#this is exactly how i picture him in my uncle au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diamonddaze01 · 25 days ago

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oh, baby!

pairing: husband!seungcheol x fem!reader, bestfriend!jeonghan x fem!reader wc: 5.4k genre: fluff, crack | au: non-idol!au | rating: pg warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol consumption a/n: based on an ask by an anon! i love writing miscommunication LMAO. i'm not the best with stuff regarding pregnancy though, so if this reads bad...im sorry // big thanks to @tusswrites for beta-ing and giving me ideas for the scenes! and thank yoj to @wongyuseokie for the lovely banner!

summary: in which jeonghan knows he's the bestest of friends, so why can't you tell him your secret? read as: jeonghan knows you're pregnant. you have to be, right?

Jeonghan prides himself on being a really good friend. The best, even, if you asked him. He’s the kind of friend who remembers everyone’s favorite coffee order, who diffuses arguments with that easy smile (just ask Seungkwan and Seokmin about the infamous Jeju incident), and who somehow manages to be exactly where you need him, exactly when you need him.

He’s the one who introduced you to Seungcheol, and later, he turned down Seungcheol’s offer of being best man just so he could stand by your side during the wedding. He held back tears as he watched his two best friends exchange vows, hands trembling with how much he cared for both of you. Jeonghan even caught the bouquet afterward— everyone relentlessly teases him about it—and he keeps some of the petals in his wallet, pressed flat like they’re part of his heart.

So, yeah. Jeonghan considers himself the ultimate best friend—which is why he’s feeling a little miffed that you didn’t tell him. You’re pregnant, and he had to overhear it like some nosy bystander. Granted, it’s not like you’re obligated to share every detail right away, but he can’t help the small sting of hurt, the sense that he’s been left out of something monumental. And if there’s one thing Jeonghan’s always wanted, it’s to be the cool uncle— the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

Jeonghan knows he shouldn’t have eavesdropped (he knows, truly), but he couldn’t resist when he saw the two of you murmuring in a corner outside the bar, expressions far too serious for a simple night out. He presses himself against the door of his car, praying he’s hidden in the shadow, and watches as you drop your head against Seungcheol’s shoulder, your hand gripping his tightly.

“It’s okay, baby,” Seungcheol’s voice is soft, his hand gently circling your back. The quiet reassurance sounds so intimate, so tender, it tugs at something in Jeonghan’s chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you whisper, your words muffled as you press your nose into Seungcheol’s neck.

Jeonghan holds his breath as he watches Seungcheol pull back, his hands moving to your hips, fingers splayed protectively. His thumbs start tracing soothing circles at the bottom of your stomach, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity Jeonghan has rarely seen. “We’ll do whatever you want, my love,” Seungcheol says, voice steady. “It’s your choice.”

And that’s when it hits Jeonghan, right there in the cold. His heart skips a beat. Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

A thrill courses through him, excitement mingling with nerves. You’re going to be parents—something he’d always imagined would happen one day, but he never expected it to feel this real, this soon. He’s already picturing himself as the “cool uncle,” the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

But why hadn’t you told him? The sting of hurt starts to creep in, subtle yet unshakable. He’s your best friend—shouldn’t he have been one of the first to know? He sighs, leaning back against the car, the chilly metal pressing into his back, anchoring him. Maybe it’s early; maybe you’re waiting to process this as a couple. The thought soothes him slightly. And while he’d love nothing more than to rush over and demand answers, he knows he’ll have to wait until you’re ready.

His phone buzzes, startling him. Joshua.

joshuji: u coming in or what

joshuji: we want alc hurry UP

Jeonghan glances up, heart still racing, as he spots you and Seungcheol walking toward the bar’s entrance. He straightens his jacket, quickly pasting on his most nonchalant smile. Nothing happened, he tells himself. Just a regular night out.

Inside, the bar is alive with the hum of laughter and music, dim lights casting warm shadows across the wooden tables. Usually, Jeonghan would soak in the energy, but tonight he’s got a mission. He spots Joshua waving him over to the booth, where you, Seungcheol, and the rest of the group are already seated, laughter spilling out as Seungkwan finishes a story. Jeonghan can see the happiness on your face, the ease in the way you lean against Seungcheol—and it grounds him, if only a little.

Sliding into the booth, Jeonghan flashes a quick grin. “Alright, what did I miss?”

“Just in time!” you say brightly, reaching for the menu with a casualness that Jeonghan can’t help but find a little too… normal. “We haven’t ordered yet, but I’m thinking something fruity. Maybe a cocktail?”

His heart skips a beat. Cocktail? Oh, absolutely not. The protective instinct kicks in faster than his thoughts.

“Actually…” He reaches across the table, plucking the menu from your hands before he can even think twice. “Maybe tonight’s not a cocktail night for you?”

You blink, confused. “Huh? Since when are you my personal bartender?”

His laugh is quick, covering his nervousness. “Oh, I just… well, you’ve been looking kind of tired lately. Right, Seungcheol?” He tosses a hopeful glance in Seungcheol’s direction.

Seungcheol, clearly not expecting the cue, fumbles slightly before nodding. “Uh, yeah, babe, now that he mentions it… maybe.”

Your gaze sharpens, suspicion creeping in as you study Jeonghan’s face. “Tired? I’m not tired. I’m fine!”

Jeonghan quickly backpedals, his mind racing. “Of course you are! It’s just, well, you know, the cocktails here are pretty strong. Maybe a soda or a nice glass of water, just to keep things… chill?”

Joshua’s eyebrow arches in amusement. “Since when do you care about people drinking, Jeonghan?”

“Just looking out for my friends!” Jeonghan insists, pulling you close and throwing his arm around your shoulders in a playful half-hug. “Only the best for you, buddy! Besides, wouldn’t want you, uh… getting woozy on us.”

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “I think I can handle one cocktail, Jeonghan.”

He glances around, desperate. “Right, right, but you know, Seungkwan was just saying how amazing the mocktails are here. No… risks. All the flavor. Right, Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan’s mouth opens, clearly taken by surprise, but he gives a quick nod. “Yeah! Mocktails. They’re, uh… very safe. Delicious, too.”

You fold your arms, your amusement turning into a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “What’s going on with you tonight, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan stammers, adjusting his posture but keeping his smile intact, though his face flushes under the dim lights. “Nothing! Just… just looking out for you. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Your expression softens, the suspicion melting into exasperated affection. With a sigh, you shrug. “Fine. I’ll try the mocktail, I guess.”

Relief washes over him, his shoulders relaxing as he shoots a quick grin at Seungcheol, who shakes his head, clearly amused but in on the act. For the rest of the evening, Jeonghan doesn’t let his guard down for a second. Every time the waiter brings over a drink, he discreetly “taste-tests” yours with an exaggerated nod before passing it along.

“Just making sure it’s up to your high standards,” he says with a smirk each time you raise an eyebrow at him.

You laugh, shaking your head, your hand instinctively slipping into Seungcheol’s under the table, your thumb stroking his knuckles. “You’re acting so weird tonight, Jeonghan.”

If only you knew.

Jeonghan wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He swears. He’s just standing by the kitchen counter, the crinkling bag of chips in his hand an innocent alibi, while scanning the room for something—or someone—interesting. The dinner is in full swing, music humming softly in the background, conversations buzzing like white noise, and he’s basking in the satisfying quiet of being a wallflower in a room full of social butterflies.

He pops another chip into his mouth, savoring the salty crunch, when Mingyu’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a spotlight snapping on.

“Seungcheol, man, we’re so proud of you!” Mingyu says, loud enough to turn heads.

Jeonghan tilts his own head slightly, his chip midair. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Yeah, seriously,” Seungkwan pipes up, clapping Seungcheol on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “It’s about time!”

Jeonghan’s hand hovers, chip forgotten as he shifts his attention. A small crowd is forming around Seungcheol now, congratulatory pats and cheers echoing through the room. Seungcheol, as always, wears the kind of bashful grin that makes it clear he’s soaking in the attention, even if he pretends he doesn’t like it.

“It really did take years,” Seungcheol admits, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always does when he’s being humble.

And there you are, standing right beside him, smiling so warmly that Jeonghan swears the room tilts a little. “But he didn’t give up. I’ve seen him work so hard, day and night,” you say, the pride in your voice impossible to miss.

Jeonghan’s brow furrows as he slowly lowers the chip to the bag. Pride. Hard work. Years. What’s this about?

The murmurs of approval spread through the group like wildfire. Jeonghan catches Mingyu and Seungkwan clinking their beers in silent celebration.

“It’s not easy breaking into this industry,” Mingyu says sagely, though Jeonghan knows for a fact the most Mingyu’s ever ‘broken into’ is a tub of ice cream after a long day.

Jeonghan frowns. Industry? His mind races as he flicks his gaze between you and Seungcheol. What industry?

“Man,” Seungcheol begins, shaking his head with a small, nostalgic laugh, “those years in the bedroom and basements—”

Jeonghan chokes on his chip.

Heads whip around to look at him. He coughs, hand over his mouth, scrambling to recover.

“Bedroom?” Jeonghan croaks, louder than he intended.

A few people snicker, but Seungcheol looks more confused than anything, one brow arching as he crosses his arms. “Uh… yeah?”

Jeonghan blinks rapidly, his mind running laps. Years in the bedroom? With you? And basements? What does that even mean?

“That’s where I started making music,” Seungcheol continues, his voice steady but tinged with the slightest bit of defensiveness.

“Oh,” Jeonghan mutters, the word barely audible over the thudding of his pulse. “Music.” He forces his face to remain neutral, though his brain is screaming. He takes another chip, if only to have something to do with his hands.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop, his voice gaining momentum like a runaway train. “It was rough, honestly. I spent hours in there, pouring everything into it, over and over again—”

Jeonghan’s hand freezes in the bag, his eyes going wide as unbidden images flicker through his mind. Images that have nothing to do with music. He fights the urge to slap himself.

“And you supported me through all of it,” Seungcheol says, his voice softening as he turns to you. His eyes practically glow with sincerity.

You smile at him, your expression so warm, so open, that Jeonghan feels a twinge of secondhand emotion. There’s something private in the way you look at Seungcheol, something that feels too big for a moment like this.

And yet, Jeonghan can’t help but tighten his grip on the chip bag.

Mingyu breaks the moment with a hearty clap on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “It’s inspiring, really. You just kept going, even when it got hard.”

Jeonghan’s chip crumbles in his hand. Did no one else hear that?

“Well,” you say with a laugh that’s just shy of teasing, “he never does things halfway. When he’s passionate, he’s all in.”

Jeonghan presses his lips together tightly, his shoulders shaking as he stifles a laugh. He risks a glance around the room, but no one else seems fazed.

Seungcheol chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck again. “What can I say? It’s worth it when it’s something you love.”

Jeonghan is two seconds away from either bursting into laughter or leaving this dinner altogether. He doesn’t know which option will save his sanity faster.

“Man,” Seungkwan says, grinning broadly, “and now you’re a producer at that studio! You really made it, Cheol.”

Jeonghan freezes mid-breath. Producer?

“Oh,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “Music.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows as he turns toward Jeonghan. “Yeah? What else would it be?”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan replies quickly, brushing off the crumbs from his hands as nonchalantly as possible. “Congrats, man. Really proud of you.”

Seungcheol eyes him for a beat longer before Mingyu distracts him with another round of enthusiastic pats.

As the conversation flows back to lighter topics, Jeonghan sneaks another glance at you and Seungcheol. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand swatting his arm playfully, and Seungcheol leans down to whisper something in your ear. The way you nudge him back, your smile soft, makes Jeonghan’s chest feel oddly heavy.

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet laugh to himself. I’m definitely overthinking this.

But no matter how many chips he eats, the phrase “years in the bedroom and basements” echoes in his mind, refusing to leave.

Sunday brunch has been a sacred tradition ever since you and Jeonghan were broke, hungover, and shamelessly nosy college kids. It used to be a chance to pick apart every terrible decision from the night before—who ended up with who, which of your friends was blacklisted from your favorite bar this time, and whether that one prof actually knew how to teach or was just winging it. Now it’s all slightly more respectable, though the core vibe is the same: hungover, nosy, a little too loud for public, and still hung up on the drama of the week.

When Jeonghan strolls in, spotting you at your usual table with an iced Americano in hand, he stops short. For a second, he feels a wave of pride—he’s got his act together, and you’re clueless as ever—but it’s quickly followed by a flash of concern. So he switches gears, zeroes in on your coffee cup, and slides into the booth with what he hopes looks like an easy grin.

He prides himself on subtlety, Jeonghan does. He’s sure he can manage this without causing alarm, without making you feel pressured or spied on. Just a small adjustment to the routine. Easy.

“Hey, what’s that you’re drinking?” he asks as he slides into the seat across from you, keeping his tone light but shooting you a grin that’s maybe a little too tight. He plucks the coffee cup from your hand before you can react, inspecting it like he’s never seen iced coffee before.

“Uh… an iced Americano?” You raise an eyebrow, more amused than anything, but he can already tell you’re getting suspicious. You take in his tight smile and his sudden interest in your drink. “Why?”

He takes a quick sip and barely stifles a grimace. “Iced Americano. Really? You drink this every Sunday?”

You shrug. “Yeah, since forever. What’s your deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, shrugging it off as he slides the coffee back. “Just thought you’d want something herbal, maybe? Like… chamomile? Peppermint?” he offers, trying to sound casual. “Soothing stuff, you know? Maybe something decaf?”

“Herbal?” You narrow your eyes. “When did you get all wholesome on me? Since when do you care about herbal tea?”

You stare at him, an eyebrow quirking, skepticism starting to creep into your eyes. “Herbal? Are you okay? Since when do you care about, like, chamomile tea?”

He gives a quick shrug, faking his usual breeziness. “I’m just saying! Caffeine’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know? All the jitters, the heartburn…” He trails off, flashing a strained smile. He’s proud of how smoothly he’s handling this, trying to steer you away from the iced coffee without raising any red flags.

You give him a look, deadpan. “Han, I have one coffee, once a week. And half of it’s in your stomach now, so don’t lecture me.”

He barks out a laugh, forcing himself to look casual as hell as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. My bad. But you should try water instead—hydration is key, y’know.” Without giving you a chance to argue, he pops out of the booth and heads to the counter for a bottle of water.

He keeps an eye on you from the counter, grinning to himself like he’s just scored a major win. This is step one, and he figures if he plays his cards right, you won’t even notice his sudden caffeine-sabotage campaign. He grabs a bottle, quickly sidling back over to the booth.

He plunks it down in front of you with a wide smile, as if he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “Stay hydrated. That shit is better than any iced Americano.”

You just stare at him, bewildered. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Nothing!” Jeonghan insists, a bit too enthusiastically. But then, maybe he overplays his hand. The next thing he knows, he’s sliding the bottle over to you and muttering, “Gotta stay hydrated, buddy.”

“Buddy?” You shoot him a look that could drill holes. You’re not buying it, not even a little. Jeonghan practically flinches because, yeah, he never calls you “buddy.” Normally, it’s just your name—or a well-timed “ho” when he’s feeling especially feisty. He can tell the second he says it that he’s tipped you off, just a bit.

And now, you’re watching him, that too-sharp glint in your eyes. “Since when am I your buddy?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion.

Jeonghan keeps his grin intact, waving it off like he’s got nothing to hide. “What? Aren’t we buddies?” He goes for his water glass and takes a long, slow sip, playing up the nonchalance. “Just looking out for you. You need a buddy to make sure you stay hydrated, that’s all.”

But he’s starting to see it in your eyes—that look you get when you know he’s up to something. He can feel his casual act slipping, so he pulls back, deciding to ease up on the hints. “Anyway,” he says, tone lightening, “I’m just messing with you,” He leans back, stretching with a lazy grin that he hopes comes off as relaxed, not calculated. “So, anyway. Tell me about what that idiot boss of yours pulled this week.”

You’re still squinting at him, but he can see you filing his “buddy” slip-up away for later. Probably already figuring out ways to make him squirm next time he tries to pull something over on you. The thought almost makes him laugh.

Despite the coffee swiping, you settle back, leaning into the usual rhythm of your weekly debrief, losing yourself in the vent session as you pick at your food and Jeonghan eggs you on. He throws in his own commentary—“I swear, that guy’s one bad review from a lawsuit”—while giving you sideways glances, watching to make sure you’re sipping the water. And every now and then, he slides your plate a little closer, pushing you to take another bite.

But in between the jokes, he’s already plotting his next move. Subtlety is the name of the game, after all. He just has to keep you guessing long enough to make sure you’re taking care of yourself… without letting on that he’s keeping watch over two of you now.

Seungkwan has chosen a sports park for the monthly hangout, a classic Seungkwan move—something energetic, competitive, and likely to end in some hilarious disaster. Everyone’s in high spirits as they gather under the bright sun, ready to kick off the day with some casual sports. It's the perfect opportunity for some fun, but as usual, Jeonghan’s on a different wavelength.

Jeonghan prides himself on being subtle—too subtle, probably. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to make you feel pressured, but his instincts are... well, Jeonghan instincts. And right now, they’re telling him something’s off.

There’s been too much of you skipping out on things, and while he would normally chalk it up to your “weird habits” or just you being you, today it’s starting to feel... different. You’ve been playing it off, pretending everything’s normal, but he can feel the change. And he's not about to let this slip by.

First, there was the iced Americano incident. The way you looked at him when he tried to take it away—it wasn’t just you rolling your eyes. You were trying to hide something. Then last night, at dinner, you hardly touched your drink, instead opting for water—water, for god’s sake. And now... here you are, standing way too still in the middle of a busy sports park, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. Jeonghan is practically scanning your every move.

Seungkwan’s already yapping about his plan for a “friendly” soccer match, while the others are warming up on the sidelines. You’re laughing with the girls, joking about who’s going to be the first to get a goal past Seungkwan’s notoriously awful defense. It’s all very chill, very normal, but Jeonghan’s eyes keep darting to you. It’s subtle—he’ll give you that—but there’s a difference in the way you’re standing.

Yeah. This is definitely it. You’re pregnant.

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say it out loud. He knows. He knows in his gut. You're keeping it from him. The way you’ve been acting—it's obvious. You’re pregnant, and you’re hiding it. But he’s not about to make a scene. No. He’ll be subtle about this. He’ll protect you without you knowing he’s doing it. He’s not going to make you feel uncomfortable or pressured. He’ll just... look out for you.

He watches you take a sip from your water bottle, and the sight of you not reaching for something more exciting (like your usual iced Americano or even a bloody beer) sends alarm bells ringing in his head. No way. You’ve been on a healthy streak all day. Something’s wrong.

Slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage, he leans on the edge of the table, giving you his most easygoing smile. "Hey, buddy," he says, eyes flicking to yours, a little too sharp.

Shit. There it is. “Buddy”—again. He’s almost positive you’ve caught him red-handed. His instincts are getting worse, and it’s almost like he can feel the sweat forming at the back of his neck.

You blink, confused, and he feels a little too caught off guard. Shit. Did he just say that out loud?

“What?”

“Just checking in,” Jeonghan continues smoothly, his tone dropping an octave. “You sure you’re alright to just... watch today? You know, I’ve been thinking, soccer is a little intense, don’t you think? It could be a lot on your body...”

You look at him, a little puzzled, probably trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. "It’s just a game, Jeonghan."

“Yeah,” he shrugs, trying to mask the panic that’s bubbling up. He needs to keep this light, keep it casual. "But still, with your... situation.” He trails off, forcing himself to look like he’s just making a suggestion.

You frown now, clearly starting to get suspicious.

Without waiting for you to question him further, he quickly slides into a new tactic. “You know, hydration’s important,” he says, snatching the water bottle from your hands and taking it upon himself to force it into your grip. "I think you should drink more water. It’s the best thing for you right now." He gives you an exaggerated smile, all teeth. “You’ll be just fine if you stay hydrated.”

You’re about to protest—he knows you are—but before you can get the words out, he quickly walks off, telling himself it’s fine, just fine. Keep it cool, Jeonghan. You’re fine.

But his mind is still working overtime, running through all the signs he’s seen—skipping drinks, staying still, not participating. And every single one of them is screaming the same thing.

You’re pregnant.

He glances back over his shoulder to check on you—thankfully, you’re still sitting, still sipping the water like the good little soldier he’s turning you into.

Suddenly, Seungcheol appears out of nowhere, grinning like a fool, pulling you away from the picnic table. “C’mon, babe, time to stretch those legs. Don’t tell me you’re already done being the cheerleader?”

Relief washes over Jeonghan, and he feels a knot in his chest loosen. There you go, Seungcheol, swooping in to save the day—taking you away from all the chaos he’s cooked up in his head. You’re in good hands. For now, at least.

Jeonghan watches as Seungcheol sweeps you into the crowd, joining the others on the field. He’s grateful—so grateful—that you haven’t caught on yet. Not yet.

The party is buzzing, the clinking of glasses and laughter filling the room as Seungcheol’s birthday kicks into high gear. It’s the usual mix of their close-knit friend group—Seungkwan, Mingyu, Vernon, Jihoon, and all the others—each in their own little bubble of conversation, but you? You’re standing off to the side with that damn glass of champagne in your hand, eyes glancing around, and there’s something about the way you’re holding it that has Jeonghan’s mind spinning.

You’re standing there like you belong to no one, not even yourself, but something about the way you keep looking at your glass makes him uneasy. Maybe it’s the way your fingers are wrapped around it too carefully, almost like you’re avoiding drinking. Or maybe it’s the way you keep glancing at Seungcheol, who’s busy chatting away with Mingyu and Vernon, like he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s hard to tell, but Jeonghan can’t shake the feeling something’s off.

Then it happens. The moment he’s been waiting for.

You raise the glass, like you’re about to toast. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses grows louder, and it’s like the whole room pauses. Jeonghan’s mind clicks into overdrive, his instincts kicking in, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hand is moving.

One smooth motion, and the champagne is in his hand, your glass no longer where it was just a second ago.

He doesn’t look at you when he does it. He doesn’t need to. He just takes it, like it’s nothing. Because, in his mind, it’s something. He’s doing you a favor, right? He’s looking out for you, protecting you from something—something you don’t even realize you need protection from.

Your frown is immediate. Your eyes narrow, and you turn to face him, the glass now mysteriously missing from your grasp.

“Jeonghan, what the hell?” Your voice is sharp, confused, but there’s an undertone of concern. And for a split second, Jeonghan feels his stomach tighten. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or guilt, but damn if it doesn’t feel like something.

He keeps his cool, though. It’s Jeonghan, after all. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t falter. He smiles, giving a shrug like this is no big deal. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he says, voice light, playful, even though there’s a certain tension in his shoulders that he can’t quite shake.

“Protect me?” You stare at him, eyes widening in disbelief. “From what?”

His heart beats a little faster now, because this—this is the moment. He knows he’s been right. He’s sure he’s been right. It’s been building up, the signs have been obvious, and if he doesn’t stop you now, he could be too late.

“Pregnant people can’t have alcohol,” Jeonghan says, his tone turning a little more serious, but he’s still keeping it light. Too light. He barely catches the way your brow furrows as you process his words.

You blink at him, the confusion settling into something far more incredulous. “Okay, thank you for that little factoid,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Who’s pregnant?”

Jeonghan can feel his pulse picking up, his gaze darting nervously from you to the champagne in his hand. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but you look like you know. You’ve caught him. You’ve noticed the signs, and this is it. He’s been caught red-handed.

“You are?” Jeonghan’s voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them. He doesn’t even recognize the tone of his own voice—he just knows that this is the moment he’s been dreading and, somehow, waiting for.

And then you start laughing. Laughing.

It’s loud, it’s spontaneous, and it fills the entire room. Your shoulders shake with it, your face turning pink with the force of your amusement. And for the first time since he walked in, Jeonghan feels like a damn idiot. A total idiot.

“WHAT?” Jeonghan can barely get the word out before he realizes what he’s said, and now, you’re laughing even harder, clutching your stomach like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you.

Seungcheol’s head whips around from where he’s talking to Mingyu and Vernon, his curiosity piqued by the sound of your laughter. You’re still giggling, though, and Jeonghan watches in utter confusion as Seungcheol’s grin slowly spreads across his face.

“What are we laughing about?” Seungcheol asks, his voice thick with amusement, his arm sliding around your waist as he walks over to you.

Your laughter is still uncontrollable, and you’re leaning into Seungcheol as if this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. “Jeonghan over here thinks I’m pregnant,” you say between laughs, and Jeonghan feels a lump form in his throat.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.

Seungcheol starts laughing too, looking from you to Jeonghan like he’s just stumbled across some inside joke. His arm around your waist tightens, and he pulls you onto his lap with that effortless strength of his. You’re still giggling, though now, you’re half sitting on Seungcheol’s lap, your face buried in his neck, clearly enjoying the chaos you’ve unleashed.

Jeonghan is standing there like he’s been hit by a truck. His brain’s scrambling to catch up. Wait, this isn’t what he thought was happening, is it?

“You’re not...?” Jeonghan stammers. His voice is a little too high, like he’s a kid who just learned that Santa isn’t real. You're not pregnant?

You wipe the tears from your eyes, finally able to speak. “Pregnant? No, Jeonghan, why would you think that?”

Jeonghan’s hand tightens around the champagne glass, his mind replaying every little thing he’d witnessed over the last week. The water at dinner, the soccer game, the way you were avoiding alcohol— it all clicks into place, and he can feel the weight of his mistake crushing down on him. “But at the bar—the whole ‘it’s your choice, you can do whatever you want’ thing?” Jeonghan’s voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going. “And the drinking water at dinner last week instead of wine? And the not playing soccer?”

You just stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief, but this time, there’s a trace of sympathy in them. “Jeonghan,” you say, a little quieter now, “our lease is up. We were stressed about finding a new place to live. That’s why I didn’t drink, and the whole soccer thing? I had a cold that day.”

Seungcheol, still holding you on his lap, leans in with a grin. “Dude, she had to drive us home,” he adds, voice full of playful exasperation. “And she was sick that day. You seriously thought she was pregnant?”

Jeonghan blinks a couple of times, like the whole world has just shifted. The understanding starts to dawn on him, slow and painful. Oh. He almost wants to bury his face in his hands. “Right. Oh.”

“Yeah, OH,” you say, still chuckling. “Now, give me back my drink so I can drink to my beautiful, spectacular husband, whose baby I am NOT carrying.”

Seungcheol laughs and presses a quick kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as he looks over at Jeonghan with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Jeonghan. She’s not pregnant. But I’ll take the champagne now. You can go ahead and get her some water, though. She might still need it after all that laughing.”

Jeonghan lets out a long breath, his face a mix of embarrassment and relief, and finally hands your champagne back to you, though he looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Right. Right. You’re welcome. No baby. Got it.”

You raise your glass toward Seungcheol with a grin, finally able to focus on the toast you’ve been trying to make all evening. “To my incredible, perfect husband—who, I assure you, I’m not pregnant with.”

Jeonghan, though, is standing off to the side, looking like he just got hit with a truck. He rubs his temples, muttering to himself. He’s definitely not going to live this one down. Not today, not ever.

279 notes · View notes

rhey-007 · 1 year ago

Text

The mystery of Love

Fernando Alonso family fluff

|| P3 of Fernando x goth mommy!reader

• | socialmedia au

Summary: After only 2 appearances on the paddock, little Benny already has all the drivers wrapped around his finger. But which one along with his team will steal the child's heart?

Warnings/Tags: fluff, family fluff, female reader

A/N: WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND SUITABLE PICS WITH TODDLER BOYS JXHHZNDNNFNFXEH I had to use Jack Wolff for some🧍‍♀️Anywaaaay this is a longer one just so y'know :)) Enjoy!

(If you'd like to be added to the tag list lemme know!)

Masterlist

✧༺🌊༻✧

"Competition is the best form of motivation"

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liked by maxverstappen1, fernandoalo_oficial and 257,368 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n

•danielricciardo: a little road trip before training! 💪😎

•y/n._.l/n: •fernandoalo_oficial •kl.au_s why is my kid having playdates with literally EVERYONE on the paddock? 🧍‍♀️

→ •kl.au_s: you know well we can't say no to him 👉👈🤭

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: exactly.

→ •y/n._.l/n: I left you for 2 days!

→ •user1: •user2 and tell me they're not together 🧍‍♀️

→ •user2: they already act like a family lol

→ •user3: not Benny adopting the whole grid 😭

•yukitsunoda0511: don't forget about your chauffeur! >:(

→ •user4: of course Yuki had to drive them around 😂

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liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n._.l/n and 430,578 others

tagged: silverstonecircuit, y/n._.l/n

•lewishamilton: great race weekend spent in even better company! Thank you Britian!

•fernandoalo_oficial: YOU DID NOT

→ •lewishamilton: yes. I. did. 🤭😎

•user5: not lewis stealing Fernando's kid

→ •user6: not only him, check out Daniel's ig

→ •user7: and Lando's!

→ •user8: basically everyone's lol

•susie_wolff: can't wait to see little bunny again! ❤

→ •user9: the boy got himself a 2nd mother

→ •user10: and whole lotta uncles!

•user11: they even got him a small suit like Jack's I can't 😭✋

→ •user12: they can match!!! 💞

→ •user13: they would slay SO hard 😍

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liked by the_crochet_girl, y/n._.l/n and 50,238 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n

•hulkhulkenberg: ping-pong session before the training with my boy Chiquito and a quick store break to buy mommy some flowers :)

•user14: isn't it weird that every driver posts pictures with Fernando's kid recently?

→ •user15: yeah and all of them only give attention to Benny, what about Klaus????

•y/n._.l/n: thanks for the flowers! Benny already can't wait for another play date with Noemi and Laura! ❤

→ •kevinmagnussen: they can't wait too! ❤

→ •user16: WHY HAVEN'T WE SEEN THE KIDS PLAYING TOGETHER SDHYCYUESNXIEU

→ •user17: we got ROBBED >:(

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liked by pierregasly, fernandoalo_oficial and 728, 956 others

tagged: silverstonecircuit, y/n._.l/n

•charles_leclerc: thanks for the best boy out there, little bunny, for helping the best team! 💪💞

•user18: you know you ain't the best

•maxverstappen1: who said you were the best? 🤨

→ •carlossainz55: Benny ofc 💅

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: no way he said that

→ •pierregasly: I belive he said that about all the teams 😆

•user19: are the drivers fighting over which team is the best in a random kid's eyes???

→ •user20: that's so cute and stupid xD 💞

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liked by y/n._.l/n, valtteribottas and 269, 034 others

tagged: silverstonecircuit, y/n._.l/n, valtteribottas

•zhouguanyu24: thank you Benny and Klaus for supporting us in Britain! Love you! ❤

•user2137: why is everyone posting about Chiquito?

→ •user22: it's clearly a competition for the best team

•user23: Zhou looks so cute playing with Benny I can't TwT 💞

→ •user24: all of them look sooo cute with Chiquito!

•kl.au_s: finally someone mentioned me, thank you

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: and you said you don't care about the sport nor the people 🤨

→ •kl.au_s: shhh 🤫

- see responses (15)

•user25: love how Fernando and the other kid argue in the comments xD

→ •user26: they literally radiate father and son energy!!!

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tagged: silverstonecircuit, oscarpiastri, y/n._.l/n

•landonorris: a small ride around the track in new fav tshirt from the best uncles on the grid 🏎💨😎👏

•danielricciardo: *2nd and 3rd best

→ •lewishamilton: *4th and 5th best

- see responses (10)

→ •y/n._.l/n: shut up you're all best uncles 🙄

→ •user27: I think mommy has enough already 😂

→ •user28: I love how y/n is finally active in the f1 world! hope to see them more often on the races!

•user29: the tshirt I can't 😭💞

→ •user30: he looks so cute in it 7fyxitxufxjccjv

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liked by redbullracing, christianhorner and 618, 110 others

tagged: silverstonecircuit, y/n._.l/n, redbullracing

•maxverstappen1: •redbullracing I've got you a future driver 💪🦬

•charles_leclerc: you wish -_-

→ •georgerussell63: you both wish, we all know Chiquito will choose mercedes 😏👉👉

•user31: not another racing suit 😭✋💞

→ •user32: I'm gonna melt... 💞

•user33: other teams should have tried better tbh :/

→ •user34: mercedes and redbull are defo in top 2

→ •user35: aston is definitely number 1 it's obvious 💁‍♀️

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liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n._.l/n and 182,137 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, y/n._.l/n, kl.au_s

•logansargeant: 🪱🐟🌊

•user36: love how all the drivers show Chiquito around the teams garages and do stuff related to formula while Logan randomly took all 4 of them fishing 😂

→ •user37: it must have been the time of little bunny's life! 💞

•user38: why is it so cute TwT

•fernandoalo_oficial: thanks for a great time!

•user39: why do I feel like he has NO idea about the competition?

→ •logansargeant: what competition? 👁👄👁

→ •user40: exactly! 😂

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liked by kl.au_s, y/n._.l/n and 389, 136 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, kl.au_s, y/n._.l/n

•pierregasly: dinner time with the new grid fam! 🥘🥗🍕

•fernandoalo_oficial: thanks for inviting us for a FREE dinner! 😍

•user41: the guys are spoiling Benny SOO MUCH

→ •user42: he got 2 free meals (1 that he had to fish himself) 2 f1 suits, a little kart, some plushies and probably waaay more things that we have no idea about

→ •user43: all in a spawn of 3 DAYS!

→ •user44: I wish I was Benny 😭

→ •user45: yes. especially that he has such cool hot parents 😍

•charles_leclerc: why was I not invited 🧍‍♀️

→ •y/n._.l/n: want me to adopt you?

→ •charles_leclerc: yes please 😩🙏 I want free food

→ •user6: charles wtf XD

→ •danielricciardo: I want to be adopted too ✋🤓

- see replies (17)

✧༺🌊༻✧

Tag list: @morgan-getty @lichterfee @ashy-kit

457 notes · View notes

hoo-n-i-ki · 6 days ago

Text

Cold One. (Chapter 2)

Anyone but her.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 7801 (I got carried away)

WARNINGS - Vampires, graphic violence, blood, death (like a lot of it). Very plot heavy. Morally grey Riki (this is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of him).

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

The throne room is silent, save for the footsteps of a messenger approaching the dais. The hooded figure kneels before the three kings. Aro, perched on his throne, eagerly extends a cold hand for the messenger to press his own against.

Excitement flickers in Aro’s eyes—then, he laughs.

“Well, well,” he muses. “Carlisle has turned another for the first time nearly a century.”

Riki, leaning against the carved stone walls with his arms crossed, finally looks up. Very little intrigues him after exactly 200 years of this life, but hopefully this is something as rousing as the Cullens’ hybrid debacle from 18 years ago.

Caius scoffs in distaste. “I assume this one will be another vegetarian?”

“If Carlisle turned them, he must believe they’ll adapt to his way of life,” Jane says simply from the side, youthful face as stony as ever.

“Pity. Setting up yet another for an eternity of insatiability.” Marcus shakes his head.

Aro hums. “What do you think, Mind Stealer?”

Riki’s crimson gaze meets the ancient ones. “He’s sired several, before.” He shrugs.

“Such apathy,” Caius sneers.

“Someone has to keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

Through his several altercations with them, Riki knows that this coven doesn’t seek trouble, but they’re always at the center of it, and it always finds its way to Volterra.

They are a family of honor. As honorable as he once was.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Present day.

The crack of thunder drowns out the sound of the victim’s screams.

You finish feasting on the redhead, and toss her corpse into a nearby dumpster like she’s nothing but an empty sack.

To be fair, that is true.

Let the cops find her. Even on the off chance that they could trace this back to you, then what? You can now take 20 of their strongest in a heartbeat.

As you saunter out of the alleyway, a lone car drifts by, music playing in the dead of night.

“Ooh, you set my soul alight,” you sing along to the familiar tune beneath your breath, off-key.

This is what sets your soul alight. The hunt. The taste running down your throat like no expensive champagne ever has.

Your heart? A different story. Perhaps it’s your human self’s dedication to saving lives rather than ending them trying to peek through.

But your heart stopped a month ago—so it certainly does not win this battle. It is merely a symbol, just like your humanity altogether.

You are now certain of three things.

First is that you are now a vampire.

Second is that your parents were murdered by vampires.

And third is that you are now a murderer.

You strut without a care in the world. Even if someone were to discern your features despite the dark, Vancouver is full of interesting characters. No one would bat an eye at some messy hair, and you could easily play off your blood-stained lips and red eyes as some new goth makeup trend.

You consider chasing the car’s driver, but you’re full.

For now.

So why you ended up finding yourself at your aunt and uncle’s neighborhood? You can’t really tell—you’re just going off on the instincts that have carried you thus far.

There weren’t any street cameras back when you lived here, but just in case there are now, you use your speed to move so fast they wouldn’t even be able to catch a single glimpse of you, and you enter the damned house without a sound.

The only problem, probably, with being a newborn is how heightened your emotions are. This isn’t you, (Y/N), you have to endure, Carlisle tried to tell you the last time you saw him.

But he doesn’t know a single thing about you.

He doesn’t understand the bitterness you carry.

You’re 11 years old, standing in this same doorway, clutching your school bag that’s soaked from the rain because they conveniently forgot to pick you up.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so pitiful,” your aunt sneers, “if you weren’t so ungrateful, perhaps we’d actually want to help you.”

She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow as she flicks through primetime channels. “Do you know how hard it is to take care of a child that isn’t even ours? We had plans, (Y/N). You ruined them. We should’ve sent you to a foster home.”

You’d scrub the floors until your fingers ached, only for her to find some invisible speck of dirt and make you do it all over again. You remember how they’d lock the fridge at night, how they’d turn off the hot water before you could shower, how they always reminded you that you don’t belong there.

And your uncle’s attention would only come in the form of disappointment. “The chores aren’t done? Didn’t we feed you last night? Maybe you need to start earning your keep before you start demanding so much.”

But the chores were always done—just not in his wife’s eyes. Demanding so much? The only thing they give you is a roof over your head—and even that comes with strings attached.

You never forget.

And now you truly don’t belong in this house, so let’s see if they recognize you.

Your lips curl into something between a grin and a snarl in preparation as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“(Y/N?)” Your uncle gasps as he rounds the entryway.

You can only imagine what he’s seeing. It’s what you saw that first time you looked in a mirror after you woke up. You, but not really you. A version so polished it almost gives off the uncanny valley effect.

You wonder if he noticed your eyes. If they’re unsettling him as much as the dreaded man’s did to you.

“Hi, uncle!” You chirp.

He gulps. “Um. How did you get in? We had the locks changed years ago.”

You inwardly scoff. Of course they did. Surely, the second your 16-year-old self left, they decided that you’ll never be welcome here again. It was probably your aunt’s idea—he’s always been her puppet.

You’re glad you’re seeing him first. That way, you can save the best for last.

“Hm? Aren’t you happy to see me?” You ask, faux confusion dripping from your voice.

Your uncle takes a step back, bumping into the console table behind him. The lamp wobbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are locked onto yours.

Then—her voice.

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

Right on cue.

You hear her heels clicking as she approaches, the sound triggering something deep in your bones. An old instinct, long since buried. But that fear isn’t yours anymore.

She steps into view, arms crossed, annoyance painted across her face. “Oh, it’s you.” Her gaze flicks over your bloodstained clothes, your too-perfect features, your red eyes. She scoffs. “God, you look ridiculous.”

You grin. She has no idea.

Your uncle makes a noise—half gasp, half whimper. She turns to him, irritated. “What is your problem?”

That’s when you strike.

You’re on him in an instant, fingers wrapping around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet kick uselessly.

“You should’ve been nicer to me. I would’ve spared you.” You fake-pout.

A choked gurgle escapes him, cut short when your teeth sink into his flesh.

The first time you were forced to scrub wine stains out of the carpet, you cried. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but the red wouldn’t come out.

Now, you don’t care if the stains never fade.

Your aunt screams.

You drop his lifeless body and turn to her, licking the blood off your lips.

She stumbles back, trembling, clutching the silk of her robe as if it’ll protect her. “What—what are you—”

You mimic her earlier words, tilting your head. “God, you look ridiculous.”

She turns to run. You let her. For just a second.

She barely makes it three steps before you cut her off, slamming the door shut with one hand.

She gasps, spinning around, eyes wide with terror. “Please—”

“Please?” You chuckle. “Please?” You lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You never listened when I pleaded.”

Then, you take what’s yours.

Afterwards, you finally step outside, not caring enough to hide the bodies the way your parents’ killers did.

The night air is cold and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement and something else—something vaguely familiar. You stiffen.

“Newborns. Always so messy.”

The voice is warm, teasing. You turn just as a towering figure steps out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, dimples flashing.

“Hey, little sis.”

Your jaw clenches. “Emmett.”

From behind him, Rosalie emerges, golden hair cascading over her shoulder, arms folded like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her sharp eyes flick to the bodies inside the window, then back to you.

“I see subtlety isn’t your thing,” she remarks dryly.

Your lip curls. “What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Emmett answers. “Carlisle was hoping you’d come back on your own, but…” He gestures vaguely at the crime scene. “Yeah. That wasn’t happening.”

You scoff. “And what, you’re here to convince me? Because I’m not interested.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “You’re barely over a month old, and you’re already acting like you know everything.”

“I know enough,” you snap.

Emmett sighs, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re angry. You think we don’t understand, but we do. We’ve been there.” He gestures between himself and Rosalie. “But this isn’t the way.”

You bark out a laugh. “And what is? Playing house with a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites?”

Emmett doesn’t flinch, but there’s something softer in his gaze now. Something that makes your throat tighten.

“Come back with us,” he says. “Just for a little while. Hear Carlisle out.”

Your eyes flick between them. Rosalie’s expression is unreadable, but Emmett… Emmett is genuine.

You glance back at the house, at the bodies cooling inside.

Then, after a long beat, you sigh. “…Fine.”

You follow the couple as they run to Victoria, your feet taking you faster than a helicopter could have. The ocean breeze whips against your face as you make the leap from the mainland to Vancouver Island, landing on the rocky shore with grace.

Within moments, the Cullen house is in sight, nestled in the trees, glowing softly against the dark night. Emmett and Rosalie lead you inside, not a word spoken, but the tension in the air thick enough to taste. You cross the threshold into a house that doesn’t feel like home but feels oddly familiar all the same.

Carlisle is the first to greet you. He’s calm, even in the face of your obvious disdain. “(Y/N),” he says with a warm tone. “We’re glad you’re here. Let’s sit down, please.”

You look around at the family, noting their stiff postures, their eyes full of… concern. Each couple stands off to a side, watching you, even the dhampir girl with brown eyes with her werewolf—now human—mate, who has long since healed from the tiger shifter attack since the last time you saw him.

Carlisle gestures for you to sit, and you do so reluctantly, crossing your arms. “We need to talk.”

You don’t respond at first, your eyes narrowing as you keep your attention on him. Carlisle continues, his voice steady. “There were questions about you at the hospital. They asked if we had seen you. I told them you had to leave suddenly. Your uncle fell ill, so you went to take care of him.”

You freeze for a second, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips. He did indeed fall.

“Does Dr. Park know?” Not that it matters. It’s not like you’ll be returning to that open buffet of death.

Carlisle nods. “He knows, but he can’t say anything without directly implicating himself. It’s why he just… let us go.”

“Our chief convinced the tigers to make a treaty with the Cullens—with you—to leave them be as long as they no longer turn anybody else or drink from locals,” Jacob, the wolf, speaks up.

Which drags your eyes once more to Renesmee, next to him. There is blood coursing through her veins, and her scent is very sweet. It doesn’t beckon you as strongly as human blood does, but it doesn’t stop you from looking.

Bella follows your eyes, and her head whips toward you instantly, eyes narrowing. “Stay away from her,” she warns, voice low and dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow and lean back in your seat with an exaggerated casualness. “Relax, Bella,” your voice drips with amusement as Renesmee rolls her eyes, her vampiric side giving her enough courage to not be phased by your red gaze. “She smells good like perfume, not like food.”

She’s still tense, growling ever so quietly, but her shoulders relax a bit.

You roll your eyes and turn to Carlisle. “I’m obviously not welcome here. Can I go now?”

He sighs. “You are always welcome here, (Y/N). You’re one of us now—this can be your home. We really needed to make sure that you were safe.”

“Safe?” You echo with an incredulous laugh. “I am safe. You want to weaken me with your animal blood.”

Carlisle’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he waits for you to continue, and you do, your emotions swelling as the words slip out without thought.

“Do you know what my entire life has been about, doctor?” you ask, the last word bleeding with mockery. “It’s been about studying so I could get away from my aunt and uncle, or wondering what happened to my parents—why they were murdered, why I was left behind, and working on how I could be the savior I couldn’t be as a three-year-old. But now? Now I know, and now I can live.”

The room goes silent. The family watches you, each of them processing what you’ve said. You don’t look at them as they exchange glances. You don’t need to. Your mind is already made up.

You stand to leave, but Carlisle doesn’t back down. “I understand you’re angry. But what happened to your family�� it doesn’t have to define who you are now.

“What you call weakness, is actually anything but. It’s the strength to endure, to be able to live publicly. You can learn to temper the cravings, if you would just allow yourself to try—you’d thank yourself for it, in the long run. And you’ll never have to be alone.”

You can feel the anger rising within you again. You’ve heard this speech before. The right way. The safe way. You’re done listening to those words.

“I don’t feel alone,” you growl, eyes locking with Carlisle’s, and your voice comes out cold, controlled. “And don’t treat me like I’m broken, because I’m not. I’m free.”

You’re not sure if you’re convincing them or yourself. If this is true freedom, or if you’re letting yourself into a new cage, one barred by thirst.

The Cullens are silent, watching you carefully, but you don’t let your voice waver. Every single one of your senses is telling you what you want, so no one is going to take that from you.

“Don’t worry.” You turn to them one last time. “For saving me, I’ll respect you enough to not drink from locals.”

You step outside, where the only sound accompanying you is the crunch of leaves and snaps of twigs beneath your feet.

Until another set of footsteps catches up to you, and you groan.

“I know what it’s like.”

You turn around to see the quiet one—Jasper.

“The hunger. It’s like an intrinsic part of you that you can’t outrun. And I didn’t. When I first turned, I couldn’t fathom living without it. Every human scent, every drop of blood, it felt like I was drowning in it… and I enjoyed that drowning.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

He groans, as though remembering his red-eyed days pains him. Whether out of temptation or guilt, though, you can’t tell.

“It wasn’t like I decided to become vegetarian overnight,” he continues. “At first, I kept giving in. I slipped up, again and again. But I needed to learn that I’m now different, and that I can’t spend an eternity surviving instead of living.”

You cross your arms, but it feels like your armor is starting to crack.

“It was about progress. Day by day, it’d get easier. Of course, I had Alice through it all.” He smiles fondly at the ground at the thought of the pixie girl. “She was my anchor.”

You don’t respond right away. You feel your jaw tighten as you scoff inwardly. An anchor. Right. How nice for him. Alice might have been there to hold him steady, but you? Nada. Romance, connection, it all seems so… impossible with your current circumstances. You’ll never have someone like Alice, and you sure as hell won’t let yourself rely on anyone else. Not now.

Jasper watches you closely, sensing your hesitation, but he doesn’t push. He simply waits.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The idea of controlling the thirst, figuring out a whole other way to live this life that still feels so foreign, it’s completely overwhelming.

Jasper gives a quiet, knowing smile. “I can train you, if you want, because I didn’t know if I could, either. But I didn’t let myself give up. And neither should you. Not if you want to be more than just alive.”

For a moment, silence hangs between you, and then, finally, you nod. “Okay. I’ll let you train me. But don’t expect me to be easy to work with.”

His grin widens just slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a newborn.”

A week.

Two weeks into this stupid training.

And it’s not getting any better.

You’ve always tried to be someone who dealt with things head-on, but this… this is something else. The thirst is an ever-present beast, gnawing at your insides, and yet, no matter how hard you try, the animal blood just doesn’t sit right with you.

Jasper’s patience is a constant, though. Every time you fail to control your desire for human blood, he’s there, offering gentle guidance, but it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. And you hate it.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Jasper urges, his voice calm but persistent. “You’ve got this. Just focus on the hunt.”

You growl, fangs flashing as you push through the motion, trying to force yourself to focus on the deer in front of you. But every time you go in for the kill, the blood is just… wrong. The taste is foreign and metallic, the warmth lacking. This hunt isn’t the same.

“I don’t get it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping back from the animal. “Why can’t I just do it my way?”

Jasper sighs. “Because, (Y/N), that way isn’t sustainable. You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake. You will have to live with the guilt for eternity once the newborn frenzy passes.”

You were a doctor.

You’ve been trying, for weeks now, to make the animal blood work, but it’s just not you—not the current you, at least, and to hell with that meek, old version. It’s too bland, too unsatisfying. Like trying to replace a steak with a bowl of cereal.

“This isn’t living.” You shake your head. “This is sacrifice.”

Before Jasper can respond, a smooth voice breaks through the tension.

“What a nice surprise!”

You both turn to see a black-haired girl leaning lazily against a shadowed tree, arms crossed, watching you intently with a smirk playing at her lips. You catch the now-familiar smell of immortality. A vampire with the relaxed air of someone who’s seen a lot and doesn’t care to hide it.

Jasper’s eyes narrow slightly, recognizing her. “Misora.”

“Jasper.” She nods coolly, pushing herself off the tree and taking a few steps forward, her gaze shifting to you. “And who’s this? A new recruit?”

You glare but say nothing.

“Carlisle turned her a couple months ago, and I’m trying to teach her how to hunt animals.” He turns to you. “Misora is a nomad. We traveled with the Mexican coven around the same time, over a century ago.”

“Still not fond of animal blood, huh?” Her smirk widens, voice dripping with casual amusement. “You know,” she continues, her voice low and thoughtful, “forcing yourself to drink from animals is never going to feel right. It’s unnatural. But that doesn’t mean you have to give in to the bloodlust completely. You just need to learn how to control it in moderation.”

Jasper stiffens at her words, but Misora doesn’t seem to care. Her gaze never leaves yours, her confidence only growing as she speaks. “You’ve got that thirst in you. I can see it in your eyes. But the trick is not to drown in it. You can learn to kill subtly. Take what you need, don’t waste. You’d be surprised how much you can get from a little. You’re a predator, after all. You just have to think like one.”

She walks by close enough for her red eyes to shine beneath the afternoon sun, and for her skin to sparkle as brightly as you and Jasper’s.

You look at her, stunned. “You… drink from humans.”

“Of course I do,” she responds with a chuckle. “Why would I waste time hunting animals? Humans are far more interesting. And, let’s face it, they’re a lot more filling.”

Jasper steps between the two of you, his eyes flashing with warning. “I don’t think this is the kind of training (Y/N) needs.”

Misora raises a brow, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve taught her all about controlling her impulses, Jasper. But there’s a world out there beyond your little rules. She needs to learn how to survive in it. You can’t live in a bubble forever.”

She is speaking your language.

“You’ll never feel alive if you’re constantly fighting yourself. Live for what makes you feel whole,” she says with a knowing look.

You feel the pull of her words, and for a moment, you’re caught between the two very different perspectives: the Cullens’ careful, controlled existence and Misora’s unapologetic freedom.

You turn your eyes to Jasper. “Well. I already gave your way a try.”

The girl grins as you walk over to where she stands in the clearing.

“I’m gonna teach her the Nishimura way,” she laughs in Jasper’s direction and drapes a hand over your shoulder as she leaves, and without a second look, you choose to follow.

Your life is too long for you to not explore every option.

Over the span of just a week, the girl helps you adapt to the art of subtleties—of doing what you want, but having the peace of mind that you did not cause a ruckus.

Not that you’d ever felt guilt at your messiness, but you’ll take the Cullens’ word for it that you’ll be hit with more sense after the newborn frenzy passes.

See? You did gain something from the righteousness they spewed.

“So where are you from?” You ask your new mentor.

“Japan.”

“A long way from home, huh?”

She remains quiet for a second, jaw clenched, not turning to you. “There is nothing that makes it a home for me there, anymore. Hasn’t been in over 150 years. It’s why I travel all over, except Japan.”

“How did you turn?”

Misora doesn’t speak right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

“I was sick,” she finally says. “I knew I didn’t have long.”

Something tightens in your frozen chest. “What kind of sick?”

“Didn’t have a name for it, back then, but it was the same thing my father had. My body was weak. My bones ached, my breath was short. Healers tried, but I always knew.” She shrugs. “So I lived as much as I could. Climbed mountains, even when my lungs burned. Ate what I wanted, danced even when I was coughing blood.” She pauses. “I wasn’t afraid. I made my peace with dying. I was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my friends, and if I’d died, I would’ve been with my late father and brother.”

Her smile is all sorrow, but you can do nothing but listen with furrowed brows.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “But I woke up, and I was this.”

You don’t have to ask what this means. The blood-red of her eyes, the effortless grace in her every movement, the unnatural stillness that clings to her. The inescapable weight of eternity.

“I don’t even know who did it,” she admits, voice bitter. “One moment, I was dying, and then… I wasn’t. Instead, I was forced to live long enough to be the one watching everyone I love die.”

You don’t know what to say. You think you should say something, offer some kind of condolence, but what would that even be worth? Misora doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate it anyway.

“I hate this,” she says, her voice raw, but her expression carefully blank. “I hate this immortality. It’s a curse. A joke. But I have to make the most of it, I guess.”

You glance down for a second, before deciding to ask the question you’ve been wondering for a while. “So why do you bother being discrete? Fuck this world and its rules. It’s not like anybody could harm you, anyways.”

“Oh, but there are people who can.”

You frown. The Cullens—Carlisle, especially—always made it sound like it’s morality.

“If we’re that powerful, we should be able to handle it.”

Misora laughs—actually laughs—but it’s sharp-edged. “Tell that to the Volturi.”

“The who?”

“The leeches who think they’re kings,” she says dryly. “They’re the reason we hide. The moment a vampire gets too flashy, too ambitious, too noticeable—” she drags her thumb across her throat. “Gone.”

You tilt your head. “And they’re strong enough to make everyone listen?”

“They have numbers. And power.” Her pale fingers flex at her sides. “There are vampires in their ranks who can do more than just be strong and fast. They can blind you, torture you, there’s even one they call the Mind Stealer, or the Puppeteer—very few people actually knows his name, but he can make you do whatever he wants with a single thought. If he wanted, he could make you kill yourself, and you’d do it with a smile.”

A chill runs down your spine, remembering the moments you behaved quite noticeably. Did Emmett and Rosalie clean up after you?

Misora scoffs. “Cowards, all of them. They hide behind their pretty little powers, thinking they’re gods.” Her lip curls. “Aro, their dear leader, is the worst of them all. Slimy little bastard.”

You smirk at her words. “Not a fan, I take it?”

She laughs, sharp and cold. “Not in the slightest.” There’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “If I was able to, I’d rip those smug assholes apart, just to watch the dust settle.”

So you follow in the cynical, but lively vampire’s footsteps.

In the span of another week, you feel more spirited than you did in the two months before. Hell, in the 22 years before.

Every night, you and Misora scour various cities, blending into the nightlife, finding your prey with ease. Her laughter is infectious, and her confidence bleeds into your own.

Tonight is no different.

You lay your lovely squad of victims near a warehouse deep in the city—somewhere no one should care to notice, but you’ll clean up after yourselves regardless.

Then you indulge.

Your movements are gradually growing more precise, with razor-sharp instincts. You sink your teeth in before the woman can scream, drinking deep, feeling the familiar rush flood your senses. The warm tang of fresh blood coats your tongue, leaving you buzzing with energy and satisfaction.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, chuckling at something Misora’s saying, but the laughter dies in your throat when moonlight casts a silvery glow over the woman crumpled at your feet.

A middle-aged woman. Her face is ashen, eyes wide open, unseeing, accusing. Your hands shake as you take her in. The faded scars along her limbs. The slight dent in her chest where a surgeon once worked to save her life.

Your hands worked to save her life.

The memory crashes into you like the most vicious wave. Around six months ago, your first week as an intern at Victoria General. A late-night car crash. Blood pooling on the gurney.

You’d stabilized her, alongside Dr. Cullen.

And now, you’ve killed her.

Your breath hitches, the remnants of her blood burning like acid in your throat. Memories flood back—the beeping monitors, the tense urgency as you prepped her for surgery, the relief that had filled you when it went well.

Something inside you breaks. Your knees buckle, hitting the cold, hard ground. The weight of your actions crashes over you, suffocating and heavy. This isn’t just a random victim. This is someone whose life you held in your hands—twice.

“(Y/N)?” Misora’s voice is sharp, alarmed. She crouches beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You shove the body away like it burns. Your fingers tangle in your hair, pressing into your scalp, like you can dig into your own skull and tear this moment out.

But you were never able to do that.

“I—I knew her,” you choke out, eyes glued to the lifeless body. “I saved her. I saved her, and now she’s dead because of me.”

You were a doctor. You were supposed to save people. Not this.

The breaths you don’t even need, just taking them in because you need to feel human right now, rattle in your throat. The newborn instincts that have ruled you since your turning are drowned out by something deeper. A guilt so raw it feels like it’s killing you. The heightening of emotions makes your horror so unbearable, it’s sickening.

Misora’s expression shifts, her usual indifference faltering, shifting to worry, as she processes your turmoil. “Shit.”

The world tilts, spinning around you, and all you can see are the faces of the people you’ve drained. Were any of them people you saved, too? Are you undoing all the good you did in your human life?

Misora tugs at your arm, desperation seeping into her voice. “We need to get you out of here.”

You don’t resist as she hauls you to your feet, your body numb as she practically drags you away, leaving the carnage behind.

The night blurs past you.

And suddenly, you’re at the Cullens’ doorstep. The house is quiet, lights dim against the backdrop of the dense woods. Misora pounds on the door, her urgency echoing through the trees.

Esme answers, her eyes widening at the sight of you. Blood on your trembling hands. Red eyes shattered. “What happened?”

“She’s breaking down,” Misora blurts, a rare tremor in her voice. “She needs help, and I’ve never dealt with this before.”

The Cullens are there in an instant, guiding you inside, their faces painted with concern. But your gaze remains fixed on the floor, unable to lift the crushing weight pressing down on your chest.

For two days.

You don’t hunt.

You don’t move.

Carlisle sits with you in quiet understanding. Esme’s soft voice tries to soothe. Jasper subtly tamps down your emotions when they get too overwhelming. But none of it fixes the gaping hole inside you.

You don’t know how to live with this. You can only sit with the haze of guilt and horror hanging over you like a storm cloud.

But then Alice gasps.

Your head snaps up, and find her with her fingers gripping the back of the chair, knuckles like stone. Her golden eyes are distant, unfocused.

She’s the one that can see the future.

“Alice?” Jasper’s voice is low, worried.

Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with dread. “The Volturi. They’re coming.” She turns to you, eyes shaking. “For you.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, everyone’s eyes on Alice as the reality of your actions settles over them. You share a glance with Misora, and it hits you.

You didn’t clean up after yourselves.

Now you’re gonna be the prey.

You brace yourself for the fallout. For Carlisle’s disappointment, for Esme’s soft but inevitable grief. Maybe even for Bella to suggest running and get her own little family away from everything, or for Rosalie to outwardly scoff that this isn’t her problem.

But Carlisle steps forward, his expression calm, steady. Decisive.

“Then we prepare.”

You blink. “What?”

His voice is firm, without hesitation. “We stand with you.”

Your chest tightens.

Esme nods, her warm, unyielding presence wrapping around you like a shield. “You’re family now,” she says softly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And family doesn’t abandon each other.”

Alice finally blinks, the vision fading, and when she refocuses, there’s something sharp in her gaze. “They’re not here yet. We have time.”

Jasper crosses his arms, his posture shifting into something subtly protective. “Not much, though.”

Emmett grins, cracking his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. Let them come.”

Rosalie exhales sharply through her nose, but there’s no venom in it. “You’re a reckless idiot,” she mutters, but then, after a long pause— “And if you die, it’ll reflect badly on us.”

The words are sharp, but the meaning underneath them is clear.

She’s in.

A lump forms in your throat. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their loyalty. Not after what you’ve done.

But they’re giving it to you anyway.

“I’m staying too.”

You snap your head toward Misora.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed, but her usual smirk is gone. There’s no amusement in her eyes, no mischief. Only something cold. Determined.

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I messed up right there with you. Do you think I’d let you die alone?” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You’re annoying as hell, but you’re my friend, now. And besides, the Cullens are gonna need someone on their side who actually knows how to fight dirty.“

Jasper arches a brow but doesn’t argue.

Night shifts to dawn. Saturday shifts to Thursday, and the air isn’t any less thick with anticipation.

A suffocating stillness settles over the clearing outside the Cullens’ house. As the sun starts to rise, your skins begin to glimmer, a show of beauty despite being braced for a fight. With bodies coiled like springs, golden, crimson, and even two pairs of brown eyes lock onto the shadowy figures emerging from the trees.

A group of five. No fanfare, no grand entrance—just the soft rustling of their cloaks as they step forward, but the air of authority that radiates from them is unmistakable.

“Why is it always your family, Carlisle?” A blonde girl, barely a teenager, starts.

“Lovely to see you again, Jane.” He responds with a curt smile at her.

There’s a guy who’s identical to her, another guy who’s insanely tall. But it’s the fourth one that steals your breath away.

The moment you see him, something in you stops.

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Of course, all vampires have an unnatural allure, but him? It’s something else entirely. Sharp jawline, full, rosy lips, hair as dark as the midnight sky. His presence is quiet, effortless, but every movement is precise, lethal in a way that doesn’t need to be flaunted. And his eyes—deep crimson, glinting like polished rubies beneath his hood—fix on you, unreadable.

Jewels. Not the bloodstains that are your eyes, that are the eyes of the vampire from your childhood, but rubies.

You should be afraid. You are afraid.

But a part of you can’t look away.

Until Misora gasps. A choked, disbelieving noise.

She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, something breaking across her face.

Edward stiffens beside you, his eyes flicking between them as he reads her thoughts. “Riki is your brother?” He murmurs.

Your gaze snaps to Edward, then back to Misora.

Misora, whose lips part soundlessly, whose expression is stuck somewhere between recognition and denial.

“Riki?” she echoes, like the name is foreign in her own mouth.

You whip back to her, confusion knotting in your chest. “I thought you told me your brother was dead.”

Her hands clench at her sides, voice barely above a heartbroken whisper, “My brother is dead.”

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

For the first time since Riki became the Volturi’s most valuable weapon, he is distracted.

He doesn’t get distracted. It’s not possible. His gift demands complete control. His mind is a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable, locked into his duty like an ironclad machine. He does not waver. He does not hesitate.

And yet.

When his eyes land on her, something fractures.

She is standing among the Cullens, body tensed. She’s afraid, but she’s hiding behind the bravado of a newborn. But all he can see is her eyes. They aren’t golden like the rest of the coven. But it’s not just the color that pulls him in—it’s the weight behind them, the quiet storm she carries in her gaze.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

A foolish thought. A human thought. One that shouldn’t exist in his mind.

But it lingers.

Then, he sees the other pair of red eyes—a stranger vampire who didn’t stand with the Cullens 18 years ago.

At first, he doesn’t register who she is. Because this girl—no, this woman—is not Misora. Misora was fifteen. Misora was still human, still soft around the edges, still warm. This person standing before him is none of those things. She is tall, fully grown, her limbs no longer awkward with adolescence but poised, sharp. She does not have a heartbeat.

And yet—

He knows.

Knows in the way an older brother knows his little sister, no matter how many centuries, how much distance has warped them apart.

For the first time in decades, something cold and dangerous slides under Riki’s ribs. An emotion he was never supposed to feel again.

What have they done to you?

Jane is saying something. Bringing up all of the newborn’s victims.

Riki isn’t hearing her.

The words slip past him, distant and irrelevant. Even the steady presence of the guard beside him is background noise.

His focus is fixed entirely on his baby sister, except she’s not.

He takes a step forward, the movement small but purposeful. The Cullens tense. The girl with the beautifully scarred eyes watches him with something unreadable in her expression, but he barely registers it.

He does the only thing he knows how to do.

“Step forward.”

The words are soft. Deceptively calm.

Misora flinches.

And something inside Riki wrenches.

The command had been soft—barely more than a breath—but the moment the words leave his lips, he sees the exact second she realizes what’s happening.

She knows.

She knows what he’s doing. Who he is. What he is.

A flicker of resistance shudders through her, instinctive and useless. His grip is too strong. His gift—so carefully honed, so ruthlessly wielded—is absolute.

And still, she fights.

Misora has always been stubborn.

Even now, as her body jerks forward against her will, her jaw locks tight, her eyes burning with defiance. The others react immediately—a low growl from the golden-haired one, a blur of movement—protection, Riki realizes, they’re protecting her—but before anyone can intervene, Misora lifts a hand. Wait.

Riki swallows against something thick in his throat.

He tightens his hold, his gift slithering into her nervous system like an iron vice, seizing control of her vocal cords, pressing against her prefrontal cortex. His voice, when he speaks, is measured. “What is your name?”

Misora’s jaw locks.

But against her own will, against every ounce of resistance in her body, the truth gets wrung from her throat. “Misora Nishimura.”

The sound of her voice, of the name he hasn’t heard in centuries, his name, hits him like a stake to the heart.

“This isn’t the newborn we were sent to kill,” Demetri leans in to whisper, “this is her accomplice.”

But Riki knows, and he doesn’t care. Not anymore. He holds up a hand to silence the guard—his peer in title, but Demetri knows which one of them is truly in charge.

“When and by whom were you turned?” He forces his expression to remain neutral.

Her teeth clench. She’s fighting so hard.

Something curdles in his chest. This is the girl that used to play fight with him, when he’d come home from a long, painful day with the Yakuza. She didn’t fight against him. She’d tug on the sleeves of his kimono, demanding his attention.

“1832. I don’t know who turned me, I was sick.” A tremor runs through her limbs. Her eyes burn with fury, with desperation, with something pleading.

And for the first time in 200 years, his hands start to shake.

And he lets her go, taking a second to steady himself.

He turns to the other girl—the one who isn’t his sister, the one he should’ve questioned first. The one who, for a split second, had stolen his breath before the rest of the world fell away.

But now, he hesitates.

It’s a minuscule thing, barely a fraction of a second, but in his line of work, in his particular skillset, a fraction of a second is an eternity. It’s the difference between absolute dominance and doubt. Between control and chaos.

“You’re working with her?” He asks Misora, voice quieter than before, almost contemplative.

He shouldn’t have asked. He should’ve commanded. He should’ve taken the answer like he always does, forced his will into her bones the way he’s done with so many others.

But he doesn’t.

And Misora—now free, her limbs shaking, her breathing ragged—fixes him with a glare that’s both razor-sharp and filled with something wounded, something raw.

And then she scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound. “Eat shit, Riki Volturi. Or should I say Mind Stealer? Or Puppeteer?”

The name lands like a strike of lightning, coming from her mouth.

Not Nishimura. Volturi.

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t let himself react. Doesn’t let himself acknowledge the way it burns. But she’s staring at him like he’s nothing, like he’s a stranger, like he’s already long gone.

He remains silent as he sorts his mind for what to do. A side of him that has long been dormant is now resurrected, and he doesn’t know what to sacrifice.

“You hesitated.”

The other girl with red eyes.

The girl with eyes like his. Maybe his eyes are even as broken as hers, right now.

One whose voice sounds like music to his ears.

Carlisle and Esme try to tug her backwards, but she’s already caught his attention.

A scoff from the guard behind him. “Hesitated?” the vampire sneers, like the very idea is laughable. “The Mind Stealer doesn’t hesitate. Don’t delude yourself, newborn.”

Riki doesn’t react.

Alec takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with malice. “She’s wasting our time. They’re wasting our time. Kill the two girls and be done with it.”

Kill them?

Anyone but her.

Misora stiffens beside (Y/N). The Cullens brace themselves, prepared to strike.

And Riki exhales his first breath in two centuries.

Slowly, deliberately.

“No.”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Like the Earth has stopped rotating.

“What?”

Riki doesn’t look at Alec. He doesn’t need to. His focus is elsewhere.

He takes a step forward. Towards Misora. Towards her.

The Cullens shift instantly, poised for defense, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s barely taken another step, when he’s met with white-hot agony.

The force of it is instant, an explosion of suffering detonating inside his skull. He crumbles to his knees before he can stop himself, hands clawing at the cold ground.

A curse tears from his lips.

Jane. He doesn’t have to see her to know. He can feel her amusement, her punishment from here.

“You dare defy an order?” Her voice is sweet. Delighted. “How strange. Have we gotten soft, Mind Stealer?”

Another wave of pain. It burns. He grits his teeth, locks his jaw, and endures.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears something. Murmuring. The Cullens. Something fast.

Then the pain stops.

It’s not gradual. It doesn’t fade. It just… ceases.

Riki gasps, shuddering. He blinks up at the sky, disoriented, reeling, and realizes he’s standing.

Not collapsed. Not writhing.

Standing.

He turns, dazed, and then he sees it.

The translucent shimmer of a shield encasing him.

Bella Cullen’s eyes are locked on him, jaw set, hands clenched at her sides. And the shield he found his way around 19 years ago is protecting him.

The murmurs behind him are hushed, but Riki hears everything.

“This shouldn’t be possible.” Felix’s voice is low, urgent. “Chelsea’s gift, she’s supposed to bind us. Our loyalty. Our devotion.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Demetri exhales sharply. “She does. But her ties don’t work when opposed by true love.”

True love.

There was a time when he would’ve mocked such things—love, feelings as a whole, even—after spending a century with the Volturi, and forgetting how to feel them, to begin with. He would’ve thought they were a liability.

But Misora is not a liability. She is his sister. And he truly loves her.

The realization settles into him like fire in his veins. Steady. Absolute. And love—true, unbreakable love—frees him.

So he does what would’ve once been unthinkable.

In a flash, he turns faster than any vampire could expect.

His power surges outward, deadly and precise. He seizes two minds at once—Jane and Alec, the Volturi’s twin nightmares, their most precious weapons besides him.

Their limbs jerk violently against their own will. Jane’s eyes widen in shock, and Alec lets out a strangled sound of protest.

Let them scream. He isn’t focusing on their vocal cords, right now.

They reach for one another.

Gasps ring out, but he doesn’t stop to relish in the astonishment. Jane’s shriek is cut short as her own hands grasp Alec’s throat. Alec’s arms move like a puppet’s, seizing her head in turn.

With their own hands, they rip each other’s heads off.

Silence.

Horrified, disbelieving silence.

The twin blades are reduced to nothing but limp, severed bodies.

The Cullens stare. The newborn stares. Misora stares.

Even Felix and Demetri are frozen. The two guards—once his comrades, witnesses of centuries of executions—stagger backward, fear flashing through their crimson eyes.

And then they run.

They don’t fight. They don’t look back.

They flee, blurring into the trees, retreating to Volterra. To Aro, Caius, and Marcus. To report the unthinkable.

Riki doesn’t stop them. His hands are still shaking, but he doesn’t care to.

Because for the first time in centuries—

He is free.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Ok tbf I really could’ve cut this into two chapters and I do think we have lost the plot slightly BUT DO YOU SEE THE VISION

Comment if you’d like to be tagged on the next one (where the romance starts) :)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Finale

@angelengene3011 @wrldhypen @opheliaas-stuff

#Spotify #enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #ni ki x reader #nishimura riki #riki x reader #vampire au #riki x you #twilight #twilight au #enhypen fanfiction #enha #enha x reader #enha imagines #ni ki angst #ni ki imagines #riki imagines

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altcvnningham · 3 months ago

Text

picture frame {request}

adler x f!reader (pregnant!reader)

request: for anon, who asked for pregnant!reader x adler who does nottt wanna get on reader's bad side!!

tags: fluff, pregnant!reader, reader is ex-cia, domestic, so domestic it's practically an au, adler is ooc but let him be happy, future girldad!adler, author is feeling christmassy so christmas mention wc: 1.3k

a/n: i'm not usually a fan of pregnancy fics or fluff without underlying angst but i enjoyed this one, it was so comforting to write!! i hope i did this justice!! adler is a bit ooc but i don't wanna succumb poor reader to deadbeat dadler, so this is like post-bo6. also had to bind my hands to make sure i didn’t veer off writing an honorary uncle woods segment….. that man already has a whole david mason to worry about never mind miss adler junior. anyway enjoy !!

There isn’t a thing Adler fears in this world, but if he had to choose whose bad side he’d rather avoid getting on, it’s yours.

And that being said, it’s a fear coupled with excitement that verges on delirium- the ex clandestine special officer had never thought himself fit for married life, given his failed attempt in the past, and had all but given up on the faraway white picket-fence dream long ago.

There existed an Adler once, Russ, soft-faced and scarless, who’d dedicated such a dream to a snippet he’d spied once in a magazine; some schlocky, oversaturated Home Style issue perched upon a grocery store counter, featuring a staged photograph of an all-American nuclear family on some Christmas morning by the tree. Husband kicked back in a recliner with a cigar and eggnog, pregnant-bellied wife tinkering with baubles on the tree, two bright-eyed girls at her feet in matching pyjamas tearing into red-ribboned gifts. So sweet and saccharine a picture it verged on tooth-rotting.

A man of twenty or so at the time, already welded to the army fatigues he donned like a second skin, he’d rolled his eyes, checked out his pack of cigarettes, and went on his way. But he’d never forgotten the picture, or the bittersweet sadness lodged in his chest beside it. Perhaps partly knowing that such a life could never be his, fictitious and just out of reach. Were he a different man- a better man- maybe he’d wake up one morning to a pretty wife sleeping beside him, kids giggling down the hall, his hands soft and bloodless. Were he a better man, maybe he’d deserve such a thing.

And Adler is not a better man. Certainly no more than he was the day he’d seen that picture, and even then he doesn’t reckon he was wholly good. So God knows what he’d done to deserve this.

“No, no, a little to the left,” you say as you gesture with a rolled up interior design magazine, lips pursed in a sigh. A hand caressing your belly, crumpling your agitated, paint-flecked face, you’d been working on the nursery for hours.

Adler won’t admit how his aged back strains when he holds the picture frame up to the wall, nor can he hide the amused smile that starts to unfold when he catches wind of your ire. Balancing effortlessly atop the stepladder, he throws you a look back over his shoulder.

“Any more to the left and it’ll be goin’ out the window. You’re asking me to move mountains here.”

“And I’ll be asking you to move out if you don’t get that picture straight,” you tease, half a smile. “I’m not telling our daughter that she can’t know what gramma and pop looked like ‘cause you couldn’t hang a picture frame.”

Adler raises a hand in a surrender as he blithely succumbs to your demands, moving the frame leftward and fastening it exactly as you’d asked. He knows not to provoke your anger, a little pricklier now in your last few months of pregnancy, and though it’s all in good fun he could almost swear he’d near lose his head last week when he’d made a joke about your odd cravings, your empty coffee cup primed and ready to be launched at him.

But he’s as loving as any man with a blackened heart like him could possibly be, doting on you to a degree of obsession that was nigh unimaginable; both of you a world removed from your respective lives within the CIA, a far cry from having to dig out the odd bullet from one another and patch each other up in the midst of gunfights, sheltering for cover behind old splintered buildings. Domestic life wasn’t exactly a warzone, but it had been hard to settle into a vague sense of normalcy, almost like adopting new identities entirely. A prospect he’d joked about, now he was no longer officially CIA, changing your names to Mr. and Mrs. John Doe. Yeah, you’d groused, good luck hiding anywhere with that scar.

Still, it was fair game when he chose to get on your bad side. You’d once laughed, pelting him with your oven mitt after he’d thought it wise to joke about your cooking- your fault for getting caught in the crossfire.

“There,” he groans as he descends from the stepladder, shuffling back next to you so he could glimpse the frame from your perspective. “How’s that please you?”

It was a lovely thing. Not just the picture frame now hanging perfectly above the undecorated cot, but everything. This, your quaint home in the suburbs, away from the noise, playing your little game of house. Between the odd intel request from Woods, who’d jokingly insist he’d trade your help deciphering transcripts for him hosting the next Fourth of July cookout in your backyard, it was, relatively, a normal life. One that in truth you never thought you’d live to see.

It’s the little things, you suppose. Like the picture frame above the cot, in the little pale blue and pink nursery, half-complete.

You caress an idle hand over your tummy, feeling Russell’s own waver on the small of your back. Admiring your shared handiwork, you tilt your head with a smile.

“Mm. Perfect. Looks nice with the walls- wouldn’t have picked it for a girl but I think the duck-egg blue is just right.”

If Adler had resisted the urge to snidely tease just to get under your skin, he’d sorely lost. And if hours of sifting mindlessly through paint swatches had taught him anything, it’s that you took the choice of particular hues deathly seriously. He smirks.

“Oh? I thought it was periwinkle.”

There’s a deafening beat of silence before Adler flings his arms up in defence, warding off your attacks as you smack at him with the rolled up magazine; no amount of time out of the CIA had made your right hook any weaker, and you’re relentless with your barrage of attacks, met only by sounds of feigned agony and raspy laughter.

He doesn’t much remember what that picture in that old Home Style magazine had looked like, as his life slowly assumed the shape of you. He had everything he needed right here, and wanted for very little else. Wasn’t exactly choice to be excommunicated from the CIA after the mess in Panama, but he’s happy working for himself, for Marshall, teaming back up with Woods for the occasional op, only now he has an excuse to actually watch his own six, knowing who and what he had waiting at home for him. Home. A foreign word. It almost frightens him, to think how simple and easy a life he’s got between all the blood and the mess, how undeserving he feels of even a lick of it.

But a month or so later, come Christmas morning, he gets struck with the strangest frisson of déjà vu. Over a glass of eggnog, helping you fix the tinsel that had fallen from the tree again, he looks at you and he sees it. Feels it, some nameless void in him suddenly filled. A blink in the back of his mind and he sees that faded magazine article, only it’s you, rosy-cheeked and smiling as you are now, tinsel tumbling from your hands as you rush wobbling to his side. You let out a frantic gasp, seizing his wrist, and pull his hand to press against your belly, insisting that you feel a kick. And all he can do is laugh, teasing with a dry smile.

“Look at that. Just as strong n’ mean as her mama.”

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velvetures · 1 year ago

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COD AU: Intro

AN: I love this. I have so many thoughts in my head. So many it’s killing me inside. Please enable me. God I hope at least one of you likes this enough to talk to me about it. To hc, to literally just share my words with. And yes…. There is a very heavy Ghost/romance element… but I’m totally not against picturing the other options ahaha.

So I’ve been thinking….

An AU where everyone needs to lay low for a while. Maybe they’re all compromised and someone with enough power and money shows interest to take out the 141 forever. And Laswell, being the problem solver that she is, suggests a safe house of someone close to her. Someone who can be trusted. Not just to provide somewhere physically safe, but also keep a close eye on the team while they’re -somewhat- forcibly being cut off from the world.

So the team are flighted into the middle of god-knows-where in the mountains. A tiny little town -if you can call it that- and they meet their contact.

Not only a girl… but civilian.

She refers to Laswell as Aunt Kate and the Captain and Uncle John. Sweet as can be, and so damn helpful that it’s almost infuriating. Especially to Ghost. She hasn’t seen a single thing about them other than what Laswell has offered, and really appears like she couldn’t care less about opening her house up to them. A house just big enough to fit all four men.

Ghost isn’t sure about the whole thing. It feels wrong being holed up in the deep holler of an Appalachian mountain with a girl not twenty-five. Like some kind of fucked-up movie he wasn’t aware of being cast for. It’s all too strange walking inside her house and seeing photos on the walls, a massive rack of cast iron skillets and pots hanging above her kitchen island, and the way she looks at Price so fondly.

Uncle John…

Something about it rubs him wrong. There’s got to be history there… at least enough for her to feel the right to call Price that. But he’s never heard of her before. And this kind of arrangement isn’t one to taken lightly. There are people hunting the 141… A threat so well documented that they couldn’t even just turn a blind eye and wait for the smoke to clear.

The sweet thing doesn’t notice Ghost’s apprehension.

But she does recognize Price’s excitement in seeing her, as well as his slight disappointment that she’d offered to do this. She’s too good to get involved in matters of war, and he’s honestly surprised that Kate let you. But then again, there could only be so much disappointment he could find in seeing his goddaughter. And funnily enough, there’s a sense of relief he has in seeing how well she’s done for herself since he saw her last.

Intelligent, scarily so. But not in an overt way. He can see it in the way she collects rainwater for watering the little garden out back, and the pistol safe tucked under her bed with a thumbprint scanner. He notices the small town she’d bought her home in, and the relatively tight community. Maybe a little old-fashioned… but it’s good in case something goes wrong. And right now, it’s paying off.

Unbelievably welcoming too… but Kate and John always knew there’d come a day when she’d get a chance to ‘mother’ someone. And now she’d have four men to do exactly that for. Even from day one, she’s already made trips to the store, rearranged her whole home, and bought god-knows-what in anticipation for their arrival.

What’s each of your favorite food, I’ll make lists so I never run out of dinner ideas.

Any preferences on how I should come and go around my the house? I don’t want to startle anyone.

Did you need anything you didn’t bring? If I can’t get it in town or online I’ll text Aunt Kate and have her get it…

She’s nearly frantic to get them settled, and everyone reacts in a muted tone of shock save for Price. He’s well-aware thanks to Kate about how excited she is… something about wanting to prove herself. And Jesus if it doesn’t make Price feel a bittersweet burn in his chest as he introduces her to the others. Seeing her wide eyes examining all of them without the slightest hesitation. Memorizing names and faces, and shaking massive, gloved, hands without missing a beat.

She’s got Soap wrapped around her finger on instant. Maybe it’s a big-brother feeling. One like Price holds for her. Since she’s younger than him -unlike his own sisters- there’s something of a chance to be one for a while. Soap almost instantly takes to her Appalachian lilt and bright smile. They’re both too sweet for their own good at times… and Price can tell right away there won’t be a knife sharp enough to cut the two of them apart after this.

Gaz is quietly polite is a way only he can be. Meticulously trying to stay out of her way as she flutters about. Wanting to help her out, but also downright flustered when she demands she be the one to carry their bags to their rooms. It’s a clear sign he’s not used to it… A woman being this damn sweet and intent on ‘helping’ a man. But he takes it in stride. Learning how to help without stepping on her decidedly ‘southern comfort’ style of catering to them. And god if Price doesn’t have to chew the tip of his cigar when she gets on his ass about something. The poor sod looks like a kicked puppy… and he’s certain she’ll end up training him with due time.

Christ above. If Ghost isn’t the most difficult bastard to deal with initially.

He’s much more sour than typical. Lurking in corners, and unable to settle down anywhere for more than an hour. He looks caged in by the comfortable couch and throw blankets. Swallowed by her pleasantly creaky porch swing and sun-couch on the wraparound. Not even her well-used garage housing an old Fold flatbed makes a good refuge for Ghost. She’s all encompassing in a way he can’t come to terms with easily.

Price sees her trying the hardest with him.

The way her voice lowers when addressing him. How she makes a conscious effort to tiptoe around the house after 10pm because that’s when he shuts himself inside his bedroom… She doesn’t exactly know he never sleeps. Dinners are often served close to the time he finally realizes he’s got to come back inside the house… and without fail, she can be found sitting near him.

Not friendly by any means.

But more like a girl who’s found an old bait-dog at the pound and can’t leave well-enough alone. Sitting with her back it to and tossing treats over her shoulder. Hoping silently that the old, scarred, dog will come around. Damn near predatory in a sweet kind of way. Price can tell she means well. She can see the same thing everyone else on the team can… and she’s just going about it her way.

She’s good like that. Maybe a little too good.

But John can’t deny he enjoys seeing it. All of it really. The way she dotes on them individually. Consistently. Hell, she even does their laundry and bought separate baskets to keep things neat and tidy. The fridges -yes… multiple- all are set with their preferences in drinks, and she’s scarily observant when things need replaced. Toothpaste… shoelaces… socks… there’s no missing anything. Brands and sizes don’t seem to be a problem either, to some shock and mortification.

Uncle John, what’s Soap mean when he says he misses Irn-Bru?

His quick and unconcerned explanation goes without another notice… until he sees Johnny taking a long drink from a bottle of it while sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch watching some hummingbirds fight over richly dyed sugar water.

John’s often preoccupied with worrying about the plans of those head-hunting them and what Kate’s doing behind the scenes in the meantime. But it’s clear there’s nothing concerning his goddaughter but whether or not they’re all fed, warm, and comfortable in her house…

Whether Ghost likes it or not.

Comments are so heavily appreciated on this… I want to make this more of what I talk about & I can’t keep it all on a notebook under my bed.

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cod-dump · 1 year ago

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Just had a teen!141 Au thought after reading all your stuff on teen!simon and married couple Nil and Price

I was a bit confused at first but then realized this was all before Gaz showed up

then I thought… well okay how would Gaz feel about how close Nil Price and Simon are- they got him specifically a puppy. They just invited Farah to stay (for all the right reasons ) - is his lonely?? Is he middle child???

I can picture in my brain like either Gaz confiding in Price (let’s face it price is the easiest dad to talk to) or maybe Laswell??? Like him going to her and being like

Gaz: Nik got him a dog and now with Farah.. I don’t know. I feel -

Laswell: *mom smile and like holds his hand with a squeeze* left out. You love Simon, you love Farah but.. what about you?

…just a thought

Kyle is the baby of the family, fifteen years old. Simon is sixteen going on seventeen and Farah is eighteen. Simon and Farah were good friends before Kyle was adopted, afterwards Farah ended up moving away.

Simon and Kyle are close. They tease and taunt each other, but they’re brothers, they’re best friends. Before Kyle made friends with Johnny or Hong-Jin he was practically attached at Simon’s hip. They were inseparable before Kyle got more comfortable and was able to do things without Simon.

Simon was the one wanting a dog, begging for one. Kyle didn’t exactly want one but who doesn’t lose it over a puppy? Simon is the one who will be cleaning up after Riley and paying for his needs and training him. Kyle gets to be the fun uncle and gets to play with a puppy whenever he wants. Kyle was the one who suggested what breed to get because he knows Simon the best (given he didn’t think the puppy would show up so soon after he made the suggestion).

Kyle did feel jealousy, worried when Farah moved in because she and Simon were so close. It felt like her arrival meant he would be pushed to the side and forgotten. He wasn’t. Farah quickly became his big sister and Simon never left him out of anything they did.

He’s the baby, Price frets over him constantly. Nik takes him out to do things with him, some of things may or may not give Price a heart attack by a mere mention. Simon is closer with Price and Nik, they helped him overcome some serious trauma and they’re both constantly worrying about him. But they don’t look over Kyle. Kyle has his own issues and is still being helped through that.

Kyle has his life outside of his family. He has friends, a boyfriend, he’s the cute nerd guy at school. He’s Simon’s baby brother, Price’s baby boy, Nik’s apprentice in mayhem, Alex K. Laswell’s dashing boyfriend, the sane best friend of Johnny MacTavish and Kim Hong-Jin. He’s very happy with his life. He feels lonely some nights, but his brother all but kicking in his door to freak out over something that happened in his TV show makes that go away.

#i could write something involving gaz feeling lonely #play in with him being literally abandoned before he was taken in by price #oooo the potential #i am using this post to mainly clarify that farah is older than simon and gaz #call of duty #modern warfare #teen!ghost au #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #farah karim #john price #cod nikolai #kate laswell #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #drabble

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romanology · 2 months ago

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which of these jegulus fics would you like me to begin writing? and/or which one is the most interesting

it turns out I can't make another poll. idk how to feel about that. anyway, well, I'll just write them down then, heehee.

also, I didn't add Winston Morgue because that one is already being written & people like it so... here is The Duality of man as well as A Shutter in the Shuddering as some morbid replacements.

LONG GREY LINE Regulus Black is a retired Lt. Col. in the army. He's blind and impossible to get along with due to his bitter nature. Draco Malfoy is at school and is looking forward to going to college. To help pay for a trip home for Christmas, he agrees to look after Regulus over Thanksgiving, as Regulus is Draco's uncle (sort of) after all, and they had never met. Draco's mother says this will be easy money, but she didn't reckon on Regulus spending his Thanksgiving in New York. [ movie reenactment - Regulus is Draco's Uncle - James comes in at the end :( though ]

CONTRA MUNDUM It's a bit of an issue when you're a month away from proposing to your girlfriend and suddenly develop a debilitating crush on the publisher of your book. [ publisher Regulus / author James - Awkward moments - Coworkers to Friends to MORE MAYBE??? ]

ANGELES' ANGEL When filming a biopic in LA, the star of the movie James Potter is playing the part of model Regulus, and upon realising he has no idea how to play Regulus, they both go for dinner to learn more about each other. For work, of course. [ famous actor James / famous model Regulus - Coffee Shop AU but it's so luxurious you can't help but hate them for it - Secret Relationship ]

SETTLE DOWN & EAT YOUR PANCAKES After getting into a car crash James finds himself unable to remember anything but his name, and, distressingly, he can't recognise his husband right in front of him. As Regulus helps the naive James, the latter begins to fall in love all over again with the love of his life. [ 50 First Dates AU - Memory loss/Amnesia - Falling in love again ]

A SHUTTER IN THE SHUDDERING When James Potter, a famous Ghost Photographer visits the so-called haunted house "Shuddering", he doesn't expect to see the face of a beautiful yet very clearly dead boy in the mirror behind him. [ nonbeliever photographer James Potter x Picture-Of-Dorian-Gray-Esque muse Regulus Black - modern gothic literature ]

DUALITY OF MAN The Bloodletter Murderer is still on the loose, and James Potter, a resident private investigator, is on the case. When the Malfoy Family is viciously murdered and Come Find Me, Jamesy is written in their blood, James decides enough is enough and brings backup on this increasingly disturbing case. Soon enough, Regulus Black, a nationally celebrated forensic scientist, is beside James while they examine the bodies of his relatives. Of course, the one thing that James doesn't know about his dear friend Regulus is that the man has a secret hobby of calligraphy. Only, the ink always seems to be in blood. [ Murder mystery except we know who the killer is - Hero / Villain ]

KISS THE CHEF Regulus is the loud and proud owner of a Michelin-star restaurant by the name of Au Bon Vivant. It's been in his family for generations, and after his eldest brother held no interest in taking it over, the reigns were given to Regulus instead. But the boy quickly found out what exactly was supplying his family with so much money over the years. [ chef Regulus Black / mafia boss James Potter - restaurant AU x mafia AU ]

MY CLOSEST YET FURTHEST FRIEND Regulus has always thought the Sun to be his only friend. Always a warm hand on his face while he goes about doing his daily duties, that is who the Sun is to him. He wants to meet the Sun, wants to meet the beauty that is that glowing brightness. Desperately, Regulus Black constructs wings to see his best friend. A pity that wax melts when too close to a fire. It turned out the Sun was James Potter, and he was so beautiful, so lovely, that it burned. [ mythology retelling - Regulus is Icarus and James is Apollo/The Sun - Sirius is Daedalus ]

A SPECTRE IS YOUR "MORTAL SOUL" There isn't enough room in this town for the both of them. When Vampire Regulus Black, posing as a Sheriff, saunters into the town of bandits looking for new prey, he doesn't realise his archenemy James Potter, a renowned Vampire Hunter, as well as actual Sheriff, is running the town. [ Western AU - Vampire / Vampire Hunter ]

IN THE CLOUDS, YOU LIVE STILL As the Wizarding War continues to surge on for far longer than anybody expected, the Death Eaters, now the losing side, lost their General, Regulus Black. Regulus, now captured and wondering if he is going to be tortured to death by some lackey, is met with horror to see James Potter, his old friend, assigned to Regulus' case without any knowledge of what, exactly, James has to do to the man he cared so much about. [ Friends to Enemies to Friends-Lovers? Forbidden Love AU ]

WRITTEN IN THE SUN (& THE STARS) After being professional (and exceeding famous) Quidditch stars, Regulus Black and James Potter finally retired after nearly fifteen years of playing. Now in their thirties, they're asked to co-teach a high-level Quidditch class in Castlebruxo. The one problem? They absolutely detest each other. [ Past-athletic rivals to friends to lovers -- Everybody Lives AU ]

#would've been a poll but #it seems i can't make any #probs because i already have one up #anyhow #jegulus #marauders era #james potter #starchaser #regulus black #fanfiction #sunchaser #sunseeker #sunkisser #regulus x james #james x regulus

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bbeeohazardd · 5 months ago

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krita crashed two times while i was working on this and i'm still annoyed about it

n e ways ghost au! i recently remembered @pistachi0art 's Ghost Au and decided to draw what my HLVRAI oc Stein would look like in that au because i thought it'd be fun!

basic story stuff under cut bc it got too long and i like less crowded organization lol

basic story beats were that he was living with his uncle Edward Nikita(not pictured) due to his uncle living in a place that gave him more job opportunities than where his parents lived, but then he ended up digging a bit too deep into strange happenings involving his uncle and his uncle ended up killing him(unclear exactly how it happened but electrocution was involved hence his whole appearance) and dumping his body somewhere in the woods to avoid any unwanted eyes on him

now Stein just kinda mainly resides in an abandoned power plant, but he also hangs out with Benrey sometimes, which is how he ends up meeting Gordon and Joshua, that first meeting is him freaking out about Joshua being in his building because holy shit this place is SO not structurally sound and children are SO squishy oh my god???? why did you bring him here???? but after that things are chill, also he's somehow related to Bubby, probably a relative on his mom's side? unclear! but that's a thing(actual Stein lore is so complicated and i've barely shared any of it i'm so sorry)

but yeah, other than all of that he just generally hangs out, he's SO chill if you ignore the all consuming rage

#also OOUGH Pistachio's Gordon design hi Gordon for the love of god hello #stein #ghost au #hlvrai au #hlvrai oc #art #my art

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 4 months ago

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The Bloody Trio (Headcanons about main characters)

AU Reverse Therapy

Author's Note: In this post I decided to tell how I came up with the characters and some facts about them.

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21, @pluvio-tea

Character: Malina

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: was kidnapped saved when she was 23

Height: 5,74 (175)

Description: dark brown eyes, dark shoulder length brown hair with bangs, olive skin.

Distinguishing features: none.

References: I love the Yellowjackets series and Lottie Matthews is my favorite character. This is exactly how I imagined Malina. One day I just rewatched one episode and thought that Malina definetly has the same Bambi eyes. + the actress also starred in Mad Max (an amazing series of films). It is not surprising that this is the image that appeared in my head.

Name: name Malina is a female name of Greek origin meaning "raspberry". By the way in some slavic names a word "malina" literally can be translated as a "raspberry". But this name is also a short version of a hebew name Magdalena (which means “tower”, “soothing” and also “raspberry”). I chose this name because Luka thought it sounded sweet and innocent. The girl is loved by the Space Marines, but it's a very dark, obsessive and unhealthy love. They gave her the name as if she were a pet. The heroine has a real name, but it was not mentioned because the girl had to get used to her new home. And for that, she had to become Malina.

Facts about character:

The girl grew up on the agri-world of Astarte in the Segmentum Obscurus sector. The planet was home to about 300,000 people. Most agri-worlds are polluted places, the sky is orange, and people are forced to work in gas masks. But most does not mean all. On Astarte, the sky is blue, and the atmosphere is not polluted. The planet's main export is fruits and berries.

During the Thirteenth Black Crusade, the Maelstrom merged with the Great Rift and the Red Corsairs have now been sighted further from their home than ever before (from Lexicanum). It was for this reason that the Red Corsairs attacked Astarte.

In fact, her uncle did not find a copy of the book about the Sister of Battle and the Imperial soldier. He was the one who wrote it for his beloved niece. It was the original, there were no copies. He always had heretical thoughts, so it is not surprising why he joined the Chaosites. He believes that his entire family perished under the rubble of the building.

Malina wears rather simple clothes, although made of good quality fabric (the space marines bring her new clothes from looting). Long skirts, shirts, and sometimes dresses of a simple cut, but with cute patterns (she doesn't know that sparkles are literally gold). And of course, she constantly throws a shawl over her shoulders. Malina generally likes to bury herself in a blanket up to her head or hide in Luka's or Virgil's shoulder.

Even after she has finally come to terms with her situation, she still reads religious books. Luke and Virgil very rarely, but still sometimes allow Saint Ignatius to come "to visit" so that Malina can pray with him. This lasts for 15 minutes at most, but that is enough for the girl. However, now she cannot say for sure whether she really believes in God-Emperor or prays because it calms her down like lullabies in childhood.

As her uncle used to say, the girl is very resourceful. She has a rather mediocre education. But considering that many inhabitants of the Imperium do not have it, she stands out significantly. She can read and likes it (especially fairy tales and romance novels). Malina has a sense of humor. And the fact that she jokes with a serious, and sometimes innocent, face makes it even funnier and cute (at least in the eyes of Luka and Virgil).

Malina loves Luka and Virgil. She forced herself to become attached to them, receiving a bit of tenderness from the Space Marines. Besides, it was better than being outside the quarters. She began to behave more freely with them, jokes and sometimes climbs up to the men for hugs. But even so, Malina is still afraid of them, because she understands that they are kind only to her. And other mortals suffer from meeting them.

Character: Luka The Angel

*Collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: around 30-35

Height: 6,98 (213)

Description: blue eyes, beeline honey hair, pale skin, snub nose.

Distinguishing features: has a one scar on the left eyebrow and freckles on the cheeks and nose.

Wears standard Lamenters armour, with the symbol of Chaos Undivided painted on his belt and the symbol of the Red Corsairs on his right shoulder pad.

References: I think Luka's appearance and personality appeared in my head thanks to the art of Natalia Kikicheva. Blood Angel (in the centre), and two lamenters. And I'm also sure that I was also impressed by Varial by @kit-williams and Theo by @pluvio-tea. And Luka's image was slightly influenced by such a character as Raleigh Becket from Pacific Rim.

Name: The name Luka is thought to mean “bringer of light” or “man of light”. The name Luka is derived from the Latin word “lux”, which means “light”. The same name had Luke the Evangelist. Malina sees Luka as her savior while her planet is being torn apart by heretics. He was supposed to be a beacon of hope for humanity as the Lamenter, but he ended up being a traitor.

Facts about character:

Luka had a loving family and always wanted to be a hero. He was one of the most promising Lamenters. Just 2 years after becoming a Space Marine, his first mission became his last as a Loyalist. On one of the death worlds, his small squad was abandoned by the Lamenters as they were considered dead. Due to the extreme conditions, Luka literally ate his comrades. Some of them were still alive.

Luckily for him, the Red Corsairs were passing by. Bacchus didn't even have to persuade Luka, as he said he would go with them when they met (the worst part is that he was smiling at the time, finishing off his brother's head). At first, he lived with three other Space Marines, but later ate them. Bacchus considered them trash, so he didn't care much about it. After that, Luka was handed over to Vergil, who was supposed to be the Lamenter's mentor.

Luka considers Virgil his best friend. He is much easier to talk to and he doesn't even want to eat him. The Lamenter is obviously one of Bacchus' favorites due to his obedience and incredible combat skills (and he was only a neophyte recently). Therefore, he is forgiven for a lot. In particular, because of his character. Even Eurydice can't stay angry with him for long.

One of the few Space Marines who did not change his armor. He only added a couple of insignia to distinguish him from a loyalist. However, it is warriors like him who are the best strategy for boarding. Since the Imperials who see loyalist traitors are immediately confused.

Luka suffers from cannibalistic desires. Lamenters do not suffer from the Black Rage as much as other sons of Sanguinius. However, after the death world, Luka constantly suffers from bloodlust. But it is because of this that his "failure" (if this is not an Imperial myth) disappeared and he became more successful. After he met Malina, he began to suffer from Blood Thirst even more and ate more and more mortals (he also started to eat children which makes him really sad). But thanks to such a sacrifice to the Chaos Gods, he will never be able to harm the girl and she will live with him forever.

Luka sacrifices and performs rituals to the Chaos Gods like all Red Corsairs out of necessity. He does not despise Chaos Undivided, he simply does not care.

Before, Luka was much kinder for a heretic. He constantly saved children and dragged them to the ship. Although his previous neighbors eventually abused the children, which upset him very much (that is why he eventually ate them). And also after the reverse therapy, he began to "court" girls. Or rather, kidnap them. But all his attempts turned into failures. 5 girls died by "accident" (fucked to death, drank too much blood, another space marine killed), but he tortured 3 himself because they behaved badly.

After he found Malina, he did not care about all the mortal girls. He is literally obsessed with her and worships her, which has never happened with any other mortal. Because of this, he has become even more deadly and effective on the battlefield. Now Luka himself leads the warriors to boarding and commands the squad. Luka is extremely emotional and behaves almost like a child. He can be very nice to some people. But at the same time, he is also cruel to others. Luka is unstable and extremely dangerous chaosite. And this is coupled with his angelic appearance.

NSFW Facts:

Luka always wants to see Malina's face. To watch her face twist, her eyes water. To see how she finally starts to quietly make sounds from unprecedented sensations. Not seeing her face is taboo. And he also likes her small breasts. He thinks they look charming.

That's why most often, when it comes to bed, it's the missionary position. Or she sits on his lap, resting on his chest. He just adores how she clings to him. As if he is the only person who will protect her. As if HE is her God-Emperor.

He gets an erection EVERY time Malina calls him "Angel". This is Luka's favorite nickname. But he also loves to hear Malina praise him. That he saved her, how noble and handsome he is. How she gently touches his shoulders, cheekbones and cheeks. Looks into his eyes.

And if this happens during sex, it is harder for Luka to restrain himself. The Lamenter would also like to say something to her, but he is too delighted and obsessed with her at such moments. Therefore, he only moans and growls like an animal. His pupils dilate, and drool flows from his mouth. And the whole process is really rough. The girl is always terribly scared and Luka later has to apologize to her for a long time and wipe away her tears.

But after sex, he hugs her and kisses her entire face, saying how lucky he is. How wonderful and gentle she is. How he will take care of her. Always. That he will kill for her. He is ready to drown everything in blood just to get her a beautiful dress or feed her with berries in chocolate. And yes, if he said so, then he would do it.

Character: Virgil

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: more than 650 years

Height: 7,44 (227)

Description: red eyes, bald, grey almost white skin, white eyebrows, shark-like claw teeth, long black tongue.

Distinguishing features: Has several scars on the face. The largest ones locates along the nose. And the second one on the lip to the cheek on the left side of the face.

Has a armor of Red Corsars with the sign of Flesh Tearer on the left shoulder pad. On the belt is a cut piece of human's skin. Has a three stakes with skulls behind the back.

Reference: I think Virgil's appearance came to me spontaneously. I just imagined a typical Chaos Space Marine. But when it comes to his personality or history, I remember this meme. And I think I was also partly inspired by Immortan Joe (more from Furiosa, not Fury Road). If I had thought up Malina and Luka a long time ago, then Virgil’s character and personality were finally formed while I was writing him.

Name: The character was named after the Roman poet Virgil. Or to be more precise, in his image of the guide from Dante's Divine Comedy. Only this Virgil does not embody the human mind. And he is not just a guide in Hell and Purgatory, he literally lives there. And no, in Warhammer our flesh tearer and Chapter Master of the Blood Angels did not meet.

Facts about character:

Virgil had been fighting for the Imperium for quite some time. He was a rank-and-file Flesh Tearer, no different from his brothers. Virgil was not a sociable person, always hiding in the shadows. And in truth, he defended the Imperium as if he was following a manual. He was born an orphan and decided to become a Flesh Tearer in order to become a warrior. He only cared about war.

He did not consider the Black Rage a curse of Sanguinius. More like a gift. Moreover, he suspected that the Red Thirst was a manifestation of Chaos. Virgil always had contempt for mortals. So it is not surprising that at some point he decided to join the heretics. It was a conscious decision after 150 years of service to the Imperium. In his opinion, Chaos could give him more strength and power. And then he met the Red Corsairs.

If Virgil did not stand out in the ranks of the Flesh Tearers, then after serving under the hands of Bacchus, he quickly rose through the ranks. He enjoys power, although he does not seek to take Bacchus's place. He is much happier with his current position.

Although when he was given Luka to look after, he was not at all happy about it. But in the end he got used to the puppy, even finding him funny. But he can't call him a friend, because he never had any friends. For Virgil, Luca will always be a puppy that needs to be looked after, even if he became his leader in an alternate universe. In addition, it was thanks to him that Virgil got Malina.

The Flesh Tearer did not stand on ceremony with girls, simply raping them, and sometimes killing them during the process. But Malina calms him down and Virgil unexpectedly for himself became very attached to her (although, unlike Luka, at the very beginning he saw her as just a pretty face). Now he really does care about her in a genuine way, which is still new to him.

Virgil is constantly angry and almost always irritated. Although, unlike many Space Marines, he behaves more calmly. Therefore, it is very important for him to relax. Because of this, he often uses drugs and constantly goes to apotecary Baphomet for a new injection. Since he no longer tries to control the Blood Thirst, he can now drink blood whenever he wants.

NSFW Facts:

Virgil wants his partners quietly during sex the most. But suddenly, after Malina appeared, he realized that he liked the way she slept.The way her eyelashes flutter, the way her whole face relaxes. The way her lips open just a little. They are so wet with saliva. She is so relaxed. And if he also gets her drunk or uses the right drug (but only a safe one), then her body is more like jelly.

He loves to please her. Virgil thought that the Gods of Chaos gave him such a long tongue to better feel blood and the taste of drugs. Maybe, but now he uses it to devour her pussy. And he is very skilled at it. And if Malina is on her period that day, he can do this for 2-3 rounds. And considering that he forbids Luka to lick Malina, he practically works for two.

He is very slow and careful. Virgil does not want Malina to wake up. And sometimes that is exactly what he wants. After all, Malina is a good girl, she will be quiet. She will try not to make sounds and will even try to fall asleep again. And if she cries quietly, Virgil will get even more excited and will start licking her tears. Because of them, he wants to take care of her.

After Virgil finishes, he looks at the girl for a long time. And is silent. And this process lasts quite a long time, which makes Malina feel uncomfortable. Because it looks very creepy. After that, Virgil lies down on his bed. Very rarely, he kisses the girl on the forehead goodbye.

#oc: luka the angel #oc: vergil #oc: malina #the bloody trio #my ocs

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