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queers-gambit · 9 months

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Daddy Takes Care

prompt: ( requested ) in comparison, your first pregnancy was a cakewalk. this time around? not so much. good thing Daemon's there to help where he can.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader no specified House or race

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, daughter named Visenya, angst 'cause pregnancy isn't all sunshine and glow and rainbows, hurt and comfort 'cause happy (but abrupt) ending, author has never been pregnant so please forgive inaccuracies, not edited.

"My Prince! My Prince! Prince Daemon!"

Daemon purposefully ignored the errand-boy, hoisting his daughter higher on his hip. "Easy, little dragon," he spoke in High Valyrian, "Caraxes is not known for his patience."

Visenya giggled, "Caraxes likes me, Daddy."

The dragon rumbled as if in agreement, blinking his eye as Visenya laid her head on his snout; half-way out of Daemon's arms, but still maintaining a vice grip. "My Prince, please," the servant pleaded, "i-it is your wife."

Daemon whipped around, Visenya being rightened in his arms when her father glared at the young man who panted from his sprinting. "What?" Daemon demanded.

"Sh-She is with the Maesters now, my Prince, and your brother, His Grace, and the Queen Alicent, too, The baby started - "

But the lad gasped when Caraxes gave a harrowing growl as Daemon charged forward; Visenya in his arms as his dragon's breath seemingly propelled his stride forward. Visenya whimpered when Caraxes stalked out of the Dragon Pit with Daemon, only stopping when he could go no further; but he thundered his displeasure and suspicion in a grumble that made the little girl wince into Daemon's chest. "It's okay, love," Daemon told her gently in their Mothers Tongue, approaching the Royal wheelhouse they used when traveling with Visenya. He spoke softly, "We're going to see Mummy, Caraxes is just worried."

"What's wrong with Mummy?" Visenya asked in the Common Speech when they boarded.

"Go! Do not stop until we get to the Keep!" Daemon barked at the coachmen before settling his daughter down. He saw the big tears swelling in his daughter's eyes and sighed, telling her softly, "I am sorry, my sweet dragon. Daddy doesn't know what's wrong with Mummy, that scares Daddy sometimes, and when Daddy's scared, he gets a little mean."

"That's okay, Daddy," she nodded at him, looking sheepish. "I get scared, too."

"It's okay to be afraid, fear is natural," Daemon told her softly, "but it's important we do not let it define us."

Her little legs swung, "Like Lord Larys."

Daemon snickered, "Oh, you naughty girl, I told you not to repeat that."

She grinned, looking far too innocent to be Daemon's spawn. "Mummy says we should be nice to Lord Larys."

"She does?"

"Mhm," Visenya nodded, "she said 'cause he knows too much."

His head cocked, "Little Dragon, has Lord Larys ever approached Mummy? Spoken to her?"

"He tries," Visenya nodded, "but Mummy walks away, she doesn't like him." The little girl lowered her voice, telling Daemon a secret, "Mummy said his breath smells like poo."

Daemon smirked, whispering back, "I know."

When they arrived at the Red Keep, the wheelhouse was barely slowed before Daemon was scooping Visenya into his arms and getting ready to disembark. When they stopped, he didn't wait for anyone to open his doors, announce his name; he just surged out, charging for where he knew the Maester's chambers were.

However, Otto Hightower was waiting for him in the foyer, greeting, "Prince Daemon, Princess Visenya."

"Hi," Visenya waved, holding onto her father's neck shyly.

"Where is she? Where's my wife?" Daemon demanded.

"Resting in your chambers, my Prince," Otto answered, not being offended when Daemon turned heel to change direction and left him in the dust.

Nobody intercepted Daemon, but it wasn't like any tried. He didn't look at anyone, they never met his eyes; but most took note of the way he all but galloped to get to his chambers. When the shoulder that wasn't holding his daughter barged through the door, he didn't slow, just demanded, "What is this? What has happened?"

"Daemon," Viserys sighed in reprimand.

"What is the matter?" He charged forward to reach the bed. "Give Daddy a second with Mummy," he told his daughter in Valyrian as he set the little girl down and took the spot beside you instantly. You had a knowing smirk on your lips, hand taken by both of his, not even blinking when he barked, "Well? What has happened!?"

"When you take a breath, we will tell you," You told him softly, squeezing his hand and smiling with closed lips. "The Maester's have only just left, you did not miss much."

He shook his head, "I should've been here none the less."

"And deprive our little dragon rider the opportunity to bond with her favorite mate?" You teased, looking to Visenya and opening your arm (after pulling yours from Daemon's clutches), "C'mere, little one. Come to Mummy."

She was careful and slow in her movements, curling up beside you; shimmying under the covers to cuddle into your side. She pet your belly, "Does it hurt?"

"No, not right now," you answered honestly, never wanting to lie to her. It would do no good in the long run, being truthful and honest were traits you can teach (not always) and you and Daemon took it very seriously.

This was a cruel world, why sugarcoat it? So your daughter would depend on some man - some man like Larys Strong? Nope. Not on your watches. She'd be the belle of the ball with the meanest right hook in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Daemon," Viserys spoke with a calm tone, earning the attention of the room, "you must know, these sort of things can happen at anytime."

"Is it The Curse? I-Is it The Curse? Does it prevail?" He asked in desperation, looking distraught.

"No," you assured, taking your only free hand to lay one of his on your swollen belly.

"No...? No?" He repeated, then scoffed, "So, why is it I was - "

"False labor," Alicent cut him off, making his jaw steel as he glared at her. "It can occur, the mind tricks the body into thinking and reacting that it's time to deliver the babe."

"But it's too soon," he pointed out, "she's still, what? Two, maybe three months left?"

"It can happen," Alicent nodded.

He frowned, glancing at his brother, then to you. "I was with the Queen when I got this terrible pain," you explained to Daemon. "There was fluid and some blood under my skirt, we thought it couldn't be right, so, she brought me to the Maesters and sent for you."

Daemon looked vaguely surprised, leaning down to press his lips to your belly. With a sigh, his forehead rested on your bump, lifting to peck another kiss, then righten his spine, asking, "And now?"

"All was clear, I was brought back here, and your brother did not wish to leave me alone - but nothing else was able to be said before you arrived," you chuckled, caressing his cheek.

"Thank you," he told Viserys, sniffling as his eyes lifted to Alicent, "both of you, truly, thank you."

"We are family," Viserys assured, "we would not want to be elsewhere."

"There's a whole Realm to - "

"Sometimes, politics can wait and family cannot," the King spoke wisely. "We are simply relieved the Lady is feeling better and all is well. The babe will stay in her womb until the end, should she remain in bed."

"Oh, Gods, Viserys," you groaned, "we agreed not to tell him that!"

"You agreed, I did not," he shot back at you.

"What do you mean, brother?"

The King answered, "She is to remain in bed until the end of her term - with natural limitations."

"Which means?"

"She may move around the room, but not much farther; she may use the privy, keep her blood circulating, but she is to remain down for most of the time as it will help keep the babe in place."

He nodded rapidly, "Of course."

"We'll let you rest," Alicent told you both softly. "I'm sure you want time with your family."

"Actually," you sighed, "might I ask for one more favor?"

"Anything, name it," Viserys agreed.

"Take Visenya for an hour? Daemon and I need to speak privately."

"Of course," Alicent nodded, stepping up to the bed. She waited as you and Daemon promised Visenya you'd be with her soon, that you needed an adult conversation, and after giving you both a kiss on the cheek, she marched off the bed to take Alicent's hand. Viserys hobbled out after them, and when the doors shut, Daemon deflated.

"Oh, Seven fucking Hells," he muttered in a muffle against your belly. He let your hands rake into his long strands of hair, pulling any knots, just soothing him with the scrape of your nails. "I was so worried," he admitted quietly, "I just - I did not think. I have feared this possibility so much, I think I tricked myself into thinking it was reality."

"What's that, my love?"

"The Curse... The Targaryen Curse."

"Daemon - "

"We were so lucky with Visenya," his tearful eyes lifted to meet yours, "and half of the pregnancy was wasted on our worry that something would go wrong. I might've created this reality."

"You did nothing," you promised. "Neither of us caused this, it's just what happens."

"But you've suffered for months," he whispered, eyes reddening by the second. "You had endless nausea, you threw up daily, my love, you developed night terrors, and you cannot say it was anything but ideal."

"Perhaps not ideal, but so perfectly us," you answered, watching him stand with a frown. "Daemon - where are you - "

"I only mean to change," he promised, already shedding his clothing and boots and weapons belt. When he joined you in bed again, he laid off your legs but beside them, head on your belly to hold and letting your hands rake through his platinum white locks again. It was quiet for minutes longer, just enjoying the other, but he whispered, "I should've been here."

"We did not know."

"Still," he frowned, kissing your bump tenderly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't here, but do not take it out on Mummy. She's so brave," another kiss, "so very brave to take the time and give you the most perfect place to live for now. We can't take it out on her. Not Mummy, anyone else, but not Mummy."

You felt yourself dozing off, humming in contentment when Daemon took note and started a conversation with the babe - just simply detailing his day. He said there was soon to be another clutch of dragon eggs and their sister would choose the most perfect egg for them; being all Visenya's spoken of for weeks. He told the babe how excited they all were to meet them, but when he noticed you were asleep, he hated himself for getting out of bed.

It was only to pull a dressing robe on and locate his daughter; being easy as she was in Alicent's arms two halls over - both admiring the tapestries. "Daddy said this was a big fight," Visenya was heard, pointing at the drape.

"He's right," Alicent nodded, "this depicts Aegon's Conquest."

"Big dragons," she sighed dreamily, looking at the stitching. "That's Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes. Cousin Laena rides Vhagar now."

"Very good, sweetheart," Alicent praised.

"My Queen," Daemon called, approaching almost stiffly.

"Daddy!"

"C'mere," he grunted, accepting his daughter as she lunged for his embrace. "Thank you," he told Alicent.

"Is everything all right?"

"She's resting," Daemon nodded, trying to hide his fear from his voice but Alicent saw it in his eyes.

"The Maester's know how to help, my Prince," she assured softly. "She might fight against the limitations, but it's for everyone's health. She'll be okay, Daemon," her hand reached out to gently touch his forearm, "her body just needs time to adjust."

With her words thrumming in his mind, Daemon spent the next several weeks at your bedside. He was everything and more: he got you water, tea, anything to eat; always making sure you ate even a little SOMETHING three times a day. He made sure you took your medicine, wiped your flushed skin with cold cloths, braided your hair to keep it off your flesh. He read to you, rubbed your ankles and feet to help any circulation of clots, held your trembling form when you threw up. Daemon remained strong where you felt weak, doing whatever he could to assure you that your predicament wasn't a burden to him.

"You're not listening!"

"All I do is listen!"

"Daemon!" You snapped, "For weeks now, you've been at my every beck and call - catering to my whims. You are not canceling flying with Visenya, she'll be crushed."

"But you're closer to your birthing," He pointed out sharply.

"And I have not moved from this bed in days," you snapped back. "I will endure another day of this if it means you go take Caraxes out, I hear he's been a right menace."

Daemon shook his head, but something in his posture fell from defense. It made you sit up a little and beckon to him, his hand reaching for yours as he dropped to the place beside you; leaning against your mountain of pillows. "I do not know how to do this," he whispered, leaning his head to the crook of your neck in a vulnerable show of emotion. "And I know we are learning together, but I feel pulled apart - that I will disappoint one of you while catering to the other."

"My sweet husband," you whispered against the crown of his head. "You worry for nought."

"I worry for all," he whispered. "Visenya needs me, Viserys needs me, Caraxes needs me, the bloody White Cloaks need me, you need me - "

"Do not stress yourself further about this," you insisted. "Viserys has other advisors. Visenya has her aunts, uncles, cousins, anyone she could play with. Caraxes does need you, yes," you chuckled, "but he's also violently independent so I would not worry about him. And I am under the care of the Maesters, so I'd argue only the White Cloaks need you - you are their Lord Commander, after all."

"No," he refused, "I am a husband and father first, brother second, Prince of the City third, and Lord Commander fourth. I will be where I am needed, I just do not have enough hours in the day to do it all."

"You do not need to do it all," you whispered.

"You all need me."

"Visenya and I, yes," you agreed, "your job is important, too... Fuck the rest. 'S just noise."

He chuckled, you felt the pull of his lips on your neck. He hummed into your flesh, licking gently before pulling back to mutter, "I wish you could come with us."

"I do, too," you smiled softly. "But I'll be right here for you both to come back to - tell me all about it."

Daemon chuckled, "Surely."

Speak of the Devil, and He will appear.

"MUMMY!"

"Vizzy!" You half-scolded, laughing when the door burst open to reveal your daughter in her dragon-riding gear. Not a moment later, your usual handmaid, Carlee, appeared out of breath, sighing with relief when she located Visenya. "I'm so sorry, Carlee, she's just like her father and avoids all authority," you laughed when the little girl climbed onto her father's lap.

"No, I apologize, Lady," Carlee panted, "I-I tried - but she - she's very fast."

"I've got her," Daemon dismissed stiffly, your glare doing nothing to him.

"Thank you, Carlee, we've got it from here," you amended to the kind, portly woman with greying red hair. She bowed out as you reached over to tickle Visenya, "And you, my little monster! Didn't I tell you to stop giving the nice ladies a hard time. Hmm? Yes?"

She laughed happily, squirming in Daemon's arms. He 'saved' her by snuggling his nose in her neck; the squealing continuing as she shouted, "He's tickling me, Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Help me, Mummy!"

"Mummy can't help you," Daemon playfully growl, gnawing into her neck as she flailed in his grip.

"Daddy! Stop it!"

He sighed dramatically, "Oh, I suppose I could... If a certain princess promises to behave from now on."

"Of course, Daddy, it's riding day!" She exclaimed, settling more in his lap now that he stopped tickling her. Because it wasn't often that Daemon took her riding, she was usually always on her best behavior to ensure her favorite day actually occurred - but that didn't mean it was an exact science.

"Visenya, be good for Daddy, yes?" You directed, puckering your lips for her. She pecked them quickly, promising to be good, and then rushing away when Daemon told her to go get her gloves and boots. When alone again, he looked at you almost sadly.

"One day, we'll fly as a family," he promised, forehead to your own. "Do you need anything, love?"

"I'm good, thank you, though," you whispered. Then, your hands caressed your belly, sighing, "Not long now, huh?"

"It's both the longest and shortest time of my life," he laughed lightly. "But soon, we'll pray for the quiet of your womb again."

You laughed, bringing him in for a kiss. He reciprocated before you pulled back, insisting, "Go, before she burns the Keep down. You know Caraxes would do it, too, that beastie would do anything she says."

"So would we," he winced.

"We might wanna work on that..."

"In time," he teased, kissing you again. "Stay put."

"Yes, sir." He gave you a look, making you amend, "Yes, Daddy."

He chuckled, kissed you a final time, and then rose. Just as he was exiting the door, you heard him yelp your daughters name before a small bang - making you think Visenya had run full sprint at him and knocked him back a step or two.

Another few days dragged by. You were agitated, you were stir crazy, you were on the shortest fuse known to man. Visenya liked reading to you, working on her writing skills with you in bed; she even got to practice her hair braiding skills. When you snapped at servants and maids, Visenya was always chiding, "Mummy, that's mean."

She kept you level-headed.

Daemon was a wreck, however.

He was only one person and the fact that he needed to be several was far too stressful than he was ever willing to admit. "Daemon, my love," you called sternly, "stop your pacing and come here. Lay with me, please."

"I do not get that luxury - "

"It is not a luxury to nurture your seed in my body," you deflected. "Now, come here. Now."

Daemon glared, "Do not think you command me, woman."

"The vows we took certainly think I do. Armor off, boots off, hair down, get the fuck over here - now, Daemon."

He sighed and grumbled, grunting as he did what you told but made it known he wasn't happy about it. When he was dressed in nothing but linen trousers, he laid beside you. "Now what?" He snapped.

"Now hold your wife and child and just fucking breathe," you shot back, readjusting so you cuddled into him. "You reek tonight."

"Your list of demands did not include bathing, excuse me, Princess," he sneered in a condescending tone.

"Daemon, I just want you to take a pause," you bit. "You've been runnin' 'round with your head chopped off since finding out about this... This complication."

"I have much to do."

"I know, and that is why it's important to just slow down and simply breathe. Please, just breathe with me, Daemon, I need us both to be as okay as we can be for when this babe finally comes."

"There's no time - "

"We make our time,' you insisted. "Please, just pause."

He did, Daemon actually paused to just take a deep breath. After one, he took another... Then another, and another until he was doing it with ease and confidence. "I'm sorry," he whispered against your forehead, bringing you in closer. "I do not mean to take it out on you, pet, I am just... Well, you know."

"I know you're worried," you sighed. "Which is why we need this. Tell me of your day, today?"

Daemon didn't want to at first, but then relented and started on a snowball tangent that explained his foul mood. You listened, ear pressed to his pectoral; hands tracing absent patterns on the contours of his abdomen. Daemon usually tried his best to restrain himself with you, but you actively encouraged him and the more he talked, the more words that spewed from his mouth in a messy jumble. One arm remained wrapped around you, keeping you close, and his free one moved about in exaggeration.

"And to top the day off, you know what the bloody Septa told me? The one Alicent insisted was worth utilizing?"

"Septa Amelia?"

"Whatever," he huffed.

"What'd she say to you, my Prince?"

He sighed at the endearing tone you used for his title, knowing it wasn't a reference to his real station but instead, a pet name you had for him. Daemon sighed, "That Visenya might need shipped off to Dorne to attend that grueling, military school."

"She's only just turned five - "

"I am aware," Daemon cut you off. "I cursed at her before taking Visenya."

"Good, then I shall know who to yell at, too," your voice hardened. "Why do they complain about her so? 'S all I bloody hear, how our daughter's wild and untamed - saying we are unfit parents by the looks of her."

"She's fire in her blood because she is the Dragon's Seed, just as this one is, too," His hand laid over your belly. "And yet, I cannot understand why others voice their opinions on our family, which they are not entitled to an opinion on. Visenya grows within the Red Keep, she is not some wild animal, but perhaps, she lacks stimuli."

"How could we remedy that?"

"A tutor... Or a few, perhaps. From across the Narrow Sea," he told you, already sounding like he wasn't as angry as before. "Find us proper tutors who will take her on as a student to guide her where we cannot - and where others give up. What kind of a man would I be to ignore what someone blatantly needs that I can easily provide?"

You offered a small smirk, taking a fond note, "This isn't just 'someone', Daemon, you speak of our daughter. You're so good at this, you know... Taking care of us. Daddy takes care."

He tightened his hold, "I always will, my sweet."

It was quiet again, your stomach churning with discomfort; questioning, "Though I am wondering what she did today to prompt such a comment?"

He scoffed, "So, she set fire to some curtains, who bloody cares - "

You gasped shrilly as you sat bolt upright, "Visenya did what!?"

"No, hey, no," he reached for you, "no stress, no - "

But you were hobbling out of the bed before he could stop you, grumbling the entire time; yet the moment your feet hit the floor, you paused to heave for breath, stood, and felt the trickle of fluids from between your legs. "What?" You gasped, realizing what just happened, begging, "What? No, no, no, no, not now, little one, please, stay in there!"

Daemon vaulted himself over the bed and was at your side in an instant, guiding you to sit once more and promising, "I will get the Maesters. Just ease yourself, no stress, no worries, I'll get help - I'll get the Maester's." He meant to move away.

"No," you insisted, reaching for his tunic's collar to grip, yank, and hold him close, "I need you with me. We all do, please, do not leave me to do this life alone. D-Daemon, please, I'm so scared, do not leave me, I can't do this without you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, taking your hand to hold, "but I need to get you help. Please, my love, you need the help."

You whimpered and got back on the bed by yourself as Daemon raced for the chamber door. He only took half a step, then shouted, "YOU! HEY, YOU! GET THE BLOODY MAESTERS! NOW! YOUR PRINCE DEMANDS IT!"

Ignoring whatever else he shouted, you got comfortable as the cramps began to twist in your lower gut - shooting pains down your legs, up your back, even tingling into your fingers. Sweat took hold of you like a bad fever, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew something couldn't be completely right. This sensation was strange, it wasn't at all a feeling you had when pregnant with Visenya.

Hours drug by as if sap dripping from a tree.

Your pain increased; sweating, grunting, moaning, groaning with displeasure. Daemon was stoic and quiet, just watching you writhe in pain as his heart cemented in his chest to sink into his feet and anchor him there. Visenya wasn't anything like this; he'd been present for that birth, too, and remember thinking how easy it appeared since the baby practically fell out of you.

This was much different.

"My Prince," the Maester approached him with a deep frown, "a word?"

"What?" He snapped, watching the Maester step to the side. Daemon sighed and followed, glaring, arms crossing as he demanded, "What is it?"

"My Prince, the babe will not come. I do not wish to beat around this bush, so I will tell you plainly. Sometimes, when the fetus is in a compromising position, a decision must be made: either the babe is cut from the womb and it survives or they both die or only the babe dies - there was a way to remove the baby surgically if that's the case. But you need to choose."

"Why do I have to choose? It's her decision - her body, her life, her choice."

"She is delirious with pain," the Maester deflected, "and if the babe is a boy, wouldn't you rather know and have him?"

"And lose my wife?" Daemon growled. "I think the fuck not. You will not put this decision on me, it is for her to decide."

He pushed past everyone to take the spot beside you and instantly pick up your hand. "Daemon," you sobbed, "for fuck's sake, please, please, just let this be over. Get the babe out."

"You're almost there, sweetheart."

But one of the Septas assisting the Maesters squeaked in mild alarm, and when Daemon looked, there was a significant amount of blood blooming under you. "She's bleeding, could be a hemorrhage," the Maester rushed, lifting your thin gown to judge the birthing canal.

"What's wrong?" You asked in a half-slur.

"Nothing, you're okay," Daemon assured softly, kissing your hand.

Your screams through labor echoed through empty stone halls. Your pain was tangible, your fear paramount. "What's wrong!?" You begged the room, "Why aren't they coming? Why won't our baby come?"

"We're trying, Princess," A Septa spoke softly.

You only cried until your exhaustion outweighed your consciousness; your mind going blank, eyes rolling back, and slipping into the weighted darkness from the blood loss. Daemon frantically shook your shoulder, begging, "My love, please! Wake up! Wake up now! What's going on!?"

"There's too much blood!"

"I told you to choose!" The Maester snapped at Daemon. "Now they will both lose their lives!"

Daemon felt his chest hallow - figuring the words were true enough. He couldn't decide, he refused to, and now you suffered and the possibility of losing your child was larger than before. "My Prince," a Septa approached, "you need to wait outside."

"No - "

"They need to operate, you cannot linger here," she insisted. "You will be called for."

He steeled his jaw, pointing a warning finger at the Maester, "Don't make the cut else your loved ones will only see you on a spike around the Red Keep."

Prince Daemon waited outside for another few hours. He paced, he refused food and drink, he simply wanted to be in there with you but had to begrudgingly put faith into the medical team working on you. He smirked when he saw his daughter, Visenya, round the distant corner and sprint up to him - Carlee chasing her.

"Are you skipping lessons, again, Little Dragon?" Daemon grunted as he caught his daughter - swinging her onto his hip by using the momentum from catching her.

"Where's Mummy and the baby?" She demanded.

Daemon sighed, "The baby doesn't want to come out, yet, love, so we can't see them yet."

"But it's been a day, Daddy!" She whined.

"I know, pet," he sighed with a frown, glancing at the closed door. "It's all right," he told the maid, "she can remain here with us."

"My Prince, she'd miss - "

"Lessons? You dare try to say lessons are more important?" He snapped.

"Daemon," Viserys frowned from his wheelchair. "Your anger is misplaced."

He hummed, readjusting his daughter on his hip as Alicent dismissed Carlee; letting Daemon begin to pace again. When the door opened, he whipped around, but only an in-training Maester slipped out of the room - giving no time to peer inside. "Well?" Daemon demanded.

"We are still working, My Prince, but I am to fetch more material," he answered, nodding once, then dashing away. It did nothing to settle his nerves, in fact, they tripled when the lad returned with a procession of aids - all carrying different material. They reentered the room, and Daemon felt his heart snap.

"Stay with Uncle, Little Dragon," Daemon told his daughter, approaching Viserys, offering him the child to which he accepted. "Stay here, do not move, Daddy has to check on Mummy. Yes?"

"Is she sick?" Visenya frowned.

"I'll check, my love."

"I can go, too, Daddy."

Daemon sighed through his nose, his daughter making him melt into a pile of nothingness - but reminded himself to stay firm. "No, love, you just stay here and Daddy will check," he assured softly as Viserys lifted his hands to keep hold of the young girl and ensuring she did not follow Daemon when he nodded, turned, and shoved through the door into the birthing chamber.

"My Prince!"

But Daemon couldn't move.

There was blood everywhere. Soiled linens, a drenched nightgown, scattered puddles of splattered life source across the floor. You looked delirious, confused; not fully present in your mind, and when he noted the Milk of the Poppy, he understood your pain was trying to be managed. Blood painted up and down your thighs; blood pooling under your cunt, but there was a baby's head visible.

Startled, he rushed for your side and knelt to take your hand. "My love," he breathed, "can you hear me? Are you with me? Please. Please, sweet wife, open your eyes and look at me."

When you did, he could tell you were unfocused and unsure who he was before realization dawned over your facial expression. "Daemon," you whispered, squeezing his hand slightly.

"I'm here, love," he promised. "Right here - I'm with you."

"The baby?"

"Almost," he promised, watching your eyes flutter.

"She needs to push, my Prince," the birthing maester instructed. "C'mon, c'mon, now's the time - push! Push, Princess, push!"

"C'mon, love!" Daemon encouraged, watching sweat glisten over every exposed surface of skin; jaw clenching, bearing down and pushing with might.

The screams echoed through the Keep, only drowned out when a storm rolled in that evening. The thunder masked the profanities shouted, lightning accompanied by each scream of pain as birth split you in half. Daemon did not leave your side, encouraging you through the entire ordeal, his trousers saturating with your blood as more dripped to the floor as you pushed, pushed, pushed, and pushed with all the strength you had.

"You gotta keep goin', love," Daemon would tell you, "gotta keep fightin' for this - don't stop now. I need you with us, our children will need us, this is not something I can do alone. Please," he begged, "do not make me say goodbye. Not until we're fat and old, remember? Huh? My precious love, you're almost done, but you have to keep fighting. It'll be worth it, soon. Just keep going!"

By the following morning, a babe was being pulled from your cunt with a gushing wave of fluid and blood - reminding the Maester very briefly of cattle birth. However, while relief colored your system, the medical attendants felt panic flood theirs - muttering, hushing, consulting the baby to the side as the Maester saw you through the afterbirth. "W-Wait," you slurred, "wh-where are they? Where? Daemon, wh-what is it? Girl or boy?"

He frowned, Septas, Silent Sisters, and other maids all huddled together without your child in sight. "I-I do not know, yet, sweetheart, but remain calm. The worst is over..." But when he looked down at you, he noticed how still you laid and felt his panic skyrocket. He begged your name several times, demanding you wake up, but you remained silent and still - skin even turning clammy as sweat dried. Daemon was actually pulled out of the way, two Maesters attending to your side, and he felt impossibly in the middle.

To his left, his child. To his right, his wife. Both of whom appear in distress, both of whom hold his worry. "She's clots again," he heard from the Maesters. "Not breathing," he heard from the Septas.

So, this is what Hell was like...

A shrill cry pierced the air, adrenaline draining from Daemon's blood as he realized this only meant the babe was okay. When he was approached with the bundle, he worried, "She should be the first to hold them."

"It's all right, my Prince," the Septa spoke softly, "you may hold her now, and later, you can lay her on your wife's chest."

Daemon nodded, taking the baby. He blinked, "Did you say, 'she'?"

"A girl, my Prince, healthy, strong, full-term."

"What's wrong with her?" He demanded. "Why does my wife not wake?"

"The blood loss," a Maester muttered, "'s gotta be the blood loss."

He couldn't move or breathe. His daughter screamed, still, but he was terrified by the sight of the Maesters flocking over your still-body. Daemon protested, but once more, he was asked to leave the chamber and had to be escorted - but he wanted to remain. He wanted to linger, to watch you, to ensure you were taken care of... Yet the bundle in his arms wriggled and sobbed, reminding him that he had a responsibility to his daughter that needed his attention.

"Daemon," Alicent perked up when the door opened, eyes widening at the sight of the Targaryen swaddle.

"Brother?" Viserys worried, eyes glistening as he assumed the worst.

"She's... She's not waking up," He spoke without emotion, "the Maesters are still working."

Viserys nodded, holding a sleeping Visenya on his lap still. "You need rest," he recommended.

"No, I think I will stay," Daemon refused.

"You can't function this way," Alicent tacked on. "The Maesters will still be at work, and even after, she will not be awake for hours. Milk of the Poppy is potent, and with her exhaustion, it's sure to be an intense combination."

He nodded slowly, "I want to be here."

So, Daemon remained.

He let Visenya sit with him on the stone bench outside the birthing chamber; his brother remaining to offer moral support alongside his wife until royal obligation can calling. He remained stoic, holding his daughter and only passing her off to the wet nurse when a feeding or cleaning needed attended to. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when the doors opened, Daemon shot to his feet; leaving his infant daughter in Visenya's lap.

"She's asking for you," the Maester told Daemon, smirking slightly when the Prince charged for the room. He looked around at the disarray and how dwarfed you appeared in the bed; sheets still saturated with blood.

Never before had he felt such relief, dropping to his knees as if in prayer at your bedside; tearfully picking up your hand to kiss the back of it. "You're alive," he whispered in shock, "oh, bless the Seven, you're alive - you're still here with me. With us."

You could only manage a tired, half-smile, "Can't be rid of me that easy."

He snorted his amusement, "Thought I lost you for a moment there..."

"Sorry to scare you," you whispered, "but 's not easy pushing a baby from your cunt, huh?"

"No, definitely not. Especially a Targaryen, born of Fire and Blood," he looked close to tears, "they are known for their harsh entrance into this world."

"I'd endure all of it for our children," you mumbled, taking a long breath. "I'm tired, Daemon."

He looked to a lingering Maester, the one in training, asking, "Can she move back to our chambers?"

"She might not want to walk, yet," the lad advised, "but yes. Perhaps a familiar environment will help the healing process."

Daemon had a Maester carrying his infant daughter and escort Visenya to your living quarters while he brought you. He laid you in bed, ensuring your comfort before taking his daughter back in his arms, dismissing the staff, and telling Visenya to change into her loungewear. They were going to take a nap with Mummy...

"Daemon?" You mumbled.

"I'm here, love," he rushed to your side, "you all right? What do you need?"

"It's hurting," you frowned.

Daemon laid your daughter beside you in bed, furthest into the mattress, so he could prepare your next dose of Milk of the Poppy. Visenya, changed for the lazy day, jumped into bed with you, smiling at her new sister as Daemon changed himself. When he joined you in bed, he kept the baby between the two of you as Visenya deflated on Daemon's chest. She all but instantly fell asleep, both parents allowing for several long minutes to pass; ensuring their slumbering state.

"Did you pick a name?" You asked, tracing your fingertip along your baby's belly in soft, ticklish motions.

"Not yet," he answered. "Thought that should be a decision we agree on."

"I have no preference," you told him softly, "I'm just relieved she's here."

"You and me both," he whispered, leaning over to kiss your forehead. "You did such a good job, sweetheart, to endure this Targaryen Curse for our family - such a good job."

You smiled at him, catching his lips in a full kiss as the poppy released into your bloodstream. "I love you," you promised him.

"I love you," he echoed; the serenity surrounding you both in a warm embrace. Unable to help himself, Daemon teased, "So, when do you want our third child?"

You both had to suppress your humor to protect your sleeping daughters from being rudely woken.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

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russellsppttemplates · 22 days

Text

Love notes (Charles Leclerc)

A look into Charles' notebook allows words and feelings to be exposed

Note: english is not my first language. The request didn't specify this, but friends to lovers was the first thing that popped into my mind and I know I'm not the only one whose favourite trope is that one so I did it ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: mentions Charles' father and his passing and implications of the loss of someone close to the reader

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"And you want me to tell you that code?", you asked Charles over the phone.

Your boyfriend needed to go to the bank to sort a few errands out, and since you had finished moving the last boxes of your belongings to his apartment, you stayed back to tidy them and organise them within the apartment. As it turns out, he forgot to take the documents with the codes.

"Yes, please amour - it's in my notebook on my desk on the office", Charles asked, "I think I went as far as taking the paper out a little so it peeks out but I forgot to take it with me", you could hear the smile and blush on his face.

"Let me go there - don't you mind me looking on your notebook though?", you said as you moved through the apartment, "by the way, I have already found some space in the kitchen for mug collection - yay! Okay, found the notebook - is it the document with your signature or the one that has the details?", you questioned.

"The one with the signature, at the end, left side", Charles repeated what the bank assistant was telling him so he could help you find what he wanted, "and it's the third and fifth number on the Mobile Key".

"Okay, I have it - it's 4 and 1", you informed him, "those are the third and fifth numbers".

"Merci amour, I don't think I need anything else! Once I finish up here, I'll head home to you, I love you! And Y/N, I trust you with everything I have - I have nothing to hide", he offered, making you bid him goodbye before ending the call.

His words ressonated with you as you flickered through the pages, noticing some doddles and racing notes before you decided to look at it from the beggining.

The first page had what looked like a poem and it dated back to the end of 2016.

My father told me to be careful

- Try to slow down a little

You don't ponder nor stay still

You don't belong or give yourself to anywhere

He said - my boy, you know what you're capable of

The world awaits you, go ahead and smile

You don't want to be left behind

It's not been easy dealing with everything. There's hope and there's the want to do more to prove everyone that I belong in Formula One. Still, I'm happy that Prema decided to have me race for them next year in Formula Two and things should go up from there. Time and patience, work and rest. Spending time with the people I love most and care about me the most.

Y/N also progressed on her studies and she's doing really well - she makes our friend group very proud! The guys are investing on their careers too and it's nice to see that, in a way, we're all growing up.

The page went on about all the whereabouts of the group, who had gotten together with someone, who had moved out of their parents' house and the ones who got work offers. There were jotted up plans for the summer holidays that, in hindsight, were mostly realized.

When you turned it to the next one, the poem continued with the same tone.

My mother said to me

- You have to see what's happening

That girl is much more than a friend

And you don't want to lose her

She reads it in my eyes

Or in my open soul

I don't know how she does it

But no matter how much I deny it

My mother is always right

I really like Y/N. Not just as a friend, but also as someone who I want to share my life with.

Whenever someone wonders how I think my life will be like in five, ten, fifteen years, she's always there. There's racing - me climbing up the ladder to points, podiums, wins and championships -, and there is my family.

Y/N and our own family.

Mum claims she noticed it since we were kids and that right now is the right time. Y/N is single again and I can't afford to lose her. Lose her as a friend or lose the opportunity to confess my feelings, or the worst one: lose her because she doesn't feel the same or feel like being in a relationship right now?

It's funny how this works, how much I care about her and how it hurts me when she isn't feeling well. Or how bad I feel because I keep missing some of her university milestones because I'm racing somewhere in the world but she always call me and I'm right in her hand while her family and our friends are in the stands or waiting area.

Even though I'm the one that's furthest away, she keeps me close.

Charles had notes about you? He always carried the little notebook around but you assumed it was because of important information he wrote there. You didn't expect this.

His words rang in your ears as, while your boyfriend had told you he had been crushing on you for a while, he had never admitted feeling this doubt. Not to this extent.

Suddenly, it felt like you were taking a look from a different angle at Charles' soul. The intimacy and vulnerability wasn't foreign and you fell in love with him a little bit more.

Today is the day to get closer

To face her and see what she says

And if luck follows me

As I'm writing this, I hope Y/N is getting ready to meet me in the park. She looks beautiful in anything, but I'm hoping she wears one of her dresses that make her look like a real life princess.

Maybe we will be happy

What I have planned isn't elaborate, because I don't think she would like a big production, and I hope it's enough to show her where I stand.

I asked maman for some help with the cakes and cookies and got the rest from the shop, we're going to have a picnic and I've decided today is the day where I tell her how I fell about her.

There is no point in hiding it, and Joris and Riccardo seem so sure that she shares the same affection.

Today is the day to grab her

I hope she does.

To be with the one I always wanted

And if the nervous voice doesn't fail

Y/N said yes to being my girlfriend!!! As it turns out, she does feel the same and we both agree that it was a mixture of stubbornness and bad timing for eachother. Now, it's the right place and the right time.

I hope we will be happy

The memory is clear as day on your mind.

I confessed how much I love her and she reciprocated it.

Charles asked you to meet up with him at the park because he wanted to talk to you. The seriousness of the text was confirmed when you arrived, Charles pacing around the picnic blanket until his eyes found yours.

"I can't pretend anymore", he said, "you're the first person I look for when I get somewhere I know you will be too, I can't stand to see you hurt or upset and I will kick myself every day if I'm ever the reason you hurt, which I hope I'll never be. You deserve the world, Y/N, the moon and the stars, and I'm going to get them for you because I love you", he offered.

You had been so dumbfounded that you could only approach him and kiss his lips, cupping his face closer to yours, "I've been in love with you for so long, Charles", you whispered back.

It was the day where your love story truly began despite having existed for all of your childhood. You were his and he was yours.

Come with me, love is not time

Continuing to look through the notebook, you spotted some racing notes with numbers and acronyms you weren't sure that they meant, taking a while to find another page that had similar writing.

It's not even time that does it

Come with me, love is the moment

In which I give myself

Y/N is asleep right now as we fly back home after the race. She hasn't left my side and I think this is the first time she's sleeping since we got the news. We knew it was coming, but it doesn't mean that it hurts any less.

In which you give yourself

The feeling is unbearable. Someone who gives you so much also takes so much away from you when they go away. There's so much to go through, and all of the feelings haven't come up yet.

Maman is waiting for us with Lorenzo and Arthur, and I hope we will all find peace with this heavy feeling together.

Y/N told me the feeling may never leave, it creeps up when you least expect it and there are no rules to it.

Time is precious and I want to spend as much time as I can with the ones I love. God knows I did that with papa and it still feels like it wasn't enough.

The creak of the floorboards alerted you that someone else was inside the apartment before Charles' head peeked, "Hello, mon ange", he smiled, coming up to kiss your forehead.

It's these moments where we're not doing anything particular or special that mean the most. Y/N has given me all she's got and I've given her all of me, at the end it's the most human thing to do. Be there. Be present. Allow the other to feel everything they need to feel and protect them. Y/N has protected me and she's never let me doubt that we are for each other.

"I looked through these - I didn't mean to invade your privacy but I got curious", you admitted. It would be no use to lie about it or try to hide it away.

Time will wait, stop there

"Did you like what you found?", Charles asked, pulling the other office chair to sit at the table with you, "I have this one here that I really like actually", he flickered through the pages.

So I can stay like this looking at you

Time knows well, even time understands

That someone doesn't rush

"I wrote this one when we were on holiday, it the boat", Charles tapped the page, "you looked so beautiful that day and I felt like I was running out of time to appreciate you. Then I spent the whole afternoon watching you and I felt like time slowed down a little bit because it knew I was appreciating you", he charmed.

That looks at you like I do

"These are very beautiful, Charles - this one is so beautiful", you smiled, kissing his cheek and cuddling up to his arm as he continued to leaf through the notebook.

Call me an adventure and come and have an adventure

There were also drawings and loose poems along with some photos he kept of you two. One of the hike you had done in Ibiza last year caught your eye. You stood on top of the rock and by the way your arms were positioned, you were calling Charles to join you in there while he snapped the picture.

Change my plans and I promise I'll believe

That I'm the only one you want to see when you wake up

Your haven if the world collapses

Come and deceive me with that look of yours

The sweet way that trips me and without counting

Quench my thirst with a kiss to shut me up

Make me a poem and let me stay

I do not forget

But I want to hear from your mouth all the words that make me blush

Speak softly in my ear

And grab my hand

"This was last year, one of the seasons where I had to deal with so much disappointment in racing, and you never let go. You were there to hold me everytime things didn't go well, to celebrate my achievements and my podiums, and you still make it feel like an adventure every single day", Charles mused, "being loved by you is assuring, comforting, liberating, soothing, amazing, incredible and the best feeling I have on the world! Loving you? It's as incredible as it is a big responsibility because I have to make sure the adventure is still there and that we're both in it", Charles admitted.

Before the night is over

"Being loved by you makes me feel like the only other person in the world", you looked up at him.

"Loving you is making sure the time stops when you're with me so I can tell you all the silly stories I know just to make you smile, all of this to make sure you know you're the reason behind my happiness and the one behind the longing that never lies when you're not there. It's hugging you back tight and have my heart wide open because it's yours to take", he sighed with a smile on his face.

"I love you, Charles - being loved by you is the best thing I get to experience in this life", you smiled before kissing his lips.

"This helps me a lot when you're not with me, it's like I can talk to you", Charles muttered, "and I get to have the memories written out too, you never know when this can come in handy".

"You have no excuse if your speech in our wedding feels impersonal or doesn't have any memories then", you joked as Charles' finger lightly pressed down on the remaining pages of the notebook, making sure you don't get the idea to flicker through the random pages he has used to doodle the perfect engagement ring for you, smiling at the thought of having you be his forever.

"I definitely don't, amour - I'll make sure it's a good one when the time comes", he smiled.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fluff

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h2llish · 6 months

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【╰ヾ❝ COWARD ✧„

FLOYD LEECH ━━━ eels are cowards ♡ fluff, pining, fuck ooc i listen to no one (respectfully), reader is male but he gets called pretty, lowercase intended

fem aligned dni (she/they, she/her, etc)

eels are cowards. not many knew this, however, and if they did, they believed it couldn't possibly apply to the leech twins.

those two couldn't possibly be scared of anything.

but how wrong they all were. because they failed to realize that cowardice is a completely different light compared to the intimidation, they placed the twins into.

floyd leech was intimidating, towering over most people and always flashing his sharp teeth in a wide grin that quickly made anyone facing him question their next course of action. floyd leech was intimidating, usually sent out with his brother to find anyone who had yet to pay their dues to their good friend Azul. floyd leech was intimidating, pulling others into a tight grip that had them swearing that they could hear the way their ribs snapped, and their heart squeezed under the force.

floyd leech was intimidating. but he was also a coward.

a coward when it came to the boy taking residence in the old dorm on campus. the boy usually found running errands for a negligent headmage or bailing their cat-monster and the heartslabyul duo out of trouble. a coward when it came to the only person who didn't stray away from him because he was intimidating.

you were no coward; he realized that the moment you walked into Octavinelle and struck a deal with Azul to get back your idiots. and when you faced your third overblot with a sigh, complaining about mentally unstable idiots who can't handle their emotions (your words), before reluctantly addressing the ink that had taken over his housewarden. you certainly were no coward.

he liked that about you; of course, he liked a lot of things about you. if you asked jade or azul, they'd tell you all about how floyd talked about you and only you. ━ how you were the prettiest boy he'd ever seen. how you always let him squeeze you. how you never batted an eye when you found him threatening another student. how you said hi to him that morning just before you were dragged away by a hungry Grim. and did he mention pretty? because you're so pretty.

but of course, you remained unaware because floyd could never tell you. he was too much of a coward after all.

but that's okay, because you weren't.

"prefect?"

"hey, jade." you greeted the twin, hands stuffed into the old pockets of your hand-me-down uniform as you entered the mostro lounge. you split away from the line entering the on-campus business to stand in front of the leech. "is floyd here?"

jade raised a questioning brow, but you only met his eyes with a tilt of your head. it was unusual for you to come seeking floyd out, much less at the mostro lounge. although that mostly had to do with how busy you always were, keeping your friends and only dormmate out of trouble and always running the errands crowley decided to dump on you. when you could, you did visit, even if only for a mere minute before you were being dragged off again. because of that, it was usually floyd who went in search for you; and he never tires from the chase, jade notes.

"he is, but i'm afraid he's working the kitchen today."

you frowned, "that's too bad, i really wanted to see him."

floyd would be ecstatic to hear that. jade can already hear the rant he'd likely be at the end of if floyd were to learn you'd said that. ━━ "he wanted to see me!"

"may i ask where you friends are? they're usually not far behind." jade smiled his customer smile.

"oh!" you sighed, scratching the tip of your nose and looking almost sheepish when you continued, "i'm hiding, actually."

"oh?" jade chuckled, "is that so?"

you sighed again, "i needed a break, and i missed floyd."

oh, this just kept getting better.

"i'm sure floyd would be happy to hear that."

"do you think, if you get the chance, you can tell him i'm here?" you asked, "i want to at least say hello just in case my friends find me."

jade's sharp teeth were on display as he grinned at you, a little unsettling for you to witness. you were used to floyd's menacing smiles, but jade's were far more unsettling and eerie. or maybe that's just your bias talking. either way, his smile was starting to spook you. "i think i'll just go get him for you." he offered. you expected something totally different to be said by the way he was grinning at you. (what, though? you're not sure).

you shook your head, "are you sure? "

"of course."

"isn't he busy?"

"someone else can cover for him in the meantime."

"won't azul be upset?"

"he'll learn to live with it."

you pursed your lips and stared at the leech, still grinning widely at you. he was quick to shut down your questions, maybe a bit too quick. he always was the harder twin to read, but then again, just this once, you think you understand what he's doing.

"okay, if you're sure."

a chuckle but no response as jade turned away and began towards the bar. you blinked, but followed him, only stopping when you reached the bar and he disappeared into the back.

you waited for a bit before the moody leech twin dragged himself out of the kitchen. when he seen you, his mood quickly changed, his face lighting up as he called your name excitedly. you smiled, standing from the barstool you had taken a seat in. floyd was quick to scoop you into his arms, as he always does when he sees you, squeezing you into a tight hug that you tried to return by placing your hands on his shoulders.

"hey, floyd." you laughed.

"shrimpy! what are you doing here?" floyd asked you, refusing to place you down. you hardly bat an eye, used to being squeezed by the twin.

"i wanted to come to see you!" you answered with a smile aimed down at the boy, and floyd was reminded of how much of a coward he was, as he stared up at you. "and i'm trying to hide from the others. want to hide with me?"

floyd finally placed you down, eyes wide with unnoticed adoration and his signature sharp-toothed grin. he giggled, "you bet!"

that's when jade finally came back after he went to fetch his brother, glancing at the giddy floyd. he found it amusing how quickly his brother became so animated when you were around. of course, the way you acted around his brother only proved to him how much those feelings were returned.

"i'd offer to hide at ramshackle but they'd definitely find us there." you sighed, completely ignoring the other twin as if you hadn't noticed him at all (and he's quite sure you didn't), crossing your arms and tapping a finger on your chin, "they'd also eventually think to look here."

that's when jade decided he wanted to be helpful (but floyd knows his brother and he knows he was probably just trying to set him up for failure.)

"why don't you and floyd hide in our room?"

floyd is a coward. because even now, after the push from his brother to make the first move by offering their shared room to hide in, he still refused to do anything. even as you flopped down on his bed and jokingly complained about how messy his side of the room was compared to jade's, he still chose to run away from his feelings.

you turned onto your stomach and grabbed one of the pillows he had tossed around in his sleep. you got comfortable on his bed, eyeing the mess of his dorm side and the neatness of jade's side, giggling, "i think you might be messier than grim."

floyd grumbled something you didn't quite hear as he pushed off the clothes hanging off the side of his bed and climbed in beside you. you scooted over a bit so he could get comfortable, smiling at him when he turned his head to you, remaining oblivious to his cowardly heart beating a bit too quickly for his approval. he's always chose to deny his feelings, being the coward he is, he didn't want to accept them. but he's never wanted to run away from you; but right now, that's all he wanted to do ━ is it possible for a boy to be this pretty? it should be illegal. he's too much of a coward to be able to handle this.

your smile had been noticeable since you first seen him, even as you asked, "so how was your day?"

watching you smile at him made him think of a conversation he heard with the first years you always hung out with. he was looking for you when he overheard you and your friends.

crabby had whined something about you never actually smiling, "come on, prefect you're so cold. you could at least try to give us a real smile, ya know?"

"no idea what you're talking about." you sighed.

"yeah right," ace rolled his eyes, "you only ever really smile at grim or━"

"he who shall not be named!" epel interrupted, eyeing the space around them, as if something was going to pop out. and he probably was because his face fell as floyd soon decided to announce his presence, yelling for you. it seemed no one realized he had eavesdropped, except maybe that wolf who only raised his brows at him and shook his head. what?

floyd sighed loudly, exaggerated, "it was good! but then azul had to go and ruin it!"

you hummed, "he did?"

"yeah! he was all upset since i haven't been working my whole shifts or something like that. and━"

you listened as he ranted to you about azul getting upset with him because he kept ditching his shifts completely or halfway through (to be with you. like right now). and how jade just sat there, enjoying watching him get scolded like it was his entertainment alone for the day. and then azul told him he was going to be on strict watch by jade (though it didn't seem as strict now). and then floyd was working his shift before you got there when he and this savanaclaw student almost got into it, but jade had broken it up, and azul grounded him to the kitchen, saying that's where he'd work the rest of shift.

"but it wasn't my fault! he started it!"

"i'm sure he did." you agreed.

"but then you showed up, shrimpy!" he grinned, flashing his endearingly sharp teeth as he turned his head to look at you.

you returned the smile, shifting in your spot to lay on your side with one hand under the pillow while the other went up to ruffle his hair. floyd blinked owlishly at you, smile faltering; you really weren't intimidated by him if you were able to do that without having to think on it too long. oh, the poor coward's heart.

"you're so cute floyd."

you retracted your hand and floyd pouted. you hummed, shutting your eyes and resting your hand back on the bed. your words are unfair, he thinks, because you're far cuter.

"hey floyd?" you called, eyes remaining closed. floyd hummed as he continued to stare at your face, peaceful even in his presence. laying like this would be unsettling for others, although he'd never let anyone else this close in the first place. "what would you do if i kissed you?"

━coward.

floyd blinked, and you peeked an eye open to look at him when you gained no response. you eventually opened the other and sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position and crossing your legs, "my bad, that wasn't a very good confession." you leaned forward a bit and smiled warmly, "i really like you, floyd."

eels are cowards. but when they have to, they will come out of their burrows to face their opponents; sometimes the opponent just has to take the first move.

floyd's face lit up with a wide grin, a 180 to his cowardly heart now full of joy at hearing your words as he quickly lunged forward, burying his face into your abdomen and causing you to quickly place a hand behind you for support. he giggled into your uniform, and you shook your head, smiling down at him as you raised a hand to pet his hair.

"awe shrimpy likes me!" he muffled into the fabric, but you heard it clearly. he was giggling so much into your clothes, enjoying your hand running through his hair as he lifted his head to finally look at you. "i really like you too, [name]!"

you grinned at him, "good. jade wasn't lying to me." floyd rested his chin on your stomach as he stared at you, tilting his head at the mention of his brother. and you answered his unasked question, "he visited me a few days ago and said that you liked me, but then he said eels are known to be cowards so i would probably have to make the first move."

floyd pouted; it was true, but jade didn't have to say it. he grumbled, tightening his arms around your waist, "stupid jade."

you chuckled, "i have to thank him though, i probably wouldn't have confessed if not for him. this is actually part of why i had to sneak away from the others or else i'd never have the privacy i needed to tell you."

floyd stared at you as you explained the way you managed to escape your friends while ace and deuce had started bickering, which eventually led to sebek and grim coming to add to the mess, allowing you to slip away with only epel and jack aware. they actively helped with epel keeping the argument going so no one else noticed, and jack provided you cover with how tall he was. if not for them you're sure you would've been caught before you even made it to the mirror chamber.

when you quiet, floyd called up to you, "hey [name]?"

"yeah?" you hummed, tucking some of his hair away from his face. he still had yet to release his arms around your waist and you're pretty sure he had no intention of doing so any time soon.

"you said you wanted to kiss me, yeah? you did, i heard you." he looked excited at remembering your first attempt at a confession, words a bit fast, exactly as you know them to be when he got really excited.

you let out a quiet ah, before laughing quite loudly. everyone at night raven college knew that you weren't exactly the expressive type; you never laughed that loud. at least, not with anyone but floyd (and maybe the monster you called your kid). you eventually calmed down, only letting out the occasional breathy giggle, mumbling something about the eel being so cute; the same eel who was staring at you with bright eyes. (his shrimpy was the prettiest boy he's ever known.)

"yeah, i did." you tilted your head at him, smile seeming to grow when you asked, "do you want me to kiss you floyd?" at the excited nod you received from him, you laughed again, watching the leech finally release his grip around your waist to sit up and lean closer to you. your hand rested on his shoulder while the other continued to keep you supported from behind.

although eels aren't always cowards after they confront their opponent ━ it would seem floyd is too cowardly to close the gap despite how excited he was.

but he remembers that you're no coward when you close the little distance left, (pulling him into a kiss that definitely lasted longer than you intended).

when you went to pull away, floyd quickly followed. cowardice forming into want as he placed a hand on the nape of your neck to pull you closer while his other hand supported his own weight, so he didn't crush you with how he was practically leaning over you now. you laughed into the kiss, to which floyd smiled.

eventually, you placed a hand on his chest and leaned further away, taking in a deep breath and keeping floyd from chasing after your lips. (he could easily win in strength but he remembered that you need to breath.)

you laughed, maybe a little out of breath while you did, but you brushed that off in favor of scolding him, "that is not what i meant." but the smile on your face told him there was no actual heat behind your words.

"shrimpy." he whined and pouted, "but you're so fun to kiss, please?"

you rolled your eyes, refusing to give him what he wanted as you instead asked, "are you free tomorrow?"

"for you." floyd answered quickly, and you narrowed your eyes, saying his name in warning, but he quickly rebutted, "it's fine! jade can cover for me!"

"floyd." you sighed and shook your head, "fine."

you smiled at the leech, straightening out now that floyd had leaned back and sat properly on his bed, "let's go on a date and then i'll give you another kiss."

floyd lit up, grinning widely, "but you're still gonna kiss me again now, right? right?"

you sighed and shook your head. but you relented, deciding he was too cute to deny. "alright, alright, c'mere." you grabbed the back of his head, fingers in his hair as you pulled him toward you. floyd quickly met you halfway, melting into the kiss, as one of his hands rested on the bed beside you and the other on your knee.

floyd doesn't think there's cowardice left in him now that you're his (or well, will be ━ he'll make sure of it after the first date.)

eels are cowards, but they eventually come out of their burrows to face whoever lies outside. and for floyd, that was his feelings for you.

bonus;

"prefect━"

"floyd━

"what the fuck?!"

the two of you separated as the door swung open. floyd glared at your visitors while you only blankly eyed the cause for yelling, completely unfazed.

grim and the rest of your friends were wide eyed and frozen in the doorway. they were all well aware of your feelings towards the leech, but they probably didn't expect to discover the both of you making out in the twin's bedroom. except maybe epel and jack, the former giving you an encouraging grin and double thumbs up while jack only sent a single nod your way.

and behind them, a not-so-happy azul and a grinning jade.

"i tried to stop them." jade said.

"how could you do this to us?!" ace yelled dramatically.

you snorted in confusion and yelled in return, "the fuck are you talking about?!"

he didn't answer you; "we don't approve! right, guys?" ace pointed his nose up in the air, fully expecting to hear a chorus of agreements from the rest of your friends. when he heard nothing, he turned to them with a glare of betrayal. "guys?"

deuce shrugged and scratched the back of his head, "well if he's happy, i don't see anything wrong with it."

ace grumbled something towards his dormmate before turning to the others for their answers.

"it's none of my business. leave him alone." jack rolled his eyes.

"jack and i knew he was going to confess! of course we approve!" epel added.

"the prefect's love life has nothing to do with our own opinion! he is allowed to seek out anyone he pleases!" sebek huffed, mumbling something like "even if it is leech".

"you guys all suck." ace hissed, turning to the cat-look-alike looking between you and floyd with narrowed eyes. "come on, grim! you agree, right?"

grim didn't answer for a moment, but when he did, it was to completely ignore ace's question and address a different matter entirely. he pointed at you in accusation and huffed, "you owe me tuna for ditchin' me like that!"

you blinked, and then sighed, "aye, aye."

floyd was still glaring at the interruptions, though his glare was now aimed mostly at ace. "hey, crabby, you got a problem with me?"

the heartslabyul freshmen tensed, chucking awkwardly as he looked anywhere but at the menacing leech. "do you guys hear that, that sounds like riddle. gotta run!" and then ace was gone, and soon enough, so were the others.

azul and jade remained; the housewarden looked ready to say something, but then decided for a shake of his head. he turned away from the two of you, but not before floyd decided to yell after him his plans for tomorrow and how he won't be working his shift, again.

it's safe to say he got a long scolding after your date the next day.

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

#twisted wonderland x male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x male reader #x male reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x male reader #╰ ও ❝ fluff

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lani-heart · 1 month

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of abuse, anxiety / paranoia, etc. words -> 2K

abstract -> Everything was lie... did I become who I hate?

y/n's perspective

“How’d it go?” San asked me as I just got comfortable in his arms.

“You shouldn’t get too comfortable, you need to get out of these clothes,” Yeosang said and I sighed. “You guys are watching the news?” I asked as I saw the TV on. “So far they’ve captured over eighty hybrids,” Wooyoung said and I felt disgusted that such people could do such things. “How was it?” San asked and I sighed.

“There was this duo… one of them promised to help me if I got the circus shut down. I’ll have to do interviews and then it’s over” I said and they nodded.

“Just be careful… surely they’re being tested in which codes they’ll fit into,” Yeosang said and I nodded. I was planning on leaving when I heard a buzz by the elevator.

“Miss l/n, there are two friends of yours wanting a visit” I heard and I was confused… Wonyoung, Johnny, and Yuta were the only ones to visit me unannounced and they were allowed up here without an announcement so who?

“We’re expecting guests?” Wooyoung asked and I was just as confused as them. “They have lots of bags and suitcases. One of them is named Zhong Chenle?” he said and I felt my eyes light up. I ran to the elevator. “Yes, let them up,” I said, noticing the three boys behind me looking confused at my sudden outburst.

“Who’s that?” Yeosang asked and I smiled. “Some friends, who used to work in the clinic but decided to study abroad in China, didn’t tell me they got back,” I said now excited to see them but I could tell that Yeosang and San weren’t happy about them.

“We heard you adopted three hybrids but we almost didn’t believe it” I heard and sighed at the sight of them. They carried a whole lot of bags… “I told you not to get me anything” I scolded and Chenle waved it off. “Well, you should’ve expected better,” Jisung teased. I chuckled. “Isn’t that?” Jisung wandered off while looking behind me.

“Oh? Did they not tell you about Wooyoung?” I asked and they shook their heads. “No, but I would recognize that face anywhere,” Jisung said as I saw Wooyoung wag his tail and grow a smile on his face.

“We thought you didn’t want to see us,” Chenle asked and he sighed. “Long story, but he’s mine now,” I said and the two laughed.

“We’ve come to leave a few things, our dorm is getting crowded,” Chenle added and I sighed. They must’ve bought a bunch of stuff for the group… “How much?” I asked and they groaned. “You know how NingNing and Wonyoung are '' Jisung said and I could already imagine the whole bunch of text they must've sent them for errands.

“Don’t forget Johnny-hyung,” Chenle added. “Well thanks for thinking of me, was it fun?” I asked and they grinned. “You need to see Chenle’s house” Jisung fanboyed

“Though apparently, we don’t get a break we got back yesterday and Kun and Doyoung-hyung want us in already” Chenle added and I nodded. The circus hybrids…

“They don’t seem bad” “Hmm? They’re really nice, they bribe you with expensive stuff” I heard them whisper behind me. “Good luck! Be safe, I'll be over there soon either way!” I said and they nodded as they said their goodbyes before leaving.

I peeked inside the bags and smiled…

“Looks like hybrid stuff,” I said and that got the three of them their attention.

“This is so hard to find!” Yeosnag said as he looked at the lotions and perfumes. “How’d they know?” San asked and I shrugged. One of my friends must've told them…

“Pretty” Wooyoung said as he found jewelry. Just how much did they buy for me?! I even saw expensive toys and clothes.

San seemed to like the video games and perfumes, Yeosang found all the expensive brand skincare, Whilst Wooyoung found a bunch of toys…

I needed to get ready soon for the interviews…

“Hey! That's mine, it's in my pile!” and they are already fighting… thanks a lot Chenle and Jisung.

seonghwa's perspective

This place was… paradise and hell. I know I was lucky… while others are either being taken by facilities or breeding farms.

Most of the hybrids were red coded and very few were black codes. I was yellow… because I behaved or I wanted to trust humans.

I was just hoping Hongjoong was still here…

“His partner is a red code so be careful. He’s well behaved but… you can’t be too sure” I heard and I saw the door open.

It was her again!

“Press the button if you feel unsafe at any time,” the staff member said as they left her alone with me? They never do that… Some humans have passed by to adopt and there’s always someone with them.

“Hello,” she said and I smiled softly. “Thank you… you actually went through with it” I said and she nodded.

“Now it’s time for your part,” she said and I nodded.

“What do you need to know?” I asked and she looked at her notebook as if seeing what to ask first.

“Let’s talk about the MATZ show,” she asked and I nodded.

“Hongjoong and I are… we’re the only tigers there. We were born there but we’re not related, they decided to pair us up as an act. They decided to make it more dangerous each show… testing our limits” I said whilst she wrote it down. I wonder what she had down… was she analyzing me? Was she even qualified to?

“Can I ask you something?” I asked and she stopped writing to look at me. “Do you own hybrids? Actually, no I know you own three, why are you helping hybrids if you own them?” I asked not wanting to be dismissive about her.

“I do, I have a panther, a Doberman, and a fox. I adopted them here actually… and besides they didn’t have a chance to get adopted by anyone else so I adopted them to help them not because I'm a hybrid collector” she explained and I nodded. Was she telling the truth?

The interview went on about details which she left to talk to the doctor.

“Seonghwa, on your best behavior.” I heard as I saw the employee open my kennel and put on the basic safety equipment. I was led to a different area… the red codes. Most of the kennels were glass-enclosed and so I saw a lot of hybrids staring at me with threatening glares.

I saw her again though. She was in front of a kennel that was closed. “Behave, y/n, Kun is trusting you to be careful with him. He isn't aggressive but be careful, there's a button in case you feel that you can’t handle it anymore” the employee said as the leash was now given to her. y/n is her name… where have I heard that before?

She opened the curtain…

“Hongjoong!!” I yelled as I got close to the glass. “Seonghwa? You’re okay!” he said back and I was relieved. He’s alive… but he’s a code red.

“What are you doing with her?” he asked as he glared at her. “She’s conducting interviews with hybrids… I actually don’t know why I'm here?” I said and she sighed. “Doyoung your doctor is worried about you guys being separated since you guys are a bonded pair” she explained.

Bonded pair?

“I won’t answer any questions from the hybrid owner,” he said and she sighed. I was curious about her hybrids… it was a weird combination and she said she adopted them here.

“You don’t need to worry about them,” she said and he laughed at her. “They are bonded to you,” Hongjoong said and I realized he was right. She’s bonded to them…

“What did you do to have three hybrids bonded to you?” he asked demeaningly and she sighed. “That's my personal business.

Currently, I'm trying to help–” “You can’t do anything. You think if you bring him here in front of me it'll save you? If I get out of this glass cage I'd gladly get revenge for what humans did to me” he threatened and I sighed. I shook my head at him knowing I couldn’t help stop him.

“Press your silly little button. Go home to your stupid little manipulated hybrids, I won't have to do anything cause one day they’ll turn on you. Hybrids will do anything to survive, even bond themselves to silly little humans” he said and I could see that struck a nerve in her.

“If you comply–” “No, get that through your head. Believe it or not I am behaving enough to keep myself alive–” he started shuffling around showing he was actually out of his constraints. “–you aren’t safe. No hybrid owner is the cause at the end of the day we are animals. I could smell a cat hybrid on you… and a domestic one he could kill you. In your sleep or at any time, they’ll overpower you and you’ll deserve it” he said and I could see her eyes hold fear in them.

“Hongjoong stop,” I said and he scoffed. “Is she gonna cry? So sensitive… im telling the truth your firm does hybrid rights, you know the stories of hybrids killing their owners. Claws ripped the skin at their throats, cannibalistic tendencies, poison, and so much more. One day you’ll be on the cover–” She took a shaky deep breath and left… ran away. “Hongjoong that was unnecessary,” I said and he laughed. He had fun doing that… “It is the truth. You can’t deny it” he said and it was a possibility.

“She seemed nice.. And in all honesty I'd rather be here than in that circus” I said and he laughed. “It's all the same, dear friend. Besides… “ he trailed off without smiling.

“If she reacts like that… she knows it's true. So she isn’t the good little hybrid owner you think she is”

y/n perspective

That’ll never happen… they– everything is okay. They’re happy… but– San doesn’t like humans and didn't like me. Was it because he had to adapt? Wooyoung… he… he likes me right? Yeosang… he… did he decide to be with me because I could help him?

Not everything is real… but, San did… does hate me?

“Miss?” I heard taking me out of my thoughts. He was a man in a hat and a trenchcoat. “Are you okay?” he asked and I tried to compose myself but my eyes kept on producing tears…

“Hey, don't cry. Please get up, Miss. You should be so vulnerable in the street there are terrible people–” I started crying more after that. Am I a terrible person?

“No no no… please don’t cry,” he said. “Miss, someone as pretty as you should be crying,” he said but it didn't help. False and empty compliments.

Am I actually the same type of person that I expose?

“What's bothering you?” he asked and I tried calming myself. “Is owning hybrids a bad thing?” I asked and he sighed. “Do you care and love them?” he asked and I nodded. “I just don’t think… They care for me. Hybrids will do anything to adapt and please their owners… I know that so– this is why I didn't want a hybrid! I-I… don't know what to do” I was lost.

“Miss, please calm down. Hybrids… do adapt but you obviously care for your hybrids and I promise you, you’re overthinking. Did they tell you that?” he asked and I shook my head.

“If you care for them so much and they care for you, that's enough. Not everyone shows kindness to hybrids” he said and I tried to stop the tears.

“You shouldn’t be crying like this miss,” he said and I nodded

He helped me up from my crouching position and patted my head. “Someone like you should be crying like this for silly things. If you care for them this much I bet they care for you just as much maybe even more” he comforted and I smiled softly.

“Oh did you drop this?” he asked as I saw my wallet. “Oh… thank you. I’m sorry I must've taken you from what you were doing!” I said and he chuckled.

“No, of course not Miss. I didn’t mind, helping you”

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fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege.

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson.

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing.

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds, he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you.

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition.

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying.

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you.

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it.

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else.

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild, lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

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emphistic · 2 months

Text

"I'm Lactose Intolerant"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS ALREADY BECAUSE I FORGOT TO SAVE IT AS A DRAFT, i have yet to get the hang of tumblr, yuuji hasnt been born yet, the itadori parents neglect their children so grandpa takes care of them, waaaaaay later is when yuuji is born, sukuna gets his tattoos when he is older

Prologue: As summer nears its end, and autumn takes its place, you find yourself in quite the situation. A new family has arrived in the neighborhood, and your parents have tasked you with greeting your new neighbors. A wacky grandpa, a gloomy tween. Seriously, could things get any worse?

A/N: Sukuna is 10 years old, while reader is 9 years old. However, Sukuna was held back a grade, so guess who is joining your class this year? *cue the confetti*

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

PS: i know little kids shouldnt be walking the streets alone, but lets just pretend the world is a better place

Chores are boring. Errands, on the other hand? Well, not so much.

You shielded your eyes from the rays of the sun as you walked down the street, avoiding the cracks on the pavement. The sky bled as the sun set and the songs of the birds started to come to a halt. It was a typical Saturday, help get the groceries, head home, and assist with dinner as much as possible. However, what wasn't typical was the fact that there was a moving company's truck blocking your way home.

Wow, there's definitely a better way to go about this, you sigh. Mindlessly, you kick a pebble aside and tighten your grip on your tote bag as your stride continues.

Several men in navy colored uniforms carry boxes as another man, who you estimate is a septuagenarian, surveys the workers from the front lawn of his new house. The man, who you also assume is your new neighbor, has his hands clasped behind his back and wears a green wool sweater.

Deciding to be polite, you clear your throat, neaten up your braids, and slowly approach the man, cautious as you try not to give him a heart attack. At nine years old, one may not know much, but one might know that killing your elderly neighbor is a pretty wack first impression.

The man looks quite surprised to see you approach, and even raises a white brow.

Okay, maybe this is a bad idea, you think as your palms start to sweat. You go through several introductions through your mind just to go with the most lame one.

"Hello, sir. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm your . . . uhh, new neighbor," you cringed at yourself before holding out a hand to the man.

"Ah, wasn't expecting to meet my neighbors on the first day here. I am Mr. Itadori, pleasure to meet you," his voice sounded like that of an old man's, yet, it had such a warm, cozy feel to it. He took your hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Likewise," you say, after a few seconds of silence.

"Should a girl, — pardon my rudeness — as young as you, be walking out here alone at this time?"

"Aha, my parents trust this neighborhood enough. And anyway, I was only getting groceries from the store, it's not too far from this block actually." You pointed a finger in the direction of said store.

"Wow, you must be pretty responsible for your parents to be sending you out for groceries, huh? Good to know some children in this neighborhood help out their families," Mr. Itadori turned to face a boy, probably not much older than you, who was carrying boxes into the house when he put emphasis on the word "some".

The boy had pink unruly hair, that was slicked back and spiky. You held back a giggle at the sight.

"Grandpa, I'm literally moving furniture into the house. What are you looking at me for?" The boy grumbled, but he didn't stop as he moved the boxes.

"I never said you didn't help out. I was just simply telling Y/N here, about how some children help out their families. No need to get upset now, Sukuna." Mr. Itadori gave a small chuckle, before abruptly turning to face you.

"Oh, right! How rude of me, I haven't introduced you to my grandson."

"Oh, no worries. You guys are probably busy—" You began, before being cut off.

"Nonsense! Sukuna! Come here, boy."

Sukuna muttered something, and dropped off a box by the front of the house before moving over to you and his grandpa.

Now that the boy was closer, you could make out his red eyes, and the frown on his face. Looking back at Mr. Itadori, you noticed he did not share the same qualities as his grandson, and instead had brown eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Introduce yourself!" Mr. Itadori lightly pushed Sukuna closer to you.

The taller boy stared at you for what seemed like forever, before averting his eyes to the ground and keeping them there. "Name's Sukuna."

"Y/N. But I think your grandpa already mentioned that," you tried to lighten the mood.

You swear you heard him say something along the lines of "pretty name" under his breath, but before you could ask, Sukuna retreated to his boxes. His grandpa looked displeased at that. Actually, that's quite an understatement. He looked furious with Sukuna, but he didn't do anything other than sigh and bid you adieu and good night.

You slowly walked back to your house, your arrival being a little later than usual, which your parents questioned you about, to which you explained that there was a truck in your way.

When it was time for bed, you did as you usually did. Showered, changed into your pajamas and watched a movie before cleaning up and preparing to actually go to bed. As you moved to close your window blinds, you noticed something you hadn't seen in a long time — considering no one's occupied the house next door since it was put on sale — there was a window right across from yours, and the light was on.

You didn't plan on becoming a creep at such a young age, but due to curiosity, you didn't peel your eyes away from the window. It surprised you to see that the room across from yours was a bedroom belonging to none other then Sukuna. When you saw the pink spikes of his hair come near the window, you quickly shut the blinds.

The next morning, your mom shook you awake.

You groaned, "Mom. . . What is it?"

"We have new neighbors, honey! I've already started prepping for baking an apple pie for them—" You let her ramble on while you were still half-awake.

Oh, right . . . you never mentioned your meeting with the Itadoris. Now you have to introduce yourself to them, yet again.

"—I just need you to grab a few ingredients for me, if you don't mind."

"Sure, Mom. No problem." You stretched out your arms and yawned.

"Perfect! I'll let you get ready then. I'll give the list on your way out." Then, your mom got up, and shut the door.

You yawned again and rubbed your forehead. This was definitely going to be an interesting day, to say the least.

You met your mom downstairs and she instructed you on the ingredients you needed to purchase. "Uh huh, got it. Thanks. Bye, Mom!

Still half-asleep, you slowly slipped on your sneakers and headed out through the door. The sun warmed your face, yet sent a chill down your spine.

Apples and lemon.

Apples. . .

And lemons.

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the street, passing by the Itadori house.

Apples and lemons—

"Gah!" A little rock got in your way, and you were about to faceplant onto the sidewalk when you felt a firm hand on your shoulder reel you back upward.

You turned to see who your savior was, and cocked your head to the side in surprise.

"Sukuna? What are you doing out here?"

"No 'thanks for saving me, Sukuna'? Also, contrary to your belief, other people in this neighborhood get out the house too, y'know?"

You scoffed, jutting out your bottom lip, "Thanks."

Sukuna held a smug look on his face.

"So . . . you gonna take your hand off my shoulder, or should I do that tor you?"

He looked taken aback, and swiftly returned his hand to his hoodie pocket. "I have to go get groceries. My grandpa sent me, because our house is basically empty?" Sukuna acted as if that was common knowledge.

"What did you have for dinner last night, then?"

"Ordered in."

You mumbled, "Figured."

"Anyway, Grandpa told me you know where the closest grocery store is? I need . . . directions."

"Oh! Right," you scratched the back of your neck. "I'm actually heading there right now. You can come with." If Sukuna didn't want to go with you, he certainly didn't show it (surprisingly).

"So you're actually going to turn this way, down here, across this weird looking house or something — I actually don't even know if it has someone living in it — then go in front of this—"

"Stop talking, and maybe we'll get there faster," Sukuna muttered.

You turned around to face him; he had his hands in his pocket and wore a bored look on his face. You huffed.

"Go have someone else show you the way, then. Y'know, I was actually trying to be nice to you and all. I'm even showing you the shortcut. And now look at how you're treating me." You turned away from him.

"'Trying to be nice'? Please. You haven't asked me how day was going. 'Trying to be nice' my ass."

You ignored his use profanity at such a young age, and you came to a skidding halt; Sukuna even bumped into your back when you stopped abruptly.

"What is your problem!? So what if I haven't asked you how your day was going? SO WHAT? You haven't asked me either. If you don't like me just leave. me. alone!"

"People are so uptight these days," Sukuna shrugged.

"Uptight? UPTIGHT? Please, be my guest, and show me how I'm the uptight one here." You couldn't believe this dude. He's the only other kid in this neighborhood — besides your sibling — and he refuses to be cooperative, kind, nonetheless, a decent person.

The rest of the walk to the grocery store happened in silence. And believe me, the silence was loooouuuuddd. You wholeheartedly believed Sukuna would leave, but he didn't. Which made you even more mad.

The bell above the door chimed when you stepped in the store, out of pettiness, you didn't even hold the door for Sukuna. He scoffed at that, and you turned around to face him. "Well, here you are. The grocery store. Happy now?"

"I'm never happy."

Wow, he must've been dropped on the head as a baby, because he certainly did not get the personality from his grandpa.

You walked through the aisles one by one and searched for the items your mother requested.

Apples and lemons.

You didn't even bother placing them in a bag, insisting on carrying them yourself. Meanwhile, Sukuna was still trailing behind you, much like a lost puppy. His groceries were all in a bag, and he looked ready to pay, but he was still behind you.

Finally, you got sick of his weirdness, and peered over your shoulder to get a look of his face, which was frowning, "Why are you following me?"

He looked like he was pondering, thinking of a way to answer your question. "Girls shouldn't be walking around alone. Especially you."

"Ugh, there you go again. Always thinking you're better than everyone else. And, whaddya mean 'especially me,' huh? You don't think I can handle myself? Are you here to protect me or something? Swooping in to save the day, my knight in shining armor? Seriously, Sukuna."

He groaned, and dragged his free hand down his face, "I came from a not so safe neighborhood. Can't you see I'm just trying to look out for you? If some man came up and harassed you, and I was shopping in some other aisle, would you blame me too?" His voice softened on the last part.

"Forget it, you're right. I'm wrong," you sighed and walked to the register.

When you got home, your mom ushered you inside and hurried to start on the apple pie. You bit your nails as she worked, and she quickly took notice of that.

"Something wrong, sweetie?"

You shook your head, and mouthed a simple "no".

While you were upstairs reading a book, you heard the beeping of the oven, signaling the completion of the baking process. Before you could even put down your book, your mother called out to you from downstairs.

She welcomed you in the kitchen and took great care in wrapping the freshly baked pie in tinfoil and sending you off to the Itadori house. But before that happened, however, she made you memorize your speech, reminding you to inform your next door neighbors of who originally made the pie. And with a soft pat on the back from your mom, you were off.

It was a quarter past 12 o'clock when you finally found the courage to knock on your neighbor's front door. You heard a "coming!" from inside the house, and returned your hand to its side.

Loud footsteps came closer until finally the door was flung open. You were greeted by the sight of Mr. Itadori in a fluffy red robe, and equally fluffy slippers.

"Ah! Y/N. What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

You stuttered a bit, "Hi, Mr. Itadori. My mom and I wanted to formally introduce ourselves, and welcome you to the neighborhood — I didn't mention our very much brief meeting yesterday."

"Oh wow! You can tell your mother I appreciate her kind welcome." He turned his head into the house, and called for, "Sukuna! Come here, boy."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to be a bother—"

"Agh, you children. Always the same. Nonsense, Y/N. Utter nonsense."

Sukuna stood behind his grandpa in record time, his speed surprised you. "What's she doing here?" He sneered. You offered him a glare in return while Mr. Itadori was oblivious.

"Don't be rude to our kind neighbor. She's here to formally introduce herself."

"Again?"

"Yes. Again."

"Whatever."

Your eyes flickered back and forth between the Itadoris' banter. "I've brought some apple pie — my mom baked it."

Mr. Itadori's eyes lightened up as you presented the tinfoil covered dish to him. "It smells delicious! You really didn't have to, my dear."

"It was no big deal, I promise," you laughed (nervously).

"I will put this on the counter, one second," Mr. Itadori walked away, leaving you and Sukuna alone. The taller boy crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Apple pie? Really? Are you trying to kill me and my grandpa? I'm lactose intolerant. We're lactose intolerant. He just didn't want to seem rude, so he's putting it away."

"Oh. . . uhh, I didn't know that—"

"I can tell. You didn't think to ask first? How considerate of you, Y/N."

You stumbled on your words.

"I'm just messing with you. Apple pie is his absolute favorite."

Your jaw dropped six feet, before you came back to your senses and rolled your eyes, "Did you have to scare me like that?"

He laughed aloud, "Duh. Shoulda seen the look on your face. Priceless!" He continued to laugh, while your expression remained stoic, trying not to laugh as well. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was actually funny.

When his laughter subsided, he cocked his head to the side. "What's with the face? Girls don't know how to joke around or something?"

You frowned.

Mr. Itadori returned to the both of you and patted his grandson on the back. "Well! Thank you again, Y/N. Tell your family I say thanks and appreciate their kindness."

"Of course. I'll be going now." You waved to Mr. Itadori — feigning ignorance to Sukuna — and walked back to your house next door.

When Sukuna and his grandpa sat at their newly assembled dining table, they both couldn't believe how good the apple pie tasted. Sukuna even asked for a second slice.

Mr. Itadori broke the silence, "So, school starts tomorrow."

Sukuna glanced at his elder, and raised a brow.

"Since you don't know anyone else at your new school, you can ask Y/N for help. She'll be in your grade anyway."

Sukuna sighed, "Grandpa, why are girls so difficult?"

"Ohoho," Mr. Itadori's laughter boomed throughout the house. "You're a funny one, Sukuna," and he ruffled his grandson's unruly hair, messing it up more.

#sukuna x reader #jjk #sukuna fluff #idk how to tag sos #sukuna x you #jjk x you #ryomen x reader

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bamdelune · 9 months

Text

utterly, unbelieveably in love pt. 1 ░ scara x reader modern!au ★ mini series

summary ➜ he has six months to win you over. the famed scaramouche of tevyat unviersity wants the honor of owning a place in your heart. you want to see how far his feelings hold true.

genres/tags ➜ fluff, scara is genuinely head over heels for you, fem!reader, scara is your brother's best friend, courting, new writing style.

Your brother bringing home friends from university wasn't a surprising occurence. He'd do it all the time. The only thing surprising was how a real human being could bear to even form a friendship to someone akin to a persistent little fly that buzzes in the shell of your ear.

This time, the person who welcomed himself through the entrance of your home was none other than the flamboyant Scaramouche. Academic by nature, with ladies and gentlemen swooning over him at every stride of his feet. Sure, a little too confident over the scale but still charming nonetheless. Your brother was on the popular side of the school tier, perhaps it was a matchmade in heaven.

"I'm home." He would say, after the lock clicks free. You were hunched over a laptop on the couch, with a screen that displayed two tabs as you accomplished your essay due in about... seven hours? A hum of acknowledgement slips past your lips, eyes still trained on the bright screen in front of you, too busy to even notice the fact that he brought a new friend today but it was a sight of familiar indigo streaks of hair.

For the next few times, Scaramouche would become a frequent visitor at your apartment and you had grown accustomed to the routine. You would be studying by the time the both of them get to the apartment, you'd acknowledge them, and Scaramouche would leave an hour and thirty minutes later. But today was a different case.

Your brother, being the trustful guy that he is, apparently gave Scara his key to the apartment telling him to go ahead and use it as he did some short errands.

Now here you were sitting in silence with the ever-charming boy from uni, with his eyes shooting glances he thought was subtle enough for you not to notice.

"You've been staring." You begin, your focus shifting from your laptop to his direction, although not directly into his eyes.

He hums, "I'd say the same about you."

Well, shit. Cover blown, does a life in the countryside tickle your fancy in any way?

Heat brushes your features but you are quick to school them.

"I'm curious as to how my brother thought this whole thing through."

Scara tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in question. "Thought what through?"

"You. Giving you the actual key to our apartment. He's never done that so there's something different about you." Your eyes squint at him suspiciously, hands reaching for the top of your laptop and it shuts it closed. "Why are you here?"

"You're pretty cocky if you think I'm here for you." Scara blurts out in response. You raise an eyebrow at him.

"I never said that though?"

His face flushes a shade of pink and he takes a big interest in the crown moldings of your ceiling.

"You're weird." You mutter.

"Right back at you."

You scoff at his reply, albeit a small tug on your lips curls them upward. Just then the knob of the front door turns clockwise. You send Scara a 'you didn't lock the door?' type of look and he merely shrugs as your brother comes inside.

"I'm home— oh, you really did use the key." Your brother says, settling his belongings down on the marble counter. You swear you caught a small smirk playing on his lips but he was far too quick at concealing it.

From now onwards, Scaramouche would become a reoccuring character in your life. How long will it take for you to fall into the wraps of his charms?

#bamdelune #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #bamdelune's bookstore #genshin smau #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x female reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Read Supportive Uncle Wayne Series Part 1 first :)

————————————————————————

Eddie and Steve slept for hours, while Wayne sat waiting. He kept a few crossword puzzles by his designated chair for the times he sat with Eddie, but this time, he couldn’t focus on anything but the way Steve and Eddie kept moving closer to each other in small ways in their sleep.

He’d considered waking Steve up a few times just so he didn’t have to watch his back and neck bend at such an impossible angle.

But god, he was resting.

Wayne wasn’t interrupting any sleep that boy got.

But he watched them both curl into each other incrementally, barely moving, yet always closer together every time Wayne looked at them.

Steve’s face was almost completely buried against Eddie’s “good” hip. If you asked Wayne, he didn’t have a good hip, he just had less stitches on one side.

Eddie’s right hand was placed in Steve’s on the bed, and his left hand was holding onto Steve’s hair for dear life. Like if he let go, Steve would disappear entirely.

From what Wayne knew of Steve so far, he wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he was physically forced.

Eddie’s body was relaxed, the drugs constantly flowing through the IV probably keeping him from experiencing any major pain. He had more stitches in his body than a sweater, and Wayne had no idea how he would heal physically or mentally from any of what happened.

But Wayne was honestly more worried for Steve.

Steve, the boy who had been exhausted since he was a small child, the boy who had refused medical care to make sure Eddie wasn’t alone or scared, the boy always secretly ready to let someone down.

He knew Richard Harrington. He knew how much of a showboat he was, how he never did anything unless it benefitted him personally or led to financial gain. Wayne even remembered shortly after Steve was born, he took an ad in the newspaper for a nanny who was willing to work ‘most days of the week and some nights, minimum wage, cooking and cleaning expected.’ Within a week, Richard and his wife Anne, were gone more than they were home.

Wayne wasn’t much for socializing or he probably would have caught Steve out and about with the nanny often. God knows Richard and Anne weren’t going to run errands.

But looking at the young adult in front of him, he had to think maybe it was a good thing Richard didn’t dig his claws in too deep. He knew if he had, Eddie would have been sitting alone right now, and Steve would be at some Ivy League college becoming something he didn’t even realize he didn’t want until it was too late.

Eddie visibly tensed, his body suddenly going rigid.

Steve was awake and fretting over Eddie before Wayne could even stand up from his chair.

“What hurts? Is it your side? I was hurting you wasn’t I? I’m sorry, Eds, really. I didn’t…”

“Steve. Please shut up. I wanted you there.”

Wayne noticed when Eddie spoke, his voice was raspy from disuse. He was still tense, but he was forcing a smile for Steve’s sake.

Wayne wasn’t having that. No matter how much Steve cared about Eddie, and Eddie cared about Steve, he wasn’t about to let either of them lie about their health.

“I’ll go get the nurse.”

Steve and Eddie both turned to look at Wayne when he spoke, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Oh, didn’t know you were here.”

Eddie was still forcing a smile, but now it was pointed at Wayne like he wouldn’t see how fake it was.

Like he didn’t know all of Eddie’s tells since he was 13 and trying to hide how scared he was about living with him.

Wayne didn’t respond, just left the room to grab Janet, who sat alone at the nurse’s station during calmer periods in the chaos.

He hurried back in while she got the doctor on staff to see that Steve was helping Eddie adjust himself a bit in bed.

“Damn bats, Jesus Christ!”

Eddie let out a loud yelp and Steve froze.

“What was that?”

“What wasn’t it at this point?”

Eddie was breathing heavily, and his heart monitor started beeping more frantically.

“Son, you need to sit still until the doctor gets in here.”

Wayne wasn’t about to watch him hurt himself more and it didn’t seem like Steve knew how to make it better or stop him on his own.

“My side hurts like this.”

“I think your side will hurt any which way you try to be.”

Steve placed a hand on Eddie’s cheek, gently turning his face so he was looking at only Steve.

“You can be still for a minute, right? For me?”

Wayne’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Yeah.”

Wayne’s jaw was practically on the floor.

He’d been in charge of Eddie for 7 years and had never once been able to get him to listen the first time. Not a single time.

Before he could say anything, the doctor came in, followed by a handful of nurses, including Janet.

Janet sent him a smile, but hurried over to stand next to the doctor at Eddie’s bed.

“Well, Mr. Munson. You sure are lucky.”

“I’ll feel a lot luckier when I’m not in pain.”

“Where does it hurt?”

Eddie glared at the doctor. Steve glared at Eddie.

“Mostly my side. My chest hurts a little and my left hip and leg are sore.”

“Your left side is in pretty rough shape. You’ve got about 298 stitches holding you together.” The doctor checked his pupils and his heart rate before continuing. “Go ahead and start another morphine drip, same dose as before.”

The doctor turned to Wayne.

“He’s probably going to sleep the next dose off over the next 24 hours, so you can head home. We’ll call if he wakes up earlier.”

The doctor turned to Steve, deep frown on his face.

“You, too. He needs rest.”

Steve was refusing to make eye contact with anyone at this point and Wayne was almost certain he knew why.

Steve’s father wasn’t known for being a particularly kind or loving man. One wouldn’t have to think too hard to come to the conclusion that he was harder on his son than anyone else. The doctor was speaking to him in a way that would have made Wayne’s hackles rise for Eddie, and they did for Steve too.

“I think Steve should stay.”

Wayne wasn’t going to let either of his boys go without each other if it meant they’d get some sleep.

“We do recommend that Eddie have very limited visitors.”

“If I may,” Janet spoke up. “Steve’s been here the entire time and it hasn’t affected Eddie’s sleeping. We can’t be everywhere all the time so it would be nice for someone to stay with him and come get us if he wakes up again.”

The doctor gritted his teeth together but gave a single nod before exiting the room. Most of the nurses followed behind while Janet made herself busy playing with the buttons on Eddie’s IV pole.

“Thanks Janet. What’s that doctor’s problem?” Wayne asked as he made his way to the bed.

“He came in while you were downstairs and saw the um, sleeping arrangement. He wasn’t too fond of you seeming so close.”

“We can be more careful,” Eddie mumbled, body slowly relaxing into the bed.

“Or he can just deal with it,” Janet shrugged.

She sent a wink to Steve, then turned to Wayne.

“He should be feeling a lot better now. Right Eddie?”

“This is way better than the stuff I have.”

Wayne shook his head, but couldn’t help but smile at his nephew’s antics.

“I won’t ask questions I don’t want the answer to,” Janet said as she walked out of the room. She turned to wave and then closed the door to give them all some privacy.

Wayne looked down at Eddie.

He was so pale. He’d lost so much weight in the last week, and he barely had any to give to begin with. His hair was dirty and greasy, and despite Steve and Janet giving his face and arms a wipe down, he still had dirt under his nails.

Wayne didn’t know the details of what happened. They said it was earthquake related, but he knew better. He knew if this was just an earthquake, Steve wouldn’t have stood guard by his bed for days on end.

He was just glad Eddie was alive and awake.

He placed a hand on his right shoulder.

“I’m glad to hear your voice, kiddo.”

Eddie’s eyes were glassy and his smile was much brighter than before when he responded.

“Glad you hear my voice, too. Have you met Steve? He’s my boyfriend. Or maybe not? I want him to be though. Do you think he likes me?”

Wayne looked over at a bright red Steve, then smiled down at Eddie.

“I think he likes you a lot, kid. You get some rest. Steve will still be here when you wake up, alright?”

“You too?”

“Sure.”

So Wayne stayed, and Steve stayed. Wayne watched them both as Eddie slept.

Steve didn’t fall back asleep. He looked like he needed to, but any time his eyes started to slip shut, he shook his head and widened his eyes trying to fight it.

“Steve?”

“Yes, sir?”

Wayne watched as Steve’s body curled in on itself defensively.

“None of that. You can call me Wayne.” When Steve nodded, Wayne continued. “Whoever you are to Eddie, I hope you know you’ve got me, okay? I know Eddie must like ya a whole lot for him to say any of what he did regardless of the drugs in his system. And you must like him a whole lot to not leave his side this long. But you gotta get some rest, son.”

“I take naps in the chair sometimes.”

“A nap ain’t rest. Especially not if you’ve been through war.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m sure I shouldn’t know. But I been there. And I’m not lettin’ ya suffer the way I did when I came home.”

Steve’s eyes were watering and Wayne knew if he watched this boy cry, he’d be done for.

So when Steve’s first tear fell, Wayne got up and joined Steve on the other side of the bed, pulling him out of the chair and into his arms.

Steve was injured, and hadn’t had proper medical attention or pain medication, but he ignored it to fall apart in Wayne’s arms.

“That’s alright now. Let it out, son. Let it out.”

Wayne felt a tear fall down his own cheek. He couldn’t have possibly predicted this moment, but he knew he was meant to be in it.

He was meant to be here with Steve, providing something the boy needed for a long, long time.

He was meant to be someone for Steve the same way he was meant to be someone for Eddie.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #ao3fic #headcanon #tumblr drabbles #part two #Wayne is a good uncle #and he’s officially adopted Steve

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ovaryacted · 3 months

Note

Listen. Im headfirst on the “Leon is a sub” train. And you got me thinking about toys and Leon.

Leon with a lil vibrator inside of him. You’re controlling it. It started off with a dull easily ignored hum on his prostate. It feels good but not enough to get him going.

Then at random times you spike it. First time you did it, Leon was at home and he dropped his cup. Those spikes of intense vibrations get longer and longer. Leon’s clawing at his desk, trembling because you set the toy to max and where he’s sitting the vibrations are directly on his p-spot. He has to bite his knuckles to stop from moaning out loud.

He gets so close to the edge. So close to orgasm before you cut the toy and it’s back to the dull vibrations he felt before. You do this multiple times throughout the day and by the end of it, Leon is a frazzled mess.

He’s begging you with tears in his pretty eyes to just let him cum. He’ll do anything. He’s sobbing so beautifully.

Or. Hear me out. Leon bouncing on a dildo. It’s just alittle too big to make him have tears in his eyes. But he loves it. His mouth is open, moaning, sobbing and weeping as he rides the toy.

But the kicker, you’re not letting him touch his dick. So he just becomes delirious with pleasure, begging you to let him touch himself. He’s been such a good boy. He starts pleading with you that he’s so desperate to cum. He’s been good, why won’t you let him touch his dick.

He looks so beautiful so fucked out and messy. He’s just…. mwuah <3

-“angsty” anon (it’s me. The one who sends you a flipping thesis every time haha)

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Angsty anon…now you know you’re not right for sending me this and thinking I’m gonna be normal about it like…you fucking cooked here, burned the whole kitchen down. Let me give you a smooch on the forehead for the good food MUAH!

But Leon using toys, that would be so fucking fun. In all honesty, I see it starting as a game, where you both try to see who lasts longer than the other. With you, he edges you unexpectedly, usually when you’re running errands versus at work because he wouldn’t take it that far. You’re in the grocery store? He uses the remote-controlled vibrator on you on a whim and makes you clench while you’re ordering cut meats from the butcher. His favorite time to use it is when you’re both going out to dinner, he enjoys watching you squirm as you drink your wine across from him.

It was fun for him when he had that control, but once the roles were reversed he instantly regretted it. When Leon is on the receiving end, it’s nonstop edging that’s borderline torturous.

This game first started when you suggested he try a toy out and let you tease him the way he does when he has the remote. At first, he thinks you’d take it easy on him, that you would give him breaks. Boy was he wrong, underestimating your craving to prove him wrong.

When he’s home, you tell him to use the toy, letting it buzz at the lowest setting so it’s not too much for him to handle. He thinks he’s in the clear and starts doing laundry or other household chores. Until the vibrations instantly go up three levels without a break, it takes him off guard, making him drop whatever he’s doing and lean against the wall for support. He feels lightheaded as his dick twitches in his pants, and he tries so hard not to squeeze himself as his thighs shake. He could feel the need to release growing in his gut, biting his lip to avoid making a sound that would be too loud to come from him.

All of a sudden, the vibrations stop altogether, and Leon huffs out a breath as his heartbeat evens out. This repetitive cycle happens throughout the day, where the vibrating toy would jump towards the more intense levels or you’ll use a pattern that makes him feel like he’s going crazy. Every time the vibrations just stop, he whines and patiently waits to feel it again, his body growing hotter and more sensitive when you click that button.

He pretends like he doesn’t enjoy the game, the constant edging, but you’re not so gentle when teasing your lover in the first place. You do all of this to teach him a lesson, to show him what rewards he will get once he learns how to be disciplined. The worst part about this situation is you ordered him not to touch himself as you did this, leaving his cock aching and sensitive to the touch.

When you finally give him some peace from the teasing, Leon is needy and searching for your touch. The moment your fingers so much as skim his cheek, he’s shivering under you, craving for more. After being edged for so long, practically all day, it doesn’t take long for him to cum the second your hands wrap around his cock, whispering in his ear and praising him for listening to your orders. You reward him by milking him dry for the entire night, pulling every orgasm you can get until he tells you he can’t take anymore and he’s shooting blanks.

But using a dildo? Leon can’t fake his feelings or edge himself with one. Instead of teasing him when he uses one, you let him fuck himself in front of you. You like watching him get dumber every time he lifts himself on his strong knees, just for him to slam his body back down with a loud moan. Words of praise and degradation slip out of your mouth, making Leon’s ears turn red from pleasure and his face flush down to his neck.

He’s pretty like this, probably the prettiest you’ve seen him. Tears ran down his cheek, drool spilling down his lip and his chin, whimpering at the way he felt stretched out around the dildo that rubbed along all of his good spots. His length was spilling the more he moved, bouncing on his pelvis and hard as a rock, tip red and hypersensitive to the damn air.

Leon begs under his breath, not knowing what he was begging for exactly, but just says he needs more. You bring his face in between your legs with a yank of his hair, letting him use his tongue to lap up at your arousal as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“That’s a good boy”, you’d purr at him, moaning at the way he sucks on your clit, digging his nose into your pussy and sending his senses into overdrive. A single phrase like that will make him cum all over himself, making a mess of his lower stomach and gasping for air. All you can do is admire how fucked out he looks, a pathetic mess for you to love and care for. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #sub leon kennedy smut #sub! leon kennedy #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #ovaryacted asks #love being part of the pathetic sub Leon fan club #₊˚⊹ ♡ ─ angsty anon 🧠

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hyperfixatedfandomer · 8 months

Text

Repost bc I misspelled my boy’s name in both the text and the tags oop—

I need an angsty found family AU where Olrox, instead of killing Richter’s mother as revenge for taking his lover instead goes “you took someone I loved, so I’ll take someone you cherish” and up and kidnaps little Richter. One second the boy is there and the next, shadows descend onto the empty street, and the moment after — he’s just gone.

THE DRAMA of Olrox traveling the world and keeping the kid at first purely to spite and worry his mother, or as part of some evil plan to lure her to her death, but quickly grows attached to him and they become this duo of vamp dad and his (not) son. The angst of Richter hating his abductor and crying and kicking him and telling him that he hates his guts, but when night falls and nightmares force little Belmont to turn and toss in his sleep, it’s Olrox’s lullabies that keep him calm, sung in a language he doesn’t know but with a gentleness only a parent could provide.

And as Olrox puts a hand on Richter’s head, carding his hair he realises, terror-struck, that he doesn’t want to let the kid go. He comes to a horrific conclusion that this is his baby now, whether the kid likes it or not, and it sends the old man’s mind into a spin.

Richter is unlike anything Olrox ever had. He’s never been a father, and doesn’t know how express love and care he’s so desperate to provide. He thinks of turning his newfound son more than once, but settles on waiting as for a little vampire hunter, an event like that would be far too traumatic.

And let’s talk about Richie himself for a second. This poor baby was about to travel to his aunt’s place one night and then got express-adopted by an immortal who is surprisingly gentle with him, yet doesn’t plan on letting him go. As result, baby Belmont throws tantrums every chance he gets, tries using fire-magic against the man (to no avail) and attempts to escape at every turn. At first, he’s in fight or flight mode almost constantly because he knows that the dragon vampire has to be using him for some evil ploy…but then weeks pass, a month, and there doesn’t seem to be much of an evil ploy happening. The two of them simply travel from place to place, where Richter has to awkwardly stand while his…kidnapper? Temporary guardian? Is running errands and talks to other gross, smelly vampires.

He hates Olrox, he’s confused, he feels a strange warmth in his chest when the vampire picks him up and carries him around when he’s too tired to walk, or checks up on him to make sure he’s warm and well-fed.

Just imagine the bittersweetness of Richie developing a bond with his captor in these horrible circumstances, and they start to get along. He feels all kinds of guilt and self-hate for it, every time he fails to stifle a giggle at Olrox’s jokes or can’t help but lean in when he offers comfort.

It’s just such a messy, tragic dynamic, don’t you think? Should I write anything on it? Idk, my ask box is open in any case 🤷

#I’m not good with names y’all #anyway just saying AGAIN like I’m the last post that Olrox is the bad guy here #I’m not trying to make kidnapping into anything cute or fluffy here let’s make that clear #this au is bittersweet with a big B #and a LOTTA angst about the family feels these two develop towards each other #castlevania #castlevania au #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania olrox #castlevania nocturne #olrox #castlevania richter #richter belmont #belmont family #castlevania orlox #cv au

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dotster001 · 1 year

Note

hello! can i request lilia or leona for how you met/enemies to lovers series?

How You Met/Enemies to Lovers; Lilia Edition

A/N: god, I forgot how long these get 😂 For obvious reasons, Leona's is going to be in a separate post on a later date, so keep an eye out. Also, hope you're still here anon, cause this is an old request 😬

Other Versions: Vil Malleus Crewel Crowley Rook Idia Leona

In hindsight, it wasn't his brightest hour.

Maybe he was truly going senile in his old age…

"Malleus Draconia is twice the king you will ever be!"

"Shut up," he heard you mutter through gritted teeth, but the sands were already rising and swirling around him as Leona Kingscholar spiraled out of control.

It was the very first thing he taught his soldiers during training. Don't provoke cornered prey, because it's capable of great things.

But he couldn't stand the thought of this brat trying to grievously injure his son! How dare he!

But you didn't know his family situation…what you saw was a stupid college guy not knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Ah well. You weren't running in his social circles anyway. And he didn't care what people thought of him. It'd be fine.

….

"I haven't seen you this nervous since you were a hatchling. What's the matter?" Lilia asked his silly king, who was standing nervously in the doorway, and clutching something in his hands.

"Um…"

He hesitated, before walking further into the room and handing Lilia an envelope.

"My Ramshackle friend has not been around, and I wanted to give them a holiday card. I was wondering, if you crossed paths with them of course…could you possibly…" Malleus trailed off.

Lilia stared at the envelope for a moment. The initials M.D. were on it.

"Have you told them who you are yet?"

"No. And I'm not scared to tell them, if that's what you're implying, old man."

"You should probably tell them soon…"

"I will…when I'm ready…"

Both men sat in silence, before Lilia laughed lightly.

"Alright."

….

"Hello!"

It was two days before you returned to Ramshackle, and you looked exhausted.

You didn't say anything, just looked at him with dead eyes.

"Someone has been disappointed that you haven't been around to hang out with over the winter break."

"Oh, shoot, tell Hornton I really wanted to hang, I just was, well, a little tied up."

"Hm," he hummed before giving you the card.

"M.D.?"

"He'll tell you who he is soon. Have a good night," he paused and gave you another once over. "Try to get some rest."

….

"Lilia…"

"Have I been reduced to your errand boy?" Lilia asked, shedding a fake tear.

"More like an errand grandpa," Malleus snickered, dodging the pillow Lilia threw at his head.

He then handed the not so concealed gift bag to Lilia.

"Please give this to-"

"Y/N. I know. They know who you are now. Why am I delivering your presents?"

"No reason," Malleus said, before vanishing in a flash of green fireflies.

Lilia sighed to himself, before staring at the gift bag.

….

Over the course of delivering present after present to you, he'd been able to get to know you better. He knew your likes, your dislikes, your favorite colors, what you liked to do for fun, what you missed back home…everything. And he could see why Malleus would fall for you.

Although, the thought of him being with you filled his mouth with a metallic taste. He had to laugh at himself. It had been a long time since he had had a crush on someone. But it would fade. He was old enough to know that.

And besides, he wasn't one to stand in the way of what his king wanted. Which meant that when your initial distaste over how he handled the overblot wore off, and you started to seek him out as a friend, he knew he had to scare you off.

It started simple. Just being a nuisance, or making his pranks go a tad bit too far. But that didn't do much, aside from make you wary. Pretty soon, it was full on bullying you, and you quickly stopped coming to him.

It was when Malleus came to him, one day, that he knew he'd pulled off what he set out to do.

"Y/N doesn't want you to give them my presents anymore. They think you hate them. I told them that was ridiculous, as you have no cause to feel as such, but they were insistent."

"One thing you'll learn about humans, my young king, is that they are fickle creatures, and very sensitive. You never know how they are going to feel about someone," he said, as though it wasn't entirely his doing that made you feel this way. "But if it makes Y/N more comfortable, I'll stay away. Perhaps you should deliver your own presents from now on."

Malleus didn't get the hint that day, instead opting for Sebek to start delivering gifts, but at least it was clear you didn't feel any particular way about Sebek. And now Lilia could let his little crush die, until you and the young King were together, as the seven no doubt intended.

….

"Thank you for meeting with us at such short notice, General Vanrouge."

Lilia bowed deeply to his Queen, before taking a seat in the chair next to her. It had been nearly three years since his graduation from NRC, and he didn't seem to have aged a day, opting only to swap out his dorm uniform in favor of his military garb. He had decided, during his four years in college, that he quite liked his cute form. It made it easier for people to trust him.

"It was no trouble, your majesty. What can I do for you today?"

The queen sipped some tea before fixing him with a scrutinizing look.

"My grandson has requested to officially adopt Y/N L/N into the royal family. His argument is that he is an only hatchling, so he needs someone to be next in line should something happen before he has his own hatchlings," she smirked, "As though that would ever be an issue. But he also says they have no family in this world, and are of noble character. He says he is determined to have them as his family, whether he has my approval or not. But I thought I would ask your opinion, since you are my most trusted advisor, and spent a year with them, as well."

As family.

Oh fuck.

He fucked up.

He fucked up so bad.

"They are as he says, a human of excellent character. Our young king has done well to choose them as his foster sibling."

The queen smirked again. "You are certain this has nothing to do with your goal to unite our people with humans?"

"No," he said playfully, acting as though he wasn't slamming his palm against his forehead in self hatred.

"Then it shall be done. Thank you for your input."

Sevens. He fucked up.

….

"Avoidance is not the way to solve your problems, father," Silver said, with a judging expression on his face.

"Whatever do you mean, my darling son?" Lilia said with a light laugh.

You'd moved into the castle three weeks ago. And, yes, he had been avoiding you.

He hadn't planned to. He had been there at the ceremony where you'd been officially inducted into the family, and been legally renamed Y/N L/N Draconia. But when his eyes had met yours, he'd been rocked by the resentment yours held for him. But that wasn't the only thing that rocked his world.

What had truly shaken him was that his "crush" was still alive and well.

And someone as old as him knew, that a simple crush didn't last for four years.

He was in love with you.

"Father, Y/N is reasonable, and so are you. I know you would never have been cruel to them if you didn't have a reason, and if you explain that to them, they will understand."

Lilia sighed.

"Why did I have to raise such a wise and perfect son?"

Silver blushed and looked away.

"I'm simply saying what you would say to me."

"Fine, fine, I'll talk to Y/N," he groaned, standing up and leaving the room.

It wasn't too hard to find you. Most of your time was spent in Malleus' study, taking lessons on etiquette and the kingdom. Being newly royal, lessons filled most of your days.

Luckily, being general of all the kingdom's military gave him a few perks.

"I deeply apologize for the interruption, but I need to have a word with their highness."

The tutor fled without a complaint, and the two of you were left alone, you eyeing him warily, him nervously clasping his hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes widened, and your mouth parted a little.

"Huh?"

"I acted foolishly at NRC. I didn't want to get between you and Malleus. He," Lilia needed to choose his words carefully, lest he sound like a fool about your relationship with Malleus. "He has such difficulty interacting with new people, I worried that if I grew close to you, he would feel like I was trying to steal you from him."

You stared at him, looking a little confused, but on the whole you seemed to understand.

"Anyway, since we are going to have to interact a lot, from now on, I wanted to apologize, and extend an offer of friendship."

You bit your lip, weighing your options. He couldn't blame you. Some of the things he had done or said were pretty terrible. After a moment, though, you hesitantly nodded.

….

Three more years.

It had taken three more years for him to reach this level with you.

"How do I look?" You spun around for him, showing off your Valley of Thorns celebration outfit.

"Beautiful," he hummed, before floating over to you and excitedly fixing your hair. Not that it needed it. He just wanted an excuse to touch you.

"You're sure? It's not everyday a brother gets married," you asked.

Lilia cupped your cheeks, and stared deeply into your eyes.

"You look absolutely radiant."

Your eyes flickered away from his, and you gave a cough. Lilia could feel your cheeks burning under his hands. And he couldn't be more delighted.

Three years to get here….

"Thank you, " you muttered, before pulling away. "Now let's go, Malleus will probably throw a tantrum if we're late to his wedding."

The wedding went off without a hitch. Malleus and his new spouse made their vows, then greeted their people. You shone as well: greeting the guests, appeasing members of the court, giving a speech, you were the perfect representative of the Draconia family.

But you were only human.

As the night drew on, he noticed you stepping outside. He followed.

You were leaning against the railing looking up at the stars. You turned to him with a soft smile when you heard the door.

He bowed low, and extended a hand.

"May I have this dance, your highness?"

You giggled, as you took his hand, and responded, "Why, of course you may, my good General."

You both turned in slow circles, dancing to the music in your minds.

At length, you asked softly, "I wonder when we'll see you married."

Lilia burst into laughter. "You've been spending far too much time with her majesty, if you're asking questions like that."

"Well, she is my grandmother now. And being at a wedding makes you think, you know?"

"It makes you think about me getting married?"

You rolled your eyes.

"No, I mean it makes you think about happy endings, and what kind of person you'd want to settle down with."

He twirled you, then hummed, thoughtfully.

"And who could you see yourself settling down with. What kind of person would beguile our precious Y/N?"

"Hm…" you tilted your head to the side, pretending to think. "Perhaps he is someone who can be serious, but is usually a playful scamp."

"He sounds amazing already, fu fu."

"And maybe he is a terrible cook…"

"I don't know anyone like that-"

"Maybe he was a decorated war general, then raised a couple sons of his own."

"I'm in love with him already," he giggled, only now noticing that neither of you were moving.

Your eyes were solely on him, your face slowly moving closer to him, as though drawn by a magnet.

"Maybe he is wise, but also a complete moron."

"That's awfully harsh," he said lowly, his own face drawing closer to yours now.

"Maybe he is super into heavy metal," you whispered, your lips barely an inch away from his.

"I bet he's an excellent singer," Lilia whispered back, before pressing his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss when he felt your hand work their way into his hair.

Your arms wrapped around each other, and Lilia realized that even though seven years was a long time to get here, it was well worth the wait.

....

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader #twst lilia

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slxsherbunny · 7 months

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Shelter from the Storm (Brahms Heelshire x GN reader)

Anon: Can we get some fluffy cuddles with wall boy, Brahms? Where he just craves cuddling time? 💞💞 (It's nice to see a new face btw! So far I really enjoy your writing :D Can't wait to see more of your work!!)

(Re-post from my older, defunct blog!)

When you return to the house, the windows are all dark, save for one. When you’d left in the morning, you had made sure the lights were all off, one of your duties that remained from when you’d first started working for the Heelshires. You had gone into town in the morning to fetch some groceries, and run a few errands, though your speed was admittedly hampered by the weather. The rain was heavy, thick droplets that seemed to chill you to the bone, your umbrella the last line of defense from the torrential downpour. It was rare these days that you would leave, though when you did, you felt a looming sense of guilt about it- you understood why Brahms might not want to tag along on your errands, but it made you feel awful leaving him behind at home.

You shake off the thoughts and the rain, and unlock the front door quietly, slipping inside. You wonder if Brahms had seen you pull into the driveway, if he’d been watching all morning for your return. Your suspicions are confirmed when you turn to hang up your jacket, and Brahms is there. You greet him softly, part of you worried he’ll be angry you were gone so long. He waits all of ten seconds for you to take your muddied boots and drenched jacket off, before he’s got you in an embrace. His arms are tight around you, and you can’t help but notice how warm he is, especially compared to the storm outside. You find yourself melting into his embrace, a little desperate for the extra heat. “Did you miss me?” you tease, though the way he squeezes you slightly harder, a little warning, tells you he isn’t in a joking mood. In an instant, he has you by the wrist, leading you deeper into the house. You find yourself cursing the sudden loss of warmth pressed against you; but you follow, as you imagine there isn’t much of a choice.

You find yourself in one of the house's many sitting rooms, the fireplace already alive and crackling. You look around the room for a brief moment, and find that the window to the outside provides a perfect view of the long stretch of driveway. You feel that small pang of guilt again- how long had he been sitting here, waiting for you to come home? Before you can get too caught up in your worry, Brahms is pulling you down, onto the plush sofa, and into his lap. You go without hesitation, his arms snaking around you, and your torso pressed against his. He’s so warm, you can’t help but worm as close to him as possible, which you’re sure is what he wants. A crash of thunder sounds from outside, and his grip on you tightens, just short of crushing. It dawns on you then, that your absence may not have been the only thing troubling him today. He holds you like that for a moment, before seemingly growing restless. He moves you, his weight shifting on top of you, and for the briefest of moments you’re reminded of a heated blanket. He curls up on top of you like that, a bit too tall and wide to find comfortably with another person on the couch, and your hands find their way to his hair, stroking softly. He hums contentedly, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of your clothes. He holds you, as if worried that you’ll disappear if he lets go. Eventually, he slots his arms around your waist, and you suspect you aren’t going anywhere soon. Not that you mind; these moments of genuine affection could be rare with Brahms, and usually led to him wanting more than just cuddling. If you had to ride out the storm like this, in his arms, then that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #sfw

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haesunflower · 5 months

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soulmates unfortunately series [the prologue]

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genre: romance/fluff with adult themes pairings: reader x park gunwook, reader x kim taerae, reader x seok matthew, reader x shen ricky. word count: 3.2k warnings: drinking, character death, nsfw mention (no actual smut), underage puppy love, and other adult themes. rating is 16+.

ABOUT. here's the thing about soulmates, once you meet the one that is meant for you, you start to age. the biological clock starts to tick, and you are no longer a fresh faced 20 year old. years go by, and next thing you know it, you've grown old and wrinkly – right next to the love of your life. y/n hated this concept.

y/n has had many soulmates in her lifetime. chapter zero explores the soulmates that came before she stopped believing in the concept entirely.

⋆୨♡୧ series masterlist/about the series. ⋆୨♡୧

You used to believe in the concept of soulmates.

It could be a beautiful thing, really. In theory, you build your entire future with this person, remaining young until you meet the one that is meant for you. In this world, your biological clock remains frozen – physical and mental aging included.

Life doesn’t start unless you have your other half along with you. Your soulmate.

Growing up, you hear and experience multiple love stories around you. You are taught to look forward to this life changing moment, watching out for the tell-tale signs of your other half. Your chest tightens around them, pulling you closer, drawing you in. Others say it’s as if the universe is physically trying to draw you closer together. But you liken it more to a ‘gut feeling’; There’s no other way to describe it, you just know.

That’s how you felt about Park Gunwook – the first boy you ever came to love. The first soulmate.

PARK GUNWOOK. TWELVE YEARS OLD. YEAR 1920.

Gunwook lived in the same farm town as you, and everyone knew him.

He was the favorite son in his family. He wasn’t the eldest – but he was reliable even from a very young age. He ran errands for the neighbors often and was kind to all the children and elderly. If anyone needed some help with carrying hay bale, starting a fire, or cleaning out the barn, Park Gunwook was the go-to, in which he happily carried out his duties with a large smile on his face.

You first met on a sunny day when you had trouble with your farmwork chores. You were struggling to wrangle the pigs back to their pen, tripping over the mud, and eventually falling into a large puddle.

He must have been watching over from a far, as the next thing you know an, arm is outstretched to you. “Need some help, Y/N?”

You look up to see Gunwook, and you take his hand so he can hoist you up from the mud puddle.

“You know my name?” you ask innocently. Gunwook was fifteen at the time, and you, only twelve.

“Silly girl, of course I know you.” he says as he fixes the bangs on your forehead, temporarily disheveled by the fall. At that moment, you felt it. The undeniable tug at your chest, drawing you to him. You had a feeling he was your soulmate, and your cheeks warmed at the thought.

You reckon he felt the same. For as the years went by, he stayed as a close friend to you.

When you reached fifteen years old, marrying age, he started to see you more often.

He would ask you to join him as he saddled up the horses by the stable, and you’d ask him to accompany you as you picked flowers by the meadow. You often talked about your dreams of seeing the world, leaving this small town and meeting new people. You dreamt of seeing all sorts of buildings, appreciating all kinds of art, trying new food, and experiencing new music. He always listened to you in awe, smiling at how passionate you become when talking about your dreams. He knows it’s your favorite thing to talk about.

Gunwook on the other hand, spoke about inheriting the farm land from his father. He excitedly spoke about starting a little bed and breakfast inn where he could increase tourism in the area, allowing other folk to come experience the beauty of farm life. He once showed you the blueprint sketches he had of his proposed business venture, and with a gummy smile on his face, pointed to a house right by the meadow where your favorite flowers resided, “and here’s where we would live” he said. his cheeks were flushed red, nervous to see your reaction.

It was beautiful. He had promised to build it for you, confirming that he too, felt the same about you. That the both of you were meant to be together.

“I know you’ve always wanted to get out of here. So I’ll save up for it, and we can both go on a large adventure someday” he reassures you.

But you pictured the little farmhouse by the meadow where the two of you would live, running the bed and breakfast, and caring for the horses, pigs, and sheep. You suddenly didn’t mind having this quaint little life at all.

“It’s perfect, Gunwook. I love it.” You reassured him too.

Sadly, these were the last words you shared with him. The wedding never happened, the house was never built, and you were unable to experience being loved by Gunwook like you were meant to.

Gunwook died the next morning, at the age of 18 years old. He was helping out the local lumberjack with a project in the forest, and fell victim to a horrible accident. The townspeople and your family spared you of the gory details, so you never got the full story of how he passed away.

All you remember from that day was waking up and immediately feeling an emptiness in your heart. The tug at your chest was gone, a confirmation that he was dead. You cried.

You wondered if the universe was giving you a sign, an out from the farm town life that you dreamed of leaving. And you couldn’t help but think: what a sick, twisted, way to communicate, universe.

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You tried to continue living life as you once knew it. But everything in this small town reminded you of Gunwook. You’d often visit the meadow where your forever house with him was meant to stand, journalling or speaking to the wind – hoping Gunwook would hear you.

Your family let you grieve for two whole years, allowing the pain to fully wash over you so that you can learn to move on. Gunwook was your soulmate, everyone knew that. And at that time, the concept of having more than one soulmate was unheard of. You had already lost yours, and there was no way the universe would have another one for you.

You weren’t exactly a widow, so you would have to live life as an unmarried woman – which was difficult in that day and age. This is why your father and mother brought up the prospect of arranged marriage, even if it’s just for the sake of living comfortably. You agreed.

KIM TAERAE. SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD. YEAR 1925.

You came to know Kim Taerae at seventeen years old, when your father was sorting out marriage candidates. He had visited a local psychic who had given a shortlist of all the eligible bachelors in the area who would be the perfect match for you – insisting that ‘your soulmate would be one of the names on the list’.

You would have called her a quack if the list didn’t include a certain Kim Taerae, a young gentleman three years older, who had a voice of an angel. You officially met at a chaperoned luncheon, with both your parents and his. He was soft, kind hearted, and had a gentle nature to him.

You met several times after that before your families settled the marriage agreements. You didn’t mind marrying Taerae, in fact, you were scared to admit that he might actually be your soulmate too after all. You felt it during your first few meetings without your parents, the familiar pull at your chest. Eventually soothed by his singing and soft hums he would whisper into your hair.

“Do you think we could be soulmates, Y/N?” he asked you one evening, you were both sitting on the porch of your family home with the stars as your audience. While he strongly believed you were his soulmate, you had a hard time. You weren’t sure if the universe allowed such a thing.

“I don’t know, Taerae. I wonder if the universe is kind enough to gift you as my soulmate” you truly meant your words. He knew about your trauma with losing Gunwook, and would often accompany you as you visited his grave. He’s been patient with you, and was content with spending the rest of his life loving you, even if you weren’t soulmates. You felt the same way.

That year, Taerae turned 21 years old. He was a year older, no longer frozen at 20. Likewise, you turned 18 years old. He got his blood tested to ensure the aging wasn’t a placebo effect, that there was indeed biological change.

Everyone celebrated Taerae’s aging, the confirmation that the both of you were truly soulmates. You couldn’t believe it at first, but considered it as the universe’s way of saying ‘sorry’ for the loss of your first one.

Taerae was excited to build a future with you. He even bought a house for the two of you at the capital of the country, and you were both eager to experience city life as a married couple. But that day never came. He died from a tragic car accident, a drunk driver crashed into his vehicle when he was on his way to see you.

You woke up that day feeling like you were stuck in a recurring nighmare. You were drenched in sweat, and let out the most gut-wrenching scream of grief. You despised how this was all too familiar to you, the loss of the comforting tug at your chest. Taerae was dead, and you wailed for him.

The car company gave you a free vehicle as part of the grievance. As if a free car would cure the immense grief and anger you had been feeling. To make matters worse, the community mocked you with a new nickname: soulmate killer. Because the mere idea of being your soulmate was an automatic death sentence.

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You hated the universe. You were angry at its seeming generosity, rather cruelty of losing two soulmates at only 18 years old.

After Taerae died, your family felt anguish for you. They had immense sympathy, and let you do whatever you wanted to do. You spent another two years grieving Taerae. Though you mostly stayed at home, staring into empty space. You still visited the meadow, this time with a guitar in hand to strum familiar melodies as you thought about the two men you loved. You felt that it was only fair to Taerae that way – if you had grieved him the same way you grieved Gunwook.

It took you years before you could even feel like yourself again.

In 1930, you would have been 23 years old. But you still look, act, and feel like a 20 year old. As if the universe was mocking your unfortunate situation. As if aging was a reward and a privilege you receive after meeting the love of your life. As if the universe was blissfully unaware that you have been ripped away from the opportunity thanks to its cruelty.

You revisited your journal entries from when you were fifteen, talking about your big dream of seeing the world. You felt cursed, and you were determined to make the most of the seemingly short life you would have. After all, if your soulmates kept dying on you – who is to say that you aren’t next?

So you took your free car, and set off on a road trip. And that’s when you met Seok Matthew, a man who sadly, understood you a little too well.

SEOK MATTHEW. TWENTY YEARS OLD. 1930.

Matthew’s soulmate also died in a car accident earlier that year. His chosen method of grieving was to travel the world – discovering new places and meeting all sorts of people. That’s how the two of you met, line dancing somewhere in the south america.

Matthew wasn’t your soulmate, you knew that for sure. But you spent the next five years traveling the world together, making love in cities he took you, and living life as reckless twenty somethings. With him, you were finally able to live out your dream.

As you lay naked in the arms of Matthew in a hotel somewhere in Paris, he asked you “what if one day, one of us meets our soulmate?”. You adjust yourself to see him more clearly, fingers softly running through his hair. The thought has crossed your mind before, more for Matthew’s sake than your own.

“It’s been five years Matt, I highly doubt I’m going to meet anyone else. But you might.” you try to foster a small smile, reassuring him he could still have a chance. Matthew has only lost one soulmate, while you’ve lost two.

“No, I’d never leave you.” He sits up, a large pout on his face. His stubbornness amuses you.

“That’s what you say now, sweetie.” you laugh as you kiss his pout away. "and you know it's probably for the best, people in my hometown call me soulmate killer, you know?" you try to play it off as a joke.

"soulmate killer? that's cruel. it's not your fault y/n. you know that right?" Matthew's brows are furrowed. You smile as you hold his face, releasing the tension in his forehead by massaging his eyebrows with your thumbs.

That night, he promised to stay in your life no matter what.

But this promise turned hazy when on one of your trips to South Asia, he met the actual love of his life. You didn’t protest when he came back to your dingy hotel, head down and in tears. You didn’t argue as you watched him pack his bags, for a trip that you weren’t going to be part of. And you didn’t push him away when he asked to kiss you one last time before he left. You let him go, and you sobbed out of loneliness.

Kudos to Matthew, he did keep his promise. He sent letters every few months to your PO Box, but you didn’t have the heart to open all of it. Last you’ve heard, they had baby number one on the way – and that was your last straw. You changed PO Box addresses shortly after that, unbeknownst to Matthew, who still sent you letters every year until his eventual death.

This was the first man in your life to have a happy ending. He died of old age, with 3 children and 10 grandchildren.

Something changed in the five years you spent with Matthew. More than falling in love with a person who wasn’t your soulmate, you fell in love with the world. You could never, ever imagine yourself going back to the domesticated life at home. The years after Matthew turned you into a cynic, and you didn’t believe in love anymore either.

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PRESENT DAY. 2023.

“Got anything that’ll get me drunk in the next ten minutes?”

You plopped down on the bar stool, haphazardly placing your purse next to you. The bartender is eyeing you strangely, as if in disbelief that you’re even inside their establishment.

You sigh and pull out your identification card, a laminated piece of junk that tells you how old you really are. Scratch that, how old you are meant to be. He picks up the card and raises it up next to your face, comparing the woman in the picture to your face. It reminds you that you need to get it renewed…again. After all, the last time you updated your photo was sometime in the 80s. True enough, your ID card reflects a version of you with big hair and large colorful earrings. You don’t blame him for wanting to double check, contrasting the all black ensemble you have currently.

“Listen pal, I just buried my daughter today. I would appreciate it if you could get on with it”. You might not blame him, but you are impatient.

He slides your ID card back and pours you a whiskey on the rocks. “Sorry for your loss ma’am” he solemnly extends his condolences as he places your drink in front of you. You pick it up, raising it and nodding a “thank you” before taking a large gulp. It burns.

You outlived your daughter. And you wonder if you’ve been going about life in all the wrong ways. Atop the alcohol display at the bar is a small TV, flashing a report about a young woman named Somi who was murdered and found dead at her home – leaving her husband a widower. The news station flashed a photo of the blonde couple, sharing that they had just gotten married a week ago. She was beautiful. A shame.

As the news report slowly drowns you, your mind confronts you with the memories of your past soulmates and lovers.

PARK GUNWOOK. The soulmate you never got the chance to fully love, and died in the year 1923.

KIM TAERAE. The soulmate who was your second chance at life, and passed away in 1928.

SEOK MATTHEW. Who helped you live out your dreams from 1930 to 1935.

KIM JIWOONG. A man you married in the year 1940, who died from alcohol poisioning that same year.

ZHANG HAO. The one who gave you your daughter in 1952, but unfortunately fell victim to a house fire.

SUNG HANBIN. The husband that raised your daughter like his very own. But experienced a very fatal heart attack on the day of your daughter’s wedding in 1973.

Of course, there were others – flings and boytoys along the way. None of which were worth reminiscing about, except maybe for Kim Gyuvin.

At that moment, a tall man enters the bar and decides to take a seat next to you. His presence effectively drew you out from the thoughts circling your brain. Other than the fact that he too, is dressed in all black – you feel a deeper sense of similarity. Like kindred spirits, you recognize broken souls like yours. You order two more rounds of the whiskey the bartender gave you.

“I heard about your late wife in the news, I’m sorry for your loss.” You feign sympathy and slide the glass to the man next to you.

He looks taken aback at first, but accepts your offer. Now facing you, he raises his drink to you. You do the same. He’s strikingly handsome, with platinum hair and dark eyebrows. You also don’t miss that he’s dressed in Yves Saint Laurent from head to toe. He takes a peek at your ID card still laying on the table, making sure to catch your name.

“Next one’s on me, Y/N” he says, taking another swig at his whiskey, finishing his glass. He calls on the bartender, and buys an entire bottle for the two of you. The bartender returns his credit card, with the name ‘Shen Quanrui’ engraved.

“Thank you Quanrui, that’s very generous of you.”

He puts on a small smile, almost no one calls him by his legal name. “You can call me Ricky” he says as he pours into your glass.

“Alright Ricky. Here’s to life.” you raise up. It feels inappropriate to be clinking glasses on the day you buried your daughter, but you figured you could make an exemption. Ricky too, seemed to be going through the same thing with his late wife.

“To life.” he responds, tapping his glass against yours.

Just two broken souls who had lost someone important in their lives, drinking to fill the hollowness. You almost don’t feel the familiar bloom in your chest, tugging at your entire being like a magnet trying to find its other half. And if you do feel it, you pretend it’s the whiskey burning its place in your heart.

RICKY SHEN. TWENTY YEARS OLD. 2023. The man who you assume to be your next soulmate.

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softmangoes · 3 months

Text

until sunrise | eden x defiant!pc

18+ only

summary: you ask eden if you can go to town to run some errands. reluctantly, he says yes. sequel to cabin fever.

includes: defiant! fem pc, yearning, domesticity, a very needy eden

author's note: i had so much fun writing the first fic that i got excited to work on this one. i love eden so much, so please let me know what you think! comments always keep me going 🫶🏾

"you want to leave?" eden tenses. instinctively, he holds you tighter, thinking of the time you actually managed to run away. it was a while ago, but he could still feel the cold spike of fear as he tracked you through the forest.

"what," you say. "you don't trust me?"

it's not that he doesn't. he wants to. he does. it's just that after being alone for so long, he's finally found you, and now you want to leave?

the forest provides. its boughs offer wood for shelter, fruit for food. its animals bare their necks to gift flesh and fur for meals and warmth. and then there is the quiet, which is something the town never had. the quiet that eases eden's nerves, lets him think.

in the wilderness, there is nothing else he could want. he thought that after being here for a while, you would feel the same. he's provided for you, hasn't he? he's been good to you. why would -

"eden." your fingers brush his hair away from his face. what would he do, knowing he'd be without your touch? "i can hear you thinking."

it's not like him to lose his composure. on a hunt, it could cost him a meal - a bullet whizzing far past its target. in this moment, he averts his gaze. swallows.

"is it because there's someone else?" he says, quiet.

you had a life before him. he's well aware of that. before, when he would watch you spend your afternoons at the lake, he would occassionally see you have picnics with a brunette boy with a voice so soft that you had to move closer just to listen to him.

fear wraps cold tendrils around his heart. was that who you wanted? someone who still had kindness in their eyes?

"i have you." your lips feather across his cheeks. "how can there be someone else when you're all i need?"

need. it's such a terrible, wonderful thing, isn't it? before you, he thought he never needed much. since the night you told him you would stay, the thought of being around you has become as essential as air. as cherished as the quiet.

he needs you. but as much as he wants to keep you within his reach, eden knows you well enough that a cage would be the last thing you would ever want.

"a day," he says. your lips hover over his, your breath sweet with the scent of berries you had picked together earlier that morning. "nothing more, and you come back."

the kiss you give him is full of relief, gratitude. he pulls you onto his lap and the couch creaks at the shift in weight. when he brings his mouth to your neck, he bites you hard enough to leave a bruise. the throbbing will give you something to remember him by while you're gone. you touch the bloom of broken capillaries with a smile.

the next morning, he holds you tightly at the end of the forest path.

"i have to be back before breakfast tomorrow," you say, muffled by his embrace. "it'll still take me hours to get to town."

it's fall, so the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he takes an uneasy step back. there's a chill in the air, so he adjusts the scarf he's given you around your neck.

"you can come earlier than that," he tells you. "it'd be better if you do."

i'd feel better if you do, he thinks.

you smile knowingly and take his hand. he swears he'll never get used to it, how tenderly you hold him even after everything he's done. even though he is who he is.

"i'll miss you, too," you say before you leave.

for a moment, after he watches you walk through the bushes, he thinks about following you. of course, he would only do it to make sure you get there safely. he'd promised to protect you, didn't he?

but you didn't need that. you were already strong when he found you and you had given him quite the fight when he brought you to the cabin. he was sure you were capable of protecting yourself. for both your sakes, you had to be.

he slings his rifle over his shoulder. how about a deer for dinner once you got back? you always liked his venison roasts. they take long to track, but even longer to cook. at least it would give him something to do while you're away.

hours later, eden lowers his rifle. the shot is clean - straight to the temple without any damage to the hide. he hefts the fallen doe over his shoulder. this early in the season, she hasn't shed too much of her fat gained from the spring and the summer. her meat will make a fine roast, one worthy of welcoming you back.

eden dresses her away from the cabin, gathering her hide and meat. in a few days, he'll come back for the bones after they've been picked clean.

the weather is cool enough that he can place the flesh in the root cellar until he's ready to use it. there are still a few hours left in the day, so he uses them to strip the hide.

as he draws the fleshing knife over the stretched skin, his mind wanders.

normally, he'd find peace in the monotony of this kind of work, allowing his mind clear while you read a book on the patio's rocking chair. but now, all he could think about was where you were. all he could think about was how silent the cabin was without you there to fill the air with your laughter. when he looks up, he watches the empty chair sway in the breeze.

once he's done fleshing the hide, eden eats a late lunch of stewed cabbage and sausage. it's the last thing you prepared and while it's delicious, it does not soothe the ache of your absence.

dinner isn't any better. he eats quickly, sopping up the broth on his plate with a hank of crusty bread.

once he curls up with a book by the fireplace, it's only then that his mind quiets. for as long as he could remember, he's always loved reading. stories were his first escape. they allowed him to imagine a future different from his past.

the first time you had asked him to read to you, he was confused.

"your voice," you told him. "it's pretty."

"pretty?" he scoffed. "that can't be the right word for it."

"like thunder rumbling in the distance." you kissed his neck, your hands slipping under his sweater. "a shift in the tide." his breath caught. "i could listen to you all night and it would never be enough."

right now, eden flips his way through a weathered paperback, the spine cracked white throughout.

soon, the both of you would fall back into your routine.

he feels more at ease - somewhat - but perhaps it's because of the anticipation that flutters in his chest. the day is almost done and tomorrow, as promised, he will wake to welcome you home. the thought warms him like the first sunrise of spring, melting away the long winter frost.

still, his chest tightens.

what if he never heard your knock? what if dawn came and you didn't? you wouldn't do that, would you? you would keep your word.

ah, but he's done so many bad things. he hurt you, even as you kicked and clawed at him. back then, he was selfish, wanting nothing else but your body to warm the cold nights.

things were different, now. the way you looked at him was softer. fond. at night, you would take his hand and hold it until you fell asleep. in turn, he'd wake you with a kiss to the forehead, waiting until you stirred in his arms. eden was yours and you were his. you wouldn't leave him. you wouldn't you wouldn't you wouldn't -

the book falls apart in his hands with a sharp rip.

"fuck," he says, placing the ruined pieces onto the couch.

he takes a deep breath, deciding that it would be wise to turn in early. that way, he'd get enough rest to properly take care of you after your long trek through the forest.

the bed is cold when he slips in. outside the cabin window, the crickets croon softly in the night for their lovers. eden places a palm against the bed's empty space, his fingers gathering the sheets. it takes a long time for him to close his eyes.

the next morning, there's a knock at the door.

eden is there just as you swing it open.

"the way back is so much harder," you huff, dropping a couple of duffel bags onto the floor along with your backpack. "i tripped on so many roots. maybe we could spend a day clearing the path more?"

sweat has plastered your hair to your forehead and your cheeks are red with exertion. there are fragments of leaf debris sticking to your skin. you have never looked more beautiful.

eden gathers you into his arms.

he takes you on the table, lays your body down like a feast. the oak whines against the cabin floor, but it holds. when he carved it a few years ago, he made sure it would be sturdy.

"hey, wait," you start, trying to fend him off. but you're too tired, too weak from the journey back. it's alright, though. he's here to give you a proper welcome.

somehow, you manage to kick off your boots. he drags down your hiking pants, grabs ahold of your thighs.

already, you're so wet for him. he can smell it. have you been wanting this as badly as he has, he wonders. the thought drives him wild.

eden brings his mouth to your bare hip as he peels off your underwear with one hand. he licks a trail further and further downward until he's between your legs.

you hiss at the sensation of his tongue on you, his hands clasped securely around your thighs.

"i've been waiting," he says gruffly. "for this."

and when his tongue, thick and hot, pushes itself inside of you, you can do nothing else but squirm.

one of his massive hands slips under your tank top, beneath your bra, to take your nipple between his fingers.

it's all so much. you wrap a hand around his wrist, steadying yourself as he fucks you with his mouth.

once he's satisfied, eden moves to suck on your clit, groaning in approval when your hips twitch against his face.

your core tightens, back arching as the orgasm takes you.

eden pulls away. a moment later, you hear the rustling of fabric. he's removed his lounge pants.

he licks his lips, which are glistening with your wetness.

"i was worried you wouldn't come back," he says, taking a hold of your hips to pull you closer to his aching cock. "but here you are, being so good for me." eden slips inside of you slowly, making you feel every moment he's missed you. "i think you deserve a reward."

then he rips through your tank top and bra. you gasp at the sudden coolness against your skin, his ravenous hunger making you feel vulnerable.

eden fucks himself into you, planting rough kisses across your chest and collarbone.

"so tight," he praises. "and all mine."

when you come, clenching down on him so deliciously, he crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as you writhe beneath him.

he's close, the yearning he had pent up the day prior threatening to make him spill, but he does not relent. instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, the pain lancing through his wave of pleasure so he can last longer.

has it only been a day since you were last together? no, that can't be right. it feels like forever. he'll have to make up for all that lost time.

with the pad of his fingers, eden rubs small circles against your swollen clit, coaxing another orgasm from you as he pushes himself deeper to reach the spot he knows will make you keen.

it's when you tongue at the hollow of his neck, nails raking across his back, that he comes gasping your name.

you hold each other, the wooden planks creaking softly under your weight.

"christ," you pant, forehead pressed against his. "i was barely through the fucking door."

he laughs - it's a deep, guttural grumble that he only ever does around you. it reminds you of thunder, of storms.

he blushes, shy. "i, ah, got excited."

eden gathers you into his arms and you wash up quickly, the both of you eager to spend the rest of the day together.

"such a sweetheart," you say, kissing him on the cheek. "you missed me a lot, didn't you?"

once you're clean, fed, and settled, you begin to unpack the spoils you gathered from town. there are the hefty duffel bags full of eden's supplies: boxes of bullets, rope for snare traps, canned food, and kerosene for the lamps.

from your backpack, you procure extra sets of clothes you bought at the mall along with a short guides on canning produce and soapmaking you found at the outdoor shop. he glances at the pile of ruined clothing he had torn to get to you and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.

lastly, you take out a hefty rectangular bundle wrapped in brown paper. it's secured with a ribbon made of twine.

"what's this?" he asks.

you look at the fire, sheepish. you were never very good with words.

"i know the paperbacks are cheaper, but they're too small for your hands," she says.

he tears through the packaging. inside are hardcover copies of his favorite books, along with some new releases.

"you like their work the most," you tell him. "i've noticed that you reread their books a lot."

eden is speechless. you thought of him, then, even though you were gone? he takes a moment to imagine you perusing the bookstore, scanning the shelves for something to take home with you.

"i don't know what to say," he says, setting the books on the table beside him. when was the last time he'd received a gift? for the life of him, he can't remember. if he had, then that memory has been long buried by the past.

"you could thank me," you say, taking his hand to your face. your eyes darken as you slip two of his fingers into your mouth. "or you could show me."

warmth ignites his core. he pulls you closer, hunger making him lick his teeth.

one day is long enough.

sunlight filters through the glass windows. he smiles, admiring the sight of you finally back in his arms.

you don't make it out of the cabin until the next morning.

#eden the hunter #dol eden #degrees of lewdity eden #eden the hunter x pc #eden the hunter and pc #degrees of lewdity fic #dol fic #my writing #should i try writing what would happen if pc asked to be away for a week hahaha

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