#no one has ever heard of and sit in the woods in silence for a while and maybe take a nap together and compare grov

[uzu-hime]

So like legit how does one make friends when they are

-too adhd for normal people

-too depressed for adhd people

-poor (no money to do things or go places)

-25 on the outside, single mom for 10+ years on the inside

-so so lonely but so so afraid of adding anyone else to the "only want to hang out with me when you need free therapy" group that includes everyone I know

[froggiewrites]

Under the Light of the Moon

Pairing: Werewolf!Sanji x Reader

NSFW

Summary: When your friend Sanji invites you camping, you can’t say no to his sweet puppy dog eyes. And you can’t deny it’s nice, to get away for a while, to be waited on hand and foot, to see him so excited to share one of his favorite places in the world with you. But when the full moon rises, and he shows you his true self, will you accept the beast as he is? Or will you find yourself trapped in the woods with a monster with no way out? Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Chase/Hunt, Outdoor Sex, Marking, Biting, Knotting Word Count: 3.4k Notes: The final piece of the event is here! I hope you all enjoyed, I had a lot of fun with each and every single one of these. Thank you all for reading, and happy Halloween!! �� Halloween Special 2024

You didn’t suspect anything at first.

Sure, Sanji was a little strange. He watched you a little too closely, eyes following you wherever you went the moment you were within sight of him. And you often were, as he seemed to show up in your life constantly and repeatedly, almost too often to be a coincidence. He would always stand a little too close, heat radiating off of him, and you could have sworn a couple times you caught him sniffing your hair. Certainly strange. But he was also impossibly sweet, with big puppy dog eyes and a blinding smile, so blinding you missed the sharpened teeth peeking through his lips and the dangerous flash of his eyes.

You liked him, his sweet words and gentle hands. It’s why you agreed so readily to go camping with him when he asked. Normally you would hesitate at being alone in the woods with a man you didn’t know well, but he was so sweet, so hopeful, that you couldn’t help but agree.

“Thank you! You’re going to love it. The stars are so beautiful out there, you just have to see them.” He takes your hands in his, planting a gentle kiss to the knuckles. “Oh, angel, you’ll just adore it. I know you will.”

Some part of you, a part you were more than willing to ignore, whispered that he was a little too enthusiastic. That there was something in his eyes, his voice, that seemed nearly…predatory. But looking at his bright, hopeful smile, you silenced it easily. Not your dear, sweet friend Sanji. Not the man who so clearly worshiped you, adored you. No creature in this world would look at their prey with such affection.

He assures you he’s prepared everything, from your tent to what you’ll eat to your exact schedule. The only thing he doesn’t prepare for you are your clothes, and you think he would have taken over that too if he thought you’d accept it. On the drive over he excitedly rambles about every aspect he thinks you’ll enjoy, about how much he loves these woods and how he just knows you will too. When you arrive, he immediately starts fussing over every little aspect, and absolutely refuses any help.

“No, dear, absolutely not. You’re not going to lift a finger this weekend.” It’s the closest you’ve ever heard his voice get to authority. He leaves absolutely no room for argument, though you certainly try.

“I couldn’t let you do everything by yourself, Sanji–”

“You aren’t letting me do anything. I’m just doing it. Sit down, angel, here.” He gently grabs your shoulders, pushing you gently into one of the folding chairs he’s brought. Before you know it, there’s a snack and drink in your hands, a book placed on your lap, and Sanji has gone back to fussing. He sets up the tent (only one, you can’t help but notice), and he starts pulling dozens of pillows and blankets out of the car, far more than you would have thought could fit. You hear the telltale sound of an air mattress pump, and you can’t help but laugh.

“What could you possibly need all of that for?”

“I just want you to be comfortable, darling!”

“You’re making a whole nest in there!”

He’s silent for just a beat too long. “Haha, only the best for you!”

Despite everything he has, it only takes him about half an hour to set everything up. He’s clearly well practiced. He says he’s spent a lot of time in these woods, his little refuge away from the city and the stresses that come with it. “I hope you’ll enjoy it too, angel. It’s a little slice of heaven, here.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

He lights up with another blinding smile, and you try to ignore the way it makes your heart race. The afternoon is spent simply enjoying each other’s company as he brings you on a beautiful walk through the woods. You don’t talk much, simply enjoying the sounds and sights of nature, and you pretend you don’t notice when he starts drifting closer. By the time you return to camp, your hands are intertwined, and the sun is starting to go down.

“You’re going to love seeing the stars like this. You can barely see any back in town, but out here? It’s like an entirely different night sky.” His smile is boyish and excited, and he lightly squeezes your hand.

“And it’s a full moon tonight, isn’t it? It’ll be cool to see it in its full glory.”

His smile grows wider, a little sharper. “It is. I’m glad you’re excited. You have a lot to look forward to.”

You enjoy your dinner together, and he sticks to your side like glue, leaning closer and closer, practically on top of you by the end of it. His hands rest on your hips, his chin on your shoulder, his breathing slightly heavy. “You alright, Sanji?”

“I’m fine, dear.” You could swear his voice was slightly deeper than normal. “Just happy. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

A long time? You’d only known each other for a few months. You glance over at him, and for a moment you think you see his eyes not just catch the light of the campfire, but reflect it, glowing a sickly green for just half a second. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. His hands grip you a little tighter.

“I tried to make it as perfect as possible for you. I really want you to enjoy this as much as I will.” His voice is deeper again, gravely and rough. “I adore you, darling, you know that, don’t you?” He smiles at you again, mouth too full, too sharp, not quite human. You feel a poking at your hips, and you see his nails have grown, pressing into you insistently.

“Sanji?” Your voice is unsure, confused, and he hums quietly, nuzzling against your face.

“Don’t worry, dear. You’re alright, I promise.” His lips brush your cheek, gently at first, then harder and harder. His breath was originally pleasantly warm, but you can feel it growing hot. You stand, and he lets you go, though he whines when you do. When you turn to face him, your breath catches in your throat.

The creature in front of you is not Sanji. This is not the sweet, gentle man who brought you here. His face is elongated, nearly a snout. He’s at least two or three feet taller, his clothes slowly ripping and tearing. For a moment you’re torn between worry for him, whatever is happening to him, and fear for yourself, but when he stands at his full height and takes a step toward you, your self preservation wins out.

You run.

Your heart pounds as your feet stamp against the ground, your clothes catching against the brush. If you were smart, you would have sprinted toward the parking lot, to civilization, but he was standing in the way of that, and frankly, you weren’t thinking straight anyway. You didn’t know what running would do, if anything. You didn’t know what threat he posed, if any. But some part of you, some small, frightened animal, screamed for you to move, so you did.

You can hear footsteps behind you. “Darling?” His voice is almost recognizable, but the next word he tries to speak is choked and cut off in the middle as you hear a sickening cracking of bones setting into place. His voice doesn’t return, but the footsteps grow faster. He’s gaining on you quickly, and no matter how hard you push yourself, you know you’re really only gaining yourself a minute or two more, at best.

Your only advantage is that he seems too large to easily glide between the trees, crashing into branches with every step, howling in pain when he hits a particularly large cluster. It stops him for only a moment, but you take your opportunity to push forward.

You panic when you hit a clearing, illuminated fully by the moonlight. You can hear the pounding of his feet behind you, and you know in this moment without a doubt he is going to catch you. You’re helpless.

The sound of something crashing through the brush echoes behind you, and in an instant you’re on the ground, the slight sting of cuts on your knees almost distracting you from the massive hands on your stomach and forehead. You can see his elbows, now fur covered, bleeding slightly after taking the brunt of his weight in the fall. In your fear it takes you a moment of wondering before you realize why he’s taken such an odd position: he was trying to catch you, ensuring you weren't injured as he caught you. Maybe he isn’t too far gone. Maybe he’s still your sweet Sanji on some level.

“Sanji?” Your voice shakes slightly. “Please let me go.”

He doesn’t speak. You don’t know if he even can. He simply hovers over you, breathing heavily, nearly growling. The hand on your forehead slowly moves lower, tracing your cheek and neck until it reaches your chest. It pauses over your heart, fluttering rapidly beneath his touch, and you swear for a moment he chuckles. He shifts, and you hear the sound of him opening his mouth behind you.

You can feel the saliva dripping from his fangs onto your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he pants. He could wrap those teeth around your throat and snap your neck in an instant if he wanted, leave you limp and alone, body growing cold, in the middle of these woods. How long would it take someone to find you if he lost any more control?

His hands, far too large and tipped with claws that threaten to tear into you at any moment, are caressing your body in a manner you might call gentle, were you not frozen with fear. When he speaks, his voice is several octaves deeper, gravely, and the words come out as though they’re clawing their way out of his throat.

“Mine.”

The hands reach your hips as he presses closer to you and you can feel every inch of him, hard and aching. His chest presses into your back, the soft fur that now covers him gently tickling you, and he whispers again.

“Please. Let me.” He nuzzles against you, cold and wet nose pressing into your neck. “Please. Please. Please.”

His warmth, the soft licks against your skin, his needy cock pressing against your jeans, it all distracts you from the grass and rocks pressing into your knees. You can feel nothing but Sanji, his heart beating so loudly in his chest you can hear it. He ruts against you slightly, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes from your lips. At the noise, his hips piston again, rubbing precum against the fabric separating you as his teeth gently bite down on your shoulder to try to muffle the growl that escapes him.

“Please. Angel. Mine.” Every word is a fight against his instincts, but even with every part of him screaming to take, he insists on asking. His teeth nip at you again before his tongue gently soothes the spot, the closest thing to a kiss he can give you. “Need you.”

Your breathing is shaky as you try not to make it obvious how much he has affected you. You’ve always been attracted to him, and you’re embarrassed to admit the sharp teeth and claws have only made some part of you want him more. Something about him being so primal, not just wanting but needing you, it’s summoned something in you, something that almost makes you want to let him rip your clothes off and take you here on the ground. You’re clinging to the small bit of rationality that knows the chances of you leaving this encounter safely are slim, even as your cunt is dripping enough to start soaking through your pants, even as you feel him take a deep breath and know he can smell it. “Sanji, please,” you try to ignore the needy whine in your voice, “I can’t. We can’t.”

His nose leaves your neck to take a quick whiff of the air, before his breathing is heavier than ever in your ear, his cock once again rutting against your clothed cunt. “You want.” It isn’t a question, but a statement.

“I don’t–ah!” You let out a pathetic whine when you feel the fabric of your panties rub against your clit in just the right way, and his hands tighten against your hips.

“You do. Please.”

You try to cling to logic, to rationality, to humanity, but you can feel it rapidly slipping through your fingers as you lose yourself to the heat in the air, to the pathetic begging of a monster that could so easily just take what he wanted. You can hardly even remember your concerns as you feel him press against you, desperate and wanting, and you can think of nothing but how he would feel inside of you. Would it be so wrong to give in? To be his? Maybe you are already, marked on some level you didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything else, simply whining and groaning in your ear, but you can feel his honest plea in your heart. “Okay, Sanji. Take me.”

His claws rip through your jeans in an instant, the scraps of fabric falling to the ground in an instant. Your shirt follows not long after, as he takes a moment to grasp your tits in his hands, growling at the feeling. You can feel the point of his claws pressing against your rib cage, gentle but a reminder of his strength, of the brutality he’s capable of. He licks up the length of your neck, reveling in the taste of your sweat from the previous chase. “Thank you.”

His hands leave your breasts as he quickly rips off your panties, and you finally feel his length pressing against your entrance without obstruction. He’s massive, larger than you’ve ever taken, than you’ve ever imagined him to be. You fear he might rip you in two. You almost hope for it.

He begins slowly, his tip slowly creeping in, before his instincts finally take over and he loses himself, thrusting his entire length into you at once. You cry out at the sensation, feeling totally and completely full of him, your mind nothing but a continued cry of Sanji, Sanji, Sanji. He moans at the feeling of you clenching around him, at the feeling of him finally filling you as he has so desperately craved. At finally being able to have what’s his.

He relishes in the feeling for a second, his hand coming down to your stomach to press down, forcing you both to feel just how deeply he’s filled you, how perfectly you two fit together, like this was meant to be. Like everything in your lives has been leading you to this moment, to you being split in two under a full moon, finally feeling as though you’ve fulfilled your purpose in life, your fate. Like you two were born for nothing but each other.

He pulls out, and you cry out from the feeling of loss, before he plunges back in in an instant, then again, then again. With every thrust you can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, forcing you forward into the ground. His weight is nearly crushing you, every inch of your back pressing into his fur, the only thing stopping you from being crushed into the ground entirely is his monstrous hands holding you to him, one on your stomach, the other pulling your hips furiously back into his. 

He tries to speak, but the only thing that comes out is the same insistent growl. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He holds you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, like you’re the only thing that has ever and will ever matter. His teeth keep leaving insistent bites against your shoulders and neck, hard enough to mark but never hard enough to hurt. Not an attack, not an act of predator to prey, but an act of devotion. Of ownership. Of mating.

You try to say something, some plea for mercy, or perhaps some plea for more, but instead you find yourself crying, “Yours. Yes, yours! Yours!” The sound of skin meeting skin fills the clearing, the sound bringing a blush to your face despite how lost you are in the pleasure of it all. The sound is so depraved, combining with Sanji’s animalistic growls and groans, making the entire space feel primal and raw in a way you’ve never felt before. You’re operating on pure instinct, your brain having long since abandoned you, leaving your weeping cunt and lustful heart to guide you.

Sanji’s claws dig into your thighs as he pushes you forward and spreads your legs impossibly wider, staring directly at the spot his body meets with yours, entranced by the sight of your small form taking his massive cock. By all logic, you shouldn’t be able to take him, but here you are, impossibly stretched around him, crying and keening with every move he makes. You’re perfectly made for him, ready and wanting for something you didn’t know you needed until tonight. He knew the moment he saw you that you were born to be his, and he was born to be yours. He’s never known a bliss like this, as he spears you yet again, and you let out the cutest strangled noise of pleasure. 

He can feel you clench around him, your climax rising, and he can't help the grin that stretches across his face as he presses his muzzle back into your neck. He would do nearly anything to see your face right now, wanton and wanting, but he’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now all he can focus on is ensuring you ride your high out on him, ensuring your legs are still spread and ready once he finally is able to truly fill you up and make you his.

You can feel your entire body tense in preparation as Sanji thrusts into you one last time, and the dam finally breaks as you clench around him. You can feel something swell inside you as you clench around him, feel the movement of his hips begin to still as he spills into you. He’s panting heavily, a quiet whine emerging from his throat at the feeling of you around him. You expect to fall to the ground as he begins to pull back and stand up, but instead you find he is flopping forward, pressing you into the ground beneath you with his full weight. There is something large and round inside of you, holding you together, holding his cum inside. You squirm your hips slightly, but it doesn’t move, and neither do you, trapped against him.

“Sanji?”

His arms wrap fully around you as he rests his nose in your neck, breathing heavily. A soft whine leaves his throat when you try to move again, and he gently nips at your neck in admonishment. “Stay.”

You feel impossibly full, stretched to the brim. You think for a moment on the risk this poses, being fucked full of cum on the forest floor, and you clench around his knot despite yourself. You really feel like an animal, like you’ve been staked and claimed, and somehow it feels terribly right. Like you were meant to be here. So you don’t squirm or struggle, trying to maintain some of your dignity by pulling yourself out of the dirt. Later he will pick you up, lick you clean, and gently carry you back to your campsite, to be safely tucked away in his tent, curled among the pillows and blankets he has prepared for you. But for now you simply lay here, pinned underneath him, intertwined for however long his body demands it. There’s no use fighting fate.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99

[yikimiki]

>> bones and ashes

⚔️ sukuna x fem!reader | warnings for: violence, mentions of death, possessiveness (sukuna is as evil as they come so basically every red flag under the sun), non-con that turns into dub-con (Stockholm syndrome), mentions of virginity loss, anatomically impossible size difference (if u know what I mean), blood play, etc | around 5-6k words | also important to note that I absolutely assassinated the canon lore in some points but bare with me

Sukuna doesn’t really have the ability to love. But he thinks he gets close enough when it comes to you. Of course, in his own twisted, macabre way.

Sukuna isn’t familiar to the concept of fondness, let alone anything more profound or meaningful than that. He knows want, desire, possession, curiosity even. But none of those feelings have ever tilted towards the side of affection, nor does he want them to. They’re all narcissistic pulses that keep pushing him forward — towards more power, more control, more of what he can become. He’s not even fond of his own abilities. Arrogant? Perhaps, but not fond. He can’t be fond of something he knows is not at its peak yet, that would just be weakness.

And Sukuna is everything but weak.

He sees you in a cold winter morning and he does what he knows best: he takes. Takes your pride, your virginity, your blood. Takes you like he took the lives of the rest of your village, paints your skin red and watches as the tears wash it away. Sukuna takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, just like he has done countless times before and yet�� this time, something switches.

This time, he decides to let you live. Trapped in a dark cell, of course, but alive regardless.

The days move slowly, and you learn to mark their passing by the loud, clanking sound of a metal dish being thrown through a cracked door. The food is mostly raw meet and, after a few days of disgust, you cave in and eat a little of it. Not enough to be satisfied, not even close, but enough to keep you alive for at least a few hours longer.

Sukuna comes by in irregular intervals, and you soon give up on trying to find a pattern in his visits. You know it’s him from the way the door creaks open even further to accommodate his size, and you watch as his large shadow observes your movements for a moment before he kicks the disgusting plate towards you. Most of time time he’s there, you force yourself to eat, afraid of what should come if you turn down his unspoken commands. Once he seems satisfied, he exits without a word.

There is one single advantage in being in a windowless, isolated cell: you can’t hear what goes on up there. You’ve heard enough the day that Sukuna came to your village — the shattering screams, the pleads for mercy, the babies crying, the sound of wood and bone breaking almost too similar to differentiate. You saw creatures beyond your realm and heard awful whispers and threats; held you family as they died and gave up as the snow beneath your hands became as red as the burning sky above. And you know enough about Sukuna’s legend to be aware that it wasn’t an isolated incident.

When evil incarnate arrives, there’s not much you can do but surrender.

Though, when it comes to the legends, you thought that his palace was more of a manner of speak than an actual location. Once again, though, you’ve heard enough legends to know when to stop inquiring about the details.

Sukuna comes in after a week with a plan and a cloud of amusement over his head — frankly, given the state you were in, he thought you would be dead by now. Your stubborn hold on life is as impressive as it is pathetic.

“You looked so small when I first saw you,” his thunderous voice breaks the silence. There’s no food in his hands this time, only the fire cracking behind his form. You’re sitting down on the cold floor, back against the wall, and you don’t even bother looking up at him. “You look even smaller now.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know what to say. Of course you’re smaller — you’re weak, starving, lacking movement and sunlight. Every muscle in your body aches and the aftertaste of dried blood never leaves your mouth. Smaller is a compliment; you wish you were just bones and ashes by now.

Sukuna takes a heavy step inside the dark chamber. “I killed everyone you’ve ever loved that day,” he says, bluntly. There’s no amusement nor sorrow in his tone — it’s a neutral statement. He lowers himself to your level and, on the corner of your eyes, you see his four arms. He is so wrong, even in a physical sense. Like the scar of something that shouldn’t even exist. “And yet… you live. Do you want to know why?”

You sneer. “I wish you’d just let me die.”

He chuckles, and one hand meets the side of your head. His fingers dig into the dirty, messy strings and pulls on the roots. There are tears on the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let him see them. “That’s exactly why you’re alive,” he says. “I knew you were ready to die when I saw you — all bloodied up, on your knees in the snow. It was quite a sight.” Sukuna’s voice is a malicious whisper as he comes even closer to you — he smells rotten. The tongue that licks up your cheek makes you want to puke. He tastes you the same way as he did on the first day, and you have no idea what he’s searching for. “Tell me, why were you so ready to give yourself to me? Most try to plead at least.”

“Plead for what? Your mercy?” The sarcasm is clear through your tone. The words you mean to say are knotted in the base of your throat and the odor Sukuna reeks is making you dizzy; making you remember everything that came before this. “I— I didn’t have anything else to live for,” you stutter. “You killed… you killed my mother, my father, my baby brother… why would I want to live without them? Why would I humiliate myself asking for mercy from a creature that clearly doesn’t have any to spare?”

Through anger, you look up at him. His eyes are flames bursting through the darkness, and they shine as your words settle on his skin. “Do you only live for love, my little dove?” He asks. “What a purposeless life you have.”

“Do you only live for hate?” You ask back before you can hold your tongue. Somewhere in your mind, you know that he’s capable of unimaginable evil, but you are beyond the point of caution. “What a purposeless legacy you’re leaving behind.”

This angers him. The corners of his mouth twists as he speaks. “You people fear me. Even the strongest of sorcerers doesn’t dare to go against me.”

“I pity you and your ridiculous need for destroying what isn’t yours,” you spit. “And I hate you for keeping me alive. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me and to the people I love. And I hate that you even dare to come here and talk to me like I’m the smaller person for daring to care about something.”

The hands on your hair tighten and he pulls your face against his. Sukuna’s forehead is a furnace against yours, his eyes burn into your soul. “You little insect, I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to.”

Your voice shakes but you say it regardless: “Do it, then, what are you waiting for?”

“No,” his answer is more cruel than death could ever be. And he knows that. “And you know why?”

“If you are keeping me alive to have your way with me, so be it, have it,” you say. The tears are obvious now. You wonder if he can smell how fearful you really are. “Violate me like you did before, I don’t care anymore, but just don’t keep me alive just to waste me away.”

His lips are touching yours now, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. Sukuna’s chest is heaving like he’s in the middle of a battle, his voice like a roar in your ears. “Then ask. For. My Mercy.”

“I w-would n-never…”

“Ask!” It’s a loud command that crashes against you like a wave. You sink like there is no adrenaline in your body to keep you afloat; the anger that moved you before is no longer within your reach.

The truth is clear: you’re human. He’s a curse — the king of curses, older than you could ever imagine; probably even more powerful than the legends you’ve heard. His eyes say that there are fates worse than death and you believe them. And maybe, just maybe, if you play by his rules, he’ll grow tired of you and let you wither away.

“P-Please,” you are sobbing now, tears falling down like a cascade. Sukuna licks them and hums in satisfaction, watching as you break apart into a mountain of hiccups and trembling limbs. “Please just… have mercy on me. I’ll do whatever you want just — please, stop torturing me like this.”

“Aw,” he coos. “Was that so hard?”

You want to say that yes, somehow, that took everything still left in you. You want to say that if he wanted to break your spirit, congratulations, he’s done it. But you don’t get the chance.

Sukuna kisses you with the same ferocity you expected, sharp teeth crashing against yours and tongue exploring your mouth with no prior warning. He groans as he tastes you — you, the blood in your food, the salt of your tears — and suddenly it’s all that he will ever crave again. You whimper against his lips as his two lower arms crawl up your thighs and hold onto your hips, pushing you against him as he stands up and presses you against the wall. You feel more caged now than you have felt these past few days.

“Silly little human,” he raps against your lips, then licks your cheek for more of your precious tears. He realizes how much he likes to make you cry. You wince and give out a little sob, which only makes him smile. Finally, his grip on your hair loosens. “What is my name?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the sudden question. “S-Sukuna…?”

He pouts. “Say it like you mean it or I won’t be so nice.”

“Sukuna,” you say more firmly this time.

“There we go, that’s a good girl,” he says. “See how things just work better when you don’t misbehave? Hm?”

You nod. He doesn’t like it. “Y-Yes, I see, I’m sorry.”

“Very good.” The hand that was on your hair moves to hold your face, and it’s so huge that you feel like it would crush your skull with one single movement. As the other two arms hold onto your thighs, the fourth limb squeezes your breast. “Now, this is what’s going to happen, my pretty little human,” Sukuna starts, “I will have my servants take you to my chambers. You will be washed, clothed, and taken care of. They will feed you proper human food this time, whichever it is that your heart desires. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a trap. “And, in return, what do I have to do for you?”

“What do I have to do for you…?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sukuna,” you complete.

“There’s my perfect little girl,” he says. You hate that something inside you likes the praise. “You will have to wait for me there. Do whatever you prefer, but don’t leave my room. Any attempt at escaping or killing yourself will be futile, and I’ve already warned every single curse that your death will result in a much more dire future for them. So you will be brought back to me. And I promise I won’t be so nice.”

“I understand… Sukuna,” you correct yourself quickly. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

The hand on your breast squeezes tighter, and you bite your lip so you don’t complain. “I knew I was right when I brought you here, something made me spare you. Yet, I don’t know what it is just yet.”

Sukuna is a looming threat above you, his limbs trapping you, and his deep voice is like thunder about to break. You know why so many fear him — you fear him too. And the sooner you act like it, the sooner he’ll grow tired of you. Sooner he’ll realize he was wrong in bringing you into his fortress.

He smirks. “But I believe I’ll discover soon enough.”

- ⚔️ -

Sukuna’s chambers are as spacious and monstrous as himself — corners switching and adjusting like breathing flesh; furniture morphing into different shapes; the weird odor of something old; the feeling for something lurking. The large windows show a world between worlds; a reality that doesn’t seem right no matter how long you stare at it. His palace is in a dimension you can’t reach, and you give up on trying to understand it. If anything, the more you wonder about it, the more you shake under the weight of the sheer power it must take to keep it all existing like solid matter.

Your passage of time is morphed and unreliable, but you would guess that a couple weeks have passed by the time that you come to terms that, perhaps, Sukuna isn’t as easy to bore as you first expected. The fire in his eyes doesn’t seem to diminish as he sees you — if anything, his eagerness to have you all to himself only seems to expand — and the way he takes care of you makes you realize that he isn’t planning on letting you die anytime soon.

Life in his chambers is far more comfortable, you admit, but it’s a prison nonetheless. Still, you can’t say that you are mistreated. In his chambers, you are bathed and clothed, well-fed and pampered. You soon come back to your normal weight and the fatigue leaves your body; there is more space to move, more things to do. The curses that come to check on you seem to be strangely kind and human-like, though you know it’s out of fear and not out of worry, and they keep your mind occupied with several stories and legends as the days move on.

Sukuna is more absent than you would have imagined, conquering and killing as often as he can. When he finally comes to you he is clean, recently bathed, but you can still see he is fresh from a battle, some mindless corruption beyond the horizon that you would rather hear nothing about. There are shallow scars and deep cuts that heal unreasonably quickly; dried blood that hasn’t quite washed away and ashes beneath his fingernails.

You ask whose village he has attacked this time, but he says it doesn’t matter, because there are no survivors.

“I never leave any survivors,” he completes, kissing your forehead, “besides you, my little human.”

You don’t push beyond that information, but the feeling of being special, chosen, starts to blossom like a dangerous rose inside your chest. It stings and stings, but grows regardless, and you see yourself less able to fight against his possessive claims. You start to enjoy them. You start to wonder if life beyond those walls is worth fighting for when you seem to have everything you would ever wish for right here.

You can always tell when Sukuna is about to arrive in this world because the atmosphere switches into something darker, heavier. The air seems thicker and the clouds beyond your windows start to bleed into a deep shade of red. Sukuna returns with the apocalypse on his back, and, when he does, he uses your body as he pleases.

Like the room around you, there is constant change. Sometimes it hurts like hell; sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes you wish it would just end and you end up crying in despair; sometimes you look at him like you might get used to feeling him inside of you. Some days, Sukuna is kinder, more patient, taking time to adjust you to his enormous size and even makes sure that you enjoy it before reaching his end; fucking you full of his cum until you can’t think of one single thing besides him. Other days, you know he is angry just by the way he walks through the door — and, in those days, you are left bleeding and bruised as he uses your body in every single way until he’s close enough to satisfied. That, on itself, can take a long, long time.

You realize that, during those violent days, he could use one of his curses to please himself, but he prefers to use you — because you bleed, you cry, and you suffer. As long as your pain exists, his interest is unwavering.

However, like everything else, you adapt, get used to it. Routine becomes familiar and you learn the tell-tale signs of his rancid mood; learn how to make it a little better and what things to avoid. You stop thinking about getting away — you don’t even have anywhere else to go — and start longing for his presence as he takes more time to come back home. Sukuna is warm, safe; next to him you know you are shielded from any harm. When he appears, no one dares to look or touch you, no one speaks until they are spoken to. Just by being in his gravitational pull, you are protected and no harm will ever come your way again.

Even if it hurts, you start hoping that he won’t get tired of you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how he feels about it all.

It’s not love — he has gone over that one a few hundred times already, has marked off every possible scenario and imagined every possible feeling, and he is sure it isn’t love. To be frank, he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it even if he wanted to, he sold his soul too long ago to even remember how normal humans love. But if it’s not love, it’s something similar — a kind of tenderness, fondness. He has a soft spot for you, to put it bluntly. Though not in the typical sense.

Sukuna adores you like a painter adores his favorite canvas; like an exotic bird in a cage — he adores you with possession, obsession, with the knowledge that you can’t ever get away from his grip. He is fond of you in a way that he would murder anyone who would even dare to touch what is his; but would never set you free. He can hurt you, he can tear you into pieces and build you to his liking. Sukuna can kiss you or bite you; hug or break you, but it’s because you’re his little pet and no one else’s.

He is fond of the way you bend for him; the way you look at him with sheer adoration in your eyes even after he has taken everything from you. He is fond of the way that only he could kill you; that your small life is in his hands and you thank him for it. Sukuna is fond of the way your tight little cunt stretches so wide to take his fat cock; lives for the little whimpers you give out and the tears that stain his satin sheets when he finally allows you to cum for him. If he could crawl inside your soul, he would. If he could take it and eat it and have you forever, he would.

He doesn’t know why he craves you so much, but he knows that nothing else gives him the same high anymore.

So he keeps you.

It’s a heavy stormy night when he comes back the next time, and his room is only illuminated by a few candles and the lightening from outside. You’re in his large bed, looking as small as that day in the snow, and there is a touch of worry in your eyes that he doesn’t miss. But he ignores it.

“Undress,” he commands.

You rush to do as he says, throwing the faint fabric over your head. It falls to the ground as Sukuna walks towards the bed, his massive weight making it dip under his knee as he leans closer to you.

“My pretty little doll,” Sukuna muses. “Missed me?”

He always asks that. And your answer is always the same.

“So much, Sukuna.”

It’s more honest every time.

He hums, satisfied, and smirks as he pushes your hair away from your face. “I have something to tell you, and I think you will like it,” Sukuna says. You look at him with wide eyes as he settles over you, his four arms caging your body as you lay down. The mouth on his stomach open and closes, a large tongue coming out before it vanishes again — it always does it when he’s particularly excited. “Would you like to know what it is?”

You know he will tell you regardless. Like all the tales of his battles, he lives for the glimpse of horror in the back of your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna.”

“Seems like you are famous now,” he starts. You furrow your eyebrows. “Sorcerers are trying to save you. The poor little human girl that Sukuna took as a prisoner months ago.” He kisses your neck, then licks the skin. You shiver — months, it has been months then. “Two of them tried to enter my domain today, stupid little insects,” he continues. Another hand lands on your exposed breast, playing with your nipple. “You have no idea how enraged that made me, my little human. To have someone try to take you away from me; to try and to enter my domain and take you from me.”

His voice turns into a growl by the end of the sentence, and you feel the familiar pulse of terror running through your veins. He’s in a bad mood, that’s obvious, but there’s something hiding beneath that as well.

“What did you do to them?” You ask. “Did they get in?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and the hand that was on your breast now settles on your clit, massaging it softly. “I took care of them, my sweet thing, of course,” he says. Your breath hitches at the slow pleasure of his movements, and your eyes flutter shut. “No one will ever take you from me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you say without a thought. In your heart, you feel it’s wrong. But without him, you have nothing. “I’m yours forever, Sukuna.”

“I know you are,” he answers.

Sukuna holds you by the throat as he kisses you — not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you a little dizzy. Your eyes cross mindlessly as his tongue invades your mouth; a deep groan coming from his chest as he tastes your lips. He always kisses you violently, possessively, like he wishes to suck your soul out of your chest. Beneath his size you can only shrink and hold onto his large biceps, the wetness between your legs growing as he takes what is his.

He pulls back, ignoring the string of saliva that connects you two. “Pretty little thing,” he muses, shoving his middle finger inside your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You do as he says and he smirks at the feeling of your pretty lips around his large finger. Soon enough, the same digit is invading your pussy, curling up so quickly that you see starts at your peripheral vision.

“Relax or it’ll hurt again,” he says — not like he cares about it. “I want you to remember tonight.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I’ll make sure that you’ll be mine forever,” he says, a devilish smile on the corners of his lips. “So no one can take you from me. No one would even try.”

Your breath is getting heavier, and you don’t even register what he’s telling you — he could do a billion things to you and you’d still let him. The time spent only in his company made your resolution vanish, and you became exactly what he wanted you to: another possession for him to do as he pleases. Because of him, you have nothing else. Besides him, you have nothing.

“You’re not cumming around my finger tonight,” he says and quickly removes his hand from your cunt. You whine at the sudden emptiness, walls spasming around nothing, but you know better than to protest. “It’s going to be around my cock, you got it?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you say.

“Good girl,” he muses. His lower arms move to undo his pants as his mouth attacks yours once again. His sharp teeth drain blood from your lips and he groans at the metallic taste; drinks the little sob of pain you let out. “You’re all fucking mine. Forever,” he growls, “I’ll make you live forever with me.”

Months ago, that would be torture. But now, “It sounds like heaven, Sukuna,” you say. “I love you.”

Your vision falls to where his hands are working. His cock is massive, bigger than your forearm, balls swinging out of his shorts and falling heavy under his shaft. Your entire body tingles in anticipation as he strokes himself, aligning his cockhead with your opening. “Tiny fucking cunt,” he curses, rubbing it against your soaked folds. “I’ll train you to take my cock even better than now, kitten.” Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in and it hurts — no matter how many times you’ve taken him, it always burns. “Way too fucking tight for my fat cock, you know that?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll do better-“

He chuckles. “I fucking love it.”

In one strong motion, he shoves himself as deep as he can, pressing against your cervix as you whine at his size. It isn’t fair — it’s so thick you can’t even breathe, you can feel him in your stomach, pressing and pulsing until you can’t think of anything but the sheer size of his massive cock inside your poor little hole. Your walls hurt to accommodate his girth, stretching as far as they can, but it never seems like it’s enough.

“It’s t-too big, Sukuna,” you whine. And it is. You know he must be doing something to your body so you can even be alive right now, because it’s not humanly possible to take such a big cock. “I c-can’t…”

His hand lands on your head and pulls at the roots. “You are my special little human, my obedient little girl,” he reminds you. His cock throbs inside you and you whimper, the small movement alone makes you drool. “You will do anything I tell you to do.”

You nod. “Y-Yes.”

“So when I tell you to take it….” He rolls his hips even deeper and you call his name so loud that you’re sure the entire world will hear it. “You’ll fucking take it.”

You don’t even have the ability to answer as he starts to pound deep inside your soaked cunt, hard and violent, as he is. Your vision is blurry with tears as you look down to see his massive cock bullying itself again and again inside your cunt, taking everything you have to give.

“Look at me when I claim you,” Sukuna warns and you do it instantly. Your legs wrap around his hips and he squeezes your ass so hard it will bruise. There’s a malicious glint in his red eyes that never quite goes away, no matter how much he tries, and now it’s deadset on you. “My precious little girl,” he calls, voice strained with pleasure. You can tell from the way his cock throbs that he is close, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going. “You told me you love me. Do you only live for love, kitten?”

“I live f-for loving you, S-Sukuna,” you respond automatically. “I live for you.”

Sukuna groans like an animal — he adores what a stupid little fuckdoll he has turned you into. He can never get tired of this; he can never let it get away. “You’ll die for me, kitten?”

You nod so quickly you get dizzy. “Yes, a-anything… I’m yours f-forever.”

He calls your name like he has never done before, a little insane, a little sweet. If the sheer size of Sukuna’s genitals aren’t anything to go by, he cums a lot — it oozes out of your cunt before he’s even halfway through, cock throbbing and leaking again and again until you’re filled to the brim. His huge balls smack against your ass as he continues to bully himself inside you, a little more desperate now, intoxicated by his own pleasure.

There’s no rest, there never is. He only takes and takes.

“I’ll make you mine,” he groans.

“I’m yours, Sukuna, I’m yours…” you repeat like a broken record, half-aware of your own voice through the loud moans and hiccups. You watch in ecstasy as he uses one of his sharp nails to cut the palm of his hand, blood oozing out of it and dropping on your breasts. It’s like you know what he will say even before he says it. “You want me t-to-“

“Drink it.”

Perhaps you should be scared, but you’re not. Your mouth opens without a second thought and he presses his large palm on your lips, muffling your moans and allowing the hot dark liquid to invade your tongue. Sukuna’s blood is thick and it tastes like poison, but you do as he says, liking his flesh and drinking it until he seems satisfied and takes his hand away.

It strikes your body like an arrow, straight through your chest and expanding like deep roots. You feel as his blood burns your insides, changing something in your very existence. It’s hard to think through the sensations — the pleasure building up, the venom running through your veins, the mixture of devotion and fear that dances inside your mind. Your vision is double, black around the edges, and you think you might be cumming but you’re not sure you can even feel your body anymore. Sukuna’s voice echoes muffled in the background, and you can see his mouth moving in slow motion, but you don’t understand his words. You think you are crying. You think you can’t breathe. You think you are dying and being born at the same time and you don’t know why you feel so grateful for it all.

Your lungs are on fire and your throat is dry. You try to speak, but can’t. You have the vague flashback of the time your uncle made you drink alcohol, it burns just the same, but this time, no one is laughing. This time, you’re dying.

“… at me.”

This time, Sukuna’s voice rings sharp and clear. You stare at him, confused, as the flames inside your chest slowly subside.

“Keep looking at me,” he repeats, commanding.

You try to nod, but your head doesn’t move. You can’t see the room around you anymore. “H-Hurts,” you manage to get out.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a touch of softness in his voice you don’t ignore. “Focus on me. I’ll make it feel better.”

And that’s what you try to do, even if your soul seems to be floating miles above your body. You look down at where he is still moving in and out of you, at the white-coated mess that drips from your hole and soaks your inner thighs. It doesn’t seem to hurt as badly now, like your body is changing to accommodate him even better — in fact, it feels like heaven.

You look up at him, dumbfounded. “I t-think I’m going to cum, Sukuna,” the words come easier now, and you feel like you can move again. Though, it still feels like a dream. “It’s so g-good.”

“Cum on my fat cock, then, make me proud,” he coos. You close your eyes and nod, trying to focus on the paradise that blooms between your legs. You feel every ridge and vein of his massive cock; hear the lewd squelching sounds of his cum leaking out of you. It comes to you faster than you would have imagined, washing through your body like a wave as you cry and shake miserably. “That’s my girl, fuck, there we go, that’s my perfect little girl.”

The spasming of your walls manages to milk more cum out of him and he groans loudly as he releases inside you once more. Sukuna cums so much it makes you breathless, filling you again and again until he’s satisfied and the sheets beneath you have no salvation left.

“There we go, take everything,” he says in a strained groan, “every fucking drop inside this tight fucking cunt.”

Sukuna looks absolutely insane above you — fucking his cock so hard into you that it seems like he will never have the chance again; eyes blown wide and his teeth clenched. You cum again, this time a little softer, as you feel his thick cock shoot a specially large amount of cum inside your pussy, and wait until he’s done using your body.

Eventually, he settles, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep inside your eyes. The redness in them is shining like flames, watching every movement of your face.

“Feels weird,” you say. “I feel dizzy.”

He chuckles and removes himself from you. Another white-hot wave gushes out of your cunt, and he sits back to watch it drip. “There we go, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You swallow, your tongue is still numb inside your mouth. “It was horrible, Sukuna. I felt like I was going to die.”

Sukuna smiles and uses two fingers to push some of his cum back inside you. “I can promise you it was better than when I did,” he says, and you’re confused for a moment. “But now we don’t have anything to worry about anymore, my sweet thing. Those pathetic little sorcerers won’t want you.”

“H-How are you so sure?” You ask.

“Aw, my sweet, stupid little girl.” He pouts, condescending as always. “No one will want to save a curse now.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“I told you.” Sukuna licks his own blood at the corner of your mouth. “You are mine forever.”

[lordprettyflackotara]

hitchhiker || the proxies || prologue

tw: mentions of murder

“Son of a bitch!”

Masky’s voice was hoarse under his mask, the muddy slope under him making him slide forward. A rough hand grasped his forearm, keeping him from falling. He glanced over his shoulder, Hoodies gloved hand wrapped around his mustard jacket. He glared at Toby as he slid down the muddy slope with glee, splashing mud onto his already tattered jeans. Masky’s eyes narrowed as he heard the familiar quiet giggles coming from under Toby’s mask.

“W-where are we?” Toby questioned. The three looked around, Masky’s memory the most hazy out of the three. Him being elected the leader made the least sense sometimes, considering how scrambled his brain was. “The butt fuck of no where is my guess,” Masky huffed. Hoodie looked in front of them a two way road the only sign of civilization. He turned to Masky, who was about five seconds away from a rage fit. “We need to find our way back to the mansion,” Masky sighed. He began walking along the side of the road, assuming Hoodie and Toby would follow.

“You’re not seriously proposing we walk back to civilization are you?” Hoodie asked plainly. Masky gritted his teeth, annoyance washing over him. “You got a better idea?” He snapped. Toby skipped in front of Masky, turning around to face him as he walked backwards. “We c-c-can hit-tchhike!” He said cheerfully. Masky and Hoodie exchanged looks, watching as Toby raised his arm by the road. He raised a thumb, his signature bloody axe thrown over his opposite shoulder.

“Anyone who willful picks us up has got to be a lunatic,” Hoodie muttered. A set of headlights appeared over the clearing, the older men’s eyes narrowing at the sight of your car. “Looks like we got ourselves a lunatic,” Masky grumbled.

“L-l-let me do all of-f-f the talking gentleman,” The younger proxy said. Toby skipped to the front of the car, Masky and Hoodie watching dumbfounded as you rolled down your window. “Do you think it’s because she thinks the kids cute?” Masky asked his partner. Maybe he hadn’t been around women so long that they overlooked blood soaked axes if someone was attractive enough. Hoodie elbowed him. “It’s Halloween, that’s why she’s not bothered,” Hoodie replied quietly. How could Masky have forgotten? Thats the entire reason they were able to complete their mission to begin with.

“You know the rules we can’t have witnesses, no matter how cute,” Hoodie whispered. Masky eyed you carefully, noticing your doe eyes and plump lips. You seemed to be wearing some sort of fairy costume, one that made your breast sit upright. Masky sighed. “Of course. We get in the car and let her drive for a bit. Gives us a break. Once we come to a stopping point we’ll make it short and sweet,” Masky told Hoodie. He gestured his head to the revolver in his jacket pocket, the outline shoving just ever so slightly. Toby came back around the car, waving for them to join him. “Dibsss o-on shotgun!” Toby cheered.

As Masky approached the car he gently shoved Toby towards the backseat. “Yeah right kid, take a seat,” He huffed. Masky slid into the passengers seat of the car, your lips curling into a bright smile. “Hi i’m y/n,” You greeted. Masky gave you a brief nod, the three of them settling into the car. You noted their silence, deciding to change the conversation. “So, where you guys needing to go?” You asked. You started the car again, driving down the windy road. It became apparent that you were intoxicated, your perfume not able to conceal the smell of alcohol. Masky would’ve questioned your ability to drive, if he cared to survive a possible crash.

Death would be a pleasant surprise, if Slender didn’t have EJ bring him back in time. The healing process would be a bitch. “Just back to town. We got lost partying in the woods,”Hoodie answered quickly. Every so often it impressed Masky how quickly his partner could lie on the spot. You nodded. “Well i’m glad I found you guys, Halloween can get pretty crazy,” You slurred. Masky watched cautiously as your eyes flickered into the rearview mirror, looking at Hoodie and Toby. If it were up to him he would have you drive the entire way, so he could relax his never ending storm of a mind.

“What are you three dressed up as? I’m Tinkerbell as you might’ve guessed,” You giggled. Unfortunately your talking and questions were starting to get on Masky’s last nerve. “Y-you ev-ver see the purge? We’re dressed like them!” Toby replied, his neck twitching ever so slightly. Masky refrained from audibly sighing. Toby’s neck only ever twitched like that when he genuinely enjoyed talking to someone. He needed the kid to not get attached to you. Would only make the disposal process harder. And trust him, no one chops up a body like Toby does.

“Thats cool, definitely unique masks you guys have. Can I touch?” You asked innocently. You reached over to Masky, your fingertips threatening to graze his mask. The brunette could feel himself growing angry, his mask the one possession he could not allow to be touched. Hoodies loud coughing stopped your motion, your hand frozen as you glanced back in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?” You asked cautiously. Masky sighed in relief as you retracted your hand. Hoodie continued fake coughing, giving you a thumbs up with one of his gloved hands.

The games and chit chat were growing old. Maybe if they were normal men, who actually were coming from a Halloween party, you’d be enjoyable. Maybe one of them would be lucky enough to take you home and fuck your brains out in that slutty Tinkerbell costume of yours. But they weren’t normal men and none of them were lucky. “He’s fine, just has bad a-a-asthma,” Toby explained, patting Hoodies shoulder. Masky could see Hoodie subtly cringe at the sensation of physical touch. He despised anyone touching him. “I have asthma too! Hang on I think I have an inhaler in the glovebox,” You replied.

You made a slow left on the windy road, the city lights slowly coming into view from a far. “Hey do you mind grabbing the inhaler from the glovebox?” You asked Masky. He did as instructed, clearing his throat as he handed the inhaler back to Hoodie. It was a subtle signal that they needed to get on with disposing of you. They were close enough to the city now. “Welllll you guys don’t seem like big talkers so i’ll play some music. Is that okay?” You asked. Toby nodded profusely. Music always made the kid overly excited. Masky began to reach in his coat pocket, his revolver always loaded and ready to go. He could feel his metal wrapped around the metal, itching with anticipation.

Your fingertips pressed the center console, turning on a tune Masky hadn’t heard in a long time. The Smiths filled his ears, the lead singers voice soothing. He glanced in the rearview mirror, Hoodie’s head beginning to twitch to the left. Shit, Brian’s gonna be fronting. Masky’s gaze landed on Toby, whose leg was jumping up and down front excitement. This band reminded Hoodie too much of his previous life, triggers like those allowing Brian to front earlier than expected. Masky sighed as the chorus came on, his jaw beginning to clench as an all too familiar pounding began in the front of his temple.

Brian could see Masky’s switch, his hand rubbing his temple as it always did when Tim was about to front. Tim blinked a few times, his breathing feeling suffocated under his mask. His hand slid out of his jacket, leaving his revolver inside. He quickly shoved his mask off, fear washing over him with the realization as to what he just did. Not only could they not have witnesses, but they most certainly could not let anyone who saw their faces walk away alive. Tim shot Brian a worried look, Brian quick to shove off his ski mask. As The Smiths played in the background Tim cleared his throat.

“I’m Tim by the way, and he’s Brian,” He said. He pointed at Toby with him thumb over the seat. “And I’m sure Toby has introduced himself,”

How could they get out of this without killing you?

How could they get out of this without killing you?

How could they get out of this without killing you?

You smiled drunkenly, Tim noticing your slight curve when driving. “Do you guys want to stop by waffle house?” You asked. Toby went to immediately agree, Brian’s hand flying over his mouth. “Maybe some other time, we have uh, work tomorrow,” Brian answered. Toby shoved his arm away, Brian struggling to keep his hand over the younger man’s mouth. “Bummer. I should probably go home too. Works such a bitch,” You sighed. Tim was trying to listen to you, he really was. But all he could think about was how he was going to have to order your execution. To arrange your meeting with death himself.

His brown eyes flickered to Brian’s in the rearview mirror, who were silently awaiting his instruction. Tim knew his partners expectation, but as he looked over at you, he just couldn’t do it. As you drove into the city you hummed along to the song, your fingers tapping along the steering wheel to the beat. Tim couldn’t put his finger on why exactly he was determined to let you go. Maybe it was his morality that surfaced when he immediately switched. Maybe it was how tired he truly was. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept. Whatever it was, something about you called to him. That calling involving you being alive.

The city lights were mixtures of purples and yellows, illuminating the inside of the car. “Can you pull over at the gas station up here? We live nearby,” Brian interjected, ruining the silence. You nodded, turning on your blinker and driving over to the right lane. Tim didn’t want to leave just yet, resentment of Brian’s words washing over him as you parked the car. “Well here we are,” You say. It wasn’t hard to see you were still drunk, your eyes glazed over. Tim couldn’t help but conclude your intoxication was the only reason you were so calm.

“Thanks for the ride, appreciate it,” Brian said, sliding out of the backseat. Tim listened to the car door slam, slowly taking off his seatbelt. Toby followed his lead. “B-b-bye beautiful!” He said, retreating from the car. Tim gave you a brief glance. He was doing the right thing by sparing your life, right? He slid out of the car, grabbing his mask and shoving it into his coat. You rolled down your passenger window, giving them a wave. “I’ll see you guys around, right?” You asked. Something about the ominous three men was intriguing, a mystery seemingly dying to be solved.

“Most definitely,” Tim replied. He leaned down, propping his arms on the passenger door as he peered down inside of your car. “Seriously, thanks for the ride. If we run into each other again we’ll make up for it,” Tim offered. You smiled, the faintest flush of pink highlighting your cheeks. “I’d like that a lot,” You replied. Tim leaned away, giving you a wave.

“Goodbye Y/n.”

“Goodbye Tim.”

With that you drove away, leaving Tim standing beside Brian and Toby. “You let her go?” Brian questioned. Tim dug into his pants, digging out a box of cigarettes. “Just like that?” Brian continued to questioned. Tim shrugged, bringing a cigarette to his lips. “No sense in killing her. She did us a favor,” He replied blandly. He began digging around for a lighter, Toby furiously jumping in between them. “What?!?! Y-you guys-s-s wanted to kill her?” Toby gasped. Brian rolled his eyes. “Dont be so naive, she’s a witness and we leave no witnesses behind,” He informed him. Brian shot Tim a dirty look and added, “Especially after they’ve seen our faces.”

Tim was aware he was breaking about twenty different protocols by letting you go. He was also more than aware Toby could’ve taken care of you entirely, he wouldn’t have needed to be involved. But he wanted you to live. It was an odd sensation he had never truly felt before, raw craving for someone that came across their path to walk away scratch free. “How long are we stationed here?” Brian asked. Tim finally found his lighter, igniting the end of his cigarette. Once he inhaled he replied, “About another three months.”

Brian crossed his arms, both him and Toby trailing behind Tim as he began to stroll down the sidewalk. He exhaled through his nose, ignoring Brian’s dirty looks. “How exactly do you propose we avoid her for three months?” He asked. Tim rolled his eyes. “For starters there’s the entire possibility she’ll be too drunk to remember us anyways,” He began. He watched as Toby galloped ahead, his axe slung over his shoulder like always. Tim brought out his pack of cigarettes again, gesturing for Brian to take one.

“Besides her meeting us was a mistake. A girl like that doesn’t belong in our world. She’ll never see us again. We’ll be a drunken memory,” Tim insisted. Brian took a cigarette, a gesture that meant he was going to try to trust Tim on this. Tim flickered the lighter, igniting the end of Brian’s cigarette. Once Brian inhaled, the two continued walking.

“You just let her go because she’s cute huh?”

“Dude shut up.”

—> chapter one

[yanderestarangel]

⋆ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆

A/N: He's back bitches, DADDY MIGUEL O'HARA.

SYNOPSIS: Miguel is a 45-year-old man who works in a local library, also giving tutoring classes in literature to the local village community, you decide to go visit him after being on vacation, awakening a side of himself that Miguel didn't know.

TW: Yandere themes, age gap, afab anatomy, betrayal, dark themes, threats, manipulation, smut, au.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He leads a peaceful life, always opening the library at 9 am and closing at 9 pm, sometimes staying overtime to look at the landscape outside the large windows, to try to forget his failed marriage with his wife.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who has the same patterns every day, namely: taking both children to school by car, buying the same fruits to eat throughout the day - a few dates, an apple and a bottle of coffee aluminum portable, hot and sugar-free in the dark green side pouch he carries everything he needs for that day -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - What you see in a boring life, everything was the same, he worked out, went for walks on the weekends, watched the same period films after 11pm, in the same leather armchair that got hot in the uncomfortable summer heat, drinking the same beer while the black and white images of the Hollywood film passed through the lens of his glasses, while he smelled the cold food made by his wife, who as always, had left the children with him and gone out.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who woke up late that day due to the hangover from the several beers he had on Sunday, rushing to drop his children off at school and avoid an argument with his wife early in the morning. He calmly went to the library, after all, there was no one there at that end of the world. But he was wrong. He soon saw you, sitting on the steps of the cold concrete stairs while waiting for someone to open the library, he had never seen you in the community, so it was a surprise for him to see someone so beautiful and different from the routine faces in the village. Miguel got out of the car, adjusting his round glasses, giving you a polite "good morning", his strong accent mixed with the smell of coffee coming from his lips, he opened the library while looking you up and down, he would casually ask you your name and what you do there. You spoke your reasons politely, while explaining that you were on vacation and decided to visit the tourist attractions of that village, such as the lighthouse and rough sea, as well as the large library, which, in addition to needing some literature classes, you two were taking Miguel O'Hara nods and gives a practically invisible sideways shy smile.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who gets excited like a young man when he sees you interested in literature, Miguel would make a point of giving you some books as a gift, explaining about each one, especially if you like gothic literature, such as: Bram Stocker, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stocker - or horror stories, he automatically falls in love if you, speaking excerpts from his favorite stories while pouring you some coffee, sitting in front of him while the two of you did a literary duo circle, the voices echoing through the ancient wood.

"-With a long scrutinizing look at the shadow, which frightens me, which haunts me, And I dream of what no mortal has ever dreamed of, But the vast and silent silence, silent remains; the quiet stillness." -O'Hara reads with a strong, hoarse accent, his voice was raw, reverberating his passion for each verse and word he spoke, holding the book in his thick fingers, now, with the abandonment of the wedding ring he wore, even though he was still married, you didn't need to know that detail.

"-Only you, unique and beloved word, Lenora, you, like a scarce sigh, leave my sad mouth; And the echo, which heard you, whispered to you in space; It was just that, nothing more." -You completed, reading your part in the tale of "The Crow" while feeling the older man's gauze on your body, while Salvatore's hands massaged your bare shoulder, lightly adjusting the clothes you wore, a long and possessive touch.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who offers you a ride home, turning on the radio while asking you everything about yourself, if you were dating, if you had traveled with someone, he expected you to be totally alone, totally for him. Miguel drops you off at home while he says a quick goodbye, but he actually just hides the car in the middle of some trees, looking out your windows, writing down your nighttime habits in a diary - he got home later that night, his wife noticed the delay, but he just made up an excuse, mostly lying that he had lost the ring in a library cleaning, which was a lie, he got rid of the ring in the sea, near the local town port -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who studied everything about you on the days you two were alone in the library, becomes his refuge. Don't get him wrong, O'Hara loves his children, but he hates coming home and seeing that his marriage is a failure, and that the woman he was once so in love with, young days that passed through his life in long ago, Now she's just a strange and cold woman, but you? You are his treasure, always happy, smiling sweetly, asking if he is okay, or if he has eaten that day, if he needs help with something in his work as a librarian, you are so angelic, so beautiful, so his. You're totally his, aren't you?

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who lies to you about his private life, saying that his wife and he are divorced and he just lets her live close to the children, he lies so naturally that even he himself believes in the madness of his mind.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA- Who finds an excuse to leave you up late with him in the library, telling you about some more books, and giving you a letter, letters that were always sealed in luxurious black paper like an envelope, with a red coat of arms with an 'M' for Miguel, big in the center, he always asked you to open it at home, they were poems and poetry written by him, about you, but each time, with each letter given to you, they became darker, more intense, more... Intimate.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Which makes you sit on his muscular legs that night in the peace of the library, while his big, calloused hands lightly run over your thighs, while he praises you. "-Your skin is soft like the finest and purest silk, your lips are full and shiny with life, your smile is like the epitome of beauty, I look at you and see an angel, not even the richest kings who had harems with several women And men, none of them come close to your beauty, mi angelito, did you know that? Your heart is so pure and beautiful, your soul is practically eradicated from your carnal being." -Miguel spoke hoarsely, as he forced you to look at him, his eyes shone, not only with enlightenment but with love, a sick love for you.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He fingers you slowly and lightly, giving you kisses on the head, feeling the smell and softness of your hair, his fingers enter and curve slightly, he was an expert in that, he wanted to make you come, to make you see the stars in the sky pleasure he could give you. Miguel praises you even more when he sees you moaning so beautifully, writhing in his lap, while he whispers in your ear how well you do it, being such a good girl/boy for him, giving yourself to him like that, like you It's beautiful when your pussy tightens around his fingers, how perfect you are when you let your sweet saliva run down your lips like that, while he gives you all the pleasure, making you squirm on his arm full of veins and scars from the time he had, dirtying the papers and reports he signed, but he doesn't fight with you, no my sweet girl/boy, you are his, Miguel just applies a chaste kiss to your temple, salty with the sweat of sexual effort and the heat of lust from your body, while he just said everything was going to be okay.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who was worried when you didn't show up after a few days, so he left work early, seeing you at a local fair. He tried to talk to you, but you were disappointed in him, you had found out he was married, and you felt dirty for giving yourself to him. Miguel O'Hara froze immediately, but he soon recovered his posture, telling you in a serious and cold air that she didn't mean anything to him and you did, but you didn't want to listen, just saying how rubbish he was as a human being and leaving the room. running, hiding in the crowd, he didn't go after you, just walking away with a neutral and serious air, thinking about the next step he would take, and he knew exactly what it would be. He spent every day at your house, placing flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, gifts and books on your doorstep, even if you threw them in the trash, he bought more and more, even more expensive and extravagant. Miguel didn't leave you alone, going to your house every day, even trying to knock on the window, but you didn't pay attention to him, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, he stopped the car every day after his shift from work to look at you,or look at the lighting in your house, where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - That on your last day in the village, he left you a letter, in a red envelope, you didn't want to read it, but your curiosity got the better of you, with you finally reading the content of the man's letter.

My dear, (Y/N) This may sound strange, but I like it when you hide like a scared little bunny, running away from me like that, as if I were a predator? so I am offended my dear. Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you? Do you know exactly what things I can do to try? Do you know the dark thoughts I can carry out with your friends or family? If you gave in. We would be even more than perfect together, we were born to be each other's my love. Just as the sun rises day after day, just as the moon appears in the dead of night. Just as the stars shine in the black sky of the dark and cold night, void of voice. Just as birds spend their lungs in a melodious song, unable to be stopped by foolish men. Just like every natural phenomenon and incapable of being stopped, I will make you mine. just mine. You can try to scream, try to escape or even ignore me, like a mirror covered with a fine linen fabric, I'm still there, watching you, attentive to your smallest details, your flaws, your sins, your darkest, hidden fears. inside your mind, the intimate and core of your most secret suffering... I know everything, I know you more than you know yourself. We are destined to be one, drawn by a happy and unhappy destiny, a piece of the gods perhaps, who are we to question love? In fact, I'll ask you one more time, you love me, right? Just try to say you don't love me... Then I will destroy you... I k-

You didn't even finish reading the letter, hearing heavy footsteps coming from the back door, while you saw a tall figure standing in the dark shadow of the hallway, something dripping on the floor while those familiar and maddened brown eyes stared at you, deep in your soul, Miguel O'Hara.

"-And you know, (Y/N)... you shouldn't leave the door open."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[dipperscavern]

pondering anon back again for the third time today 😔😔😔 i can’t stay away I CAN’T STOP PONDERING! MAKE IT STOP!!!!!

Thinking and pondering about the bedding ceremony with cregan. prior to the ceremony he pulls you aside, the nervousness and discomfort evident in your demeanour as the moment approaches. he implores you to reveal what it is that troubles you, what has brought you such discomfort on your wedding day, what troubles his darlings wife’s pretty head, and how what shall he do in order to bring you happiness on such a day where you are most paramount to him. he would not have your holy matrimony be built on such negative feelings. so when he finally clocks that it is the bedding ceremony… or moreso its audience that concerns you, all bets are off. he grabs your face and tilts it towards his own and makes his final vow for the night, that for as long as you are his wife, he shall do naught to displease you or indignify you. though some insolent voices amongst the “welcomed” guests (horny lords, medieval porn addicts) urged him to maintain the tradition that is not oft broken. for every great man there are tenfold lesser men.

to alleviate the bickering of bitchless blue balled lords, he agrees to let them spectate and witness the consummation. though ‘there has never lived a stark who forgot an oath’. so it was decided by cregan himself that they would indeed witness the consummation; but not through their eyes, through their ears. so the lords, less than eager to further question their wardens orders, resigned to sitting outside his bedchambers doors and sat there with each other in shameful silence as they hear the most lewd sounds echo from beneath the heavy oak door. they are just there, in the middle of the hallway, sat in chairs facing the door with their hands awkwardly clasped together in their laps and all they hear are your whines of pleasure, wet slapping sounds, the creaks of the wood bedframe, and cregans gutteral groans and occasional utterings of “mine” “my beautiful wife” and other inaudible ramblings of what could only be declarations of his devotion to keeping you nice and safe, keeping you his. letting you know that you are his as he is yours from that moment forward as your moans are heard from all seven kingdoms much to your dismay but a girl can’t help it! all they can do is picture how on earth it is that he is pleasuring you with such fervour. blue balled for life.

and they sit there until the first silence, when all sound ceases and it is evident through cregans very vocal and loud lovemaking that you had both reached your peaks (which left many lords wide eyed and stunned, as despite having witnessed so many consummations, none would be able to recall such a moment where a woman were to create such lustful sounds and certainly not able to recall a woman having an orgasm. “most unnatural” recalls one lord.). now very eager to remove themselves from such a humbling and quite embarrassing situation, some of the lords from lesser houses stood up to leave. though they were interrupted when the sounds of pleasure quickly resumed much to their astonishment. soon they were back to their former positions, staring at the door which at that point they could’ve sworn was the most dreadful door they had ever laid eyes on. just as soon, they came to understand that they would be there for some time (many hours on end as it turned out to be, well into the night and creeping towards the first light of dawn). only half made it through the entire bedding ceremony and many a lord fell asleep by the 3rd hour of ceaseless noise.

TLDR:::: cregan fucks hard, he fucks loud, and he fucks like he wants you pregnant as soon as possible (because he does :///////).

i apologize for such long asks of my incomprehensible ponderous thoughts, i’m not evening asking anything anymore i am simply begging for you to hear me out guys hes so fine #needthat 😔😔😔

just gonna… just gonna leave this here. i am so normal about this

[tinylilacbun]

The Real Reason

Pairing: daddy!john b x little!reader x papa!jj

Warnings: age regression, abuse, bruises, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You did tell John B and JJ that you regress due to trauma or stress but never mentioned said trauma. It's already a relief to you they even support your regression and take care of you when you simply can't so yourself.

You planned on telling them, you really did, it just somehow never came to it. They already do so much for you while you're in and out of headspace and you simply don't want them to worry.

Despite the constant pain from the bruises you receive from your abusive father you somehow manage to hide them.

Your father isn't dumb and doesn't hit or grab you anywhere it could be visible. So you mostly change by yourself and quickly so no one will notice, sometimes even wearing something longer if needed.

Today John B and JJ decided to come check up on you because you abruptly cancelled today's surf session without any clear explanation, which has them already suspicious and worrying instantly.

"She's probably just busy." JJ tries to ease John B's worries, trying to keep up his calm facade but the way he takes his hat off and back on multiple times gives him away.

"No, something's not right. I could hear it in her voice when she called." He insisted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly.

They pull up in your driveway and everything seems normal. The boys glance at each other before getting out of the Twinkie, their shoes crunching on the ground as they approach your house but stop in their tracks at the sound of things breaking and voices getting louder.

"What the..." JJ trails off when John B places a single finger against his mouth, silencing him.

The shouting of a man which they only could assume must be your father could be heard. "You're so ungrateful you're lucky I even put up with you! I swear to god, stop crying or I'll give you a damn good reason to!"

John B and JJ tense up, creeping up to the front door, their backs against the old wood. John B glances at JJ, seeing him shutting his eyes tightly and pressing a hand to his chest.

"Hey, look at me. JJ, look at me." He whispers at him, trying to get his attention. When the blonde finally looks at him he nods assuringly. "You're okay."

"Yeah...yeah." JJ nods, taking a deep breath.

Your pleading voice pulls them back into the situation at hand. "Dad, please I'm sorry I-"

The way you yelp and a clear slap being heard was the last straw for them, slamming the door open without second thought.

The sight of you cowering in the corner with your father looming over you snaps something in John B and he suddenly yanks your father away from you and onto the ground, straddling him he delivers a punch right against his jaw.

JJ who was momentarily caught off guard by the sudden action quickly composes himself when you crash into his chest, holding onto him for dear life with tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Shh, you're okay...I've got you." He murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and steering you out of the house.

When John B notices that he stops himself from beating your father into a pulp, grabbing him by his collar to pull him up. "You touch her again I'll end you."

He let's go off him abruptly, getting off him and storming out of the house his chest heaving form the adrenaline.

Scanning the property for you and JJ he sees the side door of his van open and you both sitting in the back.

Making his way over to you he gets in through the back, sliding the door closed his heart aches at the sight of you cuddled up in JJ's arms. He leans down to place his hand on your reddening cheek, sighing at the way you jump at his touch.

Not wanting to stay here any longer he kisses the top of your head before getting settled into the driver's seat, knowing you need to be as far as possible from this whole situation and your father.

The drive to the Chateau was silent except for your quiet sobs and JJ whispering softly to you, his hold on you having you feel secure.

As soon as the Twinkie gets to a halt, John B gets out and rushes around to slide the door open.

JJ carefully stands up while holding you close. After slowly getting out as well he carries you inside and sits down on the couch.

John B follows right after but instead of sitting down he stands in front of you and JJ, gently grabbing your face with both hands to look for any more serious bruises he's glad when it seems that they intervene at the right time before something worse could happen.

"Daddy..." You sniffle and he gives you a comforting smile.

"I know...you're okay, shh." He assures you. "How old are you right now, hm?"

You shakily hold up two fingers and he nods. He let's go off your face again, walking towards his bedroom to retrieve your bunny and for a spare pacifier they have for rare moments like these where you just need the comfort of those items more than words ever can give.

He joins you both on the couch, draping your legs over his lap as you sit sideways on JJ's lap with your head on his shoulder while he rubs your back in a soothing manner.

John B hands you your comfort items, watching you get comfortable and the way your eyes get droopy until they finally shut from emotional exhaustion.

Both boys sigh in relief, dropping their heads against the backrest of the couch. JJ glances to his side with a smirk. "I thought I was the reckless one."

John B chuckles, nudging the blonde's head with his hand. "Shut up. I'd do anything for you guys, you know that."

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[lunaekalenda]

The Heir's Favorite

warnings for the series: smut (only part two), mid violence (generally not explicit)

warnings for this chapter: referred violence. mentions of decapitation (non explicit), suggestive, kinda manipulation from sylus? i swear the fluff comes on the next

part one - part two - part three

You keep your head low, eyes fixed on the luxurious floor, decorated with golden flowers and red jewels. All this luxury, the velvety curtains the guards made to a side for you to enter, the shining of a golden vase in a near rich wood table, the scent of the most aromatic vanilla, makes you dizzy. You can't hear steps, you can't hear nothing, as if the whole chamber became silent to make your heartbeat even more noticeable. The guards that brought you here less than half an hour ago are also silent, as they were while you spent time on the Harem with the rest of the concubines. After dressing up, a strong voice called you, your name, out of all the concubines. All the chats from the room became silence, as all the concubines looked directly at you. You were called. You were summoned. You.

It's well known it's been almost a year since anyone was called. Sylus - the Imperial Prince, the Crow, the Heir. - has been on his title since the coronation of his own cousin, the actual Emperor, the one that started the Harem you got into by chance. And, since that last night the Emperor called a couple of you, you've been living quietly. Never stressed over the fact he would call you, after all, not even the Emperor spent a night with you once. You don't think it'll be different with the Heir.

Maybe you're too shy, too laid back, too silent. Maybe your hair is not the length he likes, or your hips the size of his hands. Maybe he's not particularly interested in you. But then, it happened, and now, here you are, kneeling on the cold floor of the palace, in front of the Heir's throne, waiting for him. Your heart beats fast, faster than ever before, as you hear the metallic sound of the blades against the floor. Quiet, serene steps approach you from behind.

"For some reason, my dear cousin loved to keep track of every single concubine he ever had." the voice is deep, harsh, strong. It sounds behind you, but also in front. It's so powerful it seems to be everywhere. "Yet your name was never mentioned. Not even once." the steps sound dangerously close to your head. "I found it, though. Wrote on rough letters, on a paper hidden between the rest. You were the last to enter the Harem, and the only words of my cousin were that your shyness kills your beauty." The crack on wood indicates you he is now sitting on his throne. "If that so, lift up your head."

You feel your palms sweaty against your dress, and your cheeks feel hot when you lift your head up slowly, to meet the most attractive man you've ever seen. His red eyes are intense, fixed on you, and you feel like he can read every thought passing through your mind. His angles are sharp, and his white hair falls elegantly on his forehead. He tilts his head, giving you a side smile. "Indeed, very beautiful." he murmurs, in low voice. His words make your face heat up, and his brow raises slowly, amused by your reaction. Your eyes move from his face back to the floor, before searching the courage to speak.

"Thank you, Your Highness." your voice trembles as you speak. His steps are heard again, walking around you. You fear he'll kick you from the Harem. It's not the life you've dreamt of, that's true, but you can eat hot and sleep warm.

His steps stop suddenly behind you, before you hear the rushed ones of the guards, who leave and close the big ornamented doors of the main entrance. Now you're alone. You wait, patiently, but with your heart racing against your chest. After what seem ages, he speaks.

"Do you fear me?" he asks, voice even lower. He's still behind you, and you're still too nervous to take your gaze up. But, do you really fear him? Until now, he has only been a shadow around the Imperial Palace. Nothing more than a man surrounded by guards, nothing more than a name. But, still, your life always depended on him. Your stance at the Harem, your food, your bed, your body. Everything you are, everything you have, belongs to him. The mere thought of making him angry terrifies you. You've seen enough swords beheading fellow Harem members to risk being next. You take air.

"I do, your Highness." you confess. He walks again, until you're able to see the tip of his shoes in front of you, before he kneels. His hand takes your head, softly, so sweetly, it doesn't match with him, with his fierceness, his hardness. Your eyes find his, and he seems to freeze, his eyes turning softer for a second, before he raises a brow. Anything you saw on his expression is suddenly gone.

"Good. Fear assures loyalty." His thumb caresses your cheek, dangerously close to your lips, before he talks again. "You're interesting." his eyes scan your face, your eyes, your lips. They keep going down, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He moistens his lips with his tongue, quietly, and all the blood rushes to your cheeks. Oh, goddess. He chuckles. "Something happened? Your face became hot to my touch." His palm leaves your cheek, but his fingers dance on your skin, sweetly, softly, caressing from the corner of your lips down to your neck. "My cousin might have found you too shy to enjoy." he whispers. His chest rises when he takes air, getting dangerously close to you, with your knees between his. "But, I'm not him."

You understand what he implied with that sentence. Will you be called as the rest of the Harem is? Will he summon you to his chambers from time to time? Will you - maybe - have to join another Harem member?

You want to cry. Why? You've been safe all this years, between the shadows of the Harem, unnoticed, untouched. Why does he have to put his eye on you?

"Although, there's something no one in the Harem can do, and I'm sure you'll think about it. Something no one can offer." He stands up. He asks you to do the same with a movement of his fingers, more an order than a request. He walks towards his throne with fluid motion, where he sits, hand resting on his temple. You stand in front of him, looking down at your own shoes, unable to look at him. The room is too silent, and you feel too little between the big dragon pillars and the enormous seat he's occupying. "Promise me loyalty." his question makes you look up violently, your eyes colliding with his. His posture on the throne - relaxed, stretched. - makes him even bigger. "Promise me loyalty as your Prince, and I'll do so as my concubine." your face shocks with his words. He moves his hand, asking you to get closer to the throne. The open-mouthed jade dragon on top of it welcomes you when you arrive. Less than a step away from him. His eyes shine with something dangerous. "Move from the Harem to this palace. I'll make sure you'll have everything you need. Food, baths, a bed." All his promises are sweetening your ears. "Offer me your loyalty and I can make you my queen." You stand there, frozen, confused. One answer he doesn't like, and your head will be the price to pay for your mistakes. Is he offering? Is he demanding? You find yourself nodding out of fear, although, the promise of a better life draws you to say yes.

"Say it." are his only words.

"Yes, your Highness. I offer my loyalty, myself and my body." You try to sound convincing, and he smiles.

"Interesting. I will keep my part of the promise. I expect the same from your side." He reclines back into his throne, still looking directly at you. "You may leave now. Gather your things on the Harem and I'll send two guards to bring you to your new place." With a quick nod, you leave the throne room as fast as you can.

When you arrive to the Harem, you feel the change in the air. They're no longer workmates, they're enemies. Their hateful gazes and the whispers you can hear while taking your things indicate so. You ignore all of them, quickly putting all your things in a tiny chest, just in time for the guards to pick you up. Walking between the rest of the Harem with your belongings, you feel targeted. You're not another concubine; you've been chosen personally by the Heir. You follow them at a normal distance, your room silent when you arrive, way too good for only you. "The Heir awaits you for a nocturne game of Mahjong. New clothes are on the bed. Don't be late, he doesn't like to wait."

The guards leave you in the silence of your new room, as you scan the bed. Between the new clothes - all of them of the highest quality." you find yourself attracted to a red gown, the color of blood. You change into that and walk in the labyrinthine corridors before standing in front of the golden gates of his chambers. Catching your breath, you knock. His voice sounds deep from inside.

"Enter."

And your destiny is sealed while you push the golden dragon knob, entering the Heir's room.

taglist: @i-am-silver @strawbunnydrop22 @princess-harvey @houmi

[loveswrites]

Living Hell Poly Cullens X Reader

Time it took me: 2 hours

Word count: 1240

To My Love's~ I hope you guys liked it!

Love <3

“Your love has truly made my life a living hell.”

“Wait what?” Edward said, confused by your words. The two of you had been walking in the woods in silence because you just needed a break from.. Everything.

“Not just you, Alice, Emmett, and the rest.” You sighed as you stepped on an orange leaf that looked like the perfect crunchy fall leaf. Just for it to not crunch. If you weren’t already irritated you were now. 

“A living hell huh?” Edward questioned back to himself but you knew he expected an answer from you.

“I want things I didn’t before. Like the other week, Alice took Rose, Esme and I to France to go shopping and just like that every Tuesday that’s all I want to do.” You spoke with the sound of tears in the back of your throat.

The moment those words came out of your mouth the walking next to you paused. Confused, you turned around to see Edward standing a few steps behind you with a dumbfounded look on his face that only turned into a sly smirk when you tilted your head to question why he stopped.

“Any other reason you feel like we’ve made your life a living hell?” He questioned. Blinking at him you nodded.

“Go ahead. Tell me.” He smiled.

“Fine. You and Jasper for example you guys took me out at night a few weeks ago to see this beautiful waterfall out of state and now everynight before I go to sleep I yearn to fall asleep to the sounds of that very waterfall.” You finished with a pout. 

Edwarded hummed in response as he walked closer to you. You turned around thinking you both were about to resume your walk but Edward had different plans. Grabbing you from behind Edward sweeps you off your feet making you squeal in shock. Squeezing your eyes shut and before you knew it you were back on your feet. Wobbling you put both hands on your head in attempts to stop the spinning and dropped to a fetal position.

And softly you whispered.

“I am sick of you cold brick hoes throwing my equilibrium off.”

“Heyy I thought you liked the cold.” You heard no one but the one and only Emmett say. 

“Why are we back here?” You whispered trying to keep yourself from throwing up. You had already been mentally trying to deal with the fact that you feel like you're peeing on yourself with no control. And the cramps that came every five minutes like contractions. Now this.

“I want you to tell everyone else what you just told me outside.” Edward said and soon after you heard more footsteps come into the room.

“That I want to sleep by a waterfall?” You questioned wincing as a cramp came through like a lightning strike. 

“I booked the flights already.” Alice spoke to which you could only hear still having your eyes closed.

“That’s not the first part baby.” Edward spoke softly with a smile in his voice.

“That y’all make my life a living hell?” You answered.

“Yeah that one.”

“Us?!” You could only assume Rose shouted.

“Yes y'all! And can you lower your voice? It's loud in here.” You requested.

“Are we the vampires or is she?” Jasper snickered.

“The heightened senses are for another reason Jasper.” The supernatural doctor voiced. 

“Smell her.” 

“Ew.” You frowned.

“She smells the sa-. Ohh..” 

“Oh my god.” You rolled over to just lay face first on the floor. This was the most embarrassing thing ever. You can just smell me and be like oh yeah she’s bleeding that’s cool. You thought to yourself.

“That’s why she’s been moody all day. I thought she was still mad at me from yesterday.” Emmett laughed out.

“Oh I didn’t forget! I’m still mad!” You yelled out sitting up forgetting about any dizziness to defend yourself.

“It's been more than 24 hours!” He yelled back. 

“You're not even human and yet you ate all my snacks?! How does that even make sense to you?! Someone explain it to me please!” You yelled still mad Emmett ate your favorite snack. After a long day of well.. Living all you wanted to do was lay in bed with your love’s and eat the snack you had been craving since you woke up but had saved for later. If you knew big back here was going to devour them you would’ve eaten all of them at 5 am that morning. 

“I was hungry!” He yelled back making the rest of the room snicker.

“You were just eating to eat fatty!” You yelled throwing the closest thing to you which was an empty candy wrapper at him. 

“Hey! No need to body shame, this is all muscle baby.” Emmett smirked. Making you roll your eyes.

“See. Hell.” You stated to Edward pointing to Emmett making him laugh.

“What do you mean by hell though?” Rose questioned brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. You knew she genuinely wanted an answer. 

“By hell I mean you do so many nice things for me it.. It makes me expect them. Sometimes I find myself expecting these things from you guys and when it doesn’t happen I can sometimes get disappointed that you can’t read my mind.” You finished snickering at the same time as Edward.

“So we make your life a living hell because we treat you the way you deserve to be?” Carlisle asked.

“Yes A living hell because I want it all the time.” You nodded.

“By living hell do you mean you want a little extra more love today?” Esme asked.

“I mean.. Hell doesn’t always have to be hot you know?”

With those words you were set for the night.

Laying in the big california king sized bed your loves had bought so you all could lay in bed together and it not be.. So difficult. It’s still difficult, you can’t even lie. But that’s what always brings a smile to your face. Hearing Emmett and Alice fuss over whose foot is on whose and Rose just straight up kicking Edwards leg off of her to which he says..

“Rose, I wasn't even touching you.” 

“It was close enough.” Rose bites rolling her eyes.

“I can’t find that one show we’ve been watching.” Jasper whispers to himself as he clicked through the Hulu acc to find the show you all have been watching together.

“It’s on Netflix Jasper.” Esme says to which Jasper nodded in response. 

You let out a soft hum as Carlisle laid your head on his chest gently stroking your hair. Your eyes slowly fluttered close. 

“You deserve all the love in the world beautiful. You deserve even more than what we give you, understand?” He spoke softly, making you nod in response. 

“We love you so much and even if you feel like it’s too much to ask just know we feel it’s not enough. We wish to give a thousand times more than what we do now.” Carlisle continued Softly kissing your forehead. 

“Is that even possible?” You questioned.

“We attend to show you that it is for the rest of our lives pretty.” Jasper answered kissing your hand that he only held previously. 

The night was full of soft touches, belly rubs, snacks and movies. 

These were the times you found priceless. And these are the times you yearn for.

[ariascoven]

⟡ LOST BUNNY PT.2

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : female reader. petnames (bunny, dear, darling). soft agatha. mentions of homophobia.

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : sorry for not posting for i-don't-know-how-long, i hate everything i write these days lmao this has been sitting on my drafts for ages until i decided to let it out of the cave. i mostly have the energy to make bots as they're waayyyy shorter than fics so i end up making a bunch, sorry

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE | C.AI BOT

The sound of birds happily chirping filled your ears the moment you stepped outside of your small, humble little home while carrying your picnic basket. Your mother had asked you to go fetch some apples for the pie she planned on making. Somehow, she managed to get all the ingredients needed beforehand, but forgot the damned apples — for an apple pie. At least you knew where your forgetful nature came from.

As you wandered through the woods in silence, you couldn't help but remember your first and last encounter with Agatha Harkness. A hidden, secret part of you buried deep within your being hoped, perhaps even wished that you would bump into the witch again, but your dreams never became reality. During every mind clearing stroll you took at night, your eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the surroundings and trying to find the brunette with a smug grin on her face, her pretty face illuminated by the moonlight and stars above. If anyone saw you in that state, they would assume you were afraid of what lurked in the dark, when in reality you were looking for Salem’s most feared witch.

It was ridiculous, to say the least. Months had passed ever since the unexpected meeting occured, it was now summer and the snow you had stepped on in the company of the young witch had melted completely ages ago. But the feeling of her hands on your waist seemed to have burned onto your skin, making it impossible to forget the warmth of her touch. You could still feel her, hear her... hell, you could still smell her. You often tried to convince yourself that she had put a spell on you that day, and that you were not absolutely smitten. But you knew the truth, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it — you were utterly fucked. You had met her once and had a brief conversation that was infuriating, to say the least, and that was enough to make you fall. Well, she also gave you a coat.

It might be important to note that your plan to make up an excuse about the piece of clothing to tell your mother failed completely. You weren't able to come up with anything before you reached the worn out door of your house, where you were met with the familiar sight of an upset old lady that noticed her daughter was missing from the warmth of her bed hours ago and decided to wait for the rebellious creature and demand an explanation. You had no friends, so you couldn't say it was a gift from one. For obvious reasons, you couldn't say you had bought it yourself as your mother knew that in your condition, buying a great coat like the one you had on was nothing but an impossible, silly dream.

So you had no choice but tell her the truth you wished to keep hidden, all of it. You spent almost a whole hour sitting on a chair, your head downcast shamefully as your mother scolded you, her voice laced with nothing but pure disappointment and annoyance. “She's a witch, for God's sake! She killed her own mother and the rest of her coven! Why would you even look her way? And even more accept this so-called gift?” However, she allowed you to keep the coat, knowing it was warmer and better quality than your entire wardrobe combined. Filled with guilt and shame, you gave your dear old mother a kiss on the forehead and assured her you would keep your distance if you ever stumbled upon the witch again. What a lie.

Crouched down picking a few berries you had found, you hummed a random tune you had never heard before. The berries were not what your mother had asked of you, but you shrugged it off, allowed to easily fetch the apples afterwards. The basket was big enough to fit all without a problem, and extra fruit was never a problem — you were sure your mother would be excited to make something out of the berries, anyway. You let out a satisfied hum at the amount you had picked, ascending from the crouching position. When you turned around, a yelp escaped your lips the moment you saw her. “Agatha!” Your eyes were comically wide as you exclaimed, face growing warmer at the realization you weren't even able to try and hide your excitement.

“Hello, bunny. You seem pleased to see me.” God, the way you missed her voice was nothing but pathetic. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes in a failed attempt to seem unbothered, but unfortunately, you were not an actress. A smirk appeared on the brunette’s face when she took notice of the subtle pink dusting your cheeks. “Ah, there is no need to respond. Not with that adorable blush saying everything.” When you looked up at her, your bottom lip was curled up ever so slightly, forming an adorable pout that made Agatha feel unwanted things — the flutter in her stomach being one of them, for example.

She stepped closer to you until the tips of your boots were touching hers, hand reaching up to rub her thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle caress. Almost instinctively and definitely against your will, your mouth fell open at the touch. You wished you could pull away and keep your distance from her, there was nothing you wished more. But something about the young woman pulled you in like a moth to a flame — a dangerously enchanting flame that made you crave more of its touch, no matter how much it threatened to burn and swallow you whole.

“How did you find me?” Your question came out as a breathless sound and you cursed yourself mentally at the poor attempt to hide the undeniable shakiness in your voice. Your knuckles hurt from the way you were gripping the basket as you tried to mask how much you were trembling — and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe from excitement. Maybe from anxiety. Maybe from a mix of both. You noticed the way Agatha’s gaze seemed to search for yours more and more insistently the longer you avoided eye contact. She opened her mouth to respond with what you expected to be another snarky remark of hers, but she faltered, mouth quickly closing.

However, she didn't take much time to compose herself, that wicked and familiar grin returning to her lips and sending shivers down your spine. Considering how surprisingly hot the weather was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. And exactly the way you remembered them to be. You lost count of how many times you had harshly rubbed your sponge against the places she had touched on your body during your long baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared and you were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

Considering how hot it was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained surprisingly cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. Exactly the way you remembered. You lost count of how many times you harshly rubbed your sponge on the places she had touched on your body during your baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared. Before bed, waking up, while taking strolls around the town but mostly, in the woods you had your first meeting at. You were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

“What? You think I found you because I wanted to?” She replied, the mocking evident in the tone of her voice and her raised eyebrow. With the proximity between your faces, you could almost taste the sarcasm that dripped from her lips. “It was simply a funny coincidence, my dear.” Your eyes scanned her face for any signs of honesty and widened the moment she leaned closer, her nose touching yours. The only thing you were able to do was hold your breath and anticipate her next move.

There was no way she was going to kiss you, right? Although the answer was pretty much clear, you couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that flashed through your eyes when all she did was chuckle low in her throat and pull away, taking a few steps backwards to put some sort of distance between your bodies. It was funny, the way you wanted that distance so badly at first but now it brought a frown so big to your face that missing it wasn't even a possibility.

Your eyes followed her gaze as she glanced down and towards the basket your hands were clutching. Or rather, the fingers that were a deep shade of red, knuckles turning white from the sheer force you put into holding the small object out of nervousness without even realizing it. You hadn't even realized the way you could barely feel your hands due to the gesture. You let out a loud groan full of frustration, deciding it was a better idea to hang it onto your arm instead of gripping it. Agatha’s curious (or rather, nosy) eyes focused on the content inside of the basket. “Berries…” She muttered quietly, and you weren't sure if she meant for you to hear it.

“Yes, berries.” You repeated as you eyed her curiously, her gaze never faltering from the fruits. It should be illegal to say Agatha Harkness looked adorable, but she did. Her unusual demeanor and sparkling eyes made you tilt your head aside as if the simple gesture would help you solve the current mystery — why would an evil witch become so seemingly excited over some stupid berries? You clicked your tongue in thought before grabbing a few and putting your hand out. “Do you…?” You don't finish the sentence, instead looking at your palm then back at Agatha as you trailed off. There was a pause. Then, she nodded, snatching the fruits from your hands and shoving them down her mouth. Your eyes widened at her enthusiasm, but the surprise soon turned into amusement and you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

Agatha’s gaze moved back up towards you, and it was difficult to take her seriously with the way her eyebrows were furrowed and lips were stained red from the berries — like a child who is still learning how to eat properly. “What are you laughing at?” She almost growled. It was clear to see that the witch was trying to seem menacing and scary, as she always did. But unfortunately for her, it seems looking evil when your eyes are shining with happiness while your mouth is full is incredibly hard. You waved a dismissive hand and shook your head once more as your giggles died down, a sigh falling from your lips. She looked at you with suspicion, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Your face scrunched up slightly. “What?” She questioned, sounding rather annoyed.

“You just don't know how to not make a mess, huh?” You nagged with the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on your lips as you grabbed the checkered fabric your mother had given you to cover the fruit basket and that was long forgotten. You handed it to her — handed as in shoved it into her hand and gestured towards her mouth with a wave of your hand. “Clean that up, you are looking more like a toddler rather than a feared witch.” The sight of Agatha Harkness herself frowning pathetically was the most amusing thing you had ever seen in your life. You pushed away the thoughts of how cute she looked as you watched her clean her lips and cheeks grumpily. When she tried to give the piece of fabric back to you, you pushed it back against her chest. “Keep it. As a treat.” You joked, continuing your mission to find apples for your mother’s pie.

Agatha snickered and her lips curled up into an amused smirk at your comfortableness in teasing her, being ao used to people running away from her for simply being her. She stayed behind and watched as your figure continued the path, the dark shade of purple of her dress contrasting with the hint of red from the fabric you gave her, poking out of her pocket after she had folded it lazily and shoved it there. For Agatha’s immense displeasure, you were an incredibly fast walker, but she quickly caught up to you.

Her arms were behind her back and she whistled in feigned innocence, strolling just a few steps behind you. You rolled your eyes as you heard the melody, but a smile was playing on your lips. Your mother would kill you if she found out about this, about you hanging out with the woman you promised her to keep your distance from. You quickly pushed those thoughts away the moment you saw the apple trees ahead, full of life and covered in sweetness. As you stepped closer, a gasp fell from your lips at how beautifully red the fruits looked. “Ah, mother will love those!” You exclaimed happily, mostly to yourself, an arm stretching to grab the apples that were in a level where you could reach.

Harkness grabbed one of the juicy fruits as well, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the marvelous scent with an approving hum. “These look delicious. You said your mother will love them?” She raised an eyebrow with curiosity-filled eyes, leaning back against the tree nonchalantly and taking a bite out of the apple she held in her hand. You hummed and nodded in agreement, side eyeing her for just a split second as you continued to fill the basket. “Well, do you think your mother would be so kind as to spare me some apples?” She said playfully, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic manner. You scoffed.

“Well, my mother made me promise I would never talk to you again. Want to take a guess?” You didn't look at her as you spoke, but you could practically see the frown on her face with the way she let out a long, annoyed hum. “Don't take it personally, she would make me promise to stay away from any witch ever.” You tried to sugarcoat it, even though you knew she probably didn't care at all. There was a pause.

Without a word, she stared at you with suspicious interest, those icy blue orbs roaming over your figure as she studied you with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to find the final piece of a puzzle she longed to solve. “Mind telling me why you are breaking the promise you made to your dear mother, then?” The question came out quietly, as if it was a secret that no one other than you two were allowed to hear. Your movements faltered, hand freezing just as your fingers had wrapped around the last apple that was on your reaching level. You cleared your throat, finally snatching the fruit and shoving it inside the picnic basket.

“I guess,” you began, the almost whispered words leaving your lips slowly as you contemplated what you should say. “Your company doesn't bother me. Much.” You looked her way as you put emphasis on the last part, which elicited a chuckle from her. The brunette observed as you moved next to her and leaned against the tree before sliding down until you were sitting on the grass. You placed the basket on your lap and stretched out your legs with a long and loud groan.

After a moment, Agatha repeated your movement and plopped down onto the ground while holding her skirt securely. Your gaze fell upon the fabric you had given her poking out of the pocket of her dress and then moved up back to her face. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw her already staring at you, her palm supporting her chin as her elbow rested on top of her knees, which were pulled against her chest. Your mind wandered back to your first encounter, in which she had said she wasn't an ordinary girl, nor like you. But seeing her like this, so calm and quiet, she really did look like just an ordinary 18 year old girl.

A hand dived inside the basket and grabbed a few more berries before handing them to Agatha, who gratefully accepted the offer. An unexpectedly comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the witch ate calmly — this time, taking her time to savor the sweet taste. The gentle breeze made her hair sway subtly, and you thought the sight was breathtaking. Fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt as you tried to hold back from the sudden urge to just… touch her. Make sure she was real, that she really was there with you. Since you never saw the young woman after your first encounter, your mind had became a mess of thoughts as you wondered if what happened in the woods actually did happen or was just a fever dream — a fever dream that felt a bit too real.

“Why so many apples, anyway?” The sound of her voice breaking the soothing silence forced you to come back to reality and turn to face her, confusion splattered across your features. She gestured to the basket with a nod of her head, noticing the way you looked lost in thought as she handed you the last berry she had in her hand. “So many apples. Are you baking something?” She didn't miss the way you took and ate the fruit in agonizingly slow movements, as if you were doing anything to not answer the question. She didn't blame you, she was used to it — and she didn't miss the hint of regret that flashed through your eyes when you mentioned your mother earlier. People had always warned you, saying that you should be careful when giving any information to witches, no matter how unimportant it might be. But before she could open her mouth to say you didn't need to give her an answer, you finally spoke up.

“My mother is.” You answered simply, the sound of your voice coming out as a quiet, almost shameful confession as you leaned your head back against the tree and looked up at the leaves hanging from the branches above. “I'm a disaster.” She raised a brow at your statement, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she waited for you to give more details. You looked at her and let out a small giggle. “I'm not exaggerating — I wish I was, but I'm literally banned from the kitchen at home.” The loud laughter that escaped the witch’s lips as she threw her head back forced a smile out of you, the sound making something flutter inside you.

“You— oh, goodness! Are you serious?” She panted out between giggles and laughed even more after you nodded in confirmation, her hand moving to clutch her side as she felt the threat of a cramp forming. “I'm gonna get a side cramp!”

There was only one word to describe your state as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you, and that word was fascinated. Was it weird to be obsessed with someone's laugh? Maybe it was, maybe you were weird, after all. But you simply couldn't help it, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as the cutest sound left her lips. The so-called evil witch, Agatha Harkness, rather a monster than a woman, a girl, even, that had no feelings nor a heart, laughing so beautifully. You lost count of how many beats your heart skipped, pink lips parting in pure awe. God, you wished you could paint her at that moment, eyes scanning over her features in an attempt to memorize it. She seemed to notice your behavior, her laughter dying down as her face twisted into an intrigued expression. You felt a blush dusting your cheeks at being caught, a shy smile appearing on your face before you looked away, gaze focusing on the ground instead.

She tilted her head to the side then scooted closer to you, so close you could feel her leg resting comfortably against yours. You felt your cheeks heat up at the simple touch, and you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily affected by the woman — although a part of you knew anyone would be if they were in your shoes. Her face leaned closer to yours as she searched for your eyes, and when they met hers, she smiled. It made your heart skip several beats. It wasn't her usual smug grin or teasing smirk, no. It was a genuine and beautiful smile, and you were sure you could die happily at that moment, with the sight in front of you as the last thing you saw before the curtains closed. “You're so shy all of a sudden. Was it something I did, darling?”

Darling. God, the sweet names she called you made you crave her even more. You wondered if she only called you those things, or if she did it with everyone, ignoring the way you hated the simple thought of the second option being correct. “It's just—” you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, stopping yourself from speaking any further. More silence. Your body was set on fire when the familiar coldness of her fingers lingered against your skin as she brushed a lost strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed the way she seemed to touch you for a bit longer than considered necessary. You cleared your throat, feeling a lump forming. “Your laugh.” You said simply, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

She let out an amused, soft chuckle. “Didn't expect to hear me laugh, hm?” She asked teasingly, her hand now resting on your shoulder.

“Didn't expect to like the sound of it this much.” Crap. Your eyes widened as soon as the unwanted words left your mouth against your will.

Agatha looked stunned, perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told her in ages — perhaps, even in her entire life. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took notice of the light, almost unnoticeable shade of pink that appeared on Agatha’s cheeks. The hand on your shoulder slid down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake. It settled next to your own hand that rested on top of the basket laying on your lap. Your whole body tingled when her pinky brushed against yours in a teasing touch. You finally had the courage to look up at Agatha again, butterflies forming on your stomach at the way your gazes met and the small, maybe shy smile that she sent your way. Your hand was shaking with nervousness, but that wasn't enough to stop you from linking your pinky with hers.

A small gasp escaped from Agatha’s lips at the gentle gesture, gaze darting down to your entwined fingers. The moment your head came to rest on her shoulder was the moment the witch realized that you would be the death of her — but she would never complain, laying her head against yours. You stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, simply relishing in each other’s company and touch, the comfortable silence from earlier making an appearance once again. “To be fair with you, I didn't expect to enjoy your company as much, either.” She finally broke the silence, voice sounding so soft it was hard to believe it came from Agatha Harkness herself. Your mind was racing and heart thumping against your chest so fast you really thought you would have a heart attack for a split moment.

That's when you remembered why you had even left your house that day — apples, pie, your mother who awaited you at home. You hesitated before breaking the contact and ascending from the ground, dusting off the skirt of your dress. Agatha frowned at the lost touch and repeated the movements with a hint of annoyance. The sun was starting to set and your lips pursed into a firm line upon realization you would get a scolding when you got back home. “It's getting late, Agatha. I should really go now. Mother would be furious if I took any longer.” The pang of sadness and disappointment at the words leaving your own lips stung like hell. Realizing Agatha wasn't going to say anything in response, just staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, you stepped closer to her and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the soft skin of her cheek.

You turned on your heels and started walking away, fighting the urge to glance back over your shoulder, knowing that looking at her would make you turn back around. What if it took even longer to see the witch again than the first time did? What if your mother found out? Not only would you feel her anger for breaking your promise, she would be even angrier at the way you were so affectionate with another woman. You had mentioned your attraction towards women to her briefly once, but quickly learned to never do it again and pretend it was just a mistake, something your confused mind made you believe was real. But it never went away, and it never would. But you hid yourself with bitterness, being the good example of a daughter you always had been. The sound of the familiar voice snapped you away from your thoughts, body whipping around to face the young woman.

“Shall I see you again?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she questioned and took a small, hesitating step forward, which did nothing to the still significant distance between the two of you. You couldn't help the bright smile that formed on your face, nodding enthusiastically in response. She smiled back, a hint of something that looked like relief playing across her features. The realization made you feel special, worthy.

“Tomorrow, same place and time?” Agatha’s heart raced at your words and she nodded slowly, trying the best she could to hide her happiness. Never in her life did she expect to be smitten by a woman she met twice. But, oh, she was. Unbeknownst to you, during your time away, Agatha also couldn't stop thinking about you. Her mind wandered back to your first encounter more times than she could count, and knowing she would see you again filled her with an unfamiliar sense of happiness. She couldn't wait to see you again, waving goodbye even as you turned your back to her.

[daengtokki]

part nine // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 14.9k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: monsters, murder, pregnancy, medication mention, dissociation, hospital scenes

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

comments: just wanna say hi to my new followers and new deity readers ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere

Seungmin opens his eyes to a bright blue sky, the tops of the pine trees, and an ache in his neck. There's the sound of birds singing, but otherwise; perfect, natural silence. It's nice for a moment, despite his pain, until the last several hours come flooding back to him, and his world crumbles all over again. He lets the tears fall freely down his cheeks as he struggles to sit up, and he wonders what he's going to do now that he's made it through the night.

All around him are tracks. Too many to count. There are so many circling him that he can't distinguish anything except the cloven hooves of a deer, so while he slept, he was visited by something other than the thing in the woods. "Why didn't you take me?" He asks in a shaky whisper. Nothing answers except the birds, but when he tries to stand, someone screams. An ear splitting, head splitting shriek brings him to his knees. “Stop! Stop!” Plugging his ears does nothing; it’s as if the sound is coming from inside of his head. “Please!” It stops suddenly. The scream doesn’t taper off or echo…it just stops, like it never even happened. When Seungmin looks around him, and despite being on his knees, head hanging low, he’s dizzy. All he wants to do is lay in the dirt and fall back asleep. He spreads his hands out in front of him, “what is that?” he asks himself, staring at his pale, goose-bump covered arms. He takes a closer look and sees the scratches; three of them on each limb, starting at his knuckles and not stopping until he gets to his elbows. They don’t hurt, and they’re not deep enough to bleed. “Did I do that?”

Seungmin’s ears start to ring, and the dizziness returns. He hears the footsteps behind him, and he’s only surprised by it being here now, in broad daylight. It had all night to come for him. The sound it makes is more terrifying than he ever imagined. He’s heard the growls, and the whispers, but never it speaking directly to him—Seungmin didn't even imagine it having a voice. It sounds like a strange attempt at his name, but how can he answer? How can he Ppossibly turn and face it?

“Who are you?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his fear. Seungmin’s chest tightens, and his voice shakes. The smell of dirt and decay hits his nose. He has to hold back his urge to vomit as the stench gets stronger and stronger. “Please go away.”

you called for me

It’s inside of his head. He can feel it echoing through his brain.

face me

“I wanna go home”

you have no home

“Yes I do! I do have a home”

little stray, I’m all that’s left now…we are all that’s left

“I’m not alone, I’m not!” Seungmin thinks about his aunts, who he only met once when he was two. He doesn’t remember, of course, but umma talked about them sometimes. His father’s sisters. They must be like dad, even just a little. “Someone still wants me, right?”

don’t be silly

“No, they do!”

turn and face me, and I’ll consider letting you leave

Just one look. Besides, this is why he came out here in the first place—to be found by it, and to never face another day again. Seungmin rises to his feet and takes a few deeps breaths. He has to get it over with. He turns, and somehow, the smell becomes worse. It’s here…it’s really here. He’s seeing it with his own two eyes, ten feet away from him.

good boy

To Seungmin, it looks as if a piece of the forest came to life, started to rot, and this is the outcome. The smell matches the rest of it, and the cloven hooves match the tracks surrounding where he slept. A face like a bleached skull, and black pits where its eyes should be almost distract him from the red, shedding antlers. It doesn’t move. The creature stands motionless as it speaks from its nonexistent mouth. How could this not be real? Why would Seungmin’s mind create something so horrible just for him?

I won’t leave you alone

Seungmin doesn’t hesitate, and his legs don’t either. He runs until his chest burns, and his legs nearly give out…and then the bright reflection of the greenhouse comes into view. The grass is cool and damp against his skin; it’s a relief, but it’s still there, burned into his vision, and the smell still burns his nose.

“Somebody will want me”

“Well?”

Seungmin squints at the screen, looks at you, and then back to the strangely detailed image he’s seeing. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to see…them. That’s them.”

“Yes, the 3D ultrasound still surprises parents”

“Still a little creepy,” you mumble and widen your eyes at her.

The tech looks at you and nods, “they’ll be more like the babies you will hold in a month or so. They still need more time to gain weight.”

“They’re moving!” The images are jumpy, but every few seconds, there’s a slight change in position. Seungmin can’t take his eyes off of them.

“Twenty-two, almost twenty-three weeks is early for this scan, but they look healthy. And you have boys, one hundred percent certain.”

Seungmin laughs, and then pulls out his phone. “Do we get photos?”

You think he’s going to take his own, but he stops to read something instead. It’s Heecheol, judging by the little smirk on his face and the smile in his eyes. You wonder if they decided on a time to visit, and if Seungmin remembered to mention the pregnancy to him. There’s no hiding it anymore, and the spare room won’t be a spare room when he comes to stay. The nursery is painted (a color called mint chocolate chip that Seungmin picked out himself), partially decorated—though Seungmin had trouble choosing a theme. The twin bed is still there, and it’s comfortable. Much more comfortable than the couch.

“Yes, we’ll print some images for you”

***

A few moments ago he was sound asleep, but now you can feel his stare. Your eyes stay glued to your phone for a few more seconds—your mother is texting you for the second time since you’ve moved in with Seungmin, and you still haven’t told her much. Seungmin doesn’t exist in her world, and neither do Haneul and Haesung. In her mind, you’re still alone in your little apartment, working the job that pays you just enough to live and eat. You are still trying your best to learn Korean, but you haven’t been going to formal classes as often as you’d like, and not at all since you started showing.

Before any of that information comes out, you need to mentally prepare for a long phone call. And maybe her anger, for two reasons: depriving her of what will be her first grandchildren, and worst of all, not having grandchildren that look like her. But twenty-five weeks is well over halfway there, and part of you feels guilty about keeping things a secret. Now you move your eyes away from the screen, and his are there, just like you thought—big and round and dark. “What’s wrong, Minnie?” He blinks a few times, and his gaze drops away from you. “You were almost snoring a minute ago.”

“Was I?”

“Just a little bit…you’ve had a busy week”

“Who are you talking to?”

Him noticing and wondering isn’t a surprise, because you rarely text anyone but him, and one classmate who keeps asking when you’ll come to classes. You’ve considered texting her and maybe getting out of the house, but it hasn’t happened yet. It’s so much easier to stay home and keep up with your dramas, or lose yourself for a while in a video game with Seungmin. That’s a new favorite for you. “My mom.”

“Have you spoken to her much lately?”

“Nope. I have texted back and forth to my sister, just to let her know I was still alive…but mom never bothered to respond to anything until now.”

“Did you tell her?”

You shake your head as you read the next message that pops up.

I just don’t understand why you’re still there…you don’t have to be so far away from the only family and friends you have. You can come home anytime.

there’s more here for me than you’re aware of

okay, so tell me what’s so special about it there

“Not yet. I think that should be a phone call.”

“Do you think she’ll be unsupportive?”

“She’s always unsupportive.” The message thread disappears, and you pull up what you were looking at before she surprised you. “Do you like this?”

Seungmin takes your phone in hand and brings it closer to his face, but he still squints. “Snoopy! Snoopy in a bunny suit. He looks so soft…are there any other colors?”

“Mocha…and yellow. Everything else is sold out.”

“Get one of each”

“Maybe we forget about a theme, and just fill the nursery with cute things. You add them to your cart and click on more characters. “Pochacco?”

“Pochacco? Yeah, we can do more puppies.”

“Do you like Pochacco? I wasn’t expecting you to know your Sanrio characters.” Seungmin throws off the covers and heads for his closet. “Where you going?”

“I still have things you’ve never seen, I guess.” He opens the closet door and heads for the opposite corner of his photo boxes, and after a little bit of digging around, a few things come flying toward you: a small, soft Pochacco; Snoopy, floppy and worn out like Daengmo, and a small brown dog you don’t recognize. The last one comes a few moments later, and it’s the biggest one.

“Growlithe!”

“Umma got me a different puppy every year for my birthday. Daengmo was first, Snoopy was second.”

You can’t help but wonder which one came last, but you know better than to ask. “Puppies it is.”

Seungmin’s phone buzzes, and you see the text notification appear. You can’t read it, or the name—especially not upside down and from this distance, but as soon as he dives back into bed and scoops it up, you get an answer.

“Heecheol says he has the weekend off, Friday through Monday, but he can’t stay long. He has another nurse checking in on his umma while he’s away, though.”

“That’s good. Is he coming on Friday? That gives me some time to clean and get the room ready.”

“Friday morning, yes. The apartment is clean!”

“Not guest clean”

The voice of his aunt is stern and serious, but it doesn’t bother him. As much as she tries to make Seungmin listen, and he usually does, nothing quite compares to the steady, eerily calm voice of his late-stepfather. He stares down into the pocket of his glove as she speaks.

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening”

“I’m not trying to sound so…”

“Mean?” Eun-ji, who looks almost identical to her sister, just thinner, answers for her. “Please remember what this boy has been through.”

She huffs, but nods in understanding. Four years with their mother and father was probably difficult enough, but it’s been barely four years since losing his mother. Now, he’s moving again. “I’m sure umma took good care of you, Seungmin, but she’s getting old, and just can’t keep up anymore.”

“She did…and I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“You have to care for me now, but I’ll try to be as helpful as possible. I won’t be a burden.”

They look at each other and smile. Seungmin doesn’t understand why. He wrings his hands together as they look to him again. “We know you’re a very well-behaved boy, and you get good marks in school. And you play baseball, right?”

He nods.

“You like to read?”

“Yes”

“Well, I understand the high school has a baseball team you can try out for next year, and we have a very large library. It’s just a quick bus ride into town. Oh, what’s the matter?”

Seungmin’s legs start to shake, but he doesn’t know why. His chest tightens, and his eyes well with tears. He can’t stop himself. “Uhm…I—“

“There’s no need for tears, you’re safe here with us.” Eun-ji reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “We’ll take good care of you…Minnie? Is that what your umma called you?”

Seungmin nods and wipes his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Sometimes.”

“Come over here and sit with us”

He walks on his unsteady legs and squeezes between them on the couch. They smell nice, and Eun-ji still squeezes his hand gently. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“If it helps you feel better, you should cry. If someone told you to be ashamed of your tears, you can just forget what they said.”

Can he? Seungmin isn’t sure he can do that. Crying is a sign of weakness—that’s what his stepfather told him, even when he saw his tear-streaked, dirt-covered face when umma found him and brought him home. Crying is for babies and little girls. Is that what you are? A baby? A baby sulking around with his little stuffed dog. He’s been gone for years, and he still won’t leave him alone. Just like the monster promised. Both of them swirl endlessly in his brain, and he just wants to make it stop.

“Here, let me clean your glasses…Ji-woo will show you your new bedroom, and we’ll get you unpacked”

Friday morning comes, and you sit at the kitchen counter, wondering how you could possibly find the energy to finish…anything. Your body and your mind has run on caffeine since you were fifteen, and now you’re afraid to drink more than a few sips of coffee. It’s not just the thought of feeling nauseous, but it’s doing anything to could cause harm to them. You know in your brain that caffeine, a little bit, won’t hurt, but you still feel like you need to be perfect to keep them healthy.

“I’ll be back. His bus should be getting here soon…are you okay?”

“Bus? Oh, that must have been uncomfortable for him. I’ll finish getting his room ready.”

“Are you okay? You look sad.”

“Sad? No, Minnie, I’m not sad. I was just…thinking about coffee.”

Seungmin laughs, “coffee? You must really miss it. I can grab some decaf while I’m out. Maybe that will help the craving.” He brings you in for a kiss. “Stay off your feet. I’ll finish getting things ready when we get back.”

You listen, and as soon as he closes the door behind him, you grab your pillow, and Daengmo, and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Seungmin will be an hour at the very least, so you set an alarm just in case you doze off.

***

Any other day, the traffic wouldn’t be worth the fight, but Seungmin doesn’t want Heecheol on a city bus after a long bus ride. He drives the four miles there, and a half an hour later, he’s starting to feel nervous for no reason. The busy station does make him uneasy—he’s rarely around this many people at once. And he never has a reason to be here, so he’s unfamiliar with the layout. Eventually, after asking for directions twice, he figures out where he needs to be, and he waits. No text messages come through telling him he’s almost there, or that he’s arrived, but the trains are usually on time. He should be arriving in two minutes, according to the big clock above the schedule.

“Mo!”

Seungmin jumps and turns to face his friend’s big smile. “You’re early.” Heecheol gives him no time to react before he pulls him in for a hug. It’s a strange feeling. He’s grown used to holding you, and having your arms around him as he falls asleep, but this is different. Heecheol is taller; he’s strong, and Seungmin feels small in his embrace.

“Sorry it took…two months?”

“Two and a half.” But what is that compared to fifteen years?

He pulls away, but his hands fall to Seungmin’s shoulder. “It was hard picturing you grown up, even as I looked in the mirror and saw myself getting older. I kept thinking about that when you two left.”

Seungmin isn’t sure what to say, but he returns the smile. He doesn’t know how to tell Heecheol that his mind was lost for a very long time, and he didn’t think about him nearly as much as he should have—at least not until ten weeks ago. It never occurred to him that he was still being thought about as he struggled through his school years, just from very far away.

“But we should get out of here, it’s getting even busier”

“Right, I’m parked not far from the entrance…I just,” he stops. Seungmin had more than enough chances to tell him, but he kept putting it off. “I have to stop for some coffee before we head back.”

“I haven’t been to Seoul since I flew home last year. City life is already lost on me, even after Charlotte. But that doesn’t compare to this.”

“It’s smaller there?”

“Much smaller, less people. Do you like it here?”

“It’s okay. I don’t really get out much, so I might as well live in a small town sometimes.” Except if Seungmin lived in a small town, he would have been caught a long time ago. He chose to stay in Seoul for the ease of blending in, or disappearing. And for the wide pool of potential victims. “I say that now, but when I was…single, it was different. It’s easier to be at home now, because I’m not always alone with my thoughts.” Yeah, that makes sense. Seungmin can turn off the bad noise—not always, but certainly more than before.

“That makes sense. Sounds nice. Sounds serious.”

“It is. And speaking of that, there’s something I kept meaning to mention, and I just…I haven’t.”

“What is it?”

***

He makes sure to text you on the way up the elevator, but you don’t reply by the time he slides the key in and pushes the door open. “We’re here…oh.” Seungmin shuts the door softly, and Heecheol watches as he kneels where you’re still sleeping on the couch; blanket pulled up to your chin, Daengmo shielding your eyes from the sunlight. Seungmin picks him up slowly. “Hey…”

You stir a little, and as your eyes flutter open, you remember where you are, and what’s going on. You remember where Seungmin went and that he wasn’t returning alone. “My alarm didn’t go off…or, I slept through it, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you can nap. Do you wanna get into bed while I get us settled?”

It takes a moment, but you sit up carefully and wonder how puffy and groggy you look to your guest. “No, I’m awake…hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles at you just as sweetly as he did before, but his eyes fall to your stomach this time. “I can understand why you’re tired. Please don’t force yourself to lose sleep because of me.”

“I sleep all the time...maybe too much. I’m hoping my decaf will trick my brain into thinking it’s getting caffeine.”

Heecheol approaches, a little hesitantly, but then sits a few inches away on the couch. “Right, the decaf makes sense now. Did you drink a lot of coffee before you were pregnant?”

“Yes, every day”

“A little bit of caffeine here and there won’t hurt. And if it makes you happy, that’s probably better for baby than you feeling miserable without it.”

“I’m nervous about doing something wrong”

“When did you have your last appointment?”

“Two weeks ago”

“And how did it go?”

“It went well. They looked very healthy, and they just needed more time to fatten up.”

“They?” His eyes grow, but he looks to Seungmin for an answer.

***

“I should have told you before today”

“As long as she’s comfortable with me here, that’s what matters.”

Seungmin sets his iced coffee in front of him, the same as what he’s drinking. “Still. I hesitated. I told you how long we were together, and I didn’t want you to think it was because we made a mistake.”

“I don’t think that.” Heecheol slides his hand across the counter and sets it over Seungmin’s. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mo.”

He smiles at that—his nickname. The first time Heecheol heard his mother call him Mo, it stuck. Seungmin turns his hand over and squeezes his fingers.

“I’ve never known you to do anything lightly”

They speak softly at the kitchen counter, but you still catch pieces of the conversation. You recognize some of it, to your surprise—single words, at least. You catch your name, and that’s not surprising. Heecheol didn’t seem very surprised when he saw you, so Seungmin obviously got around to telling him at some point. The babies are moving around as you stand by the door and adjust your shirt, and you have to stop and breathe until they stop…it feels like they’re arguing in there; kicking each other, fighting for more room. Breathing excercises aren't enough. The horrible swirling feeling and the smell of lunch cooking on the stove makes you sick, and you stumble out and head for the bathroom.

“Tokki, are you okay?”

You see them from the corner of your eye as you walk by, but you don’t stop, because if you do, you might not make it.

“Still getting nauseous?” Heecheol asks. He walks up behind Seungmin as he stares at the closed bathroom door.

“Sometimes. Especially if they’re very active, but active is good, right?”

“Yes, and they’re taking up a lot of space in there. I’m sure it’s very hard when they won’t rest together.”

He’s never thought about it quite like that. Just because they share a space doesn’t mean they share a schedule. One takes a nap, the other wakes up and kicks his brother until he starts to kick back. He can’t imagine how strange that feels inside of you. “Hopefully they rest together when they’re here with us.”

“They’ll keep a routine as long as you give them one, and they need that, but babies will always do what they want”

“Cheoli, you seem to know a lot about babies”

“Lots of rotations on the maternity ward, here and in the states. It’s my favorite. Oh, how did your cut heal?”

There’s a scar there, but barely. Seungmin sticks out his arm and Heecheol runs his thumb over it. “Very well, you stitched it so straight.”

A few minutes later you emerge, pale in the face, but feeling better. The two of them look at you from where they sit at the counter, and Seungmin smiles as you approach. They’re both clutching their coffees now, but you’re certain you saw them clutching each other before you interrupted.

“I can make you something easier on your stomach, if you want”

You hoist yourself onto the stool next to him, “no, I’m okay…I think they finally calmed down,” and Seungmin scoots you closer.

The silence, one long enough to start feeling uncomfortable, is finally broken by Heecheol. And he speaks to you. “Do you like living here, in Korea?”

The thought never crossed your mind, strangely enough. Living here, or living there—it’s been the same in some ways, or it used to be. You lied to Seungmin about how long you’ve been here, and he knows that, but you’ve never actually told him the truth. Two months spent by yourself, trying to adjust…trying to settle somewhere new and far away from home. “I do. Learning Korean has been hard, and I feel like I’ll never get the hang of it. I really should be immersing myself, but it’s hard when he speaks perfect English.”

He nods and smiles at Seungmin, who looks a little guilty for making things too easy for you.

“It was hard when I was alone. I almost left a few times, but finding him made everything feel right.”

“And now you two have made a sweet little family"

Seungmin’s smile is so wide, you can see it without even turning to look at him, and it gives you butterflies. Or maybe the babies are just awake again. You didn’t expect to reminisce about the way your relationship came to be, but of course his friend wants to know details—details you can’t give, but ones you’ll remember, sometimes in intense detail. The forest hasn’t been forgotten, not at all, and you still wonder what pulled him in there. If you asked, he wouldn’t know, so sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and wait for a dream to come; a nightmare that gets him talking. It does weigh on you—the eavesdropping and the hope for a vivid dream, but so does his strange behavior.

“Sometimes I would wonder if it was ever possible…being a father, and if I could even do it. It seemed out of reach for me.”

“Why? I understand the feeling, though."

“Tokki should have dropped me and ran more than once already, but…I’ve been lucky. I’m not easy to deal with.”

Heecheol smiles and lets out a tiny laugh, but only after seeing your smile. “We fit well together, just like the two of you seem to. I’ve never seen him smile at anyone else the way he smiles at you.” The happy blush already on his cheeks darkens even more, and his eyes drop to his coffee. Every time you look at him, it just reinforces your assumptions. Maybe Heecheol didn’t have feelings for Seungmin when they were kids, but he does now, and it hit him so suddenly when he laid eyes on him again. All those good feelings came back; the comfort, and the understanding.

Or maybe you’re just projecting. Maybe you’re just thinking anyone could fall in love with him so easily.

Seungmin squeezes the hand you placed in his lap, and at the same time, slides the other across the counter. Heecheol grabs it without hesitation.

“This time last year,” he starts, but you can tell he hasn’t gathered all of his thoughts yet. “Uhm, uh—“ he releases both of you and wrings his hands together as he continues to think. You can tell he’s retreating. “Nevermind.”

What was Seungmin doing last spring: what was going through his head?

“You can tell us, Mo. When it feels right.”

Both of you are gentle with him, and Heecheol doesn’t even know just how much Seungmin needs that. He also doesn’t know how rarely he opens up. Too often he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling; eyes slowly closing, but he never falls asleep before you do. Whatever is on his mind in those moments belong to him, and only him.

Tonight is one of those nights. An hour passes slowly as you watch him think. It was an unseasonably warm day, perfect for the baseball game they went to, and it’s carried into the night—a breeze just barely makes it to the bed. Seungmin is star-fished on his back, blanket covering one full leg. The rest of him, aside from what his shorts cover, is out and damp with sweat.

“I can put a fan on if you’re too warm,” you say, even though his eyes are closed now, and he might finally be asleep.

“I’m okay. Are you? Are the babies making you warm?”

“A little”

He’s up with a grunt, and he stretches his back and shoulders as he heads for the balcony. First he pulls the curtains aside as far as they’ll go, and then he slides the door open a little bit more.

“That makes me nervous”

“Hm…what does, the balcony?”

“The curtain and the door being all the way open.” You feel stupid thinking it, but not stupid enough to keep it to yourself. “I keep wondering if you were sleepwalking that night.”

“If I was,” he smiles sweetly at you, “I haven’t done it since. You haven’t caught me, at least.”

“I know”

“And we have a nice breeze coming in now…you’ll sleep better”

“Do you think Heecheol is okay? I don’t want him to be uncomfortable and not let us know.”

Seungmin stops halfway back to bed, “I’ll check.”

***

He doesn’t bother turning on a light, so he walks carefully to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. While he’s there, he wonders if alcohol is a good choice. A beer, just one on top of the three he had earlier, probably wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help him sleep. Seungmin grabs one and heads for the nursery, and before knocking, sets his ear against the door. At first it’s quiet, but a moment later, he hears what sounds like a muffled video playing on his phone. A soft knock, and a moment later, he hears him…I’m awake, you can come in.

Seungmin pokes his head in and sees him propped up on the pillows, phone in hand. “Sorry, we just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.” The window is cracked, and he can feel the breeze coming in. “Or if you needed anything.”

“Yeah, I’m comfortable. I thought you’d be asleep by now, it’s late.”

“Can’t sleep”

“You can come in”

Seungmin steps in and sets the water on the side table. “Brought this anyway.”

He nods to the bottle of beer. “Who’s that for?”

Both of them had enough to drink at the game, but his enough is double that of Seungmin’s, at least. He was still a little tipsy on the bus ride home, and Heecheol quietly stared at Seungmin for the duration.

“I can get another if you want this one”

“No, I think I hit my limit today.” The bed squeaks as he moves to make more room, and Seungmin takes the invitation. “Went a little over it, maybe.”

“Are you feeling okay now?”

“Yeah, back to normal I think. So this is the future nursery?”

Seungmin looks around and smiles as he twists off the cap. The color he chose looks nice in the dim lamplight, and a small collection of plushies is already accumulating on top of the dresser. Two boxes lean against the wall; a crib for each boy, and he knows he needs to start working on assembling things. You’ve already told him they won’t be sleeping in here for a while, so in your bedroom are two more boxes, each containing the pieces for a bassinet. Seungmin never really knew how much a baby needed, but it’s a surprising amount—doubled. “Yeah, just enough room, at least while they’re small.”

“Do you need help putting those together? Or anything else…doesn’t seem like you have everything yet.”

“No, I can’t make you work while you’re—“

“What was that?” The noise is faint, but Heecheol catches it. Seungmin hears it the second time—a soft cry, like you’re trying to call for him.

They’re both on their feet, stumbling through the dark until Seungmin pushes the door open, and his stomach drops when he sees your pale, anguished face. “What… what is it, what’s wrong?” He asks as calmly as possible.

Heecheol rounds the bed and grabs your hand, and he’s quiet for a few seconds. “What’s hurting?”

“Everything”

“Have you felt pains like this yet?”

Flashbacks of the intense pains you felt while hiding out months ago come back to Seungmin. He was mostly useless then, and he feels only slightly less useless now.

He reaches for the lamp and clicks it on, giving the room some well needed light. “Have you had any false labor pains yet? Hey…look at me, I know it hurts.”

“No pains, no”

“Okay, try to breathe deep through your nose, and then let it out slowly…very slow.”

Seungmin’s grip on your hand relaxes. “I can see…is that them moving?” He almost lays his palm on your stomach, but thinks better of it. That’s probably not what you want or need right now.

“They can feel it, too,” Heecheol speaks softly, “and this is a long one. Take another big breath…it’ll pass.”

You listen, and as hard as it is to take a deep breath, you manage it twice. This is a new type of pain you’ve never experienced before, and you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with it again. Two long minutes of it, and all you can see to your left is a blur of Seungmin staring you down. You’ve never seen him look more worried than he does right now. “It’s okay, Minnie…I’m okay.” You aren’t, not really, but the pain is gradually easing up, and it becomes easier to breathe.

Heecheol squeezes your wrist again, and his other hand lands gently on your stomach. “They might be awake for a while now, but hopefully no more pains that intense.”

“I don’t think I can do that again”

“You can—you will, and you’ll be surprised by the amount of pain you can endure”

“I don’t want to,” you laugh, and wince in pain again when one of them kicks hard enough to see.

Seungmin stares, and finally places both hands on your stomach. “Is it normal to see them moving like that?”

“Yeah, especially considering how cramped it’s getting in there; you’ll see all kinds of movement. Feel anything?”

He smiles, “yeah, I’ve never felt them so active before.”

“Me neither,” you sigh and set your hands on top of his. “I wonder which one is the worst.”

“Do you need anything? Water…and something for the muscle pains you’ll be feeling would be a good idea.”

“I’ll get you something, I’ll be right back.” Seungmin bends down to kiss your hand before jumping off the bed and heading for the medicine cabinet. He wants to feel useful, and it’s tough to do with a nurse in the room.

You watch Heecheol start to rise, but he stops and feels your pulse. He’s calm, like he’s been in this situation more times than he can remember, and having him here right now, tonight, was very lucky. “Thank you. I don’t know how well he would have handled that alone. He’s doing a good job, but he worries…and overthinks.”

“So he hasn’t changed.” Heecheol laughs and looks around. He sees the dried flowers, slowly crumbling away in a brand new vase, and next to it is the still broken pieces of his music box. To new eyes, it probably looks like a mess, and nothing else.

There’s no sound coming from outside the bedroom, so you keep your ears perked while you watch him walk to the other side of the room. “Can I ask you something, before Seungmin comes back?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure…is it about…” his gaze drops to your stomach.

“No, it’s about when you two were kids.” He’s making something warm to drink—you hear the familiar clumsy sound of him making tea. Heecheol moves closer as you sit up a little more. “Did he ever wander into the woods? I mean, aside from the incident with his stepfather. Did either of you ever see anything strange in there?”

The look he gives you is loaded with questions, and you think the meds must be one of them. “The woods? The pine forest around the old house?” Now his gaze moves to Seungmin’s side table, and you see what he's spotted. Seungmin’s prescription came in a box this time, and the writing on the front is hard to miss: HALOPERIDOL 2mg. “Not that I recall. It was creepy in there…I do remember him telling me he saw something, but just once. I didn’t believe him—I thought he was trying to scare me.” He has no clue which incident you're referring to with his stepfather, but he's curious. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no time to elaborate, because Seungmin is back—mug in one hand, bottle of water tucked under his arm. You remember this. He looks exactly like he did that night; worried, a little pale, half dressed with a mug of tea in one shaking hand.

“I sweetened it for you.” He sets it on your table, along with the water and two tablets he had clutched in his fist. “Cheoli…is it too early for this, the pain?”

“Not necessarily, but if there are more tonight, more that last that long…could be uhm, could be the babies trying to move into position.”

“Position? Position to what?”

Heecheol laughs. “To be born. They have to turn, head down preferably.”

“Right. But they can’t be born yet, it’s too soon.”

As much as you want to tell him not to worry, you can’t, because you’ve been nervous since the day you found out you were pregnant. Getting this far was a surprise. All you can hope for is Heecheol to put his mind at ease.

“It is, but the pains don’t mean they’re coming yet”

Somehow, Seungmin’s face grows even more pale. Not trying to worry him further is not working, for either of you. You calmly sip your tea, but he continues to watch you like you’re going to explode at any minute.

“I’m sorry, Mo, I’m not trying to worry you.”

Seungmin swallows and nods, and he follows Heecheol as he heads for the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

***

Half of his bottle is drained quickly, “what?” Seungmin isn’t just feeling watched—the look Heecheol is giving him is one of concern, and curiosity. Some confusion. “I know I didn’t handle that very well. I should be stronger than that.”

He shakes his head, “no, you’re allowed to be worried and a little scared. A little clueless. The two of you will get through it. But I do have to ask something…because you said, or we said…maybe we were both a little tipsy or getting too much sun at the game…”

He remembers. How can he do it, though? Seungmin can’t tell him everything. “No secrets, just like when we were kids.”

“That means a lot of catching up.” Heecheol takes the bottle from him and finishes it. “The Haldol, I’m assuming it's yours.”

Seungmin was so worried and distracted, he didn’t think about his medication sitting out in the open on his bedside table. Keeping them within sight has helped. But now he might have to jump right in and tell him something. “Yes, they’re mine.”

“We can talk about it another time, if you want, but no more alcohol. Just promise me that.”

“Okay”

“Go get some sleep. Wake me if either of you need anything.”

***

The pain mostly subsides, but the kicking and squirming doesn’t. Both of them feel like they’re spinning inside of you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Breathing exercises only help so much, and if there’s a neural connection that lets you communicate with them, they’re ignoring every word you say tonight. But Seungmin returns, and regardless of how tired and mopey he looks, you’re relieved to see him shuffling toward the bed. “Just in time. C’mere.”

“Are you hurting again?” He climbs across the bed and curls up next to you, despite how warm he is. The alcohol and conversation made him even warmer. “More pains?”

“Nothing like before, no. Can you talk to them, or something? Anything. They’re all worked up.”

Seungmin sits up and sets a hand on you until he feels movement. “I can try.” He lies down again, this time with his head on you, ear pressed against your stomach. “It’s bedtime,” he whispers. “Time to settle down and rest. Haneul…Haesung, which of us will fall asleep first? It can’t be me. I’ll stay up until umma falls asleep, and that means you two first.”

He’s been speaking to them by name for two months now, and you’ve started to as well. There hasn’t been any more discussion about it, so it seems like a good fit. Seungmin starts to hum, and you can feel it move through your chest. You worry for a moment that they’ll start squirming again, but they don’t, and you can finally close your eyes and relax. There’s still some fear that the pain will hit again, but you’re too tired to let it keep you up, and you feel yourself slowly fading into sleep.

*

A dim, measured beep starts going off, just enough to be annoying. You’re still tired, and you desperately want to sleep, so you try to block it out and slip back to where you were, but it gets louder.

“Seungmin…what is that noise?” You cup your palm over your ear, but it doesn’t help. “Is that your phone?” No, his alarm doesn’t sound like that, and he never has the sound on. Maybe he’s at his computer, mixing something together…but he hasn’t done that in a while. Your hand slides downward and jumps to your stomach. Nobody is kicking now—not that you can feel, but you can’t feel anything. “Seungmin?” He isn’t next to you. Finally, you open your eyes, and it’s blinding. Wherever you are is too bright, and it’s certainly not your bedroom. Moving is almost impossible, but as soon as you force yourself onto your back, all you see as your eyes adjust is a plain, drab room. You set your hand on your stomach again; there’s nothing there; no bump, and not even the ghost of one. This is the same stomach you had six months ago. Everything below your chest is numb.

The doorknob clicks, and a nurse walks in without a word. She looks at you, clicks a pen, and still says nothing.

“Where are my babies? Where am I?”

“Babies?”

“Where are they…where is Seungmin? He wouldn’t leave me here. Seungmin!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You wake up again, and seeing him stare down at you is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. His big worried eyes, and his warm hands squeezing your shoulders bring you back immediately. "Stupid dreams," you mumble.

“Are you in pain?”

No, you think. Not at all. It was just a dream, and you’re here with him. Everything is okay. But you are in pain and it takes another few seconds to hit. It feels like you’ve been in pain for hours, and you’ve never felt anything like it before.

“Hey, it’s okay…everything is okay, I’m here”

It’s as if a vice is squeezing your back and pulling your spine from your body, inch by inch. Your chest burns when you try to breathe, and it comes back out in a cry. “It hurts.”

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” He turns away screams for Heecheol.

It echoes in your head, and pain shoots around your stomach, around your back, and down your thighs. “They can’t come yet.”

“You’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay, too. Just look at me, take a breath.”

Heecheol runs into the room, but you can tell he’s calm as he approaches. “Hey, another bad one?” His hand clutches yours.

“Bad…it’s bad”

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“God, my back…and,” you set your hand on the bottom of your stomach and attempt another deep breath. “My chest.”

“Chest? How far is the closest hospital?”

“Uhm, the university hospital isn’t far. Should I call an ambulance?”

Heecheol gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Can you walk? When this passes, if you can walk, we should get you there, just in case.”

“I’m not sure”

He looks at Seungmin, “if it doesn’t pass in the next few minutes, we’ll call. If it does, we can get ready and drive there.”

It does start to fade, but not nearly as quickly as before. Your head pounds from the tension in your body, and every muscles aches in its own way. You close your eyes and feel both of them move away from you, but you don’t bother to focus on what they say…

“Hospital? You think it’s time for that?” Seungmin asks. He watches you carefully as you finally start to relax.

“The pain seemed pretty intense. Is the pregnancy considered high risk?”

“I don’t think so…everything has been fine at the appointments”

His hands, warm and damp are on you again; one squeezes yours, and the other runs softly across your thigh, “you okay?” He whispers.

“I dunno”

“We’re just gonna go to the hospital, to be safe,” he whispers again, trying desperately to keep you calm as he feels something falling apart inside of him. “So you can be more comfortable.”

“Will you stay with me?” A nauseous feeling starts to swirl inside of you, and you hope it’s the babies fighting again. You need them to move again. They haven’t moved since you woke up from your dream. “Please.”

***

The beeping is there again—it’s loud, and when your eyes open, everything is different, and he’s there, asleep with his head in his arms at the edge of your hospital bed. The lights are dimmed, and nobody else is around, because you assume it’s still the middle of the night. You don’t even know what time it was when you woke up in pain.

“Minnie?” Your voice cracks, and your cough is what wakes him up. “What time is it?”

“Uhm,” he grabs your arm and searches for his phone, “it’s 5:30. How do you feel?”

“Tired. What happened?”

“They gave you something to keep you from going into labor.” Heecheol closes the sliding door. There’s a coffee in each hand; one for him, and the other for Seungmin. “And something for the bleeding. And the pain.”

“Are the babies okay?”

“Yeah, babies are good. You don’t remember the ultrasound?”

Did you black out from the pain? Is labor actually that painful? “No, I don’t remember leaving the apartment.” If so, any fleeting thoughts you had of a natural birth before tonight…they’re long gone. “How long does the medicine stop me from going into labor?”

“Two days at the least, but an extra week is possible. Twenty-six is much better than twenty-five.”

You look to Seungmin, who’s looking at you the way that he tends to do; into you, and through you. He can’t hide the worry and sadness he’s carrying around with him. “Minnie, I’m sorry.”

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You’ll be okay, and so will they.”

The dream keeps coming back to you, though.

***

It’s another two hours of you moving in and out of sleep before your doctor arrives, and when she walks into the room followed closely by someone else—a nurse, she looks concerned. You can tell she tries to shake it off when she gets closer.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?”

“Better than I was last night”

“Last week everything looked very good, and they were…” She stacks her arms parallel to each other against her stomach, “transverse. They both moved very quickly, and now they’re both head down.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s unusual this early, but we’ll try to keep labor at bay for as long as possible, and we can give you something to help speed up lung development. But after that, we just wait.”

“I have to stay here?”

“Just for three or four days. If everything stays calm after that, you can go home…but bed rest until the babies are born,“ She looks at Heecheol, and then to Seungmin. “I’m counting on you to keep her there, and do everything she says.”

***

Seungmin doesn’t want to, but eventually, after convincing him you’d be alright by yourself, Heecheol and him head back to the apartment. It’s a quick, silent drive, and neither of them speak much until they’re on the elevator, halfway up the building.

Heecheol wants to say something to comfort him, but he doesn’t know where to start, and he doesn’t know if anything he says will help, so he keeps quiet for now. In place of conversation, he starts making more coffee while Seungmin shuts himself in the bathroom.

He takes a long shower, and he’s still silent as he heads for the bedroom wrapped in his towel. The sounds of him changing, and then the familiar sound of a pill being pushed from the blister pack filters out through the cracked door. Heecheol wonders how long he’s been taking Haldol, and how serious his condition is. Schizophrenia? Bipolar disorder? Both, possibly. It seems to be well under control, though, and he hopes Seungmin will talk to him about it.

The door swings open. “How likely is survival if they’re born this premature?” Seungmin asks. The doctor may be going over this with you right now, but he needs to know, too. And he needs to talk about it.

“Around 75…80%. Each week increases that percentage a little more.”

“I’m sorry you have to be here for all of this, Cheoli”

“I don’t mind. I can get someone to check in on umma; she’ll be fine.” He slides a coffee closer to him. “I’d hate to think about you all by yourself here, waiting around. Besides, you’ll need help getting this apartment ready if mom’s stuck in bed for a while.”

The list of things to finish is getting longer, and he wasn’t sure he’d have enough time before they arrived. Now he might have no time, but it doesn’t matter, as long as they make it home. “It would be nice to get the nursery done, even if they won’t be sleeping in there when they come home.” He reaches for his buzzing phone and sees a text from you already.

I know you just left, and you seemed fine, but are you okay? You can call or text whenever you want to, because I’m gonna bother you just as much

I will, but I’ll feel bad if I wake you. Keep your phone on do not disturb and I’ll feel much better about it. And sleep. If you’re hungry for something I’ll bring it in for you. AND I will be there tomorrow morning.

I will, I promise. I just had breakfast, and it was okay, but maybe you can make me some soft-boiled eggs and sneak them in? They only gave me a half of one :(

I’ll bring you as many eggs as you can eat. How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?

I am, I’m feeling good, no pains or anything…lots of kicks, I think they still want out

I’ll try to visit tonight before you go to bed, and I’ll tell them they need to stay put for while. Cheoli is going to help me finish putting things together here. Everything will be ready before you come home 🤍

the list I’ve been working on is in my drawer…we still have a lot to cross off

We’ll take care of everything, promise

***

Seungmin finds your notebook right where you said it would be. Next to it is your old one…the one you were using to practice Hangul months ago; the same one you wrote his name in over and over through the first few pages. He opens it to see everything still there, and then flips further back to see how much better your handwriting eventually became. You don’t feel confident speaking Korean, even though you practice with him all the time, and he’s being honest when he says you’re doing well. But no matter how much he reassures, you still believe you just can’t get it. A few nights ago, you made yourself cry from the fear of not being able to speak to them properly. It’s the first time in a long time, aside from last night, that Seungmin can remember feeling truly helpless when it comes to you; he can’t fix it…not without time.

It just…scrambles in my head, even when you speak slowly to me. I can’t make sense of it.

We’re going to be speak Korean and English to them, right? So you keep learning as they learn.

The new notebook is a baby planner, and it’s well-used. The side pockets are stuffed with pamphlets and information the doctor gave you in Daegu; older, messier lists to refer back to, and a paint color swatch for the greens Seungmin chose from. He flips to the middle where your much neater, much more organized lists are, starting with NURSERY: two cribs and everything that’s goes with them, two bassinets, changing table, dresser. Most of that is sitting in their respective boxes, untouched. Baby monitor, just one of those; blankets, too many to count; pacifiers, also too many to count. He flips the pages. Fortunately, most of that section is checked off.

Fatigue starts to creep up on him, and just as he flips to the next page (FEEDING) Heecheol sneaks up behind him. “Feeding, still need all of those. We can get a lot done today, but we need sleep first.”

He must see it on him, the exhaustion. Neither of them slept last night. “Yeah, I am very tired. I can hear Tokki yelling at me for it—if I just start working without at least trying to rest.”

“Can I ask where the nickname came from?”

“Tokki?”

“Mhm. She looks more like a deer than a bunny…feels like one, too.”

He thinks about it, picturing your face in his mind; your voice, and your walk. Maybe you are more like a deer, but you’ll always be Tokki to him. “That’s true, but…she’s my moon, I guess.”

“Your moon?”

“Yeah. We should get some sleep.”

***

Both of them get back into bed without bothering to set alarms, and they both sleep well into late afternoon. The sun is still up, just barely, when Heecheol finally opens his eyes, but his head is pounding. He decides to close his eyes again, and if Seungmin happens to wake up and need him, he’ll get up, but that doesn’t happen.

The first time Seungmin wakes, the sun is setting, and some of the light is pushing through the thick curtains. Before dozing off again, he watches it move across the room, and then he looks at his phone; no notifications. He knows you’re safe and resting, and that makes it even easier for him to slip back into sleep. But something creeps into his head without him realizing it; it was there last night, and when he sat in the hospital room watching your every move. It was there as he flipped through the baby book, trying to figure out his next step. It's been there since he went back into the woods; he's just gotten better at holding it back.

It’s full dark when he wakes again—10 o’clock. He slept too much, and the pain in his head is pulsing behind his eyes. He can’t remember what day it is, and why he’s been asleep. Why is he waking at this hour? Seungmin sits up. “Why is it so quiet?” He says to himself, and immediately falls back onto his pillow. Again, he looks at an empty phone, and then he scratches at the scar on his forearm. The empty spot to his left confuses him, and without thinking; without knowing exactly why, he jumps out of bed and opens his drawer.

“What? Where…is…” he moves a few things around. He doesn’t remember putting these things here, and he certainly doesn’t remember moving his tools. Seungmin moves to the dresser and checks each drawer. Nothing. Next is the closet. He glances at the bin by the door; the one filled with his old baby clothes, and a few forgotten toys, but he chooses to ignore it. The first thing he notices is a box, slightly larger than the photo boxes it’s sitting next to. It’s a nice box, with a hinged lid and a lock. And it’s locked. Does he have a key for this lock? Seungmin is pretty certain he has a key for every lock.

The ring of keys was in the drawer, so he and the box return to bed, and after four careful tries, it clicks.

“How did you get in here? I don’t remember...” He picks up his knife, safe in its leather sheath, and slowly pulls it out. It shines at him in the darkness, and he sees his reflection in the polished steel. “Oh well.”

Back to the closet, and then to the dresser. Black jeans, and a fitted tank top. Black boots—not his good ones, but they’re still nice—and two silver chains around his neck. He checks himself in the mirror before throwing on his jacket...runs his fingers through his hair and fluffs it up a little. By the time he walks out the door, he looks perfect.

***

Might as well just sleep the rest of the night, Heecheol thinks as he rolls around trying to get comfortable. He checks his phone for messages, and there’s nothing, so everything is fine at home. No need to worry. The headache is gone, at least, but he has to get up and rehydrate…maybe check in on Seungmin. He had a rough day, and meds or no meds, things can go downhill quickly.

The little hallway is dark, and so is the living room. One tiny light in the kitchen helps guide him toward the water, but not before noticing the light coming from Seungmin’s bedroom, so maybe he is up, and he is okay. Heecheol grabs his water and heads for the bathroom, but he doesn’t get far before something grabs his attention; a sound, and not a particularly nice sound. A gasp for air.

“Seungmin, are you up?” He says softly, and his heart pounds louder than his voice. One ear pressed against the door is his second mistake; the first being approaching it at all.

you…fucking…don’t fight me…do not touch me

“What the hell?”

A few seconds pass, and silence takes over. Heecheol is afraid to move in case the hardwood floor squeaks and gives him away, so he hears something else—a quiet groan, but it’s not Seungmin’s voice. He takes a chance when he starts to speak again, and somehow manages to make it to the nursery and close the door behind him. Just in time. The door opens, and light fills the living room. Heecheol’s view from the keyhole is a little too good, because the reflection on the knife seems to bounce right off of his door. The weapon almost distracts him from the fact that Seungmin’s hands are covered in blood, and a splatter of it managed to travel across his cheek. The bathroom light illuminates things a little more—Seungmin disappears inside, and Heecheol waits motionless; breathing in shaky breaths, and letting them out quietly. What is he witnessing right now? What did his friend do?

The bathroom water runs for a few minutes, and then he emerges again with a clean knife in his clean hands. The front door clicks, but there’s no way he’s leaving the apartment with a body (maybe—he doesn’t know if there’s a body anywhere…he could just be in a very vivid nightmare for all he knows) laying in his bedroom. Heecheol waits it out for another few minutes, but manages to unstick himself from his spot and grab his phone. A well-timed text might help clear things up, or confirm some very scary suspicions, but when he pulls up the message thread, he can’t do it.

The door opens and another light clicks on, and Seungmin is heading back to the bedroom. Thanks to the extra light, he can very clearly see what he’s now carrying; a neatly folded tarp, or…some type of plastic. A drop cloth you’d use while painting, possibly. And a bucket, he assumes full of cleaning supplies. There wasn’t much doubt in what he was hearing and seeing, especially with a knife in hand, but this confirms what he’s really, truly trying to push out of his head. Seungmin is preparing to dispose of a body, right in front of his eyes. Is he not worried Heecheol will hear or see him? “Maybe you’re not all there right now,” he whispers as he turns and somehow still gives his friend the benefit of the doubt; but not really…he knows what’s happening, sure, but maybe there’s something more. “What is wrong with me…he just killed someone, quietly…oh, Mo, what the hell is going on?”

He should be planning his escape right now—packing up and heading to the train station or finding a hotel. Why isn’t he moving?

A thud, the sound of plastic, and then he appears again, slowly. Seungmin comes back into his field of vision, back first, pulling the wrapped body little by little. He can’t make out much except a vague idea of size, and it’s not very small. Seungmin grunts a little each time he pulls, and then you hear his phone. Of course he turned the sound on in case you called or messaged him. Of course it’s you. He drops what he’s doing and hops over the body as he runs for it, and he gets there before you hang up.

“Hi sweetie, you’re up late…is everything okay?”

…nothing quite as frustrating as hearing one side of the conversation, Heecheol thinks. But not for long. Seungmin puts it on speaker and puts the phone in his pocket so he can continue. Apparently, Seungmin's mental break erased Heecheol from the equation.

why are you up so late? You don’t sound like you were sleeping

“I slept all day. I bet you did, too. How are you feeling?”

Yeah I fell asleep right after dinner. Did you eat? What are you doing?

“Uh, no…I haven’t eaten, not yet”

is Heecheol still there?

Hearing Seungmin say his name sends him into a panic, and he has to cup his head over his mouth to quiet his breaths.

“Is…Heecheol?” Seungmin pulls one more time, stops, and stands up straight. “Uhm…”

Minnie, what was that? What are you doing?

…and then he turns his head toward the nursery door. “Nuh…nothing.”

did you leave and come back with someone? Please tell me you didn’t do that, not right now…baby

Seungmin does something stupid. He’s never hung up on you, or ignored you; not until tonight. He hits the end call button and shoves the phone back in his pocket, and now Heecheol watches him approach. He freezes for a few more steps, but manages to quietly slip back under the covers and pretend to sleep.

“Heecheol?”

His heart feels on the brink of giving out. There’s no way he’ll fall for the fake sleeping unless he can relax. The door clicks and squeaks a little as it’s pushed open.

“Cheoli, are you...”

Deep, steady breaths. No, sound asleep…he heard nothing, and he saw nothing. But he’s not in the clear yet, because Seungmin is still there watching. Heecheol hears him sigh.

“...awake?”

The doors squeaks again, clicks shut, and Heecheol finally shifts. The phone rings again, so he knows Seungmin has returned to his job.

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

Don’t ever hang up on me like that

“I’m sorry, I am…I don’t know why I did this”

He must have turned the speaker off, but Heecheol can still hear you—your voice carries easily in the quiet apartment.

Are you at home? Did you finish?

“Yeah, almost. I made a mess, though.”

oh, no…

“Everything will be fine. I’ll clean up. Heecheol was asleep when I just looked in on him.”

No, Seungmin it’s happening again

“What, what’s happening?”

There’s no real answer on your end of the conversation, but there’s a horrible, anguished wail. The labor pains have already returned.

“Fuck, I’ll be there as soon as I can”

The call ends, and Heecheol is still stuck. Seungmin can’t run off with a dead body in the middle of the floor, so he has to clean up before he leaves, but he might not have much time. He can hear the sounds of him banging around, and he can’t begin to imagine how he’s taking care of this.

Seungmin grabs the end of the plastic again and pulls. He’s moving faster now, because he has to, and a few seconds later he’s out of the front door. The next apartment; the empty one they’ve started using as storage, is thirty feet down the hall, and Seungmin covers it quickly. Adrenaline pumping through him should make quick work of this.

The slam of the neighboring door gets Heecheol up again and peeking through the keyhole. He catches sight of Seungmin running by and pulling off his top, and after a few minutes of changing and cleaning up any leftover blood (he assumes), Seungmin bolts by again, slams the door shut, and everything goes quiet again.

“What the…fuck?” It’s strange hearing himself after the terrified silence. “Seungmin, what the fuck?” Now what is he supposed to do? Stay? Leaving in the middle of the night is out of the question, unless he wants to make it obvious he actually did witness a murder. Seungmin might have to get rid of him or anyone who knows—apparently not you, though. You knew exactly what he was up to, and even though you weren’t thrilled about it, you’re still here and carrying his children. Tokki should have dropped me and ran more than once already, but…I’ve been lucky. I’m not easy to deal with. He thinks he knows at least one reason why Seungmin is difficult. It’s almost 2am when he checks his phone again. In another minute, he’ll text him:

I heard the front door slam, and you were gone when I checked…everything okay?

It’s less than three kilometers to the hospital, so driving there at this hour should be quick. It takes three more minutes for a reply:

Yes I’m sorry Cheoli. I panicked and ran. I didn’t wanna wake you, but I’ll keep you updated.

If you can. Let me know if you need anything.

Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything. He is typically a deep sleeper, and Seungmin might remember that from when they were kids—hopefully he does. Heecheol is more worried about you, actually. You might not believe he missed the entire ordeal—you’re going to suspect he witnessed everything, even is Seungmin doesn’t. He needs time to process this, and the first thing he does is check the bedroom. It looks the same as it did last night, but it smells like a mix of disinfectant and the coppery scent of blood. The open balcony door hasn’t helped air it out yet. The only other thing that seems off is the wooden box sitting on his side of the bed. It’s closed, but it isn’t locked. “Oh no,” he cringes when he sees what’s inside; the knife, clean and back in its sheath; nylon rope; syringes; handcuffs.

It feels stupid as he’s doing it, but he heads to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of tea. He checks one of the cupboards and finds a hoard of snacks that he can only assume belongs to you. He pulls out an already open bag of chips and starts to eat while his tea steeps.

A few minutes later, a text message comes through, and it’s from Seungmin.

They can’t stop it this time, they’re preparing for delivery

“Damn. I’m sorry, buddy.” He says it out loud to himself, and immediately feels a horrible swirl in his stomach. Hours ago, he knew Seungmin deserved all of the good things he was finally getting. A good relationship, and a family of his own. He’s been through a lot, and Heecheol doesn’t even know how terrible Seungmin’s childhood actually was, but he just killed someone in his bedroom. It’s possible that both of you are killing; some sick version Natural Born Killers come to life. Is that actually how you two met?

It’ll be okay. They’ll take good care of them. All three of them.

They won’t let me in the room. They said I have to wait until things are more stable.

That’s normal. Just stay calm and they’ll let you in as soon as they can. I’m sure she’s asking for you. I can make my way down there.

He can?

Can you, Cheoli? I’m sorry you have to come down alone

Yes, he can. Seungmin needs him.

I’ll look for a ride right now

This has been his worst day in a very long time, and he can feel it in every single nerve in his body. His head aches, and his joints do, too; his heart hasn’t stopped racing since he woke from his very long nap. But his friend is coming to be by his side, and thinking about how close he came to ruining things is making him sick to his stomach. You, in that room, alone and in pain, has him on the verge of crying and screaming at everyone he sees sitting calmly in front of him. Can they not see how distressed he is? Why isn’t anyone telling him how you are?

“Hey, Mo”

Seungmin jumps, but smiles when Heecheol sits next to him in maternity waiting room. One of the nurses glances at them, but says nothing. “Thanks for coming.”

“That’s what friends are for.” He looks down at Seungmin’s fidgeting hands and sees blood that isn’t there. “Haven’t heard anything new?”

“No, I feel like everyone is ignoring me”

“I’m sure they’re not. It’s a stressful situation, and everyone is focused on making sure Tokki and the babies are both safe.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right”

“We’ll hear something soon”

***

The pain meds took hold, and the nurse made sure to tell you how lucky you are that they pushed them in time. Everything from your stomach to your knees is a partially numb, but every time you take a breath, you feel the pain.

“I’m going to see if things are progressing…” a nurse says and pushes hard on one of your knees. She speaks to another nurse first, than to you. “Still five centimeters.”

Still. You’ve been at five since the pains first started. “When can I see Seungmin?”

“Seungmin?” One looks to the other and asks.

“Nampyeonbun”

“Oh…the cute, pouty one sitting in the waiting room? She whispers in Korean to her partner. “Soon, you’ll see him soon”

You look everywhere for your phone, but one of them must have taken it when things started getting chaotic.

“Don’t cry, everything will be fine. Doctor will be here soon, and she’ll know exactly what to do.”

She will, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s too soon, and it’s very possible that, no matter how smoothly the delivery goes, you could still lose one, or even both of them. That can’t happen—you won’t be able to handle losing what you thought you never wanted, or failing to keep his children alive. And Seungmin won’t be able to cope with losing another piece of himself.

“Should we go get him?”

Just as she asks, the doctor arrives, only slightly deshelved from the 2am phone call. She smiles at you just like before; a bad attempt at hiding her obvious concern. “Where’s dad? Not sleeping, I’m sure.”

“I was just going to get him”

The other nurse moves to stand by your bedside. “No progress in dilation for an hour. Five centimeters, currently.”

“Thank you. Did the epidural work?”

“Sort of”

“If you don’t progress in the next half an hour, we should consider other options.”

The nurse returns, and Seungmin comes in quietly behind her. He’s pale, and his cheeks are red and blotchy. He looks as if he’s been awake for two days straight. His approach is hesitant at first, as if he’s afraid to touch you, but when you whisper his name, he breaks out into a smile. “Hey.” He touches your hand and you pull him until he puts his arms around you. “Please don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to be so careless.”

“I’m not, I promise”

“We were just discussing other options that may become necessary”

“What options?” Seungmin asks.

“Heart rates have returned to normal, but they may not stay that way. C-section would be less stressful for mom, and less traumatic for the boys.”

He looks to you, hopeful, thinking that’s an easy solution to this problem. “Is that something you would want?”

It might be. “If I have to, I will.”

“Okay,” the doctor nods. “Only if necessary. We’ll check again in thirty minutes. We’ll leave you two alone, but call if you need anything.”

***

The two of you stare silently at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Seungmin squeezes your hand, and eventually drops his gaze to your stomach. His other hand feels for any movement.

“What happened?”

“Not sure. I woke up and…it felt like what I had to do. Maybe all the worry and stress caught up to me.”

You squeeze back. “I’m only upset because I’m worried you were disassociating again, and not all there. Do you remember everything? Did he see you?”

The finer details are already lost on him, now that you mention it. He’s forgetting this, just like he couldn’t remember wandering into the woods, or what he did while he was there. He doesn’t even remember the feeling creeping up on him; the voice pushing him to do it. What he does remember is making a mess. The knife seemed like the obvious solution to quell the need. “Some. And no, I don’t think so. He’s in the waiting room.”

“He’s here?”

Seungmin nods, and you reach out to rub a spot on his neck. “I didn’t have time to clean up properly...what is it?” It feels like he’s setting off your pains. Every time he does something stupid, they return. “Should I call someone back?”

“I know I can’t push but…fuck, they’re making it very hard”

“Okay, you’re supposed to do the breathing techniques, right? No pushing, just nice big breaths.”

You breath in and out as steadily and calmly as possible, and Seungmin does it with you. It feels good doing it with him, and eventually, the contraction passes.

“No meds for the pain?”

“Yeah, it helped a little. I can still feel it.”

He’s surprisingly calm, and maybe he’s truly confident that everything will be okay. The last twenty-four hours have been more than stressful, and his kill seems to have grounded him—at least he’s gained that much. Not having him clear-headed and here with you is something you let yourself worry about far too much.

Another pain shoots through you, this time a little worse. He panics and pushes the call button on the side of your bed, and the doctor makes it in the see the very end of your contraction.

“Was that your first contraction since we left?”

“Second”

“Let’s check things out.” She pats your knee sweetly, and her bedside manner is a relief compared to both of your nurses. A few seconds into her inspection, and again you’re relieved to see a non-worried smile on her face. “Good, almost there. One more contraction and you might be ready to let them out.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to wash up and change, and dad is going to join me so he can stay.”

For five minutes, you’re completely alone again. The only sound is the woosh of two heartbeats, and when you look at the machine you’re hooked up to, you see your own heart rate sitting at 90. Baby 1 is 125, and baby 2 is 130. It occurs to you now that the two of you haven’t discussed who is who, so it’s the first thing you say when he walks back in, and he’s almost unrecognizable in his mask and gown.

“First born…Haneul or Haesung?”

Seungmin adjusts his mask, and his eyes look even more intense peeking over it. “Huh? Oh, who is Haneul and…I guess we never thought about that part. Should the oldest be Sky? And Haesung is little brother.”

“That sounds good”

The mask doesn’t hide his sudden worry. That’s all in his eyes, but he does his best to keep his mind on you. Seungmin made sure to update Heecheol before getting ready, and before he got his attention, he looked lost. He looked like he wasn’t sure which direction to go in. Heecheol’s foot tapped nervously, and he was chewing on his fingers, but Seungmin doesn’t think any of that was because of the situation they’re in here at the hospital. No. Now he’s wondering if Heecheol did hear something. Or worse—see something. As soon as he saw him approach, he perked up and gave him a smile.

“Delivery time. You can stick around if you’d like, or I can call a ride and you can get some sleep. I’m sorry your visit has been so strange.”

Strange doesn’t quite cover it. Running to and from the hospital has been very normal by comparison, and honestly, good bonding time for him and Seungmin. “How about I stick around for a little longer, and then when I know everything is okay, I’ll head back and put that nursery together.”

“You don’t have to do that”

“I know. But I’d like to. I’ll make myself something, get some coffee going, and you stay here as long as you need to.”

“Cheoli, I…when I say I don’t deserve a friend like you, I mean it. If things go well tonight, and I desperately need them to, it’s not because I deserve anything. Tokki does. I don’t.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“My heart, and my very damaged head”

He shakes his head and forces himself to smile. Does he know he knows? Is he attempting damage control? No. Heecheol doesn’t really think that’s the case. That might be part of it, but the bigger part is his sincerity, and his genuine aversion to himself. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

***

The doctors voice is floating somewhere in the room, but you can’t catch all the words. Her face is between your legs, and Seungmin has decided he doesn’t need to see what’s happening down there. He has your hand cupped between his, and he keeps putting his face into the sheets out of frustration. You’re dilated, but nothing is happening. You haven’t felt the urge to push in at least ten minutes.

Two incubators are pushed against the wall, ready and waiting, and every time you catch sight of them, it makes you a little more nervous. “Tell them to come out,” you whine, and the doctor laughs when she hears you.

“I think they’re going to listen to one of you better than me. Go ahead, talk to them.”

Seungmin takes her advice and scoots a few inches to his right. He bends close enough to set his lips against the little bit of skin showing between your gown and the blanket draped over your lap. “Are you two sleeping? It’s not a good time…you can nap after you come out and say hello.” He stops and waits a few seconds. “Please, I know it’s early but I would really like to meet you.”

Another few seconds, and you start to relax again, but you should know better. This isn’t the first, or second, or third time they’ve responded to his voice. This contraction doesn’t hit hard—it progresses slowly until you can’t take the pressure…

“Deep breath and a nice, slow push…good! Slow and steady. We have an appearance.”

“We do?”

“Hopefully you’ll only have a moment to rest, and then one push should give us your first born.”

She’s right. You get three full breaths before the next one comes, and when you push, you think Seungmin might crush your fingers under his grip.

“Good…keep pushing, very good. There he is, baby boy number one.”

All you see is the top of her head as she works quietly, and Haneul is quiet, too. Seungmin doesn’t move, but he does soften his grip.

“You worked hard, little one. I know you can cry for us.”

Seungmin takes a step towards them. “What’s wrong?” He’s wrapped and cradled in her arms, and sees a tiny foot and the briefest glimps of his face as he’s handed to one of the nurses. “Is he okay?”

“Just making sure his airways are clear, no need to worry.”

The nurse suctions his mouth and each nostril before setting him down and pulling at his blanket, and it’s right now that Seungmin gets his first real look him Haneul. Too small, but otherwise, he looks just like he imagined him all this time. There’s more hair on his head, though—for some reason, he wasn’t expecting so much already. His quiet cry finally comes, and everyone sighs in relief. It gets louder and louder until he’s wrapped up tight again.

“He sounds pretty strong for barely twenty-six weeks. Let’s get him comfortable, and after little brother arrives, we’ll bring them back in for a visit.”

The doctor takes her place between your legs again, and you try your best to tell him it’s time. Following his brother out should come naturally, right? You would really prefer them to only be minutes apart, because if you have to wait another ten—twenty minutes like this, you’re going to start crying.

“Hey, you okay?” Seungmin cups your cheeks and makes you look at him.

“Did you see him?”

“A little, yeah”

Lucky you; the contraction hits quickly, and it’s the worst one. The partial numbness is fading, and it might be in your head, but you’re certain you feel every part of him as he makes his way out. No scream, though. You decide to do that inside your own head so Haesung comes out to a calmer, more peaceful room

“Oh, that was fast…very good”

Seungmin doesn’t inch closer for a look; he retreats until he’s at your side again, and you wonder if he’s afraid of not hearing another little cry. His stare gives you his answer. “He’ll be okay. They’ll both be okay.”

The doctor stands, and you see him as she turns and heads toward the table. Again, just like his brother, his airways are cleared. And Seungmin inches closer.

“Please, don’t punish him for what I’ve done”

You hear him whisper, and you wonder if anyone else does.

She looks back and beckons him closer, and he hesitates again. “Come here and say something to him.”

Seungmin takes a few steps closer, and when he finally sees Haesung, he can’t believe how small he is. Smaller than his brother, he thinks, and with a little less hair. “Hi baby. Haesung, do you know who I am?”

You can make out almost every word of his soft, slow Korean from here. It feels strange to understand him after so much trying, but you do. He shifts a little so you can see better; you can see both of them as Seungmin runs his finger across an arm that isn’t much different in size. There’s still no dramatic cry, but he’s moving the only way something so new and weak can manage, and you do hear the tiny fussy noises all the way across the room. The doctor doesn’t seem worried, so you aren’t either.

***

Being left in the room alone to wait and wonder is excruciating...so much more difficult than anything has been the last twenty-four hours. There’s so much you can say to him, and ask him, but it’s not the time. It might not be the time until his friend questions and accuses Seungmin of the things you know he witnessed. This is really the only way to keep your mind off of the twins—you have to wonder if Heecheol is putting the Haldol and the strange behavior together; your question about him wandering into the woods as a child; his failed attempt to open up about something to both of you.

“Is Heecheol still here?”

“I think so. I let him know what was going on a few minutes ago, but he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Okay, let me know when he does”

The nurse finally returns, and she’s pulling something in behind her. The second nurse pushes from the other end, and you finally get your second wind. It no longer feels like you're running on almost no sleep. They’re here, and they must be okay if they’re coming to visit. No doctor coming in alone to break the bad news that one, or both of them, have a very slim chance of making it more than a few days. A few hours. You kept trying to prepare yourself for that moment to come, just in case, but no amount of that could ever make things any easier.

And you’re pleased to see a new, much happier looking nurse with them. She must be one of their new carers in the NICU.

“Baby Haneul is 1.3 kilograms, much bigger than we expected! Baby Haesung is 1.14 kilograms. They are both breathing well with a little bit of help from the incubator, and they are very excited to see you.”

Seungmin backs away as they’re rolled closer to the bed. Everything still feels a little bit dreamy to him, even as he looks down and sees them, face to face, arms carefully entertwined as if they can't get close enough. "They're both alright?" They were safe inside of you. They were warm, and well fed. Every night, Seungmin spoke to them, or read them stories. A few times, he sang. And now…

"Haesung is not quite as strong as his brother, but being cuddled up together will help get him there."

"It will?"

The nurse nods at both of you. "I'll leave the four of you alone to meet each other, but please ring the bell if you need anything."

She leaves, and suddenly, it's just him…and you…and them. The four of you. He sits so he can be at eye level and takes in everything about them; the little bit of dark hair, and tiny noses. Their perfect tiny lips, pursing and puckering as if they're waiting for their first real meal.

“They have your ears”

Seungmin cups his hands over them, “do they?” He tugs at his earlobes and smiles as he examines a little closer. “Can we touch them?”

“Yeah, you can”

This part is hard for him, no matter how excited he is. Before he reaches, you watch him get up and walk across the room where the sink is, and he washes his hands for the third time since they were taken from the room. He takes his time, inching closer and closer until Haneul shifts, and Seungmin’s fingertip moves softly across his shoulder. He squirms a little, and his arms seem to tighten around his brother. Now he’s feeling more confident, and he very gently runs the same finger over the helix of his ear. And then he does the same to Haesung. “Can you hear me in there?” Seungmin asks. “Do you recognize my voice?”

They both move and fuss a little more, as if answering.

“I think they do”

“You understood what I said?”

You wince as you adjust yourself and sit up. “Uh, I think so—mogsoli…nae mogsoli. Your voice…yeah, they know your voice, Min.”

“Gimme your hand.” He wiggles his fingers above them, close to the portal hole on your side, and he latches onto your fingers.

[nebuliias]

Your probably busy with your own life but is it alright if I could request reader being the younger sibling of Sunday and Robin

Do you know the scene where Robin gets 'killed'? what if instead of Robin it was the reader? how would Sunday and Robin react to the news of their younger sibling getting 'killed'?

Thank you for your time and have a great day/noon/night!!

SYNOPSIS. . . With the Charmony Festival nearing by the day, the revered Halovian siblings start getting anxious when their kin hasn’t been heard of for days.

CHARACTERS FEATURED. . . sunday and robin

CW: hurt/no comfort (I tried), gn and sibling! reader, they’re your biological older siblings, potential spoilers, platonic, like one mention of Gopher Wood, reader is aged 16 and a Nameless

— A/N’s note: HIIII EVERYONE. wow i actually posted something since who knows how long LMAO. so sorry for lack of updates, motivation has been very low and dry lately. anyways NEW FORMAT everyone

The air in Dewlight Pavilion was thick with worry and tension as the Charmony Festival’s date approached. The legendary siblings, Sunday and Robin, were together in the study room, their faces betraying their concern.

Their precious youngest sibling—basically, you—had promised yesterday to pay a visit in Moment of Morning Dew since you haven’t seen them for so long, considering your occupation as a Nameless.

Normally, Sunday, your protective older brother, would let your delays slide—if only it wasn’t for the fact that you were three hours late.

As for Robin, she nervously combed her fingers through her hair while adjusting her dainty neck pieces. “Brother, perhaps you should sit down for awhile? You’ve been pacing back and forth for awhile. Maybe they’re just visiting some shop or strolling—”

“Robin, it’s been three long hours,” he abruptly stated. “I’m pretty sure they’re not strolling around at some random park in the Dreamscape. They’re always punctual, you know that!” The man sighed, eventually sitting down beside his younger sister.

Poor Sunday, he was visibly anxious and worried. He plucked at several loose hair strands and feathers from the wings by his ears. Ever the neat perfectionist, it was ironic to see him in such a distressed state. But Robin couldn’t blame him.

It had been a pretty long time after all…

Just when she was about to excuse herself to use to the restroom, a Bloodhound guard came bursting through the grand wooden doors, a manilla folder in his sweaty hand.

“Ah, Mr. Sunday..! Oh, and hello, Miss Robin,” he panted. “My deepest apologies for interrupting whatever was happening, but I have urgent news to report.”

Sunday rapidly approached the man. “What happened? Hold on, is this about..?”

“Yes,” the Bloodhound confirmed. “Another person has fallen victim to ‘Death.’ We’ve gathered enough information, but I’m afraid you’ll be displeased who said person was.”

There was a moment of silence as Sunday split the folder open, revealing three sheets of paper. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he picked up a sheet, already thinking the worst.

Please, don’t let it be who I think it is.

Robin, who was peering over his shoulder, audibly gasped, stumbling back with a gloved hand at her mouth, muffling the incoming sobs. “No.. No, it can’t be!”

The Bloodhound bowed deeply, his face contorted in distress. “My condolences, Mr. Sunday and Miss Robin, but Y/N.. was killed by the Memory Zone Meme.”

The siblings stared blankly at the papers spread out on the desk.

•••

Name: Y/N L/N

Family: Gopher Wood, Dreammaster and adoptive father | Sunday, Oak Family Head and older brother | Robin, cosmic superstar and older sister.

Age: 16

Affliation: Nameless

Cause of death: Memory Zone Meme, “Death”—stab wound through the heart.

•••

There were several photographs taken of the scene, and Robin felt overwhelming nausea at the mere sight of it. Her body went rigidly stiff, her chest rose and fell slowly, and the world around her blurred. One hand shielded her lips and the other was put over her heart.

Meanwhile, Sunday’s strong-willed heart shattered. He felt so many things at once: shock, fury, sadness, despair—basically every negative emotion wrote in the dictionary. Yet at the same time, he didn’t know what to feel.

After awhile, the Halovian idol stood up, her legs now jittery from the sudden revelation. She took in a shaky deep breath before exhaling, not daring to break down in front of her brother. “…I’m going to use the restroom.” With that, she slowly walked out of the study, leaving the revered leader alone with his turmoil.

None of them couldn’t think straight, but who could blame them? Their sibling was dead. Their youngest sibling was dead. Their kin was dead. Their determined Nameless. Their sibling was dead.

Sunday, now isolated, suddenly felt hot beneath his clothing. His mind was disturbed, and his blue-gray wings twitched madly. He didn’t know how to act, but in the end, he let out a cry and ripped the papers apart along with the photographs before throwing the folder in a nearby trash can.

Oh, how he felt like diving into it himself. He felt like trash itself now—unwanted, crumbled, and torn apart.

Back with Robin, she ran past several Oak Family servants and dashed into the restroom, madly locking the door to ensure no one would run into her. She fell against the toilet and heaved into it, her nausea reaching its brink.

After the ordeal, she wiped her mouth before staring at herself in the mirror, unable to hold back her sadness anymore. Transparent tears poured down her flawless face, carving dry rivers in their run. Sorrowful sobs sounded from her throat, her once melodious voice now gone harsh.

Poor you. Poor, poor, poor, you. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve to have your life crushed like a ladybug.

Just.. why..?

all rights reserved © nebuliias. do not copy, re-upload, or plagiarize my fics. if you see anyone doing this to my work, LET ME KNOW.

[novaursa]

Caught by Fire (the daughter)

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: the princess

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The chamber was quiet, save for the crackling of the hearth and the faint rustle of fabric as Alicent Hightower shifted in her seat. She sat opposite her father, Lord Otto Hightower, in one of the more private sitting rooms of the Red Keep. The firelight cast a warm glow over the polished wood of the table between them, its surface cluttered with scrolls, a decanter of wine, and two goblets.

Alicent studied her father carefully. He sat rigid, as always, his posture betraying no sign of weariness despite the hour. His eyes were fixed on a letter before him, though Alicent doubted he was truly reading it.

Clearing her throat delicately, she broke the silence. “Father?”

Otto didn’t look up. “Yes?”

Alicent hesitated, her hands clasping the edge of her gown. “I’ve heard… talk.”

That drew his attention. He set the letter down, his gaze shifting to her with an air of patient expectancy. “What kind of talk?”

Her cheeks flushed faintly, but she pressed on. “About the princess—Daemon’s daughter. They say she… fell from the sky.”

Otto’s expression tightened ever so slightly, but he masked it quickly. “Do they now?”

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “So, it’s true?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his goblet. Taking a measured sip, he finally replied, “The princess did indeed have a mishap while riding her dragon. She fell. I happened to be… in the way.”

“In the way,” Alicent repeated, her tone tinged with disbelief. “That’s how you describe it?”

“How else would you describe it?” he countered, setting the goblet down with a soft thud.

Alicent leaned forward, her voice lowering as though she feared someone might overhear. “You mean to tell me that the daughter of Daemon Targaryen—a dragonrider—fell from the sky, and you, of all people, were there to catch her?”

“It was hardly a matter of choice,” Otto said, his tone clipped. “She fell. I caught her. End of story.”

But Alicent wasn’t so easily deterred. “And the fortune-teller? Was that part of the story too?”

Otto stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I see the court has been busy gossiping.”

“I’m not asking as part of the court,” Alicent said softly, her gaze steady. “I’m asking as your daughter. Is it true?”

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he relented, his voice low. “The fortune-teller said a woman would fall from the sky into my arms. Yes.”

“And then she did,” Alicent said, her tone laced with awe. “The gods… they—”

“They played a cruel joke,” Otto interrupted, his voice sharp. “One that has caused far more trouble than it’s worth.”

Alicent frowned. “How has it caused trouble? From what I hear, the princess is unscathed, and you’ve been the subject of courtly amusement. It’s hardly a scandal.”

Otto leaned forward, his tone measured but firm. “You don’t understand, Alicent. This is not some harmless jest. This is Daemon Targaryen��s daughter we’re speaking of. The very idea of my name being associated with hers is enough to stoke the fires of suspicion and enmity.”

“Father,” Alicent said gently, “the court already talks of you and the princess. Surely you know that. Would it not be better to address it rather than let it fester?”

“To what end?” he asked, his tone laced with frustration. “Shall I proclaim that it was mere coincidence? That the gods have no hand in it? Or should I play into the prophecy and risk inflaming Daemon’s wrath?”

Alicent studied him, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps you underestimate her.”

Otto raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“She is not Daemon,” Alicent said simply. “Yes, she is his daughter, but she is also her own person. From what little I’ve seen, she is intelligent and willful. Perhaps even… different.”

“Different,” Otto repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” Alicent said, her voice gaining confidence. “She may surprise you.”

Otto stared into the fire, his thoughts churning. “Surprises are rarely a boon, Alicent. Especially when Targaryens are involved.”

Alicent smiled faintly, a spark of amusement lighting her eyes. “And yet, you caught her.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “It was reflex, nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her tone teasing. “Or perhaps the gods did have a hand in it, whether you wish to believe it or not.”

Otto said nothing, his gaze fixed on the fire. Alicent watched him for a moment longer before rising to her feet. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression soft.

“Whatever you choose to do, Father, remember this: the gods may be cruel, but they are rarely wrong.”

With that, she left the room, her gown trailing softly behind her. Otto remained seated, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak. The flames in the hearth crackled and danced, their light casting flickering shadows across his face.

For the first time in many years, Otto Hightower felt uncertain. And he loathed it.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a rare oasis amidst the endless stone and politics of King’s Landing. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, dappling the cobbled pathways and flowerbeds with golden light. Birds chirped in the hedges, and the faint scent of roses lingered in the warm air. You sat on a stone bench beneath a sprawling lemon tree, the breeze teasing strands of your silver hair. Beside you, your younger cousin, Princess Rhaenyra, was sprawled inelegantly on the grass, plucking petals from a daisy.

“You’ll ruin your dress,” you remarked, though your tone lacked any real reproach.

Rhaenyra shrugged, tossing a handful of petals into the air and watching them flutter down. “It’s only a dress. Besides, it’s too warm to sit properly today.”

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the bench. “You’ll find any excuse to shirk decorum.”

“And you sound like a septa,” she shot back, though her words carried no heat. She rolled onto her side, propping her chin on her hand. “Why are you always so serious?”

“Someone has to be,” you replied, smoothing a crease in your gown. “You certainly aren’t.”

Rhaenyra grinned, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s because I have you to do it for me.”

Before you could respond, a commotion echoed from above—a crash, followed by raised voices. You both looked up in time to see a flurry of parchment spilling from a balcony above, the sheets fluttering like oversized snowflakes as they descended toward the garden.

“What in the name of the Seven…” you muttered, rising to your feet as the papers began to land around you.

Rhaenyra laughed, catching one of the documents as it drifted down. “Well, this is new. Do you suppose it’s a sign from the gods?”

You snatched the paper from her hands, scanning its contents. The neat, precise script and the seal at the bottom were unmistakable. “These belong to Lord Hightower.”

“Hightower?” Rhaenyra sat up, her curiosity piqued. “What’s he doing, throwing his precious documents into the gardens?”

You glanced toward the balcony, your brow furrowed. “It wasn’t intentional.”

At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps reached your ears. Lord Otto Hightower appeared at the edge of the garden, his usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges. His cloak billowed behind him as he strode forward, a mixture of irritation and urgency written across his face.

Behind him trailed Lord Lyonel Strong, looking slightly sheepish, and a Kingsguard knight who was busy dusting himself off. The culprit was clear—a servant boy scrambling to gather himself off the floor of the balcony above, his face pale with dread.

Rhaenyra nudged you with her elbow, a wicked grin on her lips. “Oh, this is going to be entertaining.”

“Behave,” you murmured, though you couldn’t entirely hide the amusement tugging at your own lips.

Otto’s keen eyes scanned the garden until they landed on you and the scattered papers. He drew closer, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Princess Y/N.”

“Lord Hightower,” you replied, holding up the document in your hand. “I believe this is yours.”

He stopped before you, his gaze flickering between you and the papers strewn about. For a moment, he looked as though he might say something sharp, but he took a deep breath instead. “Thank you, Princess Y/N. It seems fate has a cruel sense of humor today.”

Rhaenyra, ever the provocateur, couldn’t resist. “Fate does seem to take a particular interest in you, doesn’t it, my lord?”

Otto’s jaw tightened, but he ignored her comment, bending down to retrieve a nearby sheet of parchment. You stifled a laugh as you knelt to gather another, holding it out to him. “I trust this is all of it?”

“Perhaps,” he said curtly, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the paper. “Though I imagine it will take some time to ensure none have been lost.”

“Well,” Rhaenyra said, standing and brushing off her gown, “it’s fortunate my cousin was here to save your precious documents. Imagine if the wind had carried them into the Blackwater.”

“Indeed,” Otto replied, his tone dry. “The realm would surely have been plunged into chaos.”

Rhaenyra grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort, but you stepped in to smooth over the tension. “I hope nothing too important was damaged, my lord.”

Otto glanced at the papers in his hand, his expression softening slightly. “Nothing that cannot be rewritten, though it will cost me hours of labor.”

“Then perhaps you should thank the gods it was only hours lost,” you said lightly. “It could have been far worse.”

Otto’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his usual mask of indifference faltering. There was something unreadable in his expression, something that made your heart skip unexpectedly. But then he straightened, his composure firmly in place once more.

“Indeed,” he said, inclining his head. “Thank you for your assistance, Princess.”

You nodded, stepping back as he turned to leave, his cloak sweeping behind him. Lord Strong followed, casting a quick smile in your direction, and the Kingsguard knight trailed after them, muttering apologies under his breath.

When they were out of earshot, Rhaenyra let out a low whistle. “I think you’ve just saved the Hand of the King from disaster.”

You gave her a pointed look. “And you enjoyed every moment of it.”

“Of course,” she said with a grin. “Though I must admit, I’ve never seen Otto Hightower quite so… flustered.”

You shook your head, suppressing a smile as you glanced toward the retreating figure of the Hand. Fate, it seemed, had an odd way of crossing your paths.

The royal solar was filled with the lingering smell of wine and roasted meats, remnants of the king’s late supper. Viserys I Targaryen sat in a high-backed chair by the hearth, his tunic rumpled, a goblet of wine in hand. Across from him, his younger brother Daemon lounged with his usual careless grace, his silver hair loose around his shoulders, a dark cloak draped over his chair. The faint hum of activity in the Red Keep buzzed just beyond the closed doors, though it was muted here in the king’s private quarters.

Viserys took a long sip of wine, his gaze flickering toward Daemon, who had returned earlier from what was undoubtedly another night of debauchery in the city. The king chuckled softly to himself before speaking.

“You know,” Viserys began, his voice warm with amusement, “Rhaenyra has been in a better mood these past weeks. I think having your daughter around has done her good.”

Daemon’s expression darkened slightly, though he kept his tone light. “She’s always been fond of Rhaenyra. I told you years ago she would make a fine companion for her.”

“It’s more than that,” Viserys said, setting his goblet down on a nearby table. “She seems… steadier. Less hostile to the court, less prone to mocking words and sulking. Your daughter has a way of grounding her.”

Daemon smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “Grounding? My daughter? I don’t think that’s a word I’d ever use for her.”

“Perhaps not,” Viserys admitted, chuckling. “But she’s had an effect nonetheless. Even Alicent remarked on it.”

The mention of Alicent brought a flicker of annoyance to Daemon’s face, but he said nothing. Viserys continued, his tone growing more thoughtful.

“Of course,” he said, “it’s not just Rhaenyra who’s taken notice. The court’s been buzzing with talk ever since… well, the incident.”

Daemon’s brow furrowed. “What incident?”

Viserys gave him a knowing look. “Don’t play coy, brother. I’m referring to your daughter’s… dramatic descent. Falling from her dragon and landing—of all people—on Otto Hightower.”

Daemon’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as his eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You’re enjoying this far too much, Viserys.”

“Can you blame me?” Viserys said with a grin, reaching for his goblet again. “It’s not every day that the Hand of the King is caught off guard in such a spectacular fashion. The poor man looked as though he’d swallowed a lemon the size of the Stepstones.”

Daemon leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want to hear you mention my daughter and Otto Hightower in the same sentence. Ever again.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his brother’s reaction. “You’re being dramatic, Daemon. It was an accident.”

“An accident that the entire court is now gossiping about,” Daemon growled. “Do you think I don’t know how these things spiral? The rumors are already flying, aren’t they?”

Viserys shrugged, his expression turning serious. “The court will always find something to talk about. It’s harmless, Daemon. No one actually believes—”

“Doesn’t matter what they believe,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “The fact that anyone is even talking about it is an insult.”

Viserys sighed, setting his goblet down again. “You’ve always been protective of her, but you can’t shield her from the world, Daemon. She’s a Targaryen. People will talk no matter what she does.”

Daemon stood abruptly, his cloak swirling around him as he began to pace the room. “I won’t have my daughter’s name tied to that man. Not in jest, not in rumor, not in prophecy. Otto Hightower is a snake, and he’ll twist this to his advantage if he can.”

Viserys frowned, watching his brother’s agitation. “Otto has his faults, but he’s loyal to the Crown. And to me.”

Daemon turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Loyal to you, perhaps. But don’t think for a moment that he wouldn’t hesitate to use her against me—or you, for that matter—if it served his interests.”

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. “You’re seeing shadows where there are none.”

“Am I?” Daemon retorted, his voice cold. “The man despises me. He’s never hidden it. And now, by some cruel twist of fate, my daughter literally falls into his arms. Do you think he’ll simply forget about it? That he won’t seize the opportunity to play the dutiful savior?”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. “Daemon, you’re letting your hatred for Otto cloud your judgment.”

“My hatred is well-earned,” Daemon shot back, his voice sharp. “And if you value your Hand’s life, you’ll make sure he keeps his distance from her.”

Viserys’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he held his temper. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Perhaps,” Daemon admitted, his tone hardening. “But I’m not wrong.”

The brothers stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them thick with tension. Finally, Daemon turned away, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “She’s my daughter, Viserys. I’ll not have her tangled in the webs Otto Hightower spins.”

Viserys said nothing as Daemon stalked toward the door, his boots echoing against the stone floor. When the door closed behind him, the king sighed heavily, reaching for his goblet once more.

The gods, it seemed, delighted in making fools of them all.

The Red Keep loomed around Daemon as he stalked through its corridors, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The hour was late, the halls mostly deserted save for the occasional servant or guard who wisely stepped aside as the Rogue Prince passed. His mood was foul, and his thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea.

Viserys’s words echoed in his mind, feeding the fire of his frustration. The idea that anyone—least of all Otto Hightower—would dare to even think of his daughter in any capacity infuriated him. The man was insufferable, always lurking, always scheming, and now the court was buzzing with the most ridiculous gossip.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer as he turned a corner, the dark crimson of his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. His boots struck the floor harder than necessary, his simmering anger evident in every movement. He clenched his fists, wishing he had something to strike—or someone.

His unspoken wish was almost granted when he turned another corner and nearly collided with the man occupying his every ireful thought.

Otto Hightower.

The Hand of the King was walking briskly toward the Tower of the Hand, his expression as composed as ever. He carried a stack of documents under one arm, the weight of his duties evident in the furrow of his brow. He stopped short when Daemon appeared before him, their eyes locking.

The air between them was charged, heavy with unspoken animosity. For a long moment, neither man moved, each sizing up the other in silence.

“Prince Daemon,” Otto said at last, his tone cool and measured. He inclined his head slightly, though there was no warmth in the gesture. “Out for an evening stroll, I see.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “If I’d known the Hand of the King would be gracing the halls, I might have chosen another path.”

Otto raised an eyebrow but didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s fortunate we crossed paths, then. It saves me the trouble of seeking you out.”

“Seeking me out?” Daemon drawled, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I wasn’t aware you enjoyed my company.”

“I don’t,” Otto replied flatly. “But there are matters of the realm that require your attention. Despite your… reputation, you remain the king’s brother.”

Daemon took a step closer, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Careful, Hightower. That tongue of yours is cutting, but it won’t save you if you test me.”

Otto didn’t flinch, though his grip on the documents tightened ever so slightly. “My tongue, Prince Daemon, serves the realm. And the realm has no time for threats or childish antics.”

Daemon let out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing in the empty hall. “Childish antics? That’s rich, coming from the man whose court is aflame with gossip about my daughter falling from her dragon. You must be thrilled, Hightower. The gods themselves have handed you the perfect jest.”

Otto’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps—in his eyes. “The court will talk, as it always does. I have no control over idle tongues.”

“Don’t you?” Daemon challenged, his voice a low growl. “You’ve never been shy about wielding words as weapons. Tell me, Hightower, what’s the plan this time? How will you twist this to your advantage?”

Otto met Daemon’s gaze evenly, his tone calm but firm. “I have no plan, Prince Daemon. Your daughter’s unfortunate mishap was nothing more than that—an accident. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to entertain such absurdities.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his anger barely restrained. “Stay away from her.”

Otto tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Your concern for your daughter is commendable, but misplaced. I have no interest in her beyond ensuring the stability of the realm.”

“You will stay away from her,” Daemon repeated, his voice deadly quiet. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Otto studied him for a long moment, then inclined his head slightly. “If that’s what it takes to put your mind at ease, consider it done. But I’d advise you to save your threats for those who warrant them.”

Daemon’s hand twitched, as though he was tempted to strike the man before him, but he forced himself to stay still. Instead, he took a step back, his dark violet eyes blazing. “You’d do well to remember who you’re speaking to, Hightower.”

“And you’d do well to remember where you are, Prince Daemon,” Otto replied evenly. “This is the king’s court, not the Free Cities. Your antics have limits here.”

With that, Otto turned sharply and continued on his way, his boots striking the stone with purpose. Daemon watched him go, his fists clenched at his sides, his anger barely restrained.

When Otto disappeared into the shadows of the Tower of the Hand, Daemon let out a slow, frustrated breath, his mind racing. He didn’t trust the man—he never had, and he never would. The thought of his daughter being anywhere near Otto Hightower was intolerable.

The Rogue Prince turned and strode back the way he’d come, his cloak billowing behind him. If the gods thought they could toy with him and his family, they were sorely mistaken. He would protect what was his—no matter the cost.

The morning was crisp, the air unusually clear for King’s Landing. Otto Hightower strode through the courtyard of the Red Keep, his boots clicking against the cobblestones as he made his way to the Great Hall. The day's council meeting loomed ahead, and his mind was already occupied with matters of the realm: disputes over grain shipments, unrest in the Riverlands, and the latest schemes from the Free Cities.

He adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter against the faint chill, when a sudden commotion caught his attention.

A stablehand came darting out from the direction of the training yard, his face pale with panic. He tripped, scrambling to his feet, before shouting, "My lord Hand! Loose horse—coming fast!"

Otto turned just in time to see the beast—a massive, dark-coated destrier—bolting toward him. Its reins trailed on the ground, and its hooves pounded the stones with ferocious force. He instinctively stepped back, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger, though it would do little good against the animal’s sheer momentum.

Before he could act—or even think further—a blur of silver and red streaked into his vision.

You.

You darted out of nowhere, your silver hair streaming behind you as you cut across the courtyard with astonishing speed. With practiced grace, you seized the reins of the horse mid-stride, your boots skidding slightly on the cobblestones. The destrier reared, its powerful legs kicking out, but you held firm, your voice sharp and commanding.

“Easy, boy!”

The horse snorted and stomped, but your steady grip and soothing words worked their magic. Within moments, the destrier calmed, its frantic energy dissipating as it stood still, sides heaving.

Otto could only stare, his heart pounding—not from the near miss with the horse, but from the sight of you.

You turned, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you led the horse toward him. “It seems even the Hand of the King isn’t safe from mischief in his own courtyard.”

Otto blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. When he finally found his voice, it came out more curtly than he intended. “That was reckless.”

You arched a brow, a hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “Reckless? I just saved your life.”

“I would hardly call it that,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction. “The horse—”

“Would’ve run you down,” you interrupted smoothly. “You’re welcome, by the way. We are even now.”

Otto inhaled sharply, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Yes, well… I suppose thanks are in order.”

You handed the reins off to the sheepish stablehand who had finally caught up, then turned your full attention to Otto. “You suppose?”

There was something in your tone—a teasing lilt, playful but not mocking—that made Otto’s heart skip a beat. He cursed himself for the reaction, for the way his gaze lingered on the way the sunlight caught the silver of your hair, or the faint flush on your cheeks from exertion.

“It was commendable,” he admitted, his voice softening slightly. “But dangerous. You could have been hurt.”

You shrugged, brushing off the concern. “I’ve dealt with far worse than a loose horse.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “but that doesn’t mean you should seek out trouble.”

“I didn’t seek it out,” you countered, a mischievous glint in your violet eyes. “It seems trouble has a way of finding you, my lord.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of the courtyard—distant chatter, the clinking of armor, the faint rustle of leaves. Otto’s pulse quickened, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

“Perhaps it does,” he said finally, his voice quieter than before.

Your smirk softened into a small smile, and for the first time, Otto noticed something beneath the surface of your playful demeanor—a warmth, a depth that caught him off guard.

“Well,” you said, taking a step back, “try not to get trampled before the council meeting. I’d hate to see your carefully worded letters go to waste.”

He almost smiled at that, though he quickly masked it. “I’ll take that under advisement, Princess.”

With a graceful nod, you turned and began to walk away, leaving him standing in the courtyard, the destrier’s hoofbeats fading into the background.

Otto remained rooted to the spot for a long moment, his thoughts in disarray. It was absurd, he told himself, to feel… whatever this was. You were Daemon Targaryen’s daughter, a young woman of high station and fiery temperament. You should have been nothing more than a fleeting annoyance in his already overburdened life.

And yet.

His hand unconsciously brushed against the fabric of his cloak, where the faintest touch of warmth still lingered from when you had handed him the reins.

“Gods above,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he resumed his walk toward the Tower of the Hand. “Are they punishing me… or rewarding me?”

The thought unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny the flicker of something he hadn’t felt in years—something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

[auxmodi]

hi darling, how're you? could I please request shy reader x sandor clegane? he has a soft spot for her and has always been fascinated. maybe a little bit of fluff, angst & smut??? I know you'll do it justice because your writing is just 🤌

hi anon !! i'm doing fine thank you for asking!! i've been busy this week so i'm sorry if this took a little long! AND THANKYOUSMUCH i hope you like it! here it is :

sandor clegane x shy! reader drabble

my masterlist

summary: in the cold war room of winterfell, you sit alone, focused on maps while sandor stumbles in, drunk and amused by your quiet presence. his teasing pushes you into a nervous silence, but he can’t seem to help himself. the more you shy away, the more he lingers, enjoying the way you make him feel like he's the one stirring things up.

word count: 1.1k

tags: drunk sandor, sexual tension, teasing, unspoken feelings, swearing, slightly suggestive themes

the war room was colder than usual, the fire in the hearth doing little to fight off winterfell’s ever-present chill. you sat at the table, pouring over the map jon had assigned to you. logistics, supplies, troop movements, it all needed to be meticulously planned if they had any hope of surviving the dead. you worked quietly, as always, preferring the calm to the chaos outside.

and then the door creaked open, and you heard his heavy, uneven footsteps.

“still at it, girl?” sandor’s voice cut through the silence, rough and hoarse, as if he’d been drinking. when you looked up, you could see the flush on his scarred face, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. he dropped into the chair across from you with a grunt, the wood groaning under his weight. a half-empty tankard clutched tightly in one hand.

“what’s there to look at? it’s the north. just snow, more snow, and a bunch of frozen arses waiting to get fucking eaten by corpses.”

you bit back a small smile, your focus still on the map. this wasn’t new. late nights spent in here, you working, sandor stumbling in with his usual drink in hand, and sitting across from you with that dark humor of his. teasing, pushing you to react.

“you know,” his voice broke the stillness again, “i’ve always liked the quiet.” he leaned back in his chair, creaking under his massive frame, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared off into the room. “like the dead. they don’t whine, don’t bicker. they just stand there and rot. might be the only thing i don’t fucking hate about them.”

you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped you, and his eyes sharpened, catching the sound.

“ah,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that teasing smirk, “so you do make noise.” he leaned in slightly, his gaze catching yours. “was starting to think you were mute.”

you looked down at the map quickly, trying to hide the flush that was creeping up your neck. it was always the same, him pushing, poking at you just enough to get a reaction. but it wasn’t like you minded. or maybe you did.

"what’re you so focused on, anyway?” he asked, leaning forward with a creak of the chair. “markin’ where to put the chickens?”

you blinked at him, confused. “the… chickens?”

“aye,” he said, deadpan. “gotta feed the army somehow, don’t we? i’d fight better if I knew there was a roasted bird waitin’ for me after.”

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “i don’t think that’s part of the plan.”

“shame,” he said with a mock sigh. “would’ve been a good plan.” he leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “better than sittin’ here, thinkin’ about supply routes and waitin’ to freeze to death.”

you shook your head slightly and turned your focus back to the map, hoping he wouldn’t see the heat creeping up your neck. he didn’t miss it, though.

“ah, there it is,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his scarred lips. “the little bird can blush.”

his words made your cheeks burn even hotter, and you ducked your head, pretending to study the map with renewed focus. you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, as if he were trying to draw more of a reaction from you.

“you’re too easy to rile up,” he said, his voice softer now but still teasing. “most people’d snap back by now, but you just sit there. quiet as a bloody mouse.”

the words hung in the air, like he was waiting for you to react, to do something, anything. the tension between you thickened, and you felt your heart beating faster than before.

sandor leaned forward then, his massive body making the chair creak under his weight. the air between you seemed to shrink, the space between your eyes and his electric with tension. his smirk deepened, something predatory in the way he watched you.

“i’m not that easy to rile up,” you said, the words coming out steadier than you expected, a challenge hidden underneath.

“you think you’re not?” he rasped, low and slurred. “i’ll figure you out, girl. don’t you worry.”

your breath hitched at the implication, and you looked back down at the map, fingers tracing the edges as though it might steady you.

“i’m just trying to figure out the best supply route,” you murmured, your voice quieter, almost drowned out by the heaviness in the room.

“supply routes,” he repeated, his tone skeptical, almost mocking. “sure, that’s what you’re thinkin’ about. nothin’ else?”

you glanced up then, his eyes piercing into yours. the intensity of his stare made your heart race, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“what else would i be thinking about?” you asked, the question softer than you intended, but it carried something else beneath it.

sandor’s smirk widened, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the way the tension stretched between you. he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, and the space between you closed even further.

“plenty,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, filled with implication. “things that’d keep you warmer than that map, i’d wager.”

your breath caught, but this time you didn’t look away. his words hung in the air, heavy with implication, but instead of shying away, you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with cautious curiosity. “and what would those things be, sandor?”

his eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting you to say anything at all, let alone that. the corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “what, now you’ve found your tongue?”

you shrugged lightly, though your heart was pounding. “seems fair to ask if you’re going to say things like that.”

he stared at you for a beat, and then a rough laugh escaped him. “you’re full of surprises, little bird,” he muttered, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.

and then, with a shift of his weight, he leaned back in his chair, the tension breaking just enough for you to breathe again. but you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of something still crackling in the air between you both, thick and undeniable.

you wondered how long you could keep pretending like you weren’t both caught in the same tangled web of words, glances, and unspoken things that lingered in the corners of the room.

it was dangerous, this game, but neither of you seemed willing to back away from it.

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 1)

Rhysand x reader

A/n: with all things I write I don’t really know what part of my brain this came from. I’ve had this story idea for a while I just never had characters to use it with. Maybe one day I’ll use it with my own but until then enjoy Rhys with a depression beard. Idk why but I mated Az and Feyre plz don’t be mad.

Warnings: death, angst, poison, blood, reader buried alive

You came to with a sharp inhale. The first thing you see is Beron Vanserra smirking down at you. You try to sit up but quickly find the male is kneeling on your chest. As you struggle against him he clicks his tongue at you. “Now, now y/n. None of that.”

You gave up. Tired from the brutal hours you spent fighting Hybern’s army. Before you could scream Beron gripped your jaw so tight he forced your mouth open. He dumped a small vial of clear liquid down your throat, quickly forcing your jaw shut so you’d swallow.

Once he let go up you started coughing, gasping for air. “What the fuck did you do to me?” You croaked out. Drowsiness started to take over your body. Your limbs feeling weak and tired. You fight the urge to close your eyes, attempting to flip your body so you could crawl to Rhys.

As your eyes closed you saw Beron’s mouth move but you couldn’t hear his threatening words. You just drifted off into an endless darkness.

——

It felt like you heard years pass as you stayed in the darkness. You heard Rhys cry out in anguish. A priestess and a somber organ and then nothing.

——

It’s been one month. One month without you and Rhys had become a ghost. He rarely leaves the Town House. Amren and Mor have been running the court. Cassian, Azriel, and Feyre are out of ways to help him.

The High Lord has barley said a word since you died. He just spends his days draped in an armchair, a glass of never ending whiskey clutched in his hand. Rhys had stopped shaving. A dark scruffy beard now covering his sharp jawline. And the bags under his eyes deepened as the days pass.

Rhys knows his family means well but it didn’t make him feel any better as he overheard their constant muttering. “What do we do?” “Has he ever been this bad before?” “He wasn’t like this after under the mountain.” “I’m worried he’s going to do something…drastic.”

If Rhys had the energy to move he would’ve left the Town House weeks ago. But this was your favorite place. He couldn’t just abandon it to collect dust. Rhys scratched at his beard and cleared his throat. The conversation in the hall paused for a moment as the family listened for a moment and went back to their whispers.

—

The five of them held their breath for a beat, then let go as the sound of ice clinking against glass breaks the silence. Cassian scrubs at his face with both hands. Amren shakes her head. Azriel speaks up first, “I’m out of answers.” Mor hugs herself and Feyre holds Azriel’s hand.

“What about other friends?” Mor asks. Azriel shakes his head. “I have intel that Helion and Kallias have been dealing with their own issues.” He lowers his voice more, “Day and Winter are in trouble. They may collapse in months, weeks even.” Amren’s eyes widen in shock. “Why?” She spits out. Azriel shrugs. It’s killing him to not have the answer.

Amren let’s out a huff as she voices what everyone fears. “We might be headed for the same fate if something doesn’t change.” They all look to the sitting room, sending up a prayer to the Mother.

——

It was hard opening your eyes. You still felt groggy from the battle. And then you remember Beron kneeling on you. The clear liquid burning down your throat. You jolted up but hit your head on something hard, forcing you down again.

Your eyes fly open. Your breathing fast and hard. It’s pitch black. You feel around the dark enclosed space. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Cushioned siding and smooth wood meet your fingertips. Your mind is racing. Then it clicks. Beron put you in a suspended state. The bastard fooled everyone into thinking you were dead.

Oh Mother, Rhys! Your mate was tricked into burying you.

You felt anger surge through you. Resting your palms against the smooth cold wood. Taking one more deep breath you pull back your fist, throwing all the strength you have into splintering the wood. It didn’t budge.

You switched fists. Willing the wood to break under your knuckles. You kept alternating fists. Punching again, and again, and again, and again.

A scream ripped from your lips and heavy tears started flowing from your eyes in waves. You didn’t yield. Continuing your assault on the coffin holding you back from the world.

Dirt finally fell through a crack onto your stomach. You jerked and felt something metal against your leg. They buried you with your sword. Strapping it to the belt of your dress you went back to breaking open the coffin. Your knuckles were gushing blood, stinging from the loose wood and dirt.

Another wave of strength and anger came over you and started kicking at the lid. The lid splintered in half allowing dirt to spill in. You sputtered as it fell into your mouth and eyes. Willing your arms to move you push the dirt away from you.

You begin to dig upwards. Crawling all six feet to the surface of the earth.

That was the tough part. Punching through the tightly packed ground was harder than the coffin. As your fist broke the ground you spread your fingers, feeling the cool night air.

Punching over and over again you got both arms out. You push the ground apart with what little strength you have left, pulling yourself from the grave. Gasping down air lighting cracked above. You rest for a moment, curling up on the ground.

Rolling on to your back a wail comes up from your chest. More tears run down your face, leaving tracks on the dirt coating your face.

A blood curdling scream of anger comes next.

Rain begins to pelt your face. You breathe a sigh of relief. You feel alive again.

You want to see Rhys but the need for revenge is overpowering. The anger rattles your bones as you begin to shake.

Flipping over you push yourself up on tired and bloody hands. Fingers seeping in to muddy ground. You focus on breathing and your ability to winnow.

As your power flows through you, you focus on getting as close to the Forest House as possible. Wards be damned. Let him know you’re in his court. In his home. Death is coming for Beron Vanserra and you will be the last person he ever sees.

—

Rapid and hard knocks shake the door of the Town House. Cassian rips it open so hard it almost comes off its hinges. A city guard is standing in the rain looking worried and disheveled. Tilting his head at the guard Cassian noticed the male seemed pale.

“What is it?” “I am sorry to disturb at this hour but there is something the High Lord must know.” Cassian’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “The High Lady’s grave it’s…been disturbed.” Cassian almost fell to his knees. “How?”

The guard looked like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Speak!” The General commanded. “It’s been dug up, sir.”

Cassian left the door open as he rushed to the sitting room. The Inner circle looked to him with curious faces. “Rhys,” he strode over to kneel before his brother. “Y/n’s grave, it’s…”

Rhys showed his first sign of emotion in weeks. It was unreadable. He shot up from his seat and pushed past the group to the front door. Rhys broke out into a sprint in the pouring rain. They followed and didn’t stop until your grave came into sight.

He halted inches away from the ripped up ground. Dropping to his knees Rhys’s lip trembled as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t scent another person. Just you. Only one thing was on his mind as he broke out into hysteric laughter.

There had been something off about your death- Rhys just couldn’t verbalize it until now. The mating bond wasn’t gone it was just…dull. Like it was waiting to wake up again. Azriel and Cassian wrapped Rhys in their arms tightly.

“She’s alive,” he forced out through laughter and tears. The group looked at each other concerned. Azriel’s shadows were swirling around like crazy. Covering your tombstone, the hole in the ground, and the ripped up grass around them.

They finally came back to rest by his shoulders. One circling his rounded ear. As the shadow whispered Azriel’s eyes widened at their report.

He looked to Cassian, bewildered. It was true. You are alive. And the shadows haven’t a clue where you went. They needed a plan. And there are too many questions.

—

You ended up at the bottom of the main stairs of the Forest House. The guards didn’t notice you until it was too late. You beheaded them, kicking the doors in.

Stomping down the hall you sliced through each guard you came across. Leaving a trail of blood to the throne room. One of Beron’s sons, you don’t know which one, didn’t care, tried to fight. You brought him down to his knees keeping a death grip around his throat with your arm.

Entering the throne room you climbed up the dais throwing the male down hard, your sword poised at his throat. Guards and other court members rushed in.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop your scowl or lower your sword. You wouldn’t back down from Beron. “Bring me Beron Vanserra or he loses another son!” For emphasis you pushed your blade against the trembling males throat.

[booksooks]

𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑬𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻

Author's Note: i wrote this because my sneakers got wet on the way to class yesterday

Contents: like 2 sex jokes and y/n being miserable and cold

Word Count: 1611

Summary: You're cold, and wet, and you just want to be warm. Shigaraki decides he wants to help with that.

Your feet were wet. Actually, it was only the toes on your right foot, so you couldn’t even be miserable in symmetry. This only made you more miserable, coupled with the fact that it was pissing rain, and windy, and you had only a sodden, once-fuzzy jacket to protect you from the elements that had long since stopped being useful. Honestly, you thought it would be more helpful if you took it off and held it over your head, but then you would be losing a layer of semi-warmth against the wind. 

And now your other foot was wet and cold, and you took a minute to stop, self-pitying, and look down at your own sneakered self. Just for a minute, you mourned your comfort, jeans wet around your ankles and thought about what you would give to be curled up back at home base with the one pair of fuzzy socks you own and a warm drink. Just a few more blocks, you encouraged yourself, and you’d be in the more sheltered environment of the base that Shigaraki had decided to keep the League in for now. You could only hope there weren’t holes in the roof that had gone unnoticed until now. 

With water squishing uncomfortably out your shoes, you picked up the pace and hurried the last few blocks to the abandoned shop that you had grown to call your temporary home. The back door was shoved open with relative ease, the hinges sticky and crusted with rot and rust long before your little rag-tag group of villains had commandeered. You closed the door behind you, the wood swollen with rainwater and scraping across the floor in a way that always has made your skin crawl and always will. You stood there for a moment, shivering and dripping wet and standing in an ever-growing puddle. You had heard muffled voices when you first walked in, but now it was silent in the hallway, until Toga popped her head around the corner of the main room, and saw you, lighting up. 

“You’re back!” She cheered, rushing forward to hug you only to change her mind and skid to a halt right in front of you. “You’re soaked, babes!” 

 “Yeah, I know,” you grumbled dryly. You peeled your soaked jacket off of you and dropped it where you stood, not caring if anyone would trip over it. You’d pick it up later. “It’s raining.” 

“Should have brought an umbrella!” Toga said, rather unhelpfully if you were to give your input, but she grabbed your hand anyway and dragged you into the main room. 

It was mostly empty, you noticed, with only Kurogiri working behind the bar, and Shigaraki sitting in the one leftover armchair that had been there upon arrival a few weeks ago. 

The whole building had been some sort of cozy bookshop slash coffee shop cafe thing that had been stripped bare months earlier, empty glass shelves creating a rainbow of a maze when the sun hit just right. Right now, though, they were just sad and a clear blue-grey, refracting Kurogiri as he wiped down the counter. It made you wonder if he was doing it for a lack of something else to do. 

“You’re making a mess on the floor,” Shigaraki pointed out, barely looking up from a slip of paper he was turning over in his fingers. 

“I know,” you forced out through gritted teeth, shaking one pathetically wet sweater paw. 

“Should’ve taken an umbrella.” 

“I know.” 

Toga looked between the two of you, caught up in the testy conversation involuntarily. She knew about your interesting relationship with the fearsome leader, and you doubted she wanted to get in between whatever spat the two of you were having. She looked a little nervous, and you sighed, letting your shoulders drop with the tension in the room. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” 

Nobody gave any sign of having heard you, despite the dead silence in the room. With one last glance around, you trudged upstairs, leaving a trail of water on each step. You’d mop up later, right now you wanted a hot shower and to be out of the sticky, cold clothes you were in. As you left, you could feel someone’s eyes burning holes into your back, but you didn’t turn around to check whose. 

The cafe slash bookstore used to have a studio apartment above it, which you suspected was half the reason Shigaraki chose this place, because there was a bedroom and a small kitchen and a bathroom all crammed into the upstairs space of the shop. It didn’t exactly make for comfortable living arrangements, but it had working plumbing and an old mattress on the floor that you all took turns on every night. Since the only other people at the hideout were downstairs, you had the whole upstairs apartment to yourself as you shlepped off each article of water-logged clothing, and left it all in a pile on the bathroom floor. You’d deal with it later, after you were warmed up once more. 

Steam quickly filled the itty bitty corner that could barely be called a bathroom, hot and cloying, and it thankfully stopped your incessant shivering. The hot water helped ward off the chill even more, and by the time you were done scrubbing your body with shampoo (since the bathroom was so small, and travelling light was an essential to being a League member, it had been unceremoniously dumped on everyone that there would only be one shower product - shampoo. There was a lot of complaining, mostly from you, Toga, Magne, and surprisingly Dabi even spoke up, to which Shigaraki had snarled, “if you want your fru-fru shit that bad, get it yourself.” That had squashed any whinging, although a few days later, an antibacterial body wash had appeared in one corner of the shower with the name “DABI” scrawled all over it in black ink. To be honest, the shampoo wasn’t even that bad to use as body wash. Things could have been worse - you could have been handed a communal bar of Irish Spring and been told to “deal”. So yeah, you couldn’t really complain.) you felt immensely better. No longer on the verge of catching your death of a cold. 

Stepping out of the shower was another atrocity to add to your list for the day, but you knew if you stayed in you would get pruney, so you shut the water off and yanked your towel off the rack. It was warm and fluffy, thankfully, and when you pulled back the shower curtain, you were thankful you had grabbed the towel before doing anything else. 

Shigaraki was sitting on the toilet. 

More accurately, he was sitting on the lid of the toilet, pants not around his ankles or in any other compromising position, but it still scared the shit out of you, pun not intended. You yelped in response, a little delayed, and glared at him. 

“God, what?”

He stayed quiet for a long time, long enough that you decided to actually get out of the shower and start drying your hair. When he spoke up, it startled you because you had already just kind of accepted the fact that he was going to simply sit there and watch you. 

“You were cold, when you came in.” 

You jumped. “Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Brat,” he sneered. It was quiet for another moment. “Do you feel better now?” 

“Mildly.” You were still chilly, it would take a while for you to be fully warm and cozy again. 

You finished drying your hair, one hand still gripping the towel for dear life, and gave Shigaraki one last confused glance (because he still hadn’t said anything) before you walked your happy ass to the communal closet where everyone had shoved their clothing. It took several minutes of rummaging, but you eventually found underwear you knew was yours, and pants and a shirt you thought were yours, and socks you knew for sure belonged to Compress due to their fluffiness, and pulled it all on, sighing in relief as you were finally encompassed in warmth for the first time since you had stepped outside that morning. You heard a creak from behind you, and you turned around to see Shigaraki had followed you again. 

“Do you need something?” You asked bluntly, roughly shoving your arm through your last sleeve. 

Shigaraki only grunted in response, and grabbed your wrist with four careful fingers. You let out a confused noise of protest, but you didn’t struggle against him as he pulled you in the direction of the mattress on the floor. He wouldn’t hurt you, he never has. And he was especially careful with your wrist in his grasp when he sat on said mattress, pulling you down with him to… cuddle. 

It took several minutes of shuffling around, but eventually the both of you were curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bare padding. Shigaraki’s nose was pressed into the junction where your neck and collarbones met, his breath coming out in soft puffs against your skin. Legs tangled together, arms wrapped tightly around each other, you finally felt warm. 

Bonus Scene:

“I knew you had a soft spot for me,” you mumbled into his soft hair. 

Shigaraki hummed, and then spoke up. “Yeah, well, can’t have you freezing your tits off if you’re going to be choking on my dick later later.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” 

You scoffed, but you didn’t shove him away or try to get away. “You’re so nasty.” 

“You like it,” Shigaraki said smugly. 

He was right, unfortunately.

AO3 || Masterlist

End Notes: thank you for reading! requests are OPEN!

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

Tagging @league-of-simps because ily and ik shigaraki is ur Guy <3 /p