#children yearn to interact and be helpful

[yeyinde]

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. 

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request made by @justsumtuffstuff: Could you do a tommy shelby imagine where you secretly have his kid but don���t tell him until one day aunt polly sees you and is like “holy shit” but that’s not the surprise, the surprise is you have twins. Just a lot of angst and fluff pretty please? ((:

This fic will have two parts!

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: It's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

The land of Birmingham seemed to never change, not one bit. Ever since the first people settled there, the sky hung over them as if by force, never clear enough to see prospects for the future. Robbing the poor kids of dreams, of the loud thumping in their hearts caused by excitement for the good that never came.

It would seem that God has lost his way to Birmingham, not to mention Small Heath. Dirt, smoke and silence that rang too loud when working men would finish their shifts in factories seeking peace in their homes. After all, the human brain can get used to everything.

What was the difference between going to sleep hungry every night, and the relentless churning in the depths of her stomach that Y/N felt? Pain that never let go, waking up along her side like a loyal husband, never ceasing to accompany her throughout the day. Never loosening the hold on her heart.

Oh, how cruel the fate can be, Y/N thought, looking at the white ceiling of her bedroom. One she slept in for many nights too long, carrying the weight of the curse on her shoulders.

Because she was cursed, that one she was sure. Seeing the man she loved more than anything else in the world, losing himself in the grief after another woman.

Because that was the woman whose name Y/N dared not speak or even think. That's who she was, another woman. Embodiment of pain and betrayal of so many promises, taking away the beautiful, blue gaze Y/N yearned for so badly.

God must have been so cruel, putting her through the uncertainty of ever seeing him again throughout the war, and then taking him away.

Taking him away from Y/N, and letting her watch the process. Letting her see the distance growing, the dilated pupils in his eyes after each doze of opium, fruitlessly trying to numb the pain he carried.

Y/N couldn't help but wake up everyday, wondering how different his grief would be if it was her who died. Would he cry? Would he push the other woman away, like he did her? Sometimes the pain felt like too much to handle, but Y/N would never try to pull the trigger. Subconsciously feeling the weight of shame in her chest if she'd ever somehow found out she was right. That he wouldn't care.

So she lived, losing pieces of her heart day by day, warming his bed whenever he saw it convenient.

Until that one day came, that was. Hearing the... Scary, oh so scary news from her doctor she visited in secret. Putting both of her hands on her still flat stomach, she didn't feel anything physically. Yet it was enough to find the strength, buried so deep in her heart.

The love she felt for her unborn children outweighed the love for him.

The tension in Arrow house felt heavier than usual, as Y/N dragged her heavy suitcase down the stairs before slowly making her way to his office. The pain, longing in her heart slowing her down, extending the seconds into forever.

Y/N took a deep breath as her hand pressed down on the metal handle, the loud click echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Wordlessly she slipped inside, walking up to his desk quietly, letting out a shaky breath when she stopped mere inches away from the wooden furniture. His eyes didn't move from the documents he was reading, an empty gaze fixed on black letters despite knowing she was there. Y/N waited for a second, giving him a chance to look at her. Hoping he would.

But he didn't.

”I'm leaving” she said, loud enough to be heard. Silence followed her words, loud like never before as her heart squeezed in anticipation, silently begging him to stop her. To say something. Several moments passed before he finally did, making her heart stop for a mere second.

”Safe travels, Y/N Y/L/N” He responded in a cold, husky voice and for a moment, Y/N wondered who he was, wearing his face but sounding so different.

But the dust settled, just like the weight of his words as soon as she closed the door behind her back for what she thought would be the last time.

~~

Polly's eyes cut through his skin like a blade, her gaze never changing after that one feral day. The look of contempt and disgrace not even a bit different than one she gave him finding out what happened, back then.

”I was hoping you wouldn't be so stupid” She hissed, leaning forward, reaching for a cigarette with a shaky hand. Her eyes were teary, as she inhaled the smoke. ”When you were younger I saw your mother in your eyes. Now, they're full of greed and foolishness. Just like your father's” She spat out with contempt, raising from the chair. Quickly walking up to his own, she kneeled down for a moment, to meet his gaze.

One so empty, that gave her goosebumps.

”I will never forgive you, and... Neither will you.” She whispered. ”But you will have to live with the choice you made.”

Her words echoed loudly in his head several minutes after Polly left... And they never stopped ringing now, thirty eight months later. Thomas counted, every morning to be sure. After sobering up it was difficult to tell days apart. He rarely slept, fearful of the dreams he had at first.

He saw her, she was so close and yet no matter how fast Tommy ran, he couldn't reach her. Out of his reach no matter how hard he screamed or cried. Looking at him with the burning tears he caused.

It took him three months to sober up, give up on opium and... Feel. Thomas wasn't ready for the hellish pain that dawned on him once the drug wore off. The terrifying longing that dawned on him when he felt the remnants of her perfume on his pillow. The lack of relief he hoped for so badly, throwing away every single Grace's belonging he held onto previously, burning the photos and destroying the items, but it never came.

As time stretched, it became more intense. Thomas carried the pain and guilt wherever he went, finding the smallest bit of relief only in his office, searching for Y/N in every piece of England day by day.

Replaying the ways in which he treated her, internally setting himself on fire and forcing himself to feel every bit of it. Because that's what he deserved, to feel and carry the cross he created with his own hands.

Oh how beautiful the pain was, as he'd lean back in his armchair, closing his eyes and remembering her gaze. Her scent and her laugh, echoing so lively in his mind.

...but none of it worked, no matter how many people searched. How much money he spent on the search. Almost like she disappeared into thin air.

Day by day he was dying a little, bleeding through the wounds he so desperately prevented from healing every single time. Keeping the memory of her alive in his mind, not letting the hope die. Because it was all he had. Glimmer of hope. The leader of Peaky blinders became even worse than before. The pain shaped his mind in unknown ways, as the limitless cruelty became visible to anyone who dared to cross his path. Peaky Blinders were unmatched.

Nobody besides Thomas held onto the hope anymore. Knowing Y/N for so long, John and Artur knew she wouldn't come back. Not if her life depended on it. Polly only prayed for her safety.

...and Y/N? She stopped praying once her children were born. After finding out she'd have twins, she prayed every night for them to be born healthy. It was all that mattered.

Not the fact that she had to be using a fake name after moving to Coventry, mere miles away from Birmingham. But she couldn't afford to move further.

It's been.. so fucking hard. Everything. Y/N spent every night crying, begging any God that would listen to take away the pain in her heart. The pain that her babies only managed to lessen. Working as a waitress on nightshifts after accepting the kindness of her older neighbour. Mrs Wilson offered to take care of her boys while she works to help her make ends meet. Y/N had no idea what she would do without a woman she grew to call her only family.

”It's no problem, honey. They're little angels” She said quietly with a kind smile, taking one of the boys into her arms mere days after they were born.

The pain Y/N felt by having to leave her kids every night was stronger than the physical one. Having to work a demanding job after giving birth to keep the roof over their heads.

She cried, cried so much that eventually tears ran out and all she could do was.. keep trying. The two little people by her side were giving her strength. Light that she couldn't see before them, and only existed because they were here. Keeping her own heart beating.

***

”Are you sure? I can take care of them while you go, honey. You know how much I love them, don't you?” The older lady offered eagerly, caressing Nick's cheek with a smile, and a hint of concern while she glanced at Y/N.

”Thank you, but I will take them. The least I can do is spend time with them throughout the day.” Y/N responded, smiling sadly to her neighbour who just nodded along, understanding the allusion.

Letting out a sigh, she put her hands together.

”Be careful, dear.”

Y/N squeezed her hand lightly before pulling away as she held her son's hand, while carrying the other one on her hip.

”Always”

Travelling via train took no longer than forty minutes, and with each passing mile, Y/N's anxiety grew. She hasn't been in Birmingham for a long time now, not looking back.

Yet, because of her official address being still in the Arrow house, she needed to visit the office to complete documentation for boys. She put it off as long as she could, but it was inevitable now.

Despite the negative emotions, Y/N couldn't felt.. better, having her babies with her. The familiar facial expressions or blue orbs were enough to sometimes bring her to tears, but she couldn't love them more. They were a perfect little copy of the man whose name was engraved on her heart. The older they were, the more similar looking they were and now at dashing two and a half years, both boys were troublemakers.

Slowly making their way through Birmingham, Y/N held one little hand, chatting away with Nick, who was more energised than his brother who slept soundly in his mum's arms.

”...and dat?” He asked, pointing towards the building and glancing curiously at his mama. Y/N smiled at his curiosity, seeing how similar personality wise he was to her.

”that's a house” She replied calmly. The little boy cheered loudly, throwing his arms in the air.

"Yaay! Hooose!” He squealed making her chuckle, not caring about the scolding glances from other passengers.

A couple minutes later the other little one woke up, and started fussing because obviously he also wanted to walk now, while Nick wanted to be carried now. Sighing, Y/N put one of the kids down, and as she managed to pick up little Nick, she gasped loudly seeing her son's legs already in motion as he ran towards the crowd.

”Tommy! Thomas, stop!” She yelled after him, chasing him with Nick on her hip who watched the whole thing with his blue eyes wide open. ”Tommy!” She yelled once again, and he finally turned around, stumbling upon someone.

Y/N closed the distance as fast as she could, grabbing little Tommy and pulling him back to his feet, as she checked for any bruises – found none.

”I'm so sorry, i–” She started out, wanting to apologise to the random passenger, but words died on her tongue as soon as her eyes locked with the familiar brown ones.

”Y/N?” Polly stumbled out in shock.

Fuck

Part two upcoming

[retiredteabag]

masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Satoru

the open window lets the rain in

pt. 1 - pt. 2

-> your time at Jujutsu Tech was something of a sanctuary for you. The position you were born for did not allow you wishes of your own. Resigning yourself to your destiny, you savor the moments you have with your friends. And don't dare to wish for more.

for better or worse

-> a blurb about satoru yearning.

learning together

pt. 1 - pt. 2

-> parental Gojo moments with an ill-attached Megumi

Toji

soft toji dog sitting for generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5 - pt. 6 - pt. 7 - pt. 8 - pt. 9

-> toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for

Summer Toji / Winter Toji ↓ based on this fanart

too hot to cuddle !!

-> toji becomes jealous of your pillow.

winter weight

-> toji has gained some weight this winter - it seems you don't mind.

Sukuna

tracing trueform!sukuna's markings

-> as the title suggests :]

the soul does not lie

-> sukuna allows tedious nonsense when he can feel your soul's cravings.

sukuna assimilating to you

-> after discovering that Sukuna has been wide awake every time you nap together, you become embarrassed around him.

hidden from sight

-> in a state of humiliation, you attempt to hide an injury from your master, Sukuna, this, of course, does not go to plan.

an uninformed narrative

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3

-> *stardew valley au* you had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

the sincerest form of flattery

-> sukuna comes home to a crude imitation of himself, how is it his blood does not boil with distaste?

unknown rivals

-> blurb about being Sukuna's partner for a school project.

uncle sukuna

-> drabble about sukunas relationship with yuuji

Nanami

I don’t get it… but I’ll do it for you

-> nanami tries to do asmr for you after a long day.

winter weight (nanami ver)

-> nanami has gained some weight this winter - it seems you don't mind.

wishful thinking

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5

-> arranged marriage au with Nanami

a true gentleman

-> blurb about Nanami proving his nature.

Choso

Choso watching you interact with children

-> babysitting with Choso and him getting emotional realizing that his love for you goes deeper than he understands...

other

Why I Like Megumi's Character - an unnecessarily long explanation

jjk men as Disney princes - a brief analysis pt. 1 - pt. 2

jjk thanksgiving headcannons

chilled to the bone - a Bakugou x reader drabble

[cheesecakeluver]

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.

———————-

[highfantasy-soul]

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).

[just-some-user-hunny]

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

[kipkoh]

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.

[wonusite]

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.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo

[kokomyass]

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 💜💜🍇🍇

[darkdemeter]

Hey hey, could i please have a request?

So imagine that the reader is traveling with death to restore the humanity and they get along so well and are kind of flirty and the reader is falling for him. One day they meet Vulgrim and she out of curiosity falls into his serpent hole and is transported to the past to meet the young and unruly death, who we know was a menace when younger. And then they have their interactions the reader goes back to the current version of death. How do you think that would go?

Have a lovely day and thank you for your work!

EVEN DEATH WAS ONCE YOUNG

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death x Female Reader

NOTES: ↳ OH. MY. GOSH. ANON! Writing this was the bomb!! Interesting concept, a wonderful opportunity to explore pre-horseman "younger" Death. I tried to keep a balance between his more mature personality while also having some fun with giving him a bit of spunk -- I couldn't stop giggling! WARNINGS! ↳ Just death being a bit of a young menace, but he kinda cute doing it sooo.... but like there's also fluff/hurt stuff?

✎5.4k ────────────────

When people used to say: “I wish I could meet the younger version of you.” They don’t actually know what they’re asking for. Because who in their right mind would want to meet Death in the prime of his bloodlust? 

The thought struck a fancy with you after your encounter with the demoness, Lilith. Her presence exotic and threatening without explicitly doing anything remotely violent. It was the sensual octave that carried her words like a lullaby you had found forbidding to hear, yet you fall prey to the temptation to hear just one more word.

That didn’t stop you from hiding behind Death, his back rigid to the point the knocks of his spine straightened slightly when her hand lingered a little too close to brush a stray framing of hair out from your face. 

But it was what she recounted that piqued your curiosity. Her children. Enriching lore of a species most loathed from long ago, a bloody crusade where they met their end by Death’s hands. From her retelling and the mystical pulse of life that beats in the embedded shards in his chest, even speaking of them appeared to pain him both physically and mentally. A burden you could never carry for him nor tell him to abandon. 

For a human, whose patience often wanes at the smallest of inconvenience, you show a lot of compassion and understanding for the weight on his shoulders. And never would you know exactly how thankful Death has become for your company. At times almost yearning for it whenever you are but a few feet away, or the thought crosses his mind to take you back to the Tri-Forge and leave you in the Maker’s care. Your fragility means more to him now than it has before, sometimes just looking at you eases just a fraction of that guilt he pushes deeper down. 

You’d both formed far too much of a bond so unnatural to the opinion of others, yet it fell into some assortment of right for you. 

You can’t possibly imagine being left behind, not now. Not after how far you have come all this way together. 

But yes, that saying. Did people ever realise what it was they were saying? 

“Meeting the mother-in-law already, baby albums and all.” Your voice crackles on the hot, muggy wind that travels through this slice of inferno, sky a spiral of darkness and hellfire smog. “Dare I say it, I wish I could meet the younger—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” he warns with a low and thorough rasp that rattled in his chest. 

You cannot help but spare him a teasing wrinkle of your nose and puckering your tongue out between your teeth, body twisting from side to side innocently.

You can’t help but chuckle with a slight bounce in your step. “Sounds like you were quite the bad boy.”

You merely roll your eyes as he gruffly replies with a huff, “Your perception cannot possibly begin to fathom the prime of my youth… or handle it.”

Despite his attempt of coming off cool and collected, you could hear the bitter coil of something else underline his words. 

Oh, how mystical and dark and brooding he always was and portrayed himself to be. You’re sure that there is something a little less grim beneath that rough exterior. Hell — and that saying excludes your current locale — you have witnessed it before in the engagements of fun conversation that go back and forth to the point that a victor who gets the last say is indeterminable sometimes. So he’s not completely a lost cause of being impenetrable, he’s entertained you before with quite a few situations that you classified as flirting. Who knew that Death himself could make you blush bright and red?

He was close to claiming that title of victory this time, until you pad along to stop right in the middle of his tracks, his chest barely able to stop from bumping into you and causing your balance off kilter for a moment. 

“Come on, Death, at this point of travelling together, I can handle anything.”

He looks past your nonchalant grin and over your shoulder, seeming to cock a brow beneath the greying bone of his mask.

“Really now?” he hums, “Duck.”

“Wh—” you dare not finish to question him as you immediately take to assuming position, ducking low to the ground in preparation of an oncoming ambush unseen by you.

But it never comes. You hear a gravelly rumble of a chuckle emit from the reaper before you, his shoulders jostling a little with the motion. Your lips purse together and you scowl at him with everything you can muster to no avail of affecting him.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” you snark back, walking alongside him as he continues to set your traversing pace. 

Noticing that he was heading back the way you came, you jutt a thumb to point behind you “Aren’t we meant to be going that way?” 

“Your sense of direction has improved astonishingly, girl,” Death snickers dryly, the slur of flirty endearment almost lost in his words. He continues, “We’re paying a visit to Vulgrim.” 

Ugh, even saying that name brings a ghoulish, slimy chill to climb your spine uncomfortably. 

“Horseman,” The greenish bulbs of his eyes shrink behind a wrinkling brow of pale, craggily skin. Then his eyes see you and the form in which they almost bulge from their sockets sickens you. “And your little human companion! Your scent is just as… lovely as ever, my dear.” 

The gaping maw of his lipless mouth twists into a creeping grin so unnerving it causes knots of fear to tie in your gut. 

“Uh, no,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. No way in this life or the next would you trade your soul to Vulgrim of all fiends. Death had warned you to just keep your soul to yourself in general if offered to sell it for a little something in return. 

“Your dealings are with me, Vulgrim.” Death is clear and quick to establish your presence before the serpent hole. The demon trader, sighing grimly with a black, slimy tongue ringing over his cracked and deformed fangs, addresses Death. 

“Very well. Let us see what I have to offer… and what you can afford.”

Vulgrim usually dances about his serpent hole but never ventured too far if he can help it, usually to usher you away from it with a warning, “If you know what is best for your longevity, stay away from there.” 

And most of the time, Death kept a watchful eye on you to keep you from falling face first into the next trap of trouble. However, this time around, the pool of green mist is left surprisingly unguarded. With a curious tilt of your head and scrunch of your nose, your boots pad on over as you walk towards it. 

You can’t make out a bottom through the wafting cloud of mist that rises from the hole. Still you arch your body to peer over the edge and down into it as though you’d find something soon enough if you just inch that little bit—

“Human!” Death bellows as he rushes to you, only just seeing your form stumble and fall forward. A yelp of surprise turns into a blood-curdling scream as you sink into the smoggy abyss. The green haze around you fades into a darker shade until all around you is black nothingness. Your voice throws over into a thousand echoes that follow you. You’re still falling. At least it feels that way and for a moment you think you’ve closed your eyes; it’s hard to tell with the inky black around you.

A bright tone paints onto the surface of your closed eyes and you fall onto ground, dusty and hard, small rocks jab and scrape as you land. The brunt of the fall knocks the wind from you and you take a moment to recover your bearings, soon to rise to your feet and brush off the smears of dirt on your clothes.

“Okay. Duly noted: do not go anywhere near serpent holes,” you affirm strongly with newfound belief, only to be met by silence.

No scolding words that apprehend your actions. Not the familiar grasp of a cold, large hand that strangely warms you and causes your heart rate to pick up a little faster. No, you turn and shift on your heel to scan all directions about you. 

“Uhm… Death? Vulgrim?” You’ve spun yourself into a circle a million times over by now. “Anyone? Hello?”

For certain this is not the same slice of hell you had accompanied Death to and no serpent hole was in sight. Instead, you're in some cavernous valley of dust land and patches of grass and foliage, in the distance stands the mounds of high reaching cliff sides. 

Where exactly are you? 

As a human evidently from earth, you had never once had the ability to traverse any realm unfamiliar. In fact, you never knew of the possible existence of them. And after meeting Death, you were strictly told to stay close. Realms harboured dangers of their own, a breed of some civilisation that undoubtedly hurt you if you ran off by yourself. 

And now you’re beginning to feel that seeping dread of despair dawn within you. That sulking hopelessness that you have cast yourself to some unknown corner of the cosmos, and Death has no idea where you dropped off to. 

“Death?” You ask aloud again. Were you lost forever? 

You begin to head off in a direction, putting the sun to your left as you look around for ideally any serpent holes that can hopefully drop you back where you belong. With Death. Without him here, you feel like a newborn fawn stumbling on its legs. He always made you feel safe, always ensured he was between you and whatever threat that tried to get you, even if he got hurt because of it. 

You continue to call out to the wind that sweeps over you, the sun beating down hard. You brush aside a flurry of hair from your face, your pace slowing exponentially as you practically stumble through this unknown territory.

That’s when that sixth sense kicks in. You’re not sure if you had been ignoring the signs before or if the feeling just came, but all the same you feel that you’re being watched.

You’ve barely dived out of the way before something large crashes behind you, the scraping of claws digging into the crusty soil and the shifting balance of weight kicks up a cloud of dust behind the force of the leaping attack. Turning to face whatever it was, you grimace at the sight of a mangy looking hound that dwarfs you. Its skin is a burnt hue of reddish pink like it suffered constant exposure to the sun, what matted fur that lined its spine and cuffed around its ribs was a dark, sandy brown with dark, faded stripes. Its ears twitch as a high pitched wheeze passes through its open jaw that pries open like a snake. Rows of black teeth are coated in an oily surface of dripping saliva. 

You see another grapple down the cliff face to join the first, this one notably smaller, but not by much. Then another of the same size joins the second, each one stalking closer to corner you in. 

A piercing sharpness fills your chest and your hand grasps at the handle of your dagger. A simple form of defence, highly unlikely to fend off the predators easily, but better than nothing. 

Right about now, that favourable reaper of yours would be excellent company. There were so many things you wished you had said, times you procrastinated moving that bit closer to his side by the evening campfire meant for your safety and sanity. You fear that this is your end. For your quest in restoring humanity, one more human will be lost today, and Death will have to bear that burden. It saddens you in a way. That the guilt would eat away at him. 

One of the smaller hounds takes no more than a few steps forward, just about ready to pounce at you before a humming force sings through the air and with a meaty crunch of bone and mushed brain, an all familiar scythe fatally sheathed in its skull. 

You fall back on your arse, a relieved grin digs deep into your cheeks as you think Death has somehow found you. 

You look around, eager to see him, barely catching something fast cut through the corner of your vision. The next thing you know, the head of the second smaller hound rolls over, its tongue hanging loosely between its jaws, the decapitated appendage just resting at the heel of your boots. The sight makes you grumble in dull disgust.

However, you are brought into the shadow of the larger creature that now towers above you, caught with a gulp in your throat. By your lucky stars, its attention diverts from you and to your rescuer and dives forward. 

You only just turn your head when a pained shriek howls through the air and a severed limb flies some distance away. Followed by another and then a third limb, leaving the defeated creature to begin crawling away with a distorted whine. 

His silhouette bathed in the scorching sun is a sight of relief, though his attire had changed. Not the draping tabard of violet tied about his waist or the deep purple scarf hung over his shoulders. Mostly an assortment of bandages wrapped and woven around his arms, clad in iron fittings. He steps after the beast, following along the weeping trail of blood smeared into the dirt, scythes coming together as the long staff of Harvester and placed to his back. 

Your face contorts in response to the sheer brutality before you, visage twitching in your frazzled comprehension. Yes, Death had a very violent tendency to be dangerously savage, but he was well versed in being precise, but never at this level. Seeing him utilise naught but his inhuman strength at his disposal and his hands, he rips the hound’s upper jaw clean off until sheets of sinew and muscle were reduced to hair-thin threads. 

He drops the unhinged part to his feet with a wet, clumpy thump. Even you have to internally argue that Death may have lost himself a little there. When his head turns over his shoulder, the flicker of an amber glow catching you in his sights, you cannot help the reaction to freeze as you roll onto your belly. 

Something unfamiliar resides in his gaze like he’s seeing you for the first time. But rather than the confusion of an older entity seeing one of the many souls still alive, there is a frenzy of anger – adrenaline running a high river through him, driving him bloodmad. 

His upper body then begins to turn only to halt when you utter his name, form rigid in his study of you. Again, you try, “Death? Hey, it’s me.”

Immediately you’re met by the unsheathed blade of Harvester aimed against you and you skitter back with a hiss as the massive blade knicks your cheek. 

“Hey! Careful with that— what’s gotten into you?”

“Who are you?” 

Your face scrunches, a morphed complaint of your confusion. He only attempts to raise his scythe to your neck with a threat to render you headless at his whim. 

“I-it’s me, hello!” you laugh with bitter nervousness, “you know me. Y/N, the human you’ve been travelling with.”

He gives no form of recollection. Not that he’s easy to read with that mask of his, hiding all but the expression in his eyes. Or the way he narrows them upon hearing one word: Human. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, a divine touch; you feel that that word held some powerful trigger to the Horseman before you. And none that you had seen in him before. Almost a zeal of intense excitement flourishes in the furnace heart of his eyes. 

“A human?” Harvester balances in his grasp to lean against his shoulder, a curious tilt of his head somehow influences you to mimic the action with an affirmative hum.

“Uh-huh. We were on our way to restore humanity. We went extinct, remember?” 

“Really now?” 

When he begins to stalk closer and inching the gap between you shorter, you find yourself taking a few steps back. Something was… off. Death isn’t like his usual self. The concept of humans didn’t really phase him in such a way before. He just thought of humanity and their restoration as a mere key to gaining his brother’s freedom. Somehow integral to the balance but never once serving importance to him. But now, before your very eyes, he appears with a dark excitement as he looks you over. Like your very existence piques him. 

Was he flirting with his leash ten yards behind him? 

Now that’s very unlike your old reaper—

There’s a thought: he is not… that old. Sure, old by some standard in the scheme of time, but compared to when you were travelling together, you come to realise how noticeably younger he is. And still, he advances towards you until his shadow overthrows you, drowning you in it. 

Even if you wanted to chalk up your thoughts to some conspiracy, you also notice that there is a sore lack of soul-cursed shards embedded into the taut muscle of his chest. 

Alright. Now you’re beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together. You have somehow landed in the great, great past.

It’s like your wish became a manifested reality. 

Bathed in the sunless dark of his shadow, your feet intend to shuffle back, only for his arm that handles his massive scythe extends forth, the pole of it acting as some guard that keeps you from moving any further away. 

You mumble to yourself then, resigning in your compliance to remain where you stand. He may not be trying to directly hurt you now, but if given the motivation, you could yet stand corrected. 

He continues to stare at you, long and hard pressing, you feel like an ant under the heated blink of a glass scope that is threatened to burn. A matter of curiosity is all you can surmise it to the way his neck extends forward, bending down until the bone form of his masked nose hovers over you, near deathly silent but still largely inhaling your scent.

The act is enough for that heated flush to deep into your skin. 

“Hey—hey, easy there, big guy,” you warn, voice wavering from the way he merely tilts his head before leaning in again. “No, I said n-no! Stop that—no, that tickles!” 

Upon you practically beating him away with the ferocity of your mitten gloves, he then circles you like a predatory beast. 

“How is this possible? Humanity’s creation has not yet come,” he inquisitively says. 

You give a shrug, choosing to be a little more careful of your words. Would anything you do or say alter time itself and affect your supposed present? 

Just with you being here would be enough to do just that if Death’s claim that humans weren’t born yet is true. 

“Uh, well… it’s not so simple to explain. You see, I er—”

Shit this was getting more and more difficult to explain with the growing anxiety dangerously lurking over you like a foreboding cloud. 

“I’m not from here.”

You can almost see his brow curve upward under the mask. “Evidently,” he drawls deeply in response. 

With a roll of your eyes you try again. 

“All I know is that I somehow fell through some serpent hole and got transported back in time. Now, I gotta find a way back.” 

“You mean to leave?” 

Already turning your back on him – unaware of such a grave mistake – you only nod in response, your eyes last to leave him. Who knows how much longer you will have to endure here before Death finds and rescues you from his younger self. 

But that just isn’t in your stack of cards. Again you’re almost blown to the four winds and land on the cushion of your arse, grumbling in pain as you stare up at him, standing right in the way of your path.

Your lips purse tightly together, you hiss, “Death!” 

He crouches in front of you, ignoring the way you attempt to pry him and push him away as he moves a hand forward. He holds your wrist at bay before you can land a firm push to his mask to shove him away, his amber eyes dance with a certain level of intrigue and his head tilting to the side leaves his raven hair to saddle alongside the motion. 

He peels the grubby article off your hand to reveal the bareness of your skin and you find yourself holding your own breath. 

His own hand measures yours, palm to palm and you feel the roughened contour of his skin. His body radiates with an off-centred heat, not entirely cold as he is in the present with you but the morph of warmth isn’t so smothering unlike some infernal realm you know. You almost see the softness that crosses his features beneath the boney helm of his mask, like the cracks of emotion are being revealed without your exact know-how. 

But you’ve known Death for some time now. You’ve been in his company. If this is some revelation of a breakthrough, then you see it before your very eyes. 

Each finger lines to one another. A curtain of silence falls over the both of you until your eyes meet. A smile creeps over your lips then. 

“Must you truly go?” he’s sudden to ask beneath the gravel baritone of his chords. With a sigh, you only nod your head. 

His eyes harden at this, something distraught lines his concealed face only to be betrayed by the levelled glow of his eyes, but nevertheless he stands, no longer keeping you from running off. As you make your way to stand on your own two feet, brushing off the particles of dirt off your clothes, you notice Death’s prolonged stare. 

“What is it?” 

He only shakes his head, a gruff response of, “Nothing.” 

Though his reply is suspiciously vague, you both venture off into the great unknown, however much you believe that Death is more accustomed to the land than you. 

Hours pass as the sun begins to ride your backs and no sight of any serpent holes, leaving you with a feeling of exhausted anguish. As the night creeps in as a shadowy blanket over the sky and turns the humid air colder, you pull your shawl over your body as a chill licks your spine. 

Death — no not your Death, the younger one — takes notice, eying you from the side of his vision. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You jerk your head in his direction with eyes wide in your perked alertness. “Hm? Oh, I’m just cold is all. Usually I’d have a fire set up by now to rest…”

Would it be wise to add that it was him — older him — beside you and ensuring you settle into your makeshift camp? Unsure, you keep that to yourself. 

When he places an overly large hand to your shoulder, you stumble on your heel and pause, watching Death’s head scan the horizon and the upper cliff faces until he stops. You turn your head and notice just in the crevice of shadow and fading sunlight the blackened mouth of a cave. 

Your eyes light up at the thought of rest despite your circumstances and you already begin your trek towards the rocky climb, though you now see the rather steep slope it resides to reach the haven. With a grumble, your determination steers you to climb anyways, your feet stumbling and causing small pebbles to scatter down the face. 

Hands then grab hold of you and before you’re able to fight or protest, Death scuttles up in a matter of seconds with you hanging on for dear life. After he sets you down, you huff out, “Thanks.” 

He gives a gruff sound in response with a curt nod, then turns to scour the new site of camp. It wasn’t so much as a cave as you thought, moreso of a sheltered crop in the rocks, providing enough area to protect you from the elements but also invites the cool winds to breeze on past. 

Making a fire was a challenge than it usually was, making due with what you had on hand, and Death sets Harvester to his side, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t think you pose that much of a threat to warrant its persistent sheath. 

He however finds some interest in how you kindle the birth of flames, crafting it from almost nothing. 

Looking up at him from your position, you laugh softly to yourself. “Yeah, I know. Humans are so weak and strange. But it’s what we do. How we were made, I guess.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Death says with a clearly risen brow. His answer does bring you surprise. After all, Death had many times sighed and chuffed about how humans did the most silly of things – things that were key to your survival, keeping that in mind. 

“Well… you will. Someday.”

“How is it that you know me?” he asks, crouching on the fire’s opposite side, facing you. As much as you think it unwise to share anymore knowledge, you cannot deny that you feel almost safe around him, no matter the fact that he’s younger. In the prime of his bloodlust. 

But he hasn’t killed me yet. Tried to, but hasn’t. 

“It’s going to sound strange but… I’m from the future. And in that future, we are travelling together.”

“Because you said something of Humanity’s demise.” 

He’s Death alright. A keen observant to detail. You nod in reply before continuing, “and as I said, I fell through some sort of timeline and landed here in the past. The way, way past. So far that humans aren’t even created yet, as you’ve said.”

To this, he nods in turn and it brings you to smile. You feel as though he silently applauds your own recollection for detail. 

“Death, how old are you?” 

Yes, it is indeed perhaps a very stupid decision to ask his age, but the nature of curiosity humans are notoriously known for gets the better of you. His eyes flicker with momentary stutter, taken aback by such a question, but one he doesn’t ultimately deny in answering. 

“Today is my day of creation… I’m a thousand-and-one—”

Your eyes go wide and you shoot up to your feet with a cheer. “What? Happy Birthday!” 

Your voice is a loud noise to the shell of his hearing and it spurns him to the defence, beckoning Harvester to fly to his hand within an instant. You’re quickly covering your mouth, uttering your apologies at spooking him. 

Settling back down, this time to his side, you flash him a shy, toothy grin. “But that’s exciting!”

“What is a ‘birthday’?”

You gasp at the shocking revelation. “It’s a celebration. When humans are born on a certain day, it’s a tradition to celebrate it every year.”

Then it pops into your mind, again sending the nephilim beside you to flinch at your motion, you stir up a fuss of plucking a twig from the flames before it’s entirely devoured. Holding it, single flame slow to eat away the kindle, you beam as you stare at Death with large, doe-like eyes. 

“Make a wish!”

“A what?” He scoffs, only to see you dramatically roll your eyes until they’re nearly rolling out of their sockets. “A wish. You make a wish, something you really want, and then blow out the flame. Another tradition on your birthday.”

His eyes narrow to thin points, sceptical that perhaps you were using something to your advantage. When he sees that you don’t have any ill intent to deceive him, he shuffles in his spot slightly to face you, body arching ever so over yours; his height even at this level towers over you. 

You whisper softly, “Like this.” 

Making the motion of blowing out the makeshift candle with your mouth, the campfire casting an orange hue to your skin paints you in a fine detail that the nephilim cannot help but study closely until a there’s a skip in his chest.

His hand raises to his mask but stops and you see the hesitance to continue any further. Understanding that it very well could be because of your presence, you tilt your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut. 

A gust beats across your face, skirting the wisps of hair away and then just as promptly as he’d lifted his mask, he’d lowered it just in time for you to peel your eyes open. Again, you smile. 

He’s the first to crack through the veil of tension between you both, standing on his feet. 

“Get some rest, girl.”

The next day, you finally see in the distance the familiar halo of green and sick looking mists, but it is your ticket home nonetheless. You skip ahead and towards it, laughing at the thought of reuniting with Death and telling him of your adventure.

But then you stop. Not another skip in your step. You turn around to see Death, body rigid but his chin is aimed down and his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. Approaching him cautiously, you halt a few feet before him, hands pinned behind you. 

“I guess this is goodbye…”

You don’t very much like the eternal sound to your farewell. Like you’re losing him forever. 

He drawls out, low and lessened of any sort of emotion, but you swear you note a hint of sadness in his tone. “My wish didn’t come true.”

“What was your wish?”

His eyes rise to meet yours and you feel your heart splinter. Why did it feel so wrong to want to go back to Death in the future? Why did everything that wasn’t with him feel so, so wrong?

“I wish that you would stay here.”

“I can’t stay. I’m not from this time.” Your words do little to ease that which internally troubles him. Your hands coax his jaw to lift upwards until he stands, prouder and much taller over you that you have to balance on the toes of your feet. Then, you sweep your arms around him. His body is stiff to meet your hug but you care little in that regard. He’s always been one less evident of his affections, a tendency you’re completely fine with. 

“But I promise that we will meet again in the future. After all, that’s who I’m going back to through the serpent hole. To you.”

There it is, that flicker in his eyes that reveals in them a shiny glow of fire that you feel warms your heart in many ways. Pressing a chaste kiss to the toughened chin of his mask, you offer one last smile and bid your farewells with a wave, promising that you will see each other again before you jump into the serpent hole, disappearing into the green mists. 

You yelp as the void sends you crashing yet again and you fear that you have stumbled into yet another realm in another time. But for the first time, you find yourself relieved to hear Vulgrim’s slimy voice announce your arrival. 

“Ah! And there she is, the curious little mouse who doesn’t keep away from serpent holes,” he snides with a raspy coil like a snake getting ready to strike. 

“Vulgrim,” you poke your tongue out, brushing your hair from your face and you look to see Death charging his way to you. 

“There you are,” he says almost wistfully, hands pressed to your shoulders. A tender action even with the glare clear in his gaze. “What were you thinking? What happened to you?”

You know that beneath the roughness of his callous tone, he means well. He was worried and the look upon his younger self’s face as you left, you find yourself pulling yourself into him and embracing him. 

“I promised you that we’d meet again.”

His arms weave themselves around your waist, holding you to bear you closer in his embrace. “Yes, you did.”

[lau219]

Enemies with Benefits

Part 21: (1 of 2)

Previous part here

I know I said that this chapter would be where we see some real vulnerability from Tommy, but I decided to split this chapter up. So here’s part 1 of 2. Part 2 coming very soon!

…………………………………………………………………………….

“Look, what’s done is done, Tommy,” Polly said as she stood near the window in Tommy’s office, resting against the sill as she looked at him from across the room. “He’s already here, Arthur’s already given him the money. So the question now is, how do we move forward?”

Still looking at Tommy, Polly raised her cigarette to her lips as she waited for him to respond.

Sitting in his desk chair, Tommy was faced in Polly’s general direction, but rather than looking at her, he was focusing on the wall just beyond her shoulder, trying to force himself to calm down. Everything that was happening causing the blood in his veins to boil and rush, and he wasn’t sure he was able to speak yet without yelling.

Arthur. Fucking Arthur. The fucking moron was absolutely brainless.

After all these years, after all the false claims and repeated broken promises, he still yearned for their father’s attention and affection, and fell for it every time when Arthur Sr. would weasel his way back into their lives temporarily. Arthur always hoped and believed that their father actually cared for his children and that a reconciliation was in the cards, and every time, those hopes were quickly dashed when their father would yet again disappear as soon as he got whatever it was he really needed, once again dropping any and all contact for God knew how long, until the next time he’d inevitably present himself again.

The last time it happened, it had left a larger than ever dent in the family’s bank account and had thrown Arthur into an incredibly deep depression, not to mention causing the reactivation of Tommy’s involvement in multiple less-than-legal deals and connections that he’d spent the previous two years slowly trying to remove himself from. Arthur had yet again helped their father use their name and money to cover his ass for debts he owed and promises he’d broken to others.

Tommy had sworn that as soon as the latest bout was resolved, he’d make it so that all this could never happen again. Once he’d found out Ada was pregnant, Tommy had immediately begun the process of moving them all to the States. No way was he going to let all this keep happening and for his nephew to be subjected to the same toxic shit they all had been subjected to. He was ready to finally operate cleanly and never have to deal with their father again. It was time for a new chapter, which is what he’d promised himself the very first day he’d made the final return home from service. And then he’d finally accomplished it, cutting the old ties and creating a new home base for them all here, making his mark in more legal ways and managing to keep his father away for the last four years.

But apparently, four years was the longest Arthur was able to remember what a piece of shit their father was before forgetting again, and when he had evidently reached out to Arthur two months ago, Arthur had all too eagerly responded.

Just as he’d told Tommy, Arthur Sr. originally claimed the reason for his visit was that he wanted to meet his grandson and also congratulate his sons on their success and see for himself all that they’d accomplished. But, unable to hide his own idiocy, Arthur had admitted to the family the other day that he’d given their father over ten thousand dollars to pay off multiple gambling debts he’d been unable to talk himself out of back in Birmingham. And these apparently were debts that had formidable payees, some of whom Tommy was all too familiar with from his own previous interactions with them. They all knew the success Tommy had made himself, and therefore had granted his father the permission to head to the U.S. to get them the money he owed.

Upon learning what Arthur had done, Tommy had immediately frozen his ability to access or use any of the family accounts, and he'd warned John that if a single additional cent went unaccounted for, he'd cut him off, too. Over the last few days, Arthur and Tommy hadn't spoken or seen each other, as Arthur had made himself scarce since the reaming Tommy had given him. And although he'd gotten what he needed, their father was still hanging around, having joined Arthur wherever the hell it was he'd slunk off to.

As he'd told Y/N, Tommy had planned on giving him a very harsh piece of his mind and then sending him packing the couple days after he'd arrived. However, they ended up having not seen each other again yet, and it made Tommy all the more angry and tense that he was still around and undoubtedly filling Arthur's head with more bullshit.

"Stop stewing over this and just let it go," Polly spoke again then, cutting into Tommy's thoughts. "It's only ten grand."

Now moving his eyes to Polly, Tommy finally spoke.

"You think I give a fuck about the money?" he asked rhetorically, his voice filled with anger. "It's the fucking fact that he's here, that he's just stirring the pot and filling Arthur's head with bullshit, and that he fucks with everyone every Goddamn time and none of you ever seem to fucking comprehend that he's a waste of fucking life!"

Tommy's voice had risen the longer he'd spoke, and he felt his blood boiling again. For fuck's sake, why did Polly never get angry about the right stuff?

"Besides you, Thomas, no one knows better than me what a piece of shit your father is," Polly said then, keeping her cool as she took another drag from her cigarette and looked back at him. "But you can't undo what Arthur's done, and despite your best efforts to control him, you'll have to put a tracking device on that idiot if you want to keep him from ever engaging with your father again. I accepted a long time ago that it's pointless — he's never gonna give up the perfect picture of Daddy being who he wants him to be."

Tommy gave a bitter scoff, turning back to his desk and lighting a cigarette before he then replied to Polly.

"Well, he's gonna give it up. Because when they finally get back here, that perfect picture is gonna be lit on fucking fire."

Part 21: (2 of 2)

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[kikyoupdates]

Leave Your Mark ⭑˚🧪⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑔 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

You didn’t accomplish anything in your previous life. Looking back on it, you feel nothing but regret, and you yearn for the chance to do things differently. As it turns out, your wish is answered, and you are reborn into your favorite fictional world. This time, you resolve to make a change, and you have the means to do it. You won’t be content with just sitting on the sidelines and letting life pass you by. You will live boldly and vibrantly, as if every moment is your last. No matter what it takes, you are going to leave your mark.

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Despite the concerning interaction you had not long ago, you try not to let Chisaki discourage you. It would have been unrealistic for his entire personality to have changed overnight. You need more time to help him see reason, and besides, it’s not like he’s already a villain. He just needs a bit of a change in perspective, that’s all.   

Now that you’ve officially obtained your Quirk, you’ve been doing your best to get used to using it, and so far, you’d like to say it’s going well.  

You can only create those star fragments within the palms of your hands. It’s hard to describe exactly what they feel like, but it’s almost as if they flow between your fingers, like some sort of energy. You’ve mostly been practicing with moving them around and getting the hang of changing their shape, but just yesterday, you pulled off a rather impressive feat.   

If you direct the fragments in a particular direction, they can pick up small objects and interact with them. It’s like telekinesis, to some extent, although you’re very young and not that good at using it yet. But you have more than enough time to practice, and with a power like this, you feel confident about taking the necessary steps towards becoming a hero.   

Even if your Quirk isn’t outlandishly strong by default, you will make it strong. You will turn it into something of your own and use it to protect the people you care about.   

Plus, it’s also quite pretty to look at. You doubt you’ll ever get tired of staring at the shimmering star fragments, little mouth hanging open in awe.   

Testing out your Quirk takes up a lot of your time, and since you’ve very much still a little kid, you end up depleting quite a bit of energy along the way. You’re happy, though. You feel like your prospects so far are good, and you’ve got the potential to make a real difference at some point.   

Everything is going well— too well, as a matter of fact.   

Perhaps that’s why the world feels compelled to remind you that life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.   

It happens while you’re playing just outside the Shie Hassaikai complex. You haven’t strayed far from home, and Pops has tasked Chisaki with the responsibility of looking after you, so you have no reason to be on high alert. Instead, you scribble on the pavement with the colored pieces of chalk Pops gave you. Even though you’re a teenager, you have to admit that it’s a fun way to pass the time.   

Suddenly, some asshole decides to shove you to the ground. Hard .   

You’re not sure what the hell is going on, so the most you’re able to do is look up at him in disbelief. The person who pushed you is a man, a young adult, by the looks of things. He’s grinning crudely, and it seems like he takes great pleasure in bullying children.   

“What’s a snotty-nosed brat doing around here?” he sneers. “I guess the old man has finally lost his marbles. What, he’ll kick me out of the group, but he’s happy to look after a fucking toddler? Give me a break.”   

You’re starting to piece things together. It sounds like this man used to be a member of the Shie Hassaikai, and at some point, Pops must have kicked him out. Given how scummy his personality is, it honestly doesn’t surprise you.   

You’re not an actual child, so instead of crying, as he probably expected you to, you merely furrow your brows at him.   

“Bullying a kid,” you mutter, shaking your head disappointedly. “That’s so lame.”   

It turns out that was the wrong thing to say, and he really doesn’t seem to care for your precocious demeanor.   

This time, he grabs fistfuls of your hair and drags you closer to him. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he hisses. “I could give you one hell of a beating if I wanted to. Is that how you want to play this? Hm?”   

You wail out, because it’s starting to hurt a lot . Your mind may be advanced, but your body is still that of a child, and you’re a lot more fragile than you would like to be.   

The man cackles in delight, then raises his hand, as if he’s about to smack you, but before he can, someone grabs his arm and pulls him back.   

“Stop it,” Chisaki glares. His eyes are cold, almost devoid of any emotion. “Let her go. If you don’t, you’ll seriously regret it.”  

“Ha! Another fucking kid? Man, this place is full of you all of a sudden. The Shie Hassaikai has really gone to shit.”   

Despite Chisaki’s warnings, the man has no intention of letting you go. His grip on you remains tight, painfully so, and he shoves Chisaki back with his elbow.   

That’s a big mistake.   

“Fine,” Chisaki says coldly. “You asked for this.”   

Less than five seconds later, the man is screaming at the top of his lungs. Chisaki uses his Quirk on him, and several of his fingers have now been disassembled into bits. Blood splatters onto the concrete, and you take several steps back, horrified by what you’ve just seen.   

The man gasps for breath, clutching at his mutilated fingers. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and all the while, Chisaki just stands next to him with a passive, unfazed expression.   

He’s barely ten years old, but violence doesn’t scare him in the slightest.   

“I did warn you,” Chisaki sighs. He walks over to you, then pats your head a few times. The gesture is far from gentle, but you suppose it’s his way of making sure you’re alright. “She’s just a little kid,” he says, glaring at the man—who is still keeled over and wailing from the pain. “You’re such a degenerate to attack her like that.”  

You’re glad that he protected you. Having known each other for a while now, Chisaki has come to care for you, even if he doesn’t openly admit to it. And it’s true that the man was about to hurt you just then. He deserved to be punished to some extent.   

Still. You can’t help but feel like this is too far, and it’s setting a terrible precedent for the future.   

Taking a deep breath, you pull on Chisaki’s shirt. “Kai,” you mumble softly. “Thank you for helping, but... he’s hurt really bad. Can you please fix him? I’m sure he knows not to do this again. You can fix him, right? I don’t want you to get in trouble. It isn’t good to hurt other people.”   

“But he hurt you first,” Chisaki blinks. “He deserved it.”   

“I’m okay now. Can you just fix him? For me? Please ?”   

He hesitates for a while longer, and you can’t stop glancing towards the injured man, who is losing blood at an alarming rate. Chisaki is only a child. You don’t want him to carry such a heavy burden already. You refuse to let him turn down a dark path this early in his life—or at any point, really.   

Apart from the man’s screams, the street is silent, but eventually, Chisaki lets out another sigh.  

“Fine,” he frowns. “But I really do think he deserved it. Bad people shouldn’t get away with doing this stuff. Still... since you want me to fix him, I will.”   

Relief floods your chest, and you watch as Chisaki walks over towards the man and restores his fingers back to the way they used to be.   

The man stops screaming. His mouth is left hanging ajar, and he just stares down at his hand, as if he can’t believe what just happened.   

Then, he jerks away in a fright.   

“G-Get away from me!” he cries out. “You... you fucking monster!”   

He runs off after that, with his tail quite literally in between his legs. His fingers have been fixed, but there’s fresh blood next to the chalk drawings you made earlier. You can hardly bear to look at it.   

That was a close call. Things almost got really, really bad, but you’re proud of Chisaki for listening to you.  

“Thank you, Kai.” You’ve already thanked him, but you do it again. This time, you hug him and press your tiny face against his chest. “I... I don’t want you to hurt people because of me, or for any other reason. Please promise you won’t do it anymore. If this ever happens again, we can just run away and get help instead. Okay?”   

Chisaki makes no attempts to push you back. He doesn’t say anything, but eventually, you feel his arms wrap around you.   

Everything is alright. He listened to you. He listened, and you’re sure that he’ll continue to listen. He won’t ever take things too far or stray from the right path.   

There’s no reason to be afraid.   

Several months have passed since that incident, and Chisaki appears to have grown more protective of you ever since, because he insists on escorting you pretty much everywhere .   

“Where are you going?” Chisaki asks one day.   

You blink. “Um... the bathroom?”   

“Okay. Be careful,” he says, then proceeds to wait in the hallway until you’re done.   

Does he think you’ll get sucked into the toilet or something? It’s kind of ridiculous, but you suppose it’s nice to know how much he cares.   

Anyways, long story short, that moment has clearly had a lasting impact on him, and since Pops has told him time and time again that he needs to look out for you, that’s exactly what he does. He’s eleven years old now, hardly old enough to be someone’s bodyguard, but since he’s always been especially mature for his age, Pops doesn’t have any qualms about leaving you in his hands.   

Any time you want to take a trip into the city, Chisaki is the one who goes with you. In fact, you’ve just spent a fun day together, getting pancakes at a nice family diner. Chisaki made sure to wipe all the syrup off your face, but not before remarking upon what a sloppy eater you were.   

You’re heading home now, and Chisaki holds your hand firmly in his. For all his aversion to germs and touch, he doesn’t seem to mind touching you or Pops. You assume it’s because he considers the two of you to be special to him, a thought that makes your chest swell with pride.   

Chisaki told you not to get distracted or leave his side, but when your eyes happen to land on a familiar face, you can’t help but break free.  

“[Name]!” he cries out. “Get back here!”   

He chases after you, of course, but you’ve already made contact with the person that caught your interest. A little boy with ash blonde hair and striking crimson eyes, who is grumbling to himself as he tries to get a toy capsule from a vending machine.  

“Not this one either,” he mutters irritably. “ Ugh ! I keep getting everyone but All Might! And now I’m out of money...”   

This boy is Bakugou Katsuki, the protagonist’s main rival, and once again—you are fangirling.   

“I told you not to run off,” Chisaki scowls, immediately grabbing you and trying to pull you away. You put up a fight, though, stubbornly rooting your feet into the ground, and it’s only when you speak up that Katsuki takes note of you.  

“Kai,” you say, looking up at him hopefully. “Can we lend this guy some money? He’s trying to get a toy, but he keeps striking out.”   

You expected as much, but Chisaki refuses.   

“Why should I give out money to a total stranger?” he snaps. “Pops gave me this money. Everything we have left over from the diner, I plan on giving back to him. I’m not just going to waste it.”   

“But it’s not a waste,” you insist. “He really wants the toy, and I want to help!”  

“No. I’m not handing out money. What are we, some kind of charity?”   

Ah. So, it’s finally come to this. Fine, then. You still have one last trick up your sleeve.   

Special move: begging and whining until you get what you want.   

“Please, please, please ! I want to do this, I want to do this, I want to do this—”   

This carries on for quite some time, and you can see how Chisaki is becoming progressively more horrified, especially with all the attention your tantrum is drawing. Katsuki just stands there in disbelief, no doubt wondering what the hell is wrong with you.   

“Alright, fine !”   

Even Chisaki, for all his strength and intelligence, can't seem to handle you when you’re annoying him at full force. He angrily shoves several coins into your hands, and you giggle in delight before inserting a few into the vending machine.   

It turns out that your luck is a lot better than Katsuki’s, and you end up getting the All Might figurine on your very first try.   

Katsuki watches with wide eyes, obviously jealous. If you really wanted to, you could probably tease him a bit, but you choose to act your age this time.   

“Here,” you say, grinning widely and handing him the figurine. “I like All Might too, but it seems like you really wanted this, so you can have it!”   

Katsuki is silent for a few moments, but he soon turns awfully red and reels back.   

“I-I don’t need it!” he insists. “I can get it by myself! I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”   

“But you ran out of money, which means you can’t get it anymore. It’s not because I feel sorry for you. Just consider it a gift!”   

You know all too well just how stubborn Katsuki can be, and how he prefers not to accept help from anyone else. Still, he’s only a little kid right now, and personality-wise, he’s nowhere near as angry as his future self.   

He’s also itching to take the figurine for himself. That much is painfully obvious.   

“I want you to have it,” you say again, then go as far as to grab his hand and place it into his open palm.   

Katsuki blinks several times. He’s struggling to make sense of what just happened, but despite his tiny budding ego, there’s still no mistaking the smile that forms across his lips.   

He grips his new All Might figurine, eyes glossy as he gazes upon his biggest role model. His lips part slightly, and for a second, you’re wondering if he might thank you.   

Then again, this is Katsuki you’re talking about.   

“You didn’t need to give it to me,” he huffs. “I would’ve gotten it eventually. I would’ve come back another day, with more money.”   

You keep smiling. “Sure, but this way, you get to have it sooner. I hope you like it. All Might is really awesome, huh?”   

This time, Katsuki replies without sparing a breath.  

“All Might is the best ,” he grins. “I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up! No—I’ll be even better!”   

You let out a soft, happy giggle, but before you can say anything else, Chisaki starts tugging on your arm impatiently.   

“[Name],” he mutters. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s hurry up and leave.”   

“Oh, okay.” You suppose he’s gotten tired of waiting around for you. From his perspective, it must be quite mind-numbing to stand by while two four-year-olds converse. You glance back at Katsuki one last time, still smiling. “Well, I have to go now, but I hope you like your new toy! And I’m sure you’ll be able to do it. Become a hero even cooler than All Might, I mean.”   

Katsuki doesn’t know how to respond, and by that point, he’s already watching you walk away while holding onto Chisaki’s hand.   

As he glances down at his All Might figurine, he can’t help but frown a bit.   

I didn’t get to tell her my name, but I know hers. Maybe... I’ll see her again?   

For the second time that day, his face turns unspeakably red.   

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[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — 18

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (3.6k words)

❥･• episode 18 — you are approved!

In the soft glow of the cosy cafe, you sit in quiet observation as Jungwon engages wholeheartedly in playful banter with Bora. He's gone so far as to immerse himself in a roleplay, portraying a gallant knight on a noble quest to rescue his cherished princess. You laugh as Jungwon’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he adds in adlibs of his own, only to feign innocence when Bora scolds him for not sticking to the script at hand.

"Uncle Jungwon! This is the 10th time you've died and come back to life," Bora declares with a pout, crossing her tiny arms over her chest. Her earnestness tugs at your heartstrings, and you can't help but chuckle at the sight of your precious niece scolding Jungwon once again for deviating from the storyline she's meticulously crafted within the confines of her young imagination.

Jungwon's laughter rings out, a warm and melodic sound that fills the cafe with an enchanting harmony. You casually sip on your mango juice, supposedly for your niece, though it’s merely a flimsy excuse to indulge your childlike taste buds without Jungwon giving you a hard time about it.

Unbeknownst to you, a gentle smile forms on your face as a heartwarming scene unfolds before your eyes. Jungwon affectionately feeds Bora pieces of the chocolate cake they were sharing while hanging on to every word of her animated storytelling about a vivid dream she had last night. Needless to say, it’s a stark contrast to the interactions you’d witnessed between the two of them earlier today.

You recall the moment when Jungwon stooped down to meet Bora at eye level, inadvertently causing the shy little one to seek refuge behind your legs. It’s a humorous irony—Jungwon, who claims to be terrible with children, yet when confronted with one, he effortlessly transforms into a gentle and nurturing presence, a side of him you've longed to see more of, so different from the way he usually acts around you.

Jungwon catches your gaze, his eyebrow arching slightly at your evident distraction. It dawns on you that you've been staring blankly at him, and in a swift reaction as if you’ve just been caught secretly peeping at your crush, you avert your gaze, a faint blush colouring your cheeks. With self-consciousness gnawing at you, your eyes start to wander around the cafe, scrutinising every detail except the man who's become the epicentre of almost all of your daydreams these days.

As your gaze sweeps the surroundings, you notice several members of the film crew discreetly stationed in various corners of the cafe. Their cameras are pointed directly at you, serving as a poignant reminder that this entire scenario is being documented for the world to witness—and, more pressingly, for your mother to see. At this moment, you yearn more than ever for a black hole to materialise out of thin air, whisking you away to another universe where you could escape the spotlight's unrelenting glare.

Jungwon must have caught wind of your uneasiness, which doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way you are shifting uncomfortably in your seat. He catches your gaze with a reassuring smile. “Hey, just ignore it. Look at me instead, like you’ve been doing the entire time.” A teasing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and you just know he’s not about to let this go without some playful banter.

"Yeah, I was staring at the chocolate stain on your cheeks." You didn't even notice the stain on his cheeks until just a few seconds ago.

"Sure you were."

"Halfway to your mid-life crisis, and you can't even eat a cake without smearing it everywhere." 

"Told you, I'm a big baby," he concedes with a casual shrug, returning his focus to entertaining Bora. A sigh of relief escapes you as he drops the topic, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for coming up with a reasonably convincing excuse to divert his attention away from your blunder.

However, Jungwon isn't the only subject taking up your thoughts these days; so was the whole documentary leading up to your midterm exams in less than a month. Doubt creeps in, and you begin to wonder if your mother is right—that this isn’t such a good idea after all. Because at the end of the day, is this pursuit of good publicity worth compromising your academic performance for?

As your mind grapples with these uncertainties, you momentarily drift away from the present moment and inadvertently surrender your grip on reality. In that fateful instant, a moment of distraction seizes you, causing you to accidentally tip the glass of mango juice that rests before you. The bright liquid spills over the brim, splashing onto your top and drenching your jeans in a sticky cascade. The cold sensation against your skin jolts you back to reality, a stark reminder of the unpredictability that life seems to throw your way, much like the documentary project itself.

As you attempt to salvage your dignity, Jungwon springs into action. Without a second thought, he reaches for the napkin holder, his movements graceful and purposeful. "Y/N! You alright?" You struggle to process the whirlwind of events, your eyes widening in astonishment as Jungwon rushes to your side, his concern palpable in the depths of his expressive eyes.

"What were you thinking? I thought I was supposed to be the baby," he playfully teases, a trace of amusement dancing in his gaze as he extends a helping hand. His fingers, warm and reassuring, gingerly touch the damp fabric of your top, blotting away the sticky residue with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

Despite the embarrassing mishap, you can't help but be entranced by the depth of his concern, which brings back memories of that incident with Hana outside the campus library.

It's as if the universe conspired to orchestrate these moments of vulnerability, allowing you to glimpse a more intimate side of Jungwon, a side that sparks a connection neither of you can deny. 

In this unexpected moment of closeness, you lock eyes with him. Your heart flutters like a fragile butterfly, and you find yourself drawn to Jungwon in a way you've never experienced before. The looming spectre of the documentary, once a daunting presence, now fades into the periphery, leaving behind only the two of you in a world of your own.

“Accidents happen to the best of us,” Jungwon finally speaks, his voice a velvet whisper that tickles your senses. His eyes remain fixed on yours, their depths seemingly bottomless. "But sometimes, they lead to unexpected moments like this."

"What?" you murmur in response, lost in the captivating spell that seems to have woven itself around you.

"Let's go," Jungwon declares with a determined resolve. He stands up straight, his arms extending forward in a silent invitation for you to take hold. Without thinking, you place your hands in his, feeling his grip envelop your fingers. He guides you gracefully out of your seat, shedding his jacket and draping it tenderly around your shoulders.

“Go… where?”

"You can't possibly go home like this," he insists, his voice laced with concern. "Your mother won't be pleased to see her own daughter drenched in mango juice.” He laughs before continuing, “My place is nearby; you can change into one of my mother’s clothes. Come on."

Shock and any synonyms along the line aren't sufficient to describe what you're feeling at the moment. It's as though reality has taken an unexpected turn, leading you down a path you never dared to dream of. The notion that Yang Jungwon, a figure you've long held conflicted feelings toward, would extend such a heartfelt invitation to his home—his safe space—feels like a surreal twist in the script of the initial plan of just pretending you like each other. And it's not just the invitation itself but the ease and casualness with which he offers it that leaves you bewildered. Who are you to be on the receiving end of such unexpected kindness from him?

Your chilly discomfort only becomes apparent when you're enveloped in the warmth of his jacket, a cocoon of reassurance that he so willingly lends. As you bask in the comforting embrace of his jacket, Bora, who has been silently observing from the sidelines, picks up a napkin of her own. With a gentle and caring touch, she begins to delicately dab at the stain patches on your jeans, mirroring the actions she had witnessed Jungwon perform earlier.

"Are you helping me wipe the stains too, Bora-ya?" you ask, your fingers playfully pinching her chubby cheeks. In response, she scrunches her nose, her cheeks dimpling with delight. You notice her tiny fingers gently picking at the fabric of your jeans, and it's clear that she has something on her mind. Concerned, you crouch down to her eye level and cup her cheeks in your hands. "Princess, what's wrong?"

"I'm sleepy; I want to take a nap," Bora murmurs, her voice a soft, sleepy sigh. You can't help but smile at her adorable request, realising that you had momentarily forgotten about her daily afternoon naps that she holds dear.

"I guess you'll have no choice but to accept my offer, Y/N," Jungwon declares with a teasing glint in his eyes and a cheeky smile gracing his lips. You hadn't initially planned on accepting his offer, but as reality sets in, you realise that you may have no other choice. Your apartment is a long, hour-ride away on the metro, and with your mango-stained clothes and a sleepy Bora in tow, the journey seems like a daunting task. Reluctantly, you nod in agreement, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You must be Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you!" Mrs. Yang exclaims, her hands slightly frantic as she hurriedly wipes them on her apron before reaching out to you. You graciously accept her welcoming gesture, noting the uncanny resemblance between her and Jungwon, especially in their eyes. She sports a pair of dimples, just like her son, and it's a striking familial trait that adds to the warmth of her presence. "I've heard a lot about you from Jungwon."

"Nice things, I hope," you tease, playfully squinting your eyes as you exchange a friendly banter. Her laughter fills the air, casting aside any lingering nerves.

Mrs. Yang isn't a complete stranger to you; your mother had mentioned her in passing, having met at school events organised by the council. However, her vivacious and welcoming demeanor is a pleasant surprise, different from how your mother had previously described her.

"Jungwon informed me that you were coming over, so I prepared a fresh set of clothing. They're some of my old clothes, so don't worry about returning them," she says, her warm smile putting you at ease. With a gentle hand on your shoulders, she guides you away from Jungwon and Bora, leading you to an empty room that you deduce to be his mother’s. "Feel free to freshen up. You and the little one can stay for dinner too if you'd like."

Her kindness and hospitality leave you touched, and you nod gratefully, appreciating her thoughtfulness. As you step into the room, you can't help but wonder how this unexpected visit will unfold and how it might reshape your perceptions of the Yang family, especially Jungwon, who seems to be a different person in the comfort of his home.

As you step out of the room and into the living area, your eyes are drawn to the film crew busily setting up cameras all around the apartment, and you begin to imagine your mother’s reaction when this particular scene airs. 

In the heart of the living room, you find Jungwon and Bora seated side by side, each clutching a Nintendo Switch controller. They're engaged in what appears to be an intense game of Mario Kart, their expressions ranging from fierce determination to pure delight. Your heart swells at the sight of them bonding so effortlessly.

Silently, you watch as Jungwon purposely slows down in the middle of the virtual track, allowing Bora to race ahead. Her infectious enthusiasm knows no bounds as she jumps up and down on the sofa, gleefully celebrating her victory against Jungwon when she spots you. "Bora-ya, didn't you say you were sleepy?"

"Auntie Y/N! Come on and play with us!" she exclaims, her excitement palpable. The sparkles in her eyes are impossible to resist, and you find yourself folding at the mere sight of her eagerness. In this moment, you realise that you've never quite engaged with Bora the way Jungwon does. Your interactions with her have typically revolved around helping with homework or leisurely walks in the park, which often end with her complaining about being tired of walking and you carrying her home on your back as she naps. You now understand that Bora is a child, and children should be free to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

With a gentle smile, you nod, and you don't protest when Bora runs over to tug you toward the gaming console. Before you know it, you find yourself seated between Jungwon and your niece, controller in hand. They enthusiastically instruct you on how to play, offering playful critiques whenever you make a wrong move. "Are you guys playing, or am I?" you sigh in mock exasperation as you come in last place against Jungwon once again.

"I never would've thought the day would come when I found something you're horrible at," Jungwon teases with a playful grin as the game-ending credits roll out, his chosen character standing triumphantly in the centre of the screen.

"I don't care. We’re playing until I win," you declare with determination, pressing the start button once more. Jungwon, who is not one to shy away from a challenge, simply laughs and shrugs, as he prepares himself to win against you once more.

Game after game unfolds, and you lose track of how many rounds you've played until your first victory. While you may not have secured first place, the satisfaction of besting Jungwon is a reward in itself. You suspect that he may have let you win at will, but you refrain from mentioning it. After all, you've been engaged in this virtual competition for the past 30 minutes, and you figure he must be growing tired.

In truth, Jungwon's loss resulted from his distraction—watching your unwavering concentration and determination to defeat him in a mere game of Mario Kart. He realises then how competitive you are, much like himself.

Before you can fully relish your single victory over Jungwon, you feel a delicate weight on your arms. Bora, who had been awake and cheering you on not long ago, has finally succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep. "I'll take her to my room," Jungwon offers, his voice soft and filled with consideration. "Also, I'm pretty sure my mom could use some help."

With the grace of a protective guardian, Jungwon lifts Bora into his arms. Her small, peaceful form nestled against him is a heartwarming sight. He flashes you a tender smile, a silent understanding passing between you, and then he disappears into a room down the corridor, leaving you with a sense of longing that you're still trying to comprehend.

With Bora's departure, you decide to extend your helping hand to Mrs. Yang. "Would you like some help?" You announce your presence at the entrance of the kitchen, catching her attention. Her warm smile and welcoming demeanour put you at ease. "That would be lovely, Y/N."

You immerse yourself in the culinary task at hand, assisting her in prepping ingredients for the dinner you hadn't initially planned on staying for, but Jungwon insisted that his mother had already purchased the ingredients, and you figured it would be impolite for you to just leave.

"How's your mother these days?" Mrs. Yang asks in her gentle attempt to bridge the silence between you.

"Oh, she's still the same old feisty woman," you joke, and she responds with a soft laugh, recalling her limited interactions with your mother. "I always thought you were a really kind student when I saw you in school, though Jungwon used to tell me otherwise."

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, curious about Jungwon's perspective.

"He used to say that you were arrogant, but he also thought you were too good for him. I suppose he didn't want to admit that he liked you," Mrs. Yang playfully teases her son, and you chuckle at the revelation.

"Well, Mrs. Yang, any bad feelings between us are long gone, so you don't have to worry about it."

"I'm glad to hear that. You know, this is the first time Jungwon's brought anybody from school home. I was worried that his training was taking up too much of his time and that he wasn't fitting in well enough. So, imagine how happy I was when I found out he was going to be doing this documentary. Thank you, Y/N, for giving our Wonnie a chance to act like an ordinary high school student." She puts down the utensils in her hands, replacing them with your own dainty fingers as she gently caresses the back of your hands in heartfelt gratitude.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Yang."

Unbeknownst to both you and Mrs. Yang, Jungwon stands at the entrance of the kitchen, a silent observer of the exchange between you and his mother. His heart swells with appreciation and warmth as he listens to the bond forming between the two most important women in his life. In this moment, he realises that life has a way of weaving unexpected connections and that his world is becoming richer by the day with you in it.

You knock gently on the door of Jungwon's room and wait a few seconds before a groggy voice on the other side invites you in. The sight that greets you is one that tugs at your heartstrings: Bora is sound asleep, nestled atop Jungwon, who appears to have just woken up from a nap. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Dinner's ready," you whisper softly, your fingers brushing the stray strands of hair that cling to his forehead, to which he responds to your touch by leaning in.

Jungwon is careful when waking Bora up from her sleep, knowing how kids get cranky when they’ve been disturbed in their beauty sleep. Surprisingly, she doesn't resist his gentle nudges; instead, she responds with tired laughter, finding the sensation ticklish rather than annoying. It’s a miracle she hasn’t bitten a finger or two.

You marvel at her level of trust in Jungwon and the bond they've formed in a matter of hours, surpassing any interaction you've witnessed her have with others.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve mistaken her for your daughter.” You playfully jest, to which Jungwon scoffs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And you'd be the mother?" His teasing tone takes you by surprise, prompting you to deliver a quick but playful slap to his chest, eliciting a hearty laugh from him.

Around the dinner table, Bora eagerly devours her plate of food, a feast prepared by Mrs. Yang herself (with your help, of course). She eats with a gusto you've never seen before, and you can't help but wonder if there's some kind of magic in Mrs. Yang's cooking.

Jungwon keeps a watchful eye on Bora, gently cleaning her mouth each time she takes a bite, ensuring no stray food lingers on her lips. It's a level of care and attention that surprises you, and you can't help but admire how easily he has slipped into this role of guardian and friend to your niece.

"Uncle Jungwon!" Bora chimes merrily, her laughter echoing through the air as she savours another slice of apple that Mrs. Yang had spontaneously cut up.

“Hm?" Jungwon responds, his curiosity piqued by Bora's enthusiastic proclamation.

"You are approved!"

“Approved? For what?” Jungwon tilts his head curiously as he gently pushes the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“To be Auntie Y/N’s boyfriend!” Bora exclaims with a triumphant grin, her little hands clapping together as if she's a brilliant detective who has finally cracked the code. Meanwhile, you find yourself in an unexpected predicament, your throat tightening as you inadvertently choke on the water you were drinking. A subtle blush creeps onto your cheeks, though you manage to stifle your surprise with a discreet cough.

"Bora-ya! You can't drop bombshells like that out of the blue. It might make Uncle Jungwon uncomfortable, okay?" You lovingly scold Bora, appreciating her bubbly and chatty nature but also wishing she wouldn’t put you on the spot like this.

Jungwon, on the other hand, is caught off guard by Bora's candid declaration. His gaze fixates on a distant point, lost in a moment of profound contemplation. For an instant, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to be your boyfriend, even if just for a second, and weirdly enough, it doesn't seem to bother him as much as he thought it would.

Mrs. Yang simply laughs at Bora’s bold proclamation, and you struggle to maintain your composure as you stuff another apple into her tiny mouth, hoping it will distract her long enough for the topic to roll over.

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authors note: it’s finally here…. zzzz

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[smilesatdawnmain]

a question from the Author of the tragedy of the six how would you define the boys' personalities? (English is not my original language, I don't know if it will be understood)

Oh my gosh okay okay! I put a summary of how they are in the Tragedy of Six Au below~

-- Red Son:

As the oldest member of the group, Red Son takes his responsibilities very seriously. He is often trusted to watch over the others and as a result, has become quite strict when it comes to following rules. Though he may come across as overprotective, it's only because he cares so deeply for the well-being of his peers. Despite having a quick temper, Red Son always keeps stress toys on hand to help him manage his anger. In fact, he goes through so many that he has quite a collection. However, one thing that can easily soften his demeanor is seeing something cute. This is especially true with the younger children in the group; their innocence and adorableness make it hard for him to stay mad at them, and he often lets them have their way.

He can be stern and serious, but it's evident that he wants to let loose and experience life as a normal child. He yearns to fully immerse himself in the things he enjoys and openly express his passions, but fears letting himself be too open like that. Only the other children can draw out his more playful sides and creativity when it comes to machines.

Fully aware of the wild and unpredictable nature of his powers, he dedicates himself to mastering them. He is deeply afraid of what he could do if he lost control. In his mind, the woman known as LBD is not a mother figure, but a savior. He clings to the belief that she saved him from certain death after being abandoned by his birth parents, still having faint memories of them and a flash of… burning his Mother. He cannot remember anything after that other than screaming and fire.

During missions, Red Son is the one who stays focused and ensures that they stay on track. He does not allow himself to become distracted by the wonders of the outside world.

Mei is often the person he confides in the most, as she has a completely different demeanor from his own. He finds that her contrasting nature helps to ease his worries and fears.

Emerald:

Even though he is the second oldest, he's always been the smallest one in the group. With his fluffy hair and gentle demeanor, he's often likened to a tiny ball of cotton. He's a kind and caring soul, but he startles easily and lacks the strength of the other children. He's painfully aware of this, especially since LBD never misses a chance to belittle him.

Although she treats all the children with a maternal warmth, Emerald can feel the distinction in her treatment towards him. He tries his hardest to earn her love and approval, but nothing seems to work. This has created Guilt Complex in him, making him constantly question if he's at fault for everything and refrain from defending himself when wrongly accused.

He struggles a bit with Body Dysmorphic Disorder, constantly aware of his physical differences from the other children and trying to seem more… normal, such as hiding his ears with a his hoodie or tucking in his tail. Whereas they are easily identified as specific animals - a bull, a monkey, a dragon - he is both lion and dragon. This uniqueness causes him great discomfort and he has no explanation for it. He usually keeps these feelings to himself, only sharing them with Bai He in hushed tones.

The outside world is a scary place for him, thanks to the manipulation and deceit of LBD that has plagued his mind. He may follow the other children out to experience it, but he always stays close by their side, seeking comfort from Red Son, Mei or MK- as he deems them the strongest in the group.

Interacting with strangers and making new friends is a challenge for him, but within his family, he never stops talking and engaging with them, coming out of his shell to show is very bright and bubbly personality.

He holds a phobia to the Emperor of the Celestial realm, Azure Lion- due to the lies of LBD.

Mei:

As the third child in the family, she is known for her mischievous spirit. With no memory of her origin, she often leads the way in their escapades alongside Xiaohua. She is fearless, outspoken, and a bit impulsive when it comes to trying new things. While most would heed Red Son's stern warnings, she charges ahead driven by her love for adventure and fun. As a result, the rest of the group typically follows along with Red Son's objections ignored.

Although she does call LBD “Mother,” it is more of a title than a term of endearment used for a parent. In reality, her true father figures are Nezha and Erlang - and that’s how she sees them, despite Erlang stubbornly claiming otherwise.

She has a strong desire to explore the world and discover more about her dragon lineage. She dotes on Emerald, treating him like a little brother despite being younger than him. She feels a special connection with him due to their shared Dragon blood and frequently suggests teaming up with him.

She is fiercely protective of her family, always stepping up to the plate when things go awry. She has no fear of any potential consequences that may come from LBD, perhaps earning a bit of admiration from the Witch in the process.

Despite often getting annoyed with Xiaohua, as one would a sibling, she often turns to him in hours of need as well, as he can often get her back on her feet and into a good head space again.

MK (Xiaotian):

Born as a twin, he is the second one to arrive in the world. He has always been a gentle and affectionate child, but there is a hint of darkness lurking within him. However, deep down, he is inherently good and pure. His senses are heightened, making him sensitive to loud sounds and strong smells. This can be challenging for him as he constantly needs to adapt to his surroundings.

He is considerate to others, outgoing, often forgetting to use his brain before acting.

He feels the weight of his “Mother’s” expectations pressing down on his shoulders. She sees him as her champion, a title that he doesn't quite grasp, and he worries about what it will mean in the end.

He is often conflicted about his path, torn between the opposing ideologies of his "Mother" who advocates for a brutal and cold approach as true strength, and his Master Nezha, who believes in the power of compassion and forgiveness. His young mind struggles to reconcile these conflicting perspectives.

His role as a protector has instilled a savior complex within his personality. While he acknowledges that others can also protect themselves, he tries to restrain himself from becoming too overbearing. However, this restraint often leads to an intense anger towards those who still pose a threat to his loved ones, despite his clear warnings for them to leave them alone.

Thanks to LBD's manipulations, he has developed an unhealthy sense of protectiveness towards Emerald and an irrational hostility towards Azure Lion.

Xiaohua:

Xiaohua, the twin of MK, possesses a playful nature and a sharp mind. He is always up to mischief with his partner in crime, Mei. Despite his mischievous tendencies, he is also full of energy and excitement for new experiences and adventures. In fact, he is the most eager among them to embark on new missions and explore the world around them.

Despite his outward appearance of confidence, he harbors a deep sense of inferiority towards himself. This stems from his "Mother" constantly comparing him to his brother, who surpasses him in strength and speed. Though he possesses impressive talents, they are overshadowed by the brilliance of his brother's abilities. To match MK's level of ability, his Mother regularly subjects him to personalized and rigorous training long after everyone else’s is done.

He has a connection with MK, often able to share thoughts, emotions, and even feel the physical pain of the other at times. This keeps the two often close together, as they are strongest when together.

Among his family, he is the most curious one, always sensing when something is not quite right with their actions. Despite knowing that the "Celestial court and Monkey King" are seen as malevolent and deceitful, he can't help but feel intrigued by their story and wants to know more about it.

Bai He;

Being the youngest in the family, she is often coddled and shielded from conflicts. But behind her sweet demeanor lies a sharp mind that many underestimate.

She possesses a brilliant mind and can decipher any text, read any book, and seem to have an endless wealth of knowledge. Despite this, she often doubts her own strength and abilities and remains unaware of her true talents. Her family is constantly in awe of her intelligence and quick thinking, and even Xiaohua turns to her for strategic advice as she always provides helpful tips and suggestions.

She constantly seeks her Mother's approval and attention, though she only receives a small amount. She can't help but feel envious of MK, who clearly holds more value in her Mother's eyes. However, Nezha often steps in to balance things out. He has a soft spot for the girl and frequently shower her with gifts. Even Erlang seems to value the child more than the Witch herself, enjoying the more poetic and political debates he can engage with the child, as the other children only stare at him blankly.

Among the children, she has the strongest bond with MK. However, this sometimes leads to feelings of guilt when she experiences rare moments of animosity and jealousy towards him. She feels comfortable sharing her thoughts and emotions with him, often confiding in him about her feelings and desires.

Previous:

Next

[catscidr]

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact, age in bio or block. iv. wc — 2k -> posted on ao3 too!

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food. 

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself. 

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head. 

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on. 

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it. 

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place. 

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted? 

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself? 

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you. 

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t. 

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours. 

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar. 

… 

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions. 

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week. 

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises. 

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat. 

But you’re not a moth. 

… 

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low. 

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance. 

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does. 

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold. 

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw. 

... 

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void. 

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion. 

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly. 

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form. 

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear. 

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place. 

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself. 

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers. 

Clearly, you were wrong. 

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization. 

As far as you were aware of. 

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to. 

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath. 

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him. 

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless. 

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance. 

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways. 

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent. 

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily. 

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you. 

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys. 

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind. 

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided. 

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you. 

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing? 

... 

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

[milkycottoncandy]

Give Yourself To Me And More

Attuma of Talokan x Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ content, obsessive behavior, somewhat dark!Attuma, rough (consensual) sex, choking, tit slapping, breeding kink, dirty talk

Minors Do Not Interact!!!

Summary: Attuma liked to think he was a patient man. Being Talokan's commanding general has taught him how to stay composed in stressful situations, and for the most part he knows patience is a virtue. However, you test his limits everyday with your lingering touches, bright smile, and kind words that make it hard for him to hold back, to leave you untouched and still pure. But like all the strongest of men, eventually they must fall.

Word Count: 2,895

Skip to the three *** if all you want to read is the smut (I'm not judging at all lol).

Translations:

Ma', in querida- No, my darling

In yakunaj- my darling

Author's Note: Hello my Attuma sluts!! Decided to give you guys this and I hope y'all enjoy it. This is my first time writing smut so please, be nice! I will only accept constructive criticism and no hate will be tolerated. Besides that, please enjoy!

Do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or repost my works. Reblog's are fine.

🌊🦈🌊🦈����🦈🌊🦈🌊🦈🌊🦈🌊🦈🌊🦈🌊🦈

It felt like Chaac himself was testing him.

He was solely focused on making the surface world and all who inhabited it, who forced his people into the dark, cold, unforgiving depths of the ocean, pay for their crimes, all while being confronted by the dangers that were at every corner. Dangers like you.

To him, you were a radiant goddess, and this world was unworthy of your existence. You were always beautiful from the beginning, and it seemed like each time you both interacted with each other, his feelings became even stronger. What made it worse is you always focused your attention on him. You would bring him homemade lunches, offer to massage the aches in his body after he was done training, be the first to welcome him back after a successful mission, and so much more. It was a miracle he hadn't died from a heart attack with the way it always swelled when he was near you.

You were the light in his life, and it didn't help that you started to appear in his dreams and late-night fantasies, making him feel shameful the morning after. In his mind, he had taken you many times, taking pleasure from you like a lover. You were begging him, touching him, letting him touch you, making him feel less lonely when you weren't near him. You were the reason to keep Talokan safe. You were something worth fighting for. In his mind, you were his, and he was yours.

But reality would reel him back in, like a fish attached to a hook, and he would remember you were simply being the kind person you always were. You laughed and smiled with everyone, you were amazing with children, and you never hesitated to offer help when asked. It's like you were taunting him with your gentle affections, always holding his hand and pulling him to somewhere more private so you both could indulge yourselves in each other's lives. He loved when you would hug him, you felt so soft in his arms, and he would kill a thousand men if that meant never having to let you go. He adored you. If you told him to jump, he'd say how high.

You were enchanting.

You were mesmerizing.

You were a danger to his sanity and beyond distracting.

Attuma wondered how long this would go on. How long he would pine for you, yearn for your attention, for you to say his name like you loved him, pretend like the thought of someone else sweeping you off your feet wasn't possible. That was his worst fear, waiting too long and someone taking you from him. He would kill that person with no hesitation. Would there ever be an end to this madness? Was he doomed for eternity to feel this way about you? Would he be forced to act like you weren't the first thing on his mind when he woke up and the last thing when sleep would finally overtake him?

One night, he decided it was enough. You pushed him to the limit, and he was going to be honest with you about his feelings. On the way to your house, his mind was a sea of questions and doubts.

What if she doesn't feel the same way?

What if I ruin what we have?

What if she thinks I'm unworthy?

What will I do without her? Without my light?

By the time he got to your front door, he had thought of everything that could go wrong. For a moment, he wanted to turn back. He didn't want to lose you. He didn't want things to change in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable around him. Despite his uncertainty, he gently knocked on your door and waited.

You swiftly opened the door, and it was like all his thoughts drifted away into nothingness. You were wearing a blue silk nightgown that outlined your body perfectly, and Attuma had to control himself from staring at your cleavage. Your eyes brightened, and that smile that made him feel weak slowly adorned your face.

"Attuma!" you squealed in excitement and hugged him, digging your face into his neck. You smelled amazing, like vanilla with a hint of cinnamon.

He hugged you back and, for a moment, felt like maybe the world wasn't so bad since you were in it. He felt you pull back, and he looked to see you admiring him. You both stilled, and, in a way, were speaking to each other with your eyes. You both had been friends for so long that verbal communication wasn't always necessary.

"Please, come in" you slide your hands down his arms to his, gently pulling him into your house. He followed willingly, and once he was fully inside, you closed the door behind him.

 Attuma loved your house. The beautiful decorations, the smell, the atmosphere. Everything.

Your light touch to his back shook him out of his thoughts, and you led him to the familiar couch you both have sat on more times than he could count. You relaxed into the cushions while facing him with a smile, which he returned.

"What brings you here, my warrior?" you asked, taking his hand and delicately tracing his palm while you waited for his answer. Namora and K'uk'ulkan were right. You were going to be the death of him.

Attuma felt like he had fallen into ice water. He remembered the reason why he was here, to tell you how he felt. At this rare moment, the fearless general was scared. A part of him wanted to lie, come up with an excuse that he wanted to simply talk with you, and that was all. But you didn't deserve that. No, you deserved everything and so much more. He quietly swallowed, and he braced himself for all the possible scenarios that could happen.

"Y/N, I have to tell you something," he stated, taking your hands in his and scooting closer toward you on the couch.

He never took his eyes off yours, and you felt your body tingling under his gaze. He could sense your nervousness and continued with his confession.

"I have strong feelings for you, Y/N. Feelings stronger than love. Feelings I can't hide from you anymore."

The room was silent. You looked at him with a mix of shock and surprise. His face was serious and unchanging. Attuma didn't like this, and the doubts started to rear their ugly heads back into his mind.

You idiot, you really thought she would feel the same? Now she's gonna hate you forever, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Attuma wanted to leave. Leave and never come back. He knew this was a bad idea. He shouldn't have let his selfishness get the better of him. And now he was going to lose you forever. He was going to lose you, and it would be no one's fault but his. Why would he ever thi-

"I feel the same," you whispered. He thought he was dreaming. He had to be. He was going to wake up in his empty bed and realize none of this was real.

Oh, but it was real. Here you were, looking at him with nothing but love and understanding. You smiled, not in a mocking way, but in a genuine way. You had felt strongly about Attuma since the day you laid your eyes on him. You dropped so many hints that, to you, went unnoticed. The soft touches, the persisting looks, the sincere compliments, and so much more. In your mind, he was yours, and you were his. Your body felt like it was on fire, excitement slowly bubbling inside you.

Attuma didn't know what to say. The girl of his dreams admitted that she felt the same about him. He was like a deer in headlights, still and unmoving.

Say something, you fool.

"…You do?" he breathed, his eyes slowly softened.

Chaac, you're hopeless.

"I do," you answered, your tone was nothing but sincere.

The sight was laughable, two love-stricken fools gazing into each other's eyes like lovesick puppies. But you and Attuma didn't care. He loved you, and you loved him, and that's all that mattered.

Attuma paused. He didn't think this would happen. He knew every battle strategy, where and when to strike the enemy, how to keep them in a position where they couldn't win, but being with you, it's like he forgot everything. But he did know one thing. He wanted you.

He wanted you bad.

"May I kiss you, Y/N?" he pleaded desperately. Of course, he was a gentleman, and if you said no, he would be perfectly fine with that. For you, he would wait as long as you believed he needed to.

"Yes," you replied, ecstatic and smiling so hard your mouth started to hurt.

***

He gently grabbed your face, and your lips collided with his, moving in perfect sync like waves against the shore. It started off innocent but gradually became more animalistic and primal, and soon you were straddling his waist while his large hands cupped your ass. You decided to tease him by grinding on his manhood, causing a low groan to emit from his throat that made your pussy shiver. He teased you back by pulling your hair, revealing your neck, and started to litter the area with kisses and love bites, going lower and lower. You uncontrollably moaned, unaware of his hands drifting up toward the straps of your nightgown. He suddenly yanked down both the straps and massaged your breasts, uttering a groan while massaging the soft skin in his hands.

"So beautiful for me," he praised, his large hand wrapping around your throat, making you whimper. 

You moaned like a whore. A dirty, filthy whore. And Attuma wanted all of it. He wanted all of you.

"Attuma," you whispered, eyelids growing heavy as you struggled to stay conscious. It felt like he was squeezing the life out of you, and you felt your vision start to cloud until he roughly pulled you towards him.

"Ma', querida, you're not getting out of this that easily," he slapped your breast, making you scream. He then kissed your hot skin as an apology.

Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted by the giant brute and quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs, somewhat around his large waist. He swiftly made his way towards your bedroom, eyes never leaving yours. When he reached your room, he gently laid you on your bed, and you shivered, questioning what his next move would be. Silently, he slid your nightgown off your body, leaving you in your blue panties that were soaked with your arousal. For some reason, you felt self-conscious, and your hands were attempting to shield your body from his gaze. 

"Don't you dare," he warned, and you listened without hesitation, your hands retreating back to your sides.

Attuma then made his way on top of you, touching and kissing every part of your body. He eventually made his way to your underwear, and he bit down on the material, slowly pulling them off and revealing your wetness. You gasped at the sight. You couldn't believe this was happening. Without warning, he raised your legs and rested them upon his shoulders, his mouth only inches away from your pussy.

Just as you were about to beg him, you shrieked as he licked your cunt. Your eyes widened, and you screamed as Attuma clamped his mouth around your clit and sucked relentlessly, rolling the bud with his tongue and making your legs shake. You were instantly wet, juices gushing out of you. Lewd noises filled the room as he devoured you, mixed with your vulgar profanities while you desperately grinded on his tongue. 

You trembled under him, reduced to nothing but a panting mess as you could do nothing but take it. You held onto the bed sheets for dear life and sobbed as he gave you the best orgasm you've ever had. 

Attuma drank every drop of your wetness, feeling your pussy shake against his lips. He could've stayed between your legs forever, but he had bigger plans to get to. 

Begrudgingly, he released your clit from his mouth and laid your legs down. He slowly moved back to the edge of the bed and stood tall, admiring his work. He wiped his mouth and started to undress, and you caught a glimpse of his battle scars covering his body. He truly was magnificent. 

Your eyes moved further down to his cock. It was hard and girthy, and you noticed precum oozing out of the tip. You swallowed. This was going to be a night to remember. He climbed back onto the bed and hovered over you, rubbing his dick against your pussy. Nothing could brace you for what was about to happen next.

You screamed as he slammed himself inside you, stretching you open and filling you up. You looked to see your belly bulging with the shape of his cock, it was completely obscene. 

Attuma groaned; you were so deliciously tight around him, your soft walls pulling him in as he rutted up against you. He grabbed your hips with a bruising force and pulled you impossibly closer, your tits flushed against his chest. He fit inside you so perfectly, and you took him so well, it made him wonder why he had waited. He should have done this a long time ago.

He set a brutal pace as he repeatedly pounded into you, causing the bed to shake and your eyes to roll back. He couldn't take his eyes off the way your pussy engulfed his dick with each thrust. You looked so dumb and pretty, just like in his fantasies he imagined and touched himself to in the late hours of the night. Your moans were sweeter than any siren song, and Attuma wanted to hear you sing for him more.

"You're so wet," he grunted,  pulling out and slamming back in.

"You're a little slut, aren't you? This is what you wanted all along, isn't that right?" You shook your head and cried, it was too much, and you screamed as his dick continued smacking against your womb.

"A-Attuma, please slow down. You're going to break me!" You wailed, trying to push him away.

"I. Don't. Care", he snarled, pounding hard into you after every word. You felt a hand on your throat, and your pussy squeezed him even more. 

"Naughty little girl," he teased as he kissed and sucked on your neck. "Wanting my cock like the dirty slut you are. I'm gonna make sure you're pregnant with our babies. That's what you want, isn't it?" 

"No! N-No, please!" You begged. That wasn't true. You marveled at the thought of having his children. You felt so horny, feeling his dick pounding into you. Attuma leaned forward and held you in a tight embrace, forcing you to look at him as you slowly surrendered to your desires.

"You're mine," he growled. "Only mine. Say it!"

"I'm yours!" you shouted. You didn't care if everyone in Talokan heard you. You only cared about who was on top of you, who was worshiping you, who was inside you. You were so painfully close to another orgasm, and Attuma knew it. 

"Cum for me, in yakunaj," he pleaded, resting his forehead against yours. You could barely speak, barely form a coherent thought as that familiar ache started to build up in your core. You were getting closer, and you loved it, the feeling of coming undone in front of him. 

Attuma bit into your shoulder and you threw your head back and came. Your pussy squirted around his cock, and you almost passed out from the pleasure. Your back arched as he came inside you, filling you up with his warm seed. You moaned his name as your body twitched against him, trying to regain some sense of normality. That was the best sex you've ever had in your life. 

For a while, you both stayed like that, gasping for air while he remained deep in your warmness. Sadly, he pulled out, and you whimpered at the empty feeling. His cum felt dangerously good inside you, and you shivered, basking in the fact that he claimed you, ruining you for anyone else. You looked up to see your lover, who was also coming down from his high.

Attuma looked beautifully wrecked, his hair a mess and sweat glistening on his body. You didn't look too bad either, but you weren't complaining. You pulled him down for a kiss which he gladly reciprocated. You were both tired but happy.

"Attuma," you sighed exasperatedly, "that was amazing," you praised. He smiled and caressed your cheek with his hand. You giggled and kissed his palm, running your thumb over where your lips once were. He returned the action and held your hand to his heart. You felt your body heat up at the gesture. You sat up and started peppering his face with kisses, and he did the same to you. 

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you more, my warrior."

And at that moment, Attuma's world shined even brighter now that you were his.

End.

Thank you so much for reading!💙