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misojunnie · 3 months ago

Text

COVET 𖣂

how far would you go for love?

your boyfriend jungwon has always been a kind soul. he refused to hurt a spider, much less a human, but when a new, younger, attractive admirer enters your life, something in him changes. as jealousy begins to consume him, and the competition between the two boys ensues, you watch your life turn upside down.

pairing: bf!jungwon vs. admirer!riki x fem!reader

genre: psychological thriller, horror, love triangle, established relationship au

warnings: violence, dark and disturbing behavior, substance use, murder, slow burn (only gets scary at the end) no mature themes! enha’s behavior and personalities are not a reflection of reality, it’s just a story

featuring: enhypen

playlist: runaway by kanye west, nowhere to run by stegosaurus rex, S.D.O.S by alex g, sour times - live version by portishead, violent youth by crystal castles, goth by sidewalks and skeletons

word count: 12.6k

taglist! @enhacolor @jwnghyuns @theothernads @adoredbyjay @firstclassjaylee @dollschan @enreveriee @surrik-i @jwonistic @laurradoesloveu @laylasbunbunny @tmtxtf

network tags: @kflixnet @kvanity-main @k-radio @enhypennetwork

see the trailer.

a/n: hello all! welcome to the first installment of fright night, my halloween series! I hope you enjoy ❤️

You had never considered yourself an overtly desirable person.

You spent the majority of your school years being ignored. You didn’t have many friends, and you spent most of your lunches eating alone. For a long time, school felt like torture.

Meeting Yang Jungwon felt like a breath of fresh air.

You met in your junior year. Neither of you were exactly popular, and you both seemed to have an innate ability to blend into the background. But upon meeting each other, you realized you didn’t have to hide yourself. Jungwon valued you for exactly who you were. And he valued you very, very much.

Before you knew it, you were spending every waking moment with him. He would sneak into your bedroom window after dark. You’d stay up until the sun rose, speaking in hushed whispers, talking about anything and everything. You quickly realized that he was the only person in the world who you could tell everything to.

The last day of junior year, he kissed you under the willow tree in your front yard. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier in your life.

And suddenly, your life was all about Yang Jungwon.

You spent almost every day of summer by his side, doing everything imaginable. Picnics in the park, walks on the beach, night drives, your hair whipping in the cold nighttime wind as he sped down the highway, laughing. You had never been this happy before, and neither had he. Then, summer ended.

You didn’t think Jungwon had changed, but the people around you disagreed.

Jungwon grew a few inches over the summer. His clothes suddenly fit him awkwardly as he filled out in the shoulders and the arms, and his pants were now just a little too short. He dropped the rest of his baby fat, his cheekbones emerging from underneath his young skin. He cut his hair, and his long brown locks were suddenly gone, shaggy against his forehead. You had always thought Jungwon was beautiful, but suddenly, it seemed like the whole world thought the same thing.

You returned to senior year together, and the entire school began treating him like a different person. He received love notes in class, giggles and looks of desire as he walked down the hallways.

You were terrified that he would change upon receiving this newfound attention. But Jungwon never changed. He showed you off to his new friends, dripping praise. He took you to the parties he was suddenly invited to, and stayed by your side the entire night, even when beautiful girls approached him and asked him to dance. He told everyone he met that you were perfect, and nothing about you needed to change. And slowly, you began to believe it. At the same time, the world began to finally see you for who you were.

Jungwon was loyal. He knew he had found something special with you, and he never considered for a minute that he might abandon it. And despite rising in the ranks of high-school-high-society, he made sure you never felt left behind.

That was what you loved about him the most. He really never changed.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Halloween was your favorite time of the year. After summer, of course.

You loved the scary movies, the gaudy costumes, the foggy weather with golden leaves. Not to mention you were a horror connoisseur, which meant you knew exactly what movies to play to make Jungwon freak out. He wasn’t a big fan of scary things.

But you loved Halloween, and Jungwon loved you, so he did too.

You sat in the back of your class, brainstorming your plans for the month. You were 19 now, Jungwon being a year older. You were in your sophomore year of college. It felt like an eternity ago that you spent those carefree summer days on the beach with the man you had now been dating for four years.

You were a semester into the year already, and you generally got to know everyone in your class. But the door to the lecture hall swung open, and in walked a face you knew you had never seen before.

He was tall, very tall. It was the first thing you noticed; how he towered over the rest of the men. His face was striking, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He looked a little younger than yourself. It was as if he brought in an icy draft with him as he walked inside, and you rubbed your hands, suddenly a bit colder than before.

As he walked past your desk, he slowed. He looked at you briefly, before walking to the farthest seat in the class, setting down his bag and crossing his arms. He didn’t speak to anyone. You attempted to ignore him, taking out your notes. But something in your gut told you to turn around, and there he was. Staring at you. You shook it off, too afraid to turn around lest he was staring again.

But when you inevitably did, he didn’t break eye contact.

You were a bit shaken by your interaction with the mysterious boy.

He intrigued you. Since you started dating Jungwon, you viewed thinking about other men as a kind of unrepentable crime. You had always been the kind of person who saved their heart for only one person. The lecture hall was almost empty by now, and you packed your bag. Only after a moment did you notice you weren’t alone.

“Hey.” he said. You startled, turning around to meet the eyes of the very boy you had just been thinking about.

“Oh, hi.” you said, attempting to be casual.

“I’m Riki. What’s your name?” he asked curiously, and you indulged him.

“I’m y/n.” you responded, unsure of how to introduce yourself, so you settled on reaching out a friendly hand. He stared at it for a moment, before laughing, shaking your hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you, y/n.” Something about him was inexplicably charming. He had seemed cold and unapproachable when he first walked in, but you felt the warmth of his smile, heard the wind chimes of his soft laugh. “Today’s my first day here.”

“Ah, new transfer.” you said, chipper as you began walking down the stairs. He followed you, a step behind. “Welcome to Decelis University.”

“That’s the first greeting I’ve gotten.” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nice to know I’m welcome.” You felt bad for him somehow. He was intimidating, that was for sure. With his angular face and dark energy, you bet people had been misjudging him.

“Of course. Always nice to meet a new student.”

“So, tell me about yourself.” you raised a brow at his odd question, but complied.

By the time you responded, you were in the halls, still walking together.

“Well, I’m a sophomore. I moved from Seoul, and I’m a psychology major. But I like literature.” you said, satisfied with your answer, confused when he shook his head.

“No, not that. Something real.” You considered it. Did you really want to tell something real to a man you had just met? It felt traitorous somehow.

“I don’t know, I’d have to think about it.” you responded, shrugging, and he smiled abstractedly at your answer. “Why don’t you tell me something about you?”

“Well, I’m a freshman. I just moved here a couple months ago from Osaka,” he added, and you nodded curiously. “I’m double majoring in forensic science and neuroscience, with a minor in psychology. Oh, and I like to paint.”

“Oh, an overachiever.” you said with amusement, and he shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “I know your type.”

“Trust me, I don’t think you do.” he grinned, and you laughed. You didn’t realize how far you had been walking together, and suddenly you were in the courtyard, rapidly approaching your usual meeting spot with your boyfriend.

And he was there. He was smiling, excited to see you, but his expression dropped when he saw you walking with a man he had never seen before, a man with the face of an angel and the eyes of a devil.

“Shit, that’s my boyfriend.” you said, suddenly aware of Jungwon’s presence and hoping he didn’t get the wrong impression. Riki hummed, a light smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, your boyfriend.” he said, enunciating the last word in a way you didn’t like.

“See you tomorrow Riki.” you said quickly, leaving his side to speedily walk to Jungwon, not waiting for a response. “Sorry, have you been waiting long?” Jungwon didn’t answer, his eyes still trained on the boy standing a few yards away.

“Who’s that?” he asked, and you tried to discern the tone of his voice, unable to. “A new friend?” You scoffed, waving your hand dismissively.

“Hardly. He just transferred to my class today. I barely remember his name.” you responded hastily, and Jungwon raised a brow. He chose to ignore any begrudging thoughts, placing his hand on the small of your back with a smile.

As you both turned away, Jungwon looked over his shoulder, gazing back into the eyes of the man behind you. He was still staring.

As a pair, you strode away to your favorite lunch spot. Jungwon didn’t want to think about this new boy, who he was, or what his intentions were. He assumed this was a confused freshman who needed help navigating the new school, and flocked to the nearest friendly smile and set of kind eyes.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this boy was going to be a very big problem.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon was upset.

He tried not to show it. He didn’t consider himself a jealous man, but he was. Underneath it all, he hated the idea of other men thinking about you the way he did.

Back in high school, a part of him regretted inviting you into his newfound popularity. You were beautiful. You were intelligent. You were funny. You had all the good qualities; the issue was that nobody but him could see them. By bringing you into the spotlight, suddenly everyone finally recognized you for what you were. And he quickly realized that he preferred when he was the only one that could see you.

But it made you confident, and certainly happier, which was all he cared about in the end. He let go of those resentments because he saw how much you loved being loved. You were a human being. He couldn’t be angry at that.

But this man, this new man, Jungwon didn’t trust him one bit.

The truth was, Jungwon didn’t trust men at all. He thought men were loathsome, foul creatures. It was why he preferred spending his time with you. Every man he had ever met had some kind of twisted, sick problem on the inside. They just didn’t show it. But Jungwon saw it. He noticed the little things.

And his gut was telling him that this man was up to no good.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You worked at a charming American diner near your campus. Even with you and Jungwon both contributing to rent, you were barely able to afford your little apartment, so you took almost every shift you could.

You were surprised to see Riki walk into your restaurant.

“Hey.” he greeted you with a nod of his head, seating himself at a booth in the corner. He didn’t seem surprised to see you at all. “You work here?”

“Uh, yeah,” you stumbled over your words. You were shocked that he had so easily managed to invade an intimate part of your life, but it was close to the college, and you shook it off, knowing he likely wanted a warm meal after a long night of classes. You glanced at your watch. You closed in twenty minutes. “What can I get for you?”

He rolled his shoulders, not bothering to look at the menu. “Oh, just get me whatever your favorite is.” You scrawled an order down on your notepad.

“So, how’d you end up in my restaurant?” you joked, and he shrugged casually.

“What can I say, I like American food.” you hummed, turning around to take his order to the kitchen. He followed you with his eyes, leaning back further in his seat.

You tucked the slip into the order wheel, hesitating to go back as you observed the frantic kitchen. It wasn’t like you had anything against Riki, but he seemed like the type of guy you tried to stay away from in high school, and that combined with his apparent interest in you made you nervous. Not to mention the fact that your boyfriend probably wasn’t fond of seeing you together.

“Your food.” you said, eventually deciding to return to Riki’s table. He didn’t seem remotely interested in the food.

“Sit down with me.” he requested, and you raised a brow at him. “Come on, it’s not like you have anything better to do.” he chuckled, gesturing at the nearly empty diner. It was now twelve minutes until closing time, and he was right, you had nothing else to do. So you took a seat.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked after a moment, looking pointedly at his food, which he hadn’t touched. He smiled, picking up a fork and taking a bite.

“It’s good,” he said, chewing. “But I’m more interested in talking to you.”

“And why is that?” you questioned with amusement. He shrugged.

“You’re interesting.” he replied, and you scoffed. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“So that’s why you’ve been bothering me?” He put a hand over his heart.

“Ouch. That wounds me. I thought we were friends.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t contain a mild smile. He noticed, and smiled as well.

“Sure. We’re friends.” you said, resting your chin on your palm as you propped your arm up on the table. “So, you like American food?”

“Sure,” he said, not seeming very opinionated on the matter. “I was more drawn in by the ambiance. It’s a nice place.” He was right. It was a nice diner, with checkered floors, vintage movie posters, and intimate little booths. You were suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the romantic atmosphere, and swallowed dryly.

“Yeah, I agree. The ambience is kinda the whole appeal.”

“So you like nice restaurants.” His gaze was intense, and the way it drew you in made you uncomfortable. His charisma felt dangerously sharp, like a knife.

“That’s one way to say it.” you said. He grinned.

“So when can I take you out to one?” your amused expression dropped.

“That’s not funny.”

“It isn’t?” he said innocently, and you stood up, a hand lingering on the table before you glanced at your watch. Luckily your shift was over, and you had an excellent excuse to get out of this situation, and out from under his piercing eyes.

“My shift’s over. Goodnight, Riki.” you said firmly, untying your apron. He watched carefully as you strode quickly to the kitchen, ducking behind the metal doors.

You didn’t come back out, and after a moment of waiting, he left his money on the table and walked out the door, not bothering to finish his food.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki had been thinking about you all day.

He wasn’t sure what it was that attracted him, but he found you interesting. What he liked the most was that you were genuine. He had a good eye for superficial people, and you weren’t one of them. You meant everything that came out of your mouth.

Riki had been a heartbreaker in high school, and he planned on being the same in college. Not a week went by where his breakups didn’t scandalize the school, and that was just how he liked it. Some people thought he was a womanizer; he disagreed. He thought that attraction was power, and people should use it to their advantage.

The truth was, Riki wasn’t fond of men. He thought they were liars. Maybe he and Jungwon had something in common in that regard. He liked that women were honest, open with their emotions and intentions. Men hid their motivations, hid their secrets, hid everything. Riki was an open book. He told every girl whose heart he’d broken that it would end up badly. And when it inevitably went wrong, he said I told you so.

And because Riki didn’t like men, he wanted to take things from them. When he found a man he didn’t trust, a man he knew was rotten, he robbed him of his worth. His happiness. His girlfriend. And he was going to do it again here, he was determined.

He didn’t trust your boyfriend. He may seem perfect on paper, but Riki could tell there was something rotting beneath the surface. Everyone had something to hide. And he was going to expose whatever your boyfriend was hiding.

It’s what he always did.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had been watching you.

In his heart, he knew it was wrong. He had never not trusted you before, and he wasn’t sure what was happening to him. He was uneasy, anxious, and upset. Yesterday, the two of you had lunch and he barely touched his food. That night, he didn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like guys hadn’t pursued you before. In the past four years, boys would hit on you at parties, in class, even on your dates. He’d tell them to scram, and then you’d laugh about it together afterward. It had never bothered him when other guys were interested in you; if anything, it made him more proud of himself for being with you. In fact, he wasn’t even certain that this particular man was interested in you at all.

That was until he saw you having dinner together.

You were sitting in the corner booth. Through the foggy glass, Jungwon could see his face, smiling. His eyes were crescent moons as he chuckled at something you said, neither of you eating, just speaking. He couldn’t tell if you were smiling back at him, and he wanted to know desperately.

When he saw you get up and go to the kitchen, he checked the time on his watch. Your shift was over, which meant he needed to get a move on, and he shoved his hands in his pockets before speeding in the direction of your shared apartment.

He felt horrible about what he had just done. He knew he was your boyfriend, but watching you without you knowing felt like a crime. He walked with a pit in his stomach, anxious to beat you home. He didn’t want you to know he had been acting strangely.

He trusted you. He trusted you with his entire heart, as he had been for the past four years, without regret.

But could he trust the people around you?

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki was back in your diner, as he had been every day for the past week. You had given up on lecturing him about righteousness; clearly he didn’t care. You just served him his food, and as usual, he asked you to sit down with him.

The scent of sweet violet, cedarwood, and a little cigarette smoke filled the air as you sat across from him, and you found it extremely pleasant.

“New cologne?’ you asked. You didn’t like that this was becoming routine for the two of you, but you engaged anyway.

“You noticed,” he said happily. “Yeah, it’s new. You like it?” You looked out the window, resting your chin on your hand as you attempted to ignore him.

“It’s nice.” you grumbled, and he smiled in satisfaction.

He was Jungwon’s complete opposite. He was demanding, flirty, and charming in an aggressive way. His voice was deep and smooth, unlike Jungwon’s soft lilt. He was sweet, but not kind. Jungwon was the kindest boy you had ever met.

He forked a bite of food for himself before chewing in satisfaction. “So, are you ready to answer?”

“Answer what?” you asked, bemused.

“I told you I wanted to hear something real about you.” you laughed, recalling your first conversation, and it seemed like an eternity ago.

“You go first.” you suggested, and to your surprise, he obliged.

“Well, that’s a tough question. I suppose something real about me is that I don’t believe in love.” You raised a brow incredulously.

“Why is that?”

“Not sure. I just never have.”

“Something must have happened to convince you love wasn’t real.” He considered telling you, but his brain resisted. He wasn’t ready to spill his guts to you. Sharing his secrets would mean opening himself up to be vulnerable, and Riki hated being vulnerable. You sensed his hesitation, saying; “You can tell me.”

And despite himself, he told you.

“My parents never really loved each other.” he said simply, and you frowned. “For as long as I can remember, they’ve been cold to each other. Sometimes they fight. Violently.” He sighed, and you felt pity welling up in your chest. “I guess I don’t believe in love because I don’t believe in marriage. I don’t think human beings are capable of loving each other forever.”

“I’m sorry, Riki.” you said, and he shook his head, looking away. “But you’re wrong.” His eyes drifted to yours, and he raised a brow. “Love exists. Deep down, everyone has love in their heart.”

“People spend their entire lives chasing for love, and they still don’t find it.”

“That’s because love is work. Everyone has the potential to find it one day. You just have to start looking.” Your words touched him. He had never considered that love was something he had to work for, not just a concept that was driven by fate.

“Agree to disagree.” he snorted, and you shrugged, taking a bite of his food.

“There’s love everywhere.”

Instead of running away at the end of your shift, this time you allowed him to walk you out. The two of you strode into the cold night, you shivering in your tee shirt.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and you shook your head, covering your waist with your arms in an attempt to warm up. Wordlessly, he pulled off his jacket and hung it over your shoulders. You glared at him, but accepted it. From the pocket of his jeans, he removed a pack of red Marlboros, slipping a cigarette out of the packet. “Smoke?” he asked, and you shook your head. He propped the cigarette in between his lips.

“You’re a bit young to smoke, aren’t you?” you asked, and he chuckled.

“Every teenager has a bit of fun. Even if they’re not supposed to.” you smiled.

He was a total cliche. The leather jacket wearing, cigarette smoking, flirtatious rebel that flirted as easily as he breathed. And somehow, despite hating that overplayed trope, you found it endearing when it was him.

“Hey, Riki?” you said, and he hummed, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I’m actually glad we became friends.”

“Friends?” he said, blowing smoke as his lips curled into a smile, leaning against the wall, a mere couple of feet away from you. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he looked ethereal under the moonlight. “We’re not gonna be friends.”

You were about to respond when someone called your name.

Your eyes widened in fright as you turned to see Jungwon standed a few paces behind you, his breath visible in the fall climate. He looked upset, his pockets in his hands as his brows furrowed.

“Jungwon?” You quickly moved away from Riki. “What are you doing here?”

“My shift ended early, I thought I’d surprise you.” he was speaking to you, but his eyes weren’t on you; they were on Riki. He didn’t falter, taking another drag of his cigarette as he watched silently. “But I see you’re busy.”

“No, not at all.” you said nervously, taking Jungwon’s hand from inside of his pocket. “I just finished working. Let’s go home.” Jungwon didn’t respond, just turning around, your hand slipping out of his as he strode away from you.

“See you tomorrow.” Riki called after you when you didn’t bid him farewell, and you turned around to give him a glare, before dashing after your displeased boyfriend.

Riki was already making cracks in the foundation of your relationship. And that was exactly what he wanted.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You were wearing his jacket.

Jungwon was certain of it. After two years of living together, he knew your closet inside out; and he had never seen this jacket. The sleeves were too long for you, and they protruded just past your fingers. Jungwon could kill a man. Specifically, that man. After a moment of walking in agonizing silence, he spoke up.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” His cold tone chilled you to the core. You had never really seen Jungwon mad. Sure, you had your fair share of fights, every couple did, but they occurred strangely infrequently. “Who is that guy?”

“Just a classmate.”

“Why was he at your job?” You weren’t sure what degree of the truth you should tell him. You didn’t want him to think you were being unfaithful, that wasn’t it at all.

“He just likes the food, Jungwon.” That wasn’t technically a lie.

“I think he likes more than the food.” Jungwon was refusing to look at you. You had never seen him this put-out over something you did. You wondered if you had done something very wrong by being around Riki.

We’re not gonna be friends, you remembered his words. The smile on his face when he said them, how he sounded like he really meant it.

“Look, he’s just an underclassman. He’s new, just moved here. I’m pretty much his only friend.” Jungwon scoffed.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I feel bad for him.”

“He likes you.”

“But I don’t like him.” You stopped walking and tugged on Jungwon’s sleeve, and for the first time he looked you in the eyes. They were dull, a stark contrast to the usual youthful shine of his eyes. “Jungwon. I only care about you.”

“That can change.”

“No, it can’t.” You pressed a warm hand to his cheek, and you saw his gaze soften. “I’ve loved you faithfully for four years. That’s not going to stop now.” He stayed silent for a moment, then sighed, removing your hand from his face. But he took your hand in his, which you took as a sign that everything would be okay. You looked into each other's eyes, cold air flushing your faces until it began to rain lightly.

“I’m not mad at you.” he said after a moment, his hair dampening from the rain, clinging to his forehead.

You brushed it away from his face and resumed your walk in silence.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You couldn’t be friends with Riki anymore.

You told this to Jungwon, who seemed more content than he had been in the past week. You, however, had a pit in your stomach.

You didn’t know why, but the thought that you would never see Riki again bothered you. His messy hair, proud smile, the scent of his smoky cologne. You weren’t certain why Riki had suddenly become important to you, but you knew it was wrong.

“So, your boyfriend told you you couldn’t see me anymore.” he said, holding his jacket in his hand. It still smelled like his cologne, and a bit like you, and he held it tightly between his fingers. He was frowning, and you realized this was the first time you had seen him without a smug expression on his face.

“No.” you replied. “I decided myself.” He sighed.

“That’s disappointing.”

“C’mon, Riki. You’re pursuing me. I have a boyfriend. It’s wrong.”

“That’s the great thing about life. It’s all about doing what feels right, even if it’s wrong.” he said elusively, and you frowned at him. “You should do what you want.”

“This is what I want.” You could smell his cologne everywhere, that stupid violet and cigarette smoke. It was distracting you from your thoughts.

“I don’t believe that.” You knew he was right, but his obstinance was pissing you off. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t care what you believe. It was nice being friends with you.” you readied yourself to leave, turning when he called after you.

“I told you,” he smiled for the first time during your conversation. “We were never going to be friends.”

It weighed heavy on your mind, but you had other things to worry about.

There was a party this weekend that you and Jungwon would be attending. Parties had never really been your thing, but a part of both of you missed the drunken fun of your time in high school, so when invited, you decided to go together.

It was being thrown by some boy in your year, a man named Jake who was infamous for his ragers, where people would fight to get in, and leave not remembering how they got there. Jungwon was friends with him, and assured you it’d be worth the while, which you hoped was true.

You pulled an old dress out of retirement, a lacy pink number that you hadn’t worn since Jungwon got it for your anniversary a year ago. There was something exciting about bringing it out of your closet, like a new start.

As you put on your earrings, facing the mirror, he circled your waist.

“You look beautiful.” he said, and you turned to kiss him, a chaste kiss that lingered on your lips. You looked back in the mirror, and you weren’t smiling.

Something about this situation felt extremely wrong, and you didn’t know why.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Despite the hectic environment of the party, you actually felt at peace for the first time in the past two weeks. The music was beating in your ribs like a pounding heart, and smoke furled through the air as college students went to-and-fro. Jungwon and you did shots in the kitchen, hands intertwining as you poured vodka down your throat, a burning sensation on your tongue. After a couple more, you were ready to dance.

Jungwon pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor by the hand, and the two of you swayed to the music together. You caught glimpses of faces you recognized, but in this moment, it was just you and him. Locking eyes, twirling and laughing as you erratically danced to the pounding beat of the music.

Eventually, Jungwon got dragged away by a friend of his named Jake, a classmate that he had grown quite close with. You were alone, but you didn’t mind.

You had never been the kind of person to be embarrassed to dance. You felt like yourself when you were dancing, and you didn’t care what company you had; you just enjoyed the feeling of being free underneath the spell of the music.

And then, the crowds shifted, and everything felt still.

There he was. Alone in the center of the floor, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, his free hand moving with the music as he danced rhythmically to the music. Girls tried to dance with him, but he deftly avoided them. The way he moved was entrancing; you had never seen him look so light and airy, as he swayed and rocked, not caring about the people around him. You should’ve known he would be there, you could smell his cologne from a mile away, and suddenly it flooded your senses.

He turned, and as he did, he caught sight of you. His mouth curled into a smile as he continued dancing, and you just watched.

“Come dance with me.” he said to you through the crowds, and though his voice was quiet, you swore it reverberated over the sound of the music. As if in a trance, you walked to him, weaving through hordes of people. Were you drunk, or was he more beautiful than usual?

“What are you doing here?” you asked the instant you reached him.

“Am I not allowed to be here?” he replied. He didn’t stop dancing as he spoke to you, and you felt odd standing still. But you couldn’t bring yourself to dance.

“They usually haze the freshmen.” He gestured to himself with a shrug.

“Well I’m fine, aren’t I?” You didn’t know what to say. A mere two days after swearing you wouldn’t speak to him again, you had already broken your promise to yourself, and you cursed yourself for it. “C’mon, you’re not having any fun. Dance.”

“I don’t want to dance with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” he said, but he paid no bother, continuing to dance on his own. You felt the eyes of the people around you as you spoke to him, some jealous, some curious, some judgemental. “Why do you care what people think?” You startled, wondering for a second if he was able to read your mind.

“I don’t.”

“If you didn’t, you’d be dancing with me right now.” He was right. That was the most frustrating thing about him; although he may be self-centered and smug, he was always right. Everything he said about you was as accurate as if he knew you for years.

So, to spite him, you danced.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had been watching you dance while he was talking to Jake. He liked Jake, he really did, but he found his attention drifting from his conversation to you, swaying carelessly to the beat with a smile on your face.

“Your girlfriend’s cute.” Jake said, gesturing to you with his cup, clearly able to tell that his companion was distracted.Jungwon sighed, pouring himself another hefty drink. He filled it to the brim with rum and orange juice. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah, well, she’s cute. That’s the problem.” Jungwon took a sip of his drink and wrinkled his nose at the harsh flavor. “Some guy from one of her classes has been all over her. Some younger dude.”

“The constant struggle of being someone’s boyfriend.” Jake said, clapping him on the back. Jungwon chuckled, taking another sip. “But try not to stress about it, man. You’ve been together for what, four years now?” Jungwon nodded in confirmation. “She’s only got her eyes on you. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Jungwon said, feeling a bit lighter, and a considerable amount woozier. He poured himself another drink despite himself, attempting to tune out the sound of the music. Suddenly, it was too loud, and everything was a little bit too much.

When he looked up, his heart had dropped to his stomach. You were no longer dancing, and it felt as if a spotlight was shining on the man in the center of the dance floor, his hair gloriously messy from the moving crowds, face red from dancing and alcohol. You were speaking, he could tell from the way your lips opened and closed.

Jungwon was seeing red. He felt as though the air was being choked out of him, and he struggled to take a deep breath to center himself. The alcohol felt like acid pumping through his veins as he stared at the two of you through the crowd, buzzing like a live wire. He was angry, but most of all, scared. If you had gone back so easily on your devotion, did that mean something? Did this man mean something to you?

“Jungwon?” Jake called his name but he barely heard it, crumpling his cup and throwing it into the trash as he stormed outside, slamming the door behind him.

Jungwon had been sitting outside on the stairs for nearly ten minutes, and he had managed to cool off.

He had never been so angry in his life. Jungwon wasn’t an angry person, he never had been. He had always been calm and collected, bottling up any rage or resentment he felt until it subsided. But that rage was brewing within him like an overflowing pot, and something about this man brought it out of him.

The smell of cigarette smoke flooded his senses, and he turned. Behind him was the last person he wanted to see, smoking a Marlboro, and Jungwon wondered how he didn’t hear him come outside. His face was still flushed from dancing, and his lips were tinged with the faintest trace of pink lipstick, smudged messily across his mouth.

Jungwon had stood up to go inside when Riki addressed him, saying;

“Hey.” Jungwon didn’t respond. “Looking for your girlfriend?”

“You really get under my skin.” Jungwon grumbled, and Riki smiled. He should handle this like a mature adult, he knew that. So he attempted to. “I would like it if you’d just leave me and y/n alone.”

“Come on, Jungwon. You know that’s not gonna happen.” He tossed the stub of his cigarette to the pavement, crushing it under the heel of his boot. Jungwon didn’t remember telling him his name at any point during their conversation.

“Why,” Jungwon started to speak, feeling like bile was rising in his throat. “Why, out of all girls, does it have to be my girlfriend?” Riki crossed his arms with a smile.

“Because I see her for what she is.” That tipped Jungwon over the edge. He could no longer have this conversation, he couldn’t handle it. He strode to the front door, pulling it open as he rushed into the crowds. “Oh, c’mon,” Riki’s voice haunted him as he followed him inside. “Let’s talk, man to man. I’ll pour you a drink.”

“Get away from me.” Jungwon poured himself another cup and chugged it. He was going to find you, and he was going to end this. He had to end it somehow.

“Let’s not be enemies. It’s just friendly competition.” Riki said.

“What does my girlfriend see in you?” The alcohol was speaking for him now, and he slammed his empty cup on the table. Riki gestured to the dance floor with a smile, and only then did Jungwon realize that the crowds were watching him in anticipation.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

You were watching Jungwon from the dance floor, and the crowds parted like the Red Sea. You were frozen in fear, shaking as you brought a hand up to your lip while Riki snickered. The sound of his laughter faded into the background as Jungwon noticed your smudged pink lipstick.

His fist was in connection with Riki’s face before he could even think about it.

He heard you scream in the background but paid no mind, the crowds chanting ‘fight!’ as the two men tussled. Riki was tall, but Jungwon was stronger. Riki’s mouth spurted blood as Jungwon landed a punch on his face with a sickening crack.

Jungwon’s hand found the counter somehow, and his hand latched onto the handle of a knife, unsheathing it without thinking. Only when he whipped it in Riki’s direction and the crowd gasped in unison did his head clear, and he dropped it, his opponent barely able to kick it away from him in his weakened state.

He wanted to kill him. For a moment, he was truly prepared to kill him, and he almost did.

Jungwon was so shocked with himself that the younger boy was able to pry himself away from his grip, getting to his feet and wiping his mouth.

“Psychopath.” he spat blood, grabbing his jacket from the floor where it had been pulled off, swinging it over his shoulder as he removed another cigarette. But as he walked out the door, he smiled, an ugly smile of sharp teeth and blood.

He had found it. That rotten part of your boyfriend, the reason he didn’t trust him in the first place. He had exposed it, and you had seen the side of him that you didn’t know existed.

He had a feeling that Jungwon didn’t even know that side of himself.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Everyone’s eyes were on Jungwon. You weren’t sure what to say as you stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend. You were terrified. The boy you were in love with had almost stabbed the life out of another person.

You attempted to rationalize it, desperately. You had just publicly cheated on him, and it must’ve been an uncharacteristic display of anger. You’d be angry too if you were him, maybe enough to kill. At least that’s what you told yourself.

“Let’s go.” you managed to say to him, and he brushed himself off, his head low as he roughly pushed through the crowds of people to get to the exit.

Fresh air felt like salvation as he heaved in as much into his lungs as he could. His head was beginning to clear, the adrenaline and rum wearing off as he stood facing the nearly empty streets, hands in his pockets.

“Jungwon,” you began, but he shook his head, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” he said hollowly, and you bit your tongue, tears beginning to well in your eyes. “Don’t cry, y/n. I can’t take it.”

“It just happened.” you said in a weak defense, and he shook his head again.

You felt hesitant sitting in the front seat with him, but he made no moves to stop you, just reversing the car roughly and pulling out into the street.

It was a silent ride. The kind of silence that made you wonder if the two of you would ever speak again, and you were suddenly struck with the fear that four years may be over in one night. Because of one moment, because of one person.

“Are we gonna be okay?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes were firmly set on the road, refusing to look at you. He sighed, hands trembling on the wheel.

“I don’t know.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon hadn’t spoken to you for two days.

It was hard to avoid each other, considering you lived in the same apartment. But it was Sunday, and he hadn’t spoken a single word in your direction since you betrayed him two nights previous. And judging from how many times he’d ignored you despite pleas for his attention, he seemed to have no intention of stopping.

You didn’t know what to do, but you couldn’t stand the silence.

“Are you going to leave me?” you finally asked, choking down tears as you sat on the couch. Jungwon was in the kitchen, doing nothing but avoiding you.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon finally spoke, his voice a whisper. Tears began flowing freely from your eyes. “I really don’t know.”

“I know I can’t convince you of anything.” you surrendered, silent sobs escaping your mouth as you cried. “I won’t tell you to stay.”

“I love you, y/n.” Your heart warmed despite your sadness. “More than anything in this god forsaken world. I can’t bear being around you after what you did. But being without you sounds infinitely worse.”

“So what do we do?” He liked that you said ‘we’. It made him feel like you were a team despite what you had put him through. He set down the knife he was holding, his hands trembling as he looked at you. He could barely stand to see you cry.

“We wait.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

It turns out that Riki was the kind of person who fell deeply. He hadn’t been in love his entire life; he hadn’t even believed it existed until a few weeks ago. To him, love was a myth, as imaginary as unicorns or pots of gold at the end of rainbows. It was a concept, not a reality. But that’s the thing about not believing in love; when it hits you, it hits hard. And Riki’s mind was racing with radical thoughts, and mostly images of you.

He had called you twelve times since the party, and you hadn’t picked up once. You didn’t show up to class on Monday. Your boss claimed you called out of work sick when he went to visit the diner.

You were avoiding him. And in his mind, that was the worst possibility. But he wasn’t concerned; he would find you. He would always find you.

He just had to find out where you lived. And to do that he had to find you, which was seeming to be difficult. So he’d do the next best thing.

He would find your boyfriend.

It was difficult to find out anything about Jungwon from the internet. He didn’t seem to have a strong social media presence, but after a bit of searching, he found an account with a small following that seemed to match him. From there, he deduced that Jungwon worked at a tech company with a man named Jay, whose profile indicated that the name of it was Enhypen SK. A quick search told him that its headquarters were located downtown. Riki got into his car.

He rolled a crick out of his neck. He had been waiting outside of the building for hours, watching men and women come in and out, in and out. He sat in the front seat of his car, chair reclined as he observed with unrelenting eyes. Finally, there he was.

Brown hair flying in the wind, a cup of coffee in his shaking hand, the contents spilling over the edge as he walked across the street, holding his jacket above his head to cover himself from the rain. Riki could almost laugh at the perfect businessman cliche.

The building wasn’t on a particularly crowded street. There were no cameras monitoring the traffic, as few cars drove down the road. Riki realized with growing delight that there was nobody in sight but him. And Jungwon.

He was on the curb. Riki put his car into drive. The light turned red. Riki peeled out of his parking spot. Jungwon was in the center of the crosswalk.

Riki accelerated.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You dropped the phone when the hospital told you your boyfriend had been run over by a car. You didn’t have time to think, abandoning the meal you were making, the stove still burning as you snatched your keys off the table and ran out the door without a second’s hesitation.

He thankfully wasn’t dead. They didn’t catch who did it, and Jungwon wouldn’t tell them, if he knew. He had a concussion. Two of his ribs were mildly fractured. He was bleeding internally, but it luckily wasn’t fatal. He had burns along his leg from hot fuel, and a facial laceration from rolling over the shattered windshield, a cut running from the edge of his eyebrow to the apple of his cheek.

The doctors were shocked he was even alive. The perpetrator had hit him at 45 mph, and he rolled over the entire car before hitting the ground. He laid unconscious in the street for 20 minutes, and had to crawl across the street to call for help, refusing to die. Considering his situation, he was lucky; he should’ve been dead.

According to the nurses, he had fought to leave the hospital immediately. He had jumped out of bed the minute he gained consciousness, which shouldn’t have been possible in his state. Only when they demanded he stay did he ask them to call you, and even then, he tried to leave constantly, surprisingly mobile and alert despite being presumed dead.

The staff thought he was a monster.

You ran into his arms the first chance you got, despite the protest from the nurse caring for him. You cried into his chest as he held you, stroking your hair.

“I was afraid you died.” you sobbed, and he shushed you soothingly.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, Jungwon. You don’t deserve this.” He had the feeling you were talking about more than just the car accident. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” he said, staring at the wall as he held you more tightly. When you released him, you checked him for damage, holding his hand in yours.

Besides burns, bruises, and the cuts on his cheek, he seemed surprisingly fine. He was sitting upright, speaking clearly, seemingly fine. But he was staring blankly at you. You saw nothing in his eyes, not a shred of hope, relief, or fear. Nothing, just dull brown marbles in the sockets of his eyes before he turned away from you.

“Who did this?” you asked shakily, and he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t know.” he responded. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth, maybe lying out of pride or embarrassment. But you weren’t going to ask, not when he was in this state. “You know, I realized something. When I got hit by that car.” You scooted closer to him, brushing the hair out of his face. It was matted with sweat to his forehead.

“What was it?” you asked gently when he didn’t continue.

“They were right. Your life does flash before your eyes when you almost die.” he said quietly. “And you know, all I saw was you. My entire life, in one blink of an eye. That’s when I realized,” He looked at you. “I can’t afford to lose you. Not to anything.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” you said, blinking away more tears.

“I know. I’m going to make sure of it.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. “I forgive you. For everything you did. I don’t care about any of it.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it. All that matters is that I have you.” His grip on your hand tightened, and you pursed your lips, pulling him into an embrace. He was cold as ice.

“I’m just happy I still have you with me.” you said hoarsely.

“I’m never going to let anything tear us apart. Never.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon knew exactly who hit him with that car.

He would recognize that face anywhere, even in a brief moment, in a mere second of terror before impact. A flash of those devilish eyes through the windshield. They were the eyes that haunted him, sleeping and waking. And he was determined to get revenge.

This man had changed him. He no longer recognized himself. He looked in the mirror and saw a man haunted by hatred, by anger, and by violence. In his many years of life, he had never despised someone enough to hurt them, and yet every part of him was itching to kill. This was a pest, one that Jungwon was sure to exterminate.

He wasn’t going to tell you anything, no, it would only stress you out. As a couple, you had been through enough recently, and he didn’t want anything else on your plate. You had enough to worry about, with him practically incapacitated.

You visited him every day in the hospital. You slept by his bedside, barely going to class or to your job, just holding his hand as nurses tended to him, doctors flitting in and out of his room. He only had three days left in the hospital until he was discharged.

But he couldn’t wait.

You were dead asleep on the chair beside his bed, your eyes shifting underneath their lids. The room was empty. He ripped the IV out of his arm, getting to his feet.

Under any other circumstances, he shouldn’t have been able to walk. But Jungwon felt stronger than he ever had as he walked through the halls barefoot, his hospital gown fluttering in the wind like a ghost. He walked out of the hospital doors unnoticed, the concrete scraping against his bare feet as he started the walk home.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon owned a gun. It was something he never shared with you; he knew you despised violence. But he was a paranoid person by nature and the idea of a home invader, serial killer, a stalker, frightened him enough to need protection, a Colt Mustang XSP stored securely under the bottom panel of his bedside table. He needed to protect you; it was his god given duty. Fate had brought you together, and he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you.

He used whatever strength he had to remove the panel of wood, feeling around until his hand reached the hollow barrel of the gun.

Jungwon was a good shot. His father had taken him to a shooting range once a month from the ages of 10 to 18, god knows why. But he noticed something quickly about himself; he always hit the target.

One time, the supervisor at the range had told him he saw something dark in him. He had said Jungwon might not show it, but once in a while, when he was holding that gun, he could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t a good feeling, to hear that as a 16 year old. But now, he was beginning to consider the possibility.

Besides what you had told him, he knew virtually nothing about Riki. He didn’t know his dreams, his accomplishments, his past, not even his age. This didn’t bother Jungwon, in fact, it made him more relieved than anything. The less he knew, the better. It would make it all easier.

And now it was time to visit the little pest.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki was disappointed. In you, for ignoring him. In himself, for not finishing the job. And mostly in Jungwon, for refusing to die. He hit him at 45 miles per hour, that should’ve killed him. When he visited the hospital under the guise that he was his cousin, they told him he was bleeding internally, that it might be fatal. And yet, he was alive. He knew it for a fact; Riki waited outside the hospital until you showed up. And you didn’t leave, you never left. Which meant Jungwon was still in there.

It seemed like Jungwon would need something more fatal, which was upsetting. It was the perfect set up; the street was empty, there were no cameras, no witnesses. Jungwon wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Riki prayed that Jungwon didn’t recognize him, if he did, he’d surely tell you. Then he’d really lose you for good.

He was parked outside the hospital for the third day in a row, just waiting to catch you alone. He hoped your boyfriend was in a coma, maybe unable to speak, maybe mentally damaged. He rolled his shoulders, tense with worry and from sitting in the leather seat for so long. The hood of his old silver car was bent from the impact of Jungwon’s body slamming against it, and his license plate was barely hanging on for dear life. He didn’t pay attention to it.

The only thing he cared about was ending him for good.

On the other side of the city, Jungwon had just walked into the housing office of his university. The door creaked as he forced it open, his shoes clicking on the tile floor. He knew a man who worked in the office, a friend of his who played secretary at the front desk. That was the nice thing about being a good person; you make connections everywhere you go.

“Sunghoon.” Jungwon said, and his voice was hollow. The man looked up from his keyboard, pushing his glasses up his forehead with a faint smile.

“Hey,” he said in greeting. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I need a favor.” Sunghoon was immediately concerned with Jungwon’s appearance. He had changed from his gown into normal clothes, but the open cut on his face and the bags under his eyes told the story of what had happened to him. Bruises were littered across his right cheek, and a part of his hair was singed, just below the ear, barely noticeable. He stumbled on his left leg when he walked and he held his ribs tightly with one of his hands.

“Are you okay?” Sunghoon asked with concern.

“I got hit by a car.” he said, and Sunghoon frowned.

“Jesus.” “I need an address.” Sunghoon gestured for him to continue. He knew he wasn’t supposed to give away information like this, but Jungwon was trustworthy. Throughout their friendship, he had shown he was a kind man. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Freshman named Riki Nishimura.” Sunghoon’s fingers flew across his keyboard.

“Edge of town. Building code is 3405, apartment 2.” Sunghoon recited off the screen, his glasses back on his nose as he read.

“Thanks.” Jungwon said, turning on his heel.

“Don’t you want me to write it down for you?” Sunghoon called after him, and he waved him off, swinging the door open.

“I’ll remember it.”

And he did. Twenty minutes later, he was parked outside.

It was the kind of apartment that had separate units and entrances. The other three apartments seemed completely empty, and the neighborhood seemed practically deserted, if you could even call it a neighborhood. There were two houses down the road, one of which was boarded up, the other was for sale. Then a dead end, the street abruptly stopping in brick and barbed wire. It was good for Jungwon’s situation. It wasn’t like he wanted anyone to hear what he was about to do.

He got out of his car, hand deep in the recesses of his jacket. He rapped on the door, once, twice, thrice. Then he removed the gun from the waistline of his pants, cocking it in a fluid motion and shooting off the lock.

Metal scraps exploded across the steps of the apartment, and the doorknob hung loosely from its socket, the metal lock missing a keyhole, replaced with a burning hot cavity. Jungwon turned the doorknob, and the door swung open easily.

“House call,” he said, his voice echoing around the empty apartment. “Anyone home?” He peeked his head into the kitchen, the living room. Nobody. His free hand fingered the case of bullets in his jacket pocket. He brought the gun for intimidation only; he didn’t think Riki would be stupid enough to make him use it. But he had 17 rounds left in the magazine of his pistol, and he was planning to spend them all if necessary.

It didn’t seem like Riki was home. Jungwon cracked his neck, irritated. He had run out of the hospital on injured legs and a fractured rib, just to be disappointed. He wondered where Riki could possibly be, and hoped he wasn’t anywhere near you.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, keeping his gun by his side. He had 27 missed calls and 45 missed texts, and they were all from you. He tucked it away, trying to push the thought of you out of his head.

He was doing this for you. You’d understand that.

While he was there, he figured he might as well look around. After all, Riki didn’t seem to be home, and he had gone through the effort of blowing off his locks. He creeped up the stairs cautiously, careful to keep his gun ahead of him before he took a step. On the right, there was a bathroom, grimy in the way expected of a teenage boy. On the left was Riki’s room. His closet was the largest thing in the room, stacked to the brim with clothing. It seemed like Riki preferred designer brands over an expensive apartment, and Jungwon pocketed a silver watch sitting on his bedside table.

There was only one more room at the end of the hall. Its door stood slightly ajar, and he could see beams of sun hitting the chestnut floor through the slit. Jungwon walked cautiously towards it, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he pushed the door open.

His eyes widened, pupils dilated. He instinctively took a step back, his gun clattering to the floor as his gaze flitted from the ceiling to the floor, wall to wall. He recoiled from the room, as if it would infect him, shivering with fear. He hadn’t seen anything like this. Not from anyone.

Jungwon’s own eyes watched him from every corner of the room. Photos of himself lined the walls, sporadically pasted against the blue wallpaper. Some were photos he had taken of himself, some that you had taken, accessible through his socials. But the vast majority were photos he had never seen, taken from afar of him at the grocery store inspecting a peach, chatting with a classmate in class, working at his job, his face lit up by his computer on the second floor.

And in the center of the room was you. Your face was painted on a canvas, big enough to almost reach Jungwon’s height, painted intricately with the hand of someone who truly loved their subject. It was as if you were alive and breathing before him, and for a minute, he admired you despite himself. Scrawled at the bottom of the canvas were a mere five words;

I have to save her.

Jungwon was horrified. He felt sick to his stomach with the sudden urge to vomit, and he attempted to control himself, breathing shallowly as he bent to pick up his gun. He aimed it shakily, and it was the first time he trembled while holding a pistol in his hands. He fired ten rounds, each scarring the wall as they tore through the canvas.

Your face was a mess of torn paper and sizzling paint when he was done, and it pained him to see. Jungwon grit his teeth, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his pants as he turned around to exit this god forsaken house.

Now Riki really had to die.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki arrived home, and the first thing he noticed was the ten bullets sitting underneath the window of his painting room. If he had walked past just a bit faster, if he wasn’t looking at the ground, he would’ve missed them. But he didn’t, and he bent down to pick them up, the casings barely still warm. When he looked up, there were ten matching holes in the wall. He was immediately on high alert.

When he removed his keys from his pocket, he quickly realized he didn’t need them. Shards of protruding metal, burnt black at the edges, became what once was the lock to his door. The wooden door was ajar, and he opened it as quietly as possible.

He slipped off his shoes at the door, his footsteps silent as he walked through his home. His living room and kitchen looked completely untouched. His nerves burning with fear, Riki reached for a knife, his trembling hands gripping the handle as the metal glinted in whatever dim daylight remained as the sun began to fall below the horizon.

The stairs moaned under his feet as he walked towards the room at the end of the hallway. It didn’t look like anyone had even entered his home; everything was the way he left it. But when he opened the door to that room, he felt like he could cry.

Ten bullet holes. Ten scarred, singed cavities in your gaping face, the canvas torn and burned until you were completely unrecognizable.

His art. The only thing he had been living for. It was destroyed, and he knew exactly who to blame. Tears ran down his face as he approached it, the knife forgotten in his hand while he caressed the mutilated canvas.

I have to save her. Those scrawled words remained untouched at the bottom of his creation, and he ran his hand over them. They rang true.

If Jungwon did this, and Riki knew he did, then he was dangerous. And that meant he had to save you before you ended up like the shredded painting he had so devoutly adored.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had fled the hospital without warning at 5:32 pm. It was 9:00 pm, and you hadn’t heard a word from your boyfriend

You were worried sick. He was hurt, too hurt to be wandering the streets, getting into fights, doing whatever he was doing. You checked his work, but they hadn’t caught sight of him since he left, on the day he was almost killed. None of his teachers had heard from him, nor had his friends. You must’ve called him a hundred times, and not once did he pick up. So, despite yourself, you did the only thing you could think of.

It’s not like you couldn’t guess who’d hit your boyfriend with their car. Jungwon’s unwillingness to tell you about the accident was an immediate red flag, not to mention his sudden switch in attitude. His workplace was in an isolated, corporate area where not many people drove, and it seemed too convenient to be an accident. Not many people had a vendetta against Jungwon, he was too kind to have enemies; except one.

He picked up on one ring, and the other side of the phone was quiet except for the gentle sound of his breathing.

“Riki,” you said, attempting to stabilize your trembling voice. “Let’s meet.”

Riki didn’t ask any questions. He agreed without hesitation, and a part of you almost felt bad. After all, what if he didn’t hit him? What if you were wrong?

But you couldn’t afford to doubt yourself, and you tucked a canister of pepper spray into your pocket before grabbing your keys and running downstairs. In case Jungwon was in trouble, you didn’t have any time to waste.

You were so distracted, you had even forgotten it was Halloween.

You had asked Riki to meet you across town. You knew there was a large construction lot a couple miles behind your school, where nobody ever visited, rarely even the construction workers, especially not at this hour. You needed to get him in a place where nobody would hear you. If he was willing to admit anything that had happened between him and Jungwon, he wouldn’t do it in front of an audience.

You could feel his presence before you saw him. When you heard his slow footsteps through the soft, unpaved ground, it felt like the world had gone black. Something in him had changed. You used to feel joy and love at the sound of his voice and the scent of his cologne, but now it made you uneasy.

“Y/n?” he said, and you saw the dark silhouette morph into his fine features and unkempt hair as he stepped closer. He stopped a few paces away from you, and you attempted to smile.

Before you knew it, he had pulled you into his arms, and you were swimming in his leather jacket, his grip almost painful. The scent of violets and cigarettes drowned you. You felt like you could throw up.

“I’ve been so worried about you.” his voice trembled as he spoke, and you gradually wrapped your arms around him. “Where have you been?”

“The hospital.” you said, your voice a whisper. He released you, and the confused look in his eyes was almost enough to convince you he was innocent. “Jungwon…he got hit by a car.”

“Is he alright?”

“No. But we’ll be okay.” Riki didn’t like that you said ‘we’. It seemed you didn’t care if your boyfriend had almost killed him. It was like he didn’t matter to you.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” he asked in hushed tones.

“I didn’t know what to think.” You wiped away a tear, not even knowing you were crying. “After what happened that weekend-”

“He almost killed me.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” There was hurt in his eyes, and you didn’t recognize him. The smug, arrogant boy you had known was nowhere to be seen.

“How can you say that?” You shook your head, wiping away more tears. “I don’t care about him, y/n. We have something special.”

“Riki, I can’t.”

“Don’t I matter to you?” he implored, reaching for your hand, holding it tightly like he might not get the chance ever again. He wouldn’t.

“Of course you do. But Riki, I don’t love you.”

“That’s a lie!” he shouted, and the sudden switch in volume made you shudder in fear. “You do love me. You’re just afraid.”

“Of what, Riki? Of you? I’m not scared, I’m an adult, I know what I want. You’re just a confused boy who thinks he’s in love with a girl he can’t have.”

“That’s not true.” he said it so willfully, you almost believed him. “You don’t understand, you just don’t understand. Since I met you, you’re all I can think about. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. I even-” He cut himself off. He froze, and the only sound was the cold wind as you two stared at each other.

“Even?” you whispered, and he set his jaw.

“I even tried to kill him.”

You felt like your world was crashing down around you. You had imagined a million possibilities in your relationship with Riki. You had imagined kicking him to the curb, indulging in his affections until he got bored, you even imagined leaving Jungwon for him. But in none of your fantasies had you believed him capable of murder.

Your eyes widened in terror, lips trembling, and he could sense your fear.

“Don’t be scared.” he said, coming closer, and you took a step back. “I’m not a killer, y/n. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“But you tried to.” you said, and his eyes darkened. “You tried to kill my boyfriend. You’re not in love with me, Riki, someone who loved me wouldn’t try to do that. That’s not love, it’s obsession.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You don’t know what you’re doing.” You grew closer to him, placing a warm hand against his cheek. “You have a life outside me. We’re young. Don’t waste your time chasing me and hurting people.”

“Don’t say that,” he repeated, his eyes red with suppressed tears. “I would do anything for you. I love you, I’ve never felt that way about anyone.” You attempted to pay attention to what he was saying, but a twig cracked in the background, drowned out by the sound of his words, but you were listening. You looked over his shoulder. “I can’t be away from you, y/n, I can’t take it.”

“Riki, I can’t be with you. Not now, not ever.”

“Is it because of Jungwon?” he asked, and you shook your head. “I don’t care who’s in my way. I’ll take care of it.”

A ghostly face appeared in the distance, just barely lit enough for you to recognize him. That scar on his face, those bright doe eyes turned dull, you knew that face anywhere. Riki continued to speak, and Jungwon put a silent finger over his mouth.

Something about this situation was wrong. You had this overwhelming sense of terror, and it had its claws around your lungs, draining you of all the breath and blood in your body. Every nerve and cell in your body was screaming, writhing restlessly in white hot pain. Jungwon stepped closer, and your shoulders shook fearfully.

“Riki. I don’t want you to hurt him.” you said, and Riki grabbed your face, his cold fingers gently gripping your chin.

“I don’t care.” he said, and his words cut you like a knife. “I’ll do whatever it takes. You belong with me.”

There was a barrel of a gun, and you felt a strangled scream rising in your throat when you saw that Jungwon was holding it. And the edge of it was directly pointed at the back of Riki’s head.

You tried to scream, you tried to warn him, but there was no time. You dropped to your knees as the blast rang through the empty air, a flash of white and red lighting up the air like fireworks as you covered your ears. An explosion of blood wet the ground, painted strokes of crimson hitting your face and shoes. A silent scream escaped your mouth as Riki’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor inches from where you sat, as terribly beautiful as ever, his wide and fear-stricken eyes immortalized as he stared at you. The last thing he loved before he died.

It was funny, seeing a human die. You thought that you would cry, wail, kick and scream as you brutally mourned the life of someone you had loved. A life that ended in an instant, as easy as pulling a trigger. But you didn’t cry. You just sat there, helpless and silent, waves of grief, dread, anger, every emotion running through you as your eyes and mouth went dry with fear.

Jungwon was a new man. He stood above you, not even looking at the man he had just killed, only looking at you. His eyes seemed black in the night, unforgiving and unapologetic as he gripped the gun in his hand, the barrel covered in blood.

Pools of crimson blood soaked into the soft ground as Riki laid unmoving, the contents of his head spilled across the dirt. His mouth was open in a silent plea, one that nobody would hear, not even God.

Jungwon kneeled in front of you, and a single tear ran down his face as he desperately searched your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Oh, God.” you said, your voice hollow and unrecognizable.

“I’m sorry.” he said, and for the first time in months, he sounded fully alive. His voice regained its fullness, no longer slouching and frowning, radiating the power he had lost. “I had to do it. You know I had to.” His hands were covered in blood. There were splatters across his face, and you couldn’t distinguish between the blood running from his own cuts and the blood of the man he had just killed. You felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, and you gagged as you tried to hold it back.

“Jungwon,” you said, voice breaking midway through as you began to cry salty tears. “God, Jungwon, oh my God.”

You had no fight left in you. You felt like a hollow shell as you sat there on the floor, the man whom you loved soaked in the blood of someone you had called a friend. Maybe more than that. You wished you could disappear, that everything would go away, that this would have never happened.

“I’m sorry.” he said, and he pulled you into an embrace.

Despite feeling repulsed by his touch, you craved his skin and his love, so you let him hold you in his blood stained clothes, you let his soiled hands stroke your hair until it was wet with blood.

“I told you,” he said, quietly. “I would never let anything tear us apart.”

You didn’t have the strength to respond, just sobbing until you couldn’t anymore, until the life and tears were drained out of you, until your heart felt like it would stop. Jungwon held you, his own heart beating as fast as lightning, the breath of life rushing through him. Riki didn’t move an inch, didn’t come back to life no matter how hard you cried. And Jungwon was delighted.

Maybe there was something dark in Jungwon. Or maybe he was sane, in a world where you have to do unspeakable things to protect what you love.

And as he held you, sobbing in the night air, your tears mingling with the blood on your face, he began to realize he was just a man. A sick man.

Just as bad as the rest of them.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

Text

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you almost everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have rarely known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Blue Jay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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hotvintagepoll · 11 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Jeremy Brett (My Fair Lady)—"...he was beautiful. A strange adjective to use in describing a man. I use it not to suggest effeminacy or a kind of male prettiness, but in the same way I would use it to describe a throughbred stallion, Michelangelo's David or Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. There was with Jeremy Huggins [Brett's non- stage name] a perfection and sublime symmetry in his features that was beautiful." [quote from "Bending the Willow" by David Stuart Davies]

Toshiro Mifune (Rashumon, Seven Samurai, Grand Prix, Stray Dog)—i love and respect my boi tab hunter (rest in peace you beautiful, beautiful man ❤️), but after i watched like 12 of his movies in a row on tcm last year, i ALSO love and respect toshiro mifune, son of a literal actual hatamoto’s (a high-ranking samurai) daughter, also very possibly related to the best judokan EVER, AND, he’s the guy who SHOULD have been obi-wan kenobi. the fact that he’s ALSO hot as hell just adds to his appeal.

This is one of four polls in the tournament quarterfinals. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

THIS POLL LASTS FOR 24 HOURS.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jeremy Brett propaganda:

"according to critic Kenneth Tynan a 'too beautiful' Hamlet."

"he’s such a himbo sunshine boy in my fair lady"

“not technically propaganda because it won’t let me save the images but just found out my bi king jeremy brett played patroclus https://www.jeremy-brett.fr/crbst_183.html and also apparently dorian gray in the 60s and basil hallward in the 70s?? range.”

"...as a dashing D'Artagnan in The Three Musketeers (1966/67) (Duelling is no problem! XD)”

“dropping to sleep - Jeremy is far too handsome to play d'art and also too tall, lol”

Toshiro Mifune propaganda:

"In addition, he spoke fluent mandarin and every time he was casted in foreign films, he said his lines in the language of the movie (although they ended up dubbing him. He wasn’t happy about it though).”

Submitted: this gifset

Also submitted: this video (yes, that one)

"Crucial Toshiro Mifune propaganda: THOSE LEGS."

"That is hella muscle. Go watch The Hidden Fortress, aka Star Wars A New Hope. His thighs deserve an award."

#toshiro mifune #jeremy brett #hotvintagepoll #round 5 #fuck that old man

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theshiftingwitch · 1 month ago

Text

The shifting witch's SP manifesting challenge:

I must have had more than fifty questions in my inbox about how to manifest an SP, how to ignore the 3d, how to get over negative circumstances... So I decided to create this little challenge to help you manifest your specific person before the new year!

What is the SP manifesting challenge?

It's simply a little manifesting exercise that you can join if you want to manifest an SP. I figured having other people join would give you the push that you needed to get everything you want. Besides, the community aspect always makes me feel better!

Nature of the challenge: romantic

Duration: 10 days. From November 30th till December 10th. (Or whenever you find this )

Requirements: nothing. Follow the steps and if you wish, you can comment with your progress every few days.

What to do:

1- Get clear on what you want: grab a pen and a paper, sit down, relax and focus. Write down what you wish to gain from this challenge. Are you revising the past? Are you manifesting an SP out of thin air? Whatever you want, write it all down.

2- Pick your Affirmations: reread everything you wrote, then pick 1-3 Affirmations that summarise the whole thing. It could be anything from "Everything I wrote down is now mine" to "I have my perfect relationship now." Get creative but keep it simple.

3- Affirm on a loop: now that you know what you want, saturate your mind with the new story. Repeat your affirmations anywhere, anytime. Brushing your teeth? Affirm. Getting dressed? Affirm. Watching TikTok? Affirm. On a loop.

4- Utilize other methods. Whenever you're not affirming, listen to a Subliminal of your choice. As you're falling asleep and waking up, pick a 10 to 30 second scenario and imagine it on a loop. Create a vision board for your perfect relationship and make it your phone wallpaper. Everywhere you look, you need to see the new story.

What not to do:

1- Do not check the 3d. Put your phone down and stop checking if they texted. They did in the 4d. That's all that matters.

2- Do not force action. Don't text first. Don't call. Don't gaze at them wistfully from across the hallway. You are now officially entering your Elizabeth Bennett when she hated Mr. Darcy's guts era. Do not acknowledge their existence at all.

3- Do not indulge the old story. If you see something you don't like, act as if you have lost your sight. You didn't see anything. Don't give the old story any more of your energy. It only exists because you're still entertaining it. Don't affirm for an hour and then go back to sighing and crying and perishing under a willow tree by a pond. Get it together.

Lock in for the next 10 days, and get your perfect relationship with your SP before the year ends.

You're the only one who can give you what you want. Reclaim your power and get what you deserve.

None of the steps above are optional. If you're joining the challenge, follow all of these instructions.

Happy manifesting ❤️

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ashwhowrites · 1 month ago

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Ahhhh I've been so excited since you mentioned Buffy universe, so obviously I NEED to make a request (i have too much ideas, but I'll try to calm down 😅)

I was thinking about human reader x Spike (my love ❤️). Spike is so madly in love with her that scooby gang has fun watching it, but it is kind of adorable even for them.

One day Spike heard about Angel's visit in town and since then he tries to keep reader far from scooby gang and Angel.

He's telling himself he's not scared of losing reader to Angel because their relationship is strong and mature (not like his previous one) but he's insecure that reader could choose broody handsome brunette because of this all good things he's done

And with happy end pretty please

(I'm so happy, somebody wants to write about buffyverse 🎉🎉🎉)

Thank you for your time 💜💜💜

I'm so in love with Spike so I get it!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. It feels very weird to write about a different character so I hope it feels like Spike. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Ugh, not Angel

"So does this mean Spike gets to help?" Y/N asked with glee. She knew many of her friends didn't enjoy it when her boyfriend was around but at times she didn't care.

"I say we can do it without the blood-sucking vampire," Xander said as he rolled his eyes. Y/N shot him a glare.

"Be nice, Xander," Willow reminded him.

"Even though I hate to say it, we need Spike's help," Buffy said with disappointment.

"The man of the hour has arrived!" Spike said as he walked into Buffy's house. Y/N walked in behind him and closed the door. Together they walked to Buffy's couch and took a seat.

Giles and Buffy explained the plan but Spike was far from listening. His girl was tucked under his arm; all he could focus on was her face. He watched as she listened intently, nodding to what she agreed.

"Spike!" Buffy snapped, clapping her hands. The vampire was quick to look over at her with a snarl. "Pay attention!"

"Oh Buffy, don't be jealous," Spike teased giving her a small amount of attention before he went back to Y/N.

"Listen," Y/N warned, nodding her head toward Buffy. He listened to her, as he always did.

"Weren't you like a terrifying vampire before you got pussy whipped?" Xander joked. Buffy smirked at the comment but made sure not to laugh.

"I can still tear your throat out," Spike growled, biting the air. "I'm not pussy whipped. I just happen to worship the ground my darling walks on."

Y/N tried not to blush at Spike's words. His accent always made her heart race.

"Yeah, Xander! Would it kill you to worship me like that?" Anya complained. Xander groaned as he knew a new fight would happen by the time he went home.

"Quiet!" Giles said, gaining everyone's attention.

~~~

Spike was watching TV in his crypt when he heard someone enter. He turned his head and groaned to himself as Buffy walked in.

"Oh great the slayer," he said, clicking off the TV.

"It looks different here," Buffy realized, looking around. There were candles near the bed, which were covered in fuzzy pillows. There were twinkle lights hung up, for once giving the dark crypt some light.

"What do you need?" Spike asked, ignoring her comments.

"Y/N has a nice touch," Buffy smirked. Spike shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but a sense of pride in his cold chest knowing she was displayed in his home.

"Get to the damn point, slayer."

"Angel's back," Buffy sighed.

Spike quickly flew out of his chair, an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

"Why?" Spike growled. Spike and Angel didn't get along too well. Both vampires but Angel was the better one in people's opinion. Spike didn't tend to care about the comparison but Y/N had never met Angel before and he wanted to keep it that way. "Actually I don't even care." He sassed. Buffy watched confused as he ran out.

Y/N was painting her toes when Spike let himself into her bedroom. She looked up with a smile as she smelled him.

"Hello, handsome,"

Spike smiled as she went back to focusing on her toes, moving to sit on the hard floor. He didn't say anything as he grabbed the polish from her hands and began to paint her toes.

She smiled as she let him take over. She adored moments like this with him. When he was doing human things with her. She reached down and ran her fingers through his blonde hair, messing up the perfection it always was. He'd bite off anyone's hand if they touched him like that but it was her so he didn't mind.

"I'm glad you stopped by. The gang is having a movie night, would you like to come?"

Spike took his time painting her toes. The truth was, he didn't want her to go. He was worried Angel would show up with his stupid dark hair, charming personality, and a face that apparently many girls liked.

"Spike?" She said as he sat in silence.

"Could we maybe have the night alone together?" He looked up at her and she was taken back from the insecurity in his eyes.

"Sure, baby. Let me give them a call," she said as she ruffled his hair.

~~~

Spike did his best to keep her away from Angel and tried to keep it secretive. Spike wasn't sure how long Angel would be around but it had been a week too long. Y/N loved Spike so spending all the time with him wasn't a bad thing, but she was worried.

Spike was always confident and loved being seen by others. Even though Y/N hated it, he enjoyed the looks he got from women. He didn't get along with many of her friends but he never was this distant with them. Y/N worried something was going on and she was left in the dark about it.

The couple sat in silence as they watched Passions, even after a year of being with Spike she didn't see the appeal in the show. It had been a week since she left Spike's side. Anytime she made a comment to leave he went into a panic and begged her to stay. Adding to the worry she was feeling.

"Spike," Y/N said, nudging her boyfriend in the arm. His eyes dashed over to her. "Is there something going on between you and my friends? And I know you love me, but there's a reason why you don't want me to leave your side and I want to know."

"Darling, I have to confess something," Spike sighed.

"If you cheated on me I will have Buffy here to kill your ass in a second," Y/N warned. Her eyes squinting into a glare that sent a shiver down Spike's spine.

"Never!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember the stories of Buffy's ex Angel?"

"A little," Y/N said shrugging.

"He's a vampire and pretty much everyone fell in love with him when he was around. Buffy, Willow, and well Xander hated him like he does me, but they saw something good in him. It didn't matter how well-behaved I was, they always picked him for help. Whenever he is around, I'm not needed. I was worried his charm would work on you."

Y/N was in awe of Spike feeling a variety of emotions. She didn't think he felt much other than love and lust.

"You were worried I'd fall for him?" Y/N asked, reaching out to cup Spike's face.

Spike tried to show no emotion, "Not quite what I said. I mean look at me, I am way more of a catch." Y/N laughed at his words, allowing him to feel what he needed.

"Well, if you were saying that I'd make sure to say that I love you. I don't think there is anyone dead or alive that would make me feel the way you do. No one will take me from you." She leaned in and pressed her forehead against his.

He closed his eyes and nudged his nose against hers. Her words sank in and took the weight off his body. He opened his eyes and smiled as she stared at him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips.

With a lot of convincing sex, Y/N got Spike out of his cave. Her hand was in his as they walked into Buffy's house. The gang all said hello and Y/N noticed the new face.

She turned her head as she checked him out, Spike standing taller as he squeezed her hand. She shook her head and turned to Spike, moving to whisper in his ear. "Not even close."

Spike smirked at her words, his confidence taking over. "Well, Angel. I wish I would say nice to see you but it's not."

Angel scoffed but walked over, his eyes landing on the girl next to him. "She's new," Angel smiled. "Prettier than the last one."

Spike stiffened at Angel's words and the mention of Drusilla. The images of her and Angel together in his head were the exact reason he feared for Y/N to see him.

"I'm Y/N, Spike's girlfriend."

Spike smiled at her. Maybe he didn't need to worry about this one.

#spike btvs #spike x female reader #spike x reader #buffy the vampire slayer #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs x female reader #spike btvs request #ashwhowrites #spike btvs fanfiction #spike btvs fluff #buffyverse #buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer x reader

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godihatethiswebsite · 8 months ago

Text

Mourning Doves

✽Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x f!reader

Johnny provides you with some comfort after your favorite hockey team loses

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

This is a little drabble I wrote for me and @ohbo-ohno after we both suffered grievous losses in the Stanley Cup playoffs tonight. I know we're supposed to be in mourning, but the brain bunnies demanded comfort so I stayed up late and wrote it myself ❤️

Also I'm biased so it's our favorite Scotsman

"I'm going to die."

"Yer not goin' tae die."

"Bury me in the garden underneath the willow tree."

"Ye havnae gone there since ya ran into that spiderweb last summer."

"The spider can have my carcass."

"Now yer jus' being a numpty."

Your face was still buried in the pillow from where you put it fifteen minutes ago, the rest of your body sprawled out on your stomach with your right arm and leg dangling off the couch like a limp ragdoll. He'd returned home to find you like this after a late night spent with the team, expecting to find you asleep by the time he got home from the bar since it was now well after midnight. Instead, he's greeted with the sight of your theatrics to having watched your favorite hockey team - the Denver Brown Bears - defeated in double overtime by the Austin Tigers.

Johnny located the remote you must've tossed in your grief and turned the TV off, setting it on the coffee table before kneeling down next to your form, running his knuckles up and down your hanging limb. "There now, hen. Dunnae fret. Ye'll get 'em next year, ah'm sure of it."

Turning your head to the side, he finally got to see the sunken expression marring your beautiful face; bloodshot eyes overflowing with tears, face flushed and splotchy from crying. You'd tried to put on a brave facade with your earlier banter, but it was obvious now that you were struggling. This was more than just a minor upset - his girl was genuinely hurting.

His brows furrowed and heart dropped in his chest to see you so devastated. He knew how much this had meant to you, the unbridled joy and excitement he'd seen you display the past few weeks as your team made it into the playoffs had only endeared him to you even more. Oh sure, he'd ribbed you for it playfully whenever he saw you curled up in the living room wearing the Bears goalie's jersey animatedly cheering on your team and throwing popcorn at a bad call, but truthfully he'd loved getting to see you so spirited, especially knowing the rough patch you'd been going through lately. Hockey had been a good distraction and it was a shame the season had to end like this for you.

He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, damped by the moisture and sticking to your skin before moving it back behind your ear. The quiet broken whimper as he touched your cheek had him reacting on instinct, rolling you onto your side so that he could lift you up into his arms, cradling you to his chest as your hand fisted his shirt like a child would seeking comfort. What tears had slowed over time began anew now that you had him here, needing his steadiness and warmth to ground you from the onslaught of emotions pulling you down below the waves. He kept his voice soft and tone reassuring, letting you seek solace in his familiar embrace.

"Shhhh... s'alright, mo chridhe. Ah'm here. Ah've got ye..."

Carrying you down the hall, he carefully toed the bedroom door open, slipping inside the darkened room before closing it behind him with his heel. He stepped over the wrinkled clothes on the floor as he made his way over to the bed, never stopping his comforting noises as you continued to hiccup out tears, ruining his shirt with wetness from where your face stayed pressed against his collarbone.

Johnny perched himself on the edge of the bed, settling you more comfortably in his lap as the arm that had been tucked under your knees moved to rub circles into your back. He let you get all your emotions out, content to just hold you safe until the worst of it had passed. It tore at his insides to see you so depressed, wishing it was a problem he could get his hands on instead of feeling so useless for you. He'd never been very good at sitting idly by, the beast under his skin itching for a fight he could walk away bloodied from. If it wasn't for the baser need to be here for you, there's a good chance he'd be on his phone right now trying to convince the lads to take a day trip down to Austin with him for some retribution for making his girl weep.

But no. Putting his fists into an entire hockey team wouldn't change the outcome of tonight. Johnny knew you simply had to let time take it's course and eventually make it easier for you to move on past your grief.

Once your cries had quieted and tears lessened, he'd gently maneuvered you off his lap and onto the mattress, pressing a firm kiss to the crown of your head before walking over to the dresser and rooting around for something more comfortable to wear. He ignored the quiet sniffles behind him as he worked quickly to rid himself of his clothes, changing into a pair of sweats and an old army shirt before joining you back by the bed. You let him tug the Bears jersey up over your head, keeping your arms raised as he replaced it with one of his soft shirts you often loved to steal from him, dragging your pants off your legs before pulling back the comforter and motioning you to climb in.

Once you got situated in your spot, Johnny curled up right next to you and pulled you back into his hold, head resting on his chest as your limbs tangled together under the sheets. He made sure you were tucked in all nice and snuggly, heart fluttering at the familiar sensation of you nuzzling your face into him and breathing in his scent. You were still upset at the loss, but it was easier to deal with wrapped up in your lover's arms.

There weren't many problems that being with Johnny couldn't fix; he was your pillar, your rock, the one thing in this world that could find you in the darkest of depths and drag you from it's clutches up towards the surface. He radiated pure light in a way that even after all this time together still left you in total awe. He liked to say he wasn't a good man - that you deserved someone made of softer materials with less blood on their hands - but he didn't understand it no matter how hard you tried to explain.

You didn't need soft. You needed someone made of iron and shattered teeth that could fight back your inner demons. Someone with scarred knuckles and split lips who knew how to mend the tattered edges of your soul because they already had the experience stitching themselves back together with needle and thread.

So on nights like tonight when you couldn't fight your own battles...

"I really wanted them to win..."

"Ah ken, love. Ah ken. But jus' think how hard they fought fer ye. Dinnae go down easy that's fer damn sure. Be proud of yer boys, love. It's cuz of bonny lasses like yerself that they had the support and strength to get as far as they did. They'll come back swingin' - and when they do, they'll naught ask fer a better fan cheerin' them on."

...you knew you had someone right there beside you to throw the first punch and shield your body with his own.

And if you ever asked him to, he'd glady show those Tigers what happens when they encounter a pack of wolves

#godihatethiswebsite #highland games #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x f!reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x f!reader #call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #this was very therapeutic #we'll get them next year bo #soap x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 6 months ago

Text

Move, baby

Gif credits

Pairing/Au: Oberyn Martell x f!reader x Ellaria Sand

Words count: 5768

Rating: +18, MINORS PLEASE DON’T INTERACT.

Warnings: threesome, reader is a sex worker, she is female and has hair and breasts and vagina but apart from that no other description is given, fingering, nipples play, oral sex (m and f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v (WRAP IT UP IRL, FOLKS), pet names (mostly honey), basically p*rn with very little plot lol

Notes: No beta reader, mostly written at night on my phone (I really need to stop doing this, GOD) and English is not my first language so excuse me for any mistake, Oberyn and Ellaria have always been one of my biggest fantasies, so I decided to write something about them. I'm a bi person, I want both, this is very personal to me and it's my first attempt at writing a threesome so please be kind. Title inspired by “Movement” by Hozier.

I really hope you’ll like it ❤️

I also just want to say thank you all for giving so much love to my last story, I’m so grateful and my heart is full of love for each one of you!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

When you move

I can recall somethin' that's gone from me

When you move

Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally

Move me, baby

So move me, baby

Like you've nothin' left to prove

And nothin' to lose

Move me, baby

Oberyn and Ellaria are lying on the bed when you enter the room. You are intimidated, even though you have been doing this for years and have met many powerful people before. They have been here for a few days now and seeing them through the corridors of the brothel you couldn’t help but notice how majestic and beautiful they were. Oberyn is pervaded by a regal aura, he is like a feline who walks with a soft, elegant step and you immediately found him incredibly sensual.

His golden robe adorned with suns studding, the symbol of Dorne, almost entirely hides the splendor of his tanned skin, but leave his chest partially exposed and a large medallion accentuate the harmonious shape of his thick and incredibly attractive neck.

The fabric hug his torso and fall wider over his legs, framing his perfect figure. A large brown leather belt emphasize his narrow waist.

Rumors say that he is a formidable warrior with a spear and you can actually sense his physical prowess even under his clothes.

His face makes him look like a God, short black hair, high forehead and thick eyebrows, dark and piercing eyes, strong aquiline nose, voluptuous lips and sculpted jaw, covered by a strip of beard.

The signs that line his face give him authority and the appearance of a man who lives life to the full.

Ellaria is equally magnetic, some other brothel girl said to you that she comes from humble beginnings but she looks every bit like a queen who could have anyone under her feet.

A cascade of gorgeous black curls frame her face and falls over her bare shoulders, she has high, sculpted cheekbones and sensual lips, eyes like a dark night, deep and mysterious but shining like stars.

She wears a beautiful orange tunic that slides over her hips leaving little to the imagination, a wide neckline barely cover her décolleté and her tits are embraced by a gold bra.

She looked at you as you passed by her, and her inquisitive and teased gaze didn't escape you. You felt flattered, you never thought that a person like her could look at someone like you.

You saw her whisper something in Oberyn's ear and saw him nod with conviction, before putting his arm around her waist with a mischievous smile.

They walked away without speaking to you while you remained breathless for a few seconds as you watched them disappear together into one of the rooms.

You have experience, you never have this kind of reaction, even in the presence of the king who also frequents this brothel very often.

Most of the time you absolutely don't care about anything other than money you get at the end of the day but that feeling of being noticed by someone you actually like stayed with you and you spent the night torturing your clit because of them.

Today the brothel owner told you that Ellaria and Oberyn specifically asked for you. They previously require at least one man and a couple of women or more which perhaps would have helped you handle the situation better and be calmer. It wouldn't have all depended on you, you could have blended in with others, made yourself less noticed. Although when it comes to sex, it's impossible not to notice you.

You don't think so arrogantly, it's just that you do it every day, several times a day and you're good at it.

So damn good that some customers have fallen in love with you and became obsessed, forcing the brothel owner to kick them out and tell them not to show up again, so good that they often leave you extra gold coins before leaving the room.

You're an expert, but today you feel like it's the first time you've done it.

Your hand shake as you open the door, maybe they could have been wrong, it wasn't you they wanted.

You need to be detached in this job. You can't let your feelings influence you, at the beginning it often happened to you to be overwhelmed but now you've learned to leave the most vulnerable part of yourself outside the door.

There is no future for people like you in King's Landing other than doing menial work, this is the best paying job there is. It's certainly risky because you never know what can happen to you and often powerful men are also cruelly sadistic, you've found yourself in very scary situations at least a couple of times, fortunately much less than other girls who work here.

You saw with your own eyes the swollen faces, you heard the screams, you heard the cries. You've experienced bruises on your skin and not the kind you’ve been turned on by.

Your luck has been that the owner of this brothel cares about keeping you all safe, he is humane enough not to treat you like cannon fodder and let them do whatever they want with you.

He always says that it’s because he need to maintain his brothel the best one in King’s Landing but you know that there is a fund of goodness in him, after all you are pretty sure that he cares at least a little about all of you. You can see it from how he treats you, he never lacks clean clothes, decent meals, cleanliness and decorum of rooms and a maester to cure any ailment that may occur with this way of life. And he pays well, better than in any other brothel in the city, so you've always made sure to hold on to this job.

“We were waiting for you,” Oberyn says, sitting up in bed, his back leaning against the large red velvet cushions resting on the inlaid wooden headboard.

You hold your breath as you shyly step forward.

Ellaria is lying on her side next to her lover, her head resting on her right hand, while her other hand lies limply on her exposed side.

“Come closer, baby” she says “we want to look at you”

You take another step, exposing yourself to the dim light of the candles scattered around the room.

Ellaria's eyes sparkle, she glances knowingly at Oberyn and then back at you "It's really you, the one who looked at me in the hallway"

You feel her gaze wander over your body, you keep your eyes lowered to look at your bare feet on the wooden floor.

It feels like you're being seen for the first time in a long time, and you tremble slightly.

You are not afraid but you are in awe, fully aware of your exposed skin covered only by a light fabric draped over your hips and your torso, covering your breasts and pussy, leaving your shoulders and arms, your cleavage, your legs exposed.

“Are you ashamed?” Oberyn says “You don't need to”

Ellaria elegantly gets up from the bed and approaches you. She stops in front of you and places a finger under your chin “Look at me” she whispers “look into my eyes”

You do as you're told, her hand encircle your jaw, sweet and delicate like a caress.

She’s smiling at you “we've been thinking about you for days, you know? Since we've been in this crap city we haven't had many opportunities to relax, not as much as we'd like anyway. But today, we intend to do nothing else. And we hope you'll join us” It sounds like an invitation, one of the most tempting you've received in years. There is no obligation in her voice, there is kindness. And desire. The realization hits you in that moment, they weren't wrong at all, they want you at least as much as you want them.

Your gaze is fixed in Ellaria's reassuring eyes and you feel hypnotized by her.

“Do you want to stay with us?” she asks you.

You nod.

"Say it. Tell me you want us"

“Yes” you whisper

“Louder, babe, Prince Oberyn can’t hear you”

“Yes” you say, more convinced “I want to be here”

Ellaria's smile spreads softly across her face “Good. We’re glad to hear that, honey”

She moves her hand to your neck, stroking it, her fingertips like a breath on your skin, stopping at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone.

Oberyn is still sitting on the bed, Ellaria moves to your side, without taking her hand off your shoulder “what do you say, my love, is it time we got rid of this peplum?”

“Whatever my sweet paramore desires must be done”

She looks at him with so much love that for a moment you almost feel like you're not worthy of observing such an intimate moment between two people.

Then Ellaria returns to focusing on you, as if you were a gift that was delivered especially for her, making you feel part of the scene again.

She lowers the hem of your dress, letting it slide across your skin, revealing your breasts and then your tummy and letting it fall from your hips. It collapses at your feet like a white cloud.

She takes your hand and makes you take a step forward, letting you out of your dress.

You're naked.

And two of the most fascinating people you've ever seen are looking at you. They're looking at you.

A large number of your clients are impatient, rushed, they just want to satisfy themselves and leave.

Ellaria and Oberyn are calm and relaxed, and they seem in no hurry to send you away.

She admires you, you feel her gaze contemplating you and you fervently hope that she likes what she sees.

You truly want this woman to like you.

“She is beautiful” Oberyn says “my love, you really have impeccable taste”

Ellaria lets out a little laugh "it's no coincidence that you are my other half”

her eyes are languidly on him and then back at you.

She reaches down to caress your arm, your side, her fingers tracing the contours of your body so carefully.

You can literally feel the tension building in the room, pervading it entirely.

“She really is gorgeous”

Her hand travels up your stomach, barely touching you, while she continues to look straight into your eyes and reaches one of your breasts.

She cups it and weighs it for a moment "you have beautiful breasts" she whispers and then takes your nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pinches it, pulling it slightly.

A low moan escapes your lips.

You remain still, many have done it before but her touch is different, more attentive and graceful, it send you shivers down your spine.

She’s treating you like something precious, taking the time to tickle your body, looking at you like you're the only person in the room, the anticipation makes it all more exciting.

She does the same to the other nipple and then gets closer, she's so close that you can feel her scent of honey and flowers filling your nostrils.

She kisses you, her lips are luscious and velvety, she tastes like sweet grape, ambrosial and intoxicating.

She pulls away from you and runs a finger over your bottom lip and gently forces your mouth open, then kisses you again. You feel her tongue make its way, meet yours and caress your palate. She licks greedily inside your mouth, her hands squeeze your hips and caress them, her body adheres perfectly to yours, making you whimper and rock your hips to try to get more friction burying one of your hand in her hair, your fingers intertwined with her raven curls.

“Don’t be impatient, baby”

You try to calm down but when you look away from her you see Oberyn on the bed, in his golden robe, staring at you.

His eyes got even darker and are fixed on you, he is clearly turned on by what Ellaria is doing and that makes you even more needy.

“Eyes on me, babe” Ellaria gets your attention again “sit on the bed”

She turns you around and stands in front of you, making you walk backwards as she pushes you gently holding your hips.

The backs of your knees touch the bed and you sit obediently.

Ellaria caresses your cheek “spread your legs” she orders and you do.

She kneels in front of you, you already feel your skin getting hot.

Her hand runs along your inner thigh, her fingertips like feathers on your skin.

“You’re so good. Already glistening for us” she says quietly, eyes fixed on your wetness and you expect for her fingers to rise for reaching your folds but she doesn’t. She gets up instead and take your face in her hands again and gives you another kiss that leaves you breathless. It’s more urgent and sloppy than before and your mind goes blind.

You desperately want this woman to make you cry and beg for more.

Oberyn approaches you from behind while his lover deepens the kiss and put his hands on your shoulders, stroking, you whimper at his touch, his big strong hands expertly roaming on your skin. He lowers them to touch your tits, squeezing and caressing and then his lips are on your neck sucking, biting, licking your soft skin under your ear.

Ellaria has stopped kissing you and contemplates you melting under her man's touch, she has a pleased smile.

She then makes you lying on the bed and undress.

Her dress falls to the ground leaving her naked.

She looks like a work of art.

Her skin is smooth like silk and shines in the candlelight, her tits are perfectly round shaped, high and firm, her turgid nipples stand in the center of a dark rose areola, your eyes wander on her flat tummy and her flourishing hips and thighs, she has beautifully shaped legs, your mouth is watering at the vision.

She climbs up over your body while Oberyn is now on your side sitting on his heels, watching the two of you kissing again.

You whine in her mouth feeling her warm tongue dancing with yours.

Ellaria then whispers in your ear “Raise your arms for me, baby and stand still. Let me take care of you”

You do immediately, so eager to be pleasured by this stunning creature that now lay on top of you.

Her weight is deliciously crushing you.

She kisses your neck and cleavage and lowers herself on you leaving a trail of wet kisses on your skin.

She takes one of your nipples in her mouth sucking on it, making your entire body vibrate. Her tongue is swirling on it, licking all over your areola and then on your bud sucking again avidly.

You cry when she lowers one of her hand between your thighs, teasing your folds with just her fingertips.

She watches you with a languid smile “yeah, you like that, don’t you? Me sucking on your beautiful tits?”

And you nod, head empty, totally intoxicated by her.

You want more, more, more.

She’s on your tits again, mercilessly sucking, using her teeth to gently stiffen your nipples, humming low to your skin.

She dips her fingers into your glistening pussy, running them up and down, completely wetting them.

She put her index finger into her mouth licking it clean.

“Mmm you taste so good” and this vision only would be enough to send you over the edge, she is incredibly elegant even now, in a way that exudes pure sensuality.

She keeps sucking on your tits while teasing your pussy, until you find yourself begging “please, please fuck me”

She stop and look at you with a malicious smile “you want to be fucked by my fingers? You want that, honey?”

“Please, do. Please.”

“You’re so good for us. You should do me a favor, look at my handsome lover while I work my fingers into you, would you do that for me?”

“Yes. Yes, whatever you -“ your voice cracks in the attempt ‘cause she force your entrance with two of her fingers without waiting for you to reply “AH. whatever you want… my queen” you say breathily.

She’s deep into you.

“Well, technically I’m no queen but you can call me one if you want” she laugh heartily. “Look at my love, now”

You turn your face and next to you is a naked Oberyn. You don't know when he took off his robe, you heard movements around you but you were totally absorbed in Ellaria at that moment.

It never happens that you are not aware of what is happening in a room, you must always be vigilant to avoid dangerous situations when there is more than one person with you, you never let yourself be caught off guard.

He waited silently, he certainly enjoyed the sight of you two.

You can clearly see it in his hard, swollen cock in front of you.

He's jerking off slowly, a couple more strokes and then he finally speaks "Do you want to take it in your mouth, sweetie?"

You look at him for a second, filling your eyes with his beauty, while Ellaria continues to move in and out of you with her fingers and working on your nipples with her tongue.

You smile, pleased by his hungry eyes.

“Yes” you murmur “Yes, please”

He brings the tip close to your mouth and you instinctively stick out your tongue to lick it. It's already wet with precome, it's salty and musky and you wail at this, so eager to have it all into your mouth.

He enter your lips slowly, he’s bigger than most men you’ve met and you’ve met a lot of men.

“Yes, just like that, honey”

You take as much as you can of him through your lips, down your throat, filling your mouth with his hardened cock and mewl at his thick veins tickling your tongue.

You cup his balls with your hand, massaging them.

“Oh. You seemed shy before but you’re a little mischief, aren’t you?”

You pull out and a little laugh escape your lips “that’s exactly what I am” and you look at him “never underestimate a quite girl”

You’re challenging him, he knows you do things like that for a living so he shouldn’t expect you to be so innocent and naive.

You’re not.

“I knew it, honey, that’s why we wanted you. I know a little mischievous girl when I see her”

You stifle one more laugh and take his cock in your hand, licking his already sticky tip, swirling your tongue on his frenulum, then moving your tongue flat along his length, down to the base and back up again.

You fill your mouth again, taking him so deep that the head of his cock is now scraping at your throat.

You hold it still for a moment to get used to its size and the you begin to suck.

Ellaria is still circling your clit with her thumb while her index and middle fingers slowly pumps in and out of you.

You suck greedily on Oberyn cock and pride raise in your chest at his praises “you’re doing so good, babe, so good for me, keep going”

For the first time in years, you are a third person enjoying sex with others and not only a whore at their commands.

You're almost at your peak and rock your hips into Ellaria's hand, seeking more and more friction.

“Come on baby, flood my hand with your cum”

Your body shakes and you feel a heat rise from your core and invade you as you release your orgasm on Ellaria's hand.

She’s looking at you eagerly, you still have Oberyn cock in your mouth, you hold onto the sheets with your hand to maintain the position while you don't stop taking his cock.

“You have the most exquisite nipples I’ve ever seen, and they taste so sweet, god, I’m obsessed” she says, stroking your hair, making you feel tenderly spoiled.

Oberyn explode in your mouth a few moments later groaning loudly, you swallow everything you can and smile at him while a little ripple of cum runs down your chin.

“Such a good babe” Ellaria strokes your cheek and lick the cum that is making its way onto your neck.

The room is quiet for a while filled only with your sighs.

“What do you want now, love?”

She says to Oberyn that is now lying on the bed right next to you with a hand splayed over your tummy.

“I was thinking…what if you sit on her face while I eat her pussy?”

“Mmmm you always have the best ideas, my prince”

You're lying between them, they sit up for a kiss and you see their mouths come together and their tongues meet passionately right above you, you quietly enjoy the show.

Oberyn climbs on top of you, starting to kiss you and you immediately realize how different his touch and kisses are from Ellaria's, he is more urgent, less delicate than her, but no less exciting. His hands are bigger, his fingers longer and as he caresses and teases your nipples and kisses you you wonder what it would be like to have them inside you.

His tongue is voracious inside your mouth, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, his kissing overall more demanding and authoritative but still kind.

Oberyn certainly knows how to let the love of his life take center stage but he also knows exactly how to take it back.

He wastes no time tasting your nipples after all of Ellaria's glorification, running his tongue flat over one of them and grunting in approval and then sucking like he’s starving.

“Fuck, they really are delicious, you’re so right, my love”

Ellaria smiles as she settles in to straddle you, her pussy is an inch from your mouth, you can smell it and you pant in anticipation.

“Lick me, dear, lick me deeply and fuck me with your tongue”

and she lowers herself into your face, your nose colliding with her clit making her gasp, your tongue is flat on her folds tracing them thoroughly, you taste her spicy savory flavor that instantly drives you wild.

You lick right in the middle, her folds caressing your tongue at the sides while you caress her center, alternating longer laps with small ones like a kitten, just the tip of your tongue on her clit.

And then you take it into your mouth, wrapping it with your tongue and then sucking it.

Her pussy clench and she grinds into your face “Yes, oh my gods, you’re fucking great” she mutters, hitting your nose again and again “keep doing that”

You try to focus on her even if you feel Oberyn moving on your body, licking and sucking your skin, probably leaving some light bruises that don't intimidate you anyway, he reaches your mound and continues kissing, attentive and caring. He is rough but also sweet, you can feel his beard scratching you delightfully, he makes space between your legs to settle on his stomach on the bed.

You continue lapping on her clit burying your face in her pussy when you feel Oberyn spread your lips with two fingers and give a long lick to your center and then sink his fingers between your lips, covering them completely in your juices, teasing your entrance while he swirling on your clit.

His fingers are thick, much thicker than Ellaria's, and even just a little force at your opening makes you feel full.

Ellaria is still rocking her hips into your face, squeezing it between her thighs. You stick your tongue right at her entrance, making her moan your name “yeah, baby, just like that, keep pushing your tongue inside me”

You do as she wish, darting your tongue in her hole.

She cries out loud, quivering, calling your name again, pushing her cunt into your face.

You’re almost breathless but you don’t stop, you want her to come all over your mouth and chin and you want to savor every drop of her pleasure.

You feel Oberyn’s fingers deep down into your pussy, curling up and reaching that pretty spot inside of you that always gives you fireworks, while he devours your clit. You can feel his nose deepening through your folds and it feels heavenly.

He’s great.

Really amazingly great.

You push into Ellaria’s trying to keep the same pace with he’s pushing into you and you’re pretty sure you’ve never had anything like that, even if you’re a prostitute and you do it all the time.

Ellaria is riding your face like there’s no tomorrow and Oberyn is eating you out so frantically that you feel a little bit overstimulated but you wouldn’t want to stop for any reason.

“You’re really making my sweetheart a big mess, don’t you?” He looks up at you, grinning as he watches his lover taking every bit of your tongue into her.

There's not even a hint of jealousy in his voice, he seems impressed by you, pleased by the fact that you're making the love of his life enjoy every moment.

“I understand that you are so eager to give her what she wants, it's the same for me. My woman is too precious to leave her unsatisfied, she needs to be worshipped” he says it slowly, sweetly, it reaches your ears muffled but still effective and unmistakable.

His fingers still move inside your cunt, and his tongue is on you again licking your clit rapidly, almost jerking it.

You see stars again, while you keep moving on Ellaria’s folds.

Your entire body is on fire, your legs shaking and your heart pounding in your chest so fast you feel like you’re on the verge of no return.

Ellaria comes a few moments after, whining and holding on to the sheets to maintain balance, releasing her cum all over your lips, on your tongue, in your mouth and you drink on her, all you can, continuing lapping her.

Oberyn is caressing your folds with two fingers, gently, letting you cool down.

When Ellaria moves from your face you try to suffocate a disappointed moan which does not escape Oberyn's ears “Oh, you still want more, honey? Yeah, my woman is addictive, I know” his mouth curve into a smile.

“So are you” you say, pulling you up to sit up in bed to give him a kiss.

His lips taste like you, you linger on his bottom lip sucking it gently to get the more of it.

“You’re such a horny little thing”

“Yes, I am” you whisper on his lips

“Good. We like that”

Ellaria is right next to you, palming the back of your head with her hand, stroking your hair.

“Naughty girl” she winks at you “you’re giving us great pleasure so we allow you to choose what to do now. What would you like, sweetie?”

“I would like..." you stop because you don't want to offend the splendid woman next to you.

“What? Speak, babe, whatever it is it’s fine with us” she smiles at you and Oberyn nods.

“I really want to be fucked…by Oberyn”

Ellaria laughs, a joyful laugh that makes your pussy throb

“Why were you afraid to say it?” she gently pinches one of your lobes, then tracing the outline of your ear with the tip of her finger.

“I didn't want you to feel left out”

“I don’t feel like that at all, honey. I know that you want to be fucked by this handsome prince, no one understands you better than me” her voice is low, tender, like a caress.

“It gives me great pleasure to see him enjoy it, you know? And who tells you I won't participate?”

“Oh. Okay” you feel relieved

“Don’t worry, hun, just take what you need. Haven't done this in a long time, right?”

It's true, you haven't been doing this for long, your job doesn't require you to think about your own needs, you have to dedicate yourself entirely to satisfying others.

Oberyn is between your legs again as Ellaria rests your head on her thighs.

“Spread your legs wider for me, babe”

He comes closer to you and slides his cock over your clit, up and down your folds, you get wet immediately, it slides so smoothly it feels like silk on you.

Ellaria is looking at you sweetly, she’s stroking your hair while your head is perfectly nested on her legs.

“You’re going to feel so good, honey, there’s no better cock than his”

And you actually think she’s right, despite all the other ones you’ve seen since you’re doing this.

He aligns himself with your entrance and you can feel the tip entering you, already stretching your crevice.

He’s careful and goes inch by inch with an incredible calm.

He stops when he’s entirely inside you, it fills you all up and you squirm at the sensation, arching your back to feel it even more.

“God it feels amazing” you moan “move, please”

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Yes. Never been so ready in my life. Give it all to me, please”

Your pussy is dripping all over his cock and he starts thrusting, a grunt escapes his throat as he slides so easily into the deepest point of you.

He’s slow, really agonizingly slow and this makes you feel every single movement, every rolling of his hips, every rhythmic thrust so amplified that your mind starts going numb, completely drunk on him.

His hands hold your hips tightly, his fingers dig into your flesh and will probably leave marks but you don't care a bit.

It's like a dance, he’s dancing with your body, setting a leisurely pace that is giving you the freedom to simply feel center stage for once, like you didn’t even know it was possible anymore for you.

They say that's what he does even while fighting, dancing. It's light, nimble and agile like a panther, so they tell you.

Now he's not fighting, he's following your body and you do the same by moving your hips in turn at the same rhythm.

Ellaria was right, there's no cock like his, because what's going on now is him thinking of you first unlike the majority of men you’ve met.

He’s hitting that right spot inside of you again and again, so naturally that you could say that your cunt is meant to be his.

All is silent except for his grunts and the squelching sound of your fuck, every lewd noise from your pussy as he sink into you makes your head spin.

The candles light up the room enough for you to see his face and you fixate on his every little expression, on the vein on his neck swelling, on his clenched teeth, on his eyes squeezed shut with effort.

Ellaria holds you by the shoulders, you bounce on her legs deliciously.

You look up at her for a moment and she has the most delighted smile you’ve ever seen.

“Keep going, hun, you’re doing so well”

she whisper and you’re unsure if she’s speaking to you or his lover but she sounds so sweet and nicely aroused that you get even more turned on by the situation and you didn’t even thought it was possible.

You entwine your legs behind his back, pushing him further against you, he gasps as he tries to push your orgasm just right.

“Fuck, baby, you’re drenched”

“I know I know ..I’m so close Oberyn, please , don’t stop”

He places his thumb over your clit circling it frantically and doesn’t stop pushing into you until your orgasm washes over you leaving you breathless and worn out.

He pulls out of you coming on your tummy, thick streaks of his cum painting your skin as he moan loudly.

You look at him in ecstasy, every expression on his face captivates you as he fists his cock releasing his pleasure on you.

He falls onto the bed panting hard while you also try to catch your breath.

Ellaria moves from underneath you and puts a pillow under your head, goes back between your thighs and reaches down to lick your pussy clean.

Her tongue laps at you gently, caressing your lips until you calm down.

When she's satisfied, she lies down on the bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you, cradling you.

Oberyn kisses your neck, then stands up and grabs a bowl from the table at the side of the room.

You turn to see what he has and he takes a blueberry, runs it across your bottom lip before feeding you.

And then another one.

And one for Ellaria too.

A prince is feeding you blueberries.

You’ve never felt so spoiled in your entire life.

This has to be one of the best days you will ever have, something you thought you could only fantasize about just happened. There isn't much joy in your life anymore, not since you realized that every day would be the same. Not today.

“We leave tomorrow” Ellaria whispers

“Oh fuck, no” you find yourself saying, hiding your head on her chest, lost in the softness of her tits.

“Don't you want us to leave?” Oberyn tenderly rubs your back.

“No” you whine shyly on Ellaria’s skin.

“You’re so cute, honey” she says, hugging you even tightly.

“We’ll be back, don’t be sad” Oberyn says and he pauses for a moment “Actually, wait, have you ever been to Dorne?”

“I never left King's Landing”

"Come with us. What do you think my love, can she come?”

“Of course, she can, why not. When it comes to pleasure you know I have no sides and she’s the perfect addition to our bond”

“It’s a deal then. You want to come, baby?”

You can believe what’s happening, they are really offering you a different life, far from this cesspool of a city.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s gonna cost you a lot, the owner won’t free me for a little price”

“Babe… I’m a prince. Money is not a problem for me.”

You can feel tears poking through your eyes, you look at him and it seems to you that it is a dream from which you will wake up soon.

“Thank you” he approaches you and you give him a grateful kiss.

“Your new life begins tomorrow”

For the first time in a long time you can't wait for the next day.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #game of thrones #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #Oberyn x Ellaria sand x reader #threes0me #oberyn smut #one shot

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thebleedingalien · 2 months ago

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Bunch of DST headcanons for WX-78 cause I adore this automaton way too much and gotta ramble about them ⚙️🧡

Under Cut. Pretty long post there's honestly quite A LOT.

Never truly lost any of their memories from before they became an automaton, just suppresses them REALLY hard.

Massive cat person, one of the few living creatures they got a soft spot for. Too embarrassed to keep any though.

Absolutely can't cook for shit, really bad at it and barely tries. Tied with Willow for most kitchen fires.

Enjoys baked goods a lot! Got a bit of a sweet tooth. It's the real reason they love butter muffins so much.

Has two different types of laughs. One being a sarcastic very monotone “HA HA HA” they use just to mock others, and a genuine more “human” like chuckle they’ll make when they actually find something funny. The genuine one however also sounds really jank and glitchy though cause their voice wasn’t built for it.

Uses binary code as a second language of sorts. Switches to it when they wanna say something but don’t want the others to actually understand them. They also tend to switch to binary involuntary when they are either really excited or incredibly anxious.

Suffers from Talassophobia (fear of large bodies of water). They’re ironically fine with water itself, but are terrified of things like being in the ocean, and had this issue even back when they were still human. They are actually really good at hiding it though, unless they KNOW they are gonna fall in.

Was actually sent to The Constant back around when Maxwell was still on the throne. They ended up becoming a pawn and got the same treatment as all the others when they antagonized and pissed Maxwell off while he interrogated them.

They were never actually designed to do human like things such as eating or sleeping, nor should things like getting sick or healing from food/medicine be possible for them. They got no idea where these abilities came from and it WORRIES them. Blames it on The Constant’s weirdness to ease their mind.

They didn’t really have much of a family when they were human, which led them to grow a habit of labeling their fellow machines as family. They didn’t have a mom at all growing up, which is why they insist on viewing the science machine as their mom instead.

Back when they were human, they used to consider Wagstaff as their only real friend, which makes the betrayal hurt so much more.

Is the most fond of Winona out of the whole camp. She's the only one they will even slightly admit to care about, but would never say it out loud. (She can tell ❤️)

Also decently gets along with Willow and Wendy quite well. Willow cause of her destructive and chaotic nature, and Wendy due to her more downer look on life/living and being the most chill out of the children.

Ironically, their love language (as in how they SHOW love) is actually act of service. If they genuinely like/care about you enough they will be willing to tackle certain tasks for you (though they'll deny it and get a bit snappy if you even point it out).

Asexual, but not necessarily aromantic. They actually could feel romantic attraction in some rare situations, but they are very romance repulsed and will likely never act on those feelings even if they have em

#This is a lot but I LOVE to ramble #Love this robot <3 #don't starve #dont starve #dontstarvetogether #dst #don't starve headcanons #dst headcanons #wx78 #dst wx78 #wx 78 dst

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goblinselfshippr · 1 year ago

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Part2 of my f/os getting a tray of brownies ✨baked with love✨

Simeon - a little conflicted because usually he is the one baking for others, but is deeply touched that someone would do this for him. Splits them with Luke when he’s good. Almost smites Solomon when he tries to sneak one (Simeon is so jealous in cannon he really would get so mad he blue screens)

Albert - scratching at the walls foaming at the mouth. This guy is trying to psychoanalyze why someone brought HIM brownies. Put the fucking dsm-5 down bro, they’re just brownies. Scarfs them down and calls it dinner. Might save ONE for Taylor. Taylor is probably the one that figures it out for him.

Jafar - this egomaniac suspects NOTHING. Happily eats them, and just thinks its something he deserves.

Levi - another guy who is freaking out and suspicious. Straight up makes Hange test them in the lab to make sure its not poison. Once he gets the confirmation that they are NOT, he cuts them up even smaller to split with the squad (I vaguely remember something abt Levi being a stickler with his diet, so he probably would only keep a few for himself). Sugar and cocoa powder are prob really hard to come by, so he’s grateful and a little embarrassed because (to him) this is an extravagant gift.

Scarab - I’m trying to decide if he even knows what a brownie is. I mean, I think he would, BUT it would be funny if he didn’t. He’s not good with the whole friendship thing, his intuition says there is something more about this, but second guesses himself. Caz is just being nice (caz is trying to suck your tongue down their throat, bro LOL)

#❤[kannst du die engel sehn?]#❤️[mr. doctor man]#❤️[under the willow]#❤️[out of body]#❤️[innards]

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katherine40598583-blog · 8 months ago

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Colin under the willow: All I think about is you ❤️ Our kiss haunts my dreams 😍 Please let me be close to you 🥹 I agree!

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton spoilers #polin #bridgerton s3 #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 6 months ago

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🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in July 2024 🌈

🌈 Good morning, my bookish bats, and happy July! Pride Month may be over, but remember: Read Queer ALL Year. Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Earth to Alis - Lex Carlow 🧡 Cursed Boys and Broken Hearts - Adam Sass 💛 The Sky on Fire - Jenn Lyons 💚 The Meaning of Liberty - Sage Donnell 💙 Making It - Laura Kay 💜 The Black Bird of Chernobyl - Ann McMan ❤️ A Map of My Want - Faylita Hicks 🧡 The Devil You Know - Ali Vali 💛 The White Guy Dies First: 13 Scary Stories of Fear and Power - Various 💙 The Second Son - Adrienne Tooley 💜 Cursed Under London - Gabby Hutchinson Crouch 🌈 Forbidden Girl - Kristen Zimmer

❤️ Rise - Freya Finch 🧡 Undercurrent - Patricia Evans 💛 Online Rebellion - Blue Matt Jeff 💚 Wolf Gift - T.J. Nichols 💙 Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream - Tehlor Kay Mejia 💜 Miller: Origin - Starr Z. Davies ❤️ The Shadows Beyond - T.J. Rose 🧡 The Ones Who Come Back Hungry - Amelinda Bérubé 💛 Their Viscountess - Jess Michaels 💙 Fast Holiday - Kerry Lockhart 💜 The Great Cool Ranch Dorito in the Sky - Josh Galarza 🌈 The West Passage - Jared Pechaček

❤️ The Hades Calculus - Maria Ying 🧡 Misrecognition - Madison Newbound 💛 One Last Summer - Kristin Keppler 💚 Waypoint Seven - Xan van Rooyen 💙 Hiding Him - Adam Hattan 💜 Thousand Autumns - Meng Xi Shi, Me.Mimo ❤️ The Adventure Zone, Vol. 6: The Suffering Game - Various 🧡 Rowan & Aldred - Lucie Fleury 💛 Yoke of Stars - R.B. Lemberg 💙 Casting Vows - Ariella Talix 💜 Count Felford's Vessel - S. Rodman

❤️ The Actor and His Secret - Ben Alderson, Laura R. Samotin 🧡 How To Die Famous - Benjamin Dean 💛 So Witches We Became - Jill Baguchinsky 💚 The Amazing Alpha Tau Romeo and Juliet Project - Lisa Henry, Sarah Honey 💙 The Noble’s Merman - S.S. Genesee 💜 The Loudest Silence - Sydney Langford ❤️ Life is Strange - Brittney Morris 🧡 Bury Your Gays - Chuck Tingle 💛 I Will Never Leave You - Kara A. Kennedy 💙 The Blonde Dies First - Joelle Wellington 💜 Under the Lupine Moon - A. Knightley

❤️ Benji Zeb is a Ravenous Werewolf - Deke Moulton 🧡 Charlotte Illes Is Not a Teacher - Katie Siegel 💛 The Ghostkeeper - Johanna Taylor 💚 Trespass Against Us - Leon Kemp 💙 Exes & Foes - Amanda Woody 💜 The Very Long, Very Strange Life of Isaac Dahl - Bart Yates ❤️ Unbound - J.A. Vodvarka 🧡 StreamLine - Lauren Melissa Ellzey 💛 Time and Time Again - Chatham Greenfield 💙 No Road Home - John Fram 💜 Queen B - Juno Dawson 🌈 A Darker Mischief - Derek Milman

❤️ Beautiful & Terrible Things - S.M. Stevens 🧡 Benvolio & Mercutio Turn Back Time - Elle Beaumont, Lou Wilham 💛 About Last Night - Laura Henry 💚 You Had Me at Happy Hour - Timothy Janovsky 💙 Moonbane - Jamie Jennings 💜 Between Fate & Failure - Amber D. Lewis ❤️ Blessed by the Cupid Distribution System - Robin Jo Margaret 🧡 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💛 Twisted Magic - Barbara J. Webb 💙 Rare Birds - L.B. Hazelthorn 💜 At the End of the River Styx - Michelle Kulwicki 🌈 Origin Story - Jendi Reiter

❤️ Eras of Us - Shannon O'Connor 🧡 Corpses, Fools and Monsters: The History and Future of Transness in Cinema - Willow Maclay, Caden Gardner 💛 A Wolf in Stone - Jane Fletcher 💚 Toward Eternity - Anton Hur 💙 Portrait of a Shadow - Meriam Metoui 💜 Anyone's Ghost - August Thompson ❤️ Home Ice Advantage - Ari Baran 🧡 Unbelievable You - Chelsea M. Cameron 💛 Incorrect Eyes - Andromeda Ruins

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brawl-fats · 8 months ago

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Showdown!

Welcome to the Brawl Fats blog, where you can roleplay and make questions to the many current existing gals from the universe of the game.

Base Information

This blog is a fetish blog, mostly based on Weight Gain, Slob and even Inflation.

You can ask questions to all of the listed muses.

If fetish stuff is not your thing, please avoid contact.

A ❤️ and 🔁 is always appreciated!

More information below! 👇

Available Muses (RP/QnA)

[ Initial Brawler ]

Shelly (349 pounds)

[ Rare ]

Nita (652 Pounds)

Rosa (455 Pounds)

[ Super Rare ]

Jessie (600 Pounds)

Penny (589 Pounds)

Jackie (590 Pounds)

[ Epic ]

Emz (726 Pounds)

Piper (792 Pounds)

Pam (837 Pounds)

Bibi (640 Pounds)

Bea (602 Pounds)

Bonnie (220 Pounds)

Colette (735 Pounds)

Belle (611 Pounds)

Lola (569 Pounds)

Mandy (606 Pounds)

Maisie (367 Pounds)

[ Mythic ]

Tara (454 Pounds)

Max (699 Pounds)

Eve (349 Pounds)

Janet (481 Pounds)

Willow (420 Pounds)

Charlie (602 Pounds)

Melody ( 594 Pounds)

Lily (427 Pounds)

[ Legendary ]

Amber (449 Pounds)

Meg (590 Pounds)

The list will be updated when new brawlers are presented!

List of Fetishes

- Weight Gain

- Inflation (Liquid, Air, Helium, Blow kiss...)

- Extreme Weight Gain (XWG)

- Blob Weight Gain

- Slob (Light - Strong)

- Health Issues / Health Play (Light - Strong)

- Female WG

- Immobility

- Wardrobe Malfunctions

- Stuckage

- Squashing / Under-weight crushing

- Furniture Breaking

- Tight Clothes

- Farts / Braps

- Heavy Belching

- Sweat

- Salivation / Excessive Salivation

- Uber-Fat (Everything on the body grows fat, including face, hands, feet, fingers/toes, lips, forehead, etc).

- Fat Lisp / Fat Talk

- BO

- Vomit / Throwing Up

- Teasing / Fat Teasing

- Death Feederism Teasing

- Unkemptness (Messy skin/fur, food stains, long hair/fur, cellulite, acne, zits, etc).

Enjoy your stay!

#wg rp #fatter #glorify obesity #gluttonous piggy #weight gain #roleplay #brawl stars

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goodgirlgonebard · 2 days ago

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As part of slowly uploading my fics to tumblr, here is Shiver; a Willow/Astarion one-shot I wrote for a Fall in Faerûn prompt and never fully posted here ❤️

Shiver

A Baldur’s Gate 3 one-shot

It’s Fall in Faerûn, and Astarion gives Willow (Tav) his cloak to keep her warm. Takes place during early act 3. If you prefer reading on AO3, this one is on there!

Pairing: F Tav x Astarion

Tags: 18+, M/F, smut, established relationship, sharing clothes, blood drinking, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, missionary, creampie

Word count: 8K

Notes: Tav is my Willow from Dealbreaker but this one-shot takes place before any of the events of the longfic so you do not need to read that to understand anything! It has some little details people would enjoy if they do but it’s a standalone piece.

Originally shared to AO3 October 2024

Willow has always liked the changing of the seasons, better than the heat of summer or the cold of deep winter. Change has sort of always been the theme of her life, after all, and the falling of leaves in autumn that will give way to new growth in the spring has always spoken especially well to her. This time in her life that she is spending carrying a tadpole in her brain is really no different in that regard.

She was ready for a change when it all happened. Willow had been playing her flute in the street in the lower city, later into the night than usual because she had yet to make enough to cover the cost of her lodging for the week. She was practically hoping for a nautiloid tentacle to scoop her up when it did, and it had the decency to do it when she had a firm enough grip on her instrument not to lose it on the way up into the sky.

The leaves are changing now in Rivington, a few months after said tentacle-scooping. It’s a chilly day; not too cold but definitely not warm enough to be without a coat or a cloak, something that Willow was not wearing when she was snatched up and has not deigned to pick up on any of their adventures so far. She makes no mention of the gooseflesh under her lightweight jerkin or the pain in her cold ears, however, as her group of companions travels through the city in search of supplies and she is certain that she will find something warmer to wear eventually.

“Love, what do you think about this?” Astarion calls to Willow, breaking her out of her musings over the colors of the trees just beyond the shop they’ve been surveying for goods. In his hands he holds up a thick black cloak complete with a hood, so cozy looking it could nearly make Willow’s mouth water. Instead of offering it to her, however, Astarion pulls the cloak over his own body. “Quite decent for getting around unnoticed, right?”

Oh. He’s thinking about avoiding more encounters like the one they had with his siblings in the rotten little tavern down the road. Willow had thought for a second that he had noticed her slight shivering in the cold outside and was offering the cloak up to her as a suggestion, but his idea makes a lot more tactical sense.

“It looks very handsome on you,” Willow says, admiring the way the black fabric contrasts against his pale skin, somehow deepening the sharp lines of his face and his jawline. “I’m not sure about anyone not noticing you, but I like it.”

One side of his mouth turns up into a half smile at the compliment, and Astarion quickly fishes out some of the coin necessary for the purchase before bargaining with the salesperson. Willow eyes the prices on the cloaks and quickly determines that suggesting they purchase more than one would be quite silly, considering the small fortune she just spent on food and potions, and on a silly love test at the circus a couple of days ago with Astarion. It was cute, but likely not a good use of their limited coin in hindsight.

Things have been changing with Astarion, just like the weather and the rest of Willow’s life. This relationship that used to be completely reliant on his ability to rearrange her organs up against trees and her ability to stay conscious while he gets his fill of blood is now budding with new growth like a rose bush in the spring; having shed all of their leaves back in Reithwin after Astarion confessed to being a scheming liar back when they first met.

Now, there has been no rearranging of any organs since that midnight confessional. Not even a single orgasm out of either of them — well, not together; Willow has needs that get met in her own time by her own hand. Things have been a bit strained, quite frankly, as the two of them have been learning how to operate as a couple that talks to each other and goes their separate ways at night. Willow, truthfully, has never been in a real relationship before, and obviously Astarion hasn’t, either, and the learning curve has been evident for them both.

Astarion fully pulls the cloak over himself, including the hood over his head as soon as his purchase is complete and makes his way back over to Willow. “Happy with it?” She asks him, reaching for the fabric once he’s within her grasp.

“As a clam, darling,” he responds, extending his arms out to touch her. For a moment Willow’s heart leaps within her chest, believing he is going to hold her within this little shop, but he simply takes her by the arm and pulls her along toward the door. “We’d better catch up with the others. Don’t want to lose track of them again.”

The others are still gathered where they left them in the middle of the shopping center of Rivington, waiting for their return. Drawing nearer to the city has been especially dangerous, particularly for Astarion, and Willow is grateful as she sees them all together that they decided to wait up. She and Astarion have been quite prone to getting distracted and falling behind — previously due to other things, now due to the simple pilfering of items together — and they are not always so generous.

“Love birds!” Karlach calls, loud enough to make Willow blush and glance at Astarion. She finds him already looking at her, a smirk clear across his face but shielded from the others with the hood of his new cloak.

While Willow and Astarion were in the shop, some of their companions had apparently suggested that the group spend this night in Rivington enjoying themselves before beginning their search for a murderer at dawn. And surprisingly, everyone appears to be in agreement.

“This is a stark difference from the shadow curse,” Jaheira, someone Willow definitely thought would be protesting slowing down for the night, says easily. “And the ale this time of year?” The older woman places her fingers against her lips and kisses them, clearly fantasizing about a good mug of said ale.

“Could make a cold belly warm,” Wyll seems to agree with her, bobbing his horned head toward the wretched little tavern down the road where Astarion ran into his siblings. “Why don’t we go on and pick some up, High Harper? Let everyone else get set up by the beach.”

“The beach?” Willow asks in surprise, her eyes widening at the realization of the location they have already picked. “Won’t that be a bit… chilly?”

“Perfect for a big ‘ole fire, soldier!” Karlach responds, slapping her on the shoulder. Karlach’s hand provides some amount of warmth, and suddenly Willow finds herself wishing circumstances were a bit different and Astarion was the one with the infernal heart to keep her warm all the time.

When their entire troupe makes it to the beach, Willow could almost forget how cold she is supposed to be as she runs around picking up crunchy leaves and firewood, then sorting through miscellaneous food from all of their packs to create a feast. She and Shadowheart carry bales of hay from a seemingly abandoned windmill down the road to gather around the fire and by the edge of the water, perfect for watching the stars in the sky. For the first time in a long while, it appears that they all may get a chance to have a fun night together.

“Do you want to sit together?” Willow asks Astarion once he’s back from his last chore, having been waiting for him to come back since Jaheira asked him to get one more carafe of ale for the night. He tosses it down into the sand next to the others, sighing dramatically at the Harper before offering Willow a grin back.

“I would love nothing more,” he says, following her toward one of the hay bales she purposefully positioned away from the others, by the shore of the river.

As beautiful as the sun setting over the water is, as soon as she stops moving the beach is just as cold as Willow anticipated. It feels as if the chilly air blowing over the river’s surface is flying directly throw the threads of Willow’s clothing, only to be trapped against her skin. She huddles close to Astarion, leaning her head against the soft fabric of the cloak, but it isn’t enough to stop the cold from making her teeth begin to chatter.

“Is it that bad?” Astarion asks, taking her by the shoulders to take a good look at her face. Willow shudders in response, nodding back at him. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It happened so fast!” She exclaims, “It feels like the summer solstice was just a few tendays ago.”

“Summer solstice happened when we were in the Underdark, my sweet,” Astarion says, with this little pout on his lips that makes Willow think he says my sweet only because he can’t call her an idiot. Being that they are in a real relationship now, and all.

“Well,” Willow shrugs, exasperated, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not really one to be checking a calendar, either.”

The comment from Willow makes a blush creep across her cheeks as they both exchange a knowing glance. She and Astarion have been seeing each other near nightly long enough that he is well aware of a certain event that happens every single month somehow always catching her off guard, due to Willow’s lack of keeping track of the days while traveling.

Astarion shakes his head. “Here, take this.” He removes his hands from Willow’s shoulders to reach for the clasps of the cloak just as she expects, and Willow takes both of his hands into hers to stop him.

“That’s yours,” she says.

“Take it, Willow,” he insists, shaking off her hands and pulling off the cloak anyway. He holds it out to her but she does not take it, and he rolls his eyes with his usual drama as he drapes it over her shoulders himself.

“You don’t have to be so nice, you know?” Willow whispers, trying not to draw the attention of any of the others only a few feet away from them, skipping rocks across the water. “I just want you to be you.”

Astarion sighs, his breath visible in the cool air above Willow’s head as he adjusts the clasp on the cloak. She doesn’t physically protest him placing it on her, but the move feels oddly intimate in a way they have rarely been with each other recently. Non-sexual; comforting and soft in front of the eyes of all of their friends. They have kissed in front of their friends, and called each other pet names enough that everyone is well aware of their relationship. But this simple gesture is somehow different to Willow.

“That’s not what this is about,” he says, equally as quietly. “I really do not enjoy seeing you shiver.” He straightens the cloak out, maybe a bit excessively, making sure to cover every bit of Willow’s shoulders and arms. His hands brush against her neck as he adjusts the short collar on it, creating an involuntary ripple across her body in response.

“Well, unless it’s that kind of shiver, I suppose,” he murmurs with a little grin on his face, resting one hand in the place that caused the sudden reaction. Willow can feel his fingers knit into strands of her hair, and he feels close. So close to her.

“Are you sure you won’t be too cold? It’s my fault I didn’t wear something more appropriate,” Willow asks, wanting to give him one last opportunity to take his plush, snugly warm clothing back — though now that it’s on her, she really does not want to give it back. Though Astarion’s body does not carry much of its own heat, some amount of warmth has been trapped inside of the fabric of the piece of clothing, now heating Willow from the outside, in.

“Think of it this way, love,” he says, holding out his free, newly exposed wrist that sticks out from his leather armor into the light of the setting sun. “I may not have that much time left to feel the sun, freezing or not. I should enjoy it while I can.”

At the mention of his inability to enjoy the sun prior to the tadpole insertion, something immediately clicks off in Willow’s brain; each time he reminds her of his life before — his life in the wretched dark with those scars being carved into his back, starving on the stone floor of the kennels as she saw so vividly when she connected her tadpole to his that night he first drank from her — her inner monologue tells her to stop. Hit the brakes.

He deserves sweetness in his life. He deserves to decide to be sweet.

“Thank you, Astarion,” Willow says then, barely missing a beat despite all of the thoughts that passed through her mind at once. She leans her head to the side, purposefully placing her cheek against the hand resting on her shoulder. “I’ll wear it, then. Though you may regret it when I decide to keep it because it smells like you already.”

It isn’t hard to get things to smell like him, of course; Willow knows very well that the bergamot on his skin is not his natural scent, but something he does purposefully. Still, it sticks to the thick fabric of the new cloak already, and it reminds her of him all the same.

His eyes widen, shock overtaking his face for only a moment before his smile grows wider. “That may be a possibility. Though I will need something in return from you.”

Willow’s heart squeezes within her chest at the flirtatious tone, and she glances over her shoulder briefly at their other friends further down the shore. They are laughing and drinking around the fire, and Wyll has even begun throwing a fishing line into the river. Things she does not want to completely miss out on.

“We can discuss it later,” Willow says, lifting her hand to Astarion’s cheek, “I’ll come to your bed to make sure you get your dinner tonight, after all of the festivities.”

“Love, I am salivating already,” he whispers, turning his mouth into her hand. He touches his lips to her palm, gently kissing at the skin without breaking eye contact with Willow. “Are you sure we cannot get away sooner?”

“You know I would say yes,” Willow says, “if we could trust Shadowheart to be sober for more than another hour.”

Astarion exhales a chuckle into her hand, well aware of the truth about their friend and her penchant for drinking — especially knowing she had a run-in with one of her former Sharran colleagues earlier today. Shadowheart needs comfort from them both.

“I’ll let you steal a kiss,” Willow offers, running the pad of her thumb across his lips. They don’t feel as soft as they usually do, likely due to the cold weather; Willow makes a mental note to get Astarion a balm of some kind before she accidentally starts putting rips in that delicate skin when they kiss. “Or a few, if you’re good about it.”

“Have I ever—“ he begins to protest, feigned offense in his voice, but Astarion stops himself quickly. “Fine,” he says instead, seemingly deciding he would rather kiss than continue playfully arguing about the merits of his kissing.

To Willow’s surprise, one of Astarion’s fingers hooks underneath the clasp of the cloak sitting just atop her collarbones, yanking her into his mouth. When Willow had suggested stealing a kiss she had pictured a few pecks, but she should know Astarion better than that by now; he goes in for the kill.

This has never really changed, despite the intentions behind it changing; and it has always felt like a reprieve from the madness of their reality. Willow’s other hand finds its way up to Astarion’s unoccupied cheek, cupping him fully just as she did the first time they had each other back in the druid’s grove. Even in the brisk air of autumn, and even though his body runs cold and so much uncertainty fills both of their lives, their kiss could fill Willow with the warmth of the sun.

They could get lost in this kiss for the rest of the night, too, if not for the flopping fish that ends up falling right next to Willow’s foot on the beach.

“My apologies!” Jaheira calls when Willow turns around with a start, flush-faced and mildly annoyed. The druid holds a fishing pole in her hands, and smirks in a way that says that was not accidental. “Maybe that is your fish tonight, bard!”

Willow turns back to Astarion, exchanging an eye roll with him. “Later,” he says easily, just before he finally gives her the tiny peck on the lips she was expecting previously. Willow shivers even beneath her cloak, thinking about later.

The soft black cloak sits upon Willow’s shoulders for the rest of the evening, keeping her body warm as she and her companions skip rocks across the river, scrounge through Rivington’s main drag for food and sit by the campfire all together to eat the fish some of their talented friends are able to catch. Of course Wyll and Jaheira would be good at fishing, being Baldurian right down to their bones. Willow is not so keen on fish, having grown up a bit more inland than the others, but she eats it and drinks her fill of ale knowing that she has a promise to keep to Astarion later.

All throughout the night Willow exchanges little glances with the vampire; sneaky stares across the fire as Shadowheart braids Willow’s hair, and even a wink as she watches Astarion down a mug of Jaheira’s highly recommended ale, before he wipes his mouth with a grimace. All leading up to the buzzing in Willow’s body as she sets up her own tent just to leave it behind, heading straight for Astarion’s at the edge of camp.

No matter how long they’ve known each other now, or how many times they’ve visited each other late into the night so that Astarion can get his fill, the sweet feelings of anticipation have yet to fade for Willow. Hopefulness for how he will look at her or what they will talk about, the way his hands will feel against her skin even just to hold her neck still while he drinks; all of it is still so exciting. Especially now that Willow knows this is something real.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to join me,” Astarion says surreptitiously as Willow pulls open the curtain, waiting on his back with a book in his hands. He slams it shut just as soon as Willow drops to the floor, and props himself up on his arms to meet her at eye level.

Willow quickly unclasps the warm cloak, tossing it to the floor to reveal her neck to him fully. While in her own tent she changed out of her stiff jerkin and into a more comfortable chemise over her leggings, to allow him more access to her skin. “I keep my promises,” she says, maintaining her flirtatious tone from earlier, but not daring to suggest anything else when allowing him to drink from her is all that has been promised.

Without the cloak around her body, the chilled air does not feel nearly as bad within Astarion’s tent as it did by the beach, but it is definitely noticeable. Willow finds herself wishing for the comforts of her own tent — or better yet, a real bed inside a warm inn — but reaches for one of Astarion’s thin blankets to make the best of the situation. He has never been much for creature comforts when it comes to his tent — not as much as Willow, at least.

Willow flips around onto her side, facing away from Astarion but offering her neck to him on the pillow of his bedroll as she drapes the blanket over the rest of her body. “We’re going to have to find a warm place to make our camps soon,” she mutters, trying to communicate her reasoning for this without complaining to him. Willow has always thought it must seem very silly to someone like Astarion to have to listen to little complaints about the weather, considering everything he has endured.

A familiar hand drifts around her body, outside the blanket over her arms and across her abdomen. When he speaks, Astarion’s breath is in Willow’s neck. “There are other ways to keep you warm, you know,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry. A shiver runs down Willow’s spine as the arm around her pulls her body in close to his, pressing all of their limbs together.

“Is that right?” Willow responds. “Would you care to show me?”

Astarion sighs, and his forced breath feels warm against the skin of her neck, making all of the tiny hairs stand on end. “It’s been quite some time,” he says, “and I want to. But…”

He allows the word to linger in the air, and there are so many different places Willow could take it.

But he may not be ready. That alone is enough.

But there is the threat of Cazador weighing heavily upon both of their minds; the vampire no doubt searching for Astarion for the completion of his wretched ritual. Cazador knows Astarion is in Rivington, after that encounter with the vampire spawn siblings.

But they are in a thin tent on a freezing cold night, with a wizard and a warlock on each respective side.

“You can just drink,” Willow says with what she hopes is a reassuring shrug, “we don’t need to do anything else.” Despite the chilled air, Willow lifts one of her hands out of the warmth within their blanket to run her fingers along her own neck, and then reach for the soft skin of Astarion’s cheek, beckoning him closer. He follows the lead, no doubt spurred on by the healing scabs lingering from a few nights ago that Willow feels with her fingertips, and his lips brush gently against her skin.

The only time Astarion doesn’t tease her is likely when it comes to drinking from her; he does it without much more warning than that feeling of his lips, before his fangs are digging beneath the surface and into whatever mighty vascular wall he’s found for himself to feast upon. Willow winces at the feeling despite how many times they’ve done it, and by instinct or on purpose — she may never know or remember to ask him — Astarion’s hand cups around her neck, holding her head in place. And Willow, definitely not on purpose, moans.

Astarion chuckles as he drinks, humored by the noise. It’s quiet, but he’s so close that Willow can feel his neck vibrate against her shoulder. “Oh, fuck off,” she mutters, her voice strained from the multiple points of stress being placed on her neck.

It’s his fault, really, that it does this to her. It was Astarion who bit Willow the first time they had sex, as she reached a fevered peak on the forest floor. It was Astarion who continued to bite her nearly each climax afterward, quickly turning her into some Pavlovian vampire experiment that becomes aroused every single time he pierces his teeth into her neck. The act, if completely isolated, wouldn’t be so pleasurable, but the thoughts that run through her mind as he does it are sinful.

Soft lips surround those cold fangs, and Willow can only think of them trailing further down her neck once he finishes with her blood. A tingle passes over her skin now at the thought of it; lips down her neck, over the mounds of each breast, down her stomach until he reaches her thighs. As focused on his manipulative mission as Astarion was before his confession, he never did take the time to give Willow the attention there she so desperately desires. She thinks he would do an excellent job of it, now.

Before Willow can stop herself, another moan escapes her lips as she squeezes her legs together, feeling the heat of her blood being pulled from her body by way of his mouth. Instead of laughing it off this time Astarion tugs her closer, tightening the hold of his other arm around her front. If she didn’t care for him so much, this might be horrifying. Instead, it’s invigorating.

Astarion takes the tiniest step further, rolling his hips into Willow at the same pace with which he gulps. Against her thigh she can feel the hardness of his cock, surely threatening to burst right through the fabric of his leggings. Maybe it’s only because of her blood, giving him new life as he takes it from her, but Willow hasn’t felt him like this in ages. Willow knows and understands why they have been touching each other less, and she would rather have his emotional availability than only his body, but it feels good to know that he still wants her like this.

Still, at some point, the pleasure begins to dim as too much of Willow’s blood is lost to Astarion’s stomach. His body warms as her body cools, almost enough to fool her into believing that she isn’t dying from his drink. It’s the familiar feeling within her brain that snaps Willow back into the reality that she is, in fact, going to die if she does not stop him — it’s almost euphoric for just a moment, until she feels as if she is going to fall into a wonderful, beautiful sleep to stop the dizziness.

“Astarion,” Willow gasps out, digging her nails into his arm. He pulls out of her neck suddenly, leaving sharp pain behind from a sloppy removal. For a few seconds Willow hears nothing behind her but short, labored breaths from his lips, until a sudden stream of muttered apologies fall from them as he laps at the messy wounds.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothes him, despite the pain in her neck and the spinning of her brain. Willow hesitates for a moment, trying to think of what to say next. “Um, do you mind if we go to my tent? I can heal this up myself, if I can have my flute.”

“You want— you want me to come with you?” Astarion stutters, surprised enough that it makes Willow turn around despite her dizziness to see the look on his face. He looks almost drunk, with wild eyes and Willow’s blood dripping down at either side of his mouth. His eyes dart between hers and her neck, where she can feel hot blood dribbling into her once-pretty blue chemise.

Willow smiles at him, feeling a bit sheepish now at the realization that much of what she felt just happened only happened within her mind. But he did touch her neck like that, and she would bet her life on the fact that he’s still hard beneath the blanket now crumpled atop his lap. “I just thought maybe you’d want to… continue what you started.”

“What I started?” Astarion protests, but he cannot hide the smile creeping up at his lips — nor does he seem to be trying to hide his smile, as he lifts his hand to Willow’s neck to wipe at the dripping blood.

“What your mouth started,” Willow counters, feeling herself grow slightly more confident under the touch of his hand. “Your mouth could finish it, too.”

A beat of silence, or maybe a full measure passes, with Willow’s heart pounding out of her chest as she awaits his response. Astarion licks her blood from his thumb with a delectable moan, then leans in to tongue at the open wound once again. The trail of blood is quite egregious by now and he traces it from the bite down to the lace of her nightclothes, thorough enough that Willow knows he must have gotten all of it, but he keeps going. Before she can act, before she can speak, his mouth has slipped down to the delicate skin of her breast, sucking and pulling where there is no blood for him to feast upon.

“Please,” Willow begs, not wanting to stop him but reaching a hand into his hair to pull him back anyway. With a single tug his eyes meet hers again, wide and confused. “I really need to heal myself, Astarion. I would like to be conscious if we’re going to do anything.”

The smile returns. “Fine, then. Put the robe back on, lest you catch a chill in that thing.”

Okay, so maybe Willow knows the little chemise wasn’t the best idea for what to wear to come see him tonight. But she cannot help it that she wants to look decent for him despite the scratches and bruises across both of their bodies, and a revealing little nightdress over her leggings is a bit more flattering than a clumsily knitted sweater, and easier for biting than her high-necked jerkin from Volo. Willow can only flush as she reaches for the cloak again across the floor of Astarion’s tent, not wanting to admit to any of it.

The short walk to Willow’s tent is silent, her body covered by the cloak and Astarion holding his blanket in his arms, inconspicuously bunched up to cover the front of his pants and his abdomen. Slick. They manage to slip by Halsin on watch unnoticed, as the hulking elf appears to be huddled over some kind of whittling project tonight. Willow’s tent is spaced just between that of Shadowheart and Jaheira, at the edge furthest from the water she could possibly get.

It’s a bit of a mess inside, as she did not expect to be bringing Astarion back here. Clothes are strewn about, all just as inappropriate for the current weather as what she has on now. Willow scrambles to throw everything into a neat pile in the corner, mumbling something about a long night as her head continues to spin. Her flute is the tidiest part of her tent, always tucked away snugly into its case, and she slides the pieces back together with ease to perform a couple of quick healing spells on herself — one to quicken the pace of how her wounds are sealing up, and another to restore her body of its blood.

“Anything sweet you can play for me?” Astarion calls from behind her on the floor, as soon as Willow’s head stops spinning. She turns to look at him, finding him staring back at her with his legs crossed and a surreptitious smile across his face, blood still smeared across his lips.

“Do you really want me to?”

“No,” he says quickly, “there are better ways I can think of to wake the others.”

“A fair point,” Willow mutters, gently placing her flute back into the safety of its encasement. She turns around then, shuffling on her knees and unclasping the cloak once more, this time letting it fall to the floor of her tent, over the plush layer of blankets and sheets she’s gathered for herself over the course of their journey.

The two of them are not very prone to bouts of silence, given how much both of them enjoy talking and passing their own stupid jokes back and forth, but for a moment on the floor of Willow’s tent she cannot think of what to say and Astarion does not speak, either. This — whatever it is that they are doing — feels unfamiliar now. Uncharted, frigid waters that Willow wants nothing more but to dive into, but not before Astarion does.

Instead of speaking or moving any closer, Willow decides to remove her now-bloodstained little top, gripping the silky fabric at the bottom hem and pulling it over her head. Underneath it, of course, her breasts are bare, and her nipples are hard from the chill of the air around them, but the chemise was dirty — it had to be removed, and she tells Astarion as much without a word, only briefly holding up the stained fabric to show him before tossing it aside.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, finally breaking the silence with a feigned pout across his lips. “If you’ll take the rest off, that is.”

Willow cocks her head to the side, attempting to look coy despite the flush she can feel creeping down from her cheeks into all of the pale, freckled skin now bare to Astarion and his cursed darkvision. “Will you do the same?”

Astarion scoffs, at first, but his jaw clamps shut as soon as Willow wiggles her thumbs into either side of her leggings. She pulls both layers of clothing down under her hip bones first, slowly teasing both herself and the elf across the floor from her as more of her skin becomes exposed. He seems to take the hint and pulls his shirt over his head, and it’s enough for Willow to take the leggings off completely — leaving only her underwear and her thickest pair of woolen socks, the latter of which will not be coming off.

“And what must I do for the last little item?” Astarion asks with a sigh, gesturing toward the underwear, which has already been pulled down to barely cover anything at all.

“That’s for you to take off yourself,” Willow responds, laughing as she crawls across the floor to finally get close to him. “I can’t take all the fun, can I?”

As soon as she can reach him Willow touches her hands to his bare arms, which now feel warm to her freezing extremities, as full as he is of her blood. It’s enough to make Willow slip her own arms under his and crawl into his lap on the floor, just to press their bodies together.

“Now what was this you said about keeping me warm?” Willow murmurs, her face only centimeters away from his.

“Well,” he says, clearly trying to act indignant, “if you’re going to be such a little tease, I’m not sure that you deserve it.”

“Well,” Willow responds, copying the cadence of his voice. She wiggles herself in closer to him, enough to rub the only garment standing in their way against his abdomen, and Astarion’s face twitches. “I was thinking you’d take them off with your teeth, being my vampire lover and all.”

He laughs, suddenly breaking through all of the awkward silence within Willow’s tent. His laugh is deep and radiates all throughout his body; the sound surely carrying beyond the thin walls surrounding them, but Willow’s mind does not drift to their friends trying to sleep off their drunkenness in camp. Her body relaxes against his, and finally Astarion pulls her in for the kiss she has been hoping to resume since they were so rudely interrupted by Jaheira’s fish-throwing.

He had kissed her neck back in his tent, but the touch of their lips together is a completely different flavor of intoxicating. To Willow this feels more intimate, as she can give just as much back to him as she receives; with every push of his lips she pushes back, soft flesh against soft flesh until his tongue searches for further entry. Willow allows it and gives him the lead, instead focusing on moving their bodies closer together. With her knees on either side of Astarion she can roll herself against him, inviting him to do more. Take more.

Willow lifts her hands to his face to hold him closer as they kiss, taking in his cheek with one and running softly down the point of his ear with the other. He moans into her mouth, and only a second later Willow feels him grip harshly at her hands, ripping them away and up over both of their heads. Suddenly, Willow finds herself with her back against the floor.

“You are beautiful,” Astarion murmurs, hardly audible over the sound of Willow’s breathing as he pulls his lips away from hers. His mouth trails slowly down from her chin to her neck, kissing at the fresh wounds from minutes ago as he leisurely makes his descent. “My darling Willow.”

Willow only sighs in response, unable to muster up the breath or the coherent thought for anything else. It has become clear to her that he is intent on doing what she suggested earlier — finishing what he started with his mouth — as he releases her hands from his grip and continues moving down her body with his lips. The slow trail of kisses downward is a tried and true method, but that makes it no less exciting to have him doing it. Willow loves Astarion. Maybe he doesn’t know that yet, but she does, and it makes every touch of his lips feel that much more monumental.

“Is that alright?” The gentleness of his voice is a surprise as his lips graze over her abdomen, over the scar he bore witness to her receiving within the shadow-cursed lands. Willow props herself up on one elbow to look at Astarion, with his mouth pressed against the skin just below the garish, crescent-shaped mark. Suddenly his eyes are less playful than they have been all night; he looks back at her with some form of wide-eyed adoration, waiting for her response.

“Only because it’s you,” she murmurs back to him, offering a small smile. Willow lifts her other hand to his head, tracing her thumb across his forehead as her fingers lace through the soft locks of his hair. “My gentle dove.”

He chuckles — that nickname has humored him ever since she first started using it — but when he kisses her again he aims for one of her hip bones, wet and languid. He works his way lower and lower, never taking his deep red eyes off of hers as if they can speak to each other through this contact. Willow imagines that they are far off from any confessions of undying love — given how not far off they are from such confessions of manipulation — but this is enough. This is more than enough.

Gentle is not the word Willow would use to describe what Astarion does when he reaches the mound of flesh in between her thighs, the part of his journey down her body she has been most eagerly waiting for. The hands that had been so lovingly holding her hips in place slip down to her legs, in between her knees, and pull her thighs apart so forcefully that Willow falls back against the pillows behind her on the floor. She feels the touch of his mouth against the uppermost part of her thigh only briefly, and then the distinct feeling of her underwear being roughly pulled off down the rest of the length of her legs before he returns to position.

“Since you gave me such a treat,” Willow hears him say as his breath tickles at the wetness already pooled between her legs, though she can no longer see him, “won’t you allow me to return the favor, my love?”

Willow can’t help but gasp out a little laugh, only out of her own confusion. “But I didn’t do anything.“

“Your blood and precious kisses before bed have gotten me through many nights, love,” he admits, his voice deeper as if he’s embarrassed. It takes Willow a moment to realize what he means, but as soon as she does, her mouth gapes open at the thought.

Thoughts of Astarion alone in his tent after drinking her blood and kissing her until she’s breathless fill Willow’s mind. After they say goodnight and Willow goes back to her tent to either fall asleep to the thoughts of a future full of him or to pleasure herself to her memories of him. Has he been doing the same?

“Oh, that’s—“ Willow starts to say, feeling a hot flush take over the skin of her face. Before she can finish Astarion interrupts her by clamping his mouth onto her center, making Willow throw her head back against the pillows with a loud yelp.

His tongue slides slowly across her clit and down to her opening, back and forth while Willow sighs with relief at making it this far. After a moment, however, she can tell that he’s waiting for some kind of cue from her on what she prefers; while Willow may have been a bit of a novice at sex on the forest floor, she is not a novice at this. Willow has done plenty of this, on both sides of it.

She slips one of her hands down to his head, gripping once more at his hair to pull him into the direction she desires — with his chin up, mouth directly against her clit, eyes on her in the dim light. His mouth continues to work softly, slowly against her, biding his time for a faster pace.

“I actually prefer this over your fingers,” Willow admits, tightening her grip in his hair. His eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised by her confession. Hopefully it doesn’t hurt his feelings. “But a bit of both has never killed anyone.”

His eyebrows relax, maybe even into what would be a simper on his face if his mouth were not so occupied. Astarion flexes his fingers against Willow’s hip before slipping his hand where she cannot see it, and a moment later she feels it — that expert touch, just inside her entrance.

Willow’s head rolls back into her pillow, and her hand pushes his face further into her center while her thighs squeeze around his head. It’s Astarion — not Willow — who releases a low, guttural moan from his throat, as if he can feel the tendrils of warmth climbing up from Willow’s delighted nerve endings just as she can. Licks of fire heat her thighs and her abdomen from the bolts of pleasure he provides, easily making good on his promise to keep her warm.

She feels Astarion shift positions, removing his other hand from her hip; and while it’s not unpleasant, Willow cannot help but to look to see what he’s doing. Willow sits herself up on one elbow again only to see him up on his knees rather than his stomach, using his free hand to raggedly pull at his cock.

“Gods,” she mutters under her breath, staring longingly at him and at the arousal pooling at his tip. She thinks that this is all it will be — one glance at the beauty of him before the coil within her abdomen will unravel within the next minute or less, and then maybe he will come, too, and then it will all be over. Their eyes meet again in the dark, and Willow tries to offer him a weak smile.

Astarion’s mouth unlatches from her clit a second later, unexpectedly stopping Willow’s trip to the peak. For a second, he says nothing, only watching Willow struggle to breathe while he continues to stroke himself in his hand; but then he clears his throat. “Do you want to—?”

“Yes,” she interrupts him, much too excited at what she presumes he is suggesting.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he teases, a sly look overtaking his face.

“Well, do you want to finish?” Willow questions, laughing despite the discomfort of sitting here, unfathomably aroused. “Because you can either do it on the floor or in me, it’s really up to you.”

Astarion shakes his head with a chuckle, but only a moment later he is slipping his fingers out and crawling over her, covering her body on the floor with his. Instinctively Willow widens her legs further, allowing him to skip past his usual amount of teasing and simply burrow his length within her as both their hips and their foreheads meet each other in the dark. There’s a definite stretch to taking him in after so long apart, but Willow bites back any commentary on it.

“I hope you know this isn’t going to last very long,” Astarion whispers, surely as a warning for how he is about to pull himself out nearly completely and plunge back in, making himself and Willow gasp.

“Way ahead of you,” Willow responds, “I was seconds away.”

This close to each other, Willow cannot make out any of the expressions that cross his eyes, but she can make out the smile that curls up at one side of his lips. His hand slips between them, circling her clit as he continues the slide of his hips, and within seconds Willow can feel the tightness of that fevered peak returning to her abdomen, begging to be released.

“So close,” she can just barely mutter, her voice suddenly hoarse from the anticipation of it. It feels good just to be close to him, just to have him like this after so long even if it will only be brief before they take another long break, and for a second all Willow can think about is how to have him closer as she meets the edge. She threads her fingers into his hair just as she did when his head was between her legs, and pulls him in for a kiss as pleasure blooms all across her body.

Against her lips Astarion moans, and a moment later the pace of his hips shudders and slows as he reaches his own peak. He feels warm as he flows into her, heated by Willow’s blood within his body, as if they can share everything with each other. He doesn’t detach his mouth from hers, either, holding her there in a reckless embrace until every bit of him is spent, and Willow takes it all greedily.

When he is done spilling into her he pulls his lips away, but he presses their cheeks together and breathes as if he really, actually needs to catch his breath. And Willow is unsure of what to do when it’s over. All she knows is that she doesn’t want to let him go. Maybe she never, ever wants to let him go at all.

Instead of letting him go, she runs her lips up and down his ear as softly as she can, kissing him at the pointed tip, the hard cartilage in the middle and the soft, ticklish lobe at the bottom. Astarion sighs contentedly into the kisses, allowing her to do it until he decides to pull himself out from inside of her, and out of her embrace.

Though not as conniving as Astarion, Willow is quick to try and wrack her brain for some way to keep him within this tent. “I’m already cold again,” she whines, curling herself up into a dramatic ball on her side.

“You may keep the cloak, then,” Astarion laughs, draping the garment over Willow’s body from behind, before following it with a blanket. “And I —“ he says, dramatically snatching something off of the floor before dangling Willow’s underwear in front of her eyes, “— will be keeping these.”

“Astarion!” Willow protests, staring at his hand in shock.

“What? I told you I’d want something in return,” he says, his tone light with laughter. He holds the underwear still as he wraps his arms around her under the blanket, pressing his warm body to hers. “I’d say it’s an equal exchange.”

“Fine,” Willow mumbles, feigning anger over the entire thing. She really doesn’t care about the underwear — it’s an old pair. “Can you stay here the entire night, though? Keep me warm just by holding me, too?”

For a moment, she is met with silence. Astarion shuffles behind her, pushing his nose into the crease behind Willow’s ear in a way that makes her shiver, and he laughs. “I like making you do that,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly soft. “For you, my love — I suppose I can share a bit of the warmth you gave me.”

Tonight as Willow closes her eyes, she does not have to merely dream about falling asleep next to Astarion; it’s real. And she hopes that this will be the first of many, many nights together like this, whether they are engaging in other activities together or not.

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#my fics #bg3 smut #bg3 astarion x tav #astarion smut #smut #nsft

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