#so that answers his question somewhat. it stings a little that he doesn't have something most people have

[multishipper-baby]

Thinking about soulmate AUs for my OCs because I'm in a romantic mood rn

[hazbin-a-helluvamagines]

Hey ! 😋 I loved those Verosika headcanons, I wanted to see if we can have a Verosika x cute idol reader one shot ?

Basically cute idol reader meets blitz by accident (reader didn't know about blitz and Verosikas last relationship), blitz just tells the reader lots of shit about Verosika (things like: "she doesn't actually love you", "you're just a temporary toy", etc) reader just starts crying out of sadness and insecurity and Verosika comes to help and comfort her cute s/o 🩷

Verosika Mayday's S/O Being Told By Blitzø That She Doesn't Love Them

As you were heading home from your latest show, you stopped inside a Hot Topic to pick something cute up for your girlfriend, Verosika. You weren't sure a succubus would like much from there, but a lot of things seemed to suit her style, so you figured it would be your best bet, and you wanted to surprise her.

As you were looking through the racks, you spotted a small, orangish-red creature with large horns protruding from his head waiting outside of the changing room. Based on Verosika, you could tell he was a demon, and if you remembered correctly, an imp. You debated on going and introducing yourself to him, but decided against it, figuring it would be awkward to do just because you happened to know a succubus, so you brushed it off and went back to your shopping, spending another five or six minutes looking through the racks of clothing for something perfect to gift Verosika.

That didn't last long before a voice snapped you out of your haze.

"Hey," the voice said, and you turned to see the imp from earlier glaring you down with a smug grin covering his face. "You're Verosika's little pet, right?"

"I-I'm sorry?" you stuttered in disbelief. How did he know Verosika? And why did it seem like he didn't like her? Who could dislike Verosika, anyway?

"Answer the question, shit face," he replied in an increasingly irritated tone.

"I-I'm her partner, yes..." you answered in a soft voice, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the way his eyes bore into you as though searching for an unseen weakness hidden somewhere within you. His eyes widened before his smile became twice as malicious.

"Partner?" he repeated incredulously, as though he didn't believe you, laughing along as he did mockingly. "Take it from me, toots, she doesn't love you. You're nothing but a pump-and-dump to her. Y'know, a fun-and-run."

"Excuse me? What are you saying?" you asked timidly, tears stinging the outer corners of your eyes as you spoke.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm her ex-boyfriend or whatever," he said quickly, in a tone that implied he was somewhat embarrassed over having had an intimate relationship with your girlfriend.

You winced. "Wh-What do you mean?"

"You're temporary to her. Just like I was. You're nothing but a toy for her to play with and abandon when she's done. A... rebound, you could say," he answered with a smirk, his tail flicking out behind him.

"I-I... I have to go..." you replied, rushing out of the store with nothing to give Verosika in the end.

Behind you, the imp's face morphed into an expression of guilt, knowing he hadn't told you the full truth, but he quickly wiped it away as his daughter came out of the changing room.

~♡~

That evening, Verosika had been quick to notice something was off with you. She could sense lust and its absence, sure, but that didn't mean she couldn't sense an imbalance in other emotions, too. After an hour or so of keeping up the charade and hoping you would feel better after having some time to think on it, she finally broke the silence.

"Okay, what's wrong? You've been acting weird ever since you came home," she asked, raising one eyebrow suspiciously. She would know if you lied to her, and you knew it. Not that you were an exceptional liar, anyway. You were too innocent for that.

"I-It's nothing, Rossi..." you tried to lie, but Verosika's hand reached up to you and cupped your cheek, her expression growing concerned.

"Love, please. I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know what's wrong," she whispered to you, you nodding in response.

"I... ran into your ex today, and he... he said..." You were cut off with a low growl from Verosika, her eyes glowing a pale pink with rage, even through her human disguise.

"That prick..." she snarled, turning back to you with a worried expression. "What did he say to you? I'll rip his cock off..."

"He... He said that you don't love me. That you'll have your fun and then leave me," you sniffled, curling your knees to your chest to hide the tears pricking at your eyes.

"What?! He... Oh, goodness, S/O..." she whispered, stunned by the horrid things you were telling her. "That's absolutely not true. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't bother dating you. It's a lot more work to get into a relationship than to have a one-night stand, y'know?" she asked rhetorically, a small smile crossing her lips. "So please, don't ever think I don't love you, sugar," she said, peppering your face in kisses.

Yeah, you knew she wasn't like that.

[potassiumprincess]

adrien falling in love with cooking is something that is so personal to me

like. i think he starts out somewhat insecure, not knowing a single thing about it. wanting to learn but being afraid to ask silly questions. following every single step in every single recipe to a T, and trying to shake off the disappointment when things STILL don't turn out the way they should. because cooking really isn't about being exact, it's about instinct

marinette and alya gently tease him about how oh-so-carrfully trying to measure the perfect teaspoon of some spice instead of just tipping some into his hand and tossing it into the pot, and adrien struggles not to let that sting. he knows he doesn't have that sort of sixth sense. he doesn't think he ever will

and maybe he starts to feel embarassed that he's not getting it, so he starts seeking out answers on his own. there's a world of recipes and youtube tutorials he never knew about. there are a thousand different ways to make the same dish, and a dozen different approaches to the same cooking skill he swore he'd never master. there are secret ways to mimic flavours with different ingredients--hey. it's a little like science

and then there are the blogs. spaces where people pour out their life stories between carefully crafted photographs, sharing their struggles and triumphs. or those family-oriented food blogs with pictures of little hands reaching for cookies, tiny faces blurred for anonymity but somehow the pictures still capture their joy

he starts to learn that maybe, just maybe, perfection isn't the point

so he starts throwing things together...just because. and many of those first few attempts are disasterous--even marinette struggles to find something positive to say. but finally he's having fun with it, through experimentation

marinette comes home one day and their tiny kitchen is covered in baking sheets from a dozen different attempts at chocolate chip cookies; he tweaked one ingredient in each recipe, just to see the evolution of the results. and sure, he could have just googled one of those guides that show the effects of adding more baking soda vs. baking powder vs. butter vs. sugar vs. flour, etc... except he wanted to learn for himself

and then he starts to get it. the food starts turning out well no matter what he does. most times he knows with a taste what to add more of--and if he doesn't, he just has to try a few options before landing on the right balance. his friends are starting to ask for his recipes but he doesn't know what he did. he's not sure if he can replicate it

i think, after that, he prefers to do his own thing mostly. he'll seek inspiration from recipes but give it his own twist. and the only things he continues to memorize perfectly, step by step, are some of marinette's favourite recipes from childhood, things he asked sabine to teach him in case marinette has a bad day and he needs to cheer her up

but i think she prefers when he simply follows his whims

[gilverrwrites]

Bath Time

Black Mask/Reader AN: Someone requests aftercare with Roman, but tumblr seems to have misplaces the ask, and I can't recall exactly what you wanted. So if that was you, I'm sorry if this isnt quite what you wanted, and I hope you enjoy it regardless.

≈900 words CWs: Mentions of sex, mentions of slapping/spanking, swearing, nudity, bathing, dom/sub dynamic, sub-drop, petnames: doll, baby. GN!Reader.

18+ MINORS DNI

The sight before you is somewhat comical, and often aids in reliving some of your sub-drop tensions. A large freestanding marble bathtub, filled to the brim with hot water, sweet eucalyptus and lavender-scented bubbles threaten to spill over the edge, and smack dab in the centre of it all, the dark and sinister mask of Roman Sionis pokes out, like a shark fin in a jacuzzi.

Something about seeing one of Gotham’s elite underworld bosses, relaxing amongst a sea of bubbles tickles you, not that it was uncommon, in fact, it was near routine, and usually never failed to fill you with mirth. He sits back, making space for you, and you catch a welcome glimpse of his tanned upper body. His chest is adorned with a delightful smattering of salt and pepper chest hair, disturbed only by a handful of scars. You’d spent nights in this very bathtub tracing every scar with your fingertips, asking for every associated story. A bullet wound in his right shoulder from a ‘disagreement’ with Red Hood, a surgery scar over his pacemaker, a knife wound from his father, and so on. It’s all so familiar, yet for some reason everything feels so far away, like you’re not really there, just looking in on an old memory.

“Are you just gonna watch me all night?” His gravelly voice breaks through your trance. The sound of splashing backs his question as he reaches one hand out from beneath the water, offering it to you. “Or are you going to join me so we can get you cleaned up?”

“I’m coming, Romy.” You reply, pushing off the tile and taking his hand as you climb into the tub. The combination of dead sea salts and hot water on your skin stings, especially in the places where Roman had gotten a little slap-happy. But that’s okay, later once you’re both dried off, Roman will relish in massaging cocoa butter on those very parts. He loves the soft feel of your body under his in more ways than one, loves the little mewls of repose that slip through your lips, and he especially loves the way your skin gleams under the butter’s moisture, loves the way the light catches as your ass jiggles when he gives it a playful tap to signify a job well done.

He doesn't like the way you’d been stood alone, naked, silent and staring at him with the most vacant expression until he’d prompted you to join him.  

“There’s my best doll.” He hums against your shoulder, gently positioning you close to him. “I was beginning to think I really fucked you dumb this time.”

It’s a joke, a cheesy one at that, one he’d made many times before, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to laugh. It strikes a nerve you didn’t know was sensitive.

Before you can respond his hands are on your face, guiding you to look up at him with a gentleness he only uses in these moments, intimate and personal. You peer up at him, looking past the hardness of his mask, focusing as best you can on his obstructed eye. His lids are low, and his steely irises appear to tremble as they dart around your face, examining your expression in the same way you’re doing to him, only you're not sure what you're searching for.

“Are you still with me?” He asks and you respond instantly, the answer ingrained in you. “Always.”

“Not what I meant. You’re shaking, are you okay?” He re-words his question, and the notice that your body is quivering, even within the torrid water has you more aware of yourself than you have been since Roman had led you to the bedroom hours earlier.  

“I just don’t feel like myself.” You admit, acknowledging the abnormal melancholy and malaise.

He presses the false lips of his mask to your forehead in a show of comfort. There’s nothing soft about it, the way ridged wood presses near painfully against your skin, but it is reassuring; made tender by the intention behind it.

“Tell me what you need.” It’s not a question, nor an instruction. Roman always promised that as long as you’re good to him, all of your needs would be met, this is an extension of that.

“Can you just stay with me?” You ask, “All night.”

“Of course.” He repeats the false motion of kissing you once more, this time to your soft spot where your shoulder meets your chest.

“No calls, no emails, no business?” It feels like such a demanding request, perhaps it’s because of your sub-crashing, or perhaps because Roman is so often glued to his work that it feels like an extension of himself, so you speak it quietly. As the words leave your mouth, you realise whats really going on, what your body is craving. Unwarrented insecuritiess that can't be prevented, but can be ebbed with the ressurance of your dom.

“What’s the use in making money if I don’t got you to spoil with it?” You laugh this time, and Roman soaks it up, your ease fuelling his own until he laughs too, the shaking of his chest making the water ripple. When you come back down from your shared amusement Roman reaches for the nearest bottle of body lotion, he cracks the lid, and the familiar smell of almonds and jasmine fills your nose. He squeezes a generous amount into the palm of his hand and begins to lather it against your back, his strong fingers working against the knots and kinks in your muscles, easing the stiffness in your body and soothing your mind. “Anything for you, baby, whatever you want.”

[sunderedazem]

“whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”

For Corr plz

(Odessen, following the assault on Voss, and Arcann's early defection to the Alliance)

It's...very strange, having a brother again. Especially after losing Thexan to his own blind rage and jealousy. Especially when that new brother is, by right of birth order and raw strength in the Force, the rightful heir to the throne of Zakuul, even if he had been dismissive of his claim to the throne the one time Arcann had brought it up. Especially when that new brother is a half-brother, older made younger through the preservation of Carbonite, and the parent they share brought horror and pain to both of them in such different ways.

He didn't think Corrain would find it in his heart to forgive him, after he'd nearly killed the now-younger man on Asylum, impaling him clean through on a furious lightsaber. Not after he'd ravaged the galaxy Corrain so loved, glassed planets and terrorized billions simply because he could, because he was angry at the world and couldn't take it out on Valkorion. But then Corrain had found him on Voss, had quietly confirmed their shared father - and had stretched out a hand and said "...I cannot forgive you for anyone but myself, but if you want atonement...I can help you start somewhere, Arcann."

And now here he is, standing at Corrain's side as the tiny man paces around the holotable with the Alliance's latest reports, his long white hair tied back in a neat plait. He's rubbing at the base of his neck again, a habit Arcann has slowly noticed that occurs whenever he's particularly anxious about something. But before he can say anything, can ask any questions- Lana catches the offending hand in hers, pulling the slight Jedi to a halt, and plants a soft kiss on the nape of Corrain's neck.

"Relax, my sweet Jedi," she murmurs softly. Arcann turns away, feeling like he's intruded on something precious in spite of how they're standing in the command suite, in plain view of everyone. He's not the only one to do so either - he can see Eiri rolling his eyes pointedly, and the Togruta smuggler who's been such an impressively disruptive force for his supply lines, Kessin, also makes a face and looks away. It's not unusual for Lana or Theron to need to drag Corrain into a moment of calm, he's come to learn. Nor is it unusual for them to clearly display their affection for each other, with the odd side-effect of often quieting his brother's more passionate moments - as if he can only find peace within their presence.

But as Theron wanders over to help Lana corral their agitated Commander out of his nervous pacing, he can't help but wonder about the odd tic here - one that warrants simultaneous attention from both of his brother's partners. He bites his lip on the question, trying not to allow it to cross his tongue. The answer can come in due time, he's sure. When the memory of Valkorion's bitter ache on their pasts rings less clear.

And then Kessin clears their throat, absently flipping one of their lekku around their throat like a violet scarf.

"Oi, ex-tyrant, c'mere for a second," they call.

It stings - but he sighs heavily, turns away from where his brother is leaning into Lana's shoulder, a cold distance in those thunderstorm eyes, and follows them. He's led only a short distance away, just out of earshot of everyone clustered around the holotable - and then Kessin growls at him a little. Belatedly, he remembers that Togruta are carnivores.

"Okay, listen," they snap, but there's an unusual gravity to their voice and he can't help but straighten up somewhat at the tone. "You're about to ask about the reason why Cor's got both the Sith lady and spyboy on him right now, yeah? I can see you watching him when he paces like that."

Arcann doesn't have the heart to lie, so he nods once and then tucks his hands behind his back.

"Well...more precisely, I wanted to ask about the thing he's doing with his hands - where he rubs at the back of his neck," he confesses. "He...does it often, it seems, when he's anxious or stressed, and it's unusual. I wasn't about to ask NOW though, I'm not quite that foolish. Lana has already threatened my life at least four times."

Kessin appears only slightly appeased by that, and they lean back against the stone wall with an eye roll. They're taller than him, Arcann notices idly, though that's mostly due to their arcing montrals.

"Tactful choice," they comment lightly. Then they're quiet for a minute before their expression softens marginally. "Look. You're one of the few people in the galaxy I hate as much as Sith, but Cor's decided you're worth the effort somehow, and he's right about ninety percent of the time. So lemme give you some advice. If you ask about the neck tic - have a few bottles of alcohol with you, and put Lana or Theron on standby. I was there for part of uh...his particular incident. It's a hell of a story, and he's still shattered by it, in a lot of ways."

Arcann stares, a little flabbergasted.

"You- aren't trying to warn me away?" He asks, stunned. Kessin's expression hardens again.

"...no. Not when...well. This involves your father. His father. Ugh. The karking piece of shit Sith Emperor. You already know the little Commander hates your dad. This is related to why."

Arcann can feel his blood boil at the mention of Valkorion's other incarnation - and suddenly the way Lana and Theron are tag-teaming his younger- older?- brother into a semblance of calm makes far more sense.

"Then thank you for your guidance, Captain Meyka," he says, tone low. "I'm grateful."

They snort, but there's no bite in it.

"It's not for you, jackass."

-

He manages to catch Corrain alone later that evening, after carefully approaching Lana - suicidal, probably, but she'd just raised an eyebrow at him and nodded curtly, then shot off to find Theron - and the location is ideal. Arcann almost wonders if either the Sith lord or former Republic spy that his brother loves so much had suggested the young commander come out here.

The Odessen wilds are beautiful, after all. Calming but cold, steady but melancholic- a strange, delicate tightrope between pain and peace. And Corrain sits calmly in the grass, meditating. Arcann can feel him in the Force, like the warmth of a summer thunderstorm, clean ozone and soft rain and muggy heat, and dangerous potential. Storms can build, he knows - and Corrain feels like he's been waiting for the sky to break for years.

"You, uh...noticed my little habit, did you?" Corrain asks as he approaches. Arcann reaches for him without speaking, brushing the edge of his awareness against his brother's as carefully as he can, hesitantly projecting both worry and curiosity and the ache that wishes he knew this new sibling better- and Corrain turns to look at him and smiles wryly.

"I'm not going to break anytime soon, Arcann, you don't have to just tap me like that," he says- and then he sees the bag in Arcann's hand, a bottle of Alderaanian wine and a couple cups peeking out- and he laughs. There's a rueful twist to it.

"I was...warned this may help make the conversation smoother," Arcann explains with a sheepish frown, and pauses next to a patch of grass next to the Jedi. "Ah, may I-"

"Sit your ass down," Corrain laughs again, and there's no bitterness in the sound anymore. Arcann does as invited. "And alright, I might crack a bit. Who told you to bring wine?"

Arcann hesitates, then shrugs.

"Captain Meyka."

Corrain groans, a little exasperated, but fond.

"Classic Kess," he sighs. "Alright then. Ask."

Arcann pauses, regarding Corrain for a long moment. This close, his relation to Valkorion is distinct, but not obvious - there's a similarity in their faces that eludes definition- and then of course, there are those stormy grey-blue eyes. Valkorion had that eye color, once.

Corrain just watches him, white eyebrows hiding behind his bangs.

"My original question was going to be to ask why you rubbed at your neck when you were anxious...but I was informed it was related to our father, so-"

He doesn't miss the way Corrain's entire expression curls into a snarl at the mention of Valkorion, nor the way his thunderstorm aura crackles into static electricity and howling anger, a cyclone of hatred forming in the blink of an eye- and Arcann can almost taste the satisfaction of his own answering fury on his tongue. After all - it was this hate, it's intensity and passion which had convinced him to join his younger brother.

"...Darth Vitiate held me captive for almost two years," Corrain says finally, and reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it open and pushing the fabric down to bare the upper part of his back and neck. And Arcann freezes at the sight of raised, ropy scars striping over pale skin, at the jagged lines of stark white cut into the nape of the Jedi's neck. There's so many, he realizes. And some are layered over each other, as if to rip open old injuries for added pain.

When he lifts his head to meet his brother's gaze again, he can swear those grey eyes flash acid gold.

"He implanted a shock collar." The quiet voice is like ice. "Wired it directly into my spinal column while I was awake to feel the agony. Used it to punish me when I wouldn't kill for him, then forced me to kill anyway."

Ah. Arcann's expression sours, like a flame forced to smolder, and Corrain grins in answer. It's not a nice smile- there's a feral bloodlust in it, and the promise of vengeance. Arcann knows from his knowledge of the Jedi that it's not something they'd encourage. But it's what convinced him to follow - the genuine pain, the rage, the kinship it creates between them. The sure knowledge that this young storm - his brother, his younger sibling, found in the worst of ways - is his best chance at truly seeing Valkorion fall.

And yet- he can't shake the guilt, the sorrow for what he's done. For the suffering that must be having their father's spirit rattling around inside Corrain's subconscious. There's too much of Thexan's strength of heart in Corrain to see it lost to Tyth's fire and Izax's desolation.

So he reaches out, steadier this time, and lets his youngest sibling feel the weight of his promise.

"I will see his hold on you broken, little brother," Arcann swears, and it tastes a little like hope. "I will see you free again."

And Corrain softens back into kindness and summer rain and the smell of the earth after a nourishing rainstorm, and his smile turns true.

"And I, you, Arcann. And I, you."

[dev-fiction]

hi:) how are you doing,how's writing going?

Hello! I am doing well, for the most part! I've finally finished my latest bout of physical therapy and I've gotten some answers to some other medical issues, so honestly? Things are going better than I expected at the start of 2024.

Speaking of which, it seems like this is the year of writing for me. Almost all of my free time has been invested into writing, to the point that I've got like 10 different documents ranging from 5k to 60k words.

You're probably wondering: 'what changed?', which - very valid question. I haven't posted much in years after all, but there's been quite a few adjustments in my life over the course of the last year that have led to a lot of introspection.

Writing is difficult for me overall: I put my whole self into it and it can be very draining because of that. For the last 6 years I've been weighed down by both physical and mental health hurdles as well as a somewhat abusive relationship which I've only recently left.

I've also only recently learned not to invest so much of myself into my writing and to enjoy it for what it is. That doesn't mean that it can't still be difficult, but now instead of it being this insurmountable exhausting force it's a challenge to be overcome.

So, the tldr; I'm a lot better than I have been in a while and writing has been fantastic. I can't wait to post more.

Here, have a sneak peak of something that might not ever see the light of day! (I enjoy posting sneak peaks a little bit too much for my own good, apologies.)

“You’re hiding something from me.”

They’re ambling at an easy pace across a winding dirt path that stretched out beyond them, framed on all sides by sprawling farmland; their walkway was a beaten down patch of feldspar and micas, a familiar road that spiraled towards a simple two story abode otherwise known as home.

“No I’m not,” her older brother scoffs back, but beyond his bangs the tips of his ears were burning bright cherry red - a honing beacon of deceit that she’d be remiss in not exploiting, and she harrumphs triumphantly at the tell-tale sign, turning to her twin for back up when-

“What!” she says, a little flabbergasted, “Not you too!”

He’s flushed in full; refusing to meet her eyes, lips puckered, and it’s the deep crease in his brows that has her slowing down as she realizes that whatever it was they were hiding, they’d been doing so for a while now - longer, at least, than she initially thought. A glance at the oldest among them and the way his fingers were tapping an unsteady beat atop his crossed arms - even as he met her gaze head on - tells her all she needs to know, and the sharp sting of betrayal that runs a hot course across her skin is so sudden and piercing that it has her staggering to a halt entirely.

There’s sticky acid taking the form of venom-soaked words worming its way up her throat, and she bites down on her lip harshly to keep the resentment from boiling over; instead, she takes hold of her backpack in a white-knuckled grip and lets the tight bundle of tumultuous emotions brewing in her stomach settle and sink into a cold indifference that has her shouldering past her brothers roughly to set off at a quicker pace.

They call out behind her, but she ignores them and resolves to eat the muffin her twin had been saving for a snack later; a petty nonconsequential form of revenge that will do little to sate the burning torrent beneath her skin, but will also garner her the least amount of wounded-kitten looks.

She’d noticed the signs about a week ago.

There had been smaller, unconventional moments leading up to that first instance of major skepticism. A misplaced word leading into stumbling, rambling excuses, expression faltered as sharp eyes flitted from hers - puzzle pieces she hadn’t known she was collecting slotting together into this great inescapable thing that had cracked open; her brother, hiding something from her.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging nor trying to romanticize or promote yandere behavior. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationship, violence, torture, murder, death, degradation, sexual scenes that might disturb some readers, and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

Tag list: @seacottons

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 :

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟶𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟻 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟿 𝙵𝚃

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□90%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

•𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖.

•𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛.

•𝚄𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝙳𝚂𝙼 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.

•𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍.

•𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was his sweet and innocent smile...

That's how it always starts with him.

Everyone falls victim to that smile that radiates happiness with dimples that captivate your heart.

But he never chases anyone down.

San wants them to chase him, so he plays hard to get.

And he's not looking for a relationship, he just enjoys hooking up with people.

No strings attached, no commitments, his booty call list is miles long.

And then you came along.

What was it about you that drew Choi San to you?

Was it your pure and intact body?

Was it your curious and inexperienced eyes that begged for excitement and adventure?

Perhaps a mix of both aspects?

Whatever it was, the day you crossed paths with San, was the day you crossed paths with the devil himself.

"Hi. I'm San....pleasure to meet you."

San's first goal with you was just to get in your pants like he did with the rest.

But you weren't easy, and when he found out you were a virgin, the goal changed.

Now he wanted you.

He became obsessed with owning everything about you: your mind, body, heart, and soul.

He wanted it all and he'd get it no matter the cost.

So he plays the sweet caring boyfriend for a while.

Yes, Choi San was exclusively yours, much to the shock and disappointment of others.

As a boyfriend, he was very caring to you.

Perfect gentleman that held you in high esteem and made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

You truly fell deeply and madly in love with his charms.

So you had no qualms about letting him take your virginity, letting him be your first.

After all, he did love you.....right?

Well he did love corrupting you.

And after your first night together, he became more demanding and started showing aggressiveness towards you.

He'd never hide his displeasure if he saw you wearing something he didn't like.

"Why are you wearing that in public? You look like a whore."

He'd make you tell him your every move about where you went and with whom.

And if you didn't answer or reply to his messages, he'd somehow always find you.

"Why the fuck weren't you answering me? When I talk to you, I demand an answer."

And if there was a particular thing he absolutely hated, was your male friend that you often saw.

"I don't want you hanging out with that friend of yours."

"He's my childhood friend? He's like my brother. " You told him.

San just glared at you. "I don't care. I don't want you hanging out with him. That's final."

You rolled your eyes at him and thought he was just being jealous.

It was wrong of you to disobey him.

Next time he came over to your house, you were there with your friend...

If that scene alone didn't make San angry, the fact you were wearing a very thin tank top and revealing shorts made him get rigid.

"I thought I fucking told you never to see him again!" He screamed at you, striking fear in you at the way he raised his voice.

Your friend, however, wasn't scared of San and decided it would be good to stand up to your possessive and controlling boyfriend.

"You need to leave Y/N alone. She doesn't deserve to deal with someone like you."

Grabbing your hand, your friend tried to take you away from there, but San wasn't having it.

Roughly, he gripped your arm and pulled you away from your friend, placing you behind him.

"She's not yours to decide what to do. She's mine. Got it?"

Your friend wasn't going to give in that easily. He shoved San which culminated in fists flying from both of them.

"Stop! Stop it! Both of you!" You begged, covering your eyes at the violent scene.

They ended up in the kitchen, with your friend gaining the upper hand and holding San down against the counter.

It all happened too fast for you to react:

San grabbing a knife which was withing his reach, coming up and striking your friend in his lower abdomen....

And it didn't stop there.

San took out the knife and began to repeatedly stab him until his body collapsed on the floor, completely lifeless.

You were in such shock you couldn't find your own voice to scream for help.

The last thing you saw was San's diabolical eyes looking at you, his footsteps getting closer to you before you passed out from shock and the intensity of what you just witnessed.

You woke up approximately 12 hours later, feeling sore and somewhat sticky.

You let out a mix between a whine and a moan when you feel something very familiar sliding in and out of you.

Turning your head, you're met with a smirking San, his hands on your hips as his cock thrusts deep inside of you.

Looking down, you notice your hands are bound by handcuffs that are tied to the bed.

You jostled the handcuffs, trying to get them off you but were met with a harsh slap to your ass by San.

"Don't you dare." Was his only warning before snapping his hips even harder, making you come all over him in mere seconds.

For the first few days, he kept you handcuffed to his bed, refusing to let you go.

"If I let you go, you'll try to run away. I can't have you doing that."

So your days consisted of waking up with San next to you, having him feed you things which you swore had something in them since you always ended up feeling drowsy afterwards.

And of course having him fuck you like you were his personal sex toy every single night.

Finally one day, he removed the handcuffs from you.

"Try to run away and I will break your ankles."

He often had to leave the house for work, so the first day you were left to wander around, you stupidly tried to check if any windows or doors were left unlocked.

But they weren't. They were all bolted in and out.

And San walked in just in time to see you try to smash open one of the windows.

"Seriously?! I give you a simple order and you disobey me?!"

You ended up not being able to walk for 6 weeks because San was true to his word: he broke your ankles.

Now you were deathly scared of pissing him off.

So you tried your best to just please him, do whatever he asked you to do.

Whether it'd be cooking him food, cleaning the house, sucking him off or letting him do any of his depraved sexual acts on your body.

The only request you actually enjoy doing for him is when he asks you to cuddle up next to him.

Feeling his chest move up and down, hearing his heartbeat while his hand strokes your hair, you think maybe.....just maybe.....there's still a hint of the sweet man you met at first, the one you fell in love with..

But that image is quickly shattered whenever he pushes you off him or strikes you across the face because you 'glared at him or rolled your eyes at him.'

And you can't even cry in front of him because it just angers him even more.

Once, he held a pillow over your face so as to muffle your annoying little whimpers.

And another time he almost drowned you in the bathtub.

Sometimes you really did wish he'd end your misery.

As the days passed by, it was getting harder and harder to deal with his violent mood swings.

Nothing was ever good enough for him, and if anyone from the outside world angered him, you were the one who had to bear the punishment.

Either in the form of harsh beatings or so many overstimulations.

"San...." You whined, tears falling out of your eyes as your body couldn't handle another orgasm.

San merely slapped your swollen and red pussy, making you hiss at the stinging pain.

"I'm not done with you yet my little slut. This dirty hole of yours belongs to me and I'll fuck it as many times as I want to." He growled in your ear.

You were often left limping for a day or two, while San merely snickered under his breath, proud of himself for ruining you yet again.

With how much sex he was making you two have it surprised you how you never ended up pregnant, considering that he always went in raw with you.

Your question was answered one day when your period came late and it was excruciatingly painful.

You were bleeding more heavily than usual and it felt like your guts were being ripped apart.

San took you to the hospital, warning you not to say anything.

It's not like you could anyway, you were in so much pain and under heavy medication that you never got the chance to say anything.

Especially not when San took you home early so you wouldn't get the chance.

"What happened? What did they do to me?"

Grudgingly, San handed over the hospital papers to you.

You felt like you lost the ability to breathe when you read that it was necessary for them to remove your uterus since it had been severely damaged by some weird chemical substance.

"I don't understand! I've never taken anything! Have I?!"

San only blinked at you, then looked down and walked away from you.

That's when it hit you: every time he made food, and you always ended up feeling weird.....

San had been altering with your own body all this time!

You were beyond disgusted, you were repulsed and you hit your breaking point.

Something in you snapped as you marched up to San and pushed him into the wall, demanding to know why he would do that.

"So you wouldn't get pregnant! If you had gotten pregnant, I would have had to be soft to you. I wasn't going to do that." He admitted that so casually, as if there was nothing wrong in the way he treated you.

And that was it for you, the last straw of your sanity left as you slapped San harshly across the face.

Of course he retaliated, but you weren't going to give in so easily.

Using whatever strength you had left, you tried to fight him off, even going as far as breaking a vase over his head, which rendered him immobile for a while.

You ran to the basement, and picked up a can of gasoline and a couple of matches.

Running back inside, you spilled the contents all around the hallway, the living room and in the dreaded bedroom that you loathed with every fiber of your being.

Then you struck up a match and let it fall, watching as part of the house burst up in flames.

You went to a part of the house that you left intact, where there was a window.

Picking up a baseball bat, the same one San had used to break your ankles, you tried to break it open, succeeding only in cracking it...

Before a pair of bloody arms pulled you back and dragged you deeper into the burning part of the house.

You struggled to get out of his grip, but he was much stronger than you and the black fumes that you were inhaling were only debilitating you more.

The last thing you remember was San glaring at you, wrath written all over his face as he said his final words to you:

"If I'm going to hell, I'm dragging you down with me...."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[dazaimency]

Kaeya x AFAB!NB!Reader - Mora for Your Thoughts (18+)

Request: Um can I request a kaeya×AFAB fem non-binary they/them reader bondage, master, spanking, and overstimulation. The reader is a astrologer

Tags: AFAB fem non-binary they/them reader, bondage, master calling, spanking, slight overstimulation, and very slight ice play, astrologer!reader

Word Count: 2.475

NSFW!!

Crossposted from HERE (ao3 collection, mostly BNHA)

Given your powers, you should have at least somewhat expected Kaeya creeping up behind you in the bar while you were sitting on a stool, lost in thoughts. But instead, you jumped out of your seat when a cold hand touched your shoulder, forcing you to turn around.

Once you were face to face with your boyfriend, Kaeya didn’t hesitate to place a quick peck on your cheek before sliding in the seat beside you, ordering his favourite wine. Your lips curled upwards and warmth spread out through your torso when his posture relaxed, clearly at ease in your presence. The smile only deepened when you remembered what you had foreseen a couple of days ago - a fact that Kaeya didn’t miss.

“Something on your mind?” A perfect dark blue eyebrow raises, only enhancing the playful smirk taking place on Kaeya’s face.

Of course he knew. Even though you were the one practicing astrology, Kaeya was familiar with every secret and whisper going on in the streets of Mondstadt.

“Not really,” you tease back, and the conversation stirs in a different direction. As the sky darkens and Charles starts to send drunkyards home, Kaeya’s touches become more intimate, thumb circling your hips, or his hand caressing your thigh and knee. You were well aware how tonight was going to turn out, and you knew Kaeya was too.

You told him who a few of your clients were, and Kaeya being Kaeya, decided to exploit it. He found it amusing when you were anticipating what he had planned for you, with you unable to look into your own future at the same time. So, when he had found out that you had a meeting with an “adult toys seller”, who wanted to ask you about their sales, he went to their store and bought something a couple of weeks after your meeting. He didn’t know for sure if you would foretell it but even if you hadn’t, it would be a win-win situation for him - you’d still be surprised.

“Wanna get out of here?” Kaeya suggests, taking in the sight of your rosy cheeks and lips swollen from your biting. You feel a little jealous when you notice alcohol had little to no effect on him, except letting that spark in his eye to be seen by others instead of being kept private.

You nod, taking his hand into yours and dragging him out of the bar, waving goodbye to Charles. Kaeya managed to place a quick payment with a generous tip before feeling the cold bite his cheeks once he stepped outside.

His fingers intertwine with yours and he guides you to his home. Comfortable quiet resides in the air as you make your way to the front door, only sometimes messing your steps. Your breaths quickens as you approach the entrance and you lick your lips in anticipation.

You turn to Kaeya but before you can open your mouth, he has you pinned against the door, cold wood clashing with your back, making you shiver. Holding you by your hips, he pushes a leg between yours, forcing you to moan into his mouth.

The chilly air mixing with his warm body pressed against yours only makes you get closer to him, enveloping his shoulders with your arms, feeling his lean frame. You slide your leg up, enabling him better access and he smirks into the kiss.

“Impatient, aren't we?” He outright grins and moves lower to your neck, placing pecks and bites on the soft skin, sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

“S-Says the one who got me a sex toy,” you manage to say with rugged breath, slightly shaking from his tongue and teeth nibbling at the crook of your neck.

Kaeya only hums and unlocks the door behind you, smoothly sliding both of you inside while keeping the position.

“What a shame. And I wanted to surprise you,” he clicks his tongue, deep blue eyes scanning your body, revelling in how your smaller frame fits his.

Usually, you'd enjoy this position but you knew what he had prepared for you. Excited to finally see it, you decide to push him: “You should have visited a different store, then.”

“Getting cheeky, hm? Remind me, dear, how do you call me?” you keep yourself from smiling by biting your lips, and you feel your crotch getting wetter with every word that escapes his mouth.

Looking him straight into his eyes, you respond, “You should have visited a different store, Master.”

You push your chin up, expecting him to kiss you or to take down your clothes but instead, he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bedroom with ease. You yelp with surprise, but quickly resign in trying to get down. It wasn't a bad position to be in.

“I ought to punish you. Shame you know what I have planned for you,” the smirk in his voice tells you otherwise. Did you miss something? He acted too smug for having his surprise ruined.

Kaeya sat you down on the bed, ordering you to strip. You quickly obey, soon feeling how soft the sheets feel against your skin. Meanwhile, Kaeya took off his gloves and was waiting in front of you nonchalantly, tapping his foot.

You could see the glint in his eyes when his gaze washed over your naked figure, sly smile embellishing his starry iris. Your stomach clenches in excitement and a shiver runs down your body when he approaches you, hiding something behind him.

“Turn around,” every syllable makes you want him more, the contrast between your naked body and his clothed form only enhancing it. Following his order, you turn onto your stomach, arching your back, silently chuckling when a soft gasp involuntarily escapes him. He moves onto the bed, kneeling at your legs with a perfect view of your pussy that is dripping wet for him. He resists the want to push a finger into you, torturing you with a slow preparation just to feel your walls clench around his digit. Dismissing the thought for later, he sets out to do what he has planned.

“One,” you hear Kaeya say a moment before pain cuts through your skin as a slap lands on your cheeks. He licks his lips when the skin darkens and your body jerks at the sensation. The image of you spread out on his bed, letting him do anything he wants is sent straight to his cock, making it twitch in his tight pants. He was enjoying being in charge, having you completely devoted to him.

Subconsciously, your body leans into his touch. You expected to be punished for being “bratty” but you had the toy he bought in mind, not only spanking. Not that you weren't enjoying it.

As if reading your mind, Kaeya lands another hit. “Two. Mora for your thoughts? Three.”

The stings feel heavier now, and you let out a small moan, missing the smirk on your master's face.

“Are you disappointed? Four. Were you expecting something else, my dear? Five.” You would like to wipe that cunning smirk off his face, were it not for the way each slap made you clench around nothing.

“No, no, Master!” You moan out as another hit lands. This time, the hand stays on your cheeks, brushing quickly against your rim before moving lower to your slit, teasing the sensitive skin. Kaeya's fingers play with the wetness as you hold your breath, hips leaning into the touch, desperately wanting to be filled.

You realise your mistake too late. Lying to the trickster is never a good idea, especially if you are at his mercy. The caresses stop as well as your breaths and you await for further punishment.

A singular harsh slap comes without a warning. The force making a ripple on your skin, painting it a darker shade. Your legs shake when your pussy clenches around nothing and you let out a whine, silently cursing both yourself and Kaeya.

“Oh my, it seems like you deserve something else, doesn't it? Luckily, I came prepared,” this gets your attention and you turn to look at him. He holds a couple of silky ropes - it must be what he had been hiding before.

Your eyes widen as you realise you had been 'played'. He wanted to tie you up all along, setting you up for a fake surprise. A sly smirk graces his features, starry eyes full of smug. Later, you would wipe it off his face, but you were too horny to care about being toyed with in a sense that didn't mean reaching orgasm.

With a slight nudge, he orders you to lay on your back. A question stains his eye, one he doesn't need an answer to, and his length twitches in his pants uncomfortably, still pulsating in the closed space.

You eye the silk, noticing its pleasant texture. Kaeya joins your wrists in a tight knot, connecting it to the headboard. You try to wiggle your hands but the cloth won't let you, effectively leaving you to your boyfriend's mercy and gaze full of lust.

“Now, that's a pretty picture,” Kaeya leans over you and kisses you deeply, his hands drawing circles on your hips. His fingers leave small trails of goosebumps and shivers when he decides to tease you with his vision, brushing ice over your skin as your tongues intertwine. He swallows your every whimper and his hips move in sync with yours as you desperately need to release some tension.

You want to reach out to touch him but the silken bindings keep your hands in place, depriving you of holding onto him. Your fingers dig deeper into the cloth, fists forming and tugging at it as you try to become less flustered.

“What a sight indeed,” Kaeya breaks the kiss and kneels between your bent legs, long fingers slowly finding their way to your pulsing clit. When he finally touches it, you let out a moan and dig your head deeper into the pillow. The slight caress sends waves of pleasure through your body and you envelop your legs around him.

“So wet for your Master already. You would be ready for me if I fucked you right now, wouldn't you?” he hums as if he wasn't just as horny as you. His cock is painfully throbbing in his trousers, creating a wet spot from precum. Kaeya's head is filled with images of him fucking you into the mattress, but right now he wanted to toy with you some more before giving into his needs.

His thumb keeps circling your clit, pressing more with each time you moan out. His digits finally penetrate you, two fingers stretching you out for him. Already, you are a mess and when he enters you a relieved 'Master' escapes your mouth.

With that, Kaeya throws all his plans out of the window. His hand leaves your sensitive clit, making you whimper at the absence of his touch. His pants and underwear soon land on the floor and he's raising your hips to enter you before you can complain about the loss.

You both moan at the same time. Your walls finally clench around him, almost making his hips slam into you but he stays still, giving you a bit of space to adjust. His hands run up and down your body, touching every curve they reach.

Kaeya in front of you is breathtaking. His usually messy hair is even more all around the place, sticking to his skin in some places. Having ditched all his clothes, you can take in his lean frame, fitting perfectly between your legs.

When you are ready, your fingers grip the silk tightly and your legs rest on his shoulder. Kaeya places a quick kiss on your calf and his eyes find yours. As your gazes meet, he starts to move - just a small push to get himself further inside makes you close your eyes. You curse at the restraints keeping you from reaching out and dragging him to a hungry kiss but the feeling of being exposed like this makes your walls clench more.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out, usual eloquence gone with his last self control as his slams get rougher. Kaeya fully buries himself inside you, brushing against your sensitive spot with each thrust. “You feel so good...”

You can only nod, unable to come up with a verbal response for your master. Seeing pleasure reflected on your face, gaze getting more filled with mist with each thrust, Kaeya speaks up, finding his lost eloquence, forcing you to focus on his smooth voice: “You enjoy being tied up, don't you? Say it, say it for your Master.”

“I-I do, Master. Please… Just don't stop,” you let out between moans, the only thing on your mind right now is Kaeya's cock. Knowing your body well, he knows exactly how to make you moan out the most, and he wasn't holding back tonight.

Satisfied with your answer, his thrusts amp up. He feels your walls clench and stretch around him with each push, and he lets out a few grunts when he senses his orgasm approaching. His fingers start paying attention to your clit again and you whimper loudly when his skilled digits start toying with the oversensitive, pulsing spot.

Jolts of electricity run through your body. Overwhelming sensation ripples through your insides as you finally come, moaning out a mix of Kaeya's name and 'master' when you arch your back.

The new angle allows him to bury himself deeper, hips stuttering at the satisfaction. Seeing you come in front of him with his name on your lips pushes him closer over the edge and after a few rapid thrusts of blindly chasing after that pleasure, he moans '(y/n)' and empties himself inside you.

Once you both catch your breath, he slips out and leans over you, quickly untying you. You hum when he lays down next to you, massaging your numb wrists and kissing the marks left by the bindings. Before you came, you struggled more in its tight grip, making the silk stain your skin with lines that you will have to cover the next couple of days. Not that you were complaining. Plus, Kaeya's chilly kisses were enough to make any discomfort fade away.

When the haze of pleasure leaves both of you with clear minds, you frown, suddenly remembering something: “What happened to the electric toy?”

Kaeya chuckles as if he was expecting the question (he probably was) and kisses your cheek: “Don't worry, we'll try that another time.”

[dboliklover]

Thanks for answering my question ^^. How would the S bros react to finding out that they have a daughter with a former bride that the bride abandoned? The daughter is around 14 to 15 years old, she works her butt off at an auto repair shop and a factory to survive by herself. Her hands are quite strong, her hair is always messy and her clothes are almost always dirty from all the working, she really doesn't have the time to take care of herself, but nonetheless she is determined to survive.

I hope you don’t mind, but I made the scenario a little vaguer than you wanted - still on the same tracks, though!

Please;  - REBLOG. - Comment and like! Feedback is crucial as well as reblogging! I love hearing your thoughts  - Here is a link to my Ko-fi, for £3 I will write 500 words for you + give you a shoutout (if you’d like one!)  - here is a link to my commission rates - You can email me at “nadziejaewelinabusiness@gmail.com” to discuss potential commissions. 

Money from commissions/Ko-fi is especially appreciated now, as the UK is entering a recession and I am going to university and will need all I can get - having said that, I do not want my followers to feel like they have to commission me - you already support me by reblogging and commenting, but if you like my work and want to help out, then it is welcomed. Thank you.

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 SAKAMAKI BROTHERS FIND OUT THEY HAVE A DAUGHTER. 8 PAGES LONG

Shuu: 

He never really thought of himself as someone who would have a family of his own.

Growing up in the world’s most dysfunctional household does that to a person - or vampire.

His father was an abusive asshole, so the idea that he would be a father himself....disturbed him, if he’s being honest - children always seemed so troublesome to him.

Generally, until he found out about your existence...he really never viewed himself as ‘fatherly’.

He never viewed himself as the type to fall in love, either - and he didn’t, not really. Perhaps, over time, he’d grown to be somewhat fond of his old bride but there was little real attachment there - it’s not even as if she ever tried to break through his walls, which he had more of than people assumed.

So when she managed to escape the manor and run away into the unknown, never to be seen again, he couldn’t say he was surprised or heartbroken. Wounded pride at most.

She’d done her duty - even if in the end she escaped, rather foolish of her to do but she was smart enough in the execution not to get caught, which he had to commend. But he had gotten what he wanted out of her, as had his brothers. Even if he’d been the one closest to her, it was far from being enough to cause any real feelings of love between him and the lost-bride.

So, finding out about the existence of a secret daughter he’d never before known about...was more than a little shocking, even if he was the master of concealing his emotions, inside he was caught in the midst of a storm.

He had a daughter.

A daughter.

All this time, there had been a little child out in the world that was allegedly his. And he was only finding this out now, in a letter from *her* - it was unaddressed, of course, she was too wary to write down a return address. Rightly so - the wrath seeping through his veins was usually reserved only for Karlheinz in this extent, but at the moment the rage was equally shared between his father and former bride.

The letter stated all it had to. That fourteen years ago, she had given birth to a baby girl after running away and left her at the steps of an adoption clinic. It was a guilt-ridden confession, but she added she knew not what became of their shared secret child.

He thought back to the time he’d been sent all alone to the South Pole. Destitute, hopeless, alone...and then he thought about how a child he never even knew existed but was his had to go through something like that - their whole lives, probably.

There was a hope that they would’ve been adopted - for the best, really, until he remembered the child was surely a halfling and with every passing year may start growing into their abilities and carnal desires of bloodthirst.

So, begrudgingly, he hired someone to search for you in his stead. There was little to go off of, but eventually, some Private Investigators managed to uncover your whereabouts, based off nothing but the records from the adoption clinic.

“I’m your father.”

It was a painfully awkward statement.

Shuu had no idea how he would fare as a father. He had doubts and knew he would be far from what you surely needed - and just from the sight of you he felt guilty to see how you’d been forced to take care of yourself your whole life - it was obvious from the hardworking and toughened gleam in your eye.

But, if he couldn’t be an effective father - especially given that you were already a teenager - he hoped to at least be somewhat of a mentor. You were half-vampire and would need his help with training to control your abilities and thirst.

Reiji:

If there was one thing Reiji did want, it was a family.

Except that, in his mind, it would perfect.

The perfect, pristine family unit - he would marry someone his father found acceptable - a noble Vampire lady from another pureblood house, perhaps - and they would wed, he would surely inherit Karlheinz’s role as Vampire King - after proving himself superior to Shuu - and then they would create the perfect, most behaved and refined offspring the world had ever seen.

Indeed, he had his entire life planned out within his mind. So it was just too bad when his plans came crashing down in the form of his discovery of his illegitimate child.

When he first met you, he’d no idea who you were - to him, you were a stupid street rat who tried to steal from him, and he was about to show you that you’d made a grave mistake when he paused, seeing your face.

You looked a little too familiar - it was making him uneasy. You looked like she did - the former bride, before Yui. And yet there was something morbid in your eyes, reminding him of himself. It was a terribly strange experience for him.

And so he just scolded you, telling you stealing was bad and let you go on your way instead of releasing his full rage on you.

After the fated meeting he could not stop considering a possibility that you had been…- but that wasn’t possible. You could not be his child, it was just a coincidence. He fathered no children.

Except the thought haunted him each night.

What if he’d accidentally and unknowingly fathered a child - fathered you?

Was pregnancy the reason the bride had decided the foolish choice of escape?

She had been a sacrifice - nothing more - and he could not claim to have loved her. He didn’t love her but she had been a beautiful woman whom he used for his experiments and pleasure often. And though he loved her not, Reiji could not lie that he’d gotten...attached, to the woman, and felt betrayal’s bitter sting when she ran.

So he’d done the only logical thing, really, and disposed of her as he did his mother - he refused to allow people to manipulate him and hurt him, hiring a mercenary to find her and kill her - which was allegedly accomplished after about a year of his mercenary’s search for her.

Had she given birth to a child, just before he had been the one to order her death? If so - how tragic fate was.

The possibility kept him awake but he felt little guilt about being the reason for the woman’s death - if...if that girl he ran into was his offspring, and if his theory was correct, then the bride had ran with HIS child in her womb and deserved it regardless.

So then, he knew there was but one solution to the problem.

He set a search to find you, and for a DNA test to be conducted. After finding you, he ordered the PIs to take hair from you and send it to a lab and give the results to him.

You were of his blood.

So he went to you, introducing himself as “Reiji Sakamaki” and explaining that he was your father, and showed you the lab results.

You can say goodbye to any individuality and freedom you obtained before his discovery because from now on he is determined to make up for lost time...and transform you from an ugly duckling into a swan.

Like you always should have been, had he known about your existence.

Even if you enjoy your messy appearance and being hardworking and labouring - well, he just won’t have it.

And since you’re only fourteen - and he is your found father - you’re forced under his wing whether you like it or not.

Best to accept your new life, at least it’ll be a lavish one - even with impossible to fulfil expectations and lessons on etiquette your found father has planned for you.

Just don’t misbehave too much, whatever you do.

Ayato:

A daughter. A strange - tremendously strange - concept for Ayato to wrap his brain around.

He never considered children - wasn’t against having them, but never gave it much thought.

As for the mother of his child...he could not deny he loved her. He wasn’t good at love, and he knew that, but still - the way she’d abandoned her life - their life - and fled wounded his heart and his pride immensely.

It hurt to be discarded so easily - as if she’d never loved him, at all!

He was the best of the best, so why did she slip away so easily. Surely...surely he’d been good enough, hadn’t he?

He had to have been. She was just ungrateful.

And it showed, now more than ever, that she had been.

Because Ayato now knew of the existence of a child - a teenage girl - out there, belonging to him whom he had unknowingly fathered and who’d been hidden from his knowledge for so long.

He’d admittedly found it out from Laito - he was reluctant to give his brother any real credit but had to where it was due; he owed Laito this.

Allegedly, the red-head triplet had gone to the poor side of town to gamble and ran into a young teenage girl who looked like a spinning image of Ayato - not to mention she did not seem fully human.

And so, Laito started his own personal investigation into the matter, discovering the secret and revealing it, shedding light onto the shadows.

And so now Ayato had to face the music and acknowledge the fact he had a child.

He was a father.

And it terrified him to know that, because he’d allowed this poor girl - his daughter - to be forsaken and alone her entire life. When he found out that his bride had left the baby by herself bundled in thin blankets on the street he was furious.

Ayato hated his parents - both of them - with a heavy-set passion. And he’d promised himself, in the rare times he had considered children, that he would do everything to make the lives of his children as good as possible.

And he already somehow managed to fail that vow to himself.

So now...now, he was determined. Determined to be the best father you could ever want - to give you everything you should have had growing up.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy - and that he wasn’t...wasn’t exactly the best paternal figure, even if he hated to admit he wasn’t ‘the best’ at something - but he was going to try and try again until he could attain a proper, good relationship with you.

Besides, you already had some common interests in sports and “boyish” hobbies, such as cars and motors.

Probably the best father to have out of them all, simply because apart from overwhelming overprotectiveness, later on, he would allow you to be yourself - messy hair and muddy clothes and all.

He just wants to be a good father and make up for the lost time.

Laito:

Let’s be honest, he’s already fathered like twenty kids at this point

Laito doesn’t exactly know what ‘love’ is - romantic, platonic or familial.

His view of it is warped and fucked up, and he actually is perfectly aware of this fact, or at least; he sure as hell is not blind to it.

He’s motivated by lust and a desire to be wanted, appreciated and adored; but he also does not want to love in return.

So, to him, the former bride was an excellent play-toy. She was attractive and flirty and his type - then again, who wasn’t his type?

When she escaped in the night, he expected it to occur eventually. Especially after she realised his lack of true romantic intentions towards her and that he only wanted her around because she gave in to his lust oh-so-easily.

But the concept of her having been with a child was...relatively surprising. Enough to make him feel uneasy and somewhat blameworthy.

Like Shu, he never really expected to have a family, but worse still; he did not want one.

The idea of being a father sickened him.  He knew he was fucked up, even if he tended to look the other way at his own mess - he knew that a child being around him wasn’t going to end well.

He was terrified of becoming what he hated the most.

So much so that he initially tried to ignore the idea that you were his daughter.

He didn’t want it to be true.

Especially when he remembered the fucked up, awful shit Cordelia did to him - it terrified him to think he might do something just as scarring to his own child. He knew, within himself, that he never would - he was too disgusted by the idea of it, even if he acted carefree and without a moral compass.

But as time went on, he started to see you more often - you were scraping to get by, he could tell. And still, he told you nothing. You’d be cursed with him as a father.

At least, until one fateful Blood Moon night, when he was walking down the alley and found you, feral and beastly, as you drained the blood of a poor human soul who’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

And he knew that you did need him, even if he didn’t want you to need him.

Because without a mentor you’d be horrified and lost and he’d already allowed far too much harm to befall you as a result of his own selfishness.

And so he took you home - where you should have grown up regardless, and he tried his best.

He was...uncertain, how to be a parent. Not as if he ever had good parents of his own to be a pristine example.

So, instead, he tried to be the opposite of his own parents - to not hurt you as Cordelia did him  - he was overly cautious, in an ironic twist, to never make any overly sexualised comments with you in the room. He wanted to, in a futile manner, keep your innocence as long as possible despite the fact you’d lost your childhood bliss long ago if you ever truly had it in the first place. Growing up in foster homes and on the streets since you were a child had been rough.

Karlheinz had neglected him severely, and so he tried to be the anti-example for that, as well.

It was a huge change and blow to his life, and the way he’d lived until now - but he knew that maybe...just maybe, you were what he needed too.

Perhaps you could help him become a better person by making him a proper, real father.

Just maybe.

Kanato:

Chaos.

That is what ensued when the bride had up and left that one dark moon night, fifteen years ago.

Kanato’s rage was heard all through the manor and the surrounding woods, his piercing screeches enough to render a Banshee deaf.

Kanato always struggled with love. As the youngest triplet, he had spent is life forlorn and placed on the side burner as he longed for his mother or father’s attention, never fully receiving it.

So when he had her - the bride - all to himself...he was satisfied for the most part with the constant, endless attention he demanded from her.

And then she, just like everyone else in his life - left him. Abandoned him, stopped loving him.

He knew he should’ve turned her into one of his bride-dolls instead. She could never leave him if he had. But he had been stupid and allowed her freedom.

Fifteen years later it was actually Shu who found out about Kanato’s daughter - about you - and the news was certainly amusing in the most morbid of ways.

For a while, Shu kept this a secret from Kanato, knowing his reaction likely would be far from positive. Even if, by chance, it was - well, Kanato could hardly be anyone’s father, being so very childish himself.

Especially since they already had one brat in the manor, did they need another?

But eventually, the secret came out - as all secrets, inevitably, do.

Kanato locked himself in his room for a week, refusing to believe the facts. He couldn’t possibly be a father!

There was no way it was real.

For Kanato, the denial is strong and there is a chance he would stew in his denial forever, never doing anything about the situation, disgusted by the idea of having bred someone.

If, by some divine miracle, Kanato could get over his denial, next he’d throw a tantrum. He would be furious at everyone - at the former bride, at Shu, at Karlheinz and...at you, for merely being born.

Because this knowledge made him miserable - and so, by association, so did you.

He wouldn’t want to meet you - even see you - at first. It would take a lot of persuading from his brothers to even consider it.

He didn’t want to be a father.

He didn’t want children.

You would only steal the attention HE deserved.

Kanato does not take kindly to the competition - and that would be what he’d see you as. Competition.

There’s a high chance you would go on with your life never knowing your parentage at all - but there is always the slither of chance that he would accept you. But even then...well, perhaps that’s more a curse than it is a blessing.

To be the daughter of Kanato Sakamaki would be a hellish thing.

Because he would be an abusive mess. Even if he grew to love you as his child, he knows not how to be a good person, much less a good father. His mother made him sing until his vocal cords bled. That was the only time she paid attention to him - and it taught him that he must always fight to get praise and recognition and you were an obstacle.

His words of hate aimed toward you would pierce through you, even after all those years alone - having been found by your birth father only for him to treat you worse than an insect - it would destroy you, even if you tried not to let it get to you.

But there’d be times he’d be so, so weak. So childish. So needy - you would probably have to turn into the adult in this familial relation, in the long run - taking care of him, having tea parties and dressing up like a doll.

If you’re lucky and behave and do as he says and never argue, he might just be a tolerable father.

But would that be a tolerable life?

Perhaps it would be better to be abused and hurt by him - on his bad side and be broken, rather than be a little-too-liked by your father and have him turn you into his pretty little daughter-doll, the first of your kind; the offspring of his seed, ever-so-lovely in your pretty pink gown, forever beautiful and never-ending. He’d even get to showcase you to everyone!

“This is my daughter, isn’t she pretty?”.

Subaru:

Horror. That emotion was pumping frantically through Subaru’s veins.

 He was a father. 

He’d been a father for fourteen years but had been none-the-wiser of it - he had to know exactly what events had occurred for them to get here, to this point. 

What had happened to his former lover? 

When she left, he couldn’t blame her. 

He wished she would’ve remained by his side but he knew he was unlovable and a monster and filthy - so how could he ever expect her to stay? 

Still...she’d promised she would, and that she didn’t mind his abrasive behaviour, that she loved him - but he knew, now, that she only did all those things because she knew that he would protect her from his brothers if she was to manipulate him.  

When he first found out she kept such a deep secret from him, he punched a hole in the wall from instant rage, and then was overcome by sorrow. 

There was a child out there. A child, who was his by blood and kin, and who had grown up fatherless and - allegedly - motherless, since the former bride just...abandoned their child. 

And then she disappeared. 

t was shocking and made Subaru sick to the stomach - even...even Christa, as scarring as his relationship with her was, probably wouldn’t have just left him by the road somewhere! 

He had found you by chance - an accident, really. He was taking a walk in the city and overheard someone getting mugged - he told himself he didn’t care but it but then noticed the person being attacked was a young teenage girl with (H/C) tresses. 

He tried to walk away but couldn’t, turning around to help, when, much to his astonishment, he witnessed the girl - you - beating the shit out of your attackers and taking their wallets instead. It was...impressive, but it had to be supernatural. 

You were a strong, scrawny girl and such immaculate strength was abnormal - inhuman. It...reminded him of his own strength. 

He realised, afterwards, that you resembled her - his past lover - to a disturbing degree. 

The next time he saw you it was when you were on the run from some thugs. This time, he did intervene and saved your ass from being injured. 

You were cautious but thanked him - he noted that you were a street-smart kind of kid, and he could always appreciate someone who knew how to fight- but you were rightly guarded around strangers. 

That was when he saw your eyes and it took him aback. You had his mother’s eyes - they were exact replicas of Christa’s shining orbs, and he lost his breath at that moment. 

Weirded out, you said your farewells and rushed away. 

The idea that you were somehow related to him felt unreal. So he did what anyone would do - tried to deny it to himself, to tell himself it wasn’t possible. He did not have a daughter, and the former bride had taken with her all his happiness. Besides...even if you were his daughter, then he was just as unworthy of getting to be a father as his own was. 

He was violent and aggressive - what sort of father would he make? A bad one, surely. It wasn’t something Subaru was about to risk - at least, he didn’t want to. 

The thought refused to set him free from torment, however, and so he begrudgingly started observing you from the shadows. 

Suddenly your lot in life seemed to improve for no reason whatsoever. 

It was as though you had your personal guardian angel to protect you,

There’s a large chance he’d never reveal the truth, but an equal chance he would. Especially once he noticed your vampirism kicking in - you’d need...someone, even if it was him. 

Even if he was terrified of fatherhood and failing you - it had to be done. Subaru would be a cool dad to have, but unbearably protective to a point of insanity.

- Mod Rozalia 

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

I don't know wether or not you ship bughead but here's a prompt anyway- how about one where jughead is homeless and on the street and he's really sick and there's a really big storm and the thunder doesn't help his headache and the rain gets him really wet and he ends up at Betty's window and she takes care of him. You're writing is amazing so I thought I would drop you and idea!

(Hey honey! Im sorry but I personally don’t ship these two, it’s just not for me but I do adore their dynamic in a friendship kind of way so I still wanted to write this bc I like this a lot!! Hope that’s ok with you!! While this is written to be strictly platonic I guess you could read this through ship goggles if you want tho!)

What exactly is a home?

Jughead thinks about this over and over again, hoping that maybe eventually he’ll find the answer, but the question only becomes more frustrating and probes him so much that it’s like it’s stabbing him repeatedly.

He is a Type 5 on the enneagram, he is an investigator, he needs to push the limits of understanding. Jughead craves answers and knowledge, he is fuelled by the desire to understand the world he is born to, to gain knowledge on the nature of his kind.

Jughead is plagued by this question, it stings him because he doesn’t know the answer. In the most human way possible, he cannot understand what he’s never known. Will he ever get the answer? Or is he just doomed and destined to never have a home, always a loner on the sidetracks, watching the world go by, seeing a lot but never experiencing?

Jughead had built a wall so thick around himself that he doesn’t understand his own feelings; is he genuinely this sad about life or is this just the fever that plagues his body? There is a sadness that looms over him as the cold rain splatters on his skin, soaking his skin and dampening his bones.

The rain pours harder, raining down on him hard and harsh like a waterfall, causing him to sprint towards the closest tree. He feels so miserable he doesn’t even know if the droplets on his face are his own tears or the rain. Maybe a mixture of both.

He cowers under the tree, the little bit of shelter the tree does provide a much needed change. The rain still leaks through, a lighter sprinkling of rain still hitting his bitterly cold, pale skin. He’s so cold he’s numb, goosebumps and snow white skin. He shivers and trembles violently, sniffling wetly as he rubs at his nose weakly.

It’s just his luck this is happening to him. Perhaps this was just the satirical, darkly comedic plot of his life. He often wondered if perhaps all of Earth was merely an entertainment show like some weird Truman Show type and his particular life story was created for those sadistic types who liked watching people be sad.

Sleeping on park benches was bound to get him sick. He knew it was coming, besides, even if he did have a roof to live under he would still be sick anyway because that’s the way his cruel body worked.

Being sick and homeless and having to sleep on a park bench was horrible enough, in his opinion, but of course, of course, that wasn’t enough. Of course it had to pour lashing rain.

A drop of water fell down one of the tree leaves, delicately dropping on Jughead’s already sensitive nose. His nose twitched, and suddenly his breath was hitching and he was inhaling sharply to pitch forward with an explosive, congested sneeze. He groaned, thinking he was done when a piece of his hair fell onto his nose and tickled it further, causing him to explode with two more harsh, wet sneezes. He doesn’t even care about how loud he is, he’s sick and miserable, he shouldn’t have to restrain his powerful sneezes. The universe owes him that at the very least.

Jughead pushed the hair away from his nose frustratedly, scrunching his nose to get rid of the irritating tickle. He rubs at his reddened nose, cringing as he feels a little bit of wetness in it, but hey, nobody can see how disgusting he is now. He groans, and lets out a chorus of congested little coughs that stab at his chest.

He slides down against the tree miserably, sniffling wetly as he wipes his runny nose on his soaked sleeve. He shakes violently, teeth chattering and hugging himself (wow, is that how pathetic he’s gotten?). Despite how cold he’s feeling, there’s a little bit of warmth radiating off him from a sure fever that he’s had the whole day. He feels woozy and definitely very off, very feverish and generally unwell. He just wants this night to end.

Jughead is thinking about all the happy (or seemingly happy) little families of Riverdale all bundled up in their blankets and nice heaters to brave this storm. He hopes that fantasising about it would make him feel a little warmer. After another obnoxiously loud sneeze, he’s accepted that he’s doomed to a night of the freezing cold and rain when a flash of lightning blinds him, then he hears the thunder loudly rumbling shortly after.

The sound explodes in his ears, chilling him even further than he is so he turns to ice. The lightning that flashes in front of him blinds him, leaving him petrified and paralysed, terrified.

His breathing starts to pick up, his blood running cold as his chest suddenly becomes heavy, and it’s not from his cough. He’s being suffocated, as anxiety rushes throughout his body and shutting him down as his breathing is shallow and barely enough oxygen is being supplied in his system. He feels faint.

One of the many consequences of being homeless is that Jughead is off his anxiety meds; and going through his day to day is hard enough, but something like a loud storm offsetting his anxiety? It’s cruel.

Jughead knows he can’t stay here, but there is literally nowhere to go. The strike of light flashes in his eyes and jars him,  he feels faint and weak. The thunder is growling again and the explosion of sound rattles his brain and intensifies his headache. The pain is enough for him to leave the sanctuary that is his tree and he’s sprinting. Running as fast as his sick body can, letting his feet take him wherever they’re planning.

Running burns at his chest, because Jughead can barely breathe because he’s sick and anxious and he’s also incredibly unfit. He skips gym for a reason. As he runs he coughs harshly, spluttering as he runs his heart out.

Then suddenly he’s coming to a halt, as his foot miscalculates a step and lunges out too far, and he’s slipping on the slippery pavement, out of the somewhat firm grass. He slips across the road, managing to save his chin with his arms. He’s scraped, and a short sensation of pain rushes through him.

Exhausted, he is face down against the road. He’s too sick and too tired, his chest heavy from anxiety, but he can’t just sleep on the road like this. The thunder and lightning wake him up again, as well as intensify his headache.

Jughead lifts his head up, and sees two familiar houses that leave him feeling just a tad warmer.

By instinct his gaze shifts over to Archie’s house, he thinks about his best friend who he has just rekindled with, and the kindness of Fred Andrews. But then he remembers why they were split apart in the first place, Grundy, and how Archie does not need another problem right now. Archie needs time to heal.

Then his gaze pans over to the sweet, American Dream of a house. The Cooper household.

It’s not the same kind of warmth he thinks of when he sees Archie’s house, but it still warmth, and it’s just as good. And Jughead is so cold, and he needs it.

Jughead coughs, picking himself off the ground and approaching the household. He doesn’t even know what time it is, and if Betty is still awake, but his heart cannot take this storm.

He staggers and stumbles over to the Cooper house, his body racked by his violent shivering. His legs shake, barely supporting himself and he needs to take his time. He sniffles, running a finger under his nose and shuffles through the damp, glistening grass. Jughead spots a ladder just sitting outside, next to a bunch of hardware tools. He speculates it’s just Hal Cooper fixing up the house.

A thought crosses his mind and Jughead is against it, it’s awfully cliche and disgustingly Nicholas Sparks-esque and not him, he’s not into that, but there is literally no other way. He gets a grip on the ladder and carefully uproots it, and balances it on the window he knows by heart is Betty Cooper’s. He’s spent most of his life in Archie Andrews’ bedroom, he knows who the window across from his belongs to.

Once he thinks the ladder is steady, Jughead stifles a forceful cough into his sodden sleeve, it scrapes against his throats and burns. He escalates the ladder slowly, the ladder eerily shaking slightly as his body trembles from the cold, and as he is almost to the top his nose tickles, of course. Jughead is bad at stifling, and always needs his hands to do it, but his hands are firmly balancing himself on the ladder and if he lets go to stifle, he’ll fall down and cause a commotion. But if he sneezes freely, the loud sound would also cause a commotion.

Jughead can’t think of what to do because his body is bracing itself to sneeze and somehow he managed a harsh stifle that sounds so painful, and most definitely is painful. It scrapes against his throat horridly and leaves a dull ache in his sinuses. Someone stirs within the household, and Jughead freezes.

Betty Cooper makes her presence known by checking her window, and when she looks out she widens her eyes at the sight. Jughead manages a weak, sheepish but charming smile at her. He can faintly hear her soft gasp as she yanks the window open, and offers him a hand and helps him into her bedroom.

She doesn’t know where to start, whisper screaming, “Jughead?! You’re soaked!”

He smirks, “I figured you would appreciate me putting aside my pretentiousness and give it up for a more cliché, romantic Romeo type exterior.”

Betty rolls her eyes playfully, “Yuck, I don’t want a Romeo like you. I’d prefer someone who wasn’t quite a wreck, thank you very much.”

Jughead laughs a little at that, knowing full well romance wasn’t for him. It never was, and he wasn’t quite sure if it ever will. It was a funny joke though, in an ironic kind of sense.

Jughead shivers intensely, wrapping soaked arms around himself in an attempt to keep himself warm and Betty frowns.

She places a hand on Jughead’s forehead, he’s too weak to protest like he usually would, and her frown is worsened, “You’re burning up! What are you doing in the rain like this, you idiot?”

Jughead stifles a series of congested coughs into his shoulder, and looks up at her blearily and whispers, “I promise I just need to stay here while it rains, just for tonight, I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow morning.”

Betty looks at him with a look he can’t quite decipher–a weird mix of sympathy, confusion, heartbreak and understanding. One thing Jughead loves about her is that unlike Archie, bless him, she is less naive and is better at reading in between the lines, and doesn’t blurt out things by accident that doesn’t help. Because Betty doesn’t question him, she doesn’t say anything.

She opens her drawers and pulls out an oversized t shirt she had gotten at a camp and a big sweatshirt she got at some volunteering event, and a pair of bigger sweatpants that she wears when it’s cold. She hopes it will fit him, and passes them over to him.

“I’m going to get you some tea and medicine, get changed into these while I’m  gone, you’re soaked to the bone,” She fussed worriedly, her voice low and whispery.

Jughead shakes his head violently, “No no no, you don’t have to..your parents..”

Betty lets out a fond chuckle, “Jughead, trust me, I know the ins and outs of this place. I am a pro at not waking my parents, I will be just fine.”

“Betty–” Jughead protests but Betty has already left him to his own devices.

He sighs guiltily, sniffling again and coughing chestily, feeling his lungs strain and feel blocked from phlegm. He groaned softly and quickly stripped his wet clothing off him and dried himself off with a towel. He donned the soft, warm and fresh clothing given to him and couldn’t help the soft moan of relief as his body warmed up a little. He felt comforted and warm in these new clothes.

Jughead quietly pushes the window open again, and wrings out his wet clothing out of the window–and when he finishes he folds them carefully and skilfully. He shakes his backpack out of the window too to get the water out of it, and places the backpack on the floor when he finishes. While waiting, he grabs at the towel he used to dry himself off to start drying at his dark, wet hair which was surely going to be a huge curly mess once it dried.

Betty slowly and nimbly reenters the room,  a steaming cup of tea and medicine in her hands.

Jughead smiles to greet her but the smile is wiped off his face quickly as his nose twitches irritably, as he inhales sharply and buries his face into the towel he was holding to muffle two explosions.

“Bless you,” Betty chuckles and sets the tray down on a table. “You know, for a person so quiet, you really can’t sneeze quietly.”

Jughead chuckled and sniffles, his voice stuffed up and an octave lower, he sounds pathetic, “I guess it makes up for all my time sulking alone.”

Betty stifles her hearty laughter, a little upset she can’t laugh louder because she can’t wake her parents. She reaches for a box of tissues neatly placed by her bedside table and chucks it at him.

“Wow, I can’t believe you can’t appreciate the wonderful, chocolatey huskiness of my voice, do you really want to get rid of it so easily?” Jughead jokes emptily, his jokes not quite as full, feeling hollow and like he’s not even there. He’s clearly not doing too good, and Betty is only now realising that he’s shaking and his breathing is definitely very off.

She watches him worriedly as she picks up the medicine packet and opens it up and gets a pill, and she picks up the tea cup. Jughead blows his nose weakly, the sound sounding horribly sickly. She frowns again and passes the medicine and the tea.

Jughead utters a small thank you before popping the pill into his mouth and downing the pill with the tea. The warmth of the liquid is remarkably soothing against his raw throat, and the warming sensation spreads throughout his body and he feels a lot better. But Betty is frowning at how Jughead’s hands shake as he sips at the tea.

Jughead’s chest is still heavy, and it still hurts to breathe and there’s still a cold pang in the middle of his chest. He puts down the tea and his lip trembles, trying to calm himself down but then he can hear the loud crackling of the thunder again and he starts to lose control. His breathing is erratic, and he can’t hide the look of terror in his face any longer.

Betty kneels down next to him, and slowly reaches for his hands, “Is this okay?”

Jughead nods weakly, and lets her take his hands and rub little circles into them comfortingly.

This situation has happened between them many times before, but it hadn’t happened since they were children. They are childhood friends, after all, they’ve seen each other grow. Betty’s been with Jughead when he’s had panic attacks like this, and while Archie literally didn’t know what to do there was some instinct in her that somehow understood. When they were all 13 Jughead started taking medicine and they didn’t happen as much. Betty wonders why they’ve started again, and the answer her brain gives her is one that she doesn’t like.

Jughead is looking away, eyes darting to the ceiling and to the floor.

“Hey, can you look at me?” Betty says softly, and Jughead does. He looks up at her and the kindness in her eyes is enough for him to steady himself so slightly and she’s so firm and confident that he feels a little more assured. Safe.

“Can you try and copy me? Take your time,” She whispers coaxingly, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Jughead tries to copy her, he is ragged and off rhythm for a little bit, but eventually he matches with her rhythm.

“You’re doing so well, Juggie,” Betty reassures. He feels a little more alive then, now that his body was taking in the oxygen it needed to survive.

He lets out shaky breaths, concentrating on a steady rhythm, and eventually his chest hurts a lot less. He’s a lot lighter. He coughs harshly into his sleeve, restraining the sound so he doesn’t wake Betty’s parents, but it strains his throat.

Jughead picks up the tea again, and sips at it and cherishes the hot liquid that flows down his throat and massages it.

“God, Jug, you should’ve come sooner, being sick in the rain like that was a dumb move,” She whispers as she boops him on his sensitive nose playfully.

A tickle creeps up on him and he pinches his nose and stifles three sneezes, letting out a soft groan when he finishes.

“Bless you,” Betty whispers, stifling her giggles. She leans in again to for his temperature; he’s burning up, but it’s not too bad. Jughead knows if he hadn’t come at all, he would be a lot worse. Betty seems to think the same.

“I’m glad you came to me tonight,” She whispers softly, her eyes kind and genuine.

She chuckles softly, getting up to drape a blanket over him, “Knowing you, your most likely action would be to hide under a tree the whole night.”

Jughead manages a shaky chuckle, pulling the blanket closer around him, letting the warmth blanket him so he can bask in its warmth, “You know, I was going to.”

Betty smirked, “and what changed your mind?”

His eyes soften, “The storm. I..it was too loud and..uh, my heart couldn’t take it.”

He feels so vulnerable, and he detests it. He loathes being outside of the safe walls he has built for himself, as much as they make him feel stifled, being outside of them makes him feel watched and judged and so alienated. Even more detached than he already is.

“Edgy Jughead Jones can’t handle a storm,” Betty jokes.

Jughead can’t help but smile, she knows him so well. She knows that the most she can do for him is to take him away from all of this.

Betty softens a little, and sighs, “But..you do know the obligatory ‘what’s going on’ speech is going to have to happen, right?”

Jughead nods.

“So, what’s going on?”

Jughead feels a pang of pain strike through his chest, tears prick his eyes and he looks away. He doesn’t know where to start, so overwhelmed by it all because he doesn’t know  what’s going on in his life. He’s never asked himself that question, he’s too scared to confront it in fear that if he lets it in, it will never come out again.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” Jughead chokes out weakly, unsure if all the things happening to him is simply catching up to him or if the fever is speaking.

Betty doesn’t press him.

Her gaze is soft and understanding, but firm, “Alright. Okay but promise me you will, maybe not today, maybe not to me, but you will talk about this. Promise?”

She holds her pinky out just like when they children.

Jughead finds himself intertwining his pinky with hers, and he nods. Perhaps he is just looking for that relief and memory of his lost childhood, but something about how kind Betty is to him makes him genuinely promise.

Times like these make Jughead remember that his life isn’t just a Shakespearean tragedy, he has friends who love him. Friends who will always be there for him.

“Promise,” Jughead smiles.

Betty smiles at him sadly, “..So..do you know what you’re doing?”

Jughead shrugs, “I’ll..figure it out when tomorrow comes.”

This is the way his life has gone, living each day by day, any sense of security completely gone.

“..I always do.”

Betty reaches out, her hand comforting on his arm. Her smile is so warm and welcoming, “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

He doesn’t really know what to say, because a few tear spills from his eyes and he lets out a shaky breath, managing a weak smile.

‘What makes a home?’ he thinks.

Jughead’s not really sure if he’s ever going to be able to answer the question, (maybe there are some things he will never truly understand, he can only experience), but this is the closest answer he can get for now. That’s alright with him.