#you'd have to have been out and about for the past few centuries

[thedisdainfullysilentvisitor]

It has to be a rule implemented for immortals - assume they've all had sex with either/all genders

Unless they're asexual, ofc

[iamthatonefangirl]

unexpected - nsfw bucky barnes

ngl I like this one🥺🥺 hope you do too. based on this ask

~~~

the second you ended up in Bucky Barnes' bed, he was completely taken aback.

he had been so used to your soft, quiet demeanor...

~~~

you were one of the administrative people that worked on the first floor of the building.

the first time he saw you, he had been on his way out of the building one day while you had been making photocopies. you had to be new, he determined; there was no way he wouldn't have noticed you before.

the more he paid attention to you from afar, the more he became aware of the way your coworkers always seemed to be socializing, but you were happy to put your earbuds in and keep working through your lunch hour.

thus, Bucky learned fairly early on that you were the kind of person that was quiet, kept to themself.

that was kind of ironic given the fact you worked in a building that screamed extravagance, that practically begged for the attention of not only everyone in New York, but everyone in the world.

the irony intrigued him.

he felt drawn to you, given that he was also the quiet, peer-in-from-the-outside type. but he didn't want to keep to himself when it came to you; he wanted to walk up to you, speak to you, and see if you would be willing to come out of your shell for him, too.

even though he hadn't gone out of his way to speak to a woman since... nearly a century ago, he couldn’t deny his attraction to you. even though you seemed shy, you still managed seem so carefree and unbothered. you were who you were, and that was that.

he admired that about you.

he eventually gathered the courage to come talk to you one morning. with a peace offering of coffee, of course.

as he walked into the building, he wondered, what the fuck do I say? why didn't I think this through before?

he ignored the way all your coworkers stared as he walked past their desks and right up to yours.

"hi," he said. "you probably already know who I am, but-"

"Bucky Barnes," you said softly. "of course I know you."

you proceeded to introduce yourself to him before quietly asking, "what brings you to my desk this morning?"

"it'd be wrong of me not to bring the pretty girl a coffee, don't you think?" it was cheesy and he knew it, but the way you smiled made him relax a bit.

and god, that smile of yours was sweet enough to melt his soul.

he asked you about your work, and you admitted you were shocked he might actually be interested in the kind of boring work you do.

"I'm not a hero like you, or anything," you told him with a self-deprecating laugh.

"oh, come on. your job is more important than anything we do," he told you with a genuine smile.

your flustered reaction made his heart warm. it was the same whenever he gave small compliments like that: you'd just smile, unsure of what to say, and look down as you redirected the conversation, smile still intact.

after a few weeks of watching you get flustered whenever he would compliment your intelligence, your smile, or anything really, he finally asked if you'd join him for dinner.

~~~

the fact that Bucky fucking Barnes of all people was asking you out threw you for a loop.

any time he came up to your desk to visit you, it immediately became the highlight of your day. it drew attention from your coworkers that you didn't necessarily want, constantly asking about him and what it was he wanted from you. dealing with them felt worth it, though, because you were the one on the receiving end of his attention.

you honestly had no clue what you were supposed to say to someone as charming and as handsome as him.

you knew what your mind was thinking whenever you saw him. but those nasty thoughts weren't exactly polite, casual conversation topics, now were they?

somehow, you managed to find the right words, and now you were going to have dinner with him.

you didn't know if you'd ever felt this excited or this nervous in your life.

~~~

you should've known he would be the most chivalrous man on the planet, given the time period he'd grown up in.

picking you up, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair for you...

he noticed how it only made you more flustered.

he paid the bill, obviously, and you knew the second he asked you if you wanted to come to his place, you would say yes.

~~~

the best way he could describe what he felt for you was pure adoration. you were so shocked by his polite gestures, it was truly adorable.

even better, you were so easily impressed. he could say anything about his job, and you would swoon, acting as though he'd just told you he'd solved all the world's problems.

he might have bragged a little too much about himself just to see that flustered reaction of yours, but that was neither here nor there.

every smile on your face, every soft laugh, every little stutter of yours made his heart jump in his chest.

he almost felt like he was imposing when he asked if you wanted to come back to his apartment. he didn't want to push you too far, didn't want to make you think that he expected anything from you. he would be totally fine if you just came over for a drink and a chat before he drove you home.

but the second the front door was shut behind you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you, leaning back against the door.

the sudden confidence took him by surprise.

"you wanna?" you whispered, looking down at his lips as you said it.

his mouth went dry as all his blood rushed south.

"yeah, doll. if you wanna," he whispered back.

he was ready to kiss you gentle and slow, take you back to his bed and make soft, sweet love to you that matched your soft, sweet personality.

your fingers found his hair, your grip tight, and you crashed his lips to yours. he about choked at the sudden motion, but no way was he complaining.

he quickly matched your fervor, kissing you back like his life depended on it. his thoughts went out the window as he focused all his desire into the kiss.

you kept pulling him closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to make him wince.

"shit, too much?" you ask, quickly backing off. you'd gotten ahead of yourself, and you were ready to start apologizing like there was no tomorrow.

"fuck, no, not too much. do that again," he orders, melding his mouth with yours once more, pressing his hips against yours more firmly as he pinned you against the door.

he held you there, keeping you in place and relishing in the delicious feeling of you yanking at his hair and digging your nails into the back of his neck. after a few minutes, though, he began to come back to himself.

"come on, you deserve better than a rough fuck up against the door," he tells you, completely out of breath. he's about to speak again when you interrupt him,

"what if I don't want better?" you utter. his eyes dart up to meet your gaze, and he sees the glassy look in your eyes, looking at him like he's a piece of meat. "what if I want you to take me up against the door, give it to me however you want it, sir?"

if his cock wasn't already hard, it was now.

"shit, you're something else, you know that?" he laughs to himself, considering the weight of your words. he should be a better man, should take you to his bed and hold you close while he takes his time with you.

"is that really what you want?" he questions. everything you're saying sounds like an absolutely devilish wet dream, but that's all he can think about: it sounds like a dream.

he can't fathom the idea of taking you like this just because it's what you think he wants.

"we can go slow. you don't have to-"

he can't even finish his sentence before you're interrupting him again.

"do you really want it slow? 'cause with the way your cock jumped when I called you 'sir,' I'm getting the impression you might want to have your way with me right here, right now," you tell him, your gaze roaming over his face from his mouth to his eyes, still kneading his hair as you say it.

he's rendered speechless.

"you want me to beg for it? get on my knees and convince you?" you mutter to him when he doesn't respond. "pretty please, Bucky?"

your words are about to send him into a spiral. he's about ready to grab you, hold you down while he does exactly what you asked him to and just use you for as long as he wants.

"you really want it that way, huh?" he smirks.

"unless that's not what you want," you backtrack, trying to give him an out.

no way in hell is he going to take it.

suddenly, his hands on your hips grip you so much tighter that you gasp at the pinch on your skin. his whole body is against yours, and you can tell he's not holding back anymore, his innate strength pushing you against the door. you couldn't move if you wanted to.

"you say 'stop' at any point, and I will, got it?" he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, feeling his breath on your upper lip as he speaks. you give an eager nod, and a smirk plasters itself on his face.

he looks you up and down, the necklace dangling on your chest, how pretty you look in your sundress, the sandals strapped to your feet.

"I want it off," he hisses, reaching for the fabric at your waist. "strip. now."

you kick off your sandals and he gives you enough room to yank the dress over your head, revealing the lacy set you're wearing underneath. in navy blue. his color adorning your skin only makes him feel that much more possessive, that much more appreciative.

"you wear this for me, baby?" he asks as he runs a flesh finger over the lace of your panties, slipping under the band and pulling before letting it snap back against your skin. it doesn't hurt, but you're so on edge right now that the motion makes you flinch. "answer me."

your hands have found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like your lifeline. "yes, sir," you whisper to him, resting your head back against the door.

"good answer," he smirks once more, before continuing, "take off my belt. hand it to me."

your hands are shaky, but you're nothing short of ecstatic to do whatever he says. you look up to his eyes to find him staring back at you, as though trying to read your thoughts. your thighs clench as you maintain eye contact, pulling at the belt buckle and yanking the leather from its place around his hips.

he notices the way your thighs press together as you push the belt into his hands. he brings his hand up and into your line of vision, twirling his finger in the air to direct you to turn around.

"hands behind your back," he tells you once you're facing the door, pressing your cheek up against it. he doesn't give you a single second to follow through on the order before he's grabbing your wrists and yanking your hands behind your back, proceeding to bind them together tightly with the belt.

"next time you don't listen to me, this goes around your neck, got it?" he asks with a rough yank of the leather on your skin.

you barely contain the whine that falls from your mouth before responding, "yes, sir."

he pauses for a moment, assessing the way he has you pressed up against the door, admiring his handiwork where he’s tied your wrists.

"all good?" he asks you.

"I’m good," you affirm.

next thing you know, he's pulling you away from the door and stepping you back until you feel a soft rug under your feet.

"get on your knees."

you don't hesitate, not failing to recognize the plush of the rug under your knees. you silently thank him for it.

and then he appears in front of you, in all his beautiful glory. from the moment you met him, you imagined this, wondering what it would be like to fall to his feet, to be on your knees for him.

"you follow orders well, babygirl," he taunts, hands running through your hair and gently holding your scalp. he pushes your face up against the rough denim over his bulge.

you might come on the spot.

"never would've known you were such a little slut, you know that?" he says, continuing to hold your face against his clothed dick. "I quite like this side of you."

you finally let out a moan against him, your eyes shutting as you let him handle you.

he yanks on your hair suddenly, tilting your head back up to look at him. he seems to be inspecting you, taking in the sight of you on the floor in front of him. he releases one hand from your hair, moving it to press two vibranium fingers against your mouth. you don't hesitate, quickly parting your lips to let him push them inside.

"thought about putting that pretty little mouth on my cock, but I think you like this better, don't you? letting me fuck your face with my fingers probably makes you even more humiliated, even more wet for me, doesn't it?"

your eyes fall shut once more, nodding and moaning shamelessly around his fingers. your hands struggle against the binds behind your back, and the feeling of arousal pulses through you even harder at the reminder that you're truly at his mercy.

he watches you for a few minutes, thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth as you begin to drool all over yourself, losing yourself more and more with every one of his movements.

"think I'll be nice to you tonight. think I'll fuck you through the bed instead of on the cold, hard floor," he tells you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your chin with his hand coated in your saliva. "what do you say?"

"thank you, sir," you moan out.

"good girl," he tells you, bringing his hands to your arms and helping you to your feet. his hands then dig into the skin at your waist, and you yelp as he tosses you over his shoulder, placing a slap on your ass as he does.

"don't worry, I'm not gonna drop you, pretty girl," he says as he walks, and you think he had to have been reading your mind.

the second you're splayed out on his bed, he's parting your thighs and pulling down the lace of your panties, then pushing a pillow under your hips to put you on perfect display for him.

"look so good for me like this, doll," he groans and begins to shed his own clothes. you watch with glazed eyes as he reveals his beautiful tanned skin, and then-

you're embarrassed by the moan you let out when you see his massive dick.

"don't worry, baby, I'll go slow," he whispers as he leans into your ear, kissing over your neck.

"no," you breathe out, desperation taking over. "just fuck me, Bucky."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispers.

"but you don't know how good it hurts," you say, looking into his eyes. "please, please, I'll tell you if I can't take it. but god, I need it, Bucky. please, sir," you whine out, every last shred of your dignity gone, deliberately laying your soul bare for him.

fuck. he's fucked.

"goddamnit, doll," he tells you as he pushes your legs even further apart, bringing his hips in line with yours. "you really want it? then beg me for it again, or I won't fuck you at all."

you might sob when you hear that. "please, Bucky... wanted this for so long. want you to take what you want from me, please..."

you hear yourself continue a quiet litany of "please" over and over again.

"shit, need a condom," he says, as though he's just thought of it.

"I'm safe," you beg of him, "I need to feel you, Bucky, please..."

and by all means, he can't resist you.

you hear him practically growl, and then he finally presses in.

your noises are animalistic, completely raw and unfiltered at this point. nothing compares to that stretch, you want to tell him, nothing is better than the sting.

he does go slow, still worried about actually hurting you, taking care to watch your face the whole time. you're fucking gorgeous like this, hands bound, sweat dripping down your forehead, begging him to split you open.

"I'm not gonna last, fuck," he breathes into the skin of your neck, barely able to contain himself.

you take a few deep breaths and force the words from your throat, "me neither, it's okay..." the words come out so quiet as you focus on the feeling of him.

he pulls back and forces himself back into you, so fucking tight around him. at this point he's joined in on your cacophony of unabashed moans.

his hands hold your hips in place, letting loose as he fucks you into abandon.

this is exactly what you wanted, you think, as you feel him bury himself in your guts over and over again.

"Bucky, Bucky, I need-"

you don't have to finish your sentence before he's sucking his thumb into his mouth before pressing it to your clit.

"want you to come on my cock, like this, baby. can you do that for me?" he says, his own voice shaky as he loses his own composure.

"yes, sir," you whisper, and then you're bucking your hips up as much as possible to meet his.

you cry out as you come, your whole body having been waiting for this moment, to finally let go at the will of Bucky Barnes.

the view of watching you come for him is more than he can handle, and he's not far behind.

"w-where?" he grits out.

"told you. I'm safe," you whisper to him.

he should be smarter. he should pull out.

he doesn't.

he's letting go only seconds later, the warm feeling filling your stomach as he releases, buried to the hilt inside you.

he barely moves off of you before collapsing into the bed, completely worn.

you both take a minute, catching your breath, before you pipe up.

"my hands, Bucky," you begin, and he quickly sits up to undo the belt bound around your wrists.

you both lay back, and he pulls you in tightly against him, kissing over your forehead.

"I did not see you being the type to like it rough," he admits to you, tracing his fingers over the planes of your face.

you smile a little. "is it even fun if it's not rough?" you tease back.

"don't say that, I might take it as a challenge," he smirks.

"you can prove me wrong in the morning," you offer.

"yeah. in the morning," he confirms, and presses his lips to yours.

you both think the same thing to yourself: it's always the quiet ones.

~~~

masterlist

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[dellieghtful]

[RAFAYEL] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Yay! Finally done with Rafayel's part. I made sure this one would hurt like a bitch because I've been dying to write an angsty fic with him for quite some time and I'm so excited to write the comfort that comes after this! Also~ (again) this wasn't proof-read so, please excuse a few errors here & there.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

→ for all my April fics, you can check out this link instead ;3

📍Character/s: Rafayel Zayne | Sylus

Today was an absolute disaster.

Nothing that went on today went according to how Rafayel had planned it. First, he accidentally broke his one and only favorite brush this morning while looking for it, second: Thomas kept pestering him about the new pieces for the upcoming art gallery this weekend, and third: he ran out of paint. Of all the days he could have ran out of paint, it just had to be today when the dates to showcase all his work are so close.

Not to mention, he's only done 2 pieces because the rest looked like absolute abominations to decorate a wall. For the past week, Rafayel has done nothing but sketch, paint, and repeat to the point where he'd often skip his meals and outright cut-off communication from the world as he tries to focus on the upcoming art gallery. Unknowingly, at the cost of his focus and dedication towards his work, Rafayel just so happened to miss a very important schedule on his calender: Your birthday.

To say you were expecting would be the understatement of the century. You had been looking forward to your very special day for such a long time. Although you and Rafayel have not quite spoken as frequently as you had hoped, you could not help but feel excited to see your boyfriend and his so-called special surprise for your special day. The week prior, Rafayel had been leaving hints for you since the month started about what you'd expect to be seeing for your special day.

Unfortunately, as you awoke from you deep sleep to the sound of your beeping alarm clock and endless string of messages from friends and co-workers alike, you were missing one thing. Specifically, a person.

Huh. Rafayel isn't here? The thought alone made your heart dropped. Since the beginning of your relationship, you and Rafayel had always made a habit to surprise each other by throwing a simple surprise before they wake up. So, seeing your room barren of any sort of decors, colors, and your boyfriend gave your heart a tight squeeze. But, you forced that thought into the back of your head because you also knew that he had a big art gallery coming up this weekend. Being the kind and considerate girlfriend that you are, you tried to focus on the brighter side of thigs.

The day had just started, right? So, it would not hurt your little heart and head to dress up nice and visit your boyfriend. Putting up the brightest smile, you got off from your bed and headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready for the day ahead.

As you finally reached your destination, you could not help but wonder what your boyfriend has been up to lately. Sure, he is a very busy and in-demand artist but was it that difficult to send a message to your inbox for updates? Your mood began to soil as you reached to open the doors and enter his home. Being Rafayel's girlfriend of many years has granted you the perks of easy access to his home, more-so his private studio at the end of the hall.

With a gentle knock on the door, you called out to your boyfriend but was only greeted with silence. You waited for a while, giving an allowance of a few seconds for him to answer the knocks on his door but he never came to open and answer for you. You decided to give it a small push and peak through the already-present gap between door and the frame to see the room in an absolute mess.

As you scrunched your brows together in confusion, you took your time to breathe in a relaxing inhale of air before exhaling and finally pushing your hand against the door to open it wide enough to see your boyfriend standing in front of a painting. But, from the looks of it, he wasn't happy at all and you couldn't help but feel dread that your day would travel fast from bad to worse.

"Rafayel?" You called out from across the room, patiently waiting for a response from your boyfriend. But, it seems as if he was so focused on his piece that he did not even register your words or your presence as you entered the room. Taking in a sigh, you carefully walked towards him as if you were afraid you'd shatter his patience then as you approached him and the painting.

"Rafayel," you called out again, reaching out to tug on his sleeve which caused him to jolt and turn his attention towards you. With wide-eyes, he reached out and cupped your face and stared at you with the most loving gaze. "My love, you're here," he started, his brows scrunched together in confusion.

"I was wondering where my boyfriend would be on such a special day," You half-heartedly joked as you also grabbed a hold of his hand on your cheek and gave it a light squeeze. "I can see you're really busy today."

Despite the comment not holding any offense, Rafayel could not help but scrunch his brows nose and brows in unison. He knows you didn't mean it in an offensive way but something about the way it was phrased irked him a bit. But, he didn't want to think too much about it since you had gone out of your way to come visit him.

"Of course, I'd be busy. Can't have my precious clients waiting out for my one-of-a-kind pieces," Rafayel replied, picking up a brand new paintbrush from one of the palette's nearby and began playing around with the colors on the canvas while the paint hadn't fully dried off yet as he attempts to blend the shades of blue and black against each other.

With his response, you couldn't help but bite your lip and tug on a portion of the hem of your dress in attempt to ease your mind as you were contemplating whether to throw in the big question, or rather, if he could at least remember what day it was today. Taking in a deep breathe and letting out a small sigh, you approached him carefully and wrapped your arms around his torso as you let your head partially bear weight and lean on his back.

With the sudden contact, Rafayel paused for a short moment and turned his head to catch a glimpse of you.

"I just," you started in a small voice, hoping it would be loud enough for him to still hear you. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out today. It's such a beautiful day and it would be a waste to spend the entire day cooped up in the studio. There are plenty of things we can do together, if you'd like." You said, slowly lifting your gaze to meet him eye-to-eye as you gave Rafayel a small smile, quietly hoping he'd get the hint and wishfully thinking that he'd remember your special day today.

But, instead you got the exact opposite.

"I'm just too busy today, can't we just take a rain check?" Rafayel responded, giving your hands a quick squeeze before stepping out of your embrace. "We see each other almost every day, don't you think a little space in-between us would do wonders?"

"Rafayel, I haven't seen you in weeks. You haven't called or even bothered to text me anymore. I don't think what I'm asking for it too much to request from you." You pointed out, finally feeling your anger, disappointment, and heartache roll off your body like a wave. At this point, it wasn't just you who felt the energy negating from your body but also from his.

Rafayel didn't waste a second as he spun around and stared at your figure. "Maybe if you weren't such a nuisance in this life, I would actually have the heart to be bothered to be talking with you. If you're going to act this way, then get out."

"You're being real mature right now, Rafayel." You continued as you tried to hold your ground and face him head on despite knowing your heart's about to break at any given moment.

"Well, I didn't ask or need you to come visit me. Get that through your head and get out. I've already got a lot on my plate". This time, he said a little louder than before. Not bothering to spare a glance, he turned his back and continued to paint and mix colors onto the canvas. That action alone was enough to break the dam in your eyes and feel the waterworks making its way to both of your eyes.

As much as you wanted to scream to fight your way through it, you just did not have the strength in your heart to go through another heartache so instead, you decided to back away slowly before turning your back fully at him.

What was meant to be a sweet reunion between lovers had become such a sour end. Not bothering to put up with this energy, you quicken your pace and leave the studio with a loud bang from the door and quickly run out of his home. But of course, you knew, no matter how far you'd run he wouldn't chase after you because after all you were just a bother in his eyes.

Part 2 Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658 @suhsun4 @sylusbrooch @angiesoftplace @babyx91 @soft-dots

[invincidick]

+18

Varient invinsible x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Dubious consent, Varient invinsible

Varient invincible follows you onto your train ride home.

an alternate universe where your earth's invincible is one the variants

this is my first ever fic... beware.

If you like this lmk i could totally continue it and if its ass PLS LMK

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

Sure, things had been a lot different since the Viltrimites took over earth, but after a few years things sort of went back to normal.

Slowly people rebuilt, got the courage to go back to work, tried to go outside and push back the fear of somehow running into a Viltrimite having a bad day.

You had just gotten off work and headed down to the subway, Your legs ached from standing all day, all you wanted to do was lie at home and relax, you boarded the packed train. As you squeezed in between other passengers, you found a spot against the wall to the left of the train cart. With your headphones in you pulled out your phone to distract yourself from the long, uncomfortable journey back home.

You had just began to get some semblance of relaxation when you heard a string of hushed gasps throughout the train, you glanced up, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary, so you went back to scrolling on your phone.

In the corner of your eye you saw someone pushing past people to your side of the train car. You didn't mind it and just kept scrolling. They continued heading your way until they stopped, directly in front of you.

You glanced in front of you, your heart skipped a beat. A broad muscular chest covered in a black and yellow suit. No you thought to yourself, you squeezed your eyes tight, this isn't happening, this can't be happening. After what felt like a century you finally got the courage to open your eyes again. It wasn't a dream.

For whatever reason you decided to look up, you caught his gaze, a giant smirk plastered on his face.

You never thought you would see him up close again, but it was different this time, this was not the same man who had saved you. After everything he had done there was no way he was the same. He was a killer. That realization made your heart race even faster.

"Miss me babe?" he said snapping you away from your thoughts, you glanced around for help and realized everyone was avoiding looking at the two of you. He placed a firm hand on your jaw and forced you to look at him "Hey, i asked you a question." You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out, your eyes darting back to the other passengers.

"what? they're not gonna save you, you, and everyone else here are completely at my mercy, so i suggest you keep me entertained." The hand around your jaw traced fingers across your pulse, your breath hitched, he really was nothing like the man who saved you years ag.

You needed to say something, anything, "sorry." was all you managed to get out. He laughed "god, you humans are pathetic, but that's what i like about you, it's fun." he said in a cocky tone, his smile never wavering.

Placing his forearm above your head, he leaned in and spoke "you still haven't answered my question." He felt your pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

You felt his breath against your ear and shivered, instinctively your head went to pull away he felt you struggle and tightened his grip. Your arm shot up to grasp his wrist, trying to pull it off of you. "Wow trying to run away already? but the fun was just getting started." Your eyes squeezed shut, he was strong, way too strong, even using every last ounce of strength you had, he didn't even have to try.

His other arm started to move and you thought he had finally got bored of you, when you felt it trace down your side and land on your hip. Your eyes shot open at the touch and your face immediately flushed.

"Huh. Didn't think you'd be that sensitive." He teased. This was getting way too weird, you just weren't used to being manhandled that's it, especially not on a crowded train, and especially not by an attractive, crazy superhero.

There's no way you found him attractive right now.

"No, please" was all you managed to squeak out.

"Really?" he asked sarcastically, his grin getting even wider.

"Even when your body is practically begging for it?" His thumb massaging circles into your hip, dangerously close to the hem of your pants.

Just as a finger started to dip below your waist band the train stopped, and so did he.

The doors next to you opened and you let out a sigh of relief, its finally over. "Welp guess this is our stop." He exclaimed with an innocent smile, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you out.

Once you were off the train he immediately lifted you into his arms ignoring your protests and began to fly you both out of the subway and into the sky. You let out a small cry before hiding your face away in his shoulder and clinging to his neck for dear life, your body pressing hard against his firm chest.

"I Didn't know you liked to move this fast" He said gripping your ass. You squeezed him harder in response, just praying he would enjoy toying with you enough not to drop you.

Once you had finally landed you were completely exhausted from stress, you looked around and realized he had brought you to a giant mansion, his giant mansion. He took over earth for this shit.

"here we are sweetheart" he said as he walked past you towards the door, with nowhere else to go you followed him in. It was pretty trashed all around, empty bottles, takeout lying around, as if somehow had been throwing a nonstop party for the past 2 years.

Before you even realized where exactly you were being led you were in his bedroom with the door shutting behind you

"Seriously, you humans amaze me, one second your begging me to stop and the next you're following me to my room." He said, his voice getting deeper, as he strode towards you like a predator ready to eat its next meal.

"You don't want me to stop."

Grabbing your throat he licked a stripe up the side of your neck and pulled away relishing your bewildered and flushed expression.

"Oh, this is gonna be so much fun"

[canihaveacalmtime]

Vampires like you weren't very preferable in society, to say the least. Humans and vampires have been in a pretty much not so good terms with each other for centuries, after a certain war where vampires lost, the vampires lost their place in society and have to submit to the humans.

So in order for you to survive, after gotten adopted to a human family, you try your best to 'be human' even though it is impossible, or that's what every vampire said.

Your adoptive family loves you as you return their favor by assist everyone in the household with anything that you can do. You know that what you're doing isn't really enough but sooner or later, you'll have to leave as you can not keep up with the act much more longer.

Before that day comes, you try your best to bring others the most happiest times you can. You listen to their stories and feelings, you decorate and make the atmosphere more cozy for them, you bond the siblings together more and make your adoptive parents smile more.

You also make sure that you can part yourself away from them more and more by time so that when you go, they wouldn't take notice.

Well that plan of yours soon failed when your siblings confronted you about your real identity during a late night talk. Your face went pale and time feels like frozen for you, even though your siblings said that it's alright, you were backing away from them and even attempted to jump out of the window to your siblings' horrified.

If your brother didn't held you back in time and knock you out to calm you down, you'd have gotten yourself hurt.

Your family knew you were a vampire after the few first weeks you were adopted. It was kind of obvious because you never really go outside and tend to use wood things and avoid silver. Even though they knew and was very wary of you at first, you're just a child trying to survive, clearly.

You don't hate humans, you never really did, all your life, your only goal was to survive and try to have a good life and not have to worry about being hunt by the vampire hunters or other humans.

They begin truly seeing you as their youngest and taking care of you like you were their own child and sibling. They get really amused whenever you accidentally drop your human act and pretend that they didn't notice anything, they thought that their bond with you is enough to finally tell you the truth but even though they thought that they knew you, they only knew you now, not your past or what you've seen before you were adopted.

Your reaction when they confronted you said it all. You were scared, scared that if they knew, all the torture that the other vampires went through will happen to you too and your inner traumas were born from those fears.

After the thing happened, you were scared for your life, you try to do more escape attempts but they stopped you every time. As you isolated yourself in your room, each time they burst into the room to try and get you out to eat, you refused to even go near them let alone have appetite.

It was only when they decided to use your fears against you to convince you to feed on them for blood and won't have you starve to death, you give in.

You were feeding on your mother's neck and sobbing slightly while she carries you in her arms, comforting you, telling you that it's okay, that they won't hurt you...

...as long as you don't leave them.

[pin-k-ink]

DEAR DIARY… ⋆✦⋆ hisagi shuuhei

synopsis ➸ shuuhei’s never been that defensive about anything—not until your fingers brushed against that journal. he avoided your questions, avoided you, like distance would make you forget. but you didn’t forget, and now he knows curiosity was always going to win.

tags ➸ friends to lovers, strong sexual tension, mutual pining, objectification, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of alcohol, teeny tiny smidge of angst, fingering, mention of masturbation, praise kink, degradation, name-calling, unprotected sex, creampie, desk sex, teasing, orgasm denial, hair-pulling

wc ➸ 10.7k

The rhythmic thud of your sandals echoed down the empty corridor as you made your way towards Hisagi's quarters within the Ninth Division barracks. Despite the late hour, you couldn't quite smother the eager grin tugging at the corners of your mouth in anticipation of your weekly ritual.

Your friendship with the ruggedly handsome lieutenant stretched back centuries to those earliest, scrappiest days when you'd both entered the academy as idealistic youths. Joining the ranks of the Gotei 13 should have driven wedges and rivalries between you - dividing loyalties towards captains, codes, and duties. But against all odds, Hisagi remained your closest confidante and most steadfast companion regardless of divisions or responsibilities.

Which was likely why your secretive tradition of hitting one of the remote hole-in-the-wall sake dens every seventh night felt so sacrosanct - a simple indulgence you guarded with almost zealous reverence. Those dimly lit tavern corners became sanctuaries where the two of you could shed your personas as esteemed lieutenants, trade bawdy jokes and raucous laughter without prying eyes judging. Just two more weathered souls peeling back the facades for a few blessed hours each week before dusting off and rejoining the fray once more.

Your sandals finally slowed to a halt before the unassuming wooden paneling of Hisagi's personal quarters. Rapping out the signature pattern of knuckle-raps that had become your calling card, you fought not to start bouncing on the balls of your feet like an overeager child. It had been far too long since your last rendezvous and the familiar anticipation already sang in your blood like a fine whiskey's burn.

"Open up, slacker!" You hollered without preamble, half-turning to eye the shadows rippling along the corridor behind you. "Unless you're hoping to stand me up for drinks for the second week in a row?"

There was no immediate answer save for the subtlest shifting of floorboards beyond the door's threshold. You arched one brow skyward, senses instantly attuned for any subtle tells of Hisagi's whereabouts. Surely your oldest friend wouldn't attempt anything so brazen as avoiding you on purpose?

Before you could voice any further half-jeering inquiries, the heavy paneling slid aside with an abrupt groan. Hisagi's silhouette filled the dim aperture - features stoic yet clearly rumpled in a way that suggested he'd been unexpectedly roused from slumber.

"You've got a hell of a sense of timing tonight," he muttered by way of greeting, voice still gravelly and thick from restless sleep. You allowed your gaze to unapologetically rake over him with a snort.

"And you look even rougher than usual, tough guy," you fired back without missing a beat. "Didn't anyone ever teach you polite society demands putting on something besides those god-awful pajamas before welcoming company?"

He glanced down at his ratty yukata with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, already seeming to wake and bristle into your familiar back-and-forth with each acerbic volley. "Piss off, you nosy little gnat. Just be grateful I let you in at all instead of keeping this 'polite company' waiting out in the hall all night."

"You always were terrible at bluffing," you quipped, already angling your shoulder past his half-hearted block to barge your way inside with your usual brand of familiarity. "Ten seconds in that viper pit of a barrack's hall and you'd be whipped into a state over worrying about me getting 'ravaged by scoundrels' again, remember?"

Hisagi simply grunted in dry amusement as you beelined straight for his desk - the only section of his otherwise spartan living quarters that showed any semblance of life or disarray beyond the unmade bed. Bottle caps, crumpled parchment and various odds and ends were scattered amongst other jetsam in a clear display of the organized chaos his creative tendencies tended to foster.

Picking your way amidst the clutter, you were already reaching to snatch up one of the more promising sheafs of parchment when Hisagi's larger hand suddenly clamped down over your wrist with surprising force. Your brows shot upward at the abrupt movement and you glanced up to find him regarding you with clear, purposeful intent.

"Don't start rifling through my desk again uninvited," he said in the type of low, grave cadence most soldiers reserved only for discussing kill counts or battlefield triage with fresh recruits. "It's rude as hell, and you aren't a child anymore able to use that excuse of 'curiosity'."

Raising your free hand in a dramatic flourish, you rolled your eyes right back at him in an exaggerated display of nonchalance. "Relax, I'm not about to go messing around with the reports or personnel files I know you're hiding in there somewhere."

Hisagi's grip slackened fractionally but he still maintained the watchful stare, clearly not fully placated. So you opted to double down with that signature mischievous grin you knew drove him particularly nuts whenever displayed.

"It's just impossible to resist getting a sneak-peek at you attempting creative writing again." You let one shoulder rise and fall in a deliberately lackadaisical shrug. "Honestly, am I not allowed to at least cringe over your latest overly sappy sermons you've inflicted on your division already?"

Rather than rising to your playful ribbing, however, Hisagi's expression seemed to tighten incrementally into a strained mask that immediately set your instincts buzzing. Your grin wavered as he slowly withdrew his hand and pivoted back towards the cluttered desk in question - movements heavy and weighted as he seemed to stalk towards one particular drawer along the bottom row.

Only when you glimpsed what specific sheaf of parchment sat upon the distressed wood surface nearest did the first flickers of trepidation truly take root. There, wrapped in leather binding and accompanied by a scattered assortment of well-worn quills, sat a thick journal of some sort. Larger and more cumbersome than any log or typical report manifest you'd witnessed Hisagi toting around in the past.

Something about the innocuous-seeming artifact seemed to catalyze a shift in the very atmosphere as Hisagi carefully palmed its cover and drew it flush against his midsection with slow, deliberate protectiveness. Your gaze tracked the subtle motion with a mounting sense of unease thrilling along your nerves.

"Uh...Hisagi, what's with the stuffy bodyguard routine all of a sudden?" You asked in what you hoped came across as a blasé, unaffected tone. "Pretty sure that sad little journal is about the least scandalous-looking thing on this entire disaster of a desk."

Rather than immediately responding, Hisagi simply turned that inscrutable, heavy-lidded stare onto you once more. You squared your shoulders reflexively beneath the scrutiny's weight, suddenly feeling oddly pinned by the sheer sobriety in his eyes.

When at last he spoke, the words emerged in a low, sonorous rumble laced with subtle tension. "It's personal, that's all. Writing that I'd consider...private."

Your snort rebounded before you could think better of it, instantly cracking the fragile tension like a whip through glass. "Oh come on, don't tell me you're STILL too embarrassed to share any of your poetry with me all these centuries later?"

Before you could properly react or continue poking fun, Hisagi abruptly pivoted and made to slide the thick journal back into its drawer home. You instinctively surged forward, hand darting out to try snatching the tome before he could sequester it away.

"Seriously? After all these years you're still going to keep me in the dark about your little scribbles?" You half-whined, frustration burning at his reticence over something you'd always shared so freely between each other.

Unfortunately, your lunge was a fraction too slow—Hisagi smoothly withdrawing and securing the journal's weight back against his chest in one deft motion. His larger frame eclipsed your comparatively smaller one as you suddenly found yourself trapped against the press of his torso, effectively pinning you in place.

"Enough, brat," he growled down at you, though there was more frustrated affection than true heat behind the gruff words. "This is one aspect of my life I'm not discussing or having you pry into. Period."

You opened your mouth to fire off another retort, only to find the barb shriveling on your tongue as Hisagi's arms came up to bracket you more fully against the unforgiving wooden desk. His piercing slate gaze locked with yours from such intimate proximity—steady and laced with a gravelly undercurrent you couldn't quite parse in that breathless instant.

"I'm serious," Hisagi rumbled, words emerging slightly thicker and deeper than before. "Drop the subject and quit trying to always unravel every single facet about me. Have some respect for boundaries this once, will you?"

Despite the clear note of warning thrumming through his timbre, you were far too distracted by the sudden shift in dynamics to properly process it. Your senses had abruptly kicked into hyperdrive—each inhale painted in exquisite detail as you became hyper-aware of Hisagi's clean, masculine scent enveloping you completely. The maddening warmth radiating from his battle-honed physique where it pressed flush against your ribcage in a solid, unyielding barricade.

You swallowed hard on a reflex you couldn't quite quantify beyond your pulse points suddenly kicking into a steadily mounting gallop against the unforgiving compression of your mutual position. Just as you felt the first flush of heat threatening to creep up the back of your neck in a visible blush, Hisagi seemed to register the same charged undercurrents stewing between your seized breaths.

With a low exhalation, the hard lines of tension gripping his features gradually softened into something more rueful. His palms suddenly rested against the desk's edge on either side of your hips, easing back just enough to restore an infinitesimal ribbon of space between your bodies.

"Look, I...didn't mean to manhandle you quite so roughly there," he muttered, suddenly seeming unable to meet your stare directly. His jaw clenched with clear consternation as one hand raked through the sleep-tousled locks framing his forehead. "Jumped straight to combat mode being territorial over something that has no real business coming between us, did I?"

You exhaled a shaky breath of your own, clawing your way back from the thrall of whatever blazing undercurrents had nearly sparked between you. Managing a jerky shake of your head, you forced a wry smirk to take the sting out of whatever lingering awkwardness remained.

"Since when have you ever stopped yourself from manhandling this annoying pest whenever I started pushing your buttons?" You shot back, going for a breezy tone of normalcy. "I clearly touched a serious nerve bringing up whatever that journal is about. Just say the word and I'll back off, promise."

Hisagi's stare returned to yours - steady and assessing for a prolonged beat. Then finally, some of the residual tension bled from his shoulders, and he offered his own lopsided quirk of amusement in kind.

"What would be the point? We both know you'll just keep poking and prodding no matter what until I finally give you a proper ration of bullshit to shut you up."

You feigned a theatrical gasp of outrage. "Why Shuuhei, I'm deeply wounded you think I have such little restraint and maturity after all these years!"

His answering snort was both eloquent and richly laced with fond sarcasm as you both finally began separating on a mutual unspoken accord. Squaring his shoulders, Hisagi slid the full brunt of his focus towards getting ready for your evening out - hands already smoothing down the sleep-tousled yukata and fishing out his uniform from a nearby chest.

"Yeah, yeah...just give me a few minutes to make myself look decent enough for showing up on your arm in public, at least," he said distractedly, already disrobing without preamble. "Then we can finally get to drowning our respective bullheaded sorrows in far too much mediocre booze like we always do."

You felt your resulting laugh bubbling up from deep in your chest - full-bodied and welcome in the wake of whatever charged frisson had nearly sparked between you. It was a balm against the lingering uncertainties suddenly swirling like smoky eddies thanks to that unexpected exchange. A comforting reminder that no matter how much either of you continued evolving as individuals, your orbit would always intersect and realign on this eternal constant course between kindred souls.

"You know the rules, slacker," you tossed over your shoulder as you turned towards the exit to afford him some modicum of privacy while changing. "First one finished buying the first round has to make sure the other's cup stays filled all evening without complaining!"

Hisagi's derisive snort chased after you halfway down the hallway, already returning to steadier, more familiar ground despite the recent tremors between you.

-

The raucous din of the crowded izakaya enveloped you both like a living force the second you stepped through the entrance. Rambunctious shouts and laughter echoed off the low wooden ceilings, hazy with pipesmoke and the thick, cloying aromas of sizzling meats and fermented spirits.

Within minutes you'd managed to secure one of the more secluded alcove booths tucked against the shadowy rear - as per your longstanding tradition. Obscured from prying eyes by the artful arrangement of hanging scrolls, you two could finally shed the aura of esteemed leadership you'd worn throughout the day.

"Need you to start pouring before I resort to simply upending one of these bottles down my throat," Hisagi groused from across the small table, already shucking off his outer robes to reveal the plain undershirt beneath.

You snorted indelicately, automatically reaching for the nearest ceramic decanter and glasses to begin filling them to the brim. "Believe me, you aren't the only one already pondering simply swimming face-first into the sauce tonight."

Hisagi grunted in acknowledgment, gratefully accepting the overflowing cup and downing nearly half in one protracted pull. Already you could feel the subtle shift beginning - his shoulders gradually rounding out as the rigid tension bled away incrementally with each hit of alcohol.

Matching him pull for steadying pull, you allowed your own persona to slough off layer by grumbling layer until the only aspects remaining were your most unguarded selves. The two of you who had served as dearest confidantes to a raw, unvarnished authenticity never permitted anywhere beyond these four walls.

"I saw the updated patrol schedules today," you offered up after refilling Hisagi's cup for the third time. His brows perked with faint interest. "Looks like division six and eleven are getting paired up for scouting rotations in Rukongai again next quarter."

"Of course they would stick those sorry assholes with the furthest, most miserable reaches imaginable," Hisagi grumbled before taking another steadying draught. Already, you could detect the faintest slur beginning to tinge his consonants. "My money's on Ichiro defecting and trying to overthrow the whole charade within ten days tops."

"Pfft, you're far too kind with those odds," you shot back around a mouthful of sake. "Give me five and I'll put serious funds behind at least three separate attempts on that prick's life before they all finally kill each other off."

The barrage of snarky diatribes and mutual bitching continued flowing without pause - each of you indulging in an escalating cascade of gossip and embellished truths about mutual acquaintances. With each sip and uncomplimentary lambasting shared, the weights of rank and propriety fell further away in tatters.

Before long, you were both thoroughly ensconced in a warm, liquor-soaked bliss of levity and affection reserved solely for the sacred confines of your private ritual. Hisagi's arm slung over the backrest so his knuckles brushed the nape of your neck, calluses skating deliciously along your sensitized skin. Meanwhile, you slumped further and further into his orbit until your flushed sides practically melded into one long line of contact as the night burned on.

By the time you drained yet another bottle and took stock of your increasingly muddled surrounds, the tavern's ambient chaos seemed to have lulled into a soothing murmur. Hisagi leaned back with a contented groan, swiping his wrist across his mouth before bestowing you with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"Made it this far without you peppering me with personal invasions or interrogations," he remarked with a teasing glint in his hooded gaze. "Almost impressed at how well-behaved you've remained tonight, brat."

You mustered up an affected gasp alongside a mock swat at his sculpted bicep that missed by a mile. "The night's still young, ruffian! And I absolutely reserve my rights to harass you with endless chatter until last call if I so desire."

Rather than rise to your playful bait, however, Hisagi simply hummed and let his gaze drift lower - taking in your rumpled state with those piercing smolders that always made something flutter traitorously low in your core. His full lips curved higher in an indulgent smirk as he seemed to lean fractionally nearer across the narrow table's divide.

"Be my guest, pest," he murmured in a voice gone deliciously low and rumbly. The whiskey notes of his warm breath ghosting across your cheek kindled fresh embers along your veins. "Just don't say I failed to warn you when those nosing instincts lead you down paths best left untouched..."

Your pulse immediately kicked up several notches at the subtle shiver of foreboding laced through his words. Squaring your shoulders and mouth setting into a petulant moue, you quickly decided chasing away the heaviness via a more lighthearted approach.

"Sounds like someone's deflecting being called out by pre-emptively playing the cryptic brooding card," you countered with a dramatic roll of your eyes. "Real mature, Hisagi. Almost makes me want to revisit that old journal back at your quarters after all..."

Hisagi's entire demeanor shifted on a dime back into that granite solemnity from earlier - eyes briefly flashing as molten iron flooded their depths. Then, just as swiftly, it seemed to bank down into smoky embers as he slung one heavy forearm across the table's surface and leveraged nearer until you could practically taste his intoxicating, masculine aura.

"You really want to go there?" he growled, voice rendered into something carnal and edged with a sinful promise you couldn't quite trace the origins of. "Want me to confess all the ugly skeletons I've got rattling around in those private scribbles of mine? Because I can tell you right now they involve enough wretched truths that you'd instantly start looking at me differently, pest..."

The raw timbre underpinning each provocative word seemed to lance straight through your rattled defenses and scorch across your insides in tingling licks. You found yourself utterly transfixed - instincts caught in a limbo of fascination and wariness you couldn't properly navigate.

So you did the only thing you could think of in that suspended heartbeat and lurched forward to slap a palm across Hisagi's lap in a defiant feint aimed at redirecting the conversation back on steadier ground.

"Alright, alright! I yield for now on prying into your tortured creative process, slacker," you blustered with affected swagger, punctuating your words with a series of insistent pats against his solid thigh. "But only if you can promise to lighten the hell up and just enjoy the rest of this blessed evening I so painstakingly planned!"

Hisagi stared at you for one heated, loaded beat before his entire frame seemed to slacken incrementally—that familiar leonine aura of shameless charisma bleeding back into place as he reclined with a gravelly chuckle. One broad palm dropped to squeeze your knee in a grounding caress that instantly set your world back onto a more stable axis.

"Fine, but only because your petulant nagging gives me high blood pressure otherwise," he rumbled in a tone dripping pure fond indulgence. "Happy now that you've managed to unravel the surly beast once more, little brat?"

You felt the answering tug of your lips stretching into an unabashed grin. "More than you could possibly handle right now, tough guy. Now how about we call this dive's lazy attendants back over and get a fresh round going? These cups look far too empty for my tastes still..."

"As long as you're the one putting coin towards the next cask," Hisagi shot back, already jostling you with his solid weight in clear needling. "My coin purse is strictly off-limits after the damage you did to my finances last time!"

And just like that, the cadence of casual barbs, banter and deepening camaraderie resumed unchecked as you both settled into the unspoken ritual's familiar rhythms once more. No probing subject unturned, no judgements left unchallenged or dared spoken between souls so bonded that a lifetime could be lived in a single evening's descent.

At least until well past the izakaya's final call and looming trek home, that was...

-

The cool night breeze ghosted across your flushed skin as you finally stumbled out of the stifling izakaya's confines and into the narrow back alleys winding towards your quarters. Hisagi's solid weight bracketed you from behind - one muscular arm looped around your waist to keep you upright while his chest radiated delicious furnace-warmth against your back.

"Easy there, heavy-pour," he rumbled into your hairline, breath stirring the sweaty wisps along your nape. "You're doing a better job keeping your bearings than usual, but let's not get cocky just yet."

You couldn't quite bite back the snort of indignation that bubbled up at his teasing condescension. Craning your head back, you leveled him with as imperious a stare as you could muster through the pleasant sake-haze swimming behind your vision.

"Watch it, smart mouth," you shot back while digging your elbow lightly into his rock-solid abdominals. "Or else someone might think you've got yourself all protective just to get me alone in the dark for other purposes..."

Hisagi's deep, thrumming laughter vibrated through your conjoined frames in a way that somehow set your already over-sensitized nerves alight. "Bold of you to assume I've got any intentions beyond escorting your drunk ass home safely like every other time."

You huffed in feigned indignation, rounding the next dimly lit corner and shaking off his stabilizing support. "Excuses, excuses. Face it Shuuhei — for once your agenda tonight involves walking a pretty, slightly sloshed girl all the way back to her doorstep. Clearly you're gunning for at least a casual fling out of this whole gentlemanly charade!"

Hisagi arched one brow in a show of mock seriousness, hooking his thumbs through his sashes as you both slowed to a halt before your front entrance. You made a dramatic twirl to face him full-on, utterly ignoring the way your head spun slightly with the abrupt pivot.

"Is that so?" he asked in a rumbling baritone gone sinfully lower than before. "And here I thought all the liquid courage sloshing through your veins had just addled your faculties for propriety at last."

You grinned back at him through your sake-flushed haze, utterly unrepentant. "Don't play coy with me tonight, tough guy. I see that heated little glimmer you've been trying so hard to repress every time you think I'm not looking."

Bracing your palms against his solid chest, you leaned up on your tiptoes to bring your faces into intimate proximity deliberately. The crisp clean scent of his shampoo and sword oil shampoo enveloped your senses, kindling fresh tendrils of molten heat low in your core as you drank him in at this range.

"You've had the hots for this hot little body of mine for centuries now," you breathed in a lower, throatier cadence designed to roll directly along his nerves in a sensual caress. "So why not man up and make tonight the one where you finally get a taste?"

A loud clatter from the nearby courtyard punctuated your words, shattering through the thickening undercurrents like physical percussion. You watched with a sense of vertigo intensifying as Hisagi's throat bobbed convulsively on a thick swallow. When his piercing gun-steel regard locked onto yours once more, you felt your breath stall in your lungs.

"Someone's feeling adventurous after tipping back a few too many cups," he growled, though the deep resonance carried none of the usual dismissive edge you'd steeled yourself for. "But even if I were tempted to satisfy those filthy little cravings clouding your hazy mind tonight…what makes you think you could handle the hunger raging inside me?"

Your fingertips skated lower along the ridges and crests of musculature flexing beneath his robed until they skirted the waistband digging into taut obliques. Feeling positively incandescent with bravado, you allowed your thumbs to slip beneath its warm confines in a delicious implication.

"Because maybe I've been hungrily eyeing this big, strapping soldier myself whenever your back was turned," you husked in a whisper meant only for Hisagi's burning ears to consume. "Checking out the absolutely sinful size and shape you've been packing beneath these boring robes all this time..."

Hisagi exhaled a low, shuddering rasp at the bald-faced provocation laced through your words. His strong palms suddenly clamped down on the curves of your hips, utterly halting your teasing exploration southward with bruising insistence.

"Mind where those naughty little fingers start wandering if you can't back up that cocky mouth of yours," he rumbled in a cadence gone guttural and loaded with enough gravelly promise to make your knees wobble dangerously. "This hard-on's been begging to get broken loose and properly used for over an hour now after watching your lips run all evening..."

You felt a tremor rack your limbs as your arousal spiked into dizzying new altitudes. Every breath you sucked down seemed to scorch straight through your lungs - body thrumming like a live wire ready to detonate into blissful detonation at any second.

Somehow you found the wherewithal to tip your chin higher in defiance, determined to meet Hisagi's lascivious challenge head-on rather than buckling beneath its intensity. "If that's your game then ante up, tough guy, because this thirsty little mouth has been starving to—"

The words shriveled and died on your tongue as Hisagi suddenly banded one thick forearm around your lower back and wrenched your bodies fully together into a scorching, unyielding crush. Your core spasmed against the searing bulwark of his arousal pinning you open and utterly claimed, mouth falling open on a shuddering inhale.

"Last chance to walk away before I utterly demolish that self-control you're barely clinging to," Hisagi growled against the fevered pulse at your throat. "Because once I've had my fill of those sweet lips, my conquest won't end until I've buried this cock balls-deep and left you a ruined, sobbing wreck in your wake..."

Any lingering traces of playful, alcohol-fueled bravado threatening to spill over into full-blown reckless abandon rapidly iced over as you watched an unreadable expression shutter over Hisagi's features.

It was as if a switch had been flipped - the electric, magnetic charge rapidly leaching from the atmosphere as he seemed to withdraw within himself. You stood there frozen, lips parted and breath coming in shallow pants from the searing proximity you'd allowed yourselves to drift into.

Then Hisagi recoiled with a muttered curse, putting a careful span of distance between your tangled frames with a none-too-gentle shove against your midsection. The action rang out like a gunshot's concussive force in the static-charged silence. You staggered back a half-step, utterly poleaxed and off-kilter with visceral whiplash from how swiftly the undercurrents had changed.

"Get inside and sleep it off," Hisagi bit out in a low, gruff tone devoid of any previous heated edge or familiarity. His hooded gaze remained carefully averted, almost as if he couldn't quite bring himself to meet your blatantly confused stare head-on anymore.

"But...Shuuhei, what—" you stammered out around the knot of bewilderment clogging your windpipe. "We were just—I mean, I thought you wanted—"

"Yeah well, clearly we let things go too far down a road best not traveled tonight," he cut you off, tone clipped and borderline harsh in its inflectionless finality. "My judgment was skewed earlier is all. I shouldn't have indulged toeing those types of boundaries, however indirectly. Not with you."

The last few words landed with all the weight and blunt impact of gravel clattering against the planks beneath your sandals. Before you could formulate any further queries or reactions beyond sheer stupefied hurt, Hisagi had already turned on his heel and set off down the street at a brisk, ground-eating stride.

"Get some rest," he tossed over his shoulder without glancing back even once. "And don't worry, there's no need to overthink things here. I've got enough control for us both to avoid making the same mistake again any time soon..."

You watched his steadily retreating silhouette until it disappeared around the next corner, numbness settling icy cold in your limbs and gut in equal measure. The night seemed to stretch out before you in an endless, lonely expanse as the solitude rapidly enveloped.

When you finally gathered enough wherewithal to fumble your way back inside and collapse into the sheets, it felt as if much more than physical exhaustion had simply leached straight from your marrow over those last few excruciating moments. Drained and hollow, you let the blackness swallow you down with nary a protest.

-

True to his parting vow, Hisagi remained conspicuously absent in the following days and nights—apparently keeping his distance with rigid, almost obsessive determination.

You tried not to read too deeply into the sting of his intentional avoidance, telling yourself it was likely his way of simply allowing things to smoothe over after your heated encounter at your door. But the more the hurt festered like an open wound picking up subtle toxins, the harder it became to ignore.

Attempts at checking up inevitably went unanswered with increasing finality. Any random paths you crossed only led to Hisagi retreating before you could so much as exchange stilted greetings—that hooded, opaque look from before firmly in place.

Unable to quell the nagging, sour frustration bubbling higher each time he ducked your presence and company so successfully, you finally reached the end of your patience by week's end. Determined for some sort of resolution, you marched directly towards Hisagi's personal quarters with fists clenched and a slew of choice grievances fully prepared on your tongue.

However, when you rounded the final dim hallway bent, you found his door hanging slightly ajar and his alcove suspiciously empty. No sounds or indications of recent activity resonating from within the hollow gloom beyond his empty threshold. Steeling your jaw, you pressed forward and slipped inside his personal sanctum to find it as deserted as you'd initially feared.

Wherever Hisagi was currently avoiding you, it apparently wasn't his own standard haunt within these walls. A spark of petulant ire ignited along your nerves, refusing to be stymied by this latest turn.

You fumed silently as you paced back and forth across Hisagi's cramped personal quarters, trying to decide your next move. The anger burned hotter with each passing minute he remained absent and evasive. Part of you entertained the notion of simply waiting right here until he inevitably returned so you could finally force a confrontation. But an even bigger part itched to take a more proactive approach - to actively hunt him down and corner him so this childish cold shoulder act couldn't continue any longer.

As you whirled towards the exit with renewed determination, your gaze fell upon the leather-bound journal sitting in clear view atop Hisagi's chaotic desk. The same personal, off-limits journal he'd been so adamant about keeping private just the other night. Now it laid open before you as if inviting you to finally unravel its heavily-guarded secrets.

You paused mid-stride, chewing your lower lip as you wrestled with the desire to respect his privacy despite his current bullheaded antics. But the longer you stared at that innocuous-looking tome, the more your curiosity gnawed at your restraint. With a huff of annoyance at Hisagi for putting you in this position, you finally stalked over and snatched up the journal with shaky hands.

The first few entries were utterly mundane - detailing tedious duty rosters, patrol rotations, and other numbing bureaucratic responsibilities you'd have expected to fill its pages. A small part of you relaxed slightly, thinking perhaps you'd get bored enough to simply close the journal and honor Hisagi's boundaries after all.

That is until you flipped a bit further and the subject matter took an abrupt, distinctly personal turn.

Hisagi's usually pristine handwriting became looser, more languid as he described individual moments and small observations in an almost...poetic manner. You furrowed your brow as you read paragraph after paragraph filled with flowery, vivid descriptions and intimate personal anecdotes. And at the very heart of each impassioned entry - you.

Sentence after sentence detailed your most mundane gestures, smallest habits, and casual daily interactions through Hisagi's utterly adoring lens. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners whenever you smiled at him over drinks. How your hair cascaded around your face when the wind caught it just perfectly. The cadence of your laugh and how it always seized his breath straight from his lungs whenever aimed in his direction. He committed it all to the page in loving, almost obsessive detail.

Your cheeks burned hotter and hotter the more you read and the clearer it became about Hisagi's true depth of feeling toward you. These weren't mere observations of a close friend, but the enraptured musings of a man utterly entranced, even worshipful, of your every last detail.

Then you reached a new section of the journal, and the bottom dropped out entirely.

These final pages didn't contain Hisagi's usual eloquent prose and delicate turn-of-phrase. Instead, they read like hastily scrawled admissions straight from the darkest recesses of his mind - utterly unvarnished stream of consciousness poured out in erratic but legible scrawl.

Hisagi didn't bother masking the primal lust and molten-hot hunger that laced these particular entries, all totally and completely focused on you in the most visceral, filthy, and undeniably erotic ways imaginable.

'Don't know how much longer I can keep holding back from simply bending my good friend over and rutting into that sweet cunt like a feral beast until we're both ruined...'

Swallowing hard, you rifled feverishly forward in mounting disbelief - page after page revealing more and more of Hisagi's naked, utterly unrestrained fixation upon you and his uncontrollable need to worship every molecule of your being in the most visceral manner imaginable.

'I dreamed about fucking her again last night, absolutely brutalizing her throat and cunt until she was hollow and hollow and crying on my cock, begging for more. No one's ever driven me to the same level of delirious madness and insatiable hunger...'

'Hid in the shower and stroked myself imagining pinning her against the floor, biting and sucking hickies down her arched throat as I speared into those honeyed depths raw over and over. She'd break and spill everything for me in that state.'

On and on the uncensored depravity continued in a raw, utterly desperate outpouring seemingly ripped from the deepest, most spaces of Hisagi's psyche. Each lurid fantasy and secret desire consummated in blunt, pornographic poetry rendered on the page in excruciating detail without a single boundary left standing.

'Her tongue would be velvet rapture itself - made for worshipping every ridge and vein pulsing across my aching cock with slow, reverent strokes until I'm weeping for mercy...'

'There are nights I wake up already fisting my cock in my pants, furiously chasing the images of reaming that perfect pussy in new sick angles while she bucks like a wild thing beneath me. Always leaves me coming so hard when I imagine stuffing her to bursting with my seed at last...'

You lost track of how many times you choked out a garbled, incredulous sound - both scandalized and increasingly swamped by visceral shudders of arousal the more you consumed Hisagi's utterly perverted, obsessive outpourings about hungering to defile you from every conceivable angle.

By the last few entries, you were outright squirming in your chair while reading - eyes glazing over from the uncensored erotic imagery and sheer delirious heat steaming off the inked admissions:

'Spent nearly an hour having to muffle myself, jerking off just fucking imagining her sweetness soaking my tongue. Stroking over that pretty little cunt while feeding her my load...breaking her with pleasure until she's useless and glassy from orgasms. No idea how much longer I can resist making that my reality.'

'What if I just took her by surprise one day - bent her over a table and mounted her from behind like a dog? There'd be no half-hearted struggles or refusal once she felt my girth spearing into her tight cunt. Just acceptance that I own every sinful inch of her flesh now.'

That final entry seemed to consume your entire consciousness and leave an echoing void in its wake as you unconsciously mouthed the words over and over. Hisagi's eloquence seemed to have fully shattered into a visceral, feral outpouring of debased lust and ravening possession towards the idea of utterly defiling you without mercy.

Only when you hazily glanced up from the pages did you register your own hand frozen with fingers idly caressing and teasing your clothed, swollen sex with unconscious ardor. A strangled whimper finally wrenched free from your parched throat - body suddenly feverish and fevered from the primal, unholy bacchanalia now seared permanently across your psyche.

Sweet merciful heavens, you'd barely even glimpsed the full fever dreams of Hisagi's depravity by forcing his tragic manifesto wide open like this...and already felt utterly stripped down and reshaped from the exposure alone. How the hell were you going to endure in any recognizable form if he ever indulged unleashing those full, starving appetites upon your joined raptures without holding back?

The journal slipped from your trembling hands to clatter loudly against the desk's surface as you slumped in a dazed heap - soaked thighs clenching fitfully while your mind swam in a crimson haze of sin and maddening arousal. Whatever this metamorphosis Hisagi's unchecked obsession had catalyzed within you, there could be no sane way to emerge from the other side unscathed and unbroken.

You hungrily turned the next page, rapidly abandoning all pretext of restraint as the primal allure of Hisagi's darkest, most twisted fantasies continued unraveling before you. Each successive entry seemed even more lurid and depraved than the last - ever graphic scenario and perverse craving splayed out in granular, unapologetic detail.

Part of you recoiled in scandalized disbelief at the sheer extent of the man's utterly depraved fixations upon worshipping your body in the most carnal, unholy manner imaginable. But another part - a deeper, lurking essence you could no longer deny - felt something bright and predatory inside you awakening in rabid answer.

'I need to mark every inch of that pretty skin until she's been utterly remade as my possession. Sucking hickeys and bites down her beautiful throat, those perfect tits getting slapped and manhandled until she sobs for mercy...'

Your breath punched out in ragged pants, greedy gaze consuming each delirious word as explosive heat licked along your sensitized nerve endings. In your electrified state, it almost felt like Hisagi's rich, graveled voice was husking out the erotic sacrilege directly against your pounding pulse rather than on paper before you.

'She'd be so obedient and break for me. After the first few devastatingly deep, punishing thrusts stretching her cunt apart I can picture those gorgeous eye rolling back as I shove inside balls-deep and take what's mine...'

One slick hand strayed beneath your robes without conscious thought, caressing and stoking along your drenched, swollen folds in frantic rhythm with your senses now utterly enthralled by the uncensored depravity spooling out upon the page. A strangled moan punched free from your convulsing chest as you circled your slippery clit, back arching involuntarily against the phantom sensation of being speared wide open by Hisagi's cock just like the depraved text described.

'Should just bend her over and eat that tight pussy out, spread her thighs nice and wide to really work my tongue inside and taste every forbidden inch of—'

The next searing monologue choked off as someone’s large, calloused palm suddenly slammed down atop the tome's binding, making you jolt. You whirled around in your chair - mouth already falling open on a flurry of breathless excuses and apologies for the intrusion you'd committed in invading his privacy so utterly.

The words rapidly calcified on your tongue as you drank in the utter tableau before you. There stood Hisagi himself, midnight hair in disarray and looking utterly winded as if he'd run the entire way back. His powerful, stone-carved features were locked in an inscrutable, unreadable mask.

But his body...God, his body betrayed the extent of what holding himself in check was currently costing the man. Every muscle visibly clenched and ticking with the kind of rapacious energy usually reserved for berserker rages on the battlefield. Sweat glistened along every carved ridge, forearms bulging with strain as Hisagi's hands twitched with the clear effort of not simply seizing and taking what he so ravenously craved right then and there.

When your gazes finally locked and snared, you felt your mouth go utterly dry at the unadulterated molten heat blazing behind Hisagi's piercing stare. There was no judgment or anger present — just a naked, primal intensity burning brighter and hotter than a forge's heart focused solely upon you. The man's veneer of civility was finally cracked to its foundations, you realized with a belated thrill of rapture.

He drank in your disheveled, panting state completely unchecked - slate irises darkening further as he clearly scented the tang of your arousal perfuming the air around where you sat on flagrant display. Just as a flush began creeping up the back of your neck towards your cheeks, Hisagi's gravel-edged growl emerged from somewhere basal and elemental deep within.

"So you finally decided to go snooping through my private shit, huh?" His tone was more heated desire than true anger as he took a step closer, eyes roving over your flushed face and parted lips. "Had to go prying into the sick, twisted things I've been craving to do to that gorgeous body of yours?"

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the smoldering embers burning in his stare. Despite your embarrassment at being caught, you felt no shame - only a delirious longing steadily unfurling within your core at his blatant appraisal.

"I...I couldn't resist after you made it sound so scandalous," you managed, surprising yourself with the husky rasp coating your words. "Wanted to see what had you wound so tight you couldn't even let me get a peek."

Hisagi's nostrils flared slightly, clearly catching the undercurrent of arousal now thickening the air between you both. Rather than rebuke you further, however, his expression melted into something more conflicted and grave.

"So now you know," he murmured, suddenly sounding more subdued as he sank down to kneel before you. One of his rough palms cradled the side of your jaw with surprising tenderness. "Seen all my darkest, sickest desires where you're concerned laid bare for you to recoil in horror."

You automatically leaned into his touch, compelled by the molten sincerity now flickering in his piercing gaze as it roamed your features slowly.

"Does it disgust you?" he asked lowly - words emerging from a deeper well of vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. "Knowing the depths of this depraved obsession I've developed over you? How unhinged I become just from fantasies about wrecking you properly on my cock until you're a ruined, sobbing mess?"

Rather than answer verbally, you surged forward to capture Hisagi's mouth in a searing, messy clash of lips and tongues. He groaned against the sudden onslaught, big palms automatically spanning your waist to haul you flush against his solid bulk as the kiss spiraled into frenzied indulgence.

When you finally tore away, you were both flushed and breathing harshly - foreheads pressed together as you gazed into his slightly dazed eyes.

"Stop being such an idiot," you rasped, draping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your next words emerged in a breathless rush, unable to filter any longer. "I want it, Shuhei. Want you to give me everything described in those filthy pages and then some. Been driving myself crazy thinking about you splitting me open and making me scream your name too."

A shudder rippled through Hisagi's powerful frame at your brazen admission. His large hands roamed over the curves of your body with rough possessiveness as dark wonder crept into his expression.

"God...you really are just as sick a little freak as me, aren't you?" The growl had returned to his voice, but layered with undisguised reverence now as his grip tightened almost painfully.

"Because I really did mean every soaked, perverted word written about the ways I intend to violate and claim this gorgeous body, kitten. Gonna make sure you're utterly reshaped and remade as my personal set of holes to use and ruin over and over..."

You shivered against him, hissing softly through your teeth as arousal spiked electric through your blood in answer to his crude, unrestrained promise.

"Then what are you waiting for?" You ground out breathlessly. "I'm done teasing or hesitating — just take me already, Shuuhei. Make me your personal fucktoy like we both clearly want so badly..."

A low, hungry noise slipped from him as his mouth crashed over yours in a devouring, searing kiss once more. One hand gripped your thigh to haul your leg up and around his waist as the other clutched and kneaded the soft mounds of your ass through your robes shamelessly.

"You're gonna regret giving me that kind of permission, gorgeous," he husked into the kiss with visceral sincerity. "Because I really won't be able to stop myself from breaking that body of yours into the prettiest, strung-out mess imaginable until you're addicted to being my insatiable little cumdump..."

Already, you were whimpering and writhing against the delicious friction of his burgeoning length grinding against your clothed heat through thin layers. Any further protests or hesitation shattered against the raw lust coursing molten-hot through your veins, rendering you utterly incandescent and unhinged for the first time in ages.

Hisagi seemed to be consumed by the same feverish, ravenous energy - all traces of the stoic, reticent man gone as his fingers fumbled at the fastenings of your robes. His movements were hurried and desperate, but his gaze remained fixed on you with single-minded intensity.

"Need you naked and on your back," he growled, voice rough and guttural. "Wanna see that pretty pussy gushing and dripping down my balls the first time I fill you up with my seed."

The command sent a fresh shudder through you, making your fingers dig into the sculpted ridges of his back through his own crumpled garments. With a frustrated grunt, Hisagi tore himself away from the embrace and reached down to untiethe sash knotted around his waist.

You watched, entranced, as the man's powerful muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin with each movement. Even his face was a study in unguarded rapture, completely undone by the lust and desire raging in his veins. The sight had your sex pulsing fitfully in answer, practically salivating over the promise of how his raw physical power would feel pinning you down and overwhelming you in the most primal way imaginable.

Once he'd stripped off his robes and kicked away his sandals, you could see his cock had swollen to a thick, proud arc that strained towards his chiseled abdomen. You swallowed hard, mind flashing back to the vivid fantasies of what his girth would feel like plunging into your needy depths over and over without mercy.

Hisagi's heated gaze flicked to your face, noting the way your eyes had gone glassy and distant with the image still etched across your brain. His cock twitched noticeably at the sight of you drinking him in with such blatant hunger, but his expression remained unflinching. You barely registered him moving before his large, calloused palms were suddenly grasping and hoisting you up from the chair.

Your thighs locked instinctively around his hips as he carried you over to his desk, where the journal still sat wide open in brazen testimony to the debauched act about to occur. A fresh pulse of arousal shuddered through you as you imagined being used and claimed upon the very site of his secret, sinful lusts.

The second he'd laid you out atop the desk, he was descending over you - his weight a thrilling pressure as your bodies melded flush. You couldn't resist arching up into him, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours and the velvet-over-steel sensation of his straining cock pressed flush to your belly.

Hisagi's mouth was already seeking out yours once more, tongue stroking over yours with urgent hunger. Every inch of his powerful body seemed to be vibrating with restraint as he rocked and ground his hips against you - making your toes curl as pleasure crackled through your nerves like wildfire.

"Can't believe how lucky I am," he murmured roughly, punctuating the words with a string of kisses down your jawline. "Finally have the woman I've been aching to worship for so long spread out before me, ready and willing to accept every sick fantasy and depraved desire I've been craving..."

You couldn't help the soft keen that escaped your throat as his words sent a fresh flood of wetness slicking your folds. The sheer primal intensity with which he'd uttered the words had you trembling and aching to be filled already. A fact Hisagi didn't fail to pick up on, given the way his lips twitched with amusement.

"Oh, did you like that?" His deep voice rumbled with dark intent, the edge of his teeth nipping sharply at the juncture of your throat. "My sweet, gorgeous kitten is an absolute whore for dirty talk, huh?"

You gasped as he suddenly sucked hard on the tender skin, his hands busy tugging the final bits of clothing from your form. The sensation of his tongue laving the abused flesh in rough swipes had fresh need coiling tightly in your core, making you writhe and pant beneath him.

"Y-yes, fuck..." You keened, the last syllable pitching into a moan as Hisagi's fingers began stroking along your folds, gathering the wetness pooling at the apex and spreading it liberally. "Please, I...I want your cock inside me so bad, Shuhei..."

He huffed out a soft noise of approval, lifting his head from your throat to capture your mouth in another devouring, dizzying kiss. The entire time, his fingers worked and teased your slick cunt - spreading the gathered honey across the swollen folds and circling the pulsing entrance teasingly.

"What my girl wants, my girl gets," he growled against your lips, the gravel-edge to his tone sending another shiver of delight through you. "Because no one can take care of this gorgeous little pussy like I can, right?"

With that, he plunged two thick fingers into your depths. A strangled cry punched from your chest at the sensation of being so deliciously stretched and filled after days of deprivation. Your walls clenched and fluttered around the penetration, trying to suck him deeper as your nails bit crescents into his broad shoulders.

Hisagi let out a ragged groan, the sound seeming to come from the bottom of his chest as he felt your slick, molten passage convulsing around his digits. You couldn't hold back the delirious whimpers and moans that poured free as he began fingerfucking your drenched cunt in a punishing rhythm.

"Fuck...you're tighter than I imagined," he husked, pressing a line of rough, heated kisses along the column of your throat. "Can't wait to see how this perfect little cunt squeezes around my cock once I'm balls-deep in those molten depths."

A whimper was the only coherent sound you could manage at the moment, too swept up in the raw ecstasy of being pounded into delirium by his thrusting fingers. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were hurtling towards the precipice of release, the pressure and friction building with each pump.

"G-god, Shuhei, I'm going to come," you keened, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowing as pleasure crested within you. "Feels s-so good...gonna make me come so hard on your fingers—"

Your next words were abruptly choked off as Hisagi's fingers withdrew from your dripping heat with a slick, obscene sound. You whined, opening your eyes and fixing him with a pleading, desperate stare.

"But...but I was so close," you protested, a petulant pout tugging at your lips.

He smirked in response, reaching over to snag the discarded journal. You watched in a daze as he flipped the pages back until he reached the beginning of the entries. He held up the page before you, eyes burning and molten with unbridled hunger.

"You will read the rest of the filthy, perverted thoughts I've written about you," he ordered, the commanding gravel of his tone making a new flood of wetness seep between your thighs. "And you're not allowed to come until you’ve read the rest of the page aloud and I'm balls-deep in that tight cunt of yours."

To ease the strain, Hisagi flipped you onto your belly - the cool, smooth wood a welcome shock against the heat blazing along every inch of your flesh. You arched and moaned softly as his hands slid up the curve of your spine, pausing at the back of your neck to gather the hair falling over your shoulders and tugging it roughly.

"Now start reading," he commanded, the fat tip of his cock slowly nudging its way between your drenched, swollen folds.

You smoothed your fingers over the page, the ink now smeared slightly from the earlier encounter. Despite the lust haze still clouding your senses, you somehow managed to begin reciting the first sentence in a wavering, unsteady voice.

"S-Sometimes I imagine tying her up, gag in her mouth, legs spread wide, just so I can take my time and really learn what each twitch and tremble means. How far I can go before she’s crying, shaking, and begging me to either stop or never stop. I’d choose the latter."

"Mmm...just like that, gorgeous." Hisagi's voice was a low, rasping growl - the vibration of his tone making goosebumps break out across your flesh.

A moan escaped your lips as the blunt tip of his cock pressed into the pulsing, molten entrance to your depths. A fraction more, and he'd finally be sheathed within your cunt — filling the aching void inside with his thick, hot shaft.

You forced your attention back to the page, fighting the urge to grind back against him as you began reciting the next paragraph.

"I should’ve kissed her. Should’ve dragged her into my lap and let her grind on my thigh while I drank the moans straight from her mouth. She was soft and flushed and laughing like sin itself, and I stopped it. Fucking coward. She would’ve let me devour her. I know it. And I went home instead—hard, aching, losing my fucking mind while her taste haunted my lips."

Hisagi's fingers dug into your waist as you read, his breath punching out in harsh pants. His hips snapped forward, driving the full, straining length of his cock into your cunt without warning.

You cried out, head dropping back as the stretch and burn of being speared open made your toes curl. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but the deliciously full sensation of having him sheathed in your molten core soon overwhelmed any pain.

"Fuck...that's it, kitten." He groaned, pulling out a few inches before slamming back inside again. "Took me in so well, didn't you? Look at you, all split open on my cock and leaking all over the place..."

A ragged whimper fell from your lips, the words dissolving into incoherence as he repeated the movement — slowly dragging his thick, pulsing length out to the tip and then driving it home in one harsh thrust. Hisagi set a steady, relentless pace, fucking you onto his shaft in a brutal, claiming rhythm.

You couldn't help the wanton noises and babbling falling freely from your mouth, the sensation of his girth filling and stretching your inner walls to the limit leaving you utterly delirious. Your hips bucked and ground against him, instinctively trying to meet each of his powerful strokes as they drove his shaft into the deepest recesses of your core.

Hisagi's own groans and grunts were equally unrestrained, the grip on your hips bordering on bruising as he hammered his cock into your molten cunt with abandon. Every plunge of his shaft sent a fresh pulse of heat crackling through your nerves, your climax building once more despite the denied release earlier.

"Keep reading, beautiful," he commanded, his voice roughened by lust.

"C-Can't..." You moaned, the rest of the words dying on your tongue as the delicious friction of his shaft plowing your cunt sent you hurtling towards the edge.

Hisagi leaned over, bracing his arms on either side of your torso. The shift in angle allowed him to grind his hips against the curve of your ass, driving the head of his cock directly into the spongy, hypersensitive patch inside. You couldn't bite back the keening wail that escaped, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk and thighs shaking.

"Read," he snarled, punctuating the word with a sharp, punishing slap to your ass.

The sudden spike of pain made you cry out, the sound morphing into a delirious moan as he kept thrusting relentlessly into your clenching, convulsing channel. Somehow, the sensation of his cock spearing you open even further with each pump was enough to pull you back from the edge.

Trembling, you forced yourself to focus once more on the words etched across the page.

"I keep thinking about how her eyes glazed over when we were close, how her breath hitched right before she leaned in. She wanted it. Wanted me. And all I could think about was how good she’d sound if I threw her onto my bed and bred her until she couldn’t speak. I could’ve had her tonight—drunk and sweet and willing. And I walked away."

The sound of Hisagi's panting breaths and the slick, obscene noises of your cunt being split open filled the silence between you. He remained buried in the molten depths, his shaft throbbing and twitching fitfully within. Your own ragged breathing mingled with the lewd sounds, head spinning with the raw sensations flooding through your body.

"Keep reading," he growled again, the gravel-edge to his tone making another fresh wave of wetness slicken your walls.

It took every ounce of willpower to continue, his cock still buried deep in your cunt and stretching you open so perfectly.

"Even now, after all this time, I’d still get on my knees for her. Not just to eat her like a man possessed—though I would, for hours—but to worship. To bury my face between her thighs and show her with every groan, every kiss, just how many years I’ve dreamed of hearing her fall apart on my tongue. She’s not just a fantasy. She’s the only softness I’ve ever craved with this much violence."

As you finished reading the final word, a sob escaped your throat. You were beyond desperate to come now, every muscle and nerve ending screaming with the need to unravel. Hisagi's movements had slowed, but still pumped his shaft into your molten, grasping cunt with a controlled, measured precision.

"Fucking hell, you're such a good girl." He rasped, the hand not clutching your hip reaching forward to stroke the sweat-dampened strands of hair away from your cheek. "Listened and followed my instructions so well for me."

The praise made you whimper, turning to nuzzle the side of your face against his calloused palm. Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feel of his cock filling and stretching you to the limit, but refusing to move.

"I...I did, Shuuhei. So please...please make me come." The last part emerged in a pleading, breathless whine, all shame long since forgotten. "I've been such a good girl and listened to you, so please fuck me properly and make me come."

"God, the mouth on you," he growled, sounding torn between arousal and incredulity. His hips shifted, cock twitching against your walls and making a shudder wrack through your frame. "I'm going to be hearing that filthy little voice of yours in my head on repeat for the rest of eternity."

You couldn't find the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the way the pressure and friction was steadily mounting again. Before you could process the movement, Hisagi had pulled free from your soaked, swollen cunt. A pitiful, whining noise escaped you, hips arching up in instinctive search for his touch.

"H-hey! Why did you—"

Your protest was cut short as he flipped you onto your back once more. Your breath caught at the sight of him, the planes and contours of his body bathed in a wash of moonlight spilling through the window. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his hair was tousled and messy — his usual stoic expression replaced by something raw, unbridled, and feral.

He didn't give you any time to recover, simply hooked both of your legs over his broad shoulders and speared his thick, pulsing length back into the molten, clenching depths of your pussy. Your nails bit into his forearms, the position allowing him to drive into the deepest reaches of your cunt - each pump striking the hypersensitive bundle of nerves inside with pinpoint accuracy.

"Shuuhei, oh god...!"

You couldn't form any coherent thought as he resumed the frantic, claiming rhythm - hips pistoning in and out as his cock plunged into your slick, tight passage over and over. It was as though every other sense had fallen away, leaving only the sensation of his girth filling you up and spreading your walls wide with each plunge.

"That's it, kitten. I wanna hear those pretty noises while I'm fucking this cunt senseless." Hisagi's voice had lowered to a husky rasp, his hands gripping your thighs and holding you open for him as he drove his hips forward relentlessly.

Each thrust had the swollen, straining length of his cock grinding against the slick, dripping entrance to your cunt. You could feel your climax building, the pressure and friction spiraling tighter and tighter with each stroke. The only sound you could manage at this point were high, breathy gasps and moans - utterly incapable of coherent thought.

"Come on, beautiful. Come all over my cock like a good girl."

Hisagi's order seemed to be the trigger. Your vision whited out as pleasure crashed through you, every muscle and nerve-ending seizing with the intensity of the release. Distantly, you could hear yourself crying out - babbling incoherently as the waves of ecstasy wracked your body.

Hisagi's movements didn't slow, fucking you through the entire release until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The sensation of your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his shaft sent him hurling towards the edge himself. Within seconds, his rhythm faltered and he slammed home one last time.

You could feel the first pulses of his orgasm spilling inside you, his cock twitching and throbbing as he pumped thick ropes of his seed into your core. His lips found yours once more, the kiss hot and hungry, the two of you devouring each other's pleasure.

After a moment, the frenzied passion gave way to a slow, languid heat - the two of you melting into each other. You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped your throat as Hisagi pulled his softening length free, a trickle of his seed and your wetness seeping from your folds and pooling on the surface of the desk.

He immediately reached over and cupped your cheeks with both hands, tilting your face up for a slow, deep kiss. The tender gesture made your heart squeeze, and you returned it in equal measure - savoring the gentle exploration of tongues and lips.

After a long, dizzying moment, he finally broke the contact, his dark gaze burning with unguarded affection. He stroked the backs of his fingers along your cheek, brushing the tangled strands of hair back and tucking them behind your ear.

"That was even better than I'd imagined," he murmured, voice rough and still a little breathless. "I'll have to write an entry in the journal tomorrow, won't I?"

"Hmmm...only if I can read it," you retorted, giving him a saucy smile.

He smirked, leaning down to claim your mouth in another searing kiss. "You know I can't say no when you look at me like that."

[marzipanandminutiae]

I genuinely think there were far more trans people in 19th century western history than we're aware of, simply because of the nature of how most LGBTQ people lived their lives back then

namely, though of course this varied WILDLY by time, place, cultlure, race, gender, etc., in relative secrecy

if you go back far enough, legal identifying documents were barely a thing for many people. and even if they existed, circumstances in which they'd be checked were few and far between. surveillance was nowhere near what it is now simply because of technological limitations. and due to those same technological limitation, people were more used to accepting at face value the identities of people with bodies that varied from the norm

Gilbert and Sullivan mention, in their 1885 song "I've Got A Little List," the singer's "auntie with a mustache" (albeit in a negative context). not "well, I don't hold with all this woke DEI nonsense and have we checked Auntie's genitals and what's the marker on this alleged woman's passport?" is it very probable that the auntie was cisgender? yes. there are plenty of reasons for cis women to grow more facial hair than is average, ranging from genetics to PCOS to post-menopausal hormone shifts. before HRT, in a time with few readily accessible safe hair removal techniques (though they tried, and electrolysis had been technically available- at ruinously expensive rates -since the 1870s), you'd be more likely to encounter cis women with facial hair who chose not to try removing it. and you assumed all women were cis. so your set concept of A Woman included, potentially, facial hair, and it was less likely to make you question someone's gender

EDIT: wow okay so that is NOT an original G&S lyric! it's so borderline in terms of Poor Taste that I assumed it must be 19th century. nonetheless, references to old women with whiskers and moustaches abound in Victorian and earlier literature, so the point still stands

besides which, for a very long time, personal questions along the lines of "what's in your trousers/skirt" were considered HIGHLY impertinent

so, while there would be a world of trouble if a trans person was caught or if suspicions began to arise about their gender for some reason- the past was not a trans-friendly utopia by any means -it was often somewhat easier to fly under the radar than it generally is today. the transphobic powers-that-were were less aware of this possibility and therefore not on high alert for it, generally speaking

and since most trans people then and now want to have jobs and social circles and families and do things to which being trans is incidental, while trans, it wasn't likely that they'd call attention to themselves in a time when Closet = Safe. indeed, most trans people from that era that we know about are only publicly known because their death wishes to be buried without autopsy were not respected. I'm thinking of Dr. James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, and earlier the Chevaliere d'Eon [no, that's not a misspelling; it's the feminine form of Chevalier since she was a woman]

(you hear about more transmasc people in the history of this era because it was harder to establish an independent life as a woman, at all, without some kind of support network/establishment of Reputation in the area where you were living. unless you were a sex worker, and while we do know about some transfem sex workers of the era, the specifics of their identities are often obscured behind salacious news reports of Man Disguised As Woman Tricks Other Men Into Doing Icky Gay Things. so figuring out whether they saw themselves as women or crossdressing men can be difficult. Mary Jones comes immediately to mind)

how many similar wishes were respected? how many people slipped through history with their gender variance unremarked-upon? there's literally no way of knowing- which is good in terms of immediate postmortem respect, but leaves historians of queer subjects nowadays with a herculean task

I think, in light of all that's happening right now, I just want to remind everyone that trans people have always existed, will always exist, and are an integral part of humanity's fabric

[cheriladycl01]

Baby, can you call me back? I miss you... its so lonely in our mansion - Lewis Hamilton x Model! Reader

Plot: You are the 'IT GIRL' of celebrities right now. Dating older F1 driver cooks up a storm.

Warnings: Age Gap, Established relationship, Smut (Consisting off Unprotected Sex, Fingering, P In V etc.) Minors Do Not Interact 18+

You were currently waiting for Lewis to come home, it was the Monaco GP and you'd left early during his debrief as you were sporting a slight headache from all the excitement.

He knew you'd be there and he knew you were waiting for him. You were sort of a current century IT girl.

That happens when you are on the cover of vouge and in big blockbuster movies alongside modelling for Versace and other big brands that wanted your name.

You were all the talk in the media for the past few years, especially where you were dating Lewis Hamilton. He was 10 year older than you, but he treated you well. Even though you were 23 when you and Lewis started dating, people still seemed to treat you like you were made of glass. Yes, that was probably more to your high profile status and the fact that you're in the public eye.

Lewis treated you like an adult and you loved it, he wasn't in the relationship for publicity or just for a quick time. He had met you at exclusive party that you happened to be at as well as some of the 2018 F1 drivers.

Now in the middle of 2024 and Mercedes had a rocketship for a car, Lewis was on track for winning his 8th World Champion, you and Lewis had been together for 7 years now and what an interesting 7 years it had been. You'd been there for him winning 3 of his championships, seeing him get robbed of his 8th and then have a shit car for the next two seasons while Red Bull seem to be in a horrible sort of domination.

He'd won in Monaco today sharing a Podium with Lando Norris, who was actually his biggest competition this year. Mclaren came out on top, right now it was Mercedes Mclaren and Ferrari dancing around each other and then Red Bull who focused on their 2025 car too early and didn't do enough work with the 2024 car.

The door to the home opens and in walks your beautiful husband.

"How's my race winner" you smile at him, walking over to him slowly. He hangs the keys up to his car on the hook before his hands wrap around your waist pulling you into a hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck, his arms travelling up to stroke your soft hair, running down to the side of your face to hold your face steadily in his hand.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you all day!" he offers, pushing your hair back behind your ear before leaning in, kissing you softly.

"You were thinking about me when you were racing?" you ask with a smirk, stepping closer into him so your arms are able to hold his upper arms, helping you lean up to place a soft, yet sensual kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I'm always thinking about you baby" he mumbles looking you up and down.

"Well, I think my World Champion deserves a reward!" you smile, grinning at him.

"Mmmmm what kind of reward, I can think of 20 things I'd settle for right now" he admits biting his lip.

"Well, I don't know about you but your fav vegan dish is in the oven. I can run you a nice hot bath and give you a massage, or we can take Rossi on a walk, or we can watch a movie and cuddle.." you say leaning closer into him.

"Hmmmmm, that all sounds very good. But first i want you!" he says pulling into you. He pulls you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist and your arms around around the back of his head. He holds you up while pulling you into a kiss.

He walks you into the bedroom and places you down on the bed, making you bounce into the plush duvet and cushions. You lean up and you elbows moving back a little while Lewis crawls on top of you.

"Such a pretty baby!" he says, as he reaches round the back to unzip the black silk dress you were wearing. He tugs it down, throwing it onto the bedroom floor, a groan coming from him as he sees the matching black set that was on underneath.

He couldn't help but think that you'd been looking that delectable all day, and it didn't help and wouldn't help any future thoughts of what you wore on race days.

"God, Y/N!"

"Lew, come on" you groan, as his hands run up and down the curves of your body. Eventually his fingers work their way around your underwear, while his other hand goes behind you arching back to undo your bra. He skillfully undid it with the one hand while his other focused on your clit.

Your thighs squeezed together in anticipation as you feel his finger on your clit speed up. A gasp comes from you and your hand reaches down to hold his wrist.

"Lewis, i need you please!" you groan as his mouth encases around your left nipple and starting to suck and bite at it leaving hickies along the curve of your breast.

You feel movement on the bed, you look down to see him grinding against the mattress.

"Come here..." you moan and he crawls up the bed. His hand doesn't leave, going the step further and pushing one finger in. You reach down palming him through his trousers.

"Fuck baby, just like that" he groans adding another finger while leaning into your neck and kissing up and along it.

"Just take those pants off" you moan, looking up at him. He shakes his head, adding a third finger going faster.

"You gotta cum for first darling" he breathes out, you gasp watching him closely.

Lewis always put your pleasure first, that was one of the highlights of your relationship is that he always wanted you happy and content, as he would say that it made him happy and content.

He lived by the happy wife happy life memo religiously.

You feel that familiar coil built up and with the way you start moving Lewis speeds up knowing that your close.

"Lewis, Lewis fuck" you gasp as that sensation is released. You breathing slows as you come down.

"Okay, my turn" you say sitting up on your knees, squishing your thighs together.

"I can't wait, for that baby. Gotta be in you now!" he whimpers. He pulls you up so that your against the headboard, he lays you down before positioning himself above you.

He sinks all the way in, the both of you moaning and groaning as you feel every inch of him inside of you. Each ridge, every edge you can feel against your walls as you push further against him to get him deeper. He bottoms out with a sigh of happiness partially collapsing against you.

"I love you Lew, and im so thankful I'm yours" you admit with a gasp as he starts moving back and forth, the thrusts making lewd noises as he grips your hips.

"Say it again!" he exclaims looking at you in the eyes, one of his hands moving from your hip up to your cheek.

"I'm yours Lew, all yours!" you moan arching up into him and clenching.

"I love you so much darling. Fuck" he moans, nipping and biting against your collarbone as he starts to thrust quicker into you. Your own grip tightens on him as that same feeling from earlier resurfaces but more violent.

Your eyes screw shut, the moans coming from you mouth is like music into Lewis' ears. He wishes he could have it as his ringtone, or playing to him before a race. Even during a race, that for sure would make him finish a race quicker knowing he could see you quicker and stuff you full.

"Baby I'm gonna cum" he groans right into your ear making you twitch and attempt to thrust up into him. He holds you still putting pressure on your stomach making you gasp loudly and try to sit up.

"Cum baby, cum in me" you cry, tears start to stream down your face.

"Oh fuck baby" you cry and clench hard round him as he hits that spongey spot that just feels so good. You release with a whine and head thrown back, while Lewis follows helping you both ride out your high.

He collapses on top of you staying sunk inside of you. He kisses you, whispering stuff to you about what he loves, making little plaits in your hair as he goes.

Maybe waiting for Lewis in your mansion wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: This is my first smut on this account, so it will get better when i know what i feel comfortable putting out there!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma

[fatuismooches]

Celestia has fallen, ending a period of turmoil, meaning you and Dottore are free to do what you want with the rest of your lives - but both of you have trouble getting accustomed to this new, strangely peaceful life.

Seeing the sky completely clear save for puffy clouds was a sight that still took getting used to, after all, the island that had once been there was commonplace for everyone. But now, after a long and arduous war, and centuries of preparation and loss, it was over. Celestia had been defeated, the era of rebuilding was slow yet steady, and the Fatui had disbanded shortly after their victory.

... Meaning that you and Dottore, who once had much to do and worry about, now had... very little to do and worry about. His once-important experiments had reached their peak, and what's more, you were finally free from your illness. There was no need for all-nighters spent hastily writing notes, creating new concoctions for you, tending to the darker side of his work. Similarly, the days spent in anguish and sickness had now become a memory of the past, although your body was still slowly recovering.

So what was there to do now?

That was what you thought as you lay in the dark, cuddling close to Zandik's chest in your new home. It was an odd feeling - having him this close for days on end - sleeping with you from nightfall to the sun rising. It was once an exceedingly rare occurrence, from when he was once a busy Harbinger, but here he was still in bed. (Although he still had a habit of waking up early - whether he laid there and stared at you, or got up to find something to busy himself with was still a fifty-fifty chance.)

To be honest, now that you thought about it, you never had a real, fleshed-out plan on what to do after everything was over. All you had was the first step - acquire a spacious and cozy home in Sumeru to settle down. And well, that had been accomplished surprisingly easier than you anticipated - The Jester had gifted you such a house in a perfect spot - leaving it as a goodbye gift.

In the beginning, the days had been as leisurely as possible, bordering on lazy. Sleeping in late into the day, hours upon hours spent appreciating each other's presence and body. You defended it as making up for centuries of lost time, although Dottore didn't protest in the first place. Dinner was spent quietly outside, looking up at the sky that was no longer false. However, it was obvious both of you were growing a bit restless - which was why you quickly came up with a plethora of new things to do.

—

"Let's start a garden!"

And so had started a common goal between you two - although another issue that had been presented in this new relaxing life was Dottore's lingering hesitation to trust you with certain activities. Constantly he was keeping an eye on your every move or stepping in himself, even though he knew you could do some things yourself now.

Truthfully, you couldn't blame him, already aware that overprotectiveness that lasted centuries wouldn't go away so easily, but that was something that would have to be worked through slowly. He was still performing a routine check-up on your every day...

"Zandik, it's just digging up some soil. You're acting like the worms are going to attack me or something."

"... Just make sure not to scrap your knees."

"I'm also not a child- darling, what are you injecting into the plants...?" Your husband only smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"This? Do not worry, we won't consume these ones. This is simply... a test to indulge my curiosity."

Well, you always knew his love of experimenting would never truly go away! Maybe you'll get some cool, fucked up, weird mutated plants!

—

"Let's get a kitty so Foxttore has a friend!"

Despite all the tragedy you'd endured, Foxttore was one of the few things that remained with you the whole time, even after the way. The creature quite liked Sumeru after surviving Snezhnaya - it was always lazily sunbathing and refused to come in. Dottore still kept his habit of locking it out.

The pufflings too of course - but they had made the two of you become the gossip of the children - turns out the black puff balls started playing with the kids and kept returning to your house, making them whisper about "the two weird grown-ups who live out in the middle of nowhere." You were amused.

Regardless of your reputation, now you and your husband were in the perfect environment to finally own a cute kitty. The lab wasn't exactly the ideal place for such an animal, after all.

... So now, an equally as lazy cat could be found sleeping on Zandik's lap as he read by the window, giving it languid tummy rubs and pets. Foxttore wasn't invited.

—

"Let's go exploring!"

When you had dropped this idea on Zandik, he had given you a strange look.

"All this time, you had been pleading with me to stay inside and relax, but now you wish to go and exert yourself?" Despite his remarks, you could tell Zandik wished to do something with his hands as well.

"Well, this is because it's going to be fun! It'll be like we're students again!"

And with that, you two were back inside the huge Ruin Golem in the forest. To be honest, there was not much to actually explore here, but... it was nostalgic. It was places like these where the two of you spent a lot of time together, and where he told you of his grand ambitions as a young scholar.

And even after all this time, the former Harbinger was still fascinated with the technology, already playing with something, to which you joined him. No doubt he already knew the answer, but it was something to keep his once-overworked mind occupied.

"Guess the two of us aren't cut out for this 'normal life' stuff, eh? Coming back here even though there's nothing left to be discovered. Think the notes we left are still here?"

"That's impossible. They must have long eroded by now," he briefly commented, hands still running over the cool metal.

"So... wanna test if you're still motion-sick?"

—

"Let's teach you how to cook... again!"

Loads of spare time had come with nothing better to do than to attempt to make the impossible become possible once again, which was why you had the Harbinger turned house husband in the kitchen with you, equipped with an apron you forced him to wear if he wanted any sweets.

This time you had decided to forget actual food and make one, singular, cupcake. Surely he couldn't mess that up, right?

You made him clean the kitchen after throwing out the burnt apron.

—

In conclusion, there were still lots of things that could fill the endless time you two were given. But there was still something you wanted, although you weren't sure how to bring it up.

The loss of the segments still remained a wound in your heart, although you moved on from all those years ago. More specifically, Zandy was someone you held extremely dear in your heart and memories. The child had changed your life, and Dottore's too - opening his own heart to softness - which was something you longed for too.

However, naturally, you were nervous asking Zandik about it. After all, becoming a father was probably not something he saw himself doing. Of course, your anxiety was quickly recognized by your lover, who beckoned you one night.

"What plagues your mind?" His question startled you, and although you knew he'd come around to asking eventually, you still weren't prepared to answer properly. But you knew you'd have to come out with it soon.

"There's... something I want."

"Tell me," Zandik quickly reassured you. "I'm sure it is within my capabilities."

"I... I don't know if you'd want to," you awkwardly admitted, to which your husband gave you a hard look, and then moved to squeeze your hand.

"I can only determine that if you tell me what it is you desire." With a sigh, you had to agree.

"I've been thinking... about our... family," the last word was uttered softly, as if you still couldn't believe things reached this point.

"There's you, me, Foxttore, the pufflings, our kitty Beaker, and I guess the crows around here could count too... and I love everyone a lot!" Dottore hummed in agreement, rubbing his fingers over your knuckles.

"But... what if we added someone else to our family? A... c-child, perhaps," you finally blurted out your confession, working up the courage to look at him directly. Speaking of, he had stopped wearing that mask of his now, so you were always subject to his brilliant red eyes. As such, you witnessed the gems widen slightly and his jaw slacken. Quickly you rushed to continue.

"I-I know it'll be a lot of work and responsibility but together we can do it! And I know it probably isn't something you thought of but I'll be here with you all the way... I know you won't let the past repeat itself," you murmured, well aware of how he was treated as a child. Dottore's gaze had moved to the stars, still silent at your words, which was making you worry at this point.

"If-"

"It is not something I am opposed to," Zandik finally admitted, and you had to hold back a sigh of relief.

"Truly?"

"Yes. However..." He trailed off, perhaps wondering how to articulate the fears you already knew full well - how could someone like him ever be a loving father? Did he even have that capability? How could he hold his child with his stained hands?

"I understand," you squeezed his hand. "We'll figure it out together," you promised, "just like how we figured everything else out. How else would we have stayed together for a couple hundred years?" You gently teased him to which he finally looked at you again, an unusually soft look in his eyes.

"We will," Zandik agreed, kissing you on your forehead.

—

Time continued to move, and from a student to Harbinger, Zandik now found himself a parent, who was now cuddled in between him and you - though you were already fast asleep, while his daughter had woken him up in the middle of the night. The fact that Dottore hadn't woken up earlier was a testament to how much he loosened up these past years...

"Go back to sleep. I won't take you out to the forest if you're too tired." The young girl pouted at her father's strictness.

"But it's not my fault! I'm too excited to watch you do your experimenting stuff!" (In reality, all they were doing was collecting samples of plants.) With a sigh, the man stroked her hair.

"Oh! Oh! How about you sing the song they always sing to you when you're grumpy! That always makes you relax!" His daughter seemed to have picked up some of your cheeky, bargaining habits...

"If you do, will you quiet down?" The girl quickly nodded.

"Very well..." And so, he began humming a tune, that was rather off-key despite you teaching it to him quite a few times, but his little girl didn't seem to notice much.

In the dark, you secretly smiled at the sweet interaction. To think after centuries of pain, you finally obtained such a life...

Everything would be okay, in the end.

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 1: Guilty as Sin

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it's up to you to help her.

To say you and Agatha had parted on bad terms would be an understatement of the century.

You'd forgiven her a lot of things, and could forgive so much more, but the one thing you just couldn't get past was her forgetting your anniversary because she was too busy draining some random witch that wasn't even powerful enough to justify leaving you hanging.

You'd exploded. It was like someone had pulled a switch, and an atomic bomb had gone off, turning everything in its path to dust. You'd unleashed all the things you'd been holding back; centuries of pent up rage, of resentment pouring out of your mouth. Raging and burning. Stinging its target's flesh like lava dripping on skin.

Things you couldn't believe could ever come out of your mouth shot out, bitter, venomous. Bullets aiming for the heart.

You'd called Agatha selfish. Had accused her of not caring about you, of valuing power over you. Had said she'd never loved you, and, if she'd thought she had, you'd certainly never felt it. Had told her other witches were right to have never trusted her for not an ounce of her was worthy of being trusted.

"I can't look at you right now. I don't wanna look at you," were your final words before you'd summoned your magic and had taken off for the sky. Far, far away from her.

It wasn't exactly a breakup. The two of you had had periods of separation throughout the centuries, usually brought on by one of you wanting to travel and the other preferring to cozy up somewhere for a few months. In the end, you would always find your way back to each other. The few times you had parted on bad terms, you were back in each other's arms within days.

You could never stay apart for too long.

Until now.

Three months and counting. No calls. No texts. Both of you were too stubborn, too proud to pick up the phone and make the first move.

Not that it would do much.

You doubted there was coming back from this fight.

If someone had said those things to you, you wouldn't want to see their face, either. Not for a very long time. Possibly not ever again.

You didn't even mean what you'd said. You were just so angry, and Agatha had made a mistake, and you'd wanted to punish her. You'd wanted to hurt her. You'd wanted her to feel how you were feeling. Wanted her to feel worse. You'd wanted to shove a knife in her gut and twist it.

What you'd actually done was aim for the heart and shatter it until it was nothing but specks of dirt under your feet.

Every day since that fateful night had been hell.

You weren't sure how you were able to survive; guilt had been eating you alive, bit by fleshy bit. The words you'd said echoed in your head. Had kept you up at night. Had brought tears to your eyes every time you'd replayed them.

Agatha was no angel, far from it, but she didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve a fraction of the venom you'd spewed in her face.

Maybe that had been a breakup, after all.

You didn't see her forgiving you that kind of cruelty.

You certainly would never forgive yourself.

Loud banging shook you back to the present, to your lonesome reality. Someone — something — was at your front door, insistent, desperate to get inside. The hinges squeaked under the force of the blows.

Blood ran cold in your veins.

You lived in the middle of nowhere; a deliberate choice, as your kind historically didn't fare well among people. Or each other. Experience had taught you that witches could be as treacherous as humans, even more so. Miles and miles of trees surrounded your home, cocooning it, shielding it. Hiding it and you from the world.

Who could possibly be at your door this late in the evening?

A lost or injured hiker? A runaway kid seeking help?

Someone who meant you harm?

The prospect didn't worry you too much; you'd made sure the entrance to your home was spelled so that nobody and nothing could get in without your explicit permission. Hunters and rogue witches, as well as regular, run of the mill thieves, had raided too many spaces you'd thought were safe over the centuries.

When you'd acquired this house, you were determined it was never going to happen again.

It was Agatha who had suggested protection like that. She knew how much it meant to you to have a place to call yours, to call a home, so she'd flipped through the pages of that dark magic book of hers that you weren't allowed to come near (with good reason: you'd avoided that thing like the plague) and had found a spell that would protect you from unwanted guests 

It had worked wonders so far.

Still, as you cautiously padded to the door, one of your hands lit up with magic; a witch could never be too careful. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, then wide as your eyes fell upon the familiar dark brown hair.

Agatha.

Your heart raced, first with excitement at seeing her again, then with concern as the condition she was in settled in.

Her clothes were ripped. Her hair was a mess, as if she hadn't brushed it in days. Blood ran down her mouth, down her chapped lips. Deep, purple bruises marred her face, painted it dark and painful.

"Oh, my god," you gasped, in disbelief at the sight before you. This had to have been some kind of an illusion. The Agatha you knew could never get hurt like this. No matter what the situation was, she would find her feet. She would never allow for it to get this far.

Her power was too grand for even a remote possibility of something like this.

Then why was she standing at your door, bruised and bloody?

Why was she shivering?

Why did she look so fucking scared that it broke your heart all over again, as your own cruel words had the night that you'd abandoned her?

"Y/N, please, let me in," she said. There was no usual snark in her tone, no humor. No playfulness that you'd come to miss in the months since you'd last seen her. Her voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk. As if it was taking the last remnants of the strength she had left to push the words out. "Please." There was a pause, a pained one, then she said, completely and utterly weak, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

She didn't even have to ask.

"Come here," you said, reaching for her. It was an instinct you'd grown into over the centuries of being with her. When she needed you — when she was cold or sad or injured — you were at her side with arms wide open. No questions asked. No demands made. All that mattered was getting her well. Making the pain she was in go away.

Hands on her shoulders, you gently coaxed her inside, and then locked the door behind her.

She didn't have to ask to be let in. Didn't have to cower and beg for mercy.

Even with the protection spell, Agatha had been welcome here from the very start. This was her home as much as it was yours. No matter how angry you were at her, you would never deny her access. Had never denied it.

What you had done, you remembered, chills running down your spine like ants, was tell her you couldn't look at her.

Was that why she was in this condition? Did she think you wouldn't help her if she called? Did she think you didn't care about her anymore — that you didn't care whether she lived or died?

Did she think you would slam the door in her face and leave her to tend to herself?

Swallowing the guilt that pressed on your chest like an ill-fitted corset, you helped Agatha to the couch. She walked with a limp, one hand pressed to her side, each breath she took a labor, a chore. Whoever had harmed her had done a number on her.

You'd seen her lose fights before. You'd seen her beg for mercy. But it had never been this bad. Not even close.

Whoever had done this to her had better leave the country, had better leave the fucking planet if they wanted to live for another day. Once you found them, they would wish they were dead.

That was a promise, and you always kept those when it came to Agatha.

"Is this okay?" you asked. "Do you need a blanket, or a pillow, or—"

"It's fine," she said, taking a few breaths to steady herself, each more painful than the other.

It shattered your heart into a million pieces.

She didn't deserve this. No matter what she did or whom she managed to piss off, she didn't deserve to be in this kind of pain.

As tenderly as you could, you laid your hands over hers. Agatha stiffened, startled, confirming your suspicions — she didn't think you care about her, not after the things you'd said.

All the witches in her life had ended up betraying her, turning their backs on her, abandoning her. It was only natural that you would do the same.

It was only life.

She didn't know anything different, anything better.

And you, the asshole that you were, had poured salt over the wound.

You'd told her she'd deserved it.

"It's okay," you said softly, caressing her hands. Letting her know that she was safe, that the danger had passed. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

But you had, hadn't you? You'd promised you would never, but you'd done what everyone else had. You'd turned your back on her. You'd spewed the vilest things you could think of, things you didn't even mean, to hurt her, all because you were hurt and had wanted her to feel the same — had wanted her to feel worse. You'd thrown her mistakes in her face, and had left her. You'd never looked back. And, no matter how much the guilt was eating you up, niggling at your insides like acid, you didn't have the nerve to apologize, to make it right.

You were no better than her coven. Than her bitch of a mother.

Agatha nodded, then lowered her eyes to her lap, to her dirty, bloodied clothes. Everywhere and anywhere but your face.

She might as well have slapped you.

Not that you wouldn't have deserved it.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, trying your hardest to hold back an explosion that threatened to erupt inside you.

You couldn't hurt yourself, not much more than you already have, but you could make sure that the one who'd done this to her paid with their life.

They'd been living on borrowed time since the second they'd decided to lay their hands on her.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Hunters." She spit the word like it was poison, like the mere act of saying it befouled her mouth. "They injected me with something that's been blocking my power."

You raised an eyebrow, confused. "A drug of some sort?"

"Try potion."

Now that was interesting. "They're working with a witch?"

Agatha nodded. "A powerful one. It's been two days, and this thing's still alive and kicking."

"Two days?"

They'd had her for two days?

They'd been hitting her, beating her, torturing her for two days?

A few tears escaped your containment, your cheeks burning in their wake.

"Oh, please, it's nothing I can't take. I could go for two more weeks," Agatha said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. Acting as if what she'd gone through didn't bother her a single bit.

You knew better.

That smile on her mouth was the same one she always hid behind. The one she used when she wanted to hide the pain, the turmoil, despite knowing damn well it didn't fool you. It never did.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry," you said, on the brink of falling apart.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

That was the problem.

You didn't do anything.

She was tortured for two days, and you were none the wiser.

"I should've been there."

You would have burned those monsters alive. You would've made them beg for mercy, given them hope that it would come, and then you would've taken it away at the last minute. You would've made the punishment fit the crime.

You would do it.

They had no idea what was coming to them.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Save your pity."

"It's not pity, and you know it," you told her in your most earnest tone. She had no reason to believe you — you'd certainly given her plenty of reasons not to — but you hoped she would find it in her heart to look past that. To give you the smallest benefit of the doubt, a chance to make what you broke whole again.

"Isn't it?" It was her turn to twist the knife, and she knew how to make it hurt without trying too hard.

You deserved it.

As much as it hurt, as much as it bruised and broke you, you had every word of doubt coming.

You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, welcoming the pain. Accepting it as penance. "No."

Standing up on shaky legs, you walked to the adjoining kitchen and started rummaging through cupboards in search of supplies. You didn't have a first aid kit, so a makeshift one would have to do. Some old bandages, a rag, a bowl of warm water. Simple, yet efficient.

Agatha could think what she wanted — she could think the worst of you, and she certainly had that right — but you would still help her. You would still do your best for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting supplies," you said, picking up the softest rag you had. "We need to get you cleaned up."

A moment of tense silence passed. "I can do it myself."

You looked her in the eyes like you always did when she was being difficult. "Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly.

If she didn't, she wouldn't have shown up at your door and begged to be let in. She wouldn't have let you hold her hands.

"Agatha," you said with a sigh. Don't do this, you thought. Don't play these games. Not now.

"You don't have to pretend you want me here. I'm only here because I had nowhere else to go," she reiterated.

"I'm not pretending."

"Aren't you? You made it pretty clear you didn't wanna look at me." Her eyes, so blue and sad, filled with tears. Her injured lips trembled. "I'm selfish, remember? I never loved you. I'm not trustworthy. I deserve everything that's ever happened to me. I deserve this."

"No. No, you don't."

But you did. You deserved to have your words thrown back at you. You deserved every jab, every painful poke.

You laid the bowl on the coffee table and sat back down by Agatha's side. "I know I'll never be able to take back all those horrible things I said. For what it's worth, I didn't mean any of it."

"Why'd you say it, then?" Agatha asked pointedly. No pleasantries. No nonsense.

"Because I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt you." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but you owed it to her to be honest. She deserved to know the truth. "All this time, I've been trying to think of ways to apologize. Nothing seemed good enough. You deserve better, and I just couldn't give it to you. So, I left you alone."

You reached for her hand. Momentary relief flooded your veins as she allowed you to twine your fingers with hers. This time she welcomed your touch. Welcomed you.

"I really am sorry," you said. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't. I just ask that you let me try to make up for it."

Agatha swallowed. Her eyes fell to your linked hands. You thought she would push you away. That she would tell you where you can shove your apology. That she would tell you that it was too late — she didn't love you anymore. That she wanted nothing to do with you.

Instead, her fingers squeezed yours.

A tiny, silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

She hadn't given up on you.

She was willing to give you a chance.

She still loved you.

Just like that, a spark lit up inside you. A sliver of hope, tiny but still there, bright in the turmoil of your mind.

It was more than you could have asked for.

You promised to yourself — to Agatha — that you wouldn't squander it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

*****

Next chapter.

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 2)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You find comfort in your routine with the Ghoul, but an evening of bonding turns into harsh realizations.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, more flirting (less squinting),

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: The second part to what was a one-shot but the responses were so overwhelmingly lovely about it that I just had to write more! I have more ideas for these two because they break my heart, so part 3 will be happening next week :) I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A routine had solidified between you both, born out of necessity in this unforgiving landscape. Each day, you travelled further through the barren wasteland, seeking refuge in abandoned structures come evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you gathered around the crude fire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the worn walls of whatever shelter you'd found. It was a skill your companion had imparted through countless arduous nights, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness.

With the day's journey behind you, you would compare your spoils. Tins of pork and beans, salvaged copper, and screws—valuable commodities in the market of survival. Occasionally, luck would smile upon you, offering a giant mole rat to add to the evening stew. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but a welcomed reprieve from the Ghoul's ever-present jerky stowed away in his saddlebag like a grim reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Few words had been exchanged between you. You'd come to understand that the Ghoul valued silence, speaking only when necessary, and expected the same from his companion. He had provided a brief summary of the world's changes over the past two centuries, yet remained guarded when pressed for further details about his own involvement. Despite your efforts, he remained as enigmatic as when he first found you.

Despite the grim reality surrounding you, you found comfort in the routine. Far removed from the life you once knew before the war, you still managed to extract a glimmer of joy from the simple act of preparing the evening meal. With meagre resources at your disposal—a small iron pot, a battered ladle, and two cracked but serviceable dishes—you endeavoured to create sustenance that mimicked the warmth of a homecooked meal, even in these bleak times.

The Ghoul stood as your protector, his watchful presence having undoubtedly spared you from peril on numerous occasions during your brief time together. Cooking was a way to prove your  significance in your partnership, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may appear.

The heavy thud of boots and clink of spurs against wood jolted you from your thoughts, the ladle in your hand halting its rhythmic stirring of the broth as you cast a wary glance towards the doorway. It wasn't the first time he had left you alone, deeming it safer to venture into the bustling towns without the added complication of a young woman in tow. He had armed you with a revolver and a combat knife, imparting what little training he could in their use, but you couldn't shake the feeling that his trust in your abilities extended only as far as your loyalty not to run in his absence.

"Well, that smell's delicious," drawled the Ghoul, his figure framed in the doorway, hat tipped low over his scarred features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, the warmth of his presence a rare comfort after just an hour alone.

"Did you get them?"

"You doubted me?" He teased, stepping towards you and offering out a small cloth bag. You accepted it eagerly, peeking inside at the plump, juicy tomatoes nestled within.

You wasted no time in incorporating the fresh produce into your cooking, the aroma of the simmering fruit mingling with the savoury scent of the meat in the broth. Seated together by the fire, the weathered dining chairs offering a semblance of normalcy, you couldn't help but inquire about his expedition.

"Did everything go alright?" you asked, eyeing him cautiously as he slumped back in his chair, a groan escaping his cracked lips as he stretched out.

"Hunky dory," he sighed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, head back and fingers entwined over his stomach. You could tell he was lying, noticing the slight clench of his jaw and his reluctance to meet your gaze. 

It was a tell that you had picked up on in your short time together, one that betrayed his otherwise stoic resolve. For some reason, the Ghoul had taken to concealing parts of the truth from you. Maybe he thought you were too weak, too naïve, or perhaps he simply didn't want to subject himself to further questioning. Regardless, it had begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciated his protection, you couldn't afford to remain in the dark about so much in this dangerous world.

"I'm coming with you next time," you declared, your gaze unwavering as you stirred the pot, the clinks of metal against metal punctuating your determination. "Two guns are better than one."

A playful glint danced in his eyes as he countered, "Not when you're the one holding it." Yet, the lightness in his tone ebbed away, leaving a hard undercurrent. "Already told you no."

There was a flicker of frustration that passed across your features, but you held his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "And I've already told you not to underestimate me," you retorted, the fire of conviction burning in your words.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. A furrow creased his brow, his gaze intense as he pointed a finger towards your growing belly.

"And you underestimate everyone else," he admonished, his voice edged with concern. "You think those vultures would take one look at you, at that cargo you're carryin', and let you walk on by? It's every man for himself out here, sweetheart, and the wasteland makes a man do terrible things. You're a commodity, and it's best you not forget it."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon you like a leaden cloak. Despite your defiance, his words struck a chord of fear within you, a reminder of the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of the little sanctuary you have cultivated together.

The ladle slipped from your grasp, forgotten, as your trembling hands instinctively hugged your pregnant belly. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as the weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders. A commodity. That's what you and your unborn child had been reduced to in this unforgiving world, one that felt alien and hostile, yet one you were forced to confront day in and day out.

Anger simmered within you, a fierce blaze fuelled by resentment towards those who had stripped you of your former life, of the safety and belonging you had once taken for granted. And though you knew it was irrational, a pang of ungratefulness gnawed at your conscience, directed towards your reluctant protector for the loss of the freedom you so desperately yearned for.

In that moment, amidst the swirling emotions and the harsh reality of your circumstances, you felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no safe harbour in sight. Perhaps even the promised haven would prove to be a deception, like the vault you had been a prisoner in for so many years. Yet, for the sake of your child, you couldn't afford to surrender to despair. Hope would become your anchor, however fragile.

With a firm resolve, you brushed away the tears before they could show your vulnerability, steeling yourself against the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf you. Turning your attention back to the bubbling broth, you scooped two large servings into the worn bowls, the aroma of simmering spices mingling with the heaviness in the air.

Handing one bowl to your companion, you found him slumped back in his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire. His fingers traced the jagged contours of scars etched deep into his weathered face. A palpable aura of silent desperation hung around him like a shroud, casting a shadow over the dimly lit room.

Tucking into your meals in silence, the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls filled the room, a familiar melody that spoke volumes without the need for words. Each bite was a small reprieve from the harsh reality that surrounded you, a momentary escape from the relentless cruelty that had become all too familiar.

His voice, barely a whisper, cut through the quietude of the room, laden with a heavy weight of remorse. "I've upset you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air.

You looked up from your meal, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. Despite the turmoil within you, there was a flicker of understanding in your eyes as you acknowledged his veiled apology. 

"It's not just you," you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. 'I just feel so useless. I can't protect myself or my baby, can't help you without being a burden. I feel like I have no control.'

He nodded, his expression grave as he processed your raw admission of vulnerability and contemplated what to do next. Setting both bowls aside, he reached into a sack he had brought back from the town, his movements deliberate and methodical. From within the depths of the bag, he withdrew a familiar metal gadget, its sleek design reminiscent of the cuffs you had seen the scientists wear during your captivity.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories of your ordeal flooded back, the sensation of cold surgical equipment against your skin sending shivers down your spine. They had treated you like nothing more than a lab rat, subjecting you to experiments and tests that had left scars, both physical and emotional, that may never fully heal.

As he held the device in his hands, his gaze softened, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and trauma you had endured. "I know what this represents," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse and a tinge of anger. "But it can give you the control you've been denied for so long."

His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of possibility and hope. And as he extended the cuff towards you, offering you a chance to reclaim a measure of agency in a world that had sought to strip it away, you knew that this was more than just a piece of technology—it was a gift, a symbol of resilience. With trembling hands, you reached out to accept it, a silent vow echoing in the depths of your soul: never again would you allow yourself to be reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

As the cuff clicked shut around your wrist, its surprisingly light weight belied the bulk of its appearance. You found yourself staring down at the blank screen, uncertainty knotting your stomach as you grappled with the unfamiliarity of the device. The Ghoul, ever the steady presence beside you, reached over and deftly twisted a knob at the side of the device.

In an instant, the screen came alive with vibrant green text, welcoming you to Vault Tec. An animated image of the grinning mascot of the vaults, a sight you had come to loathe, greeted you with a cheery thumbs-up. You couldn't help but sneer at the sight, the irony not lost on you as the Ghoul swiftly navigated through the interface, replacing the obnoxious Vault Boy with a menu that offered a dizzying array of options.

"It'll take some understanding, but you'll get it in time," the Ghoul reassured you, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos of information overload. "The important part is the Geiger counter—it'll keep you out of trouble you didn't even know was there."

Your attention was drawn to the right of the device where a dosimeter's needle bobbed with the steady wave of radiation through the air. Another twist of the knob and on the screen appeared a walking depiction of Vault Boy, displayed percentages accompanying each limb. Below him, a nearly empty bar filled only with a small green block indicated the radiation count of the user. After weeks spent on the unforgiving surface, it came as no surprise that you had been touched by the poison that tainted it.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the device on your wrist. Looking up, you met the Ghoul's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes.

Those words didn't do justice to the gift that he'd given you — it was a lifeline, a tool that held the power to protect not only yourself but also your unborn child. It wasn't a weapon meant for moments of attack, as the revolver he demanded you carry on your hip was, but it was equally essential in its own right. The significance of being able to monitor and mitigate the dangers that lurked in the new world was not lost on you. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about carving out a future for your child in a world that had become a battleground for survival. One day, the Ghoul would not be there to protect either of you.

"It must have cost so much," you continued, a note of wonder in your voice, and he simply shrugged in response.

"Always something to be bartered in the wasteland," he replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Don't go crying again, now. You'll give me a bad name."

You chuckled softly. Wiping at your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement. "It's the hormones, I swear," you joked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He seemed amused by your explanation, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gave you a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he simply winked at you, and you felt a flutter in your belly—you brushed it off as a small, subtle reminder of the life growing within you.

"Got any more of that stew?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reached for his bowl, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Of course," you replied, ladling some more stew into his bowl. "I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, it's been many years since I've had a homecooked meal," he told you, his tone tinged with nostalgia as he tucked into his food with relish.

You smiled warmly at his words, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the simplicity of the meal you had managed to put together. It may not have been a lavish feast, but the fact that you could provide him with a taste of home filled you with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

"Maybe we could get some vegetables next time. Carrots maybe," you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

He hummed approvingly through his mouthful, nodding in agreement. "Saw some fine-lookin' turnips on my way out of town too. Reckon you can do anything with those?"

Your eyes lit up with inspiration. "Turnip and carrot mash. We could get some milk from a Brahmin, make it nice and creamy."

He licked his lips, a spark of anticipation igniting in his eyes as he set down his empty bowl. "Well now, that's just given me something to look forward to."

The two of you talked well into the night, the crackling of the fire providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation. You noticed a shift in the Ghoul's demeanour as the topic veered towards plans for future meals and the road ahead, his tense posture easing as time went on.

Determined to keep his attention and the mood still light, you regaled him with tales of your life before, weaving together anecdotes from your childhood and high school years with a touch of self-deprecating humour. He listened with genuine interest, his deep laughter ringing out like a balm to soothe the ache of your weary soul.

You found yourself deliberately steering the conversation away from his own past, choosing to focus instead on the light hearted memories of your own. You spoke of your best friend Patti, with whom you had been inseparable, recounting the antics and adventures that had filled your days. You mentioned how close you had become, so much so that you had even moved into houses next door to each other and planned out each meticulous part of your lives..

However, you made a conscious decision not to mention your husband, feeling a pang of uncertainty as to why. Perhaps it was a desire to keep Glenn and your companion separate in your mind, two distinct chapters of your life that you were reluctant to intertwine for some unbeknownst reason. Or maybe it was a subconscious attempt to shield yourself from the painful memories that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Regardless of the reason, you found solace in the simplicity of the moment, in the shared laughter and camaraderie that felt like a bond forging between you both. This was the most that the Ghoul had spoken to you in the weeks since you'd started traveling with him, and you relished the comfort that it brought you. Despite the superficial nature of the conversation, there was a sense of intimacy in the shared laughter and you felt giddy at the prospect of you both becoming more than strangers to each other.

When a yawn escaped you, the Ghoul smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded towards the makeshift beds you had prepared earlier that afternoon. Two tattered twin mattresses salvaged from the wreckage of a long-forgotten room, a decent width apart and covered with old, vermin-chewed sheets. It wasn't glamorous by any means, but it was a far cry better than some of the makeshift sleeping arrangements you had been resigned to during your journey through the wasteland.

"Go get. That's enough jaw flappin' for one night," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Despite his jest, there was affection in his smile, a silent reassurance that you were safe and perhaps even cared for in his company.

With a chuckle, you nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. Rising from your seat by the fire, you made your way towards the makeshift beds, the promise of a few hours of rest beckoning you like a siren's call.

The unwelcome pest of a thought nagged at you, persistent until you found yourself unable to ignore it any longer. With a determined resolve, you moved back towards the Ghoul, your steps fuelled by a sense of urgency you couldn't quite explain. Ignoring the look of alarm that flickered across his face, you leaned over awkwardly as he sat in his chair, and wrapped your arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still as you felt the surprising warmth of his strong arms around you, the comforting weight of your pregnant belly nestled between you serving as a tangible reminder of the life growing within you. You wanted to thank him, to tell him that this simple gesture meant more to you than words could express—that it was the most human you had felt since thawing from that cryo-chamber all those weeks ago.

But before you could find the words, your thoughts were shattered by the rapid clicking of the dosimeter. Startled, you pulled back, confusion clouding your features as you looked down at the device on your wrist, its needle flitting erratically with each click.

As you glanced between the dosimeter and the Ghoul, a sense of realization began to dawn on you. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, but the sudden silence of the dosimeter spoke volumes.

In that moment, the pieces began to click into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its hidden picture. You knew that everything on the surface was a danger, that radiation flooded every inch of land and contaminated everything it touched. Every mouthful of food you took, every swig of water, every wash of your body—each was a necessary risk in the struggle for survival.

But naively, you hadn't stopped to consider the threat that the Ghoul posed—not beyond the immediate danger of him putting a gun to your head or the possibility of him selling you to the highest bidder.

As the suffocating realization settled over you, you felt the overwhelming sense of isolation creep back in, wrapping around you like a vice. Your protector was also your potential killer, and he had wanted to ensure you had a Pip-Boy—to keep you out of trouble you didn't even know existed.

He had given you the knowledge, the control, to make your own findings and decisions, all for the sake of your unborn child. And yet, despite his intentions, you couldn't help but feel a hint of betrayal. You almost wished you could have remained blissfully ignorant about this particular aspect of life on the surface. It was as if you had lost a friend you hadn't really ever had.

"You keep that thing on," he said with a hint of sadness, pointing to your wrist. The only acknowledgement of what just happened. You nodded silently, your hand instinctively running over the cool metal of the Pip-Boy before you turned away.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you retreated to your bed. With each step, the weight of the truth bore down on you, a heavy burden you would carry with you as you drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that even in this new world, friendship was a luxury you could ill afford.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

[themisplaceddemigod]

i'm immortal, i can wait

PJ!Apollo x F!Reader

summary - Apollo has loved you since he first saw you, but he's had to wait several years before he could make such a confession. Especially since you're the child of his scariest uncle, Poseidon.

warnings - Apollo is his own warning. that and his haikus, also i am KEEPING JASON ALIVE in the Trials of Apollo part of this (curse you Rick)

He met you in person when you were fourteen.

Westover Hall, you had been summoned to collect two demigod kids with your brother Percy and friends Annabeth and Thalia. The mission turned sour, Annabeth was kidnapped, and Artemis saved the day before calling him to give you all a lift back to camp.

Both of you could remember how red your face turned when you'd seen him, and he wouldn't tell you but he'd heard you talking about how hot he was with Thalia. It boosted his ego (which quite frankly does not need any more boosting), and he was smug the whole ride.

"Percy, you never told me you had a sister!" He spoke so loudly the whole bus could hear him.

"Um, because we've never met in person?" You brother suggested, a little nervously. Apollo was pretty chill, but that made him even scarier.

The god of the sun just laughed, before turning to look at you. The way his eyes roamed your figure felt less-than-innocent, and your face flushed as you yet again turned a bright shade of red. You couldn't believe the Apollo, the hottest Olympian, was actually staring at you with interest. Like he found you pretty enough to be stared at.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He smiled flirtatiously, earning some aggressive threats from the Hunters behind you, which he ignored. "Just kidding, I know it already. (Name), right? Pretty name."

You felt as if you might explode. From embarrassment, from being flustered, you didn't know. Maybe he was toying with you, as gods tended to do, but then he looked at you again and genuine interest and attraction glimmered in his stunning blue eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo," you stammered out, unsure of what else to say.

"So shy," he teased, grinning, "Cute. I like you."

Of course, he had to restrain himself from charming you entirely, since you were still a minor. Poseidon would have his head if he touched you at this age, so he decided it was best to wait a few years.

Those few years were full of struggle and pain for you, losing so many friends in the battles with Kronos and then Gaea. Apollo almost intervened just to comfort you several times, but was stopped by his sister convincing him to give you a few more years - and also reminding him that the Olympians could not intervene.

But you grew into such a beautiful, smart, brave woman - and extremely sexy, but he would have to keep that to himself - and Apollo felt lucky to have watched this growth. It made his attraction to you all the more prominent, and he began to feel something he hasn't felt in centuries - genuine. true love.

And it scared him.

His past lovers that he had really, truly loved had both been killed in gruesome ways. He was afraid of what being with him would mean for you, but ultimately decided on getting Poseidon's permission first.

The god of the sea said no.

Then came his trials.

The first demigods he went to were you and Percy, of course. Since he was stuck with an infuriating little girl, he hoped that you might tag along on his perilous journey to make it a little better.

To his delight, you agreed.

"What's so funny?" He demanded when he caught you snickering during a break from all the running.

"You," you laughed, "Never thought the god Apollo would be reduced to an average teenage boy with acne." You laughed even more at that, and he pouted, but enjoyed hearing you laugh nonetheless.

His first sign that you might have a crush on him too came when he mentioned he'd turned some gossipers into ravens just for telling on his previous cheating girlfriend. The mere mention of his ex-girlfriend seemed to irritate you, and Apollo was amused.

Though his turn for jealousy came when he noticed how close you were to Jason Grace. He couldn't do anything, though, so he watched miserably as you got along with the son of Jupiter so well that any outsider would think you were dating.

"What's with the pout, then?" You had asked him when you noticed how upset he looked.

"I am not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

You stepped closer, and your intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He felt like a schoolboy with a massive crush, just you being that close scrambling his thoughts and making it difficult for him to answer.

"Alright, keep your secrets," you laughed, then walked away, and Apollo was left disappointed.

He was not even going to talk about the whole thing with Reyna. You had suddenly gotten so angry with him after that, you hadn't spoken to him for two days - unless absolutely necessary. It hurt, but he knew you must have been even more hurt by what had been implied.

The end of the trials eventually came and relieved all of you, the defeat of the Triumvirate taking a great weight off the world's - and yours - shoulders. Apollo disappeared after he went to fight Python, and for two weeks you heard no word from him or Olympus.

Then suddenly he was in the middle of camp, spouting the worst haikus you had ever heard in your life. And that was saying something, since all his haikus were pretty terrible.

"Like captured water

You hold me in your cupped hands

I flow on your palm."

Your jaw dropped. That was even worse than you assumed it would be, especially since he chose to center it around the fact that you're a daughter of Poseidon.

"Lord Apollo-"

"See what I did there?" He winked, coming up to you with a cheerful grin. "Did you like it?"

"Well-"

"Fear not! I have another one prepared that is sure to woo you."

Your face flushed, "Please don't say "woo", your kids are listening!"

He was already reciting his next haiku.

"You shatter my sleep

All milk-need and petal lips

You smile and I melt."

You frowned in confusion, "What does that even mean?"

"Aha! See I knew that was the one!"

"I didn't-what?"

He ignored your puzzlement in favour of coming so close to you his overwhelming godly power almost made you pass out.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around for two weeks," he apologised sincerely. "I was in a coma. I swear on the River Styx that it's the truth. But I came here as soon as I woke up, for you." He grinned like that was the best confession he could muster.

"Are you serious?" You breathed out, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"Technically I wanted you when you were fourteen, but that would have come across as creepy apparently," he informed you, "So I had to wait a few years until you turned the right age. That was okay with me, I'm immortal, I can wait."

Your jaw dropped further, "Are you, um-is this-?"

"A love confession? Yes!" He gleefully exclaimed, as if it were perfectly normal for an Olympian to invade camp and profess his love for a demigod.

The entire camp was silent, except for the Aphrodite girls who seemed to be glaring holes into you while trying to curse you - fortunately only the Apollo kids (ironically) had the power to curse a person to speak in rhymes.

"And what did...what did my dad think of this?" You cleared your throat, slightly nervous.

"Oh he was against it at first," Apollo admitted, "BUT he came around. It seems the trials proved a lot more than I thought."

"Well, uh, that's great," you half-smiled, not sure why you felt a sense of dread. This should be the happiest moment of your life.

Apollo's smile faltered, "Do you not-"

"No I do!" You quickly cut him off, sparing him the embarrassment of being rejected in front of a few dozen kids MUCH younger than him. "It's just...you're a god..."

He sighed, "Let's go take a walk."

A few minutes later you were away from prying eyes, sitting by the lake since it always calmed you down. Water soothed you, as cliche as that is for a Poseidon kid.

"I'm just worried," you started after a few minutes of silence, "You know, about all your mortal affairs and having demigod children and all that." You sighed. "I know it's silly. But I just don't think I can go through with it knowing that."

He frowned, but understood, "I can always stop-"

You laughed bitterly, "All the gods promised a woman what. Zeus promised Hera, but there's Jason and Thalia. Poseidon promised Amphitrite, but here Percy, Tyson and I are. It's in your nature, you can't help it."

He felt offended by that, "Yes well, none of them had the displeasure of being turned into mortal for a few months. It changes a god, you know."

You turned to look at him, "Are you really sure about this? That this is what you want? I'm what you want?"

"I've waited for you since you were fourteen," he reminded you, "Of course I'm sure." Despite your reluctance, he took your hand. "Please, just give me a chance."

You thought it over for a moment, before smiling softly, "Fine. You have your chance. But the first mortal affair you have-"

"I won't need them," he smiled, moving closer, "You can have all my children."

Your jaw dropped at his blatant suggestion, a deep blush forming on your cheeks, "Are you crazy?! I can't-"

"You can," he leaned in even closer, "Once I make you immortal."

You started stuttering and stammering just then, uttering some kind of incomprehensible nonsense that the god of the sun just laughed at. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before finally leaning in and claiming your lips.

He had waited long enough, now he was going to kiss you every chance he got.

[atzfilm]

winter blossom (m)

pairing/wc: k.yeosang x reader (10.1k)

genre: alien au, secret relationship

warnings: smut, mentions of murder/injuries, petnames

summary: earth abandoned centuries ago, you travel the cosmos alone. you land on a smaller planet, meeting an exiled dweller that calls himself yeosang.

— part of the ...and it's snowing collab!

Space has always been noisy. Ships riding past you in the low lights, stars sparkling in far away galaxies, the rumbling of your own engines enough to fill what small amount of peace you have alone.

You sit in front of the navigation screen, eyes flicking over the map. You have little fuel left and perhaps you overestimated how much you'll be needing before the next port. It's several hundreds of thousands kilometers away and you barely have enough to make it halfway there. Sure, there's planets in between that you can land at but it's a risk. Most hate humans, hate their existence entirely. Once they see you, you may be taken – either killed or used for parts. You rub your face, looking over your options. You won't make it to the next large port, that's for sure. Waiting out in open space is unreliable – pirates can get to you quicker than a space marshal would.

You groan, a planet close enough for you to land on. One you haven't heard of before.

Elysium.

You glance to the side, typing up the name into your database.

Elysium. Planet primarily consists of thickened forestry and large oceans, similar climate to the planet Earth. Population of three million, ruling under a monarchy. Temperament toward humans is neutral. Climate: Snow.

It ticks off enough boxes for you to decide to land, setting the destination point for Elysium as well as instructions and identification to the port for approval. You grab your telecommunicator and walk off away from the screen, readying yourself to land in the next few days.

“Hey pretty girl,” you walk past the framed photo of your passed cat, pressing your lips on the glass before moving on. Everything is tied down, thankfully, nothing out of place. You jog down the corridor, glancing in each room. All of it is secure since no one has lived in for ages, commotion from prior years of having a crew absolute. It wasn't anything bad for why they left – you all had different ideas on how to make money. Yours was simple, collecting mostly artifacts and lost space junk, getting a heap of coins every now and then. It's a simple life. Alone, yes, but it's fine. Nothing you've haven't grown used to.

After checking all of the rooms you move back into the navigation room, throwing yourself on

the fold up bed you've stored there. You can't remember the last time you slept in your own bed – it's probably been months. Being alone has made you more wary of leaving the room without an attendant. Anything could happen between the distance of your room and here. You'd rather deal with it straight on than wasting precious seconds running toward it. You tuck yourself beneath the sheets, eyes glued to the wide windows showcasing space.

The port is quiet as you land. Ships stationed in several spots, but you only see a few patrollers out and about. You grab your mask and place it over your face, suit already on as you exit the craft. An Elysium, taller than you by almost a foot, comes toward you. You read in the brief biography that they're quite tall in comparison to the average human. That you can clearly see as he stands in front of you. Most of the other traits are the same except for pointer ears, irises a lighter blue. Skin pale and almost translucent, lips a light pink. As if they haven't seen the light of day for ages. His head tilts as he looks down at you, surprised.

“A human on Elysium? I never thought I'd see the day,”

You bow slightly at the guard, holding out your identification and paperwork. “Yes sir. I have all the proper paperwork. I'm here to fuel up before the next stop.”

“Ah, quite far from Candor,” he glances over the paperwork. “It looks in order. Unfortunately for you, we no longer have enough fuel for an aircraft the size of yours.”

“Are you sure? I checked the database to confirm you had the capabilities for fuel and –”

“Oh we do have the capabilities, human,” he nods. “But we've slowed down on our supply since not many land on our port. We can give you fuel, yes, but it will take a few weeks in human time to fuel up that tank enough to get you to the next destination.”

There's nothing else you can do. You take your identification back from him, knowing what you have to ask next.

“Where can I stay while I wait?”

—

You hold the glass in your hand, staring at the seeds swirling in the water. The bartender insisted that it was made for a human's palate, but you almost gagged at the taste. Water this acidic couldn't possibly be water at all. Your helmet and suit rests on the seat next to you. After a quick chat with the guard stationed at the port, and a small device placed beneath your skin, your body is accustomed to the climate of Elysium. You’re all but ungrateful, the heavy material of the suit would only make your stay feel so much longer. Your eyes move to the table, wanted photos seemingly solidified in the glass. Your gaze strays to one in particular.

His presence stood out amongst the fugitives. Hair darker than what you've seen around, eyes staring into yours. His beauty is beyond any of what you've seen so far around here – and that's saying something. Skin covered in … glitter? A birthmark on the left side of his face. Some would say it would lessen his beauty, but it only exemplifies it for you. Your finger traces the outline of his figure, reading the description. It's conveniently in a language you can understand.

Kang Yeosang, Prince of Elysium. Wanted for the murder of the King of Elysium. Bounty set at 4,979,990 Elp.

He is a prince? It makes sense, you can see his commanding aura through the thin paper. But why would he kill the king? You presume it's his relative, father or uncle maybe. You can only snort to yourself, shaking your head. He should have had a maid or butler perform the task if he wanted the throne so desperately. The bounty is high, though. Higher than you've ever seen it. Enough to set you for life and then some.

“He has been forgotten for over a century, human,” A voice pulls you away from the table. You look up, meeting the eyes of another Elysium. His hair is a deep blue, skin covered in bandages. He sits at your table without even a hint of an invitation from yourself, humming. “Neither Elysium high guard or the most elite bounty hunters have been able to find where he resides. This planet has been torn apart for decades. Most have accepted that he is no longer alive. I doubt a human like yourself would be able to find him.”

“Well stranger,” you take another slow sip of your drink, wincing at the taste. “I never said I would be hunting for the forgotten prince and neither do I want to, seeming as he hasn't been found in so long. Trying to read the emotions of a person you don't know doesn't seem to be your strong suit.” You roll your eyes, looking away from him. All you're trying to do is stay under the radar, keep to yourself. Weeks of avoiding unneeded conversation is going to be rough, but you'd rather not start messing up your plan right now with an Elysium that's trying to read your mind.

“You were thinking it, I could tell.” He shrugs.

You narrow your eyes now. Taking the bait surely, you continue, “And how can you read my mind? Is that an ability many of you have? Because it doesn't seem to be working all too well.”

“Ignoring that snide remark of yours, it’s because of your ship,” he glances out the door for a moment. “Before it was just you, there was a whole crew. You were bounty hunters back then, finding lost men and growing. You were quite notorious too, until that crew of yours broke apart. Quite unfortunate now, you could have found the biggest bounty yet if you came here back then.”

“I only deal in antiques now,” you retort. The past is the past. And notorious? You doubt the crew was that popular. Maybe relatively known, but not famous. Just reliable. “And I don't remember seeing you around the port when I was parking.” You would have remembered a face like his. His lips curve at your words, shrugging.

“I'm forgettable. My name is San, by the way,” he holds out his gloved hand. You take it, shaking it. “I'm the owner of this bar, and the man who will be showing you to your room next door.”

“You own both?” Your brow raises.

He nods. “Family business. Whenever you're ready just find me. I’ll be out and about.”

-

You stare at the lack of clothing in your carry-on bag, knowing you’ll have to go back to your ship soon to grab some more supplies. You rub your face, sinking into the bed. This is exactly what you didn’t want. Familiarity, staying longer than necessary. If the government let you rest on your ship you would have. But instead, you’re stuck in a hotel, waiting impatiently for your fuel. You glance at the door. Secured with makeshift objects you kept on your person, a bell twisted around the doorknob. San insisted that this place is safe, but you’d rather not take the chance. Especially as one of the only humans on this entire planet.

“Hell,” you murmur, looking out the window. The planet is known to be dark at night, which only adds more sense to why their skin glows. You look at the streets, shimmering Elysium walking every which way, bright against the streets. It is beautiful, enough for your eyes to continue to wander, lids growing heavy enough to fall unconscious.

The rattling is what woke you up. You leaned forward almost immediately, fingers reaching for the knife beneath your pillow you took off your plate at dinner. Coming up empty handed, you slide off the bed, hands up slightly. Your eyes barely get a chance to adjust to your dark room, but you see them. Their skin brightens up the room, glowing against the walls. They hold up the knife, crushing it between their fingers. You swallow, shooting a fleeting glance at the door. They stand in between you and your escape. You could jump from the window, but it’s several stories above the ground. You doubt you’d survive the landing. They take a step toward you and your body stiffens.

“What do you want? Elp? Artifacts? I have none, they’re all on my ship.”

They hesitate for a brief moment at your words. “Your ship?” Their voice echoes around the room, smooth and deep. Pretty, despite the circumstances. “You have a ship?”

You curse yourself, nodding slowly. “I do. It has no fuel, so you won’t be able to get anywhere with it.”

“But you have a ship,” they confirm. “You can leave this planet.”

“Is that what you want? What are you, a fugitive?” Their skin's luminescence softens at your words. It's almost enough for you to make out their features. In that brief hesitance, they look eerily familiar. You don't get the chance to look any closer though, skin back to where it was. “I can help you.”

“I need to leave. When will you be free to go?”

Good question. “Maybe a few weeks? They said it'll take a while.” Why the hell are you negotiating with a bright spot? Just as you open your mouth again, they interrupt.

“I will be back.”

They dissipate in front of you in a blink, gone from your sight. You drop your arms, chest throbbing, breaths quick. You stand still for a few more minutes. After realizing that they're truly gone, you drop your hands. The smart thing to do is tell San what happened. But your gut is telling you otherwise. It was strange to say the least. But you can't think of leaving to complain to San about someone who might just be a figment of your imagination in your tired state. You convince yourself as such, moving closer to the door. The bell and other contraptions are still in the same place you left them. You walk back to your bed, a cold metal touching your foot. Glancing down, you see the pile of dust.

The knife they crushed.

—

You soon convinced yourself it was a dream despite the circumstances. The knife could have been fragile. You could have somehow imagined the pile of dust. All of these explanations ignore the feeling in your gut. It dwells. No one has bothered you much for the past few days. A little talk here and there, but most left you alone. San, you've grown to notice, speaks to everyone and anyone around his tavern and hotel. And it seems that everyone knows him well, his loud laugh echoing around every room he's in. It brings you comfort. Enough to hide that sinking feeling.

You sit outside, staring out into the thickened leaves and trees. They're nothing like what you've seen, vines tight, barely any signs of movement. As if it knows you're watching. So still that your gaze moves to the rustling of leaves. You tense, glancing around. No one is out and about. Only you in this area. Just as you begin to stand, you see him.

His hair is long, pulled back from his face with braided strings. His eyes are iridescent, still on yours as he makes his way to you. His movements are elegant, hands tucked into his jacket, hidden from view. There's only one person he could be – the Elysium from your bedroom. As he moves closer, you see it. The birthmark near his eye, extending to his temple. Pretty, but deadly, in these circumstances. He pauses in his movement, noticing your shift of focus.

“You know me,” his voice is softer, hesitance wrapped around each word. “You told me you were a human.”

You can't begin to speak, slowly standing up from your spot. Having the exiled crown prince standing in front of you, especially after all San said about his disappearance. What kind of luck do you have?

“I am.”

His eyes narrow, “Then how do you know me?”

“You are the forgotten one. How could anyone not know you? I –” You glance back. “I don't want to be involved in whatever you're planning.”

“I want to leave the planet.”

“Leave? You've been gone for a century, you could have left anytime you wanted. They forgot about you. Why are you trying to hitch a ride with me? What's your plan?”

He stares at you, silent. Your irritation makes your fear lessen, waiting for his response. He merely sighs, staring at the grass beneath his feet. “Humans have rarely landed on our planet. Each time, they refused to help me. Which is why I am asking you.”

“And why would I help you? If someone caught me, I could be killed. You murdered the king. That's not a petty crime.”

His jaw tightens at the mention of the past. Knowing you very much made a mistake, you backtrack. “I don't know you well enough to listen to what you have to say.”

“So why do you listen to what the others say? Do you know Elysium well at all? Why listen to the words of beings you have never come across? Why not listen to my words?”

You pause, unsure of how to answer. Sure, you can listen to the masses, take their word for it and report that you certainly have seen the lost prince. Or you can keep this quiet, decide on whether you want to save him. The longer he stares and waits for a response, the more you're sure of your decision.

“Did you kill him?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have no other choice?”

“...Yes,” he takes a breath. “If I didn't, more Elysium would have been killed. I had no other choice.”

There is no wavering in his tone. He says it strongly, a furrow of his brow. Lost, maybe hurt. But he is sure.

“Okay,” you glance around. “I will get you out of here. But once we land at the next port, you're gone. And we will pretend none of this happened.”

“I'll follow your words, human.”

“y/n,” you correct. “My name is y/n.”

—

“You’ve been out and about a lot these past few days.”

San glances up from cleaning the glass, leg resting on the edge of the chair. You have avoided him since your encounter with the lost prince. You doubt he can read your mind, mostly, but being around Elysium when you’re hiding the most sought out of them all is not exactly something you’d like to do. Especially since you’re growing a soft spot for San. Another thing you didn’t want to do. Unfortunately for you - he’s too kind not to.

“Am I not allowed to explore the planet I'm inhabiting temporarily?”

He purses his lips, leaning against the arm of the broom between his clothed fingers. “You are, of course. Just strange, the way you’ve been acting. Anytime someone asks where you’ve been, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Just what are you hiding, y/n?” His brown lifts, glancing between your eyes. “Or is it best that I not know about it?”

Do you trust him enough to spill what you’ve been hiding? Yeosang has warned you, especially tonight, not to say a word. Out of fear or otherwise. So though San is trustworthy enough, you can’t quite tell him. Not yet, or ever, really. You merely shake your head, and he nods in understanding.

“Fair enough. I hope you keep your radio line open, y/n. I’d hate to lose contact with you.”

You leave the hotel tonight after weeks of staying, petrol finally filled to the brim in your ship. You’ve spent all day filling up your storage with preservatives enough for your long journey and then some. The guard was curious that you had so much, enough for several people. He even inquired as to if you’ve found a life partner on Elysium. You denied it and he only waved you off.

San passes you a small bag of snacks you ordered earlier and you thank him, your hands brushing against each other. The leather encompassing his holds yours for a moment, a small smile on his lips. “There’s a small map in there to an entrance to the docks that no one takes anymore, out of commission. It so happens to be behind your ship, exactly where you parked it. No one would see it since it’s out of view from prying eyes. Someone would advise someone else to take it, using that little pill in that bag. It’ll show whoever it is as someone else temporarily. Not long enough to hang around for hours, but enough. In case, of course.”

He lets go of your hand, smile wavering. “Be safe, y/n. I trust you, even though I haven’t earned your trust yet.”

“San–”

He holds up his hand, shaking his head. “Don’t want to know my friend. Safe travels, keep that radio on. Don’t forget me and call if your journey is too boring, or if you’re tired of him.”

He doesn’t say anything more, grabbing his towel and broom, disappearing into the back of the bar. You grip the bag tightly, grateful that you’ve met him.

–

“It is safe?” Yeosang holds the pill in his hand. You’ve thrown a large coat around his body, the scraps of clothing that he has now not merely enough to make him look like a normal Elysium. The snow does not seem to bother him the way it bothers you, he himself ignoring how the flakes stick to his cheeks. “You’re sure of this?”

“I am,” There’s no need to expand on how or who gave you those pills, exactly. But you think you can trust him. You hope you can. Since he knows what you’re doing, he could have spilled it long ago. But he didn’t, and that’s enough for you.

His soft eyes watch yours. There’s fear of the unknown hidden between the irises, the slow blinks. He has trusted you up to this point. You’re not sure why he decided to grab a random human to help him, but he did, and it’s you. You’ve gotten this far, you wouldn’t betray him. Giving up your life for him is definitely a stretch, but you’d help him in any way you can. And those worried eyes do nothing but make your chest swell. You will help the forgotten prince off this cursed planet. Taking your silence as an answer, he swallows the pill, grabbing the bottle from your hand and drinks the water. You watch him as he stands very still. As if he’s waiting for his death to come. Instead what you see – you can only describe it as magical.

The dark, black hair of his disappears into a lighter blond, softer features hardening, delicate nose changing. Kang Yeosang is nothing like himself. He seems to have shortened in height as well, leveled with you. His eyes stay on yours though, now brown eyes hesitate. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing his wavy hair away from his face. It is not Yeosang in appearance, no, but you can still see him through the disguise. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your small pocket knife, showing him his expression through the reflective metal.

He laughs, shaking his head, “How horrid,” his voice is obscenely deep. Almost obnoxiously so. “What a relief you didn’t want to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t have, you know that,” you roll your eyes.

“I do,” he agrees simply. “Let us go?”

You nod, slipping your fingers into his. He stills for a moment, letting you pull him out from the forest. There’s plenty of people around but none pay attention to either of you. Yeosang’s grip tightens in yours, stiffer as he stands close to you. He hasn’t been around his people in so long, it must be jarring to see them not give him a second glance. Not shame him for what he’s done. You’d like to pick his brain on what he’s feeling right now but you have a task to complete.

You look around, entering the port through the back. It is as San said, no one around, no one to bother the two of you. You quickly open the back door of your ship, ushering him inside. He is a bit hesitant as he stands there, almost forcing you to push him into the ship. He turns to you, eyes widening. “You are not entering?”

“Not back here, I have to go around the front and grab my papers before leaving. I’ll be back.”

You take a step back and he moves a bit forward again, as if to follow you. “Hey, stay in there–”

“You wouldn’t leave me, right?” His words are soft now, the tone of Yeosang’s voice you’ve grown accustomed to. “You would come back?”

You look around, before stepping forward. You hold his face between your hands, “I will not leave you, alright? I am coming back, just give me a few minutes. I’m not lying to you. I promise you this.”

The tension in his shoulders dropped slightly, “Okay. I will hold you to that.” His lips press against the inside of your wrist, stepping back. You quickly move down the ramp, shutting the doors. Ignoring the beating of your heart in your ears, the warming of your face. There’s no time to worry about that now. You have more important things to do, like lie to the guard and smuggle off a fugitive worth more money than you can comprehend.

-

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left Elysium. You know Yeosang is still on, from the rummaging in the room you told him to stay in. You haven’t entered only to give him privacy. In fact, you haven’t seen him since you closed that ramp. The magic has definitely worn off by now. You did want to check but decided against it. Whatever he’s going through right now you’re letting him process it slowly. Hopefully carefully, knowing you have valuables in the room he’s staying in.

You sit at the control table, slowly eating a snack San handed to you. You radioed him just after you left to let him know that you were safe and everything was handled, and he sighed very loudly in relief, explaining that he definitely was not sitting around waiting for your call (he was) or that he thought you might have been taken (he definitely did think so). You reassured him with simple words, not enough to say what you mean, but enough for him to understand. The call was quick, ending with a simple goodbye. You will miss him endlessly, but landing on that planet again wouldn’t be in your favor. That’s your first and last time ever in that sector. Or near it at all. The next port is a couple weeks away, but you have enough fuel to go much farther. You want to discuss with Yeosang and see what he thinks, but he still hasn’t left his room.

Very smart of you to take a banished prince into your ship without knowing anything but what he’s told you.

The hum of the spaceship's engines echoed through the metal walls as you stared at the cameras. You glance at the closed door of the guest quarters, mind swirling with apprehension. The decision to let a stranger on board has always come with its own set of risks, and you just cannot shake the memories of a past experience that had gone terribly wrong.

A few solar cycles ago, you did something similar, made the mistake of extending hospitality to a different traveler stranded on a desolate moon. The person seemed fairly harmless at first, grateful for shelter and food. As the days passed, you noticed a few things off - stolen data from your harddrive corrupt, and before you could even confront them they took the rescue sub and left, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of compromised security, and lack of an escape. It took you months to get something to replace it. The weight of that previous betrayal still hangs heavy on your shoulders; sleepless nights spent trying to repair the damage, the sense of disgust that lingered long after the unwelcome guest had departed, regret that you even trusted a person enough to leave them alone around your things.

Your fingers trace the edge of the data pad, a holographic display of Yeosang’s past. The background check had little, just a brief history of what happened. Nothing to tell you about him, really, just what his people now think of him. Still, you cannot shake the feeling that history might be repeating itself.

"Am I being too paranoid?" you murmur yourself, glancing at the viewscreen that displays the vastness of space outside. "Hell."

Perhaps establishing additional security measures?

You hesitate for a moment. You think you trust him, you do. You trust him enough to leave him around your valuables without thinking twice. So you drop your hand from the screen, shaking your head. If everything messes up, it’ll only be your fault, no one else’s. You move from your spot, approaching the small bed in the corner. Deep sleep will evade you since you’re on board with a fugitive, but your lids are too heavy to ignore. You tuck yourself beneath the blanket, blinking slowly as you stare out the windows. You made a choice. A big choice.

You just hope it’s the right one.

-

“You’re quiet.”

You look up from your food, Yeosang slowly approaching you. He wears the clothing you’ve left in that room for him. Though a bit tight, and silly looking, it’ll fit for now. Nothing like what royalty would wear. You reach back, passing him a bowl that you’ve already made for him. In case he decided to appear in front of you.

He widens his eyes as you sit it across from you, gesturing for him to dig in. You take another bite as he slowly sits down. “You made this for me?”

“You haven’t eaten in days. I know Elysium aren’t the same as me, but you have to eat, Yeosang. You can’t survive on just water.”

“I can for a few months,” he says. Just as you’re about to apologize for your assumption, you see the slight smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, continuing to eat. “I’m grateful for your presence, and your thoughtfulness, y/n. I wouldn’t have been able to choose anyone better to help me leave.”

You shake your head, “It’s nothing-”

“It is something,” he interrupts, “I essentially forced you to take me off that planet. And you obliged without much hesitation. You risked yourself for me. There’s no way I can repay what you have done for me, nothing. I can only remain forever in your debt.”

You think for a moment before speaking. “I trust you Yeosang, I hope you know that. I wouldn't have let you on this ship with me if I didn't. I know that you’ve done it for a reason, and if you’re not able to tell me now, it’s okay. And it’s okay if you cannot say it ever. And do not place yourself into debt with me. Call us even.”

“You place far too much trust in me,” he whispers, looking away from you. “A stranger you barely know.” He takes a deep breath, eyes glued to his bowl. You can see the weight of his unspoken pain. “I wish to tell you what happened.” His eyes flick up to yours, holding your gaze with a mixture of gratitude and. He speaks of his father, the king, who had become corrupted by power and had posed a threat to the people of Elysium. And how, in an act of pure desperation to protect his people, he had taken the life of his own father.

"The council, the people—they didn't understand," Yeosang confesses, words laced with pain. "They saw me as a traitor, an assassin. I was banished, branded a murderer when all I wanted was to save them. I didn’t know how to deal with that, when I tried to save them all."

You can feel the depth of Yeosang's isolation and loneliness, the weight of the truth hanging heavy in the air. There is no doubt from you. You believe him.

"I was almost killed in the process," Yeosang continues, his eyes reflecting the memory. " And I almost let them do it, thinking that my sacrifice would be enough to prove my innocence, but then I pulled myself out of that. They would just let the royal line die, they wouldn’t dig into the past and see. I am the sole heir to the throne, it died with my banishment. If I died then, no one would care to see why. They would just celebrate my end."

Your expression softens, nodding slowly, "You've been through so much, Yeosang. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been."

"I miss being able to protect my people," Yeosang says, a hint of sorrow in his voice. "But now, all I can do is hope that they'll forgive me someday, that they'll learn the truth about the danger my father posed and the sacrifices I made to try and save them."

"You’ll find a way to clear your name, to unveil the truth. It might take time, but…” This is much to say, much too soon. “If you need me, we can face it together. I can help you in any way you need me to."

Yeosang meets your gaze, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in his alien eyes. "I've learned to trust only myself, to keep my guard up against those who might see me as a threat. But being around you... it's different. Easier. You've shown me kindness, understanding. And for the first time, I feel like I can breathe."

Pushing the dwelling feelings inside your own chest, you nudge him slightly. "You’re not alone anymore. I'm here for you, and we'll navigate these fucked up stars together."

“Until the next port?”

You pause. “Right. Until the next port.”

His head tilts. “I just would like to know why you’ve let yourself become entangled with me. Why you have yet to throw me off this ship.”

There’s no explanation you can give that would satisfy his curiosity. In all honesty, you haven’t the slightest clue. If it were pure idiocy that you let him on your ship, let his words convince you. There’s just something that you trust in him. Something that makes you believe everything and anything that he says.

Oh, you are just an idiot.

-

The first thing you hear is yelling.

It's low because of the incessant engine humming in the background. Cutting through the sound, echoing around the hull of your ship. Your eyes flick open immediately, feet slipping into your boots without much thought. Just as you stand, the cold metal of a knife presses against your throat. You still, thoughts flashing back to your past.

“A woman alone on a ship this large? Have you no concern for your safety?”

Alone? They haven't found Yeosang?

You keep your gaze to the floor, trying to think of a way out of this. You haven't the slightest inkling on how many there are, but there's bound to be more than three. You're severely outnumbered, and you doubt the prince has ever fought anyone like you have. Isolation for over a hundred years – the two of you will either be forced into slavery or killed within the hour. Well, at least you would be. Once they see the bounty on Yeosang's head, they'll take him back. And all of this would have been for nothing.

“Do you speak, woman?”

“My crew left,” you say. “We went our separate ways. They left me the ship as a gift.”

“And what a pretty one it is,” he sneers, forcing you to stand as he digs the knife into your neck. You follow his movements slowly, heart racing as the cold steel of the pirate's knife pressed against her skin. Your mind races, trying to come up with a fast solution to free yourself. Your security system is too far for you to run to, and he would very likely stab your neck before you can yell a command.

“The others are searching this ship,” he begins to explain, forcing you into a seat. Panic fills your body. His knife lifts from your chin, steel digging into your wrists as he ties you into the seat. The knife drags along your arm as you cry out. All of your plans of overpowering him dissipate into nothing. You're only a human, after all. There isn't enough strength in your body to rip apart metal confinement.

The door to the room swings open, and before you could turn to see, an ax hits the middle of the pirate's face, blood splattering against your cheek. You scream, leaning away from the bloodshed. Hands wrap around your constraints and pull harshly, dropping them to the floor. You have no chance to look back before arms surround your body, pulling you close against him. His sweet, calming smell is familiar enough to calm your heart.

“You're safe,” he whispers softly, lips pressed against your hair. “You're safe.” Taking in his own words, his arms drop from your body. You look at him, shocked at what you see. His lips are bloodied, body covered in cuts and slowly forming bruises. Shirt shredded, barely hanging on his firm build. He blinks slowly, eyes steady on yours.

He could have died. He could have died so horribly, and you were stuck in a room with one man. Your trembling arms wrap around Yeosang, holding him as if you could shield him from the wounds that adorn his skin. The smell of blood lingers in the air. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the sight of the injuries that coat his body. He could have died. And you're not sure how you could have lived with that.

Sobs escape your lips as you press your face into the crook of Yeosang's neck, "I'm so glad you're alive," you whispered, carefully choosing your words.

Yeosang winces at your hold. You almost pull away, until his grip tightens, wrapping your arms around him again. His concern is etched in the lines of his furrowed brow, betraying his actions. "y/n, you're hurt. Your body," he rasps, fingers delicately resting against your arm. "I should have protected you better."

Your grip tightened, as if by sheer force of will, somehow you could mend both the wounds. “Protect me? You're the banished prince, idiot. I'm the one who should be protecting you,” you reprimand ever so gently. "You're the one who faced the brunt of it. I'm just glad you're alive. I only have small cuts here and there compared to you."

Yeosang's eyes, a mix of gratitude and worry, meet yours. "But you've risked everything for me already. I cannot bear to see you hurt."

A soft smile plays on your lips, "Yeosang, I know the risks as much as you do. I can protect myself."

You can see that he wants to argue more, but his expression relaxes, a silent acknowledgment of your words. You let your fingers trace the outskirt of his wounds. He watches you for a brief moment, before speaking. "I'm sorry for worrying you," he murmurs, voice wary.

You shake your head. "Worry about yourself for once.”

Your tears mingle with the stains of blood on Yeosang's torn attire, clinging to him fiercely.

-

The vibration of the spaceship's engines reverberated through the metal hull, creating a steady rhythm that accompanied your growing sense of unease. Something you’re not able to grasp fully. As a banished prince, Yeosang exchanged his endless roaming in Elysium’s forest for you. And as each day passes, you find yourself stuck, grappling with a strange and undeniable attachment to him. It’s not like you wanted this to happen. In fact, you actively avoided him every chance you got after what happened on the ship. But the silent nights sitting next to one another in the navigation room, the soft smiles shown between the both of you, somewhere in between, things just changed. It was subtle. Soon small smiles were nervous ones on your end.

You cannot avoid the inevitable, that you know.

In the vastness of space, surrounded by the glow of distant stars and the gentle hum of technology, you find yourself sitting in the main room, eyes glued to the television screen. It’s a bit older than newer ships, you never bothered to change it since you rarely watched it. The artificial gravity comfortably keeps you glued to the couch, legs tucked into your chest, blanket over your resting body. Yeosang sits on the opposite end of the couch, not daring to touch you. That’s another story in itself.

Yeosang never really touched you since the brief hijack, nor comfortably since that first time, his lips on your wrist. He actually avoided touching you, slowly taking things from your hand, shrinking himself against a hallway wall. You know it’s for your comfort, but it only makes you yearn for him even more. You never considered yourself a touchy person, not really. Not until now. You wouldn’t be able to tell how many nights you’ve stayed up, thinking about his eyes on yours as his lips covered the skin above your quickened pulse. How he stayed there, longer than needed, before disappearing in the ship. How you wish you can tell him to do it again.

How infuriating.

So as you stare at the screen, you cannot shake the unsettling realization that you are becoming tethered to the person that you sternly told needs to leave when you arrive at the next port. Vulnerability, unfamiliar and raw, creeps over your body, your stomach twisting. How silly that the unknown, uncertainty of the space outside these walls seems vastly incomparable to the fear of losing him.

“You haven’t said a word about the main character.”

You glance at him from your spot, confusion crossing your features. “Hm?”

“Whenever we watch this show, you comment on how annoying the leading man is. How he doesn’t deserve the leading woman. Then, you grumble and groan everytime he says another cheesy line, and sigh when she falls for it. But you haven’t done that at all this whole time. Are you alright?” His pretty eyes rest on yours, brows furrowing.

No, you aren’t okay. You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be okay.

“I’m alright, Yeosang. Thanks for asking.”

“You’ve become easily readable, y/n. I can tell when you’re lying to me. You can say it, you know. Who am I to judge?”

“Just… old times. Things. Stuff, you know.”

He frowns, “That is bigger than the last lie you’ve told me.”

“Yeosang, it’s fine.”

He sighs simply, head turned back to the screen. “Fine, I am not one to push. I just, I don’t know, perhaps I believed that we’ve moved past this hidden information phase. That you somehow trusted me enough to let me know when you’re upset.”

He’s picking at you, it’s clear. You know if you told him straight that you didn’t want to speak of it he’d drop the topic immediately, but you haven’t. It’s very clear to both of you that you want to tell him. But on your side, you’re just afraid to. Yeosang, though not looking at you, waits patiently for your response, unaware of the angst within your heart.

Your fingers nervously play with loose strings of the blanket across your body, trying to find the right words, fear pressing down on your shoulders. He will reject you. Yeosang, despite his status now, is still royalty. He may very much only see you as nothing more than a commoner. Though deep down you know for it to be a lie, your mind wants to convince you that it is true. That he will never stoop down to someone your level.

“I’m fucking terrifed, Yeosang,” you whisper softly.

His mild irritation disappears at your words, body turning fully to look at you. You avoid his gaze as best as you can.

"You’ve… you’ve lived so much of your life as royalty. And here I am, a reject from my former crew, confined in a ship with a prince," your voice is softer now, hesitant. “I’m scared of my feelings for you. And I’m scared that you’ll find me disgusting, gross, and try to leave as quickly as you can."

Yeosang's eyes soften, “y/n–”

“Wait, let me just… let me say this, please.”

He closes his lips, a silent invitation for her to continue.

"And I wondered, what if this feeling is just because you’re nice to me, you know? What if I’m so deprived of kindness that the slightest glimpse of someone remotely caring makes me want you? I never wanted you to pity me, and I don’t want you to say yes when it’s not true for you as it is for me. I like you, I like you so much that I can’t even look at you without feeling it. It aches me,” your eyes burn, tears threatening to fall. “But if you find me as insignificant as I think, please just let me know. Let me know so I can move on.”

Yeosang's expression is unreadable. It scares you even more. He uncrosses his arms, hand resting on the edge of your blanket. "You are not insignificant to me, y/n. You never will be," he smiles. "I just hate that you’ve said all of this before I could confess my feelings myself."

That stuns you for a moment. The way he looks at you is enough to make you look away. He has never made you this nervous before.

“Look at me, please.”

You turn to him.

"y/n," Yeosang begins, his gaze unwavering. "When I first saw you in that hotel, there was something different about you. I couldn't put it into words, but I felt a connection, a sense of trust that I hadn't felt with anyone in a long time."

Your eyes met his in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. You allow him to speak as he allows you.

"Back then, despite it being only weeks ago, I didn't know how to express my gratitude," Yeosang confesses, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the old couch. "You saved me, helped me escape. And in these past few weeks, spending time with you, I've come to see humans for who they truly are. Not just as a means of survival, but as individuals capable of kindness, understanding, and compassion."

A faint smile plays on your lips as you take in his words.

"I didn't realize it at first," Yeosang continues, "These feelings I've been grappling with—whether they were genuine or just a manifestation of attachment because you saved me. But right now, as you sit in front of me, gripping your blanket with such an enormous amount of strength, I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this would be it for me," Yeosang admits, "That I'm completely and utterly terrified of saying my next words, but I care for you deeply, and I want you to be mine. I have no reason to worry since you think the same, but I don't want you to have regrets. I don't care if you're not royalty as I was before. I cannot quite understand why you would think I ever cared about such a thing. I never even mention my former status to you unless you bring it up.”

He is right, of course.

“So what do we do now?” You ask after a moment of silence.

He shrugs, leaning further into the couch. “The same as we’ve done before, except now we know we both like each other,” his head tilts, eyes glued back to the television. “Ah, you’re right. He is quite a nuisance.”

-

And that is how it was.

Days melted into nights aboard the spaceship, neither of you mentioning what happened. The air shifted, no longer burdened by the weight of unspoken words. But still, there is a bit of awkwardness between you. Yeosang, no longer avoiding you or pressing himself against walls to avoid you, entered rooms you occupied and initiated conversations, his presence comforting enough. But other than that, he still avoided your skin. There was only one time he didn’t notice you around, your arm brushing against his to grab something from a cabinet. His skin flushed, body rigged as you lightly nudged him out of the way. After that, he rarely gives you his back, always sending you a smile, or keeping himself aware of where you are in the room.

The physical distance persisted, enough so that you could no longer handle being around him without bringing it up.

One night, as you tend to the plants in your nursery you finally sigh, looking back at him. He wears an old crewmate’s attire, tight against his fit limbs, leaving nothing to the imagination. It’s almost enough for you to forget what you were going to say, until his brow lifts, waiting for you to speak.

"Yeosang," you say, voice breaking the silence. "Is everything okay?"

“Hm?” he tilts his head endearingly, only making this much harder to bring up. You push past the unsettling feelings within you, glancing away from him.

“Do you not like touch?”

“What?” his voice is dripping with shock, almost appallingly so, brows furrowed so harshly they may as well rip his skin. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s hard not to when you avoid touching me every chance you get, Yeosang. I mean, I barely brush your arm and it’s like I’m some sort of disease? I don’t understand.”

“No, y/n, that’s not at all what I am thinking. I…” He rubs his face, moving off the wall, “I am filled with a never ending desire to touch you. It’s my fault that you don’t think so. I presumed that you knew of the mating practices of Elysium without even asking,” he rubs his arms, gaze sliding to the floor. “I don’t know if you noticed while on your brief time there, but on Elysium, all of us wear gloves to avoid touching each other. We only have skin to skin contact with prospective mates.”

You remember how his lips brushes against your wrist, his hand clearly wrapped around yours. How you pushed his hair away from his face, how you held it between yours. You’ve rarely touched him, but you’ve still done it, not knowing what it meant. No wonder he looks perturbed each time you’ve done so.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“And I should have presumed that you did not,” he murmurs. “Each time, every time you touch me, it’s an indescribable feeling. No one has touched my skin since my mother when she held me as an infant, y/n. You are the first since then,” his eyes land on your hands. “When I kissed your wrist, it was an act of confession. So when you told me a few days ago that you were scared I did not feel the same, I didn’t quite understand since I’ve already touched you. Again, another assumption that I didn’t explain,” he shakes his head. “Apologizes.”

“All we’ve done is assume,” you agree. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do, and I’m sorry again. I ... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable since touch as an adult Elysium with another is so much more than innocent. After what I said, though, if you’re uncomfortable, I can give you space."

“No.” You say quickly, an amused smile cast on his lips. “I mean, I don’t mind you touching me, Yeosang. You don’t have to ask. I’m comfortable with you.”

Relief washing over Yeosang's features, "Okay. You can touch me too, y/n.”

You snort, turning back to your plants, “Never thought I’d have a conversation like this.”

“Neither did I.”

The conversation fades into silence, your back to him as you dig out the leaves. You’re focused enough that you don’t hear Yeosang inching closer and closer to you, until a slow hand wraps around your waist. He pulls you into him with ease, breathing in heavily. You can hear your own heart beating against your eardrums, hands gripping the tools tightly. Sure, you expected him to touch you sooner or later.

But you just didn’t expect it to be this soon.

Yeosang’s lips brush against your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “Can I touch you now?"

You lean into his body, humming, “Are you not already touching me?”

His free hand slips down, resting on the curve of your thigh. “Not in the way you want me to. Not in the way I desire, So,” his hand stills, “May I touch you?”

“Yes…”

His hand slowly drags against your pants. You watch as he does so, lips brushing against your neck. His lips caress your skin, breathing steadily. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says after a moment, causing a laugh to escape your lips. Though he does not move away from your body, you can feel his protruding lips pouting against your neck. You try turning around to look at him but he tightens his hold. “You’re not leaving, are you?” he whispers. “I can learn how to pleasure you.”

“Yeosang,” you try turning again, feeling how he reluctantly lets you go. You lean slightly against the framing of the nursery, stretching out your legs and wrapping them behind him. It pushes his body closer to yours, he himself grabbing the planters on either side of you, steadying his body against the framing. Entrapping you in his embrace. His eyes look nervous as they stare into yours. Without missing a beat, you reach up, cupping his cheek. His lids flutter, eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“Why would I leave you alone?”

He swallows, gaze heavy as it rests on yours. “It is not an unfamiliar feeling.”

You lean forward, pressing a light kiss against the corner of his lips. He trembles. “I am not leaving you, Yeosang. I won’t leave you. As long as you want me around, I’ll be here. I won’t abandon you.”

His tongue drags against his lips, “You are sure of that? As long as you can be? I… You won’t leave me?”

“No,” your voice is firm. “I’m not leaving you. And I’ll teach you how to please me, pretty boy–”

An echo of metal cracking behind you stops you from continuing. You glance to the side, seeing his fingers digging deeply into the planters. Eyes widened, you turn back to him. His eyes are glazed over, glued on your every movement. Flicking down to your lips, he leans forward. You meet him halfway, hand resting on the back of his neck. Your tongue drags across his plush bottom lips, pulling him closer. A light gasp escapes his lips, and you take that chance to enter his mouth. He tastes sweet, as sweet as that smile of his. It’s something you very much can get used to.

You hear the planters crack again, his hands resting on either side of your hips, desperately clawing at the fabric. How delicate he holds you compared to the damage behind. He learns without you telling him how to kiss, clumsy a bit at first before calming himself down. Your hand slips down, following the curve of his broad shoulders, hesitating slightly as you touch the solid muscle of his arms. If there were any way you could be more enthralled with his very being you would have surpassed it long ago. You pull away to catch a breath, his head leaning against your shoulder, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs, a strange set of words to come out of his usually proper speech. “We have done not a thing, but I am already too excited,” he lifts his head, thumb rubbing circles into your side. “How do humans fornicate? Is it like us?”

“Depends, what do you do?” Though he asked first, you cannot help but wonder about his answer. He pauses for a moment.

“From what I’ve learned, it is usually snowing outside. That is our peak fertility time. We strip bare, and fuck in the snow.”

“Yeosang!” You gasp, unable to hold in your laughter at his confused gaze. “You’re a riot.”

He continues on, as if you didn’t say a word, “We enter the mating partner through their anus and ejaculate after so much time. Depending on the Elysium, of course.”

“We are not having anal sex. Not now at least,” you say simply. “Humans, well, it depends on the genitalia of their partner. I’m assuming you have a dick?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Yes.”

“Well, then…” After a brief history on what actually happens (brief as in, a forty minute lecture), Yeosang’s fingers are inside of you, moving quickly curving slightly. You moan against his ministrations, gripping the sheets beneath you, eyes flicking down to how easily he learned. His gaze never leaves yours, lips slightly parted as he watches you come undone.

“You’re so pretty, my pretty queen,” he whispers, a small smile gracing his lips as he feels you clench around his fingers. “So so pretty for me, my queen.”

“Yeosang, wait–” you grip his wrists, and he increases his pace. You’ve set boundaries earlier, your safe word being snow. “I’m going to cum if you continue.”

“Then cum for me, pretty. I want to feel you tight around my fingers,” he curls them slightly again, thumb rubbing against your clit. With warning, you moan, falling over the edge. He continues to move inside you, though much slower than before. Once you’re down from your high, he pulls out.

His free hand grips his pants, ripping them with eagerness. His hand wraps around himself, stroking his –

Two cocks rest between his soiled hands, his strokes slow and calculated. Your brain tries to wrap around where exactly in the conversation you had prior, when he told you exactly how many he has. He looks at your shocked expression, worry decorating his. “Darling?”

“You have two, Yeosang. I asked you if you had a dick and you said yes!”

“I do have one, y/n,” his expression still puzzled. “Humans do not also have two?” He swallows slowly, strokes slowing down. “Is this too much for you?”

“Ah, no,” you disagree immediately. “Just surprising.”

“I can only enter you with one, as to not hurt you,” he says quickly. “It’s what you prefer, of course. We can stop now.”

You think it through. Having one inside you is a job in itself, but two? They’re both pretty average and similar to a human’s, though a bit more prominent – skin softer-looking, and covered with shimmer, just as his skin is. You don’t want to end this, and clearly, neither does he. So with confidence, your eyes meet his nervous ones.

“We can try it.”

“…Both?” There’s a bit of hope in his voice.

Who are you to crush it?

“Both.”

-

note: no part two ;-;

[bluestar22x]

Boo!

Summary: You buy a mansion on the cheap having no idea it's haunted by the previous owner's friend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mature readers only)

Word Count: 5,900(ish)

Warnings: "Enemies" to lovers vibes (they annoy each other at first), recreational drug use mentioned, medical stuff, subtitle mentions of sex/yearning, ghost Dieter follows you around the house but isn't a total creep about it - he's just really bored and invisible, AU?, foul language, fluff

Author’s Note: This was created for Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge by @mermaidgirl30 - I already had the idea of writing ghost Dieter before this challenge, so I thought it was the perfect time to write it up. The theme I chose is "haunted mansion" for obvious reasons. I was slightly inspired by a movie some may or may not know.

xxx

You had bought the mansion on the cheap - hardly a million dollars despite the huge, modern layout.

Just outside of New Orleans, the mansion was only one of three you owned as an unusually successful author. One of the few that had gotten rich off of making a crime novel series that had later become a successful drama show that was still running after five years - a true feat in modern entertainment.

Your other two mansions were in Los Angeles and Denver, the first being your main home when working and the second being a winter holiday escape, a place where you could go and experience what winter was supposed to be like. You had grown up in Maine, and it hadn't taken you long after moving to Los Angeles to miss the changing of the seasons, even if you didn't quite miss the often dreary weather.

This mansion in Louisiana was supposed to be another escape, one close to a city with rich history and lore. Spooky lore, that was. You were thinking about writing a vampire series - what better place to inspire you than New Orleans?

Though you'd moved there specifically for the stories of monsters in the dark, you avoided the creepy mansions listed on the realtor sites like a plague. Just cause you were interested in writing it, didn't mean you wanted to live a horror-themed novel.

Your mansion was boring compared to the centuries old mansions and plantations nearby and far from any swampland. It was also only ten years old - a baby mansion that had little chance of having been able to attract attention from any supernatural beings.

Not that you really believed in them, but you were the type not to press your luck. Every time you had in the past, you'd paid for it.

However, the universe had to have been against you, as it often was, because after only one week in your new vacation home strange things started happening.

It began with misplaced items, something easy to dismiss when you were still unpacking and organizing the place. You'd set down a mug of coffee on the countertop and find it on the bar later on or, to your dismay, the living room end table without a drink coaster underneath it. You'd throw a fresh shirt on the bed and enter the bathroom to take a shower and find the shirt on the floor when you returned. You'd place the manuscripts on your desk in a neat pile and find them disorganized the next morning. Things like that.

Then after a month more concerning things started happening. You'd lock a door and find it unlocked minutes later. You'd hear heavy footsteps on the second floor when you were in the kitchen or living room downstairs and you knew no one else was in the house. You'd see doors creak open on their own when they hadn't done that before.

Suddenly the cream colored modern mansion felt unsafe despite the high tech alarm system being in full working order and having never gone off.

You took to listening to music almost constantly, attempting to block out the feeling of unease you felt when everything was quiet. What you thought was your irrational side screamed at you to leave, to sell the place and go hang out at your Denver mansion or return to your main home, but your stubborn, so called rational side balked at the idea. You didn't want to admit defeat against a haunting you were pretty sure was all in your head or had explanations that were not of the supernatural kind.

Then one morning, the day before Halloween, you wandered downstairs to find a strange man sitting at your bar, dressed in ripped blue jeans, a dark tan oxford shirt, and a pair of tan slip on sneakers. You also had time to note that he had a graying patchy beard, sunglasses, and a single gold loop earring attached to his left ear before the fear set in and you screamed.

There was a complete stranger in your house! An interloper! Whatever his reason for being in your kitchen was, it had to be no good.

"Holy shit, you're loud!" he snapped, jumping in his seat. "Why are you freaking out so early in the morning?"

He turned to face you and his jaw dropped when he realized you were starring directly at him. "Wait, can you fucking see me?"

"Of course I can fucking see you," you spat. "You're in the middle of my kitchen, seated at my bar. Get the fuck out before I call the police!"

The man rubbed at his temple, his head pounding, which was really unfair, he thought, considering his situation. "Lady, if I could, I would, you are the saddest company I've ever kept, but unfortunately I have no say in the matter. I was here before you and I can't leave. Believe me, I've tried."

"Clearly you haven't tried enough," you hissed, pointing an index finger at the front door. "Try again."

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, though you couldn't see the latter action behind his shades. "Fine, if you insist."

He pushed himself away from the bar, sliding off the stool he'd been seated on, and headed for the door. He opened it and glanced back at you, finding that you'd trailed him with a glass vase in your hand.

At least you were a resourceful recluse.

He braced himself for the sensation of being catapulted back into the mansion and sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the threshold he felt whatever force that was keeping him inside push him back.

He landed on the tile floor several feet away from the door in the mess of his long limbs. "Oof."

"What the fuck?!" He heard you yelp and he groaned.

"Told you."

"What the hell was that?"

He stood up slowly and massaged his lower back. "That was what's keeping me from leaving, sunshine. Now that you've seen why I can't go, I'll let you guess how this situation began."

"A voodoo priest cursed you to eternity in here?" you guessed, purposely trying to come up with what you thought would be a ridiculous answer. You still were trying to recover from what you'd just witnessed. People didn't just get thrown by invisible forces, yet there was no realistic explanation for what you'd just seen.

"I wish," the man huffed. "But it's not a curse. Not as far as I'm aware. Well, maybe. Maybe some god thought it would be funny. But I'm pretty damn sure it wasn't a person who did this. I don't remember much, but the last thing I do remember before this was partying with a friend, breaking my one year drug sobriety with a dose of some pretty fine cocaine, and then waking up splayed out in the middle of the living room - a very empty living room. By the time I worked through my denial over what had happened to me, you had moved in."

"You overdosed?" you questioned, breath catching because that would mean...

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he replied. "I'm not one hundred percent sure about it. Usually I was always careful about that. But it's not like I hadn't overdosed before." He put his hand out - "Long story." - And sighed heavily. "All I know is I'm dead."

You covered your mouth in shock as you pieced it all together. "You are the one that was moving things, making noises. Did you do that on purpose?"

"What? To scare you?" He looked amused. "I wish I was that clever. Maybe I'd have better company by now. But that was just me trying to keep my sanity. You don't know how maddening it is to wander around a boring mansion all day unable to interact with anything, not even a damn spoon. I'm not good with isolation. Glad the practice paid off."

You walked into the living room and collapsed into your leather couch. "This can't be happening."

He took off his sunglasses as he followed you in and you met his dark but surprising soft eyes for a moment. "What's your name, anyways?"

He placed a hand over his chest and acted shocked, a little stung by your lack of familiarity with him. You could tell he was just being dramatic and didn't really care. "You don't know? Hint: I was an actor who was having a great Hollywood comeback when I died."

Your mind was blank. You didn't know a lot of actors by name, or by face for that matter. You didn't watch a lot of TV and movies, your preferred entertainment being reading. Your office walls were covered by filled bookshelves.

You shrugged at him.

"Dieter Bravo," he told you. "My name is Dieter Bravo. Almost everyone I know calls me Dee though."

"Do I know you now?" you inquired.

"Hardly," he snorted. "But I know you enough, unfortunately, no offense."

You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed. "You can't insult me then claim no offense. I'm gonna take offense. Especially since we've never even talked before now."

"Sorry," Dieter apologized half-heartedly. "I've just been going crazy and all you do is sit at your desk writing or read on the couch. And you seem to prefer it that way."

"Introverts do, yes," you said. "But I can be fun when I want to be. I'm going on a tour of the city tomorrow."

You didn't mention that you were going alone. You hadn't made any friends in the city yet. That always took you a while. Something that most actors probably had little trouble doing. People begged for their friendship or more, didn't they?

"Is it one of those ghost tours?" he asked. "Cause that would be ironic."

You held your tongue and kept your comment about him having used the word ironic wrongly to yourself. You were pretty sure that was something someone boring would point out. You weren't sure why you cared about what a dead addicted actor thought about you, but you did for some stupid reason. Probably because his untamed curly hair looked very tuggable and his jeans were tight in all the right places and you hadn't been laid since your last book tour. Handsome guys were your weakness. You weren't usually into jerks or addicts though. Losers, as far as you were concerned.

Instead, you let your mind wander to all those times you'd heard things moving around while you were undressed or in bed. "Please tell me you haven't been stalking me this entire time."

"Stalking is a strong word," he protested. "We're in the same house for hours on end. We have silently interacted, or rather been in the same room. And I might have been watching you, but only when you were dressed, cross my heart."

"That's comforting," you said sarcastically, but you believed him. No one with so much disdain towards your daily activities would have bothered to peep on you, would they? But he could be the type who didn't care if a girl had personality, as long as she had boobs, right?

You decided it was not worth the trouble thinking about. Not when you had no idea how to get him to move on, or at least get him out of your mansion.

"So, what unfinished business is keeping you here?" you inquired. "Last I heard that's the only way either of us is going to get some peace in the forseeable future."

"Ouch. Fair."

"Do you know?"

Dieter shook his head. "What unfinished business don't I have? My latest movie will never finish filming, my girlfriend broke up with me over the damn phone on my way here, I have no idea if Perry overdosed too or if he's still alive, and my family all hate me."

"Surely not," you said. "They just didn't know how to help you with your addictions anymore."

Dieter blinked at you. "I thought you didn't know anything about me?"

"I don't," you replied. "But I've had a couple relatives, not close ones, but still, they got addicted to painkillers and they wouldn't let the family help them, so my family got angry at them and gave up trying. You can't help those who don't want to be saved is how my mother put it."

"What if they wanted to be saved but didn't know how to accept help?"

The vulnerable question, seemingly uncharacteristic, threw you off. You stared at him and Dieter glanced away. "Just asking," he muttered.

"I don't know," you told him honestly. "Same applies. It can't be one sided. They would've had to find a way to accept it. But they didn't. And they've been buried six feet under for five years now."

Dieter nodded.

"I don't think I could help you with your family issues," you continued on. "But I can tell you Perry is alive, if he is the same Perry who owned this place as I assume. He sold me the mansion three months ago, a month before I moved in."

"That's good," he said, scratching at his neck. "I knew from your calendar and your phone that it has been six months since I died, but I didn't know if he was still alive. I can't remember him ever coming back. Maybe he did and I just wasn't...aware at the moment. Time is different now for me. And I think ghosts actually sleep too. Kinda."

"The realtor showed me this place," you told him. "Perry only showed up to finalize the paperwork at her office. Maybe it was too painful for him to come back?"

Dieter pursed his lips. "Maybe."

"Did that help?" you asked hopefully. "See any doors or light to go into?"

He barked out a laugh. "If only! But there's nothing. Guess we're not getting rid of each other that easily." There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested he wasn't as annoyed about it as he was before. It was actually playful.

"Too bad," you stated, smirking.

He chuckled. "At least we can talk now."

"That we can, so long as you promise not to keep watching me like an invisible creep while I sleep," you said.

"I do not."

"I've felt it," you hissed.

"It's hard to look away," he admitted. "You do know you drool, right?"

"Shut up."

x

After your first run in with Dieter you didn't see him for a few days, and you wondered if he'd finally moved on, but of course, no such luck.

You choked on dinner when he popped up next to you at the dining room table on the fourth day.

"Sorry, didn't mean to almost kill you," he said humorously, patting your back.

You felt nothing when he did it. Maybe a cold breeze, but nothing really notable.

"Where've you been?" you inquired once you'd recovered.

"No idea," Dieter answered. "I think showing myself to you all afternoon zapped all my 'spirit' energy. What day is it?"

"November three."

"Damn. Oh well."

"You going to use your newfound 'spirit energy' to find a way to move on?"

He pouted. "Said like I wasn't trying to do that before. And jeez, in a rush, are we?"

You huffed. Like he'd given you a reason not to want it fast. It would be way better for you both once he found peace.

"Aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" he shouted before pointing a finger at you. "But I'm not leaving before I give you this advice: don't wear jeans on the night of your death. You may think they're comfy, but they're not. Not after weeks, months in them. I miss my pajamas. My robe."

He sighed wistfully and you couldn't help but chuckle at him. "Alright, advice taken."

He whirled and phased back into invisibility, leaving you alone until the next morning, when he nearly made you choke on your breakfast.

x

Days turned into weeks like this, with Dieter spending minimal time with you as he made attempts to figure out what he needed to do to be free of the mansion, as he tried to make peace with the things that haunted him in hopes that resolving his unfinished business would open the beyond up to him, but slowly, the more hope he lost, the more time he spent with you.

It started with meals, watching you eat and participating in discourse that became less and less hesitant and hostile over time, turning into shockingly friendly debates and banter.

It turned out Dieter wasn't so bad to be around and he wasn't the loser you'd thought he was, or had been. One search of his wikipedia page and a few youtube videos had settled that for you. He had worked hard to gain his success, spending nearly a decade taking guest star role after guest star role, working in a bar when the roles and his money dried up. And when he did find a major role to catapult his career, he continued to take as many roles as he could.

He was known for partying hard on weekends, but he never showed up for work high.

He enjoyed comfy clothes on his time off, and especially loved wearing his light green robe, sometimes even going to his local coffee shop in it, but he cleaned up well for interviews and other important functions.

Dieter had a good reputation despite his addictions. It seemed like his fellow cast members always had nice things to say about him, even those who worked with him on the disastrous set of Cliff Beasts 6, which was apparently where he'd had his first overdose.

By Thanksgiving you were solid friends, and after you left for the holiday to visit your parents and home in LA, you returned with a souvenir for you both - a fridge magnet with a picture of the city buildings just beyond the Hollywood sign. You'd noticed Dieter seemed homesick and you sometimes felt it too. But you wouldn't leave New Orleans until Dieter figured out how to move on or until you were forced to. The magnet gave you a daily reminder of what it looked like.

As Christmas neared, Dieter began hanging out with you in the living room at night, watching whatever you were watching, which were mostly Christmas movies in December. He did it even when you watched Hallmark, though he'd roll his eyes and make sarcastic comments about the plot throughout those.

"They always fight and break up over an assumption," he rattled on more times than you could count. "Dumb ones at that. His jealous ex flaunts her a ring and says it is from him and the leading lady just bolts without asking him if it's true? And they said I needed therapy."

"You needed therapy."

"Well, not as bad as that bird."

Dieter couldn't leave the house to get you a Christmas gift, and you'd agreed you both would spend Christmas Eve, the night before your parents arrived to celebrate the holiday, just curled up on the couch together as usual, but that hadn't stopped him from giving you something anyway.

He'd thrown a box at you, unwrapped and told you to look inside and you'd found a beautiful charcoal drawing of you writing away at your desk inside. The sight of it made your breath catch.

"You did this yourself?" you questioned, stunned.

"Yeah," he replied. "It took a lot of energy out of me, but I got it done in a few days. I know we said no gifts, but I wanted to give you something anyway. You know, since I can't pay rent."

He'd expected you to laugh at the comment but you were too busy studying the image. He'd gotten every detail, right down to your blemishes. He'd put a lot of care into drawing you. It felt...reverent.

When you tilted your head up to look at him, you did it differently. You saw him in a new light. And though he was in the same jeans and shirt as he always was, you thought he looked particularly handsome in that moment, chocolate eyes hopeful.

"So, do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"I love it," you assured him. "But I...didn't get anything for you."

"It's okay," he said, "Free rent."

"You are the least messy roommate I've ever had," you told him. "But you've got to stop sneaking up on me and making the rooms cold."

"The temperature is out of my hands," Dieter said, shrugging. "Unless you want me to turn up the thermostat. I've mastered turning dials."

You smiled. "I'm good tonight."

x

You should've known better than to get drunk alone on New Year's Eve, but you did.

No, you weren't alone, alone, but you were the only one drinking since Dieter was not physically able to drink. And he should've been the last person you'd hang out with drunk.

Being drunk made you silly, made you excitable, and it also made you bold.

One minute you and Dieter were laughing loudly, and the next you were leaning towards him. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure. Anything."

You leaned in closer and lowered your voice, "It really sucks you are dead, Dee. It sucks because I really wish we could kiss right now."

Dieter stared at you, dumbfounded, but the shock quickly turned into glee. "We could still, you know."

"You've gotten good at making yourself more solid," you said, "But I can't feel you whenever you touch me, Dee. I don't notice it unless I see you doing it. That's the only way I know. By sight."

"Well, you've never focused on it before, have you?" he inquired. "It always takes me a lot of focus to hold anything, even a pen, for long, but I do."

"It may not seem that way, me being a writer, but I'm terrible at focusing," you admitted.

Dieter brushed your cheek compulsively and you smiled weakly at him.

"Can we try something out?" he asked.

"What'd you have in mind?"

He nodded at the couch. "Turn off the lights and lay down on your back and close your eyes."

You raised your eyebrows questioningly, and he flashed you a reassuring smile. "Trust me."

You did as ordered and Dieter took a moment to take your prone form in, peering through the darkness, and he noticed how your fingers were twitching due to your inability to ever keep perfectly still.

He couldn't believe he was finally going to kiss you. Two months ago he wouldn't have wanted to. He'd had bigger concerns, and you weren't his usual type.

But with time and forced proximity he'd grown to enjoy your company. You were smart, generous, surprisingly witty, and he'd always found you pretty.

He doubted he deserved you, he was certain you were better than him, but you wanted him to kiss you, and lately he'd wanted that too. He couldn't deny you.

He approached the couch and sat down next to you, leaning over you so his face hovered above yours.

"Try to clear your mind."

You nodded and did as told, doing your best to keep all thoughts at bay while your heart thudded in anticipation against your rib cage.

Then you felt his lips on yours. They weren't warm or cold, soft or chapped, and they didn't taste like anything, but you could feel the pressure of them. You could feel when he moved his lips, when he deepened the kiss, when his hand reached out to cradle your face.

You reached up for him automatically, your eyes still shut, and you could feel his strong neck under your hands, could feel the tips of his curls at the base of it.

There was something electric about the moment, and you moaned softly as you let the sensation consume you. The more you got lost in it, the more kissing Dieter felt real.

It was sobering.

You gently pushed him away and opened your eyes to find him gazing back into yours, a confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head as tears flooded your eyes. "I can't, Dee. I can't do this with you. You're dead."

"Pretty sure we just did," he said, wiggling his brows suggestively. "And if we can do that, imagine what else we might be able to do with time."

"I can't," you repeated. "Someday you will move on and I'll be alone again."

"I'll wait to move on only after you die," he declared. "Problem solved."

You shook your head again, harder. "That's unfair for us both and you know it. I don't want to spend my life keeping you a secret, and you don't want to stay cooped up in this house for another four or more decades. You'll go mad."

"Not with you here," he swore, his hand gliding down to squeeze your upper arm.

"I can't take that chance," you said, standing up. "I'm sorry."

You began to walk away, but in the archway to the hall you turned to face him again.

"You should keep looking for your way out," you told him. "Make it your priority again. Cause next week I'm headed back to LA. I've got a book that's going to hit shelves in three weeks and my editor wants to plan some last minute fan meet ups for when it does. I can't stay here while we're doing that."

You tried to avoid looking at Dieter's face but you still got a glimpse of the hurt on it.

He was so upset he didn't say anything to you back, and you told yourself silently that it was easier that way.

You climbed the stairs, quickly curled up in bed under your sheets, and tried to think about anything but him until you fell asleep.

You had no idea that when you woke up in the morning, he'd be gone.

x

Steady beeping was the first thing Dieter registered when he gained consciousness in the hospital, but it was far from the least pleasant thing about the experience. That had gone to the bright lights briefly, then to the uncomfortable feeling of his feeding tube that was pulled through one of his nostrils.

Dieter would never call waking up from his coma fun. It had been confusing and exhausting (he thought that was ironic) and he’d been sore from not moving for a long time, but at least that discomfort felt short compared to what came after.

He'd been in a coma for nearly a year and that had taken a toll on his body, along with the seizure that had caused him to go into it in the first place, a side effect of his long term use of hard drugs.

He had most of his mind right from the start, but his body was weak and had loss some of the connections he'd made as a child to do simple functions like walking and eating with a fork. Frustratingly, he'd had to learn it all back again.

His only solstice was that his parents were there every step of the way. They'd had him transferred to LA after he woke up and had regularly visited him in the hospital and Dieter kinda wished he'd heard them while he was taking his long sleep. What had they said to him?

Probably what they'd been saying since. His parents rarely missed a chance to tell him they loved him, that they regretted letting his addictions come between them.

"It was my fault," he'd told them, but they'd shaken their heads.

"We didn't go about finding you help like we should've. We gave up too fast."

Dieter didn't care about that though. He was just grateful to have them back in his life. To still have a life at all.

He didn't remember the fateful night that had led to his coma, but he was able to video chat with Perry on his laptop and his friend filled in the blanks.

They'd gotten together and Perry had given him all the cocaine he could ask for. They'd gotten comfortable on the couch and rode out their highs talking about the trouble they used to get into in high school. Then he had began seizing sometime after midnight and Perry had dialed 911.

Even with the fill in, Dieter felt he was missing something. Something important. But any time he tried to recall his night with Perry, he got nothing.

He had dreams though, often several times a week, of him patrolling Perry's mansion alone, of an attractive woman chatting away with him at the dining room table, of him kissing her in the shadows of the night, and those felt like the missing pieces, lost memories, but they couldn't be. He couldn't have been a ghost while he was in the coma, he reasoned.

But all the reasoning in the world wouldn't allow him to shake it off. Eventually he caved and asked Perry, who was visiting him after getting out of rehab, to describe the woman who had bought the mansion from him.

When he gave every detail he could think of, Dieter was flabbergasted.

The woman Perry had detailed sounded exactly like the woman in his dreams...

But it couldn't be, could it?

He decided there was only one way to find out.

As soon as he was back to full strength, he'd fly out to New Orleans and knock on your door.

He'd find out once and for all if any of it had been real.

x

He didn't mean to go to New Orleans on Halloween, but that's how it ended up - with him on an early flight to one of the spookiest cities in the world on the arguably spookiest day of the year.

He took a taxi to get to your house and hesitantly made his way to the front door.

How should he go about telling you he had dreams about you? To ask if you knew him when he was in his coma and was a ghost? What if it had really all been in his head?

There were several carved orange pumpkins on the front porch - jack o' lanterns - something he didn't remember you having last year, and they immediately sent him into a spiral of deep uncertainty.

She can't be her, he thought. She didn't decorate for Halloween last year.

It was kind of ridiculous to assume that just because you hadn't had Halloween decorations one year you wouldn't have them the next, but that was how much he was doubting himself.

He took a moment to beat down his nerves on your doorstep, shake it off, then knocked, not knowing if you'd hear it or if you were even on the same side of the house. Not knowing if you were home at all.

You were both shocked when you opened the door and found yourselves staring at each other.

How could it be? You'd assumed Dieter had moved on well over half a year ago, and yet there he was before you, looking very much alive and in a fresh pair of black jeans and an olive green button down shirt that was basically his tan shirt's twin.

"Holy shit, I didn't think you were actually real!" Dieter exclaimed.

"Are you?" you inquired. "Last I knew you were dead. What the fuck?"

He guffawed and you marveled at the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, at how they shined with life. His hair was more gray than you remembered, but it only added to how alive he looked.

"It turns out I wasn't actually dead," he explained. "I was in a coma. I woke up in a hospital bed back in January and found out I'd been unconscious for several months. I didn't overdose, but I'd had seizures from the cocaine I took. I had no idea that could be a side effect. The doctors said it was a miracle I survived, let alone had a full recovery."

You stepped outside with him. "And you've stayed clean?"

He huffed. "Of fuckin' course. I'm not a complete idiot. I'm not going through that shit again. Physical therapy was a bigger pain in my ass than any of the cravings could ever be."

You laughed briefly before your expression turned serious again. "That's good."

"I wanted to see you sooner," he told you, scratching at his cheek over the beard he still had, though it was more neatly trimmed than it had been the last time you'd seen him. "But I wanted to be fully recovered before I flew back out here, and for part of that time I didn't remember being here. Not even the night me and Perry hung out in the living room."

You folded your arms, nodded, and pursed your lips. "So how much do you remember now?"

You tried to keep your expectations low but there was a knife stabbing at your heart when you realized that he might not be able to recall much of you at all. Did he even remember your kiss?

Dieter smiled. "I remember us not getting off on the right foot, and maybe scaring you on purpose a few times."

You gaped at him. "I KNEW it!"

He grinned slyly and continued, "I remember how we used to talk a lot, and how that would drain my energy right out, but I'd always linger a little too long, until I had no choice but to slip into the darkness to rest for a while. I remember loving your sarcastic sense of humor and the way you lose your breath when you laugh too hard. And I...remember that night, when we kissed."

That had been something else. Unexpectedly titillating. It was by far the sharpest memory he had of that time he'd spent between worlds.

"I don't know if you remember it, but I regretted every day since that I said what I said that night," you told him, chewing your lip.

He nodded. "I remember. But you weren't wrong. You deserve to be with someone breathing, and I was really getting sick of being stuck in the house."

You chuckled but the sound was cut short when you felt him palm your cheek.

He was sooo warm. Real.

Your stomach fluttered when your eyes met.

"I thought I'd never get to say goodbye," you whispered. "All I wanted after I woke up to an empty house was to get that chance. But this, this is so much better."

"I missed you," Dieter admitted, drawing closer to you.

You beamed at him and he felt his chest warm.

"I missed you too."

He pulled you into a kiss, far more passionate than the first you'd shared, and you gripped onto his elbows tightly, fiercely clinging to him, almost afraid to let go.

When you eventually did, you smirked at him. "You're a day late for our anniversary, you know."

"First meetings do not count," he claimed.

"Oh yes they do," you countered.

"Well, excuse me for fuckin' forgetting to fly out yesterday. Pretty sure I still have some brain damage."

You huffed playfully. "Excuses."

Dieter shook his head at you fondly and kissed you again.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[quillsandcravats]

Middle of the Night | Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader | Prologue

Summary: The year is 2025. When you move into Bridgerton House as its new curator, you don’t expect to fall in love with Benedict—a charming, enigmatic artist who seems to belong to another time. But as your connection deepens, the house begins to whisper its secrets, and you uncover a devastating truth: Benedict died over two centuries ago. Bound to the estate by betrayal and an unfinished life, he is forever thirty, a love you can touch but never truly hold. And when the past finally catches up with him, you must face an impossible choice. Pairing(s): Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rating: M Warnings: modern!AU, paranormal!AU, ghosts, hauntings, major character death, paranormal romance, angst, whump, descriptions of violence, death/dying, grief, trauma Crosspost: AO3, do not repost my fics anywhere! A/N: This idea came to me literally in the middle of the night. I woke up to get a drink of water and it dawned on me that this would be an incredibly fun series to write. I'm so excited to write this and I hope you'll come along for the ride. Tagging a few mutuals - @monaskydancer @dorianellle @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure who I think will love this. Please send me an ask if you'd like to be on the taglist for this series or Benedict in general!

You stared at your computer screen, nibbling on the pen in your hand.

The advertisement read: BRIDGERTON HOUSE SEEKS MUSEUM CURATOR.

Bridgerton House, one of England's most beautifully preserved Regency-era mansions, was looking for a new historian to join the staff. The house was now under the care of the Bridgerton Foundation. Thankfully, the home had remained in the family for over two hundred years. The foundation, devoted to preserving the family’s history, now opened its doors to the community, offering educational programs, ghost tours, and a full museum set to open by the fall.

You spent ages worrying that your history degree would land you in a dead-end job, but now it looked like you might finally have the chance to get your dream job. You had always been obsessed with the Regency era, pouring hours of work into your final thesis on it.

Even better, this job would mean you'd be living in the house twenty-four seven. This was perfect—you could sublet your current apartment and ditch the headache of hunting for budget-friendly housing on a historian's salary in London. You took a deep breath and clicked open on the application.

You glanced over at your cat, Mr. Darcy, who was sprawled across the armchair with his tail flicking lazily.

“Do you think we’ve got a chance?,” you asked, chewing your bottom lip. His green eyes met yours for a moment before he responded with a nonchalant meow. With a sigh, you turned back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you started typing your query into the search bar of the website.

As you scrolled through the application, your heart raced with anticipation. Each question felt like a step closer to your dream. You found yourself pouring your passion into every word. You detailed your expertise in Regency-era history and your deep love for the period's literature and culture, hoping that your passion would be obvious in your answers.

Halfway through, you paused, your eyes drawn to an unusual question: "Are you comfortable with the possibility of paranormal activity?"

There were whispers about Bridgerton House being haunted, but you'd always shrugged them off as a tourist trap.

Your cursor hovered over the 'Yes' button. You weren't the type to believe in the supernatural. You took a deep breath, trying to summon some of the logal thinking tips your therapist had given you just last week. “There are no such thing as ghosts,” you said under your breath, continuing to type out your answers.

At last, you attached your resume and cover letter to the application and clicked send. You turned around happily in your swivel chair, feeling a wave of confidence wash over you.

A few weeks passed since you had successfully navigated through two rounds of interviews, and your phone suddenly began to vibrate on the kitchen counter. It nearly made you jump as you put down the bag of chips you were munching on, wiping your hands quickly on your jeans. You snatched your iPhone up quickly, your heart racing with anticipation.

"Hi, it's y/n," you said, adding that touch of office-ready polish to your voice that your friends always found hilarious. They loved to joke that they couldn't distinguish between you and your 'work persona.'

“Hello, Miss y/l/n, this is Claire Watts,” the voice on the other end said, warm and clear. “I’m calling from the Bridgerton Foundation. How are you today?”

“Hi! Hi, Miss Watts. I’m doing great, really good,” you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check. “How can I help you?”

“After discussing with the rest of the team,” Claire continued, her tone reassuring and enthusiastic, “we believe you’d be an excellent fit to take over our museum curator position at the mansion in London.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, and you had to grip the kitchen counter to steady yourself. "Really?!" you breathed, unable to contain your excitement. "I mean, thank you so much! I'm honored!"

Claire chuckled warmly. "We're thrilled to have you on board. Now, there are a few details we need to discuss before you can start. As mentioned in the job description, you'll be required to live on-site. The curator's quarters are in the east wing of the mansion. You’ll have your own bedroom, bathroom, and access to a full kitchen. It gets pretty cold in the winter, but we do have some space heaters in there right now. The rest of the house is still undergoing renovations, as we talked about in the interview. Are you still comfortable with that arrangement?"

You could've sworn the house had been painted in a much rosier hue when they described it during the interview, but you squashed those doubts quickly. Who cares if the area you're moving into has lost some of its old-school charm?

It was once in a lifetime.

"Absolutely," you replied, your mind already painting vivid pictures of yourself wandering the shadowy, history-laden corridors of Bridgerton House. The thought of being surrounded by centuries of stories was thrilling. "And, um, is it alright if I bring my cat?"

"Of course," Claire assured you, her voice carrying a warmth that suggested a broad smile. You imagined her sitting comfortably in her home office, surrounded by family portraits and shelves of well-worn books. During the interview, she enthusiastically recounted her lineage, mentioning that she was a descendant of the Bridgertons. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, she noted with pride, tucking her brown hair behind her ear, had been her 9th great-grandfather, or something along those lines. The details blurred together as your mind wandered.

"We find that pets often… adjust well to the unique atmosphere of Bridgerton House."

There was something odd in the way Claire emphasized ‘unique’ that sent a shiver down your spine, prompting you to nervously nibble at your fingernails. You look down at your chipped blue nail polish. What if the advertisement wasn't just a playful exaggeration? What if there truly were ghosts, or demons, or other supernatural entities lurking within the walls, and you found yourself channeling your inner Lorraine Warren, confronting spectral phenomena in the witching hours of the night?

Okay, y/n, breathe.

“When do I start?”

“We would love to have you moved in within the next three weeks.”

“Let’s call it two.”

"Great. I'll send you over some forms for human resources. Welcome to the Bridgerton Foundation, y/n."

As you hung up the phone, your heart raced. You jumped up with excitement, your feet barely grazing the floor, like a middle schooler who just snagged front-row seats to a boyband reunion tour.

"Mr. Darcy!" you squealed, reaching down to scoop up your tabby cat. His fur bristled as he let out a protesting howl, clearly not sharing your enthusiasm. "We're going to Bridgerton House!" you announced, holding him close as if he could understand the significance of the moment.

To Be Continued. Next Chapter (coming soon)!

[earthlybeam]

May I have a Elrond, Haldir and whoever else you'd like to add reacting to a reader who wrote a story about them in secret and published it in a bookstore or market of some sort and the book gets extremely popular?

Thank you so much!

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond, haldir, thranduil (added) Versions are below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ Elrond had spent centuries weaving through the vast expanse of his responsibilities—his duties as the Lord of Rivendell, his leadership in the wars, and the never-ending work of ensuring the safety and future of his people. He was well-versed in the ways of diplomacy, of understanding politics and the intricacies of elves and men. Yet there was one thing that even his sharp intellect could not have prepared him for: his own life, written and displayed for all to see. It had started innocuously enough. He had wandered into the market in Rivendell to gather a few rare herbs, a small task that usually didn’t occupy much of his time. The hustle and bustle of the elves, trading goods and exchanging knowledge, was a familiar comfort. But as he strolled past the array of books and scrolls in the corner of the marketplace, something caught his eye—a stack of freshly printed books, all with a strikingly familiar cover.

✶ The title read: “The Life of Elrond: A Tale of the Half-Elven.” His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise crossing his usually composed features. He reached out, unable to resist, and picked up the nearest copy. The weight of the book in his hands felt unreal—he had never approved of such a publication. He had never given permission, nor had he ever known anyone to capture his life in words. His heart quickened as he opened the pages. It wasn’t a typical recounting of battles, diplomacy, or governance. No. This was something different—something personal. The author had captured his essence in such intricate detail, the quiet sorrow in his eyes, the hidden burdens he carried, the moments of vulnerability he rarely shared with even his closest allies. The words felt as if they had reached deep into his soul and plucked out the parts he kept hidden, the parts only someone truly close to him could understand.

✶ His fingers trembled slightly as he read further, each word a testament to the person who had written it—the person who had observed him so intently, so intimately, that they had pieced together a portrait of his life. And there, among the passages, were references to moments he had long since buried—his childhood in Eriador, the pain of losing loved ones, and the complex emotions that accompanied his long reign as the Lord of Rivendell. But what struck him most was the sheer popularity of it. There, in the corner of the stall, the sign proudly declared: Best-Seller. The merchant standing beside the booth greeted him with an eager smile.

✶ “Ah, Lord Elrond! I see you’ve discovered the book. A remarkable piece of work, isn’t it? People can’t get enough of it. It’s been flying off the shelves since we got it in stock.” Elrond could barely process the words. The people of Rivendell, and even beyond, had found this story… important. His heart swelled with an unfamiliar emotion—pride? Or was it something else, something more uncomfortable? The knowledge that his life, his most intimate self, had been revealed to the world in such a way stirred something deep within him. “I… did not know of this,” Elrond said quietly, his voice betraying a rare hint of unease. “Who wrote this? Do you know who the author is?”

✶ The merchant shook his head, a bit puzzled. “No one knows! It was published anonymously. But there’s a lot of speculation. Some think it’s someone close to you—perhaps a companion or even one of your children. Whoever it is, they’ve captured you in a way no one else has. It’s as if they’ve seen the side of you that most don’t understand, and they’ve shared it with the world.” Elrond’s thoughts were in turmoil. The idea that someone had observed him so closely, understood his deepest fears, his internal conflicts, and the weight of his decisions, made him feel exposed. He had always prided himself on keeping his innermost thoughts hidden, not just from his people but from himself at times. Yet here it was, laid bare in a book that anyone could read. He glanced at the book again, this time seeing the way it had captivated the masses. How many elves, men, and even dwarves had read it? How many had come to see him in a new light because of it? It unsettled him to think that something so private was now in the public eye, so far removed from the quiet sanctuary of Rivendell.

✶ But amidst the shock, there was a strange feeling—gratitude, perhaps. The author had not painted him as a mere figure of myth or legend; they had captured his humanity, his flaws, his complexities. They had written a story that didn’t shy away from his darker moments, but instead, illuminated them, showing him as not just a ruler but as a person—one who bore the same struggles as any elf or man, no matter his title. His gaze shifted, and there you were, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching him with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. It took only a glance for him to know who had written the book. You. His heart skipped, and for a moment, Elrond felt a rare vulnerability—one he had not allowed himself in centuries. You, who had observed him with such care, had written his story with such depth. You had taken parts of his life that he had never shared and turned them into something beautiful—something that resonated with everyone who read it.

✶ He moved toward you, the book still in his hands. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, but there was an undeniable sincerity in it. “You wrote this,” he said softly, not needing you to confirm it. He already knew. Your face flushed with a mixture of guilt and relief, and you stepped closer. “I—yes. I didn’t mean for it to become so… public. I just… I wanted to honor you, to share your story in the way I’ve always seen you, not just as the Lord of Rivendell but as someone who has lived through so much.” Elrond looked down at the book in his hands again, his thoughts swirling. Part of him still felt exposed, unsure of how to reconcile the world’s perception of him with the quiet, reserved elf he saw in the mirror every day. Yet, as he met your gaze, something shifted within him.

✶ “You have captured me more truly than I thought possible,” he said, his voice still soft but filled with an emotion that felt like something between gratitude and awe. “I see now why you did it. I… I may not have been ready for the world to know these things, but you have honored me in ways I never imagined.” For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the market noises fading into the background as Elrond processed the depth of your words, the weight of your gesture. His heart ached with a bittersweet emotion—pride in the story you had told, but also an awareness of how vulnerable he felt being laid bare before the world. And yet, despite the discomfort, Elrond felt something else. Perhaps this was the kind of legacy he could accept—not just as a leader or a warrior, but as someone who had lived, who had struggled, and who had loved deeply. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was the most genuine legacy of all.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ Haldir’s first inkling that something was amiss came when he overheard hushed whispers in the heart of Caras Galadhon. The market was bustling with activity, the air thick with the scent of fresh fruit and the melodic hum of Elven voices. But through it all, the topic of the day was unmistakable. “Have you read it?” a young elf asked, eyes wide with excitement. “I have!” another replied, voice tinged with awe. “It’s about him… Haldir. The Marchwarden. It’s incredible—capturing every nuance of his character, his devotion, his… heart.” Haldir’s footsteps faltered, but only for a moment. His instincts, honed from years of service on the borders, had him scanning the crowd, his gaze sharp. The conversation continued around him, like a ripple spreading through the market, and the name of the book—the one that had been spoken with reverence—seemed to hang in the air like a weight upon his chest.

➳ ”Of a Marchwarden’s Heart.” He had heard the title before, but hearing it again, in connection with his own name, set off a strange unease within him. Curiosity clawed at him, and without fully understanding why, he followed the conversation, drawn to a nearby stall where books and scrolls were spread out for display. The stallkeeper—an elderly elf who had seen many seasons pass—stood proudly behind the table, a wide grin on his face as he spoke to a few customers. In his hands, he cradled several copies of the book. One of them was open, lying face-up on the table. There, in the flowing script of the first page, Haldir’s eyes found his own name: Haldir of Lothlórien, Marchwarden of the Northern Borders. The words danced across the page, detailing his strength, his unwavering commitment to Lothlórien, and the responsibilities that weighed upon him like an unseen cloak. His hand hovered over the book, but something in his chest tightened, and he pulled it back before anyone could see his hesitation. It wasn’t fear that held him, but discomfort—the unease of seeing himself so publicly laid bare, even in words.

➳ The stallkeeper caught sight of him then, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Ah, Haldir,” he said warmly, though there was a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. “I see you’ve found the book. It’s quite popular these days. Everyone is speaking of it. In fact, they say it captures your heart—every aspect of it.” Haldir stood still for a moment, as the stallkeeper’s words seemed to echo in his mind. Captures your heart. He had never wanted his heart to be seen by so many. His heart was a private thing, hidden beneath layers of duty and tradition, a heart reserved only for those he trusted implicitly. And yet, here it was—laid bare for the world, and for the first time, he wondered what had driven the author to capture so much of him in such a way. With his brow furrowed, he stepped closer to the stall, his fingers brushing over the pages as he picked up one of the books. There was a strange sense of familiarity about it, a weight that suggested the author knew more about him than he was comfortable with. He flipped through a few pages, the words speaking of his devotion, his watchfulness, the quiet burden he carried every day. His guarded nature was painted with delicate strokes, and yet there was also something softer—a mention of the times he had risked vulnerability for those he cared about, the quiet moments of reflection he rarely allowed himself. The book described not just his actions, but his soul, in a way that felt both intimate and foreign to him.

➳ As he scanned further, Haldir’s eyes caught a passage that made his breath hitch “He walks the borders alone, keeping the peace, guarding against danger, but in the silence of the forest, a deeper longing stirs within him. A desire for something beyond duty. A connection. A companion. Yet he fears this is a weakness, and so he buries it beneath the weight of his responsibility.” Haldir’s heart skipped a beat. The author had seen it all, understood his deepest fears and desires. How had they known? No one in Lothlórien, perhaps not even his own brothers, would have seen these things so clearly. He had buried those parts of himself long ago. And then it hit him—like a bolt of lightning. It was you. The realization struck Haldir so suddenly that he almost dropped the book in his hand. He looked around the bustling market, eyes scanning the crowd, as if the very air around him could reveal the truth. The idea that you—the one who had been near him, always present, always kind—had written this, was both thrilling and terrifying.

➳ His breath caught in his throat. He remembered the moments you had spent together, the quiet conversations, the stolen glances. All the times you had listened to him, noticed the things others missed. He had been so careful to guard his thoughts, his heart—but somehow, through the pages of this book, you had seen into him with a depth he had never allowed anyone to see. His eyes fell once more to the book, to the words that painted him in a light so raw, so vulnerable, that it made him feel exposed in ways he couldn’t explain. He had always prided himself on his control, his composure, yet here was a part of himself he had never given anyone permission to see. At that moment, he knew. He knew who had written it. And despite the fear that gripped him—fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as weak—he felt a strange warmth settle in his chest. A connection that went beyond the written word, one that tied him to you in a way he had never anticipated. He didn’t speak right away. The world around him continued, as if time itself hadn’t slowed for him. The book in his hands felt like an anchor, a reminder of the truth he had been unwilling to face. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. You knew him. And now, the whole world would know him, too. The stallkeeper’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Would you like a copy, Haldir? It seems you’ve already seen how well it captures your heart.”

➳ Haldir stood still, his gaze fixed on the pages in front of him. He took a deep breath, his voice low and measured, yet with an undeniable hint of vulnerability that even he couldn’t mask. “No,” he said softly, “I do not need a copy. But I would like to know who wrote it.” The stallkeeper, ever observant, gave him a knowing smile. “Ah, that is a question only the author can answer, I think.” Haldir nodded, his resolve hardening. He would find you. He would seek out the author, the one who had dared to see him so clearly. There were questions he needed answers to, but more than that, there was a part of him—a part that had long been buried—that wondered if he could allow himself to be understood like this. For the first time in a long while, Haldir felt a deep, lingering uncertainty. And it was in that moment, as the weight of the book still pressed against his palm, that he realized something. Perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t as alone as he had always believed. And the search for you—the writer of his heart—would begin.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The sun had long since dipped behind the trees of Mirkwood, casting the forest in soft twilight. The rhythmic sounds of life in the kingdom continued, a harmonious lull that usually soothed the king’s mind after a long day. Thranduil sat in his grand hall, his golden crown perched with its usual grace upon his brow, yet something stirred in the air—something out of place. The moment was interrupted when a messenger arrived, breathless from his journey. The elf handed Thranduil a small scroll, its seal unmistakably pressed with the mark of a well-known merchant town just beyond the borders of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, unfurling the scroll with the practiced grace that had become second nature over centuries.

𐂂 A story. About him. “Beneath the crown” The words on the parchment were simple, yet what followed within the pages, written by a mysterious author, was far from ordinary. The story spoke of the great King of Mirkwood—Thranduil—his triumphs, his sorrows, his wisdom, and even the more intimate, vulnerable moments of his reign. It painted him as both a fierce and noble ruler, a creature of beauty and power. But beyond that, the story delved into aspects of him that even he would hesitate to voice aloud—the emotions he kept hidden, the struggles of his heart that even the halls of his mighty kingdom could not shelter. The book had become wildly popular. It was being sold in the market at such a rapid pace that copies were flying off the shelves. The people who had read it, both elves and men, spoke of it with awe, captivated by the portrayal of the elven king. It was being praised far and wide, with many speculating about the identity of the author. But to Thranduil’s growing concern, there was one thing the story did not lack—an intimacy that left him feeling exposed, vulnerable, and for the first time in centuries, unsettled.

𐂂 He had read enough to know that the author had captured him in a way that no one had before. The words seemed to dance in front of his mind, unraveling things about himself that even he had refused to acknowledge. Yet, it was not the content of the story that left him uneasy, but the fact that someone—someone—had dared to write about him without his permission. His hand clenched the scroll tighter, his usually poised and composed demeanor faltering for a split second. The thought of someone peering into the private corners of his soul without his consent, weaving together his vulnerabilities into such a public display, caused a surge of conflicting emotions within him. “Who is this author?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

𐂂 The messenger’s voice was hesitant, unsure whether to even broach the topic. “It is… unknown, my lord. No name is attached to the book. It simply appeared in the market, and before we could even inquire about it, it had already captured the attention of many.” Thranduil’s lips pressed together in a thin line, the soft glow of the torchlight flickering against his features. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood, pacing slowly across the room. He knew the world had changed, but the thought of his private life being laid bare without his permission—without any sense of respect or boundary—struck him with an unexpected sting. His pride, so carefully nurtured over centuries, was at war with something else. A strange feeling he could not name, one that lingered like a shadow in his mind. He had seen countless people come and go, but this—this audacity—was different. Was it betrayal? Was it admiration? Or perhaps something in between?

𐂂 But then, as he recalled the words written within those pages, the thought struck him again: the author had captured a truth about him, one he had never allowed to be spoken aloud. Something buried deep within his heart. And despite the discomfort, a part of him could not ignore the curiosity that rose within him. They had written about him as if they had been there beside him, understanding him in ways even he had failed to. Thranduil stood at the window now, looking out over the expanse of his kingdom, the forest stretching into the distance. The book, now circulating through the markets, painted him as a ruler of strength, yes—but also as someone deeply burdened by loss, by the weight of responsibility. It was raw, unflinching, and honest in ways he had never allowed anyone to see. And though he despised the idea of being exposed in such a public manner, there was a subtle tug inside him—a pull toward the unknown author, someone who had, with their words, seen him in a way he rarely allowed. Who had written this? Thranduil wondered again. Why? A small part of him, the part that had long been buried beneath layers of rule and resolve, felt something he hadn’t in centuries: intrigue.

𐂂 The king, ever calm and composed, turned to the messenger with a quiet, controlled fury in his eyes. “Find this author,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous, “and bring them to me. I would speak with them.” The following days were filled with tension, a palpable unease settling over the kingdom as the book continued to spread. Word had already reached Thranduil that the mysterious author had yet to reveal themselves, their identity as elusive as a whisper in the night. Yet, there was something about their words that had already taken root in his mind. Something about the way they saw him, not just as a king, but as a man with complexities, with desires and regrets.

𐂂 Finally, the author was found. When you arrived before him, Thranduil’s gaze was piercing, his regal presence overwhelming. Yet, beneath his anger and frustration, there was a flicker of something else—something unspoken, something deeper. His eyes locked onto the author, you who stood before him, unsure but unwavering. Thranduil’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, though it barely reached his eyes. “You’ve written about me,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that could cut through stone. “You’ve seen things about me that no one else has. Tell me, what drove you to write about me?”

𐂂 There was a long pause, the tension in the air so thick it could have been sliced with a blade. And then, the author answered, your voice quiet but full of conviction. “Because I see you,” you said simply, your words soft but filled with an undeniable truth. “I see what you hide, what you refuse to show. I wanted to share your story, the story that I believe the world should know.” Thranduil’s heart stilled at their words, and for a moment, he said nothing. The weight of the truth you had written about him, the vulnerability you had so delicately exposed, hung between them like a thread. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t quite name—yet, in that silence, Thranduil realized something unexpected.

𐂂 This author had seen him. In ways no one else ever had. The king’s gaze softened, ever so slightly, as his next words were more quiet, more intimate than he intended. “You are bold,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something that bordered on admiration. “But do not mistake this for approval, author. You have exposed parts of me I would have preferred kept hidden.” The author merely nodded, accepting his words with quiet grace. “I understand, my king. But your story—your truth—it was too important to keep in the shadows.” Thranduil’s eyes flickered to the ground for just a moment, the weight of your words lingering. He did not know where this path would lead, but in the quiet of his heart, something shifted. “Then perhaps it is time for me to face it,” he whispered, almost to himself. And thus, Thranduil—who had once ruled from a distance, aloof from the rest of the world—felt the stirrings of something new. Something more than a king’s pride.