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yeyinde · 1 year ago

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when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than let it go. It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth control—like dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog. Of course he's going to take a bite. He thinks you ought to have known this by now.

SMUT 18+ | gratuitous smut; HEAVY breeding kink, breeding; Dom!John Price; p-in-v sex, unsafe sex; rough sex; mentions of spanking; mutual manipulation; this is roughly 10k of John Plotting and fucking you; John is: unhinged, obsessive, possessive, and Scheming. mentions of birth control tampering but nothing is followed through. No. He’s going to knock you up the old-fashioned way—by making you beg for it.

AO3 MIRROR

John has always had this desire—this awful, instinctual drive in the back of his head to knock someone up. Get them fat, swollen with his child. His.

And maybe that's the crux of it. Possession. To have something of the most rooted kind. To irrevocably change someone—their anatomy, their body, the chemistry in their brain, their status in life from them (single no dependents) to mother (mother of his child), their very atoms—and create life from the combined parts.

It's this almost fantastical beast, this unreachable dream for him.

It's his Shangri-la. His castle in Spain.

He's not under any disillusionment that this idea of fatherhood, of parenthood, is slightly skewed. That most men who want children don't feel this overwhelmingly greedy desire to fundamentally alter someone in such an irreversible way. It's not quite ownership, but it's the same ilk. A bastardised, unwanted child of it.

And it's not just this idea of claimation—to forever be the father of their child, even if neither of them stays together; a piece of him will always be there, parasitic, no matter what—but something deeper. Something a bit less—egregious.

This is, and always has been, about yearning.

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than to let it go.

Marriage, he finds, is breakable. Divorce, separation. He's always on his worst behaviour in the initial stages of dating, so it's never something he has to entertain since no one ever sticks around long enough for it to be on the table, much less the menu, but the idea of it—of signing papers, of hashing out the split, of being known as ex-husband—leaves a bitter tang between his teeth. It won't do. He needs permanence. Perpetuity.

Nothing says forever quite like a child, does it?

And sure—he’s aware that countermeasures exist: custody orders, sole custody, shared; allotted visitations; divisional lines in this new age that keep the parents from ever interacting—but while you can get divorced, you can't unmake a child, can you?

The child would never write him out, either.

Where deadbeats exist, it's important to note that their counterparts do, too. The ones like him who will gouge their eyes out of their skulls before they ever let what happened to them growing up trickle down and impact their child, polluting the pool.

Simply put: John Price knows he'd be the best dad there is because he's stubborn that way.

It helps, he supposes, that he really only has so much love to give out to the world, and greedily, he stashed the entirety of it away in a box to give to his would-be wife and their child. An overwhelming deluge that promises happiness should it ever be unlocked. Pandora's box, perhaps—down to the very essence because if John Price were to ever love someone, then it's probably in their best interest to run from it, this gaping, needy chasm.

Not that it would ever be a possibility, of course—he’s much too good at compartmentalisation, in taking out his anger, his viciousness, on the ugly world he drenches himself in, the one his hands have a tangible cause and effect principle in place that will forever feed that starving beast inside of him.

Ergo—he’s a staunch supporter of the theory: happy wife, happy life. Though where those men think in a box stuffed full of emotional intimacy, flowers, chocolate, maintaining love, all-consuming and enduring, he takes it to extremes that would have them cowering a little bit. Maybe a lot.

But that's fine. He only has to make sure his family is happy. No one else matters, save a select few who have a seat at his table during Sunday dinners.

The rest, though? Spare parts.

(The ice-cold resolve in those two words is apodictic, brass bound, and he's sure if his higher-ups knew about it, well—

His chest candy would be a hole in the ground. Put the rabid dog down before it has a chance to bite.)

But that all-consuming, devouring, obsessive love he has to give, that begs to be let free, is the reason why it's so tightly leashed. Locked up in a box. Untouchable. Inaccessible.

It's why he isn't married.

Ghost once asked him why the women he dated were older. Much older. Menopausal (always). And he'd said something to the effect of it being his type. Older women who wouldn't cower away from the acrid burn of him, who wouldn't hurt their delicate little hands on his gritty surface.

But the real reason is because he knows better.

He's a starving dog, and it's just bad form to dangle a piece of meat in front of it. Especially when the hand holding it is his own.

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and all.

(The keen look in Ghost's eyes told him that, perhaps, the man already knew the reason when he asked, and was just satiating himself with kinship—the dark, awful look on Simon's ugly mug after the dredging the underbelly of Price’s rotten, mouldering mudfloor of things unsaid spoke volumes.

They'd both nodded. Content, then. And promptly ordered a shot of whisky to drown the salivation, the hunger, from clogging their throats. Killing the urge to bite.

A pair of packless, stray dogs.)

But then he found you, and all his careful planning, all his distance, blew up in his face.

It's always been on his mind since then. Lingering in his periphery—this fevered, tantalising vision of you, round and swollen with his child.

It's unattainable, of course. A fantasy.

Though, this—you throwing up in the washroom of his penthouse, undoubtedly knocked up by his machinations—is probably because he kept that desire too close to where he hides his questionable mortality, the one that allows him to throw innocent people to their deaths, and send mothers and fathers to an early grave just so he can rip his fists apart on their bastard offspring in his own brand of catharsis that always bites back when they grow up, hankering for revenge.

He's always been good at snatching dreams out of the air, clenching them tight in his fists. Taming chimerical wants, whims, until they were docile, domesticated. Making realities out of fiction.

And really—he’s just not a good man.

He thought you'd have known this by now.

He remembers the first time he growled the words into your ear as he came, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Desperate for it, he teased after, fingers fucking into your sloppy, leaking hole. Pushing his spend back into you. Half-drunk on the taste of you still clinging to his beard, but mostly just mesmerised by the sight of you—pretty pussy all ruined, swollen from the vicious, hateful pounding he gave it, and dipping with his cum like a faucet.

(It pissed him off—still does, really—when you waste it like this.)

Gonna fill you up, he snarled, low and wrecked. Gonna make it take—

It was a fantasy. Still is. But the way it took root in the garden of your bedroom, like it belonged—native flora, he thinks, a touch mad with it—had something ugly, oil slick, rearing up from that untouchable place in his head.

He could really blame you for it—and does. The way your ankles locked tight around his thighs, hands reaching, grabbing at his waist, clawing at his asscheeks to press him in deeper, deeper still, as he came inside of you, cock lodged right against your plug, had that untameable beast cocking its head in consideration after you danced too close to it, waking it from his long, restful slumber.

You wanted it. Ached for it. He could feel it in the way your walls tightened around him, practically starving for it. Your pretty, glossy eyes rolling back into your head. Drool running down your chin. A litany of pleas spilled from your kiss-bruised lips, begging him for it. Please, John. Please. Please—

Who was he to deny you?

Even if you made a big, flustered show of waving it off—not something I've ever imagined for myself, you know? and–and your lifestyle, what you do—is something like that even possible for us?—he saw how it curled around your shoulders, dipping its silver tongue into your ear. Germinating.

He let it. Encouraged it.

“Something to talk about later,” he indulged, reaching over for a cigar just to smother the urge to breed you stupid. To tie you to his bedposts and keep you full until your belly was swelling with more than just the absurd volume of his seed he pumped inside of you.

And, oh—

The uneasy smile on your face reeked of disappointment.

Fuck. Fuck—

John went to the washroom after that, heart pounding out of his chest, and jabbed the lit end of his cigar into his thigh to kill the fever in his veins. To rewrite the desperate, ugly howling in his head with pain instead.

It worked. Works—

Until you came to him, all watery-eyed and worried, and told him to please, please stop falling asleep with a lit cigar because you think you might just go mad if you lost him to a cigarette fire. And doesn't he see how silly it is, these burns look so bad, John, and I worry—

His teeth ached. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace. A dog holding back the instinct to bare its teeth.

“Sure, love,” he'd said, and started taking out his anger on your cunt instead, fucking you deep, and stupid. Getting you all cockdrunk, and hungry for the dream that spoiled so badly in the back of his head, he's sure a proper man would call it a nightmare. “Anything you want.”

(Brassbound. Apodictic. You know that, he knows you know that, so imagine his surprise when you come to him, all soft and tender, and ask him to pick up your birth control as if he hadn't spent the better part of two years grumbling every fucking time you took it and wasn't on the verge of tossing the damn bottle out the window, and fucking you until it took—

But—you do know that, don't you?

Well, then. Whatever his lady wants, right? Right.)

“Can you stop by the pharmacy on your way home tonight?”

He hums, fiddling with the belt of his slacks in front of the mirror. “Sure, love. You feelin’ sick?”

“No,” you murmur, sliding behind him on your way to the washroom, wearing nothing but a towel tucked under your arms. “I need my refill. For birth control.”

His hands still. A gnarled, rotted tendril curls over the edge of the cesspool, murky, ink black water splashing all over the place. “Oh, yeah? Still taking that, hm?”

You fluster. Hands waving, chock full of nervous, emotive energy you can't seem to shake off. “Well—yes. I mean, obviously.”

And he'd leave it there, let the spillage dry on the hot pavement, if you hadn't glanced back at him, all damp keenness, slightly skittish, and asked, feather-soft and utterly fragile, “right?”

Right? A question, he notes. Not a statement.

He licks his teeth. Tastes something rancid in the gaps.

“Mm. I suppose so.” He leaves it vague, but drenches it in the heavy weight of his disappointment. Anchors dragging it down. You flit around the space like a house-locked bird, slamming into the walls and ceiling as you try—blind and panicked—to find an escape. Any escape.

He finds the whole thing utterly charming. Especially when you realise he pitched himself in front of the only exit, thick, heavy hands curled around his belt, cock outlined against his slacks, already thickened, drooling in his pants.

There's gasp—wet, and sharp—as you take him in. The liquid of his eyes as his want bleeds out of his skull. The flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his cock at the mere mention of you not taking your silly little pills.

John lets it sit for a moment, taking in greedy lungfuls of your unease as you glance everywhere but at him, as if looking in his direction, breathing in this toxic miasma will give you a contact high. Infectious. Gnarled.

The little seed that started germinating blooms.

He fights back the urge to grin, all teeth. Madness staining them black.

“It's—it’s on—” and fuck, he's never seen you so unsure before, this nervous. You handle him like a wrangler, wrassling his brutish dominance until it's putty in your hands, splitting his head into pieces and galvanising the madness inside until it's scripture for you to peek at whenever you need guidance, insight into him, his essence, his being.

Your dyadic has always been built on permeance.

John doesn't think there's a single person alive who understands him as much as you do. The only person who seems content to gorge yourself on his rotted marrow like it was a delicacy.

Seeing you like this rents his resolve in two.

“It's the pharmacy near the, uh, the school. The kindergarten.”

He chokes on a groan, and thinks he tears something in his throat with the strain of keeping it down. There's blood, ash, in the back of his throat.

“Alright, love. I'll pick it up.”

You smell it, and shiver.

It's giving meat to a starving dog, and saying, dog, don't take a bite.

And so, of course he does.

John picks up your prescription, tossing it in the passenger seat like it personally offended him. And it has. Does. It's what's standing in the way between what he wants, what he craves, and there's a distinct thrum of irritation welling inside of him. One that started when he had to bark out your name at the counter earlier, and the pharmacist looked at him, and calmly, kindly, explained what it was he was picking up.

Make sure she takes them once a day. Preferably at the same time. This brand of oral contraceptive can be taken with or without food—

Fuck off, he thought—thinks, even now, glowering into the tinted window of the pharmacy.

He grips the steering wheel tight until his scarred knuckles bleach white under the strain, and sits in the parking lot, staring, unseeingly, at the shops. Pensive. Thoughtful. It gnarls over his expression until he's the picture of that grizzly-like intensity you often accuse him of. All furrowed brows and a pinched, angry twist to his lips.

There's a series of complex equations running laps in his head. He's no stranger to this process, needing to make life or death decisions in less time it takes someone to snap their fingers, or tentatively stammer out his title.

This one is more linear than the rest. One plus one, so to speak. But the weight of it is profound. Heavier, even, than deciding between the success of his mission and the life of an innocent bystander.

(But he thinks he's just selfish like that.)

In his head, he debates the ethics of replacing all of these silly little tablets that stand in his way with sugar pills.

It would be the quickest path to the end, but the risk-reward ratio ebbs and flows the more he considers things without the miasmic influence of that abomination throwing itself at the walls of its enclosure, howling in an endless cacophony of do it, do itdoit—

A better man wouldn't even have such a temptation. He supposes that's what you deserve, but he already had this particular crisis a few months after he met you, and realised that the things he wanted to do to you would undoubtedly put him on a list. Slapped so hard with a restraining order, his ears would still be buzzing.

That something about you made his jowls twinge, and his teeth ache, and no amount of stay away from her, Price; she deserves better than you was going to keep his dirty hands from curling around your throat, leaving soot-stains on your skin in the shape of his fingerprints. Brandishing ownership in burst blood vessels; a pretty collar for you to wear because as much as you like to pretend otherwise—

You're a dog just like him.

In any case, he's the best choice for you. The only one who'd burn the world just to keep you warm, and that's what you really need. Protection.

And fuck—you toy with that particular urge that has always been etched in fine lines within the walls of bones; dipping your fingers into it, and spreading it over the apples of your cheek. Everything about you prickles along his hindbrain. Renders him from a modern man with modern ideals to an animal who can only speak in growls, snarls; pure primalism, all instinct.

You're made for each other down to the bone. He's sure he could split your head apart and find that your cranial sutures are perfectly mirrored. Made in the same image: you were grown from his missing rib, and he always meant to be cradled in the brackets of your thighs.

So, crisis of worthiness aside—because there are none, not anymore—he plots. Plans. Schemes. But his machinations keep catching on the soft fibrils of your wants.

John doesn't know what he'd do if you changed your mind.

(Or, rather, he does but that's another madness to unravel with his personal therapist.)

It's with this—the slight brandishing of his uncertainty in your certainty—that he gives up the idea, pocketing it for a later date, and drives home, back to you.

He doesn't toss the bag on the counter, but sets it up perfectly, placing it as close to the edge where the bin sits under it. All it would take is a breath of wind for it to fall into the trash.

That doesn't happen, though. You stare at the white, crinkled package for a moment as he sips on his tea, quietly contemplative. With your expression hidden from him, he has no idea what might be going through that pretty head of yours. Disappointment, he can only hope. And then you're reaching for it, fingers gripping the bag tightly in your fist. He hears the paper crumble. It sparks something inside his chest. A bloom of hope that you might just throw it out. Toss it in the bin—

You turn to him instead, knuckles white.

“Thanks,” you say, and the matter is dropped.

He goes to tuck that want back where it escaped, leaving slick trails of putrefying rot behind, but—

John peeks in the vanity later that evening, but where he expects to see the little rectangular package sitting in its usual spot between his aftershave and the mouthwash, he finds nothing. Just an empty spot on the ledge, spotlit by the lack of dust. A clean square of white paint, undisturbed.

His jaw twinges. He wonders if you're hiding it from him, keeping it safe from his machinations, but then he finds it shoved in the drawer with his shaving kit, and the box of condoms he bought when you'd first started dating (for show, naturally—John had no intentions of using them and learned persuasion was your Achilles heel; that and you tended to get a little glossy-eyed whenever he growled filth in your ear, the smell of your cunt heavy on his breath).

The package is crinkled like you squeezed it tight in your little fist before you tossed it in.

You're always meticulous in the way you put things in their places. Even the junk drawer is organised, all neat.

This speaks volumes, but he's not quite sure what it says. They are still here, though. Accessible. One is missing from the pack. It dampens his mood.

He picks up his toothbrush, and runs through those calculations again to see how he can convince you to skip the one you're meant to take tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next—

He stays awake as you sleep beside him, looking into how many days you can miss before your brand of birth control stops being effective.

Seven pills in a row.

He files it away, lost in thought.

The next morning, he leaves his phone open on the bedside table with the article pulled up. He kisses you awake before he leaves to shower, humming something soft under his breath.

When he returns, he finds you sitting up in bed with your knees drawn to your chest. There's something pensive about the look on your face. Paper soft, as though it would all blow away at a mere whisper.

You regard him almost cooly but something raw, fractured splits over the ravine. A waterfall of midnight black sludge rains down.

(He wonders if it tastes of the same rot, the same madness, as the basin of the untouched recesses of his head—)

“I'm working late tonight,” you murmur after a measured beat, and he can't place your tone. “Maybe we can watch a movie when I get home.”

John nods, and your eyes drop, scaling down his bare, broad chest as he breathes in the flint staining the air. Your gaze is white-hot when it bludgeons into him, feverish.

It doesn't take much beckoning at all to have him crawling toward you, towel ripped from his hips and thrown somewhere in the aether.

As he steals the madness from your tongue, his eyes flicker to the phone still sitting on the table. It looks perfectly untouched. The screen is off.

That, too, he files away.

John comes to the succinct conclusion that the only means he has in his arsenal to get what he wants—legally, and somewhat morally, anyway—is persuasion.

There's no recourse if he can water that burgeoning plant inside of you, make it seem like this is something you want, too. A family. With him.

(Only him.)

He knows that you see things quite similarly to him. Wherein love is desire. Desire is hunger. And there's nothing more profound to you than to eat the person you love alive. Consumption of every part—the good, the beautiful, the bad, the ugly, and the rotted: skin, fat, muscles, blood, and bones. All of it.

So, even if somewhere down the road you think you hate him for this, it'll be fine. He'll just consume that, too.

John Price is a tenacious man. Stubborn.

(Bullish, he hears around the barracks. Fuckin’ stubborn prick, too.)

It helps that this line of work is perfectly suited for such a peremptory drive to the finish line, no matter the cost. Utilitarian to a fault, despite his rather recalcitrant disposition. It's how he gets his way more often than not. Brutish dominance. Loutish suppression.

But a near reckless, suicidal loyalty that attracts the sort of beasts this line of work needs.

But that's work, not this. Not trying to convince you, his sugar-sweet (and viciously diabolical) lover, to bear the burden of giving him a family because society says it's uncouth (and illegal, morally reprehensible, villainous) for him to chain you to his bed to keep the darker parts of himself that want to rip into anyone who had the pleasure—pleasure that no longer belongs to them—of looking at you.

That's all for him.

(Nasty old bastard.)

And, of course, because he's ready. Everything clicks. Locks into place. There's no one else out there for him.

Really, though—it's your fault for prodding that beast in the first place. For letting inside your house, your bed. For thinking it could be tamed. And so. You should accept responsibility for it.

(Nasty, nasty—)

But just as much as you know him, he knows you. You'll give him a litany of reasons why this shouldn't happen, and none of them will be because this isn't what you want. It'll be filled with reasons why you think he doesn't.

And that simply won't do.

So, he plots. Plans.

The thing is. No one ever taught him how to hold things in his hands without crushing it.

He doesn't think he can be delicate. Gentle. There's no way to gently nudge you into this. No.

He'll convince you to yield the same way a tsunami convinces a house to move out of the way.

Buried to the hilt in your cunt, he growls gospels into your ear about this beautiful Shangri-la, this sprawling castle he has in Spain until you're clenching down around him tight, conditioning your body to come at the thought of swelling with his child. About letting his seed take root, letting him knock you up.

It's a crass image that he spits into your head—fuck you until it takes, love; breed this pretty cunt every day until you're fat and swollen—serves as the positive reinforcement to his classical conditioning. He'll turn you into one of Pavlov's mutts, salivating at the sound of him groaning into your ear as he fills your pussy up to the brim. He'll reshape you, change your wants until you only come around his cock when he's spitting his release against the plug of your womb.

And when you make to get up, letting all his spend slip from your sloppy cunt to take your pill, he pulls you closer under the guise of wanting to feel your body on his, murmuring diabolical compromises he has no intention of letting you see through.

“Later,” he rasps, pulling you closer. His mouth slots across your temple. “Just take it later, sweetheart. Later.”

“But—”

“It’ll be fine.”

And, as if you'd been waiting for that reassurance, you melt into his hands, wet putty.

(you take the bloody pill later, and he adds that to his mental calendar, adjusting the maths. He supposes he’ll just have to try harder next time.)

John's desire for you is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he schemes around his wandering hands, bullying into your messy cunt only moments before your alarm is meant to go off, reminding you to take your pill, reinforcing that irritating little wall that keeps his come from reaching your womb.

It goes off, but he hardly hears it over the roaring in his ears, the sweet, sweet litany of moans that slip out, staining the pillow with your pleasure. He just keeps fucking you through it, growling mindlessly into your ears about how badly he wants to come inside of you. His warnings, threats, about how close he is intertwining with your desperate begging for him to come, come inside me, John is the most beautiful harmonisation he'd ever heard, and it sews itself into his marrow, polluting the ugliness inside with a new, fresh hell for him to torture himself with. That delicious pleasure-pain that drives him mad—

He fills you up, palm pressed taut to your lower belly as he spits his virile release deep into your cunt. He can feel the heavy outline of his cock against your skin, stuffed full of him, and it's this—the way he moulds your body around him, cock visible through your flesh—that makes his eyes roll back into his head. Makes the urge to fuck, to breed, to claim bludgeon into him, shattering reason, logic. He wants to change you, irrevocably. Forever. To mar you with his touch, his essence.

“Mine,” he chokes out, ugly and raw. It's a mangled mess in his throat. A threat. “All fucking mine, aren't you, love? All mine—”

His words seem to throw you into another climax, cunt clenching greedily down around him as he softens inside of you, plugging you up. You liked that, he notes, purs. The notion brands itself across his resolve, reshaping it into something that would make anyone else recoil in fear, disgust.

But you preen at this creature that bares its fangs at you, snaps wicked teeth against your jugular. Fingers threading through its hair, shushing it, soothing it, as you pull it back into your embrace, head tucked against your chest. You lull it into complacency with the heavy thud of your heart, your sweet, earthy scent.

What a pair, he thinks, and clamps his hands around your wrist when you murmur something about taking your pill now. Need to take it before it gets too late, John—

He makes his move, distracts you with his mouth, his tongue.

“Just take it after,” he murmurs into your pussy, thighs bracketing around his head. His hands pull your waist down, pressing you harder against his mouth. “Later, love. It'll be fine—”

“But, John—”

The protest dies, turns to ash, when he grunts, sealing his lips around your clit, bullying it with the rasping press of tongue until you're arching your back, riding his face. Thoughts of your silly pill are gone, swallowed by him as you gush, drenching his mouth in your slick.

And after, when you make to get up again, he pulls you close instead, voice curling around you like smoke when he tells you to take it after.

“No, love. Stay in bed with me,” he peppers kisses to your cheek, your jaw, chin, sweetening his words, and folds you into the tight embrace of his arms. “Take it in the morning. It'll be fine to miss a day.”

You level him with something that shadows the ravines in your gaze with pure, unadulterated scepticism, but as he scouts the canyons, the valleys, the pretty craters that make up the composite of your eyes, he finds no discernible trace of wariness, uncertainty. The terse line in his shoulders ease.

But while fossicking around he unearths something else. Something a bit more enigmatic, calculative, than doubt. Equivocal, slippery, it runs from him when he tries to give chase, tucking itself back into the harsh tenebrous that shades the landscape.

He hums, wanting to ask, but you sigh in quasi-acquiescence, and burrow deeper into his embrace.

“Fine,” you huff, but he tastes a purring sense of satisfaction in the air. “I'll take it tomorrow instead.”

“Good girl.” The praise slips out, low and gritty, perfumed with his heavy greed.

You shiver against him. The hitch in your throat is quiet in the bedroom, but to him, it sounds like a gunshot.

John keeps meticulous track of the empty pill slots, and notes with a sticky, resinous sense of glee that the numbers are becoming muddled, skewed. Later becomes tomorrow, and your soft acquiesce has days skipped. Missed.

You can't double up, you huff to him, mournfully slinking into the bed. It's nearly one in the morning. Technically, a brand new day. I absolutely have to take it tomorrow, John. Make sure you remind me—

There's something pointed in your tone. Something oil-slick. He nods, bites back a grin.

“Sure,” he pulls you close, breathes in the sweet, loamy scent of you—sweat and sex and the lingering remnants of your perfume, your soap—and lets it stain his lungs. “I can do that.”

You say nothing at all when he doesn't bring it up until well past midnight the next day, offering little more than an exasperated groan, and a huffy roll of your eyes, as if this was just a missed dinner with friends and not a life-changing misstep.

(The beast purrs. He places his hand over his chest, and feels the rumble under his skin.)

“Need to be more responsible than this, John,” you say, squirming in his hold to try and rush to the washroom to take that pesky little pill.

“Sorry, love,” he offers, and means none of it. Clings tighter to you. “Got a bit carried away today, is all.”

“It's not your fault—” something curls out from a dark crevasse when you look at him. “I've been so—off lately, you know? Must be the new batch. Maybe I should call my doctor.”

He stills. Body tensing, coiling. John tries to speak, but the words are ash on his tongue. He clears his throat.

“Could stop taking it.”

It crackles in the air. Hangs heavy like a stormcloud.

You blink, stunned. But it's artificial, hollow. Pulled from a wicker basket where you keep all your different skins.

“You mean—what? Stop it all together—?”

You flit in the space once more, but it's less of an injured bird searching for an escape, he realises suddenly, and more of—

A boomslang.

One rearing up, searching for the perfect place to strike.

Wishful thinking, though, because you're flustered and skittish once more, a small prey animal he isn't sure what he wants to do the most—sink his teeth into you, tear you into pieces, and devour you whole, or hide you away from the world.

“I can look for something else in the meantime,” you sound shy, hesitant, and it prickles across his skin. “But we'd need to be careful, you know. Otherwise you might actually get me pregnant.”

He tries to swallow his groan. Chokes on it instead.

“Sure, sure—” he hacks into his palm. “Of course, love. We'll be safe. I'll pull out—”

Naturally, he doesn't. Makes no effort to even try despite promising you he is.

“Not my fault your pussy won't let go of me, love,” he grumbles, hand cupping your weeping sex in his palm. The heat of you is searing. Blistering. He thinks he could happily melt inside of it for the rest of his life, and leans down to whisper his devotion into your come-slicked folds, the bitter tang of you, of him, admixing on his tongue. An elixir he could drown in.

You huff at him after, all glossy-eyed and sex-drunk, and tell him to please try harder, John, I'll have to get plan b tomorrow—

You don't, but the threat of it, the possibility, lingers in the back of his mind, souring his thoughts.

Next time, and I'll have to, John, you say, featherlight, lips pressed against the head of his cock. A warning, a goddamn tease—

His voice is strained, pinched. “Of course, love,” and he guides your mouth back to his cock, letting the matter fall into pieces when you suck on the sensitive head, tongue licking, coy and kittenish, over his frenulum.

It's only later, when watches you swallow down his come, that the beast slinks out of the shadows, pocketing the fragments.

You're off birth control—barely any scheming words of whispered concern needed—but the idea of you taking a little pill to wipe away his efforts has him pulling back. Recalibrating his plans.

He decides on a different route to the same end.

Damnation at your own hand.

John, for his credit, does begin to pull out after that—albeit, with a great deal of agonised reluctance—and instead comes all over your pretty face.

With thick ropes of his pearlescent spend dripping down the apples of your heated cheeks, he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful than this.

And one with more opportunity.

Slowly, he swipes at it with his thumb and then promptly brings it down, hard, on your clit. You flinch, mewling at the overstimulation, and the threat he brings so close to your raw, unprotected sex. It's dangerous. This thin line he dances along could snap at any moment. Could rain hellfire and fury over his broad shoulders, unmake all the progress he'd steadily built up.

He walks the precipice, anyway. He pulls his hand away, and brings two fingers up to curve over your cheeks. His thumb, stained with your slick and his come, slides across your bottom lip.

The pout you give him—all wet-eyed lachrymose—has his spent cock twitching against his sticky thigh. “Fuck, love. Gonna send me to an early grave if you keep starin’ at me like that.”

“You're cracked,” you slur around his thumb. In retaliation, he digs it into your tongue, and preens—full of nasty, gnarled satisfaction—when your eyes flutter, rolling into the back of your head at the taste.

With this brief distraction, he drops his come-stained fingers to your mound, and rubs along the swollen rim of your hole. Just touching, pressing. A tease, a whisper.

You tense. “John—” it's muffled around his thumb, and he isn't sure if it's a warning or a plea.

He pushes the tips in, barely to the first knuckle, and just pets around your rim.

It's a battle of wills, now. “No more than this,” he promises, and the undercurrent of his threat rents the air. Makes you bristle.

You always loved a challenge—especially coming from him.

“Just the tip?” You tease, spittle running down your chin. Your eyes are dark—midnight skies, ink black—and he's struck by the afterimage of himself in those pools. Made in the same image.

He grunts, slides into the first knuckle, and scissors them apart.

“John—” it's breathless. Your teeth spear his thumb, tight around his bone. He wants nothing more than to have you bite down hard, scar his bones with the gnawed meteors of your desire. Your desperation. “Fuck—please—”

You give in so prettily, and he barely has a moment to think about how quick it's been when you angle your hips, hand falling to grip his wrist tight as you slide down his fingers, all the way to the last knuckle.

You clench around him like a vice. A pretty bow. He fucks you with his fingers, meeting your shallow thrusts with ones of his own, slamming viciously into your pussy as he coos adorations into your ear.

With his other hand, he reaches down and fists himself over your bare mound, pressing the tip against your clit where it weeps prespend over your flesh. His thumb sweeps across what spills out, dragging it back down to your sopping hole, pushing it inside.

It's probably not enough to reach your womb, to get you pregnant, but he clings to that tantalising fantasy as he drills his fingers into you until you come, breathlessly begging him to fuck you harder, to fill you up—

He isn't even fucking you with his cock, and you still beg him for it.

John pushes the tip into your slit, fingers still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy, and groans with the force of his release. It makes him dizzy, almost nauseous with it, filling his head with nothing but the sweet, wounded sound of your moans filling the room, and the wet squelch of his fingers pulling out of you.

When he catches the threads of cognisance in his fingers once more, he leans back on his haunches, chest heaving, and brands the messy sight of your pussy fluttering, clenching around nothing, as his spend drips down your slit, over your hole, and pools in the sheets below.

He's not sure if heaven exists, but he knows the sight of you, breathless and whimpering on his bed, is the closest a man like him will ever come to seeing it.

The push-pull of this little game stretches on.

Price likes to see just how far he toe the line before you're whimpering into the sheets, telling him don't, John, don't come inside me, I'm not anything, John—and he's ripping himself away from the tight clutch of your wet, hot cunt, and coming all over you.

The illicit tease of barely pulling out in time, and then scooping up the mess he makes on your face, your breasts, your belly, your ass, lower back, thighs, and spooning it into your pussy until it's a fixture in your bedroom ritual.

And maybe it's the threat of it all, of playing such a dangerous game, seems to cudgel under his skin the most, ripping apart the thin veneer of that man he once pretended to be—righteous and good—shedding it off with each hiccupped gasp you make when he presses his come-slicked fingers inside of you, murmuring guttural words of affection in the shape of impish mockery (want it bad, don't you, sweet thing; so fuckin’ greedy for it, love—).

He likes it the most when he can fuck you stupid on his fingers. Cockdrunk, and come-starved (because you are, of course; he hasn't come inside of your cunt in weeks, and doesn't miss the mournfully pitiful whines you give when he pulls out, depriving you of the pleasure of feeling him come inside you), you're too blissed out, swimming in pleasure, to think about what he's doing.

In fact, he doesn't really give you much of a chance to think at all.

The next few weeks are filled with him fucking you each night brutally, viciously, snarling low in your ear about how bad he wants to come in you, stuff you full, and then keep you plugged up all night with his cock that it takes, and then pulling out right before, committing the sight of your betrayed expression to memory where it'll sit like a trophy when you finally break.

You make an appointment with your gynaecologist, and circle the date on his calendar.

John notes it down. Tucks it away.

And then he amps up the pressure.

John's fingers root behind your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them. His gaze drills into your bare cunt, slick and wet, and so ready for him. Eager for it.

He'd counted the days, and knows that if there's ever the absolute worst time to have unprotected sex, to come inside of you, is now.

Which, of course, means he has to. The clause in that is ironclad. Apodictic.

“Bit dangerous,” he rasps, and lifts your leg up, resting your ankle on his shoulder. You fluster beneath him, panting and pretty, and fuck—he’s not pulling out of your pussy tonight at all. “Should I pull out?”

It's a tease. A test.

He reaches down as he says the words, gripping his cock and bringing it down against your wet heat. The bare, blunt head of his cocks slaps against your clit, and you arch, keening. Nails bite into the thick muscles of his biceps, and he leans into the sharp sting. Letting it ground him. Centre him.

This will be your cacoëthes.

He's been depriving you for weeks, and John knows that you're wanting for it. Desperate. The little twitches your hips give, as if begging him to fill you up, are proof enough of how much you want this.

This. The dream he dripped into your ears, hot oil congealing over your frontal lobe; infectious and thick. You can try to chisel it off, but the pollution is already damning. Ruining.

You want this. He wears the axiom like armour.

And you beg for it—eyes shaded in gut wrenchingly beautiful lachrymose—and John snuffles closer, inching the weeping head of his cock into your tight, warm heat.

The sight of splitting you open is something he never grows tired of. Something that, without fail, makes his balls ache. His chest thrum. Blood turns to ichor. To wine. He's drunk on the contrast made between you—a garish chiaroscuro of your pretty pussy, soft and sickly sweet—almost nauseatingly so—swallowing down the fat, girthy length of his cock. The thick streams of veins running along the flushed, heavy shaft against your puffy, soft folds is almost hideous. Sinful. He can't equate it to anything else except corruption. The horrific beast sullying the princess.

And fuck—

The thought alone makes him throb.

He's sullied you plenty, he reckons, and yet you always look so sweet. Especially now, when your rim is stretched taut around the thick of him, pussy squeezing, clenching around him in a vice, as if you weren't sure to push him out or pull him deeper.

John decides for you. Opting instead to push your knees down to your chest, nearly brushing your ears, and follows with the bulk of his body until he feels your breath rush out of your lungs. You struggle for a moment, gasping wetly into his ear as his weight—every bearish pound of it—rests on you in the perfect mating press. Your bite into his biceps, keening prettily into his ear as he bullies the full length of his cock into you. Spears you open. Splits you apart.

He can feel you gush around him, drenching his groin and thighs with your slick.

Like this—chest to chest, forced to breathe in the same air, the same madness—he likes to just stare at you, taking in the heat simmering under your skin, the sweat beading along your temple, the pinch in your brow as you struggle to adjust to the sheer width of him cudgelling you open. A battering ram you're forced to make room for.

He takes it all in, each flicker of emotion, each heaving gasp. Burns it into his memory. Lets it soften the iron around his heart. Keeps it there, nestled in the cradle of his limited love, held aloft by indelicate, bearish hands. This sweet thing.

He can't wait to ruin it.

If these weeks leading up to this were lovemaking, fucking, then this, this, is mating. Animalistic. Primal. He pushes in as deep as he can, until the tip kisses the ripened seal of your womb, and grinds his hips cruelly into the cradle of your thighs.

Your nails leave bloodied indents in his flesh. A scar he'll proudly bear the mark of. A tattoo of the time when he turned you into something new.

His balls are soaked. The sheets, too. He mocks you for it, a rasping growl lodged deep in his throat, taunting you about how fucking wet you are for him. How badly you need it.

“Gotta plug you up, hm?” He grunts, and sets a pace that serves only to accentuate the sloppy, messy squelch of your cunt.

His cock pistoning into you, alternating between deep, full thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, and heavy, slow plunges meant to badger the blunt head of his cock against your walls.

You seem to like it best when he shifts his weight between each thigh, content to just grind into you. Make you feel every inch of him. You cling to him, yowling in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love this, love his cock—

The thick bed of wry, umber curls on his chest, stomach, and groin grow slick with sweat from the intensity of it all, from the shared heat. Pressed tight against you, he feels every quiver. Every flinch. Each moan is made known in a slight reverberation across his skin before he hears it.

Drenched in sweat, glued to you as he fucks you into the mattress, John feels very much like the beast making a house out of a twisted whim in his head. Feverish, sick, he drives into you with the single minded goal of filling that home up with three. Then four. Five—

As many as you'll let him.

And he almost loses himself to that thought alone. Dancing sugar plums that make his balls tighten. He stems the flood by pulling out of you, letting his heavy cock slap against your sticky, soaked cunt as he heaves into your hairline, sucking in the heady loam, the humus, of your scent.

The whimper you make when he pulls out of you sounds like a wounded animal, and the noise tickles across his hindbrain. His jaw aches. He bites down on a snarl as you thrash against him, mindless with the need to have him inside of you. It brings a nasty, vicious curl to the ends of his mouth, and he doesn't even bother trying to tamper it down. John lifts his head and lets you see his foaming muzzle, drooling with thick globes of saliva.

“Stay still,” he growls, low and dangerous. It's as much of a warning as it is a command, and the way you react, tensing, coiling tight—the flash of unease. Shock. And then the need. Achy, heavy. He feels it against his jugular when you shiver, moaning his name into the space between you where it reeks of desperation.

To soften the submissive tremble in your jaw—and maybe to temper down the challenging talons sharpening in your gaze—he nuzzles his cheek against yours, peppers wet kisses to your skin. He licks across your jaw, bites down on your flesh.

He tastes salt and sin on your skin.

(His eyes roll so far back into his skull he thinks he might get lost.)

“Gonna cum on your pretty cunt if you don't stop squirming, love.”

And John loves you most for your waspish intelligence—the ire smouldering in your throat. The way you bite back just as hard, never afraid to bear teeth when he snarls. He doesn't think he could ever love someone too soft—not without tearing them to pieces. To shreds.

But you wear plush, tender conchoidal skin over jagged, rough obsidian. He'll ruin himself if he ever tries to rip you apart.

Like this, though—you melt.

All that keen, vicious intelligence snuffed out. His scheming Cleopatra tamed on his cock.

Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, urging him closer to your sex. “Come on, John, just fuck me, fuck me already—”

(Tamed, though, perhaps being a misnomer.)

He huffs into your neck. “Impatient little quean.”

It gets him a sharp bite to the tip of his ear, and the floor roars so loudly in his veins, he gets dizzy from it.

“Fuck—”

He's pressing back into you again, into your warm, tight heat, and it's nirvana kissing his nerves. Liquifying his spine. He rolls into you with a weighted groan, buried to the hilt once more.

But even with the respite, he knows he won't last.

John needs you fucked stupid, docile and soft just for him, and sets out to do just that. Pounding into you with a spiteful twist of his hips that he knows will leave you a little sore, and tender tomorrow. But the idea of spreading your puffy, achy folds apart and soothing the slight hurt with his tongue for hours until you're sobbing into the cushions quells any hesitation that rears, begging him to slow down.

Go easy on your pretty cunt.

(As if.)

John batters into you until your eyes glaze over, and your chin, cheeks, smear with drool. Until the challenge in midnight black melts into submission. Docile, and malleable. Perfect for him to mould. Shape.

Reshape.

He glues to you, touch starved and tactile, and basks in the liquid heat that blooms from deep within you.

“Gonna cum soon,” he snarls, broken by the heave in his chest as he fucks into you, starved. “Gotta pull out, love—”

You're gripping him tighter, anchoring him to your body. You haven't come yet. Something he dangles in front of you like a threat.

He watches the slow crawl of realisation crest over your messy face, and thinks he falls just a little bit more in love with you at the sight of your little pout.

Loves, even more, the way it breaks apart when he pounds into you harder, viciously, watching drool dribble off your chin, and reason leak from your ears—

“Please, John—” the sound of your whimpering has him grunting, head dizzy with the saccharine sweet taste of it on his tongue. “Please, please—come inside me. I–I want you to–to fill me up—”

“Yeah?” He taunts, mean and breathless. “Want me to come inside your sloppy cunt? Dangerous, ain't it? Jus’ might take, sweet thing. Is that what you want?”

You're howling a litany of sin into his ear, desperation drenches each clamour of his name, each orison uttered, begging him to come, to fill you up, and then—

“Fuck—I want it so bad—” his head is filled with static. Whitenoise. “Want it to take, John—”

He comes inside of you, cock pulsing so hard it feels like a sob. Filling you up. Wishing on all the stars that it takes—

As a reward for your good behaviour, he spreads you out over the sheets, and growls his approval into your sopping pussy, drenching himself with the taste, the smell, of you, promising to wear it like a perfume so everyone knows how good you are for him. Him, alone.

(His, his, his—)

When you come, you nearly smother him, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of nirvana in baby soft yellow before he's pulled back by your shaking hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead.

“Are you okay, John—”

He rolls you under him, fucking into your drenched pussy like a man starved. That tantalising vision glues itself to his hindbrain, so close he can scent the fresh dew of fresh milk, and warm bread in his nose. Feel the bump of your stomach.

He's almost angry about it, about being ripped away from that dream, and takes his aggression out on your sloppy, leaking cunt. The way his come trickles out, staining the mattress below and the back of your thighs has him growling darkly into your nape.

“Keep it in,” he snarls, words sharpened on the whetstone of his need. “Keep it all inside, love.”

“Ah, John, John—” something falls from your split-slicked lips, and his fingers bite into your hips. Punishment for the slurred backtalk.

“I'll spank your ass if any of it leaks out—”

It does. Of course it does.

He bends you over his knee, and slaps his broad, rough palm over each cheek ten times before deliriously shoving two thick fingers into your sloppy cunt, stuffing his come back inside your tender, swollen hole, rough and mean, as you howl, squirming in his lap about how you promise you'll be good next time, John, please—I'll keep it all in, I swear, I—

“You fuckin’ better, love.” He groans, and thinks about cumming on your messy face, all slick with sweat, and drool, but decides against it. A waste, he thinks, and leans over you to shove the thick, twisting length of his angry cock inside you to the hilt just spit his release against your seal once more.

“That was…” You're still panting against his chest, eyes dazed, and body laxed. Melted wax over his chest. “Intense,” you settle on after a beat.

There's a hiccup in your breath when he hums, chest rumbling with the sound.

“Mm, but you liked it, didn't you?”

Of course you did. Of course. The evidence of it is drying, tacky and slick, on his groin, his thighs.

You burrow into his side, peeking at him from over the thick bed of wry curls that clot over his chest. “You're fucking me like you haven't in years, John. Makes me wonder if you have an agenda.”

He considers your words. The weight of them. Wonders just how much you've clued into, but huffs when he catches the same look in your eyes as the one reflected in his own.

Cheeky little—

“Can't I just want to fuck you? Not everything has to be about schemes, love.”

The oil of his lies, the sticky resin of his evasion makes you huff into his skin.

In all his meticulous planning, he'd picked up several books on this particular topic, and scoured every available, reputable, site he could find. John knows what to look out for by now, and keeps a keen eye on you—one that very quickly dips into obsessiveness, but you're kind enough to call it overbearing.

Jesus Christ, John, why are you asking me how many times I pissed today?

He just needs to wait things out.

But rather irritatingly, he's called away overseas for the next week.

Ah, well. He'll have to try harder next time.

He arrives in Heathrow mid-morning, and follows Laswell into the office. There's a mountain of reports to fill out—things that, rather irritatingly, require his signature—and resolves to spend the rest of the day hunched over at his desk, even though there's an itch in the back of his skull demanding he go home.

It is always like this, though—both the post-mission ritual of banal paperwork that seems almost comical considering what he'd just done, and the undeniable urge to flee back into the sanctuary of your shared home.

His bones ache for it.

Laswell huffs when he lingers by the exit, and he swallows a groan.

While he was away, you'd been silent. Moreso than usual.

Where he'd have expected an update on what was going on—the mundanity of your life that he clings to when the beast in his head whets its talons a little too sharp, digs into a little too deep—you’ve gone silent. Not radio. Not completely. But the information you give is sparse. Cagey.

You don't tell him about the visit to the gynaecologist, offering nothing but a quiet hum into the receiver, all blase and nonchalant, and a simple, equivocal: “good.”

He tucks it away, lets the matter drop.

If he timed things correctly—barring your impish prevarication aside—then something will begin to show soon. You would have mentioned something. Some nominal change to your physical well-being, but when pried, pressed, you huff.

“I'm good, John. When are you coming home, anyway?”

He raps his knuckles on his desk, still smarting from the punches he'd thrown recklessly this past week, too keyed up to let his anger simmer instead of boil, and thinks. About you. About this.

A week isn't a lot of time—he’s been called away for months in the past—but this feels like it's lingering. Time stretched and distorted. Elongated. And a part of him feels chipped, fractured after touchdown.

It wasn't as if this particular assignment was any more, or less, dangerous than the ones he went on before. If anything, it was comparatively mild. Muted. He honed into his training, and did his goddamn job. And yet—

Yet.

You lived in the spaces he occupied. The air he breathed. The water he drank.

He brought you with him, something he's never, ever, done before. Perched pretty on his shoulder, he heard your voice in his head with every step he took, every radio call.

But it was hallucinatory. Chimerical. You weren't there, you were here, but the problem lies in the lack of a divide that usually bifurcates the world into two fractions: his job and you.

It eats at him.

He brought you where he's never taken anyone before. Never let them in.

His thoughts were asunder. Pulled in all directions, but the centre was always you. His compass pointing north. He wants you. Needs you. His whole being has been recalibrated with the needle aimed toward you.

An alert on his phone shakes him from his reverie.

He reaches for it, slides his hand across the lockbar. The notification pops up. A message from his bank.

His card—the one he gave you, the one you've used all of once to buy a chocolate bar when he gruffly, surely, complained about you not spending his money—has been used.

Curious now, he opens his app, eyes scanning the threadbare purchases—all mostly interest fees and service charges, bar one. It was recently used at a drugstore for under twenty dollars.

He doesn't know what this means, what you're playing at. He makes to text you, but he gets an email next.

Thank you for your purchase; here is your e-receipt.

His heart does something strange in his chest. Turns in on itself. Goes all askew.

Not only are you using his card, you're using his account, too. He clicks it, eyes scanning through the purchases (only two), and blinks.

A card, and—

His want takes the shape of a hand, presses against his jugular.

—a pregnancy test.

He knew when he started this game that this was, of course, the inevitable outcome, but having it here, right in front of him—in that sneaky, noncommittal way you always do things; behind his back, and in the dark, like you enjoy watching him try and sniff out the truth—has his belly knotting up. Churning.

A pregnancy test.

Fuck—

(and out of all the ways to tell him, you cheeky little—)

He's up out of his chair before he's even aware that he's standing.

“Laswell,” he gets out, and can't be sure how his voice is so measured when his head is being shredded into pieces. “I'm out for the rest of the day. This whole bloody week, too—”

“Something bad happen?”

His hands shake when he pulls his jacket on, slips his car keys into his hands. “No. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to be a father. A bloody dad—”

It's on that sentiment when his voice breaks. Shatters. He clears his throat, blinks furiously. Fuck. Fuck. It's happening—

Shangri-la sits in his fist, taking the shape of an e-mailed receipt.

In his periphery, he sees Simon's head come up. Watching him. Measured.

Laswell, too, eyes him with a degree of wariness. He supposes to them this means the end of everything.

She breathes in. “Tuscany would be my choice.”

“Oh?” He tears his eyes away from the screen, gracing her with a steady, unflinching look. “Was thinking something a bit more local. Liverpool.”

It gets a scoff, one full of disgust. “She'll divorce you within the year.”

“I'm having a baby, Laswell. Not getting married.”

“Oh, no?” It's a challenge. “I seem to recall something about someone being a proper gentleman, or was that just the lie you told your unofficial missus?”

“We'll get married. That's not up for debate—” an intern makes an alarmed face, like perhaps it ought to be. Had he not been holding nirvana in his hand, he might be a bit more cautious with his madness. Too bloody bad. “Wherever she wants—Tuscany, Udaipur, fucking Siberia. I don't care. What I’m a bit more concerned with is my expectant wife.”

“Soon-to-be,” she volleys, just because she knows it's the sort of thing that will itch under his skin.

“Already is, Laswell.” He gripes, flat. “Or damn near close to it.”

“If she knows what's good for her, she'll say no.”

“Lucky me, then, that she doesn't.”

Lucky him, indeed.

On his way out, Ghost utters a heated congratulations to him, and John can see his gaze is absent. Turned inward, mind whirring. Reeling. He can hear the gears grind from where he stands, and if the ink-black madness in his lieutenant’s drifting, pensive eyes means much of anything, then John sends a silent hail mary to whatever unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog.

Well. It's not really his problem. Until it is. Until it becomes one. But since it's not something that'll impact him in the next five minutes, he tucks it away. “Thanks.”

He doesn't linger. Doesn't, really, even remember the ride home, head buzzing with thoughts that keep twisting around themselves, driving him mental. Things like, is it real? what if you were joking. what you weren't?

Oh, fuck—

You better not be.

But you wouldn't. You're conniving and wily, but you're not cruel.

This is happening, then.

You've been playing house with matches inside of a tinderbox. He shouldn't be surprised when it all goes up in flames, in smoke, but as he walks through the door, and glimpses the pregnancy test perched innocently on the counter beside a card—congrats, daddy (and the caricature of a man in a pinstripe suit nearly makes him gag)—he feels all the maligned pieces inside of crack.

It shifts—

You walk out, hand cupped protectively over your lower belly. Eyes gleaming like a wild cat crouched low in the tussocks surrounding the savannah, watching him an eager sense of anticipation, excitement, and just the slightest edge of what he can only imagine the unfortunate mate of a black widow sees before it's consumed. Spare parts.

It thrums inside of him. Ignites this wicker basket he calls a heart until it's cinder. Ash. Soot. He breathes it in. Tastes you on his tongue.

John doesn't have the words. Can't think beyond the steady brag of his burning heart.

His. His.

—and then it all falls into place.

Yours.

He dotes on you with an almost unhinged devotion, murmuring stilted, gruff words of muted affection into the shallow bump on your belly. Ones that you, politely, pretend not to hear.

A new bedtime ritual, one he adheres to with an almost obsessive need.

Until it becomes too much.

“Go and get my prenatal vitamins from the washroom, please. I just need five minutes without you smothering me, you stupid bear of a man.”

“You love it,” he grumbles, but acquiesces, giving your small, barely there bump a pat. “I'll be back soon.”

“Oh, no… please take your time.”

Despite the prickle in your tongue, your eyes are soft. Warm. Melting him just a little more.

John pulls away, and doesn't even pretend the reluctance to be apart is feigned.

“It's in the drawer,” you call, voice stretched. Echoing. “Next to your shaving cream.”

He pulls the drawer open, scanning the contents briefly, before finding the purple bottle in the back. Why you chose here of all places to put the bloody things—

His knuckles knock against the old box of condoms, tipping it over. There's a strange rattle as it falls, and his brows furrow at the noise.

Curiously, he reaches for it. Shakes it as he picks it up. The same sounds spill out. He pops the flap of the box open, peering inside, and—

A gruff chuckle crackles in his throat.

Inside the old box of condoms—the ones he never bothered to throw out, or use—is an accumulation of all the pills you'd meant to take.

His jowls ache. He rubs at his jaw with his hand, and feels the skittish patter of his heart thudding out of his skin. Madness in his veins.

John closes the drawer with his knee, and then tosses the box of condoms in the bin, leaving it for you to find later when you're inevitably wracked by another wave of morning sickness. A little shred of vindication for this little game you made him play.

Though he supposes turn-about is fair play, and the number of pills in the box is less than the months he spent scheming for this vision of his.

In the back of his head, the beast purrs.

“Do we need to play these games again for the next one,” he rasps. “Or can I just fuck you until it takes.”

You blink at him, wide and owlish. Full of faux innocence as you coax the beast out of hiding. “I don't know what you're talking about, John.”

More games, then. He thinks he might crack open your ribcage and rest his weary head on the frantic beat of your heart.

“Mm, don't know what I'd do without you,” he says, guns aching. He reaches for the pack of gum (no smoking around the baby or you'd toss him off the balcony), and pops a spearmint into his mouth. “Might live longer, I reckon, but—”

Your elbow digs into his side. “You sure about that?”

He just kisses your crown in response, and places his heavy, scarred hand over the curve of your belly. The beast inside purrs, content for now. Satiated.

When he looks into your midnight eyes, he finds your own beast slumbering away.

A match made in a tinderbox, he guesses, and kisses you until you're dizzy. His very own Shangri-la sitting pretty inside his bed, nestled in the castle in Spain you helped him build.

Will help him fill.

#this was supposed to be posted earlier but i was too busy watching dead meat #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #this was a) not thought out and b) def not edited #Unhinged John Price is my roman empire #call of duty fics #cod fics #captain john price smut #pricefics

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1800-fight-me · 4 months ago

Text

Begin Again

Rick Grimes x Female!Reader

Rating: M (Mature- As always- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Angst, canon level violence, cursing, yearning

Word count: Almost 4k

Synopsis: You have feelings for Rick that you're convinced are unrequited and it's made you irritable with your group. But what if you were wrong?

Author’s note: This is set sometime after the jail but sometime before Alexandria, but I took liberties with the timeline as well. I hope you enjoy!

P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist

“I need five minutes away from you and your incessant talkin’,” you grumbled as you sheathed your hatchet and walked away from Eugene.

Of course it was your luck you got paired with the rambling coward in the group’s efforts to clear out the building for a safe place to sleep for the night.

“Wait! But I-”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” you snapped as you walked away. You’d already cleared out your designated area and the others would finish soon, you weren’t leaving Eugene in any danger. You just needed some air.

It wasn’t his fault you were so irritable. It was your own fault for developing unrequited feelings for the leader of your group and then getting your feelings hurt every time he showed zero interest towards you.

You walked out the back of the abandoned warehouse and sat on the steps right outside the door. You took deep breaths as you looked up at the stars.

It was ridiculous and embarrassing, you knew that. There were far more important things to worry about, to get worked up over- like surviving each day. Killing walkers and any who threatened your group- that was essential, not your stupid crush.

And Rick, he had so many responsibilities on him- two children (one of whom is a baby), the safety and wellbeing of the entire group (which had been particularly difficult lately), and constant pressure to make life or death decisions (you had admit, he was pretty good at that). You couldn’t, and shouldn’t expect him to notice you or care about your emotions beyond the others in the group.

But, God - you wish he would. You wish he wanted to be around you. You wished he trusted your capabilities more. But no, he never wanted you right by his side in dangerous situations. That honor was always given to Daryl, or Glen, or Michonne. People he had more trust in.

You’d been there since the beginning- since the quarry camp and you’d come a long way in terms of fighting, just like so many others. But it seemed like all Rick saw was the scared young woman he’d first met.

He always grouped you with others in the group he also didn’t trust as much- like Eugene or Gabriel. It was infuriating.

You also knew that Rick was a man of few words, but you couldn't help but notice that he had even less to say to you than others he was closer with. Despite the fact that you volunteered to help take care of Judith more than anyone else in the group.

Your feelings for Rick- of affection, of love, of lust, were turning sour and rotten inside of you and twisting into something closer to jealousy and resentment.

Getting worked up was pointless, Rick would never look at you the way you look at him you realized as you wiped the tears from your eyes and took deep breaths.

But maybe a few extra minutes alone wouldn't hurt.

You leaned against the handrail on the side of the stairs and tried to think about anything but Rick. The gorgeous curls of his grey streaked hair, his beard that looked way too good even when coated in blood, his intense blue eyes, the low timbre of his voice, his protectiveness for those he cares about…

You hadn’t even realized you drifted off to sleep until the sound of growling and snarling woke you. The hatchet was in your hand immediately as you jumped up and took a defensive stance. Four walkers were close, one of which nearly grabbed you, but you side stepped it and buried your hatchet in its forehead.

Its dead weight pitched forward, it was a man twice your size, and landed on top of you.

“Shit!” you yelled as your head hit the concrete and your vision went momentarily fuzzy. You held tight to your hatchet and swung it with a groan as another walker launched itself and landed on top of the dead one on top of you.

You heard a deep voice yell your name.

“Here!” you gasped out as blood sprayed in your face as the second walker died- its dead weight crushed the air out of your lungs. Two more were reaching for you but they couldn’t quite reach you and you couldn’t quite reach them.

You heard the disgusting sound of a blade slicing into the brains of the walkers before the bodies of the others were hauled off you.

“Thanks.”

You took gasping breaths as you sat up and your eyes met Rick’s blazing blue gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asked- concern evident in his voice and in the tension of his body as he knelt beside you.

He placed his large hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him in surprise.

“Just peachy,” you replied, “not a bite or a scratch on me, I promise.”

He hung his head in relief as he let out a deep breath and his fingers tightened slightly on your shoulder.

“What the hell were you thinkin’ bein’ out here alone?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

You sighed deeply.

“I didn’t mean to doze off. You stuck me with Eugene again and I needed some alone time,” you grumbled.

He let out a huff of what might’ve been a laugh as he placed a finger on your chin and tilted it upwards so you would meet his eyes again.

“I thought you liked Eugene, you’re always laughin’ at him.”

You blinked in surprise and your mouth opened slightly.

“Like him? He’s an idiot… that’s why I laugh,” you said with your eyebrows furrowed.

“Hm. Well I also pair you with him and Gabriel since you’re one of our best fighters and teachers and I was hopin’ they’d learn somethin’,” he hummed as he turned your face back and forth just to double check that you were unharmed.

“Wait, what? That’s what you think of me?” you blurted out.

He raised a brow at you and a small smile played on his lips.

“Of course, what did ya think?”

You shrugged and looked down as your face flushed with heat. “Thought you stuck me with ‘em cause you thought I was the same as them.”

This time he did truly chuckle.

“Wow. I thought you’d think better of my leadership. It wouldn’t make much sense to put the weakest links together, they’d die. Ya wanna put the strongest with the weakest so they learn to be stronger,” he explained while nodding his head.

“Oh. Yeah. That does make more sense,” you muttered.

He smirked at you and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

“Promise me you won’t go sleepin’ outside on your own again and I’ll give you a break from Eugene,” Rick said fervently.

“Deal,” you agreed all too quickly which caused a rough chuckle to slip past his lips again.

“C’mon darlin’, let’s go back inside with the others- you can nap in there where it’s safer,” he encouraged as he stood and offered you his hand.

Your heart fluttered at the affectionate nickname. You slid your hand into his much larger calloused hand and you had to actively stop your mind from wandering down a path of wondering how those hands would feel on the rest of your body.

You followed him back into the warehouse and then into the big open room everyone had begun to make camp in. He placed a hand on your back as he led you to sit next to him.

“You hungry?” he asked as he pulled granola bars out of a backpack and started to pass them out to everybody.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled and his fingers brushed against yours for far longer than necessary as you took the snack that would count as everyone’s meal for the night from him. It was better than the group’s dinner last night of absolutely nothing.

Today’s scavenging was more successful, thank God. Your group still needed to find a more permanent living situation, and this warehouse did not seem like the solution. But you weren’t in the habit of borrowing tomorrow’s worries. No, you were just glad you made it through another day alive and without losing anyone you cared about.

Maggie handed Judith to Rick and he placed a kiss on her forehead before settling her on his lap. She giggled at you as you made silly faces at her.

Your name was called in a very nervous voice and you looked over as Eugene approached you.

“I would be remiss if-”

“I’m sorry Eugene,” you cut him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was an ass.”

“While I do appreciate that, I also understand that I have a tendency to over-articulate in a way that can be grating on the nerves at times. So, I do apologize for becoming a pain in your rear end lately,” he said with a nod of his head that shook his ridiculous mullet.

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine, dude. We’re good,” you reassured him.

He nodded again then went back to his spot near Abraham and Rosita.

You looked over and realized Rick was watching you with raised brows.

“What?” you asked.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you be that nice before,” he said in a teasing tone and a playfulness in his light blue eyes.

You opened your mouth to reply but he said, “To anyone but the kids at least.”

“I’m plenty nice,” you snapped, “to everyone but you.”

He laughed and you muttered, “Shut up” as you began to adjust your backpack so you could lay your head on it.

You quickly turned your body away from him as you laid down so he couldn’t see the smile that adorned your lips.

You woke the next morning after nearly a full night’s sleep, which was a miracle in the post-apocalyptic world you lived in, to a jacket with a woollen collar laid atop you. You weren’t quite as successful at hiding your smile this time.

You yawned as you sat up and stretched and the jacket slid to your lap. It was clear you were one of the last to wake as most everyone was quietly moving around as they prepared for the day.

“You’re up! Finally! Dad said I had to let you sleep, but Judith has been wanting you,” Carl said from across the room.

You smiled, “I’ll take the little princess.” You reached your hands out and Carl crossed the room and placed Judith in your waiting arms. She giggled at your teasing as you spoke to her in a high voice and tickled her.

You noticed the granola bar carefully left next to your backpack and your heart warmed before you tore into it and devoured it in a few bites.

A few minutes later everyone seemed almost packed up and ready to go, you included. You’d gotten good at multitasking- holding and caring for Judith while taking care of other tasks (including sometimes killing walkers) had become a breeze for you. Rick came back inside the building as he holstered his gun and surveyed everyone’s progress.

“Let’s move out in five. We’ve got a lotta ground to cover today,” he ordered and everyone either nodded or made sounds of agreement.

He crossed the room as he came towards you and knelt down next to where you sat. He gently held Judith’s hand and the fondness in his gaze as he greeted her made your heart clench. As did the fact that he still had a soft look in his eyes when he looked up from where Judith sat in your arms and said, “Mornin’”.

“Hey,” you replied with a small smile. “Thanks for letting me sleep in. I feel much less grumpy.”

“Anythin’ for you, darlin’,” he said with a wink before he stood up and offered you his hand. You allowed him to help you stand and struggled to hide how flustered he made you, especially when he squeezed your hand before letting go. You handed him his jacket back, which he took and promptly put on.

“It’ll also help the overall morale of the group if you’re not snappin’ at everybody,” he teased.

You scoffed and shoved your shoulder into his as you walked past him, but once again couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. You glared at Maggie when she wiggled her eyebrows at you which only caused her to laugh.

The day continued on with your group once again hiking under the hot sun in an attempt to find more supplies and better shelter. The routine had become somewhat monotonous, but the constant life threatening situations made it feel a bit less so.

Today, the group stumbled upon an abandoned superstore. Rick ordered everyone to split up in pairs to explore and scavenge.

He asked Carl to stay outside with Judith and for Carol to protect them both.

When he called your name, you expected as usual to be grouped with one of the less combat inclined of your traveling companions but couldn’t stop your expression of surprise as he said, “You’re with me. Alright everyone, be quick and quiet and grab anything that could be potentially useful. Let’s go.”

The group split into their designated pairs and began to enter the store. Enough scouting had already been done that it seemed abandoned by walkers as well, but still it was always important to be cautious.

You followed Rick as he made his way to the back of the store to explore your assigned area. Hatchets in hand, you both made your way through the aisles without speaking in order to ensure you didn’t draw any of the dead in case they were hidden out of sight.

Finally, when everything seemed all clear Rick pulled off his backpack and you helped him to fill it with supplies.

You quietly searched the shelves and shoved aside anything useless. You tossed a bottle of ibuprofen at Rick- which he caught and dropped in his pack before he turned to search the shelf across from you.

Your gasp caused him to whip back around towards you with his hatchet raised.

“Look what I found!” you said excitedly, still cautious enough to keep your voice low.

Rick sighed deeply as he returned his hatchet to his belt and gave you an annoyed look as he glanced between your face and the unopened bag of mini chocolate donuts. They were most likely still good considering they’re chock full of preservatives.

You didn’t even know how long it had been since you had chocolate and your mouth was already watering at the thought.

“What?” you asked. “Y’don’t want any?”

He rolled his eyes and went back to searching for supplies.

“Fine, suit yourself. I was willin’ to share with you, but I’m not sharin’ with anybody else,” you grumbled as you shoved the donuts into your own backpack.

You heard him laugh softly and you smirked triumphantly. Your ability to dissuade the grumpiness and bring amusement to one another filled your heart with a light you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“We should check that back storage room in case there’s extra stuff back there that they never had the chance to put out on the floor,” you whispered after the two of you had cleared several aisles having only found a couple of necessities.

“Good idea,” he replied and led the way.

You followed his lead as you kept your hand on your hatchet.

There didn’t seem to be any walkers in the back, but it was dark. You held a flashlight while Rick ripped open boxes. You looked around the dark room, searching for any kind of movement in the dark as a sinking feeling plagued you.

He looked back at you with a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye as he held up a protein bar.

“I think you might be a genius, this whole box is full of ‘em,” he said as he gestured to the large cardboard box before him.

Your eyes widened in a look of horror. His brow furrowed but before he could even open his mouth to ask, you threw a knife at him.

It flew so close to his head that his curls rustled in the wind it created before it buried itself in the forehead of the walker whose teeth were inches away from Rick’s shoulder.

A look of shock overtook his expression as he looked between you and the walker, but you weren’t done. You yanked out your hatchet and stalked past him and took out the two walkers who were rounding the corner and heading towards the two of you.

Rick came up behind you with his hatchet in hand as well, but all seemed to be clear.

You took heaving breaths to calm the adrenaline that ran through your body.

You both holstered your weapons, including yanking the knife out of the walker’s forehead and wiping it clean, and Rick's hand encircled your wrist as he pulled you to turn to face him.

His eyes were still wide with surprise.

“Thanks.”

You shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

“No, I’m gonna. You just saved my ass,” he said fervently as he stepped closer to you.

It was like he’d just had this realization that you always supported him, always helped him, always had his back.

“Isn’t that what we do for each other? We’ve got each other's backs. That’s why our group works,” you replied.

He nodded but continued to look at you with such intensity that it made you take a step backwards and your back bumped into the wall behind you.

“Do you look at Daryl like this when he saves your ass?”

He shook his head and in a low gravelly tone said, “No.”

He looked ready to devour you as he took another step closer. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Rick?”

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath.

He practically lunged forward, one hand landed on the wall next to your head and the other spanned the side of your face to the back of your neck as he tilted your head up. His body pressed against yours, effectively trapping you between his heat and the wall.

Before you could even breathe, his lips were on yours. The brush of his beard was harsh against your skin as his lips firmly pressed against yours.

Your hands reached up to grip the curls at the base of his head, threading your fingers through the surprisingly soft hair. He took that as encouragement and deepened the kiss.

With a groan his lips pried yours open and his tongue pillaged your mouth with an intensity that left you whimpering. The heat of him, the taste of him, the fierceness of him was overwhelming and you kissed him back with all the passion he gave you.

It could’ve gone on for minutes, or maybe hours, you didn’t know but you never wanted it to end. You were ready to give him everything he wanted and more, but the sound of footsteps behind Rick had him yanking back from you. He whipped around, his gun already raised and cocked as he held a hand behind him to protect you and keep you safe behind his back.

Your lips still tingled from his affection, and as you peered around his shoulder you huffed in annoyance.

“S-sorry. I was elected to determine the whereabouts of both of you but as I have observed with my own two eyes, your safety is not currently in question. Therefore, I will take my leave, but you should know should this rendezvous continue on that the whole group is ready to move on out and is waiting on your approval and presence to do so. Yours truly will take leave now and report to the others that the waiting will continue for a little while longer,” Eugene rambled.

Rick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he lowered his weapon. He still didn’t move an inch so you continued to be stuck between him and the wall. It honestly wasn’t a bad place to be, you weren’t complaining.

“Jesus, Eugene, it’s fine, just tell everyone to come help us carry these supplies,” Rick ordered.

“Yes sir,” Eugene replied quickly and turned around and left just as quickly.

You laughed quietly and Rick turned back around- still not giving you an inch of space- and placed both hands on the wall on either side of your head and leaned down so his face was incredibly close to yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured before he kissed you again. This kiss was slow, gentle, and full of warmth. The kind of kiss that might’ve been your first kiss if you weren’t living in a time of death and desperation for survival.

His lips lingered on yours long enough that you worried others would stumble upon the two of you again. You weren’t keen on having an audience, particularly not Eugene- you’d heard a rumor that he was into voyeurism of his friends which you certainly didn’t want to have anything to do with.

“Then what took you so long?” you asked in a teasing voice as Rick’s lips finally separated from yours and he took a step back as he ran a hand though his grey streaked curls.

“Well at first I thought you had a thing for Eugene, not me,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes. “Thought you were smart,” you muttered.

He grabbed your shirt and yanked you into his body. “Don’t be a smartass,” he reprimanded, but his lips found yours again in a brief kiss that negated all the harshness in his tone.

“I worried, I worried about too many things. But yesterday almost losin’ you and today with you saving me… I realized all those worries were ridiculous when none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. I couldn’t even think about losing you, especially not without you knowin’ how I feel about you,” he said with such fervency.

His confession left you breathless.

“I- I worried too much too. Worried that you’d never feel the same way I did. Worried that if I ever told you I’d lose you,” you said, your voice so quiet it was practically a whisper.

All of the reasons you’d both withheld yourselves seemed frivolous now as light filtered through the murky window on the other side of the room and bathed Rick in the brightness of new opportunity and fresh start. A chance for new love despite the horrors of the world.

So you kissed him once more, this kiss but a brief touch of lips, a taste of something more that was to come, a sweetness only utter devotion could bring.

All too soon, he stepped back far enough that as many in your group came through the swinging doors it would not appear that anything had changed between the two of you.

To everyone else, finding the stock of food in the back of that abandoned grocery store was the only life altering thing that had occurred. But when you met Rick’s ocean blue eyes you realized you could drown in the affection you found in his gaze.

All the former awkwardness and miscommunication between the two of you was completely forgotten as you smiled at him and he smiled back- eyes crinkling- and the whole world felt anew with possibility.

#rick grimes #twd #the walking dead #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes angst #rick grimes fluff #rick grimes twd #twd rick #twd fanfiction #rick grimes x fem!reader

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adore-laur · 5 months ago

Note

in one of your pieces it’s briefly mentioned that the first time they had sex after she gives birth it was really uncomfortable and not good and i was wondering if you’d ever write that ? i love the idea of sex not always being perfect especially after going weeks without it

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

——

There was a sexual suggestiveness about the toothpick poking from Harry's mouth, and its effect on you could only be attributed to your severe case of sleep deprivation. It was a stupid piece of wood, and yet how it was framed between his plush lips sent prickles of heat surging down your neck and spine. On second thought, perhaps it was the apron tied around his waist as he dipped ripe strawberries in melted chocolate for a Valentine's Day dessert—his long fingers working with skillful precision, the sleeves of his tight long-sleeve shirt rolled up, the romantic gesture of it all. No, maybe it was the baby sling wrapped around his shoulder that held your four-month-old daughter, who was watching his every move. God, and the way he was murmuring to her each step of what he was doing definitely contributed to your rising libido. It was a sight you were still getting used to. More remarkably, it validated your years-long yearning to have children with him.

If humble swagger existed, it came in the form of how Harry carried himself as a father. The casual way he interacted with your baby was as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Walking around the house with her on his hip, going about his daily routine. Always willing to step in to give you a moment to relax. He was dependable, and you cursed your hormones for reacting so rabidly to it.

Maybe the changes your mind and body had gone through were catching up. After months, you finally felt healed from the physical wounds of giving birth. No more stitches or soreness down below. No more bleeding.

Your desire for sex was... almost normal again. You were being a bit sheepish about initiating anything, so you sincerely hoped the hunger in your eyes was communicating to Harry what you couldn't say verbally. The problem, however, was that Harry was too enamored with your little girl to notice your longing gaze. She was the center of his universe now, and you couldn't blame him for orbiting her radiance. She brought a certain euphoria to each day.

You rested your chin on the back of the couch where you observed them and inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate. It was quiet moments like these, where baby cries paused, that warmed your soul. You took time to appreciate the beauty of home, with its familiar waves and friendly birds. The creak of the floorboards and the color of the walls. The rumble of your husband's voice and his gentle presence. And most lovely of all, the adorable coos coming from the life you created.

Your eyes shifted over to the kitchen table, where a tall glass vase with flowers sat. You had woken up this morning to Harry helping your daughter hold a pretty bouquet of peonies to present to you. It came with a note that read, You make our hearts bloom. We love you.

Life was chaotic lately, yet so very blissful.

Harry was humming now as he threw the toothpick away and set the dipped strawberries in the fridge to harden. The plump red flesh encased in delectable chocolate made your mouth water. Such a simple recipe, yet somehow Harry made them taste better than a gourmet baker ever could.

He shut the fridge and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He must have sensed your gaze because he looked over his shoulder and smiled. Just the sight of him in this new role caused a swell of emotion to crash against your chest and crack your heart open.

"I've got an audience," he remarked.

You just stared at his hands supporting your daughter's small body—beautiful, sculpted, and what you had been missing desperately on your skin. It was embarrassing to admit that ever since giving birth, the closest you and Harry had gotten to any sexual intimacy was dry humping. Even then, your stitches had still been healing, so the experience was never quite satisfactory. It was no surprise that you were growing impatient.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing your strange silence.

"Nothing," you murmured, feigning nonchalance.

He chuckled and leisurely walked over to you. "You're blushing."

Your palms flew to your cheeks. "I am?"

"Big time. Are you feeling okay?"

"I... yes, I'm just"—you fanned your overheated face—"feeling a lot of things right now."

His brows scrunched together. Men were so lucky not to experience the rollercoaster of female hormones. You would sound asinine if you attempted to explain why your body was responding to him doing nothing but being a good father.

"I'm stressing you out," Harry stated as a guess.

"Not at all."

"You're having a hot flash?” he guessed again.

“No.”

“Uh… you caught a fever?”

Groaning, you dropped your head face-first onto the couch and mumbled, "I need sex."

"Say it again, please?"

You lifted your head and avoided eye contact as you repeated, "I need sex. I'm healed, and I want to take advantage of this urge before it goes away." Because it would. Your hormones were still regularizing post-birth, so you weren't going to count on getting your libido back to complete normalcy. Instead, you would pounce on every open opportunity.

Harry contemplated your confession for a while, making no show of judgment. "Any blood?" he asked.

"Nope."

"And the stitches?"

"They're dissolved. Can't even tell I pushed a nearly ten-pound baby out."

He smiled, albeit cautiously. "But how do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Harry," you assured. "If you're not feeling it, we don't have to do anything. Just, you know, giving you the green light."

A shadow of sincerity passed over his face. "Who said I'm not feeling it?" You shrugged, and he gently grabbed your chin to raise it. "Look at me." His green eyes held your gaze steadily. "You wanna try?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I miss you."

"You have me," he said resolutely. "All of me, tonight."

"Oh," you said, not expecting him to jump on board so eagerly.

"Let's shoot for eight o'clock. When the little one goes to bed."

You broke out into a giggle. "So... a sex appointment."

Now it was his turn to blush. "I heard scheduling sex is supposed to help new parents reconnect."

A rush of heat spread to the tips of your fingers. You thought of the multiple instances when you and Harry consolidated spontaneity and sex. It often sprung upon you without warning, like a carnal beast clawing at your skin. And it always involved mutual desire, like a burning ball of tension the size of the sun. The house was memory-stained with reminders of all the ways your body had been worshiped. Over by the kitchen island, Harry had held you captive with his hips pressed flush against yours. The bay window in the living room had sometimes been blemished with handprints. But the bed in which you sleep and wake up to him every morning was where long, intense sessions happened. Harry slowly sliding into you during weekend sleep-ins, providing a warmth and fullness so heavenly. Late-night quickies after being away from each other all day, a little messy yet perfect all the same. Hell, you had even done it in the ocean under the moon. You wanted nothing more than to find that natural groove again.

"Okay." You reached out to squeeze his bicep. "I believe you."

"All right," he replied in the deep, sensual tone he reserved for intimate conversations like these. You looked downward, feeling giddy. Within milliseconds, Harry planted a hot, heavy kiss on your lips before walking away.

With the way your heart fluttered, one would think you had just met him. But you knew his body exclusively, as he knew yours, and tonight would be a test.

——

You stood in the doorway of your closet, sifting through the three pairs of lingerie you owned. They were lacy little one-pieces in off-white, powder blue, and red. It was doubtful they would fit like they used to, but you craved wearing something other than baggy sweats and Harry's shirts. While it gave you pride that you grew life, an insecurity still planted its pesky seed inside. You hadn't looked at your bare body in the mirror since, honestly, you didn't have a clue. It would never look the same again, especially considering you didn't plan to only have one child.

There was a nervous tremor in your hands as you took the red lingerie off its hanger—a slimming color to hide the loose, extra skin that still remained postpartum. You thought about Harry and how he liked to strip away every last piece of fabric blocking him from his touch. Even before pregnancy, during sex, you had never felt the need to accentuate your physicality with frilly, feminine garments. Harry took you in just about anything. Unfortunately, as new parents, there was simply not enough time or energy to initiate anything more than mediocre makeouts. You felt foolish for even bringing up the prospect of sex earlier. Now there was an expectation, and you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't chicken out.

Why were you so jittery? He was your husband, for crying out loud. There was no one you felt more comfortable around.

With a huff, you started undressing yourself just as the sound of the blow dryer stopped. Harry would be ready any minute for this supposed sex appointment. Meanwhile, you were out of practice, self-conscious, and hopelessly horny—he was going to regret agreeing to this.

You tugged the lingerie on, feeling it cinch your torso and breasts. It was tight, the flimsy fabric holding on for dear life. The V-shaped cut revealed the stretch marks lining your hips. The lace was itchy and dug into your skin suffocatingly. Fuck, this was quickly turning into a self-enforced humiliation ritual.

The bathroom door slid open, and Harry emerged in just a pair of white boxers, his hair dry and fluffy. The leftover shower steam made his skin glow, as did the dim lighting. He was effortlessly handsome, while you stood there in too-tight lingerie wondering if you looked desirable enough to stimulate his sex drive. From your perspective, all signs pointed to not likely.

Harry slowly walked toward you, his eyes exploring every inch of your body, and you leaned against the wall while fidgeting with the lingerie's shoulder straps. In the silence of his appraisal, you awkwardly shuffled your feet—it was futile to fake confidence right now.

"My forever Valentine," Harry said quietly, immediately attaching his hands to your waist.

You practically whined, then muttered, "I look ridiculous."

"You're joking, right?" He bent his knees to be eye level with you, a near-crazed look on his face. "Right?"

"It barely fits, Harry."

A slow smirk stretched his lips. "That better not be the only time you say that tonight."

You glared at him for his crude joke and said, "This is silly."

"What is?"

"This whole... rendezvous."

"I think it's fun," Harry said with a carefree shrug.

"But it's different from other times," you admitted.

"How so?" He kissed your neck, his affection warm and a welcome distraction to your disoriented thoughts. He smelled ravishing, the subtle hints of his spice and black vanilla shower cleanser putting you under a spell. A pulse of appetency made you press against him.

"My body," you said.

His hands traveled to your backside, squeezing the flesh there. "This body? The one I'd get down on my knees for?"

In one fell swoop, all your internal heat returned with a rush. "It's kind of a mess," you replied. "I haven't shaved. And my stomach looks like a wrinkly prune, so there's that."

Harry traced his thumb under the lacy hem hugging your hips. "Doesn't bother me. Prunes are delicious."

Deep down, you knew he wouldn't care. He had loved every part of you through pregnancy, with all its mind-bending changes and symptoms. If he had found you sexy then, he would appreciate your appearance now. Though it would take time for you to truly believe it.

"I just want this to be good," you murmured, resting your forehead on his firm chest.

"Hey." He lifted your head and cradled it. "We'll find a way to make this work. Let's take it slow." You nodded, and he leaned closer to whisper, "I know how to get you wet. Don't think I've forgotten."

Truthfully, you were already wet, but you didn't say anything as Harry grabbed your hand and squeezed it before guiding you to the bed. While he had been taking a shower, you had fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets. You had even sat there and mentally filtered through what positions would be most reasonable. Sex was to be careful tonight. No need for anything crazy.

You climbed into bed, and Harry remained standing. The outline of his hardened cock pushed against his boxers. A flame ignited low in your belly—to get to have him inside you after so long was exhilarating.

When he didn't move to join you, you asked, "What are you doing?"

"Following your lead," he said. "Where do you want me?"

"Um... on your side, I guess. Next to me."

Harry didn't waste any time and got into position, his hand propping his head up. There was an expectant openness in his eyes, and you almost laughed. This was out of the ordinary, but it somehow eased your nerves.

"I want to face each other," you added. "And I... I want you to do that thing where you hold my leg up against your hip."

He hummed, his eyes flashing with something lustful. "Understood. But you're going to have to take your lingerie off."

"Right." You swallowed nervously. "I'll do that."

You stripped while Harry removed his boxers and rolled on a condom. He watched your breasts bounce free, watched the lace slide down your torso and legs. It was your armor against the reality that your body wasn't the same as the one Harry had touched for the first time. But you trusted him and his admiration for the life you brought into the world. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

You lie bare beside Harry now. His gaze turned fond, taking in all of you—no judgment, no confusion, no surprise. But why would there be? He'd been there when your pants stopped fitting during pregnancy. When you hadn't been able to shave anything below your bump. When you had needed help getting off the couch. Christ, he had seen you give birth. It didn't get much more intimate than that.

"Come here," Harry said softly. You scooted down to lie on the mattress facing him. "You're beautiful. This version of your body isn't something to dwell on. Every stretch mark, every wrinkle, every curve is a testament to your amazing ability to grow life."

You were speechless, so you just sprung forward and kissed him.

"Ready?" He smiled against your mouth, and you returned it.

"Ready."

"I'm going to go slow. Tell me if it hurts." Harry grabbed his cock, holding the tip against your entrance. Without you needing to remind him, he bent your leg to rest against his hip, opening you further. He slid himself in, only an inch or two, keeping his eyes locked on yours. It was slow, like he promised, but there was a slight burning sensation. You inhaled sharply and gripped his wrist.

"Too fast?"

You moaned, half in pleasure and half in discomfort. "No, it just... feels rough. Even with the condom on."

"Okay. I won't go further."

"Maybe go deeper and it'll stop."

"No," Harry said, pulling out. "I'm not about to risk making you bleed or delaying your healing. Absolutely not."

"But—”

"But nothing. Your body's obviously not ready yet, and that's okay."

"I'm sorry," you whispered sadly.

"Don't be," he said, stroking your hair. "You thought you were healed, but it's hard to know for sure without actually having sex."

You let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, this was a bust. Back to dry humping for the foreseeable future."

"I'm not complaining." Harry rolled onto his back, then yanked the sheets over his boner.

"You're serious?"

He patted his lap. "Hop on, baby."

Laughing, you straddled him for yet another clumsy experience. But with his determination to make it enjoyable, it would be perfectly imperfect.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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matchpointfaist · 3 months ago

Note

the children yearn for the mines and I yearn for roger pinball . pleak

rhiannon -- roger sharpe

tw; smut! roger is a silly billy idk. i had so much fun w this roger pinball my beloved!

starting at gq had been a godsend for roger. in the aftermath of his divorce, and recent move to the city, it had been a shiny token of new beginnings. the pretty fashion column writer with a desk just next to his? well, you were just an added bonus.

day in and day out, he'd watch you interact with your coworkers, always too awkward to speak up himself. it went on for weeks, his secret stolen glances across the desks, until one afternoon harry perched himself on the edge of roger's desk, grinning. "you ever gonna talk to her, rog?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "i don't know what you mean," roger just shook his head, looking away and clearing his throat. "everybody in here sees how you look at her. just talk to her, man. she doesn't bite,"

and then he was gone, leaving the words to echo in roger's mind, his internal soundtrack as he watched you laughing with the resident photographer. he knew harry was right, realistically. you were just a woman, and he could handle that. sure, you were the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, and you were so effortlessly cool that it made him stutter over his words just thinking about it. he'd been married, and divorced, so surely he could handle asking you to dinner.

he worked it all out in his mind. at the end of the night, when everyone was heading down the elevator, he'd ask you. but then the end of the night came, and you were still fussing over a mannequin, pinning all sorts of fabric over its' surface. okay, so he'd just to have to wait until the next night- "roger!" your voice sent a chill down his spine, "hey, sorry, would you mind helping me with this?"

he turned to where you gestured to a pile of fabric, nodding despite knowing nothing at all about fashion, "yeah, of course," "you're a lifesaver, thank you!" you smiled, so bright, so focused on him, it was driving him insane already, "i really just need an extra set of hands to hold everything together while i pin it," "good thing i have two, then," he held them up, acutely aware that it was not a flirty or funny thing to say, but you laughed anyway, like it was the most original thing you'd ever heard. "just tell me where to go, boss,"

he spent the next hour hunched over the mannequin, obeying your every little command on repositioning the materials, in awe of how your vision came to life in front of his eyes. you'd made small talk between requests, asking about his family and hometown, laughing at all his one liners, telling him how cool it was that he was from chicago. he didn't even notice how late it had gotten until you were checking the clock and apologizing, telling him it was half past seven, as if he cared at all. "oh, that's alright," he waved a dismissive hand, "did you get all you needed?" "sure did, thanks to you," you smiled, smoothing out the dress you'd put together. "then it was a night well spent," he grinned.

"at least let me buy you dinner or something," you pleaded as the two of you headed for the elevator, your coat draped over your arm, "i practically wasted your evening," "i told you, it was a night well spent," he argued, holding the door open for you, "besides, a lady has no business buying dinner," "oh, how chivalrous," you laughed, "i had no idea you were so old fashioned, roger," there it was again, the sound of your name on his lips sending a shiver throughout his body. "well of course, m'lady," he put on his best posh accent, "i would not dare fall behind on my gentlemanly duties,"

you fell into a fit of laughs at that, your head tipped back, shoulders shaking. "i had no idea you were so funny, either!" you giggled, covering your mouth, "you should talk more in the office," he wanted to tell you he talked plenty, to harry and james and jack and pamela. you were the only one he hadn't quite gotten the courage for. tonight, that felt like a distant memory. he wasn't sure where his newfound confidence had come from, but he assumed it had something to do with the way you laughed at his jokes, or the way your hand hovered over his when you'd been working on the dress.

when you reached the first floor, he pushed the door open for you, then helped you into your coat as you stepped out into the cold. "any big plans tonight?" you asked, looking at him over your shoulder as he slid the fabric over you. "no, this was it for me," he shook his head, resisting the urge to brush your hair off the nape of your neck, "you?" "same here," you shrugged, "its still early though, so who knows?" "the world's your oyster, huh?" he joked, "we could get that dinner you suggested, if you're free. i'm still not letting you pay, though," "i know the perfect place!" you beamed, tugging on his arm, "cmon, it's this way,"

you brought him to a dimly lit bar, smiling like it was heaven on earth, singing the praises of the bartenders and the greasy food. as soon as you walked through the door, his eyes went to the lit up pinball machine wedged in the corner, surprise buzzing in his veins. he hadn't laid eyes on one since they'd removed the one inside the bookstore, and it was right there, but then you were pulling him to a seat and he was forcing down his excitement. playing pinball on the first date- was this a date?- was sure to land him right back at square one.

the two of you split a tray of appetizers, filling every ounce of silence with laughter and flowing conversation, and he'd halfway managed to push the game from his mind. but then you were smiling, telling him about their little makeshift arcade, and he finally cracked. "we should go play pinball!" he hoped it came out like a lighthearted suggestion, not revealing the thing he was most passionate about in this world. "only if you promise to teach me," you slid off your barstool, draping your coat over the back, "i've never played," oh, he was in heaven now.

he led you to the machine, walking you through the basics, explaining the purpose of each piece, the importance of the plunger, watching as you looked over it excitedly. as you leaned over it, hand on the plunger, he hesitated before moving to stand behind you, one arm on either side of yours, his right hand guiding yours to pull the plunger back. he pulled your hands to control the flippers, his face resting just above your shoulder, "there ya go, you're a natural," you shivered slightly, "i think you're doing all the work, actually," "don't be silly, you're getting it already," he laughed softly, the sound raising goosebumps along your skin, and you leaned back ever so slightly, your back now flush against him.

"i had no idea pinball was so hands on," you murmured, and he was briefly afraid that he'd done too much, been too forward, but as soon as he moved to pull away, you pulled him back, smiling, "wasn't complaining, rog," "no?" his voice cracked as he said it, blood rushing to his cheeks, "i don't think i mind it either,"

he helped you through two games like that, draped over your back, hands guiding yours. every few minutes, you’d shift in his arms, brushing against his hips in a way that had him stuttering, fumbling for words. you finally managed to hit the smallest target, the 500 pointer, turning in his arms and squealing with excitement. “i won!” you grinned, “did you see that? i totally won! i’m so good at this,” he tried so hard to focus, to maintain his easygoing exterior, but your chest was pressed against his and you were smiling up at him and he suddenly needed to press you against the pinball machine and- “well now i owe you for being such a good teacher,”

he told himself he imagined your tone, imagined the way your lashes bat up at him, but the words shot through him nonetheless, his skin flushed all over. “yeah?” he managed, “maybe we could get coffee soon, or-“ “that’s not what i meant, roger,” you giggled, “gosh, you’re too sweet to take a hint. i’m flirting with you,” jesus, he knew that. he just couldn’t bare the thought of it, of acting on it and messing up, or worse, letting this go to waste. “i know that,” he grumbled, cheeks red, “i just didn’t wanna be presumptuous,”

“d’you wanna come over?” you asked, one hand on his chest, “i don’t wanna move too quick, but i thought maybe you were interested,” “of course i’m interested,” he tried to laugh off the quickness with which he’d replied, “you’re beautiful, i’d love to come with you, of course,” “good,” you smiled, like you were truly relieved, “come on, then, let’s call a cab,”

he followed you back into the chilly night air, watching as you hailed a cab with practiced ease, a frustrated pout on your lips when minutes passed without luck. “gonna freeze out here,” he pulled you away from the edge of the sidewalk, his arms over your shoulders, “you oughta dress warmer, yknow,” “and compromise fashion? never,” you laid a hand on your chest like you were offended, but your grin gave you away, “got you to warm me up, anyway,” you scooted in closer, and he couldn’t hold it back anymore. “i really wanna kiss you,” it came out in a nervous laugh, his voice cracking, “if that’s okay,”

“i’d love for you to kiss me, roger,” you smiled, standing on your tiptoes to reach him better, giggling quietly as his mustache brushed your lips before he finally kissed you, his hand on your low back to hold you up. he could feel you smiling against his lips and it made him so giddy, like a high schooler with a crush, not a grown man kissing his coworker in the middle of a new york street. you pulled away after a moment, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling, “tickles a little,” “oh, sorry,” he laughed, smoothing down the facial hair self consciously, “i could trim it, for next time,” “next time?” you raised an eyebrow, grinning, “how presumptuous of you, mr. sharpe,” and then you were kissing him again, and he was smiling in turn, unable to stop himself.

you finally took a break long enough to hail a taxi, sneaking kisses between glimpses at the street, giggling as he helped you into the backseat, his hand never leaving yours. you gave the driver your address before falling back into the seat, smiling and making soft, surprised noises as he trailed kisses over your jawline. when the taxi finally arrived at your apartment, the two of you stumbled out, roger passing the driver a crisp $50 and bidding him goodnight before revolving back into your orbit, a blur of hands and kisses as he followed you up the stairs, laughing as he stumbled on the top step.

you unlocked the door with one hand, kicking it open and squealing as he picked you up, kicking the door closed after him, kissing you senseless as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “bedroom?” he asked, panting against your lips, smiling still, “if that’s what you want, i mean,” “down the hall to the right,” you replied, your tone rushed as you kissed him again, clinging to him as he carried you down the hall.

your bedroom was such a perfect amalgamation of you, posters on the wall and fabric scraps littering the floor, burnt up incense on the nightstand and a record player on the dresser. he set you down on the bed gently, leaning over you at an awkward angle until you pulled him down beside you, giggling when he nearly flipped off the mattress. “you’re so-“ he spoke in broken sentences, kissing all over your cheeks and jaw, “beautiful-“ more kisses, trailing down your neck, “smell so good,”

you pulled at the edge of his shirt, your forehead bumping his as you pulled off the sweater, tossing it to the floor with a laugh before tracing your fingers over his chest, raking your fingernails through the dusting of blonde hair. “are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, voice cracked with withheld curses as you kissed down his chest, pausing to admire his freckles. “i’m sure, roger,” you hummed, “don’t worry s’much,”

“whatever you say,” he murmured, “can i-“ his fingers hovered over the skirt of your dress, itching to pull it off. you nodded, cheeks flush, raising your arms as he pulled the dress up and off of you, leaving you in your underwear and bra. “beautiful,” he whispered, mostly to himself, hesitating before burying his face in your chest, kissing and biting ever so slightly, sucking little pink marks into the skin. “oh,” you exhaled softly, resting your hands in his hair, “that feels good,” he slid one hand into the cup of your bra, satisfied as you let out a quiet moan when his fingers traced your nipple, smiling against your chest.

he let you push him back slightly, your hands coming to undo his belt buckle and rid him of his corduroy pants, biting his lip when your hand grazed his aching length through his boxers. you pressed a kiss to his lower stomach, just above the line of cotton, humming before pulling his lips back to yours, kissing him nice ‘n slow. “how do you want me?” he asked, breathless as his hands slid to your ass, kneading and grabbing desperately. “don’t care,” you mumbled, kissing his cheek, “just wanna see you,”

you rolled over onto your back, letting him undo your bra and slide your underwear down, gasping softly as you felt the ghost of his breath against your slick cunt. “oh, roger,” his tongue was on you in seconds, lapping at you, so eager to please. “is this okay?” he paused to ask, and you laughed despite the situation at hand, “yes, please,” you nodded, holding his hair gently as he resumed, one hand running over your thigh softly. his free hand slid between your thighs, one finger sliding into you slowly as he paused to press a kiss to your thigh before returning to his movements. his finger curled inside you as his tongue circled your clit, your quiet moans filling the room. “so close,” you panted, hips bucking, “oh, roger, fuck-“ you came undone against his mouth, grinding against him, back arched off the mattress as he licked you clean, humming softly.

he kissed back up to your face, and you laughed as his now wet mustache slid against your cheek, scrunching you nose and wiping his mouth with your blanket before kissing him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “thank you,” you mumbled against his lips, reaching between your bodies to push down his boxers. “thanks for letting me,” he smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth quirked up, but quickly falling open as you wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it slowly.

you rolled onto your side, roger following, until you were facing each other, your legs on either side of his. “like this?” he asked, face all screwed up in pleasure when you led him between your thighs, his tip brushing against you. “yes, please,” you nodded, kissing him once more before he was holding one of your hips, his free hand on the side of your face as he slowly worked inside of you, stretching you out slowly. “oh, god,” he exhaled, eyes rolling back, “you’re so tight,” his hips twitched slightly, rocking deeper into you, “sorry- just so good,” “don’t apologize,” you murmured, “just fuck me, rog, m not gonna break,”

that sent him over the edge of control, and his grip on your hip tightened slightly as he fucked you deeper, his thrusts still slow and gentle. he tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment of the way you looked as you came undone around him, a moaning mess. “beautiful,” he panted, the tension growing tighter in his stomach as he got closer, “oh, baby, god, thank you,” he caught your lips in a kiss, hard and hot as he got closer and closer to the edge, finally spilling into you when you bit at his bottom lip lightly. “oh, jesus,” he pulled away, attempting to catch his breath, thumb running back and forth over your cheek as he did, “you’re perfect,”

“mm,” you had a blissful little smile on your swollen lips, “i think you’re perfect, actually,” “oh!” he suddenly realized that he’d finished inside you, his cheeks burning, “i’m so sorry, i- i didn’t even mean to,” “it’s okay,” you giggled, “on the pill,” “oh,” he exhaled a sigh of relief, “that was- i mean, amazing,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling still, before rolling over with a sigh, sitting up and stretching. “it was,” you glanced at him over your shoulder, grabbing his sweater from the floor and slipping it over you as you padded to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later. “looks better on you,” he grinned, eyes half lidded as he watched you climb back into bed. “mm, maybe not as fashionable as i’d like. but it smells nice,” you teased, kissing his shoulder and settling back in beside him, “stay over?” “wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should play pinball more often,”

#roger sharpe x reader #roger sharpe #roger sharpe x you #roger sharpe smut #mike faist #roger pinball #mike faist roger #requests #fic requests

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cheesecakeluver · 8 months ago

Text

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND

hamzahthefantastic x reader

When your brother calls you to pick him up from a house party, he forgets to mention his best friend is coming along for the ride.

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

I sigh when receiving the phone call, as it had awoken me from my slumber. It was currently 2:43 am, and my completely wasted older brother was whining into the phone, desperate for me to pick him up from this random house party after his girlfriend had left without him. I knew this would happen, deep down. My brother always over drank on alcohol, then came crying to me because i'm the one with a license. Unlike that asshole, i wasn't high when doing my drivers test.

i hung up on him after telling him i'd be there in ten minutes, as i lazily slouched out of my bed and threw a hoodie on. I was only wearing shorts and the grey, slightly oversized hoodie, but if there was nobody to impress, then what did i care. I just had to hope he wasn't overly drunk, causing one of his friends to have to help him to the car.

Grabbing my keys, i quietly made my out of the house, closing the door as slowly and soundlessly as i could to avoid waking my parents, who would kill my brother if they found out he was out this late. Thankfully, my parents always preferred me over my brother, so none of the heat would ever land on me.

When in my car, i carefully pull out of the driveway, looking around at the houses around me, now empty of light at this time of night. When far enough away from my house, i allow myself to lightly play music. "3005" by Childish Gambino comes on, and i hum along to it as i gradually get closer to the house where my brother was. I just had to hope he wasn't going to be sick in my car when i picked up, or i'd kill him.

Soon enough, i take a sharp left and down a long, narrow lane, leading me to a classy, white manor, bright colourful lights and pounding music leaking out of it. I drive even closer, parking in front of it, making sure my brother would know where i was.

People filter in and out of the house, laughing, stumbling, crying, you name it. As i watched the party goers interact with their friends and lovers, part of me yearned to be invited to such gatherings, to be in a social circle as large as my brothers.

I hear a commotion, and see my brother vomiting as he escaped out of the doorway of the manor, causing me to cringe in embarassment, sinking a little lower into my car seat. Another boy, who i recognised as his best friend, Hamzah, was holding him upright, as tears streamed down his face. Jesus, he was a mess. If my parents saw him like this, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house.

Hamzah spots me almost instantly, his eyes squinting due to the darkness outside contrasting with the brightness inside, and i wave a gentle hand in the air, calling him over.

He does as i motion, my drunken brother in his arms as he unlocks the car door, throwing him into the backseat. I sigh in relief, thankful he hadn't seen me in my attire. It was bad enough already that my hair was messy, and not a drop of makeup graced my face.

Until, Hamzah opens the passenger door beside me, and slides in, shifting as he started to make himself comfortable. For a minute, i pause, confusion evident on my face as the boy sighed, running a finger through his dark curls, unaware of my state.

He eventually noticed my eyes on him, and turned to me, staring deep into my eyes with his warm brown ones, his cheeks flushed a dark pink.

"Did your brother not mention i'm supposed to be staying are your place?"

No he fucking didn’t.

My mouth gaped open slightly, before i shut it, realising i was making a fool of myself, in front of my brothers best friend.

It's almost a worldwide phenomenon that as a teenage girl, It's not abnormal to have a crush on at least one of your brothers friends, if not all of them. The only thing was, my crush on Hamzah hadn't faded since we were children, and now here he was, sitting dressed up in my car, slightly drunk, with my vomiting brother in the back.

I caught myself on, becoming flustered as i responded quietly.

"Uh, no... he doesn't tell me much these days." i mumbled, ripping my eyes away from his as i turned my attention back on the wheel in front of me, as he shrugged, reaching for his phone.

"It's fine though, i can stay at another friends place. Don't wanna be an inconvienience or anything" He sighed, scrolling through his contacts.

“Wait, Hamzah.. “ i interrupted, a feeling of guilt washing over me.

“Listen it’s fine. I just didn’t know, and was a little surprised.” I spoke softly, my eyes still firmly in front of me, on the wheel, as my fingers nervously tapped against the window to my side.

He buckles his seatbelt, rolling his eyes as he listens to my brother make strange gurgles and bleary whines from the backseat.

“Sorry about him being well..that drunk” He mutters, apologising.

“It’s not the first time” I joke, a small laugh escaping my lips as i start the car, the small engine shuttling.

He laughs quietly, watching my brother wriggle around as he finally becomes comfortable, and lays face down in the backseat.

“I bet it won’t be the last either” He says, smiling softly.

I settle down, my nerves calming as i allow myself to glance at him every now and then throughout the drive. Music still floods through the speakers, making the awkward silence dissipate slowly as the journey continues. Every now and then, when the right song came on, Hamzah would hum along slightly, and my heart would flutter. The only words spoken were those of my brother, and at one point, i just began to drown him out, his moans ruining the moment.

He continues to hum along to the music quietly, sneaking glances at me as my heart pounds against my chest. It was only when my brother would loudly moan and make a fool out of himself that hamzah’s gaze would be broken, his eyes drifting away to look straight ahead instead, leaving me yearning for his gaze.

Soon enough, we pull into our street, and i switch my lights off, not wanting to awaken my parents. Especially not when my brother was on the brink of vomiting again.

Slowing down, i park a couple metres away from the house, and exiting my car, closing the door ever so gently.

Hamzah unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to check on my brother, who was now drooling everywhere, making a fool out of himself.

“Jesus..” He murmur’s under his breath, opening the door quietly and carefully lifting my brother out of the backseat, holding him against his side steadily, making me wish i was the one in his arms.

i shuddered, prying my eyes off of him as i carefully unlocked and unlatched the front door, my heart stopping as it creaked a couple of times.

He grimaced as the door creaked loudly, shifting my brother’s weight to a more balanced position before stepping inside, trying to close the door as quietly as possible, and succeeding, turning around to face me.

I let out a shaky breath, locking eyes with Hamzah, and in that moment, the situation and realisation finally hitting us like bricks, we burst out laughing, covering our mouths and shaking, tears streaming down our eyes.

My eyes still on Hamzah, it was clear he couldn’t help but erupt into laughter at the situation we were in, his laugh becoming louder than it probably should’ve with it being nearly 2AM, he attempts to muffle his laughter while also struggling to hold my brother upright making me cackle even more.

Still with a cheesy grin on my face, i began to tiptoe upstairs, motioning Hamzah, with my brothers fatigued body in his arms, to follow me.

I carefully avoid the creaky steps, and make it to my brothers room, swinging the door open gently, and ushering the pair inside, my brothers eyes fluttering a little, before he becomes unconscious, drool slipping out of his mouth.

“finally” Hamzah sighs, resting my brothers sleeping body onto the bed, throwing a blanket over him, before coming to lean in the doorframe, his large stature rivalling mine, his warm eyes scanning over me.

He stretches his arms, which were now free from my brother’s weight, his biceps curling as he rested his hands on the door.

“I think we can safely say he’s passed out now”

“Oh, definitely. He’s not waking up for another.. two, three days?” i joke, a small, faint blush flooding my cheeks in the dark.

He chuckles quietly at my joke, noticing my faint blush even in the low light, turning his head to nod towards my brother.

“Oh, for sure. You could even scream in his ear and he probably won’t budge” He teases

i smile, containing my laughter. As much as it pained me to depart, i was tired, and in need of my bed.

“I’ll see you in the morning Hamzah”

He nods in response, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, and retreating into my brothers room, his eyes torn away from mine.

“Yeah, goodnight.” He replied, his eyes watching me leave the room and head down the hall to my bedroom.

As i make my way under the covers, kicking my slippers off in the process, i think back on the night, and the events of it.

Never in a million years would i have thought that maybe, just maybe, Hamzah liked me back. But tonight… something happened. Wether it was my delusions, or reality, i knew i would fall asleep soundly tonight, awaiting the morning where i could see him again.

———————-

The light shone through my curtains, brightening my bedroom with a soft glow as the golden sun rays drifted in. As i turned in bed, memories flooded me, and i smiled to myself, knowing that in the room down the hall, my brother wasn’t the only boy.

Yawning, i stumble out of bed, stretching my arms as i grab my phone from my bedside table, and slide my slippers on, ready to head downstairs. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and i was in need of a good breakfast, especially after being up so late last night.

I exit my room, my feet padding softly against the carpeted hallway. My heart skips a beat once i slip past the room Hamzah resides in, and i smile to myself as i hastily make my way downstairs, entering the kitchen, romantic thoughts filling my head.

Pouring the coffee, i had to wonder if Hamzah was feeling the same way i was. Did he get flustered as often as i did? Did he think of me, as much as i thought of him? Questions raced in my head, and as i add the final ice cube to my coffee, i hear footsteps behind me.

Turning, i see Hamzah, leant against the doorway, eyes scanning over me. His hands were stuffed in the pocket of a hoodie, one i assumed he must have borrowed from my brother.

“Hamzah.. didn’t expect you up this early” i spoke, my cheeks flushing as i checked the time on my phone. 6:27 AM.

He chuckled quietly at my statement, running a hand through his messy curls, trying to look somewhat presentable in front of me, causing me to smile.

“I could say the same to you” He teased

He took a step closer to me, his muscular arms being on full show as he rolled his sleeves up, veins protruding, causing me to nearly melt as i sipped my coffee, placing my phone on the kitchen counter.

He smirked slightly at how flushed i was becoming, his smirk only growing larger as i placed the phone down, my eyes darting up to look at his face.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, right beside me, looking down at me. The closer he got to me, the more he could see the slight blush that adorned my face.

“You seem a little… red” He teased, referring to my heated cheeks, making me want to curl up and disappear.

I smiled, looking away. I would not let this man get the better of me, not in my own home.

He laughed, a hearty chuckle escaping him. “You’re fine, honestly. I’m just playing with you.”

Even though, deep down inside i was feeling queasy, nervous and anxious about this interaction, something inside me calmed as he told me i was fine. It was like my body was listening to him.

My head hung low as the embarrassment and shame hit me, as i realised i was making a fool of myself in front of him. The guy i had liked ever since my brother introduced us. I turned to walk away, needing a breath of fresh air.

He grinned as i attempted to walk away, his hand quickly latching around my wrist, easily pulling me closer to him before gripping my waist, stopping me in your tracks. His chest was touching my back, trapping me between him and the kitchen counter.

“Now, now, where are you going in a rush?”

His touch felt like fire across my skin, lighting it with every hitch.

“My parents will be up soon.. and i need to hide the events of last night” i admitted, my brothers puddle of vomit lying on the floor of my kitchen, five to six metres from me and Hamzah. Other miscellaneous items from the party, such as red solo cups, and a flower chain lay discarded.

He smirked as he looked down at my figure, so close to his.

“Your parents will be up soon, yet here we are..” He muttered, his breath hot against my ear as he continued to speak in a low whisper.

“Then what can we do…” i whispered, breathlessly. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, after all this time of dreaming, and wishing, and praying for a moment like this.

He couldn’t help but chuckle lowly, seeing how breathless i had become from his touch, his body pressed against mine and his breath on my skin. He slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching the skin of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“There’s a lot we can do..” He whispered, his voice sultry and teasing.

“What the fuck?” a voice behind us yelled. We pull away instantly, our bodies disconnecting due to shock. Turning to see who it was, i sigh, placing my head in my hands.

Of course my brother had to ruin everything.

Hamzah chuckled lowly as he pulled away, taking in my expression as i turned to face my now awake brother, who seemed to walk in and interrupt the moment. He always had to take whatever i had, even if he didn’t want it, and he was doing the same now.

He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie, turning to look at my brother with raised eyebrows.

“Well, well, look who’s alive” He teased, gesturing to your brother.

“What are you doing with my sister?” My brother asked, his eyes brows furrowed. He better not ruin this moment for me, not for a second time.

Hamzah chuckled at the concern in my brother’s eyes but remained calm, his hands still deep in his hoodie’s pockets. I almost yearned for his hands to be around me. Around my hands. Around my waist.

“Relax, we were just having a.. conversation” He responded unbelievably, raising an eyebrow at my brother’s tone, as if challenging him. Completely dismissing the fact we were flushed and body to body.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Don’t pull this shit with my sister Hamzah. Don’t you fucking do this to me...” My brother continued, anger in his eyes as he began to step closer to Hamzah, fists clenched.

He stayed still, remaining completely calm at my brother’s sudden outburst, unmoving as my brother stepped closer to him.

“And what are you gonna do exactly?” He teased, a glint of challenge in his eyes as he smirked.

“I’m going to fucking kill you” My brother yelled, lunging for Hamzah.

I knew i should have probably been on my brothers side. They do say blood is thicker than water. But how could i? He was preventing me from doing the one thing i had wanted since i was a little girl. He was preventing me from the one man who i had wanted since i was a little girl.

He dodged out of the way of my brother’s attack, laughing to himself as he easily avoided my brother throwing himself at him. God, he looked attractive.

“You’re gonna kill me? With what? You can barely walk in a straight line” He teased, his smirk only growing as he looked at my brother. struggling to even stay standing without support. He was a wreck, and Hamzah knew it.

He chuckled lowly, a little surprised with my brother’s behaviour, but still calm and collected.

He continued to dodge my brother, watching him stumbling around in an attempt to attack, as i stood by the counter, shocked and slightly overwhelmed at the situation in front of me.

As my brother went on another drunken attack, he took the moment to quickly sneak over to my side, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me to his side.

Quickly and gently, he pressed a kiss to my cheek before backing out of your brother’s reach again, smiling ear to ear, his face flushing dark pink, as did mine.

While it wasn’t what i had been imagining, it was still good enough to give me butterflies, as i watched my brother tell obscenities at him while chasing him with random kitchenware.

“Looks like I should be going before your dumbass brother decides to get up off the floor” He called out, still remaining a safe distance away from my still angry brother, who was furious, and a deep shade of red.

“Well.. call me!” i yelled, grinning as i watched him avoid my brothers grasp, and run out of my house, sprinting down my street as my hungover brother, wobbled behind.

He grinned as he sprinted away, turning his head around to look back at me, a playful smirk plastered across his lips, before he turned back around and continued bolting down the road with my brother still trying to catch up to him in his drunken state.

Watching the pair disappear around a corner, i sighed, content. I knew they would make up. They always did after having stupid arguments. I was aware this one would be a little different, due to the fact i was involved, but i knew it would work out in the end.

Placing my hand to my cheek, i could feel Hamzah’s lingering touch there, filling me with warmth and a sense of hope.

Hope for the future, which, could contain him.

———————-

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just-some-user-hunny · 11 months ago

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Yandere! love triangle situation with Aemond and Aegon

~ It's unfortunate enough to capture the eye of one targaryen prince, but in this instance, you're unlucky enough to enrapture the attention of two.

~ Either you're a maid who works in the castle, a childhood friend, or it's a scenario of tarcest (say you're Daemon's daughter), it's inevitable to be within the sights of them.

~ As young princes, they would both Scrabble over your attention like it was a shiny new toy they both wanted. Aegon was brutish and mocking towards his shorter brother, whilst Aemond could only watch on and meekly/slyly attempt to capture your attention and time whenever he could. Taking Aegon's verbal beatings and beratings with a strong facade, letting his words slowly eat away at his self-confidence, fueling him to grow stronger and more capable.

~ Aegon, would inevitably be the boy who'd pull your braids and steal your things to get your attention. Whenever he sees you give Aemond a taste of attention, either it be through chaste conversation, or merely sitting closely with you at mealtimes, he'd act out in his own self-destructive ways and be determined to get your attention. It didn't matter if it was positive, or negative. He just needed your eyes on him.

~ Aemond however doesn't allow himself to sit down and let his brother trample all over him like that. He sharpens his skills with fighting and reading and learning, aiming to take advantage of his older brother by being more intelligent and capable than him.

~ Aegon will undoubtedly remain drowning himself in wine and women from brothels to fill the void that you refuse to fill. Holding both discontent and yearning for you. He would be a painfully lucid, yet desperate yandere. He's not outright clueless, he's aware he's made himself unlovable by now due to his treatment of you in the past. He's damned himself to loneliness, and there's little he can do to win your favour. However, he is still a selfish yandere. He'll naively take advantage of Aemond and cooperate to take you into their custody, to trap you within the castle with Aegon as your rightful king, and Aemond as your dutiful protector.

~ Aemond will become somewhat of a personal bodyguard to you during your stay hostage situation. He'll be hovering in your shadow, his gloved hand bracing upon your lower back whenever you walk with him, hovering behind you whilst you are seated- his arms bracing around you closely, or his hand upon your wrist in a firm iron grasp to keep you with him. He is the one who assigns whoever tends to you, picking only the most trusted handmaidens to bath and dress and tend to. If there were ever one foolish enough to try and help you escape, they'd be cut down mercilessly.

~ Aegon, now drunk with wine and power, the crown sitting heavily upon his brow, will be more selfish and demanding than ever. He's giddy and high from it, often calling you to accompany him during mealtimes. He especially enjoys watching you interact with his children, growing into a wishful delusion that they are yours. He'll watch with a smile as you treat them kindly and gently, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight.

~ You may often awaken in odd hours of the night to find Aegon drunk and soft headed- crumpled in a pitiful mess by your bedside, his hand grasping at your hand to nestle into his locks of unruly snowy hair, and his cheek pressed to the edge of your bed. Usually he's far too inebriated to fathom you're awake, but he will softly and weakly whimper for you to not leave if you try to remove your hand.

~ They're both demanding for your attention, and don't particularly like sharing. Aegon would definitely have this big-headed look upon it, like how he sees Aemond as his 'hound' that'd do anything he wants. But Aemond isn't the obedient pushover he thinks he is. I don't think Aegon is particularly stupid or anything, naive and a little clumsy with making decisions, but Aemond is sincerely much more calculated and cunning. There'd be a whole lot of manipulation going in between those two, and Aegon would think he's on top most of the time when really he's not 😅 Aemond will always be the one pulling the strings, the one holding the reigns, the invisible puppeteer so to speak in this whole dynamic. Aegon will go on with his gloating lovesickness, high on this deception of power that he believes he has in his grasp. With you in his palm, when really he's stepping beneath Aemond's heel.

~ Poor, sweet Helaena in this whole scenario is troubled for you. She's already mourning the loss of her little son, and now her brothers have kidnapped her friend and kept them hostage- just like she. A part of her down feeling comforted with you so close however, she knows how things will end. Forced to foresee the bloodshed and fire, her own brutal succumbing to death, and she's frightened by it all. All she can ask now is for some temporary comfort with you nearby, to pretend for just a little bit longer, that you are both safe and content in the gardens of your childhood- sewing embroidery and catching bugs.

~ During the battle of Rhaenys and Aegon, you bet Aemond will take advantage of this scenario. He wants to be king, and have you all to himself. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

~ Aegon had always been under the naive and gloated assumption that Aemond was under his thumb- at his heel, like a loyal and commanding hound, his to order around. He could only just tolerate having him share the attention he sought after from you. The moment that fateful 'dracarys' left Aemond's snake tongue, Aegon received the true taste of Aemond's view of him.

~ Aegon would be a weak and delusional mess in his weak and vulnerable state. He'd demand for you to be kept away, frightened of you seeing him like this. Ugly. Crippled. Deformed Just like Aemond likes him.

~ Yet in his stupor of strong herbs and medicines, slipping in and out of bleary restless dreams, and agonising consciousness, he would softly choke out for you. He wants you near, but stay away. He needs to hold your hand to distract him from the pain, but if you look upon him he'll cry. He needs you to tell him everything is ok, but if you look upon him as a weak and broken fool then he'll use whatever energy he has left in his whole body to scream in anguish.

~ Aemond would practically be relishing in his post-murder glow. Standing at the foot of his brother's bed, looking down upon him with a cold serpentine-like glare, an air of pleasure surrounding him at the sight of his rival and tormentor broken and simple at his feet.

~ After confirming that Aegon cannot remember being attacked by his own brother, Aemond will grow even more relieved. Gently kissing his brothers brow and promising to take care of you in his stead.

~ with the throne and you nearly secured in his grasp, he feels unstoppable.

There are some timeline things that I haven't thought through completely yet, but this is the whole vibe I get from a situationship between those two. It would be chaotic, akin to being tugged at both ends by two overly enthusiastic and possessive dogs.

I may elaborate more later on, but this is what I have for now! Any thoughts and ideas are very welcome :3

#yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon

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kokomyass · 1 year ago

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Neuvillette ☆ To be a Father

Neuvillette x Fem!Reader Genre: ☁️ Word Count: 1943 Trigger Warnings ⚠️ : none!!

synopsis: in which, our cutesy hydro dragon is afraid he doesn't have what it takes to be a father...

a/n: hey guys yet again, half asleep when posting this....too tired to edit...really hope you enjoy this lowkey gave me baby fever 🔮🌙🔮

Neuvillette always thought of himself as an outcast to human society.

He would observe human customs and analyse them for decades trying to understand humans and their thoughts.

However, there was one concept he had never seemed to grasp despite his hundred years on Teyvat....and that was the concept of love.

Whether it was romantic love, platonic love or familial love, he always pondered what it would be like to fall in love?

Would it be a noticiable thing? Or would it be something that is destined from birth.

No matter how much he would tell himself he didn't need any sort of love, he always felt an ache in his heart seeing couples and their children interact.

However, that aching feeling in his heart soon turned to a warm one when he met you.

The feelings he felt around you exceeded any sort of feelings he thought he would feel after witnessing and analysing others relationships.

You were perfect in his eyes. You were beautiful and you were kind. You always knew how to reassure him when he became insecure about how he struggled to feel like he was included in society.

You knew Neuvillette was a genuinely caring individual no matter how humble he may try to be. He was always very busy but he always made sure to spend time with you even if it is while he is working.

That's why you knew he would be an amazing father.

"Hey, Neuvi, sweetheart!! I have some news...." you walked into his office as he looked up from the papers he was writing in with a warm smile reserved for you.

"What news do you have for me, my dear?" you were now stood in front of his desk. You placed your positive pregnancy test on his desk as he looked at it taking a moment to register what it was.

"I'm pregnant!"

The look of complete and utter shock on Neuvillette's face was something that would never make an appearance again...but you also couldn't ignore his trembling when he hugged you.

Neuvillette was happy to hear you were pregnant of course, it was something he yearned for many, many years, but he didn't know if he had what it took to bring up a child of his own....he wasn't even human.

After you gave birth you noticed that it began to rain quite a bit which made you chuckle slightly knowing that your husband was just a bit emotional about the birth of his own child.

Which brought you to where you both were now. It had been a week since your beautiful daughter was born and you had noticed Neuvillette had become very faraway. You often found yourself asking him things multiple times before he could actually answer, and he seemed to be acting rather clumsy (and for the record neuvillette is NEVER clumsy...) and it wasn't that he wasn't interacting with his daughter but when he would he would looked AWFULLY stiff...

"Ugh....I don't know what to do you guys!!" you rocked your sleeping daughter back and forth sighing.

You had invited your friends Chlorinde, Navia and Furina to your home to help you with Neuvillette's odd behaviour.

"Well, Y/N, have you spoken to him?" Navia suggested.

"Yes, Navia, of course I have! I asked him what the issue is and I even asked if it was about him thinking he wasn't a good father! But the same answer is always given....'I'm fine dear, don't worry about me just a bit tired is all' and then he calls it a day!!" You were getting stressed as you began to rock your baby a bit faster.

"Y/N, maybe we should...uh...calme-toi...you might wake up your daughter..." Furina patted your arm, sweatdropping slightly. You sighed as you slowed your movements.

"Your right...I just wish he would talk more you know, he doesn't have to take everything on alone now..." you looked down at your baby sleeping calmly.

"Well, Y/N, knowing how much he loves you I'm sure he will open up sooner or later...and I believe he will have to for the sake of your future with you daughter." Chloride stated, making you feel slightly better.

"Yes! Maybe you can ask Sigewinne, maybe Neuvillette may seek advice from her especially if he doesn't want you to know!" Navia butted in as she poored some tea for everyone.

"You guys are right!! Thank you guys you always know how to help!" a wave of tiredness washed over you as your felt your daughter begin to stir awake.

"As much as I would love to carry on talking my baby needs to eat and I think the postpartum symptoms are hitting me...."

You said goodbye to everyone and sat in bed feeding your daughter before placing her in her bed to sleep. Your eyes felt heavy and lidded and as much as you wanted to stay awake for Neuvillette, your body betrayed you.

You felt a soft kiss on your head as you stirred awake looking up to see your husband's soft and beautiful eyes glowing at you.

"My deepest apologies to you my dear, work was extremely busy..." you chuckled softly as you hugged him tightly, interrupting his sentence.

"Don't worry my love, as long as your okay that's all that matters. We missed you." he smiles as he turns to the small bed your cute daughter is sleeping in.

"I missed you both an immense amount" He strokes her cheek softly but the flash of sadness that was on his face for a millisecond didn't go unnoticed by you.

"Neuvi, what is wrong, please tell me." you grabbed his hand and forced him to look at you. He looked a bit shocked for a moment before hiding it under a very faint smile.

"Y/N, don't worry, you need to stay healthy and happy, especially for our daughter." he strokes your hair as you frown at his answer.

He went to sleep next to you as it was nothing but you were going to find out what was going on.

Time Skip

You had secretly made it to the Fortress of Meropide to visit some good friends.

"Are you ready for this D/N?" you look down at your daughter in her little pram as she giggles excitedly clapping her hands together.

"That's my girl! Let's go!" you kissed your daughters nose before pushing her towards the infirmary.

You made it to the infirmary and you were lucky enough to see both Sigewinne and Wriothesley there having a conversation. Sigewinne was the first to notice you.

"Y/N!!!! It's so nice to see you! And you too little Y/N!!" Sigewinne ran up to you as you gave her a hug and she pat your daughters head making her giggle.

"It's nice to see you too Sigewinne! And hello Wriothesley."

"Hey there, Y/N..." Wriothesley walked up to you smiling. "Does ya kid still hate me?"

You laughed, "Let's see" you pointed to your daughter as Wriothesley put his finger out to her and she grabbed it giggling.

"Would you look at that!! Finally warming up to your uncle!!"

That's what Wriothesley thought before your daughter began biting his finger very hard.

"OWW! Why you-" he squinted at your child as you laughed.

Time went on and you explained the situation to them.

"I must say Neuvillette randomly came down here to talk to me...he never does that unless he wants to get his mind off something." Wriothesley folded his arms pondering.

"Yep! And Monsieur Neuvillette asked me if it is possible to bring up a child even if you aren't human...now it makes sense why he asked that. Of course I said yes!!" Sigewinne and Wriothesley had confirmed your suspiciouns.

"Oh, Neuvi, he may have the most authority in the whole of Fontaine, but he doesn't know how to listen to me..." you sighed shaking your head.

"Who would've thought a little girl would make him act like this? This is the first time I have veer seen him like this..." Wriothesley chuckles.

"Me too....I've been hear for as long as I can remember and he's never been this distressed...." Sigewinne but in placing a finger on her chin.

"Well, I suppose I should go and talk to him then...thank you so much for your help guys idk what I would do without you." you bid farewell to you Fortress companions before making your way to the Palais Mermonia.

Time Skip

You made it to the Palais Mermonia and rushed through all the doors until you made it to Neuvillette's office pushing the double doors open walking in with your pram.

"Neuvillette, we need to talk."

Neuvillette looked up from his work, shocked to see you there. He stood up and walked towards you.

"Y/N, what's going on? What wrong why do we need to-"

"Do you think you aren't going to be a good enough father to our daughter?" you folded your arms staring at him in the eyes.

Neuvillette stared at you wide-eyed, he stayed silent and looked at the floor avoiding your eyes.

You cupped his face in your hands and turned his head to lock eyes with you. You placed you lips on his softly as he melted into the sweet and soft kiss that had heavy emotion subdued in it.

"Neuvi...why would you ever think that? When I told you I was pregnant, I had no doubts or fears....not one...because I knew that no matter what you would craft our daughter into an amazing one with your amazing qualities. I know it sound cheezy....but Neuvi, I couldn't choose any other man to be the father of my daughter, so please, don't feel like you aren't enough your daughter loves you, and I love you and as long as you try that's all we care about."

You spilled your heart out as you stared at each other.

"I-" Neuvillette began speaking but suddenly it began to slowly rain outside.

You chucked, pressing a kiss on his nose.

"No need to feel sad my love." Neuvillette chuckled at your joke.

He looked at your daughter (who was really excited to see her dad) and picked her up rocking her back and forth.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't tell you. I felt like being a dragon, i have no human exlerience and i would lead out child down the wrong path. I should've told you so we could work it out but I just felt so unsure I found myself going to Wriothesley and Sigewinne for comfort. But none of that comfort I'd as good as the comfort of my family I must admit."

You chuckled hugging him tightly being careful now to wake the now asleep baby.

"Does this mean you will do nappy changes?"

"Of course, dear, I must relieve you of that stress!"

"This is why I love you~" You placed a kiss on his lips as he smiled warmly, a smile reserved for you AND his daughter.

"I love you both, my happiness."

A lil bonus:

It was nighttime and the baby had woken up crying and Neuvillette had gone to take care of it.

However, you being a curious little cat, you spied on them.

Neuvillette held her on his chest patting her back, humming a sweet melody to her.

"...Papa..." you daughter said her first word.

You could tell Neuvillette didn't seem to understand the significance of this based on how he carried on with whatever he was doing.

Meanwhile you were crying...

Luckily, you were recording....it would be a reminder to explain to him later.

a/n: SOMEONE TELL ME THAT THIS DOESNT MAKE SENSE BECAUSE I WAS A MESS WRITING THIS SHIT um love you guys hopw you enjoy anon that requested too 💜💜🍇🍇

#anime #anime fluff #anime x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette fluff #fyp #neuvillette #neuvillette x you #neuvilette genshin #genshin fluff #genshin impact x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette fanfic #genshin fontaine #fontaine

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highfantasy-soul · 8 months ago

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So a lot has been said about Evan/Sam and I 100% agree - their dynamic is amazing and so wholesome.

But can we please please please take a sec to talk about the dynamic between Jammer and K????

I cannot stop thinking about how complementary they are to each other - both obsessed with caring for their communities (Jammer's basketball team and community center, K's online activist cohort) to the detriment of themselves.

K needs to give all of themselves to the cause - fix some of what they think they broke when she and Evan shared the knowledge of magic to the masses. To the point where they don't eat, don't sleep, don't interact with anyone face-to-face, never having herself be the one taking the credit, but rather a million screen-names no one even knows is all the same person. Yet being on call 24/7 whenever anyone needs it.

Jammer needs to be what his community needs him to be - what his family needs. He denies himself his bigger dreams of playing in the big leagues in favor of staying with his home team. He gives and gives all of himself to the children who look up to him, to his teammates who probably will never make it pro - and even though he's showing his face, they name him, he's still putting on a front that he thinks will be best for them. He's being there for his community in the mundane, caring ways that keep a people together - the way a leader needs to be.

K is an amorphous online hero wearing a thousand avatars, never resting, but never connecting with their people either. Jammer is a grounded, hometown hero who everyone knows his face when he walks down the street. He connects intimately with the people in his community yet feels as though he has to hide aspects of himself that aren't directly helpful to them (namely his magic).

K needs Jammer - needs to see what a real, in person, community functions. She's so desperate to connect to a group and lend aid, and Jammer has that - he can show them what it feels like to have a group of people SEE you and help them individually. K can make a real difference in the small space Jammer has cultivated. It's not 'saving the world', it's not a grand gesture or sacrifice that alters the very fabric of reality - it's small, a gentle nudge here, a comforting word there, yet still makes a real and profound difference in people's lives.

Jammer needs K - needs to see that it's ok to dream big. It's ok to yearn for more, set out to affect more than his small community. That he can still be true to himself and taking bigger leaps doesn't mean he's abandoning his community, it's just making it that much bigger. He needs to see that it's ok to go all out and be his own freaky, magical self and lean into the ridiculous, sometimes melodramatic, bigger than life aspects of himself.

They both need to accept that taking care of oneself isn't selfish, it's not letting your community down, it's why we HAVE community - so we all can share the burden - they are not the only one holding everything together. Jammer and K both lead their respective communities - they both give all of themselves to the task of taking care of and leading those they care about. Together, they can grow and heal from that pressure they put on themselves.

I just think they're such complementary characters who I think would be absolutely perfect working in tandem with their communities (and adopting the other's community).

I'm not a 'everyone needs to be paired up' type of person, but I do think that whatever relationship K and Jammer have, they'd be magic together (shut up, I can do a pun if I want).

#misfits and magic #misfits and magic season 2 #mismag #k tanaka #whitney jammer #dimension20 #d20 #mismag spoilers #sort of - not really though #k/Jammer #do they even have a ship/friend name??#seriously though - the K and Jammer dynamic has been absolutely devouring my brain since the season started

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honorarypines · 3 months ago

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Miss Peregrine's home for peculiar children AU!! Special thanks to my friends from Ghostwriters server for brainstorming it with me!

Bit of au lore (overexplained enough so that folks who don't know the books its based on can interact as well):

Peculiar children are born with or develop certain unusual abilities. To protect them from the outside world, wise peculiar women called the ymbrines created time loops which allow the kids to live peacefully in locations that reset themselves every 24 h. The kids are from different time periods, some of them have been living in the loops for decades now, they cannot leave for long periods of time or their age would catch up with them.

Edwin is an invisible boy from the 1900s. He isn't permanently invisible, but the anxiety and loneliness he experienced in his childhood made him so closed off, he now spends most of his time invisible anyway. No one in the house has seen his face ever. He's really scared of revealing his face to Charles especially bc what if Charles won't like what he sees? On the other hand though, who would want to date an invisible person?

Charles totally would btw, he really values Edwin's intellect, wit and kindness. But of course he would never reveal his true feelings to him. He's too scared of hurting him, much like he accidentally hurt his mother with his fire powers once. His dad was being particularly awful that day and Charles in an act of desperation and self defense accidentally burned their house down, leaving his mother with nasty burn scars. He then ran away and eventually got whisked away by the ymbrines. Since he got to the house he has been learning diligently to control his powers; he still struggles with it when he gets overwhelmed by intense emotions. 80s kid

Crystal is a girl from the modern world, possessing the power of seeing the monsters and supernatural. While most of the magic going on in the peculiar society is hidden from normal people, even the peculiars aren't usually able to see the monsters. Crystal is the only known living person possessing that ability. Her grandmother, the previous owner of those powers, once lived with the peculiar children, but then left their time loop, grew up and started a family. She told young Crystal stories about the magical house she grew up in, which later helped Crystal with locating it. Charles and Crystal's grandma used to be a little flirty with each other and Charles did not take her departure well. He always yearned for a normal life in modern world, as opposed to most of the kids. Edwin now worries Charles will be interested in dating Crystal because of her similaities to the grandma.

Niko's ability is aging throughout the day. She always starts the day as a young teen and ends it as an older woman, which the other children jokingly refer to as the Principal. Now that she's living with other peculiars like her she doesn't mind her aging, but before she arrived to the house she used to hide in her room for hours and avoid human interactions at all cost.

Thomas' peculiarity is shapeshifting, obviously. He's supernaturally speaking the oldest peculiar kid living in the house.

Monty is a young ymbrine (can manipulate time and change into a bird), and the only known male one. He was born female, but now identifies as transmasc. This ofc causes so much controversy in the peculiar society; the ymbrines struggle to accept a male as a part of their kind, they are known to lowkey look down on men. Meanwhile other powerful forces want to recruit him and make him the face of their war against the ymbrines. Monty himself is rather peaceful and would rather chill with his friends forever than fight wars and take sides.

The Night Nurse is their caretaker, and an ymbrine. She's strict but fair, and has a secret soft spot. As any other ymbrine, she can change into a bird, hers is a robin (its a color scheme thing)

#its been a while since I've reread those books so forgive me if I misremembered some stuff #dead boy detectives #payneland #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki #crystal palace #the cat king #monty finch #the night nurse #dead boy detective fanart #dbda #dbda fanart #fanart #miss peregrines home for peculiar children

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kipkoh · 10 months ago

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I know it’s fairly popularized that Hunter liked being the Golden Guard but there was a line in Hunting Palisman that he says to Luz that has always captivated me: “At least you can figure out your own (future).”

This (not very subtle) statement of wishing to make his own decisions coupled with the fact that Hunter was studying wild magic even while he was still in the Coven is heavily indicative of the fact that he was dissatisfied with his role in life. I’m sure he was proud of being Golden Guard and really did want to help Belos in whatever way possible, but a big part of him did wish things could have been different for him. Those desires he announced in Thanks to Them were probably not spur of the moment ideas he wished he could have experienced before what he thought was going to be his death, but rather long term wants he’d been imagining himself taking part in even before he defected.

I’m bringing this idea up mostly because I keep thinking about Hunter’s life in the castle and the rare moments when he got to witness what normal kids lives were like. If the school tours of the castle were a common occurrence, I imagine he'd be curious enough to watch them when he could. At first he'd secretly trail them and observe how the kids interacted with each other, how they joked around with their friends, and overall how carefree they appeared. He'd watch the way they'd awe at the castle in a feeling of excitement he'd never gotten to share having grown up within those walls - the castle being all he’d ever known. Sometimes he'd imagine himself in one of their places - just a normal kid whose biggest worry was getting his homework finished before it was due instead of how he might be tossed aside and replaced by the one he called his family the second he was no longer of any use to him. At some point, maybe he would start avoiding the tours whenever they happened, not wanting to feel that painful yearning for a life that was never even within his grasp and instead choosing to try and forget about it completely in order to convince himself he was content being the person Belos wanted him to be.

Sometimes on his weekend missions he would encounter parents with their children just going about their everyday lives, smiling and happy and completely juxtaposed to his own experience with familial adults. He'd watch the ease of how a child's hand would slip into their parent's as if it was such a natural and common action, without even a hint of fear of negative consequence for the touch. Hunter would look down at his own hands mummified in leather and wonder why he'd never felt the gentle press of someone's loving palm against his own.

He'd watch two young children play fight with loose branches. He'd envy how their battle was pretend and the fact that neither of them were in any real danger. He'd silently scrutinize their battle form before offering to teach them proper tactics, only to be harshly turned away and reminded of the fact that normal kids didn't care, nor have a need, to know how to fight. He'd scoff at their lackluster ambitions and comment about how they would never join a decent Coven with attitudes like that, blatantly ignoring the fact that not everyone was forced to worry about proving their worth to everyone around them.

I don’t think Hunter going to Hexside to find new recruits in Any Sport In a Storm was just a random choice on his part. While there is some evidence that kids can choose to join the Covens early, it doesn’t seem like it’s something they’re forced to do before they at least finish school. Maybe they can be forced, which is what is implied when Hunter kidnapped the Emerald Entrails, but wouldn’t it be easier to seek out new recruits who would actually be willing to join of their own accord? Otherwise there would be no guarantee they would care enough to do their job well.

Hunter did try to recruit them naturally at first but when no one seemed interested, instead of moving on to a different group of people, he just chose to kidnap a group of kids and force them. He has this intense longing for a normal life but no way to reasonably go out and get it for himself, so instead he tries to bring that life to him instead. Maybe if there were other people his age around, it could be possible for him to experience even a taste of the camaraderie he’s seen the students on tours have towards one another. Of course a bunch of kidnapped kids might not want anything to do with him, but Hunter is probably desperate enough to where he didn’t really think it through that much. Either way, even if he can’t have that life for himself, maybe he’d feel less alone if he knew there were other kids experiencing the same struggles he was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel out of place if he wasn’t the only kid being forced to train for regular battles and missions. Maybe he wouldn’t feel as bad about not having the kind of parent-child relationships he sees in the streets if there were other kids around who never got to see their parents anyway. He wouldn’t be the only kid lost in a sea of adults at the castle who refused to respect him partly due to his age.

Of course we know it wouldn’t end up being the catharsis he’s seeking, but he’s willing to try. He’s spent over a decade in a life he wasn’t sure he wanted, constantly yearning for something more with other people always (though unwittingly) waving around their happy, normal lives in front of his face. He’s sad, he’s alone, he probably feels super guilty about it because he still wants to be what Belos wants and can’t… He’s probably spent his whole life in a constant internal struggle trying to either ignore his own desires or attempt to find a balance between his personal wants and his job that never truly existed.

#Luz was so right he is a bad but sad boy #toh #the owl house #hunter toh #toh hunter #toh headcanon #the owl house headcanon #toh talks #im extrapolating a lot from one line but listen #why include it if it didn’t mean anything #Hunter could be proud of being GG and still yearn for a different life #they aren’t mutually exclusive ideas

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wonusite · 2 years ago

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Sweet Dreams

❝ You dream about a beautiful man nearly every time you fall asleep. After getting to know him and everything about him, you see him outside of your dreams—in a museum painting. ❞

PAIRING: joshua hong x female reader

GENRE: vampire au, reincarnation au, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: vampire!joshua, human!reader, lucid dreaming, reincarnation, so much yearning, mentions of death, joshua is a brooding mess, protective!minghao, unprotected sex, blood play, biting, creampies

A/N: this has been long overdue, and i hope you guys like it! loosely based off this ask. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Fate.

A simple word that holds more power and venerability than any ruler of the middle kingdom. It’s a mystifying concept that follows no rules and simply is; something that can actively be changed but not avoided. Joshua learns this late in his long life—a derailment of his own making. The lesson comes to him in the form of a fiery witch running from her death.

As a creature that’s lived in solitude since he became immortal, it’s not in his nature to be helpful. It’s why he has no interest in saving the witch from the demons that are hunting her. This, however, doesn’t stop the insolent little witch from forcing herself into his sanctuary. He fights her on it, baring his fangs while saying the most despicable and bone chilling threats to her. The young witch isn’t fazed and makes it clear that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

In the end, he concedes. Not because she’s powerful enough to make him obey her, but because she reminds Joshua of himself when he was desperately clinging to his own survival. Perhaps that’s the reason he becomes inexplicably drawn to her. Josh almost feels like she’s bewitched him, and the most unusual part of it all is that he doesn’t care even if that is the case.

He seeks her out after he helps her despite knowing that it can’t possibly end well. Their kinds don’t mix, and it’s doubtful that two abominations can share something as sacred and beautiful as love. Fate has never allowed it before, but Joshua is foolish enough to try to defy destiny.

Courting the witch isn’t easy. Then again, anything that involves her never is. The witch is a firm believer in being reverent to the same fates that gave her the powers she wields while Joshua couldn’t care less about the fates that turned him into a monstrosity. This creates a disconnect between them because the witch is firm that she could never love such an irreverent creature.

This hardly deters him. Joshua is relentless in his chase, and after the longest decade of his life he’s finally able to win the witch’s thorn-covered heart.

And so, even just for the briefest moments, they’re allowed to create their own destiny with each other.

Loving someone, loving her, is the most addicting feeling he’s ever felt. The love he feels for the witch surpasses even that of his first love who he was convinced he’d never forget. Being with her is the happiest Joshua has ever felt, and he naively thinks it’ll last forever.

This all comes to an abrupt end when the witch finds out that it’s his fault the demons eradicated her coven. Yes, it was before Josh had met and fell in love with her, but that doesn’t change anything. It was still him who had put her on the brink of death and gotten her family and friends killed. Twisted as it is, he doesn’t regret his actions nor would he change them if he had an opportunity to do so.

And so, the love of his life becomes his most dangerous enemy.

It hurts. More so because she discards him and his love like they never meant anything in the first place.

The witch is cutthroat in her hatred. It’s not long before the children of the moon find his sanctuary and nearly send him to meet his maker. Her hexes nearly incapacitate him, but even all her acts of revenge aren’t enough to satiate the vengeance she seeks.

Slowly, the love they grew to feel for each other becomes wilted and corroded beyond repair.

Years pass, yet the feud never dies. Joshua is almost impressed by her determination to destroy him the same way he almost destroyed her.

Hatred has replaced love by now, and it’s almost impossible for him to believe he ever loved the witch in the first place. A decade passes, then two and three until eventually an entire century goes by with the two of them feeling this burning loathing. Their detrimental feelings and behavior push both Joshua and the witch to make a vow never to love again.

But fate has other plans for them.

As time goes on, they find themselves backed into a corner—together this time. Death has returned for them in the form of faes. Neither one of them is willing to relent and give up their land to the insignificant creatures who claimed to have it first. And so, they help each other one last time.

Fighting against inferior creatures together has always been like dancing for them, and it’s easy to fall back into a love language they created. By the end of their battle, they come out victorious. The two are grateful to each other even if neither of them say it outright.

Joshua feels a familiar ache in his chest the longer he stares at the witch who was once his. Feelings he thought were long gone rush back to the surface as if they’d never left in the first place. Perhaps they never really had. He’s never been one to go against his own desires, and so he reaches out for her, craving her skin against his if even for the last time.

Their embrace is sweet, but the kiss that follows is full of passion, longing, and ardent love that seems to have been buried deep within them the entire time. It’s almost like a dream to have her like this again, and now Joshua doesn’t plan on letting her go.

But once again, fate doesn’t leave him with a choice.

Humans grow more wary of the creatures they share the world with. Many go into hiding, but Joshua makes the mistake of thinking he can blend in with his prey. A hunter of his kind has found him, and as a vampire with no coven, he’s left vulnerable. It’s even worse when the hunter and his clan discover his lover and what she is.

It was a peaceful night when they’re attacked. Escaping death doesn’t seem possible, but as always the witch assured him that she has a solution. His love makes him a promise as she casts a spell that will hide his presence. A promise that she’ll find him and reunite with him in every lifetime. He’s confused by her words, but has no time to question her as the spell takes over and dulls his senses until he’s unconscious.

If he’d known his love was going to sacrifice herself for him, he would’ve taken a million wooden stakes to the heart rather than continue existing in a world without her.

Centuries later, he’s never been able to forget her or what her presence had done to his life. Joshua is left alone in a world that now seems intolerable without his witch in it. Cruel irony reminds him that the solitude he once basked in feels suffocating now. All he’s left with is a gaping hole that constantly reminds him of how he lost his one true love.

Joshua eventually joins a coven, but they offer little comfort. At this point in his immortality, he only sticks around them out of habit. It’s not that he isn’t fond of them—he is, most of the time—but it’s not the same as having his lover by his side.

After going through the eternal test of time, Joshua still yearns for her; craves her as much as the blood that he feeds on. It’s the reason he’s spent the last two centuries looking for the one person who filled his heart with so much love.

And he’ll stop at nothing until he finds her.

The first time it happened, you thought it was nothing more than a dream.

Which it was, but it felt different—it was different. Never in your life had you dreamt such a beautiful dream that felt so real and almost indistinguishable from reality. The most memorable part was the euphoric feeling it evoked from you.

Well, that’s not exactly right. There was one single element that had left you unable to forget the lucid dream. One that you believed was responsible for your subconscious forcing you into those dreams every time you fell asleep.

Unhealthy as it is, you chase the lucid dreams. Every night, you look forward to your sleep with the hope of once again being wrapped up in one of those lovely dreams. Any free time you’re left with is used to sleep just so you can escape to the ethereal dreamland your mind has created.

The dreams have ensnared you and make you crave and long for them as if you’re under some sort of spell. It’s become a bit of an obsession because even when you’re with other people it’s all you can think about. And yet you’re unable to let go of your obsession in spite of how unhealthy and irrational it is.

The scene in front of you is familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen the old castle that looks like it’s straight out of the medieval times. You step forward, feet moving on their own as you walk past the large doors. Servants run along with their head down, and you’re not sure why it makes you feel satisfied that they seem to be terrified of you.

“Y/N.”

You turn at the sound of a mellifluous voice. Once again, it’s the beautiful man who’d been visiting you in your dreams.

“Shua.” You call affectionately, running to him as he opens his arms for you.

As always, he catches you easily. You wrap your arms around his neck, softly giggling into his hair as he spins you around. “Where have you brought me this time?”

“This is where I live.” He tells you as you pull back to look at his face. “Do you like it?”

You look around again. The feeling of familiarity doesn’t go away as you inspect your surroundings. Joshua gently puts you down, but doesn’t release you from his embrace. His stare is gentle and observant, curious on how you’re going to react to what he’s showing you.

“This is really where you live?” You wonder in awe. “Are you a king or something?”

His pretty laugh makes you look back at him. Your heart leaps up into your throat when you see the fond look he’s giving you. It’s been months of being on the receiving end of his affectionate stare, but you’re not sure you’ll stop feeling bashful when you catch it.

“I am not. Does that disappoint you?”

You shake your head. “No, but it does make me wonder how old you actually are. Older than Dracula?”

All Josh can do is laugh and laugh. You’re not sure what he finds so funny, but as usual you do not get the chance to ask. The familiar pressure on your bones gets more intense with every passing moment. It’s how you know you’re on the verge of being pulled out of your blissful dream. You can’t even open your mouth to say goodbye because you’re abruptly yanked out of your subconscious before you can.

It’s always hard to keep going on with your day normally after you dream about Josh. You can never really function afterwards, not how you usually would.

“—even listening to me?”

You snap back into reality, realizing that Jeonghan has been talking to you this entire time. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and gives you an accusatory look that confuses you. His eyebrows are raised as he leans forward. “I was saying that Soonyoung thinks you’re fucking someone.”

“What?” You splutter, suddenly feeling extremely flustered.

“I told him there’s no way that’s true because lately you’ve been holed up in your room sleeping every chance you get!”

You manage to not choke on your spit and give your friend an indignant glare. “Both you and Soonyoung need to worry about your own sex lives.”

The gleam in his eye changes, and you realize too late that you’ve made a mistake. “Wait. Are you actually fucking someone?”

“You know I’m not!” You hiss, starting to feel embarrassed.

Clearly, Jeonghan doesn’t believe you. He stares at you before something seems to click in his head. Your nervous stare and angry pout are telltale signs of deceit. His jaw drops a bit as he lets out an affronted squeak.

“No way. That’s why you’ve been in such a good mood lately!” He says with a conniving laugh. “And here I thought that night cream I recommended is the reason you’ve been glowing lately.”

Maybe the most embarrassing part about this is not that he’s trying to discuss your sex life (or lack thereof) at the local cafe and not wine night, but the fact that this alleged glow has nothing to do with a man—not a real one, anyway. But Jeonghan doesn’t need to know that.

“You would’ve heard me if that was true.”

Jeonghan’s ears slowly turn red as he pouts in disappointment. He really hoped you’d managed to break your three month long dry spell, and he also wanted to be right. It’s almost suspicious that he isn’t because he usually is. You’ve been a little too smiley lately like you have some hidden lover.

“If you say so.” He mutters bitterly.

This would be the point where you’d usually panic since Yoon Jeonghan can never be one to let anything go if he feels like he’s right. You feel at ease though because there’s no way he could ever find out about Josh.

“By the way… you’re definitely going to be gone this weekend, right?” Jeonghan suddenly asks in a tone you recognize all too well.

You try not to gag as you nod. “Yes. I already bought the tickets and Hao is in the city setting up his apartment so I have a place to stay while I’m up there.”

Jeonghan smirks victoriously. He nods, not even trying to hide how pleased he is as he pulls out his phone. Suddenly, he’s very grateful that you and Minghao have such an interest in history. When he’s done sending a message you would definitely call sleazy, he just laughs at your disgusted expression.

“Don’t give me that look. Not all of us have to practice celibacy like you.”

“Whatever.” You scoff with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep it in your room this time. I better not find any stains on the couch when I get back.”

He only laughs at you with a promise that you can’t think of as sincere.

“Are you playing with your food again?”

The voice sounds distant as Joshua is gently pulled out of the trance he’s used to being in now. He slow blinks, remnants of the beautiful vision still clear in his mind. Junhui’s words don’t bother him like they usually would’ve. Not when he finally feels alive for the first time in centuries. Still, he can’t control the annoyance he feels that his brother thinks this subject is something that can be joked and talked about lightly.

“You and Soonyoung are the only heathens who play with food.” Joshua’s tone is clipped, bordering on that murderous one that pops up any time someone mentions his latest obsession.

Junhui only laughs, head cocking to the side in interest. “I’m curious. Did you really find the grand love of your life, or is it just some girl who happens to look like her?”

“His obsession wouldn’t be so profound if it was a girl who merely looks like her.” Comes a voice from the top of the grand stairs.

They look up to see the oldest and the youngest of the coven coming down the stairs. Soonyoung doesn’t bother to hide his amused smirk while Minghao wears the same impassive expression he had when Joshua met him. His lack of reaction is the reason why he’s often the voice of reason in the coven, but his callous way of speaking never offers any comfort.

“Our brother is looking for the soul of his beloved—a soul that cannot be replicated nor imitated. Even if he’s to find her doppelgänger, he will not love her completely or sincerely.” Minghao says he takes a seat near the burning fireplace.

Soonyoung sits on the other end of the couch before he raises an eyebrow at Josh. He lets out a mocking snicker. “It’s giving stalker.”

As the most recently turned, their youngest has developed a proclivity for imitating the current slang. Joshua understands it (to an extent), but finds it folly. Then again, he doesn’t think its ridiculous when that person uses it.

But of course, that’s different.

Josh doesn’t bother to sneer at him for his snide remark. As a creature who hasn’t found a mate in the entire century he’s been alive, Soonyoung couldn’t possibly understand the ardent need to be close to the person chosen to be your mate.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Junhui points out, sounding almost bored now. “Have you found her? Your one true love?”

When Joshua smiles, it’s so pretty that even Minghao can’t help but stare. “I have.”

“Are you going to turn her?”

Soonyoung’s question hangs in the air, and as much as Josh wants to hiss at him to mind his own business, he sees how Junhui and Minghao are also looking at him. Turning someone isn’t as simple as it used to be—if it could ever be considered simple. Now there were too many factors and too many risks involved.

“I have to find her physically before I can think of anything else.” Josh sighs deeply.

“Brother.” Minghao says in his serious tone. “Think of your next moves carefully. You’ve found her reincarnation, but she doesn’t remember you, and there’s no guarantee that she ever will.”

For once, the younger ones don’t say anything teasing or goading. They look at him just as solemnly as Minghao is. It’s a harsh truth that Joshua had acknowledged long ago but not fully accepted.

His love doesn’t remember him. This is a fact.

But even if she never does, he doesn’t plan on letting her go. Not again.

“You’re unhappy.”

The observation is astute, and even though it’s been months, you can’t get used to how easily Josh can see through you. It shouldn’t have the affect on you that it does, but there’s just something about having someone know you so well that makes your heart jerk with emotion. Part of you feels insane for feeling this way because this man is just a figment of your imagination created by your subconscious.

Josh smiles placatingly when he sees your pout. He’s sure that you’re not aware that you do it, which makes it all the more cute in his eyes.

“Work hasn’t been great lately.” You say honestly, only hesitating a moment before telling him the rest. “Also... Jeonghan set me up on this blind date. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

You’re not sure why it feels like you’re saying something absolutely heart wrenching. If you had to describe it, it’s almost like you’re admitting to cheating or something similar which is fucking insane since Josh isn’t your boyfriend—or real, for that matter.

There’s a shift in his kind eyes. A cold rage settles in the depths of his dark irises that makes you feel like you’re staring an evil creature in the face. Before you can ponder it, the expression is is gone so fast that you almost think you imagined it.

“You don’t have to go.” He finally says, and you wonder if he actually sounds like he’s pleading or if it’s just something your subconscious is hoping for.

A teasing smile stretches your lips. “Yeah? Should I just stay here with you, instead?”

Joshua wishes he could say yes. Stay with me and never leave my side again. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and even though he’s dying to say them, he knows he shouldn’t. In this lifetime and your previous one, he had to be patient when courting you. Clearly some things never changed.

“Don’t look so excited.” You joke when you see him hesitate.

His laugh is pretty and soft. You’re not sure why the sound comforts you in a way that almost feels familiar. As if that’s the one sound that could take away any horrible feeling you’ve ever experienced. The longer you listen to the dulcet sound, the more it makes your heart ache for a reason you can’t understand. It’s a type of yearning that feels deeper than the normalcy of seeing him every day.

“I wish you weren’t a dream.”

Joshua’s laughter dies down and the smile slips off his face at hearing your words. You almost regret saying them, but it’s too late to take them back. Not that you would since they’re the absolute truth. He knows you better than most of your friends do, and it’s hard not to feel this intense affection for him. The crazy part of it all is that you can literally feel how much he adores you too.

“Maybe you’re my dream.” Josh’s smile is full of longing and sadness.

Before you can respond, you’re abruptly pulled out of the dream by the blaring sound of a car horn. You startle awake, bleary vision belatedly registering that you’re now in the city. Minghao looks at you with wide eyes, a startled laugh slipping past his lips. “Are you okay?”

You nod wearily, taking a moment to shake of the intense emotions your dream had left you with. It’s clear that Minghao doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t press the subject and keeps driving toward museum.

Being at the museum doesn’t help you as much as you hope. The artifacts and paintings are intriguing, but your irritating mind only keeps associating everything with Josh. He’s always talked like someone from another time so looking at ancient items and old paintings naturally makes you keep picturing his face.

“For someone who kept begging me to clear my schedule so we could come here, you don’t look very excited.”

You give Minghao a guilty look because you know how busy he is. “Sorry. I’m just kind of distracted.”

“And why is that?”

It’s not that you don’t trust Minghao. You do, but you can’t tell him that you’re infatuated with a man who shows up in your dreams.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow at you. As usual Minghao sees right through your half-truth. “You’ve been having nightmares?”

“Not exactly.” You say. The resolve to keep your secret quickly dissolved when Minghao gives you a look that somehow always compels you to do what he wants. “I can’t sleep because I keep dreaming of a guy.”

“A guy?” Minghao raises his eyebrows in a way that reminds you of Jeonghan.

“It’s not like that.” You say, skin heating up in embarrassment. “I don’t even think he’s real. He just keeps appearing in my dreams, and I feel crazy every time I think about him.”

Minghao doesn’t laugh or tell you you’re crazy. Instead he looks at you with a sharpened gaze that looks like it holds a certain amount of concern and something else you can’t discern. If his heart was capable of beating, his heart rate would’ve spiked at the information you told him.

You’re vague in your description (which was impressive because his gift is powerful enough to get people to admit to murder), but it’s enough to have his mind reeling. Is it possible that you’d fallen into the clutches of an incubus? Minghao isn’t overly fond of humans, but you’re different. He can’t let you become the prey of such a lascivious creature.

“I have some tea that’s good for sleeping." He says as normally as he can as you two walk along the museum. “When we get back to my place, I’ll give you some.”

You nod silently, not entirely sure if his teas will help with your lucid dreaming. Even if they did, it’s not like you want to stop seeing this imaginary man that makes you feel more loved than you ever had. But there’s a part of you that knows you can’t keep sleeping with the hopes of seeing Josh again.

The inner turmoil you’re feeling is interrupted when Minghao pulls you to the section he’d been dying to see from the beginning. His laughter immediately makes you come back down to earth. It’s not like your friend never laughs, but this one is full and louder than you’ve ever heard it. You’re not sure why he finds the painting of a duke so funny. Just as you’re about to question him, you see the painting and feel the world around you come to a stop.

It feels like your heart stopped beating and dropped down to your stomach. Your usually quiet mind is reeling, trying to fathom what you’re seeing. There’s no way.

The painting is of a man, but not just any man.

It’s Josh.

Your Josh.

You keep blinking as if another face will appear in the very old painting. If you felt crazy before, the feeling worsens the longer you stare at the oils that form the face you’ve come to memorize and love. The description of the painting says the man born in 1714 was a famous duke notorious for starting a rebellion against the crown.

“So this is the only painting of the Hong Jisoo?” Your friend cackles, but you’re not sure what’s so funny.

It’s good that he’s so distracted by whatever it is he finds so funny because you’re about two seconds away from breaking down. How is it possible that some duke from centuries ago was appearing in your dreams? Is it possible that you’d somehow seen his image before and projected it into your dreams? You don’t remember even reading about him, and it only makes you feel more crazy.

Back at Minghao’s luxury apartment, you can’t stop thinking about that stupid painting of Hong Jisoo. How is it possible for you to dream about a person that was alive centuries ago? It doesn’t make sense, and the more you think about it, the more freaked out you feel.

“Here.” Hao says as he hands you a warm mug of tea. “Drink it to see if it helps. I’ll give you some to take home if you like it.”

You thank him, really hoping this puts an end to your unhealthy dreams.

“It’s not working!” Josh growls angrily. “There’s something blocking me from seeing her. I’m sure of it.”

Soonyoung and Junhui roll their eyes. Josh has been complaining about not being able to transcend into his true love’s subconscious for the last three hours, and it’s starting to drive them insane. It’s not that they’re not sympathetic, but it was quite literally the only thing the older vampire could talk about. Not to mention the fact that after months of visiting his mate every day, he did nothing to figure out where she was—a total waste in their opinion.

Before Josh can keep repeating the same frustrated things he’s been griping about all morning, they hear the door open and the familiar sound of boots clacking against the marble floor.

“Minghao!” Soonyoung cries when the oldest of the coven walks into the living room. “Finally, you’re back! Jisoo hasn’t stopped whining about his mate since you left! You need to put a stop to him!”

Minghao sets down his suitcases with an exhausted sigh. “What’s going on?”

“He claims there’s a barrier preventing him from entering his mate’s subconscious.” Junhui explains, sending a skeptical look Joshua’s way. “Which is impossible because a mere human isn’t capable of blocking his gift.”

While that is true, there are certain things humans have done for centuries to ward off creatures of the night. However, it is strange that there’s a sudden block to his mate’s subconscious after being left vulnerable for so many months.

“Perhaps your mate has realized that you’re a nefarious creature and not just a figment of her imagination.” Minghao muses as he goes to sit at his usual place by the fire. “If that’s the case, she may have sought out a witch to block her psyche from unsavory visitors.”

The dark look Josh sends his way is amusing to the rest. Maybe it’s cruel to disregard the anguish his brother clearly feels, but being empathetic has never been one of Minghao’s character traits. Even so, some of the humanity he once had still lingers within him.

“However, if you truly wish to find her I can contact Jihoon—”

“No.” Josh snaps immediately. The growl in his voice is menacing as his eyes darken. “I’ll find her on my own.”

The silence that follows is tense until Soonyoung breaks it by insisting on seeing pictures from Minghao’s trip. As always, he obliges to the youngest’s request, tossing his phone over without taking his eyes off Josh.

“If that were possible you would have already found her.”

It’s a frustrating truth. He hadn’t been able to figure out anything that would help him find you because he didn’t want to scare you off. Now he regrets playing the part of a gentleman because it feels like he’s lost you all over again.

“Is this the human you’re always talking about?”

Usually, Josh doesn’t take any interest in humans aside from his meals, but the way Minghao’s sharp gaze switches to an almost fond one intrigues him enough to look at the screen Soonyoung is holding out toward them.

It’s like his heartbeat comes back to life when he sees a video of a beautiful girl staring at one of his old swords.

“Yes. That’s—”

“Y/N.”

Minghao looks at Josh in surprise. He’s incredulous, but it’s soon replaced by horror when he realizes why his brother is looking at the phone with a predatory gaze.

“You…” Minghao’s icy tone makes the younger ones still. They recognize the murderous intent behind that tone instantly. “You’re the one who’s been invading her dreams.”

Josh snarls at his oldest friend. “You’re the one responsible for the barrier.”

It’s like watching two animals raising their hackles at one another. Except both of them are capable of destroying each other and everything around them without caring.

Junhui is quick to step in, holding a firm hand to Minghao’s chest. “She’s his mate.”

It’s meant to make him see reason, but all it does is anger Minghao.

“A mate that he betrayed time and time again!” His words make them all flinch. “You’re the reason those hunters found her and burned her alive!”

Never has a silence so thick and tense surrounded them before. It’s a low blow to bring up Josh’s greatest pain in such a way, but Minghao is beyond seeing reason at this point.

“Both of you need to calm down.” Soonyoung says as he stands in the middle.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Josh demands, not understanding why the person who had helped him search for his mate’s reincarnation for centuries was suddenly acting this way.

“She’s a pure soul.” Minghao says, sounding a little defeated. “One that doesn’t deserve to become a monster like us.”

It’s tense and silent again, but this time the air feels different. All four of them knew how painful and awful it was to turn. Back then, they had been the unlucky ones to survive an attack when they were meant to be someone’s food. Minghao wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you.

“Let her decide.” Soonyoung breaks the silence, being reasonable for the first time in a long time. He looks to Josh, gaze as serious as ever. “If you really love her, tell her the truth and let her decide what to do.”

Minghao has always been an enigma. He’s private to the point where you sometimes feel like you don’t know him at all. It’s why you’re so surprised when he invites you over to his main house which is basically synonymous with prohibited. He never invites anyone there, not even Jeonghan who’s known him longer than you have.

Your friend’s home is expectedly opulent and beautiful, but there’s also this ominous air surrounding it. Minghao remains silent as he leads you to the entrance. His somber attitude isn’t exactly uncharacteristic. He’s naturally quiet and serious, but right now he almost seems angry. You can tell his mind is far away, light years away even.

Before you can think to question him, he leads you to the living room and sits you down on one of the couches. His cold hands don’t move from your shoulders even after you’re seated. You look up at him in curiosity because he seems to be contemplating something.

“Don’t be angry with me.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you have to wonder what he’s done for him to plead with you like this. (Xu Minghao does not beg.)

Hands fall from your shoulders as Minghao side steps out of the way. Everything goes in slow motion from then on. He’s stepped out of the way to reveal a man who you recognize very well. Your heart jumps and starts to beat erratically as you take in his ethereal features.

What’s happening feels like a more intense version of what happened at the museum. Minghao’s friend(?) looks exactly like Josh. He even looks at you like Josh does.

“Y/N.”

The organ in your chest throbs at the sound because it’s so soft and pretty, just like it is in your dreams. He sounds so similar to Josh that you feel insane for wanting to run into this man’s arms like you always do with Josh in your dreams.

Your mind is a beat behind, and it’s only after this stranger called your name that you realize Minghao had apologized to you before he appeared. When you look over to your friend, he’s observing you carefully in a way you can’t understand.

“What’s going on? What is this?” You ask, feeling like you’ve been set up.

There’s a thick silence, and just when you contemplate on getting up to leave, the unknown guy falls to his knees in front of you.

“Please forgive me.”

Your eyes practically pop out of your head at the unsolicited apology. “I– What?”

The silence is uncomfortable, and you can only look back to Minghao for an explanation.

“You’ve seen Jisoo before—in your dreams.” Minghao says slowly as if it pains him to tell you.

Jisoo?

“When you told me that a man kept reappearing in your dreams, I thought you were being preyed on by an incubus.” Minghao chuckles bitterly. “But I was a fool not to see that the truth was much worse.”

“Incubus?” You whisper incredulously. “You mean those demons that fuck people while they’re asleep?”

Neither men react to your crude words. They’re looking at you solemnly as if Minghao didn’t just say something completely insane. None of it makes sense nor does it provide you with the explanation you demanded.

“You can’t be serious! Incubuses—“

“Incubi.” Minghao corrects you. He regrets it as soon as he sees the dark look on your face.

“—don’t exist.” You finish through gritted teeth.

“They’re not the only demons running rampant on this earth.” Minghao says as he shares a look with the man who is still kneeling in front of you. “Just look at the monster in front of you and you’ll know what I’m saying is true.”

This Jisoo guy looks nothing like a monster. Not even as he’s giving your friend the most withering glare you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t give me that look. I brought her here so she can know the truth.”

At this point, you don’t know if they’re friends or enemies with the way they’re glowering at each other. And you still don’t know what truth they’re talking about, either.

“Jisoo has been trying to find you for centuries.” Minghao finally says, eyes softening just the tiniest bit when he looks back at you.

You don’t say anything because it all sounds like some crazy lie. Minghao isn’t the type to pull pranks, but there’s no other logical explanation for what’s happening. And yet, it also isn’t possible that he could know what the man from your dreams looked like and somehow find someone who looks exactly like him for his prank.

“We’re vampires.” Jisoo says, voice soft and comforting. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

Your words come out before you can stop them. It’s not what you meant to say (not right away, anyway), but you don’t try to backtrack. On the off chance that they’re not pulling some elaborate prank, you need to know that you’re not crazy for kind of believing what they’re saying.

Minghao and Jisoo are looking at you with wide eyes, but the challenging look on your face doesn’t waver. They both know you enough to realize you aren’t going to believe them until they prove that they’re not lying.

Jisoo grins, but it seems bitter in a way. “Okay. Just… don’t be scared.”

You raise an eyebrow when his smile stretches further. It’s not until you see four of his teeth elongating into literal fangs that you feel your pulse start to race. His eyes have darkened into an inhuman shade of black that reminds you of a demon. Now you understood what Minghao meant when he called Jisoo a monster.

But that also means…

In a panic, you look to your friend. Much to your horror, he too is bearing those monstrous characteristics now. Dark eyes and fangs that make them look like the monsters they claim to be. It feels like you’re in one of your lucid dreams, and in the back of your mind you hope that’s what this is.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out as calm as it does, and even though you’re terrified, you can’t react how you know you should be.

“We would never hurt you.” Jisoo says, features slowly reverting back to normal. “No matter what, I won’t let anyone or anything bring you harm.”

It’s crazy that he’s promising you this with what feels like genuine sincerity, and it’s even crazier that it makes your chest warm with affection. You press your lips together, trying to make sense of how any of this is actually possible.

“You’re the reincarnation of Jisoo’s true love.” Minghao breaks the heavy silence. “He’s been searching for your soul since your untimely death.”

“That’s why you came into my dreams.” You whisper, not sure how to feel about this alleged truth.

“Yes.” Jisoo says, voice soft as ever. “I called myself Josh since it’s a modern name. You can still call me that if you wish.”

You stay silent, trying to deal with the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling without revealing any on your face. It’s hard, but you manage as you look back at your friend. “And you knew about this the entire time?”

“I didn’t know he’d been invading your dreams.” Minghao says honestly. “If I had—”

Minghao cuts his sentence short, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his emotions in check. It’s clear that he doesn’t like the idea of you being the reincarnation of Josh’s true love. You don’t understand why he brought you to meet him if that’s the case.

“Minghao.” Josh’s tone takes a threatening tone that you never thought him capable of emitting.

“Tell her.” Minghao says, clearly unfazed by Joshua’s sudden malicious attitude. “She has a right to know the truth before you think you can spend the rest of eternity with her.”

It’s silent for a moment before you see Josh’s shoulders slump. He looks slightly defeated and nervous. Seeing him in distress makes you uncomfortable, and you have to wonder if these are your actual feelings or something beyond your control.

“I first met you five years after I was first turned.” He starts, eyes begging for understanding. “You were running from a clan of demons who murdered your coven.”

The air is tense. You can feel your heart start to throb with hurt that you can’t place. A familiar burning sensation starts to poke at the back of your eyes, but you can’t understand why. “You saved me?”

Minghao clears his throat, eyes threatening.

“Unwillingly.” He admits, head hanging a little lower. “I was content in my solitude, and helping a witch didn’t sound appealing to me.”

“He also didn’t want to help a witch that belonged to the coven he helped exterminate.”

Minghao’s blunt statement makes your blood run cold. There’s a strange feeling that manifests itself in your chest. It’s an odd mixture of resentment, anger, and heartbreak. The feelings are familiar yet foreign. You feel the tears fall from your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. It’s all new information, but something in your bones recognizes the hurt and devastation.

“You killed my family.” The words aren’t yours, but in a strange way it feels like they are. “You almost killed me.”

“It was before I fell in love with you.” Josh sounds defeated. “Back then I was only concerned with my own survival, and I was a fool to let it get in the way of my love for you.”

Again, the air becomes tense. It makes Minghao almost regret doing this, but you ultimately have to know the truth. All of it.

“Tell her how you got her killed.��

More tears keep spilling from your eyes, and you can’t fathom the fact that they don’t feel like yours. A gentle hand wipes them away. Through blurry vision you can see Josh looking pained as he gently cradles your face in his large hand.

“I refused to go into hiding after the humans started to become more wary of our existence. Because of that, you and I were attacked by a group of hunters.” Josh feels a pain he hasn’t in centuries just talking about this to you of all people. “You protected me with your magic. I don’t know why you saved a wicked creature like me instead of yourself, but I really wish you hadn’t.”

The tears have stopped now, but Josh’s thumb is still gently caressing your face. His touch is cold yet comforting. You let out a shaky sigh, not sure what to do with all the information you’ve been given.

“This is why Minghao feels that I don’t deserve you, and maybe he’s right. But I’ve always been a selfish creature which is why I can’t give you up. Not in this lifetime or any other.”

Josh says it tenderly, but somehow you feel like you’ve become his prey.

Sometimes you wonder if letting Josh get so close to you is a mistake. Minghao seems to think it is even if he doesn’t tell you outright. Still, at least he’s supportive of your decision (as much as he can be, anyway). In spite of the fact that you now know the man of your dreams is a dangerous predator, you don’t feel unsafe when you’re with him. There’s also the fact that you can literally see the love he has for you every time you look at him.

Giving into him is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. It feels natural and right, especially since he’s so sweet to you. You feel yourself fall harder every time you’re with him. He knows you better than anyone and treats you like you’re his everything.

Your relationship feels completely surreal and fast paced, but in an odd way it also feels like it’s not fast enough. The feeling has something to do with your past life you’re sure. After all, Josh had been waiting centuries for you to reincarnate.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You suck in a quiet breath as the thought comes to you, one that feels like it came from deep in your subconscious and is not entirely yours. Josh’s eyes snap open at the sound. He’s looking straight at you from where he has his head in your lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Unlike Minghao, Josh doesn’t have the power of coercion, but you’re still unable to lie to him. (Unwilling is a better term, but, details.)

“Did you really not have another lover after I died?” Your question isn’t accusatory, and part of you hopes he says yes. “Like you never even hooked up with someone else in three centuries?”

Josh’s airy laughter makes your chest warm. He brings your intertwined hands to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of yours. “If you do not believe me, I shall bring Minghao and have him use his gift on me.”

He’s teasing you, but you also know he’s dead serious. It shouldn’t thrill you so much that he’s willing to do just about anything for you—even subject himself to Minghao who still harbors a bit of a grudge towards him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just…” You let out a quiet sigh. “You must’ve been really lonely.”

The way you look heartbroken and guilty isn’t satisfying, but it is alleviating somehow. You truly haven’t changed. The beautiful, kind soul he fell in love with remains intact, and he can’t be more grateful for that.

“At first I was. Then I met Minghao and joined his coven. They made it more bearable.”

You bring the hand that’s not attached to Josh’s to his head and run a gentle hand through his hair. “It must’ve been hard.”

Josh only offers you a hum. He can’t deny that it was, but he also doesn’t want to keep making you feel bad with all the details. That would have to be for another time.

“How many dreams did you invade before you finally found me?” You suddenly ask, wondering just how many psyches he had to go through over the course of 300 years.

“None.” His smile is a little bitter. “I’m not a incubus, so I can only enter your subconscious.”

The confused look on your face makes him let out a quiet laugh. It’s so innocent that it’s hilarious. Especially because you don’t remember that the restriction to his gift was your doing.

“Every time I tried to use my gift, I couldn’t. That’s how I knew you hadn’t been reincarnated yet. As soon as you were born I was able to tell, but I still couldn’t get into your psyche until you were ready to let me in—this is all curtesy of you, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He laughs. “Because I can’t dream, you bestowed this gift on me so I would be able to experience a dreamlike state again. Since you didn’t want the bloodthirsty heathen that I was back then to invade the minds of unsuspecting humans, you put all these limitations on my gift.”

His laugh is cute as he reminisces. It makes you smile too until you think of something.

The other day, Josh had mentioned he used to feed off of you in his past life because it tasted different and apparently it was like a kink for both of you. It freaked you out at first, but lately you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Honestly, the more the image plagued your mind, the harder it was not to feel turned on by it. You wonder if it would hurt and if you would like the hurt.

“Do you want to feed on me?”

If Josh’s heart was capable of beating, he has no doubt it would’ve been harshly pounding against his rib cage. He slowly gets up, feeling his cock throb and his throat itch.

“Darling—”

“You’ve never done it, and I was wondering if it was something you want to do.”

Of course he wanted to do it. Your scent is mouthwatering, and he just knows you taste divine. Up until now he hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want you to think that’s all he wanted. All you two have done this past month is share some kisses, and that was perfectly fine. If that’s all you were willing to give him he’s gladly take it so long as you let him be part of your life.

Josh swallows thickly as he contemplates his answer. While it sort of sounds like you’re offering, he can’t assume anything. Plus he doesn’t want to seem like the monster Minghao told you he is.

When you see him hesitate, you make a decision that really isn’t all that hard for you. With an enticing smile, you tilt your head the slightest bit and offer your neck to him. “Bite me.”

In a split second, Josh pulls you on his lap so you’re straddling him. You gasp quietly when he sits you directly on his hardening cock. His eyes are dark like on the day he revealed himself to you. In the back of your mind, you know this is a dangerous game you’re playing, but you don’t feel one shred of regret or fear.

“I’ll be gentle.” He promises, voice breathy and needy.

Josh trails gentle kisses up and down your neck with patience that you find impressive. His fangs tease the tender skin as he opens his mouth slightly, and it’s almost like you can feel it throb in anticipation. With one last sweet kiss, Joshua sinks his teeth into your skin until you can feel a stabbing pain.

You gasp out a moan at the feeling. The pain lasts a second before you feel it rapidly fade. It’s replaced by images that invade the forefront of your mind. Memories that you don’t remember rush forward as if they were aching to be freed from the depths of your mind. There’s so many, and in spite of the fact that they pass through your mind quickly, you see every one of them.

When you come back down to reality, Josh is still drinking from you. He groans into your skin, reluctantly pulling away and licking the puncture wound he’s left behind. Josh continues to press kisses along your skin and whispered praises that you can’t help but melt into him.

“Jisoo.” You breathe out softly.

Joshua freezes when he hears what you’ve called him. He pulls back, eyes wide as he takes in the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze has always been full of affection, but now it’s full of ardent love that reminds him of the way you looked at him all those centuries ago.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Y/N…” Josh sounds breathless as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to remember.” You murmur as your bring a hand up to caress his cool cheek. “But I guess it’s only fair since you left me first.”

“It’s my biggest regret.” Josh says honestly, grip tightening on you.

You hum, trailing your thumb over his lips. He opens his mouth the slightest bit so you can touch his fangs just like you used to do once upon a time. Goosebumps cover your skin at the familiarity of it all. The feelings in your chest deepen impossibly as you replay all the memories that slowly keep coming to mind. You thought it would be impossible to love Josh any more than you already did, but once again you were proven wrong.

You let out a shocked squeak when he pulls you closer to him. His face is shoved into the side of your neck that he didn’t bite, breathing in your addicting scent. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t remember.”

“If you wouldn’t have been such a gentleman and bitten me sooner it wouldn’t have taken me so long.” You laugh, hugging him tighter.

The two of you stay like that until you shift and realize you’re still sitting on his hard cock. In a flash, the hot memory of Josh ravishing you back then goes straight to your cunt. You lick your lips and decide that you both have been waiting long enough to be with each other again.

“I’m impressed you kept your chastity just for me.” You purr into his ear, gently grinding down on his cock. “Such a loyal lover until the end.”

Josh doesn’t hesitate to take you to bed, cock aching to be inside you once again. He’s gentle when he finally gets you naked, eyes full of desire and love. “So fucking pretty.”

A breathy moan escapes you when his cold hands start to caress your body. His lips trails your neck, gently teasing you with his sharp teeth. Your skin heats up at the attention, and you feel like your floating by the time Josh gets his dick out to finally give you what you’ve been wanting.

“I missed you so much.” He groans as his throbbing cock slowly eases past your wet folds.

You moan along with him, hands finding his to lace your fingers together. “Missed you too, my love.”

Josh’s cock twitches inside you when he hears the pet name come out of your pretty little mouth. His leaking tip brushes against your cervix as your legs wrap around his hips. His pace is slow at first, trying to savor the feeling of your hot, tight cunt wrapped around him. He buries his face into your neck, licking and biting at the skin as his thrusts start to get tougher and deeper.

Your moaning is loud, and you’re amazed that he still knows which angels to hit after so much time. It’s like you’re seeing stars when Josh gently bites at your skin. He does it teasingly until you’re begging him to bite you again.

“Stop teasing.” You whine wantonly, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

His chuckle is low and has your pussy clamping down on his cock, drenching it in your arousal. You can’t remember the last time you were so turned on. It hasn’t been long, but it already feels like you’re about to come.

“Seeing you fall apart like this is my favorite thing.” You can feel his sinister smirk against your neck. “It’s been too long since I last saw it.”

Josh lets go of one of your hands to bring a thumb to your clit. He starts to rub slow circles on the sensitive nub as his thrusts grow more ravenous. You cry out in pleasure when his thick cock hits your sweet spot roughly. Your back arches in pleasure as you feel your juices start to coat his heavy balls.

“Never letting you go again.” Joshua growls lowly, more to himself than you. “All mine.”

With his possessive declaration, he sinks his fangs into your neck for a second time. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you violently come all over his big cock.

“Fuck!” You cry out, hips moving against his arms he continues to fuck you through your high.

He’s licking at your open would now, sharp thrusts angled just right to have you on the cusp of another orgasm. Joshua pulls back, pink lips painted scarlet with your blood. He looks ravenous, and you think you might actually come again from how hot he looks.

“That’s it, darling.” Josh sounds insatiable. “Cream all over me.”

It’s not long before the sight of you completely fucked out triggers his own orgasm. Thick ropes of cum shoot inside your pulsing walls, painting them white with his seed. His moans are as pretty as you remember, and they mix in with your perfectly as he fucks his cum deeper inside you.

“Fuck me again.” You pant out, still longing for the second orgasm he was coaxing out of you.

Josh’s smirks as he flips you over on your front. “Still as insatiable as ever, darling.”

You look back at him with a laugh. “Like you’re any better. So hurry and fill me up again.”

You’ll never get sick of the feeling of his cold skin on yours as he grips your ass. Josh’s large hands rub and squeeze before you feel his throbbing cock tease your messy cunt. You let out a needy whine, tilting your hips up more to offer yourself to him.

“Such a needy little thing.” Joshua murmurs in that mean but sweet tone only he was capable of having.

“Only for you, my love.” You mewl, pussy throbbing at the thought of him splitting you open again.

As is his style, Josh slowly pushes his fat cock into your hot cunt, making you feel every inch of him. Then, in a split second he shoves the rest in like he can’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge for a second time.

You muffle your cry of pleasure in the sheets, fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenches down on Josh’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. He groans from behind you, loving how your juices coat his cock as if you’re claiming it as yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can you do that for me one more time?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question because in the next second his fingers are digging into your hips as he pulls his cock all the way out before shoving it back into your needy pussy with a sharp thrust. You can feel your body tremble as your pussy grips his cock like a vise.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, voice dripping with lust.

“Fuck me!” You moan, pushing back on his cock with insatiable need.

At your desperate demand, Josh sera a brutal pace. He fuck you hard and rough, leaking tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again until all he can hear is lewd squelching and skin slapping. His hips slam against your ass, obsessed with the way your sweet crema coats his cock. You cry out his name as his heavy balls slap against your throbbing clit.

Josh is pounding you into the mattress, cock splitting you open deliciously. You’re so addicted to the feeling that you can’t help but spur him on. “Don’t stop!”

You cry out in ecstasy when he does exactly as you ask. He pounds his cock against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your fingers grips the sheets as you bounce your ass back to meet his thrusts desperately.

“You’re close again, right, baby?” Josh’s voice is teasing. He doesn’t need to ask, though. He knows you are because he knows your body.

You’re moaning and shaking with overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is nod as you bring your hand down between your bodies to rub your aching clit. With all the stimulation from your fingers and his cock, you fall over the edge once again. Your body tenses as you moan out Josh’s name with ecstasy. The excess of your orgasm drips down Josh’s cock, staining it and marking it as yours.

With one last thrust, he shoots his hot cum inside you, moaning your name like a mantra. He sloppily fuck it back into you before pulling you flush against his chest. You two collapse back on the bed with Josh holding you closely as if he thinks you might disappear.

Slowly, you turn around with his cock still inside you. Joshua’s eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing.” You breathe out blissfully. “And not just because you’ve stuffed me full.”

His cock twitches inside of you, and you can’t help but let out an endeared laugh. Your chest is warm as he hugs you closer to him, lips gently skimming over your puncture wound.

“Jisoo.”

He hums against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“I was so afraid when I first died.” You confess, feeling him tense. You’re quick to pull him closer and caress his cheek. “Afraid that I’d be reborn and you wouldn’t be there when I was.”

Josh swallows thickly and comes to cup the hand that’s still brushing over his cheek. “I’ll never leave you alone again.”

“I know. Once you turn me, we’ll have the rest of eternity together.”

It all feels too good to be true, but you know that this is reality and not just another one of your sweet dreams.