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kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

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Just For You

Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?"

None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance.

It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun.

Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.

He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!"

"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice."

With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework.

Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face.

If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts.

Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?"

"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep.

Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure."

"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen."

Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that."

"Let's start with housing and work from there?"

"I'm following your lead."

One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan.

Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry."

"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."

"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."

Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen.

While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings.

Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least.

In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere.

Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day."

"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads."

Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot.

He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl."

Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship.

Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking.

"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite."

Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is."

"How come?"

"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?"

Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots."

"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?"

"Well, I ain't say all that!"

Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes.

She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!"

Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time.

"What's your favorite food?"

"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!"

How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before.

Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic.

In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets.

Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole."

"No way! How'd you guess that?"

"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance."

"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?"

Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one."

"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?"

Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.

Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one."

Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.

"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat."

Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point."

"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly."

Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple."

"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again."

"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way."

Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again.

"Terry, I swear! Be serious!"

Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!"

Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers.

"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?"

"That's what we should name the kids."

Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation.

He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!"

"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –"

"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?"

Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving.

She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?"

"By the couch, Treece."

Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.

The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!"

Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.

Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.

—————-

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#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge

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mygnolia · 6 months ago

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TASTE OF LIFE. l. heeseung

THE TALE GOES...heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached.

pair -› lee heeseung x fem!reader | trope -› horror, literally no fluff | warn -› major character death, violence, stalking | REN SAYS.. first installment! also this is shit guys im so sorry I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT ASAP ugh writing this much lowk killed me </3 | 3k words | library

---

Mediocre. Normal. Ordinary.

That’s exactly how you’d describe the house that stood before you, with your bags tightly held in both hands as you ascended the few stairs to the porch. It felt like any other house, and you’d even compare it to the old one you were in.

The previous home was different in one major way—it added years of aging onto your parents somehow, as if something had sucked the life out of their minds. It drove them crazy to stay home, and you couldn’t help but be embarrassed every time they mumbled in public about going home.

They looked crazy. You just had to droop your head and pretend you didn’t know them.

Your parents’ eyes lit up when they entered through the door, with wood flooring and a color scheme that reflected on their preferences. It was almost identical to your other house, so why exactly did they choose to move to a home that was no different than the last? If anything, you were just glad they were starting to feel more comfortable within the new space. It felt breathable, and something about the old place you lived in felt dirty and plagued.

It wasn’t much of a struggle as you began to unpack the bags of clothes and boxes of items you brought with you, considering how little you cared about accents and decorations. With furniture already there, your room felt akin to your other one, but something was off. You tried to move the desk over to the window to gauge the effectiveness of the natural lighting, and when your curtains gave way to slightly clouded rays of sunlight in your room, you hummed with some satisfaction. Good enough.

As Halloween came around, you understood how much everyone in the local town loved to celebrate. Houses on your way to school were filled with webs, lights, and jack-o-lanterns, and it made you believe that the pumpkin farm on the outskirts of town had a smart business model. On top of having an abundance of fall flavored desserts, the Yang family held the biggest party of the year, seeing as their son went to the same high school of yours.

You had only heard whispers of the annual Yang Halloween party, rumored to be the best party of all time, was something you were looking forward to every year, even anticipating the post-celebration news to hit you from the town over.

The day neared, and you got more and more excited to finally get to know people ever since you arrived in town. People knew of you as the new girl, but no one reached out, all too consumed in their own cliques to introduce themselves to you.

—

“Taste,” you told the man waiting outside. “The password is ‘taste.’ “

The windows were tinted in red as moonlight streamed through one side of the building. The rest of the house was dark, with only flashing orange, purple, and green lights strung carefully to add to the mysterious ambience. Music blasted from the speakers and shelves were lined with decorations, ones that you were careful to avoid knocking over as you slid your way between crowds. There seemed to be never ending snacks, as people with tattered black cloaks always managed to keep the drinks filled and the rows neat.

It was obvious that the family knew what they were doing when it came to throwing parties—you hadn’t seen one person without a smile on their face. The festivities like horror rooms and games were all through-out the floor, and there was always something for everyone to do.

You fell into conversation with a few people, cutting it short as you excused yourself to the restroom. Down the same hall was a door that was left ajar, and you went to shut it before returning to the boy who you just met.

“Hi.”

You jumped back, eyes darting around as you searched for someone to match the sudden voice, and you heard a small curse in the same direction. Your feet were frozen as you only looked around, your hand still on the knob of the empty restroom as you hoped someone would come to break you out of your stupor.

There was nothing, you promised yourself, and the door shut with a click. Still, your gut swirled with fear as you slowly turned, anxiously rubbing the goosebumps on your skin.

“You can hear me, huh?”

You knew the sound was coming to your left, where the flashing lights were nowhere to be found. All you had was the phone you fished out of your back pocket before you saw a flash of something pale. You immediately turned, trying to find it once more.

You could’ve sworn there was something.

“Hello?” You probably looked insane to any bystander, calling out to the dark when you swore you saw something nearby.

To both your surprise and horror, someone floats through the closet door, his limbs passing through as a grin makes his way onto his features.

You’d think the ghost in front of you was attractive, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were experiencing something supernatural for the first time.

Bile rose in your throat as you became disoriented looking at the figure. With a yelp that caught confused stares from only a few people nearby, you scurried out of the house, bumping into bodies as the door grew closer and closer.

Like a bubble about to burst, the house feels stuffy and humid until you open the large doors, swallowing the cold air of the night like a lifeline. Your head spins with confusion, and you can’t seem to understand what you just saw until he seeps through the wall once more.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” You yelp at the sound of his voice, taking a few steps back as you look anywhere but his sullen face.

The sound of your heart won triumph over anything else as you kept trying to make space between you and the creature in front of you. When he begins to glide closer, you take it as your sign to grab your small clutch and begin a brisk walk back home, no matter how dark.

“My name is Heeseung. No one’s ever seen me,” he explains, easily drifting behind you.

“Get the fuck away from me, Heeseung.” Your voice sounded shaky as the wind rushes past your ears. You felt hopeless, unable to hear his footsteps or gauge where he could be.

He’s right next to you, speaking directly to your profile all of a sudden. “Please, no one’s recognized me since I died. Please, you have to help me.”

The change in proximity has you jumping from being frightened, and you try to cover your ears to block out his voice.

The worst part of it all was that Heeseung could touch you. You felt the cold of his fingertips without the pressure of his mortality in his fingertips. Effortlessly drifting next to you, he worked to pry your fingers from your ears as a plea for you to hear him out.

“I don’t care. Leave me alone.” You began speeding up, seeing your house in sight and the ghost beginning to fall back in his misery. You didn’t care about it, only wanting to go home and pretend everything was a bad dream. While the ghost wasn’t ugly by any means, the supernatural facet of his identity kept you up as you feared the creature outside your window at any moment.

What you didn’t know was that your gut feeling was right–Heeseung wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.

—

You didn’t know what was louder–Heeseung’s voice in your ear, or the thudding of your heartbeat.

Your scream echoed around the empty house when he appeared for the second time, your heart dropping as the lack of sleep you got from the night before made you even more on edge now. Everytime you looked down a corridor, shivers racked your body and you were unable to go anywhere without a flashlight. You swore you saw him in the corner of the room, and if not–something was horribly wrong with you.

There he was again, staying by the edge. “Please, get away from me, I can’t give you what you want, Heeseung.” You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as if you weren’t shaking from fear that you’d be joined by an intruder everytime you turned the corner.

You couldn’t shower or change without wanting to tear your hair out, and there was no way to quell the anxiety after you saw him stick an arm through your home.

There was nothing you could do. No one who you could go to about this. You were truly all alone.

Class felt like a blur with an ache in your head and an emptiness in your stomach. It was exhausting for you to dart around the room, waiting for him to appear.

He was waiting for something, you knew it.

You felt on edge constantly, like you were going insane. Every small movement triggered some sort of reaction, so much so that your classmates began to notice and snicker.

You felt like your parents–and you had no idea how to make it stop.

—

It was the third day of your sleepless torment. Your parents often left you alone according to their new work schedules, and you were still stuck having to hide from the apparition until you left for school. He looked torn apart, too, but you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t give you space. It got so bad to the point where you heard whispers of him in every corridor. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your bloodshot eyes and scratched arms were a sign that something had been wrong ever since Halloween.

There was only one person you could tell about this, and you didn’t even notice how bad your fingers had been when you went to pick at the dry skin once more.

“Jungwon,” you mumbled as you passed him. He turned around, immediately recognizing you as someone he didn’t know much about.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concern knitting his eyebrows as you asked for him to talk with you outside.

Something was off that day. The clouds were gray, dipped with unease. The sky was bathed in dread, and Jungwon could tell something was wrong by the way you couldn’t find the sun no matter where you looked.

“What’s wrong, ____? You’ve been looking horrible ever since Halloween.” You flinched at the word, eyes stinging with tears as you were pushed back into thinking about that night. You never should’ve worn your black dress or added some cute cat ears. You never should’ve left the house.

“There’s something in your house, Jungwon,” you pleaded, your gaze frantically searching for any sign that Heeseung followed you. “It’s like a spirit, something happened and it won’t—“ your words came to an abrupt halt when you heard a chuckle from the boy in front of you.

A laugh tore through as Jungwon crossed his arms and looked at you with a pitiful grin. “You’re funny. Good prank, though,” he smiles, about to turn.

You had no idea what came over you when you went to grab his arm. Jungwon was practically a stranger to you, but one more sleepless night without a cure would’ve made you go insane if he kept following you. You needed to get rid of Heeseung.

“No!” Your voice rang out louder than anticipated, and the sudden shout made you wince, still holding onto Jungwon’s arm. “You don’t get it, something’s following me around, he keeps talking to me and no one else can see him—“

The boy yanked himself out of your grip, suddenly frustrated, and you feared the worst; Yang Jungwon would tell the whole school that you were crazy.

“Please, Jungwon—” you tried once more, “he’s real—he’s everywhere and I can’t get rid of him—it was because of your party,” at this point, your eyes were filled with tears as you begged your only hope from leaving. “You have to help me—“

“I don’t have to do anything for you, ____.” He sneered, growing impatient. “I don’t know who put you up to this whole prank, but you need to stay away from me.” He spun around, paying you no attention as you crumbled to a heap on the ground and sobbed hopelessly on the pavement.

The sky was darker than ever, and it was still afternoon.

Even as you walked down the empty dirt roads to your house, you couldn’t help but hear Heeseung’s voice ring in your ears. As you started running to push the sound out and replace it with your heavy breathing, your eyes began to shut with exhaustion. Slowing to an eventual stop in front of your house, you heaved, gasping for air that felt like it was escaping your lungs any moment as you held into the porch railing

“You’re home. What took you so long?”

Your vision was blurring slightly in the corners, and the corners of your eyes felt puffy. You were slipping out of consciousness, but you remembered that voice anywhere. “Get away from me, please.”

Heeseung pursed his lips, feeling slightly bad for the state that you were in. “I told you, I can help you.”

When you saw his pale shoes in front of you, your body reacted instantly, scrambling back to create some distance. You hadn’t registered that a wooden splinter from the floor cut into your palm until Heeseung saw the blood seep into the planks underneath you. The porch made no sound under his quick footsteps, and it only instilled more frustration at his lack of perceptibility. His sudden approach left you frightened as you waved a hand in the air, unable to feel the wound from the state of your body. “Go away, Heeseung!”

He frowned angrily. “Let me help.” He kneeled next to you and reached out for your wound before you yanked your hand back, stumbling as you got back up and tried to make your way to the entrance.

“Please, stop,” you cried, taking two steps towards the railing before your legs gave out. Heeseung tried to reach out for you again. But you pushed away his hand, the slap of the force making no sound. It was almost humorous how much your torture was one sided, but you had no more energy left to defend yourself.

Heeseung went to grab your wrist, worry etched in his features as your state deteriorated in front of him. You kicked his leg, hot tears staging your cheeks as you sobbed for him to leave you alone, but the more carelessly you moved, the more the large splinter dug into your hand. He begged for you to stop–to let him help you before anything bad happened, but you couldn’t understand through the sound of your own hysterics.

A mix of going days without sleeping, paired with your lack of appetite and delirium left you defenseless no matter how much you tried. You struggled against the ghost of Heeseung’s grip as he tried to stop you from hurting yourself even further. You felt bile in your throat when he was close, and you found the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip. You underestimated the force, however, and your hand hit the wood behind you. Momentarily distracted, you focused on the blooming pain of the impact and the slowly trailing blood. It was out of body how you couldn’t process the sensation of your fingers tracing the messy wound, and you became a slave to your exhaustion as the boy came back.

You fought against him weakly, the blood from your wound becoming a larger problem the more you used your hands to do anything.

“You don’t get it!” He yelled, tears of his own forming from the anger of having to go against you.

Why couldn’t you just stop? Why did you keep pushing him away? You were selfish, trying to ignore him as if you didn’t understand his predicament. You were the only one who could’ve seen him, and he was the only one who saw you in return. “Even Jungwon doesn’t believe you,” he mumbled bitterly, seeing you slowly slip in and out. “You wouldn’t even help me, ____. It’s all your fault.” He talked as if you could hear him, the life in your eyes gone by the time he wiped his tears and finally looked at you, with your wrist going limp in his hold.

“I don’t get it.” He wept angrily, before getting up and leaving you there on the porch steps in a heap.

Heeseung turned to glance at you again, his semblance of a heart in pain from how things had to end up. “You seemed so nice–so promising. Jungwon swore we could've been friends.”

–

You didn’t know if it was possible to kill a ghost twice. After all, your death turned you into a floating apparition of yourself, as you watched your parents mourn their attempts to shield you from their own fate. Being a ghost wasn’t so horrible, but Heeseung was right; it was lonely.

When a voice calls your name apologetically from where you sit on your rooftop, your gaze settles on him with fury, and the moment you rush over to him and your fingers close around his wrist, you knew that you wouldn’t stop until you properly got rid of Lee Heeseung.

No matter how long it took.

i swear the rest of them will be better. and shorter.

zyvlxqht firstclassjaylee @riribelle @jaylajakey @minfolio @strxwbloody @r1kification @strayy-kidz @mimismenu @jwonistic @haechsworld @machambrx @ririsreverie @hollxe1 @wonnina @heeseungismymanz @cyjhhyj @eunimaybe

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coeurify · 1 year ago

Note

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

#vampire!ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams smut

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mikanotes · 1 year ago

Text

up close & personal

hyunsu ? x gn!reader

genre: what. mutual pining?

warnings: sweet home 2 spoilers, mentions of blood, injuries. hyunsu himself is a warning lowkey if u watched the last ep u probably get it… that’s all!

synopsis: You know Hyunsu so well. One year apart couldn’t possibly change that. Except if Hyunsu isn’t alone anymore.

authors note: realized at the end of this fic that i cld compare hyunsu’s current situation to venom like a little bit and that just makes everything so much easier somehow. anyways i don’t really like this but i needed to post smt for him after s2 so!

One year ago, you and Cha Hyunsu would’ve been sitting near the entrance of Green Home apartments, and he would be listening to you talk. One year ago, you would’ve firmly believed that by now, the world would’ve been restored to some kind of peace. It had, in a way, but certainly not in the one your past self would have hoped for. And certainly not the one Hyunsu would’ve wanted for the two of you.

Nevertheless, you remained grateful through everything— As much as you could manage. The shelter was as organized as possible and conflict was a surprisingly rare occurence. Things were alright. As long as you didn’t give time for the grief and terror to catch up to you.

But things couldn’t be calm forever. Especially not in the current state of your world.

When Eunyu disappeared with that man from the military, it only took a day before you grew restless enough to depart from the stadium. After all, Eunyu was the closest thing to a friend you had here, at this point. It only felt right to try and find her. And you did, surprisingly, along with a few familiar faces and an unknown one.

You didn’t expect for the evening you found your friend again to be the very same you would see the person you had considered closest to you at Green Home for the first time in… Over a year.

“Finally asleep.” you sighed quietly, watching Eunyu get the rest her body had probably been begging for. It was difficult to convince her you would stand watch and wait for your friend to wake up in her stead, but her exhaustion made her stop arguing eventually.

You turned towards the room he was in.

Cha Hyunsu.

You crossed your arms and sighed. One year without a single trace of him anywhere. And now he… Just reappears? You wanted to be surprised, but part of you really wasn’t. You were angry, just a little— Spending all this time telling yourself he was gone, only for him to come back as if nothing happened felt like a slap to the face. Still, you couldn’t blame him. Yet. You had no idea what happened to him during that time span.

You felt relieved, if anything.

After some hesitation, you walked over to the glass door. Your hand settled on the handle, pushing it open, before your eyes widened. Hyunsu was sitting on the hospital bed, stretching his neck quietly, not at all perturbed by anything. Hell, he even seemed peaceful.

More peaceful than you’d ever seen him.

You stepped inside quietly and let the door close behind you. Hyunsu continued to move his head, slowly, as if trying to relax, and didn’t acknowledge your presence. His shoulder was bloodstained, still, and his hoodie had cuts here and there. Messy as he appeared, this was your friend from Green Home, there was no denying it. You hadn’t even dared hope he could still be alive, after all this time. You couldn’t give your heart such a high possibility of suffering if he turned out to be gone.

And now he was here. So calm.

He opened his eyes with a soft sigh, before turning his gaze to you. “Finally decided to talk to me?” he asked. His tone was different. Too different. This did not feel like the kind of change that happened in a year. He smiled a little at your silence, tilting his head curiously. “No? Do you need more time? That would be too bad.”

He hopped off the bed with a huff and slowly walked over to you. The closer he got, the clearer it became that his eye color was different. Long gone was the blank, dark brown gaze that looked back at you when you two would talk— Replaced by a vibrant sky blue. A stark contrast from what you were used to, as was everything else about him, apparently. Be it his tone or his mannerisms, it all felt deeply wrong, like it wasn’t him at all. You furrowed your eyebrows but stood still, letting him walk to the very edge of your personal space.

“I’ve been waiting to see you for such a long while.”

“Huh?”

Hyunsu’s eyes widened a little before he grinned. This wasn’t … Him. Not exactly, at least. Not the one you talked to so much. But special-cases, or MH, essentially coexisted in one body. The monster forms around a person’s strongest desire, or whatever it was that scientist at the shelter said.

So perhaps, all the times you and Hyunsu had talked in the past had also been conversations that this side of him had been listening to.

A bit scary. You couldn’t really focus on that, though. You took a deep breath and looked at him.

“Is he well?”

He clicked his tongue, expression growing sour. “He’s fine. Let him get some rest. He’s tired.”

You nodded softly, gaze averting. That sounded fine enough to you. He was right, too, earlier— You had been avoiding talking to him since you met again. With the excuse of focusing on Yikyung and scavenging through the hospital, you had plenty of reasons to act as if you weren’t seeing the person you cared the most for after a whole entire year of thinking he was dead.

But you did feel his gaze on you the whole time. It was heavy, and remorseful. You’d planned to talk to him— In fact, that’s why you decided to come over to the room he was in. You hadn’t expected things to turn out this way, however. Seems like you couldn’t talk to your friend, yet.

“It’s nice to know you care, though.” he hummed, gaze never leaving your face. “He thinks about you so much, too.”

You looked back up at him. If this was the so-called monster part of Hyunsu, then what was his deal? A lot of questions about this situation flooded your head. “What are you playing at?”

He chuckled softly, before backing up just enough to hold up his hands in an innocent gesture. “Nothing as evil as you probably think.” he said, voice steady. “I just wanted us to talk. Just us.”

“Huh.”

“You see, your Hyunsu has an interest in you.” he said, tilting his head slowly. It felt as if he was analyzing you. It was a bit unsettling, but you didn’t bother breaking eye contact this time. “But I do, too. I’d say maybe… Even more than him?” his grin widened at his own words.

“I find it hard to believe you care about people.”

“And yet.” he scoffed, expression dropping to a blank one, seemingly annoyed. He dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. “We decided to work together. Couldn’t have him die on me, it wouldn’t be nice for anyone involved.”

You decided this Hyunsu seemed to mean it when he said they made a deal, just about as much as when he said he had an interest in you. So placing your trust in his bloodied hands for the time being, you tried to be less on guard. He wouldn’t kill you, or most importantly, Hyunsu. That was enough for now.

“Okay.” you sighed, crossing your arms. “So you want to talk?”

He smiled a little. “Yes.” he stated, before taking a step towards you. Only this time, he didn’t bother keeping a safe distance. His face was a touch too close to yours. “I’ve wanted to for a while.”

“You…” you paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you usually go around talking to people while getting so close to them?”

“I don’t go around talking to people.” he mocked your tone before scoffing, a grin pulling at his lips. He brought a hand up to your face, holding your cheek firmly. His focus turned to his hand, eyes narrowing in its direction. You felt his fingers loosen a little, as if he was trying to control how tightly he was holding you.

Which he was. Now it felt gentle. Almost unfitting. Not only that but the Hyunsu you knew was never this comfortable with anything close to physical affection. It felt so out of place.

“Does it bother you?” he whispered, eyes flitting over to meet yours again. He moved in closer, just enough for your noses to touch. He seemed to be having fun switching between looking at your eyes and at your lips. “Am I too close?”

Before you could think of a way to answer, you froze. The unfamiliar color in Hyunsu’s eyes dissipated, the cocky expression you were almost beginning to get used to replaced by a soft, almost startled one. His voice, much quieter now, whispered your name. Your eyes widened and you sighed in something akin to relief.

“Hyunsu.” you breathed out. The latter looked at you with a stunned look, struggling to find anything to say for a while. He looked into your eyes like he was making sure you were okay— Making sure you were really alive. His thumb moved back and forth softly over the skin of your cheek, his gaze scanning you in an almost panicked manner. He sighed shakily, before he brought your face into his shoulder. He seemed to be almost trembling.

“I’m sorry.” he exhaled, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders hesitantly. Still terrible at hugging. You’d missed those awkward displays of affection so much. “I… I’m sorry, it’s been… A very long time.”

“God, you’re so cruel, Cha Hyunsu.”

He tilted his head down into your neck. Now you felt his tears on your skin. He really hasn’t changed, you thought. It was obvious when he came running for help when Yikyung was badly injured, when he did everything to help her and went all the way to look for that kid— Cha Hyunsu hadn’t changed.

“I’m—”

“Quit apologizing.” you huffed, holding him tightly. “I missed you, too.”

Hyunsu sighed quietly, tightening his hold on you a little. He was relieved to finally have you with him again, but he couldn’t shake off his worries.

“You talked to… Him? Right?”

“I did.” you said, pulling away enough to look at him. The concern on his features was undeniable. “And it went fine. It’s okay.”

Hyunsu’s frown deepened. “I don’t know if it’s alright. Me staying… So close to you.”

“Don’t even think about disappearing on me again.” you warned, eyes widening. “I don’t care about any reason you give me— Don’t leave again.”

The boy sighed, averting his gaze for a moment, before slowly bringing it back to you.

“I won’t.” he assured, “I won’t leave you again.”

He closed his eyes and pulled you into another hug. He had to believe his existence on its own wouldn’t cause more problems for you to deal with. He had to trust that even if it did, you meant it when you said you didn’t mind. He knew you did. You always meant it.

He opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the glass door just a bit further away. Seeing you in his arms should have been reassuring. But the blue hue of one of his eyes and the nagging voice in his head seemed to be laughing at his naivety. He pressed his eyes shut again and buried his face in your shoulder.

This is our priority, now. (I know.) No one else comes first. (I know.) Don’t let them get hurt.

I won’t.

#hyunsu x reader #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyunsu x reader #hyunsoo x reader #cha hyun soo x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #sweet home x reader #x reader

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pretty-little-mind33 · 10 months ago

Note

Heyyy lovely! I was hoping maybe that you would do like a James x debutant!reader where he’s the escort? Like some cute fluffy waltzing and a little spicy BUT NOT SMUTTY where he sees reader in a white dress and just melts. I just finished rewatching tsitp and I’m also about to be a debutant! I’ve never submitted an ask before so I hope this is right

this is totally right, no worries, lovely! yay to you being a debutant! i hope you don't mind me writing this as a shorter blurb 😊 enjoy!

~ * ~

James has seen many beautiful things over the last eighteen years, but nothing compares to when he saw you in your dress.

He'd always joked with his friends that these debutants balls were useless and slightly elitist—and you had nodded along until one evening when you gathered up the courage to ask him to be your escort because you did want to go.

"Me?" James's voice was high and nervous as he lifted his head from your lap and the movie continued to play in the background.

"Y-yeah, you. You're my best friend," you said, looking at him hopefully. "I don't wanna take some random guy I don't know." Your nose had scrunched up in disgust and James laughed, his chest feeling warm that you invited him and not Sirius, or Remus, or even Peter.

Him.

"You know I don't like those kind of things," James teased as he sat up and dug his feet into your thighs, distance barely existent between you both.

"Please," you whispered, your eyes pleading and he hadn't been able to continue the ruse, giving in to you immediately.

And seeing you now, in your white cream-colored dress, he doesn't regret that decision at all.

You look more than beautiful. He holds out his arm, feeling how soft your hand is when you take his arm and his grin widens. He feels like the luckiest boy here to have you on his arm.

James tries his best to remember the dance but he's so distracted by your smile as he stumbles on his feet as you waltz.

"Jamie," you whisper, hiding a giggle as his grip tightens on your waist so he doesn't completely lose balance.

"It's your fault, Y/n/n," he whispers back, his mouth pressed to your hair as you continue to the dance, his voice shaky. "Distracting me with your beauty. It's unfair, really."

Your smile widen. "Is it now?"

James hums, twirling you around. "Very much."

"You're impossible," you laugh as he pulls you closer to him, his eyes locked onto yours. He lifts his hand, breaking the dance by pushing some hair behind your ear and sends you a lopsided grin.

"You love me," he teases, his voice soft.

You look at him, your pupils wide as the other dances and important people in the room fade into nothing until it's just him. You think those words mean much more to you than him but you say them anyway.

"I do. I love you."

James shivers and his eyes sparkle. Everyone else in the room is also forgotten to him because all he cares about is you. His gaze flickers to your lips, thinking you don't notice but secretly hoping you do.

He wants to kiss you more than anything.

So, when he finally has you pressed gently against the wall of the hallway after the dance, away from everyonem, all he can think of is your lips.

James leans in close and whispers. "Can I?"

Your heart skips and you look at him, eyes wide as you feel his hand slip to your thigh, bunching up your dress as he guides your leg around him. He's patient and slow and so gentle.

You let a moan slip from your mouth but he captures it as he kisses you. You kiss him back instantly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him closer.

Kissing your best friend shouldn't feel this good.

James pushes himself closer to you, his hips against yours as he deepens the kiss and then trails his lips down your neck to your collarbone. "I love you too, you know that right?" he says, sounding breathless. "Much more than I should. God, you drive me insane."

"James." His name slips from your lips, needing him so badly.

"Shh, dovey, we have all the time in the world. I want to take my time with you," he says and drops your leg, kissing your forehead. "I don't want to rush us."

You nod, understanding where he's coming from. You smile at him, catching your breath. As you look at him in his pretty suit and red lip-stick stained lips, this feels surreal.

"Is this real?" you whisper shyly.

James chuckles and winks, kissing your cheek. "Very real. Now c'mon, our parents and friends are gonna wonder where we are," he finishes and takes your hand, squeezing it as he guides you back into the main ballroom.

Your cheeks feel perpetually warmer and you're afraid they'll never cool down as long as James is near you—not that you're complaining at all.

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 months ago

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Hi! Hi! Fiesta time requesting to ya and was hoping if can place this ask here. I made sure to read you're rules so if I do somthing wrong then ignore my ask.

So Yautja's know that humans do not have strong instics as they do but they have certain things the Yautja don't have. Like uncanny valley.

So in this, the Yautja is with their human when they suddenly freeze. When they ask their human what's wrong, they don't awnser, just stearing off at somthing that they see. The Yautja can smell the fear and panic off of them.

What does the Yautja do?

Please please please please ignore this if I went aginst you're rules! Have a good day/night

Male Yautja OC (Bako) x male reader

Headcanons

I imagined this as Bako, who was mentioned a few times in my last yautja post, which you can read here.

Bako is a very chill Yautja compared to others. Hes already had multiple offspring and is still in his prime. It gives him a good amount of confidence and comfort in himself.

It also makes him a bit of a tease to his ooman lover, throwing you over his shoulder or just moving you around as he pleased, unless it really annoys you when he does.

He loves the size difference between you as well. You’ll catch him pressing his orange scaled hand against your own every now and then just to look at the difference. Bako always grumbles happily a about it.

But just because he’s more chill than most Yautja doesn’t mean he isn’t as active and aware as everyone else, he’s just great at hiding it behind an easygoing facade. Dating a normal ooman definitely makes him even more on edge and protective.

Hed try to teach you how to at least defend yourself or how to sharpen your instincts enough to protect yourself. You might not be able to kill another yautja in their prime, but you will be able to maul them enough to give you time to get away. Then he will hunt them down and present their skull to you.

Seeing you with a weapon also makes him grumble even more, arms crossed over his chest and his yellow eyes sparkling as he watches you use different firearms. Especially the firearms hes specially kitted for you to fit your hands and size.

If you take an interest in camoflague hed be more than happy to show you too, since hes mastered the art. Even without all his gear, Bako is able to melt into the background with ease after years of practice.

Having a more colorful shade in his scales meant he had to be really good at what he did, or he would have died one way or another. He just has to figure out how to really blend the different colors on your human skin.

But even with all this, Bako is always weary like any Yautja worth their salt should be. This is also why he notices pretty much immediately that you are weirded out or weary about something.

Having a Yautja partner can be pretty damn annoying sometimes with how protective and possessive they’ll be. Even if you guys are walking through what’s supposed to be a peaceful market, you still find Bako almost glued against your back.

Maybe you spot a species that just looks… uncomfortably human. But not really. You know like those ai robots that have skin that doesn’t really fit, or they blink too slowly and more too stiffly.

It makes you freeze for a moment, immediately sending alarm bells ringing inside Bakos head. There should be no reason for you to freeze, his clan had come to this market for years and it should be safe.

But smelling the discomfort and uncomfortable fear from you makes his mandibles flare under his mask, looking down at you for a moment to see where you are looking, before snapping his head in that direction, ready to kill.

Of course, you end up having to hold him back and explain that no, that alien didn’t say or do anything, yes, you were okay. It was just a weird human survival reaction.

You end up having to explain uncanny valley to him, and how once upon a time, humans developed pattern recognition for survival reasons.

This makes sense to Bako after you explain. He mentions something about other species that looked like humans coming to earth, to hunt humans, so of course you guys developed survival instincts against them.

This has you thinking “excuse me, what?” because what did he mean by that. of course, Bako just shrugs and goes “I thought you knew” and keeps you guys moving, as if he didn’t just drop that bomb on you.

Bako keeps being extra protective the rest of the day, as if just the smell of your fear keeps him on edge. Just in case, ya know? What if something jumps out of the shadows at you? You never knew out here. You just have to accept it, and accept all the cuddles later.

#male reader #yautja #yautja oc #predator #monster lover #monster boyfriend #alien vs predator #yautja x male reader #yautja x reader #yautja imagine #yautja headcanon #come get yall alien boyfriend #Bako has grown on me #i love Bako please ask me about Bako

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moonzzip · 2 months ago

Text

coffee and nail polish | kwon jiyong

a/n — i wanted something fluff with jiyong, less angst for you guys, I hope you like it! feel free to correct grammar mistakes kindly!

summary: you and jiyong haven't seen each other in weeks, you two relax.

pairing: jiyong x gn!reader

warnings: discreet mention of body shape, orange hair jiyong (i love it) , idol!(?)reader, mentioned bigbang, reader is kind of self-critical, slight comfort, fluff, slight crack

lowercase letters, word count: 1,4k

"jiyong, if you keep moving, i'm going to hit you." you say, biting your tongue in concentration, holding the tip of jiyong's finger with the tips of your own, while your other hand grips one of the brushes from the eight nail polishes you'd be using to paint his nails. he's sitting in a small armchair, and you're on the floor.

how did you two end up in this situation?

it had been about three and a half weeks since you last saw each other in person. bigbang had just made their latest comeback, and the promotions for it were much more intense compared to before—not that it was a bad thing, just overwhelmingly exhausting. the m/v had absolutely blown up, and you would consider it your favorite song of theirs if it weren’t for (your bigbang fav/ song), but that’s not important right now.

it wasn't just him who had been busy. you were tirelessly working toward your own debut, spending countless hours perfecting your dance, vocals, rap, and all the other things idols do as trainees. god, if only you had known how long m/v recordings took, you might have thought twice before becoming an idol. but seeing the final result made the exhaustion disappear almost instantly.

the fact that you both missed each other was undeniable.

you’ve known jiyong for a little over five years now. the difference between before and now is obvious—not just in his appearance, but in his personality as well. you remember that 2010 boy whose style was completely different, whose voice and personality had made a full 360-degree turn. his opinions changed, and he seems much more relaxed, much freer than when you first met him. especially now that he's focused on his new project, 'peaceminusone'—if you’re remembering it correctly.

you support him in everything he does, just as he supported you through your difficult trainee days—because he went through it too.

out of all the hair colors he’s had, this orange one is by far your favorite. you think about making a cute leaf-shaped hair clip for him so he can look like an actual tangerine.you chuckle at the thought.

"hey, what's so funny?" jiyong asks, looking at you.

"nothing, just thought of something funny," you reply. he gives you a slow once-over, his gaze filled with silent judgment.

"you're weird.", you pinch the top of his hand, nearly smudging the polish.

"i'm weird, but you're my friend, so you'll have to put up with me for a while longer. i'm not giving up that easily." you say confidently, met with silence. jiyong doesn’t deny it, just lets out a sarcastic scoff.

"i'll think twice before talking to weird trainees—" you pinch him again for moving, and he falls silent.

the atmosphere between you two is relaxed and calm. talking makes it even better, but the silence is just as comforting. neither of you feels the need to fill the space with constant conversation—it's just cozy.

"are you nervous? you know, about debuting?"

hearing his voice, you glance up at him before returning to painting his nails.

"a little… but i'm working on it." you exhale lightly, and jiyong watches you in silence.

"i want to give my best in this. i feel like there are expectations i need to surpass—i need to surpass myself, in general. i feel like i have to improve, i know i have to improve. not just for me, but for the group."

without realizing it, you release his hand.

even before meeting jiyong, you had always been an incredibly dedicated trainee (and you still are). you'd wake up before the practice room even opened, stretching in the hallway until they let you in. you followed a balanced diet—not starving yourself, just keeping yourself healthy. you always helped other trainees with their struggles, answering questions and giving advice based on what you had learned. you always had new tips to share because of your nightly study sessions, though you never stayed up too late. always punctual.

how did you meet him?

well... that’s a bit embarrassing.

on one of those late-night study sessions, you knew you shouldn’t have stayed up so long, but you felt like you were on an unstoppable roll, so you pushed through. but not before grabbing a coffee.

you silently left the dorm, careful not to wake anyone, and opened the door, planning to head to the vending machine at the end of the hallway near the practice room. one coffee wouldn’t hurt, right? …ah, such naivety.

it was dark everywhere except for a dim light coming from inside the practice room. you managed to navigate the hallway thanks to that weak glow slipping through the slightly ajar door.

since the door was old, it usually got stuck. you leaned against the wall and carefully made your way to it, leaning your body on it to continue on your way, but what you didn’t count on was the door deciding to function normally that night.

and on top of that, you tripped on a loose tile, throwing all your weight onto the door, and—

now—

you hit the floor with a loud thud, like a sack of potatoes.

you didn’t even think. your whole body ached, but you didn’t make a sound. your forehead hit the wooden floor, leaving you a bit dizzy but still conscious. and then you made a split-second decision: you'd just… pretend to be unconscious.

no one would bother you, you wouldn’t have to see who witnessed your humiliating fall, and that would spare you from any embarrassment. the position was even kind of comfortable, so it wouldn't be hard to keep up the act, and—

"i saw your foot move."

internally, you died. of shame, obviously.

oh. my. god.

you felt like the stupidest person alive.who, in their right mind, falls and then just stays on the floor pretending to pass out? you wanted to disappear, to die, to evaporate into thin air and be carried away by a nearby fan.

enough thinking.

"ahh…" you groaned, slowly getting on your knees, staring at the floor. "i think i blacked out for a second, hahaha."

you let out an awkward, robotic laugh, placing a hand on your forehead before looking up—and seeing him.

your eyes widened, not just because g-dragon, bigbang's leader, was standing in front of you, but because you were wearing the worst pair of pajamas in your closet.

why did you even come down in pajamas? you had no idea. but that was all your brain could focus on. your hand slid from your forehead to cover your eyes instead.

the universe hated you, you concluded.

the man just stared at you, confused, while his practice music still played softly in the background.

you shook your head, snapping out of your old memories.

you looked down at jiyong’s hand, but before you could grab his finger again, you felt a hand gently stroking your hair.

"i don’t think you should worry," his voice was calm.

your eyes lifted to meet his in silence.

"i don’t think there’s anyone i know who deserves to debut more than you. you’ve always worked hard, and you deserve this more than anyone. so don’t doubt yourself."

you just stared at him for a moment before letting out a soft, amused scoff.

"i guess so…"

and then, silence settled again. but jiyong's hand remained in your hair.

his chest ached hearing you speak about yourself like that. he didn’t fully understand the feeling, but he knew none of your efforts had been in vain. only he truly knew how much you pushed yourself.

just as you knew everything about him, he knew everything about you.

your bond had always been close—full of unconditional support and deep connection. hugs were common, physical touch between you two was natural. he loved hugging you and being hugged by you, just as you loved his hugs and giving him yours. you were always helping each other, always doing little favors, sharing an incomprehensible partnership filled with warmth and affection.

"jiyong, if your nail polish smudges because you're messing with my hair, i will kill you."

he said nothing, just rolled his eyes—but didn’t move his hand.and he smiled.

he had never been more grateful for an unbought coffee that night.

a/n – thanks for reading! I hope you liked it, I think all the ideas I have come from beyond... this time I wrote it listening to 'interlude : shadow' by yoongi, I love this song so much... feel free to correct me of any grammatical mistakes!

#gn!reader #gdragon x reader #kpop #kwon jiyong x reader #g dragon #bigbang x reader #bigbang gdragon #kwon jiyong #jiyong x reader #G dragon x reader

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greensagephase · 2 months ago

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🤭

Hiii, Lara pooks!! 🥰 I’m finally answering this ask that’s also been in my inbox since December (I’m sorry).

Not one, not two, but THREE works! I’m honored! May I say that the first one made me giggle because of how sassy he is? “Ya. The only problem? It’s a shitty plan!” I love this sassy mafia man! Also, God, he looks so good while telling whoever he’s talking to about their bad plan.

Okay, so when I first saw this ask, the second drawing on the bottom half of the first panel got me like??? 👀👀 Because I had noticed the green eyes in the previous ask from the half of the drawing comparing 25yr old and 35yr old Miguel. When I first saw the first ask, I thought maybe you were playing around with the eye color (green), and then you dropped this ask and I was like, “WAIT! This is actually a thing” when I saw that this Miguel has green eyes. And now you’ve revealed that he discovered rapture (in the latest ask you’ve sent, which I have yet to answer. I’m so behind with notifications🫠), so now I have questions that hopefully you’ll answer in future art! So, 25-year-old Miguel was working at a lab and he discovered rapture… And that’s why now in his mafia era, Miguel has green eyes! Did he take it willingly, or did something go wrong? And if he did take it willingly, why? How did he go from a geneticist to a mafia don? I have questions, Lara, and I hope we learn more in the future! 😭 🙏🏼

Also, I love the second panel so much! I love how I can tell 35-year-old Miguel looks so much more mature, not only by the white streaks of hair, but also in his face lines. Mwah! I loved that detail, and I need 35-year-old Miguel in my life, like yesterday, please!

I’m not gonna lie, the last panel had me barki- I mean, screaming! The way he’s sitting there, so powerful and handsome? Bout to ask if his lap is taken, or if I may take a seat. 😩 The hair? Sir, please, let me just run my fingers through it! Also! I hadn’t noticed mans has a scar on his eyebrow?! It’s only because of this colored drawing that I realize it’s a scar, and not like, something he decided to do to his eyebrow for himself (you know how some people specifically shave a line off?). Now I’m curious how he got it! Was it Kira? 🤭 Also, the way the light makes his eyes look so pretty?? I wanna gaze into them forever. 🥺

Aughhhh, Lara! Your art! You’re always cooking, and I thank you for that and also for continuing to share your OC and variant Miguel’s lore. It always inspires me to work more on my own, but I never do lol. 💀Maybe in the future! But, thank you once again for sharing your art with me! 🥹 I’m going to hopefully answer the rest of your asks this week. I was hoping to answer more this weekend, but I started feeling under the weather on Saturday. Anyway, feeling alright now, so I should be able to answer my asks and catch up.

I hope you had a wonderful weekend, pooks!💖

Alondra❤️

#Laura's inbox art drops #he's sooooo 🤭🤭🤭#I need him😩#alondra's answers 🍁#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanart #miguel o'hara x oc #mafia!miguel o'hara

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novaursa · 8 months ago

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good evening I saw that you were still taking requests

I had an idea where fem!targaryen is Aegon's twin sister, she was sent at the same time as Daeron to Oldtown She was always extremely close to her twin brother but his character didn't match the court.

She looks a lot like Daemon, a bit of a rebellious princess and her grandfather sent her to their house to help her recover. but arriving in Oldtown she created a more than close bond with her uncle Sir Gwayne.

If we could have the complexity of their relationship, like the first time their outlook on each other changed, first kiss but they are still consumed by the fact that it's not right

They would have a very close relationship, Gwayne is someone who is very teasing and even a little arrogant. They would probably marry under the old and new gods like Targaryen and for many years no one else knows except Aegon

then when Aegon was made king, Alicent contacted her brother again but at the same time would hear about several children with white hair and purple eyes who would be in Oldtown, she would immediately think of bastards but she would never have thought of her brother and her daughter

Otto and Alicent would be angry and even disgusted by Gwayne's behavior but when they return to King's Landing they are welcomed wonderfully by Aegon who is more than happy to see his nephews and nieces again 🫶🏼👀

A Flame in Exile

- Summary: Your mother and grandsire have sent you away to Oldtown. You were too unruly like your uncle Daemon, they said. But Gwayne never shied away from fire.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The wind bites at your face as the ship draws closer to the towering spire of the Hightower. You shiver slightly, though not from the cold. Oldtown is a world away from the Red Keep, and though you’ve heard much of its grandeur and history, the thought of calling this place home sits uneasily within you. Yet, the unease is nothing compared to the aching emptiness left by your separation from Aegon.

Your twin. Your other half. His tear-streaked face is burned into your mind, his voice—trembling and desperate—echoes in your ears. "Please, don’t leave me," he had cried, clinging to you with a desperation that had nearly broken your resolve. His arms wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like he was trying to fuse your very souls together, as if by sheer force of will he could keep you by his side.

But your mother had intervened. Alicent’s voice had been cold and firm, like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes flashing with something you couldn't quite place as she pried Aegon’s arms from around your neck. "Do not make a scene, Aegon," she had hissed, her grip on him as unyielding as her will. And then, with one last pained look, you had been pulled away, ushered towards the ship that would take you to Oldtown, to the Hightower. To your new life.

Even now, as you stand on the deck, the memory haunts you. Aegon, your other half, left behind in the Red Keep, with no one who truly understands him. The thought that you are the only one who ever did brings you little comfort, for what use is understanding when you are not there to provide it?

You glance down at Daeron, your little brother, standing beside you. His wide eyes are filled with awe, and a hint of fear as he stares at the looming city before him. He is too young to understand the full weight of what has been done, but you see the uncertainty in the way he clutches at your hand. You squeeze his hand in return, offering what little comfort you can, though the gesture feels hollow.

The ship finally docks, and the crew is quick to lower the gangplank. As you descend, you are met by a small party of retainers, dressed in the colors of House Hightower. At their head stands Gwayne Hightower, your uncle, and eldest son of Otto Hightower, your grandsire. His presence is commanding, yet there is a warmth in his gaze that eases some of the tension coiled within you.

“Welcome to Oldtown,” Gwayne greets, his voice smooth and gentle, with a hint of the formality you’ve come to expect from a Hightower. He bows his head to you first, acknowledging your status, before turning to Daeron with a softer expression. “Prince Daeron, it is an honor to have you here.”

Daeron blinks up at Gwayne, unsure of what to say, but Gwayne’s easy smile seems to relax him. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Daeron finally replies, his voice small but polite.

“And you, Princess Y/N,” Gwayne turns his full attention to you, his grey eyes meeting yours with a curiosity that is hard to miss. “It has been many years since we last met, but I can see the blood of the dragon runs strong in you. You have grown into a fine lady.”

You offer him a nod, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. His words are kind, but you see the caution in his gaze. You are a stranger to him, a puzzle to be unraveled. And in this moment, you feel more alone than ever. Yet, there is something in Gwayne's demeanor that draws you in—an undercurrent of understanding, as if he too knows what it is to be caught between duty and desire.

“We have prepared quarters for you both within the Hightower,” Gwayne continues, gesturing to the towering structure behind him. “Your retainers will find all the accommodations they require as well. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

You incline your head in thanks, finally finding your voice. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne. Your hospitality is appreciated.”

As you follow Gwayne through the streets of Oldtown, Daeron trailing close behind, you cannot help but marvel at the city around you. It is a place of ancient history, where every stone seems to hum with the weight of the ages. The Citadel looms in the distance, a symbol of knowledge and power, while the Starry Sept stands as a beacon of faith. Yet, despite the grandeur, you find no comfort here. This is not your home. And though Gwayne’s presence is steady and kind, you know it will be some time before you can truly trust him, or anyone else here.

When you finally reach the Hightower, you are led through its winding corridors to your chambers. They are lavishly appointed, far more luxurious than anything you expected, but the opulence feels cold, impersonal. You cannot help but think of the warmth of the Red Keep, of the fire-lit chambers where you and Aegon would hide away from the world, finding solace in each other’s company.

Once you and Daeron are settled, Gwayne excuses himself, leaving you alone with your brother. Daeron, still so young, looks to you for guidance, for reassurance. And though you ache to give it to him, you feel the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you.

“Do you think we’ll be happy here?” Daeron asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look down at him, his innocent face so full of hope, and force a smile. “We’ll make the best of it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “We have each other, and that is what matters.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you pull him into a hug. But as you hold him close, you cannot shake the feeling that something has been irreparably broken. You are no longer whole, no longer tethered to the one person who understood you completely. And as you close your eyes, you wonder if you will ever feel at home again.

As the night falls and the Hightower grows quiet, you sit by the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, in the vastness of this world, is Aegon, your twin, your other half. You hope he is safe, hope he knows that you did not want to leave him. But hope feels fragile in the face of the reality you now face.

In the distance, the Starry Sept’s bells toll, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. You wonder if Aegon can hear them too, wherever he is. You wonder if he is thinking of you, as you are thinking of him.

And as you drift into an uneasy sleep, you cling to the memory of his tears, of his desperate pleas. For they are all you have left of him now, and you fear that, without them, you may forget what it feels like to be whole.

The days in Oldtown have blurred into a monotonous routine, a far cry from the vibrant, if chaotic, life you once knew in the Red Keep. The city, with all its ancient grandeur, has become a gilded cage, and you find yourself suffocated by the very walls meant to protect you. Daeron, though still young, has adapted better than you expected, throwing himself into his lessons with the maesters. You, however, remain adrift, seeking solace in the only companionship that has begun to mean anything in this new life—Gwayne Hightower.

From the moment you arrived, Gwayne has been a constant presence, hovering at the edges of your life in Oldtown. At first, you found his attentions burdensome, a reminder of your exile from King's Landing. But over time, the sharp edges of your resentment dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance of his company. Now, months after your arrival, Gwayne’s presence has become something you not only expect but anticipate. His arrogance, his teasing remarks—they no longer irritate you as they once did. Instead, they have become a strange kind of comfort, a link to a life that feels farther away with each passing day.

On this particular afternoon, you find yourself in one of the Hightower’s many courtyards, the sun hanging low in the sky. The air is cool, the first signs of autumn creeping in. You sit on a stone bench, watching as the shadows stretch long and thin across the cobblestones. Gwayne is beside you, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes are softer than usual.

“You know,” he begins, his voice light with mockery, “I never thought Oldtown would see the day a dragon would be caged within its walls.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Caged? You speak as if I’m some kind of beast, Gwayne.”

“Aren’t you?” he retorts, though there’s no malice in his tone. “You have the blood of the dragon in you, after all. And from what I hear, more of Daemon’s fire than Viserys’s... whatever it is he has.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “That’s why they sent you here, isn’t it? To keep you away from your dear twin. To keep you from burning down the world.”

You bristle at his words, even as a part of you knows there is truth in them. “And what would you know of such things?” you snap back, though there’s little heat behind it. “You Hightowers are always so certain of yourselves, always so sure of your place in the world.”

Gwayne laughs, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “We are sure of our place because we make it so. That is what my father taught me. But you… you are different, aren’t you? You don’t fit neatly into anyone’s plans, not even your own.”

His words sting because they cut too close to the bone. You are different, an anomaly in your own family. Not quite the dutiful daughter Alicent hoped for, nor the rebellious one like Daemon that Viserys once admired, you have always straddled a line that leaves you belonging nowhere. And here, in Oldtown, that difference is magnified, a glaring fault line that Gwayne seems all too eager to point out.

But today, something is different. The way Gwayne looks at you, the way his voice lingers on your name—it’s all sharper, more intense. He’s leaning in closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The tension between you crackles like lightning before a storm, dangerous and thrilling.

“Why do you do that?” you ask suddenly, your voice softer than you intended. “Why do you always bring up my uncle? Why do you always remind me of why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s smirk falters, just for a moment, before he straightens up, the teasing mask slipping back into place. “Because it’s the truth, and I’ve found that you prefer truth over the pretty lies most would tell you.”

You can’t argue with that, but it doesn’t ease the knot in your chest. “It’s a bitter truth,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. “But it’s the truth nonetheless. You are fire, my lady. Wild and untamed, just like Daemon. And it scares them—all of them. My father, your mother, the king… they don’t know what to do with you.”

“And you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do I scare you, Gwayne?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no arrogance in his gaze, no teasing light in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “But I find that I’m drawn to the flame, even knowing I might get burned.”

The admission hangs between you, heavy and charged. The world seems to narrow down to this moment, to the space between you and Gwayne, a space that feels both too vast and too close. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he fights against something he doesn’t fully understand. But then, so do you.

“I should go,” you say, the words an echo of what you think you should say, but not what you want.

Gwayne’s hand reaches out before you can move, his fingers curling around your wrist with a gentle pressure. It’s a small touch, but it ignites something within you, a spark that quickly flares into a dangerous blaze. His touch feels like the first real thing you’ve felt since you left King’s Landing, since you left Aegon behind.

“Stay,” he says, his voice a soft command, a plea wrapped in steel. “Just for a little while longer.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is wrong, forbidden, and dangerous. The Seven would condemn it, your family would disown you, and yet... there’s a part of you that doesn’t care. A part of you that craves this, that wants to feel alive again, even if it means stepping into the flames.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into Gwayne’s eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his gaze. And then, slowly, you nod.

He pulls you closer, his hand moving from your wrist to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world suspended in a fragile balance. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss.

The contact is electric, sending shockwaves through your body, waking something within you that has been dormant for too long. You respond without thinking, without caring, your hands moving to his shoulders as you press closer to him. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you are both trying to fill the void that has been gnawing at you for months.

When you finally pull back, breathless and trembling, Gwayne’s eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen before. “This… this is madness,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

“Madness,” you echo, your own voice shaking. “But it’s the only thing that feels real.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you. You should feel guilt, shame, regret—but all you feel is a strange kind of relief, as if a burden you didn’t know you were carrying has been lifted.

Gwayne’s hand still rests on your cheek, and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “We can’t do this,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his words, no real intent to stop.

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t mean it. You both know the truth—you will do this again, and again, until you’ve burned through all the self-control you have left. It’s inevitable, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

But for now, you just sit there, in the fading light of the courtyard, your hands still intertwined, the air between you charged with a promise of something more. Something dangerous, something forbidden, but something that, for the first time in months, makes you feel alive.

It's a night that feels suspended in time, where the old gods and new alike seem to hold their breath, watching, waiting.

You stand beside Gwayne, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a thunderous drum in the stillness of the room. The decision to marry in secret, away from the eyes of the court and the judgment of the realm, was one made in the quiet moments between stolen kisses and whispered confessions. It was born out of a love that neither of you could deny, a love that defied the rules of blood and duty, a love that could only be sealed in the shadows.

The septon who stands before you is not one from the grand Starry Sept of Oldtown. He is an ostracized man, a septon fallen from grace, his robes frayed and worn, his face lined with the scars of a hard life. But his eyes are sharp, and there is a solemnity in his bearing that speaks of a deep connection to the gods, both old and new. It is this man that Gwayne sought out, a man who would not only marry you in secret but who would bless this union under the eyes of both the Seven and the Valyrian gods—an acknowledgment of the blood that flows in your veins, the fire that binds you to your ancestors.

The chamber is small, tucked away in the bowels of the Hightower, a place known only to a few trusted souls. The only witnesses to this union are the flickering candles and the ancient stone walls that have stood through centuries of history. And here, in this hidden place, you are about to make a vow that will bind you to Gwayne for eternity.

Gwayne turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The man who once teased you with sharp words and arrogant smirks now looks at you with a love so profound it feels like it could consume you both. He reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm and warm. The callouses on his palms are a testament to his life as a warrior, but the way he holds you is gentle, reverent.

"My love," Gwayne begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "before the eyes of the Seven, and in the presence of the Valyrian gods, I take you as my wife. You are my fire, my light, my salvation. In you, I have found not just love, but a purpose, a reason to be. I vow to protect you, to cherish you, to stand by your side, no matter what trials we may face. From this day until my last, you are mine, and I am yours."

His words send a shiver through you, the weight of his vow settling deep in your heart. You can feel the truth of them, the way they resonate with the very core of who you are. When you speak, your voice is soft but unwavering, carrying with it the depth of your own love and conviction.

"Gwayne," you begin, your eyes locking with his, "you are my heart, my strength, my true companion. In a world that seeks to tear us apart, you are the one who has always stood by me, who has seen me for who I truly am, and loved me all the same. I vow to stand with you, to fight for us, to love you with all that I am. We may walk a dangerous path, but I choose it willingly, because I choose you. Now and always, I am yours, and you are mine."

The septon steps forward, his voice low and gravelly as he intones the ancient rites. "Before the eyes of the gods, both new and old, I bless this union. By the light of the Seven and the fire of Old Valyria, may your love be eternal, may your bond be unbreakable. What is done here in secret, let it be known in the hearts of those who bear witness."

He raises a small vial, pouring the contents—a mixture of oil and salt—into a shallow basin. The scent of it fills the room, sharp and cleansing. He dips his fingers into the mixture and anoints your foreheads, first Gwayne’s and then yours, marking you with the symbols of both faiths. The coolness of the oil against your skin is grounding, a reminder of the gravity of this moment.

"By the authority granted to me by the gods," the septon continues, his voice carrying the weight of the ages, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You are bound by blood, by love, and by the will of the gods. Go forth as one, in strength and in unity."

Gwayne pulls you to him then, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deeply, passionately, in a way that speaks of all the love he has kept hidden from the world. The kiss is a sealing of your vows, a promise made flesh. You melt into him, your hands gripping his tunic as you pour every ounce of your heart into that kiss, into this moment that is yours and his alone.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you share the silence of the moment, the weight of what you’ve just done pressing down on you. There is a quiet reverence in the room, a sense that something sacred has just taken place, even if it is a secret that must be kept from the world.

Gwayne doesn’t release you, his hands still holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go, as if by doing so, this moment will shatter. His eyes search yours, and what he finds there makes him smile, a rare, genuine smile that softens the edges of his features. “You are mine now,” he whispers, a note of wonder in his voice. “And I am yours.”

“Always,” you whisper back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “No matter what comes.”

The septon quietly gathers his things, his presence now a shadow in the background, but before he leaves, he pauses at the door, looking back at you both. “May the gods watch over you,” he says softly, and there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he knows the dangers that lie ahead for two who dare to love in defiance of the world.

And then, he’s gone, leaving you and Gwayne alone in the dimly lit chamber, the only witnesses to your union now the flickering flames and the silent walls.

Gwayne takes your hand, leading you to a low table where a small feast has been laid out, simple but thoughtful. The food and drink are symbols of the life you will now share, a life that must remain hidden in the shadows, but one that is no less real for it.

You sit together, the silence between you comfortable, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When Gwayne finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but there’s a fierceness to it that makes you look up.

“We will find a way, my love,” he says, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “No matter what, we will find a way to be together.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, your heart swelling with love for this man who has become your everything. “Yes,” you agree, your voice filled with the same determination. “We will.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, Gwayne rises, pulling you into his arms once more. He leads you to the bed that has been prepared, and as you lie down together, the weight of the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by vows spoken in secret but no less sacred.

In the quiet darkness, Gwayne’s fingers trace the outline of your face, his touch tender and full of love. “Sleep, my wife,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your soul. “For tomorrow, we begin the rest of our lives.”

You close your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulls you into sleep. And as you drift off, you know that no matter what the world might say, no matter what the future holds, you and Gwayne are bound together by something far stronger than duty or blood. You are bound by love, a love that defies the gods and the world alike.

And that, you think as sleep finally takes you, is all that matters.

The night outside the Red Keep is eerily still, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen. Inside the queen’s chambers, the atmosphere is equally tense. Alicent Hightower sits at her desk, a single candle flickering beside her, casting shadows on the stone walls. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the letter she has just received, the familiar sigil of House Hightower stamped in red wax at the seal. She has been waiting for this letter, though she dreads what it might contain.

Otto Hightower stands nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an impassive mask. His eyes, however, are sharp, watching his daughter closely as she reads. The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the soft rustling of the parchment as Alicent’s eyes scan the contents.

As she reaches the end of the letter, her face pales, and her breath hitches. Slowly, as if the action costs her all the strength she has left, she lowers the letter to the desk. Her hand lingers on it for a moment before she crumples it in her fist, the delicate paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room.

“What does it say?” Otto asks, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Alicent doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares down at the crushed letter in her hand, as if by squeezing it tightly enough, she could somehow undo the words it contains. But no amount of denial can erase what she has read. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet her father’s gaze, and the look she gives him is one of profound unease.

“He’s coming to King’s Landing,” she says, her voice low and strained. “Gwayne. With… his family.”

Otto’s brows knit together slightly, though his expression remains carefully controlled. “His family?” he echoes, the words heavy with unspoken questions.

Alicent swallows hard, a sense of dread settling deep in her gut. “Yes,” she whispers, her mind racing as she considers the implications. The rumors she has heard, the whispers that have reached her ears in recent months, suddenly take on a new and terrifying significance.

She looks back at her father, her voice trembling as she asks, “Have you heard the whispers, Father? The rumors coming from Oldtown… about bastards walking the halls of the Hightower? Children with silver hair and purple eyes?”

Otto’s gaze narrows, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—passing through his eyes before he schools his features once more. “Rumors, nothing more,” he replies, though there is a carefulness to his tone now. “Gwayne married a noble lady, a match arranged by our family in Oldtown. It was a quiet affair, nothing that would draw too much attention. The children you speak of are likely theirs, legitimate, though the Hightowers have chosen to keep their names and details discreet, to avoid unnecessary scrutiny.”

Alicent’s heart hammers in her chest, the dread in her stomach deepening into something closer to panic. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her chamber as she tries to make sense of the situation. The image of those children—silver-haired, violet-eyed—flashes in her mind, and with it, a terrible realization begins to take root.

“The only woman who could give birth to children with those features,” she says slowly, her voice thick with fear, “is a Targaryen. A woman with the blood of Old Valyria. And the only one who has been close enough to Gwayne… is her. My daughter.”

Otto remains silent, his eyes following his daughter as she paces. He understands the gravity of her words, the implications of what she is suggesting. But he is also a man who has spent his life navigating the treacherous waters of court politics, and he knows better than to give in to panic.

“Alicent,” he begins, his voice firm but not unkind, “we do not know for certain. These are only rumors, whispers in the dark meant to sow discord. We cannot act on mere speculation.”

But Alicent is not so easily reassured. She stops in her tracks, turning to face him with a look of desperation. “And what if the rumors are true? What if she has given Gwayne children? What if those children come to King’s Landing with him? What then?”

Otto exhales slowly, his mind already working through the possible scenarios. “If the children are indeed of Targaryen blood,” he says carefully, “then we must ensure they are seen as legitimate. We must present them as the offspring of Gwayne’s marriage, no matter the truth. If they bear the look of Valyria, it will only serve to strengthen their claim as trueborn heirs of House Hightower.”

Alicent shakes her head, the fear in her eyes now mingled with a deep, gnawing guilt. “But what of her, Father? What of my daughter? If it becomes known that she has married her own uncle, that she has borne his children… it will be seen as a scandal, a sin in the eyes of the Seven.”

Otto moves toward her then, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We will deal with it as we must,” he says, his voice resolute. “We have always been able to navigate the complexities of power, and this will be no different. But for now, we must be calm. We must wait and see what Gwayne brings with him to King’s Landing. If the whispers are true, we will control the narrative. We will ensure that whatever happens, our family remains strong, untarnished by scandal.”

But Alicent can’t shake the image of her daughter, the girl she sent away so many years ago, now grown into a woman whose life has taken a path she never anticipated. A path that has led her back to the very heart of the storm that Alicent herself helped create.

As she looks into her father’s eyes, she sees the determination there, the cold pragmatism that has always defined him. And she knows that whatever happens, Otto Hightower will do whatever is necessary to protect their family’s legacy. But as for her… Alicent is no longer sure where the line between duty and love lies. And the thought of what might come to light when Gwayne arrives sends a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

Because deep down, Alicent knows that the rumors are more than just whispers. They are the truth, a truth she has tried so hard to deny. And that truth is coming to King’s Landing, wrapped in the guise of her brother’s family—a family that should never have existed, yet one that now threatens to unravel everything she has fought to preserve.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the sprawling courtyard of the Red Keep. The air is heavy with anticipation, the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles uneasily in your stomach. Dowager Queen Alicent stands with her father, Otto Hightower, at her side, their eyes fixed on the great gates that lead into the heart of King’s Landing. Today, Gwayne Hightower returns to the capital, and with him, the secrets that have festered in the shadows of Oldtown.

As the gates creak open, the first thing Alicent notices is the Hightower banners, fluttering proudly in the breeze. A small company of knights and retainers rides in, their armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun, followed by a carriage flanked by more soldiers. But it is the figure on horseback at the head of the procession that draws her attention, making her heart skip a beat.

Gwayne Hightower rides in with all the confidence of a man who has nothing to hide, his expression calm, almost defiant. But it is not just his presence that sends a chill down Alicent’s spine—it is the woman who rides beside him. Her daughter, the princess she sent away so many years ago, now a grown woman with the unmistakable look of her Valyrian heritage. Her silver hair, cascading down her back in loose waves, catches the light, and her purple eyes, sharp and discerning, seem to pierce through the crowd.

But it is not just her presence that shocks Alicent and Otto—it is the way she and Gwayne sit side by side, unashamed and unafraid, as if daring anyone to question their union. Behind them, four children trail on smaller horses, their features a striking mix of Hightower and Targaryen—silver hair, purple eyes, and faces that mirror the legacy of both bloodlines.

Alicent’s heart sinks. The whispers, the rumors, they are all true. Her worst fears have materialized before her very eyes. She can barely breathe as she steps forward with Otto, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Gwayne… what have you done?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, almost a hiss, as she locks eyes with her brother. “How could you be so reckless? So shameless?”

Otto steps forward as well, his usually composed demeanor now laced with anger. “This… this is an abomination,” he declares, his voice low but filled with authority. “You bring shame to our house, Gwayne. And you—” he turns to his granddaughter, his voice tightening—“you have brought dishonor to your name and to the memory of your father.”

But before either of them can say more, there is a sudden movement, a blur of silver and gold as someone rushes past them. Alicent barely has time to process what is happening before Aegon, now king and clad in his royal finery, sweeps forward. His face lights up with pure joy as he closes the distance between himself and his sister.

“Sister!” Aegon exclaims, his voice filled with delight. Without a second thought, he pulls her into a tight embrace, laughing as he buries his face in her hair. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

You return the embrace just as fiercely, the years of separation melting away in an instant. Aegon’s warmth, his familiar scent, it all feels like home, like a piece of your heart has been returned to you. When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

Aegon then turns his attention to the four children standing quietly behind you and Gwayne, their wide eyes watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. His face softens as he approaches them, kneeling down to their level.

“And who are these fine young dragons?” Aegon asks, his voice gentle as he ruffles the hair of the eldest boy, who looks so much like his mother.

“They’re my children,” you say softly, pride evident in your voice. “Your nephews and nieces.”

Aegon grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. “I see they take after you, sister. They have the look of Targaryens—strong, bold.” He then looks up at Gwayne, his smile never wavering. “You’ve done well, Uncle.”

Gwayne inclines his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s face drains of color as she watches the scene unfold, her worst fears confirmed. She steps forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Aegon… did you know about this?” Her eyes bore into her son, searching for any sign of deceit.

Aegon straightens up, turning to face his mother with an expression of calm amusement. “Of course, Mother. Did you truly think my sister and I would not stay in contact? We’ve always been close. She wrote to me often from Oldtown. I knew everything.”

Alicent’s hands shake, her nails digging into her palms as she struggles to contain her emotions. “And you… you approve of this? Of this union?” Her voice breaks on the last word, the full weight of what has happened crashing down on her.

Aegon’s smile only widens, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Approve? I rejoice in it. They’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve followed their hearts, and that’s more than most in this wretched world can claim.”

Otto’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes burn with anger and frustration as he steps forward. “This is not just about following one’s heart, Aegon. This is about the sanctity of the family, of the realm. A marriage like this… it will bring scandal, division. It goes against everything we’ve worked to build.”

But Aegon only laughs, a sound that echoes in the tense courtyard. “What scandal? The Seven Kingdoms are mine, and I will decide what is scandal and what is not. My sister and Gwayne are married, and their children are legitimate in my eyes. That is all that matters.”

He turns back to you and Gwayne, his expression softening once more. “Come,” he says, extending his hand to you. “Let us go inside. You’ve been away from home too long.”

Without waiting for a response, Aegon takes your hand and leads you toward the entrance of the Red Keep, Gwayne and the children following closely behind. The knights and retainers part to let you pass, their faces a mixture of shock, confusion, and respect. As you walk, you feel the weight of your family’s judgment pressing down on you, but with Aegon at your side, you feel an unshakeable sense of confidence.

Alicent and Otto remain rooted in place, watching as you and your family disappear into the castle. Alicent’s face is ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror. She opens her mouth to say something, to call out to her son, but no words come. The truth of what has happened, the reality of the situation, is too overwhelming.

As the doors to the Red Keep close behind you, you can feel the walls of the castle seem to close in, suffocating in their familiar embrace. But there is also a strange sense of liberation, of triumph, in walking beside Gwayne, your husband, with your children in tow, and the support of the king himself.

Whatever the future holds, you know that this moment—this homecoming—will be the beginning of something new. Something that, for better or worse, will change the course of your family’s history forever.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hord #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne x y/n

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collectorofsoulss · 23 days ago

Text

Obey Me! The Exchange Students I

Part II

As the first human to attend the Devil's Exchange Program, you had walked through the gates of this infernal realm a year ago, unsure of what awaited you. Your time in the Devildom had been a whirlwind of unexpected friendships, cultural shocks, and—let's be honest—a fair amount of chaos. From awkward encounters with demons that were far too interested in your human snacks, to getting tangled in the absurdly confusing politics of the Demon Lord’s court, you had survived it all.

When you had first arrived, it was just you—one lone human (Solomon definitely does not count! His immortal ass) on an exchange program that no one thought would succeed. Yet, somehow, it did. Diavolo, the charismatic Demon Prince, was so impressed by the success of your year-long stay that he decided to expand the program. His vision? To introduce more humans to the Devildom. And so, the program grew.

Now, seven humans were entering the program, each assigned to one of the infamous seven demon brothers. Their personalities were as varied as the colors of the rainbow, and you had to admit, you were curious how this would work. What made you pause, though, was the fact that each of the brothers was paired with a human. For a brief, fleeting moment, you couldn’t help but feel… uneasy. Seeing the brothers each assigned a human…made you question your place. It was a strange feeling, an uncomfortable thought gnawing at you. Was it jealousy? Or insecurity?

But you also knew that this wasn’t about you. It was their job. The brothers were given this task because Diavolo trusted them to guide and protect the new humans, just as they had done for you. It was just a job, right? Still, that tiny seed of doubt lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind. Would they care for these new humans the way they cared for you?

There was something you hadn’t fully considered—the sheer length of time the brothers had lived compared to the short, fleeting year you’d spent with them. A demon's lifespan wasn’t measured in years or decades—it was centuries. And in the grand scheme of their existence, a year? That was nothing.

Would the feelings they’d developed for you last? At first, you tried to push the thought aside. Surely, their bond with you was deeper than just a passing interest. But doubt crept in, and the more you thought about it, the more your stomach twisted with uncertainty. What if, after you left, the brothers would simply slip back into their old ways, as though you’d never been there? Would they still hold onto the bond you shared, or would it fade with time, as some distant memory of a human they once cared for?

There was that gnawing thought in your mind: Out of sight, out of mind. The brothers were used to long separations. Was it possible that, once you were gone, their memories of you would blur? Was it even realistic to expect that your year-long stay had truly impacted their eternal lives? Perhaps it was just the nature of demons. Time meant very little to them. But you weren’t like that. You were human. You’d only been there for a year, and even now, you weren’t sure if the relationship you had with each of the brothers was strong enough to withstand time and distance.

As you stood before the House of Lamentation, a strange mix of emotions churned inside you. Part of you wanted to believe in the bond you’d created with each of them, but another part of you… wondered if, like many things in the Devildom, it was just a fleeting moment in their endless lives.

You couldn’t help but wonder: Do they still hold the same strong feelings since you were gone?

Lucifer

Lucifer’s assigned human is a self-assured, confident individual—a bit too much for their own good. They walk around like they own the place, constantly giving orders and demanding attention from everyone, even Lucifer himself. They have no respect for Lucifer's position—assuming that because he’s a demon, he’s subservient or lesser in some way. Lucifer doesn’t let anyone speak to him like that, especially not humans. However, he bites his tongue and uses his incredible patience, knowing that it’s his responsibility to ensure the human’s safety and that they adjust to the Devildom properly.

Lucifer’s typical interactions with this human test his limits. Their bossy attitude has him holding back, trying to remain diplomatic, especially since he doesn’t want to risk any issues with the exchange program. Even though they constantly challenge his authority, Lucifer keeps his calm, regal demeanor. There will be moments of passive-aggressive tension, where Lucifer’s patience is thin, but he’d never let them see how close they are to crossing a line that could make him lose his temper and make the human lose their life.

The halls of the House of Lamentation felt as familiar as ever—the low hum of magic in the air, the faint scent of dark roses drifting lazily through the stone corridors. You hadn’t been here in what felt like ages, but everything, from the sleek marble floors to the faint sound of boots echoing through the vast chambers, was just as you remembered. You missed everything—the dim lighting, the faint scent of black roses. But most of all, you missed him. When you spot Lucifer by his office door, your heart clenches. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that familiar poised stance still intact. His crimson eyes lock onto yours, softening a rare crack in his usually stoic demeanor. He knew you were here; he could just sense your essence and it was unmistakably you.

“Welcome home darling.”

Your breath catches. The way he says it—low and sweet—makes your chest tighten. The two of you slowly gravitate toward each other. You can feel the weight of the years between you, all the unspoken things, the distance.

Mammon always joked about how Lucifer was older than dust, how he’d lived before Earth, before mankind itself. Surely, someone with so much knowledge, so much experience, would forget—right?

The thought stings more than you care to admit, and you shyly avert his reach, walking further into his office. Your fingers brush over his paperwork absentmindedly, pretending to focus on something, anything else but the way he’s looking at you. The subtle tension, the way your heart races—you’re scared to feel him.

“You remember…me?” you said timidly.

Lucifer watches you carefully, his presence is as strong as ever, but there’s a gentleness in the way he moves toward you. He stops beside you, his voice is calm and steady, laced with warmth.

“Of course, I remember you.”

He presses himself against your side, just close enough to let the heat of his body fill the space between you. His hand finds your hips, touching you softly, the feeling of his fingers trailing just a little lower, just a little too intentionally. The touch sends a wave of warmth rushing through you, and you blink in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.

“You remember me that well?” you ask quietly.

Lucifer’s gaze softens, and his lips twitch in the slightest hint of a smile.

“How could I forget?” He leans in closer, the deep, rich tone of his voice wrapping around you like a velvet embrace. “You’re not someone I can forget, no matter how many years pass.”

His hand moves along your side, brushing your skin, fingertips barely grazing. His touch is gentle, making every nerve in your body stand on edge. He moves so smoothly, drawing you closer without a single word. He’s done this dance with you—he’s always known how to make you feel like you’re the only one in the room.

Without warning, his touch shifts, just enough to land on a particular spot. The instant he touches you there, your entire body freezes. It’s an intimate, private place that only he has ever touched. And now, feeling his fingers press there so softly, the connection between you feels electric. Your cheeks flush, your heart races.

You quickly look away, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your neck, but Lucifer’s gaze never wavers. He can see it—the way your body reacts to him, the way you can't quite hide it.

“Does this still affect you, darling?” he murmurs with a small, knowing smile.

You glance up at him, and before you can say a word, he’s lifting you effortlessly, settling you onto the edge of his desk. The cool surface beneath you contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from him. He stands in front of you, his eyes tracing over you like a careful artist, admiring what he's longed to see again. His gaze softens, and he leans in just slightly, enough to be close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

“I remember every moment with you,” he says, his hand resting gently on your thigh, his touch almost possessive yet filled with a tenderness you always expect from him. “Every look. Every laugh. Every sigh. You’ve never left my thoughts.”

Soon a voice cuts through the moment. “Lucifer. I need you now. I have some business to take care.”

Your eyes flicker to the side, and there stands his assigned human. He’s standing with his arms crossed, furrowed brow, and an arrogant tilt to his chin. He glances at you briefly but dismisses you immediately, clearly prioritizing his own agenda.

Lucifer’s gaze narrows. “Excuse you?”

“I have an appointment in the Human World,” the guy says impatiently, tapping his watch like he has the right to rush the Avatar of Pride. “You need to escort me.”

You glance at Lucifer, expecting him to give his usual polite but firm dismissal. Instead, his entire presence darkens. The air shifts—the weight of his magic pressing heavily in the corridor. His eyes narrow into something dangerous, his hand twitching slightly as if restraining an urge.

Lucifer’s voice lowers, deep and venomous. “You dare interrupt me?”

The human scoffs, oblivious to the danger. “Yeah, and? That’s literally your job, right?”

Big mistake. HUGE mistake. Without another word, Lucifer steps toward him, his boots heavy against the stone floor. His magic crackles faintly, the tips of his ebony wings materializing ever so slightly—a slow, deliberate display of power. The temperature in the hallway seems to drop several degrees. Lucifer’s tone is icy. “You seem to have misunderstood your position here, human.” His eyes gleam with a dangerous glint as he leans in slightly. “You are under my protection. Not my command.”

“But—” the human stammers.

Lucifer narrows his eyes ever so slightly, “Allow me to remind you of your place.”

The human stumbles back slightly, his face pale. His eyes flicker toward you, almost as if searching for help, but you just arch a brow. Yeah, you’re not helping him. Lucifer takes a slow step forward, his boots clicking against the floor.

“You are nothing more than a temporary guest in this realm. Do not mistake my hospitality for servitude.”

The human backs away, visibly shaken, his previous arrogance completely shattered. He practically bolts out of the room without another word, slamming the door behind him. The moment he’s gone, the room falls into heavy silence. Lucifer slowly exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the lingering tension in his shoulders dissipates.

He then turns back to you, his expression immediately softening. His wings dissipate reigning in his magic. When he meets your eyes, the contrast is jarring—the sharp, merciless demon replaced with someone who only ever looks at you with tenderness. He strides over to where you’re sitting and leans down, bracing his hands on the desk, caging you in.

His face is inches from yours, “Now… where were we?” he murmurs, voice like honey, as if the previous encounter hadn’t just made you weak in the knees.

Your breath catches slightly at his sudden shift in demeanor. You stare into his eyes, the lingering traces of his dangerous aura making your pulse quicken. Lucifer’s voice lowers further, his lips brushing your ear. “You do know… I only obey you.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine. His low chuckle rumbles softly against your skin. He captures your lips in a slow, possessive kiss.

“There is no one who comes before you. No one.”

Bonus Detail:

After the incident with Lucifer’s assigned human, the poor guy is so intimidated that he immediately requests a reassignment.

The human, now constantly on edge, has to remind himself not to interrupt Lucifer while he’s with you.

He knows the human assignment is a mere formality, but when he’s with you, he’ll take every opportunity to make you feel like the only one that matters.

“You’ll always remain my priority, no matter how many humans Diavolo sends my way.”

Mammon

He finally gets the taste of his own medicine. Because of their reckless nature, Mammon is forced into the role of a responsible protector—something he’s not used to, given his chaotic personality. He has to be the voice of reason, preventing them from making dangerous decisions like setting things on fire, taking wild risks, or just generally creating a mess of things. Mammon has to constantly babysit, running after them to stop them from doing something ridiculously dangerous. He’s often seen yelling at them. Mammon has always been reckless himself, but now, with his human, he gets a taste of what it’s like to be the responsible one—and it's not easy.

The House of Lamentation looms in the distance, its ominous yet familiar architecture sending a flutter through your stomach. As you make your way down the path, your fingers brush the iron gate. It swings open with a low creak, and that’s when you hear it—his voice.

“Oi! Get back here, ya idiot!”

You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Mammon. He’s sprinting after a chaotic blur of a human, his jacket billowing behind him, blue eyes narrowed with exasperation. His hair is messier than usual, sticking out at odd angles from clearly having a rough day. His D.D.D. is clutched tightly in his hand, and his mouth is moving a mile a minute as he barks orders. But then… He sees you.

His entire body locks up, eyes are wide in disbelief. For a moment, everything else falls away—the background noise of the human shouting, the distant chaos, the entire Devildom itself. It’s as if the world slows down, and all he can see is you. The human tugs on his jacket, clearly panicking about something, but Mammon doesn’t even blink. His gaze is locked onto you—and only you.

“...No way…” he breathes, barely above a whisper.

Your name tumbles from his lips in a voice so gentle and reverent it makes your chest tighten. Without thinking, he drops his D.D.D. and shrugs off the human like they’re nothing more than a leaf in the wind. The human stumble but Mammon doesn’t care—he doesn’t even notice him anymore. He’s already moving toward you.

Before you can process it, Mammon crosses the distance in an instant.

“You’re… You’re really here…”

His hands are suddenly on your face—trembling fingers brushing over your cheeks, your jaw, your lips, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t touch you. His eyes search yours frantically, almost like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I-I missed ya—damn it, I missed ya so much,” he stammers breathlessly.

And then, before you can respond, he crushes you against his chest, burying his face into your hair. His arms lock around you tightly, almost desperate. You can feel his heart pounding violently against your own, racing so fast it might burst from his chest. His fingers fist into the fabric of your clothes, knuckles pale from the force of his grip. You gasp softly at the intensity of his embrace, but then you melt into him, your arms winding around his waist.

“I missed you too,” you murmur into his jacket.

You feel him shudder slightly at your words. His fingers trail up into your hair, trembling as they card through the strands. He presses you closer, as if trying to memorize the feeling of you in his arms all over again. For a moment, he just holds you, his breathing ragged and uneven, as though he’s trying to keep it together but failing spectacularly.

A loud crash echoes behind you, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. You glance over Mammon’s shoulder, startled, only to see his assigned human tangled in a heap of broken wooden crates. Something is smoking in his hands, and his jacket is slightly singed.

“MAMMON!” the human shrieks, waving his arms. “I NEED HELP! I—I THINK I MIGHT’VE… OH, SHIT, IS THAT A DEMON HOUND?!”

You hear feral snarling in the distance. You look at Mammon in mild panic, but…He doesn’t even turn around. His arms are still locked around you, his face pressed into your neck, ignoring the absolute chaos behind him.

“Tch. He'll be fine,” he mutters gruffly, nuzzling further into you. His hands tighten on your waist. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ go of ya for that moron.”

You blink in surprise, glancing over his shoulder again at the disaster unfolding behind him. His human is now frantically stomping out the flames on his jacket, screaming something about impending doom, while the distant demon hound howls ominously.

“Mammon—” you start, but he cuts you off with a low, gravelly murmur in your ear. “Nah… Don’t care. I ain't lettin’ ya go.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you feel him kiss your temple—slow, lingering, and achingly gentle. When he finally pulls back slightly, he gazes down at you with half-lidded eyes, his pupils slightly blown out.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go,” he rasps. His eyes soften, filled with nothing but raw, unfiltered love. “Don’t care what happens—ya hear me? Yer mine.”

Your chest tightens at the tenderness in his voice. His hand cups your face, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles against your cheek. “No one’s takin’ yer place,” he breathes, leaning in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours.

“Yer always first, sweetheart.”

He closes the distance, kissing you deeply. His lips move slowly against yours like he’s savoring you, desperate to memorize your taste all over again. And despite the chaos and screaming still going on in the background, Mammon doesn’t even flinch. He’s far too busy falling in love with you all over again.

As the chaos continues to unfold behind him, Mammon’s frustration grows. His human is still yelling, running around like a headless chicken, and the shrill sound of him calling his name echoes through the air. Every time he screams his name, Mammon’s brows twitch in annoyance, and his grip on you tightens slightly. He’s had enough.

With a low, frustrated growl, Mammon’s eyes flick toward the disaster unfolding in the distance. His human is now struggling with an oversized demon hound, trying to fend it off. Mammon clenches his jaw and mutters under his breath.

“Ugh, seriously? Can’t a demon have a damn moment!”

In one swift motion, he pulls you closer, his hands gripping your waist possessively, and before you can even blink, you’re airborne, flying higher into the sky. You yelp, but Mammon’s grip on you is firm, holding you securely as he takes you to the roof of the House of Lamentation.

Once there, Mammon wastes no time. He sits down cross-legged, and pulls you into his lap without hesitation. His arms curl around your waist, and his lips are already pressed against your temple, sighing deeply in contentment. He leans back against the roof, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Ain’t no way I’m lettin' some idiot ruin this moment,” Mammon mutters, still sounding gruff. His hands trail slowly up your back, pulling you closer to him, locking you in place on his lap. His eyes never leave yours, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Now... I want somethin’ from ya,” Mammon says, his voice lowered to a hushed whisper, a hint of impatience creeping in. “A kiss. Keep 'em comin' ya hear? I need ‘em, lots of it!"

You blink at him in surprise, but Mammon's expression is unwavering, his gaze full of longing. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each kiss slow and soft. Until he pulls back to ask “Well? What ya waitin’ for?”

You smile, a warm, tender feeling spreading through your chest as you return his kisses, each one more passionate than the last, the world fading into the background. The sounds of his human’s chaos below seem so distant now, as Mammon only cares about the feeling of you in his arms, keeping you close and demanding more of your affection.

Bonus Detail:

Later, once you’ve reunited properly with the brothers, Mammon gets lectured for abandoning the human.

“Mammon… What happened to him?” Lucifer.

He only shrugs lazily, throwing an arm around you, “Eh… He didn’t die.”

The human, still limping, waves off the concern with a weak smile, “I’m alright… really… just a sprained leg… and a… couple broken ribs…” Just as he finishes speaking, he faints and collapsing onto the floor.

Mammon doesn’t even flinch, instead looks at Lucifer with a smirk. “See? Told ya. He's fine.”

Lucifer just sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. Mammon ignores the gravity of the situation and instead decides to tease the current shocked expression on your face.

Leviathan

Leviathan’s human is like the ultimate cheerleader, helping him see his own worth and that he deserves a little bit of love, especially from you. They’d also be a great source of moral support. They also have a love for outdoor activities. Leviathan would find it so awkward and be overwhelmed by their energy. He’d much rather sit with his games and anime, but they don’t give up.

Slowly, he realizes they’re not trying to change him but to help him grow and experience life outside of his comfort zone. By the end of their time together, he’s probably more appreciative of outdoor activities and even starts to enjoy them, but he’ll never admit it. He just likes having a balance now — time for gaming and time for a little adventure. They have some playful streak in — always willing to try new things and encourage others to push their boundaries, including Levi.

You’re standing outside of Leviathan’s door, your hand hovering just over the handle. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to knock right away. Your chest tightens slightly as you stare at the familiar wood, memories rushing back. You remember the hours you spent in his room, watching anime marathons until you both passed out. You remember him excitedly rambling about a new game, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm while he explained the lore. You remember when he shyly held your hand for the first time, his face flushed to his ears. But now… you aren’t sure what to expect. Finally, you muster the courage and gently knock on the door, “Levi? It’s me.”

There’s a brief pause, followed by the sound of something crashing inside. You hear Levi’s frantic scrambling—the familiar shuffle of game cases falling and his tail smacking against furniture. You can practically picture him panicking at the sudden intrusion.

“J-Just a sec!” he calls out, his voice breathless.

When the door finally creaks open, Levi stands there, slightly disheveled, his face flushed from his hurried movements. His amber eyes widen slightly when he sees you.

“Y-Y/N…?” His voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid you’re an illusion.

You give him a soft smile, expecting him to pull you into the room—maybe even into his arms. But instead… he hesitates. His eyes flicker nervously over his shoulder.

Your gaze follows his, and that’s when you see her. Leviathan’s assigned human. She’s seated on his gaming chair, her back to you, completely immersed in one of Leviathan’s newest games. She’s wearing his headset, chatting casually with other players online.

“How do I pause the game? Ugh! I don’t know how to jump!” she panics.

Leviathan notices your expression immediately, and his eyes widen slightly in panic, “W-Wait! I-It’s not what it looks like!”

His tail nervously coils around his ankle, a clear sign that he’s flustered. But you can’t help the pang in your chest. The scene is so… familiar. It reminds you of all those times you gamed with him, wearing his hoodies, sitting in that same chair, listening to his ramblings.

“Oh. You’re… busy.” Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.

Leviathan visibly panics, his hands flailing slightly as he steps toward you. “N-No! I’m not busy! She’s just—she’s just— l-leaving!”

The human twists around in the chair and gives you a sincere smile. “Oh! You must be Y/N.”

Leviathan stiffens, his eyes wide in horror, his face instantly turning red. “W-Wait, Don’t—!” But before he can try to shut her down, she appears before you, her grin wide and enthusiastic, “Levi talks about you all the time! You’re like, his favorite person!”

Leviathan’s tail whips around wildly, knocking over a few figurines in his panic. “N-No! I-I don’t know what you mean! I don’t… I don’t talk about her that much!”

The human presses on, practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh, you’re so cute! You’re the one in all his pictures! He has them all over his shelves. I swear, you’re like, the highlight of his life! It so adorable!”

Leviathan looks as though he’s about to faint right there, his tail coils around his ankle so tightly that it’s almost cutting off circulation. “D-DON’T say things like that!” He shrieks, grabbing his head like he’s about to explode from embarrassment. You feel a little bad for him, but his flustered state is just too sweet. You give him a teasing smile, leaning a little closer to him, “You never told me you had all those pictures of me.”

Leviathan freezes, and his eyes widen in shock. “Th-They’re just there for… for sentimental reasons!” At this point, Levi is literally hiding his face behind his hands, mumbling under his breath in defeat. It’s clear how much he still cares.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “I missed you too.”

“Y-You do?”

You nodded shyly, stepping closer and closer. For a moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of you, standing there in the dim light of his room. As you both stare at each other, you feel a strange pull toward him—an invisible force drawing you closer. You notice his pupils are dilating, and the way his breath catches in his throat. Then there is a quiet voice from behind him—a voice too excited for its own good. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You glance over at Leviathan’s human, who is now quietly chanting, eyes gleaming with mischief. She’s practically grinning from ear to ear, clearly loving the drama of the situation. Leviathan’s face turns beet-red, and he practically staggers backward, his tail flailing as he trips over a stray video game case.

“W-Wait, R-Right now—! I-I can’t—!”

Before Levi can retreat any further, you make a decision. Stepping closer, you place your hands gently on his shoulders, guiding him toward you. Without giving him time to overthink, you pull him in, and your lips meet his—quiet, soft, and shy, just like everything between the two of you had always been. Leviathan’s body stiffens at first, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment, but then he melts into the kiss. His arms, still a little hesitant, tentatively wrap around you. His tail, which had been nervously flicking behind him, curls tightly around your leg in affection.

His heart is practically hammering in his chest, and for a moment, it feels like the world slows down. All that’s left is the gentle warmth of his lips against yours, the softness of his touch, and the steady rhythm of his breath. The world outside seems distant, unimportant. You pull away after, your eyes on his, but just as you do, you hear an unmistakable sound—the giggles of Levi’s human.

“Ooooh, that was so cute!” she teases, clearly loving the scene unfolding before her.

Leviathan’s eyes widen in shock, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he starts to sway on his feet. Then, in a sudden, dramatic swoon, his eyes roll back, and his knees give out beneath him. In a dead faint, Levi crumbles into your arms, leaving you to awkwardly catch him. The human stands there, eyes wide with disbelief, her mouth hanging open in utter surprise.

“Did he just—?”

You can’t help but sigh softly, feeling a mix of amusement and fondness. “Yep. He does this sometimes. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up in a second. It’s totally normal.”

The human’s jaw drops even further as she stares at you, her eyes darting between Levi, unconscious, and you, who seems completely unfazed by the situation.

“You’re... you're seriously telling me that he just faints like this all the time?” she asks, incredulously.

You give a small laugh, trying to adjust Levi’s weight in your arms, “Unfortunately, yeah. But I’m getting used to it by now.” With a soft groan, you attempt to move him, but he’s heavier than you expected, “Can you help me get him into his tub? He’s kinda heavy.”

The human snaps out of her stunned state and nods eagerly. “Sure!”

Together, the two of you awkwardly drag Leviathan’s limp body across the room. Every now and then, you accidentally bang him against something or nearly trip over him, but you manage to get him into the tub. Once he’s finally settled in, you let out an exhale, dropping onto the floor. The room falls into a moment of silence. After a moment, you look over at Leviathan, still knocked out, and then glance back at the human.

“So… what else did he say about me?” you ask eagerly leaning in.

The human’s eyes light up, a mischievous glint flashing in her gaze. Levi is not going to be happy when he wakes up.

Bonus Detail:

He definitely made up for lost time, having intimate conversations in the tub, noses inches away as you two cuddle.

Constantly feels you up, muttering a shy sorry if he grabs you too hard. What? He's nervous, okay!

Leviathan’s human is the ultimate wingman.

She’s always making sure his brothers don’t cockblock.

Definitely takes secret candid photos of you two to give later, adding to Leviathan's collection.

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