, old man Rhaenyra, I would like to witness their union before I pass on. You can afford me that, can you not?’ He questioned and I knew my mother would cave at that as I got to the door, pushing it open quietly.

‘Father, I would like to request one thing. Since it must be such a quick wedding, I would like to do it in the traditional Valyrian custom.’ Aemond asked and I took pause.

When we were children we discussed just this, we talked about how we would be married one day and I told Aemond that I wanted to do it right, in the old customs. Since the day I learned of the traditional wedding I thought it was beautiful and I wanted it more than anything, Aemond promising me the perfect wedding. The idea that he remembered and even cared enough to request such a thing brought tears to my eyes.

‘I don’t see why not, I leave it to my wife and daughter to sort out the details with the bride and groom.’ My mother and the queen? And they want me in the middle of that? Fuck no.

I turned, leaving out the door, quickly running down the corridor and into the kitchens which were busy making dinner, allowing me to run through quickly and out another side door. I just made it to the gardens and down the steps, hiding in the bushes when a guard rushed out after me. ‘Princess! Princess! Your mother demands your presence!’ He shouted, running into the garden while I crept out and down the side of the castle. One good thing about growing up in a castle, you learn how to get around quickly and unseen.

I looked up to the sky, hoping to see my dragon, knowing exactly what he looks like now that I’ve spent so many years by his side and on his back. ‘Come on Ghost! Where are you?’ I questioned, getting down the stairs to the front of the castle, peeking around the corner to see many guards and I quickly moved around the wall and past the gates to the plaines where I knew Vhagar rested by the water. I kept far away from the resting place of the nearly 2 centuries old dragon and whistled, seeing the grayish white color separate from the clouds and dive down towards the ground, landing just ahead of me and just as he nudged his giant head into me in greeting a voice stopped me.

‘Byka Zaldrīzes!’ I froze, knowing only my uncle had ever called me that. He had since we were kids and I was trying to comfort him when he was upset about not having a dragon. My child brain figured, I’m a Targaryen, I can be your dragon and it made him laugh so hard he couldn’t breathe. He called me Little Dragon ever since. ‘Where are you going to go?’ He asked, not yelling…not even seeming angry.

‘Home…’

‘Going home already, and I didn’t get a hello or a goodbye. I admit, I had hoped for a different reaction.’ He stepped closer, Ghost growling but not doing anything more as I shushed him to keep him calm. ‘You used to be excited by the prospect of us being married.’ That wonderful Alpha scent came over me again and I could no longer deny that it was him I was smelling, though deep down I knew it was. ‘You can’t even look at me?’ His voice held more emotion now, upset at the idea I couldn’t face him.

‘Please Aemond, please stop this? You don’t want to be married to me, there’s no point in whatever you’re doing…’ I told him, turning to face him and I couldn’t deny how beautiful he is. I had always found him cute but he had become incredibly handsome the past 9 years.

‘You dare tell me what I want? You?! After all of this time?! I have always wanted you Y/n and I always will, nothing will change that apart from you telling me you no longer love me and that my face is too much for you to accept as your Lord Husband.’ My eyes widened and I took an unintentional step forward.

‘Aemond, you are beautiful, you always have been! No scar changes that, and it could certainly not change the way I feel for you-‘

‘Then why do you run from me? Why have you spent 9 years not answering my letters? Why do you find it so hard to look me in the face? Why-‘

‘Because it’s my fault!’ I shouted, unable to take his questions anymore. ‘Because if I hadn’t encouraged you it wouldn’t have happened, no one would have fought, you wouldn’t have lost your eye! It’s my fault! And Jace and Luke, they tell me all the time and I don’t want to hear how much you hate me! I don’t want to hear you lie and tell me I ignored you, I wrote you every day for months! You never responded and I don’t think I can handle hearing how much you hate me Kepus…I can’t…’ the tears were now streaming down my face like crazy and as I reached to wipe them away he grabbed ahold of my wrists, forcing me to look at him.

‘You think I blame you?’ His voice was so soft it actually startled me. ‘Y/n…first of all I never got letters from you and I’m realizing you didn’t receive mine either which I’m assuming was your brothers but Gods Y/n! I have Never blamed you for that night!’ His face was so serious and hard I knew he wasn’t lying.

‘Never?’

‘Not for one second! You are the only one who gave me any kind of comfort, everyone else was either scared or angry, but you just held me. I loved you so much in that moment I thought my heart would explode! Waking up next to you in the morning, in so much pain, but you were there to make me feel better…then you were gone. My Little Dragon was gone and I couldn’t even speak to her, and now I come to find out you’re carrying guilt that has never been yours to hold! Your brother did that, not you, Luke! He chose to pick up that blade and slice my face, not you! And Vhagar was no one’s to claim, she chose me and I chose her, and yes you helped make me feel better about it but I was going to go to her no matter what you said…please let go of that guilt, my Princess?’ I nodded, sniffling as he let go of my arms and used his thumbs to wipe my eyes before leaning close and pressing his lips to mine. ‘You’re mine Byka Zaldrīzes, all mine!’ He swore, kissing me again, harder this time and pulling me flush against his chest. ‘My Little Dragon is going to be my wife, the mother of my children, my perfect little Omega…Fuck you smell amazing!’ He groaned, digging his face into my neck and inhaling deeply.

‘That’s enough!’ A deep voice shouted and Aemond jumped but I knew exactly who it was.

‘Father, you ruin everything.’ I teased and he just smiled as he got closer, Ghost rumbling in irritation at how many people are here now, seemingly willing to deal with my Alpha and that is all. ‘Did you take my letters?’ I asked and he instantly looked confused.

‘What?’

‘The letters I wrote Aemond, and the letters he wrote me, we never got them. Was it you? I am asking you despite the fact that you’re the least likely…I’m going to kill Jace…and Luke.’ I told him and he seemed irritated.

‘If they really did that, then they will be punished, I assure you. However right now, we need to get you back inside and help your mother plan a wedding.’ I hesitated but nodded my head, moving to follow Daemon and he turned to walk away as well just as I pulled away from Aemond and climbed onto Ghost.

‘Y/n, what are you doing?’ He laughed.

‘You think I’m going to mediate our mothers? Not gonna happen, by this time tomorrow we’ll be married or they’ll be dead, but I won’t be in the middle. Bye father!’ I shouted, hearing Ghost rumble. ‘Sovēs!’ I commanded before he leapt into the air and began climbing towards the clouds. ‘You saved my life, you know that?’ He screeched and I snorted. ‘Not really I suppose, but it wouldn’t have been fun…at all.’ We stayed like that, flying contently over the clouds for several minutes before Ghost seemed agitated and I turned to see the shadow of a large dragon above us causing me to push Ghost down before seeing Vhagar behind us, Aemond laughing while Ghost complained. ‘Not Funny Kepus!’ I shouted, diving after him as he turned to land on a nearby island.

‘I like it when you call me that, Princess.’ He told me as we both got our feet back on the ground.

‘Really? I would have thought you would hate it. My father does, it makes him feel Old when my mother uses it.’ I laughed and he just snorted, laying out his jacket for me to sit on so I could be comfortable.

‘He is nearly 20 years older than your mother, of course he hates it. When you say it, it just excites me.’

‘Hmm, well then I will refrain. Wouldn’t want to excite you too much, would we?’ I leaned into his side and he wrapped his arms around me, Vhagar laying down behind us and Ghost wanting to lay his head on my lap but I wouldn’t let him with Aemond here too.

‘I knew you would be a perfect little Omega, I just knew it. So perfect Y/n, and all mine.’ Aemond’s nose trailed through my hair and I loved the feeling.

‘Not yet Kepus, you need to wait to say that until we’re married-‘

‘Are you going to tell me that you belong to someone else, Omega? Because I will remove their organs.’ He threatened. ‘I’m already keeping myself from killing your brothers so save yourself more problems. If any man has dared put their hands on you-‘

‘Aemond!’ I exclaimed, laughing as he went on his tirade. ‘No one has touched me! Jace tried once when I went into heat the first time but I smacked him so hard his ears rang for a week. I love the possessive attitude but no one has touched me.’ I teased him, giggling as he trailed his nose over my scent gland, groaning.

‘Good, because I would’ve killed them. I told you before, you’re all mine Byka Zaldrīzes, Alphas pretty little Omega.’ His lips wrapped around my scent gland, sucking on my neck and making me cry out. ‘Oh, such sweet little sounds you make for me, my good girl.’ He teased, pushing me onto my back and laying over top of me, arm circling my waist. ‘I’ve waited so long to have you under me like this, to have to wait one more day is torture.’

‘You will survive Kepus, no one will keep us apart again…I am yours, and you are mine. Forever.’ I trailed my fingers up his jaw to his cheek and removed his eyepatch, dropping it to the ground and taking his face into my hands, his eyes closing as I held him.

‘Should they try, I will set this whole world on fire my love. No one will dare take you from me again.’ His voice was firm and fiery, every bit the Dragon that he was always meant to be.

As he leant down, I turned my head and let his lips touch my cheek. ‘We’re not yet married Aemond.’

‘Surely you can afford me a kiss, we will be married by this time tomorrow, don’t make me wait to kiss you one moment longer.’ I had to giggle at the way he made it seem like a life or death situation. ‘I had your first when we were only 8, I would have your last before you’re married.’ His fingers trailed over my cheek as I blushed a dark red before I leaned closer and felt his lips on mine. They were soft and warm as he held me close. I touched my fingers softly to the scar under his eye, hating that he had had to suffer so much pain and I couldn’t even be there for him, or even write to him. ‘I am sorry this is the face you must look at for the rest of our marriage, I-‘

I glared up at him and flicked his nose hard before he could finish speaking. ‘You will not speak ill of the man I love that way! Do you hear me? I care very little about a scar, I’m just sorry that I could not stop it.’

‘Little Dragon-‘

‘All this scar shows me is how strong and tough my husband is. It tells me that I will be safe in his arms and bed, and that our children will never know the feeling of danger…I love you Aemond.’ I could see the unshed tears in his eye that I knew he would never let fall and I pressed my lips to his again.

‘I love you Y/n. You are mine, and I am yours. ‘

For everyone who asked me for more Aemond content as well as those who asked for more Alpha/Omega fics.

I hope you liked it, cause I loved writing it!

Aemond T. Masterlist

[nightscarab]

haikyu!! headcanons - seijoh main four

slight suggestive themes in matsukawa's

iwaizumi hajime

100% without a doubt, works out to relieve stress. it's an escape from his problems (oikawa) and helps him take out his anger in a healthy way.

his favorite color is definitely red. i don't know why he just seems like a red guy.

literally gets SO pouty when he's surprised with something. it could be a gift or a party and he'll get so pouty. he's so emotional i love him

he loves LOVES when you grab his bicep. it makes him feel so strong and manly and proud it's so cute his face lights up.

contrary to popular opinion, he LOVES physical touch, but only with specific people. he just loves feeling loved.

whatever you cook for him, he'll DEVOUR it. he'll literally eat it up he loves food especially if you're the one who made it.

oikawa tooru

he has major separation anxiety. when he's in argentina you know damn well he's spamming the group chat with messages and calls.

his friends mean everything to him. he'd abandon volleyball for them anyday. he'd never admit it though...

a horrible, terrible liar. cannot lie to save his life, he'll start laughing or smiling. his voice cracks if he tries to drag it on too long.

when he falls in love, he's in LOVE. the gc is spammed with messages about how much he loves his gf and pictures of her followed by long ass paragraphs.

if he ever catches you in his jersey, oh honey... you're never gonna hear the end of it. he'll do a whole photoshoot of you in it, it doesn't matter if you just woke up. he thinks you look stunning and now it's his lockscreen wallpaper.

the SASSIEST man alive. he'll give you so much attitude if he's pissed off. you gotta sit his ass down and tell him to cut it out cause it gets BAD.

matsukawa issei

i don't see him as a smoker honestly. however...he is a big drinker. beer, whiskey, rum and coke, you name it, he'll have it.

super handsy. can't keep him hands off you, he needs to be touching you at all times. whether it be a hand on your hip, waist, thigh, head, or an arm around your shoulder, he's always touching you.

working in a funeral home, he sees a lot of grieving families yk.. he has nightmares that one day he'll be the one grieving you. please hold him tight at night!!

king of midnight snack runs! it's 4am and you're hungry? no problem! let's do a cvs run. oh you want taco bell? it closes soon better hurry!

has the LONGEST eyelashes you've ever seen. it's not even funny how are they so long. he looks great with mascara, he'll even beg you to put it on him so he can show off to oikawa. (he does, in fact, get jealous)

jams out with hanamaki to 2000's white girl songs. i'm talking christina aguilera, britney spears, natasha bedingfield, etc. it's their favorite way to mess with hajime. (he secretly loves it though)

hanamaki takahiro

matsukawa might not be a smoker, but hanamaki totally is. he doesn't smoke often, but when he does he comes back higher than a kite. he only smokes to relieve stress.

our dear boy is unemployed, but he still tries to spoil you as much as he can. you want that swimsuit? you'd look so hot babe of course he's buying it for you.

not a very touchy person, but he tries to make it up to you by spending time with you. he'll stand by you in the kitchen while you're whipping up some coffee for yourself. he sees you on the couch? now you guys are watching a movie together. he just loves being with you.

late night drives with takahiro are to die for. you've never had this much fun in your life. the city lights and the music blasting from the radio lifts you to a high you've never felt before.

uses hot cocoa flavored chapstick. he stocks up during the winter since it's a seasonal flavor (which he thinks is super annoying) but you complimented him on it once and now it's the only one he uses.

on twitter nearly 24/7. he posts his every thought and somehow they go viral. he prides himself on that and comes to you every time his tweet blows up. "look babe! my tweet hit 100k retweets."

[thedensworld]

Thicker Than Blood | K. Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: Non-biological parents au!, angst

Summary: It was an impulsive decision to take the kid home, but who knows it will bloom the flower in your family

Warning: mention of child abuse, PTSD, abusive act.

You held your breath when you saw the bruises on her small body, a wave of unease settling heavily in your chest. Mingyu’s grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenching as he glared at the sight before him. "How dare him!" The thought burned hot in his mind. The doctor’s sharp gaze shifted between the two of you, eyes filled with suspicion.

“We need an explanation before we proceed with the examination, Mr. Kim,” the doctor said firmly, his tone unwavering. His eyes lingered on the bruises that marred the child’s delicate skin. It was a sight that would send any parent into a frenzy of worry, but the doctor's eyes held doubt.

The nurse moved swiftly, taking little Jia’s hand and guiding her toward the play corner. The child followed obediently, her curious gaze flicking back to the two of you. Her innocence made the sight of those bruises even more painful.

Mingyu exhaled slowly, adjusting his posture in the chair. His fingers tapped against his knee in slow, deliberate motions. “It’s a complicated story,” he admitted, his voice low but steady.

Mingyu had received news that his mother’s youngest brother had passed away. The man had always been a thorn in the family’s side — loud, reckless, and perpetually jobless. He drank from morning till night, draining not only his wallet but also the patience of everyone around him. Even after their grandmother’s passing, he remained a source of endless frustration, often bothering Mingyu's mother with his demands. So, when the news of his death arrived, Mingyu had felt an unexpected sense of relief.

But that relief didn’t last.

When you and Mingyu arrived at the funeral house, the air was thick with incense and murmured prayers. Relatives filled the room, most of them offering shallow condolences for a man none of them seemed to truly grieve. Mingyu hadn’t expected anything more — until whispers reached his ears.

“Did you see her? She’s so young. Poor thing.”

“Didn’t even know he had a kid.”

“Where’s the mother? How could she just leave her like this?”

His gaze followed theirs until it landed on a little girl standing off to the side. Her clothes were slightly wrinkled, her hair tied up in a loose, messy ponytail. She was clutching a stuffed rabbit that looked like it had seen better days. Her wide, observant eyes darted around the room like she was looking for something — or someone.

“Is the mother here?” Mingyu had asked, turning to one of the older relatives.

The older woman clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Ran off ages ago. No one's seen her since.”

She was raised by your uncle alone — or so they said. But knowing the kind of man your uncle was, Mingyu found it hard to believe. A man who spent his days drowning in alcohol, stumbling through life with no sense of responsibility, hardly seemed like someone capable of raising a child. Even the way he died — struck by a car while drunkenly crossing the road — spoke volumes about the reckless life he led.

So, when Mingyu first heard about the girl, doubt immediately took root in his mind. Did he really raise her? Or was she just another person he neglected? The questions lingered in his head, heavy and unsettling.

But then he saw her with his own eyes.

Her clothes were tattered and clung to her like old rags. Dirt smudged her cheeks and arms, leaving faint streaks across her skin. Her hair was long — far too long — wild and unkempt, hanging in tangled strands down her back. She didn't look up when people spoke to her. She didn't reach out for comfort. She just stood there, silent and still, like a forgotten doll abandoned in the corner of a crowded room.

Mingyu’s heart twisted at the sight. How long had she been living like this?

"She smells like cigarettes," you whispered to Mingyu as Jia was seated near you. The faint but distinct scent lingered in the air, sharp and unsettling. Mingyu's eyes flickered toward the girl, his brows knitting together. He noticed it too.

Was my uncle really raising her alone?

The thought echoed in his mind, each repetition hitting harder than the last. Did he smoke around her too? His jaw tightened, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The image of a little girl surrounded by secondhand smoke while her father drank himself numb was enough to make his stomach churn.

Meanwhile, the room buzzed with low murmurs as the family discussed who would take care of Jia now. The adults sat in a loose circle, voices laced with uncertainty and half-hearted sympathy. The phrases were all too familiar — "It’s not the right time for us." "We’ve got too much on our plate already." "Maybe she could stay with someone else." Even Mingyu’s own mother was subtly searching for reasons to excuse herself from the responsibility.

No one said it outright, but it was clear. No one wanted her.

Mingyu leaned back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Jia. She sat next to you, her small hands playing with the hem of her oversized shirt. You had crouched beside her, your voice soft as you tried to draw her into conversation. She didn’t speak, but she responded with small gestures — a nod, a glance, a hesitant tug on your sleeve. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She’s not ignoring you, Mingyu thought. She’s just scared.

On the drive home, the air in the car was quiet, except for the soft hum of the engine. You stared out the window, your eyes distant, lost in thought. Then, after a moment, you spoke.

“When my parents passed away, I had to take care of myself,” you said, your voice calm but heavy with meaning.

Mingyu glanced at you, his eyes shifting from the road to your face. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening. He always listened when it mattered.

"I have older siblings," you continued, "but they had their own families to think about. So, at the end of the day, it was just me." Your gaze remained on the window, watching the world blur past.

"I had to keep going. Finish school. Work part-time jobs. Take care of the house." Your voice grew quieter, almost like you were speaking to yourself now.

Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He knew you were strong, but hearing it laid out like this made him realize just how much you’d carried on your own.

You turned to him then, offering a small, tired smile. "But I was 18," you said, your eyes soft but firm. Then you glanced forward, gaze hardening. "Jia is only 5." Your voice dropped to a whisper, but the weight of those words filled the car like a thunderclap.

Silence followed. It wasn’t awkward or tense — it was the kind of silence that made room for realization.

Mingyu’s eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror. For a moment, his gaze was distant, locked on something only he could see. Then, without warning, he turned the wheel sharply, pulling into a U-turn on the empty street.

“Wait, what are you—?” you started, gripping the seat as the car shifted direction.

But Mingyu didn’t answer. His focus was sharp, his jaw set with quiet determination. His silence said more than words ever could.

He drove back to the funeral house, his hands steady on the wheel, his heart moving faster than his mind could catch up. When he arrived, he barely turned off the engine before stepping out. You watched him jog toward the house, his long strides urgent but purposeful.

Moments later, he returned — and in his arms was Jia.

She clung to him like she’d always belonged there, her small hands gripping his jacket as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Her wild hair brushed against his neck, and for once, she looked less like a forgotten child and more like someone being held.

Mingyu opened the car door and sat her in the back seat, buckling her in with careful, deliberate movements. When he finally slid back into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you. His eyes were calm but certain, like he’d already made up his mind long before you’d even spoken.

“Let’s take care of her,” he said, his voice steady, as if it were the most natural decision in the world.

The examination results were difficult to hear, though not entirely unexpected. Jia was malnourished, significantly shorter and underweight for a child her age. Her verbal communication was delayed, and the doctor suggested it might be the result of prolonged trauma. His words hung in the air like a heavy weight neither you nor Mingyu could shake off.

“You should consider seeing a child behaviorist,” the doctor recommended, glancing between the two of you. “It would help to better understand her psychological condition and ensure she gets the support she needs.”

Mingyu nodded, his expression unreadable but his grip on your hand was firm. You felt his resolve in that silent squeeze.

On the drive home, Jia sat quietly in the back seat. Her head leaned against the window, her eyes following the blur of passing buildings, cars, and trees. She didn’t speak, didn’t hum, didn’t ask questions the way most five-year-olds did. The only sound was the gentle hum of the engine.

You stopped by a supermarket on the way home to pick up essentials — clothes, children’s toiletries, snacks, and other necessities. It felt surreal, walking down the aisles and filling the cart with items meant for a child you’d only just met. You exchanged glances with Mingyu every now and then, wordlessly checking if you were doing this right. His eyes held the same unspoken question.

The two of you had only gotten married earlier this year. Conversations about children had always been distant, hypothetical musings — “If we have kids someday, maybe they’ll have your eyes.” Or, “When we have kids, we’ll have to childproof everything.” Idle thoughts that didn’t demand any real action. But now, it wasn’t a thought or a dream. It was reality.

You were raising a child. A five-year-old. A child who wasn’t biologically yours.

The weight of it settled on your shoulders as you loaded the shopping bags into the trunk. Mingyu’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes soft with quiet reassurance. He didn't say anything, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

At home, the air felt still but not uncomfortable. While you unpacked the shopping bags, Mingyu moved to the kitchen to prepare a small meal for Jia, just in case she hadn’t eaten that day. You glanced toward the living room where she sat on the couch, her tiny feet barely touching the edge, her hands resting on her lap. She was looking down at her fingers, fidgeting with them like she was trying to keep herself busy.

You were about to call her for dinner when her voice — small, soft, and fragile like a thread on the verge of snapping — broke the quiet.

“My dad is dead?”

The words hit you like a sudden gust of cold wind, sharp and unyielding. Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t move. Mingyu froze too, turning his head from the stove to watch you. His gaze was alert but gentle, like he was ready to step in if you needed him to.

Slowly, you walked over to Jia, crouching down in front of her until you were at her eye level. Her eyes met yours, wide and searching for something you weren’t sure you could give her. The weight of her question settled in the space between you.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice as steady as you could make it. “Your dad is gone.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she was trying to hold back tears.

“But…” you continued, tilting your head toward Mingyu, “that man right there?” You pointed at him, and her gaze followed your finger. “He’s your dad now.”

Mingyu glanced at you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. But then his expression softened, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. He turned off the stove and walked over, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before kneeling beside you.

“And me,” you said, tapping your chest with a gentle smile. “I’m your mom.”

Jia’s eyes flickered between the two of you, her fingers still fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her lips parted just slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she muttered, “Mom…” The word was so soft it was almost inaudible, but you heard it.

It was enough to make your chest ache.

You nodded, your eyes warm with quiet encouragement. You opened your arms slowly, offering her a hug, hoping she’d lean into it. “Come here, sweetheart,” you said softly.

But she didn’t move. She stayed still, her eyes watching you carefully, as if trying to figure out if it was safe. Her fingers kept twisting and untwisting the fabric of her shirt.

Your heart ached, but you nodded in understanding, lowering your arms slowly. “It’s okay,” you said with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

Mingyu reached out and lightly patted her head, his touch gentle but firm, like he was reminding her she wasn’t alone. She glanced up at him, her gaze lingering just a little longer this time.

"Jia's going to be okay here," you said firmly, your voice filled with certainty. You didn’t say it just for her — you said it for yourself too. "With mom and dad, you’ll be safe. We promise."

Jia blinked slowly, her gaze still cautious but a little less distant. She didn’t say anything, but this time, when Mingyu ruffled her hair again, she didn’t flinch.

It was a start. And sometimes, a start was all you needed.

The first week was an emotional whirlwind. Both of you had to rearrange your entire lives. Remote work became the only option when you quickly realized that daycare wasn’t a suitable choice for Jia — not with everything she’d been through. It wasn’t just about leaving her in someone else’s care. It was about trust. And Jia had already learned, far too young, that adults couldn’t always be trusted.

The visit to the child behaviorist was the hardest part. Sitting in that small, sterile office, you listened as the specialist laid out the results with a calm but empathetic tone.

“For a five-year-old, Jia is showing clear signs of depression,” the behaviorist explained, their gaze shifting gently between you and Mingyu. “Her speech delay, difficulty making decisions, and avoidance of communication — these are all symptoms of the environment she grew up in.”

You sat in stunned silence, gripping Mingyu’s hand tightly. His thumb rubbed slow, steady circles against your palm, but you could feel the tension in his grip. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the floor, his breathing slow and deliberate — the only sign that he was trying to control the anger brewing inside him.

“Children her age should be exploring, talking, asking questions,” the behaviorist continued. “But it sounds like she spent most of her time in survival mode.”

That phrase stuck with you. Survival mode. For five years, Jia had lived like that. And now, at only five years old, she was already exhausted.

At home, the puzzle pieces started coming together. She flinched every time someone reached toward her too quickly. Her whole body would tense, her eyes darting toward the source of the movement like she was bracing for impact. It didn’t matter if it was you, Mingyu, or even a harmless gesture like placing a blanket over her shoulders. She always reacted the same way.

It broke you.

She hated cigarette boxes. The sight of them made her shrink into herself, her small frame folding inward like she was trying to disappear. She’d stare at them with wide, fearful eyes, refusing to move until they were out of sight. It didn’t take long to figure out why.

The soju bottles had a similar effect. Once, while you and Mingyu were clearing out the kitchen cabinets, a soju bottle slipped from the top shelf and clattered loudly on the counter. Jia had been in the living room playing with a puzzle, but at the sound of glass clinking, she froze. Her little hands stopped mid-movement, her face going pale as her eyes locked on the bottle.

Her breathing grew shallow. Her eyes darted to the front door like she was ready to bolt.

“Jia, it’s okay,” you said softly, stepping toward her slowly, hands raised so she could see them. "It’s just a bottle. No one’s going to hurt you."

But she didn’t move. She didn’t even blink.

Mingyu moved faster than you. He was already at her side, kneeling down, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. “Look at me, Jia,” he said gently, his deep voice unusually soft. His eyes stayed locked on hers, never once looking at the bottle. “That’s just a bottle, nothing else. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

Her gaze flickered to him, her tiny chest rising and falling rapidly. Slowly, she shifted her focus from the bottle to his face. He smiled at her, a warm, reassuring smile that didn’t rush her to respond.

“See? No one’s mad. No one’s angry,” he continued, his voice like a steady heartbeat. "You're safe, okay? Safe."

It took time, but eventually, her breathing steadied. She looked at the bottle once more, then slowly looked away, her hands curling into fists on her lap.

Later that night, while you were tucking her into bed, Mingyu stood by the door with his arms crossed, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“She’s terrified of cigarettes, terrified of soju, and she flinches every time she’s touched,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp as broken glass. His eyes stayed on Jia, his gaze softening only for her. But his next words were filled with quiet, seething rage. “That man won’t rest in peace for what he did to her.”

You glanced at him, your heart heavy with shared anger and grief. “She’ll need therapy,” you said softly, smoothing a hand over Jia���s blanket. She had already fallen asleep, her small face finally at ease after a long, difficult day. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Mingyu's eyes flicked toward you, his gaze steady but fierce. “Everything,” he echoed firmly, like a vow.

And from the way he looked at Jia, you knew he meant it.

*

Mingyu's mother visited after the first month, her arrival stirring a mix of nerves and anticipation. But as she sat in the living room, her eyes naturally found Jia, who was on the floor, carefully stacking her colorful blocks with the kind of quiet concentration only children could master.

There was a noticeable difference in her. Jia was no longer the withdrawn, fearful girl she had been when she first came into your home. She felt safer now — it showed in the way she moved freely around you and Mingyu, no longer flinching at sudden movements. Her small giggles echoed through the house like sunlight spilling through cracks, and every laugh she let out sent butterflies fluttering in your chest.

She was still shy, especially around adults, but she had started to show an interest in making friends her age. You saw it with your own eyes during her first day at daycare a week ago. She had stood quietly for a while, watching the other kids play, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. Then, with hesitant but determined steps, she approached a little girl nearby. You watched as she extended her small hand for a handshake. Her lips moved softly, and though you couldn’t hear her, you knew she was introducing herself. The sight had made your heart swell with pride, and you couldn't wait to tell Mingyu.

“She introduced herself,” you had shared with him later that night. “She actually walked up to another kid and said her name. Can you believe that?”

Mingyu had smiled so wide his eyes disappeared. “She’s brave,” he said, his voice filled with pride. "Our brave little girl."

But now, the air in the house felt different. Mingyu’s mother sipped her tea slowly, her gaze shifting between you, Mingyu, and the little girl quietly playing in the corner. She set her cup down, her eyes sharp but cautious.

“Are the two of you sure about legally adopting her?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed.

Mingyu, who had been stirring his tea with absent-minded patience, finally put his spoon down. He placed a cup of tea in front of his mother before sitting beside you on the couch, his posture straight but not stiff.

"Yes, mother," he said firmly. "We have to take action since no one else will." His tone was steady, each word deliberate.

"That’s a big decision," she said, her fingers lacing together on her lap. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head. "Have you really thought it through?"

Mingyu nodded. "We have. We talked about it, thought it over for weeks. We’ve even discussed finances, education, and everything else we might face in the future.” His hand slid beneath the table, finding yours. His fingers interlocked with yours, and each time he was about to speak, his grip would tighten. It was subtle but clear — he was asking you to let him handle it. This was his mother, after all, and he knew her best.

“But she’s not blood-related,” his mother said, her gaze flickering toward Jia for a brief moment before settling back on Mingyu. Her eyes grew colder, her voice quieter but no less cutting. “Her mother was a prostitute.”

Silence filled the room like heavy fog.

Mingyu let out a slow, controlled sigh, his jaw flexing for a brief second before he leaned forward, his eyes locked on his mother.

“Mom, that doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice sharp but calm. “She’s five. Five. Her mother’s choices have nothing to do with her.” His eyes narrowed, his voice firm but respectful. “And let’s not forget that your brother — your brother — didn’t take care of her either. He left her hungry, bruised, and scared for years. You think I should do the same?”

His mother blinked, visibly taken aback. Her fingers fidgeted on the table, tapping lightly against the wood. She glanced at Jia, who was still playing quietly, blissfully unaware of the conversation. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“We could send her to a foster home,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the tea in front of her.

Mingyu let out a short, bitter laugh, tilting his head back as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle in the room. Slowly, he picked up his tea and took a slow sip, his eyes watching his mother from over the rim of the cup.

He didn’t have to say anything for her to know what he was thinking. The silence said it all.

After a long pause, he set the cup down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were sharper now, his voice low but firm. “Mom, listen to me carefully,” he said, and for the first time, she looked directly at him. "Jia isn’t some responsibility we’re trying to avoid. She’s family. Family isn’t just blood — it’s the people who love you, protect you, and make sure you’re safe.” He glanced at you briefly before looking back at his mother. “That little girl has lived through things a child her age should never have to experience. So, no, we’re not sending her to a foster home. We’re her home now.”

You glanced at Mingyu, pride swelling in your chest. His hand still gripped yours tightly, anchoring the both of you.

“I know you’re worried for us,” you added, your voice softer than his but no less firm. "I know you’re thinking about how hard this will be, and you’re right. It’s going to be hard. But we’ve already spent a month with her, and you’ve seen it yourself. She’s growing, changing, and finally learning to feel safe.” Your gaze softened as you looked at his mother. “If things get difficult, we’ll ask for help. From you, from family, from friends. But we’re not giving up on her. Not now. Not ever.”

Mingyu's mother didn’t speak immediately. Her eyes flickered to Jia once more, watching as she carefully balanced a red block on top of a blue one, her tongue peeking out as she focused. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if the tower of blocks was the most important thing in the world.

"She’s a sweet girl,” his mother finally said, her voice softer now. Her eyes lingered on Jia for a moment longer before turning back to you and Mingyu. "But sweet doesn’t mean easy.”

Mingyu nodded, his gaze unwavering. "We know."

For a moment, no one said anything. His mother picked up her cup, taking another slow sip of tea. Her eyes remained thoughtful as she gazed down at the cup, her fingers no longer tapping nervously.

“You’ll call me if you need help?” she asked, her tone lighter this time, less sharp.

“Of course,” Mingyu said, his lips curving into a small smile. "But only if you're ready to see her as family too."

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no real fight in her gaze this time. Instead, she sighed, setting the teacup back on the table with a quiet clink.

“Fine,” she muttered, folding her arms. “But if she calls me grandma one day, I’ll hold you responsible.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with a knowing grin. “Deal.”

You watched as his mother shook her head, hiding a small, reluctant smile behind her hand. Her gaze wandered to Jia one more time, her eyes just a little softer than before.

The day the adoption papers were approved felt surreal, like a weight you didn’t realize you’d been carrying had finally lifted. It was official now — Jia was no longer just the little girl you were caring for. She was Kim Jia, legally and irrevocably your daughter. You and Mingyu were her parents in every sense of the word.

The moment you received the confirmation call, Mingyu pulled you into a tight hug, his grin so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "She's ours," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and pride. "Officially, legally, and forever ours."

That night, you celebrated quietly with a small cake at home. Jia sat between you and Mingyu at the kitchen table, her wide eyes focused on the flickering candle. You guided her small hands to clasp them together, showing her how to make a wish.

"Close your eyes and think of something you really want," you said softly, watching her from the side. She squeezed her eyes shut, her brows furrowed in concentration. After a few seconds, she looked up at you with a small nod, ready to blow out the candle. Her breath was small but determined, the tiny flame vanishing with a single huff.

“What did you wish for, sweetie?” Mingyu asked, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes warm and curious.

Jia glanced at him, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Secret,” she muttered with a small, mischievous smile.

You and Mingyu exchanged a glance before bursting into soft laughter. It was moments like these that reminded you just how far she’d come.

Since starting regular speech therapy sessions, Jia's speech had blossomed. Her words were still short and simple, but they were hers — words she chose for herself, not ones prompted or forced from her.

Her quiet voice had become your favorite sound in the world. She wasn't as talkative or curious as other five-year-olds, but she didn’t have to be. Each word she spoke felt like a little victory.

“Jia, do you want pancakes or eggs for breakfast?” you’d ask in the mornings.

“Eggs,” she’d say, her tiny voice as soft as a breeze.

“Scrambled or fried?”

“Scrambled,” she’d reply, her eyes peeking at you shyly before focusing on her plate.

Every time she spoke, you and Mingyu shared a glance, silently celebrating her growth. It wasn’t just her voice that had changed. She was learning to make choices, to have preferences, and to express them out loud. It was something that once seemed so far away, but here she was, making it feel so natural.

But not all questions were as simple as what to have for breakfast.

One evening, as you were folding laundry in the living room, Jia sat on the carpet nearby, brushing her doll’s hair with careful strokes. Her eyes stayed on the doll’s face as she spoke, her voice quieter than usual but clear enough for you to hear.

“Why are you and Daddy my parents?” she asked, not looking up from her doll. Her small fingers smoothed the doll’s tangled strands with slow, gentle patience.

The question stopped you mid-fold, the shirt in your hands suddenly feeling heavier than it should. You glanced at Mingyu, who was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. He froze too, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

He set his phone aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. You could see him thinking, carefully picking his words before he spoke.

“Because you needed us,” he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. “And we needed you.”

Jia’s hands paused on the doll’s hair. She glanced up at him, her eyes round and thoughtful. "Needed me?" she repeated slowly, as if testing the words on her tongue.

Mingyu smiled, nodding. "Yup. We didn’t know it at first, but the moment we met you, we realized it." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes steady and sincere as he gazed at her. “Families aren’t just about who you’re born to. Sometimes, families are made by love, not blood.”

You sat down on the carpet beside Jia, placing a hand on her back, rubbing slow circles. “We chose you, Jia,” you said softly. “We saw you, and we decided we wanted to be your parents. And we’re really, really happy we did.”

Her little brows scrunched together, her lips pursed as if she were processing everything at once. Her eyes moved from you to Mingyu, then back to her doll. She resumed brushing its hair, her strokes slower than before.

"Other kids have one mommy, one daddy," she muttered. "I had no mommy... then two?"

Her words hit like a punch straight to your heart. You glanced at Mingyu, and he was already looking at you, his eyes filled with that quiet understanding only the two of you shared.

“That’s true,” you replied, keeping your voice soft but steady. “Some kids have one mom and one dad. Some have two moms. Some have two dads. And some kids, like you, have a mommy and daddy who chose them.” You reached for her hand, gently holding it in yours. “It’s not about how many you start with, sweetie. It’s about how many people love you.”

Her fingers curled around yours, tiny but warm. She didn't look up, still focused on the doll in her lap. Her grip on your hand was firm, though, like she understood something deeper than what her five-year-old mind could fully put into words.

“Did you choose Daddy too?” she asked suddenly, peeking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

This time, it was Mingyu who choked on a laugh. “She did,” he answered before you could. “She picked me, and I got lucky.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, and for once, she didn’t flinch. She giggled, pushing his hand away with an exaggerated pout.

“No, no,” she said, her cheeks puffed out in mock annoyance. But her smile betrayed her.

"Yup," you said, grinning as you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I picked him because I knew he’d be a good dad one day.”

Jia tilted her head up at him, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Is Daddy good?” she asked, her lips curling into a tiny, mischievous smile.

“The best,” you whispered loud enough for Mingyu to hear, giving him a teasing glance.

“Darn right, I am,” he said with a dramatic huff, crossing his arms. “Don’t forget it, little one.”

Her giggle burst out like a bell, bright and clear, and just like that, the air felt lighter again. Moments like this — these little, precious, fleeting moments — reminded you why everything had been worth it.

Later that night, as you tucked Jia into bed, she stared at the ceiling, her eyes far away in thought. You leaned down, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Goodnight, Jia," you whispered, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders.

Her eyes shifted to you, and just as you were about to stand, she reached out, gripping the sleeve of your shirt.

"Mommy," she said, her voice so soft it could have been a breath.

"Yes, baby?"

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours. Then she whispered, “Thank you for choosing me.”

Your heart squeezed so tightly you thought it might stop. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Instead, you cupped her cheek with your hand, your thumb brushing against her soft skin.

“Thank you for letting us,” you replied, your voice shaking just a little.

She nodded, her eyes slowly fluttering closed as she relaxed into the pillow. You stayed for a while, watching her breathe, letting the quiet peace of the room settle around you.

When you finally stepped out of her room, Mingyu was waiting in the hallway, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He tilted his head toward you, raising a brow.

“She call you ‘Mommy’ just now?” he asked, his voice quiet with awe.

You nodded, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Yeah. She did.”

Mingyu let out a breathy laugh, covering his face with his hands. “Man,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I think that just broke me.”

You stepped into his arms, letting him pull you into a hug. He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you a little tighter than usual.

"Kim Jia," he murmured against your hair, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. "Our little girl."

[nthspecialll]

The fandom glorifies Arthur Morgan

Now I am not talking about about low honor, I play high honor and got it as the top at the end of every damn playthrough but my Arthur, as it is the cannon Arthur, is not a good guy. I am not going to talk about all of the murder, robbing and stuff he does, because we are majorly aware of it, I am talking his sexism, casual ignorance and disrespecfulness.

I quite often see people say that Arthur Morgan is a woman lover, and he definitely is, he is better than a lot of men from that time (which isn't hard), but he would not hold up in modern times, because he is not from modern times.

Generally speaking, Arthur Morgan is a man who believes in gender roles, he believes in the idea of "a man being a man" and "a woman being a woman." He has opinions about what a woman should do and what a man should do.

I think the biggest hint at this is his relationship with Sadie, because while he accepts her running with the boys he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" and also "can Ms Grimshaw spare you?" when the girls asks if they can come to Valentine with him.

Talking of that quest, when he runs off to get Jimmy Brooks he puts Uncle, a lazy old bastard, in charge of getting the girls home even though they are more than capable of doing it themselves as they are healthy young women who knows how to handle horses.

In several antagonize lines against women performers (which are just as cannon as his greet lines) he shouts things like "That isn't very ladylike!" or "Go back to the kitchen" and "go make someone supper."

People keep saying Arthur would "treat them right" and he would, to an extent, he would care for you, he would be nice to you, but he would force those gender roles. He does have a belief women are somehow "softer" and that he as a person with a provider gene should do more of the harsh work.

So now we covered that, lets talk about the racism, or as I probably should rather call it, ignorance, because it is very commonly know Arthur does not judge by the color of skin.

The first one is that Arthur uses the whites-only saloon in Rhodes. Tilly mentions it to Arthur that they don't allow people of color into it, and yet he still supports it, it isn't a big thing but it is something of notice.

Secondly, when he talks to Eagle Flies where he "sets him in his place" Arthur, honey, you are so wrong here. Eagle Flies is being chased by the government for the mere fact that he exists with a different culture, you are being chased because you murdered so many folks, you can run across the sea and live a good life, they are fucked regardless.

When we first arrive in Lemoyne, Lenny and Arthur talks about the Lemoyne Raiders about racism and Arthur says "These boys got a manner about them but I haven't particularly noticed," Arthur of course you wouldn't, you are a tall, muscular, white man with sun kissed hair and blue eyes, you are the poster boy for eugenics.

Lastly, which will also bring me to the third point, the casual disrespect:

Arthur causally calling Javier a slur on the boat for no reason, did you really need that one-liner so badly? That goes for a lot of times in the game such as: "are you secretly normal" "what a lunatic" "we should find a better story for that scar" "But you continue to irritate me, I will kill you and make my appologies to the lady" "stick around and you might die for her as well" "oh I didn't know I was talking to a lady." All those were a slight bit disrespectful, enough to be able to annoy the majority of us if he said it to us, and they were also unnecessary.

He is also canonically chronically late, most notably we can hear Sean saying "that man will be late to his own funeral," and when you go around antagonizing characters in camp they are not surprised at all, rather they go "back at it again huh?"

All of this is just to sum up, Arthur is a pretty bad man (also counting in all the illegal stuff) and we tend to glorify him and forget some of these things, partly is also because Rockstar are amazing at hiding them, at making them seem natural, and they are because this is a historically accurate game! It is set in 1899 and this is a man from 1899 he is going to be casually sexist and disrespectful, and again, considering that he is from 1899 he is a decent guy because the majority of folk would be like Micah, not Arthur.

I definitely love Arthur, and I love Arthur exactly because the point of his character is him not being a saint but a human. His redemption is choosing to do good where he can, but even so, this is a man in 1899 and he is going to have a 1899 mindset. If you want to play a game that is set in the past but don't have that type of accuracy it is not Red Dead you want to play.

Also here is an Arthur pic as a thank you for reading all of that. I love him.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

For Lack of a Burger

**finally I have written! Sorry for the long absence, folks- my cat is a needy little thing and I love her. Enjoy!**

“As blood son of Batman, it is only natural that I train here to become heir to the Bat.”

Dick- well, Nightwing right now- looked down at Robin, who was staring out over Gotham with his brow furrowed.

“And what of the league? I can’t imagine them letting the heir to the Demon’s Head run loose.”

Robin stiffened a fraction more than he already was- something that Nightwing wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t trained by Batman himself.

“I know only one thing for sure concerning the heirship of the league.”

“What is that?”

“Grandfather will not taste relief in death.”

Nightwing wasn’t sure what that meant, but Damian seemed so assured of the fact. He would have to tell Bruce- maybe Ra’s had discovered a better method of immortality than the pits?

An alert pinged on their communicators, and the two of them checked it before heading off to save the citizens.

~~~

“I miss real food, Clocky.”

“You are currently unable to process it.”

“I know. Ectoplasm just isn’t the same though.”

Danny sprawled on Clockwork’s floor, lazily filling out paperwork from ages ago and yesterday.

“It has been a very long time since you left humanity behind.”

“I wish there was a safe way to go back and get some food.”

His mentor paused briefly, and Danny looked up. Was that a gleam in Clockwork’s eye?

“There is a way.”

Danny shot up into a seated position, crossing his legs.

“Tell me!”

“You will face many hardships.”

“Clockwork, serious as a funeral, I would kill for a burger right now.”

Clockwork smiled enigmatically.

“You may have to.”

He flicked his fingers and Danny found himself pushed back. He allowed it- at this point in his existence, he could overpower Clockwork, but he’d asked for this.

The world went dark around him.

~~~

In the year since he’d come to live with Father, Damian had not said a word about his brother. He’d been told, before being unceremoniously bundled away from the only home he’d ever known, that he was to be the heir of the Bat and Daniel was to be the Demon’s Head.

His mother had told him that Father would try and steal Daniel away from the League- that Damian would yet again be the lesser son. After a few months with Father, Damian had stopped believing that. There was no thing as a ‘lesser’ child for Father.

And yet.

Grandfather was a powerful man, and Grandfather treasured Daniel more than he had ever cared for Damian.

Daniel al Ghul, second son of the Bat of Gotham, was brilliant. He kept his emotions in check, fought with practiced ease in any situation, and spoke circles around even mother. It never took him as long as it took Damian to learn a new skill, and most of the time he spent studying, even when they were both allowed a break.

Damian loved him, even as the younger child overtook the position Damian had striven for his entire life.

What was not to love? Damian had loved him ever since his tiny hand had curled around his finger in infancy.

He had always been fond of small, cute things.

But if Daniel left the League, Grandfather would come after him, and it would be unsafe.

Damian held his tongue and loved his baby brother from a distance, even though he might never see him again.

~~~

John “Hellblazer” Constantine needed a drink. Or several.

Bats had appeared on the Watchtower with yet another new Robin, and this one was probably the most concerning out of all of them.

No, it wasn’t the sword.

It was the massive fucking protection order from a powerful death god that radiated off his small form.

“Bats.”

“Hm.”

“I need to talk to you and the kid.”

Bats nodded, a gesture John took to mean ‘go ahead’.

John sighed.

“Not here, Bats. Too many ears.”

“Hrn.”

The Bat swept away, followed closely by his brightly colored companion. John followed as well. He was pretty good at speaking Bat, after all these years working together.

They made their way into the bowels of the Watchtower, into a sitting room John hadn’t known existed.

“What do you need, Constantine?”

John paused for a moment, assessing. Robin was watching him suspiciously, hand on his sword, and Batman was standing half in front of the little bird protectively.

“Did you know this one was friends with a death god?”

“What?”

The Bat and Robin spoke the same word at the same time, in the exact same tone. Did they practice that? Anyways.

“Yup. Little redbreast screams hands off.”

“I am not acquainted with any gods.”

John shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean you knew they were a god. To get to the bottom of this- has anyone ever sworn to protect you in some way?”

Robin went still and pale behind his mask, before darting a glance up at Batman.

Batman, who was looking down at his sidekick.

“Robin? Report.”

The boy stuck his chin out.

“It was many years ago, Batman. He- they couldn’t have been a god.”

“You don’t know that, kid. Where did you meet him?”

“He wasn’t a god!”

Robin had become defensive, sword halfway out of it’s sheath, glaring at John- presumably for the sin of being alive.

“If the League of Assassins has contact with a deity of death, we need to know, Robin.”

Snarling, Robin started out of the room.

“I will not discuss him with either of you. He is safe where he is.”

“Robin- chum. Who is he?”

Robin stopped in the door, not looking back. His voice wobbled a little as he spoke.

“My younger brother.”

John needed a drink, and fast.

~~~

Danny stood over Damian’s bed, watching his older brother breathe shallowly. Grandfather had beat him badly, and Danny was still unsure why.

Talia wouldn’t look him in the eye, and Grandfather had gone to soak in the pits.

“Daniel?”

“Damian!”

Danny bent over his brother, placing a hand over his pulse to check it.

“Why?”

Why had Grandfather beaten him? Why had he stood and let it happen? Why didn’t he run?

“He… wanted me… t’kill you.”

Danny felt rage swell up in his tiny seven-year-old body. What right did Ra’s al Ghul think he had, to beat a child almost to death for such a reason?

What right did that man have, to touch someone Danny had come to care for?

Closing his eyes briefly, Danny allowed himself to meditate for the few moments it would take to let his rage die down enough to comfort his brother.

Once it had, he opened his eyes again and pressed his forehead to Damian’s.

“I swear I will protect you, ahki. Ra’s al Ghul will not taste relief in death.”

The next day Danny watched invisibly as Talia dipped Damian in the Lazarus pits to heal him before putting him on a plane to Gotham.

~~~

“You have made me proud, Daniel.”

Ra’s watched as Daniel bowed, having taken out a squadron of elite ninja for his tenth birthday.

The ninja were still breathing- Ra’s was sure Daniel had spared them so as to not weaken the ranks of the League he was set to inherit.

It pleased him that his young grandson was so wise, despite his youth. His older brother had no such wisdom- rash and impatient, still full of emotional weakness. Ra’s would no longer claim that boy as his grandson once Daniel passed his newest test.

With a wave of his hand, several ninja brought forth a young man. They had managed to kidnap Richard Grayson from under the nose of the Bat, and now Daniel would kill the other.

“Grandfather?”

“This is your Father’s oldest ward. He is a usurper to a place that rightfully should be yours. Kill him.”

Daniel walked towards the bound man, and the ninja holding the captive backed away respectfully.

“May I ask him a question, Grandfather?”

Ra’s nodded. There was no harm in it.

The boy drew his sword and stepped around the man, holding the blade to his neck.

“Tell me, Grayson. Is Damian well?”

The lilt in his voice spelled danger for Damian, and Ra’s could barely contain his grin at Daniel’s ferocity.

“He is protected,” the kneeling man forced out. “You won’t harm a hair on his head.”

Daniel smiled, not unlike a shark.

“I know.”

Before Ra’s could blink, Richard Grayson’s bonds had fallen to the floor as if he had turned into a ghost, and Daniel’s sword was stabbed into the dirt between the Demon Head’s feet.

“We are leaving, Ra’s, and you will not stop us.”

The venom in his calm grandson’s voice when Daniel said his name made Ra’s pause, but only for a moment.

At a gesture, ninja poured out into the courtyard, intent on recapturing Nightwing and taking down the heir to the Demon.

Seconds before the ninja collided with the two, Daniel grinned, his eyes locked straight on Ra’s, grabbed Grayson’s hand, and the two vanished.

~~~

Dick was… Confused didn’t quite cut it. His day had been a disaster, and then this tiny meta who looked like a carbon copy of Damian appeared.

“So… You a clone?”

“No.”

“Oh. Uh. What are we doing, by the way?”

The boy smiled serenely at him, and then continued his work.

“Jacking a plane.”

“You’re like, eight.”

The boy shrugged.

“If you like.”

“Where are we going?”

“Gotham.”

“Who are you?”

The boy turned and put his hands on his hips, and Dick was starkly reminded of Bruce by the posture and facial expression.

“Look, Grayson, I get it, you’re confused. But if you don’t shut up and let me finish this wiring, we’ll never get you back to Gotham before the League catches up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

The boy turned back around and continued his wiring.

“Call me Danny. Too many fruitloops call me Daniel.”

Dick expected a long flight ahead of them.

~~~

Damian was strapping on the last of his gear to go rescue Richard from the League of Assassins when the man himself strolled into the batcave, looking tired but no worse for wear.

“Dick!”

Batman- no, he took his cowl off- Father threw himself across the room to assess the health of his son.

Damian started unstrapping his gear.

“How did you get free?”

“We apparently had a man on the inside?”

“Had?”

“He blew his cover to save me.”

“Nightwing, report. Where is this man now?”

“I was landing the plane. Nice digs, dad.”

The cave fell silent, but for the ringing of the batarangs Damian dropped as he spun to face the newcomer.

“Not sure what I think of the ‘cave’ vibe you have going on, though.”

“Daniel?”

Daniel met Damian’s eyes, and a look Damian had never seen on his little brother broke out on the boy’s face.

A true, genuine, joyful smile.

“Akhi!”

Damian pulled out his sword and held it towards the stranger in his brother’s body.

“Who are you?”

The boy laughed.

“I’m a little weird now, right? It’s okay, Damian, it’s me.”

“What was the last thing you said to me.”

Damian felt that was a good question. No one but Daniel would know.

“I said I would protect you, and that Ra’s al Ghul would not experience a pleasant afterlife.”

“That-“

“Isn’t quite it, I know. Still true, though. I brought the Lazarus pits with me. Ra’s can’t use them anymore.”

Damian heard Father and Drake choke at Daniel’s words. This was Daniel, despite his complete personality change. No one had been with them when Daniel had made his promise.

“Since when were you a god of death?”

Daniel laughed.

“It’s a long story, Ahki.”

Damian sheathed his sword and held out a hand.

“Come then, habibi, tell me.”

“Can I have a burger to go with the story? I’m starving."

[ihavemanyhusbands]

okayy. so this is my request idea 😍

can i req for him pls, he still mourning his wife however you (acacius' daughter) willing to give him your love, sadly he did not want it or keep you away from him. until you realized that he still in love with his wife so you gave distance. at the end, he wanted you and saved you after your father's death

Thank you for requesting <33

(Note: reader is not Lucilla’s daughter, just Acacius’ from a previous marriage)

——————

It had been a while since you’d last seen him.

You remembered your last encounter painfully well, when he'd turned his face away, unable to bear seeing the earnestness in your eyes. You had poured your heart out to him, but he hadn't been able to accept it. He'd drawn that line firmly in the sand, having to accept the consequences that came with it.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, not really, but his heart was still splintered in a thousand bleeding shards. He was constantly reminded of the one he had loved for years before his return to Rome; The one he had bitterly lost at your father's command back in Numidia.

He never said her name at first — Arishat — until the day you confronted him after the naval battle at the colosseum. He had vowed his revenge against your father for her death, and he could not see past his hatred and mourning to see you. One of the only people who had offered him your genuine friendship, who'd heard countless stories about him from his mother, weaving an image of the strong, good-hearted man that you would one day fall in love with.

That day, the image had been shattered and your heart didn't fare any better. And so, for both of your sakes, you decided to keep your distance.

But then, after your father was arrested and forced to fight Lucius in the arena as a gladiator, things took a drastic turn. At the last moment, when your father had surrendered to him, Lucius decided to spare him, even going so far as to defend his honor.

Still, the Praetorian guard riddled him with arrows, and loss like you had never known had you crying to the skies, cursing the will of the Gods.

After the funeral, you were secluded at home for a nine-day mourning period in which no one else could reach you. Even after that, you refused to see anyone for another two weeks, letting both your heart and the scratches on your face from lamentations heal a little more.

When you felt just strong enough, you decided to throw a small dinner party to honor his life. And once the sun had set, it was none other than Lucius who showed up last, his expression somber. His body language was hesitant, like he wasn't entirely sure he would be welcome.

But when you made eye contact with him from across the room, he felt a little more encouraged to approach you. He offered his condolences and silently stood next to you as you stared at the flickering flames dancing in one of the braziers.

"Your father was a good man," he said. "I've come to realize that a little too late."

"He did what he had to do for the glory of Rome," you said, accepting his words but not denying that he had committed acts of brutality in his time as a commander.

"I have made many mistakes when it comes to you, as well. Please, forgive me."

You looked up at him and realized that despite how hard you had tried not to, you still ached for him. Swallowing thickly, you looked away before any tears could form in your eyes.

"It's all in the past now, Lucius," you murmured. "I bear you no ill will, especially after you showed mercy to my father."

There was a long silence in which the two of you were lost in thought. The two of you had your own burdens to bear, but perhaps they wouldn't be so heavy if the weight was shared. He had realized he did not want to be separated from you, even if it would take some time for the two of you to fully open up again.

He was a patient man and was more than willing to work for it -- to see it through. In time, perhaps two broken hearts would meld each other, stronger than before.

"I should like to be the one to take care of you now," he said, looking at your profile. "If you'll let me."

You stiffened, feeling something akin to hope surge within you. A lump formed in your throat and you let a tear run down your cheek. Unable to find the right words to respond to him, though, you settled for taking his hand.

And it was then he knew that things would be alright.

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

[foxglove-if]

DEMO T . B . A . ✧ PLAYLISTS ✧ C. INTRODUCTIONS ✧ PINTEREST BOARD

In the heart of Virela is an eternal metropolis, an urban landscape that breathes opulence, enthralling people from all corners of the world. The core of their intrigue is the technological advancement that the cityscape extends and demonstrates to those willing to partake in its refinement. It never failed to enrapture audiences into the idea of comfortable living to the highest degree, of boundless opportunities to become more than what they currently were.

The continuous promise of success and fulfillment corrupted what was once a sanctuary; of what once built your home. It precipitated an infectious greed, one that was progressive in consuming the whole of Virela. It now stands above all else, polluted by the very thing that had brought Virela its grand prestige, besmirched by an endless series of crimes that varied in severity and disappearances that left behind not even a whisper.

It was all you ever knew, the only place that had offered you anything that had resembled a life, and yet, it did not feel like home. For the better part of your childhood, your grandmother raised you, her presence a constant anchor. She guided you throughout your development in your adolescence. She was determined to remain by your side, to see you grow into the person she believed you could be. Then, your grandmother vanished on the morning of your fifteenth birthday.

You desperately sought out the authorities, who had spoken of combing over every crevice of the cityscape for her, promising to find her in due time. A vast majority of your questions whenever asked were discarded, left unanswered for an extended period of time. 

Your answer came several years later, with you standing at her funeral - witnessing as the closed casket is lowered into the earth. The funerary service is nothing but a blur, soft-spoken words whispered over her casket no longer meaningful, as if the true grief of it all cannot be contained in such rituals.

In the aftermath, you return to what was left of her apartment, where her presence still lingers in the walls. The apartment is cold, silent, and twinges with an unfamiliarity that makes your skin raise, as though time itself had abandoned it. You attempt to reconnect with the memories that echo throughout the apartment, but it all feels distant to you.

You try to rest within the comfort of your grandmother's old bedroom, but insomnia is an old companion that has you turning in bed, the hours slipping by you. Eventually, the exhaustion claims what was left of your consciousness, allowing you to fade into a restless sleep.

Whenever you do awaken, it is not to the comfort of her bedroom. The room you knew, the room where her warmth once filled every corner, is gone. Instead, you are lying on rough, almost numbing pavement, your fingers stinging from the cold.

The world around you is minaciously barren. It bears no resemblance to Virela, but almost does all at the same time. 

The air is thick with an unnatural fog that clings to your skin and obscures your vision, twisting the image of your surroundings. The silence contaminates the very air that you breathe, unsettling the last of your nerves.

Now, as you attempt to compose yourself and discover what this realm has to offer you, will you succumb to the unknown that surrounds you, or will you be able to escape the suffocating grip that this mysterious world has on you?

FOXGLOVE is an 18 + Interactive Fiction novel that is under development that will feature, but is not limited to, the following : In-Depth Depiction and Symbolism of Grief, Mental Illness, Derealization, the Usage of Drugs and Alcohol, Descriptions of Heavy Gore, Religious Undertones, Discussions of Suicide, Themes of Psychological Horror, Foul Language, and (optional) Explicit Sexual Content.

An updated list of Content Warnings will appear at the very beginning of the novel.

Reader Discretion is Advised.

Please let it be known that English is not my first language. There is a possibility of there being an abundance of spelling errors and or sentences that may not make sense. If you find any errors, please let me know - thank you.

✧ An Interactive Fiction novel that emphasizes the importance of your choices with a major focus on storytelling.

✧ Customize your character's Pronouns, Sexuality, Personality, and Physical Appearance.

✧ Step into the world of "Xinthero", a fictional world that is overrun by creatures and the supernatural. Choose what makes you unique; how you break out of certain situations in order to survive.

✧ Be cautious. Not every situation requires you to be prideful or courageous.

✧ All characters have the chance to die. It is up to you whether or not that is their fate.

✧ Romance one out of five potential Love Interests. ( Two Female, one Male, one Non-Binary, and one Gender-Selectable )

✧ Survive this world - do not let it consume you.

ABEL — THE VENERER. { M }

A lunar-struck vourdalak, in opposition of the instincts conjoined within him, ABEL makes it his mission to hunt and slaughter the entities that plague Xinthero. Albeit an inherently reclusive man, he is able to sustain a genuine sense of decorum that is almost unfitting for him.

ABEL has rescued you before, exemplifying a raw strength that is bordering on the edges of that of a rabid creature, adorned in a tenebrous cloak besmirched with jagged cuts that reveal umber skin. However, no matter what, he immediately avoids your gaze, refusing eye contact. He seems amiable, but there seems to be something that forces him to keep his distance from you.

ECHO — THE OCCULTIST. { F / M / NB }

Echo is a seemingly electric bundle of nerves upon stumbling onto you. They are seemingly timid, muddling up some of their words whenever they try to maintain a conversation.

It eventually improves after meeting you a couple of more times, allowing you to see them as they are.

You soon come to find out that they are a student of the Occult and just a lone wanderer, studying the world as it is. It almost makes you question how they have been able to last as long as they have on their own. It is a question that lingers, however, it is almost as if it disappears from your mind before you can speak it into existence.

There is something that lies underneath the surface of their person, producing an air of curiosity surrounding them.

LILITH — THE COURIER. { F }

The eternal shepherd of the "flock", serving those who are first brought into Xinthero, LILITH is a woman of diminutive words. Although she does not make it a habit to speak, it is still a priority for her to tend to those under her care, moreover relinquishing her guidance for those who no longer desire it.

LILITH has managed to succeed in guiding others to escape Xinthero if they so wished to, in addition to managing and watching over the cemetery.

She is accompanied by a Fae companion, who assists LILITH in her plethora of responsibilities. The both of them wish for nothing but to assist you in escaping this world, similar to those who have arrived before you.

FABLE — THE HAUNTED. { NB }

FABLE is a recognized mercenary within Xinthero, notorious for their ability to execute missions with little to no faults. There are many who are presumptuous in assuming that their strength is minimal due to their synthetic arms, only to be proven wrong by their accomplishments.

FABLE is not afraid to be direct to others and make decisions that may be deemed to others as hazardous. They tend to calculate what follows before committing to it, advocating for strategy over brute force.

They are an undisclosed person, but is willing to lend a helping hand to whoever may request them if there is money involved. You are bound to encounter them, searching for a possibility of utilizing their services.

??? — THE EXECUTIONER. { F }

A "devoted" servant of the Crimson Veil, an organization infested throughout most of Xinthero's landscape, ??? serves as one of their many exterminators.

The both of you seem to continuously encounter each other — to the point it almost doesn't feel like a simple coincidence. It manifests an anomalous curiosity within you; a desire to know a bit more about this mysterious stranger.

[therealcocoshady]

HI

HEAR ME OUT

Christmas party at 50 Cent’s place. You’re in your cute lil Christmas skirt. You’re kinda friends with Marsh ‘cause y’all are both in the music industry and actually go to the same studio 🙊

AND THEN THEY GET TOGETHER

and it’s HOT

But also kind of cute and you’re an amazing writer so no pressure of course

hope you have a GLORIOUS week!!

Christmas spirit

Author’s Note : Hi 💕 Thank you so much for your request ✨. I had a blast writing it ! I also took the opportunity to mix it with another one I received, which is Eminem x Vintage pop star bombshell reader. I hope you enjoy it 💕.

CW : Christmas spirit - Fluff and flirting - Light smut

One of the perks of Marshall staying at 50’s place during his stay in LA was that he didn’t have to put up with an impersonal hotel room. It was like home away from home. But one of the drawbacks of staying at his friend’s was that he had to put up with his extravagant ideas. Like turning his estate in a Winter Wonderland, for a Christmas party he had conveniently forgotten to tell him about. And of course, when he found out, he was too late to bounce. He was coming back from the home gym when he found the caterers preparing everything. « Yo, Curtis? What’s that for? » he asked with a raised eyebrow. « This? Oh ! Nothing ! Just hosting a little get together to celebrate the holidays. You know, nothing fancy » his friend said with a smirk.

One look around and he could tell it was a lie. Judging by the elaborate decor and the giant Christmas tree that his assistants were putting up, it was going to be fancy. And if the number of bottles being brought out was any indication, that get together wasn’t going to be small either. « You didn’t tell me » Marshall stated in an accusatory tone, though it betrayed his kindness for the man he considered to be family. « If I’d told you, you would have found an excuse not to attend » his friend simply replied. « Now, I don’t expect you to put on a suit, but a shower would be appreciated, Em » he grinned. Marshall rolled his eyes and walked to his bedroom. He should have known better than to expect his friend to be chill, especially during the holiday season.

When he walked back downstairs, about an hour later, he had done the best he could to clean up. He wasn’t the type to pack a suit unless he was going to a wedding or a funeral, so he did his best, opting for dark wash jeans, sneakers, a black sweater and a jacket. He spotted 50 who, of course, was looking fancy in a tailored suit, talking to some guests wearing their best cocktail attire. He wasn’t exactly one for social gatherings, not a fan of mingling with industry types and awkward small talk. If it had been anyone else’s house, he would have walked out without a second thought. But it was 50 or, as he knew him, Curtis. And if he wanted him there, he would make an effort (though he would make sure to have him repay him the favor). « Marshall! » Curtis boomed, cutting through the chatter. « Glad you made an effort, bro. Trust me, you won’t regret it » he promised. Marshall gave him a side-eye and a smirk. « Wanna bet? » he mumbled.

His friend smirked and glanced at you, who was standing there. You were in the far side of the room, chatting with Dre and a couple of other people. You were smiling but it was clear that you were putting on a brave face. Everyone, everywhere, knew about your recent drama with your ex-boyfriend, some A-list actor. You’d been broken up for a few weeks but he had been quick to announce that he was expecting a « bundle of joy » with his new girl, some TikToker. Back when you had broken up, there had been some rumors about him cheating but, now that the news of the pregnancy was out, it was clear that there had been some… overlap. To say you were feeling absolutely humiliated would be the understatement of the year. But 50 had convinced you to show up to his party nonetheless, using his charm and clever banter, promising good champagne and excellent company. You had met him, Marshall and a bunch of others at Dre’s studio, where you had recorded your last album. Your music had nothing to do with Hip Hop, but you got along with everyone and, contrary to what you would have thought, they didn’t have anything against your « vintage bombshell pop star» persona. They liked to tease you about it, but it was never mean. And you enjoyed teasing them right back.

For your comeback to LA’s party life, and to honor 50’s extravagance, you had opted for a sleek, vintage red dress that accentuated your curves, with some fake white fur lining the hem of the skirt. Very Christmassy. Your hair was spilling over your shoulders and you donned some alluring red lips. Everything to give you the confidence you desperately needed. And thank God for the glass of Chemin Du Roi, you were able to appear like your bubbly, usual self. You were laughing at Dre’s jokes while, on the other side of the room, Marshall and 50 were watching you. « Excellent night to make your move » 50 hummed quietly. Marshall turned to him and raised an eyebrow. « What? » he asked. « I think it’s time for you to get out of your comfort zone, brother. Live a little » he replied with a grin, to which Marshall scowled. « I live plenty ». His friend looked at him and rolled his eyes. « Bro, you’ve been single longer than I’ve been rich » Curtis sighed. « And our friend Y/N could use a distraction tonight, if rumors are to be believed ». Marshall gave him a look. « You didn’t seriously- » he began but his friend cut him off immediately. « Relax. I didn’t set anything up. Just… Go talk to her. She’s cool. And I’ve seen the way you looked at her last time she was in the studio. We all did ». Marshall gave him a side-eye and pursed his lips « Did you now? ». 50 chuckled and nodded. « Yes. And now, there’s no one in the way » he said as he gave him a friendly slap in the back. « Now, go. You’ll thank me later ».

Marshall shook his head but still made his way toward the group. You noticed him before he even got there, you eyes lighting up in recognition. « Marshall! Hey ! » you greeted him with a smile. « I didn’t know you’d be here » you said. Marshall quickly hugged you and smiled. « Yeah, well, you know 50. Didn’t give me much of a choice » he hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. « Tell me about it » you giggled. « He practically coerced me. Harassed me and threatened to post some of his memes with my face on his Instagram ». He chuckled, genuinely, and relaxed a little. You chatted for a little while, keeping up with each other’s latest work project. You didn’t doubt that he knew about all the cover stories about you, but you appreciated that he had the elegance not to mention it. He kept things light, entertaining you with his classic sarcasm. At some point, you were joined by Curtis, who arbored a victorious smirk. « How is the gorgeous Ms. Claus doing? » he asked you. « You guys look like Christmas card material ». You giggled while Marshall rolled his eyes. « Come on, man » he groaned. « I’m just sayin’… Our girl Y/N is all elegant and you… Well, you’re kinda grinchy. Opposites attract, right? » 50 hummed. « Keep talking and I’ll disappear like the Grinch » Marshall warned, though his tone held more humor than bite. Of course, Curtis being Curtis, he didn’t let it go. Far be it from him. « Just trying help you out. Ain’t nothing wrong with a little Christmas connection. ’Tis the season and all that » he said as he clapped Marshall on the shoulder.

You let out a giggle and crossed your arms. « Did you have me come here so that you could play matchmaker, Curtis? » you asked teasingly. « What can I say? I believe in Christmas miracles » he shrugged with an enigmatic smile. « You already said that when you forced me to come here » you playfully reminded him. «What can I say? These movies got to me » he smirked. « You are relentless. Do you do this with all your guests? Or are we special ? » you asked. « Y’all are special! But look at you, Y/N. You’re smiling, laughing, looking like a Christmas angel. And Em is not hiding in a corner with his notebook. You’re vibing ». Both you and Marshall rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. 50 chuckled and promised he’d be back after making his rounds, like a dutiful host. « Sorry about him » Marshall mumbled. « He’s insufferable, sometimes ». You giggled and took a sip of your drink. « He is. But that’s why we love him. Besides, he’s got a point. You are a little grinchy » you grinned. He smirked, leaning forward slightly. « And you are leaning into the whole holiday angel thing ». Your smile softened and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. « You’re sweet » you murmured. « Sweet? » he repeated, raising an eyebrow. « Careful. You’re gonna ruin my reputation ». You stared into his eyes and gave him your signature, seductive smile. « I think you can handle it » you teased. « Besides… Maybe it’d be good for you to… embrace the Christmas spirit ». He leaned just a bit closer and your perfume, something light and sweet, caught his attention. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Marshall’s eyes flicked to your lips, and you noticed, your heart skipping a beat. The fire of the nearby fireplace crackled softly, the world outside of your little bubble forgotten.

« You’re staring » you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. « Am I? » he asked, his voice just as low. You nodded slowly, a teasing grin appearing on your face. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he leaned in, closing the space between you, inch by inch. « Well tell me if I’m wrong » he murmured, his voice rough and hesitant. « But I don’t think you’d mind ». Your breath hitched and your gaze flicked to his lips. But before you could reply and give in to the flirt, you were interrupted, the spell shattering. « Marshall! I didn’t even have time to say hi! » Dre greeted, his booming voice cutting through the moment like a record scratch. Both of you pulled back abruptly and you blinked while Marshall’s jaw tightened. Dre strode over, seemingly oblivious to the tension he’d just cut through. He held a drink in one hand, his phone in the other, and his expression was all focused. « I finished mixing one of the tracks you recorded the other day, man. I have a couple versions. You don’t mind if we talk shop real quick, do you? ». Marshall exhaled through his nose, forcing a neutral expression. « You don’t want to… Enjoy the party ? » he asked carefully, but Dre shook his head. « Man, with all the projects I have going on? It’s crazy. And I know you don’t care for parties either ». You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. « I will let you gentlemen talk shop. I’ll go and grab another drink » you said as you stood gracefully. As you walked away, your vintage dress swaying gently, Marshall watched you go. « Did I interrupt something? » Dre asked cluelessly, his mind obviously too focused on work. « You work too hard » Marshall sighed. While he followed Dre to another room, his eyes drifted to you, standing near the bar, glass of champagne in hand, your laugh ringing out like a melody.

After what felt like hours, dissecting beats with Dre, his thoughts were buzzing. When he came back, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. He exhaled through his nose, hoping you hadn’t gone home, though he figured you weren’t the type to leave without saying goodbye. He wandered through the house, where people were gathered in several rooms, drinking, smoking cigars, dancing… As he turned a corner, he noticed a door slightly ajar, at the end of a quiet hallway. The library. He stepped closer and pushed the door open, revealing a stunning space with shelved filled with books that looked more decorative than well-read, though a few had clearly seen use. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, its glow casting long shadows over the rich mahogany furniture. And there you were, sitting on one of the plush couches near the fire. Your legs were tucked under you, your champagne flute resting on a small side table. Your gaze seemed distant and, for a moment, Marshall hesitated. You looked incredibly serene, the skirt of your dress spread elegantly over the couch, the fur trim catching the soft light. You looked like you belonged on some vintage postcard. « There you are » he said quietly. You looked up, almost startled, though your expression softened when you saw him. « Finished making magic with Dre? » you teased. « Something like that » he sad as he showed his hands into his pockets. « Figured you’d be halfway out the door, by now ». You laughed lightly but shook your head. « Just needed a breather and thought I’d hide out here for a bit » you said with a smile. « it’s cozy. Good hiding spot » he commented. « And if I join you? ». You shook your head and gestured for him to sit next to you. He joined you and looked at you for a few seconds. « You okay? » he asked after a moment, his voice softer now. You tilted your head, studying him with a small, amused smile. « Why wouldn’t I be? » you asked. « I dunno. Dre kind of barged in and I thought that maybe you’d… Lost interest » he said as he scratched the back of his neck. You let out a soft chuckle as you shook your head and leaned closer to him. « Did you? ». He smirked, his eyes locking onto yours. « Not a chance ».

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. You broke the silence, your tone teasing but your expression serious. «Should we pick up where we left off, or is Dre going to steal you away again? » you asked in a sultry voice. Marshall chuckled, his defenses crumbling under your gaze. « He’s got nothing on this ». Taking your cue, he leaned in closer, his hand resting on your hip. Your breath hitched as you looked at him, your hands finding your way to his chest. « Thought you didn’t care for Christmas spirit? » you whispered. « Might make an exception » he murmured, leaning in. The moment hung in the air and your lips met. The kiss started slow, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters. But it didn’t take long for the heat to ignite. Your fingers slid to his shoulders, pulling him closer, while his hands tightened around your waist, drawing you against him. The rest of the world disappeared. The distant hum of the party, the clinking of glasses fading into nothing. All that mattered was the way your lips moved against each other, soft and warm and full of something electric.

The flickering firelight in the library was casting a soft glow over the both of you, lighting up your flushed cheeks as you leaned into Marshall’s touch, your fingers brushing the curve of his jaw, gently stroking his beard. What started as an urgent kiss turned into a slow making out session, more about discovery, savoring the connection. His lips were soft against yours, as was his touch, his fingers gently digging into your hips. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and he took a deep breath. « Do you… Want to get out of here? » he asked, his voice low and rough. You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with interest, a soft smile lighting up your face. « And go where? » you asked. He seemed to hesitate, gazing at your face for a couple of seconds, his own eyes full of anticipation. « I have a room here. Upstairs » he said finally. « If you’re good with that ».

Your lips quirked into a playful smile. You liked that he was being a gentleman about it, leaving the choice up to you. And going upstairs seemed like a fine choice indeed. « Lead the way » you hummed softly as you offered him your hand. You were barefoot, your heels forgotten by the couch as the two of you quietly slipped out of the library and into the hallway that was bathed in shadows as the sounds of the party drifted faintly in the distance. Marshall guided you upstairs, one of his hands holding yours, the other resting on the small of your back as you moved. A simple, yet incredibly intimate gesture. You entered his room, a spacious but understated guest suite, which Curtis had decked out for modern touches and elegant furniture, a king-sized bed that sat in the center and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the LA skyline. As you glanced around, you noticed that it was more minimalistic than the rest of the house. Somehow, it felt more Marshall than 50. You spotted some of his belongings in various corners : notebooks and pens on the desk, a vintage, portable CD player with some Beats headphones and a comfy hoodie on the back of a chair. « That’s nice » you hummed with a soft smile.

The both of you stood there for a moment, the silence stretching, but not in an uncomfortable way. Marshall stepped closer to you, his hands finding your waist again as he looked into your eyes. « You sure about this? » he asked, and you could see a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. You nodded, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his tee-shirt. « I’m sure » you whispered in a seductive voice. What followed wasn’t rushed or hurried. It was a slow, deliberate exploration of each other. He pulled you closer and kissed you, letting his hands explore your body over your dress in a gentle pace, as if he were asking permission. You playfully ran a finger over his chest, playing with the hem of his tee-shirt, before letting your finger touch his skin. He seemed to get the message and got rid of his jacket and tee, and you enjoyed the sight of his muscular body. So much so that you couldn’t refrain from smiling. For a split second, he arbored a visible smirk, before capturing your lips again. You ran your hands over his torso, his back, feeling every inch of skin, every muscle… You weren’t sure if it was the recent singleness, the champagne or simply his captivating presence, but it felt like you couldn’t get enough. You were used to his usual, guarded demeanor but now, it was giving way to something that was both raw and tender, which you met with equal intensity.

He slowly ran a hand in the back of your dress as he stared into your eyes, and slowly started unzipping it, his face inches away from yours. When he was done, the dress fell to your feet, revealing a stunning corset and lace panties. Marshall stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape, taking in the sight in front of him. Evidently, you were dressed to the nines, down to the lingerie, and you definitely lived up to the vintage bombshell persona. « You’re gorgeous » he murmured, a hint of reverence in his voice. You didn’t say a word, simply gave him a soft, seductive smile, the look on your face full of unspoken promises. He took your hand and led you to the bed. You sat on the edge, gesturing for him to come closer, and started undoing his belt but he grabbed your wrist and stopped your movement, shaking his head. Instead, he kissed the inside of your wrist and gently pushed you so that you’d lie down. You were beneath him, your skin glowing in the warm light of the bedside lamp. Your eyes held his, soft and vulnerable, waiting for his next move. He captured your lips once again and cupped your cheek. The move, however simple and innocent, had you still under his touch. Your lips parted slightly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your neck, going further down with each kiss. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you trembled beneath him.

« Marshall » you whispered, your voice suddenly unsteady. As much as you enjoyed it, as you craved for more, you were taken aback by the way he took his time, unhurried. You were used to men being charmed by you, by your persona as a glamorous diva, but it seemed like none of them had taken the time to show such reverence. He looked at you, smiling, before brushing your jawline with his lips. « Let me » he murmured. He started moving lower, his hands sliding down your sides as his lips trailed down, caressing you as if you were a sacred work of art. His touch was slow, reverent, as though he was savoring every moment, every inch of you. He reached your panties, pressing a kiss over the fine lace fabric. You gasped softly, your body arching into him, and he smiled against you. « May I? » he whispered. You heard yourself whine, almost pleading. Next thing you knew, he was making your panties slide off your legs and your hands were sliding into his hair as he continued to worship you with his mouth. The room was filled with your sounds, small whimpers and gasps that only grew louder as he seemed to take them as encouragements. When he finally lifted his head to look at you again, his blue eyes were dark with emotion, his expression raw and unguarded. « I want you » he said, his voice rough but steady. You nodded eagerly, your eyes full of desire.

He quickly got rid of his clothes and, as soon as he was within your reach, you pulled him to you, as if you wanted to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Your mouth found its way to his and, eventually, you found yourselves under the covers, your bodies intertwined. Every touch, every kiss he gave you was deliberate, meant to draw you deeper into the moment. He could feel the way your body responded to him, your breaths quickening, hands gripping him like you didn’t want to let go. He whispered your name against your skin, his voice low and filled with desire. As the intensity built, Marshall surrendered completely under your touch, your voice, your presence. His fingers were digging Ito your skin, the movements of his hips becoming more frantic, and he could’t help the moan that escaped his lips as your nails dug in his back. When you finally reached your peak together, it was nearly overwhelming, your bodies trembling as you clung to each other. Marshall collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you both caught your breath, skin damp and hearts racing in unison. He looked at you, who were absolutely glowing, despite your hair being all messy and your impeccable red lip being long gone. He’d seen you around Dre’s studio, in somewhat casual attire, but he had never seen you so natural, so raw… And you were even more stunning, ethereal. As he gazed at you, he couldn’t help but feel privileged. Seeing the diva so close, it was like admiring a work of art. Except you weren’t a diva. It was one of the rare times someone saw you as something else. Something real. Raw. Beautiful. Marshall brushed a thumb lightly along your cheekbone, his movements slow and reverent, as though he were committing every detail to memory. « You look different, » he murmured, his voice low and rough from exhaustion but carrying an undeniable tenderness.

Your lips curved into a small smile, your eyes still closed. « Different, huh? Is that a good thing? » you asked in a light laugh. « Better than good, » he said honestly. « You don’t need all that extra stuff. You’re... just- ». He stopped himself, unsure how to articulate what he was feeling. You opened your eyes then, your gaze soft as you studied him. « You don’t have to say anything, » you said gently, your voice carrying the same quiet intimacy as the moment you were sharing. « I think I know what you mean. »

He nodded, relieved you understood. He wasn’t the type to wax poetic, but something about you like this—so unguarded, so real—made his chest tighten in a way that was both unfamiliar and undeniable. You shifted slightly, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. « It’s kind of nice, » you admitted after a while. « Not having to... perform, you know? Just being here. ». He stared at you and nodded. « Yeah, » Marshall said, his hand moving to rest against the small of your back. « I get that. »

You lay there in comfortable silence, breaths syncing as the moments stretched on. Every now and then, your laugh would break the quiet as Marshall teased you about your fur-lined dress or you ribbed him about his notebook collection. But between the laughter and easy conversation, there was something else—something unspoken but palpable.

Marshall’s fingers idly brushed the curve of your hip under the sheets, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. Your expression softened, a mix of vulnerability and quiet wonder. None of you addressed it—not directly—but it was there in the way he held you, in the way you lingered against him as though reluctant to let the night end. « You’re full of surprises, you know that? » he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.You couldn’t help but smirk, your fingers playing with the chain thin chain he wore around his neck. « Well, they do call me Ms Claus, after all » you teased. He chortled and rested his forehead against yours, while your hand settled over his heart. « I think I’m starting to like Christmas spirit » he murmured.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

It Should Be You

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of the battle of Hogwarts, mentions of death, pretty angsty

Another one way off schedule but I was inspired and wrote this in 1.5 hours. Enjoy.

4 years. It had been 4 years now since you last saw him. Your boyfriend, Mattheo who tragically passed away during the battle at Hogwarts. He tried protecting you as best as he could. He tried keeping you out of everything involving his father. He just disappeared a few days before the battle without a word and was never seen again. The word spread was that his father killed him and the ministry accepted that, marked him as legally dead and moved on.

Only you and a few of his friends held a funeral for him. It took several hours and his best friend Thedore physically pulling you away to get you back home from where you guys set up his headstone. With no body, you guys were able to set up a little headstone for him in an empty field near Hogwarts. That was his home. It felt like the most appropriate place.

Your relationship may have been difficult at times, especially with everything with his father. But he was the sweetest, funniest, and just overall best boyfriend-best partner-you ever had. No one before or after him made you feel the way you did with him. His death completely broke your heart into pieces, and never even fully recovered.

After a few years, your parents set you up with a man your age, Nathaniel. He was sweet and kind and you got along with him just fine, but he wasn't Mattheo. But you being with him made your parents happy and you didn't completely hate him. He was better than the other guys you dated, other than Mattheo, obviously. And he never saw your love for your late boyfriend as competition. He would support you and help you with your grief. Which made you feel a little worse about everything.

You liked the guy, but you didn't love him. That sounds so awful, but it was true. Your heart belonged to Mattheo. Even in his death.

Still, he was second best to Mattheo. And since his death, you felt so lonely. No one could really blame you for trying to move on.

So when Nathaniel asked you to marry him, you agreed. You went through the motions, pretending the wedding was with Mattheo instead. You picked out the colors you talked about previously, the flowers, the songs, everything was what Mattheo and you already decided. Your fiance didn't really care anyways about wedding planning. He just wanted you to be happy.

Your poor bridesmaids thought it was about you finding the perfect dress, and that was part of it, but it was mostly just knowing it was the most perfect dress for your and Mattheo's wedding. 

The only part that made you break down was wedding dress shopping. You could hear Mattheo giving his opinions about the dresses. “Too low cut, too lacy, too simple, not you, absolutely not.” But the one dress you put on where you could just hear him say ‘yes’ and admire you, it made you burst into tears.

The wedding that won't happen because he's dead and you're marrying Nathaniel.

Once the wedding was planned and set, the time felt like it flew by. Suddenly you were in the bride's room getting your hair and makeup done and getting into your wedding dress. You asked everyone to leave once you were ready and just sat down. The noise of the rain coming down hitting the window was the only sound you could hear.

Of course it had to rain on your wedding day. Though, it was fitting.

You looked at the pictures of you and Mattheo on your phone, trying not to cry and ruin your makeup.

“I'm sorry, Mattheo. It should be you. But you're not here. I…” You swallowed, turning your phone off and looking up. You had so much more to say. Like how you wanted to grow old with him and marry him and, and, and…

Merlin, you were still in love with your dead boyfriend, but marrying some poor guy just so you wouldn't be alone and make your parents happy. How shitty is that?

Maybe you could grow to love Nathaniel. He isn't bad.

If only you could shut off that annoying voice.

But he isn't Mattheo.

One of your bridesmaids knocked on the door to let you know it was about time to walk down the aisle.

You sighed before taking a deep breath and composing yourself. You left the room and got ready with your beautiful bouquet of flowers.

“Sunflowers, because they remind me of us since they face the sun to live, just like how I need you to live.” Mattheo's words echoed in your head as you looked at the flowers.

You looked up in time to hear the piano playing as the first couple walked down the aisle. You wanted to burst into tears again. This is not what you wanted. It should be Mattheo at the end of the aisle. Not Nathaniel.

The rest of the couples went, leaving you by yourself, about to turn the corner to take your first step when the main door behind you burst open. You turned to look at the cause of the noise and saw him.

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He was standing there, still in the doorway, out of breath, drenched from the rain outside. He was exactly how you remembered him. Though his hair was longer, showing the curls better.

You couldn't even speak, you were so stunned.

“Don't marry him.” The words rushed out Mattheo's mouth as he was still catching his breath.

“What?” It was all you could manage.

“Don't fucking marry him.” He said, coming over to you now.

“I'm not hallucinating, am I?” You whispered to him when he was standing right in front of you.

“No, no. I'm sorry. It's a long story, but when I heard you were getting married, I couldn't…” He swallowed, looking down at the wedding dress. “Please tell me I'm not too late.”

“You're alive. What are you doing here? Where have you been?” You asked, all sorts of emotions running through you.

“Stopping your wedding. God, you're so beautiful.” He said, cupping your cheek with one of his hands. “Don't marry him. Run away with me. And I'll answer everything.”

“Mattheo, I…” You sighed in disbelief.

“Please. I'm here now. Please?” He moved his hand off of your cheek to grab one of your hands.

You looked behind you to where everyone was waiting for you just around the corner. 

“(Y/N), love, please? I'm giving you the rest of my life. Just walk out of here with me.”

You could hear the piano stalling the music as they waited for you and you saw your mom peek her head around the corner to see the delay, her jaw dropping at seeing Mattheo.

He smiled before turning back to the exit and pulling you with him in a run outside. You hair, makeup, and dress were all ruined within 10 seconds, but you couldn't care less when the man you loved for years was now running away with you.

“I'm sorry.” You told her before dropping the bouquet and turning back to Mattheo.