#as soon as they were asked to show some selflessness

[palms-upturned]

According to Elizabeth Cady Stanton, the moral to be drawn from women’s (i.e., white women’s) Civil War experiences was that women should never “labor to second man’s endeavors and exalt his sex above her own.”

There was a strong element of political naïvete in Stanton’s analysis of the conditions prevailing at the war’s end, which meant that she was more vulnerable than ever to racist ideology. As soon as the Union Army triumphed over their Confederate opponents, she and her co-workers insisted that the Republican party reward them for their wartime efforts. The reward they demanded was woman suffrage—as if a deal had been made; as if women’s rights proponents had fought for the defeat of slavery with the understanding that their prize would be the vote.

Of course the Republicans did not lend their support to woman suffrage after the Union victory was won. But it was not so much because they were men, it was rather because, as politicians, they were beholden to the dominant economic interests of the period. Insofar as the military contest between the North and the South was a war to overthrow the Southern slaveholding class, it was a war which had been basically conducted in the interests of the Northern bourgeoisie, i.e., the young and enthusiastic industrial capitalists who found their political voice in the Republican party. The Northern capitalists sought economic control over the entire nation. Their struggle against the Southern slaveocracy did not therefore mean that they supported the liberation of Black men or women as human beings.

(…) Granted, the [Fourteenth and Fifteenth] Amendments excluded women from the new process of enfranchisement and were thus interpreted by them as detrimental to their political aims. Granted, they felt they had as powerful a case for suffrage as Black men. Yet in articulating their opposition with arguments invoking the privileges of white supremacy, they revealed how defenseless they remained—even after years of involvement in progressive causes—to the pernicious ideological influence of racism.

Angela Y. Davis, Women Race & Class

[elysians-adventures]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐈. Part 1

masterpost

Being a kindergarten teacher, you have your fair share of troubles regarding loud kids. But you didn't realise that on this school trip, a certain someone will make you experience your worst fear in your entire teaching career.

5 kids + 1 manchild = chaos. This wasn't the brother of Yuuji Itadori you were expecting!

“Miss! Nobara stole my toy!” 

“No I did not! Shut up!” 

The wailing of children made you exasperated, watching Nobara's and Megumi's squabble before the class boarded the coach. The brown haired girl had stolen Megumi's dog toy, one of a pair. Your lips puckered, crossing your arms:

“Nobara, give it back. Remember what we said about taking things without permission?”

The little girl gave a whimper, glancing downwards with a look of guilt, “It's mean…” 

“And?” You asked, putting on your best teacher-sounding tone.

“...And if we want something, ask first~!” She repeated in a jingle, obviously something that you had instilled in your students' brains for some time.

Nobara looked to her right, turning to Megumi and stuttering out, “Can I play with it?” 

“No!” Megumi snatched the plush back, earning a scowl of disgust from the other child. 

“Meanie! Meanniee! Go away!”

You had been a kindergarten teacher for two years now, watching classes grow up and leave, but this was by far the most boisterous of them all. Nobara Kugisaki, Megumi Fushiguro and Yuji Itadori were all the resident troublemakers, though, speaking of Itadori– he didn't show up yet. You look around, trying to spot locks of pink hair within the sea of excitable children.

Last week, quite spontaneously, you had been told that there was a new parent chaperone joining the field trip; Yuji's older half-brother– Choso Kamo. Assuming that you hadn't seen anyone with pigtails with the little rascal alongside them, you assume they must be both running late. 

“Megumi, let that little brat play with the toy, both of you screaming is pissing me off,” a gruff voice spoke. You turned back to the arguing duo, noticing a newcomer patting– rather, manhandling Megumi's head. Toji Fushiguro. 

“But I don't wanna!”

“Do it, or I'll sell you.” 

The black haired child gave a groan, finally nodding to Nobara's request. Internally sighing, you gave a wry smile to Toji, trying to telepathically remind him not to swear around kids. He seemed to get the message, holding his hands up in false defence. 

“Whoops. I'll do better, Miss L/N,” he joked in a high pitch, earning an eye roll from you. 

You two had a close friendship, meeting each other in university and later named godmother of Megumi by his late wife (the man would never bother with sentimental stuff like that). 

“Have you seen Yuji? Or his brother? The coach leaves soon…” you shot the question towards Toji, who had also taken up the role of parent chaperone by Megumi's incessant requests (begging). 

“Yuji Itadori…?” He paused, thinking, before his face contorted into a laugh, “Oh! That kid! Nah. The one that plays with Megumi? I'm friends with his older brother, y’know?” 

“Oh?” You shot a questioning look towards the seeming off handed comment Toji gave. Choso didn't seem like the type of guy to keep Toji around as a friend, but you were always willing to be proved wrong.

“Yea. Goes to the same MMA club as me, shit guy. Probably running late, dick stuck in some bitch and forgot the time.”

You give Toji a hard elbow at his rather loud tone near the kids. He smiles, shrugging carelessly. Though, it did make you wonder, who exactly was he talking about? Yuji's older brother had always seemed like a well adjusted guy, if you ignored his tendency to act emo. And he was always punctual to stuff, so this situation made you slightly worried. Itadori had no trouble cheering up the entire class, his selfless nature not lost on you. Whoever raised him did an amazing job… 

“Should probably load these fuc– kids… onto the coach. Where's Nanami?” Toji looked around, before spotting the blond-haired teacher. He turned on his heel without a goodbye, walking towards him. 

Toji was right, it was getting late, the driver was probably irritated at the entire ordeal. You gave a sigh, hoping that the two finally would show up. 

You rolled your shoulders back, and raised your chin, standing tall.

Clap! Clap!

The storm of children grew silent at a moment's notice. 

“Good! Go to Mr. Nanami and sign yourselves in! Straight line, remember!” You gave them instructions, seeing them clamber towards the two chaperones. The line was not as straight as you'd hoped, but it was fine enough for a group of six year olds.

Now, onto the matter of the late chaperone and child. You grasped at your phone within your pocket, opening your contacts. As policy, or rather as common sense, you saved all the parents’ numbers onto your phone. You scroll until you find ‘Y’, scanning over the names. 

… ‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuko's Mother’ …

You frown, when were they two? Probably a glitch. You tapped into one of the names, waiting.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ri–

“What?” The deep voice that responds makes you jump,  absolutely not what you were expecting. This absolutely was not Choso, unless he had a vocal chord surgery or something. In the background, there were sounds of humming cars. Traffic jam, perhaps? You try to maintain a level of professionalism.

“Hi, I'm calling regarding the school trip. I'm wondering–” you were cut off by a youthful voice. 

“Gaah– Sukuna! Hurry up! We're late! I'm sorry Miss L/N! Hurry up, hurry up!” Yuji's frantic tone makes you smile, the boy obviously panicked at the prospect of missing the thing he had been looking forward to for months. 

“Shut up! Fuckin’ bastard… yea, we're almost here.” The voice, which you took as ‘Sukuna’, mumbled in an annoyed tone. So this was Toji's MMA friend? You could tell why they were friends now. 

Thumping sounds were heard in the background, but you ignored them, continuing: “Well, I'm sure Yuji wouldn't like to miss the trip. The coach is leaving in a few minutes, but if you need more time I can talk to the driver for you. How far are you?”

“Stop kicking my seat, you little shit! We're five minutes away, just wait,” the last part was hissed in a commanding tone, a scowl unknowingly painting your face. You already didn't like him, and you were never good at hiding your emotions. 

“Well, alright, I'll call you back soon if you aren't here.” Not wanting to hear the rest of the sibling spat between them, you promptly hung up. The blatant swearing, insults, and punctuality. He was going to be worse than Toji. 

Instantly after the call, you tap onto your work email, trying to see whether there had been some mixup with the guardians. It wasn't a huge deal, Yuuji was going to get here regardless and the job was easy enough for a teenager if anything. You scroll down to the form submitted by Choso Kamo– only to find that he had pulled out at the last minute, being replaced by a ‘Sukuna R. Itadori’.

Groaning, you turned back to the group, who had been dwindling to around ten kids in line. 

“Nanami!” You called, “Can you tell the coach driver to wait a little longer?”

The pitiful look on your face managed to soften Nanami's stern gaze– though not fully. With tight lips, he gave a slight nod. Something told you that the five minutes were not so true. 

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes passed before a car pulled near the group. A black Toyota, its slick form resembling a teardrop. You watched as the backdoor flew open, Yuji Itadori beelining straight for you. Backpackless, and without a care in the world, he gripped onto the fabric on your legs as he neared. 

“Miss L/N!” He hugged your leg, “I'm sorry! Can I get on the bus–”

“Oi, brat!” 

Both of your attentions were pulled back towards the car, the happy reunion making you momentarily forget that there was supposed to be another different person here after all. 

A tall man emerges from the vehicle, a tiny Spiderman backpack slung over broad shoulders. Jesus, how tall was he? About six foot, you surmised. He donned a tight black vest, with matching grey zip up hoodie and sweatpants pulled over himself– obviously in a rush, considering the creasing. The man combs through pink hair with his fingers, giving you a glower.

He neared the pair of you, chucking the bag towards the smaller child. Yuji caught it, blowing a raspberry towards him… this was his brother, was it not? In reality, you had completely forgotten that Yuuji had an older brother directly related to him. You've gotten so used to Choso picking him up after school, you've just defaulted to him.

“Miss! ‘Kuna made me late! Blame it on him!”

“Now, now, it's alright. The coach hasn't left yet, but catch up with it now! Who knows, it might just drive off without you now…” You feigned a face of worry as you crouched to meet his height, looking towards Nanami. The smaller of the pink haired duo was alarmed, grasping his backpack and sprinting towards the teacher.

 He was too fast for a six year old, you knew that for sure. 

Standing to your full height, you face Sukuna, trying to ignore how you comically dwarfed him. Are you short because he was tall, or was he tall because you were short? Such philosophical questions were pushed to the back of your mind as you nodded for him to follow you to the coach. You earn a grunt in response, the muscle bound man starting to walk ahead of you.

 ‘Alright, you don't like to follow, noted…’ You think. 

Trying to make small talk on the thirty second journey, you decide to bring up Toji as a common interest: “I heard you go to the same fighting club as Toji. What was it, boxing?” You purse your lips, thinking. You messed up on purpose to see if that would strain any more conversation out of him.

“MMA,” he answered bluntly. A pause, nothing else came out of his mouth. 

‘Alright, the silent type, noted…’ You think.

The both of you arrive at the coach, the driver giving you the most piercing glare you might have ever experienced in your life. It almost made you shudder. Scanning over the bus, you make sure everyone's seated. You assumed Nanami had already checked the kid's seat belts with his methodical nature, but one more pass through couldn't hurt. Letting Sukuna figure out his own seating situation, you walk and check the seat belts until you make your way towards the back, seeing a specific trio fiddling with Yuji's seatbelt. 

“Ah, let me do it sweetie,” you took the seat belts and swiftly buckled it, patting it to signify the task was done. 

“Thank you, miss,” they hummed respectively. 

“You're welcome.”

You make your way back up the coach, looking now for free seats. Nanami was sitting alongside Junpei, trying to break up a squabble between him and Mahito. Toji was sitting in the only lone seat at the very front of the coach, scrolling on his phone. That left you… your eyes narrow. 

Next to Sukuna? You just hoped he wasn't one of those people that smelt when you got near them. You sat.

He wasn't, rather the opposite, a subtle cologne filling your senses. Although, his man spread did invade a bit into your space, so you tried to reclaim it by also man spreading– though not as blatantly. 

“This ’s to a museum, right?” He questioned, staring at his phone. Glancing at it, you see that he has a privacy screen. Considering the comment Toji had thrown out previously, maybe you didn't want to see what was on his screen.

“Huh? Yea, the national museum. They're all so excited,” you smile earnestly, “especially Yuji. He hasn't stopped talking about it since he found out.”

“Hm, ‘s that so,” he slurred out in response. 

‘Alright, the coach ride will be in silence then, noted…’ Your eye twitched. Could this guy at least act amiably? Discarding Yuji and Sukuna's brotherly relationship– which you expected would be at least rocky, it seemed there was not a bone of politeness in this man towards strangers. 

You could feel someone's stare on you, intense. Peeking around you, your sight finally landed on Sukuna's red irises boring through you. Did you fuck up somehow, and now he was going to fillet you using his MMA skills? You quickly break eye contact, internally sighing. 

Sinking into the leather-bound seat, you tried to distract yourself, choosing to think of all the mess the kids would make during the hour trip. How many would throw up?

.

.

.

Answer: one. 

Mahito must have fed Junpei something earlier, because the projectile vomit that came out of the poor kid was not natural in any sense of the word. You almost feared he'd straight up die. Soon calling his mother to pick him up, Yuji and Megumi said bye to their dear friend as he disbanded the bus. 

Nanami's pristine suit got, needless to say, utterly demolished. The teacher scrambled off the coach when they arrived, in search of an actual toilet in place of the coach's small dingy one to clean up at. If anything, though, it would be more beneficial to buy a new shirt. 

“Take care of them!” He bellowed as he rushed into a nearby bakery, trying not to pay mind to the dirtied water dripping down his shirt. 

“Okay!” 

Now, to get them off. A task easier said than done. 

Thankfully, most of them were capable enough to pry their seatbelts off of themselves, though one or two needed some help. 

“It's okay, sweetie, I'll do it.”

Yuji gave you a beam, “Thank y–”

“You can take your own seatbelt off, brat. Don't waste my time,” Sukuna's voice came from behind you, making you jump. Glancing at him, you could tell he was towering over the pair of you– arms crossed. 

“It's fine, Sukuna. Yuji's just tired from all that sitting, no?” You coo towards the boy, who nods vigorously. 

“Yea! I‘m tired!” Itadori fakes a yawn, and you pinch his cheek: “Let's not go overboard, now. Off you pop!” 

Yuji grabs Nobara and Megumi's hands, and rushes off the coach, barging past Sukuna. The action earns a giggle from you, not lost to Sukuna's death stare. 

“Let's get off before they all run away from Toji,” you hummed, trying to mutually make your way past Sukuna. He didn't let you pass, stocky frame blocking the way. 

You stand for a second, waiting for him to move, before you speak up, “Umm… excuse me.” Trying to slip past between the seats and him, he finally let you go with another hum, this time sounding a bit more pleased. You frown, what was that about?

Coming out of the coach, the children stand timidly at the side of it, Toji watching over them with a bored gaze.

“Y'know, Y/N, I regret this already. This shit is so boring,” he mutters under his breath as you approach. He turns to the other ‘parent’ chaperone, smirking, “I wish you were there last Saturday, y'know…” 

Tuning out of the conversation, turning to the kids. Their chatter filled the air, so you rolled your shoulders back ready to clap– 

“Oi, shut up!” Sukuna clicked his fingers alongside the bellow, and it all fell silent without a moment's notice.

What… What was this power? It took you months of training just for them to hear your claps and calls for order, but this outsider manages to silence your class at the click of a finger? You stood in awe. 

“Fall in line! Anyone out of it will get chucked in a dinosaur's maw, got it?”

As if choreographed, the children lined up perfectly. Not one shoe or hair out of place. You weren't sure if they knew what ‘maw’ meant, but you felt as if the message got through without problem. 

He nodded towards the line, passing you full responsibility now. Perhaps, you had underestimated him. You nod back in thanks, a small smile threatening to appear on your lips. Sukuna turns back without a welcome on his lips, looking unimpressed. 

“Alright, sweeties! I know you are all excited, but we have to enter the museum quietly, all right? After we all sign in, we'll wait for Nanami and split into groups. C'mon,” you go in front of the queue of children leading them in. 

They follow you in, followed behind by Sukuna and Toji still talking– which you humorously think they're a little too like ducklings following their mother. But that metaphor quickly fizzled out when you realised in this situation, you would be the mother. You could never imagine raising them…

The museum had tall roofs, and its pillars resembled an ornate grecian style. Arches weaved above the roof, supporting the building, the interior remaining the modest brown of the brick. 

The class looked up in childish awe, eyes shining at the gigantic structure, gazing up at the pterodactyl replicas hanging as if in flight. You manage to quickly check in with the receptionist, and were told that two extra tour guides were on their way.

Nanami soon came back with a new shirt, the plastic wire of the price tag still hanging from the collar. His face was still turned in the iconic stern look, a glint of disgust still evident from the twitch of his lip. 

“Groups of five, quickly,” he stated with mechanical efficiency, trying to split the class equally. Without turning, he addressed the adults, “I'll be taking a tour guide with me. Toji, take one too. Sukuna and Y/N will stay together. Take Yuji with you, or he'll run off.” 

You didn't even have time to argue back at the pairing, you opened your mouth and suddenly there was a group of toddlers grasping at your feet as if you were some sort of deity. You didn't even have to corral the kids, Nobara and Megumi staring up at you expectantly.

“Let's go, miss!”

“I want to see some Egyptian stuff!”

“Bleh! Boring… Dinosaurs!”

“Mummies! Mummies!”

“ ‘Kuna! Mr. Kento said: you AND miss!” 

Yuji was busy trying to pull Sukuna closer towards your shared group. He was quickly pushed off, Sukuna finally rolling his eyes and neared you keeping a few paces behind, his expression a mixture of boredom and (shared) irritation. You didn’t seriously have to spend the next two or more hours with this self-absorbed prick, did you?

“Okay, okay! We're going!" you finally managed to say, smiling despite the chaos unfolding around you. 

As the groups started moving, you noticed Nanami leading his group with his usual stoic demeanour, already taking over the guide's job and explaining the historical significance of the museum's layout. You almost felt bad at the despondent look at the tour guide’s face, pouting miserably as they followed Nanami around. 

Toji, on the other hand, seemed to have his hands full with a particularly energetic child who was attempting to scale his back onto his shoulders. You worried they were going to fall, but that wasn't an issue when he took hold of the kid by their collar accompanied with stern talking to. 

The museum had massive, great pillars at every corner with vast displays. There were sections which you methodically scoured through, first the Chinese artefacts, then the Egyptian– old kingdom and new kingdom split into two different rooms. 

You had spent a bit too long reading about a mummy pair, brothers from what the hieroglyphs were supposedly saying, too invested in your own world to realise it had gone scarily quiet. Too quiet for a group of children, nevertheless if that group contained Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you rip your attention away slowly from the mud-stained coffins, as if you were trying to avoid seeing the scene in front of you.

 There were two reasons for this silence: someone had gotten hurt, or they all ran off. You especially hoped it wasn't the latter as Sukuna was meant to be watching them, and the register was meant to be done in time for lunch soon…

Your eyes come upon the second reason. Your small group of 5 disappeared into thin air. At least Sukuna seemed to be gone too, hoping that he had simply led them off into the new kingdom room. With a quickened step, you make your way across the hallway opposite.

Nothing.

What? Did they really leave you behind? Your lower lip protrudes as you're in thought, pacing aimlessly further down a corridor. Perhaps they have gone further down, one of them wanted to see dinosaurs, or something along those lines.

“You seen them?” A nonchalant tone asks, followed by a slurp.

“Have I…  seen them?” You spit back incredulously, your optimistic daydream of the pink haired bastard looking after the group quickly shattered like glass. He was standing next to a display of old Japanese artefacts further down, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, he found the time to pick up a drink at the museum cafe.  Thankfully, you hadn't picked up on this fact, or else you're sure you would have strangled him. 

“I thought you were looking after them,” Sukuna states, unbothered by the lazy look in his eyes. He gestures towards the exhibit he must’ve been distracted by, a large wooden sculpture of a god, “Kōmokuten, Heian era of Japan. Interesting?” The last part of the sentence was worded as a rhetorical question, followed by a nod by the man as if agreeing with his own statement. 

He continues: “Not interested? Anyway, where the hell are they? I thought you were looking after the–” 

“No, you were looking after them,” your angered whisper-yells were countered by a scoff by the pink haired man, sipping the beverage in his hand. You almost wanted to knock it clean out and pour it all over that stupid dyed hair. Actually… was it dyed?

Now that you think about it, Yuuji always seemed to have pink hair too, though the underside was brown. Did they have special brotherly hair dying sessions? 

“They’re kids, how fuckin’ far could they have ran?”

Tuning back into the conversation, it was your turn to scoff, “They're fucking kids! They could be on fucking Mars by now for all we know. Oh god, okay… let's follow the hallway down.” 

Attempting (but failing) to mask your worry, you bit your lip as you rushed past him and all the– truthfully interesting– exhibits. Another time, maybe. There was a loud slurp, before you heard thudding footsteps behind you. 

“Do you even know where you're going?” His gruff voice asks, you can feel his head peeking out from behind to look at the side of your face. 

“... Down there.”

“Stop. Fucking stop for a second, jesus. Let's look at a map of this place before you get us lost too.”

Sukuna grabs your shoulders, attempting to pull you back to the hallway you were previously. You wanted to spit some snarky comment about how you weren't going to be in this situation if it wasn't for him, but your tongue caught itself. 

You give in, sighing, and trace your steps back to a large display board. Right now, you were in the Japanese section, so if you followed it down– it split into two directions. Not so good. 

“They wanted to go see the dinosaurs,” you mutter to yourself in revelation, bending over to see the section on the board lower down. 

A loud sip, “Then let's go.”

You turn your head, ready to agree, until you see him nonchalantly texting on his phone. Your eye twitches.

“Put that away,” you hiss, uncaring to try to keep an air of friendliness, “You lost them and you can't even be fucking bothered to look. We have to get them back in at least–” you look at your phone, “-- at least the next 20 minutes. Can you please just help and not act condescending?” 

He switches his attention to you, his eyes glaring at you. Unmoving in his gaze, he raises an eyebrow. 

“Fine.”

“Thanks,” you spit out, full venom, obviously not thankful. Standing to your full height, you turn on your heel without caring whether the man was following you or not. But the thudding footsteps behind you signified as much.

You passed back by the Japanese displays, taking a cursory glance over them. Really, the statue Sukuna had tried showing you didn't pique that much of your interest. It looked rather, strange if anything. The man must have unique tastes. 

As you rush past them, you spot a certain black haired boy staring at a scroll– also from the Heian period. 

“Megumi!” You call out, relieved at having found at least one of the children. Sukuna grabs the boy's hand before you had the chance to scold him, and does your job for you:

“Who told you to run off, you brat?” He spits, crumpling the cup underneath his fingers. Megumi, unperturbed by the harsh words (perhaps training he had gotten from having Toji as a father), stared nonchalantly at the taller man. 

“They went to go look at the T-Rex, but I said I wanted to see this,” Megumi points towards the scroll, and you look to follow. Sukuna huffs, unsatisfied by the answer but knowing he isn't going to get much more tightens his grip around Megumi's hand.

“One down, four to go,” he glances at you with a humorous tone, but without a smile to match. 

You think it cute that Sukuna holds the little boy's hand in such a way, making sure he can't run off. He must be used to Yuuji's antics. Talking of Yuuji, Sukuna doesn't seem to be very nervous at all at the prospect of losing him.

“He's fine,” he states, sharp and short. The twitch in his brow isn't lost on you, however. Megumi yawns, trying to slip out of Sukuna's graso and back into your own– but the man pulls harshly, hissing. 

“Don't run again, jesus. These kids…”

With a smirk, you walk ahead of them, “They're probably running from you.”

–

Unfortunately, during your walk– halfway to the ‘dinosaurs’-- the three of you weren't able to spot any other lone children. Or rather fortunately, which indicated that they were still together. 

Sukuna had now resorted to letting Megumi piggyback him. The little boy rested his head against salmon-pink locks, eyes closed as if in dream. 

“Hey, why haven't you just called the museum staff?” The pink haired man asks, staring at you.

You blink, frowning. You can feel your cheeks burning up, the sensation uncomfortable, “It's embarrassing…” 

Your words were barely heard, so Sukuna furrows his brows: “Huh?”

“It's embarrassing,” you repeat, not daring to look behind you. 

There was a pregnant pause.

“Who the fuck cares about embarrassing?” He scoffs. 

“I do. It's my first proper trip and I've lost them. Plus, I know where they are! What's the big deal!”

Honestly, you don't believe your words. You knew kids, and you knew how small their 

attention span was. They could have already switched sections by now, or even wandered out. That sent a chill down your spine.

But for now, you were willing to hazard being irresponsible for the sake of your dignity. Not very good, is it?

 “At least it's like a… two minute walk,” you reasoned to yourself. Your steps hurried. In truth, if you didn't find them right now, you were willing to go straight for the intercom. Stupid you–

“Miss!” A higher pitched voice wailed out.

> part 2 (wip)

[risuola]

▶ COCOONED — one of those lazy mornings when you wake up trapped in a tangle of hands and legs.

contents: college+roommates!au, fluff — wc. 655

a/n: very short one, i'm still painting a little background to the friendship dynamics of our trio, but I wanna take this opportunity to thank you guys for supporting this little story I'm building here and also I wanna encourage you to help me out with it! if you have any ideas for entries, please let me know through ask box!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

Taking care of your friends came easy for you. You were always like this, affectionate and protective. It was a way of showing love, through those subtle acts of tenderness and both Satoru and Suguru always thanked you for it, despite occasional teasing from their side. They were grateful for your selfless and kindhearted nature, just as you were grateful for the boundless protection you were granted ever since you got to know them. Any bully you ever stumbled upon quickly turned tail when met with the sight of your two guardians – always taller than others, always stronger and very ready to resolve issues (in more or less civilized ways).

It wasn’t a surprise that living together brought you even closer than before. It became a routine for you to help Satoru with his eyedrops first thing in the morning – because the boy has eyes of an angel but needs to protect them from harsh sunlight and environment. Then, you always make sure that a jar of Suguru’s favorite candy is full for him, so that he can pop one right after he takes his daily medicine – the one that he swears tastes like a rug somebody used to wipe up shit and vomit. They, on the other hand, never fail to help you at home or bring you sweets from the store.

One thing you were slightly uncertain about at the beginning of the one-bedroom journey was sleeping with them. You wondered if one day you’ll wake up to a black eye because of some random muscle twitch of either of them or they’ll squish you in the middle of the bed because of course you slept between them, but none of those things happened and it’s been months already. What took place, on the other hand, was evolvement of your friendship to a much more touchy one. It always came natural to you three to cuddle; you never minded their hands on your waist or legs and they never complained about you draping over them, but in one bed, it became much more intense. A progression of friendly intimacy that all three of you grew to love. A comfortable tangle of bodies that became a safe space to you and the boys, something that happened naturally and you wouldn’t have it any other way. And they wouldn’t change it either, but–

“Satoruu–! Suguuu–”

–but there were mornings like this one. You woke up trapped in a death grip of both boys, stuck against Suguru’s muscular chest and with Satoru’s strong arm wrapped around you. The white-haired head was nuzzled against your shoulder blades and as you tried to loosen up the cocoon, you ended up twisting your upper body unnaturally while your legs stayed lodged between four, much larger male ones. Your butt was pressed against Gojo’s stomach and his hand was resting below your ribs, long gone underneath the fabric of your stolen t-shirt. Long, black hair was tickling your face whenever you tried to move away from brunette’s bare pecks. Immobilized and resigned, you let out a deep exhale.

Thanks god it’s Sunday and you have nowhere to be – otherwise you’d be very late, as none of your friends seemed to be bothered by the sound of your voice calling them.

“Get back to sleep,” Toru mumbled sleepily against your back and somehow pulled you even closer to his chest and you could tell that as soon as he finished speaking, he was back in his slumber. His muffled voice did something to Suguru though, because the man hummed lowly, a sound akin to a purr. You felt his lips pressing to the top of your head and he was gone too, with his large hand resting on your hip and his bicep underneath your cheek. Helpless and surrendered, you tweaked your position to get comfortable and allowed your eyelids to drop, slowly succumbing back into the dreamland.

taglist: @kibananya, @r0ckst4rjk, @rixo-19, @soraya-daydreams, @hyun0200, @ilykii, @roscpctals99, @mushkasstuff, @siimp4youu

[newobsessionweekly]

Join me

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 masterlist

Evan “Buck” Buckley x fem!firefighter!reader

Fandom: 911

Fluff, smut

Summary: They have to shower after each of their firefighting operations and Y/n keeps catching Buck half-naked so often, that she asks herself if Buck specifically want Y/n to see him. And things heat up after a call.

Warnings: Probably poor quality smut, descriptive sex, mentions of blood, injuries.

Requested: No

Words: 1.8k

Requests are open for Buck / Eddie !

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

“Ok, but there’s two of us now, how come we have to share the same changing room with you guys ?” Y/n stops Eddie from babbling, tired of being afraid someone would peek at her naked body once she’d go out of the shower. Speaking of, just for the record, the shower is shared too.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Hen’s been sharing changing room with guys for ages! And not only with us, dealt with worse!” Buck turns his head to stare at you out of those washed-out blue eyes while still chewing on his food.

You can’t lie, it didn’t bother you that much to share the locker room with the sexiest firefighters of LA, what really bothers you are the sneaky peak you and Buck been sharing.

Buck was some of the most wished-for firefighters in town and you can’t blame all the girls that are throwing at his feet. With those ocean blue eyes, one painted with that mysterious scar making girls wonder what’s the story behind that bravery and only after they go through his bed are served with the truth; it’s just a birthmark. His muscles are showing up in that uniform, popping out and taking any breath away in a shirt. And not to talk about the uniform. Anyone looks sexy in a uniform.

Leaving behind the looks, Buck is the most selfless person you’ve ever met in your life. He’d do anything to save every single one in a case, no matter is he’s crashed by a car, train, building or any other hard thing that could end his life on spot. He’s always ready to take that risk. You, on the other hand, are ready to follow the instructions.

He’s the most reckless person, but his heart’s so big it wouldn’t stop beating soon. And he knows that. His heart is not only beating for him, to keep him alive, it’s also beating for all the people out in the world that need help, that need him.

What really bothers you are not the looks he’s giving you with any chance, but the electricity you feel run down your spine every damn time he’s around you or even looking at you. His reputation isn’t a secret and all you wanna do is to avoid getting hurt.

You were zoned out for a while, playing with the food and ignoring all the voices around you. Only one stood up in the crowd and you’d recognise even in your sleep.

As alarm echoed through the station announcing a car crash with possible multiple injured, you sipped out of your coffee cup and jump into the paramedic ambulance.

As you walk back into the station, covered in blood, you let the boys to take a shower first. You approach Buck, holding him back for an inspection.

“Could you be more reckless?” you hiss at him, looking down at his bruises and opened cut on his arm.

“I’m fine, Y/n. I just got the usual bruises.” you press a cold compress on his head before cleaning the cuts.

“And a concussion.” you rolled your eyes.

As he stood there, patiently waiting for you to get your job done, his blue eyes searched for your body. From head to toe, you are the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Smart too, very brave and bossy. Shame you didn’t want to stand up and ignore Bobby’s orders. You’d make a great team.

“You know I can take care of myself?” you did know that, what you didn’t know was why all of the sudden you decided to play the doctor on him.

You were scared when he jumped right in the middle of the flames to save a dog trapped inside a burning car. Your heart was racing like it would pop out of your chest any minute and your eyes filled with small tears. Just the smoke, you’d tell everyone.

When he returned safely with the small dog in his arms you could finally breathe out. All you wanted to do in that moment was to hug him and yell a little.

And yet, you didn’t know why your body would react that way.

“You’re all done right now. You should take a shower, you’re smelly.” he nodded.

“Thank you, doc!” he smiled.

You can’t help a smile, cheeks burning red. You liked that, all the funny names he called you all the time.

You made your way to the locker room, keeping your distance. Everyone was back in the kitchen upstairs, Eddie watching your moves. He could tell something’s going on between you two, all the looks, the way you’re inspecting Buck’s shirtless body, like you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

You remained in your underwear before heading to the showers. You really need to take off the blood. Hearing the water running down, violently hitting the floor, you soon realise it was coming from your usual shower spot, seeing Buck’s shape beautifully contouring on the curtain’s surface.

“You took my shower!” you screamed at him.

“Sorry, doc! Problems with the other ones. They’re out of service.” Buck pokes his wet haired head out. “But you’ll free to join me, if you can’t wait!” he winks.

You can’t wait, the cold air embraces your naked skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Move!” you demand, joining Buck.

You were full grownups after all, a shower isn’t that big of a deal. You’ve seen him half-naked countless of times before and you suspect he’d seen you as well.

Hot water pouring down your body felt like heaven. Warmth hugging you as perfect as this moment was, not minding Buck’s glancing down at your side.

You peak at him, causing your body to burn up in excitement. Every inch of you desired to be touched and you finger tips aches to trace the shape of him. To help him get rid of the dirt, of course.

His hand touches your arm, cleaning the wound you’ve won yourself today.

“You’re injured.” Buck whispered, so close to you now, can feel the warmth of his freshly minted breath.

“Just a cut, I’ll live.” you joke. Looking up at him, water was framing his face so sinfully. You watched a small thread of water paint his nose, those red juicy lips, then going down his chest, stopping at the lower part of his abdomen. Your eyes locked on his erection, and your hands caressing up and down his worked arms.

Buck cupped your cheeks, locking his gaze in yours. Forehead touching, he searched for your permission before hungrily brushing your lips together.

You splay your hands across Buck’s chest as he swirls his tongue around yours. He got you already high over his touch, but the kissing in out of this world.

He press you gently on the cold wall, water still flowing down over both of you, sneaking under your touch. Your body trembles as his hands wanders up and down, memorising your curves. He stops for a moment over your breasts, caressing one by one very carefully, like he would want to remember their shape. You racked your nails through his messy wet hair and down across his back, his lips escaping a little needy moan.

Buck pauses, lips barely touching, taking his time to look in your eyes as his hand went down. “You’re so beautiful!” You breathe the same air, you share the same desire. He admires your intoxicating beauty while shoving his hand between your legs, making you break eye contact and throw your head in pleasure back into the wall.

His lips ghosts over your neck and your fingers lightly run over his abs and down to his erection. Buck kisses you hard, like his life depends on it, like he’s addicted to your touch and wants to feel your name on his skin a whole lifetime from now on.

Moans and desire flying in the air, Buck plays with your wetness before he impatiently lifts your hips up, forcing you to hook your legs around his waist. You hold on into his shoulders, closing the distance between you, he pulled your hips up and down, setting a peace as he buried inside you.

Sinking into him, digging your fingers into Buck’s shoulder, the rhythm became incoherent as both of your bodies burned in indescribably pleasure. You want him as much as he wants you.

The Earth stops spinning and the whole world evolves around you two. That moment is about you and Buck, covered in exultation and savoury. You feel his pulse inside, fire pooling low in your abdomen, waiting for Buck to put it out for you.

He run his tongue over where your lips meet, your eyes running back in delight as your moans melts together under your kiss. A spring coiling tightly and then being release, both of you dissolving into pleasure under the hot warm water spreading your love into the air.

You stayed there, in that sweet embrace minutes before one of you could do something. You enjoyed the moment and rested on Buck’s arms, tears of joy welting with the water caressing your bodies. Buck didn’t want to let you go, afraid you’d disappear as soon as his eyes would open. Instead, he inhales your smell, so unforgettable. He’s convinced it’ll haunt his mind, his dreams, countless days from now on and he’s sure as hell he doesn’t want to forget any second you spent in that shower.

“I’m glad you came back safely today.” you murmured into the base of his neck, your fingers still lightly tracing his shape.

“Will always come back in one piece to you.” he answers, placing a soft kiss on your wet hair.

You raise your head, searching his beautiful eyes. Buck can’t help a smile, seeing you so vulnerable before him, still trusting him enough to let him admire you like that. He locked you lips again, this time so soft, afraid he’ll hurt you with just a touch. You melt on him with every touch.

“We should go back.” you broke the silence.

“Yeah, we should.” he agrees. “I’ll go first, take your time.” he kissed your cheek and disappeared behind the curtain.

When you returned to the kitchen, everyone was eating one of Bobby’s delicious meals. You grab yourself a plate and sat across Buck, avoiding his sight, afraid you’ll lose your sanity. You’re smelling like Buck and sex combined, the best combination you’ve ever smelled.

He locked your eyes and you both smiled like idiots, still drunk over the moment happened in shower, just minutes before, a few feet away from everyone else. But you don’t care, it was your moment.

“Don’t really wanna know what happened back there, you idiots! Stop devouring each other at table!” Chim jokes as your cheeks burn red again.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 6 ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

Blame my obsession with K-dramas for how dramatic this last angsty part is. Also, to be clear, I do know some of you head-cannon Alastor as a ‘charismatic psychopath’ because of the way he acts in the show but personally I see him as more of a ‘dynamic sociopath’ while he was alive. I’m telling you this because I know authors tend to depict their faves so out of character just to progress the plot of their stories without any logical reasoning behind it. I am not that type of writer and therefore I don’t think my perception of (Human) Alastor is strange. Anyways, enough from me. Let’s get back to our regularly scheduled broadcast shall we?

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ MENTIONS & DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD / HORROR ] + [ PREGNANCY TROPE…it’ll be over soon I swear…] + [ IMPLICATIONS OF A MISCARRIAGE ] + [ DESCRIPTIONS OF A DEAD BODY ] + [ HEAVY ANGST ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

On a cozy November evening, the Garden District of New Orleans bloomed with life. Its magnificent houses and mansions stood tall in the late-day sun, and the woeful winter breeze passing through the dazzling neighborhood rustled the greenery lining each home.

Many of the Jazz City’s locals regarded the area as an affluent attraction for outsiders to gawk and marvel at, while those who resided there took pride in its beauty.

You considered yourself fortunate to be a part of such a gleaming community, living a subtle life of luxury due to Alastor's wild success, but not entirely involved with other well-kept wives of similar influential figures.

Socializing had never been your forte; though it was required of you in mannerable situations, the constant exchange of loose friendships with strangers never entirely appealed to you.

Although, being married to a renowned public figure with an image to uphold puts you in compliance with the aversion.

Parties, local events, and even headlining musical performances became your routine social appearance.

Alastor was immensely proud to have you on his arm, charming the masses with your soft approach, swooning the newspapers with your angelic appearance and kind public gestures.

You did your best to make a lovely impression on anyone you encountered, wordlessly adhering to Alastor’s commanding ego and polishing the rough edges of his public image with practiced selflessness.

Few knew you personally, and even fewer saw you as a socialite.

Sure, you'd been polite to anyone who passed on the street, made small talk with neighbors, did charity work for those who thought to ask, and even donated effort towards Rosies spontaneous book club meetings every other weekend -though they were thinly veiled gossip sessions she'd orchestrate with fellow homemakers.

There wasn't a single person you could call a 'friend' who wasn't already close to your husband…

How Rosie had managed to crowd her stunning home with so many familiar yet strange faces, claiming to be precisely that -your friend- baffled you in more ways than one.

Yes, these people were acquaintances and admirers to some degree, but your friends?…

You had none besides Alastor, willing to remain by his side in matrimony just as you had from the moment you met him, reluctant to make any other connections since your shared childhood.

It didn’t help that Alastor developed a habit of scaring away new acquaintances behind your back and even resorted to violent acts of service to keep other suitors at bay before your shared vows.

As a result, the happy faces you saw now felt fabricated; every congratulatory remark didn't resonate with your heart, and the more people that arrived to celebrate you and Alastor, the more lost you felt.

They didn't know you.

No one knew you, but they adored your husband and, in turn, fawned over you.

Liars.

Everyone spouted half-truths, mirroring the ones Alastor had been telling you for months, and your heart grew heavier with each one told.

You could manage seeing him falsify his real identity to the public, to unsuspecting strangers, and to posh parasites.

You could handle being put on a pedestal, seen as the perfect wife, and expected to echo his ideal perception.

Lying to others was child's play, a game you two had grown to love, but Alastor developing the need to lie to you wasn't a tolerable offense.

The party began smoothly; guests swooped in with delightful gifts, either handmade or recently bought from the showcases of New Orleans's finest shops; gentle swing music wafted through the air of Rosie’s lavish two-story home that sat only a block away from your own.

She'd gone to the extreme for the whole ordeal: live music, tantalizing food laid out on tables in the parlor, decorations befitting a small ball neatly adorning the house exterior, and the creme de le creme of Louisiana's socialites filling the guest list.

Alastor uttered nothing but praise for his dearest friend's efforts, thanking her for the collaborative success with a broad smile and chaste kiss.

You followed his gratitude with a gracious nod, content with sitting at your designated table now lined with small gifts from an array of affluent attendees.

"My, Rosie, you've outdone yourself again! You even got Anthony and that grump Husk to show face," Alastor chuckled, eyeing the chattering crowd carefully until his gaze landed on the two opposing men.

Rosie hummed triumphantly, champagne flutes in one hand as the other flicked off an imaginary offense, "Oh, come now, Alastor, you know I'd do my best for the occasion! Everyone in town begged to be here. Not every day they get to meet radio's biggest star and his wife!"

She flashed a genuine grin at you, noting the slight glare on your face as you returned it, but said nothing.

Her attention reverted to the man beside her, who continued observing the crowd, sharing passing remarks with Rosie when a person of interest appeared.

You oversaw their exchange, deliberately soft-spoken the whole evening, often having to avert your focus to converse with a couple who'd come to give their gift and admiration.

Still, the minute the guests left to join the party again, you'd zero in on them.

Alastor felt your eyes on him, burning holes into the back of his head despite you sitting down to rest as the party moved along.

He refused to acknowledge your staring, patiently waiting for you to call for his attention rather than assume you needed it.

After ten minutes of idle chit-chat, he was obliged to give it to you, as Rosie excused herself for the time being.

You said nothing as he peered down at you over his shoulder, amber eyes glinting gold under the lowering sunlight pouring in from the opened bay windows behind you, lips curled into a familiar smile that you considered returning for a moment.

It was hard for you to deny how magnificent Alastor looked in the thrall of pride, dressed in a Burgundy suit with cream accents, hair neatly styled to hide his natural brown curls from the eye of others, and his skin glimmering under natural light.

He was beautiful, deceptively desirable even in your eyes filled with one-sided hurt, and you wished to let go and stand by his side with the utmost confidence in him just as you'd done so many times before.

It would be so easy to forget his transgressions then, to fully enjoy the celebration of your children's oncoming arrival together, but as he elegantly turned on his heel to approach you, splinters of suspicion pricked through your forgiving nature.

You wouldn't t let him charm his way out of this.

Enough was enough.

Alastor watched as your expression grew hard, hidden from the festive crowd by his lean frame as he knelt at eye level with you.

To those around you, the gesture came off as romantic, an endearing sight of a husband tending to his pregnant wife, and not the unspoken detachment of trust between a loyal lover and her predatory protector.

Alastor reached for one of your hands, subtly tugging it from resting on your stomach to resting in his palm.

A sickeningly sweet smile plastered his face as he placed a ginger kiss on your gloved knuckles.

His eyes never left yours as he enacted the loving gesture, swirling with unabashed mischief as you dug your nails into his skin, and the slight pain beckoned him to hum with delight.

You were angry and even enraged with him, but you showed it subtly and practiced, and if he were an ordinary man, Alastor would've considered feeling guilty for it.

But your husband was far from average, far from the definition of guilt, and you wouldn't have him any other way because, despite all his faults and evils, you loved him.

You loved him, felt loyal to him, would do anything for him, yet he lied.

He carried on belittling your trust to mere innocence.

Resentment radiated off you in waves, barely drowned out by the party's happenings but settling on Alastor's shoulders with force.

"Is there something troubling you, my dear?" he asks lowly, eyes steady on you as your smile tightens.

"You." is the only word that leaves your lips, laced with lethal rage in the softest tone, and the contrast elicits a rare frown from him.

He lets your response linger, tangling with laughter and music but remaining in his consciousness as he rises to his feet.

A specific anger curls in Alastor's chest, one he seldomly felt for himself, but the look on your face as he rose to his full height above you made it potent.

Something was different; that sweet girl he'd grown to cherish now looked tainted, and now he knew it was his fault.

"Darling…" he began to formulate an inquiry, faltering in his well-tailored demeanor to conjure a suitable remedy for your anger, but his excuses weren't quick enough.

You carefully stood to your feet, forcing a smile before raising on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, smoothing a hand over his suit until it rested where his heart was.

Your lips neared his ear, whispering spiteful words that didn't match the loving aura you showcased to the onlooking guests.

"You, my love, are a heartless lying bastard. Keeping secrets from me, your wife, of all people? Is that what your devotion to me means? Not trusting the woman who loves you? The mother of your children? If it is, then you can burn in hell with satan himself..'

The strain of smiling through your pain began to take its toll.

Tears welled in your eyes as each hurtful word fell on his ears, but you refused to cause a scene at such a lovely event and resorted to walking away from him as swiftly as you could manage.

Alastor was left to stand alone, his jaw clenched and his control wavering as he heard your heels click further away.

A few guests tried to gain your attention, but you quickly and respectfully declined their engagements, barely making it out of their view as tears streamed down your face, but by fate's grace, you found solace in Rosie's kitchen.

All of the cooks, maids, and waiters were absent.

Everyone was upstairs enjoying the festivities, celebrating you and Alastor's happiest time, but here you were.

Alone.

Beside yourself and utterly alone.

You tried to sob quietly, choking back frustrated screams while pacing, but the look on Alastor's face after you'd confronted him about lying brought more tears.

You'd never seen him hurt, taken aback, guilty like that.

He'd always been so perfect in your eyes, composed and deliberate about his presence.

Now, you'd ruined that image, and at what cost?

Would he come clean now or shut you out even more?

Was your anger worth any of it? Was his lying worth it?

Your heart was a mess, desperate to connect with his, but reluctant to it all at once.

“….”

Maybe father was right…

The sound of quick footsteps approaching the kitchen didn't register to you, drowned about by your excessive crying, but another presence was made evident as two gentle arms wrapped you in a hug.

"Oh, honey, come here…" Rosie cooed into your hair, frowning as your cries became hysterical, muffled by the frilly fabric of her dress.

"H-he's been lying to me, Rosie! Alastor…..a-and everyone else in this decrepit city has been playing me like a fool!"

You shuddered violently, trying to breathe correctly despite a filled stomach and a rush of anger taking its toll.

Rosie hushed you gently, letting you cry in her arms until your breaths came steadily.

She ushered you to sit somewhere comfortable as she gathered a few items to help your nerves settle.

"He lied to me," you repeat tiredly, watching as she throws together a pot of tea, using herbs you know all too well.

A sprig of Lavender, sprinkle of cinnamon, bits of rosemary, and a few drops of honey. Finally, a dash of lemon for taste.

This a simple but potent recipe for a calming and effective cup of tea.

Rosie sighs, debating what to say as she lets the mixture steep in a porcelain cup of hot water.

You weren't wrong; Alastor was hiding things from you, and though she hated to see you so distraught because of his hidden deeds, the possibility of hurting you with the truth weighed on her.

Betray, her closest friend's trust, tell his wife the haunting truth and pray she still loves him after hearing it.

Or, keep up the charade he'd so carefully created to protect you, risk driving you mad with resentment, and contribute to the cycle of pain you felt?

Rosie had difficulty choosing which path to follow but soon made her decision as you spoke again.

"Rosie…tell me the truth. Is he…is he seeing another woman? Planning to leave me? To leave us?.." you glance at your stomach, fearful of her answer and terrified your assumptions might be right.

Oddly silent, she doesn't answer your questions immediately and finishes preparing your fresh cup of hot tea, "Rosie, please! Whatever Alastor is hiding from me, I need to know. I…I'm his wife, and I have the right to at least know what's being kept from me. What is he doing out so late all the time? Why can’t I leave the house without him anymore? And for goodness sake, why does he insist I don’t read the paper?!”

The blonde freezes where she stands, whipping her whole body around to stare at you intently, and you stop yourself from rambling seeing her serious so suddenly.

"Al isn't being unfaithful, dear. That I can tell you for certain.."

"Then what in god's name is he-"

Rosie drew closer to you, dawning an all-too-sweet smile you'd learned to dread.

That happy expression was practiced, used only to console your fears or quell any questions you had.

She'd gotten so well at fronting the mask that you nearly began to believe anything she said when it was on, but now you knew better.

You knew that smile meant more lying, and in that moment, you lost the will to trust anyone in Alastors' close circle.

Even Rosie.

"I think it's time you go home and rest, dear. All this stress and crying isn't good for the babies," the blonde moved you gently, helping you stand and walk the expanse of her kitchen, up the stairs, and down corridors until the ongoing party reached your ears again.

That entire trek back upstairs felt meaningless, a distant woeful memory you existed in just to be flung back into reality by Rosie's voice, "I'll go get Al and have him take you-"

Your head snapped up at the mention of the one man who'd caused so much sorrow, tongue poised to speak harshly about him, but your penchant for politeness tempered it.

"That won't be necessary, Rosie. I'll get home just fine on my own."

She balled, clutching the string of pearls around her neck, "Oh goodness no, dear! This may be uptown, but it is still no safe place to walk about all alone. And dare I say, Alastor’s just wouldn't have it-"

"Rosie. I don't wish to see or be near him!.." you hissed as quietly as possible, lips pursed and eyes glaring daggers into her crowded parlor room.

Despite her better judgment, Rosie let the matter go, frowning as she made a heady suggestion.

"Why don't I have a close friend walk you home then? Just in case. There is a murder running 'round, and we can't have you getting hurt or caught up."

There it was again…

We…

You knew she was referring to anyone but you. Alastor, Angelique, her.

Everyone but you seemed to have a significant stake or curious investment in your unborn children's well-being.

The eerie overprotectiveness always made you weary, but at this point, you found it alarming, to say the least.

However, Rosie was right to a point.

There'd been a murder -or several- running a muck in Louisiana’s deep south.

Specifically, New Orleans.

Although the gruesome crimes were frequent, morbidly committed, and consistently reported on by papers and radio shows alike…

No one, not even the expert authorities, seemed to pinpoint a suspect or apparent killer among the public.

All that they knew was the killer's intangible motives, their style, their choice of victims -but nothing substantial enough to apprehend them.

You couldn't care less about a possibility of the Bayou Butcher coming for your head.

Your anger towards Alastor proceeded your worries for personal safety.

Rosie didn't wait for you to come to reason with her observation, already scurrying into the parlor to find your husband and tell him of your wishes to leave.

It irritates you how fragile she, Alastor, and everyone else he knows treated you.

It was as if you couldn't fend for yourself, as if he was the only one capable of cognitive thought in your marriage, and to some degree, the realizations stung your pride.

Traces of anger grew in your heart towards him minute by minute, something you never dreamt of feeling for him, but dreams can quickly turn into nightmares as your father would say…

This moment was that turning point. You could feel the shift as you turned away from the packed parlor, ignoring those who gave greetings as you stalked toward the front door.

Some asked if you needed assistance, and others watched in confusion as you slipped out the door and let it slam shut behind you.

Not many people were on the front porch and lawn, and those who were let you pass through without saying a word.

You presumed they were just waiting for the moment to gossip again, whether it be about you or someone else.

The need to care wasn't one you had, taking brisk steps down the sidewalk under a setting sun as rare chilled breezes sweep the southern heat from your face.

It was convenient that Rosie only lived a block and a half away from you, and Alastor’s shared estate.

The semi-long walk gave you time to think, time to enjoy the scenery around you and get away from the suffocating expectations put on you simply by being the Radio Star's perfect wife.

You scoffed at the thought, trying not to get angry again as your steps took you around a familiar corner, but the negative feeling quickly lessened when you felt a gentle rap of kicks in your stomach.

The twins gave a subtle tussle, sensing their mother's distress, and to some degree, you believed they were trying to cheer you up.

Their tiny gestures worked, putting a smile on your solemn expression and keeping it there to your destination.

You shuffled up the steps to your home, tired, feet sore, and ready to cry again as the large structure reminded you of the man you'd left to endure the company of his admirers.

His.

Not yours.

That had always been the difference.

With a sigh, you unlocked the front double doors, shutting them swiftly as street lamps began to light up and locking the ornate wood panels right after.

It was a habit Alastor insisted on and one you didn't intend to break tonight.

He'd have to come through the back door, and as small as the hassle would be, you still found it a suitable enough sign of discontent from you to him.

With nothing but sleep on your mind, you trudged up the staircase, pulling your gloves off and preemptively pulling pins from your styled hair.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your hair flowed loosely down your back, and your dress zipper was pulled down (by some miracle, you managed to do it on your own).

You tossed the pins on your vanity, jewelry, gloves, and clutch purse, following suit.

Your shoes regained their spot in the closet, your clothes were thrown into the bathroom hamper, and your nightrobe was thrown over your arm as a replacement.

You were ready for bed after one hot shower, a face care routine, and a hair brushing session.

Alastor still isn't home yet…

The clock had struck midnight thirty minutes ago, and he'd yet to show his face.

You half expected him to, but after years of seeing him angry on very few occasions, you highly doubted he'd return without cooling himself down first.

He tended to go hunting as an alternative…which left you alone for hours on end.

Sadness and guilt crept into you as the argument replayed in your mind.

The emptiness of your shared bed did not help your aching heart, and the heavy silence of the house made it worse.

You may have gone too far.

Maybe he wasn't hiding anything, and I overreacted?

Maybe I was wrong to doubt him, to worry and fret over something trivial.

Your thoughts spiraled again, tears filling your eyes as regret got the best of you.

"What have I done…?" you mumbled in earnest, glancing around the room, wishing to apologize to Alastor or at least explain yourself in a better tone.

Sleeping without him felt foreign, unreal, and even like a self-inflicted punishment.

You saw no benefit to it, and you were consumed with worry.

I can’t do this…

With your mind racing but your body ready to rest, you decided that taking one of Angelique's tonics would soothe you enough to relax.

You left the room on a mission, carefully treading downstairs and into the kitchen, and with haste, you found the cabinet holding the container of vials she’d gifted to you every month.

You opened it swiftly, hoping to find what you needed, but the box was empty.

"Oh, for the love of!-" you hissed angrily, shoving the box away with a grimace, but the sour expression didn't last long as you remembered where to find extra tonics.

Angelique was an insightful woman, cautious enough to give you extra in case something like this happened.

Fortunately, Alastor insisted on putting the additional vials somewhere else so as not to mistake them for regular tonics.

You'd agreed to his idea, allowing him to keep them safely locked in the basement, but now you needed them.

Leaving the moonlit kitchen, you drifted into the second hallway, walking straight ahead to the basement door.

Its key hung on a hook to the left, a small silver trinket Alastor kept a tight watch on, and you tended not to mess with it.

That went for the basement as well.

It was his area of the house you stayed away from not only out of personal reluctance but also out of explicit instructions from him.

His reasons for your avoidance ranged from "Trust me, It's too dangerous for you, darling.." to "Just as you have the library as a safe haven, I have the basement as mine…"

You hadn’t thought to question him, having no reason to, but for once, you disregarded his wishes to grant your own.

He'd never know you went down there only to retrieve medicine. What harm could one peek do?

You plucked the key from its hook, unlocking the creaky black walnut door before reaching into the dark abyss for the lamp switch.

Your fingers found it on the left wall, flicking the switch to bring a warm golden light into the damp room.

The steps croaked under your slow footsteps, holding firm under your nearly doubled weight until you stepped onto the cold wooden flooring.

Alastor kept the space oddly clean; a chair sat in one corner, his hunting gear was neatly arranged on one of two long oak tables, and the walls held other hunting equipment.

You noticed most of the hanging instruments were carving aids, something your own father used to cut and properly clean his own game after he went hunting during your childhood.

Seeing the array of butcher knives and other tools did not frighten you; they were familiar and expected from your husband's choice of hobbies.

Nothing caught your attention at first, usual kickbacks and things tucked away in corners and a hefty radio set on the second table, but little stood out.

You treaded carefully though, peering curiously at different items as you searched for the spare box of tonics, but they were nowhere to be found at first glance.

You figured to look deeper, rummaging through cabinets and under the table, mindful of your swollen belly as you bent down or reached above.

The longer you searched, the more anxious you felt.

Somewhat afraid of being in the basement alone, and a little scared Alastor would find you down there, though he explicitly asked you not to be.

"I have to hurry.." you mumbled, eyes frantically searching the space again as the last cabinet you searched held nothing important to you.

A particular corner of the room caught your gaze. Right behind the armchair was a stack of boxes of different sizes.

You drew closer to them, spotting the extra medicine box on top, gently grabbing it from the pile, but you couldn't look away from the most enormous box sitting right at your feet.

It was huge and made of sturdy metal, unlike the rest, and you were sure a whole person could fit in it if they tried.

How odd…

You'd never seen it before but the box felt sorely out of place, among other things.

You couldn't peel your attention away from it, some invisible force urging you to look inside, and despite your better judgment, you gave into the desire.

Setting the medicine box down on the chair, you moved the other cases off the larger one, clearing it off before cautiously kneeling to open it.

There was no lock, only four bolt latches, which you found easy enough to undo, but the real task was lifting the heavy lid up high enough to see inside.

You managed it with a few determined huffs escaping your lips, letting the heavy lid hit the stone wall before taking a look inside.

You immediately wish you hadn't..…

"Oh God…" you whispered in utter shock and horror at the sight in front of you, feeling undeniably sick from it, mind racing to make up a rational reason for the vulgar sight.

But what rational reason on Earth could justify your beloved husband hiding a literal mutilated body in the basement.

Your heart sank seeing the poor souls' faces sunken in with dread, drowning in their blood, maned at various points as if an animal had mauled them.

Body parts were missing, skin had been flayed, and you almost couldn't tell if the person had any recognizable features left.

It was horrible…a brain-altering nightmare come to life before your very eyes, and it made you sick.

You began to cry, unconsciously sobbing hysterically as the dead body lifelessly peered back at you, terrified of it… slightly afraid of the man you presumed caused the damming scene.

With a sense of urgency, you reached to shut the lid, flinching as loose blood splattered onto you from the impact of the box closing, and the chill of red liquid dripping down your skin was enough to make you scream in pure disgust.

It was a guttural, frantic cry you'd only expressed in recent nightmares, but a deserved one.

Your body began to shake in peril, the gruesome image engraved into your mind as you scrambled to get to stand, but you weren't as composed as before and stumbled backwards haphazardly as a result.

Everything moved faster than you thought; your body had abandoned control, leaving you to fall without warning.

The room spun as your head collided with a table's edge, a dull pain erupting in your skull on impact, and your consciousness wholly disrupted.

The blinding pain of falling to the hard floor didn't register to you as panicked tears seeped down your face, screams you couldn't hear left your lips, and blood began to pool from your head and between your legs.

Shock, terror, helplessness, fear, and panic were all you could feel.

Intense pain in your stomach and head amplified the emotions but became distant sensations as your vision blurred and faded.

The very last words you remember speaking was a cry for help, a desperate plea for everything you'd seen to be a mistaken dream, a cry for anyone -no- your husband to save you from the terrible ordeal.

A plea for him to appear and tell you it's not true, that the body in the bolted box wasn't his doing, but your hope of him hearing you -anyone hearing you- dwindled rapidly as your concussion took hold.

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

Rosie found Alastor quickly enough, merely having to spot his neatly styled curls drifting in the wind as he stood out on a balcony alone.

A drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

He blew smoke into the murky winter air, eyes dark and narrowed as he stared at the evening sky.

It was rare to see him frowning.

Alastor Hartifelt, of all people, not smiling?

Rosie nearly couldn't believe it the closer she drew to him.

He was…upset.

Irritated.

His smile was thoroughly washed away by your harsh words and prods for the truth.

You'd managed to take his cheer in one fail swoop, leaving him alone to think, and he couldn't blame you.

You, his ever-so-loving wife, his confidant, and his soon-to-be motherly doting doe, were rightfully at odds with him.

He'd hurt you, the very reason he'd began lying in the first place was to avoid doing so, but it'd happened anyway.

A genuinely ironic turn of events, in his opinion.

Alastor glared at the rising moon, cursing whatever higher power meddled dared to meddle in his life of all people, but his inner ranting was cut short as the sound of Rosie clearing her throat hit his ears.

The radio host spun on his heel to face her, fronting a slight smile to hide the agitation he felt at the moment, "Done socializing already, dear Rosie?"

He strived to sound polite and unbothered, but the edge in his tone showed through despite his best efforts.

Rosie paid no mind to his touchy attitude, knowing where it stemmed from.

She came to stand by his side, nodding in response to his question, "I didn't have much time to. I was with your lovely wife…trying to calm her nerves."

Alastor's frown returned at the mention of you, a thin line on his lips and a glint of guilt in his gaze.

"How is she?" he asks quietly, and Rosie's cheery expression falters hearing it.

"She insisted on returning home… by herself. Incredibly distraught on her way out.." She admits.

His chest tightened, heart sinking instantly picturing you at home alone, "Why didn't she-"

Rosie clicked her tongue dismissively, interrupting his line of questioning, "Al, she was severely distraught. Please let her be. I only know a fraction of what went on between you two, but it's obvious to her that you're hiding something. Not to intrude on your marriage, darling, but you must make a choice before something irreversible happens to it…to Y/n."

The blonde couldn't hide her somberness, staring at her long-time friend with a sense of earnest sincerity as she continued, "I shouldn't be the one to tell you this….but if you really do care for the girl, love her like you say you do, then you'll tell her the truth. You'll tell her, and she'll still be by your side…."

Alastor lowered his head, and for the first time in his adult life, he felt perplexed, stuck at impasss of foreign emotions.

He cared for you; some might call it love, and he'd been aware of it since childhood.

You'd told him all your secrets, good or bad, and trusted him.

You trusted him enough to reveal the mental abuse your father had put you through during childhood.

Trusted him enough to tell him how badly you wished you'd died instead of your mother to make your father somewhat happy again.

Alastor even knew of the times you'd been left completely alone as a child for weeks on end, how your father's neglect made you feel less than, and the permanent effect it had on you.

Your desire to fill a void, be loved without being shoved off, and be seen as more than a convenient soft-hearted person for someone to trifle with.

He knew every little thing about you, and it was because you had faith in his loyalty.

He found it easy to divulge his thoughts to you in the same manner, but allowing his secrets out into the open made him uneasy, even if you'd proven trustworthy from the beginning.

Then there was the matter of killing for you.

Alastor had done it so many times without your knowledge…

Stalking down men who stared at you too long for his liking, carving up anyone who spoke ill of you, happily taking the life of those who spoke down on your relationship.

Most of his murderous tendencies were purely driven by his obsession with you, a twisted kind of possessiveness he couldn't let go of, and one that made it easy for him to spill blood for you in the blink of an eye.

He did it to keep you safe…and that’d only be possible with him and no one else.

What stopped him from telling you how far he’d gone to do so, showing you that unnatural side of him only his victims saw, could only be described as fear.

Fear of losing you.

Fear of stripping the warmth from your heart.

Fear of losing the one thing, the one person who'd loved him despite all his flaws.

Fear of never truly smiling, never feeling a genuine emotion again because you -your presence in his life- allowed him to do just that.

Alastor hated to call it what it was, but as he was evading your attempts to understand, lying straight to your face and hoping you'd dilute your intuition was a way cowards way out of telling you the whole truth.

His pride dimmed, a frustrated grunt rumbling his chest as he glared at the drink in his hand.

Rosie sighed, flashing him a soft smile of pure reassurance, "Go to her, Al. Put a stop to her worries and relieve yourself of the burden. If not for your marriage, then for her sanity. She is too lovely of a girl to be treated so faithlessly."

He tongues his cheek at her words, a bitter burn of smoke and whiskey on it as he swallows thickly before nodding in agreement, "Seems I have no choice."

"You best head off. It's getting rather late, and I'm sure she misses you dearly, Al."

Alastor took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it in his half-full bourbon glass before letting Rosie take it from him as he straightened his suit.

"I'll bid you good night then. You have my gratitude, Rosie, and the party was a splendid success, if I may add." His tone was back to normal, engaging, and mildly charismatic. Rosie smiled wide at his improving mood, accepting his thanks before shooting him off with a quick peck on his cheek.

“Au revoir monsieur!…”

“Au revoir mademoiselle..”

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

Alastor made it home without trouble, humming a snappy tune to distract himself from the evening's progressing events.

However, as he reached the back door of your shared home, his shadows twinged with alertness.

His hand froze over the gold doorknob, a certain heaviness settling in his chest as the specters frantically twisted against the back porch walls.

Something is wrong. Can't hear Y/n. Can't hear their heartbeats. Can't feel them-

Alastor stiffened as his shadows enlarged, fueled by the panic he was resisting, "Find her!" he bellowed the order out on instinct, and the leering spirits dove into action as he barreled into the darkened home.

"Y/n!?" he yelled for you, head whipping in every direction as he searched the first floor, stomping up the stairs next to search the second floor but coming up empty.

He stood in your shared bedroom, remaining calm as he tried to figure out where you could be.

All your belongings were here, and you had readied for bed from the looks of your tampered vanity, but nothing else gave him a clue about your whereabouts.

That was until his shadows called to him; a certain bellow of wailing sounded from the lower part of the house, and one Alastor didn't like the sound of.

A warning.

A frenzied one at that.

Found her…hurry.

Without a second thought, Alastor bounded back downstairs, following the whips of his shadow self as it traveled through the halls, only to stop in front of a doorway he dreaded.

The basement. Its door was wide open, the lamp light eerily aglow as his shadows whirled past the steps to engulf the room.

“Y/n?!…” Alastor called for you again as he crept down the creaky wood steps, voice stiffer than he intended it to be, but its edge paled compared to the large lump forming in his throat when his eyes spotted you.

Splayed out on the floor, on your side, lying limp and motionless.

A small puddle of blood was forming near your head, another was quickly growing in between your legs, and splatters of it covered your face, hands, and nightgown.

For the second time in his life, Alastor felt true terror, bewildered by the sight of his darling wife in distress and paralyzed by the powerful possibility it was his fault.

He’d only felt this fearful once before, afraid his father would end his mother’s life right in front of him after a hefty night of drinking, but even then, he found the courage to act.

Merely killing his father out of pure rage-filled instinct, but now…how he would remedy your suffering alluded him completely.

She's barely breathing… Their heartbeats-

"That's quite enough from you!" Alastor roared in utter frustration, moving without thinking, willing himself to do anything but panic.

He worked as quickly as his mind would allow, trying not to break down as he knelt beside your still body, "Y/n…darling…wake up… please…" he begged quietly.

Being as cautious as ever, he cradled you close, praying to whatever cruel god there was that you'd respond or at least open your eyes while he carried you out of the haunting basement.

Your body twitched at the sound of a familiar voice, feeling lighter as solid arms lifted you from the cold floor and whisked you from the damp room.

The sound of a rapid heartbeat thundered in your ear as waves of coherence fought to establish itself in you, but the severity of your wounds made it a struggle to function.

You settled for listening to the heartbeat, the voice accompanying it a vague background noise but a comforting one.

Your vision wasn't any better, only allowing you to see a murky image of a man, one you knew well but couldn't determine was real or not in the moment.

“Al..astor?..”you whispered in awe, smiling sadly as he looked down at you, clearly worried.

“Stay with me, darling… Keep breathing, please…”

Alastor felt you shiver violently in his arms hearing him speak, racing up the stairs as cautiously as possible to avoid hurting you more, barging into your shared bedroom seconds later.

He laid you down on the bed, disregarding the blood and dirt staining the sheets as he tried to assess your injuries. "Fuck…fuck…fuck!" he rambled angrily, breaths coming quick, and his mind in a rare frenzy as a result.

Your eyes refused to stay open, an apparent wound was on the side of your head, and the impact of your fall had indeed done something to warrant your lower half bleeding.

He needed to stop the bleeding from both areas, keep you awake, and determine the twin's state all at once.

Alastor knew this but struggled to pull himself together, only able to grasp at one of your hands with both of his to ground himself as a frustrated smile adorned his face.

Pull it together, or she and your children die.

It's all my fault… it's all my fault…

She'll die if you don't act…

It's all my fucking fault…I-

She needs help! Wallowing in your depraved guilt won't change that!

His shadows chittered, reasoning with their host despite the panic they felt seeping off of him.

Alastor screwed his eyes shut, an anguished growl leaving his chest as he tried to think of a solution and push away his panicked state.

You remained still, on the verge of passing out again, trying to hold onto reality a little longer, squeezing your savior's hand back as a weak tether to it.

Alastor froze, feeling your gesture, head lifting swiftly as you attempted to speak, "It h-hurts.." you muttered painfully, acknowledging a new ache you'd only felt a few weeks prior.

Intense shocks of strain spread in your abdomen, noticeable contractions that felt different than previous ones, but as much as you wanted to articulate the agony they caused, you couldn't find the strength to.

You screamed instead, gripping Alastor’s hand hard as the constant pains grew more robust, making your cries grow louder.

The terror in your screeches struck him hard, an almost unnatural sound he'd never imagined coming from you, but your following words gave the sounds plausible clarity.

"Th-they're c-coming!" you choked between labored breaths, feeling dizzy as your blood loss took its toll, but the growing urge to push trumped your need to pass out.

Alastor came to his senses upon hearing your warning.

Fully aware that he couldn't handle this situation alone, he did the only thing that made sense to him.

Ask for help. Something he hated to do but saw no alternative for.

"Go get Rosie. Make it quick. Find my mother next and get her here as well…" he commanded his shadows quietly, heart still racing as he took solace in comforting you.

The bed dipped as he sat down, free hand cradling your head as the other raised yours to his lips.

He planted a kiss on your knuckles; brows furrowed as the feeling of your fingers gripping his slightly lessened, an indication of culminated exhaustion and blood loss.

"Stay with me, ma chere. Just a while longer, alright? Everything…everything’s going to be fine…" Alastor muttered soothing words into your ear, a ploy to keep you and himself calm, and to some extent, it worked.

You hung onto his every word, confused and alarmed by him but clinging to the safety his presence brought.

You couldn't forget what you saw in the basement, the horrid image still stuck in the back of your mind as you cried in agony and writhed in desperation for help.

You couldn't believe that Alastor, your perfect husband, the man watching over you now so fervently, had done something so horrible to another person.

You had many questions, fears, and even more confusion than before.

Nevertheless, your dire position now completely overshadowed the underlying nightmare that was your marriage.

Your children.

That's the only thing you could clearly envision, enduring the heartache, suffering through the genuine threat to your life, all for their sake.

Confronting Alastor could wait.

Surviving the night and bringing healthy twins into this world couldn't.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

I'm putting the reader through a lot...but you all will survive... Maybe. Also, the song choices for this one kind of hit just right. ;)

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

This edit is so fitting, I fear... Credits to creator ❤️

[bitin-and-barkin]

Dying Desires

Thinking about replacing Arthur as "The Bodyguard" of the gang.

Warnings: Very horny Arthur, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Dom Reader, Sub Arthur, Buff Reader, Religious + Dog symbolism, Probably out of character, mentions of shooting + being shot, mentions of needles, Gender Neutral Reader, Smut but nothing actually happens between you + Arthur, just daydreams, degradation + cigarettes being put out on people

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT

___________________________________________________________

Imagine; Dutch or Hosea are talking up someone new they met, who they think might be a nice "addition" to their little family.

People are hesitant at best. After the shit that went down in blackwater, they're already looking for new recruits?

But they claim you're reliable. During a job gone wrong, you helped them. And when they asked why? You just did it because you thought they needed it. No ill intent, no other reason in sight. The best part is, you obviously have no clue who they are.

Not only that, but you're smart and charming and agree with them on their views on the civilized world. You're a criminal too in the law's eyes, but in reality, you're just the modern-day Robin Hood they always tried to be.

And so, they bring by a couple of members to meet you. To get some other people's point of view before they come to an agreement.

It's simple. A quick get together in a saloon. If they smell something fishy, they can easily just leave and forget about you.

Arthur agrees to come along, and when he meets you,

Goddamn.

You aren't an addition. You're the whole damn equation.

Think Abby from TLOU2 or Koing from COD or any other jacked characters. Either way, female, male, or anything in-between, you're 6 foot something and over 180 pounds of pure fucking muscle.

Armed to the teeth with one hell of a quick draw and a right hook strong enough to even make god flinch.

For once in his life, even he feels intimidated.

And when Dutch comes up to greet you?

Good God, you're sweet.

And charming too.

Your bark isn't anything like your bite, or at the very least the bite you could give.

You're kind, selfless, generous, and well-read. Confident, too. It feels like they're talking to a saint half your size.

You even cover all their drinks despite just meeting them.

He can tell it's not naivety. Scars cover your body, and you got a certain look in your eyes that just shows that you know what the world can be like.

You're just choosing to be kind. For no reason at all.

Even when later that evening somebody attempts to start a fight with you, despite you being able to drag them across the floor, you keep it civil and keep your cool.

At least at first.

The second the guy tries to throw a punch, you're off. You grab his arm, curl up your fist, and deck him with one hit.

As soon as the fight started, it was over, as the man was already knocked out on the floor with a nosebleed to match.

Then, like clockwork, you sat down and asked Arthur to continue talking with that sweet-as-honey, smooth, and lazy look in your eyes.

As you chatted with Hosea about some crime novel, he couldn't stop himself from wanting to kiss the blood off your knuckles.

The day turned to night, and you guys got ready to part ways.

You happily waved goodbye, saying you had a good time.

But by the end of the night? It was already settled.

You were joining them alright.

And now, it has been a couple of months since you joined.

And it was hard to ignore the problem you've been causing for Arthur.

You weren't doing anything wrong, in fact, you were doing everything right.

Sweet with the gals, even getting in Grimshaw's favor.

Surprisingly tolerant with the guys, oddly kind with them, even down to the goddamn O'Driscoll.

But now they're asking you to do jobs.

Intimidation? They're calling for you.

Need a guard? They're yelling your name.

Want backup? Well, you're coming along, obviously.

You've been taking John's title as the "prize pony." Considering how far you've fallen in Dutch's favor.

And you're taking Arthur's title as the brute.

But that wasn't the problem.

He didn't care about Dutch's favor or random titles.

It was the fact that your title was correct.

You were a brute.

Standing next to him in jobs, you just towered over him.

You towered over him. Him. You towered over him like he was a little boy.

He was out hunting with you once and his aim was getting wonky with his bow.

You came over, trying to show him how he needed to grip it.

But when you put your hands over his, he realized how much bigger yours were.

Putting your hands palm to palm, making jokes about how small he was compared to you, he was starting to understand why women preferred rugged men.

Another time, he got shot in the calf during a job and couldn't walk.

He said it was fine and put out his hand for you to help him up so he could limp back to his horse.

But instead? You picked him up. Bridal style and everything, not even breaking a sweat. Carrying him to your horse and placing him on the back, saying he was in no state to be riding alone.

And as he pressed his chest up against your back as you rode, wrapping his arms around your stomach for balance, he felt a newfound heat in his.

Your stomach rising as you breathed in and out, telling him in a firm voice to stay put and that you'd get them back to camp. Whistling for his horse to follow you.

With the way you were talking, Arthur wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop himself from heeling and barking and rolling over if you asked.

Your last job was the last straw. You two were clearing out an O'Driscoll camp together.

One was left and the man was shooting you a sharp gaze, swearing he was gonna kill you as your gun stared at him just as kindly.

Watching the muscles in your forearms move as you pulled the trigger,

he couldn't stop himself from begging the lord for you to one day turn your aim to his lips,

so he could taste something that was yours and holy before he died.

He has never met anybody bigger than him.

And it was causing problems.

As now, he couldn't stop thinking about you.

Thrashing in his cot that night, he kept imagining you putting him on his knees like a sinner.

Making him suck on the barrel of your gun as his hands claw at your belt, with the weight of something else in his mouth being the only thing able to satiate him.

You grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling his head away from your hips as cum seeped down his lips.

Tilting his head back, making sure he swallowed every ounce as he rutted his aching dick between your closed calves.

Manhandling him into position like livestock as you threw his legs up onto your shoulders, biting down on his neck and making him yours as you unzipped his pants and-

He stood up and started walking, unsure where he was going.

Just anywhere that would get him away from his own thoughts.

While wandering around camp, he looked over and saw you. Smoking at the campfire, stitching up a wound on your thigh.

Against his better judgment, he went down there and struck up some conversation.

Laughing and talking with you into the night.

Hoping that you sharing the thoughts of your mind would be able to erase his thoughts of your body.

But as you talked and talked and brought your cigarette up to your lips,

blowing the smoke out of your nose as your hands smoothly pulled the needle in and out.

He couldn't stop thinking about how much better your lips would look shotgunning him smoke,

how much better that cigarette would burn if you put it out on his neck in front of everybody,

And how much better your hands would feel wrapped around his waist as you pulled him in tight and called him your whore.

He pulled off his hat and dipped his face into his hands, his cheeks heating up as he stole a look from the cracks between his fingers.

And seeing you sprawled back, hearing your breathy gasps when the needle hit especially deep was driving him crazy.

Taking a bottle of whiskey in hand, he cracked it open and took a small sip before your voice piped up.

Asking him for some, saying it was to "take the edge off", and make the pain of stitching your wounds easier.

He walked over to you and you took the bottle, thanking him before drinking some down, and then handing it back to him.

And watching him later take a sip,

quietly eyeing your half-unbuttoned shirt as he rubbed his thighs together,

it seemed like it wasn't the alcohol he was trying to savor.

|

|

|

|

|

Made Arthur horny like a teenager lmao + I have a thing for cigarettes and smoke, okay? Leave me alone about it.

Anyways, ya'll want more? Also I'll write a pt 2 to that sub Dutch story soon, dw.

[just-shairahhh]

The Way I Couldn't Love You

~ A "The Way I Loved You" story continuation.

Summary: Will you and Eddie get a second chance at what you lost? Or will the history tear through everything you had once built together?

Note: This post is a continuation of the story, "The Way I Loved You".

"And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again. Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. "

Everyday. Every single day of the first year since you moved away, you imagined in your head what it would be like to see Eddie again. A thousand scenarios swirling in your mind, tentacles of the nightmare you had to live through every day, creeping into your broken heart and imprisoning it in a tight grip, as you lay there. In the same dark corner. For hours. Until sleep showed you some mercy and reeled you in. Everyday.

Anger. Hurt. Betray.

You’d imagined it all. It was as if you could picture his stormy, hazel eyes pierce into you, the storm brewing in them upending your life all over again. And then you stopped. Squeezed your eyes tighter and stopped. You could feel the bile rising in your throat at the mere thought of seeing hatred in the eyes that had only ever looked at you with love. Pure, selfless love. No, it was too soon. You can’t see him yet. So you picked up your phone from the corner of the sofa you had slammed it in and replied to your sister’s text in a single word, “No”. And that was the hardest thing you had ever had to write, which was funny because once in a Spell-Bee competition you thought, “Embourgeoisement” was hard.

Your sister’s question did not leave your mind for the rest of the day, though. Or the coming week. Or the months that followed.

“Eddie was here again. Asking for an address or a contact. Said he really needed you. And that everything was falling apart. He looked worse than before, y/n. Should I send him your address?”

What did he mean everything was falling apart? Is he okay? Are his parents hurting him again? You tried to shut the voices out. You'd be back home on the next flight if you let them come in. Plus, he had Shannon now. He would be okay.

"I am sorry, Eddie. There's nothing more I want than to be right next to you. But if I fall again, I won't be able to get up. I can't. I need to heal. I really, really need to heal. I cannot live in this pain anymore. I am so, so sorry". You whisper into the night as you snuggle further into your pillow.

.....

“I don’t want dinner, mom! Leave me alone. Please.” The last word already more breathless and shakier than you’d like.

“That’s too bad. Cause I got you your favourite; that disgustingly sugary sweet abomination in the name of coffee” Eddie said as he entered through the door and made a very disgusted face as if someone had asked him to take Tabasco shots. Someone had once, by the way. It was you. And he had still made a better face. “And Chef Eddie’s personally mastered craft, tacos and enchiladas.” He said, proudly smiling and throwing around chef kisses.

You gave him a blank stare. And a second later, he relented.

“Fine, my abuela made them. God, woman. Lighten up. You broke up with an el tonto. I always warned you he was an el tonto. Not even a real man. Maybe you were a bigger idiot. But eh, what’s done is done. I’d say we celebrate”.

And just like that, at the mention of Josh, fresh tears broke free, replacing the now dried ones.

"Hey, hey, hey. I am sorry. I was kidding. Come here.” Eddie stepped in closer, about to engulf you in a hug.

But you pushed him away. “Go away, Eddie. Seriously. I don’t want to see you right now.”

“I will not, y/n. Not unless you eat. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything for hours.” His light-hearted banter now long gone, a more assertive voice stepping in. You knew it meant that he was concerned but you hated when he took that voice with you. It was very different than the one he took with Shannon. That concern was always laced with a soft plea at the end or a light kiss behind her ear.

Shannon. Just her name, brought out the anger you’d been trying to hold in.

But you try once more to not let the agony engulf you. To not be the person you are about to become if Eddie does not listen to you. “Go. Away. Eddie. I will have the food when I am hungry.”

Eddie, however, was not having any of it. “Come on, here. Let me get this for you. If you try one –”

And that’s when you lost it and screamed at the last person you ever wanted to raise your voice at. “GO AWAY! WHAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!” He tried to reach out again but you swatted his arm away. Hitting him on the chest once. Twice. Thrice. So he would just listen to you. Why is he not listening to you? He needs to go.

The long suppressed agony now letting itself out completely. Josh was not a good boyfriend to you. But he was a good friend before that. And when you broke up with him, you knew you’d lost that. This was all Eddie’s fault. He left you. All alone. And he went to Shannon. And you thought maybe, just maybe if you start dating, it will all go away? This... this hurt. All this pain. But it did not. But you knew. In your heart, you knew that it was not Eddie's fault. That he did loved you. He would do anything for you. Just not in the way you wanted. And that tore at you every day but that was not his fault. It couldn’t be.

And then you realise you that you are still hitting him. What are you doing? You stop as soon as you realise that and look up. There he was, your best friend. Taking it all in. Not saying anything. You feel so awful, so absolutely broken. And you feel tired. So very tired. So with a barely held sob, you slump forward, into his arms. Which were waiting for you, as if knowing. Waiting. Understanding.

So, you sob harder. Because that was the first day in all these years it had truly set in that Eddie would never be what you craved in him. You'd always thought one day it would all come back. That he would come back. But now you knew that he won't. He would always be here though. Just never yours.

But what you didn’t realise that day was Eddie’s heart was also breaking. If not more, then just as much as you. That was the first time he felt his best friend was slipping away and he was unaware. So very unaware of how much his best friend had loved this guy who broke her heart. He cursed himself for not understanding the gravity of the situation. What he didn't know was that, the sobs breaking through his chest, causing tremors in his heart were not for Josh but for him.

You didn’t notice the bandage on his knuckles for the next few days. You also didn’t notice that Josh Lawson was gone longer than the bandage had stayed.

And Eddie never told you either.

.....

“y/n?”

“Eddie.” You whisper softly.

You couldn’t recall how long you were spaced out for. When cold, familiar tears slid down your cheeks as easily as they used to, only then did you start to process the situation again.

“I- I... I have a few engine supplies to check. I should...” Buck slowly started.

No! Evan! What must he even be thinking? You slowly raise your eyes up at him. Expecting the worst. But his kind face only held understanding in them. He gave you a tight lipped smile before taking a few steps backward.

“Oh, this” you softly started and he followed your eyes and and looked down at the basket in your hands.

“Right.” He quickly took the box from your hand. “Muffins are my favourite! Ooooh, blueberry!” He gave you one last smile and walked back.

You still hadn’t looked at Eddie but you could feel his eyes follow you. With a deep breath, you somehow muster the courage to look up and nothing would have prepared you for what you saw.

You wished it was what you feared it all those years ago. You truly did. Anger. Fear. Betray. But he wasn’t any of those things. He was simply... lost.

Third Person POV:

There comes a time in everyone’s life when we lose something precious. A person, a memory, an object, a feeling; something we always, effortlessly considered a part of us. We would look everywhere, drive ourselves insane and would not know how to survive without it.

But then we learn. Slowly. Painfully. We grasp on how to survive without it and we start living again. But then one day, it turns up. But by then we don’t know how to feel. We have learnt to live with what we have lost but that doesn’t mean we have not felt incomplete in our existence. And just like that, we are back to the day we lost and we were lost. As clueless now as we were then.

Eddie Diaz was lost. He didn’t know how to take in what he had learnt to let go, now standing right in front of his eyes. The day that y/n left, she didn’t just take away his best friend, she took a part of him with her. A part that he had willingly given away to her to safekeep the first day he saw her across the fence looking at him with eyes that promised him the world. A part that was always meant to be hers.

A soft sob escaped y/n’s lips. Tears now freely slipping down her face. She had run this day through her head uncountable number of times. She thought it would all come back. The ghosts of her night and the nightmares of her day. The girl she used to be. But they didn't.

All that came back were the memories she had long buried down. But this time they didn't strike her like a snake, angry and hissing, it's fangs out, ready to poison her. This time, the memories hugged her like Eddie used to. Soothe her like Eddie used to. Make her feel understood... Like Eddie used to. And in that moment, all her doubts dissolved, and she knew that she had made the right choice when she decided to leave. Had she stayed back, she would have started hating Eddie, every memory she had of him and she knew that she would have started hating herself.

But she had still done Eddie wrong. She knew that. While her heart had healed for her, it also tore through her for what she had broken. There was no escape. Her only escape from everything life threw at her for the longest time, was now standing right in front of her; eyes wide, mouth agape and tears, years worth of tears threatening to spill through the barriers of his eyes behind which Eddie had managed to hide himself for a long time now.

"You're not in uniform" y/n whispered out. Her heart had started to spiral down several dominoes of emotions. And she could no longer think straight. Instead, she decided to focus on the patterns on his mustard yellow shirt.

"Yes, because my uniform totally should be your first concern after you just up and left the night of my wedding. While you're at it, why don't you go inside and check the logs to make sure whether I was on time for my shift or not?" Eddie replied.

What further pushed y/n down the ledge was the fact that Eddie did not shout, or scream or throw the words at her. He simply sounded... Defeated. Long gone was the boy who held fire in his eyes. Standing next to her now was a man who had seen it all fade away.

Soldiers. Friends. Humanity. His best friend. His Marriage. And maybe somewhere, himself. Or atleast the version of him that she used to know. She could not stand there pretending he had changed when she was the one who pulled away first.

So, she kept quiet and focused on the colours running checks on his shirt.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You left me, y/n. Why." He did not ask it as a question. More like a statement. As if he too, had gone through that one moment he found out y/n had left. For a very long. In a never ending loop. And when you do that enough, your mind starts to give you answers. Not the one you necessarily seek but the ones that bring out your worst insecurities. And there he was, her heart's closest confidant doubting all that he was, for himself and for her, on the basis of a single memory that turned both their worlds upside down all those years ago.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you would be there for me forever but you weren't. During the worst trials of my life, you weren't".

She could feel his voice tremor slightly as he slowly stepped closer. A single treacherous tear making its way down his beautiful face.

Y/n's POV:

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you'd always be my by side. But maybe you didn't mean those promises enough"

Brown. White. Blue.

"Or maybe I wasn't enough. Your family obviously knew everything. And our friends did too, I'm guessing. Everyone content with your decision, happy for you. I felt it."

Brown. White. Blue.

"And there I was, the only one left in the dark. Driving around like someone took away a part of my soul. And guess what? That is exactly what happened".

Brown. White. Blue.

"And I waited. For the longest time. Because I couldn't have imagined my life without you. Because I loved you. And I thought you did too. So why?"

"It's because I loved you." You scream at him through the tears, each word that he had said, striking all the cords that you had yourself been stricken by before.

You looked up at him through your clouded eyes and knew, that still, he had no idea.

Well, what time like the present? Infront of a firehouse, where he works. Where you'd come to meet one of his colleagues. What would be a better place to share the most vulnerable, sensitive corners of your heart?

"It's because I loved you that I let all the hurtful emotions of a teenage heart tore through me but stayed by you when you needed to talk about your relationships. It's because I loved you that I stood beside you and fought against your family so that you could marry the woman you loved, when all I wanted to do was scream at you, ask you to not marry her. It's because I loved you that I left the people, the home and the family I'd known all my life so that I didn't end up hating you. Everything was always because I loved you. And it was because you couldn't love me back".

You fall apart, sobs wreaking through you but no sound making it out because you were pressed into his comfortable, warm chest. One hand tightly holding you, as if he still couldn't believe you were here, as if you would disappear if he let go. The other weaving through your hair. Like he used to do all those years ago, something he knew would always calm you down.

And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again.

Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. As everything started to make sense to him.

"You know I loved you. I always did." He spoke softly into your ear. His voice heavy with emotions, trembling at every pause. His cheek pressed against your hair.

You could feel the realisation coursing through him and the guilt digging in his chest. It was Eddie. You knew him better than yourself on some things. The way he pulled you closer and tightened his arms around you, burying his face into your hair; told you enough.

"Yes, you did. But not the way I loved you. And that is so okay. I couldn't be more at peace. But that's now. That was not what was going on then. I needed to leave, Eddie. I am sorry. I really did. Every corner of that town spoke to me of us. I felt suffocated in my own home. I needed to be there for myself. I never meant to leave you. But if I hadn't, I would not have been able to be there for you either". You whispered back. Putting it all in your words. Hoping he would still get you like he always did.

He nodded. Just once. Softly.

"There's a chinese place down the block. I just got off duty. Wanna get some food? Maybe I will tell you about this y/e/c eyed beauty Buck couldn't stop talking about ever since he met her. I'm guessing that would be you?" Eddie smiled down at you. It wasn't a lot. But it was a beginning. Or the promise and hope of one. But where would you be today, had you not been living for the hope of it all.

"Actually, tell me about you first. And the very handsome Christopher. I know there's a lot to catch up on but spring rolls are a very good place to start. But then we are jumping right back to what Evan said about me." You smiled back as he led you to his car, shaking his head at you.

Things might not be okay for a long time maybe. It will take time and efforts. A lot of both. Some things you've to let time heal, others you have to work on for an even longer time. But it's efforts you're willing to put, maybe more than Eddie this time. And that's okay. Both of you are gonna be okay.

"Oh, you won't believe who I met in LA. And right on my first week. A little piece of shit we went to high school with. It was so annoying. Character development really is not for some people. Also, about Evan.... Uhmmm..."

.

.

.

[ofstardustanddreaming]

mythological form

preference summary: bg3 characters reacting to you, their s/o, who has some kind of superpowered battle form that they take on in combat while protecting them. you have the design like a giant half-beast form (like Chimera Falin from Dungeon Meshi) and they get like 10x as powerful as you already were.

content warnings: none

fandom: baldur's gate 3

characters: gale, astarion, wyll, halsin, karlach

gender neutral reader

requested by: @tolkien-fantasy

a.n. - i think this is my sign to watch dungeon meshi on netflix, i've been meaning to cause it looks so good lol. (or if anyone wants to info dump some of the show to me, i'd love to hear the lore, it looks super cool from what i have heard/read about this character/show.) i'm also sorry these are coming so late, i thought i'd have more time this week! all of the posts are coming soon after this one, within the next couple days!

Gale: Gale's so attracted to you, oh my god, the camp won't be hearing the end of it. I headcanon that he's so in love with someone who's a protector, who would come in to help him whenever he seemed to be failing, loving that you're so selfless to help anyone in a fight. The moment you take your form in battle for the first time, he certainly wasn't expecting to see what you transformed into. He loved that you could take form that would be beneficial to a fight. He's awkward about asking to see your Chimera form again in private, but he's curios. He can't help that, his personality needing to know about this new transformation. He's asking you a lot of questions about how your transformation works, if you were born like that, what magic it could be anything and everything under the sun he can think of that you might have the answers for.

Astarion: Astarion is a bit more prideful when you initially help him, although he'll admit to being starstruck at your form. He tends to stick next to you in battles though, and you always fail to hide a smile from him when he does so. He scoffs at you when you do smile, but you know it's a defense mechanism. Slowly, over time, you both get closer and he's more likely to ask you questions about your form. He does think it's pretty badass that you become much more powerful in this form. (He finds you stunning in either form, he just really thinks your Chimera form is ethereal to see.) He'll stroke over your form gently, wanting to see what you felt like. Not in the sexual sense, he just wants to take in every part of you. Sometimes he ponders if he'd feel better about himself if he wasn't a vampire, and if he was more like you. (You help him convince himself that he can be a protector too as a vampire, he's not defined by his past.)

Wyll: Like Gale, Wyll consistently talking about you to the camp, very enthralled by what you can do. He loves when you give him advice, strong in more ways than just the battlefield, something he loves a lot. He values wisdom in strength, and loves that you tend to think before you attack, which he thinks is important in someone who has considerable brute strength. One of his favorite things to do is fight with you side by side, loving to see the showcase of wisdom and strength coincide with you. You very much let him have his moments in battle, as he extends the same kindness to you, you're both very much capable on the field. But, he very much appreciates when you step in to help him, thinking your kindness and willingness to help those in defeat makes you a well rounded person, and he's perfectly content to seeing what you can do, really loving your form.

Halsin: He loves that there's someone like him that also transforms into some other form. Although, in his biased opinion, he thinks you're much, much cooler than him. A giant being that can kick ass on the battlefield? He's sold! He's willing to help you find questions to your origins if that's what you're looking for, but if you know everything about your being, he's very curious. He has a thirst for knowledge and he wants to understand his partner on every level. He'll ask a lot about you, wondering how your values are impacted by your being, like how his values around nature are impacted by him being a druid. He loves seeing you on the battlefield, the two of you always a great match against anyone who thinks they can take you. You're both a menace to deal with and the camp is very glad you're both there to help fight.

Karlach: She thinks it's the raddest thing ever, wanting to always wrestle with you in your Chimera form. Karlach wants to use her leftover energy from a fight with you, something you also really enjoy. Where you both go at it with one another with the adrenaline, your match that always ends in laughter. She knows you wouldn't actually hurt her, as she would with you, but you're always a little more considerate, considering your form. When it comes to fights, she's glad that she can count on you to help her if she has many people surrounding her. Granted she is strong enough herself, but she loves having reliable people around her, like you, to help her when the going gets tough. She's loves having another strong s/o, and would never feel threatened with them being as strong/stronger than her.

[wonfilms]

7:30 PM : BANG CHAN

warnings- mentions of food, a few tears, chan overworking himself.

a/n- this is my first fic on this blog, so i’d appreciate it loads and loads if you can reblog this post or comment ! tysm for taking the time to read this!

chan is too selfless, you’ve come to realise. he’s always giving but he never recieves. he insists on making dinner even after a long day of training but when you offer to do the same he declines, he simply couldn’t do that to you. so why does he do it to himself? 

you know he’s exhausting himself, you’ve picked up on it more and more over the past few days and you’re worried. he’s overworking himself to a point in which he falls asleep as soon as his head hits his pillow, he gets up early and arrives home late, and you know it’s not good for him. he gets too in his head sometimes and he needs help to break the cycle before it breaks him. so that’s what you plan on doing.

he left you in bed as per usual in the morning, giving you a fleeting kiss on the cheek  while he mutters something under his breath. his dark circles were starting to show the effect the late nights were having on him. you took the day off and you’d planned on making a simple lunch for the two of you, he only had a half-day today and promised he’d come home and have lunch with you. you made sure to prepare his favourite. you’d had it for your first date at a nearby restaurant and he insisted that he preferred the way you’d make it. 

by the time you’d finished making the food it had already reached 12pm and you decided to shower quickly before you lay the table, you’d made sure to dress nicely for the small occasion. and afterwards you just waited. 

you waited for chan to come home for hours but he just didn’t come, every time you heard a small jostle at the door your face lit up in the hopes it was your boyfriend but he wasn’t there. you wilted a little reaching for your phone to call him when you saw an unread message from him , “hey, i’m so so sorry pretty i can’t make it to lunch today, could you keep it warm for me i’ll come home and eat it for dinner?″ .

you sigh, it wasn’t that you were disappointed . you were mostly just concerned, you’d thought this would be a chance to catch up and see if he’s alright, but you understood he was a little occupied , so you decided to keep yourself busy for the remainder of what was left of the afternoon, catching up on emails and reading some books that had been sat on your shelf for a while when you heard the keys turn in the front door.

and there he was in all his glory.

chan.

his hair a little tousled from the wind, his eyes droopy from staring at his laptop and a half- forced smile on his lips. 

your heart ached a little at the sight but it was undoubtedly him. 

you gave him a wave, “heya sweethe-”.  he cut you off as he made a quick beeline into your arms. your hands moved to stroke his hair tentatively as he buried his face in your neck. it didn’t take a genius to identify the fact he was crying, however hard he was trying to hide it.  it was best to not ask questions especially when people are in a fragile state, so you just held him. 

you wrapped your arms around his torso and let him sniffle softly into your shoulder. he looked up at you with wet cheeks and a  wobbly smile and you stroked his cheek affectionately. chan raised his head to kiss you and his voice cracked a little as he muttered a small thank you against your lips.  

you knew he would tell you how he’s feeling when he’s ready but for now, you didn’t need any explanations. 

you didn’t need to know why he missed lunch or why he stopped smiling lately, and you didn’t need to know what was really wrong.

all you needed was for him to know that you’ll be by his side until he wants to open up and let his feelings develop into words. you’ll be there until he can tell you how you can help him.

[missglaskin]

Do you Love Me? 

Note- Once again, it’s 3Am as I finish this. So I apologize for the many grammar mistakes. Also, this was greatly inspired by The great (hulu), come on Aegon gives off Peter vibes 

Pairing: Soft dark!Aegon II Targaryen x reader x fem!reader

Tags: EXPLICIT/SMUT, Arranged marriage, character deaths, strangely some fluff, lots of angst, pregnant!reader, Aegon is a terrible husband at first, squint of Jace/reader, love confessions, manipulation, jealousy, implied painful first time

You worshiped the prince. And how could you not? He was young, handsome, and, as mentioned, a prince. Every girl in the seven kingdoms dreamed of him. But he was yours by oath. And when you finally saw him on your wedding day, it was the happiest moment of your life. 

Your arms were linked with your father’s. Feeling your heart pound in your chest. Stomach churned with excitement. When you finally reached the altar, your father handed you to the Prince. And the second his hand touched yours, the butterflies in your stomach violently clashed with one another. 

In the sight of gods and men. The prince will become yours. And you will be his. Your eyes didn’t look away from his violet ones, wanting to drown yourself in them. They are so alluring that the Septon’s words are muddled in your ears. But you didn’t need to hear them. Memorizing the vows by heart. As you recited them to the mirror every other day. One heart, one flesh, one soul. 

After the vows were said, you and the prince sat side by side. The servant on his side poured wine into his cup throughout the entire night. He didn’t speak to you. He didn’t even ask you to dance. Watching all the other lords and ladies surrounding you laugh and dance with one another. 

His face turns to you on occasion and you smile at him every time. He didn’t return them. Maybe he was nervous. You hoped he was so you wouldn’t feel that slight pang. To distract yourself, your eyes roamed the remaining table, seeing his family. His grandfather, his mother, his sister, his brothers were all there. You couldn’t help but notice the shared look they gave you. In return, you continued smiling, even when you sensed it slowly faltering. 

Soon it was the wedding night. And the excitement bubbled once more. You remembered your times at the library back home. You were a lady, and it was a scandalous thing to do, but you indulged your curiosities. Reading such shameful books that your Septa would’ve certainly had you flocked if she ever heard of it. 

The pleasure, the desire, the yearning, the burning, the ecstasy all written in such detail. And the men in the stories. They were so selfless and giving. Meeting her every need, making her see the stars and the moon. The thought of doing all of those things with the prince crossed your mind more times than you can count. It made you ashamed, but should you be, knowing he’ll be yours someday. 

But on that night, he tarnished your dreams. 

The prince, your newly husband; Aegon crawled to you. Stinking of wine. There was no preparing, no reassurement, no kisses, no praises. Laying there as he thrusted sloppily into you. Your body moved back and forth from the force. Your eyes on the ceiling, tears welling up. He wouldn’t even look at you. 

Aegon lies beside you now, passed out. All that drinking finally got to him. Your eyes are still on the ceiling, unable to grasp the reality you’re in. There was no pleasure, no ecstasy, and you surely did not see the stars. You doubted if it even happened, if not for the aching in your legs and the cum stains on your inner thighs.

Finally, you move to get yourself clean. Maybe you were to blame. You had all these whimsical dreams and such lofty expectations. It was known that first times are always awkward, so maybe it will get better the next time. And besides, you have a lifetime together. He’s just drunk. The following morning, he will treat you much better and finally show you the love and affection you have so desperately craved.

The following morning he did not, in fact, treat you better. He wasn’t even there. The breakfast that you had the servants prepare was left mostly cold, with you being the only one at the table. His presence during the evening was nowhere in your ‘shared’ chambers. And when he finally showed himself, it was him drunk either collapsing on the bed or going on top of you to do what he must do. 

Is that what your life is to be every day. Where were the embraces, the kisses in the morning, the heartfelt confessions, the gifts, the loving gazes. He treated you as if you were some common whore, rather than his wife. But it wasn’t his constant drunkenness that pushed you over the edge, nor was it him ignoring your mere existence. 

It was the sight of him with another woman that did. He didn’t even notice your presence as you turned to leave. He finally did it. He broke you. As sobs wreck your body. You finally understood the looks his family gave you, the court, the servants, even the guards. It was a look of pity. Foolish girl, they must think. So hopeful, so naïve, so stupid. 

The morning after, he showed up at the breakfast table. The day before, it would have made you giddy in your seat. Batting your eyelashes and listening intently to every word he said. But now you have seen what you need to see. Your head down while you eat in silence.

You just couldn’t understand. He didn’t show you an ounce of kindness even when you greeted him with open arms. Even when you were ready with a heart full of love.

With all of that, you shouldn’t have taken pity on him. He came drunk as he always did, but this time it was in such a state that it almost seemed as though something had happened to make him seem so miserable. Aegon puked, filling the space with the foul stench. It seeped through his shirt. 

You genuinely despise your tendered heart as you move to assist him. Having him lean on you as you shout for the servants to run the bath. They also assisted you in taking off his clothes and getting him into the bath. During all of this, Aegon was still somewhat conscious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a servant reach for the sponge to wash his body with. But you stop her, taking it from her hand. You command for them all to leave. Call it jealousy if you will.

As you scrubbed his body, half-lidded eyes watched you the entire time. When you were finished, it took all your strength to get him out of the bath, his wet body soaking through your nightgown. You grabbed the towel to go dry him off only for your nightgown to be tugged by his fingers. 

With his words slurred together, he murmurs "take it off". Even in this state, he was still thinking of what’s between his legs. As you finally glance down, you realize his sudden arousal. As the wetness made the white night-gown a see-through.

You could easily deny him. Slap his hand away. Push him to the bed and tuck him in. His condition left him in no position to fight. He has always gotten his wishes. And will it fill you with some satisfaction to finally deprive him of his wants. Absolutely. 

But what of your wishes, your wants, your needs. Perhaps it was driven by a sense of entitlement, but you wanted to experience the burning desire you had always heard of. Not the sloppy drunken fucks he gives you, all just to release his seed and pass out later on your side.

Hands reaching the bottom of the nightgown. Lifting the drenched fabric over your head. Drawing the violet eyes to your bare body. His lips arc into a contented smirk. You smack the hand trying to grab you. Wiping that smirk off his face when you push his chest. 

Resting your full weight on him. Palms placed on either side of his head; caging him. Feeling the soft strands of silver hair between your fingers. Through his haze, he can mostly see your face. And that's what you want. For him to focus on you and nothing else. For the rest of the world to be nothing more than a shroud. 

You reached down to grab his cock, brushing it against your pussy lips. Rubbing his cockhead in between your folds. Breathing heavily, coating the tip with your witness as the pressure builds in your stomach. This all becomes too much for you to endure. To him, the said can be said as silent pleas escaped his lips.

A hiss is let out between clenched teeth as you slowly sat down on him. He groans at the feeling of his length gradually filling you up. Your movements are halted while you inhale and exhale with the dull pain from the stretch. It wasn’t long before the said pain fades away and it morphs into the pleasure you yearned for.

As his hardened cock seeps through your pussy walls. You began to slowly grind yourself against him, slowly circling your hips. Aegon's hand slides through your body all the while he moans loudly, with no shame in the slightest. You can feel every vein on his shift. The squelch of flesh fills the air. Rolling your hips in a way that his cock brushes every inch of your inner walls.

It twitches inside you. With your body arched and head thrown back in pleasure-you are unable to contain the noises that you let out. The aroma of sex fills the spacious chambers. He tries to keep up with you, to try thrusting his hips, but all he could manage is to roam your body from your hips to your tits. Another moan escapes you as he gropes them.

You lean forward. The change of the slight position makes his cock reach further into your core. Your hands grab his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin. The sloppy sounds of you two fucking echo off the walls. Feeling your insides clench around him causes him to groan louder. 

Kiss me. You whispered it, breath touching his face. And he obeyed your command. Lips clashing against yours. A kiss filled with passion and desperation. His tongue invades your mouth, entwining and twisting it with yours. He presses you against him, your nipples briefly brushing against his chest.

It leaves you breathless, not in how he seems to inhale your breath, but in the way his arms are tightly wrapped around you as if you were to vanish at any moment. His mouth muffles your gasp as the head of his cock touches that special spot inside of you. And you felt him cry into your mouth, feeling your insides wrap even tighter around him.

Both your lips swollen when you pulled back for a gasp of air. A salvia string between your mouths. Just for Aegon to close the distance once more, a hand on the back of your neck. By now, you are both a moaning mess as you continue riding him much faster than before. The sound of skin slapping against skin identifies each second, your bounces becoming more abrupt. 

In an almost scream, you struggle to keep your eyes open with the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you from head to toe. He followed you right after. His body shivering and twitching underneath you. His swollen lips parted in broken moans.

It seems like another bath is needed.

The morning came and instead of the breakfast you thought you’d share with Aegon; it was instead shared with your mother-in-law; the queen. “Has my son been treating you well,” were the first that greeted you as you sipped your tea. You merely nod, setting the said cup of tea on the table. Alicent sighs, "Good." She then makes a brief pause before speaking, "Has he been doing his duty?"

In other words, are you with child. That was the question she wanted to ask. But perhaps it was too forward. As the heat spreads to your skin, you nod again. In all your preparation for marriage, discussing your sex life with your mother-in-law was not one of them.

Then, the door opens. You turn to face the other way. Seeing Aegon. His raised brows and slight widening of the eyes tell you that he didn't anticipate his mother’s presence. His mother asks of his arrival before you do. His eyes remained on your face even when he answered her, “You weren’t at the breakfast table.”

He was waiting for you. You briefly blinked. Aegon was waiting for you. In all your days, it was you who did all the waiting. Every morning. Sometimes he didn’t arrive, and you were left to eat the cold food. Pitying the rest that will be thrown away.

The butterflies flutter in your stomach, but you keep them at bay. Turning your back to him. You had no intention of keeping your hopes up. One night of an intimate moment and a considerate gesture in the morning won’t easily sway you to forget it all. Your heart was in his hand and he threw it to the ground then stumped on it. It still aches from that night of the wedding and seeing him with that damn woman who you were certain was one of the servants.

But he was making it all the harder for you. Gods, have you mentioned how much you hate your tendered heart. 

"I have a gift for you." When your eyes caught sight of the necklace in his hands, you couldn't help your awe. Fingers gracing the emerald stones before it’s swept away from your touch. “Let me.” He intends to put it in you, you realize. So you turned as he placed it around your neck. Back in his line of sight, you gave him a smile. Detesting the way your chest tightens when he returns it. 

Wearing nothing but the emerald necklace. The prince and you are bathing together. You truly have no idea how the two of you got into this predicament.  Though at the moment you are in no mood to fuck, but have you ever known Aegon not to. Pushing against his shoulders. “So what do you want me to do then,” he asks in exasperation, and you couldn't help but raise a brow. Has he ever done anything remotely affectionate for another other than fucking.

Relax, you told him. Just relax. All you got was a blank stare. Heaving a sigh, you turn around, leaning your back against his chest. You sensed his surprise at the act, but he welcomes it. His chin rests on the top of your head, and your lips almost curve upward as his arms awkwardly embrace you. You close your eyes to enjoy the peaceful silence that now permeates the space.

But in the end, Aegon always got what he wanted. Your wet bodies entangled on the sheets soaking it. It feels refreshing not to taste the wine on his tongue. Aegon was rough as he always was. But this time there was something different. 

He fucked you like he didn’t just want you. But like he needed you. And when he came. He didn’t move to sleep on the side as he did all those times before. Resting his cheek on your chest with his cock still inside you. Your fingers combed through the strands of his silver hair, receiving a hum that made your skin tingle.

Despite all of your self-talk to the contrary, you held the optimistic belief that the relationship changed. That he changed. 

And how could you not, given that Aegon's hand never left yours. Everything you wished at the altar that day finally came to you. The embraces. The kisses not only given in the morning but all throughout the day. A never-ending stream of gifts.

Not to mention his insatiable lust for you. It doesn’t matter the time or if there were others in the room. When Aegon wanted you, there was no stopping him. Even if you were his wife, it was still a scandal. The many scoldings and fights it caused. You promised his mother it will never happen again, only for Aegon to have you break it the same day by having you in the gardens. 

There was something you did notice in Aegon. Such as when you tug his hair back and hear a moan. Or how he never moves the hand that wraps itself around his throat. How he hangs on to your every word. But you dare not to mention it.

It was no surprise then when you visited the maester and were informed of your condition. Strangely, his family showed more excitement for your pregnancy than Aegon did. Even his grandfather was oddly proud at the announcement. 

But another announcement was heard. The arrival of the princess Rhaenyra and the rest of her family. You only heard rumors. But it seemed they have some semblance, given that Aegon doesn’t seem the slightest bit happy by the news. 

It wasn't until suppertime that you got to meet them. As you couldn’t attend the petition. Alicent demanded you must rest for the time being. Aegon tried to insist on staying by your side, but he was compelled to leave, kissing you goodbye before he did. And thank the gods you weren’t permitted to attend as Vaemond’s fate filtered through the castle. Such a sight would not have been something you can stomach. 

At suppertime though, you are utterly furious with Aegon. No matter how many times you nudge his feet or whisper for him to stop. He continues his inappropriate remarks to Baela and Jace. You offer an apologetic smile and even move to stand to raise a glass to their upcoming union.

But you assume he got his own taste of medicine when the music began and a hand reached out to you. Looking up to see it's Prince Jacaerys. As soon as you took his hand, you felt a tug on the other. It’s Aegon; giving you a silent command. To refuse. But you simply ignore him, moving to stand.

Jace says a few words, but you can feel Aegon's watchful eyes never leave the two of you, sending blood rushing to your ears. It wasn't until you were a little distance from the table that you gave yourself permission to enjoy the moment. 

With your round belly, unfortunately, you were unable to jump, but Jace only gave you a reassuring smile and opted to link your arms together instead.

You have only known him for a brief period of time, but you felt at ease in his presence. He seems to share your love for dancing, which you weren’t able to do as much even at your own wedding. With him, you allowed yourself to smile. To giggle when he whispers a jest in your ear.

But when Aemond gave his speech, that moment of tranquility was tarnished. When Jace goes to punch Aemond and Aegon pushes Luke onto the table. The guards pass you by, moving you aside and your hand protectively reaches for your stomach. 

Before Alicent could usher any of you to bed, Aegon has already grabbed your arm, dragging you along. The fury on his face tells you of what to expect later at night. And as rough as he wanted to be, there was the concern of ‘hurting the baby’.

But the following morning, your husband was nowhere to be found. 

Matters were made worse when the news of the king’s death was told to you. Standing in front of the green council, it was they who informed you of his passing. Being watched by them, with most of the focus on your round stomach, made you feel uneasy.

When you heard Otto's words, you did not try to conceal your shock. Aegon will become king. But they all swore allegiance to Rhaenyra. She was the king's chosen heir. However, you dared to keep those thoughts to yourself. You knew what it meant. That you'll be made a queen consort. And the child, who the council is already referring to as 'he' will be the heir.

A servant greeted you as soon as you returned to your chambers. But she seemed nervous, her hands clasped together with clothes that appear too big for her. She didn't perform any of her duties; just standing in the center of the room as if she were waiting for you.

Asking of her name, you make your way to sit on the bed. "Mauriel," she responds, voice trembling in unison with her body. Before you can blink, she goes down on her knees. Head pressed to the ground just inches from your feet, choking sobs pierced your ears.

You are at a loss for what to do as you hear her pleas. But at the mention of your husband, your body tenses. Finally, her familiarity dawns on you when she lifts her head. That day when you saw Aegon on top of another woman. It was her. She was indeed a servant.

It was hard to hear her words over her hiccups and sobs. You then saw her hand reach for the bottom of her clothing. And you prayed. Prayed it wasn't what you assumed it to be. But the gods were cruel when you are met at the sight of her round belly.

A hand over your mouth, taking deep breaths to keep your composure. Tears and snot ran down her face. "I tried so hard hiding it my lady, but it gets bigger every day," she cried out. You can only nod along. “I don’t ask much, my lady, only for some money to help me leave”. 

As much as you were boiling over with resentment and jealousy. You found it in your heart to pity her. 

Before you could even respond, the doors were thrown open. Alicent is there with guards on her side. Maurel's face is seen to be filled with horror. As if she expected them. Despite your protests, they drag her away. I will deal with it, Alicent assures you. “But-” “I will deal with it,” she repeats sternly this time. In no position to fight, you are forced to back down.

You decide to change the topic. "Where is Aegon?" She doesn't respond, and you ask her again. "We're looking for him," was all you got from her before she left. The rest of the guards follow after. Strangely, Ser Cole was not in sight.

When the doors close once more. You are back on the bed. Face covered in your hands, trying to process every overwhelming thing. The worst fucking thing is Aegon was nowhere to be seen. He left you. Abandoned you. You're not sure why it startled you. From the beginning, you vowed to stop yourself from keeping your hopes up, from loving him.

Then again, you don’t know if you wish to see Aegon again. You can still see her. Mauriel on her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. A sick part of you was relieved that she wanted to leave rather than stay or, worse yet, ask Aegon to be involved in the child's life.  As if that will happen. There was also this horrible thought in that you wish Alicent had given her moon tea. It will be a blessing. She is in no position to care for a child.

You were well aware of the rumors before you were wed. The bastards that were in the street of silk. But you assumed they were simply rumors. That he was an honorable prince and such revolting behaviors were not a part of his character.

But you soon come to understand that 'the you' prior to the marriage was not in love with Aegon, but the idea of him. That he was just like all the princes you have read of in your books. He was far from them though, hell even Aemond fit the image better, and that said something. All those thoughts of the many women he has slept with and all the bastards that roamed King's Landing are racing through your mind.

It made you livid, green with envy. And you let it be known when he returned. 

Upon his forced return, you weren't allowed to see him. And when you did, he was standing at the opposite end of the Dragon pit's. His family positioned behind you. You stay close by as Ser Cole places the crown, Aegon the conqueror’s crown on his head. Then, in front of him, stands his mother. Kissing him on the forehead.

She then turns to face you. A steward comes from your side bearing another crown on the red cushion. The golden crown carved with rubies—fit for a queen—is taken by Alicent. She places it in your head before giving you a polite kiss on the cheek.

At first, there was no noise from the crowd, but as they began to cheer, it quickly gained momentum and echoed in the pit. As your husband raises the sword to the sky, you watch him soak in all the cheer and praise. Then his hand grabs yours, raising it as the applause continues, but this time for their 'queen'.

Your hands briefly entwined with his before you wrenched it away and forced it back to your side. A clear frown could be seen on his face in response. His daring to wonder of your treatment of him only served to inflame your rage.

When just the two of you were in the chambers. You let him have it. Screaming at him, using every foul word in the book, letting all your frustration seep out of your mouth. The stress finally caught up to you, feeling yourself stop when you began to feel an ache in your stomach.

Apologies were uttered over and over. You wanted to shove the hands that wrapped themselves around you, the face that buried itself in your neck. You had to use all your strength to push him off, and when you did, you weren't prepared to see his heartbroken face. 

Heading to leave, your fingers stopped just as they touched the door handle after hearing it. I love you. The words reverberated throughout the chambers. You hated how your body ached for you to turn to him. How those words made your stomach flutter. How long had you been waiting to hear those words. But after what he did, do they really mean anything.

"I love you," he says it again. And this time, you come to face him. Only for him to be standing so close to you. You tried not to falter. Not to show the effect of his words. "You love me?" You ask of it, knowing he'll just repeat it again.

“Then beg,” the words shocked you as much as they did to him. But there was no turning back now. Your face stiffens, taking a bravery gulp before opening your mouth. “Then go down on your knees and beg for my forgiveness.” 

At the moment, time seemed to freeze around you. Truthfully, you are unsure of his reaction. But to your amazement, he does it. Eyes never leaving yours as he bends down on his knees, holding you by the waist.

He puts his pride aside as he begs for your forgiveness. As he begs you not to leave him.

You blink for a moment, almost left speechless. And before you were able to realize what you are doing. Your fingers stroked his hair. He now looks at you with such longing and desperation. The fingers then moved to stroke his cheek only for his hand to cover yours. Watching as he places your palm over his mouth, giving it a few quick kisses.

And before you know it. You are pushing his silver locks to devour your aching cunt. Moans carelessly slipping from your lips. His tongue eagerly, lapping against your dripping folds. Eager to satisfy your lust and prove his love. Making such a mess of you as he drinks in your juice, your nectar.

Even with the pleasure enveloping your senses, you are able to speak out the words. “Do you love me?” You ask him yet again. Yes. He spoke it softly. You whimper at the vibration it causes on your sex. “How much,” you say, looking down at him. "More than anything.” There was no hesitation in his words.

More than the crown, you ask. Yes, he answers. More than your family? Yes. More than the wine? Yes. Each time, his response was the same. Even when you ask him this. “More than your whores?” Yes.

Your mind flashes back to Mauriel. Clenching your fists and scowling at the memory of her. So you said the words, without thinking of the repercussions that will follow. “Then be rid of them,” you demand. You groan at the loss of the feeling of his tongue as his face is revealed, your juice seen dripping down his chin.

You took a deep breath, daring to take the risk. "I want every whore you've ever been with to be gone, whether she sucked your cock or had it in her." Just the thought of them seeing his bare boy was enough to make you envious. When your words reach his ears, worry coils in your stomach. Fearing his response.

Much to your relief, with a muttered promise to do so, he returns to dive in between your legs. 

Waking up in the morning, your husband was not there. Even more, taken back when Ser Cole appeared at your door. “The king demands your presence,” is all he says before giving you a moment to dress. As you follow him, you ask Ser Cole where the two of you are heading, but he doesn’t respond.

Moving through the hallways, you start to notice the eyes that watched you from every corner. At first, you thought it was your new position. Being the queen of the seven kingdoms. But these weren't the looks of admiration or curiosity. But ones filled with fear, judgment, and even anger.

Seeing Alicent stopped in your tracks. She didn't greet or smile at you, making you feel more uneasy. “Your husband made such a commotion today,” she claims, “his first act as king all done under your name”. You can only stare at her. Utterly unclear as to what she meant. And when she said her final words to you, you were left more bewildered and even hurt. “And to think I once pitied you.”

Then it's as if the prior mentioning of his name summoned his presence. "My wife," Aegon proudly announces, beaming as he rushed to you. Embracing you as his lips met yours. You hear Alicent sigh at the display. The second he pulls away, Aegon drags you along, forcing you to follow him. With Ser Cole not far behind.

Unsure why the two of you are outside the castle. The chilly air has you shivering, wrapping arms around yourself for some warmth. It's when you look near the gates, do you nearly scream in horror. 

Wishing for it is one thing. Speaking of it was one thing. But to see it. To have it be fulfilled was another.

Several bodies lay in front of you. Every one of them hanged. Your eyes can see the darkening bruises on their necks, as it’s bent in an inhuman manner. Every one of them was a woman. Their faces unrecognizable. Against your better judgment, you allowed your eyes to wonder until they came across her. A face that you are familiar with. Mauriel.

“I was planning on bringing you their heads, but that would be too much work, wouldn’t it.” You didn’t respond. No matter how much your body cried out for you to turn away from the horrifying scene, your eyes were powerless to do so. You jumped when Aegon drew you close to him, forcing you to look into his face.

“Do you like it?” Gazing into his eyes, you see it-the ferocity-the love they had for you. But you can also make out the madness whirling around. “Yes,” you uttered, so low and shaky. Sure he must not have heard it, but he did. A smile on his face. You let out a faint gasp when feeling him tug the emerald necklace to pull you in for a kiss. 

“Let’s have breakfast, shall we? I had them make your favorite.” You could only nod. Doing all you could do not to break down.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

With a Mammon & Lucifer-like Male reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I had a hard time putting Lucifer into the personality so I just decided to make it so they were very responsible and hardworking. Other than that I stuck as close to the original ask as possible. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

                                                                                                   

🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬

🍷 He loves you so much! You're just so cheerful and precious, it's making his heart clench. Your so kind and selfless that sometimes he wonders if you're even a human.

🍷 While Venti definitely appreciates it, that undying loyalty of yours is kind of throwing off his freedom vibe. Don't you want to relax once in a while? He doesn't need someone to follow his every whim, y'know.

🍷 He's seen your swordsmanship so many times but it never ceases to take his breath away. Watching you mow down hilichurls and slimes inspired him enough to write a balled that he lovingly entitled 'Oh Sword Dancer'.

🍷 You want to protect him? Why? Venti's an archon, you shouldn't have to feel the need to keep him safe, it should be the other way around. Just relax and share a bottle or four of Dandelion Wine with him.

🍷 He noticed right off the bat how you react to even the smallest crumb of his affection. And he absolutely torments you with it judging by how aggressive he is with his affections.

🍷 Venti is thankful that he can trust you with important information, such as him being an archon, and can count on you not telling anyone. He also believes your sense of responsibility is inspiring; he even wrote a song about it.

🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬•♡•🌬

🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥

🍇 He's just a magnet for extroverts it seems. He definitely sees you as bothersome but he can't deny how much he loves your smile and happy demeanor. You're like the ray of sunshine parting the dense clouds on his rainy day.

🍇 Diluc definitely didn't expect the unyielding devotion you've shown to him. It makes him sort of uncomfortable in a way since he's not used to that kind of genuine care from someone else. But he learns to enjoy it after a while.

🍇 He witnessed your swordplay after you accidentally caught him doing his nightly protection of Mondstadt. To him you were graceful as the wind; dancing with your opponent in fight of life or death. His cheeks were definitely pink after seeing such a thing.

🍇 It felt nice being the protected instead of the protector; like a breath of fresh air. While Diluc felt that he definitely didn't need it, he didn't tell you that and let you continue on with your fantasy. He wouldn't want to disappoint you after all.

🍇 He hardly notices how flustered you get when receiving his affections because he's equally if not more flustered. He's more of a small gestures kind of person and it takes quite a lot of courage for him to do something intimate, so most of the time he's too busy overthinking to notice your reaction.

🍇 Diluc appreciates that you can act appropriately in serious situations unlike a certain cavalry captain. He trusts you wholeheartedly and even divulged information about his past to you.

🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥•♡•🔥

☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄

🍵 You sort of remind him of Guizhong.... You're such a sweet person who's always willing to help people no matter what. You always seem to see the good in people too.

🍵 Zhongli isn't exactly shocked when you showed how devoted you are to him. He's used to it; he's a god after all. But soon enough, he realizes you've devoted yourself to him as a lover, and that makes him feel whole in a way.

🍵 When he witnesses your swordplay, he reminisces to you about the time of the Archon War and when the traveler came to liyue in search of their lost sibling. He offers to share some tactical knowledge hes accumulated from the many years of experience he has.

🍵 To say Zhongli was shocked of your protective nature would be an understatement. I mean even if he's retired, he's still an archon. But after a while he realizes that that's just another way of showing that you love him.

🍵 He finds your near inability to withstand his affections to be very entertaining. He'll often try to catch you off guard with a kiss or an intricately worded compliment and watch you absolutely lose your mind with flusteredness.

🍵 You're rare mature moments never cease to catch Zhongli off guard. He never expected such a fun loving person such as yourself to be so serious when he asks a favor of you, no matter how small.

☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

🐍 He enjoys how silly you can be, it allows him to relax and enjoy the moments you have together without thinking about his ever declining health. Your bright personality is a nice contrast to Qiqi's lack of one.

🐍 Baizhu is very happy when he learns of your devotion to him and insistence to help him around the pharmacy and with personal tasks. It lets him sit down and rest more often during the day, which he greatly appreciates.

🐍 While he himself is a catalyst user, Qiqi uses a sword. After seeing just how skilled you are with your weapon he brought up the option of you teaching the zombie child a thing or two.

🐍 It took Baizhu a little bit to notice your protective attitude towards him since he doesn't travel about too often. When he did notice, he was glad he didn't have to over exert himself if he needs to protect himself, because he knows you've already got it covered.

🐍 He never noticed how flustered you get because he's in the same boat. He's not used to such intense affection and intimacy; he's usually the one caring for people and occasionally receiving thanks but that's all.

🐍 Baizhu is relieved at how reliable and mature you can be; he's glad he can trust you. He's even taken to sending you with Qiqi when he sends her out to pick up some herbs or has her man the pharmacy when he's out.

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊

🧋 You remind him of Thoma. Not that its a bad thing though; he thinks its cute. Maybe he'll introduce the two of you one day.

🧋 While he deeply appreciates how devoted and willing you are to be at his beck and call; Ayato already has someone to do all that for him. He'd much rather have you let him take care of you instead. Just let him spoil you, you deserve it.

🧋 Oho? You're a swordsman as well? You'll have to duel him sometime; maybe he could teach you a thing or two; he is a master swordsman after all.

🧋 Ayato noticed how protective you are of him right away and it kind of annoyed him a bit. He doesn't need protection, he can protect himself. He wants to be the protector, he wants to be the provider; just let him take the lead.

🧋 He loves loves loves teasing the everloving crap out of you. You're reactions are just the most adorable thing he's ever seen. It just makes him want to eat you up.

🧋 Ayato does enjoy how reliable and mature you can be at times; for him, that's a very important thing to have in a relationship.

🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊•♡•🌊

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

📚 He probably wouldn't like you at first, to be honest. Considering how he feels about his roommate, Kaveh. Alhaitham's personality being quite antisocial and yours being out going would definitely clash.

📚 Something he definitely loves about you is your undying devotion and helpfulness towards him. He believes that, though your attentiveness can be a bit bothersome for him while he's trying to work, you definitely mean well and he doesn't want you to stop.

📚 Your swordsmanship has deeply impressed him time and time again; not that he'd admit that out loud, of course. Maybe the two of you could spar sometime.

📚 Alhaitham has most definitely noticed how protective you are of him. While he definitely doesn't need it, he's quite flattered that you'd go out of your way to make him feel safe.

📚 He thinks it's absolutely hilarious that you can give him affection like it's nothing but the minute he returns it, even with the smallest gesture, you turn into a flusted mess.

📚 Alhaitham appreciates how responsible you are when you're given important tasks; it let's him know he can trust you with just about anything.

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•��•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

💼 You two get along like white on rice, both of your personalities are extroverted and somewhat outgoing. The both of you live harmoniously throughout your relationship and rarely fight or even disagree on things.

💼 Kaveh is all about affection! Hugs, kisses, holding hands, gifts, words of affirmation, etc. Anything you give, he will receive and return ten-fold without question.

💼 Though he uses a claymore and prefers it that way, he's very impressed with your swordsmanship. He thinks you look so cool when you're practicing or or fighting some monsters. He has definitely swooned at you once or twice when you're not paying him any mind.

💼 Kaveh loves how protective of him you are, it makes him feel so safe! He returns the favor of course. Sometimes, he jokes about sicking you on his roommate when he's being mean.

💼 He enjoys how flustered you become when he gives you affection; it makes him want to tease you. Your shy nature is just too cute and he has to exploit it as much as possible.

💼 He likes how responsible and trustworthy you are, even if you remind him of his roommate sometimes with how serious you can be, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. You just mean too much to Kaveh for him to do such a thing.

🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿•♡•🌿

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[knight-of-flowerss]

The hobbit

Thorin x hobbit reader

Reader is bilbos older badass sister who kills anything and anybody with her cast iron pan.

So we know dwarfs don’t get pregnant much, an basically rare to have girls, so how would the others react to reader (everyone lives au) telling thorin she’s pregnant after the battle, now hobbits are small so one imagining they have have up to 4 kids at once and be ok, probably even expected.

So when the dwarfs and surprise her (and bilbo the soon to be uncle along with lady Dis) with her finished nursery, and after the excitement, reader asks were the rest of the cribs are!!!

…

The dwarfs ask what she means and she an bilbo say that hobbits give birth to more then one child, so I wanna see there reactions (including Dis) when reader says she’s pregnant with 4 children I wanna know the reactions of the grate thorin and the fearsome Dwalin!

Bounes if you add when the babies are born (3 girls and 1 boy ) and the reaction of the company

thorin screaming “I can’t hold them all I need more arms or bigger ones!! 😭😭😭”

OMG YES I LOVE THIS SMMMMM ITS SO CUTE AHAHAHHA!!!! I opened this at like 10 o’clock at night so I was tired so I’ve don’t it today after school so I had more time and it didn’t sound loopy 💀

This hasn’t been spell checke btw!

Masterlist

Happy Ending

Anyone’s name: this colour and in bold

Thorin Oakenshield x Hobbit!Reader

You’re little brother Bilbo has always really only kept to himself, occasionally having relatives (but never distant because he doesn’t trust them around his cutlery) around Bag End.

You were his daring older sister, never afraid of anything, selfless, badass. You were staying at your brothers while your burrow got a new door. You offered to help but the other hobbits refused as they were paying you a favour.

You and your brother sat in shock as twelve dwarfs and a wizard wrecked Bilbo’s house. But after the table was set you soon forgot all about it, your brother on the other hand..

When a dwarf named Thorin showed up you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was your height, had long, dark locks and eyes so beautiful that you could get lost in them with just one glance. And when they proposed Bilbo come on this journey with them you immediately invited yourself along.

The journey was harrowing, fighting off ogres, goblins, orcs. Then there was the ‘final battle’ against Azog and his army. It was tough but it was no match for the dwarves and their resilience.

They fought with all there might, defeating the army and Azog and returning home safely.

For almost half a year now, you and Thorin had been married. Half a year of pure joy. And surprises.

You felt sick as a dog for almost 3 weeks now, your body weak. Dís, Thorin’s sister, suspected something was wrong and encouraged you to go and see a doctor of some kind. It had been confirmed though that it wasn’t any fatal illness, nothing of the sort.

You and Thorin where actually expecting.

The two of you were estatic, jumping for joy, but a little bit inside of you was sacred, terrified even. You knew what this meant. You knew you had to push out multiple of the little creatures miracles. But you would go through all that pain for Thorin.

As the months passed your belly grew and grew, never stopping, even for just a moment. The dwarves and your brother offered to help build a nursery for the little lad inside you (they assumed it was a boy because of the very low chances of a little baby girl popping out), at first you tried to help them but they just brushed you off and told you to relax, so, you hesitantly accepted the offer.

While they moved everything into the nursery and decorated it, you took a nap (which ended up being like 3 hours but we don’t talk abt that-). When you woke up you saw Bilbo and the side of you, reaching to wake you up.

You jumped as you hadn’t expected him to be there.

“Bilbo! What are you doing here?!” You whispered-shouted through gritted teeth. “Uh- the nursery- um, it’s ready.” Bilbo stutters, clearly shocked that you wanted to shout at him.

Bilbo helped you up as you where weaker and your belly put more and more pressure on your back.

You stood at the doorway as Dís and Bilbo pushed the doors open with big smiles. In the room stood Oin, Glóin, Dori, Ori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dwalin, Balin, Fíli, Kíli and stood in the middle with a soft smile one his face was your dear husband, Thorin.

You slowly stepped into the room looking around. Little toys on shelves, a play area with a fur rug, a changing station, one crib and more.

When you had finally reached your lover, you turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head.

“One crib? Really?”

Thorin looked a tad confused, “what do you mean my love? What is the babe supposed to rest in?”

“I think you mean babes.” You replied with a smirk. A bunch of ‘eh?’s where muttered around the room while Bilbo suppressed a chuckle.

Thorin sat with a half confused, half shocked face. “Whatever do you mean my love?..”, “you do know Hobbits have multiple children, do you not?”

Thorin’s eyes widened as your words registered in his head. “What-..”

The pregnancy was terrible, horrendous even, but your spirits where high when Thorin was by your side. You had given him four children, 3 girls and a boy.

(I got the last two names from a D&D website for dwarf names cus I couldn’t think of owt 💀)

Your little boy was named Thráin (III) after his father. Your first girl was called Dísa after Thorin’s sister Dís. Your second girl was named Arrin, meaning ‘exalted’ and ‘lofty’ and your last little girl was named Asta, meaning ‘divine strength’ , ‘love’ and ‘star-like’, she was named this due to her being the hardest out of them all to give birth to and that you and Thorin nearly lost her.

You and Thorin are sat on a couch in the children’s room with a fur blanket o top of yous while your four little toddlers play with eachother with wooden and plush toys.

You lean your head on Thorin’s shoulder as you look at your children and then up at your lover, who was already staring at you. “I am so grateful for the children you have brought me, love. You have made me a father, you a mother and all of us a family, I am forever in your debt my queen, I love you.”

You smiled up at your husband, tears welling up in your eyes as you wear a dopey smile on your face, “I love you too my King,”, you lean up and kiss your husband, you couldn’t ask for a better life.

An amazing husband, a gentle son and three graceful daughters, you loved them all so much, you finally had your happy ending.

I hope you like this cus i finished this while I was ill 😭

@thethreeeyed-raven

[youatemylollipop]

Hi! Can I ask for some yandere headcanons for Yandere Izana and Koko (separate)? Thank you!

A/N: I don’t know why, but it always feels like I’m portraying their possible yandere behavior incorrectly.😑

Ft: Kokonoi Hajime & Kurokawa Izana (Tokyo Revengers).

Part One: Hanagaki Takemichi, Ryūguji Ken & Sano Manjirō ➵ Tokyo Revengers

Part Three: Imaushi Wakasa & Sano Shinichiro ➵ Tokyo Revengers

⚠️ WARNING: Yandere, possessiveness, jealousy, manipulation, control, dominance, dependency, obsession, suffocation, violence & criminal activity.

Kokonoi Hajime

➵ Koko's love for his darling is driven by his need for control and dominance. He sees his darling as his property, and becomes possessive and jealous when anyone else tries to get close to them.

➵ Koko is manipulative and cunning, and will use his intelligence and resources to bend others to his will in order to get what he wants. He sees his darling as an extension of himself, and will stop at nothing to maintain his hold over them.

➵ Despite his cold and calculating nature, Koko is deeply devoted to his darling, and will do anything to make them happy. He will shower them with gifts and attention, and is always there to offer support and guidance when they need it.

➵ Koko's love for his darling is all-encompassing, and he will go to great lengths to protect them from harm. He sees himself as their savior, and will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if it means breaking the law or risking his own life.

➵ Koko's love for his darling is tied to his need for validation and approval. He sees his darling as a reflection of his own success and worth, and becomes jealous and possessive when they show attention or affection to others.

➵ Koko's intelligence and resourcefulness are often used to manipulate his darling into doing what he wants. He will carefully craft situations and scenarios that force his darling to rely on him, creating a sense of dependence that he can exploit for his own gain.

➵ Koko's devotion to his darling is often expressed through grand gestures and lavish gifts. He wants to prove his love and devotion to them in tangible ways, and will go to great lengths to make them happy.

➵ Koko's love for his darling can be suffocating at times, as he expects them to always be by his side and devote their entire lives to him. He can become upset if his darling shows any signs of independence or individuality, as he sees this as a threat to his control over them.

➵ Koko's obsession with his darling is driven by his need for validation and approval. He sees his darling as the only person who can truly appreciate him and his accomplishments, and he becomes jealous and possessive when others try to take their attention away from him.

➵ Koko is a master manipulator, and often uses his charm and wit to get what he wants. He is skilled at reading people and knows exactly how to push their buttons to get them to do his bidding.

➵ Koko's possessiveness is not limited to just his darling; he also feels the need to control every aspect of their life, including their thoughts and feelings. He wants to be the center of their world, and will stop at nothing to achieve that goal.

➵ Despite his cunning nature, Koko is also deeply emotional and sensitive. He feels everything deeply, especially when it comes to his darling, and will do anything to make them happy and keep them safe.

➵ Koko sees his love for his darling as pure and selfless, and believes that everything he does is for their benefit. He would never intentionally harm his darling, but if anyone were to try to take them away from him, he would stop at nothing to get them back.

You and Koko have been dating for a few months now, and you can tell that he's completely smitten with you. He's always showering you with gifts and affection, and you can't help but feel flattered by his attention.

One day, Koko invites you over to his apartment for a romantic evening together. As soon as you arrive, he greets you with a warm smile and leads you inside. The apartment is dimly lit, with candles flickering on every surface, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere.

"Welcome, my darling," Koko says, taking your hand and leading you to the couch. "I've been looking forward to spending some quality time with you."

You settle onto the couch, snuggled up against Koko's side as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You can feel his eyes watching you, studying your every move, and you can tell that he's in one of his possessive moods.

"Is there anything you want to talk about, my love?" Koko asks, his voice soft and gentle.

You shrug, feeling a little uneasy under his intense gaze. "Not really, I'm just happy to be here with you," you say, trying to sound casual.

Koko's expression darkens slightly, and you can tell that he's not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Are you sure there's nothing bothering you?" He asks, his tone growing more insistent.

You start to feel a little trapped under his scrutiny, but you know that trying to resist him will only make things worse. "Well, I guess I've been feeling a little overwhelmed lately," you admit, hoping that he'll be sympathetic.

Koko's face softens, and he strokes your hair gently. "I'm sorry to hear that, my love. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

You shake your head, feeling a little guilty for burdening him with your problems. "No, it's okay. I'll be fine."

But Koko won't let it go that easily. "Please, let me help you," he says, his voice almost pleading. "I hate to see you unhappy."

You hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of his intense gaze bearing down on you. But then you nod, knowing that he won't be satisfied until you let him take control.

"Okay, well, I guess I've just been feeling a little... suffocated, lately," you say, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. "I love you, Koko, but sometimes it feels like you want me to be with you all the time, and it's a lot of pressure."

Koko's expression darkens at your words, and for a moment you're afraid that you've gone too far. But then he takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I understand how you feel, my love," he says, his voice low and soothing. "But you have to understand that you are mine. You belong to me, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words, but you can't deny the thrill of being so desired. "I know, Koko," you say, reaching out to touch his face. "And I love you, too. I just need a little space sometimes."

Koko's expression softens at your words, and he leans in to kiss you gently. "Of course, my love," he says, his hand caressing your cheek. "I want you to be happy, always. And I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kurokawa Izana

➵ Izana's obsession with his darling is rooted in his need for control and power. He sees his darling as a symbol of his kingdom, and believes that by possessing them, he can achieve his ultimate goal of domination.

➵ Izana is extremely possessive and jealous of his darling, and can become violent towards anyone who he perceives as a threat to their relationship. He will go to great lengths to eliminate anyone who he believes is getting too close to his darling, including members of his own gang.

➵ Despite his cruel and ruthless nature, Izana is surprisingly attentive and affectionate towards his darling. He will shower them with gifts and compliments, and is always there to provide emotional support and comfort when they need it.

➵ Izana's affection for his darling is often possessive and controlling. He can become upset if his darling shows any kind of independence or autonomy, as he sees this as a threat to his control over them. He wants to be the center of their world, and will not tolerate any distractions or competition.

➵ Izana's love for his darling is all-consuming, and he will do anything to ensure their happiness and safety, even if it means sacrificing his own life or the lives of others. He sees his darling as his queen, and believes that they are meant to stay by his side.

➵ Izana's possessiveness extends to every aspect of his darling's life. He wants to control every decision they make, from what they wear to whom they interact with. He believes that his darling belongs to him, and he will not tolerate any disobedience or resistance.

➵ Izana's violent tendencies are not limited to those who pose a threat to his relationship with his darling. He has been known to harm innocent bystanders who he perceives as disrespectful or unimportant. He sees himself as a king, and expects everyone to treat him and his darling accordingly.

➵ Izana's love for his darling is intertwined with his love for power and control. He sees their relationship as a means to an end, a way for him to achieve his ultimate goal of dominating the criminal underworld. He will do whatever it takes to ensure that his darling remains by his side, even if it means committing heinous acts or betraying his own gang.

➵ Izana's obsession with his darling is also fueled by his fear of being alone. He sees his darling as the only person who truly understands him and can fill the void in his life, and he cannot bear the thought of losing them.

➵ Despite his violent tendencies, Izana is skilled at hiding his true nature from others. He presents himself as charming and charismatic, and often uses his social status and wealth to gain the trust and admiration of those around him.

➵ Izana's possessiveness extends beyond just his darling; he also feels the need to control every aspect of their life, including their friendships, career, and personal choices.

➵ In his twisted mind, Izana believes that he is doing his darling a favor by eliminating anyone who could potentially hurt or betray them. He sees himself as a hero who is protecting his darling from the dangers of the world.

➵ Izana's love for his darling is not limited to just physical possessions or control. He is also emotionally dependent on them, and cannot imagine living without them. He would do anything to keep his darling by his side, even if it means causing harm to others.

You're sitting in your room, scrolling through your phone when you hear a knock on the door. You look up to see Izana standing in the doorway, a look of adoration on his face.

"Darling," he says, his voice filled with affection. "I've been thinking about you all day."

You smile at him, feeling a mix of love and unease. You know that Izana's obsession with you is not healthy, but you can't help the thrill that comes with being the center of his world.

"Izana, what brings you here?" You ask, trying to keep your tone light.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you," he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I've been so busy with the gang lately that I haven't had as much time for you as I'd like.”

You feel a flicker of guilt. You know that Izana wants to be the only thing in your life, and you've been spending more time with your friends lately.

"I'm sorry, Izana," you say, hoping to placate him. "I've just been trying to balance everything."

"I understand, my love," he says, moving closer to you. "But you need to remember that you belong to me. I am your king, and you are my queen. You must prioritize me above all else."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. You know that Izana's love for you is possessive and controlling, but there's a part of you that revels in his attention.

"I know, Izana," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll do better."

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, leaning in to kiss you. His lips are soft and gentle at first, but then they turn hungry and demanding. You feel his hands on your body, possessive and controlling, and you know that you're in for a rough night.

As he pulls away, you try to keep your breathing even, but you can feel your heart racing. You know that Izana's love for you is not healthy, but there's a part of you that craves his attention and control.

"I love you, darling," he says, running a hand through your hair. "Remember that you are mine, and I will do anything to protect you."

You nod, feeling a mix of fear and love. You know that Izana's love for you is possessive and dangerous, but you can't help the thrill that comes with being his queen.

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room, and his voice is a familiar sound

to absolutely NO ONE'S surprise, here's some rayllum making out <3

The sun of the day they’d set off had just reached its peak when fatigue finally started taking its toll on Callum. Yawns, slower and sloppier flaps of his wings as he lost altitude bit by bit, speed considerably dropping, too.

Rayla only suggested stopping when land finally blend into view, the green and yellows and oranges of badlands a welcome shift from the constant icy blues below, making sickness churn perpetually, deep in her gut from the very start.

Still a bit rocky steering-wise, but at least not dropping as much as she had initially, Rayla maneuvred herself closer to Callum, pointing ahead even as he smiled sleepily, droopily at her from a few feet above.

A soft wing brushed her hand, a feather shedding, and Rayla curled her fingers around it as she told him, “Let’s take a break. You look exhausted.”

He shook his head, clearly forcing himself to brighten up and soar just a bit higher for her benefit. “I’m okay! Just- just zoned out.”

“Callum.”

“Rayla,” he hummed happily, shooting her a cheeky grin.

He barrel-rolled to soar under her on his back, smiling up at her lazily as Rayla shot him her best pleading eyes. “I’m tired, too. Just a wee break?”

She yawned in a manner she was well aware was by no means convincing, but Callum had never been one to refuse her anything, especially not now, not with… that. Not with his fingertips and shuddering gasps still slathered over every inch of her skin, not with that unfair way he’d smirked at her from above in the dim lighting with the feel of one hand on her face and the other between her legs still hot everywhere.

And he claimed she was selfless. They had all the time in the world now, the prison finally secure and his family safe and her parents just within their reach. The first moment they’d had to breathe in what felt like eons. But he was rushing, wanting to get her parents back as soon as possible, as if she couldn’t afford to add another two hours to what was already nine years of waiting.

But maybe she could be a little selfish by taking advantage of the break. That would be for her benefit, which was what he’d been focused on. So it wouldn’t be a lie, necessarily. Just an… ulterior motive.

His eyes sparkled in gratitude, and he managed to land a light, glancing kiss to her hand, his aim off without his hands to take her, to hold her. Rayla giggled, blowing a kiss back and melting at the way he mimed catching it against his chest with both wings, rolling again–showing off for her, clearly, which was even dorkier and sweeter and Callum–to regain his balance and momentum.

Six more rounds of exchanging blown kisses through the wind were exchanged by the time Rayla finally led them to touch down at a plateau carved into the side of a mountain.

Callum went first, banishing his wings so he could help steady her as she landed, stumbling into his arms as the sensation of weightlessness vanished.

“You alright?” he asked, following through with tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like he’d almost done that night spent huddled up on the freezing boat.

Rayla nodded, straightening but keeping their hands together just because she could. Because she could touch him and he could touch her, and they had. “You never fail to catch me, Mister Mage.”

read more on ao3 :)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.

Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.

August, T.A. 3017

When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.

A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.

An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.

“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”

Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”

Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”

Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”

Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”

Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.

His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”

Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”

Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.

“Other way, Wídfara!”

He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”

A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”

Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.

“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”

Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”

Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.

The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.

He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.

The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.

It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.

He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.

At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.

“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.

Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”

Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”

“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”

Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”

“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”

“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”

“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”

Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”

“No? Why not?”

“You barely know anything about me.”

“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”

The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.

“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”

Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.

“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”

Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”

He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.

“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.

Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.

Link to part 2!

Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️

[jinxhallows]

Chris, werewolf or vampire au, you asking him to bite you for the first time while intimate. Anything else goes! 💜

I know you didn't ask for all dis but I felt inspired so thanks :) I picked vampire since most folx do wolfchris.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ sʟᴇᴇᴘs [ ʙᴀɴɢᴄʜᴀɴ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴀᴜ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ] ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ: 𝟷𝟾+ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴄʜʀɪs, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ɢᴏʀᴇ, ʀᴏʙʙᴇʀʏ, ᴇʀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅᴘʟᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟺.𝟷ᴋ

In that blurred state between awake and asleep, an unsettling jolt shakes you into consciousness, as if you were dangling on the edge of a cliff. Startled, you awaken on the couch, yawning and taking in the surrounding darkness. The paused Netflix series, interrupted by the persistent question, "Are you still watching?" lingers on the screen.

To be honest, you had long lost interest in the show, drifting away to find solace in the soothing embrace of slumber. Your weary mind, burdened by the irrevocable sorrow of losing your closest friend, sought refuge in the realm of dreams. As you glance around the dimly illuminated living room, you remind yourself to tidy up the scattered clothes strewn across the floor. Empty water bottles have accumulated like forgotten relics on any available surface, accompanied by a disheveled pile of unwashed dishes, a task that feels insurmountable in your current state of apathy.

It’s been exactly twenty four days, ten hours, and six minutes since you saw Chan die right in front of your eyes.  Time becomes your tether, an illusion of control amidst the chaos that now engulfs you. In the prime of his youth, brimming with aspirations, Chan was snatched away too soon. The bond you forged in college carried you through the vibrant years of your twenties, but now, as you approach the threshold of thirty, he is painfully absent, no longer there to mock your aging despite being a mere year your junior.

Chan would give you endless advice about issues that now seemed to be so petty and irrelevant, and when texts weren’t enough at 12am, he would phone you to try to get you to relax and go to bed, promising to destroy you in a good ol’ game of mario kart the next day if you’d get some rest.  He was wrong, you always dominated in mario kart, but the competitive shit talking would effectively distract you, which was the whole point.  You’d hang up the phone feeling lighter somehow, as if he snatched the problems right from your shoulders and cast them into the skies.

In the realm of forbidden love, Chan possessed all the qualities that could make him the perfect boyfriend. But destiny had other plans, tying him to a five-year relationship while you were bound in a three-year commitment of your own. When your unfaithful partner betrayed you once more, Chan became your guiding light, reminding you of your worth just weeks before his tragic end. As friendship kindled into something more, an intense love grew within you, surpassing mere friendship. Respectful of his relationship, you kept your feelings in check, even though you didn't truly care for Chan's girlfriend. She transformed from a cheerleader to an OnlyFans personality, lacking the depth you believed Chan deserved. But who were you to decide his path? Despite their arguments, he found fragments of happiness with her... at least, when their love wasn't overshadowed by bitter fights every other week.

Tears welled up, spilling over your waterline, as thoughts of him consumed your mind once more. Desperate to escape the crushing weight of guilt that enveloped you, you sought distractions, attempting to forget that you blame yourself for his untimely departure. His family held you responsible too, believing that if only you hadn't taken those shortcuts through dimly lit alleys after your bowling night, the mugging would never have occurred. It was in that moment, face-to-face with a hooded figure, demanding your wallet, that Chan's selflessness emerged. Without hesitation, he confronted the assailant, triggering a violent response. The stranger swiftly plunged a blade into Chan's abdomen, tearing upward through his fragile organs before vanishing into the night.

As his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, blood staining his shirt and spreading with alarming speed, you were rendered utterly helpless, reduced to screams of despair. With trembling hands, you pressed against the wound, begging, pleading for him to stay, to hold on, your desperate pleas piercing the air as you cried out for help. A cook on a smoke break nearby heard your anguished cries and dialed for an ambulance. He handed you a grimy towel, urging you to apply more pressure, even as Chan slipped away, inch by agonizing inch.

"I... I think I'm... dying," he choked, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, impeding his speech.

"No! You can't be dying! Don't you dare leave me, Chan! Don't you dare leave me like this!" you screamed, your voice strained and desperate.

He gasped, his lungs drowning in a sea of crimson. "I'm... sorry..."

Those were his last words before his body turned limp, the light extinguished from his eyes. You trembled uncontrollably, your body racked with violent sobs, cradling his lifeless form in your lap, willing him to awaken. It had to be a terrible nightmare, a cruel figment of your imagination. It couldn't be real...

Tears streaming down your face, you snatch a nearby mug and hurl it with all your might, watching it shatter against the wall. The sobs come pouring out, a torrent of frustration at the unfairness of life. How could it take away your best friend? You would have given the mugger everything you had, knowing that material possessions could be replaced, but not the irreplaceable bond you shared with Chan.

Without bothering to wipe your tear-stained cheeks, you rise unsteadily and stumble into the bathroom, flicking on the humming light above. The room comes alive, illuminating your trembling figure. In your hand, you clutch a bottle of newly prescribed psychiatric medication, its lid beckoning you to open it and plunge into a sea of pills. It's not the first, second, or even third time that you've contemplated consuming the entire bottle, escaping from this world altogether.

But then, as if echoing from the depths of your soul, you hear Chan's voice, a gentle reminder that pierces through the darkness.

‘Don’t be stupid, that won’t fix anything’

Taking a deep breath, you swallow the prescribed dose meant to help you weather the toughest storms. You tilt your head under the faucet, quenching your thirst as the water washes down the medication. With a swift motion, you turn off the tap and wipe your mouth with the side of your arm. Glancing briefly at your reflection in the mirror, you observe your disheveled appearance—a ponytail barely holding your hair in place, the emergence of weary bags under your eyes, a sight you've never witnessed before. The image worsens the pain within, reminding you of the toll this grief has taken. With a heavy heart, you exit the bathroom, your hand dragging along the light switch, plunging the room into darkness before retreating to the solace of your bedroom.

The bed lies in disarray, a nest of tangled sheets and blankets inviting you to seek solace within its embrace. Collapsing onto it, face first, you release a heavy sigh, shutting your eyes tightly, desperately wishing for a touch of magic to undo everything that has unfolded. Doubts persist, refusing to release their grip, leaving you questioning whether this reality is nothing more than a haunting nightmare or a cruel trance from which you are yet to awaken.

A tap at the window brushes against your senses, but you dismiss it as yet another figment of your restless imagination. The pills are beginning to take effect, gently lulling you into a peaceful slumber amidst the chaos of your bed. Another tap, insistent and persistent, echoes against the glass pane. Your mind races, reminding you that your apartment is situated on the fourth floor, rendering it impossible for anyone to be knocking on your window. Fear grips your heart, the notion of an intruder scaling your fire escape sending shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you lunge for your phone, intent on dialing emergency services.

"Don't do that!"

Time freezes as the unexpected voice reverberates through the room. Your finger hovers above the final digit of 9-1-1, your eyes darting up to the window. Darkness surrounds you, but the moon's radiant glow and the streetlights outside offer a faint illumination, revealing the silhouette standing before you, but the math still isn’t mathing for you yet.

“You’re not crazy, I promise.”

You feel yourself growing nauseated.  What type of sick psychosis is this? Was someone playing a trick on you?

“Let me in.”

Surely that voice sounds just like Chan, hell, the silhouette is lit enough for you to see the outline of his face, but your brain still can’t make sense of it.

“Y/N let me in and I can explain, but it still won’t make any fucking sense.  I didn’t have anywhere else to go just…please.”

His plea resonates deep within your being, compelling you to rush towards the window, swiftly unlatching it and pushing it open. Disbelief washes over you as you behold the figure before you. It's Chan, undoubtedly, from head to toe, but he's adorned in a suit that exudes an unmatched elegance, surpassing anything he ever wore in his human form.

"I must be going insane," you mutter, the words escaping your lips at last.

"No, you're not," he replies, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Casting a glance around, he heaves a sigh. "Can I come in?"

Furrowing your brows, you find yourself utterly perplexed. “W-What the fuck is going on?”

"I can't enter unless you give me permission," he explains, his voice tinged with urgency. "And I can't explain it all out here. Just... tell me I can come in."

Your mouth opens, then closes. With guarded uncertainty, you finally utter the words that will forever alter the course of this enigmatic encounter. "You can come in."

"Finally," he murmurs, effortlessly climbing through your window. You watch in wide-eyed astonishment as he surveys your room. "Did a tornado sweep through here or something?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air as you remain rooted in place, your mouth slightly ajar. Chan settles on your bed, patting the space beside him. "Sorry, probably not the best timing for jokes right now."

"Are you some kind of ghost?" you stammer, desperately seeking an explanation for the inexplicable.

"You're incredibly stubborn, you know that?" he retorts, patting the bed insistently. "Just sit."

Reluctantly, you take a seat beside him, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He reaches out and clasps your hand in his own. It's chillingly cold, like grasping an ice pack pulled from the freezer. Startled, you snatch your hand back, inching away from him.  “What the fuck is going on?”

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he admits, tilting his head slightly and hooking his index finger under his lower lip, revealing a lengthened fang that stands out amidst his otherwise perfect teeth.

"You've got to be kidding me, Chan," you exclaim, struggling to believe your eyes. "Are you... Are you a..." The word hangs on the tip of your tongue, too unbelievable to utter.

"A vampire?" he finishes your sentence, his voice tinged with a strange mix of resignation and disbelief. "I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't woken up in the crematorium, lying on an examination table."

He looks down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time.  “The mortician came in once he heard me freaking out.  He was so calm, it was scary.  He handed me these clothes, and told me I had a second chance.”

As you listen to his words, the medication begins to take effect, both soothing and disorienting you. Part of you believes that this must be a dream, a hallucination that will fade away upon waking. "Vampires... they're real?" you mumble, the words feeling unreal on your tongue.

"The mortician, the one who took care of me after... after that night, he turned me," Chan explains. "He told me there are others like us, vampires, including the lead cardiovascular surgeon at Greatview Hospital and many more scattered across the country."

You freeze, your eyes scanning his figure intently. "No," you utter, rising to your feet. "No, this can't be true." You repeat the words, trying to convince yourself that you're experiencing a psychotic episode, a figment of your traumatized mind. "I saw you die in my arms."

"I remember," Chan replies gently, his voice now softer and more reassuring. Your guard momentarily falters, accustomed to finding solace in his voice. “Look, I haven’t shown myself to anyone.  Not my parents, friends, anybody.  I didn’t know where to go, so I came here.”

“I still can’t believe this.  I took my meds and I’m hallucinating.” 

Chan raises an eyebrow at the mention of medication. “Meds? Since when are you on medication? For what?”

You stretch out your hands in front of you, gesturing dramatically towards the undead being standing before you. "I watched you die!"

"Can you please stop reminding me?" Chan pleads, sighing and rising from the bed. You instinctively take a step back, then another, and another.  “I get it, this is really fucking weird, but I’m trying to figure it out too, and you’re the only one I can trust to help me sort through this.  Please,” He walks towards you and you take another step back, and another, and another.  Chan’s eyes were pleading, and even as a human, you had never seen him so desperate.  It was pulling at you in ways you couldn’t understand.  “Help me?”

Your back meets the wall, and you find yourself mere inches away from him, lost in his familiar comforting gaze. Perhaps it's the medication surging through your system or the undeniable connection you share, but your fear begins to dissipate, replaced by an inexplicable pull towards him.

"Okay," you whisper, surrendering to the magnetism drawing you closer.

In that instant, he closes the remaining distance, pressing his body against yours, and his lips meet yours in a kiss that defies all expectations. This is nothing like the countless times you've imagined your first kiss with Chan.  Despite the unnatural circumstances surrounding him, he is here, in your room, kissing you with lips colder than anything you've ever experienced.   Chan was cold like ski vacations that turn into arctic nights with blinding blizzards.  He was cold like making snow angels in the remotest sundries of Antarctica.  And yet, against your heated warmth, it melded and melted you into a dizziness that made you wonder how someone could kiss you like this.  His scent evokes the desperate burning of cedar by humans seeking warmth to survive. He doesn't breathe, his stillness reminiscent of being stranded in the untouched frozen tundra. His taste is like the hidden depths of an iceberg lurking beneath the surface of the sea.  Surely humans weren’t capable of such otherworldly capture of the senses in these inexplicable ways.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs securely wrapping around his waist, as his hand finds support on the wall. With graceful precision, he lowers you down the wall, gently laying you on the floor, making you feel weightless like a delicate dove feather. His lips part slightly, revealing the tips of his sharp teeth just beneath his pale, plush upper lip. You're captivated by the deliberate way he undoes his watch, letting it fall with a thud on the carpet alongside his jacket. His focus on undressing himself is almost ritualistic, as he meticulously undoes each cuff of his sleeves. Was he always like this, or did the blood of his maker course through his veins, influencing his every move?  The man above you existed twenty four days, twelve hours, and forty six minutes ago, yet he carries the essence of centuries within him.

“Have you drank blood yet?” you manage to breathe, your gaze fixed on his fingers skillfully unbuttoning his shirt. The question momentarily halts his actions, his eyes still locked on the task at hand. It's a brief pause, lasting only a second or two, before he resumes, his gaze now locked with yours.

“I haven’t bitten anyone.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That’s what you meant, though, right?”

He looks down again, pulling his shirt from his slacks, the last button falling and revealing his sculpted shoulders as he works on his belt. Your heart races in your chest, the earlier ease dissipating. How did he know? You and Chan shared a deep connection, but it's as if he just read your thoughts without even glancing at your face. As your eyes follow his gaze to the golden, slender belt buckle, you can't help but notice the undeniable hardness that tents the front of his pants.

"The mortician who turned me... he said I'm not ready," Chan reveals, swiftly removing his belt in one fluid motion. Feeling the electricity in the air, you take charge and unbutton his pants, stealing the spotlight for yourself. "Your heartbeat fills my ears, it's so loud. I've been trying to ignore it this whole time, but it's like a pulsating drumbeat," he admits, his relief palpable as his hardness finds release, causing his head to tilt back. It's not just the longing he has harbored for being this close to you, although that's a significant part—it's the way you look at him, the way your pulse quickens, the hitch in your breath—it all makes him crave you, body and soul. He wants to devour you, if he's being completely honest. So he counts the seconds it takes to undo his cuffs, the buttons lining his shirt, hoping to distract himself from the thirst welling up in his mouth that he keeps swallowing.

"A drumbeat," you echo, your voice trembling. "But don't you love music?"

"I do," he replies.

"I thought you couldn't live without music."

"I can't."

"Then... we're okay, right?" you inquire, your hand running along the length of his hardened desire, the cool fabric of his briefs the only barrier between you and its icy touch. Your gaze never wavers from his, a silent plea for reassurance. You want to see the Chan who died protecting you; the Chan who would vanquish this version of himself, even if it meant embarking on a fool's mission.

"You won't hurt me, will you?"

He may not require breath for survival, but the sensation of your touch makes his breath audible, escaping in short, jagged gasps that his teeth can barely contain. You can see it, and you can hear it—the rhythm of his breath intertwined with the flex of his firm muscles, like woven iron beneath his pale, milky skin.

"I could never hurt you," Chan professes, his words laden with sincerity, yet tinged with a sense of unease. He wonders if he can truly bear the weight of that promise, given his newfound struggle with self-control. He captures your lips once more, as you navigate his briefs in a hurried frenzy, responding to his kiss with a fiery intensity. You strive to avoid his fangs, the smooth ivory points that pose a dangerous threat against your swollen lips. Your breath becomes heavy against his mouth as you feel him pressing against your entrance, teasing you with deliberate strokes, spreading slickness and igniting electric shocks throughout your body. Each tiny quiver you make when he brushes past your sensitive clit only serves to undermine his initial plan of taking things slow. Plan A was to resist giving in to desire, but that failed, so Plan B was to proceed with caution. And yet, you were compelling him to venture further down the alphabet until he had exhausted all his options.

Curiosity overtakes you, and you tentatively reach up to touch the tip of his fang, a tad too eagerly, causing your finger to prick. Your reflex pulls away, but before you can retreat an inch, he thrusts inside you and firmly clasps your wrist, bringing it to his lips. It startles you; you've never seen him move so swiftly, almost as if he had teleported. There's no escaping his cold vice grip, and fear grips your heart. You want to protest, to plead for your life, but the words elude you when he fills you completely, his strokes caressing your most sensitive spots again and again. He takes your finger into his mouth, his tongue lapping at the wound, cleansing the blood. In that moment, you sense a shared eroticism, amplifying his pleasure in a primal manner.

He must be on Plan D or E by now, but all semblance of order dissipates when you moan his name and rake your nails down his chest. "Please, bite me. Pretty please? God, I just... I need to feel you—"

Chan's body hovers over yours, his cheek pressing against yours. “Stop begging me like that–”

"Or what?" you challenge, your back arching, breasts pressing into him as your bodies move in sync and he ruts into you. The pace slows, intensifying the sensation, pushing you closer to the edge. It's like a row of slot machines aligning at the casino, anticipation building, and you're on the verge of breaking, so close, incredibly close.

“Shi–you’re such a fucking brat–” Chan huffs against your neck, taking in your scent.  It was like blueberries grown in the sunshine were in a basket underneath your skin.  He knew exactly where each vessel ran.  He could tell the difference between the pace of your veins and the race of your arteries.  Each stroke inside you sets his fangs throbbing with need, and soft, guttural groans escape him as he tightens his grip on your hair, propelling both of you towards the precipice.

"Chan..." You try to utter his name, attempting to warn him, to give him a heads up, but words fail you. You're reduced to incoherent babbling, your body spasming and your toes curling. Chan curses into your skin as his sharp teeth break the surface, sinking into your shoulder. He can't halt the inevitable rush of his bite, but he steers clear of major arteries. Regrettably, the bite is deeper than intended, its edges jagged. Once he withdraws his fangs, you feel the warm flow of your own blood cascading down your shoulder. The area quickly goes numb, sending tingling shivers coursing through your body, catching you off guard and propelling you into another climax. It's an unexpected surge of pleasure, enveloping you completely. You've witnessed stars in moments of intimacy before, but now your vision becomes veiled in ethereal auras, akin to cumulus clouds bringing tempestuous weather directly into your bedroom.

Chan's mind goes blank, his instincts taking over as he sensually licks your breast, tracing a path up your collarbone, and back to the healing wound where his hunger led to the mingling of his own blood with yours. Within seconds of savoring your life force, he’s filling you up, his dick buried inside of you as he pulls your hips harder and lets out a broken moan of release. The pleasure tears him away from his consuming desire to drink from you, his hips jerking as he empties himself inside you.

Finally able to catch your breath, you realize he was like oxygen, taking you to another world, albeit a temporary escape. But now, the metallic scent of blood brings you back to reality, a reminder of the way he ravaged your shoulder earlier. The carpet beneath you is damp and sticky, soaked with spilled blood. However, as you touch the area, there's no evidence of the incident on your skin.

"I think it's gone," Chan helps you sit up on the floor, examining the spot on your upper back. True enough, it's smooth, the dried stain of blood serving as the only reminder. "I don't know how, but it's gone."

You touch the area in disbelief. "Wow, it's like it never happened," you say, struggling to recall the intensity of the bite. Concerned for Chan, you ask him if he's okay, considering the overwhelming experience you both just shared.

Chan's expression turns uneasy, his attention abruptly drawn to the window. Confusion and worry cloud his features. "I think... I think I have to go," he stammers, hastily retrieving his clothes and dressing himself as if compelled by an unseen force. He buckles his pants, hurriedly pulls on his shirt, and stumbles toward the window, his actions urgent. You panic and follow after him.

“What’s happening?!”

"I... I don't know. I think I have to go. I just..." Chan collapses to the ground, clutching his ears, crying out in pain as images of the crematorium flash through his mind's eye. "I'll come back another time," he manages to say, raising the window, and in an instant, he's out and down the fire escape, disappearing into the whispers of the city winds.