#HOW ABOUT WE READ THE POLITE AUTHORS NOTE

[cowboyschumi]

HEARTLESS

Summary: Lando Norris has entered his heartless era with no intention of leaving it anytime soon. Now he’s hunting for prey on Raya, and that’s where he stumbles upon you.

Author’s note: Y'all really thirst over Mister Norris, my god. English is not my first language. Enjoy the reading lovelies, interactions are much appreciated.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, cheating mention, cursing ig. Tried to be inclusive, reader's gender is not specified.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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Luisa was the best Lando ever had, everyone knew it including him, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. The only ones cheering over their breakup were jealous, parasocial thirteen-year-olds.

But that was long ago. He moved on pretty quickly, not exactly beating the cheating allegations. Russian model this, Brazilian actress that… and it was all true. There was no denying. He was really enjoying his singleness, having a blast every heated Sunday. But beyond that? Nothing. He got scared easily by commitment or brushed off any trace of a slight chance of dating someone seriously.

He didn’t know why, this tendency to avoid and escape. Deep down, he knew he was hurt. Not hurt by someone else, though. He did it all by himself, ruining the only real thing he ever had. Fans who cared pointed it out: 'His spark is missing,' 'We miss silly old Lando!'

And after claiming he didn’t want to mature because he was happy where he was, he finally matured. Or at least, he pretended to, showing himself as nonchalant and bold. Expressiveness and cameras were just a performance, because in his daily life, he still acted like a teenage boy, eager to get laid

Anyone with an average experience on dating apps knew they were the worst—a way to boost egos based on looks, only to end up rejected and discarded. Raya seemed different, more polite, you guessed. You weren’t the dating type, but curiosity got the best of you. You wanted to know what the hype was about.

Lando, on the other hand, spent most of his day on that app. Every girl swiped right on him, but he rarely matched with someone he actually liked. He wasn’t too strict about looks, he was more of a 'the bigger, the better' type of guy.

Raya wasn’t Tinder. Access was limited, and confidentiality was a must. That’s why you were really surprised when you got in after an exhausting approval process. Your friends freaked out, screamed, and practically climbed the walls of your apartment—the excitement was real. Maybe even a little more than yours.

"Hand me the phone." I don’t even know all these people you’re swiping left and right on." Your patience was limited, and your friends knew exactly how to test it. They kept using your Raya like it was theirs while you minded your own business, eating ice cream. You had no intention of swiping, and the girls knew it, that’s why they took matters into their own hands.

"Oh. My. God. Shut up."

"That’s Lando Norris!" One of them immediately snatched the phone from your friend’s hands.

"Who’s Lando Norris?"

They looked at you like you had just committed a crime, or like they’d seen a ghost behind you. You weren’t sure if your question was out of place or if it was the fact that you had just spoken with a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth

"You’re kidding, right?" Finally, one of them spoke after a long, awkward silence.

FOMO—a word used by chronically online people to describe the fear of missing out, not knowing what’s going on, feeling excluded. That was exactly how you felt for not knowing who Lando Norris was.

"Formula One driver?" Now the phone was in your hands. You were reading his description with the screen practically glued to your face, like a mom who can’t see a thing unless it’s that close.

"That guy beat Verstappen a few times, right?" That was the only thing you could come up with, just from scrolling through Twitter and catching bits of the news. You didn’t know a single thing about the sport.

And sometimes, famous people liked that: their love interests not knowing anything about them, their jobs, the rumors, or the creepy facts.

Your Raya profile didn’t have anything special, aside from your picture-perfect photos. Celebrities didn’t actually care about you deep down—only if you fit their beauty standards. Being active and checking profiles wasn’t on your to-do list. It was just pure curiosity.

But somehow, you two matched. May the universe know under what circumstances and why.

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"When will I have the chance to meet you?"

His text was blunt, like you already knew each other. Maybe even a little desperate.

"What happened to 'Hello, how are you, my name is…'?"

You answered sarcastically, but truthfully. Not introducing yourselves was kind of rude. But you got the point, Lando didn’t care about who you were or what you had to say. The quicker you ended up in his bed, the better.

He laughed at your text, you had the kind of sense of humor he’d fall for. He wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed how obsessed girls were with him and how quickly the dirty talk escalated with just one message. But to his surprise, you weren’t that easy to win over.

"Haha, sorry. Is dinner fine with you?"

Wow, he was really a bad texter. The driest you’d ever seen, dare you say. Was it a guy thing or just a wannabe mysterious famous person thing? You hoped the conversation would be better in person because, damn, it’d be a shame if his pretty face had nothing to say.

"Send me the addy. I don’t need an F1 driver picking me up, I’d rather pass."

Your fear of speed was a thing.

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Lando was attractive. You weren’t exactly interested, but nervousness ran through your veins. Dates always did this over you—stuttering, sweaty palms, and way too much overthinking. You even considered canceling, but your friends wouldn’t let you.

You were a fashion design student, meaning you had some knowledge of trends and what suited your silhouette. Lately, silky long attires were your go-to for night fits; simple, elegant. You dressed for yourself, for comfort, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention and the flattering compliments on your fashion sense.

Monaco was small. Getting anywhere was a short drive, so the Uber didn’t take long. But as you stepped out of the car, your stomach twisted. The restaurant in front of you was huge, glowing with warm lights, yet no people coming in or out. The classic internet trap flashed through your mind—what if there was no Lando Norris waiting for you at all?

“Y/N?”

His voice sounded unsure. He was glued to his phone, shamelessly checking if you actually looked like the pictures he’d been thirsting over on that awful app.

You turned around slowly, mentally cursing yourself, and then your friends. And there he was.

He really screamed Formula One driver. The expensive car gave him away immediately. You had boots on, and he was wearing sneakers, making him not nearly as tall as you expected. You bit your cheek, trying not to laugh at the fact that you were practically the same height.

How were you supposed to act on a date with someone worldwide famous?

Lando leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you instinctively extended your hand for a handshake instead. The night hadn’t even started, and you already wanted the earth to swallow you.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm, effortlessly charming. Gentleman, innit?

You hesitated before looping your arm through his, still not saying a word. But as you stepped into the restaurant, your stomach dropped.

The place was empty. No other customers. Just you and him.

Your face went pale because there was only one explanation.

He did not…

“Mister Norris!”

A well-dressed waiter greeted him with familiarity. They knew each other. With a simple hand gesture, he led you both to your table. The level of formality made you feel like royalty.

Dim lighting, soft music. A candle flickered in the center of the round table, it had the scent of chocolate, if your nostrils weren’t failing you. The ambiance was undeniably beautiful.

He really outdid himself.

You sat down, eyes narrowing at him. "You did not rent out this whole place just for us."

"Yeah, I did."

Lando chuckled, his smile boyish—like a kid caught red-handed. You playfully shoved his shoulder, you hated surprises and gifts in any format.

Your face burned red, so you instinctively hid behind the menu. Of course, he noticed. He found it adorable.

His foot lightly tapped yours under the table, trying to get your attention. "Are we playing hide and seek now?"

You sighed, setting the menu down just so he could see you roll your eyes. "What are you ordering?" you asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of secret, despite the fact that no one else was around.

Your elbows rested on the table as you leaned slightly toward him. He did the same. The tiny candle was the only thing between you.

There was no need for flirtation or innuendos—the tension was already there.

For you two, banter was enough.

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"So, fashion designer, huh?" He asked, cutting his food, trying to throw the conversation toward you.

"So, Formula One driver, huh?" You mocked him, mimicking his tone—because, seriously, that was the most basic question ever. Your background was more than obvious; it was explicitly written on Raya. But you got it—he was just as nervous as you were.

One thing Lando was sure of: you weren’t like his other dates. My god, you were hard to get. An hour in, and there had been no physical contact at all—just chatter, chatter. Not that he was complaining. You were an interesting and undecipherable human being.

"How many girls have you brought here?"

You loved making people uncomfortable with your questions, especially when you already knew the answer—you just wanted to see their reaction. Lando practically choked on his food at your out-of-the-blue assumption.

"W-what?"

It was hilarious how fast he grabbed his water, like he couldn’t believe how unfiltered you were. You repeated the question, and he had no choice but to answer.

"I don’t know… two or three?"

At least he was honest. Or tried to be.

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Dinner happened, to your surprise, quickly—because time moved fast when you were really enjoying yourself, losing track of it completely. Luckily, the Formula One driver caught up with your jokes, knowing exactly how to turn them back on you. Like an Uno reverse card. For you, there was nothing more intimate than teasing each other mutually and just the right amount. Some people couldn’t take a joke, and that was such a turn-off. But Lando simply got you.

Now, you were exiting the glamorous restaurant, shoulders covered by his huge coat. Your laughter was loud, and in just two hours, you had already built inside jokes between the two of you.

"Looking forward to seeing your replacement next Sunday if you catch a cold."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing your pretty face again."

He ended all the joking with a cheeky, flirtatious remark—he knew exactly how to make a girl’s legs weak using nothing but his natural charisma.

"You never shut up, do you?"

And then you did the unthinkable.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him in, your lips merging into one. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, finally releasing all the tension and need that had been weighing on you.

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The car you once eyed as luxurious was now the place where you were making out frenetically. The kissing was obscene, neither of you knew where all that passion came from, but it was addictive.

His firm hands gripped the fabric of your branded clothing, holding your hips in place, not wanting you to make any movement against his lap. It’d be the death of him—he was already suffering a nightmare between his legs.

Your fingers instantly got lost in his curls, tangling and pulling them mid-kiss. Lando’s mouth was practically fighting against yours, turning it into the sloppiest mess. Heaven had never felt this chaotic. You took your time exploring every corner of his mouth with your tongue, while his hands traveled deliberately across your body, wishing there was no fabric separating you two. His fingertips traced you as if you were as fragile as a sculpture, slow and delicate. You melted under his touch, squirming on top of him at the barest touch. It was inoffensive, yet he knew exactly how to caress all the right places.

A shiver ran down your spine as your body suddenly felt colder than seconds ago—a thin breeze brushed against your right thigh. He was sliding up your outfit, eager to go further.

"Easy, driver." A whisper escaped your lips, breathy from all the intense air-exchanging. Your lips brushed against each other, expectant but unmoving. "I know you like adrenaline and fast things, but not tonight."

Fucking on the first date wasn’t your thing, you had at least some dignity. This wasn’t just a hook-up; a few butterflies were already flying around in your stomach, and you despised it.

With half-lidded eyes, he looked up at you, locking gazes. His puppy-blue eyes were now dark with lust. His swollen, glossy lips formed a slight pout. If you kept staring at him—at his pathetic, needy, almost convincing face—you’d be stripping down quicker than lightning.

Trying to put an end to his little show, you placed a hand over his face and shoved him away, cutting off all dangerous eye contact.

"Not tonight gives me a free pass for a second date, according to my understanding." He contradicted you, attempting to sound smart with a cocky grin spread across his face.

"You really are something else, Lando Norris." You did your thing to keep him quiet, preventing any cringey pick-up line from escaping his lips, and restarted the make-out session.

He was relieved that you’d shut him up quickly, because the longer it went on, the more he felt like verbalizing the flying feelings in his stomach.

[frownyalfred]

me when one more person passive aggressively comments on ASOH:

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

The Poisons We Drink

YA urban fantasy

a girl who brews powerful potions is coerced into making potions to interfere with D.C.’s most influential politicians in an attempt to stop a dangerous Witcher Registration Act from passing, and will do anything to protect her sister after their mother is killed

bi MC, nonbinary love interest

arc from netgalley

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[ravencromwell]

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[soon-palestine]

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “ When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.” Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run. Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics. The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this? The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.”

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) how you met yandere enha ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ the first time you've ever met enhypen ヾ

yandere!엔하이픈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. hi again hhh i was wondering if you could do like a backstory for how yan!enha met oc? Absolutely love your yan fics btw! ^^

「 ୨୧ authors note 」

﹙ 𐙚 : jungwon﹚ .ᐟ

at school , you were the new girl and he was the class president so you trusted him easily, letting him guide you around on your first day , he even offered you a seat at the table he was sitting at. you sat with him everyday growing closer, he could tell you were developing a crush on him and that's exactly what he wanted, all he needed was you to confess and that's when his plan could really be set in motion: he could make sure you don't ever belong to anyone else but him.

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

what was supposed to be a one night stand from a dating website turned into you having a section in his closet , you just showed up one day and never left and you couldn't figure out how that happened and why no one ever called , heeseung knew you were so in love with him you didn't even notice him slowly removing everyone out of your life leaving space in your heart and head only for him.

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

you were a new waitress at a restaurant he often had dinner to discuss business with clients. you were the waitress waiting on them; he thought you were perfect, especially when you politely declined the advances of his clients he knew you would look perfect on his arms , so he made sure to leave you a large tip along with his personal phone number , you gladly accepted it unaware of the danger you just stepped into.

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

you two were childhood friends; he'd been obsessed with you since the moment he saw you playing on the playground ; you being a kid never noticed it , it wasn't until you two were teenagers where you started to realize jake was really into you , a little more than you were into him , but he was your best friend and you knew you'd grew to love him like he did you — turns out he loved a bit too hard and before you figured that out it was to late.

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

you were the sister of someone he really hated you, at first he was doing only to piss them off , but then he actually started to fall for you , no more like grow unhealthy obsessed with you to the point even when his enemy found out about the secret affair and forced you to call it off it drove him mad, he was angry and we all know what happens when he's angry, what made him even angrier is he had to pretend to give a fuck when you came to him crying about it when in reality he with he backed over him a few times.

﹙ 𐙚 : sunoo﹚ .ᐟ

like jake you and sunoo were childhood friends ; but you fell for the boy first , and your relationship was actually good, he was one of the best people you ever known , of course he could be a bet overbearing and with did tell you he loved you 100 times a day and never got off of you when you slept together , he was just scared you'd leave him , you were you and he was no where like you , you had a reason to leave him , and he couldn't have that.

﹙ 𐙚 : ni-ki﹚ .ᐟ

the quiet girl in school no one talked to , ni - ki saw while he was skipping class like usual , you were sitting alone in the library reading , you were perfect, he wanted you and he knew he had to have you , so he followed you around , making sure you knew what he wanted every time , you thought he was cute , you eventually let him sit down next to you in the library , sitting there toying with everything why you read quietly next to him , sometimes you'd have to hold his hand to keep him quiet , you were so unaware that the reason everyone avoided him was because of how scary and dangerous he was and everyone was too scared to warn you cause then they'd have to encounter the boy who never left your side.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Targaryen! Little Sister! Reader prompt: When the small council plans to marry off once again, you turn to your older brother for help. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were the youngest and third daughter of Alicent and Viserys. A few months younger than Helaena and Aegon's little shadow in your childhood. Your older brother at first hated it, the way you cling onto him and gawk at him with an innocent awe.

It was your ninth name day, your Father had not paid much attention to it, but your Mother had ordered a celebration for it. You had trailed after him, babbling about nonsense as he tried to lose you. It was at dinner that night that everything had boiled over. Instead of receiving gifts, you had taken to giving everyone a gift.

He had not expected anything. He hadn't been the most kind to you. But was surprised when you had gifted him an embroidered cloth with Sunfyre on it. It was not the best and some threads were loose, but you proudly had told him you learned embroidery for him. Seeing those big doe eyes of yours his opinion changed. He adored you. You were the only one in the family that did not care about his worsening reputation. You just...adored your big brother, flaws and all.

It was why it killed him on your eleventh name day you were shipped off to the Reach, married off to a Lord as old as your Grandsire. He was haunted by your wails, of the way you clung onto Helaena and Aemond, the two of them wailing as Ser Cole carried you off to the carriage.

His young sister, the only one in the family who truly cared, was sold off like a piece of cattle. Not even your cold Grandsire was able to protest the marriage as politically it was a good match and good enough reasoning for the small council to approve it. 

As years ticked by, you gave birth to two children, a stillborn daughter and a healthy son. Your husband kept you away in the Reach, so no one in your family had seen you since you were twelve and given birth to your only surviving son.

He remembered the look in your eyes, so void and almost dead. Of how you tried to stay positive. Saying, "Tis' not so bad. He mostly ignores me, except when he wishes to bed me. But even then tis' not so bad, he finishes quickly."

When he became King, he swiftly ordered you to return home, regardless of your husband's wishes. No one would take his baby sister away from him. Not whilst he was still alive and had the crown placed upon his head.

Watching you bounce your son on your lap, he attempts to pay some attention to the small council, but his eyes keep straying back to you. It was odd to think that you were now a Mother and all grown up. Snapping out of his little daze, he glances back at the small council, each member arguing intently. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Ser Criston slides a piece of parchment in front of him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Raising a brow at what he had just returned to, he glances at the parchment, reading the words quickly. 

Your cunt of a husband was dead, finally croaked in his sleep. There was no reason for you to go back to the Reach. You could stay here in King’s Landing once more. Softly smiling at the good news, he goes to speak up when Lord Lannister stands up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. His face red from anger, his eyes wild like an untamable beast, and voice booming loud enough that it would make a dragon’s roar put to shame.

“To speak of the Princess in such a manner is dishonorable, I will see to it personally that your tongue is removed, Lord Wydle.” 

“The girl is of age, she has proven she can bear heirs, healthy heirs. To not give her hand to another Lord would be foolish.” 

“We need allies, the common folk are starving and soon the coin will run out. Surely as Master of Coin you can see reason, Lord Lannister.”

“Your grace, please, listen to reason we should⎯”

It takes a moment to realize what they had been discussing so intently. Then it clicks, they were speaking of having you remarry. 

"What?" He whispers, his voice shaky and full of disbelief.

"No, Aegon, please don't make me do this again. Please." You whisper, tears building up in your eyes.

"It would be best to have your sister marry someone⎯"

"Think of the war, your grace⎯"

Seeing the tears building up in your eyes, it reminded him of all those years ago when you were whisked away to the Reach. Struggling to speak up and dismiss their suggestions, you kneel in front of his chair, gripping onto breeches as you beg and plead for clemency to their plans. Your son starts to wail on the other side of his chair, making motions with his hands to be picked up. 

Feeling his heart break a little at the sight, he shifts his gaze from you then your wailing son then back to the small council. Everything is hectic and he doesn’t know who or what to focus his attention on. Does he console you? Does he tend to your wailing son? Does he handle the small council? Struggling to find his voice, he just stays frozen in his chair. 

“Please, please, do not make me do this again, Aegon.” You beg, “I did what was asked of me before. Please do not ask this of me again.”

“We need allies, your grace. The Princess is still desired by many men, men who will look past her past marriage and son. Think of the kingdom⎯”

“Send treaties, then!”

“Please, Aegon. I ask as your sister, not a member of the Court. Please do not make me do this again. I do not wish to marry again. Please do not send me away again.” You beg, your voice cracking. 

Watching as the tears begin to fall from your eyes, he clenches his jaw tightly, anger boiling up at the sight of you. His precious little sister, the one person in all of the Realm that he truly cared for, was crying by his small council's hand. Slamming his hands down hard on the table, the room goes deadly silent, minus the soft sniffles of you and your son. 

“There will be no marrying off my sister! If you wish for such alliances as much as you claim, do offer your daughters instead, for I will not be doing the same to my sister nor my daughter.” 

“Your grace, if you would just⎯”

“I am King, no?” He snaps back, “There will be no questioning of my decision. The matter is settled.”

----

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[pedrospatch]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[vktrjyce]

tell me that i'm what you need

a jayvik college au

length: 6.8k

author's note: them in a college au has been rotting in my brain since I finished act 3, and i had to write it. it's completely self-indulgent and i understand that and i do not apologize. i have TONS more ideas for this so if it gets enough traction maybe i'll write more LMAOOO. jayvik has their hooks in me good you guys. anyways, thanks so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave likes and comments! i'd love to hear any feedback or thoughts :) have a great day!!

there is also a playlist that goes along with this fic!

tags: college party ; weed smoking ; trans viktor ; sub jayce talis ; dom viktor ; college au ; shotgunning ; making out ; sexuality crisis ; first meeting ; viktor is hot and confident and jayce loves it ; they're both idiots

warnings: sexual content, weed smoking

summary: Jayce goes to a party with Caitlyn and gets more than he bargained for when he meets a handsome stranger in the basement.

originally posted by vktrjyce

Jayce followed Caitlyn into the overflowing house, wincing at the music pounding against his skull. Three different people bumped into him in the foyer alone, the third spilling an obscene amount of beer on his shoes. He grimaced, waved away the guy’s half-assed apology, and attempted to adjust to the stickiness. It felt a little like he’d surpassed his age of enjoying parties like this. Or maybe he simply needed to be with the right crowd. 

This did not feel like his crowd. 

“Cait!” He shouted over the music, grabbing his companion’s arm. She turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “This is really how you want to spend your Friday night?” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line and leaned towards him, “Vi invited me! I couldn’t exactly say no.” 

He overdramatically rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his face, “So your girlfriend’s the partying type?” 

Caitlyn’s own eyes widened, her cheeks going slightly pink, “She’s not my girlfriend! Yet…” She shook her head, dark blue strands swaying back and forth, “And her sister threw this party. She’s just along for the ride.” 

“Mmhmm.” Jayce scanned the crowd, looking for a head of hot-pink hair he’d only heard about in stories, “So, where is she?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t see her from he-” 

“Cupcake!” A muscled arm landed on Caitlyn’s shoulders, simultaneously knocking her into Jayce’s side. The owner of said arm had the exact hair he’d been on the lookout for. Also, the ‘Vi’ tattooed on her face was sort of a dead giveaway, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” 

Caitlyn looked over at Vi, a pleasant smile sliding across her face. She leaned into the woman, “What, and leave you to your own devices? I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue.” 

“You think so low of me. I’m hurt.” Vi teased, before her eyes landed on Jayce, “Who’s this?” 

Caitlyn answered before he had a chance to, “This is Jayce Talis. I’ve told you about him.” 

Jayce, in turn, offered a polite smile and a small wave. 

“So, this is the brainiac?” Vi gave him a once-over, pursing her lips, “Quite the pretty boy, isn’t he?” 

He choked out a slightly embarrassed chuckle, resisting the urge to rub at the back of his neck. His Mother always scolded him for having such an obvious nervous tick. 

“Don’t say that, it’ll go right to his head.” Cait retorted, giving her friend a knowing look, “And it’s big enough already.” 

The man barked out a laugh, “There’s better ways to show off than making fun of me, you know.” 

Once again, her eyes widened, “I wasn’t-” 

“Aww, are you trying to seduce me with your stuck-upness?” Vi cooed, pinching Caitlyn’s cheek. Though she scrunched up her nose, she didn’t pull away from the touch, “If you are, it’s working.” 

“You’re an idiot.” She deadpanned, and then looked back at Jayce, “You both are.” 

“I guess you attract them.” He winked at her. 

“I like this guy. He’s not all prude and stiff like most of the people you introduce me to.” Vi commented, grinning, “We could have some fun together, pretty boy.” 

“The feeling’s mutual, Vi.” 

“I don’t know, the thought of you two together doesn’t sit well with me.” Caitlyn piped up, “And I absolutely do not want to be demoted to third-wheel.” 

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.” Jayce gave her a knowing look, sending her gaze to the floor. So he turned it on Vi. She smirked in response. 

“You guys want a drink? The kitchen’s stocked with all kinds of stuff.” She offered, pulling Caitlyn closer to her.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink.” His friend responded. She looked at Jayce with a warning on her face. He was no longer welcome in the group. 

He heard her loud and clear. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go mingle for a bit.” He told them, taking a step back, “We’ll meet back up later.” 

Caitlyn’s look turned grateful, eyes sparkling in the strobe lights. Vi nodded at his declaration. 

“Alright, see you later, then.” She bid him adieu, turning Caitlyn (presumably) towards the kitchen. 

As they walked away, he heard his friend ask, “Where’s Jinx?” 

“Somewhere causing problems, probably. I think she was trying to make fireworks or something.” Vi’s response came, and then they were out of earshot. And Jayce was all alone. 

He shifted his weight, patted his hands against his pants, and then decided he should do something. Something other than standing in the middle of this room. Watching the party go on without him. Like a loser. 

He sucked in a deep breath and moved further into the house. 

People were dancing, mingling, playing games, and making out on practically every available surface. He could only imagine what others were getting up to in the non-public spaces. He’d had his own fair share of trysts in his younger days. Now, though, he much preferred a quiet night in or hyperfocusing on a new project. Cait always teased him for ‘turning into an old man.’ 

Maybe she had a point. Just a little bit. 

It took Jayce a 10-minute conversation with Salo and another 15 minutes of standing against a wall before the noise and the lights became too much. He was uncomfortable, on his way to overstimulated, and in desperate need of a small respite. So he went looking for one. 

All the bedrooms were… occupied. The bathroom, when not occupied, was more of a cesspool of untoward activity than a sanctuary. The backyard was just as loud as anywhere else. All that left him with was the closed basement door. Which had an eccentric, bright pink ‘Stay Out!!!’ spray-painted on it. 

He did feel bad about ignoring the warning, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Jayce opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. The immediate quiet, even with the muffled music through the wall, sent relief through his body. He sighed and walked down the stairs. About halfway down, a familiar skunk-like smell wafted its way up to him. But since he’d already committed, he simply wrinkled his nose and kept going. 

He stepped off the final stair, turned the corner, and took a look around the room. 

It was a typical basement- a couple of couches, a TV, a coffee table, and various movie and show posters on the walls. The lights were off, save for a warm-colored lamp on the table. None of it was out of the ordinary. Nothing particularly caught his eye. 

What did gain his attention, though, was the man on the couch. 

Pale and lanky, long brown hair with strands of blonde pulled into a low bun, clad in a burgundy cardigan and black sweats with a leg brace on the right knee. Only his side profile was visible from here, showing off a long nose and sharp cheekbones. A beauty mark sat above his thin, pink lips, which were currently wrapped around a half-smoked joint. His long lashes fluttered closed as he inhaled, pulled the joint from his mouth, and laid his head back against the couch. One long finger tapped against it. 

Jayce was, for one moment, very taken aback. If this guy was a girl, he’d be stunning.

“Uh-” He grunted out, like an idiot. 

The man’s eye opened, iris sliding in his direction. No other part of him moved. He exhaled the smoke and closed his eye again, “The bathroom is upstairs, on the second level. At the end of the hall.” 

As if this stranger’s looks weren’t enough of a shock, his words came out accented. It sounded Russian, or maybe Czech. It made him sound melodic, like voicing an elegant song instead of speaking. Jayce found himself wanting to hear more. 

“Oh, no, I, uh-” Jayce cleared his throat, then tried again, “Sorry, I was actually just trying to find a quiet place for a minute. All the noise was… it was a little much.” 

The man’s eyes opened again, and this time he turned his head towards Jayce. The latter discovered two distinct things at that moment. 

One, he had another beauty mark. Under his right eye, lighter than the one above his mouth. 

Two, the attractiveness increased tenfold when he saw his whole face. A few strands of his hair had fallen out of the bun and framed his face. Seriously, he could be a model or something.

The stranger raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “Why come to a party if the party is going to be ‘a little much’?” 

“Well, that’s not-” He scoffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “I didn’t- I came with a friend, so.” 

Piercing golden eyes watched him with mild curiosity, “And where is your friend now?” 

“She’s with her- you know what? It doesn’t matter.” Jayce shook his head, feeling a little disgruntled, “You’re the one hiding down here all by yourself.” 

“Well, I live here. I can’t exactly escape the party.” He explained, tilting his head from side to side, “This was supposed to be my safe haven.” 

Jayce ignored the last part, partly out of stubbornness, and responded with a question, “You live here? I thought Vi’s sister was the host.” 

“Jinx.” The man explained, looking away. It gave Jayce a chance to take a deep breath. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass with those eyes on him, “And she is. She’s my roommate. One of them.” 

“Jinx? What kind of a name is that?” He chuckled. 

There was no response. Only a noncommittal shrug as he lifted the joint to his lips once again. A motion by which Jayce found himself hypnotized. The slender fingers holding it, the way his lips pursed as he inhaled, the twitching of his eyelids. It looked so natural- as simple as breathing. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t realize the man’s gaze was on him again. 

“Do you want some?” He asked, jolting Jayce out of his trance and offering the weed up. 

He could feel his face heating up, both from being caught staring and from the offer. He’d had weed a couple of times in the past, but it never ended well. Whether it be not knowing his own limits or peer pressure, he always went too far and got too anxious to enjoy it. He was open to it, but that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. A familiar emotion right now. 

“Oh, I uh- I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

The man smiled, just a small thing, but it made a certain softness take over his face, “A little late for that, no?” 

His cheeks were sure to be bright red now. He laughed nervously. 

The good-looking stranger shook his head, gesturing for Jayce to come closer, “I’m joking. Come. The company might be nice.” 

“Are you sure?” The question came out hesitant, but he was already moving over to the couch. Something about the way this guy spoke made him feel compelled to listen.

However, that could be the sleep deprivation talking. Or he’d finally lost it. Both were possibilities. 

“I find you… intriguing.” His new acquaintance told him, watching as he sat on the opposite side of the couch, “Besides, you said you needed a moment of quiet.” 

“I guess that’s true.” He shrugged, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Mm.” Humming, he offered the joint to Jayce once again. This time, he took it. 

It was only then that he realized there was a cane resting next to the man. Silver with a red and gold handle, decorated with graffiti that matched the ‘keep out’ sign on the door. He wondered if it was the stranger’s doing, but that felt unlikely. It didn’t seem like his style. 

Jayce took a drag, forcing himself not to cough as the marijuana burned all the way down. He really was not used to this sensation. The only thing worse than the burn, though, would be looking like a fool in front of this interesting guy he’d just met. He had to play it cool. 

God, he was such a loser. 

“You’re supposed to exhale it, you know.” The man spoke up, amusement lacing that magnetizing accent. It was just shy of patronizing, which strangely made his stomach coil.

This entire interaction was making Jayce’s head spin a little bit. 

He let the smoke out in one quick breath, which immediately sent him into a coughing fit. He hunched over himself, hitting a fist against his chest in an attempt to clear the pipe. He didn’t think this could get any worse. Either the humiliation or the coughing would kill him. A death that he’d happily embrace. 

“There, there. Easy.” A hand rested on his back, lithe fingers rubbing into the muscles, “You haven’t smoked much, I see.” 

Jayce barely noticed the hand on him, too preoccupied with trying not to die. He shook his head, letting out a hoarse, “Not really.” 

“Here.” The joint was taken from his hand and replaced with a glass of water, “Drink.” 

He didn’t hesitate to chug half of it. Then he slumped back against the couch, eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. The burn had subsided, leaving only a bit of irritation in his throat. At the very least, he’d stopped coughing. Small victories. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jayce looked over at the stranger- his savior, in a way- and froze. Those amber eyes were locked on him, rimmed with red, and hungry. That feeling in his chest tightened, making him feel on edge. 

He swallowed, “Yeah. Yeah, uh, sorry. I don’t- I’m sorta new to this.” 

The man tucked some hair behind his ear and laid his arm over the back of the couch. His hand was only a few inches away from Jayce’s face. 

“Was this your first time?” 

“No.” He shook his head, “I’ve done it a couple times before. Just… not in a while.” 

“I see.” He picked at a loose thread sticking out of the cushion, “Did you enjoy it? In the past?” 

Jayce’s mind was starting to feel foggy. He pursed his lips, “It wasn’t bad. I think I just… I did too much too fast. Got in over my head.” 

“Mm, you seem like the type.” The man’s fingernails were painted black, the polish chipped, “To get in over your head, that is.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled lazily at his new friend, “What about you?” 

The man shook his head immediately, “Definitely not. I am always calm and collected. Just don’t ask anyone close to me for a second opinion on that.” 

That made him laugh. He laid a hand over his stomach, head tilted back. When he looked back at the stranger, still chuckling, there was something close to admiration on the guy’s face. Again, his stomach did a flip. What a strange way this night was going. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, voice deeper and accent more prominent. 

“Jayce.” He responded, “Jayce Talis. You?” 

“Viktor.” The man told him, and it was perfect. He couldn’t think of a better-fitting name. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Even if I made a complete fool of myself with the weed.” 

Viktor snorted out a laugh, taking another hit from the joint. He made it look effortless, “Not at all. You’re new to it. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” 

“You never get sick of it?” 

“Never. It helps too much. With the, eh, pain. And, you know, it quiets the mind.” 

“Right.” He gestured to the leg brace, “I don’t wanna pry, but I assume that’s what you’re talking about.” 

“Well, there are worse ways to be nosy.” He responded, screwing up his lips, “You’d be right, though. It’s my bad leg. I was born with it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jayce blurted, because he felt like an idiot. The weed definitely wasn’t helping with his stupidness, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, that’s fair. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” 

“My hero.” Viktor deadpanned, rolling his pretty eyes, “Can you feel it yet?” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, “Feel- oh, the weed?” 

The other man nodded in confirmation. 

“A little. I don’t think I had much, honestly.” 

“Do you want more?” 

“And have another coughing fit? I can’t take more embarrassment, Viktor.” 

He chuckled, “You’ll survive. And we can try another way to get it down for you.” 

“Another way? Like what?” 

Something mischievous had crossed over his face, which was slightly scary, “I believe most people call it, uh… shotgunning. Have you heard of it?” 

Jayce most definitely had. And the prospect was simultaneously intriguing and panic-inducing to him. 

Viktor was nice and funny, and he was good-looking. But shotgunning was sort of… an intimate thing? In a way? The kind of thing you did when you wanted to get up close and personal with someone? 

Was that what Viktor wanted? Was he coming onto Jayce? 

If he was, well, that was flattering. But Jayce wasn’t really… he’d done stuff with men before. The typical college, experimenting stuff. And it was fine- wasn’t terrible. But he didn’t think that was really… him. 

But he was also a little high. And spiraling. And he was having a good time with Viktor and he didn’t want it to end. 

So what the hell? Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah, I- I think I have.” He spoke, finally giving in and rubbing at the back of his neck, “We could give it a shot. If you want.” 

“Excellent.” Viktor patted the empty spot next to him, “Come.” 

Jayce followed the order with no hesitation. Like a dog obeying the commands of his master. Something about it made the other man’s eyes light up, much to his confusion. 

“So, how are we-” 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. The words were cut off as Viktor slid onto his legs, seating himself right on Jayce’s lap. It sent his brain, his heart, his whole body into overdrive. It didn’t even occur to him to move him, though. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely slightly unnerving.

Friends could do stuff like this, right? 

Did Jayce even want to just be friends? Was there something more here? 

Viktor smelled like weed, cinnamon, and old paper. It drew him in with every breath.

Jayce, even with his sluggish mind, was coming to a semi-realization. While he couldn’t be sure how true it would feel in the light of day, it felt true now. Which could mean tons of things, honestly. 

Jayce was realizing that he liked this feeling. He liked the buzzing under his skin, the fogginess behind his eyes. He liked the weight of Viktor on him, liked the smell of Viktor, liked Viktor. Something about him was just so magnetizing. It made him nervous. This whole thing did. But he found that he didn’t really mind it. 

This was surely a crisis in the making. Something to be dealt with and reflected on in the sober light of day. He could analyze every move, second-guess every word and every reaction. He could take the time to nitpick his feelings until everything was clear. But right now, that didn’t matter. 

Right now, he felt good. And he wanted to keep doing what felt good. That should be simple enough. 

He nodded to himself. Literally. He probably looked like a freak to his companion. If he did, he garnered no reaction. 

“Open your mouth,” Viktor told him, raising the joint to his lips. 

Fuck. A cacophony of not-appropriate things flitted through his mind in reaction to the words. Not on purpose.

“Wait-” He heard himself saying, which was the opposite of what his heart (and his dick) wanted him to do. Apparently, his head still had the wheel. 

Jayce rested his hands on Viktor’s hips to stop him. Even through the thick cardigan, the latter’s hip bones were prominent. It made something twist unhappily in Jayce’s chest. 

Viktor did wait, pausing with a raised eyebrow and the weed an inch or two from his mouth. 

“A-are you okay like this?” Jayce stuttered out, looking up at the star of his current dilemma, “Your leg-” 

The questioning look on Viktor’s face turned to amusement, and he tilted his head, “That’s what you’re worried about? You idiot.” 

The word didn’t even sting like it would’ve from anyone else. It sounded like an endearment more than anything. 

“My leg is fine.” He hummed, resting a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. The weight was nice, soothing, “I’ve lived with it all my life. I know what I can handle.” 

Did weed have some sort of magical attraction properties? The sensation in his chest certainly felt like something out of a fairytale. 

“Okay.” Jayce exhaled shakily- again, not on purpose, “Okay. I just wanted to check.” 

“How kind of you.” That hand left his arm, coming back a moment later as Viktor grabbed his chin. He squeezed lightly, causing Jayce’s lips to pucker, “Are you ready?” 

Jayce nodded eagerly, giggling. Any harder and his head probably would’ve snapped off. 

Viktor gave him a look of approval that made his lungs ache, “Inhale when I exhale. Yes?” 

He swallowed, “Yes.” 

The man half-smiled, gave him a little nod, and took a long drag. It looked so easy, so beautiful, when he did it. Which was a strange thing to think. A strange action to find beautiful. But it was, nevertheless. 

Jayce parted his lips when Viktor lowered his hand, watching with expectant eyes as the man leaned toward him. Their noses brushed, sending a tingle through his skin. His breath hitched, and then the smoke was blown into his mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled. 

It burned again, but he loved it this time. It filled his chest, his brain, left him feeling a little weightless. 

There was no coughing when he exhaled. Only the relief of subsided stinging, the warmth of Viktor against him. His nerves began to hum from his head to his toes. 

He was pretty sure he understood what all the hype was about now. Why the drug was so popular. 

But then again, that could all be because of Viktor. 

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

“So beautiful.” He heard his companion say, and there was a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. 

Jayce blinked his eyes open. It was harder than usual. Everything felt a little sluggish. 

Viktor was watching him. The whites of his starlight eyes were red, his gaze half-lidded, and that hunger was back. He looked like a cat on the prowl. Stalking its prey. 

Jayce had never been so pleased to feel like a cornered mouse. 

“Do you like men, Jayce?” 

“Do I-?” The question echoed his own thoughts bouncing around his mind. It sent a strike of panic through him, slightly dampened by the drug in his veins. He didn’t really have an answer for him. This night had brought up a lot of feelings on that exact topic, and most of them were muddy. It was terrifying, “I don’t… I’m not really sure, Viktor.” 

“Allow me to rephrase my question, then.” He hummed, and he was back to brushing his fingers over Jayce’s face. His lips, cheeks, nose, the space between his eyebrows, “Do you want to kiss me?” 

This question was much simpler. But it wasn’t much easier to answer.

He really liked Viktor. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Viktor was funny and he had a nice accent and his face was- honestly, the only word that came to mind was beautiful. He’d never found a man beautiful before. 

Jayce wanted the answer to be easy. He wanted it to come to him like a reflex. But he was scared. The fear was holding him back. 

He tried to remind himself of the vow he’d made only a bit ago. Analyze emotions later, do what feels good now. 

If Viktor was a woman, Jayce knew what his answer would be. And that should be enough for now. He met Viktor’s gaze once more.

“Yes.” He whispered. It felt a little like signing his death sentence. 

“Go on, then.” Their noses were touching again. Viktor’s skin was cold on his. Or maybe Jayce’s was just unusually hot. 

“You want me to?” Jayce was over-thinking. As he, clearly, had a tendency to do. But some part of him felt like this was all a prank, or a dream. Surely, the moment he leaned forward it would all go up in a cloud of smoke. 

“Take what you want, Jayce.” His voice was lower, deeper. The words curled with his accent, like music notes drifting through the air, “Hesitate, and the opportunity will slip through your fingers.”

That was all the push he needed. 

He kissed Viktor. Slowly at first, awkwardly. He was giggling again, mostly out of nervousness. Jayce had experience in kissing- 95% of it was with women. And this was different. 

He’d lean forward and end up squishing their noses together. Let out a chuckle, re-adjust, try again. Their teeth clacked together on the next kiss, a jarring sensation that made them both flinch. Still, they were smiling and touching and going for more. Jayce tried to kiss him and missed, planting a smooch right on his chin. 

“Shit-” He snickered, pulling away. His cheeks were red-hot, “Sorry, sorry.” 

“Don’t be. And don’t be nervous.” Viktor’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled, “We’re in no rush.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay.” He took a stabilizing breath, half-grinning, “Can I try again?” 

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” 

Jayce laughed and kissed him again. A little more sure this time, but just as sloppy. He leaned up off the couch, pressing his hand into the small of Viktor’s lower back. Needing him closer, closer, closer. His lips tasted like raspberries. 

Viktor’s fingers tangled into Jayce’s hair, keeping his head right where he wanted. He kissed him like he was a master at it, like it was something he’d done a million times. It made Jayce feel very, very inadequate. 

He nipped at Jayce’s bottom lip, pulled back enough that Jayce had to chase him for more, then plunged right back in. A gentle tug on the locks in Viktor’s hands had Jayce’s mouth falling open. Viktor’s tongue slipped inside a moment later. One of his hands came to rest on Viktor’s face, thumb brushing over that sharp cheekbone. He allowed himself to be manhandled- let Viktor use his mouth as he pleased. He couldn’t stop fucking smiling. 

“There we go, you’re getting the hang of it,” Viktor murmured against his lips. His kisses moved to Jayce’s chin, mouthing along his jawline, “So eager, too. Like a puppy. Will you wag your tail if I call you a good boy?” 

He wanted to be embarrassed about the comparison. Wanted to not like the insinuation as much as he did. Mostly, though, he just wanted more Viktor. 

“Fuck.��� He breathed, tilting his head back to give the other man more access. His pants were starting to strain a little bit. 

“I think that’s a yes.” He whispered, his breath sending goosebumps across Jayce’s skin. 

Viktor’s kisses moved up, up, up, until he was nibbling on Jayce’s earlobe. He gave it one sharp tug. 

And Jayce fucking whimpered. 

He’d never made that noise before. He didn’t even know he could make that noise. It definitely didn’t sound like something that would’ve come out of him. But it had. His face was on fire. 

“Oh, you like that?” Viktor practically purred. He pulled away to look at Jayce, and his hazy eyes widened a bit, “You didn’t know you liked that.” 

“No, I-” He swallowed, shifting a little in his seat, “I didn’t mean to make that… noise.” 

As if his inexperience wasn’t bad enough, now he was making sounds that could only be labeled as pathetic. Viktor must have thought he was such an idiot. 

The man frowned, pink lips forming an adorable pout, “I put work into getting that noise from you. I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to downplay it.” 

Jayce blinked up at him, “You liked it?” 

Viktor stared at him like he was an idiot. Jayce could only focus on how pretty he was like that. 

“Kiss me again?” He pleaded, because the way his head was already spinning wasn’t enough. He needed more. 

His companion was happy to oblige. 

The kiss was back to passionate and sloppy, all tongue and teeth and wandering hands. Jayce’s shirt got halfway unbuttoned, Viktor’s hair was let down, and the forgotten cup of water was kicked onto the carpet. Neither of them noticed, or maybe they didn’t care. Too caught up in each other to remember there was a whole world around them. 

They’d fallen into a rhythm, moving together like partners in a dance. It was euphoric.

“Shit-” Jayce moaned, eyes rolled back as the other man sucked at his neck. 

Viktor ran his tongue down Jayce’s pulse point, kissed the spot right above his collarbone, and then bit down. Hard. 

Jayce hissed at the sting, then grunted as it immediately turned into pleasure. All of his blood had gone South. His head was blissfully empty. Had he ever felt so needy in his life? If he had, he definitely couldn’t remember it. 

Viktor slid his hands down Jayce’s arms, interlocking them with the ones still on his waist. His fingers were slender against Jayce’s, bony and long while the other’s were thick and strong. They fit together perfectly.

Viktor kissed him again, then again. Little pecks that left him desperate for more. 

“Had enough yet?” He asked through the kisses, his lips swollen and red, “Perhaps you should return to the- mm- party. If you’ve had your moment of quiet.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Jayce asked, his breathing ragged. The question was asked jokingly, but it made his chest ache. Maybe he was doing terribly- maybe this wasn’t as good for Viktor as it was for him. He squeezed Viktor’s hands, still clasped in his own, “And here I thought we were having such a good time.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He shot back, attempting to hide the amused smile on his lips. He certainly thought himself funny. It made Jayce’s fear die down, just a little, “Be a good boy and lay me down. I need to rest my leg.”

The nickname went straight to his dick. It also made him sit there for a solid five seconds like an idiot as his mind tried to process the words. Then he did, and it immediately had his heart lunging with worry. 

“Does it hurt?” Jayce asked earnestly, hooking his hands under Viktor’s thighs to lay him down on the couch. He knelt in between the man’s legs, the right one stretched out and relaxed. 

Viktor let out a relieved sigh as he settled into the couch, “It was starting to pinch. Nothing too bad, don’t worry.” 

“Are you sure?” Jayce asked softly, one hand holding him up while the other held Viktor’s hip. He watched the man closely, worriedly, “We can stop if-” 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“No!” He choked out, dark strands falling over his forehead. The answer came out faster than his mind could keep up. Complete instinct. He furrowed his brows, “No, I don’t. I just am… worried.” 

“Jayce, I am high out of my mind, having my way with a beautiful boy. I am fine.” 

He grinned at the sentiment, even as it made his face heat up, “Beautiful? Really?” 

Viktor rolled his red-tinged eyes, “You know you’re beautiful. I won’t feed your ego. Come and kiss me more, yes?” 

Jayce giggled. He leaned down, “Yes.” 

It was easier to kiss Viktor like this- more familiar. He still wasn’t the one leading, but it did feel like he had more control. Not that he’d minded being at the mercy of his companion. 

Jayce’s hand slid down the other man’s hip, grasping his thigh and pulling the leg against his waist. He could nearly wrap his hand entirely around the limb, fingertips almost touching. It made something primal, maybe territorial, bloom in his chest. Viktor was so fucking skinny.

“Mm-” Viktor gasped as their groins slotted together, fingers digging into Jayce’s shoulders. He looked up with those pretty sunset eyes, lips parted, “Jayce.” 

If he was sober, Jayce would’ve realized that his name sounded a little like a warning. But he was high, he was horny, and he had never been much of a good listener. And Viktor smelled so good and his skin was soft and Jayce was kissing up and down his throat. Really, it wasn’t his fault. He had too much he was preoccupied with. 

He rolled his hips again, desperate for friction, and paused. Something about that was… off. It didn’t feel how it should. 

“Hold on,” Viktor spoke up again, another warning. Jayce couldn’t hear him- he was too busy thinking. 

The cogs in his head were turning, and he was realizing, and- Shit. He pulled away like he’d been burned. He watched with wide eyes as Viktor sat up, the latter’s expression nearing resignation. 

“Jayce-” He began, and it sounded like the beginning of an explanation. 

Once again, Jayce was not listening. How the hell was Viktor so calm? This was serious!

“Oh my God.” He breathed out, running a hand through his already messy hair. He sat back on his heels, “Oh my God, Viktor, where’s your dick? What happened to it?” 

The other man watched him in stunned silence. It was totally unnerving. Really, why wasn’t he freaking out?!

“Did I crush it? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that was possible. My Mom always told me I had more strength than I knew what to do with, I just didn’t think it could do this-” 

Viktor snorted. Loud and sharp enough that it shut Jayce up, quieted his mind. The two stared at each other for three long seconds. 

Then Viktor started laughing. 

The sound was light, a little wheezy, and beautiful. Despite the strangeness of the situation, it made Jayce smile. He’d never heard a laugh quite like it. 

Still, that didn’t take away from the very real panic coursing through him. 

“Jayce, you are- oh, God.” He chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand, “It is a good thing you have your looks.” 

He furrowed his brows. His brain was very slow right now and he was very, very confused. Shaking his head, he rested a hand on Viktor’s knee, “I don’t understand.” 

The smile the man gave Jayce was equal parts fondness and patronization, “I don’t have a, eh, dick, as you so eloquently put it. I never have.” 

Jayce tilted his head to the side as if things would make more sense at a 45-degree angle. He blinked once, twice, three times, “What?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, more for theatrics than anything else, “To put it technically, I was born a female. Which took me very little time to realize was not the case. Thus, here I am now. Not a female. My body simply… is a little behind in the process.” 

“Oh.” 

Jayce was the dumbest fucking idiot in the world. His face was absolutely on fire, embarrassment burning through him. Part of him hoped death would just take him now, or that this was all a dream he’d wake up from. If only to save himself from the humiliation. Viktor must have been kicking himself for spending time with such an imbecile. 

“Is that a problem for you?” Viktor asked when Jayce stayed silent, an incredulous eyebrow raised. The warmth was gone from him, defenses raised as he waited for an answer. 

Jayce lurched forward, desperate to fix the situation, to stop being so damn stupid. A large hand cupped Viktor’s cheek, “No! No, not at all. I’m sorry, I just- I feel so stupid.” He laughed, more self-deprecating than anything, “You’re great, Viktor- wonderful. And I’m an idiot. I didn’t- I’m sorry, my brain is not working. It’s not a problem. I like you how you are.” 

The word vomit spewing from him was grating on his nerves, making him cringe. He wanted to curl into a ball and die. This was the worst. 

He expected Viktor to pull away. To tell him to leave, that they were done and Jayce was unwelcome. He expected to be shunned for his idiocy. He would’ve deserved it, too. 

Instead, the man huffed out a laugh. He shook his head, “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call you an idiot, Jayce. But it certainly was not one of your finest moments.” 

“Definitely not.” He grinned, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbone, “Try not to hold it against me? I don’t care that you’re a guy without a dick. I like you. I’m just very high.” 

“Oh, you like me?” Viktor wrapped a hand around Jayce’s forearm, “You just met me.” 

He gave a half-assed shrug, getting a little caught up in how starkly contrasting their skin tones were, “It doesn’t take much.” 

“Just weed and some kissing, huh?” 

“You also happen to be very cool.” Jayce argued, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Though the weed and the kissing don’t hurt.” 

Viktor chuckled. He looked so lovely with his hair down and a smile on his face. Jayce wanted to commit it to a canvas and look at it forever. 

“Can we do some more of it? The kissing?” He asked before he could stop himself. This longing in his chest was more than he could bear. 

The man’s eyes shimmered like starlight, something akin to pride flaring in him. He liked that Jayce wanted him. Jayce liked it too- he liked that look on Viktor’s face a lot. 

Just as Jayce’s companion opened his mouth to respond, though, they were interrupted. 

The door to the basement was flung open, letting in a flurry of pounding music and strobe lights. Jayce jumped a foot in the air, heart rate skyrocketing, while Viktor didn’t move a muscle.

“Vik, you down there?” A voice that could only be described as cackly called. From here, Jayce couldn’t see any part of the intruder besides black scuffed boots and two ankle-length blue braids, “Ekko says I can’t set off my fireworks unless you’re there to supervise!” 

Viktor laid his head against the back of the couch and looked up toward the doorway, “I’m assuming you won’t be taking no for an answer?” 

“Nope!” Came her enthusiastic reply as she rocked back and forth on her heels, “I told you I was gonna make you participate in the party. You’ve had your time.” 

The man let out a long sigh before responding, “I’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t take too long! I’ll be on the roof!” 

Then the door slammed shut, and they were in the quiet again. 

Viktor looked at Jayce with an expression bordering on apologetic, “It seems we’ll have to rain-check our kissing, unfortunately.” 

“You have to go?” He didn’t mean to sound as pathetic and whiny as he did. The thought of parting with him right now made him very sad. 

“Jinx is not one for patience.” Viktor got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head until his spine popped. His shirt rode up, giving Jayce a peek of smooth skin over a prominent hip bone, “And I’d prefer if my house didn’t get burned down by her antics. I like having a place to live.” 

Viktor was reaching for his cane and Jayce was panicking, panicking, panicking. He didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet. His mind was a haze but he knew that much. 

“Well, can I see you again? Sometime soon?” Desperate. He must’ve looked so desperate. He didn’t care. 

Viktor paused and looked down at him, half-smirking. His fingers tapped against the head of his cane, “I’m sure you’ll see me again, Jayce. Some time.” 

“But-” 

“You can stay down here as long as you’d like.” Viktor walked towards the stairs, favoring the weight of his bad leg a little, “Enjoy the quiet, get some rest, take care of your… predicament. No one will bother you.” 

It didn’t take a genius to know that the ‘predicament’ was Jayce’s not-so-subtle erection. His cheeks were heating up again. All he could do was watch with resignation as the man moved away from him. He was like water Jayce was trying to hold in his hands. 

Just as he was about to ascend the stairs, Viktor stopped again. He looked at Jayce over his shoulder, gazing through strands of brown hair. His eyes shone with warmth, “Thank you for keeping me company. I hope it was as… enjoyable for you as it was for me.” 

He left after that. Deserting Jayce in the basement with kiss-swollen lips, too-tight pants, and a whole lot of questions. 

[venusbyline]

Jacaerys Velaryon — Nine Moons.

chapter two

(previous chapter)

(next chapter)

— summary: After Lucerys' death and the arrival of the dragonseeds, Jacaerys no longer wants to be betrothed with Baela. He wants to marry his twin sister, even if it means going against Rhaenyra's decisions and sealing suffering in your life and his.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: dark, sequel to Sleep (but can also be read as a standalone series)

— word count: 2.5k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), forced pregnancy, mild angst, pregnancy kink, manipulation, sexism, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, verbal abuse, sadism, dark content, referenced underage sex, crying, threats of violence, forced marriage mentioned, marriage of convenience mentioned, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, referenced Targaryen/Velaryon Incest (cousins), minor Addam Velaryon/reader, jealous!Jacaerys, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Nine Moons is a shortfic, sequel to the one shot Sleep, written for Kinktober. Both Nine Moons and Sleep can be read as standalone.

— author's notes²: Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: Happy Holidays guys <3 <3 <3 I hope 2025 will be an amazing year for all of you. Thank you so much for supporting me this year and my fics. Despite some spam and haters, being able to share my stories with you and interact here were my favorite experiences in 2024.

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin)

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Nine Moons masterlist • Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

During the fifth moon of your pregnancy, the whispers around Dragonstone continued in full force. Jacaerys was busier than ever with the development of the war, preferring to constantly fight with his mother and the Council about the situation of the Dance of the Dragons than to sit for hours inside a stupid library with Baela.

Rhaenyra was determined to keep her son close to her stepdaughter and prevent him from having too much free time to visit his twin sister in the private chambers. Whenever Jace tried to spend more hours than necessary with you, she would find a way to give him some order, whether it was something about Baela or a political opinion.

No matter how much you tried to reassure Jacaerys, the boy was always grumpy and complaining about your mother, complaining about her ridiculous interference between the two of you.

That was why when Baela and Jacaerys were forced to fly together, he did not make any effort to even discuss something with his betrothed. The only sound on the hill being the typical noises made by the dragons after their riders descend at the tip.

As the minutes of silence passed, Baela felt her jaw clenched, watching her cousin sit down on the floor and look away from her, seeming more interested about the sight of the horizon.

Poking the inside of her cheek with her own tongue, the princess finally opened her full lips to speak. "Remember when we were younger? We always used to fly together... Train together..." Jacaerys looked at the girl with some disapproval, ignoring her words and looking back at the sky. This angered Baela again and she pushed him a little more. "You wanted me a lot back then."

Jacaerys snorted, his body still sitting up, but his mind quickly wandered to the days where they had fun together, taking advantage of the fact that Daemon and Rhaenyra were always too busy with their own relationship to worry about whether their children were doing something morally wrong or not.

Either way, not that there were many things morally wrong from the Targaryen family's perspective.

"I was young and brainless. Any tight cunt delights an inexperienced virgin little boy."

As bitter as his words were, Baela could not help but chuckle. "Oh, so now you admit my cunt is good?" She teased, not caring about the furious gaze the prince gave her. "Do not be so surly, Jace. There was a time when I was your favorite girl."

It was Jacaerys' turn to scoff, his face beginning to flush, both from the sun's rays hitting the hill and from the anger that began to course through his veins, fire burning in his eyes as he stared at her, his jaw hard almost like a stone. "My favorite girl has always been my twin sister. You were a cunt for me to fuck and use as I wished. Nothing more than that."

The amusement in Baela's face disappeared immediately, her eyes widening with a mixture of indignation at the lack of respect and hurt at his harsh words. Despite her abrupt silence, Jace did not look guilty at all, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What is that? You do not look as tough as your father anymore, dear betrothed." He mocked the nickname that was supposed to be sincere and affectionate. "You sound a lot more like your mother now. Two melancholic and annoying women. Always the second option. Never truly chosen and loved. But at least Laena was useful as a broodmare for Daemon, something you did not even get from me."

Baela's eyes darkened, thousands of thoughts running through her mind, from angry insults to possible ways to push Jacaerys off the damn hill. However, anything about those thoughts could just end up with her dead afterwards, and that was out of the question.

Instead of retaliating against his cruel behavior, Baela bit her lip, choosing to follow his gaze to the horizon too and feeling the wind slightly messing up some strands of her white braids.

"Your nausea seems to have subsided, Princess." Addam Velaryon's voice echoed inside the dining room, your head turning so you could face him, pausing your meal for a while so you could continue talking. It was good to have someone other than Jacaerys to talk, even if it did not last long.

"The Maester said that they started to subside from the fourth moon, and now during the fifth it is really easier than before." You wiped your lips with the white napkin, and then pointed to the chair in front of you. Addam nodded, giving you a soft smile and moving to join you at the table. He was not the biggest appraiser of blackberry jam, however, asking the castle's servants to prepare something more nutritious only for him did not seem like a good idea, so he tried his best to hide his discomfort, using the knife to spread some on the toast. "You do not like blackberries so much, do you?"

Addam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but his lips pulled into an embarrassed smile. "Unfortunately you are right, Princess. But I do not mind eating a little bit just to enjoy Your Grace's company."

A chuckle escaped from you and you put your hand up to cover the mouth, still chewing on a piece of toast. "My apologies for that, Addam. My brother Jace has been very strict with my diet since I was pregnant.'

Despite the playfulness in your tone, a glimmer of concern crossed Addam's face, and he tried to hide it by clearing his throat and pointing to the glass of almond milk next to your hands. "There is a belief that some foods and drinks help with breast milk production." He said and your gaze dropped to the glass and then back to him, waiting for him to keep telling you about the curiosity. "I mean... I do not know if it is true, Your Grace. There are many foolish beliefs that continue to be told and reproduced from generation to generation... But many times I have heard women whispering among themselves about this subject. And apparently both almond milk and blackberry were on their list."

As random as the topic was, you could not help but smile at Addam's knowledge. You watched him while he went back to eating his toast with blackberry jam, trying to hold back your laughter when you noticed the slight frown on his eyebrow. As much as you felt tempted to ask the servants to prepare something different for your cousin, you just kept thinking. "You seem to know a lot about pregnancies, Addam. Do you have any children we do not know about yet?"

Addam chuckled after hearing his joke, coughing a few times after he choked on the piece of toast. "No... Gods, I do not. Not at all." And chucked again when he managed to breathe, awkwardly wiping his lips. "I do not believe I would be a good father or even a good husband."

Your excited facial expression faded, your eyes widening slightly and your lips parted, thinking about something to say. Even though Addam's tone was playful, you were feeling a hint of insecurity and self-loathing in what he was saying.

Without thinking so much, your fingers reached out to try and hold the man's hand and say something reassuring about the whole situation. However, the sound of the dining room doors opening made you step back, straightening up in your chair as Jacaerys and Baela entered the room.

"Dear sister..." Your twin greeted you, cold eyes wandering between you and Addam, an eyebrow raised at the somewhat unusual scene.

"Idaña." You forced a smile at Jace, finishing cleaning your lips dirty with the crumbs from the meal. "Did Vermax and Moondancer have fun?"

Since the last few weeks, you have felt forced to stop asking directly if Baela and Jace were having fun, due to the rudeness your cousin and future sister-in-law said whenever you asked something like that after the tense and obligatory flights. Then, the only possible option to make some effort to lighten their mood was to focus on the subject of their dragons.

"You could say that." Baela muttered without any real emotion, pulling out a chair to sit at the table as well, but far away from you and Addam.

Silence followed while Baela and Addam were eating their toasts and you were drinking the remaining almond milk in the glass. Despite the effort between the four of you to avoid eye contact with each other, you could feel that Jace remained standing in front of the table, probably waiting for you to finish eating so that both of you could have some time alone.

When you placed the glass on the table, a maid came with a tray to remove the used utensils. You murmured an acknowledgment with a soft smile, trying to get up from the chair, the strange twinge inside your belly making you stop immediately, whimpering and placing your hands tightly on the corner of the furniture.

"What is wrong, love?" Jacaerys asked confused, practically moving with the speed of a dragon towards you, his hands on your shoulder to form you back into the chair safely. Addam had stood up and walked around the table, keeping a respectful distance between both of you. Baela continued to sit in the other corner, but her attention was focused on what was happening too. Even the maid was worried, the tray still in her hands as she waited to understand what had happened and call someone else if necessary.

Jacaerys' fingers immediately approached your round belly when he realized you began to hold onto it, your face remaining in a frown, trying to understand what was happening. When your brother called your name louder and more worried this time, you blinked and looked at him with wide eyes. "I... I do not know. I felt some strange twinge, like something was moving inside me."

Jace parted his lips, frowning and about to ask if it hurt too much, but Baela's voice caught everybody's attention. "Your baby moved."

Her words made everyone else in the room look at the younger Targaryen princess. Jacaerys remained with his hand on his stomach, staring at Baela with shock, just like you and Addam. The maid did the same, but soon her face became a little excited, wanting to explain the situation about what was happening in the princess's body. "It is normal to start feeling your baby moving inside your womb from the fifth moon, Your Grace. They are softer than the next ones to come."

"Will they be even stronger?" Your question came with rosy cheeks and wide eyes, looking down and thinking about what it would be like until the end of the pregnancy. You were carrying a true strong boy or strong girl.

After the maid and Jace made sure you were okay, your twin decided to take you to breathe some fresh air in the garden, walking arm in arm with you as if the two of you were a perfect couple, straight out of the romantic tales that people told you when you were younger, always making you blushing, giggling and kicking your feet.

When you were still a little girl. Younger. Even more naive. Even more vulnerable.

An easy target for Jacaerys' obsession and manipulation.

"I am happy that our baby is developing very well in your womb. I bet it will be healthy and brave. An admirable future king or queen." You raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys' ramblings. "It will be merciful to the loyalists, kind to the people, and fearless against those who do not support it, and—"

"What would be disloyalty to you?" The question stopped him. You did not want to continue arguing about the fact that your brother would be sentencing your child to a similar fate like both of you, Lucerys and Joffrey, four kids always being mocked by a large part of the own family for being "legitimized bastards". You had tried to explain it for many months and you were already giving up on bringing some rationality to Jacaerys's mind and his heart.

The boy seemed to think about your words for a while, furrowed brows as you walked and sat on a bench in the garden. "Well, I would say that disloyal will be those who do not bow down to my choices and opinions, those who dare to try to contradict me or those who stand in my way and make it difficult for me to achieve my goals. When I become the King, I will not be merciful in the face of these people."

You agreed silently, despite finding his thoughts a bit extreme for a future king. Considering that no one on your mother's own council seemed to agree with the heir's peculiar actions committed as a way of marrying who he truly wanted, you could not help but worry about their well-being.

Of course you chose not to say anything about that, thanking the Gods when Jace mumbled something off topic. "Since when did you and that mongrel become friends?"

The offensive nickname caught you off guard and you shrugged. "Addam and I are not exactly friends. I barely talk to him. We just sat together today for breakfast. And it was cool, I supposed..."

Jacaerys nodded without enthusiasm, his hand clenched into a fist as he looked at the garden, thinking of something to say and allowing you to admiring the flowers. He liked to stay like this, enjoying the minutes by your side to rid his mind of the hateful thoughts against your family in the last few weeks and be able to be with you, no worries about whether Rhaenyra would curse him later or not.

However, the moment of peace was not going very well, not after your recent sentence. Jacaerys changed the focus of his concentration, stopping admiring the flowers so he could grab your arm and pull you closer to him. It was not exactly a rough or aggressive movement, but it was sudden, making your eyes widened and a few brown strands of your hair swaying against the soft wind, messing up your braids.

"I know very well what Addam is trying to do. Keep allowing it and I will rip that bastard's tongue out with my own hands, Idaña."

Jacaerys' verbal sadism cut like a knife, the cruelty in emotionally threatening you seeming scarier than the violence about the hypothetical act. Even though your eyes remained wide and a single tear ran down your cheek, Jacaerys did not bother wiping it away, a smirk playing on his lips before he placed a kiss on your forehead and walked to the halls, leaving you in the garden, standing and looking at his back. For a moment, you could almost swear your skin felt like it was on fire due his kiss...

Being with Jacaerys was like being burned alive little by little every day, never free from his fire, never free to breathe fresh air, but also never warm enough to allow yourself the peace of dying.

[leascorner]

b.b. | With child

Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.

Pairing:  Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader

Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.

Words Count: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!

“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.

Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.

His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.

You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.

He did not mind, or so he thought…

Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.

Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.

The ride home that night was particularly quiet.

Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.

On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.

He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?

He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.

When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.

Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.

Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.

“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.

Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.

You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.

Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.

He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.

He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.

He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.

In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.

All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.

It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.

“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.

“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.

He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:

“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”

“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”

“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.

It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.

“My love, this is not your fault.”

“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.

“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”

“Ben, of course, no!”        

“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.

You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.

He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.

“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”

“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.

Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.

“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”

“Ben, of course, I want your children!”

Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.

If he could not tell you, he could still show you…

Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.

“We should just take some time away from here.”

“What do you mean? The season only began-”

“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”

Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.

His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.

“France, it is then.”

Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.

One of the many to come.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Character Development

Rick Riordan's Writing Tips

Rick Riordan:

Character development is paramount for me. I firmly believe that plot and character development must occur simultaneously. Plot cannot be left to chance. Neither can characters be automatons who carry out actions envisioned in the author's master plan. Below are some things I try to keep in mind when developing my characters:

RICK RIORDAN'S TOP 5 TIPS ON CHARACTER

Define a character first through action, second through dialog and description, never through explanation.

A character should be primarily defined by the choices he makes, and the actions he takes.

How does he respond to violence?

How does he respond to love?

Secondly, a character must be vividly but deftly describe through his speech, and through the initial view you give the reader.

Never stop to explain who a character is when we can watch him in action and decide for ourselves.

Be impressionist rather than realistic.

Describe characters as Dickens did – with a single deft stroke.

A laundry list of physical traits is realistic, but it is neither memorable nor compelling.

A jarring metaphor for the character, or a focus on one mannerism or physical trait, can be very compelling.

Example: She was a human tornado.

Do not be afraid to use real people as models, but do not be constricted by your models.

It is very natural to use parts of ourselves or the people we know when creating characters.

Do not be afraid to do this because someone might get mad at you.

At the same time, let your character develop.

Do not force them to do what the real-life model would do.

Characters seldom end up exactly like the real people they are based on.

The reader does not have to be told everything you know about the character.

It may be critically important to you that your character has blue eyes, or went to Texas A&M.

But if these details have no part in the story, the reader will not care.

Leave them in your subconscious.

If you are having trouble figuring out a character, fill out a character profile, or do some journaling in that character's voice.

Your character must act, not simply be acted upon.

We care about characters because we are interested in the choices they make.

We want to boo the villain, cheer the hero, and cry with frustration when the tragic figure makes the wrong move.

A character who does not act, but simply receives information and is acted upon by outside forces, is not a character who will compel the reader.

Remember, plot is what the characters do next.

If the characters do not create the plot, the plot is hollow.

Here's a character profile worksheet I sometimes fill out if I'm having trouble understanding a particular character I've created:

Character Profile

Name:

Height:

Age in story:

Birthplace:

Hair color, length, style:

Race/nationality:

Regional influences:

Accent: (include voice, style of speech, slang, signature phrases or words)

Religion:

Marital status:

Scars or other notable physical attributes:

Handicaps: (emotional, physical, mental)

Athletic? Inactive? Overall health?

Style of dress:

Favorite colors:

How does the character feel about his/her appearance?

Brothers/sisters:

Relationship with parents:

Memories about childhood:

Educational background: (street smart? Formal? Does he/she read?)

Work experience:

Occupation:

Where does the character live now? Describe home (emotional atmosphere as well as physical)

Neat or messy?

Sexual preferences/morals/activities:

Women friends/men friends:

Pets?

Enemies? Why?

Basic nature:

Personality traits (shy, outgoing, domineering, doormat, honest, kind, sense of humor):

Strongest trait:

Weakest trait:

What does the character fear?

What is the character proud of?

What is the character ashamed of?

Outlook on life (optimistic, pessimistic, cynic, idealist)

Ambitions:

Politics:

How does the character see himself/herself?

How is the character seen by others?

Do you like this person? Why or why not?

Will readers like or dislike?

Most important thing to know about this character:

Present problem:

How it will get worse:

What is the character's goal in the story?

What traits will help/hurt the character in achieving this goal?

What makes the character different from similar characters?

Why will readers remember this character vividly?

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[lovelyspring7]

White Pearl | Yandere JJK x Reader

Summary: You’ve been working as a str1pper for a month until billionaire Jeon Jungkook suddenly takes an interest in you, actually maybe too much of an interest…

Word count: 7,6k

Genre: Yandere, sugar daddy au

Pairing: CEO Sugar daddy Jungkook x str1pper sugar baby reader, short mentions of Cha Eunwoo & Jung Jaehyun.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, abuse of power, fight scene, non consensual touching, mentions of a dead father.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviours. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Authors note: Okay I’m really proud of how this turned out! I really hope you enjoy reading it! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!☺️💜

Read Part 2 Here | Read Part 3 Here

In three days, Jeon Jungkook will become the heir of his deceased father’s successful real estate company. Jungkooks fate was written from the moment he was born, it was only a matter of time before it happened. The old man had it coming, drinking aged scotch and smoking the finest Cuban cigars since he could remember.

Jungkook has never been close with his parents. He despised them. His parents wanted nothing to do with him, his only purpose was to take over his father’s company, and Jungkook knew that. That’s why he wasted no time trying to get closer to his parents. It was no use. They made that very clear when they sent 7-year-old Jungkook to a prestigious boarding school with other rich snobs.

Although, being an only child, rich and privileged. All he had to do was to snap his fingers and he’d get what he wanted almost immediately.

The newest expensive car? Check.

Private jets? Check.

Luxury real estate? Check.

You could say he had it all, at least the materialistic stuff.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Jeon,” Eunwoo said with his usual charm, offering a polite nod to Jungkook’s mother.

She barely reacted, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Eunwoo. Jungkook’s inside.” Her voice was light, devoid of grief. Eunwoo nodded before he entered the study, Jaehyun trailing behind.

“Hey, Kook,” Jaehyun said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Jungkook didn’t look up. Instead, he swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “I’m fine.”

“Your mom seems fine too,” Jaehyun added, his voice tinged with disbelief. He perched on the edge of the desk, glancing at Eunwoo.

“So,” Eunwoo began, leaning casually against the wall. “How much did you inherit, exactly?”

Jungkook smirked. “A lot.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Lucky bastard. Hey, how about we grab a drink? Celebrate your, uh, newfound wealth.”

“Sure,” Eunwoo added, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Or we could check out that new club. You know, the one with the strippers? Rumor has it they’ll do anything for the right price.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously suggesting we hit a strip club the same day as my father’s funeral?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “Excess was his thing, wasn’t it? You’re just keeping tradition alive.”

The comment shouldn’t have amused Jungkook, but it did. He pushed himself up from the chair, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “You’re both idiots.”

“But we’re your idiots,” Jaehyun said with a wink, throwing an arm around Eunwoo as they headed for the door. “Be there by eleven. And bring cash! Lots of it!”

﹉﹉﹉

“You’re late,” Bora called, not even looking up as she leaned toward the mirror, expertly reapplying her cherry-red lipstick. The fluorescent lights of the dressing room buzzed softly overhead.

“Yeah, I had to submit an assignment early today,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket and pulling your hair back. The soreness in your shoulders hadn’t left since your morning shift at the café.

Bora glanced at you in the mirror, her eyebrows raising as she watched you strip down to your work attire, a sparkling two-piece that felt far too bold against your skin. “Girl, you’re gonna burn yourself out at this rate. You know that, right?”

You shrugged, forcing a smile as you strapped on your pink glitter heels. “Gotta pay rent somehow.”

It has been a month since you started working at Black Pearl Club. When the bartender job didn’t pan out, stripping felt like your only option. Temporary, you’d told yourself. Just until you graduate, just until you get out of debt. But every time you caught your reflection in the dressing room mirror, the weight of it all made your stomach turn.

“Okay, well, hurry up. It’s getting crazy out there,” Bora said, as she fluffed her hair. “All the big spenders are here tonight.”

“Just give me five minutes,” you replied, swiping on mascara.

Before Bora could respond, her eyes widened, and she let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?” you asked, startled, almost smudging your makeup.

“It’s freaking Jeon Jungkook,” she hissed, peeking through the cracked door. Her voice was breathless with excitement, like she’d just spotted a celebrity, which, apparently, she had.

“Who?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Bora whipped her head around to gape at you. “You can’t be serious. Jeon Jungkook. The heir to Jeon Real Estate? Rich, sexy, and way too powerful for his own good?”

Your blank expression didn’t change, so she sighed dramatically. “Never mind. Just know he’s loaded. And he brought Cha Eunwoo and Jung Jaehyun with him. Jackpot.”

She tugged her top down a little lower, adjusted her already perfect hair, and shot you a wink. “Don’t wait too long, or the girls will snatch them up. But not before I do.” With that, she was gone, strutting confidently out the door.

You rolled your eyes playfully, muttering to yourself. “Wow. The power of Bora.”

Taking one last glance at your reflection, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the floor. The music hit you immediately, a deep, pulsing rhythm that matched the sway of bodies on the dimly lit stage. You moved cautiously, still new to this world and its unspoken rules. You weren’t like Bora or the other dancers, who walked with easy confidence, drawing men like moths to a flame. No, you stayed in the background, lingering by tables, feeding shots to customers, even helping to clean up spilled drinks.

The pole? That was for the pros. You didn’t dare try it on nights like this.

“Hey,” a voice called out, cutting through the music. It was low, smooth, with just a hint of amusement.

You turned, and your stomach dropped when you saw him. His dark eyes glinted under the club’s shifting neon lights, framed by long lashes that softened the sharp angles of his face. Tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his tailored blazer, and a silver chain glinted against his silk shirt. He looked like he didn’t belong here, like he owned the place.

“Excuse me?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“How’d you end up here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. His smirk was small, almost playful, but there was something in his gaze that made you uneasy. “You don’t look like the type.”

You crossed your arms, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Listen, sir, I don’t know what kind of weird roleplay you’re into, but I’m not interested.”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and low. “Wait, hold on,” he said, stepping in front of you before you could turn away. “I’ll pay you a thousand bucks just to sit on my lap.”

You blinked, startled by the casual audacity. “A thousand? For just that?”

“Exactly that, Princess,” he said, holding out his hand. His confidence was infuriating, but something about it also intrigued you. Against your better judgment, you took his hand.

He led you to a private VIP room, the scent of leather and faint cologne trailing after him. The room was as luxurious as you’d imagined, matt black walls, plush velvet furniture, and crimson LED lights casting everything in a sultry glow. A strip pole stood in the center, glinting under the chandelier above.

No wonder it cost a fortune to reserve, you thought. He sank into a chair, pulling you onto his lap with a fluid motion that left you unsteady. One hand rested lightly on your thigh, the other brushing against your waist as if it belonged there. You hesitated, unsure of where to place your own hands, before finally draping them around his neck.

For the first time, you took him in fully. His face was almost unreal, sharp jawline, perfectly shaped lips, and those dark, doe-like eyes that seemed to pierce through you.

“You’re staring,” he said, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

“Shut up,” you muttered, looking away. “It’s not that impressive.”

He laughed again, soft and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. “So, what’s your story?” he asked, his tone casual.

“What do you think?” you replied, your voice tight. “Student debt, rent, crappy part-time jobs. Same story, different girl.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “No,” he said finally. “You’re different.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “Let me guess, I’m not like other girls?”

“You’re more of a white pearl,” he said, his voice softer now. “Innocent. Beautiful. Out of place.”

Your breath caught as he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your skin. “You don’t belong here.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“I watched you, you know,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “The whole time. You’re not cut out for this.”

You swallowed hard, heat rising in your cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

“A chance,” he said simply. “To show you something better.”

You blinked, “Show me something better?” you repeated, a flicker of disbelif in your voice. “What does that even mean?”

His lips curved into a small smile, one that didn’t offer answers but promises. “It means you shouldn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

His hand, warm and deliberate, slid slightly higher on your thigh. The touch was slow, too slow. His thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your outfit, and you froze, unsure of what to do.

Your breath got a bit faster, and he noticed.

“Easy now,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue like silk. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, your voice steadier than you felt. But your hands, still resting on his shoulders, betrayed you with their light tremble.

“Are you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. His other hand drifted up, brushing against your waist as if testing your boundaries. His gaze pinned you in place, dark and unreadable. “You’re tense.”

“You don’t exactly make it easy to relax,” you shot back, trying to mask your nerves with sarcasm.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Fair enough,” he said, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic strokes against your thigh. “But I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

You didn’t respond, unsure how to answer without giving too much away. The truth was, his touch wasn’t unwelcome, but it was overwhelming, like he was peeling back layers you weren’t ready to expose.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “You’ve been fighting to stay afloat. Juggling school, work, life. And this place? It’s just survival, isn’t it?”

You stiffened, his words cutting too close to the truth. “You don’t know anything about me,” you said, but your voice lacked its intended bite.

His smile deepened, his fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their soft, hypnotic movements. “I know enough,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “Enough to see you’re not like the others.”

His words hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, as his hand slid up just an inch more. It wasn’t invasive, it wasn’t even inappropriate, but the intent behind it was unmistakable. He was testing you, seeing how far you’d let him go.

“You’re bold,” you said, trying to regain control of the situation, though your voice betrayed your unease. “Does this whole act usually work for you?”

He laughed again, soft and rich, his head tilting back slightly. “It’s not an act,” he said, his gaze snapping back to yours, sharp and unwavering. “I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. “You.”

The single word sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you were certain he could feel it. His confidence, his touch, the way he looked at you, it was all too much, too consuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay exactly where you were.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, but the words came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper.

“I will,” he replied simply, his voice steady, as if the answer was obvious. “If you let me.”

The weight of his words pressed against you, leaving no room for pretense. He wasn’t asking for permission. He was laying a claim, one you weren’t sure you could fight.

“I can’t,” you said finally, shaking your head. “This… whatever this is, it’s not me.”

His smile didn’t falter. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “You don’t have to decide now,” he murmured. “But I’ll make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Be my escort,” he said, his tone calm and measured, as though he were offering you a business deal. His thumb pressed a little harder into your thigh, the heat of his hand impossible to ignore. “Not the kind you’re thinking,” he added when your eyes widened. “Think of it like a sugar baby. Parties, events, dinners. No strings attached, just company.”

You swallowed, your mind racing. The word sugar baby sounded ridiculous, almost laughable, but the way he said it made it sound like a lifeline, a way out of this mess you called life.

“I’ll pay you well,” he continued, his fingers giving a soft squeeze to your thigh for emphasis. “Up to a couple thousands of dollars an hour.”

Your breath caught, and his smirk returned, knowing he had your attention now.

“You don’t even know me,” you said again, your voice weaker this time.

“But I want to,” he replied, leaning back against the chair as if he had all the time in the world. “So, what do you say, Princess? Ready to let me take care of you?”

You stared at him, your mind a whirl of doubt, disbelief, and something far more dangerous: temptation.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, still skeptical. Your voice was steady, but your fingers tightened around the edge of your outfit.

His smile curved slowly, his confidence as unshakable as the air of control that seemed to follow him. “No catch,” he said, his tone light, but his eyes sharp. “You show up when I need you, and I’ll make sure you never have to worry about rent or student loans again.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you said, your voice softer now, though you fought to keep your composure. “Why me?”

His smirk widened, and for a moment, his gaze flicked over you, “Because you’re different,” he said finally, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “You don’t belong in a place like this.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. His words felt like a challenge.

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head. “This… it feels like a bad idea.”

He leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, his fingers pressing just enough to keep you close to him. “Sometimes the best ideas start out feeling wrong,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me prove it to you.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back to your eyes, and the air between you seemed to crackle with tension. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you, how your body betrayed you with every shallow breath and unsteady heartbeat.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “But I’m not doing anything I’m uncomfortable with. No strings, remember?”

“No strings,” his voice echoed. It was steady, composed, and carried an air of finality. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a sleek silver pen and a small leather checkbook. The movement was precise, deliberate, like everything else about him.

He flipped it open, his gaze flicking to you briefly before he began to write. “I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow,” he said, his voice a soft command. The sound sent a faint shiver down your spine. “We’ll go over the details.”

The scratch of the pen against the paper, each stroke deliberate as he signed his name with a flourish. He tore the check free, and held it out to you.

You hesitated before taking it, your fingers brushing against his, a spark that lingered even as you looked down at the paper in your hand.

One thousand dollars.

The number stared back at you, bold and undeniable, written in his confident hand. Below it, his signature sprawled across the bottom with an elegance that felt almost intimidating. It was real.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” you said, your voice faint as your fingers tightened around the check.

He leaned back against the chair, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I never do,” he replied smoothly. His eyes dipped to your hand, watching the way you held the check as though it might slip through your fingers. “Consider it a gesture of good faith. A down payment.”

You glanced back at him, your breath catching when his gaze met yours, dark, intense, and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. His hand slid to your thigh one last time, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch was almost teasing.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Princess,” he said, his voice low and velvety.

Before you could respond, he stood, easing you off his lap with a care that felt almost... tender. He straightened his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs with the kind of precision that only added to his air of control. As he glanced back at you, his faint smile deepened.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said simply, and then he was gone, disappearing through the door with a confidence that left no room for doubt.

You sat there for a moment, the check clutched tightly in your hand, the air in the room still heavy with his scent. You unfolded the check again, your eyes scanning it absentmindedly, until they caught on the name at the bottom.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath caught. No way.

Your mind raced, torn between disbelief and temptation.

Was this your way out, or a mistake?

The check felt heavy in your hand, a stark reminder of the offer he’d made. His touch still lingered on your skin, his words replaying in your mind. Dangerous. Tempting.

And maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

﹉﹉﹉

You had just finished your lecture and were ready to head back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Between work and school, the weight of your schedule felt suffocating. You rubbed your eyes in a futile attempt to shake off the sleepiness, your vision adjusting just in time to spot a sleek black Bugatti pulling into the campus parking lot.

The sight stopped you in your tracks.

The driver’s door opened smoothly, and out stepped Jeon Jungkook.

He looked different today, less polished but somehow more striking. Gone was the formal suit from last night, replaced by a black silk blouse that glinted faintly in the sunlight, tucked neatly into tailored trousers. The silver chain around his neck caught the light, matching the glint of his piercings. Even casual, he radiated a confidence that turned heads.

Your stomach twisted as he walked up the stairs toward you, his steps purposeful and deliberate. He greeted you with a smile, his undeniable charm radiating effortlessly.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice smooth.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you know where I go to school?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I have my ways.”

The evasiveness of his answer annoyed you, but before you could press him further, he extended his hand, the second time this week he’d done so, with the same quiet authority. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, his touch warm and firm.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“And I won’t,” he replied, his smirk deepening as he led you toward the car.

You felt the weight of curious stares from other students as you walked across the lot. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, or care. For once, though, their judgment didn’t faze you. You felt… safe.

He opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushing lightly against the small of your back as he helped you in. The gesture was brief but lingered in your thoughts as he closed the door behind you and moved to the driver’s seat.

The ride was quiet, save for the faint hum of the radio. You stared out the window, unsure if the silence between you was comforting or unsettling. Every so often, you could feel his eyes flick toward you, but he said nothing, his focus mostly on the road.

The tension in your chest grew as the car slowed in front of a towering building that looked more like something out of a movie than reality. Glass windows stretched skyward, gleaming against the sunlight, and the sheer size of it left you momentarily speechless.

“Where are we?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“My place,” Jungkook replied, parking the car. He exited swiftly, circling to your side to open your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Come on,” he said, his hand outstretched once more.

You took it, allowing him to guide you to the entrance. He typed in a code at the door, his movements smooth and practiced, and the lock clicked open with a quiet beep.

When the door to his penthouse swung open, you couldn’t suppress your reaction. The space was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The minimalist decor was luxurious without being ostentatious, each piece of furniture carefully chosen to complement the space.

“Like what you see so far?” he asked, amusement dancing in his voice as he placed his hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a sleek office space.

You nodded, unable to find the right words. The room smelled faintly of leather and something vanilla, a scent you were beginning to associate with him.

He gestured for you to sit across from his desk. “So, where were we, Princess?” he said, pulling out a file from the desk drawer.

“You said there were rules,” you reminded him as you ignored the nickname, your voice sharper now as the reality of the situation set in.

“Right,” Jungkook said, pulling out a sheet of paper and sliding it across the desk toward you. “They’re simple. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Your eyes scanned the document, your eyebrows furrowing as you read:

Rule 1: Until the contract expires, you’ll be living with Jeon Jungkook.

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

“Hm? What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his expression calm.

“I can’t live here!” you said, your voice rising. “I have an apartment. And it’s too far from school. And my jobs-”

“About that,” he interrupted, his tone still infuriatingly calm. “You no longer work there. I emailed both the café and the club this morning. You quit.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did what?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you keep working those jobs, did you?” he asked, his tone patronizing. “It would be too stressful. And besides, you have a chauffeur now.”

The audacity of it left you speechless. He had completely upended your life without so much as asking. You wanted to scream at him, but all you could manage was a strangled, “This is insane.”

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook said, his smirk returning.

You forced yourself to breathe, scanning the rest of the document.

Rule 2: Jungkook will pick out your clothing.

“Seriously?” you asked, glaring at him. “You’re not dressing me like a doll.”

“It’s not about that,” he replied, his tone soothing. “I just want to make sure you look the part. Trust me, Princess, you’ll thank me later.”

Rule 3: Always let Jungkook know where you are at all times.

Your eyes narrowed. “This is overkill.”

Jungkook shrugged, unbothered. “I like to stay informed.”

You set the paper down, exhaling sharply. “These rules are insane.”

“But they’re necessary,” he countered smoothly. “Do you agree?”

After reading through all three rules, you hesitated, the weight of the agreement settling on your chest. They were restrictive, sure, but not impossible. And when you considered what he was offering in return, the decision became easier than you’d anticipated. You picked up the pen and signed your name at the bottom with a steady hand, ignoring the way Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmured, taking the papers back and setting them aside.

He then gave you a tour of the penthouse, which was as stunning as the first time you’d seen it. Every corner of the space exuded wealth, from the marble floors to the sleek furniture, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the rooms in natural light. When your belongings arrived later that evening, you unpacked in silence, settling into what would now be your home.

As you folded the last of your clothes into a drawer, Jungkook had casually mentioned a party tomorrow night- a celebration for him taking over his late father’s company. The weight of his words hung in the air, but you didn’t press further. It wasn’t your place, after all.

Now, you found yourself seated at the expansive dining table, the two of you at opposite ends. The food before you was nothing short of perfection, a feast prepared by a professional chef that tasted like nothing you’d ever eaten before. Each bite melted on your tongue, and despite your best efforts to maintain composure, you devoured most of your plate.

As the meal wound down, you glanced up at Jungkook. His posture was relaxed, a glass of red wine cradled in his hand, but there was a distance in his eyes. Taking a steadying breath, you decided to break the silence.

“I overheard that your father passed away,” you said cautiously, offering a faint smile. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough.”

The shift in his expression was immediate. His jaw tightened, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. When he finally took a sip, his movements were slow.

“Don’t be,” he said, his tone void of emotion. “The old man had it coming.”

The bluntness of his words left you momentarily stunned. You searched his face for any trace of vulnerability, but there was none, only a hardened edge that hinted at years of resentment. He cleared his throat, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“We should get ready for bed,” he said, his voice clipped as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Sensing the finality in his tone, you nodded and rose from your seat, understanding more in his silence than in his words. Whatever relationship he’d had with his father, it wasn’t one he cared to revisit. You almost felt sorry for him, but the thought quickly passed as you excused yourself to your room.

The warm spray of the shower was a welcome relief after the long day. You let the water cascade over your skin, washing away the lingering tension from the dinner conversation. Wrapping yourself in a plush towel, you moved to the bathroom mirror, quickly brushing through your damp hair and applying a bit of moisturizer.

By the time you changed into a loose-fitting t-shirt and shorts, the exhaustion had fully set in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you grabbed the hairdryer and began to run it through your strands, letting the rhythmic hum fill the quiet space.

“Princess, may I come in?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the sound of your hairdryer.

You turned it off and called back, “Yeah, it’s fine. Come in!”

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, holding a large gift box wrapped with a pristine white ribbon. “I brought you something,” he said simply, placing the box on the dresser.

Your curiosity piqued, and you moved to open it, your fingers carefully pulling at the ribbon. Inside was the most stunning red dress you’d ever seen, its silky fabric gleaming under the soft light. You couldn’t help the way your lips parted in awe.

“I’m guessing you like it,” Jungkook said, amusement lacing his tone.

“I love it,” you admitted, running your fingers lightly over the fabric.

“There’s more,” he added, his excitement barely contained. He pulled out a smaller jewelry box, opening it to reveal a simple yet breathtaking white pearl necklace.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook stepped closer, gently taking the necklace from the box. His hands found your waist, guiding you toward the mirror. “Hold still,” he murmured, his voice soft.

He brushed your hair aside, his fingers grazing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. You watched his reflection in the mirror, the intensity in his eyes as he focused on the task. When he finished, he didn’t move away. Instead, he stood behind you, his hands still resting lightly on your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

Your throat tightened, a flush rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find your voice. “We should… we should go to bed,” you said, your words barely above a whisper.

Jungkook held your gaze in the mirror for a moment longer before he stepped back, his hands falling away reluctantly. “You’re right,” he said quietly. His lips curved into a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “Tell me if you need anything.”

With that, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

You stood there for a long moment, your hand lightly brushing the necklace at your throat. The weight of it was unfamiliar, it felt like more than just jewelry.

﹉﹉﹉

Weeks had passed, and your new life with Jungkook had become almost... comfortable. He kept his word, sending more money than you’d ever expected, along with daily gifts that seemed to grow more extravagant. Designer clothes, jewelry, and things you never even dreamed of owning appeared in your room like clockwork.

Surprisingly, Jungkook’s manner had softened since the night you met. The sharp edges of his arrogance dulled ever so slightly, replaced by a quiet attentiveness that caught you off guard. He showed up at your campus during breaks to take you to lunch, ensuring you ate properly. He complimented you often, his words effortlessly slipping into your mind and settling there. His attention was unrelenting, and his affection, though subtle, began to feel natural, even comforting.

The nights you spent together weren’t spent in the dazzling chaos of parties, but in the quiet intimacy of his penthouse. You’d sit on the couch, sharing popcorn as black-and-white movies played in the background. He’d tease you for your poor choice in films, only to get drawn in himself. Mornings when he’d make you breakfast with your favorite tea, prepared just the way you liked it. For someone so commanding, Jungkook had an unexpectedly gentle side, one he reserved just for you.

One evening, after a long day of classes, you arrived at the penthouse to find another gift waiting on your bed. Your heart quickened as you unwrapped it, the soft rustle of tissue paper revealing a breathtaking gown in deep emerald green. The fabric shimmered under the room’s soft lighting, the design simple yet undeniably elegant. Beneath it lay a small white card, his handwriting precise and elegant:

Wear this tonight, Beautiful. Be ready by 7.

– Love, Jungkook

You traced the words with your finger, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Slipping into the dress, you paused in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection. The way the fabric hugged your curves, the way it made you feel, it was transformative. Still, a flicker of doubt crept in. What does he see in me? you wondered. Why me?

The soft knock at your door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, sitting on the bed as you searched for the perfect heels.

Jungkook stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. He moved toward you, crouching gracefully as he took the shoes from your hands. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice low.

Kneeling before you, he gently slipped one heel onto your foot, then the other, his touch careful, almost reverent. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Perfect.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as he stood and offered his hand. “Come on, baby,” he said, his voice softening. “I have a surprise.”

﹉﹉﹉

The car ride was quiet, Jungkook’s hand resting possessively on your thigh as he drove. His thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the touch soothing. You didn’t question where you were going, he liked his secrets, and you’d learned to trust them, even if they left you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up outside a towering glass building, you frowned slightly. The opulence of the place was undeniable, but it only heightened the unease twisting in your stomach. Sensing your hesitation, Jungkook appeared at your side, offering his arm. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear. “You’re with me.”

Inside, the restaurant was just as grand as the exterior promised, the air thick with the scent of truffles and candle wax. Jungkook guided you through the space with practiced ease, every head in the room turning to watch as the two of you passed.

“This is beautiful,” you admitted as you reached the table, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied smoothly, his hand briefly brushing against yours as you sat down. “Expect more of these in the future, Princess.”

Before you could respond, the waiter appeared, a young man with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Jungsik,” he said. “I’ll be taking your order tonight.” He turned to you, his smile widening. “And may I say, you look stunning this evening.”

You forced a polite smile, glancing at Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. His jaw tightened slightly, his grip on the edge of the table subtle but telling.

“Thank you, could I please-”

“Wait,” the waiter interrupted, his expression shifting to one of surprise. “Sorry, but… you look familiar. Have we met before?”

Your heart sank as panic bubbled in your chest. “I-I don’t think so,” you stammered, but he wasn’t convinced.

“No, I’m sure of it!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Black Pearl Club! You’re one of the-”

The sound of Jungkook’s chair scraping against the floor silenced the waiter instantly. His expression darkened, and before you could stop him, he grabbed the man by the collar, his knuckles white with fury. “Say another word,” Jungkook growled, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Jungkook, stop!” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you grabbed his arm. “Please, let him go.”

He turned to you, his breathing heavy, his eyes wild. For a moment, it felt like he didn’t see you at all. Slowly, he released the waiter, who stumbled back, his face pale. “We’re leaving,” Jungkook grabbed your wrist as you left the restaurant, his grip firm but not painful, yet. His jaw was clenched, his movements brisk and purposeful. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, the cool night air biting against your skin as you stepped outside.

“Jungkook, stop!” you protested, trying to pull your arm free. “You’re overreacting!”

“Overreacting?” he hissed, spinning around to face you. The intensity in his dark eyes made your breath hitch. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened in there? What they could’ve said? To me? To you?”

“They’re just words!” you snapped, yanking your arm again. He didn’t let go.

“Words ruin reputations,” he shot back, his voice low and dangerous. “And yours is tied to mine now. Do you understand that?”

You glared at him, your chest heaving as frustration and confusion clashed within you. “I didn’t ask for this! For any of it!”

“And yet, here you are,” Jungkook growled, dragging you toward his car. “Now, get in.”

You planted your feet, resisting his pull. “No. Not until you calm down and stop talking to me like I’m a child.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might lose his composure entirely. Instead, he took a step closer, his presence suffocating, his voice dropping to a sharp, cutting whisper. “Don’t test me, Princess.”

You glared back, defiant. “Or what? You’ll drag me into the car?”

His lips curved into a smile that was anything but kind. “If that’s what it takes.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he added, “And if I do, I’ll make damn sure you stay there. Buckled in. Understand?”

Your pulse raced, his words infuriating. You wanted to fight, to shout back, but his dominance was overwhelming, leaving you feeling trapped. He straightened, his eyes locked on yours.

“Now,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “Get. In. The. Car.”

You hesitated, your gaze darting between him and the sleek black vehicle parked at the curb. Every nerve in your body screamed to defy him, but the sheer authority in his voice made you falter.

“Last chance,” he warned, stepping even closer. “Do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

The challenge in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, and reluctantly, you moved toward the car. Jungkook opened the passenger door with a sharp motion, watching as you climbed in with slow, deliberate steps.

Before you could react, he leaned over, buckling your seatbelt himself. The closeness was suffocating, his movements rough but controlled. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmured, his voice thick with sarcasm as he pulled back and slammed the door shut.

He rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Without a word, he started the engine, his jaw tight as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

The silence was deafening as he pulled out onto the road, the weight of his anger hanging over you like a storm waiting to break. You turned your gaze to the window, your reflection staring back at you, but you could feel his eyes flick toward you every so often, sharp and assessing.

It was going to be a long ride.

﹉﹉﹉

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you’d arrived at his penthouse. Jungkook threw the gear into park with more force than necessary before turning to you, his gaze hard and unreadable.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly, stepping out of the car, waiting for you.

You hesitated, the thought of following him back in didn’t feel right. But as the cold night air seeped into the car, you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Steeling yourself, you stepped out, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

Jungkook was waiting by the elevator, his expression unreadable but his eyes never leaving you. The tension between you felt like a live wire, crackling with energy that threatened to snap.

Inside the elevator, the silence was unbearable. Jungkook stood close, too close, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. The soft hum of the elevator only seemed to amplify the pounding of your heart.

As the doors slid open, you stepped into the penthouse, the familiarity of the space doing little to ease the unease gnawing at your chest. Jungkook didn’t say a word as he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it onto the back of the couch before running a hand through his hair.

“Jungkook,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “We need to talk.”

“Not tonight,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“But-”

“Not tonight,” he repeated, turning to face you. His expression softened just slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “You need to rest, Princess. We’ll talk tomorrow, hm?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the weariness in his voice stopped you. Not knowing what to say and still shaken by the night’s events, you only nodded, your voice caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

After finishing your bedtime routine, you sat on the edge of your bed, wrapped in the softness of your pajamas, wishing the night had ended differently. The image of Jungkook’s rage at the restaurant replayed in your mind like a haunting echo. Despite everything, a part of you wanted to check on him, to ensure he was at least calmer. Quietly, you tiptoed across the cold tile floor, your heart thundering in your chest as you approached the slightly ajar door to his office.

“...Yes, Son Jiho. At Jungsik restaurant. Take care of it. I want him gone for good,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp like a blade.

Your breath caught in your throat as you peeked inside. He was seated at his desk, his phone pressed to his ear. His jaw was tense, his expression unreadable except for the cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. As he ended the call, he let out a low chuckle, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.

You froze. Every muscle in your body tensed as the weight of his words sank in. Gone for good. The realization hit you like a cold wave, leaving your chest tight and your heart racing.

You stumbled backward, your movements slow and careful to avoid drawing his attention. Once back in your room, panic seized you. Your hands trembled as you grabbed your old backpack, throwing in clothes and essentials as quickly as possible. You couldn’t stay. Not after what you’d heard.

Changing into something practical, you peeked out of your bedroom door. The penthouse was shrouded in darkness, the silence unnervingly heavy. You tiptoed to the front door, holding your breath as you reached for the keypad. But when you typed in the code, the door didn’t budge.

Frowning, you tried again, only to be met with the same result. A sinking dread spread through you.

“Princess?”

His voice sliced through the darkness, sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, you turned to find Jungkook standing a few feet away, his figure partially illuminated by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the windows.

“Where are you off to so late at night?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with an unsettling edge as he began walking toward you.

Your mind raced for an excuse. “I-I forgot my book at the library,” you stammered, forcing a casual tone. “I need it.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkened, his steps deliberate. “Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dropping. “So you didn’t happen to overhear me in the office earlier?”

Your stomach dropped. He knows.

Panic bubbled up as he closed the distance between you, his presence heavy. He stopped just inches away, his frame towering over you as he leaned in slightly.

“W-what happened to him?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Jungkook’s hand came up to your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle as his thumb brushed over your skin. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, baby,” he cooed, his voice soft yet chilling. His dark eyes locked onto yours. “But if you really must know... he’s in a better place now.”

The smirk on his lips sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but his presence pinned you in place.

“Enough about him,” Jungkook continued, his tone shifting to something almost affectionate. “You weren’t planning on leaving me, now were you?”

You swallowed hard, your head shaking in silent denial. “No,” you whispered, the lie barely audible.

Relief softened his expression as he exhaled, his hand moving to cradle your face. “My good girl wouldn’t leave me.” His lips curled into a possessive smile. “Not that you could, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice cracking.

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “From the moment you signed that contract, you’ve belonged to me,” he said simply, his voice both calm and dominant.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took a step back, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. “What? No, Jungkook, I-”

“I’m the only one who can look after you!” he snapped, his frustration boiling to the surface. “I was the only one who helped you when no one else did. You need me.”

His voice rose, but he quickly paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “All you need to know,” he said, his voice eerily calm now, “is that you’re mine. I’m never letting you go, and the sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you nodded slowly, too afraid to argue. “I... I understand,” you choked out.

Jungkook’s features softened, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You must be tired huh,” he said, frowning, his tone gentler now, though his grip remained firm.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go to our room and get ready for the night.”

[yourejinx]

Late Nights

Azriel x F.Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, +18, minors dni. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v. A bit of fluff? I think that's it.

Author's note: I wanted to try something different, this is my first time writing content like this so please be gentle but also PLEASE FEEDBACK.

Word count: 4k

It was the fourth night in a row that you were deprived from sleep, cursed with listening Cass and Nesta fuck like rabbits in the room next to yours. In all honesty, you loved your friends and were absolutely thrilled they were enjoying and exploring the extent of their relationship, they deserved it after everything they went through. You just wished they had a little consideration for your poor ears and sleeping schedule. 

You had been working your ass off the past few weeks, Rhys had you and Az going around the courts every other day, plus you've been dealing with Eris, since you seemed to be the only member in the Inner Circle that the Autumn heir tolerated just fine. So you had your plate full, and wished for a little peace and quiet at your own home. But your friends had other plans.

Nesta let out a particularly loud moan that you clearly heard through the too thin wall. It made you grimace and you decided you had enough. Huffing, you tossed the sheets off your body, grabbed the shirt you had stolen from the shadowsinger years ago and opened the door, putting on the clothing while you made your way down the corridor. If you were awake, then Azriel had to be too, he didn't miss a thing happening in this house. 

You didn't bother knocking on his door, you were way past that line with him. Azriel was your best friend, your confident, the person who you most trusted in the entire world, and vice versa. You were too comfortable with each other to bother with politeness. You flung open the door to his bedroom, making your way inside and slamming the door behind you dramatically. The room was dark except for the dim fae light hanging on his bedside table, Azriel had put down the book he was reading to stare at you amusedly. 

"Good evening to you too." He uttered playfully.

You didn't reply, just scowled, walked up to the other side and plopped down face first on the bed beside him. He chuckled. 

"Finding it hard to sleep?" He asked, setting the book aside. 

"They are insufferable." You mumbled around the sheets. They smelled like him, an instant comfort for your tired mind. "Agh! You can hear them from here too! How are you not bothered?!?" You lift your head from his pillows to look at him exasperatedly. 

Azriel smiled somewhat apprehensive at you. "I'm kind of used to it by now." He shrugged. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, smirking. "Kinky."

He rolled his eyes feigning annoyance. "You have no idea, sweetheart." His voice was a deep purr as he smirked back at you. 

You lifted one eyebrow in amusement. There was this recurrent thing between you two, where you usually teased and flirted with each other but never dared to actually do something about it. It was just for fun right? You were friends who just liked messing around as a joke. Always dancing the line between friends and something more, it was a dangerous game for sure, but you had to admit you loved the thrill of it. 

“Is that so? Oh please, do enlighten me then.” You shot back, lying more comfortably on his bed. Arms behind your head, eyes fixed on him. 

Hazel gaze traveled all the way down to the now exposed skin of your upper thighs, your movement had caused the shirt – his shirt– to ridden up a little, revealing more of your legs and the underline of a pair of lacy black panties. His pulse spiked slightly at the sight. You didn’t seem to notice, he averted his eyes before you could catch him shamelessly staring at you.  

There was a glint in your eyes when he caught your stare again, a slight flush to your cheeks, but he didn’t back off. 

“Curious now, are we?” He tilted his head, resting his cheek on his fist to properly look at you. 

“Ah, don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy. You brought it up, are you backing out?” 

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, a playful spark dancing in his golden eyes, when—

“Fuck, Ness!” Cassian’s growl reached both your ears as clear as day. There was a beat of silence after that where you just stared at each other stunned, then you broke in a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously Az, I don’t know how you endure it, if I have to listen to them one more night I’m gonna lose my shit. I haven’t slept in days,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “and neither have you, it seems.” you pointed out, poking open one eye to stare at him. Azriel had laid back facing you, wings tucked behind his back, shoulders involuntarily curving inwards, a sign of tiredness. You noted the dark circles under his eyes. 

“I look that shitty, huh?” he smiled tiredly.  

“Never.” You stated matter-of-factly. “You’re always pretty.” 

It was his turn to blush then, heat rapidly crawling to his face and neck. He could handle your flirting, your teasing, but he didn’t know how to react when you blatantly called him pretty. It just sounded so…sincere, coming from you. It made his heart flutter in his chest. It was no secret that he found you attractive, he thought he made that clear, but there was more to that, wasn’t there? He didn’t just think you were hot, he thought you were beautiful, smart, and kind, and it freaked the hell out of him to acknowledge all those things because that would mean that he wanted more. More than being your friend, but it terrified him to ruin your friendship. If you wanted him in the same way, you would’ve said something by now, right? You’ve known each other for years. 

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered, breath fanning across his face. He hadn’t noticed how close you were. He could feel the heat radiating from your body. 

“I’m thinking that we should sleep.” He answered, but made no move whatsoever. You smiled at him and nodded, making to reach the faelight to turn it off. You angled your body half above him and stretched to the bedside table, hair barely grazing the hot skin of his torso. Gods, you were practically straddling him, his mind taking him to all sorts of indecent scenarios. Your breasts were just a breadths away from his mouth, he could make out the perked nipples under the shirt. He loved seeing you in his clothes, but right now he wanted nothing more than to rip the fabric out of you. Azriel swallowed dryly. 

What was his fucking problem? It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared a bed before, he blamed his friend’s heated session down the hall. He had to admit it had gotten him a bit railed up, especially with you on his bed, smelling like him. It was hard to ignore the growing want in his veins. 

“Goodnight, Az.” You said, pulling back a little to look at him through half lidded eyes, even in the dark. Was it possible you were feeling the same? or was it just tiredness in your features? 

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispered back. If you leaned in any closer, he swears he’d kiss you, consequences be damned. But you slid right back onto your side, back facing him. 

Azriel lets out a quiet, frustrating sigh, reaching an arm out to wrap around your waist pulling you close. More moaning can be heard outside his bedroom, all the way to Cassian’s room. He feels slightly jealous. 

Suddenly you snorted, “We’ll sleep better if we get past the nghs, ohh, right there Cass!” you moaned, imitating Nesta. Azriel inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the way your little whimpering had shot straight to his dick. And the bite of jealousy he felt at hearing Cassian’s name falling so sinfully from your lips.

He scented the slight change in your scent though, a pinch of sweet arousal that got him mouth-watering. It had gotten to your head too, the display of passion from your friends a few bedrooms away. Azriel debated whether it was wise to do something right now, to taste the waters maybe. But you rolled onto your back again, facing the ceiling and letting out a frustrated groan. 

“Someone has to teach them though, make them uncomfortably listen for once. Maybe I’ll go to Rita’s tomorrow, choose a random male and bring him home. Beat them at their own game.” 

“No.” Azriel growled. You turned your head to the side, looking at him and were met with the dark, lustful haze in his eyes. You felt your core pulse in response. Fuck, why was he so hot?

“What do you mean"no "?" You asked, feeling your tongue paper dry  in your mouth.

“Why wait until tomorrow, if you can beat them tonight?”

The offer hung there, unspoken, for a few heartbeats. You felt your face grow hot, felt liquid fire pooling at your belly at the mere suggestion. He hadn’t even touched you and yet he got you all hot and bothered with a few words. You licked your lips, staring at him, shirtless, hair tousled over the pillow, shadows dancing dangerously over his shoulder. As if expecting your answer. He was a sight for sore eyes. It had to be illegal to be this beautiful. 

“I’m game if you are, sweetheart.” There it was, the deep purr again that had you clenching your legs together. He noticed the shift of course, smirking smugly. 

“Haha, very funny.” you said, huffing. 

“I’m not playing.” He pulled you closer, pressing you against his front. You gasped, feeling the not so subtle bulge in his sweatpants, rubbing against the side of your thigh.

“Is this why you kept me at an arm's length tonight?” you chuckled, but he could hear the breathlessness in your voice. “So I wouldn't find out they got you all worked up?” 

“No, this isn’t their doing, angel. It's all yours.” He dared a hand down your waist, past your hips, to ghost over the skin under the hem of your shirt. You shuddered. “Tell me to stop and I will. It's okay.” 

He lifted the fabric ever so slightly, inching closer to the waistband of your underwear. 

You turned fully to him, chests pressed together, breasts dragging against the firm muscle with every breath. 

“Fuck it, let’s show them.” You breathed into his mouth before crashing your lips together in a searing kiss. 

Azriel groaned low against your mouth, grip tighter bringing your hips flushed together, and kissed you back with fervor. Your hands found purchase in the dark locks at the back of his neck, tugging gently and urging him impossibly closer. He pushed you onto your back, knees parting on their own accord to accommodate him between your legs. It was all so hot and messy. Like you both have been waiting for this for a very long time, it made you throb with need. The thought of him wanting you as much as you wanted him. 

You rolled your hips onto him, desperate for any sort of friction, moaning loudly when the clothed tip of his cock catched on your clit deliciously. Azriel took his chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch and taste of you, kissing you deeply, desperately. He wanted more, he wanted everything. A wave of arousal licked down his spine, your lips were sweet and addictive, he wondered — needed to know— if other parts of you tasted as sweet. 

He kissed your jaw, your neck, biting and licking his way down to your collarbones. His right hand came to fondle with the generous swell of your breast over the shirt, pinching at the perked nub. The smell of your arousal hit him at a full force, Azriel felt like a youngling in heat rutting his cock at your core. Fuck, he couldn't help himself, he was so enamoured with the sounds he was getting out of you. 

“Take this off,” he ordered, tugging at your shirt. “If I do it I may rip the damn thing off of you, and I love seeing you in my shirt.” 

You obeyed without a second thought, too lost in the feeling of him already. He invaded all your senses, his touch sending your skin on fire, his scent sparkling pleasure bubbling in your insides. The rich tone of his voice had you feeling all tingly and sensitive. Gods, you wanted him everywhere. 

With the offensive clothing now discarded, Azriel wasted no time dipping his head down and latching his mouth to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth around the nub. His hand came to play with your other breast, giving it the same attention, switching between your tits. You arched your back into him, whining in pleasure. 

He let go of your chest, looking down to admire you, all spread out for him. Nipples hard and shiny with his spit, breathing unevenly, underwear drenched with arousal, all because of him. He felt his cock throb within the confines of his sweats. Fuck, you looked so pretty like this, he had to taste you. Azriel looked up at your face, your glazed over eyes and swollen lips, and kissed you hard. Scarred fingers found the flimsy material of your panties, pushing them aside and dragging two digits along your soaked folds; you both moaned at the feeling. He rubbed tight circles around your clit, then ran a finger through your slit, smearing your juices everywhere. Your breathing quickened and he bit down your lip before kissing his way to your heat. Azriel looked at you from between your legs, pupils blown with lust, smirking wickedly. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged the material painfully slow down your legs, snarling softly at the sight of your dripping pussy. 

“Beautiful,” he moaned. “So damn beautiful.” His tongue darted out to lick a long stripe out your center. It almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your hips bucking off the bed to get closer to his face. He chuckled darkly. “Eager, angel?”

“Az please, stop teasing,”  you whined prettily, eyes locking with his. 

At this point you didn’t care if your friends could hear or not, you wanted Azriel’s mouth on you, his fingers, his cock. You wanted to feel all of him. 

“Whatever my sweet angel wants,” he blew some air into your cunt, making you shiver in anticipation. Azriel dive in, devouring you like a male starved, like he might die if he didn’t get to taste you. He all but full on made out with your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking sharply. He groaned at your taste, the reverberations causing your eyes to roll back into your head, hips jerking up. He wrapped one arm around your hips to keep you pin to the bed and switched between harsh sucks and flicking the wet muscle around the nub. The pleasure was all too much and not enough at the same time, you moaned his name aloud and tugged at the strands of his hair again. 

Azriel’s free hand reached down to spread your folds, soaking his digits in your arousal before proding one finger at your entrance, and pushing inside. Your walls immediately clenched around him, making you both growl in pleasure. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so tight. Already clenching on me,” he moaned, teeth grazing your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, walls clamping down on his finger when he added a second one. You cried out, desperately trying to ride his face. Azriel pumped his fingers inside of you faster, curling his digits to reach that sweet spot that had you seeing stars behind your lids. Words were beginning to fail you, mumbling incoherently about how close you were. “You wanna cum? C’mon angel, give it to me, cum all over my face and fingers.”

His words had an immediate effect on you, pushing you over the edge. Pleasure overpowered you and you let go, cumming hard on his fingers, moaning his name for all the house to hear. Azriel kept thrusting his fingers into your hole, guiding you through your orgasm and licking every last drop you had to offer. He watched you closely, eyes shut in pleasure, soft pants leaving your plush lips as you came down from your high. Only then he pulled his hand away, mesmerized by you. He crawled up your body, coming face to face with you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling. 

“Hey,” you replied, face flushed and smiling satisfied. You reached your hand to push away the dark strands that had fallen into his face, cupping his cheek in your palm. He looked absolutely gorgeous, hair disheveled from your tugging, lips bruised and shiny with your juices, gaze clouded with lust and something else. More intense even, more deep. 

You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip and he sucked it into his mouth, you almost whined again. Breaths coming in short. You brought his face to yours, kissing him with such devotion you couldn't hold back any longer. Azriel shuddered, leisurely kissing you back, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning softly, you ranked your nails down his body, from his pecs, to the hard planes of his abdomen, all the way to his cock, palming him through the fabric. He hissed when you slid your fingers past the waistband of his pants, gripping him in your hand. His hips buckled. He was big, and warm and sticky with pre-cum. You made to put his sweatpants down but he stopped you before you could take it any further. 

“Fuck baby, are you sure?” he asked, looking intently at you. A swirl of emotions passed through his eyes, it made your heart flutter in your chest. “We don't have to, unless that's what you want. I think we made our point clear.” He laughed breathlessly. 

“It is what I want Az. I want you, I need you. Please.” You watched him with pleading eyes, full of trust and… He didn't dare acknowledge that emotion yet, not unless you spoke it out loud. Although his heart still gave a flip. Pulse picking up. 

He helped you pull his pants down, and kicked them out of his legs. His cock sprung free, slapping against his abs, tip swollen and dripping. You flashed him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen you wear, dragging your eyes shamelessly through his body. It gave him a little bit of an ego boost. 

“You're so pretty Az. So so pretty,” you murmured, eyes half lidded already devouring him. 

There it was again, you calling him pretty. He didn't know what to do with himself so he leaned in to capture your mouth in a scorching kiss. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him flush against you, both hissing when the tip of his proud cock bumped against your clit. 

You broke the kiss to slide your mouth along his jaw, down his neck, peppering his sun-kissed skin in love bites. Marking him as yours. Azriel groaned and thrust his hips forward, sliding through your folds, coating his length in your arousal. He repeated the action a couple of times before aligning himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, your wetness and the remnants of your orgasm making it easy to slide all the way in. Your walls hugged him tightly as he bottomed out, stilling, to give you time to adjust to his size. Azriel let out a moan so hot and sinful it made a new wave of arousal wash over you. 

He felt on cloud nine, his head falling to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and letting it intoxicate him. He could’ve cum right then and there, buried to the hilt in your heat. But he wanted it to last, taking his time to savor the feeling of you wrapped around him so perfectly. He had no doubt in his lust filled mind that you were made for him. You were his and only his. 

You rolled your hips at last, running your fingers down his sides urging him to move. That was all it took for him to pull out to the tip and slam his hips hard into yours, Azriel set a slow, sensual pace, intended in making you feel every last inch of him. You welcomed the stretch with a wanton moan, feeling the veins with every delicious drag of his cock against your walls. 

“Gods, Azriel, more!” you whined. “I can take it.” 

“I swear you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” He panted. Pulling out he gripped your hips tightly and turned you onto your stomach, ass up in the air. He thrust in harsher, making you cry out in pleasure. All signs of restraint gone. 

Azriel picked up speed, angling his hips just fine so that he could reach even deeper inside you. He quickly found the spot that had you gripping him tight, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Abusing your hole, hitting your g spot every single time, mercilessly. He had you in a state of pure bliss, bringing one arm to wrap around your middle, reaching between your legs to play with your clit. You were so close, already too sensitive from your previous orgasm. Squirming around in his embrace, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuuck! Don't stop,” you managed out, fisting at the sheets for support. 

“I won't,” he grunted, the swollen head of his cock kissing your cervix. “You're mine, do you understand me? Mine. No other male gets to touch you.” 

“Yes, yes I'm yours,” you panted,  desperately wanting to please him. 

“Good girl.” 

He was relentless, hips slapping with a force that had the headboard smashing against the wall. He knew you were about to cum, could feel his own orgasm sneaking up on him. Azriel went impossibly faster, pulling sobs out of you. You clamped down on him after one particular sharp thrust and your high barreled through you without previous warning. You screamed, white hot pleasure blinding you. Cum gushed out of you, making a mess of your thighs and his. He held your trembling body up, pressed to him as he fucked you through your orgasm, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. His wings flared proud behind him and he felt the tight knot in his gut snap. Azriel came with a growl of your name, hips coming to a stop. Your body falling limp atop the bed. 

Slowly pulling out of you, he watched astonished at the mess you made, both of your juices dripping down your legs. When his breathing became even again, Azriel leaned in to press a kiss to your spine, making you shudder. 

“You okay, angel?” He asked, scarred fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. 

You smiled tiredly at him, content. “I feel amazing.” 

He chuckled and laid back next to you, pulling you to lay on his chest. You pressed a kiss over his heart, arms resting on his stomach, still catching your breath. No one spoke for a while, enjoying the aftermath of your actions. There was no room for worry, not with Azriel. Not ever. 

He traced iddle circles on your skin, loving how well you fit next to him. 

“Az?” You called softly to him, he hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you hear that?” 

He stilled, straining his hearing. Muffled moans could be heard down the hall and the distinct sound of a headboard smashing hard against the wall. You laughed in unison. 

“I think we may have spurred them on,” he said amusedly, voice hoarse. 

“I've never been more glad to have left my room than right now” you chuckled. 

“You and I both, angel.” He added, squeezing your ass. 

You turned to him, placing a kiss to the outline of his jaw. Silently admiring the hickies you left on his neck. 

“How does a second round sound?” You purred. 

He smirked, cock already hardening. “Absolutely delightful.”