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abyssyby · 2 months ago

Text

messy spaces

— your boys try very, very hard to keep a secret…

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: rocket baby & shy baby's (also referred to in my head as sunlight (lucian/cian) & sun-warmth (kyros/kyro)) debut! a little self-indulgent, soft sylus family moment bc he'd be a great husband and a wonderful father of two sensory-seeking boys. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, domestic family stuff, twin boy dad!sylus, crafty-hobby-collector mom reader, keiran & luke are here too!

Sylus needs to get you out of the house.

He watches you flit around the room like a bird, a twin on your hip, rambling in delight about how the boys had burped loud enough they could have scared away a wanderer. And you were beautiful, a picture of comforting grace— in one of his large shirts, your hair a mess (thanks to your son chewing on it) and bright and joyful eyes shining.

But he needs you out of the house.

He hums appreciatively when you plop down beside him on the couch, his arm automatically wounding around your shoulders and pulling you to his side. The tip of his nose tickles you as it feathers from your neck to your cheek, where he presses his lips tenderly.

You flush and clear your throat, because no matter how long you’ve been together, with him every moment always feels like the first time. “Cian, was looking for you earlier, wanted to show you something.”

“Hm?” he mutters, kissing back down the trail he’d traced. “What was it?”

You shrug. “He wouldn’t show me, said it was papa’s secret.”

Sylus’s panic was undetectable if it weren’t for the stutter in his movement. The slight flex of one of his fingers in your shoulder, the soft exhale through his nose. Ever so in tune with your husband, you raise a brow. “What is it?”

The look he gives you is cool and unassuming, and then he flashes you a charming smile. “It’s harder to keep secrets from you when you’ve gotten so sharp.”

“I’ve always been sharp.” you frown.

He kisses you soundly on the lips, pleased with the little pout he coaxed out of you. “And beautiful.”

He looks at the sleeping child in your arms and bends down to kiss his forehead too. Your heart melts at the sight. Then he stands, and your frown deepens. “Where are you going?”

“To handle a whistleblower.” he says, straightening his clothes and shooting you a mischievous grin. “And to teach him how to keep secrets from mama properly.”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

For every corner, every nook and cranny of the base, Sylus had a mental replica of how it should be. One of the most surprising things you realized when you’d started to live together was how clean he was. He liked keeping things in a certain order, and because of this, he was good at leaving and moving without a trace.

You’d abide to his rules when you moved in as much as you could, but you couldn’t keep up with his tidiness. It never bothered him though, instead, he delighted in it— to see some of his toiletries pushed to the side to make way for your own, how you sometimes accumulate glasses of water with lipstick stains by your bedside, your clothes at the foot of the bed when you’re rushing to get changed— knowing you are here, under the same roof, in the same space, with him.

And just as he felt with your trail of breadcrumbs, he felt it tenfold with his boys. The post-hurricane-esque damage of toys and trinkets in his spotless living room, the mess of baby food on the dining table after a meal, crayon marks on his pristine walls, a stray stuffie in his office. A shock to find, of course, but it was never unwelcome.

And so, he follows his son’s trail to the playroom (once an extra armory, flipped by you and the big twins while he was away). It wasn’t hard, it was literally a trail of animal crackers.

He pushes the already ajar door open. “Lucian—“

“—there’s too many of them, little boss—“

“—And another one—“

Three heads look up at him as he enters. One would argue three of his sons were caught red handed dealing illegally acquired animal crackers (it wasn’t snack time yet). But there they were, his loyal henchmen in party hats and his own three year old in a crown, arm very evidently elbow-deep into the cracker tin canister.

“Papa!” Lucian smiles, crumbs all over his cheeks and chubby little fingers.

“Boss.” Luke and Keiran greet as well, glancing down at the hands in their lap.

Lucian doesn’t stay idle, instead he shakes off his crown and rushes to Sylus’s leg. He is picked up and balanced in the crook of his father’s elbow. Sylus’s eyes soften with a molten glow as he brings up gentle fingers to brush away the dirt on his boy’s cheeks. “What are you doing, little boss?”

“Papa, I sharin’!” he grins proudly. Sylus raises a brow.

He peeks over the child’s shoulder to Keiran and Luke with their masks half raised, already munching on the animal crackers on their plastic plates. He gives them a pointed look that makes them slow and turn away, knowing full well they weren’t supposed to succumb to snacks-during-not-snack-time. “With Luke and Keiran?”

“Mhm!” Lucian is already trying to make his way up Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus lets him.

“Mm, that’s kind of you.”

A crumbly finger leaves an imprint just beside Sylus’s eye. “I good.”

“Yes, angel.” Sylus looks up at him. Lucian’s face, a reflection of his own with your irises and your smile, hangs upside down to meet his gaze. “Did you find my surprise?”

Lucian frowns for a moment. After the day he’s had, retrieving a memory after such a long business transaction must be a monumental feat for a clever little mind. The time today he found Luke and Keiran and was told to “shh!”. But it comes to him eventually, and when it does his face lights up like the sun. “Ah-huh!”

“Did you show mama?”

“No.”

“Did you tell mama?”

Lucian blinks. “I tell: no, mama! No go in!”

Ah, yes. Of course. Sylus chuckles, pinching his cheeks. “Good job, angel.”

He’ll clean the mess up later, not that he truly minds it, but he wouldn’t want ants festering in his children’s favorite room.

And that’s what it was: his need for you to have your own favorite room.

He never thought that setting up an old armory would bring this much joy to his children, having once thought the whole base was theirs to conquer, and yet seeing them return somewhere when they have no idea where to go, seeing them drift in and out of the playroom made him realize: that was their little safe space.

And just as his little adventurers were half of him, who once in a lifetime ago, could never have enough space, enough lands, enough resources and things to dominate, they were also half you. Yearning for peace, a quiet little bubble to gather your thoughts, regulate your heart and breathe.

He has his spaces. His boys have the base and the playroom. You… you need your bubble.

Lucian hangs tight on his father’s head, both arms perfectly hugging the circumference as Sylus walks to the hidden room. Papa’s secret surprise.

Down the labyrinth halls, around the priceless statue of a dragon he bought at an auction (its pedestal desecrated with Bluey stickers), there lies the auspicious grey door Lucian had thought would be a good hiding spot.

“Is book room.” Lucian says, one hand mindlessly drifting down to cover Sylus’s left eye.

Sylus doesn’t flinch, but nods. “It's mama’s room.”

“Upstairs…” Lucian answers quietly, thinking it was a question.

Sylus chuckles and pushes the door open.

The incense marinates the room in the scent of fresh linens and citrus, and the sunlight shoots through the half-drawn curtains onto the soft plush carpet— the kind of texture you and Kyros particularly enjoyed. On the wall, a large shelf with lines of books and empty spaces for you to fill. A corner with an easel and paints; old paintings you’d stored away in the spare rooms to make way for your childrens’ needs dusted and placed on your old wooden art table. Your favorite weapons encased in glass, decorated the bare walls.

A desk with a laptop for your writings. A basket of yarn and needles and the other things you bring to your shared bed to poke and weave. A circular couch, closer to a cat-bed, by the window. A hammock by the wall. A beanbag in the corner. And more, so much more.

Everything Sylus had taken note of, committed to memory. Things you’ve said, “sorry for the mess” for. Things he’d thought of and said— she’d like this. All gathered, collected and stuffed— organized in this room.

“Smell nice.” Lucian says, scrambling to get down his father’s shoulders. He does it too quickly, almost falling if it weren’t for Sylus’s foresight. He catches his toddler by the armpits with little fanfare and sets him down on his feet. Lucian, against his usual nature, walks carefully into the room, as if afraid to disrupt its peace. “Mama like books.”

“She does.” Sylus nods, inspecting the work the bigger twins have done with the lighting. Silently regarding their good work, he looks down to his son eyeing the hammock. “Wanna try?”

Lucian runs towards the hammock and grabs onto the tassels. But before he can tug the entire thing to come crashing down, Sylus lifts him up and places him in the giant seat. He pushes the swing and Lucian’s giggles bounce off the walls.

Sylus beams at your smile on his son’s face. The sun setting through the western window bathing the room in a warm glow. He can’t wait to show you. He can’t wait to give it to you. He hopes, still, despite how long and how sure he’s known you, that you like it.

And that’s why he needed to get you out of the house.

Sylus has a plan— he’s good at planning, and even better at executing those plans— and that involves gifting this to you as the big ta-da! The final pièce de résistance at the end of a good day.

There is a traveling carnival in a few days, one he’d invited you to go see days before. You’d arm yourselves with baby carriers and strollers, extra diapers and snacks, hats and hand-held fans, and bring the boys to experience it. Then, he’d take you to a nice restaurant with air conditioning to cool down. You’d order your favorite meal, he’d pick the onions off of Kyros’s plate, and Lucain would be a mess of squash and cream. And after, you’d make it in time for the fireworks to set off across the river.

He’d drive home, hold your hand as he watches you in the corner of his eye fight back sleep, while the little snores in the back lull you to unconsciousness. You’d take the kids in from the car and set them down in the nursery, and before you head back to your own bedroom, he’d ask you if you’d like to see something he’s working on. Might even bring up Lucian’s term of—

“Papa secret.”

He freezes— this time, completely detectable. He has better instincts than this in other, more dire situations, like ambushes and break-ins.

But not for you.

You, standing by the door with a smug little smirk on your pretty face. One hand guiding an already awake other twin to toddle in towards his brother.

Lucian screams in surprise and delight, caught— because he wasn’t very good at secrets just yet. But although close, he wasn’t the one who pulled the pin on this grenade.

Kyros. The quiet little thing. All whispers and contained excitement. The one Sylus had assumed to be safe. Wrongly.

Now, happily chanting over and over, “Papa secret, papa secret…”

Sylus sighs, running his fingers through his neatly done hair out of exasperation, and then turning to look at you with a defeated upturn of his lips. “Beloved.”

You lunge. Arms embracing his shoulders and molding your lips to his. He catches you just a second later through the haze, and grins into your kiss. “You…”

He asks, “Do you like it?”

You pull back and nod. Words cannot surmise how you feel. The stars bursting in your chest, the tears burning your eyes, the love— oh, the love the spills over and takes captive your entire soul.

Sylus laughs, cupping your face in his large hands and kissing you again. “I’m glad.”

You sniff, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Is this mine?”

His thumb brushes the corner of your eye. “I don’t crochet.”

Your fist lands on his chest with no real force. He catches it, spreads out your fingers over his heart. You stare at him thoughtfully, and it knocks the breath out of him how your eyes twinkle in the light.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He says, tone almost apologetic.

You smile. It dawns on you that he probably had planned this huge reveal. You consider him and brush his hair away from his eyes. “I am surprised.”

He exhales, a scoff and an exasperated laugh. “I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions.”

And you can’t hide the little smile you try to suppress— sure, the little twins were expected to blab one way or another, but you didn’t really need them when you have the big twins acting shifty and weird around you when you asked them what the light fixtures were for when they came in the mail. “Maybe a little.”

“Please.” He taps your forehead with a teasing finger. “You’ve always been sharp.”

Just before you can kiss him senseless again, his attention is called with a tug on his pant leg. Kyros stares up at him.

“Pa, up pease?” He says, pointing to his brother on the swinging hammock.

He gives you an apologetic look which you return with a fond smile, as he pulls away from you and hauls Kyros up and places him beside his brother.

“Papa, swing fast-fast!” Lucian howls, shaking the blanket and making the new hinges groan.

Sylus secures Kyros with pillows and guides his hands to hold the corners of the blanket. “Tell me when it’s too fast, okay?”

Kyros nods. And Sylus pushes.

Quickly, the room’s once undisrupted peace is washed with a peaceful kind of chaos. Intended to be a space for you and all the things you love, now filled with the entire world.

As Sylus pulls back to let the hammock swing from its own momentum, you wrap your arms around his torso from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulders. You mutter a muffled, “Thank you, my love.”

Sylus takes your hands and brings them to his lips in reply. Needing you to know that your thanks is welcome but not needed. All he needs is this— you, your kids, and the wonderful mess you’ve made in his life.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

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logicallabyrinth · 12 days ago

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YANDERE EMPEROR WITH ACCIDENT PRONE READER 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Lucian knew you were delicate. That’s part of why he took you. But he didn’t realize just how many accidents you’d manage to attract in his gilded palace. Burned your hand lighting a candle? Tripped over your own slippers? Slammed your head on a marble pillar?? Again??

At first, he’s offended. His palace is a place of divine order, luxury, perfection so how are you constantly bleeding or bruised in a home made of silk and velvet? He genuinely thinks you're doing it on purpose to test his patience.

“You’re doing this to spite me, aren’t you?” he mutters while tending to your third scraped knee this week. You just pout and shake your head, and he curses under his breath before lifting you onto his lap like it’s your fault for being born fragile.

Eventually he just starts hovering. Won’t let you do anything alone. Walking through the halls? He’s holding your waist. Trying to pick up a letter opener? He’s snatching it away with a warning look. You’re not even allowed near the stairs anymore.

The palace staff are terrified of upsetting him after each of your little mishaps. Every time you come limping into the room or let out a yelp, the servants flinch, praying it wasn’t under their watch. Lucian already fired an entire team after you slipped in the garden once.

He starts modifying the palace like removing sharp edges, softening corners, switching your shoes to ones with better grip, replacing your glassware with gold cups that won’t shatter. But he won’t tell you that it’s for your safety. He just acts like it was time for a "renovation."

“You are a walking tragedy,” he sighs, cradling you in bed after another “incident.” But his voice is full of a strange tenderness. He’s annoyed, yes but it makes him feel needed. Like no one else could protect you but him.

You’re his precious, clumsy treasure. And he’s going to make sure that every bruise, every scrape, every stumble you take... only happens under his watchful eye. You’re not going anywhere, definitely not when you're this breakable.

#yandere original character #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere #yandere stories #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #yandere obsession #yandere male #yandere emperor

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tashs-stories · 3 months ago

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Can you write something about Carlisle Cullen and a fem! vampire!reader? Like the reader is much older than any of the Cullen's and she found Carlisle a few months after he became a vampire but they got separated and while they are facing the Volturi to protect Renesmee from them, she reappears and helps them with like a child or something that is Carlisle's????

Ofc I can 😃

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Centuries Old

The icy wind whipped through the clearing, rustling the cloak of night that had settled over the battlefield of fates. The Volturi stood in their imposing ranks, crimson eyes gleaming with centuries of ruthless authority. On the other side, the Cullens stood shoulder to shoulder, their golden eyes burning with defiance.

Carlisle exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around Esme’s hand. He had never wanted war, never sought conflict. And yet, here they stood on the precipice of devastation, all for the sake of a child—a child who, for the first time in vampire history, defied their rigid rules.

Then, the wind shifted.

A new scent carried on the breeze, both ancient and unfamiliar to most, yet to Carlisle, it was a whisper of a time long past. His breath hitched as his head snapped up, his golden eyes widening.

And then, she stepped forward.

Y/N.

The world blurred at the edges as she moved through the trees, flanked by Alice and Jasper. But it wasn’t just her presence that stole Carlisle’s breath.

Beside her, a boy walked with poised grace. He was tall, with golden-blond hair and piercing gold eyes—eyes that mirrored his own.

For a moment, time stilled. Then, Carlisle whispered, "Y/N?"

Her lips curled into a soft smile, but her eyes shone with something deeper—relief, longing, love. "Hello, my love."

Esme released his hand as understanding passed between them. This was a love that transcended centuries, a bond unbroken despite years apart.

Edward’s sharp intake of breath signaled what the mind-reader had discovered first. A child. Their child.

The Volturi stirred, whispers spreading like wildfire. Even Aro's usually unreadable face flickered with something akin to shock.

Carlisle took an unsteady step forward, his voice raw. "How…?"

Y/N turned her gaze to their son. "Because my gift is life.

Murmurs rippled through the battlefield. Gifts among vampires were known—telepathy, pain illusion, elemental control—but the ability to create life? It was unfathomable.

Carlisle swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he reached out. "He's… ours?"

The boy, standing tall with quiet confidence, nodded. "My name is Lucian."

Carlisle exhaled sharply, his throat tightening. "Lucian," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue.

Y/N stepped closer, eyes soft with emotion. "I've missed you, Carlisle. But I couldn't risk his safety before now."

Esme stepped forward, her warm smile never faltering. "You kept him safe," she said gently, offering no resentment, only understanding.

Emmett let out a low whistle. "Damn, Carlisle. You’ve been holding out on us."

Rosalie elbowed him, but even she looked intrigued, her golden eyes shifting between Y/N and Lucian.

Renesmee, standing between Bella and Edward, tilted her head in curiosity. "You're like me?" she asked, her voice carrying over the tension in the clearing.

Lucian turned toward her, his gaze studying. "Similar, as I am a full vampire created from vampires," he said.

Aro's delighted laughter broke the moment. "Ah, what a fascinating twist! Another child of two worlds, but created through means unknown to even us." His crimson eyes glittered as he leaned forward. "Tell me, dear Y/N, how did you accomplish such a feat?"

Y/N’s expression hardened. "I won't be your experiment, Aro."

Carlisle felt his heart swell with admiration. The woman he had loved, the mother of his child, had never lost her strength.

Aro chuckled, but it was clear he was intrigued. "Oh, but think of the knowledge you could share with us."

"Not today," Lucian interjected, stepping protectively in front of his mother.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Aro’s face, and then he turned back to the Cullens. "It seems there is much we do not yet understand. Perhaps... another day, then."

With a wave of his hand, the Volturi began to retreat, the tension dissipating with each measured step.

As the clearing emptied, Carlisle turned back to Y/N, reaching for her hand as if afraid she might vanish again. "Are you staying?"

Y/N smiled, squeezing his fingers. "For as long as you'll have me."

Lucian stepped closer, his golden eyes meeting Carlisle’s with quiet reverence. "And I’d like to know my father."

Carlisle’s throat tightened with emotion, his heart swelling with a love he never imagined he’d experience.

"You always have a place here," he promised, his voice thick with emotion. "Both of you."

And as the Cullens gathered around their newest family members, the long-lost lovers stood together once more, proving that even in the darkest of times, love—and life—would always find a way.

And the moment the Volturi vanished beyond the trees, a heavy silence settled over the clearing. The Cullens, still tense from the near battle, slowly began to relax. But for Carlisle, the war raging inside him had only just begun.

Y/N stood before him, real and solid, her hand still in his. And beside her stood their son.

Carlisle had always been measured, always in control, but now? His mind spun with too many emotions to name. He turned to Lucian, his golden eyes searching for answers in the boy’s face.

"How old are you?" His voice was quiet, reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.

Lucian met his gaze with steady confidence. "Two hundred years. But physically, I seem to be about nineteen."

Carlisle exhaled sharply. Two hundred years. He had ached for Y/N all that time, never knowing she carried a part of him with her. His fingers tightened around hers. "You kept him safe all these years."

Y/N nodded, her voice soft. "I had to. The Volturi would have hunted us if they knew."

Edward, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. "He’s like Renesmee, but full vampire." His gaze flickered between Lucian and the young girl still clutching Bella’s hand.

Lucian smirked slightly. "I assume I don't have to explain how I was born?"

Bella flushed while Emmett let out a loud laugh. "I like this kid already!"

Carlisle swallowed hard, still staring at Lucian. "And your… abilities? Do you have any gifts?"

Lucian nodded, but before he could speak, Y/N answered for him. "He has my gift. But stronger."

Alice’s eyes widened. "Life."

Y/N nodded. "Lucian can manipulate life itself—he can heal, nurture, and even grow things in a way I never could."

Jasper, who had been observing quietly, stepped forward. "That’s an incredibly powerful ability."

Lucian only shrugged. "It has its uses."

Renesmee stepped forward then, her warm brown eyes curious. "Can I show you something?" She reached out a small hand, palm up, toward Lucian.

Lucian hesitated, then placed his own hand gently against hers. A heartbeat later, his eyes widened. "I see," he murmured, blinking as Renesmee’s memories played in his mind.

"Neat, huh?" Renesmee grinned.

Lucian chuckled. "It is." He withdrew his hand and turned to Y/N. "Can I show them?"

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Carlisle before nodding. "Just be careful."

Lucian took a slow breath, then lifted his hands. At first, nothing happened. Then, the frozen ground beneath them shifted.

Gasps echoed around the clearing as thin blades of grass and small flowers began to push through the ice-crusted soil. They unfurled, stretching toward the pale sunlight, untouched by winter’s grasp.

Esme’s hands flew to her mouth. "That’s beautiful."

Even Rosalie, who had remained skeptical, took a step forward, her golden eyes widening. "That’s impossible."

Lucian smirked. "Apparently not."

Carlisle could only stare. His son—the son he never knew—was extraordinary. But beyond his abilities, beyond his power, Lucian had something even rarer: a heart untouched by cruelty, despite being born into a world of darkness.

Y/N squeezed Carlisle’s hand. "He’s kind and gentle. Like you."

Carlisle turned to her, overwhelmed with love and gratitude. "You gave me a son," he whispered. "You gave me something I never thought I could have."

Y/N’s expression softened. "And you gave me something I never thought I could feel again."

Carlisle lifted a hand to her face, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "You never stopped being my heart, Y/N. Even when you were gone."

Jasper cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. "Not to ruin the reunion, but maybe we should continue this at home?"

Alice clapped her hands. "Yes! We need to properly welcome them!"

Esme beamed. "I’ll prepare the house."

As they all began to move, Carlisle turned back to Lucian. "Come with me?"

Lucian hesitated, then nodded. "I’d like that."

And as they walked toward home, for the first time in centuries, Carlisle felt truly complete.

The Cullen house had never felt more alive.

Despite the grandeur of the home, it had always held a quiet stillness—an elegant solitude that suited their kind. But tonight, with Lucian and Y/N finally home, warmth filled the air in a way even vampires could feel.

Esme flitted around the kitchen, arranging flowers in vases, as if decorating for a celebration. Alice had disappeared upstairs to dig through her extensive wardrobe, already planning outfits for their newest family members.

Carlisle stood in the center of the living room, watching as Lucian took in his surroundings. He had seen much of the world, that much was clear in the way he carried himself. But there was something about this moment—standing in the house built by his father—that made him pause.

Y/N stepped beside him, her fingers grazing his arm. "It’s beautiful, Carlisle," she murmured, taking in the warm wooden accents and open windows that let the forest spill inside.

"It’s home," he said simply, and when he looked at her, she knew he meant for you, too.

Lucian turned then, golden eyes settling on Esme as she approached.

"I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Lucian," she said, her voice gentle, maternal.

Lucian hesitated. "You’re… my father’s mate?"

Carlisle spoke before Esme could. "Esme and I love each other dearly, but what we share is different from what you might think. She is my family, my greatest friend. But what I had with Y/N… it never ended, even after all these years."

Esme smiled warmly. "I’ve always known a part of Carlisle belonged to someone else. I’m only glad to finally meet her." She turned to Y/N. "You’ve been in his heart all this time. Welcome home."

Y/N’s throat tightened with emotion, but she nodded. "Thank you, Esme."

A blur of movement, and suddenly Alice was in front of them, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Lucian!" she beamed. "I need to know your entire aesthetic. Do you prefer classic, edgy, or something that screams mysterious supernatural prince?"

Lucian blinked. "I… what?"

Emmett laughed from where he lounged on the couch. "Just let her do her thing, kid. You won’t win."

Rosalie, who had been watching quietly, crossed her arms. "You don’t have to change anything if you don’t want to."

Alice shot her a look. "It’s just fashion, Rosalie. Besides, I need to update his wardrobe from the early 1900s look he’s probably been stuck with."

Lucian chuckled. "I appreciate the offer, but I assure you, I’ve kept up with modern styles."

Jasper, standing beside Alice, finally spoke. "Your emotions are surprisingly calm for someone in your position." His sharp gaze studied Lucian carefully. "No fear. No resentment. Just… curiosity."

Lucian tilted his head slightly. "Should I be afraid?"

Jasper smirked. "Most people are when they meet Alice."

Alice rolled her eyes. "I am a delight."

Carlisle watched the exchange, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar—pride. Lucian had been raised well. He was strong, confident, and met every challenge with quiet intelligence.

Y/N leaned into him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I always told him about you."

Carlisle turned to her, his hand instinctively finding hers. "And what did you say?"

Y/N smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. "That you were the kindest man I’d ever met. That you had a heart bigger than eternity itself. That if the world had more people like you, it would be a far better place."

Carlisle’s throat tightened. "I should have searched harder for you."

Y/N shook her head. "No. The timing had to be right. And now we’re here." She squeezed his fingers. "All of us."

Before he could respond, a small voice broke through the moment.

"Lucian, do you like music?"

Renesmee stood before them, curiosity shining in her brown eyes.

Lucian smiled slightly. "I do."

Her entire face lit up. "Edward plays piano. And I like to sing. Maybe you can play something with us?"

Edward, who had been quiet until now, raised an eyebrow. "Do you play?"

Lucian shrugged. "A little."

Emmett grinned. "We definitely need to see this."

Edward gestured toward the grand piano in the corner. "By all means."

Lucian glanced at Y/N, who gave an encouraging nod, then moved toward the instrument. He ran his fingers over the ivory keys before pressing down, letting a single note ring through the space. Then another. And another.

Slowly, a melody began to form. It was soft, almost hesitant, but undeniably beautiful.

Carlisle felt a shiver run through him. He knew this song.

It was an old piece—a melody he had composed for Y/N centuries ago.

The room fell silent as Lucian played, each note weaving through the air like a memory reborn.

When he finally finished, Lucian turned to Carlisle. "You wrote that, didn’t you?"

Carlisle nodded, his voice thick. "Yes."

Lucian smirked. "I used to hear her hum it when she thought I was away in my room for the night."

Y/N laughed softly. "Betrayed by my own son."

Carlisle couldn’t stop himself any longer. He closed the space between them, pulling Y/N into his arms. She melted against him, her familiar scent wrapping around him like a forgotten dream.

"You’re home," he whispered against her hair.

Y/N held him tighter. "Yes," she breathed. "And I’m never leaving again."

Lucian, watching his parents reunite, smiled softly.

For the first time in his life, he knew what home truly meant.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it.

If anyone else has any requests please feel free to ask.

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle x reader #carlisle cullen #the cullens #twilight #new moon #breaking dawn #vampires

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obsessive-valentine · 4 months ago

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The First Steps, Guided by Gentle Hands (PT 3)

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader - (Beaumont family saga)

Progress and Setbacks- You find yourself settling in and even enjoying some bits, including Dorian being a great big brother and the warmth of a mother. Though it isn't linear progress and you stumble during some parts. But don't worry, that's what parents are for -to steady you and help in their own ways. Part 3 to 5 Stages of Grief

The following months passed slowly, they weren't particularly unkind. You'd expected worse, to be honest, you settled quicker than you'd like to admit.

Lavinia is usually at your side or close by. The two of you became almost inseparable, Lavinia treating you with a motherly tenderness you hadn’t expected. But never fragile or demeaning, in fact, she encouraged questions and exploration -she was just there for your stability, not to shelter you or keep you captive.

Soren lets you grow comfortable, giving you space to settle and get used to a new routine. He'd make small talk when you're in the same room, but it never felt forced or pressuring. It was casual and kind, warm even.

Lucian is distant to but not the same kind-distant as Soren who's giving you space but is still there for you, this is a brooding-distant. If you caught his eye, he’d glance away with a scowl, or, on the rare occasion he lingered, his expression was unreadable—something guarded beneath the surface, like he didn’t know whether to see you as a stranger, an annoyance, or something else entirely. But he rarely made any verbal jabs, he knew better, where you are Lavinia or Soren are close by.

Dorian made up for his brother in spades though.

Dorian loves having a little sister, but more so a person who's fun and matches his energy. Don't get him wrong, it's not torture living with them, but they are a very formal and work-led family. Lavinia, ever soft for her sons, often played along with her dry wit, entertaining her wild child's antics. But those were just fleeting moments, and the other two are useless when understanding good comedy. This, however, is so much more fun, so much more human- games, laughing and getting in trouble.

There were games of cards sprawled out on the sitting room floor, stories told by firelight that had you snorting with laughter at Dorian’s theatrical gestures, and hours spent bent over your sketchbook beside you as he tried (and failed) to master the art of drawing. Your drawing book is now a patchwork of your steady drawings and Dorian's questionable scribbles.

“This is offensive,” he grumbled one afternoon, pointing to his attempt at a cat. It looked more like a misshapen potato with whiskers. “to cats everywhere. I should be ashamed.”

“You should,” you teased, stifling a giggle. “Poor Sir Whiskers. He deserves better.”

“Art critic and sibling tormentor?” He shook his head dramatically. “What have I created ?”

Your smile lingered even after the moment passed. It was a strange thought, but you were starting to feel a quiet sense of belonging here—especially around Dorian. He treated you as though you’d always been part of his life, his easygoing nature smoothing the sharp edges of your fears.

Lavinia often encouraged this unconventional form of bonding too. Once walking into the kitchen where you and Dorian were for one reason or another.

Except when she rounds the corner, she sees you both balancing spoons on your noses. She holds back a laugh at the absurdity that Dorian somehow convinced you into.

"Teaching her to balance a spoon on her nose? I'm sure Soren would approve." she raises an eyebrow.

Dorian doesn't remove the spoon to look at her, to focused. "It's a skill, mother. A very serious one, it's harder than it looks." he explains with a grin.

You pipe up though laughs -after dropping your spoon again, determined to get it right you pick it up-. "He says it's a significant motor skill. Apparently, it’s vital for survival."

Lavinia smiles, seeing you so relaxed and happy "Practical, then. Carry on."

The First Steps

But while life in this new family was slowly becoming no so strange, there were unkind 'events'. Often first steps are accompanied by stumbles-

The following months of adjustment weren’t linear. You struggled with the change—an identity crisis that seemed to gnaw at you in the quiet moments—and even the culture shock of living with the Beaumonts. Just as you felt like you were coming to terms with your situation, something new would pull the rug out from under you.

Drinking blood was the worst of it. Just when you thought you could settle, you had to face something that felt so foreign, so damning, that it brought back every fear and doubt. It was gross, wrong, and an impossible idea.

Having been raised in a traditional Victorian household, you likely held some sort of religious or superstitious beliefs too. That only made this so much harder to justify.

The first time Soren brought you the cup, you stared at it as though it might bite you. Lavinia sat beside you at the small table in a quiet room. Dorian sat lazily on a soft armchair not far, under the guise of reading a book, but his gaze was fixed on your face, trying to read your reactions. Your stomach churned, the smell of iron lingering faintly in the air.

“Better to start now,” Soren said, his tone firm but not unkind. He set the cup gently on the table in front of you, his hands steady. “It’s easier to manage this way before hunger makes it… harder.”

He straightens up, and his face softens at the sight of an unpleasant struggle they all had faced "Take your time, but you will drink some before you go to bed." He turns to leave, letting Lavinia handle this with her gentle nature.

But he pauses "This doesn’t define you unless you let it." A tense attempt at comfort. You wish it worked.

You sat in silence for a while after Soren left. Dorian broke the silence unable to sit in such a tense atmosphere.

“It’s stranger to think about it than to do it.” as though this were a completely ordinary conversation. “Once you start, it's just routine... instinct.”

“Dorian,” Lavinia murmured, though there was no real scolding in her tone.

“What?” He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s true.” But his face falls again when his attempt at lighting the mood fails, seeing you only tense up.

You wanted to glare at him, as your eyes began to burn and threaten tears, wanting to snap, but not able to take your eyes off the cup. How can you talk about this like it’s nothing? But your anger fell short. He’d been through this too. They all had. And now it was your turn. There was no getting around it, no more delaying.

Lavinia leaned in, drawing your attention back to her. “I know this feels impossible,” she said softly. “But it won’t ruin you. I promise you that.” The back of her gloved fingers gently brush over your cheek before stopping at your chin and holding it carefully between her index and thumb, forcing you to hold her gaze.

You blinked at her, tears burning the corners of your eyes. “How do you know?” Lavinia sighed at the sight of tears welling up, letting go of your chin to rub circles on your back.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” she said simply. “And I am still myself.”

Something about the certainty in her voice made your resolve falter. Lavinia—so calm, so strong—didn’t look wicked. She didn’t look lost. Maybe… maybe you wouldn’t either.

When you didn’t move, Lavinia stood, reaching for the cup and placing it carefully in your shaking hands. “Just one sip,” she said, her tone firm but kind. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You took as small of a sip as you could- And it was as awful as you were expecting, so foreign. The morality, the taste, the texture and the smell. But worst of all you hated that you weren't so hungry now, forced to confront that this is your way of life from now on.

Lavinia stood, smoothing her skirts before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “That’s enough for tonight,” she murmured gently, her tone soft but brooking no argument. “Let’s get you ready for bed, sweet girl.” She placed a hand gently on your lower back, guiding your quiet, troubled self out of the room.

Your steps were slow, heavy with lingering unease, but before stepping into the hallway, you glanced back. Dorian sat where he’d been the entire time, unusually still��quieter than you’d ever seen him, almost forgetting he was there. His usual spark seemed dimmed as he watched you leave, his expression subdued.

He caught your gaze and offered a small, sad smile—an attempt at encouragement that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t pity, exactly, just the ache of watching someone he cared for fight battles he couldn’t help them win.

... Guided by Gentle Hands

You began getting glimpses of what life would look like when you finally settled in.

Soren took it upon himself to become a teacher, starting with history, though at first, it was subtle—nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. He’d beckon you into his study, voice low but firm, and give you small tasks: 'read this chapter' 'tell me what you think about this passage' or 'write down your thoughts on that event'.

Soren understood better than anyone that boredom had a way of catastrophizing unpleasant thoughts, of spiralling them into something unbearable. It was practical, of course—he had always intended to educate you as thoroughly as he had Lucien and Dorian, and even Lavinia, though her education had been more self-initiated.

But at the heart of it, this was his way of looking out for you, by keeping your mind sharp and your heart steady so you wouldn’t lose yourself.

It was during your third week that he decided to begin. Your disorientation had started to wane, the constant aches dulling to an occasional discomfort, and you found yourself more active, less confined to bed and wandering the manor instead. You’d begun helping Lavinia with small tasks, rearranging shelves or folding linens, as though eager to distract yourself.

One particular night, when you were more restless than usual, Soren watched you quietly from the corner of his eye. The way you fidgeted and paced was all the indication he needed. After a few minutes, he stood, plucked a book off the shelf with deliberate ease, and turned toward you.

“Come with me to my study, child.” His tone left no room for argument, though there was no harshness to it—only purpose.

You followed him with confusion and trepidation, unsure of what to expect. The vastness of his study made you feel small at first—the towering bookshelves, the rich scent of old leather and parchment. But when you sat across from him, and he opened the book, it wasn’t as daunting as you thought.

The conversation began with history, his deep voice weaving stories of wars and treaties, discoveries and downfalls. -And it wasn’t long before the discussions turned, becoming less of a lecture and more of an interview.

“The tales say that vampires turn to ash in the sun,” you hesitantly said one evening, curiosity finally breaking through. “But Lavinia used to visit me during the day... that doesn't make sense.”

Soren gave a rare, almost amused look, his lips quirking faintly. “Those stories are highly inaccurate. We don’t turn to ash in the sun. It’s only irritating—burns, at the worst, if we’re careless.”

Another night, you leaned forward in your seat, bringing up another thought you had wondered about for a few days “You’re always so busy. Do Vampires have jobs?”

He inclined his head, choosing his words carefully. “The Beaumont name is very respected. That respect comes with responsibilities. It drags us into the political side of what you might call… the Vampire Court.”

“Vampire Court?” You echoed, both fascinated and wary of the term.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning back as though considering how much to say. “Though I’m afraid the details would bore you to sleep. Now, let’s return to the matter at hand.”

There was no mistaking the faint, teasing glint in his eyes as he steered you back to the lesson.

Soren didn’t seem to mind the curiosity. So one night, you dared to ask about his maker, your voice hesitant.

“Is your maker still alive?”

Soren paused, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Yes, he is. A very smart and serious man, though…” He glanced at you, allowing a dry, almost imperceptible humour to slip through. “Let’s just say it’s best to delay that meeting for a while. He lacks certain… refinements.”

It made you blink in surprise before you stifled a small laugh, and Soren let the moment rest there, as if it had never happened.

One night, you’d muttered about how cold you always felt, after he had asked you how the discomforts are fading. Soren had said nothing at the time, merely watching with that inscrutable expression he always wore.

From that evening on, when you woke at sunset, your fireplace was already lit, your room warm -meaning it had been for a while. You assumed Lavinia had been the one to light it, never questioning the habit.

It took weeks before you pieced it together that it wasn't the ever-attentive Lavinia lighting it for you -but Soren, who took on the task personally and routinely before Lavinia could even get to it.

...

Lavinia had always been the one to openly express her love for you. At first, she was careful—never smothering or overstepping boundaries you weren’t ready to cross. Her affection came out in sweet words and soft nicknames, in the way she always seemed close by, never far enough to leave you feeling alone. Acts of service were her strongest language of love: brushing and braiding your hair, tidying your room up and helping you do up ribbons, laces or clasps.

Slowly, as time passed, Lavinia allowed herself to do more, indulging you in the ways she had always wished to but held back. A daughter to spoil in ways her boys were either too old for or too boyish for.

Lavish clothes, jewellery handed down from her own collection, teaching you things that feel more like an excuse to bond than a lesson Soren would set up.

And then there was the bear-

Lavinia had felt, more than seen, that something was missing from your room. It was lovely, of course—she had ensured it was as comfortable and homely as a room could be, with soft wallpaper in delicate florals, plush sheets, downy pillows, and charming decorations. But as she saw more of your personality shining through—your curiosity, your humour, the flashes of humanity you were holding onto with everything you had—she knew the space didn’t yet reflect you.

It was beautiful, yes, but far too serious. Refined. Grown-up in a way that seemed wrong for someone so young (Physically and/or vampire age). She knew it would grow to be yours and be filled with personality and trinkets, that you would grow to love it as you did your old home.

But she felt you need that comfort and self-expression now more than ever, and so she resolved to change that, one gift at a time, that would increasingly become more and more tailored to your likes and comforts as they learned more about you.

The first one was a bear, a necessary comfort item for many humans. Not just any bear though, only the best. She sat at her desk one morning, as the sun rose and you slept. Writing a letter to an artisan in Russia who she'd met during one of their many travels abroad, she knew he was the person to create what she envisioned.

She spared no detail, describing what she wanted: a luxurious, sturdy bear, hand-stitched from the finest materials, with features cute enough to be loved for an eternity and stitching strong enough to endure just as long.

And when it arrived, carefully packaged, topped with a bow.

She lifts the bear out of the box—a beautiful, exquisitely made stuffed bear, with jointed limbs and cute face. Its fur is soft and plush. It’s stitched with fine care, its paws and ears trimmed with delicate embroidery. The bear’s eyes shine black like little onyx stones, and it wears a velvet ribbon around its neck with a small, silver charm hanging from it—a subtle mark of luxury and craftsmanship.

That evening, when you found it sitting carefully on your bed, your steps slowed as you entered the room. You stared at the bear for a long moment, your fingers brushing hesitantly over its fur before picking it up. It was heavier than you expected, sturdy and real—yours.

Lavinia’s voice broke the quiet, soft from where she stood in the doorway, coming in to put some of your clothes away. “A companion. He came all the way from Russia to keep you company.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide with wonder and confusion at such an extravagant gift. Lavinia didn’t linger on your hesitation, though, her tone light but full of warmth. “It is a very special gift, crafted by hand in Russia by a master artisan. One of a kind. But,” she added, with the faintest smile, “very sturdy. Created to be loved. So take care of him.”

She left it at that, continuing through your draws, finishing her task of putting clothes away as if the expensive gesture was nothing. Lavinia made no fuss about it, didn’t press you to show gratitude or admiration, not because the money was no biggie or it was simple compared to some of her precious items in her room -but because she knew she’d see her efforts rewarded in time.

And she did.

The bear never ended up on a shelf, where so many precious things might go to gather dust. No, it stayed right there—on your bed, within arm’s reach. It was too precious to put away, too yours to display as though it were just a decoration. This was the first thing in your new life that belonged to you and you alone, a token of care and thoughtfulness meant for no one else. Not out of necessity or practicality like clothes, but simply because Lavinia wanted you to have something special.

The bear became a constant presence—sometimes tucked under your arm as you slept, other times sitting proudly on your pillow when you woke. And it wasn’t long before you gave him a name, a fitting one that matched his origins, like Misha. Misha would be treasured by you for lifetimes to come.

Maybe this isn't so bad, maybe you can learn to accept this new -unconventional- family.

Lavinia and Dorian's consistent and open adoration, Soren's subtle but firm love and even Lucien's own form of caring that begins to show in small acts (but thats for another day).

#vampire family #+reader #platonic #yandere #yandere oc

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starsomens · 7 months ago

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𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 10 •... 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Warnings: Guns! Violence! Mentions of Blood and fighting and stabbing! Horribly written action i am so sorry...characters depicted to be hurt, blood mentions, chloroform used, language, DESCRIPTION CHARACTER DEATH!

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Unaware of how many hours had passed, you only knew that you had dozed off briefly. Despite your best efforts to free yourself, your attempts were futile. Unknown to you, someone was outside orchestrating your rescue. In a nearby forest, just off the property, Noah and his men were preparing their move.

"We do this clean, short, and efficiently," Noah spoke as he stood among his men. Their vans parked just outside of Lucien's perimeter "Get Y/N, kill who you must and get the fuck out. I don't want one hair on her head gone is that understood?"

"Yes sir!" his men cry in unison, Jolly then steps forward

"Folio will head the initial group to create our entry point, then my team and I will follow to ensure a clear path for Noah to locate Y/N," he gestures towards Nick, who is equipping the van with surveillance and medical gear. "Nick is our support; his word is our command. If he says we retreat, we retreat."

"Yes sir!"

Folio rolls his ski mask down to cover his face his signature grin still evident on his face "let's rock this bitch."

He loaded his bullets into the chamber, started his bike, and revved the engine. Leading the first group on his motorcycle with the rest following on foot, they approached the gates, which were rigged to blow open, providing Folio with the opportunity to charge in. Most would consider this move foolish, but there was a reason he was known as The MadMan. Diving headfirst into danger only fueled his adrenaline rush.

Although Nick remains in the rear, he is crucial as their sniper. Despite the distance, he is the most skilled sharpshooter they possess. The abrupt breach of the front gates startled Lucien's men, who rushed from the large house, armed and prepared to shoot any intruders. With shots exchanged, some men fell while others were merely grazed by bullets, providing Jolly and his team the opportunity to advance, paving the way for Noah and additional reinforcements.

Noah has one goal, and one goal alone. And that was to get to you. Knowing Lucian and the layout of his building, he knew that he kept most captives in the basement. Now, typically most people would not be attempting something like this however, Noah was not most people. Lucien knew exactly what he was capable of. And that’s why this place was crawling with so many of his goons. But it wasn’t enough to stop Noah.

Y/N:

The door to your cell swung open as Lucien and Denise stepped inside. You could barely make out the commotion outside, but you were certain it was Noah causing it. Denise moved around you, untying the ropes that bound you.

"Get up," you hear a click, and suddenly, you're staring down the barrel of a gun mere inches from your face. "Looks like your hardheaded boy is here," Lucien growls deeply. As soon as the ropes loosen, you rise from your chair and wait for Denise to come into view, her piercing blue eyes scrutinizing you from head to toe.

"look at you now," he sneers "just a pathetic bitch who had got lucky for a few months," a shit eating grin graced her face

"and look at you...Noah still doesn't want you," you lean in closer "what a pathetic little bitch....chasing after a man who doesn't care about her or her dumb ass little-"

Another sharp slap comes to the same cheek from before, this time it stung so much more than before. Before you could react a clothes was held up against your nose and mouth. You struggled and fight as Lucien grips yours arms behind your back. Your visions blurs, you can't breath properly, your knees felt weak, you blink you blink your eyes to stay awake but you are consumed by darkness in mere seconds.

noah

As they ascended the stairs into the cooler, darker parts of the building, bodies were dropping like flies. Each door was violently forced open in a frantic search for you. Yet, each room revealed itself to be just as vacant as the previous, escalating his desperation. At last, reaching the final door at the corridor's end, he kicked it in, expecting to find you tied to an empty chair. His blood boiled with rage, his heart pounded against his chest, the rush of blood roaring in his ears. He knew you had been there, and now you had vanished once more.

“FUCK!” Let out frustrated grunt as he kicks the chair against the wall “ I don’t care how you do it, who you have to kill, turn this place inside out. And fucking find her,”

“Oh we don’t have to go there now do we Sebastian?” a familiar voice comes close as shoes click their way down the hall. His eyes are empty of any compassion or empathy. Looking over his shoulder his eyes land on none other than Alfred.

Betrayal. Bastard. Mother Fucker. Piece of shit!

Noah brushes past his men and grab Alfred by the collar and shoves him against the wall "You fucking bastard, where is she?!"

"Now Mr-" Noah crashes his forehead against his nose. A crack and groan filled the hall

"Shut the fucks up and tell me where!" Noah was not up for playing any games. He presses him into the wall more, putting pressure on his throat,

"L-Lucien's o-ffice...."He stutters, blood trickling down his nose and into his mouth. Noah releases his grip, and he collapses to the ground. Looking at his men he says,

“Tie him up, take him to Nick. I’ll deal with him later,” he commands his men, and if looks could kill. Alfred would have been obliterated on the spot

“Yes sir,” the pick up Alfred and start to escort him out of the building. Alfred knew exactly where he was going, and it would be far from anything pleasant…. Securing his gun into his waistband, he starts running out of the basement and up to the last floor where Lucien would be,

“Noah!,” his ear piece rang “what are you doing—“

“I’m not going to let her sit there waiting for something to happen to her,”

“Think for a second Noah! This is what he wants!” Nick tried to reason with him “you need to think! He could be planning to kill you!"

"Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do Nick?" Noah asks in frustration as he ascends the stairs to his office.

"I've got a plan, but you need to stall him," Nick said typing away at keyboard in the VAN, "Stall him until I'm able to blow a portion of the building, it'll be enough for us to get Y/N, and get out of here," it wasn't a solid proof plan, but the main objective here was to get you out.

Noah stands outside the office, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He harbors a fierce desire to confront Lucien for daring to touch you. Shifting his gun to rest out of sight behind his back, he grasps the handles and pushes the double doors open. They swing wide to reveal Lucien in his usual place, seated behind his large desk, a cigar perched between his lips.

As Noah stepped in, it was reminiscent of the first time he had been accepted into V.A.N. His footsteps were softened by the carpet as his gaze swept the room, searching for any discrepancies or concealed adversaries. However, what he discovered was Mathew, slumped against the wall, appearing almost lifeless. He stops a few feet away from the desk

"where is she..." he asks once

"You know, I still remember the day I took you under my wing. A teenager with nothing but potential," he said, rising from his desk and approaching a portrait on the wall. It depicted a younger Noah, standing beside him and other members. "I recognized a bit of myself in you. You were detached, strategic, willing to do whatever it took to rise to the top… and now, look at you."

He turns to face Noah with a sneer "killing my men for some bitch who ain't worth half of what you are,"

Denise slithers into the room like a snake sneaking up to its prey. She comes up to Noah and trails her fingers over his shoulder to rest on his chest,

"Hi Noah...did you miss me?" she asks in an annoyingly sweet tone. Noah was still focused on Lucien

"She didn't want you, left you, disrespected you… just leave, marry Denise, take over V.A.N. It will all be over, you can start anew," he steps forward two steps, "and we can continue as if none of this ever happened."

"Where is she...." Noah asked once again, ignoring Denise and disregarding Lucien's offer "Just give her back, and I'll leave....."

"Well she is here," he scoffs as he walks towards a closet off to the side of the room, opening it your body slumps out of the space, motionless "Just not in the best state"

"Y/N," he rushes to you and kneels at your side. Holding your head in his hand as his other gently touches your face, smoothing over the purple mark growing on your cheek. "y/n, princess come on wake up for me..." he said it so softly. Like he didn't want to wake you, but he needed to know you were alive, that you were okay....

"You got 2 options here Noah," Noah didn't dare look at Lucien "You can leave here in one piece, and follow what should be. Or you can both go down...or should I say three," he huffed referred to Mathew still slumped against the wall

"Lucien...." he gently laid you on the ground as he slowly rose from the ground "....do you remember when you beat the shit out of me for touching your shit?"

"Little shit....you had to learn to not touch what's min-" a punch landed right to his jaw cutting him off from his sentence. He groans as an intense anger burned inside of him "Oh you Mother Fucker!" The two exchanged blows and ducks, swings and throws. Lucien was hit, Noah had sustained a nose bleed.

All the commotion stirred you to finally come to

"mmm...n-noah...." you just knew it was him. His fuzzy figure as he ducks and swings. While Lucien may have trained Noah, he was older and slower, Noah was much swifter and managed to get Lucien into a headlock.

"Noah it's ready! Get the fuck out, now!" Nick speaks into his ear. Using all of his force, he tried his best to push Lucian into the corner of the room. He runs over to Matthew and grab him by the shirt and shake him a bit. His eyes blink open, still in a daze

"Fucking wake up Mathew come on-ah!" Lucien is on Noah again gripping him into a headlock. Noah thrashed and tried his best to get out of the man's grip. He took a chance and reached behind him and pushed his thumbed into his sockets, freeing himself.

Just like a guardian angel coming to his rescue Jolly stops in the doorway. Finding Noah to get him out of the building before it was blown.

"Jolly get Y/N out of here!" he grunts as he blocks blows and tries to land more,

"Noah we need to--"

"TAKE HER NOW!" There's a loud thump as he pushes Lucien to the wall and holding him there for Jolly to pick you up. Jolly runs inside, grabs you and picks you up, running out of the room. Your hand weakly reaching for Noah as he becomes a small fuzzy figure. You felt as though you were moving in slow motion, you could feel every step Jolly took, every turn he made, once outside he rushes you to Nick. He lays you down in the emergency bed in the van so Nick could examine you, making sure there were no severe injuries. Jolly was about to leave the VAN again before you grab his hand stopping him

"W-where's Noah?" you ask

"He's still inside, I'm going back for him-" Jolly answers grabbing a pistol and loading it

"Jolly you can't we're about to blow this shit-"

"He's still fucking in there!"

"The count is already happening I can't fucking stop it!" The two long haired men were going on it. Jolly wanted to rush in, and Nick couldn't stop the count down. While they were arguing, time was ticking by. You stand up and move as quick as you could out of the van and start walking towards the large building again. You were convinced if you stumbled fast enough you could make it to Noah. Meanwhile Jolly and Nick call after you to come back. You felt as if you were so close! So damn CLOSE!

BAAAM!

The building busted into flames before your eyes. The loud explosion made yours hands fly to your ears an duck down for cover. Looking back at the scene all you could scream was,

“NOO!”

. . . . . . .

It was so sudden when the explosion went off. It threw both Lucian and Noah off-balance. Not even worrying to fight one another anymore, but to cover their heads from falling debris. When Noah opens his eyes once again, he was surrounded by rubble and fire. Most of the building was still intact, but before was starting to cave in on itself. He was still conscious, which meant he still had a chance to get out.

He coughs into his hand, trying to block out as much smoke as he could. He knew this place like the back of his hand he could run out without even looking up. Once he was on his feet and he started to walk his ankle was then grabbed by a grip of pure venom.

“You!” Lucien coughed “you’re not going anywhere! If I go down, you’re going down with me and this shit hole!!” There was a sudden sharp pain in Noah’s ankle. Lucien wasn’t going down without a fight, and chose to shank. No falls to his knees again as he screamed out in pain.

this wasn’t the first time that Noah had seen the fury in his eyes. However, he never thought that he would be on the receiving end of it. He tried to shake him off as best as he could. But the smoke was starting to get to him, and his vision was going fuzzy.

The floor underneath Lucien started to creek as his knee sinks into a hole in the floorboards. Noah had to get out of there before the floor came in on itself. He padded his waistband to find his gun, only to find that it was empty.

“You…little shit. Coming here, attacking me, blowing up my fucking building. Over some bitch who can’t keep her mouth shut—“

And those were his last words. Before bullet went straight into the side of his skull, loosening the grip on nose ankle. Gazing at the bullet hole, he follows the path that the bullet took to see Matthew holding up the gun that was used to kill the head of the mafia. The heavy weapon shook in his hole from the adrenaline and trauma that his body has endured.

He stands up and walks to Noah. He grabs his arm and swings it over his shoulders, holding his waist as they stumble out of the burning building. With every step, Noah felt his lungs grow tighter, and his ankle burn. Matthew was saying something, but he couldn’t exactly make out what it was.

His body felt weak, as if he was ready to collapse and fade into darkness, spiraling down towards an endless hell for all the crimes he had committed. His breath was short, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

The only thing he could hear from Matthew’s muffled words was your name. Just the sound of your name. It was almost as if his life started flashing before his eyes. All he could see was you—your smile, the way your nose crinkles in the cold, the way you always sat in the same spot on the couch. Everything about you filled his mind…those eyes…those eyes he loved.

how he'd love to see them before....before....bef....

Y/N

"NOAH!" you screamed watching the place go up in flames. Noah's men flooding out of the doors running back to safety. His men were there...but Noah wasn't. You're back on your feet stumbling to the building but Folio stops you

"Y/N don't! Stop what are you doing-"

"Noah is in there I have to-"

"Y/N you can't go int here you'll get yourself killed!"

"Noah is in there!" you slowly stop fighting as you watch the flames devouring and breaking down the building. You could feel yours eyes burn with tears as Nick guides you back until you see a figure walking towards you.

"Noah?" you whispered. as they come into view you see it's Matthew practically dragging Noah away from the building. He makes a few more steps until they both fall to the ground. Nick stops moving and turns back to look behind him, Jolly starts to rush over and so do you. You run to them, you heart is pounding, your hands sweaty and your eyes full of tears and hope. You get to them and fall to your knees

"Noah, Noah? Noah look at me!" you bring his head into your lap, his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow "Noah please! Open your eyes.....Please!" you sniff as your tears fall from your eyes and on to his face

"Please....I need you to wake up....please....I love you..." you wrap your arms around his body as best as you could and rock him in your arms, "I love you..I love you...I love you...please...." your body starts to shake from your cries

Jolly steps toward you carefully, ready to comfort and console you

"Noah...please wake up...please baby look at me please....I....I need you..."

"Y/N....come on let's get back to the-"

*COUGH COUGH* Noah's body convulses in coughs as his lungs fill with clear air and comes back to consciousness. Your hands come up to brush the hair from his eyes and to caress his dirty but soft skin

"Noah...Noah you're alive..." he gives you a weak smirk and says

"I couldn't....*cough* not say I love you back,"

“You’re so….stupid,” you said as Noah does his best to hold you in his arms. He knew that those words meant that you were glad he was alive. And he was beyond grateful to have seen your face again. But most of all to hear that sweet face of those three words. While you checked on Matthew Noah was carried back to the van by Nick and Jolly.

His men would arrive later to cover up the scene, making it look as if nothing had happened. For now, you both needed medical attention. In the van, Nick insisted on giving you a full body scan. You protested, saying you were fine and just a bit roughed up. But Nick knew better than to skip medical treatment. Noah would never let it go if even one scratch on your body was left untreated. In your opinion, Noah, who was severely roughed up, needed most of the attention.

As Nick looked over the scans from VAN's medical scan he stopped for a second to overlook something.

"Y/N, do you feel strange at all?"

"well, aside from my cheek I'm just fine," you said slightly flinching as Noah applied a cold pack to your cheek. Nick printed out the results on the screen and handed it to you both. Reading through the reading as best as you could one word stood out to you. Your eyes were blown wife, Noah took the paper from you and looked it over again and again,

"I think we should get you to a hospital before we confirm anything...but in the mean time....it looks like you're going to need a bigger car Noah,"

"so.....what happens now? Especially with this?" you asked and Noah looks at you. His hand comes up to caress your face. His thumb running over the skin under your eye

"now....." his other hand comes down to your stomach and rests on top of it. Knowing what his future holds, what he has to do, and who he has to do it for. Your forehead comes to meet his, beat up, bleeding and bruised and all he could feel in this moment was his love for you and your baby,

"We rebuild this kingdom our way.…”

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ‿ ̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

END

Taglist🥃] @madiomens @aubrey-melinoe @artificialbreezy @daylightlvrs @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @artificialstardust @lizzyanthony3 @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @lust-for-sacher @missduffsblog @thecartelqueen @twyftwyt @thenoahsebastianfiles @spiderblog-mcu @sorrowsofsilence @chemicallady @chemicaltendancies @shilohrosechicken @thefallennightmare @crimson-calligraphyx @calleyx13 @iknownothingpeople @lilhobgobbler @niicoleleigh @badomensls @ladispo0p @skulliecadaver-blog @malixxxmizer @kageyasma @samanthasgone @the-ancient-fae @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @thebadchic @badomensbabe @dsireland86 @ebechnasheim @somewhere-diamond @hayleylatour @raydenrrobertson @sundamariis @red-ace-in-space @rosebushjhj

#noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #noahsebastian #badomens #noah bad omens #bad omens band #noah sebastian x reader mafia au #the contract by star✨#the contract by star✨#star’s anons✨#star’s mutuals✨#noah sebastian fanfic #mafia au

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ac-fandom · 4 months ago

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As a Christmas special I decided to publish my new OC of Inazuma eleven GO, Chiara Sharp and now on with the presentation:

-She is the adopted daughter of Jude Sharp, who adopted her when he was the coach of the young Italian women's team.

-As mentioned, she is Jude's adopted daughter but she is also (even if not entirely legally because there would be other problems regarding the adoption and the fact that she is Italian) David Samford/Sakuma jirou together with Preston Princeton/Miyabino Reiich and Lucian Dark/Kageyama Hikaru.

-in the Italian national team she played as a libero (I don't know how it's written in English and the translator gave it to me like this, however that's the role Mark plays here apart from being the goalkeeper) and she played the playmaker.

-she is Italian but also speaks English, Japanese, Spanish, a little German and Chinese fluently.

-she is 15 years old and born on the fourth of June, and she's in her last year of the rolay academy.

-Before she was adopted by Jude, she had been entrusted to several families but none of them were ever in a position to support her football dream and therefore she had to decide whether to follow her sporting path or a family but she always chose football .

-Chiara has a very reserved and submissive personality towards people she doesn't know but things change when she finds herself in the field or she iswithher friends, she becomes very authoritarian and serious and expects the whole team to give their all and be competitive but knows how to accept defeats with maturity, however, when she is with her friends or family she is very sweet and protective, especially towards her brothers, and sometimes enjoys teasing the boys she finds attractive.

-she invented a nickname or a name in particular to distinguish for all the members of the family: Jude is "Babbo or Papà" that is dad in Italian, while for David she simply calls him dad or "Pa"which is another way to say father in Italian, then for the brothers for Preston she calls him "fratellino" translated little brother, Lucian instead calls him "patato" which is an affectionate way to describe a person.

-she has a huge crush (which is reciprocated) on quentin cinquedea/senguuji yamato, and she often goes to watch his workouts and of course and vice versa so he goes to watch her workouts.

And the what she look like:

And that's her voice:

#canon x oc #inazuma eleven go #inazuma 11 #inazuma eleven #jude sharp #oc x canon #Oc #original character #chiara sharp #quentin cinquedea #senguuji yamato #sakuma jirou #david samford #lucian dark #preston princenton #Miyabino Reiich #Spotify

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piotrek-chomik · 1 year ago

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I should draw it for real

#kidou yuuto #jude sharp #kageyama reiji #rey dark #ray dark #idk #doodle #kageyama hikaru #lucian dark #inazuma eleven #inazuma eleven go

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dahliah-blackened · 1 month ago

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A Feast Fit for a Knight

Hey guys!! I've been writing a bunch of stories and getting really into some new OC's, so let me introduce you to King Cassiel and Sir Lucian! After the war, Lucian returned home thinner than when he left, so Cassiel is determined to feed him. Let's just hope the two can keep their relationship under wraps in front of the watchful eyes of the court and the entire kingdom. This is a oneshot! So I might not come back to these characters unless you guys really love them. Contains stuffing, belly rubs, mentions of hunger, and full stomach growling.

The knights of Varethia arrived at the castle in droves, their armor gleaming under the late afternoon sun. It had been days since King Cassiel’s beloved knight, Sir Lucian, had returned from war, his body battered and fragile. Cassiel had watched over him in nervous silence as he ensured Lucian was waited on hand and foot. His wounds had been cleaned, his bruises faded from deep violet to the muted yellow of healing. But it was the hollow emptiness in his stomach, the weakness that had once threatened to take him from Cassiel, that had truly haunted the king.

For days, he had watched over his knight. Even as Lucian’s body healed, the sharp angles of his hunger lingered. He ate, but never enough. His habit of giving away his rations had left him accustomed to starvation, to taking only what was necessary and never what was sufficient. The sight of his half-finished plates gnawed at Cassiel more than he cared to admit. And so, the king had made his decision. A grand feast was arranged under the guise of honoring the returning knights, an extravagant display of gratitude for their service. But in truth, it was a carefully constructed deception—a lavish performance with one intended purpose. Lucian would eat.

The great hall was alive with the scent of seared meats, spiced wines, and honeyed bread, the tables adorned with more bounty than any man could hope to finish in one night. Laughter and raucous voices filled the space, yet Cassiel’s attention remained fixed on the only man that mattered. Near the head of the long table, beside the throne, stood Lucian. The knight was stiff, his sharp gaze flickering toward the long banquet table where his men stood waiting. Cassiel noted the tension in his shoulders, the way his armor hung loosely over his frame.

With a slow tilt of his head, the king gestured toward the chair beside him. A silent command. Sit. Lucian exhaled sharply through his nose, the only sign of his reluctance before he obeyed. But before he could lower himself fully into his chair, Cassiel leaned in, his voice a low murmur just for his knight’s ears. "I could hear your poor stomach rumbling from across the hall, Lucian. No need to be shy tonight." As he spoke, his fingers ghosted down Lucian’s side, the touch barely there, yet impossibly firm in its intent. The knight’s breath caught, his spine stiffening as warmth rushed to his ears.

Satisfied, Cassiel straightened and turned his attention to the table. His gaze swept over the assembled knights, lingering for a brief moment before he spoke, his voice carrying through the hall with effortless authority. The hall quieted, the men standing at attention, their respect evident in the way they held their heads high. Cassiel’s golden eyes flickered with something close to reverence. "You have given your blood, your strength, and your loyalty to this kingdom. And so tonight, you will take from it. Eat. Drink. Be honored, as you deserve. Varethia stands because of you." A chorus of voices rose in response, the men raising their goblets in unison.

Cassiel gave the briefest nod of acknowledgment before his gaze hardened, turning toward the servants stationed along the walls. "See to it that these men want for nothing," he ordered. The servants rushed to obey, pitchers of wine tipping, platters of food passed down the length of the table. The hall swelled with the sounds of indulgence—the scrape of knives against plates, the hearty laughter of soldiers no longer burdened by war. But Cassiel did not care for any of it. His attention was fixed on his knight, his beloved, who still hesitated, still held himself back. Cassiel watched as he lifted his goblet but only took a careful sip, his movements controlled, precise. His plate remained untouched save for a small piece of bread he had yet to eat. Unacceptable.

Cassiel reached forward and added more food to Lucian’s plate—slices of roasted meat, a serving of fragrant rice, bread still warm from the oven. Lucian eyed the growing portion on his plate with barely concealed apprehension. The rich aroma of the feast surrounded him—meats glistening with juices, soft bread warm to the touch, the delicate sweetness of wine and fruit. And yet, the sheer amount before him made his stomach tighten. "Your Majesty—" He spoke lowly, careful not to draw attention. "This is far too much." Cassiel didn’t spare him a glance, simply picking up his own goblet and taking a slow sip of wine. "It is exactly what you need."

Lucian exhaled, fingers tightening around his fork. "I am no longer starving, Cassiel. War has ended. I am—" The king turned to him, golden eyes dark and knowing. "And yet your belly remains empty." His hand tightened just slightly against Lucian’s thigh beneath the table. “You’ve been through too much. Eat. You deserve it.” Lucian’s breath hitched, something inside him unraveling at the quiet sincerity of the king’s words. Cassiel’s fingers brushed lightly against the edge of his plate, guiding it just a little closer. “Please,” the king added, softer now. “Fill your stomach, my knight. For me.”

There was no defiance in Lucian’s sapphire eyes, only quiet acceptance as he found no argument. Swallowing down whatever weak protest still lingered on his tongue, Lucian relented. He took up his knife and fork and cut into the tender meat, lifting a piece to his mouth. Cassiel watched, satisfaction flickering across his face as Lucian finally began to eat. And beneath the table, his hand remained—steady, warm, and unwavering.

As the meal progressed and chatter echoed off the high ceilings of the grand dining room, Lucian found himself slowly loosening his guarded demeanor. At first, the knight ate with measured control, each bite slow and deliberate. But as the rich flavors unfolded on his tongue something within him stirred. He hadn’t realized how truly hungry he was. His body had adjusted too well to hunger, to rationing his meals out of habit even when food was within reach. But now, with the warmth of the feast settling into his bones, his appetite awakened. He reached for the golden-crusted bread, tearing off a piece and dipping it into the thick, savory broth pooled on his plate.

Cassiel’s gaze traced the softened lines of Lucian’s face, his growing satisfaction as he indulged, the way the hollowness in his cheeks seemed less stark in the flickering glow of the banquet hall. Lucian was eating. Cassiel let the happiness surge through him, though he kept his expression locked into its usual composure. Still, the corner of his lips threatened to tilt upward as he lifted his goblet, all the while relishing the sight before him. The king had always been a man of indulgence. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it. And right now, every fiber of his being was drawn to the knight beside him.

Lucian, lost in his meal, was oblivious at first, but Cassiel was watching intensely. The way Lucian’s body had softened just enough under proper care, the tension easing from his shoulders as warmth seeped into his bones. It was a sight more intoxicating than the finest wine. Cassiel’s hand, which had rested idly on Lucian’s thigh beneath the table, shifted. His fingers ghosted upward, slipping over the hard plate of Lucian’s armor, coming to rest against his stomach. Even through the metal, he could feel the warmth of his knight’s body, the slight rise and fall of his breath. Lucian stiffened, a quiet hitch of breath betraying him.

Cassiel leaned in, his lips just a breath away from Lucian’s ear. His voice was low, laced with mischief. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, my knight,” he murmured, fingers pressing ever so slightly over the metal. “I can feel how full you’re getting.” Lucian’s face burned, his grip tightening around the stem of his goblet. His stomach was certainly fuller than it had been in days, comfortably so, but with the king’s attention on him like this, it felt heavier. He swallowed, a flush creeping down his neck. Cassiel chuckled, pleased, his thumb grazing the cool metal between them. “Perhaps later, when the armor is gone, I’ll see just how full your belly is.”

Lucian inhaled sharply, his composure threatening to crack. “Cas—! Your Majesty!” A few soldiers glanced their way, though none seemed particularly invested—too enraptured by food and drink to notice the dangerous game their king was playing. Cassiel leaned back, his expression as composed as ever, save for the devilish glint in his golden eyes. Lucian, however, was still reeling from the king’s whispered words, his face hot with a flush that refused to fade. The food on his plate suddenly felt secondary to the warmth that pooled in his stomach, whether from the meal or from Cassiel’s touch, he wasn’t entirely sure.

But not everyone at the feast was as oblivious as the knights indulging in their victory meal. The royal advisors had been watching. They had seen the lingering glances, the king’s subtle favoritism, the way his hands found Lucian as though he belonged to him. This was the final straw. A few of them exchanged wary glances before the eldest among them gathered his courage, stepping forward. He cleared his throat discreetly before bowing his head. “Your Majesty,” he began, voice measured and cautious, “Apologies for the interruption, but a knight, no matter how… valued, should not be indulged so publicly, sire. It raises questions.”

Cassiel didn’t move at first. His fingers remained exactly where they were, splayed lazily over Lucian’s armor. Slowly, his gaze lifted from his knight, golden eyes cutting like a blade as they landed on the advisor. “Oh, forgive me,” he drawled, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “I wasn’t aware that ensuring my finest knight does not wither away was now a scandalous affair.” He shifted in his seat, tilting his head as he regarded the advisors like insects buzzing too close to his ear. “Do tell me,” he mused, voice deceptively calm, “since when did it become your place to dictate where my hands may rest?”

The men stiffened, their confidence faltering under the weight of the king’s gaze. Lucian, though silent, could feel the tension in the air. He cast a glance at the advisors, then at Cassiel, whose fingers now tapped idly against the stem of his goblet, waiting for someone—anyone—to challenge him further. But no one dared. The advisors quickly dipped their heads, not before exchanging another glance. Cassiel smirked, victorious as the men sheepishly shuffled away. He reached once more, this time letting his fingers trail lightly over Lucian’s wrist before resting against his thigh again, reclaiming his space as if nothing had happened.

Lucian shifted slightly, the warmth of Cassiel’s touch seeping through his armor, his stomach fluttering from the display of affection. His king had never been one to shy away from arrogance, but this—this was something else entirely. Cassiel had put the royal advisors in their place without so much as breaking a sweat, all because of him. Lucian swallowed, lowering his voice as he leaned in, careful to keep his words between them. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his tone firm despite the way his pulse quickened. “You should be more careful, Your Majesty.” Cassiel’s lips quirked upward, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Careful?” he echoed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Lucian’s thigh. “And what exactly should I be careful of, my knight?”

The knight cast a brief glance toward the advisors, who had wisely retreated into their silence. Cassiel exhaled sharply through his nose, something between amusement and mischief. He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against Lucian’s ear. “You seem to forget yourself, Lucian.” The knight’s breath hitched. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his fingers trailing up, barely ghosting over the armor covering Lucian’s stomach. “You are mine,” Cassiel said, his voice like velvet and iron all at once. “And I protect what is mine.” Lucian’s fingers tightened around his goblet. There was no arguing with the king—not when he spoke like this. Not when his eyes burned with a truth so raw and undeniable.

The great hall buzzed with the sounds of clinking goblets, the deep rumble of laughter, and the satisfied hums of soldiers indulging in a feast unlike any they had seen in months. Cassiel remained in his gilded chair, enjoying his meal with slow satisfaction. Lucian exhaled a quiet, satisfied huff as he set his utensils down, leaning back as his plate sat nearly empty before him. His stomach, which had spent too many days gnawing on air, now sat comfortably full. He shifted, absently pressing a hand to his middle as he let out a slow breath. Cassiel caught the movement instantly. His golden eyes flickered down to where Lucian’s hand rested before slowly, deliberately, he reached out and slid the plate back toward him.

Lucian blinked. “Your Majesty—” “You’ve hardly eaten enough,” Cassiel murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing. He nudged the plate forward another inch, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Lucian frowned, glancing down at his plate. “My king, I am—” Cassiel leaned in, his voice dropping low. “If I ever see that hollow look in your belly again, I will see to it that you never leave my sight.” Lucian’s stomach gave a quiet flutter, it wasn’t quite full enough to be painful, but certainly content. But the king’s words weren’t just a command, they were a plea. Cassiel wasn’t asking him to eat for mere indulgence—this was a matter of care, of love, of showing him that his knight mattered.

Slowly, he picked up his utensils once more. Lucian hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between Cassiel’s expectant eyes and the plate before him. As his fork met his mouth, a soft, approving hum escaped Cassiel. “Good boy.” The king’s voice was like silk, smooth and rich with something that made Lucian’s heart swell. The knight’s breath caught, the sensation of the king’s hand rubbing over his inner thigh spreading warmth through his body. His stomach gave a soft rumble, but Lucian ignored it. The impending discomfort of too much food felt distant compared to the burning need to prove himself worthy of the king’s praise.

The lively hum of the great hall stretched into the evening, the knights still indulging in their meals, their boisterous voices filling the space with warmth. But Lucian, though surrounded by his men, felt as if he were alone in the room with Cassiel. The fullness in his stomach had crept up on him, slow but relentless. The last bite had been a mistake—his belly, now stretched tight beneath his armor, ached with the weight of his indulgence. He let out a low, quiet groan, shifting uncomfortably as he set his fork down and pushed the plate away. His hand ghosted over his middle, tending to the discomfort. Cassiel, of course, noticed immediately.

The king’s sharp golden eyes flickered down to Lucian’s stomach, then back up, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. His fingers drummed lazily against the table. His hand, still resting against Lucian’s thigh, gave a slow, appreciative squeeze. Lucian swallowed thickly, his face warm from more than just the feast. He wasn’t sure if it was the fullness pressing against his ribs or the king’s constant attention making him breathless. Cassiel hummed with deep satisfaction. “You did well, my knight,” he praised, voice low and velvety, threading through Lucian’s senses like a siren’s call. “You’ve pleased me greatly.”

Lucian exhaled through his nose, trying to steady himself. Despite the dull ache of his overfilled stomach, the king’s words melted into him like honey. “I—” Lucian started, but the words caught in his throat as Cassiel leaned in, close enough that the scent of rich wine and spice curled around him. “Let me look at you,” Cassiel murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, something private. His gaze dropped once more, ghosting over Lucian’s frame with unfiltered admiration, lingering at the way his stomach now pressed subtly against the confines of his armor. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Before Lucian could react, the king let his fingers press just lightly against the plated armor at his stomach, the contact featherlight, almost teasing. Lucian stiffened, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He was so full, so painfully full, but the king’s attention, the warmth of his hand on his belly threatened to melt him then and there. Cassiel’s lips parted slightly, his expression sly as he pressed a fraction firmer. Lucian felt as though he might combust. He had been prepared for the battlefields, for the sword and the bloodshed. But he had never been prepared for this—for the way the king’s voice alone could unravel him, for the way he leaned into the king’s touch despite the ache.

The fullness sat heavy and unrelenting, stretching him to his limits, and though he tried to keep his breathing steady, his body had other plans. A low, drawn-out groan rumbled through his stomach. Lucian clenched his jaw, willing himself to remain still, to ignore the discomfort. But another sound followed—an unmistakable protest from his overworked belly. His arms slowly folded over his stomach, as if to quiet the storm raging beneath his ribs. Lucian could feel the king’s gaze on him before he even dared to look. Cassiel had gone still, his goblet resting against his lower lip, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable.

Lucian shifted minutely in his seat, his fingers tightening where they rested against his stomach. But before he could form a protest, before he could force himself to sit straighter and pretend he was fine, the king leaned in. Cassiel’s voice was low, meant only for him. “Oh, my dear knight…” Lucian’s breath stuttered. The warmth in Cassiel’s tone sent passion curling in his chest. The king’s fingers slid against Lucian’s armor, then lower, grazing just barely against the fabric beneath. “You’re so full,” Cassiel murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles. “But worry not.” His lips curled into something softer, something fond. “I will take good care of you.” Lucian swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as his stomach gave another soft, miserable groan beneath the king’s touch.

Cassiel smirked, rising smoothly from his seat, his movements drawing immediate attention. The laughter and conversation among the knights dulled as all eyes turned toward him. Cassiel adjusted the ruby rings on his fingers before raising his hands slightly, a casual but powerful display of authority. “Continue your revelry,” he announced, his voice rich and commanding. “Enjoy the feast you have so valiantly earned.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, ensuring they were received before adding, “I will be stepping away to speak with Sir Lucian.”

Lucian stiffened. The weight of the knights’ gazes burned into him, and though their expressions remained respectful, some of their eyes held knowing amusement. A few exchanged glances, smirking into their cups, while others simply gave nods of acknowledgment. Goblets were raised, and a chorus of murmured appreciation rippled through the hall before, just as quickly, the men returned to their meals. Lucian’s blush burned hot. He should have protested, should have insisted that he was fine, that he didn’t need this—didn’t deserve this level of attention. But he didn’t pull away. He let Cassiel lead him from the table, his stomach still heavy, his limbs still warm from wine and praise.

The grand doors of the feasting hall had barely closed behind them when the hushed murmurs of Cassiel’s advisors reached his ears. Their footsteps quickened to follow, the rustle of fine robes trailing in their wake. Cassiel exhaled slowly through his nose, already exhausted by their meddling. Lucian felt the weight of their gazes boring into his back, felt the tension in the air shift as the advisors hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before one finally dared to speak.

“Your Grace,” one of the older advisors stepped forward, his voice carefully measured, though not without a hint of concern. His eyes flickered between the king’s hand on Lucian’s arm and the telltale flush on the knight’s cheeks. “Forgive me, but… do you think it wise to be seen leaving so intimately with Sir Lucian?” Cassiel stilled. Another advisor cleared his throat. “There are already whispers, my king. If you are seen whisking away your most favored knight like this, people will start asking questions.” Cassiel turned his head just slightly, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous. “And?”

The advisors hesitated. “With all due respect, Your Grace,” the man continued, a bead of sweat forming at his temple, “If Sir Lucian is in need of care, there are servants who would gladly tend to him. It is not necessary for you to—” Cassiel’s patience snapped. His grip on Lucian’s arm remained light, but the air around him shifted, heavy with the weight of his authority. He turned on his heel with a deliberate slowness, facing his advisors fully, his presence suffocating. “Are you suggesting,” Cassiel’s voice dropped into a low, simmering growl, “that I, the king of Varethia, require permission to tend to one of my own?” The man took an instinctive step back. The others exchanged nervous glances. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

The advisors shook their heads stiffly after a moment of silence, murmuring their assent before shuffling away, their backs rigid with suppressed unease. Cassiel watched them go, his smirk returning as he leaned in toward Lucian, his breath ghosting the knight’s ear. “Imbeciles,” he muttered. Lucian swallowed hard, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. His king’s fierce protectiveness, the weight of his words, the fact that he had defended him so brazenly— It was nearly enough to make him forget the fullness pressing tight against his stomach. Nearly.

The heavy doors of the royal chambers shut with a resounding thud. Before Lucian could even catch his breath, Cassiel was upon him. The king moved like a starved man—pressing Lucian against the door, his lips claiming his knight’s with a hunger that sent heat searing through Lucian’s veins. It was desperate, needy, as if Cassiel had been holding himself back all evening, waiting—aching—for this moment alone. Cassiel’s hands dragged over his body, tracing the contours of his armor, tugging at the clasps with expert precision. One by one, the metal plates came undone, falling away with dull clinks against the marble floor.

Lucian exhaled sharply as the constriction around his stomach eased, his overfilled belly finally given space to breathe. He swayed slightly, warmth pooling in his limbs from the wine, the indulgence, the dizzying weight of his king’s attention. Cassiel’s lips never left him, moving from his mouth to the sharp edge of his jaw, then down the column of his throat. His hands roamed freely—grasping, pulling, claiming—as though he sought to brand Lucian with his touch alone. Lucian’s breath quickened. "Cassiel,” he moaned, voice tight. The king was absorbed in the moment, his fingers dancing lower, ghosting over Lucian’s abdomen, his movements slow, teasing. Lucian’s stomach gurgled. His face burned.

“Cassiel,” Lucian tried again, more firmly this time, though the rasp in his voice made it far less convincing. He grasped the king’s wrist, stilling his wandering touch. “I—I can’t.” Cassiel finally pulled back just enough to look at him. Lucian swallowed, his pulse unsteady. “My stomach is too full,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A beat of silence. Cassiel’s gaze flickered downward, his hands still resting at Lucian’s waist. He could feel the slight swell beneath his fingers—the way Lucian’s belly, usually taut and firm, now pressed tightly against his shirt, heavy with the weight of the feast. Another quiet gurgle sounded through his belly. Cassiel smirked.

The shift in his expression was maddening—equal parts amused and something far more indulgent. His fingers flexed slightly, a teasing touch against the sensitive skin of Lucian’s abdomen, making the knight tense. The glint of desire softened, amusement curling at the edges of his lips as he let out a breath of a laugh. “My love,” Cassiel murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to graze Lucian’s cheek. “What makes you think I brought you here to ravage you?” Lucian’s face burned hotter, heat licking at his ears. “I—” Cassiel cut him off with a tut, his touch turning feather-light as he ran his fingers over Lucian’s sides. “Your mind is in the dirtiest of places, Lucian,” he teased, voice dripping with playfulness.

“I should be offended, truly,” the king mused, his lips brushing over Lucian’s temple in something far too soft for the sharp arrogance of his words. Lucian exhaled sharply, the heat in his chest turning into something warmer, something deeper. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. And for the first time all evening, there was no teasing, no sharp wit—only an unwavering, quiet devotion. “I brought you here,” the king murmured, his palm sweeping gently over Lucian’s stomach, soothing, “because I promised to take care of you.” Lucian melted. The tension drained from his shoulders, his body leaning into the warmth of the king’s touch. He let out a slow breath as Cassiel’s thumb traced small, careful circles against his overfull belly.

Cassiel hummed in satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself. “My beautiful knight,” he murmured, voice dripping with indulgence. “You act so strong, yet here you are, utterly helpless in my arms.” Lucian tried to glare, but the warmth of the king’s embrace, the soothing cadence of his voice left him weak. Cassiel only smirked, tightening his hold as he lifted Lucian into his arms as though he weighed nothing at all. Lucian’s breath caught as Cassiel carried him across the chamber with ease, lowering him onto the bed with careful hands. The mattress dipped beneath him, the comfort of the silk sheets wrapping around his weary body like a warm embrace.

Before he could utter another protest, Cassiel was at his side, his hands finding Lucian’s stomach once more. The first slow stroke of the king’s palm had Lucian sucking in a breath. Then another, slow and steady, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the tightness in his belly. A low, pleased moan rumbled from Lucian’s throat before he could stop it. Cassiel chuckled, utterly delighted. “There we are,” he cooed, his voice slipping into something so warm, so affectionate, it almost felt foreign. “Just relax, my love.” Lucian shuddered. With every stroke of his hand, every tender caress against his aching stomach, his body surrendered to the king’s touch.

Cassiel hummed as he worked, his eyes drinking in Lucian’s flushed cheeks, the way his breathing slowed into something languid, content. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Lucian’s jaw, light as a whisper. “You’re so pretty like this.” Lucian swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the sheets beneath him. Cassiel’s praise, his warmth—it was too much, yet Lucian craved it. A deep, lingering kiss pressed against his temple. Another at the corner of his lips. Then, finally, Cassiel captured his mouth in a slow, indulgent kiss. His voice dropped into something softer, something intimate. Lucian let out a low, satisfied moan as he allowed himself to sink into the king’s touch. Cassiel watched him with something achingly fond in his eyes. “My love,” he whispered, pressing a final, feather-light kiss against Lucian’s cheek. “Rest now. I’ll take care of you.”

#hunger fic #stomach growling #oc #stuffed stomach #feeding kink #belly ache #oneshot #tummy rubs

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abyssyby · 6 days ago

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maybe a dragon

— Lucian wants to be like his papa, which strikes fear into Sylus's heart like no other.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: lucian & sylus spotlight!!! did i cry when i wrote this? yes, i did. it was just supposed to be a soft banter thing exploring their dynamic but it kinda snowballed into this... now both lucian and kyros (coming up next! out now!) have angsty drabbles. i hope you enjoy this one! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: lucian is (my headcanon) 1/2 of sylus's twin boys. around 4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩 read lucian's twin's chapter here ᡣ𐭩

sylus & lucian | sylus x reader | angst, fluff, comfort, sylus's son showing him that every part of him is lovable, dad!sylus, mom!reader tw: mentions of past violence/self-harm

Lucian likes it when papa is startled. It’s an emotion he’s extremely gifted in bringing out of him. Not by hiding around corners and going ‘boo!’. No, papa just smirks at that and shakes his head, tells him to try again.

Lucian is especially talented in being in places papa never expects (or never wants) him to be in.

“Lucian!” Sylus barks, rushing over to him who balances himself on the window sill. Peeling fat little cheeks off of the glass and cradling him to safety.

“Lucian.” Sylus warns when Lucian is halfway up the bookshelf. He supervises, but when Lucian loses footing, Sylus is quick to scoop him up and out of the study, drawing him close to his heart and calming his own erratic breathing.

“Lucian?!” Sylus exclaims, rushing down the stairs after his son who passes him, sliding down the banister.

Statues, trees, shelves, counters, tables and chairs— Lucian craves height. A bird’s eye view. Everything would be so much easier for him if tiny dragon wings popped out of his back. Although, that would be another headache for Sylus altogether.

“Papa?” he asks one morning, already hauling himself up his father’s legs. Hair messy from sleep, having followed Sylus out to the balcony. His bare feet had pitter-pattered on the cold tile, and now he longs to be lifted.

Sylus has since shifted his routine to keep up with his family. He doesn’t mind it, not when he spends most of his waking hours being cuddled by his two boys, and his evenings snuggled up against you.

“Yes, angel?” Sylus quirks his elbow out, just enough for the boy to use it as leverage.

“D’you—do you likes going up?”

“Upstairs?” Sylus asks, slightly teasing. He tilts his head to the side to give Lucian his shoulder to grip.

“No, no,” Lucian says. Shifting comfortably, completing his climb now with both legs dangling off of Sylus’s shoulders. He is pointing to the slowly coloring sky, tilting his head down just enough that Sylus can see his eyes. “Up, up-high, papa?”

“Oh,” Sylus nods. He thinks, he does appreciate being out on the balcony, checking in hotel rooms on the top floor, plane rides, looking at the scenery from atop a mountain after hiking it with you. Perhaps he does, although he doesn’t outwardly seek the thrill of it. “I do. But I don’t… look for it. I’m tall.”

Hopeful eyes shine with enthusiasm only children can exude. “Will I be tall?”

Sylus revels at this, singing, “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?”

“Because mama’s small.”

“Mama not small.” Lucian giggles.

“Mama’s a kitty cat. Very tiny.”

“No, mama not!” he giggles again, little bubbles of joy bursting from his chest. Stomach trembling against the back of Sylus’s head, ruffling his father’s hair. Contagious, Sylus grins too, straining to get a glimpse of Lucian’s laughing.

Tiny means Mephisto— and Lucian distinctly recalls looking upwards when asking mama for sweeties.

Sylus reaches up and pinches his cheek. “Who knows? Maybe your whiskers will come in before your wings.”

Lucian flinches, gasping like he’d just been startled by thunder. An excitement rushes through him, and his little fists tug at two spots on Sylus’s head that would’ve been too sharp for such soft hands a lifetime ago. “I’ll get wings?”

It feels like an attack, when it flashes in Sylus’s mind like lighting— the image of his son with wings and scales and the tiniest of horns. Sylus has to take a grounding breath, distress reflecting in how his voice drops into a somber tone.

“Or whiskers.” he tries to play along, to steer him ever so gently elsewhere. To you, back to you. His son will have his face, but he prays for him to have your heart, your soul.

But Lucian has already invaded his vision— bright amber eyes and a happy smile. One Sylus has never seen on a face like his regarding turning into a monster. It makes his stomach churn, his throat tighten, his muscles into stone. Like when he once lived in that cave, unmoving and undisturbed. Like when he was slain for being that very thing Lucian’s eyes shine for now.

What once was something cursed unto his body, bloody and battered by his own hands— his son now craves. His son now wants with unabashed wonder. A gripping, heart-leaping prospect rather than the most horrific of fates.

Sylus takes a deep breath through his nose, reeling it in. He feels his jaw tremble at the exhale, refusing to be dragged into the riptide of his anguish. Not now, he wills himself, not in front of Lucian.

But his child’s desire knows no fences or stone walls, especially when he feels it draws him closer to his father.

“Papa, I want wings.” he says simply. Upside down, kissing his forehead, because mama does it when she’s near papa’s face too.

Sylus flinches slightly at the all-too familiar action, not enough to jostle Lucian, but just so for the boy's voice to lower just that little bit. As if he thought he’d startled a poor deer. Lucian whispers, “Two please?”

Sylus can feel the phantom crystal heart in his chest crack. And he knows for sure that one day, his love for his children will be the cause of its inevitable shatter.

And he thinks this is his punishment for all the grief he’d caused you when you found him that day tending to his crumpled wings and bloodied horns. These things he’d purposefully hidden and tucked away to not horrify you now like he did back in that life, in that cave.

To be faced with a soul that is both yours and his— with his face and your smile— telling him he wants to be just like him. Just like Sylus. And every inch of hate and dread for who he was is sickeningly turned on its head, slapped across his face in the image of his boy. Because how could he hate that of what he loves so dearly?

And yet, maybe this is what you see when you look at him. This is what you marvel at with galaxies in your eyes and tenderness in your touch— his face, with the heart of a dragon. This— in the shape of a little boy— is who he is. One who cares, not abandons. Who feels, not hurts. Who loves, not leaves.

Just like you did, your son cradles his being in tiny hands. Just like you did, his son looks at him with boundless affection. Just like you did, his son caresses his horns, embraces his wings. Just like you do, his son is cleaning his bloodied wounds, whispering words of comfort and telling him— “It’s okay. You’re beautiful, and I love who you are.”

And somehow, that makes the pain bearable. Maybe now, he believes it too.

“Okay.” Sylus says through the lump in his throat. Swallowing thickly sticky sentimental pain to replace with something else. Something better. Something good.

He gently maneuvers his beautiful beastly boy down into his arms into an embrace, burying his nose in his starlight hair and pressing his lips to the space between his brows. “Two then, for my Lucian.”

His Lucian, whose talent lies in startling his papa with how little of him it takes to heal the wounds he’d thought were too deep to reach. Though, he supposes little hands can squeeze through the crevices of his heart just fine.

His Lucian, whose talent also lies in making his papa cry.

In silence, you catch them staring at the dawning of a new day. Two silhouettes of the same shape, talking fondly to one another, against the rising orange hues of the endless sky.

“Will I get big wings?” Asks the little one.

“Maybe.” Says the big one. “Mephisto’s wings are small.”

“Papaa!” Lucian whines and hopelessly buries his face in Sylus’s hair. Just like you do. And, for Sylus, what a delightful thing it is.

✧˚ ⋆｡ next: maybe a turtle (kyros) || read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

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neonravengames · 7 months ago

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⚘ Sword of Spring ⚘ Romance Options

Throughout your time in Tir Arandor, you'll be able to bond with other characters.

Some things to note:

All ROs are playersexual. Meaning you can romance them no matter what your gender is.

You can be Asexual

All explicit scenes can be skipped.

These relationships will span over multiple years, and the ages listed are the characters' ages during their 'commitment' scene.

The (current) poly option is Taryn/MC/Ali

Taryn - They/Them

Taryn, the second-born of the royal family, is a whirlwind of laughter and energy in a world that often feels too serious. With a sharp wit and a playful spirit, they bring a sense of joy to the stifling halls of Tir Arandor. But behind their humorous facade lies a deep struggle. Often called "The Spare," Taryn yearns for change, craving the freedom to carve their own path, yet they often feel powerless and trapped by the weight of their birthright. While their father supports Taryn's whimsical nature, their older brother—Lucian—watches with a mix of exasperation and concern. He carries the expectations of the kingdom on his shoulders and often finds Taryn's antics annoying, even as he understands the pressure they both face. As the responsibility of royal duty looms closer, Taryn finds themselves torn between their desire to be true to themselves and the role they must eventually embrace. Will you stand by Taryn as they navigate the treacherous waters of court life? Or will your growing feelings for them complicate their journey towards destiny?

Rhiannon - She/Her

Rhiannon is a formidable presence within the castle, a wall of strength and discipline as the best swordsman in Tir Arandor. With her striking red hair and unwavering focus, she commands respect in every training session and fight. But behind her stoic facade lies a heart riddled with doubts and fears that she dares not show. As the oldest child of the castle blacksmith, Rhiannon has trained tirelessly to prove herself worthy of respect—not just from the court but from the family she fiercely protects. Her loyalty to Taryn and the royal family runs deep, and she would lay down her life to fulfill her duty. However, earning her respect is no easy feat; she expects nothing less than absolute dedication from herself and those around her. If you can break through her defenses, the bond you forge will be unbreakable, and she may be your greatest ally or your most formidable opponent. Will you help her confront the fears that haunt her, or will your growing feelings complicate her already tumultuous world?

Lirien- He/Him

Lirien sweeps into the court of Tir Arandor like a whisper of wind through the Shadowbloom. Playful, charismatic, and brimming with secrets, he quickly becomes a figure of intrigue and danger. As the Fae ambassador, Lirien carries with him the weight of Val'Arath’s mysteries, never revealing more than he chooses to. His motives are as elusive as his smile, and his every word dances between truth and deception as he balances the unpredictability of Human/Fae relations. Despite his light-hearted demeanor, Lirien is anything but careless. There’s an edge to his charm, and his playful flirtations are laced with a deeper, more dangerous game. Will you risk getting closer to him, knowing the secrets he keeps could unravel everything? A relationship with Lirien may be intoxicating, but the price of his affection could be higher than you imagine.

Morgan - Female/NB (maybe)

Morgan serves as the apprentice to the king’s magic advisor, quietly mastering the arcane arts within the castle’s stone walls. With an analytical mind and a keen understanding of magical theory, Morgan is often reserved, preferring the company of dusty tomes and ancient scrolls to the political intrigues of the court. Their distant demeanor hides a fierce intellect and a deep curiosity about the world—and about you. While their loyalty to the crown is unwavering, Morgan is not without ambition. They seek knowledge and power, but also connection, something deeper that may lie beyond the realms of conventional magic. Your relationship with Morgan could blossom into a powerful bond, though magic always comes with a price. Will you explore the mysteries of the arcane together, or will the secrets they guard come between you?

Sorin - Selectable

Quiet, kind, and ever watchful, Sorin has devoted their life to healing others. As the castle’s healer, their days are spent mending wounds and tending to the sick. They rarely speak of their own pain, preferring to pour their energy into helping those in need. With healing magic that requires as much strength as it does compassion, they stand as a beacon of calm in the midst of the court’s chaos. But behind their gentle smiles lies a deeper hurt—one they’ve kept hidden for years. Will you be the one to earn their trust and help them confront the scars they carry? A relationship with Sorin/Sylvie is one of patience and empathy, requiring you to look past their exterior and discover the resilient heart that beats beneath.

Ali - Selectable

Alister/Alista (Ali) is the person chosen to marry Taryn, a union forged out of political necessity rather than love. The ninth born to a distant noble house with a reputation for ambition, they’ve been raised to fulfill the expectations of the court. Graceful, intelligent, and always composed, they are well aware of the duties that come with their position. While they seem resigned to their fate, there’s a quiet yearning beneath the surface—whether it’s for freedom from their obligations or a deeper connection with Taryn, even they may not fully understand. As the royal betrothal takes shape, your arrival throws everything into question. Will you challenge the expectations placed upon them or help forge a lasting bond with Taryn that’s more than mere politics?

#neon writes #sword of spring #sword of spring ROs #interactive fiction #choicescript #choice of games

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grlsbstshot · 30 days ago

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LOVE LANGUAGE Chapter Two: Secret

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapter Synopsis:

Genie and EJ each wrestle with the past, triggering reactions far wide reaching than they could imagine. Meanwhile, Jameson seeks reassurance and Imani goes to war.

Warnings: tense parental/child relationships, mentions of parental abandonment -- if we missed anything, let us know!

!!! IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, YOU SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS !!!

Word Count: 8k

@bruleecream @fakxmbj @ebbyluv @luxlovee1 @easybrezzy @ovohanna24 @queensweetpea156837 @fadingdeert @fadingdeertree

��Ignore it.” Imani’s voice was frantic, noting the fact that Jameson seemed to freeze. Imani circled her hips, pushing back against Jameson and he grasped her hips tightly – giving her a sharp thrust. A warning without speaking. She stilled immediately and the knock came again. It was sharp, impatient. Whoever it was wanted them to open the door.

“Jamie, don’t.”“Nobody knows we’re here, baby.”“I don’t give a fuck if the building is on fire. Don’t stop.”

The rapping knock came again and Imani knew it was a done deal. The intrusion had stolen his attention. Jameson groaned. “I’ma fuckin’ kill whoever it is. Genie. EJ. It don’t matter.” Much to Imani’s dismay, he pulled out. Frustration set in her blood and she grasped the sheets tightly, glaring in the direction of their bedroom door. From there, it was a short walk to the adjoining living room but she was much more interested in what had been happening in their bed.

“I’ll get it, baby.” She reluctantly volunteered. “What? No. I got it.” Jameson argued, getting off the bed. “You can’t.”“Baby, I’m not letting you open the door in the middle of the night.”“Jameson…”“What?”

Imani turned over in bed, rolling her eyes with irritation and amusement. She peered down at the telltale rigidity between his legs before bringing her gaze back to his, making her point with a raise of her eyebrows. “Ion like sharing so we gotta keep that between us.” Jameson smirked, leaning in to give her a quick kiss as Imani made a promise. “I got it. I'ma get rid of ‘em. Just…stay right there.”

Much to her relief, Jameson fell over onto the bed with a frustrated groan. She understood exactly how he felt right then. Imani yanked her silk robe from the chair and hastily tied it around her waist as she made her way to the door. She barely glanced through the peephole before unlocking it, pulling it open just enough to glare at whoever had the audacity—

“Hey, Mani.”“...Lucian. What are you doing here?”

He was nervous. She could see it in the way he shifted on his feet, the way his hands stayed buried in the pockets of his expensive coat. But more than that, she noticed the way his gaze flickered past her shoulder—searching. Waiting.

It hit her in an instant why he was there.

“No.” Her voice was firm, her protective instincts kicking in like second nature. “Not tonight.”

She stepped further outside, tightening her robe, making it clear he wasn’t welcome past the threshold. Lucian exhaled, rocking back on his heels. “I just want to talk to him.”

“You want to drop this shit on him, right now? In the middle of the night?” she shot back, voice low but sharp. “That’s not happening.”

“He deserves to know, Imani.”

Her fingers curled against the doorframe, holding her ground. She couldn’t let this be the way he learned the truth. “And I’ll tell him. On my terms.”

Lucian let out a soft scoff, shaking his head. “That’s not fair. He’s my brother.”

Imani narrowed her eyes. “Not fair to who? ‘Cause this ain’t just about you and what you want. This is about him — his life, his peace, his ability to process things without being ambushed at his hotel door while he’s half-asleep.” She took a breath, lowering her voice. “Do you know what he’s been through? Really been through? Y’all daddy left him. His surrogate father just abandoned him. He’s going through a lot of shit.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, Imani saw that he wavered.

“I just want to know my brother,” he said finally, his voice quieter.

Imani sighed, her frustration battling against the guilt creeping in at the edges. She didn’t want to fight with Lucian. She knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel. He wanted to connect with his family. But he didn’t understand what Jameson had been through — he couldn’t.

“And you will,” she said, softening just slightly. “Just not like this. I’m sorry, Luke. I gotta protect him.”

Lucian stared at her for a moment before looking away, jaw working as he swallowed whatever protest was on his tongue. Finally, he exhaled. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” She promised, watching as he nodded. Her cousin stepped back, headed down the hallway, and only hesitated once. But in the end, he just walked away. Imani let out a slow breath before easing back into the room. She shut the door, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to collect herself.

“Who was it?”

Jameson’s voice carried from the bedroom door as she jumped in surprise. There was curiosity laced in but she knew she couldn’t tell him. It’d just confuse him. He had slid his pajamas on, no longer as hard as he had been when she left. “Just…a person who got the wrong room. They wanted an autograph and shit so I just decided to be nice.” Imani shrugged, praying like hell that believed her lie. There would be no more after that one. She crossed the suite and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his warm body. “See? Told you I’d get rid of ‘em. You didn’t even have to come to the door.”

Jameson searched her face but didn’t press. She relaxed in relief, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her. “Good,” he murmured, fingers tracing the knot of her robe. “Now – where were we?” He tugged at the string, undoing it in one slow pull.

The room held a heavy silence broken only by the low drone of the city beyond the windows. Genie sat on the edge of the bed, her phone gripped tightly in her hand, as if it might somehow ground her. The red number over her voicemail icon glowed accusingly — a tiny reminder that she had yet another message after yet another missed call from her father. Her typical routine was to ignore it. Let it collect dust until he left even more messages. Too many for her to ignore. With a trembling inhale, she pressed play and immediately regretted it when she heard her father’s voice.

"Imogen. It’s daddy."

He sounded so sad. The thought immediately brought tears to her eyes.

"I saw you on the news. They’re theorizing that your wedding is in Venice but we both know you can’t stand the smell of the smell of the Naviglio Grande for long. I’m okay. I just wish I could see you. Wherever you are. I want to explain. To apologize. Your brother isn’t answering my calls either. I don’t blame either of you. I just…I miss my kids. Anyway, uh. No pressure, baby girl. I just…want to see my girl. If you want to talk, I’m here."

There was a pause and then a soft exhale reverberating with unspoken regrets.

"I love you, Genie."

The message ended, yet she remained rooted in her seat at the vanity. Her throat tightened and her chest filled with an uncomfortable mix of longing and dread. She set the phone down beside her, her hands shaking slightly. And then she fell apart.

Silent tears started to streak down her face and she dropped her gaze, unable to look at herself in the mirror. She knew she’d see pain reflected in her eyes. She missed her father. Even after everything, she missed him. Every day, she thought of him but it was nothing compared to the pain of knowing he wouldn’t be at her wedding. She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply, desperately trying to smother the sound of her crying…until she felt a hand against her knee.

She jumped, hiccuping softly as EJ kneeled in front of her. His beautiful face was hazy, swimming in her tears. But still, she recognized his empathy. Without exchanging a word, he wrapped her up in a hug. She tried to wipe her face, shaking her head as she lay her head against his shoulder. “This is stupid.”

“It’s not. It’s okay to miss your dad.”“He wants to see me.”

EJ waited, hugging her and swaying side to side soothingly.

“I thought about it,” she kept talking, confessing lowly as her voice wavered, “So many times. I thought…why not just invite him? Just pretend for a day. But I can’t.” Her voice choked with raw emotion. “I keep thinking about the way Jamie looked when I told him what he said. He tried to hide it but he was sad. He looked like a lost little boy. I can’t ask him to watch me pretend.”

For a long, silent moment, EJ let his thumbs trace gentle circles over her back. “You don’t have to shut him out just for Jameson’s sake. You know he wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“I do.” Her voice was barely a whisper now as she finally pulled back to met his steady gaze. Her eyes were still filled with tears but there was determination there. “When I told him about Sloane, he didn’t hesitate. He went to her that same night and cut her off. Everybody told him to let her go but he didn’t. Not until I told him the truth. My brother stepped for me. I’m going to step for him. Even if it’s against my father.”

EJ’s eyes held hers, respect and love shining there. He understood because he was just as protective of Jameson. “So what do you want to do?”

Genie swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, her inner conflict obvious. She already knew the answer, even though it tore at her. “I’m going to ask Jameson to walk me down the aisle.”

A slow, understanding smile spread over EJ’s face. He raised his hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before softly pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“He’s gonna be honored,” he murmured, his words both comforting and laced with sorrow. “And we’ll never hear the end of it. Best man and escort to the bride? His ego is going to be out of control.”

She gave a small laugh, appreciative of the fact that he didn’t try to change her mind. Genie hugged EJ tightly again, sighing with some kind of relief. At least the decision had been made. It was bittersweet but she wasn’t going to look back anymore.

The loud, relentless knocks at the door echoed through the suite, yet Toni didn't rush to open it. It was her last moment of peace before she had to pull herself together and pretend. Let them wait. She savored the last bite of her cheesecake, casually tossing the napkin over her half-eaten meal.

She was well aware that Imani was at the door. Nobody else would be so bold as to knock that way. Ana was elegant and refined no matter what she did. Luke was energetic but she didn’t foresee him banging at her damn door like that at nine in the morning. EJ, Genie, and Jameson had no reason to visit. All that was left was Imani.

Normally, the thought of seeing her niece would have brought a smile to her face, but at this moment, she desperately wished Imani would just turn around and leave. Things had been tense between them for months – the boiling point was their massive argument about Luke. Imani was upset about something that was none of her business, and Toni was tired of arguing about it.

With a sigh, she finally rose from her chair, her movements slow and deliberate. She headed to the door, each step heavy with reluctance, before unlocking it and yanking it open. Imani stormed into the suite, her eyes flashing. “Why did you bring Lucian? Are you trying to ruin Genie’s wedding?” she questioned, her voice icy and sharp.

Toni turned to stare at Imani. Strike one. Her beloved niece only had two more before Toni took matters into her own hands. “Good morning, Imani. How are you?" She made the point of letting her know that her greeting was rude before she closed the door. "We were invited. He’s my date,” Toni replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you’d be happy to see your cousin.”

“Cut the bullshit, you know you shouldn’t have brought him here,” Imani retorted, her words laced with a venom. Strike two. She fixed her niece with a stare, not surprised by the audacity of her tone and language, considering their argument before. But she wasn’t in the mood to overlook things.

“Little girl, watch your mouth. Remember who you’re talking to,” Toni warned. Anyone else would have left the room in tears. Toni didn't allow disrespect from anyone, and she wasn't about to let it start with her niece. “Jameson is going to find out eventually. We wanted to do this months ago but it never seemed to be a good time. It’s gone too far now. He has to know. His mother decided that. And when he knows does not concern you.”

“Anything involving Jameson concerns me. You clearly don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. You went out and fucked your—”

“Imani Ravyn Montault de Saint Cirie…” Strike three. Toni’s tone was deadly, cutting and absolutely dripping in fury. “You don't get to judge what I did. That's for Ana. I pay my penance to her. Now, if you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” Imani opened her mouth to retort, but Toni swiftly intervened. She had enough. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care how hurt you feel. You will respect me. Watch. Your. Mouth. I won’t tell you again.”

Imani had burst into her room, her anger echoing off the walls, and now, there she stood – transformed back into the shy and hesitant child she had once been. She slowly nodded, her defiance momentarily subdued.

A brief pause hung in the air. Toni could see it in her face – Imani was grappling for the right words to express herself.

"Do you really think you’re being fair to Lucian? Dragging him into all this drama.”“Drama? He has a right to get to know his family. We were invited, he wanted to come. So I agreed.”“So both of y’all are selfish as—” Imani scoffed, shaking her head vigorously and throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Y’all don’t care about anybody but yourselves. This is Genie’s wedding week. Jameson don’t need this shit right now and neither does Genie.”

“Imani,” she paused, her voice firm, the use of her name yet another warning. “You have other things to worry about. Have you told him about that yet?”

Toni didn’t need to say it. Imani’s face went stiff, her gaze averting quickly. She knew exactly what Toni was hinting at and the answer was obvious. The silence that followed was deafening, more intense than the booming bass of an old-school Chevy. Toni’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Well, maybe you should go worry about your child before you make mine your biggest concern,” Toni added. “Now, get the hell out my face until you find your mind.”

Sloane stirred her coffee absentmindedly, the spoon clinking against the ceramic cup. The café around her buzzed with quiet morning conversation, the hum of Parisian life a constant backdrop. It had been almost a year since she’d come here. A fresh start, she told herself. A reinvention. But it seemed the past had a way of following her.

She glanced up at the small television mounted above the bar, barely paying attention until familiar names floated through the news anchor’s polished French.

Les chanteurs américains James Lucas et Imani ont été aperçus à leur arrivée à Paris en début de semaine, quelques heures seulement après l'arrivée de la mondaine et créatrice Genie Adesanya et de son fiancé, le producteur de musique EJ Dupree. La rumeur court que le ‘mariage de la décennie’ aura lieu ici, à Paris.

Sloane froze. The french translated easily in her mind and her stomach twisted as the images of Jameson, Imani, EJ, and Genie came onto the screen.

American singers James Lucas and Imani were spotted arriving in Paris earlier this week, just hours after socialite and designer Genie Adesanya and her fiancé, music producer EJ Dupree, arrived. Rumor has it that the "wedding of the decade" will take place here in Paris.

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the screen. There they were — blurred but unmistakable images of them all. Jameson and Imani were seen walking through the airport — caught by paparazzi lenses. Jameson with his arm slung protectively over Imani’s shoulder. Imani with a pair of headphones covering her ears and dark sunglasses over her eyes. On the opposite side of the screen, EJ and Genie were moving through the streets of Paris with bright grins on their faces. They didn’t seem to be hiding at all. They all seemed to be…so happy. Much happier than she was.

Sloane’s fingers tightened around the spoon. A wedding. Genie’s wedding. She let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the table. Genie was getting married, Jameson was standing by her side, and once upon a time — she thought she’d be standing with them too.

She couldn’t help but think of all the days she and Genie and Jameson spent together. They grew up together and shared some of the same classes in high school. When she had nothing, she had them. But that was all over now.

Sloane stared at the screen, her heartbeat slow and deliberate. Then, a small smile curled at the edges of her lips. If they wanted to move on without her… fine. But that didn’t mean she had to let them.

EJ exhaled sharply and knocked on the suite door. No answer. He could walk away. He probably should. Yet, instead, he knocked again, more firmly this time. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Imani, her expression indicating that he was the last person she wanted to see. He took in her appearance — precise. She looked like she’d been enjoying a peaceful morning. It would stay that way, he hoped.

"Truce?" he suggested, keeping his tone light. He promised to give her an actual apology but EJ figured they could ease into that.

Imani sighed, rolling her eyes as she opened the door wider. "Why are you here?"

To his relief, she hadn’t immediately shot him down. EJ stepped inside, scanning the room. No Jameson. Good. He didn’t want them to hear their conversation. This had to stay between himself and Imani.

“Jameson's out for his final fitting, so if you're looking for him—""I'm not," EJ interjected, taking a seat across from her and leaning forward. "I wanted to talk to you."

Imani regarded him with caution, a look of confusion and total disbelief on her face. She didn’t trust him. After he had called her selfish and chaotic, how could he even think of asking her for a favor? "About what?"

EJ hesitated but reluctantly said, "Kendrick." Her expression immediately turned steely and he knew that he was in for a battle.

"No.""Just hear me out—""No," she reiterated, her voice cutting. "Not today."

EJ breathed through his frustration, having anticipated resistance, though not quite so immediate and unyielding. "She misses her dad. She told me that last night."

"Well, you tell her to talk to him," Imani retorted. "I don’t want anything to do with what Kendrick has going on.""You don't," he conceded. "But you care about Genie. And this is tearing her up inside." “You deal with it. I’m staying out of it.” Imani sighed. “I got too much shit going on.”“This will help Genie and Jameson. I think that’s more important than whatever you got going on.”

Immediately, her body tightened and her jaw clenched hard enough to make her teeth ache. After the intense morning she had, Imani didn’t have the capacity for EJ’s bullshit. She shot him a glare, eyes furious. “You don’t know what type of morning I had to say that shit, EJ.” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the tension-filled air.

“Oh my god!” he sighed, exasperation seeping into his tone. “It’s always the same argument with you. I’m telling you what your best friend and your future husband need help with, and you’re ignoring it. Tell me again you aren’t self-absorbed.”

“Nigga, fuck you,” she spat, poison dripping from each word. She should have never opened the door to EJ. She knew this was a mistake. “You’re the self-absorbed motherfucka, cause I’m pretty sure Genie and Jameson told you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You think I’d come here if I had any other option?” he retorted, desperation coloring his voice. “For some reason, they both respect you. They listen to you! I’m trying to help the woman I love.”

“By berating her best friend?” she shot back, her anger bubbling up like a pot of water ready to overflow. “Get the fuck out, Ellington,” she commanded. She had no desire to use his nickname anymore—they clearly weren’t friends, and she refused to address him as such.

“Not everything is about you, Imani. I know Jameson made you think you were the center of the universe because he revolves around you but the rest of us don't. And let’s not fucking pretend I didn’t come here and ask for a truce." he said, his voice edged with anger.

“Yeah, and as soon as I say something you don’t like, I’m selfish. Get the fuck out of here. I’m not gonna say it again,” she warned, her voice steady and unwavering.

EJ was quiet for a moment then he spoke again, voice flat but filled with venom. “I genuinely don’t know how Jameson lives with you. Do you gaslight him too?”

“Ellington, get the fuck out of my room!” she shouted, her voice rising to a crescendo. She lightly pushed him towards the door and he didn't fight it. Didn't shove her back. Didn't even raise his voice. He gave her a final stare, a look filled with such loathing that it was a wonder the paint didn't peel from the walls. And then...he left, slamming the door behind him.

Anaïs heard her son before she even saw him. She had texted and he seemed pleased that she had arrived in Paris. He promised to stop by after his fitting and there he was. His knuckles rapped against her door, his low voice carrying throughout the hall. “Maman!” She couldn’t help but laugh as she picked up the pace to get to the door so he’d stop disturbing her neighbors. Her features softened when she saw him. Her only child, looking much better than he had in the past few months. “Hi, baby.”

Jameson gave her a charming grin, leaning against the door frame as he handed his mother a carnation bouquet. He had another cradled in his arms and she knew they were likely for Imani. Ana laughed, utterly charmed by her son’s carefree demeanor. He kissed her cheek as he moved past her, entering the space.

“Look at you—glowing in Paris. What’s your secret? It has to be good genes.” She joked. “Well, I am my mother’s son.”“My baby learned to flatter with the best of them.”“Well, yes. I also happen to be my mother’s favorite son.”“That’s easy to be when there’s only one of you.”“Even if you had more, I’d still be the favorite.”

Her smile was soft, but her eyes, full of understanding, studied him carefully as she watched him circle the couch in her suite. “You seem... happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, collapsing down onto the damn thing and stretching out as if he carried no burdens. “It’s a big weekend. Genie and EJ are getting married, Mani is loving Paris. No complaints.”

Anaïs settled into the chair across from him, her mood shifting between pride and apprehension. “And you?”

Jameson arched a brow. “Me?”

“How are you, Jameson?” Her voice was gentle but probing, reaching for echoes of hidden truths.

That question was so carefully measured that she watched it pierce through his easy smile, peeling back layers he wasn’t eager to reveal. He met her gaze and forced an easy smile. “I’m great. Fantastic, even. Mani and I are thinking about buying a summer house here. She’s crazy about these damn eclaires.”

Anaïs sighed, a mix of fond exasperation and sorrow coloring her tone. “Jameson.” “I’m serious, Mama. I'm good.” he insisted.

What she’d seen as easy confidence before shifted and Ana could see the truth behind his rehearsed nonchalance. Her son was fragile, struggling with so many heartbreaks. When he was a boy, he had learned to soldier on. Continue as if it didn’t matter. That had been her fault. She encouraged him to move forward with her after Julian left. She never thought he’d truly take the lesson to heart. For a long moment, his mother watched him, her eyes lingering. Then, as if deciding it was best, she let the matter drift away, folding her hands in her lap with a measured calm. “Have you spoken to Kendrick?”

Jameson shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. Have you?”“Not recently.”“I saw him a few months ago. Him and his son.”

Anaïs’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the revelation stirring a quiet disquiet.

“It’s his,” he continued, nodding. “At first, she didn’t know. But the test said he was Kendrick’s.”

There was a pregnant silence as Anaïs absorbed the information. With deliberate care, she said, “I’m so sorry, baby. That web is so twisted and I can’t believe he’s with that girl.”

Jameson let out a humorless laugh. “Why are you sorry? You’re the only person who has never done me any wrong.”

Reaching out, Ana squeezed his hand — a tender gesture carrying years of shared pain and understanding. “I know it’s painful. But family is rarely simple.”

He averted his gaze, his tone raw. “Yeah, well. That brings us to the other thing. I know why he came back, Ma.”

Her features remained composed, yet a subtle shift revealed that she was unsettled. “You…You know?” she asked quietly.

Jameson nodded slowly. “Yeah. He came for another shot with you.”

Anais relaxed, waving her hand at her son’s confident statement. “No. Absolutely not. Your father and I will happen again when they’re handing out cups of ice water in hell.” She could have sworn that she saw him relax.

“I’m not ready to talk to him, Ma.”“Okay.”“That’s it?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief in his tone. “I won’t force you, baby,” she assured him. “But he is family. Eventually, you’re going to have to accept that he’s your father. He wants to be close to you.”“He walked away from that a long time ago, Mama. He doesn’t get to turn around and ask for it back.” he murmured quietly.

After a pause heavy with unsaid words, Anaïs hesitated as she rose from her seat. He was right. Julian had given up his chance to be a father to Jameson. But Ana knew that once her son knew he had a brother, he wouldn’t turn him away. And Julian came with Luke. She took a seat next to him, her hands framing his face gently. “You are the most wonderful son that anybody could ever have. You are perfct. I don’t blame him for realizing that he was missing out. That you are a godsend and a wonderful man to know.”

Jameson softened, giving his mother a gentle smile. “You’re biased. You love me.”

“And so does he.” Anaïs said softly. “I watched the doctors put you in his hands and I swear — he looked at you like you were his whole world. He forgot that once upon a time. But I know I raised you to be a man who wouldn’t turn his back on people. Soon, you’ll have to decide if you want to turn your back on Julian…and everything that comes with him.”

She wanted to tell him. The truth was sitting on the tip of her tongue but fear chased it away. She didn’t want to see the joy fade from her baby’s eyes. He would be angry once he knew the truth. She wanted to see the sweet, funny boy for a little while longer. “We can talk about Julian more after the wedding,” she said firmly, rising. “I’ll tell you everything then.”

Jameson watched her, a flicker of curiosity mingling with apprehension in his eyes. “Alright,” he said, standing as well, his voice a mixture of resignation and dry humor. “But if it’s anything about you getting back with him, expect me to act up.”

Anaïs chuckled softly, shaking her head. “How dramatic.”

Pressing a tentative kiss to her cheek, Jameson replied, “I learned it from the best."

The pristine roses he'd bought for Imani lay on the entryway table, completely forgotten. She hadn't even found a vase for them beautiful stems. They had gone at each other like it'd been years since they last saw each other, not hours. There was need in the way they clung to each other.

Her fingers gripped his curls as he kissed her inner thighs, and for a moment, the sensations nearly overpowered the gnawing turmoil inside her. Even as waves of pleasure threatened to drown her in bliss, dark memories of a heated argument with Toni churned relentlessly in her mind. All she could think about was Lucian — and the secrets that loomed over them both. They were capable of upending everything they built. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jameson being blindsided by both his mother’s and Toni’s choices. Torn by this heavy responsibility, she knew she had to act; the secret was a skeleton rattling too loudly in the closet for her to ignore.

With a sharp exhale and trembling urgency, she pulled his head away from her most sensitive core. “Baby, I have to tell you something,” she whispered, her voice quivering with conflict.

“Right now? I'm a little busy, baby.” he mumbled, his desire mingling with confusion as he tried to draw closer, but she gently—yet firmly—put distance between them.

“Please, it’s important,” she pleaded. His teasing smile faded instantly, replaced by a serious, searching look in his eyes as he sat up and focused on her. “What is it?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering with fear as she averted his intense stare for a moment. The next words would change his life forever, though her heart pounded with dread over his potential reaction. “It’s about Toni…”

“Ah? So are you finally going to tell me what’s been happening between you two?” he asked, easing up the bed to lay next to her.

“I…” Her voice faltered; every syllable was weighed down by inner conflict as she struggled to let the truth escape. “I found out a secret.”

Jameson didn't say a word. He gave her the space to process. Beautifully light eyes scanned her face and he began to realize that whatever she was about to say was unsettling.

"My...my aunty had an affair. With your dad. Julian." "...Really?""Mhm.""That's it? I mean it's fucked up she stabbed my mom in the back like that but that had to be years ago, right? They're still friends.""I didn't think you would. It's what happened next that's the hard part. They...had a baby."

Jameson lapsed into silence, wrestling to make sense of anything she just said. “I...A baby? Jesus...”

"It's my cousin. Lucian."

Shock had taken over. Imani saw Jameson grapple with the words. Lucian had been around, but only a few times. The two had never met but she mentioned him in passing. Little did they both know that he was Jameson's little brother.

“When Lucian first moved to Los Angeles, I went to his apartment, and you know about that shit with Sloane? She told me you were his brother, and he confirmed it." she admitted with a heavy sigh, each word a dagger to her heart.

“So Toni had an affair with my father?” His voice trembled with disbelief.

“Yes.” The single word fell between them, echoing with implications neither of them had ever wished to confront.

“And they’ve kept this secret for over twenty years. Had a baby. Does my mom know?” “Yes.”

“You told me your cousin moved to Los Angeles a year ago. So you’ve known this since then?” His tone sharpened as he tried to piece together the fragments of betrayal.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Jay,” she murmured, remorse thick in her voice. Imani’s guilt surged; she hated hiding the truth from Jameson, yet the thought of causing him pain had kept her silent until now. “I'm so sorry. I just couldn’t find the right moment to tell you.”

“The right moment would have been a year ago, when you first found out. What the fuck, Imani?” His anger was palpable but he didn't raise his voice. Instead, he rolled off the bed and yanked his shirt back over himself and snatched his sweats, hurriedly pulling them on as if the physical act could shield him from the emotional onslaught.

“Where are you going?” she managed to ask, voice laced with desperation and regret.

“I need to think. I just need a minute..” His voice was tense under the weight of his emotions, a raw testament to how unprepared he was for such revelations. Without another backward glance, he stormed toward the front door. Imani called his name into the void, but the sound was swallowed by the slam of the door behind him—an echo of her own conflicted heart as he vanished from sight.

#aaron pierre #megan thee stallion #aaron pierre fanfic #megan thee stallion fanfic #celebrity fanfic #original characters #aaron pierre x black!oc #megan thee stallion x black!oc #celebrity ocs #fic: love language #we're back with a vengence #new poll to come tomorrow

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