𝕽𝖔𝖈𝖔𝖈𝖔

Just a female Vampire that is so bellissima

꒰ ঌ ໒꒱ Rococo ᯓFanFic Writer.

⋆˚࿔ᝰ.ᐟ M.LIST.⋆˚࿔ RULES .⋆˚࿔ OTHER.M.LIST .⋆˚࿔ AO3

TAGS: ꒰@itzrococo, @underthewinemoon, @rococoxoxo ꒱

まだ歌姫

Ayato ⤷ Ayako

WC: 444 words

A/N: little Fem! Ayato x Ruki shit. Yeah….

The atmosphere in Cell Number Three was thick with a loud, aggressive energy that practically rattled the iron bars in their concrete sockets.

Ayako wasn’t sitting down, nor was she quietly waiting. She was leaning carelessly against the damp stone wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one crimson heel propped back against the rock. Her short, unkempt reddish hair fell wildly over her face, but it couldn't hide the fierce, competitive spark burning in her eyes.

She wore a sharp, pinstripe gangster vest with the sleeves of her white shirt rolled up to her elbows, looking every bit like a jazz-age kingpin who owned the streets.

“Well, look what we have here,” Ayako scoffed, her sharp green eyes locking onto Yui with an arrogant, predatory smirk. “The sweet little reporter girl. Come to find out how the number one dame in Chicago ended up behind bars?”

She stepped forward, her movement explosive and fluid, bringing her face right up to the cold iron grate. The scent of copper and expensive pomade drifted through the bars.

“Let's get one thing straight, kid. Ruki thought he could control me. He thought just because he read a few dusty books and wore a fancy suit, he could micro-manage my life and call me his property. He wanted me to step back, to let him make all the rules. But nobody puts me in second place. Nobody.”

Ayako threw her arms out, pacing the small cell with furious, dramatic strides that showed off her total lack of fear.

“I came home after a long night out at the jazz club, minding’ my own business, just looking to get a bite to eat. In he walks, completely out of his mind with jealousy. He starts screamin’ in my face, wavin’ a heavy carving knife around, accusin’ me of lookin’ at other guys down at the club. Me! As if I need to look at anyone else when I'm already the main attraction.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, a dangerous, unhinged laugh bubbling up from her throat as she bared her sharp fangs.

“He lost his footin’. He got so worked up, screamin’ and lungin’ at me like a maniac. I didn't even flinch. I just stood my ground. He tripped over his own clumsy feet and ran right into the blade. And then he ran into it again. And again. Ten times total!”Ayako slammed her palms against the iron bars, the metal ringing loudly through the corridor as she grinned.

“It wasn't murder, Yui. It was absolute self-defence. The guy just completely lost his balance and squished right onto my knife. He had it coming.”

@itzrococo and @underthewinemoon

Reiji ⤷ Reika

WC: 525 words

A/N: I was gonna go with the original colour palette of Reiji but poison connotations got to me first… anyway, hope yous enjoy!

The transition from Cell Number One to Cell Number Two felt like stepping from an unhinged nursery straight into the chilling, suffocating atmosphere of a military courtroom.

Unlike the chaotic mess of the previous cage, Reika’s space was immaculate. She had somehow managed to procure a small, dark velvet-draped table, upon which sat a porcelain tea set that looked entirely too expensive for the drab grey walls of the Cook County Jail.

Reika sat perfectly upright on her iron cot, smoothing down the pressed fabric of her tailored black 1920s trousers. Her dark hair was slicked back into a rigid, flawless bob that didn't have a single strand out of place. She adjusted her wire-rimmed spectacles with a single, precise finger, her sharp eyes tracking Yui’s pencil through the bars.

“Good evening, Miss Yui,” Reika murmured. Her voice was smooth, chilling, and entirely devoid of any human remorse. She didn't wait for the reporter to ask a single question. Instead, she gracefully lifted a heavy silver spoon, stirring her teacup with an elegant, rhythmic clink. “I suppose Sakamaki sent you down here to gawk at the tragedy. Or perhaps you are searching for a drop of feminine remorse to satisfy your readers?”

She set the spoon down against the saucer with a final, deliberate tap that echoed sharply off the concrete.

“I value order, manners, and absolute genetic perfection above all things. When I married Carla, I believed he was a gentleman of singular devotion. A First Blood of high status who would appreciate a woman of my pedigree, my culinary intellect, and my impeccable etiquette. But falsehoods have a way of leaving a foul odor, Miss Yui, much like cheap, bootleg gin.”

Reika stood up, her posture as straight and unyielding as a ruler as she walked toward the iron bars. Her dark silk vest shifted, revealing a pristine white collar underneath. She stopped just inches from the grate, looking down at Yui with cold disdain.

“I discovered that while he was preaching about the purity of his bloodline and his supreme right to rule our household, he was keeping company with six other common, tasteless women. Six 'sisters' of the evening, if you will, scattered across the worst districts of Chicago. Imagine the utter disrespect to my household. The absolute, unpardonable stain on my dignity.”

She raised her teacup to her lips, inhaling the herbal aroma before taking a delicate, clinical sip.

“I did not raise my voice. I did not throw a messy, theatrical tantrum like my sisters; such vulgar displays are beneath a true lady of my standing. Instead, I invited him to a private evening tea to discuss our future. I brewed his absolute favorite blend, and into his porcelain cup, I mixed a very precise, very lethal dose of arsenic.”

Reika’s lips curled into a cold, deeply satisfied smirk, her sharp vampire fangs barely visible under the flickering gaslight.

“He drank it down to the very last drop, arrogant and blind to the end, entirely convinced of his own invincibility. It was a neat, clean, and entirely appropriate solution to a highly flawed equation. He simply had it coming.”

@itzrococo and @underthewinemoon

I won’t say what the post included but what I will say is we need to start caring more… most people who commit suicide have undiagnosed issues such as MDD (major depression disorder) Substance used disorders or mood/personality disorders as like Bipolar disorder or Schizophrenia but these would be overlooked by medical professionals because (from what I’ve experienced) they are extremely dismissive especially towards teens, adolescents and young adults.

No. That teenager is not overreacting. No, that 21 year old is not making it up when they said they are hearing voices in their heads.

Society has made it out to be that someone is lying if they don’t have physical evidence which is completely bullshit. If you feel the need to call someone a liar because you believe they are “making it up for attention” you are one vile bastard.

Life is draining, very draining but there is small things that could take your mind off things or help your shoulders be an ease now you have let it out. Suggested examples;

• Therapy sessions ( Your therapist shouldn’t criticise or break protocol which is by dropping confidential information to other people, theh might have to if they believe you are in harm of yourself and/or others but any other information it’s supposed to be between you and them)

• journaling (this one can be a pain time to time but it can be a relief to write stuff out on paper so it can leave your head… you dont have to look back on that page. Once it’s written you don’t have to look twice)

• drawing/ other creative ideas ( this is on the fence because some people believe they “cant draw” but honestly it’s not about that. Some of the best pieces of art are nothing like the renaissances painting.)

• Distraction Playlists or Comfort Media (Re-watching a favourite show or putting on familiar music just to give your brain a rest from heavy thoughts.)

Kanato ⤷ Kanako

WC: 658 words

A/N: I weirdly liked this one for some reason idk, and pulled an all nighter due to my body just randomly waking itself up at 2 in the morning so I just stayed away and wrote this. I’m going back to sleep. Good morning/goodnight.

The Heavy Iron door of the first cell didn’t just close; letting out a groan with a definitive ringing finality that sent vibrations straight through the soles of Yui’s T-strap heels.

Inside the narrow stone cell, the darkness was thick and suffocating. The only illumination came from a single gas lamp flickering in the corridor, casting long, skeletal shadows across the damp concrete floor. It felt less like a prison cell and more like a neglected attic room, frozen in time and stripped of any warmth.

Sitting on the edge of a rusted iron cot was Kanako. Her long, unruly lavender hair caught the dim light, casting a soft, almost deceptive halo around her delicate shoulders. She was dressed in a tattered, dropped-waist 1920s tea dress that looked far too fragile for the grim surroundings, her small hands clutching a patchwork teddy bear with missing button eyes. Her violet eyes were wide, unblinking, and ringed with a terrifyingly pale exhaustion.

“You're the girl from the paper, aren't you?” Kanako’s voice drifted through the iron bars, high-pitched and dripping with an eerie, childlike sweetness. She didn't look up from her bear, her fingers rhythmically stroking its matted fur. “Little Miss Sunshine, Yui. Tougo said you'd come. They say you want to hear my side.”

Yui stepped closer, her pencil poised over her notepad, her heart thumping against her ribs. “I want to hear the truth, Kanako. The papers are calling it a cold-blooded execution.”

Kanako tilted her head, a sudden, sharp twitch jerking her neck. The innocent, fragile aura vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a dark, predatory smirk that turned her sweet face into something deeply unsettling.

“Everyone in this miserable city is so loud,” she whispered, her fingers digging so deep into the plush fabric of the bear that the seams groaned. “The streetcars, the jazz bands, the screaming sirens... my head never stops ringing. But my husband, Azusa... oh, he was the worst of them all. He liked the noise. He liked the pain.”

She stood up, the small black Mary Jane shoes clicking sharply against the stone floor. She didn't walk; she glided to the bars, her face pressing into the small gap between the cold iron grates until her breath fogged the metal.

“He had this habit. This awful, disgusting, repetitive habit. We would sit in the living room, and I would try to play with my dolls in perfect, beautiful silence. But he would just sit in his armchair for hours, carving those stupid little scars into his arms with his silver dagger, and he would chew. He would chew his bubblegum. Pop. Pop. Pop.”

She mimicked the sound with a sharp, wet snap of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her fangs catching the flickering gaslight.

“ I asked him nicely. I really did, Yui. I said, 'Azusa, my head hurts. The dolls are crying. They're trying to sleep. Please, please stop that popping.' But he just looked at me with that blank, pathetic smile of his. Masochistic little pest. He just stared right through me and kept doing it. Pop. Pop. Pop. It was vibrating inside my skull! It was driving me completely insane!”

Kanako’s voice suddenly spiked into a piercing, unhinged screech that echoed down the entire length of Murderess Row, causing a few distant cell doors to rattle. She snatched a heavy, jagged piece of metal; a broken, rusted spring she had ripped straight out of her cot and drove it violently down into the wooden stool beside her, splintering the oak.

“So I took his own silver dagger right off the nightstand while he was mid-pop,” Kanako panted, her chest heaving, her violet eyes wide with a manic, ecstatic thrill as she stared at the ruined wood.

“And I gave him something else to pop. Two warning stabs... right into his chest. It wasn't murder, Yui. It was absolute bliss. He had it coming. Don't you agree?”

@itzrococo et @underthewinemoon

Diabolik lovers genderbent!

WC: 745 words

A/N: I absolutely adore Chicago and was so heavily inspired and needed to do something alike wirh the Sakamaki’s genderbent. And it’s only the Sakamaki’s that are genderbent just to let you know, ;) also I tried to be descriptive and match my style of writing to like an authors style … idk if I like it abd might go back to how I orginally write but yeah…

The cold November wind of 1924 whipped down South Clark Street, rattling the heavy glass doors of the Cook County Jail. Inside, the air was a thick mix of cheap cigar smoke, wet wool, and the sharp tang of floor bleach.

Yui clutched her notepad to her chest, her fingers tucked snugly into her faux-fur muff to keep out the chill. She was the star reporter for the Chicago Evening Star, known across the loop as the girl who could find a silver lining in a graveyard. To the public, she was a beacon of pure optimism; to the cynical desk editors, she was just the sweet thing they sent to soften up the rough edges of the city's worst syndicates.

“Keep your chin up, little lady,” a deep, smooth voice rumbled beside her.

Tougo Sakamaki stepped into the dim light of the lobby, shaking the Chicago slush from the brim of his fedora. He looked every bit the high-society gent—impeccable tailored overcoat, a gold-headed cane tucked under his arm, and a smile that was entirely too dazzling for a man stepping into a house of detention. He was the most slick, silver-tongued handler in the state, a man who knew exactly which palms to grease to keep his business afloat.

“I am perfectly fine, Mr. Tougo,” Yui said, her voice bright and clear, cutting through the low murmur of the intake desk. “I just believe that even in a place as dreary as this, there must be a glimmer of human goodness waiting to be found. No one is born entirely wicked.”

Tougo let out a low, amused chuckle, adjusting his silk tie. “That beautiful heart of yours is going to sell a million papers, Yui. Just remember, this ain't a Sunday school picnic. The six dames they've got locked downstairs are the hottest tickets in town. The press is screaming for ink, and the state attorney is itching for a hanging.”

He strolled up to the heavy iron desk where a guard sat chewing on the stub of a dead cigar. Tougo tapped his cane against the marble floor with a sharp clack.

“Morning, Chief,” Tougo drawled, sliding a crisp, folded bill across the ledger with practiced ease. “Tell Matron Morton that Sakamaki is here with the star reporter from the Star. We’re here for the grand tour of Murderess Row.”

The guard glanced at the bill, pocketed it without a word, and spat into a brass spittoon. “You're late, Sakamaki. Matron's downstairs already. The press has been buzzing around the steps like flies on a hog.” He pointed a beefy finger toward a heavy oak door marked Maximum Security. “Go on through. But keep the kid close. Those broads down there aren't playing jacks.”

Tougo offered his arm to Yui with an elegant bow. “Shall we, my dear? Let's go see the lovely ladies who've been making the front pages so very colourful.”

Yui took his arm, her heart fluttering with a mix of anxiety and earnest determination. “I just hope I can do them justice, Mr. Tougo. Every story deserves a sympathetic ear.”

They descended the steep concrete stairs, the air growing heavier, smelling of damp limestone and coal heat. At the bottom of the flight stood Matron “Mama” Morton, a formidable woman in a starch-stiff uniform, her keys jingling like a warning track against her hip.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Matron Morton boomed, her eyes narrowing as she looked Tougo up and down before settling a sharp glance on Yui. “The silver-tongued devil himself, and his little little miss Sunshine.”

“Always a pleasure, Matron,” Tougo smiled, tipping his hat. “We’re here to look over the inventory. The public is dying to know about our six resident angels.”

“Angels? That's a laugh,” the Matron scoffed, turning on her heel to lead them down the long, shadowed corridor of the cell block. The row was quiet, the gaslights flickering overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the iron bars. “They’re six of a kind, Sakamaki. Six beautiful, unrepentant packages of dynamite. We got 'em all lined up neat and tidy.”

Yui stepped cautiously behind them, her eyes wide as she peered into the dim recesses of the passing cells. She could catch fleeting glimpses of silhouettes in the shadows—the flash of a crimson heel, the glint of a silver teacup, the lazy curl of cigarette smoke, and the terrifyingly quiet hum of a music box melody drifting through the iron grates…..

01 – POP!

02 - Six!

03 - Squish!

04 - “Uh-Uh!”

05 - Cicero!

06 - Lipschitz

Epilogue

SAKAMAKI DADDYS

Btw gender and baby names picked by me. Not canon or anything. And Ik Subaru doesnt like children.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Shu

Coming out of your warm shower that relaxed your sore body After giving birth just days ago, a beautiful boy who came your womb now into your arms… well not at the moment. You were given a mummy break which you desperately needed without even knowing it. Adding some product into your damp hair and applying a cool pad onto your pad due to tearing when pushing.

After you did all your little necessities, you switched off the light and went out into your bedroom where you’d probably see your husband, Shu asleep and your baby boy, Sei in his crib but you halted when you saw the sight that made your heart burst; Shu shirtless giving skin to skin contact with sei who held a tiny grip on Shu’s thumb, they were both asleep, soundly.

The soft glow of the hallway light catches the rise and fall of Shu’s bare chest. For a man who usually avoids effort at all costs, the sight before you is entirely effortless in its warmth.

Shu is leaning back against a pile of pillows, his golden hair slightly messy. Sei is a tiny, fragile weight resting right over his father's heart. One of Shu's large hands is curved loosely around the baby's back, keeping him perfectly secure. Sei’s microscopic fingers are locked tight around Shu’s thumb.

The room is completely silent, save for the synchronised, soft breathing of the two most important people in your world. The noise-cancelling headphones Shu usually glues to his ears are sitting forgotten on the nightstand. Right now, the only sound he wants to be close to is his son's heartbeat.

Your sore muscles and the lingering ache from the delivery room seem to fade for a brief second. Shu doesn't open his eyes, but as your shadow crosses the bed, his voice cuts through the quiet—low, gravelly, and barely above a whisper.

“You're letting the cold air in,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating slightly against Sei, causing the baby to let out a tiny, contented sigh. Shu’s eyes flutter open just a crack, locking onto yours with a rare, soft warmth.

“Get over here. He missed your heartbeat. ...And so did I.”

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Reiji

The sharp smell of lavender and medical-grade disinfectant lingers in the air as you step out of the bathroom. Unlike the dim, chaotic household you are used to, your bedroom has been transformed into a pristine, hyper-organised sanctuary.

Reiji is standing by the mahogany changing table, his posture as impeccably straight as always, though his suit jacket is missing. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows with mathematical precision. In front of him, little Ren is lying on a plush, white towel, kicking his tiny legs.

You expect to see Reiji looking stressed or clinical, but instead, he is operating with absolute, quiet reverence. He gently presses a warm, damp cloth against the baby’s skin, wiping away the last traces of a bath. His movements are incredibly gentle, contrasting sharply with his usual rigid demeanour.

“Now, Ren,” Reiji says, his voice a low, soothing baritone that carries none of his usual biting sarcasm. “A proper gentleman does not fuss during his evening routine. We must ensure your skin is perfectly moisturized to prevent chafing.”

Ren lets out a tiny, high-pitched coo, his little fists waving in the air. To your absolute shock, a faint, genuine smile brushes past Reiji’s lips. He picks up a silver baby brush and begins to smooth down the infant's soft, dark hair with meticulous care. Sensing your presence, Reiji adjusts his spectacles with his knuckle and glances toward the doorway.

His expression softens, his eyes scanning your tired face. “You are awake,” Reiji notes gently, stepping back to reveal the perfectly bathed, diapered, and swaddled baby. “I have calculated your sleep deficit from the delivery and adjusted the schedule. Sit. I have prepared a nutrient-dense tea to aid your postpartum recovery, and your pillows have been sanitized and fluffed”

He carefully lifts Ren, supporting the baby's head with absolute precision, and walks over to hand him to you. “You did exceptionally well today. Now, let me take care of you both.”

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Ayato

The scent of butter and sweet maple syrup hits you the moment you step into the kitchen, a stark contrast to the usual heavy silence of the Sakamaki mansion. Your body is still exhausted and aching from giving birth just days ago, but the sudden, loud clattering of pots and pans immediately draws you out of bed.

Standing at the stove is Ayato, looking entirely out of his element but fiercely determined. He has his shirt sleeves pushed up, a chaotic splattering of flour dusting his trousers, and a spatula gripped tightly in his hand. Safely strapped to his chest in a brand-new, sleek black baby carrier is little Taiga.

The baby is awake, his bright eyes wide as he stares up at his father. Ayato is flipping a pancake with aggressive enthusiasm, catching it perfectly in the pan. “Ha! Did you see that, Taiga? Your old man is a genius!” Ayato brags loudly, pointing the spatula at the infant. He lowers his voice slightly, leaning down so his nose brushes against the baby’s soft cheek.

“When you grow up, Yours Truly is gonna teach you how to flip 'em just like this. And you're gonna eat twice as many as anyone else, got it? You gotta be the strongest.” Taiga lets out a tiny, high-pitched squeak, his small fist flailing up and accidentally smacking Ayato right on the chin.

Instead of getting irritated, Ayato lets out a loud, booming laugh, his eyes flashing with pride. “That's it! Good reflex! You've got a killer punch already, brat.” He finally notices you leaning against the doorframe, watching them with a tired smile. Ayato’s cocky grin widens, though a faint, rare blush creeps up his neck.

He quickly plates a massive stack of fresh takoyaki-flavored pancakes and pushes the plate toward the kitchen table. “About time you got up,” Ayato huffs, trying to sound demanding but failing miserably as he pulls out a chair for you. “Sit down and eat. You look pale, and Yours Truly needs you energized so we can start training him. I made these so you can get your strength back. Don't leave a single bite!”

As you sit, he leans over, carefully shielding Taiga with his arm, and presses a firm, warm kiss to your forehead. “You did good bringing my heir into the world. Now eat up.”

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Kanato

The faint sound of a sewing machine whirring at a frantic pace draws you down the hallway. Your body still feels heavy and exhausted from giving birth, but the strange, rhythmic noise pushes you to investigate.

Stepping into the guest room, you find the floor completely covered in bolts of expensive fabric, velvets, silks, and heavy black lace. Kanato is sitting at the sewing table, his violet eyes wide and bloodshot, moving with a manic, hyper-focused energy.

Right next to him, little Miku is asleep in her bassinet, completely unfazed by the noise. Teddy sits guard on a chair right beside her. “Almost finished... just a few more stitches,” Kanato mutters to himself, his voice a tense, breathless whisper.

With a dramatic flourish, he cuts the thread and holds up his creation: a miniature, incredibly intricate gothic lolita dress, complete with tiny crinolines and a matching purple bonnet.

He turns to the bassinet, his expression instantly shifting from manic intensity to pure, star-struck adoration. “Wake up, my beautiful little angel,” Kanato coos, his voice dropping into a sweet, velvety purr as he gently pokes Miku’s chubby cheek.

“Look what Daddy made for you. You must try it on immediately. We are going to have a tea party, and you must look absolutely flawless.” Miku stirs, letting out a sharp, sudden wail as the abrupt awakening upsets her. Kanato’s face drops instantly.

His eyes darken, and his knuckles turn white as he clutches the tiny dress. “No, no, no! Why are you crying?! Do you hate it? Do you hate the dress I stayed up all night making for you?!” His voice rises dangerously, a tantrum bubbling right at the surface. “After all my hard work—“

Before he can spiral, you step fully into the room and softly call his name. Kanato snaps his head toward you, his expression a mix of defensive anger and absolute panic.

“She's broken! She won't stop crying! Tell her she has to wear it!” You calmly walk over, gently lifting the crying baby from the bassinet and rocking her against your chest. Within a few moments, Miku's cries subside into soft, rhythmic hiccups.

Kanato watches you, completely mesmerised, his anger evaporating into pure awe. He drops the dress onto the table and steps closer, looking at you and the baby as if you both hold the secrets to the universe.

“How... how did you do that?” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly as he reaches out a pale hand to touch Miku's tiny foot. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, a rare, vulnerable softness in his eyes.

“You really are amazing... You're the only one who can quiet her down. Hold her tight, okay? Don't let her cry like that again. It hurts my heart too much.”

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Laito

The heavy, velvet curtains of the master bedroom are drawn shut, keeping the room in a warm, amber-lit twilight. Your body is still incredibly weak and sore from the delivery, and you had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When you stir awake, the bed feels unusually empty. You sit up slowly, expecting to see Laito pacing the floor or hovering over the bassinet, but a soft, rhythmic clicking sound draws your attention to the far corner of the room.

Laito is sitting on a plush chaise longue, his signature fedora tossed onto the floor. He has his shirt unbuttoned halfway, and wrapped snugly in a black silk scarf against his bare chest is little Genevieve.

In his hands is a vintage, glossy Polaroid camera.

Click. Whir.

Another photo slides out of the bottom of the camera. Laito catches it with his long fingers, waving it gently through the air to let the image develop. He sets it down on a growing pile of pictures beside him.

“Ah, you are just the most photogenic little creature, aren't you, my sweet little baby girl” Laito purrs, his voice an incredibly low, velvety whisper. He leans his head down, tracing his thumb along Genevieve’s tiny, smooth forehead.

“Look at those delicate little eyelashes. You inherited your mother's breathtaking eyes. Daddy is going to have to lock you away in a tower so no boy can lay their eyes on you” Genevieve lets out a tiny, soft yawn, stretching her microscopic arms up toward his face. Laito’s breath hitches.

The usual playful, mischievous smirk completely vanishes from his face, replaced by a look of sheer, trembling adoration. He carefully tilts his head, letting her tiny, fragile hand brush against his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch with a level of pure, unfiltered reverence he rarely shows to the world.

“Ah... you're so warm,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.

“To think something so innocent and pure could belong to someone as ruined as me... I'll destroy anyone who dares to bring darkness into your world, my little angel.”

He hears the rustle of the bedsheets as you shift, and his green eyes snap toward you. The brilliant, wicked smirk instantly flashes back onto his face, though his eyes remain incredibly soft.

“Oh, you're awake, my darling,” Laito coos, carefully picking up a handful of the developed Polaroids. He glides over to the edge of the bed, sitting down beside you while keeping Genevieve perfectly secure against his chest.

“Look at these. I’ve captured every single one of her expressions from the last hour. She has a smile that could manipulate a whole kingdom, just like her mother.” He slides a free arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his side, mindful of your sore body.

He presses a lingering, warm kiss to your temple. “Thank you for giving her to me,” he whispers against your skin, his playful tone dropping into something intensely sincere.

“You look exhausted, my love. Rest your head on my shoulder. Let’s just stay like this and stare at our perfect little creation a bit longer, hm?”.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Subaru

The sharp, metallic scent of the mansion's private training room is entirely gone. Instead, the air carries the faint, comforting aroma of white roses and baby lotion. After waking up from a much-needed nap to a completely quiet bed, you follow a soft, rhythmic thumping noise down the hallway, your body still moving a bit slowly and gingerly after the delivery.

Stepping into the nursery, you stop dead in your tracks.

Subaru is sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall right next to the white crib. His silver hair falls forward, obscuring his face, but his broad shoulders are completely tense. In his lap, looking like a tiny snowflake against his dark clothes, is little Shira.

She is awake, her wide, dark eyes fixed entirely on her father. Subaru’s massive, pale hand is hovering over her, his fingers trembling slightly. He is trying to gently pat her tiny chest to soothe her to sleep, but he looks absolutely terrified that his strength will accidentally hurt her.

“Damn it... go to sleep, Shira,” Subaru grumbles under his breath, his voice a low, rough friction that lacks any real heat. “If you keep staring at me like that, I'm gonna... I'm gonna smash something.”

Despite his gruff words, he carefully curls his index finger. Shira immediately reaches up and wraps her entire, microscopic hand around it.

Subaru freezes completely. His eyes widen, and a brilliant, deep crimson blush rapidly spreads across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. He bites his lower lip, staring down at the tiny grip with an expression of pure, overwhelming helplessness.

“You're too small,” he whispers, his voice suddenly cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. “Why are you so small? If I hold you wrong, I'll break you... but if I let go, you'll cry. Just... don't grow up too fast, okay? The world out there is disgusting. I'm gonna keep you safe here. No one is ever gonna hurt you.”

Shira lets out a tiny, high-pitched coo and wiggles her toes.

Subaru lets out a heavy, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. A soft, incredibly tender smile—one he would absolutely deny if anyone asked brushes past his lips.

He notices your shadow casting over the doorway and snaps his head up. The blush on his face deepens instantly, and he glares at you with a mix of embarrassment and defensive panic.

“W-What are you looking at?!” he huffs, turning his head away quickly, though he doesn't dare pull his finger out of Shira's grip. “I wasn't doing anything! She just... she wouldn't stop staring at me, alright? You're supposed to be resting. Why are you out of bed? Your body still hurts, doesn't it?”

His angry tone instantly softens into genuine concern as he looks back at you. He carefully uses his free hand to pat the empty space on the floor beside him.

“Get over here and sit down before you fall over,” Subaru mutters, looking down at the baby to avoid your eyes. “She... I think she wants her mom. And... I guess it's too quiet around here without you anyway.”

My little dangerous vampires 🫃

Legit when you are an Ariana Grande fan and in a fandom. The things you do.

Anyway, the only reason I did this was bc the dangerous woman album turns ten years old today. (It’s my second favourite album)

Ao3 Fanfics

• Incarceration[3/?]

• He Had It Coming [1/8]

New chapters will be posted! Just keep an eye out.

I love my bio. It was between that and professional vampire fucker….

The way I see these guys low-key fucking with creepypastas and see them being proxies (unsupervised kids with too much screen time).

Headcanons by the way guys… just so no one smokes me out.