#Shadow is a great dancer

[singingvio]

Dancing together~

Green’s a little distracted lol

[universalthaumaturge]

so. chapter 5 huh.

[liamrrys]

wait ik i said college au vfv but ballet company/academy au..

[prael]

Day 2: Covered

IVE An Yujin x male reader smut

words: 6,374 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They said you could have been special; you would argue that you are.

Destined for greatness. A bright future. Whichever other way they wanted to express it.

The thing is, not everyone is cut out for the centre stage, and that's okay. You still get to do what you love, surrounded by people who share the same passion and work just as hard. Sometimes in life, you are the backup dancer in someone else's story. Sometimes, you literally are the backup dancer.

Yujin however, Yujin is the star. The one the world adores. The one that everyone around her seems to orbit.

You're just another face in her gravitational pull. You're on the stages and you're in the videos but no one remembers your name. There's probably an edit on Weverse somewhere with a sticker on your face. It's fine though. You've long made your peace with it.

You refuse to let that take away from the fact you spend so much time with An fucking Yujin. You've seen her in every single state, every emotion. She likes her 5 am coffee black and her mid-day one with ice. Yujin loves it when you massage her shoulders after practice and hates it when you play the same song twice in a row. However, the thing she loves above all else (and this can never go public) is having you on your knees—serving her like the queen you know her to be.

That's her secret. It's one you bear—one you're fine with keeping.

The final shoot is tomorrow, and today's practice is over but you know better than to follow everyone else out of the studio. You wait and you linger, and when the room clears out and you're sure everyone has left, you kneel and you wait. Sure enough, she notices and a smile creeps onto her face.

You don't bother to look up. Instead, you stay kneeling, waiting, knowing she's going to make her way over to you.

She does.

You hear her soft footsteps approaching and see the shadow fall over you as she stands there, looking down at you. You look up, slowly, eyes trailing up the length of her legs, over the expanse of her bare thighs and then just as you reach her hips, her fingers slip into your hair. She tightens her grip and yanks your head back so she can stare directly into your eyes.

"Did I say you could look at my legs?"

You gulp, feeling the tug on your hair and the way it makes your scalp burn. Your throat is dry, mouth parted and eyes wide. "No," you respond.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, your hands clenching into fists and relaxing again as she tugs harder, her grip unrelenting.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she scoffs. "Why do I always have to teach you a lesson?"

You open your mouth to speak but the words die in your throat when she shoves you to the ground and kicks her leg out, planting her foot on your chest.

"Take off my shoes, don't talk."

You rush to comply, untying the laces of her sneaker before slipping it off. Yujin switches foot and you obediently repeat the action, putting the shoe beside the first one. You know that you can't allow your eyes to linger, but her bare legs are right over you and it takes all your self-control to look away.

"Socks," Yujin mutters.

You take a deep breath, knowing exactly what she wants you to do. You're slow to reach out, placing a hand on her ankle. She lets you, allowing you to gently lift her leg and slide her sock off, dropping it to the ground beside her. Your hand slides higher, caressing the soft skin of her calf, tracing the contours of her muscles. You're almost distracted until Yujin clears her throat, glaring down at you.

You nod, sliding the second sock off her foot and letting that join the first. You don't know where to look, her skin is right in front of you, begging to be kissed. Her eyes are boring into you, demanding all your attention.

"I don't know if you deserve it," she hums, lifting her foot. She drags her toes over your chest, the ball of her foot pressing down just beneath your collarbone.

"Deserve what?"

"To taste me," she laughs. "Don't think I didn't notice how distracted you were today. Don't think I didn't notice you staring at me."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie," she interrupts. "It's a bad habit."

You're so hopelessly disarmed. Lying underneath her on the hardwood floor of the studio with your body burning. She's so beautiful, and it's not fair. It's not fair how the universe created someone who can ruin you so easily and look so effortless doing it.

"You're lucky it's recording today tomorrow. You know what that means."

Like any other day before a big something, Yujin has a need for a release. It's a tradition at this point. The days leading up to something are so full of stress and excitement that it all gets too much and the only way for her to relieve herself is to use you.

You nod. You know exactly what it means.

She lowers her foot, and you feel her toes brush against the crotch of your shorts. You suck in a breath as she rubs up and down the fabric, pressing into you. She's watching your reaction, watching the way you bite your lip and clench your fists.

"You've been bad today. Distracted. Not focusing. Do you think you deserve this?"

"No," you shake your head.

"I don't think you do either." She removes her foot, stepping back.

It's torture. You clench your eyes as hard as your fists, desperate not to act out of turn.

"But you know what I want," she continues as you dare to open your eyes and look up. She's staring at you, hands on her hips. "You know what to do to get back on my good side."

You nod. Of course, you know. It's not the first time you've found yourself on the floor beneath her. You sit up on your knees and shuffle forwards. Her shorts are black and loose. Your fingers slip into the waistband and you tug them down slowly, sliding them over the curve of her ass, past the smooth, glowing skin of her thighs and down to her ankles.

You take a breath. You're so desperate. So hungry. She's wearing the laced panties you like. The ones you bought for her and left in her bag. They hug her so tightly that she seems to be straining against them. Her ass looks perfect, her thighs thick and inviting and her cunt...you can see the outline of her folds. The thin material barely covers her. She knows how much it affects you.

"You're staring again," she huffs, pushing her hand into your hair once more and tugging roughly.

"I can't help it," you whimper.

Her fingers twist and you feel the burn in your scalp once more as you wince in pain. Yujin's hand moves from your hair, dragging down the length of your neck and around to the front of your throat. Her hand squeezes gently, thumb and index finger digging in just below your jaw.

"You can. You will."

You gasp, her grip is tight and you can't breathe, your eyes watering with the pain and the pleasure that it brings. She leans forward, her breath hot against the shell of your ear, her grip tight. You're trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Beg me," she whispers.

"Let me taste you. Let me kiss you. Please, please let me—"

Her grip on your neck tightens, cutting you off. Your words dissolve into a whimpering mess and your eyes roll back in their sockets as your body melts into her. Her touch, her words, her everything has such an effect on you that it takes you to another world. The only thing that exists is the two of you.

"Pathetic," she scoffs, her lips brushing your ear. "You'll do anything, won't you?"

"Yes," you moan, and you mean it.

"Good," she says as she pushes you away and you collapse back against the ground. "Now make me feel good, will you? I'm sick of waiting."

Yujin steps over you, her legs on either side of you and she pulls the laced underwear to the side, lowering herself down until she's hovering just over your mouth.

She looks ethereal like this, the lights shining down on her. The goddess of your dreams, the star of your story.

"Please, let me—" You don't even need to finish your sentence, Yujin sinks down, pressing her pussy onto your lips and you open your mouth to lick at her. A mouth full of pussy, the taste of her arousal hitting your tongue. She grinds down, the soft skin of her thighs pressing in on either side of your face, trapping you. You lick again, tongue flat against her, licking up from her entrance and over her clit. She grunts and her hips buck forward, grinding her pussy down harder on your lips.

"More," she pants.

And you give it to her. Your tongue laps at her, teasing her clit. Her hips roll and you feel the slickness between her legs growing and it's all over you, coating your face as you desperately reach for her thighs. She slaps your hand away.

"Did I say you can touch?"

You struggle to shake your head between her legs.

"So keep them down."

Your hands go back to your side and she groans in approval, grinding harder and faster, using you like she knows she can. This is so Yujin, to use you like she's nothing but a toy for her to play with. You don't care, you'll do whatever she wants.

You're lost in the moment, your tongue licking, tasting and teasing as you desperately try and find the rhythm she's moving in. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you there. You cut shapes across her clit with your tongue and you feel the shuddering of her legs as she whines. She loves it when you write her name with your tongue. The letters spelling out An Yujin.

It's all it takes for you to be consumed by her. She's in your system and all you want to do is make her feel good.

Even the powerful, composed, elegant, Yujin has to succumb in some form to the pleasure. She's been riding you with so much poise and posture. Her back is slightly arched, so above you is just the beautiful expanse of her upper body—clung to by a sweat-soaked white shirt. She's running her hand across her chest, her fingers twisting a nipple as she works herself into a frenzy on you. Her head rolls, her hand moves to the base of her neck and she moans.

She basks in the light shining down on her, and it's a sight to behold. The way it glistens on her skin. The sweat runs down her chest. Her hair, her face. The way she looks when she's so completely in the moment.

"Fuck—" she gasps and her thighs tense around your head.

You're trapped and you're struggling. Your face is covered in slick and your mouth is filled with her taste. You feel like you're suffocating and all you can think is that this is how you want to die, with Yujin all over you. Yet you know there's more to come. She starts to crumble. The poise fades and she leans forward, slamming the palm of her hand against the floor.

She hunches as she rides harder. She's fucking down onto your face. Grinding her pussy on your lips and your chin, chasing the ecstasy that she needs. She's so close you can feel it in the way she trembles. You hear it in her moaning, her whines. She's there. Right there, on the cusp. 

And how you wish you could take hold of her. Grip her juicy ass in your hands and push your mouth against her cunt and fuck her with your tongue. You'd do it. You would. Your hands twitch at the thought. Your fingers curl into the floor instead. There will be no marks on Yujin's perfect skin from your fingers right now. You keep them clenched and do as you're told.

"Fuck—" She grunts, her thighs trembling. You can't move and you can barely breathe. All you can do is lick at her and let her ride you like a toy.

It's enough. Yujin cries out and her back arches, her head falling backwards. She comes and it's the most glorious sight, watching her body tense as her thighs tremble, clenching around your face. She grinds, rubbing against your tongue as she draws it out. It's messy and loud. She's panting, her chest heaving and she moans, rocking her hips and gasping.

It's like the tension washes out of her body and she sinks down, relaxing against you. She sits on your chest, looking down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. You try to smile back but all you can manage is a dopey grin as you struggle to catch your breath. She's beautiful like this. Her eyes shine bright, the light behind them twinkling. Her skin glows and she looks like a work of art. A masterpiece.

"You did well," she praises, reaching out to touch your face, stroking her fingers across your cheeks, "you always do well for me, don't you?"

You nod. "I'd do anything for you," you say, and you mean it.

"I know you will." She shifts her hips, her thighs clamping down around your face again, restricting your air. Yujin laughs. "You'd let me suffocate you if I told you to."

And you would. You really would.

"But, I still have use for you," she tells you as she dismounts. Yujin relaxes on the floor next to you, her head propped up on her elbow.

You take a breath and roll over to look at her, still gasping for air. She smiles, reaching out and cupping your face with her hand, thumbing the wetness of her from your cheeks. You're a mess, covered in her, and her eyes tell you how much she loves that sight. How much she enjoys the power of having you like that.

Yujin leans over, her lips grazing over yours. The kiss is so light it makes you shiver. A complete contrast to what you've just experienced. She walks this balance so perfectly. The rough and the gentle, the affection and the torment. She's the best at both and she plays with them like an instrument.

"Do you like me?" Yujin blinks innocent eyes and it's a trap that you fall right into.

"Yes. You know that I do. I like you a lot."

Yujin grins. "Do you like my body?" She shuffles closer, looking down at you a little more. "Do you want to fuck me?"

You gulp, your mouth watering as your eyes wander over the curves of her figure, the way her nipples press against her shirt, the way the hem of it has risen, exposing her midriff and how she plays with the lace of her panties on her hip. You're so hard that you're aching and she knows that. You want her, you need her, you'd give anything to feel her.

"Yujin," you whimper. "Please."

"Do you deserve to fuck me? After being so bad today?"

"I can make up for it. I'll do anything—"

"I bet you would," she hums. Her hand reaches out, sliding over your shorts, her fingers grazing over the obvious bulge. "You want it that badly?"

You nod and you're desperate.

"You want to be inside me?"

"Please, Yujin," you whimper.

She grins, tugging at the waist of your shorts and slipping her fingers under the waist. "You want to grab my ass while I ride you like the toy that you are? Do you want me to bounce on your dick, hm? The one that belongs to me?"

You bite your lip as you nod fervently, watching the way her eyes shine and the corners of her lips twist. Yujin lets out a soft laugh at your desperation.

"Then worship me." She pulls her hand away from your crotch and places it on her hip to pose. "Show me how much you like my body."

Yujin rolls onto her back, throws her hands above her head and bends a knee as her other leg stretches out. She looks so perfect, so inviting. So you climb to your knees, looking over her as she relaxes. There's a natural arch to her body between her shoulders and her ass that leaves a sliver of light between the small of her back and the floor. She's an art piece. Like a statue carved from stone, sculpted and designed to be admired. A creation so beautiful and elegant.

And you're on your knees for her, kissing up her outstretched leg. Your hand traces over her thigh. You're slow, taking your time. The skin beneath your lips is so soft, so smooth, so delicate. You don't deserve her. Your lips press into the path your hand paves up her body. Gentle kisses of appreciation on the thigh you adore so much.

"Yujin—" you breathe the words hot onto her skin. A lick, to taste the sweat from her body, a kiss, to mark the spot. A honey-laced laugh rings in the air. "You're so beautiful," you murmur.

Your mouth presses against her hip, tongue trailing over her skin. Your fingers lip up under her tight-fitted shirt. She's so warm. Her body feels like it's burning and her breaths are heavy.

She looks down the length of her body to watch you as your hand slides up, pushing her shirt with it. Your lips graze over your stomach, tongue teasing and tracing over the defined lines. You're in awe of her. She's perfect, and she knows it, but you still want her to know that she's appreciated. That she's worshipped, admired, adored, lusted for, and wanted.

"I know I am," she laughs, "but tell me more."

"An Yujin," you breathe the name into her skin as you kiss your way to her chest, your hand sliding further up her body until the palm of your hand rests on the softness of her breast. "No one is like you," you whisper as you squeeze the mound in your hand, feeling her body beneath you, feeling the way it moves when your hand does. "You're so flawless."

She moans softly when your fingers pinch her nipple. "Keep going," Yujin hums.

"You're stunning," you continue, looking up at her face as you kiss across her chest to the other breast, your hand still fondling. Your mouth hovers over her nipple and your eyes flicker up to meet hers as you lick over it. She gasps and you lick again, teasing and flicking over it. "You're the most decadent, alluring thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"I'm your fantasy?" Her hands move to the top of your head, her fingers twisting into the strands of your hair as you lick, sucking her into your mouth again, teasing her with the flat of your tongue. You suck and she lets out a sharp hiss of a moan.

"My fantasy," you breathe the words against her chest. "You're my dream."

Her hips lift, pushing against you and the growing ache of your erection. The friction, the heat, the feeling of her—it's so good. She grinds, rolling her hips and rubbing against your cock, smirking at the way you whine, your eyes fluttering.

"You want to cum," she taunts. "Don't you?"

"Yujin," you moan her name again as her fingers twist tighter in your hair. Your hips roll down to meet the grind of her body and your mouth finds the crook of her neck. You inhale the scent of her. You're surrounded by Yujin. It's dizzying. She's everywhere. The smell of her, the taste of her on your tongue and lips, the feeling of her skin on your hands, under your body, the sight of her, the sound of her voice. Everything is Yujin, and you can't think of a better world to live in. "I want you," you tell her. "I want to be inside you, I need you."

"I know what you need," she hums. Yujin's hands tug on your shirt and you sit back and pull it off. Her palms press against your chest, pushing you to lie back on the floor. You watch her and the grace with which she moves, kneeling over your waist as she peels her own shirt over her head and tosses it to the side.

Your eyes are all over her body. Yujin's hands run over the softness of her skin, and she cups her tits in her hands, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, her eyes locked on yours as you watch. Her body is a wonderland. There's no part of it that you haven't seen. No inch of her skin you haven't touched or tasted. You know every crevice of it, every mark and blemish, every imperfection. You know them all and you love them. They're the most perfect imperfections you've ever seen.

She knows the power that her body has over you, the control it gives her. Yujin knows how to wield that weapon, how to make it into the sharpest sword, and how to cut you with it.

"Fuck me," you plead, the words escaping your lips in desperation. "Yujin, please."

"You beg so beautifully for me," she smiles, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

And you obey, lifting them from the floor. Yujin's fingers tug at the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. She smiles at the sight of you, hard and leaking. Yujin's hands slide over your bare thighs. You're exposed, and the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin sends a chill up your spine. Her palms slide up until she wraps one around the base of your cock and her touch sends a shiver through your body. Yujin strokes up, slowly, twisting her hand on the upstroke. Your hips buck at her touch and she grins at the way your cock twitches, the precum leaking across the back of her hand as she reaches the top.

"You're so needy," she says as her hand glides back down. Your eyes are wide, watching every move she makes as if your life depended on it. "I like it," she tells you.

"I'd do anything—"

"I know you would," Yujin laughs, cutting you off. She shuffles forward on her knees until her thighs press on either side of your waist, caging you between her. The way she towers over you, with that look in her eyes that says you belong to her. "You're my toy, aren't you?"

"I'm your toy."

"That's right." Her hand squeezes tighter around the base of your cock as she lifts her hips, hovering just over you. You don't know how long she's going to keep you waiting, you never do. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. She has a sadistic streak that you've never understood and it's always a game of how desperate can she make you before giving in to your begging. "And who does this belong to?" she asks.

"You. Yujin. It belongs to you," you breathe the words, your fingers curling into the palms of your hands.

"That's right, it belongs to me. This cock," she strokes up again. "It's mine. Isn't it?" Yujin's fingers trace up, circling your tip.

"It's yours," you whimper. The desperation has you whining.

"It is," she laughs, and it's a sound that makes your stomach twist into knots. She squeezes you and lifts her hips just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of her body. You feel her thighs squeeze against you as she grinds her pussy on the underside of your cock, dragging the length of you through her folds and over her clit.

Instinct dictates that you bring your hand to her hip, but you know you can't just take hold of her, not unless she's given the go-ahead. You clench your hands tighter, biting your lip to hold in your frustration, your desperation.

Yujin's hips rock against you again, grinding down and using your cock to get herself off. You can feel the slickness between her legs. You can hear the wet sound it makes. She's using you, and she's loving every second. It's the sound you know too well. She's getting herself off. The feeling of her is intoxicating, and your cock is throbbing, twitching as it slides against her pussy, hitting her clit. The moans from Yujin's lips tell you exactly what it's doing to her. How much she loves the way it makes her feel.

You can't touch. You can't take control. All you can do is lie back, your head tipped back against the floor as your fingers grip in vain at the floor, struggling to keep them from reaching out for her. Yujin's body moves like silk in the wind, and you know she's so close. The sound of her, the feeling of her. She's riding the edge, grinding down, the tip of your cock catching on her entrance as she teases you with every move.

"Yujin—" you beg her name as your head falls to the side, eyes clenched closed.

"What?" Her voice is thick with lust and you feel her hand on your chin, gripping your jaw, her nails biting into your cheeks. She turns your face and forces your eyes open to watch the way she moves. "You want to be inside me?"

You can only nod in reply, feeling her fingers tighten around you, squeezing. She grins, leaning over and you feel the breath of her laughter on your neck. Her lips brush your skin. Her teeth nip, biting down on your shoulder, making you wince. Yujin's hips roll forward, and the tip of your cock catches on her entrance. She holds there for a moment, a silent torment of anticipation as your mind swirls and your stomach flips. And then you feel the heat, her warmth as she slowly pushes herself onto your cock. You watch with a hitched breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You feel her. She feels you.

The breath you'd held rushes out, a gasping moan, the feeling of being enveloped by her body. The tight warmth as Yujin sinks all the way down. Her pussy grips your length, squeezing tight and you can feel the way it flutters, the way it grips, the way it clenches around you. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see how much she enjoys having this effect on you. How she loves the way you react, the sounds she forces you to make, the way you squirm and gasp beneath her. She owns you. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.

Her hands press down on your chest, and she starts to move, rolling her hips, circling, lifting up just enough that she can feel you slide in and out of her. You can feel it all, you're aware of every movement she makes. How she grinds her clit against your body on the downstroke, the way her hips tilt to find the right spot, the way she moans when she hits the perfect angle. The way she moves when she finds the right pace, the perfect rhythm. It's everything and all at once.

"You feel so good inside me," Yujin purrs. She leans back, placing a hand on the top of your thigh. Her body is open to you. She's exposed. The panties she still wears are pulled to the side, her breasts bouncing with every move of her body, her stomach tightening, the soft skin pulled taut as her abs clench. She's a sight, a beauty to behold and a treasure to worship.

"Yujin, please," you breathe the word into the space between the two of you. It's not enough, you need to touch. You have to. But you're trapped and she's in charge. "Let me touch you."

"No." It's simple, the way she says it. It's like she's not even thinking about the effect she's having on you like she doesn't even realise what she's doing to your sanity. She rides you like a toy, her hips moving, grinding down, her thighs squeezing and relaxing as she works. You can only whine, lying back against the ground. You watch as she takes what she needs from you, her hand slipping down her stomach and to her clit, circling quickly as her moans fill the room. "This is my cock," she breathes, "and I'll do what I like with it."

"Yes," you hiss as your hips push upwards, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You're so hard it hurts. It aches and it throbs, and all you can do is lie back, trapped beneath Yujin and her powerful thighs. "Yujin—" you breathe, but the words stick in your throat.

Her eyes are dark, the lust-filled pools staring down at you as you lie back, completely helpless and at her mercy. Your cock twitches and she gasps, her hand on her clit, rubbing furiously, chasing her release. She's getting closer and closer with each passing second and it shows in her face. Her brow creasing, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

She's fucking herself on your dick. Yujin is using you to get herself off and you love every second of it. The feeling of her walls gripping you tight, squeezing, her body clenching around you. The way her thighs tense and shake as she moves. Her moans, her gasps. Her eyes are on you, watching you watch her.

Yujin gasps and her body shudders, her pace quickening, her fingers circling faster, rubbing frantically at her clit as she chases her orgasm. You know how close she is, and all you can do is watch her face as she gets closer and closer. Her body is shaking, trembling as the wave builds inside her. Her moans get louder, and more intense. Her fingers work harder, and you feel her tightening, the walls of her pussy squeezing down, and then she cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching, her chest pushing out as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

It's beautiful. The way her body reacts to it all, the way she looks when she comes undone. Yujin moans your name and it sends shivers up and down your spine. She looks ethereal like this. A deity to be admired. A queen on her throne.

She's beautiful. She's breathtaking. She's Yujin.

When the waves stop crashing, Yujin collapses onto you, her body limp and spent. The warmth of her body pressed against you feels like heaven and your cock is still inside her, pulsing, aching, begging for its own release.

"I don't know if I should let you cum," Yujin pants in a whisper, her face pressed against your shoulder, the hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Could just leave you here like this. All hard and frustrated. Aching. You'd probably go home and get yourself off thinking about me."

She's right. Of course, she's right. You would.

"Or maybe you can show me just how much you appreciate me," she breathes, pushing herself up, hands on either side of your head. "Would you like that?"

"Anything," you tell her. Your hands twitch, desperate to reach up to her. "You know I would."

"I know." She smirks and sits up. Her hips lift until you feel your cock slipping out of her, her wetness dripping onto you. Yujin's fingers trace over the mess she's left, smearing it on her fingertips before bringing it to your lips. You know what she wants. She doesn't even need to ask.

Your mouth opens and she pushes her fingers between your parted lips, letting you lick them clean. You suck her fingers and her eyes watch you, a glint of something dangerous shining. She pulls them out slowly, dragging the tips over your bottom lip. "Good," Yujin breathes the word as she climbs off of you and turns around.

The curve of her ass is a beautiful thing to see. It's soft, smooth, plump. She catches a glance at you staring, a smirk tugging on her lips. She plants her hand against her ass (a harsh reminder that feeling it yourself requires her permission) and squeezes the flesh before letting out a laugh. It's all a game to her.

"You're going to show me, by cumming for me. Cumming on me." She settles back onto the floor, gracefully lying back into a pose. "You have two minutes. Two minutes to show me how much you love my body." She runs a hand from her chest all the way to her hips and you watch, entranced by every movement she makes. Yujin laughs again. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words kick you into action and you scramble to your knees and shuffle towards her. She laughs at the sweet, sweet honey sound that makes you melt. Your hand wraps around the base of your cock, the wetness from Yujin's pussy coating it, slick and smooth as you slowly stroke your length. You stare at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her fingers trace up and down the skin of her thigh, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It's intoxicating. You're drunk on Yujin, high off of her beauty, and you're addicted. There's no going back. You're hers, completely. Your fist tightens around your length and your strokes quicken. The feeling of it is so good and your cock is still throbbing from being trapped inside her. You can feel the lingering heat of her body on your skin. The scent of her, the taste, the sound. It's everywhere. Surrounding you. Enveloping you. Engulfing you. Consuming you.

"Two minutes," she hums the reminder, her fingers sliding between her thighs. Yujin's fingers slide over the panties she still wears. "Two minutes to make yourself cum for me. To make a mess of my body."

"Yujin," you whimper her name like it's a prayer. The sound of her voice, the sight of her body. The knowledge of what you've done, of what you've experienced. You've been inside her. You've had the taste of her on your tongue, the sound of her in your ears. Her pussy is still dripping and her thighs glistening. You're still so hard that you're aching, and all you can do is stroke yourself. All you can do is pump your hand and feel your fingers glide up and down your shaft.

Your eyes flicker from the smooth, warm, inviting skin of her chest to her pussy and back. You've tasted her. You've felt her. You've felt the way she grips and clenches, the way she feels. The sound of her when she cums.

"I don't know if you can do it. I don't know if you can cum." Yujin teases and she knows how to play you. "One minute."

"Yujin," you moan her name again and again as you feel it building. The pressure. The heat. Your cock twitches in your hand as you stroke. The sensation of the wet heat, the friction, the knowledge that Yujin is beneath you, but you're hers to command, to control. It's too much and it's everything. You feel it in your core, a twisting, coiling, winding tension that's threatening to snap.

"Do you want to cum on me?" Her voice breaks through the fog. "Do you want to mark my body with your cum? Make a mess of me?"

She throws her hands above her head, stretching out her body and presenting herself for your load. "Thirty seconds," Yujin warns, the hint of danger on the tip of her tongue.

"Yujin—" You can only whisper her name as you stroke. Hard and fast, gripping and twisting. You're so close. Right there, standing on the precipice.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me," she praises. "Show me how much you adore me."

"I—I—" Your words die in your throat, a gasping, breathless moan. You're cumming, the tension snaps and it's all too much. The pleasure rushes over you like a wave. You're drowning in it. You're suffocating. Your hips stutter, thrusting into your fist, pumping your length as you feel the hot spurts of your cum painting over Yujin's perfect, beautiful skin. The first spurt splashes across her breasts, the second spattering across her stomach and chest. Her laughter fills the room. She loves this, seeing the way she's ruined you.

Your body shakes, your hand slowing as the final drops fall from your cock to the expanse of Yujin's body. Your mind swims as you struggle to breathe. Your head spins and your vision is blurry. She's laughing, her fingers swiping through the cum, rubbing it into her skin. Her hands roam all over her body and you're entranced. Your body feels like jelly as you collapse, slumped onto your side on the floor beside her.

"Good boy," Yujin purrs, her hand sliding over her stomach and down between her legs, rubbing at her clit with your cum. She's smearing it everywhere, all over her pussy, her fingers slipping between her folds and then back to her clit. It runs over her chest, dripping down the side of her tit. Her breath hitches and you watch, mesmerised by her. "Such a good boy."

"Yujin," her name falls from your lips as if you've lost all other words, the way a prayer is uttered, reverently and devotedly. "I—"

She laughs again. It's light and playful. "I know. I'm the best, right? You're so lucky."

"Yes." It's the only thing you can think of to say. You are lucky. So unbelievably lucky.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 4) - Above The Gods Eye

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I had envisioned bonus chapters as not too integral to the main plot (as in, you will be able to follow the story without reading them), but this one... this one might just count.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

A series of moments from the vault, occurring in part eight of the story, now yours to enjoy. 🤍

The one with the second sons…

The photoshoot has wrapped, and the cast of House of the Dragon has drifted into all corners of the set, exchanging laughs in between much-needed sips of caffeine. The next item on Entertainment Weekly’s agenda is the video segment recordings, pairing cast members for various games and interviews.

Fabien and Freddie finished their narrative recap of season 2, with more jokes than actual informative recaps. Harry and Bethany played a game where they guessed whether the line is from House of the Dragon or Game of Thrones. Tom and Emma played a ‘which sibling' game, leaning into the dynamic between Aegon and Rhaenyra that clearly should have been explored in previous seasons.

As it happens, Matt and Ewan are paired up for an Aemond or Daemon game, meant to give the audiences a glimpse of what to look forward to. Their notorious rivalry, culminating in a battle that will be their last. 

The two film their segment in Studio E, the set consisting of the great cellar of the Red Keep where Balerion’s massive skull looms on a pedestal. The dozens of candles surrounding it have been lit, casting dramatic shadows as they take their seats, facing each other in what could easily be mistaken for the start of a duel.

“My name is Ewan Mitchell and I play Aemond Targaryen,” Ewan starts.

“And I’m Matt and I play the Daemon Targaryen,” Matt follows. “And we’re about to play Second Sons: Aemond vs Daemon.”

“Let’s go,” Ewan rolls his shoulders, his sense of competitiveness all fired up, intensified by the fact that the man in front of him potentially could become his rival off-screen. That is, when it concerns the battle for your affections. 

He can still hear it ringing in his ears, the sound of your laughter in the background, distracting him during the photoshoot. That laugh, so addictive, so yours, was a melody he could listen to forever - except when it’s Matt Smith who’s the culprit. 

The lads take their cue to read the first prompt displayed on a screen above the camera. The game begins. 

“Who is the better swordsman?” Matt reads aloud with a smirk. “Well, that’s obviously Daemon, mate. He’s older - ”

“Age doesn’t always mean better,” Ewan counters smoothly.

“Ah, but he’s battle-tested. He fought in the Stepstones, and was the Commander of the City Watch, for heaven’s sake. What’s Aemond got?”

“Aemond spent years and years training with Criston Cole in the Red Keep yard, honing his skill,” Ewan argues. “He clearly has the dedication. He’s disciplined.”

“Training,” Matt scoffs, turning to the camera as if sharing an inside joke. “Put Aemond out there in a real battle, then we’ll talk.” 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan concedes, biting his cheek to keep from saying more. “Next one. Who’s the better dancer at the royal ball?”

Matt can’t help but chuckle, “Neither of us are inclined to - ”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“But if we had to pick, then I'd say Daemon. We saw him dancing in the first season, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think Aemond would be much of a dancer,” Ewan says, before adding with a smirk to the camera, “unless it’s with Vhagar.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt asks him. “Short of dancing partners, is he? Can’t say I’ve got that problem. I’ve got Rhaenyra, I’ve got my daughters, and of course, the lovely Alyna.” His voice drops at the mention of your character, and he notices a telling flicker in Ewan’s expression. The younger boy latches on to it, hook, line and sinker. 

Ewan’s brows scrunch, not missing the bait. “Oh, she wouldn’t dance with you,” flies out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Alyna wouldn’t?” Matt tilts his head, feigning hurt. 

“She’s… she’s too busy fighting the war,” Ewan quickly musters. “She’s got better things to do.”

“Mate, I think we all are. But that wasn’t the question.”

“I just don’t think she - ”

“She’ll dance with Daemon,” Matt says confidently. “Once she realises how good he is, then it’s game over.”

“I disagree,” Ewan easily says to the camera, willing the viewers to side with him.

“Next,” Matt continues, “Who’s more likely to get into a fight at the tavern? Is this… so far, it's been all Daemon! This one too.”

Ewan nods, but adds slyly, “Aemond’s not one to waste his time at the tavern, no.” His answer is an apparent concession to Daemon, until he adds, “which is why Alyna would prefer to spend her time with him. He’s calmer… more reliable… no unnecessary tavern brawls or anything…”

“Calmer, mate?” Matt rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself. “Come off it, yeah?”

“Compared to Daemon, he clearly is.”

“He killed Luke and Rhaenys!”

“That was an accident,” Ewan shrugs. “He feels bad for it.”

“Alyna better steer clear,” Matt points to the camera, making his point. 

Ewan shakes his head in protest, “I don’t agree.”

“So, for this one, again, it’s Daemon,” Matt finishes. 

Ewan lets it go, the Alyna comment lingering in the back of his mind. It didn’t seem like an Alyna reference; it felt like a message to you. His stomach twists, suspicious of the other game Matt seems to be playing at. Turning to the prompter, Ewan reads, “Who’s got… the better hair care routine? Oh wow.”

“Daemon’s been at some dingy castle,” Matt says, “clearly no showers there. Forget it.”

“Aemond’s got this locked down,” Ewan grins.

“Has he? Alright then,” Matt responds, amused. “He does have that pin-straight hair, doesn’t he? It’s almost like… well it’s almost like it’s a bloody wig!” He laughs, and some of the onlookers behind the camera mirror the sentiment. 

“I did read somewhere about Aemond having a 20-step hair care routine… ”

“20 steps? Blimey, mate. I’m surprised he even makes it out the door,” Matt says. “Would you say he’s got better hair than the women on the show? Than Alicent or Alyna maybe?”

“Oh,” Ewan leans back, mulling it over. How to one-up Matt without making it seem too obvious? He’s about to respond, when he hears some soft giggling in the corner. It appears that you’ve made your way into Studio E with Phia and Liv. The sound came from Phia, who gives him a thumbs up when she notices his diverted attention. 

Matt notices your presence too, and when the director waves a hand for them to carry on, he answers for Ewan, “We could say Aemond has the better hair. Alyna’s way too busy training with Daemon anyway. We do tend to get into that rough and tumble during our sword fights.”

“Mmm,” Ewan narrows his eyes. He then ignores or conveniently forgets the fact that it’s Matt's turn to read the next question. “Who’s more likely to fight a dragon for their lover?” 

The two men lock eyes, the air between them charged, more so due to your appearance. If a rivalry is what the viewers expect, then that is what they’ll get. 

Matt puts a hand up. “I think Daemon’s the one with the guts to fight a bloody dragon. Daemon will stand against anything and anyone. Without a doubt.”

“It’s different with him, though, isn’t it?” Ewan responds. “Daemon would be doing it for the glory. He’d be doing it for himself. Whereas Aemond… he’d be doing it out of pure devotion.”

“Are you talking about the same devotion he had for his brother? I’d say he’s more likely to burn his lover to a crisp, than fight a dragon for her.”

“There is a completely different dynamic with his brother,” Ewan explains. “I think that when Aemond falls in love, there is nothing at all that he wouldn’t do for them. In season 2, we already kind of saw him leaning into this reputation of being the most wanted man in the realm. So… he’d fight anything for his lover, that’s for sure. He’d burn the seven kingdoms down if necessary.” He turns to look at the camera, but he catches your eye instead. You’re shaking your head slightly at his answer, but the small smile that graces your lips tells him that you enjoyed it. 

He simpers at your apparent show of approval, but Matt cuts the shared moment short. 

“I think Aemond’s a young buck,” Matt says, “who’s desperate to make his mark. He wouldn’t know the first thing about devotion. But Daemon… that’s been his internal struggle this whole time. He’s proven that he stands behind his brother and Rhaenyra, no matter how much he tries to act to the contrary. But yeah, we’re going a bit off track here. What was the question? Who’d fight a dragon… ”

“For their lover,” Ewan finishes. “I would still say Aemond. Daemon is too unpredictable.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Matt wags his eyebrows at him. “But I’m standing by my answer. We clearly saw Daemon basically pledge himself to Rhaenyra in the last episode. What more proof do you need?”

“Aemond’s got something up his sleeve,” Ewan says. “He just wants to be loved, that’s it, and when he finds that, there’ll be no question of what he’s capable of doing for Al - ” He catches himself at the last second, before he fully lets slip your character’s name. “I mean - ”

Matt’s eyes light up, sensing an opportunity. “For Alys, you mean?” To the camera, he adds, “spoiler alert, everyone.”

“Right,” Ewan lets out a breath, “Of course.”

“Can’t be anyone else,” Matt challenges him. 

“I don’t know for now,” Ewan tries to keep up. 

“You currently have a bit of a lack in the lover department,” Matt smirks. 

Ewan narrows his eyes at the apparent insinuation. He better be referring to the show. “Fine, then, we can give this one to Daemon. But as to their real-life counterparts,” he locks eyes with you again, “who’s to say? I bet I have this in the bag.”

Matt follows his line of sight, pleased when your attention switches to him. “I think that’s yet to be decided.”

“Alright, we’ve got some more,” Ewan quickly says, in an attempt to divert Matt’s gaze from you. 

Matt reads, “Who’s more likely to maintain a good social media presence? Oh, bloody hell, we’re crossing over into uncharted territory with this one.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I’ve never touched it myself,” Matt shrugs. “I’m not on anything, only Facebook for a moment ages ago, but I did not have any desire in going back. Oh wait, we’re meant to answer for our characters. Apologies.”

“Hmm,” Ewan nods. “I don’t know if Aemond would be on social media, no.”

“Yeah, this is a weird question,” Matt says. “Maybe Daemon then? But only to post pictures of Caraxes or something. What do you think?”

“Yeah, Daemon can take this one,” Ewan replies. “Personally, I’m not on social media too much - ”

“But didn’t you jump into the fray recently? With… which one was it?”

“Instagram? Yeah, yeah, that was something.” His mind flashes back to the pictures he had up, both attesting to his love for you. But you had asked him to take the latest one down, which led him to deactivate the account altogether. Temporarily. If the fans assumed that the action was meant to symbolise an end of his involvement with you, then now would be the perfect opportunity to prove them wrong. “I did have to take a step back, because it was kind of overwhelming. I just needed to take some proper time off.”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t know,” Matt says. “Did you actually share some photos there?”

Ewan smiles, pleased at being able to answer this question. “Yeah, I shared a few of my most treasured ones. They were some great pictures, but I’ve got loads more of the same in my phone, and I - ” He throws a warning glance to the camera “ - I think I’ll be keeping those to myself for now.”

Matt, oblivious as to what he’s hinting at, reads the next one. “Who’s the better brother?”

“Aemond for sure.”

“Clearly Daemon.”

And so the banter continues for a couple more prompts, sharp yet flowing naturally, foreshadowing the frenzied fan reactions when the segment is shared online for all to see. 

The one where Ewan needs his cowgirl…

Ewan paces around his dressing room, settling into his outfit, awaiting his cue from set. The outfit is a bold mix of traditional Western elements and high fashion: a tailored deep brown leather jacket with intricate embroidery, a crisp white shirt with ruffled cuffs, fitted trousers, and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His boots click against the wooden floor as he moves. He’s nervous but determined to impress you, even though it’s always been you with a knack for making his heart race.

After a while, he makes his way out of the dressing room and into the bustling set. The set is decked out to the theme. The director and crew are scattered all around, but Ewan focuses solely on finding you. 

When he finally does, his world seems to slow down. You are standing near a vintage saddle, dressed in your own Western-inspired attire. Your smile is radiant as you speak to your assistant, and the way your eyes light up when you see him makes his heart skip a beat. No, it never gets old, he realises, you will always have a maddening effect on him.

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and saunters over with as much swagger as he could muster. “Howdy, darling,” he greets in his best cowboy lilt.

You look him up and down with a smile. “Why, hello, good sir,” you say, even doing a playful curtsy. 

“Ready to give them a show?” he asks, gesturing to the expanse of the set. Ready to be my cowgirl, darling? He wants to ask instead. 

You hum a response. “As I’ll ever be. I’d say you’re a natural at this whole cowboy thing.”

“Oh, darling,” he smirks, “you’d be surprised by what I can do with my lasso.”

“Down, Mitchell.”

“Whatever you want, my cowgirl.”

The atmosphere is electric throughout the shoot, with Ewan constantly leaning down to whisper suggestive lines in your ear. 

He finds himself getting lost in the intensity of the shoot, but his focus remains on you. It isn’t as if you are making it easy on him, with your lingering touches and flirtatious remarks. 

The camera's shutter clicks away, and Ewan and you pose for one perfect shot after another. The set is alive with activity, but he only sees you, the lighting casting a warm glow on your rouge-stained cheeks. Forgetting where he is for a moment, his hand reaches up to caress your face, and he leans in slightly. 

You pose accordingly, likely thinking that he’s just giving the shoot what it demands. 

“What was that you were saying about a lasso?” you smirk, in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but it only spurs him on. 

“Care for a demonstration?” he shoots back.

“Why not?” you reply easily, adjusting your stance. 

“We may need a more intimate setting for that, darling.”

“More intimate than this?” you laugh breathlessly, the warmth of it fanning his face. He’s close enough that the tip of his nose brushes against yours. 

He smiles, deaf to the low warning that escapes your lips when he leans in for a kiss on instinct. 

Just as his lips are about to graze yours, the director’s voice cuts through the charged silence.

“Cut! Break, everyone!”

The spell is broken instantly. Ewan pulls back, his expression shifting from one of intense concentration to surprise and a hint of frustration. 

You stand facing each other, flustered and left wanting. Ewan wants nothing more than to just reach for you and pull you in a closet, and show just how well he can use that bloody lasso. If you want him to. But he forces himself to croak, “To be continued, darling?”

You mirror his heated gaze, nodding once, before turning on your heel and heading to the break room. 

When the set is mostly emptied, Ewan picks up the hefty lasso that’s been put aside. With a determined look on his face, he swings it expertly through the air, causing a resounding thwack. The movement is deliberate, a release of his frustrations about you. About Matt. About everything. 

But it doesn’t quite bring him the relief he needs, because only you can offer that. 

It’s only ever been you. 

The one with the first date…

You glance at your phone to check the time, heart fluttering with anticipation. Matt had promised to pick you up at 2, and it is only a minute past, but you’re already standing nervously in your living room. Not a moment too soon, your buzzer alerts you of his arrival, and you press the button to allow him upstairs. 

You sneak one more glance at the mirror, smoothing a hand over your t-shirt and jeans. You opted for a casual look, dressed up with some jewelry and heeled boots. 

Finally, there’s a knock at the door and you grab your purse as you walk up to meet your awaited visitor. 

There he is, standing in the doorway, as impossibly charming as ever. Matt’s dressed in a perfectly fitted black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, paired with staple dark jeans. His tousled hair looks like he ran a hand through it on his way over, and his signature mischievous grin plays at the corners of his mouth as he takes you in.

“Hello there,” he greets cheerfully.

“Hey, Smithy,” you blush under his gaze. 

“You look absolutely incredible,” he says, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over you, “As can be expected. You are my Alyna, after all.”

“Thanks,” you manage to say, your voice soft, almost breathless. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Glad to hear it. I was worried I’d underdressed,” he teases, though the way he carries himself shows that he knows exactly how good he looks. He steps a little closer, his hand lightly grazing your arm as he does. 

“You ready to go?” he asks, his voice just a shade deeper, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that still catches you off guard, no matter how exposed you have been to his charms.

“Yeah,” you nod, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing, the air between you thick with tension. “Let’s do this.”

The late afternoon air is crisp as you walk with Matt down a quiet street near Hyde Park. The anticipation from earlier has settled into something more relaxed, yet there’s still an undercurrent of excitement, an unspoken awareness of the new territory you’re both navigating.

Matt leads you to a small café tucked away from the bustle of the city. It’s quaint, with ivy creeping up the walls and soft lights glowing through the windows. As you step inside, the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries envelops you, and you can’t help but smile. The interior is just as charming as the exterior, and a few patrons sit scattered throughout, each absorbed in their own worlds. Too absorbed to notice two somewhat renowned actors entering the premises.

“Pick a spot,” Matt says, his hand gently brushing the small of your back. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to send a warm tingle up your spine.

You choose the table with a view of the park just beyond the glass. Ever the gentleman, Matt pulls out a chair for you before settling into the one across from you.

“Hope you like this place,” he says, his tone easy and genuine. “It’s one of my favourites. Feels like a bit of an escape from everything, you know?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, taking in the cozy atmosphere. “I can see why you come here.”

A waitress comes over to take your order, and Matt gives you his recommendations which you happily go along with. The familiar way with which she addresses him as Mr. Smith confirms his frequent visits. Once she leaves, you lean back in your chair, letting yourself relax into the moment, though you are aware of his eyes watching you the entire time. 

“So, how are you finding the city? It’s different from set life, that’s for sure.” Matt asks, his eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something deeper. Something you can’t pinpoint just yet, though it’s not unfamiliar. You’ve seen that look before. From Ewan. The sudden thought of him drives a wedge in your focus, and you have to shake it off before you answer.

“It’s been great,” you say, smiling. “It’s nice to be able to explore it more this time around, since I've got some downtime. And, of course, the company’s been pretty good too.” You add the last part with a playful tone, which makes him chuckle.

“Oh, I’m sure it has,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eye. “But don’t let Ewan monopolise all your time. I’m around if you ever need a break from him.”

The mention of Ewan brings a subtle shift in the conversation. It’s light, but there’s a hint of something more - an awareness of the connection you share with Ewan that both complicates what you have, or what you could have, with Matt. 

“You’re a good friend, Matt,” you say, your tone still light but more sincere. “I appreciate that.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “Friend, sure,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “But, just so you know… I’m here, if you ever want more than that.”

It’s a simple statement, but the weight of it hangs in the air between you. He’s not pressing, not trying to make you uncomfortable, but it’s clear that he’s laying his cards on the table. Matt’s always had a way of being direct without being pushy, and this moment is no different.

You meet his gaze, feeling the sincerity behind his words. There’s a part of you that’s tempted, drawn in by the way he makes you laugh and feel seen. But there’s something - someone - holding you back. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, smiling softly. 

Matt nods again, his smile resurfaces, as sure as the sun rising. “That’s all I ask.”

The waitress returns with your coffee and pastries, breaking the tension with the clink of cups and the sweet scent of buttery croissants. 

After a moment, Matt takes a sip from his own cup and raises an eyebrow. “You know, I heard that drinking coffee in a café like this can increase your charm significantly. I think it’s working, do you?”

You play along, pretending to consider this. “Hmm, I don’t think you need help in that department. But… I’ll still be careful. Just in case you charm me into agreeing to a second date.”

Matt leans closer with a grin. “Second date? Love, if I’m being honest, I’m already planning our third date.”

The conversation shifts back to lighter topics - your favourite places in the city, funny stories from the set, and his many revealing anecdotes about Fabien. Like the one where he got properly sloshed after a night out at the pub, so much so that he stuck some croissants in his washing machine thinking it was the oven. 

“To his defense,” Matt exclaims as you giggle uncontrollably, “the two appliances are similarly shaped!”

As the date progresses, you feel undeniably warm and comfortable in Matt’s presence, but you also can’t ignore the lingering thoughts of Ewan. Your phone had buzzed at some point, and when you snuck a glance at the screen, it lit up to reveal three missed calls from Ewan One-Eye. He knows you’re on a date, so he must be interrupting on purpose. Thankfully, Matt’s enthusiastic regaling keeps you from lingering on Ewan - from worrying about him, missing him… from wishing that he could freely allow himself to take you on a date just like this. 

As you and Matt stroll back to your apartment, the city lights cast a warm glow on the pavement, creating a magical backdrop for the end of your evening. His arm around your shoulders brings you a sense of ease, and you no longer feel that nervous flush as earlier. 

He walks with you inside your building, and when you reach the door to your apartment, Matt pauses by the entrance, turning to face you with a gentle smile. “Well, this has been quite the evening,” he says. “I’m really glad we got to do this.”

You return his smile. “Me too. It’s been a lovely night.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a shared look that speaks volumes without words. 

“Well, I - ” you swallow, your nerves returning, “I better head inside.”

As you reach for your keys, Matt’s hand gently wraps around yours, causing a jolt of electricity to travel up your arm. “Before you do,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

You look up at him. Screw your newfound sense of ease. Your heartbeat now pounds in your ears like an erratic drum. “Oh? And what’s that?” But something tells you that you know just what he means. 

Without breaking eye contact, Matt leans in slowly, his face drifting closer.

“This,” he mumbles the word as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And then his lips touch yours.

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

This poll caused quite the stir amongst yous, I see. Consider me amused. Since part 9 isn't out yet, and my mind isn't set either - if you've got something to let off your chest, some supporting arguments, you've got one more chance to let me know below (or let each other know) 😉 I always read all your opinions, and they are properly taken into account. What did you think of Matty after this?

When Ewan called her at the end of part eight, do you think she had company? Anyway, something sweet is coming in part nine with Ewan and his darling!

To those who are seriously worried about the outcome, note that is and always has been a Ewan x reader fic. I am a Ewan girl just like yous. Hold fast and have fun on the wild ride, darlings 💙

[winwintea]

stolen dance

PAIRING ↬ idol!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ romance, fluff, they dance a bit, there is totally no angst, i would never lie!

SUMMARY ↬ jisung has been teaching you how to dance lately. but is it really to teach you or is jisung using these dances as a form of escapism to hold onto a deeper secret?

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ in classic winwintea fashion here is jisung's birthday fic <33 suffer.

PLAYLIST ↬ stolen dance - milky chance; show me the meaning of being lonely - backstreet boys

“Alright, alright, one more time!”

Jisung grins, as he claps his hands and beckons you to step back into the middle of the room.

The living room is bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner, casting warm shadows across the room. The faint hum of a speaker plays an upbeat pop track, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. A pile of mismatched socks and sneakers sits abandoned by the couch, proof of your long evening spent dancing. You groan dramatically, flopping onto the couch instead. “I can’t feel my legs anymore, Jisung. This is basically torture.”

“Nope, no quitting!” he says, darting over and tugging you up by the wrists. His hands are warm, steady, and they pull you effortlessly to your feet. “We’re not done until you can at least try to keep up with me.”

You roll your eyes but smile, letting him guide you into position. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, you know.”

Jisung smirks. “And because you secretly love it. Admit it, you want to keep up with me on stage one day.”

“Oh, sure,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he begins to guide you through a spin. “Me, a world-class dancer. We’re talking about K-pop standards too. Totally believable.”

“Hey, don’t doubt yourself like that!” Jisung says, catching your hand to stop your wobble. “Besides, I’m a great teacher. You’ll be better than me in no time.”

“Better than you? Let’s not get carried away.”

He steps back, giving you a playful once-over. “Okay, fine, maybe not better. But decent. Maybe passable.”

You swat at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

The music shifts to a softer beat, and Jisung takes a step closer. “Alright, let’s try that one move again. Step left, then cross. No, your other left—”

You fumble the step, tripping slightly, and Jisung reaches out just in time to steady you. His arm loops around your waist, holding you close for a moment.

“Gotcha,” he says softly, his voice losing its teasing edge for a second.

You look up at him, breathless but grinning. “You know, for someone who claims to be a great teacher, you’re not very patient.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “And for someone who says they hate dancing, you’re not as bad as you think.”

The room feels still for a beat, the music fading into the background. Jisung’s dark eyes linger on yours, something unspoken passing between you. It’s the kind of gaze that makes your heart skip, though you can’t quite place why.

“Anyway!” Jisung suddenly blurts, breaking the moment as he steps back with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try again. I’ll slow it down this time, I promise.”

“Good. My feet are already filing a complaint,” you joke, shaking off the strange flutter in your chest.

He grins, taking your hands in his again, and the music picks up once more. The two of you fall into the rhythm, tripping over each other’s feet and laughing so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the song.

The days start to blur together, each evening spent in the same corner of the living room. The small space becomes your personal dance studio, the furniture pushed against the walls to give you just enough room to practice. Jisung shows up every time with the same excitement, the kind that’s so contagious you can’t help but play along.

“Step, step, and pivot—yes! That’s it!” Jisung exclaims, clapping his hands together as you nail the move for the first time. His grin lights up the room.

You beam, sweat dripping down your face, and collapse onto the floor. “Finally! That only took, what, twenty tries?”

Jisung flops down next to you, still full of energy. “More like thirty, but hey, who’s counting?” He nudges you with his shoulder, handing you a water bottle.

You take a long sip and gasp dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for this boot camp, you know. What happened to ‘just a fun dance session’?”

Jisung leans back on his hands, smirking. “This is fun! Besides, you’re getting so much better. Look at you, two weeks ago, you couldn’t even figure out which foot was your left.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though your smile betrays your mock annoyance.

The next night, the routine continues. The two of you move in near-perfect sync as Jisung teaches you a new routine to a faster song. Your steps are cleaner, your turns sharper, and when you finish the sequence without a single mistake, you both cheer so loudly the neighbor downstairs bangs on their ceiling.

“Oops,” you whisper, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

Jisung shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. You nailed that!” He holds up a hand for a high-five, which you give him, laughing at how proud he looks.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice how your progress isn’t the only thing changing.

One evening, as you struggle through a particularly tricky move, Jisung stops mid-step. His gaze drifts off toward the window, his body going still.

“Jisung?” you call, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Jisung?”

He blinks, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

You frown. “You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a too-bright smile, waving you off. “Just tired, I guess.” He grabs the remote and cranks up the music. “Come on, let’s run it again.”

You hesitate but decide not to press him.

Later, after another exhausting session, you collapse on the couch, panting. “I’m done. For real this time. My legs are basically jelly.”

Jisung sits beside you, his gaze soft as he watches you. “You’re really doing great, you know.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you joke, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“I mean it,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I just... I like seeing you like this. Happy. Laughing.”

You glance over at him, and for a moment, he looks... sad, though the expression vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” you tease, but his words stick with you as the night goes on.

The dance sessions grow more frequent, his enthusiasm almost desperate. Every moment feels heavier, though you can’t quite figure out why. You catch him watching you sometimes, his smile softer, as though he’s trying to memorize the way you move, the sound of your laugh.

“What?” you ask one night when his eyes linger too long.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, spinning you around before you can press further. “Just... don’t stop dancing, okay?”

You laugh, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice that makes you wonder what he’s not telling you.

The music echoes softly through the living room as you and Jisung move together, your steps slightly out of sync but improving with each pass. The rhythm feels effortless now, the usual fumbling replaced by a newfound fluidity. You’re laughing, breathless but exhilarated, when the sharp buzz of Jisung’s phone cuts through the song.

It vibrates insistently on the counter, the screen lighting up in the dim room.

“Hold on,” Jisung mutters, his usual smile faltering as he jogs over to check it. He picks up the phone and stares at the screen, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your shirt, catching your breath. “What is it?” you ask, noticing the way he hesitates.

Jisung’s thumb hovers over the screen, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, in a voice that’s a little too casual, he says, “It’s nothing. Just a friend checking in.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Must be a pretty intense message to make you zone out like that.”

He glances at you quickly, forcing a small smile. “It’s not important. I’ll deal with it later. Come on, let’s not lose our momentum.” He sets the phone back down, face down this time, and crosses the room toward you.

Before you can say anything, he reaches for your hands and pulls you into a hug. It’s sudden, uncharacteristic, and tight. Tighter than his usual playful embraces. You blink, caught off guard.

“Uh, Jisung? You good?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he buries his face against your shoulder, his grip unyielding. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost fragile. “I’m just... really proud of you, you know? You’ve worked so hard.”

The hug lasts longer than it should, and something in his tone feels off. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he only holds on tighter.

“Jisung, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head against your shoulder and releases you just as abruptly as he hugged you. “Nothing. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His smile is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, come on. Let’s run through it again. You were so close to getting it perfect!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press, still watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” he says quickly, bouncing on his toes to reset the mood. “Now, less talking, more dancing!”

You hesitate but eventually let it go, letting him take your hand and spin you back into position. Yet, as the music starts up again, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to the text than he’s letting on.

On the counter, Jisung’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up briefly before going dark. The message still sits there: "You ready to see her?"

The rhythmic click of Jisung’s shoes echoes down the hospital hallway, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that surrounds him. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, clenched tightly as if to keep himself from shaking. The confidence and playfulness that had defined him earlier in the living room are gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy weight in his chest.

He pauses outside the door to a room, staring at the small plaque on the wall with your name printed neatly on it. His heart hammers in his chest as he exhales shakily, steeling himself before finally pushing the door open.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting an unforgiving brightness across the room. Machines beep softly, their rhythm steady and monotonous. And there you are. Completely motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale, your body almost swallowed by the thin blankets. Tubes and wires tether you to the machines keeping you stable, their presence stark and invasive.

Jisung freezes in the doorway, the sight of you knocking the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice cracking. He steps closer, his movements hesitant and unsteady. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening.

He lowers himself into the chair by your bedside, his trembling hands reaching for yours. Your skin is cold, unmoving, and his grip tightens instinctively, as though holding on to you will keep you from slipping further away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m here, so… you can wake up now, okay?”

The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Jisung leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. His shoulders begin to shake as tears spill over, falling silently onto the thin hospital sheet.

“You know,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, “I taught you how to dance. I mean, not perfectly, but we were getting there. You were laughing so much, and—” He stops, his breath hitching as the reality of his words catches up to him.

Because it wasn’t real.

The living room, the music, the laughter— it was all in his head. His imagination, his desperate mind, had conjured you up to fill the unbearable silence you’d left behind.

“I just…” His voice cracks again as he squeezes your hand. “I just wanted to see you smile. To hear you laugh. Even if it wasn’t real.”

The weight of the truth crashes down on him, suffocating and relentless. His mind replays every moment of the past few weeks—the way he had clung to the image of you, teaching you to dance, pretending everything was okay.

His tears flow freely now, soaking into the fabric of your blanket as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The room feels unbearably quiet, the sound of the machines and his muffled cries the only noises breaking the stillness.

He sits there for what feels like hours, talking to you about everything and nothing—how much he misses you, how much he needs you to come back.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, “don’t let this be the end. 

But you don’t move. Not yet. And Jisung can only sit there, crumbling under the weight of his grief, as reality continues to sink its claws into him.

“I thought…” His voice cracks, and he pauses, choking back a sob. He grips your hand tighter, as if that alone could anchor him in this unbearable moment. “I thought I could bring you back. Even if it wasn’t real—” His words catch in his throat, and he pulls his hands to his face, muffling the anguished cry that escapes him.

Tears stream down his face as he looks back at you, his expression one of complete devastation. “It felt real,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “You were laughing. You were dancing. It was like… like you were still here with me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against your hand as he begins to unravel completely. “I just wanted one more dance with you,” he says, the words slipping out in a strangled sob.

The silence in the room presses against him, suffocating and unrelenting. His shoulders shake as he cries, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on him all at once.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he confesses, his voice thick with grief. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When everything felt too hard, you… you were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep going.”

He lifts his head slightly, his tear-streaked face staring at your still form. “And now…” His voice falters, his lips trembling as he struggles to find the words. “Now I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His gaze drops to your hand in his, his fingers tracing over yours with a tenderness that breaks his heart all over again. “Dancing with you, even in my head… it kept me going. It made me feel like maybe… maybe you were still with me.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. “But they stole it from us,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “They stole our dance.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as Jisung lets out another ragged sob. His grief pours out of him uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered, as he buries his face in his hands.

The walls of the hospital room seem to close in around him, the sterile brightness only amplifying the darkness he feels inside. He leans forward, pressing his lips gently to the back of your hand, his tears falling onto your skin.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me. I don’t care how long it takes. Just… come back.”

His words are met with the same unyielding stillness, the heart monitor’s steady rhythm the only response. And so he sits there, broken and lost, holding on to you as tightly as he can, afraid to let go of the only piece of you he has left.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He looks down at your hand, his tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of your still fingers. “I want to believe you’ll wake up, but… what if you don’t?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against your hand as his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m so scared,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Scared that I’ve already lost you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

And then it happens.

A faint movement—so subtle he almost misses it.

Your fingers twitch beneath his.

Jisung freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His head snaps up, his wide, tear-streaked eyes darting to your hand. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as your fingers twitch again—just the slightest motion, but enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“Y/N!” he says again, louder this time, his grip tightening around your hand. He leans forward, his eyes darting between your hand and your face, searching desperately for any other sign of movement.

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, the faint beeping echoing in the room as the scene begins to fade.

“Please,” he whispers one last time, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[growthhyp]

My grandpa left me this old necklace he's had in his family for years. It has "take what is rightfully yours" engraved in it. This big bodybuilder snatched it from me. What should I do?

Take What is Rightfully Yours

It had been a dreary few weeks since Grandpa had passed away, leaving behind a void in my heart that seemed impossible to fill. The old man had always been a beacon of wisdom, his weathered eyes reflecting a life lived to the fullest. Among the many treasures he had bequeathed to me, the most peculiar was an antique necklace, its metal cool to the touch, with an inscription that read, "Take what is rightfully yours." The words were etched with a firm, decisive hand, as if they held the power to unlock some great destiny. I had worn it every day since, the comfort of his final gift a constant reminder of the legacy he had entrusted to me.

Grandpa had always been an enigma in the realm of physicality. Despite his age, his muscles remained as robust as ever, a testament to a life of discipline and strength. He regaled me with tales of his youth, a time when he was not just a man, but a colossus among mortals. His biceps, the size of watermelons, could crack walnuts with ease. His chest, a wall of granite, had taken blows that would fell lesser men. His legs, sturdy as oak trees, had carried him through battles untold. If it weren't for the cruel embrace of cancer, he would have surely lived to see his hundredth birthday, a centurion of vitality and might.

Yet, as I grew up under his shadow, my own body took a different path. I was slender, almost frail in comparison, and my interests lay not in the pursuit of physical perfection but in the tender embrace of my own kind. I was gay, and while Grandpa's tales of his romantic conquests were entertaining, they were as foreign to me as the lands he had never seen. Nevertheless, I loved him, and in his final moments, he had a strange request for his grandson—a plea for me to embrace health and vitality, to live life with the same zest he had. And so, with a heavy heart and a newfound resolve.

Donning the necklace, I embarked on a journey that would take me to the one place I never thought I would find myself—the local gym. The smell of sweat and metal filled my nostrils as I cautiously stepped into the realm of the bodybuilders and fitness enthusiasts. The clank of weights and the grunts of exertion echoed through the hallowed halls, a stark contrast to the quiet whispers of poetry that usually filled my days. But Grandpa's wish was clear, and I was determined to honor it.

As I completed the enrollment forms, I couldn't help but steal glances at the Herculean figure in the corner, his muscles flexing with the grace of a ballet dancer performing an intricate routine of squats. Each descent was met with a thunderous thud, reverberating through the floor, a declaration of his dominance in this sanctum of strength. My eyes lingered on his posterior, the muscles so defined they looked like they had been sculpted by a master artist. The sight of it made me bite my lip, a warmth spreading through my cheeks and down to my groin. My cock stirred in my gym shorts, betraying my attraction despite my fear.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized the behemoth's eyes were on me, his gaze as intense as the gleaming dumbbells he wielded. I felt exposed, like a gazelle caught in the crosshairs of a lion. In a panic, I tore my gaze from the mirror and bolted for the locker room, the thud of his weights following me like a taunting drumbeat. Once inside, the safety of the cold tiles and the metallic scent of lockers grounded me. I changed into my workout gear, the necklace nestled against my chest a silent companion in my trepidation.

Emerging from the locker room, I cautiously surveyed the scene. The gym was a battleground of iron and sweat, a place where titans forged their bodies into weapons of beauty and power. The muscular man was still there, his eyes piercing me like the needle on a barbell, boring into my soul. I took a deep breath and forced myself to move, setting up at a chest press machine as far from him as possible. My research had told me to start with the basics, to build a foundation before attempting the grandeur of his domain. I set the weight to a modest fifty pounds, my fingers trembling as I gripped the handles.

My form was abysmal, a dance of awkwardness and inexperience. The bar descended with a clank, my chest barely moving, and I pushed with all my might, only to lift it a few inches before letting it drop with a pathetic thud.

As I lay there, panting and sweating, the room grew eerily silent. I dared a glance around, and my heart plummeted—everyone else had left. The gym that had been a cacophony of grunts and clanking weights was now a desolate expanse of chrome and rubber. The towering bodybuilder still loomed, his eyes never leaving me, his massive frame seeming to have moved closer without a sound.

"You like what you see?" he sneered, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "You little faggot."

I felt the color drain from my cheeks as the muscular giant approached, his hand outstretched. His grip was like steel, and before I could react, he had yanked the necklace from around my neck, the chain digging into my skin. The air grew thick with tension, my heart racing as I stared into the abyss of his furious gaze. I had always been shy, often a target for bullies in school, but something about the way he spoke to me, the way he grabbed my grandpa's necklace, ignited a fire within me. A fire that burned brighter than any fear I had ever felt.

"What the fuck is this?" he snarled, his breath hot against my face. I could smell the testosterone and aggression that rolled off him in waves, but I also noticed something else—fear. He was scared of what he didn't understand, of the power that lay dormant in the simple piece of jewelry.

"Give it back," I repeated, my voice stronger this time. I reached up and grabbed the necklace, the metal warm from his touch. Our fingers tangled, the necklace stretching taut between us. His grip was unyielding, but so was my resolve. I felt the whispers of my grandpa's spirit, urging me to stand my ground.

As our eyes locked, a sudden, brilliant light enveloped us, blinding in its intensity. I stumbled back, the necklace burning in my grip. The world around us faded, and all I could hear was the thunderous echo of my own heartbeat. The muscular man's expression morphed from anger to confusion, then to fear as his body began to tremble. The light grew brighter, and we both realized that something was happening—something beyond our control.

"What the fuck is going on?" he yelled, his voice cracking with terror.

I couldn't move, but the whisper grew louder, clearer, "Take what is rightfully yours." It was as if the necklace itself was speaking to me, guiding me, urging me.

My mind raced, connecting the dots that had been scattered before. Grandpa's unnatural vitality, his insistence on my wearing the necklace, and now this… It had to be magic. A power that had been passed down from generation to generation, waiting for someone worthy to wield it.

With a deep breath, I focused all my energy on the necklace. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the bodybuilder's grip on the necklace tightened. I pictured his bubble butt in my mind's eye, the roundness, the firmness, the way it jiggled with each step he took. The very essence of his muscularity started to pulse through the chain, and as the thought grew more vivid, so did the sensation. I could feel the flesh of my own backside swelling, the fabric of my shorts stretching taut as my glutes grew tauter, fuller.

The pleasure grew more intense, and with it, so did the anger in the bodybuilder's voice. "What the fuck did you do to me, you faggot?" he roared, his once mighty body now a shadow of its former self. His rage was palpable, but it only served to fuel my own burgeoning power. The necklace grew hot in our grasp, the metal glowing faintly with the energy that surged through us both.

With a smug smile, I met his gaze, reveling in the newfound confidence that seemed to radiate from the very pores of my new body. "It seems Grandpa's gift has given me a way to even the playing field," I said, my voice now a deep, rumbling bass that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the gym. The bodybuilder's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of my control over his form.

I took a moment to savor the power that surged through me, the necklace pulsing like a second heartbeat at my throat. The whispers grew more insistent, feeding my imagination with images of the bodybuilder's former glory, the very essence of his masculinity. I focused on the bulge in his shorts, the symbol of his dominance in this realm of flesh and steel. As the thought grew more intense, I felt a strange, almost electrical sensation shooting through my own groin. His bulge grew smaller, his shorts now hanging loosely around his hips, exposing the sad truth of his current state.

The pleasure was indescribable, a symphony of sensations that seemed to resonate with every fiber of my being. Our moans grew louder, filling the deserted gym with the music of transformation. My own bulge grew more pronounced, pushing against the fabric of my shorts until it was as prominent as the one I had just stolen from him. I reveled in the feeling, my cock swelling with power, a silent declaration of victory in our silent, strange dance of theft and humiliation.

The bodybuilder's face was a mask of rage, his once proud gaze now a glare of pure hatred. "You'll pay for this," he spat, his voice now higher, reedier, a stark contrast to the bass rumble that now filled my own chest. "When I get out of this, you'll wish you had never laid eyes on me."

A wicked grin spread across my face as I thought of the ultimate retribution—to take not just his muscles, but his very essence. I closed my eyes and envisioned the process in my mind's eye, the necklace a conduit for the transfer of power. His body would shrink, his muscles dissolving like sugar in hot water, leaving behind the frail, skinny shell of the man he must have been before his transformation. Meanwhile, I would grow, my skin stretching tight over newfound bulk, filling out my once-slender frame with the might of a thousand lifts.

The whispers grew to a crescendo, and with it, the power surging through me. My chest expanded, the fabric of my shirt straining until it split down the middle, revealing the beginnings of a six-pack that looked as if it were chiseled from stone. Each abdominal muscle grew more pronounced, the crevice between them deepening like the grooves in the neck of a violin. The bodybuilder's eyes widened in horror as he watched my transformation unfold before him, his grip on the necklace weakening as his own body betrayed him.

My shoulders swelled like boulders rising from the earth, my biceps bulging with newfound might. The veins in my arms stood out like cords of steel, each flex revealing the horseshoe shape of my triceps, my forearms thickening with power. My back grew wider, the lats spreading like the wings of a bat, giving me a v-taper that would make any tailor weep with envy. My legs, once slender and unassuming, grew into mighty tree trunks, the muscles in my calves popping like over-inflated balloons, my feet bulging in their newfound girth.

The necklace grew hotter, the whispers more demanding. The bodybuilder's moans grew weaker, his once-proud physique shrinking before my eyes. His shorts fell to the floor, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that clung to his shriveling frame. The rage in his eyes was replaced by a mix of pleasure and despair, a silent testament to the power of the magic that flowed between us. The fabric of my own clothes strained, threatening to tear as my body continued to grow, my new form pushing against the confines of the fabric.

With the necklace tight in our grasp, I focused on the one thing that had truly made the bodybuilder who he was—his unshakeable confidence and swagger. I pictured the way he had strutted through the gym, his chest puffed out like a peacock's tail, his hips rolling with the grace of a panther. The cockiness that had once irritated me now seemed like the very essence of power. I reached out with my mind, plucking at the threads of his ego, drawing them into myself like a spider spinning a web. His grip on the necklace loosened, his body trembling as the last vestiges of his dominance were ripped away.

As the transfer occurred, the air grew thick with the scent of sweat and desperation. His once-booming voice grew high and reedy, his swagger diminished to a feeble shuffle. The muscles that had defined his frame melted away, leaving him a mere shadow of his former self. His cock, once a proud declaration of his masculinity, grew limp and small within the confines of his briefs. Meanwhile, my own confidence surged, filling me with a newfound sense of purpose. The smirk that had once been foreign to my face grew more natural, a permanent fixture of my new identity.

I could feel the power of his dominance flowing into me, filling my veins with the same unshakeable confidence that had made him the gym's alpha. His anger and frustration only served to fuel my own transformation, the pleasure of the experience making me dizzy. We both moaned and grunted, our bodies responding to the shifting tides of power. My own cock grew harder than it had ever been, a testament to the raw masculine energy that now surged through me.

The bodybuilder's eyes grew wide as he watched his former strength and confidence being siphoned away. His once-booming voice grew softer, his posture slumping as the weight of his defeat settled upon his shoulders. He was no longer the towering giant that had struck fear into the hearts of all who looked upon him. In his place stood a man reduced to a mere echo of what he had been, his eyes pleading for mercy that I had no intention of granting.

The whispers grew softer, the magic waning as the last vestiges of his power were absorbed into my own being. My chest swelled with pride, my cock straining against the fabric of my briefs, demanding to be released. The bodybuilder's own cock, once a symbol of his dominance, had shrunken to a pitiful nub, the fabric of his boxer briefs tenting outward pathetically.

His voice cracked with defeat as he begged for mercy. "Please," he whimpered, his eyes brimming with tears. "Give me back my body, please."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his pleading. The irony of his situation was delicious, and I savored every moment of it. The power thrumming through me was like nothing I had ever felt before. I was the predator now, the one holding all the cards, and he was the prey, reduced to a trembling mess. But there was still one piece of the puzzle that had eluded me—his confidence and swagger. That was the essence of what made him a man to be feared and desired in this place. And if I wanted to truly be his equal, I needed it for myself.

"Your body, your confidence, your swagger… all of it is mine now," I said, my voice a deep, resonant bass that seemed to shake the very air. "And as for your pathetic little cock…" I couldn't help but chuckle. "It's the least of what you've lost."

The bodybuilder's eyes flickered with a spark of anger, but it was quickly extinguished by the reality of his situation. He knew he was at my mercy. With a casual flick of my wrist, I sent him stumbling backward, his legs no longer able to support the weight of his deflated muscles. He landed on the gym floor with a pitiful thud, his once-intimidating form now reduced to a trembling wreck.

I turned to the mirror, my gaze raking over my new, muscular body. The red briefs that had once clung to my skinny frame now struggled to contain the vast expanses of my newfound muscles. I flexed my arms, watching in amazement as the veins in my forearms bulged and danced. The reflection staring back at me was that of a god, a true embodiment of power and beauty. The whispers grew faint, but the warmth of the necklace against my skin reminded me of the promise it held.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I murmured, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek. The necklace grew cooler, the magic seeming to acknowledge my gratitude. I knew that with this power came a responsibility to carry on the legacy that had been passed down to me.

[charmedimsure]

Hi i like to make an request for an Nam-gyu x fem player oneshot or headcanons whatever works better with you to write with - for reader join their team cause she was once a background dancer during one of thanos shows and is loyal to him but falling for the more brutal (cinnamon roll!) Nam-gyu slowly during the games?

SHADOW OF LOYALTY || nam-gyu

pairing: Nam-gyu x f!reader

summary: You get dragged onto the team of a rapper you used to dance for, but you can't complain when another team member keeps giving you that cute smile.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: guns, death, drugs, blood, squid game stuff

A/N: i've been wanting to write for nam-gyu but couldn't think of anything so ty 🙏 if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

"Hey," a voice says behind you. You turn, seeing a girl with short hair standing there. She wears a choker, as well as a nose ring and lip ring. "Do you have a team yet?"

You smile at her, shaking your head. "No."

"We should team up," she says. "I'm Se-mi. What's your name?"

As you're about to tell her, you see a familiar head of purple hair in the crowd. The same head you've been avoiding for the past day.

You lower your face, bringing your hand up to shield yourself. "Oh, crap."

"Señorita, excuse me."

Se-mi turns around, as she hears the voice, staring at Thanos.

"Let's play the game together."

You shrink a bit, positioning yourself so Se-mi is blocking you from Thanos' view.

"Well, why should I?"

"Don't you know who he is?" one of the boys at his side asks. "He's Thanos, the rapper. I'm gonna kill half of humanity with my raps."

You turn your back to them, trying as hard as you can to keep the rapper from noticing you.

The other boy speaks up. "Hang on, a girl? We don't know what the game is."

"I, Thanos the great, will protect you."

Se-mi breathes out a laugh. "Right, Thanos. So have you got all the infinity stones?"

"Of course." You roll your eyes, knowing he's showing off his dumb nail polish. "I'm going to destroy anyone who gets in my way. Just stick with me and you'll be safe. Okay?"

"But I already asked someone to join me," Se-mi says. Your heart picks up.

"No problem. Who is it?"

Se-mi moves to the side and you turn, giving the rapper a tight-lipped smile and small wave.

"No way," Thanos says, a wide smile on his face. He comes up to you, throwing his arms around you. "Señorita! I can't believe you're here!"

"Woah!" the boy to the right of Thanos says, eyes wide. "You were one of his dancers, right?"

You nod, not quite making eye contact with the boy. You look up at the other one and find that he's staring at you, mouth parted slightly.

Both of Thanos' hands grab onto your shoulders, squeezing them. "This is gonna be awesome."

You look at Se-mi, seeing her give you an apologetic look. You just shrug. At least you have a team.

<>

"Please decide players for each mini-game."

You lean forward, looking at your team on both sides from your spot in the middle of the line. "I can do Jegi. I was good at it as a kid."

"I'm doing Jegi," Thanos says. "You do Spinning Top."

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath. "I'm not good at Spinning Top."

"I can do Spinning Top," the boy between you and Thanos says.

You nod at him, a silent thank you. "I'll do Gong-gi."

"I can do Flying Stones," Se-mi says.

You nod and look past her to the boy sitting on the end. "Are you alright doing Ddakji?"

He nods, a smile on his face. "I was going to volunteer for it anyway."

You smile. "Great. We got this, guys."

<>

"The following players have been eliminated. Players 016, 045, 178, 189, 198, 254, 286, 341, 396, and 416."

A man on the other side of the room stands up. "We should have left! We're all going to die now! We're all going to die because of those who voted to continue!"

Another man stands. "What are you going to do now?! You think you can survive?! Look at them!"

You feel movement to the left of you and turn to see the boy next to you leaning toward Thanos.

"Can you... can you please give me one of those?"

Thanos eyes him up. "'Those'?"

"The thing you took. You're keeping them inside your cross."

You sigh. You're well aware of what Thanos keeps in his cross. He's tried to get you to take them a few times while you were working together. Thankfully, you always said no, not letting him persuade you into anything.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"If I get nervous and lose the game, we'll all die," The boy's voice shakes. "My hands are shaking like crazy."

Thanos sighs. "Nam-su."

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right. Nam-gyu." Thanos unzips his jacket, taking out his cross. "Do you know what this is?"

You lean closer, curious. Thanos never told you what they were, part of the reason you turned them down every time.

"Ecstasy? Ketamine?"

Thanos shakes his head. "It's a new kind. It's fucking crazy, man. You can't handle it."

"Hey." Nam-gyu rolls up his sleeve, showing Thanos the inside of his elbow. "I did all kinds of stuff when I was working at the club. I even brought you some when you came to the club."

Thanos opens his cross, taking out one of his pills. "You junkie." He hands it to Nam-gyu, who quickly pops it in his mouth. Thanos looks over Nam-gyu's shoulder, seeing you watching them. "Want one, Señorita?"

You shake your head. "I'll pass."

Nam-gyu looks at you, face falling as you give him a look of disapproval.

<>

The rounds kept going until it was your turn. The boy on the end, who you found out is named Gyeong-su, was able to flip the Ddakji on his second try, and Se-mi hit the stone perfectly on her first attempt.

You walk to the next mini-game, the one you're doing. You take the pieces off the table, crouching as the guard puts the table on the floor. You scatter the pieces onto the table.

Blue. Green. Yellow. Red. Purple. Good.

Purple. Yellow and green. Red and blue...

You deflate as the blue piece falls out of your grasp and onto the track.

"Seriously?!" Thanos yells. "Pick it up and do it right this time!"

You shoot a glare at him. He might not realize it, but his demeaning comments are certainly not helping.

Nam-gyu picks up the fallen piece, handing it to you. "You were so close, you can do it."

You take the piece and nod, once again focusing back on the game.

Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. Good.

Green. Yellow and blue. Red and purple. Good.

Yellow. Red, blue, purple. Green. Good.

Purple. Green, blue, red, yellow. Good.

Back of hand. Good.

You take a deep breath before tossing the pieces up, quickly grabbing them out of the air.

The pink guard puts their arms up in a circle.

"Pass."

You smile as Nam-gyu shakes you in happiness. The guard takes the small table away from you and you advance to the next mini-game.

The pink guard hands Nam-gyu the top and the string. You watch as he wraps the string. You had been nervous when he took Thanos' pill, but you have to give it to him, his control over the string is flawless.

He pulls his hand back and throws it. You smile as it spins in front of you.

"Pass."

You all celebrate before moving to the final mini-game. Thanos takes the Jegi, pushing the guard out of the way. He throws it into the air.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks.

The Jegi falls to the ground.

You huff as Thanos picks it up and throws it again.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks.

The toy hits the ground once again.

You can't help but roll your eyes. You would have gotten it by now had he let you play Jegi. Your high score as a kid was 27 kicks in a row. You look at the clock. You still have a minute left. Good.

Thanos lets out a yell of frustration, picking up the Jegi and throwing it.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks. Five kicks.

"Pass."

Your team jumps up and down in celebration before regaining composure. You cross the finish line with 29 seconds to spare.

You and Se-mi turn to each other, hugging as you all celebrate. You turn to Nam-gyu, who is already smiling down at you. You smile back and high-five him. At the end of the line, Thanos jumps up and down, nearly knocking you all over.

You put your arms out to steady Nam-gyu and he thanks you as the guards come over to remove the bindings from your ankles.

<>

You watch as five more people walk into the room.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you and turn to see Nam-gyu. "How many do you think are left?"

You take a quick look around. "Maybe 200?"

"Shit," he sighs. "That's way too many."

You shrug. "I like that there's more people here." Nam-gyu gives you a confused look. "There's safety in numbers."

Thanos raises both of his arms. "Stop talking." He points at you. "How old are you again?"

You roll your eyes. "28."

"So you were born in 1996," he turns to Gyeong-su. "How old are you?"

"Born in 1998."

He turns to Se-mi. "You?"

"Born in 1996."

He thinks for a moment. "It's settled. Gyeong-su is the youngest, and the girls are the oldest." He turns to Nam-gyu. "Nam-su, you were born in 1997, right?"

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right, Nam-gyu. Is that right?"

Nam-gyu nods.

Thanos points at you while still looking at Nam-gyu. "Hey, call her noona since she's older."

Nam-gyu chuckles. You feel a small smile pull on your lips at the sound.

Soon, the pink guards come into the room, announcing that 110 players had been eliminated in the second game. They bring out the machine for voting and everyone moves to the center.

"You're voting to stay, right noona?" Nam-gyu asks you.

You breathe out a laugh. "Yeah, but this is probably the last time." You smile at him, lightly hitting his shoulder. "And don't call me noona. I'm younger than you, just don't tell Thanos, Nam-su."

He frowns when you call him the wrong name, opening his mouth to correct you but stopping when he sees the teasing smirk on your face. He chuckles again, nodding his head.

<>

Nam-gyu watches as Thanos opens his cross, taking out a pill and popping it into his mouth. He takes a step in his direction, about to ask for one. He stops when he sees you out of the corner of his eye talking to Se-mi, laughing at something the girl is saying. With a sigh, Nam-gyu turns away from Thanos, instead moving to Gyeong-su.

You're all brought into a new room. There are doors lining the walls and a big platform in the middle of the room that looks like a carousel without any horses.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

"Hey," Thanos says, clearly high off his ass. He turns to your group. "We'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?"

You all get onto the platform and it begins spinning, a children's song playing over the speakers. The first round is ten, and you find another group of five players, getting into the room safely with ten seconds to spare.

You come out again, once again getting onto the platform. The music stops and the voice calls out four.

Thanos looks between you, Se-mi, and Gyeong-su before stopping on the last one.

"Please," the boy pleads.

"Gyeong-su, you're out!" Thanos kicks the boy to the ground. "Let's go!"

Nam-gyu stands there for a moment staring at Gyeong-su before he feels someone grab a hold of his sleeve, tugging him along after the group. He gets in the room and the door locks, you letting go of him. Nam-gyu tries to look out the slot for Gyeong-su but you pull him away. It's best if he doesn't see it.

"Wait!" Thanos holds his arms up. He points toward all of you. "Where did you leave my boy Gyeong-su?"

You give him an incredulous look, jumping when the sounds of gunfire starts.

Thanos brings his hands to his head before running towards the door and looking out the slot. "Fuck! Gyeong-su!"

You and Se-mi look at each other, both of you thinking the same thing. Thanos would have done that to any of you. He can't be trusted. Especially when he's high.

You're released and you go back to the platform. When the music stops this time, the voice announces three people to a room.

Thanos stands and looks between you and Se-mi. "Who should we take? Rock, paper, scissors!"

Se-mi turns to you, holding her hand out. "Come with me."

You nod, taking her hand. "We'll find one more, you guys do the same."

Nam-gyu nods, grabbing Thanos by his jacket and pulling him along.

Se-mi and you manage to find one more person and get into a room on time. When you come out, you look around for the boys. You see the familiar head of purple hair and smile when you spot Nam-gyu next to him.

They run up to you. You smile at Nam-gyu. "Glad you made it."

He smiles back. "Me too."

The next round is six, so you find two other players and make it to a room. When you're let out, it is announced that this will be the final round.

"Two."

Se-mi goes to reach for you, but she's pulled away by Thanos as he sprints toward one of the rooms. Nam-gyu watches as Thanos runs away, a look of betrayal adorning his face.

You quickly turn, grabbing Nam-gyu's hand and taking off toward a green door. You're able to get there before anyone else and close the door behind you, pushing your weight against it to keep anyone else from getting in.

The lock clicks and you sigh in relief, moving away from the door. You turn to Nam-gyu. "Are you alright?"

"He left me," he says, a faraway look on his face. "I've been nothing but loyal to him, and he just left me there."

You sigh, walking to him and rubbing his arm. "Nam-gyu, Thanos isn't a good person. He can't even remember your name. A person like that doesn't deserve the loyalty you're showing him."

He keeps looking at the door as the gunshots go off. He turns to you, looking at you for a few moments before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. "Thank you. Thank you for not leaving me."

You hug him back. "I'm not gonna leave you, Nam-gyu."

He sniffles. "I won't leave you either."

You pull back and see his smile. You can't help but think it's kind of cute, making you smile back at the boy, a warm feeling in your face.

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn @galactict3a @sawlover353 @jspidey5

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

[crepezinhos]

Out of Reach

POV: You’d never think a few small talks every now and then and effortless circus perfomances would spark such a passionate fan like him, especially when your differences segregated you two so much.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is an angsty SFW Oneshot (not proofread)

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— AU is: 1910s

— Vet!Character x Performer!Reader

— This is a multifandom work. Characters/Fandoms included are clarified down below and in tags too.

Imagine you and him, who work together in circus, the kind that resides in a train and perform from city to city. You’re a ballerina, a professional dancer, who performs with an elephant as a partner, and him, who’s been recently recruited as a vet to take care of it.

He isn’t even professional. He’s a poor man who attempted veterinary school but couldn’t handle the expenses, so he gave up and ran way from his urban life, but he still does a professional job just for you.

He doesn’t double check before you straddle the elephant, he triple-checks, quadruple-checks, and even more if it means you’ll be ok and that the elephant won’t ever have a panick attack. That’s also why he refuses to use physical punishment with it. He not only has a tremendous empathy for animals in the first place, but he also views that elephant as a sacred relic blessed by your talent and beauty. He will wake up in the middle of the night to make sure the elephant is sleeping well, he will brush every little corner of the elephant’s enormous body with multiple layers of soap, he’ll assure its little accessories and makeup are perfectly done… everything in the name of you.

How could those amused faces in the crowd not make a line for your autograph after your performances? He’d proudly be the first one on it.

He’s your secret biggest fan.

He watches every show of yours.

No matter if he has duties to do.

He’ll always find a way to sneak out or have a colleague cover for him, and watch you from a far, isolated corner in the crowd, hidden in the shadows. Even if he’s anxious and afraid you might fall or embarrassingly trip and twist an ankle when you’re standing on the elephant’s back, his eyes cannot stop admiring you.

The thrill… the beauty… the music… the costume… the dance… the art.

No matter how many times he’s watched that repeated set of actions, for him, you somehow always make something ‘new’ that make hai actions widen.

How could all the other performers only shower you with shallow compliments?

“You did really well!”

“Nice job!”

“Great performance today!”

You deserve more than just those words. You deserve someone kissing your feet, you deserve a group of maids massaging your back, you deserve a man waiting for you to get home so he can take care of your every need.

And that’s why he finally broke his own limits.

That’s why his feet were moving so quickly in your direction, breathing almost uncontrolled, for some reason fearing that you’d somehow disappear if he didn’t reach you in time, fearing that someone would say what he had to say to you first and make his words lose meaning.

You looked hypnotizing even when you were just sitting on top of a random crate. The moonlight making your jewelry and glossy eyes sparkle like a diamond and your dress accentuating your fine curves… he desperately desired to watch you from a close distance, but he knew that’d reasonably creep you out.

“Y/N.” His whole body shivered as he pronounced your name after so many days without saying it to you.

Your zoned-out face finally seemed to be brought back to reality with his figure standing some inches away from you, but as soon as you paid attention to him, your nose couldn’t help but detect the smell.

He works with your dear elephant, and that means he needs to clean the kilograms of rotting shit it eliminates of its body and carry it out of the train. The lack of access to showers makes the smell stick to his every cell of his body like a parasite, a fucking leech that always made your expressions of him be low for any situation that wasn’t veterinary. Especially considering his constant timid behavior, he looked like nothing but a random loser to you.

And he obviously couldn’t help but remember all the others reasons why you’d feel disgusted to him when he looked at a mirror. His calloused hands due to manual labour, the dirt under the tip of his nails, his oily and unwashed hair, the dust, feces and dirt spread around his body and his clothes, which probably had already became permanent stains at this point, his yellowish teeth, his tired eyes, and that stupid fly that has been annoyingly following him and hanging around his space for these last minutes.

No matter if he had a cute face behind all those layers of grubbiness and unsanitary life conditions.

That’s why you flinched away, and your hand immediately moved to pinch your nose and stop your nasals to absorb and taste his smell.

Oh.

How could he forget?

How could he forget that he has no chance with you? How could he allow himself to walk so confidently to you as if he was your closest friend? Or as if you cared about what he had to say?

Perhaps… was your performance tonight what made him feel this way? This delusional? Was that how much you inspired him? Well, he should just disappear now, shouldn’t he? He’s a bother, isn’t he?

You immediately gasped and put your hand on top of your mouth as soon as you realized your wrong and saw his excited face die in a blink and become embarrassed due to that.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” You stood up, trying to make your apology seem more genuine and respectful, but he immediately fought you back.

“No, no. It’s ok.” No matter how genuine his smile looked, he couldn’t make eye contact with you anymore, and that made your heart ache in regret. “I understand.” He reached a hand to the back of his neck and begun scratching it as a way to control himself as he prepared to organize his confession.

He bit his inferior lip for a few seconds, and you made sure to wait if that meant he’d forgive your attitude.

“I just wanted to say that…” He had to pause again if he didn’t want to pass out. “Your performance was absolutely mesmerizing tonight.” The gentle tone and sway of his voice towards your ears made your heart ache even more for him.

He felt afraid of course, but every syllable pronounced was vital. How could he be 100% honest to you when that’s how you reacted to his presence? But he still somehow dearly hoped his determination would mean something to you. That your artistic mind could interpret his choice of words and perhaps remember that moment for the next years.

How could you treat your own vet like that?! After all the work he does for your elephant, that’s how you treat him as? After all those small talks you two shared throughout those months? And considering those small talks were centered around you, it made you even worse for him.

He’s not even ugly in the first place. His facial features and manly and sharp, his eyes are catchy, his hands and fingers are long, and his body is slim and healthily worked-out.

“I…” You couldn’t even react to it. You were truly taken aback and felt with those words. “Thank you… I-I’m sorry for—” He immediately started nodding his head side-to-side.

“No need to apologize.” He shrugged his shoulders and began to turn back, but those damn words in the tip of his tongue that were begging to come out couldn’t be held back anymore. “Have a good night, Ms. Y/N. I’ll make sure Ella is prepared for tomorrow.” No matter if his heart was too overwhelmed with anxiety and his stomach with butterflies, he was disappointed at himself for even bothering you in the first, so he immediately started walking away from you before you could say anything else.

And you pathetically decided to let him go, regretting that decision more and more with every step of his, but only silence could be heard between you two.

At least he was glad that you seemed touched by him.

He was glad he said the things he needed to say, even if you’d never look at him the same way he looks at you, according to his thoughts.

So he walked home with blood running roughly on his cheeks, and a smile that couldn’t find rest.

Diluc, Kazuha, Zhongli, Itto, Gorou, Xiao, AlHaitham, Kinich, Neuvillette, Kabukimono, Ororon, Cyno

Luocha, Kakavasha, Dan Heng, Blade, Gepard, Sunday

Jiyan, Calcharo, Xiangli Yao

Taglist: @amoyanderes @shyentsfoundherink @kindofshyent @the-stinky-winky @goofy-ego @bigmantiddys @alatusorrow @luminieee

[cat-sithe]

i don't imagine shadow to be a great dancer at first, but continues to try just to see maria smile...

if you're looking for music, here's a song which i listened to while drawing which reminds me of them <3

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Elden Ring DLC Bosses Revealed!

From Software has released a guide to all the bosses of the upcoming Elden Ring DLC, Shadow of the Erdtree! Here are the ten great monsters you'll fight in the Shadow Lands:

Messmer The Impaler

Messmer is the third triplet with Malenia and Miquella, banished to the shadow lands because for liking snakes and impaling people. Mostly for impaling people, but the snakes didn't help.

The Burning Colossus

A big heap of flaming bodies used as a weapon of war in the rival kingdom of Nausicuu, this massive beast has to be scaled and slain because that's what you do with colossi in games.

Albinauric Orphan Tear

The missing link between mimics and albinaurics, this monster throws his "husk" at the player like a boomerang. The first boss of the DLC, it guards the cave that leads to the Shadow Tree.

Godskin Brigade

The Gloam-Eyed Queen is guarded by an army of her progeny, the godskins. They bear her most fearsome weapon, the Incantation of Ganqskwa-Darengi, which makes them act unpredictably and never need to stop to let the player get in a single stab or arrow.

Godlion Dancer, Firstborn of the Gods

The murdered soul of Godwyn, son of Godfrey and brother to Godrick, Godrranq's lover. This guy has God written all over him. He also has 30 legs so he's good at dancing.

Birdmaster Tonguay, Slayer of Literally Everyone

Ever wonder who tied all those knives to all the bird feet? Ever wonder why there are so few people in the Lands Between? Meet Tonguay, murderer of all those people at the claws of his bird-knives.

Ribbitus, Priestess of the Frog Cult

Elden Ring's new gimmick boss can only be defeated by jumping from platform to tiny platform to poison the flies she likes to eat. She randomly kills the player without warning or opportunity to recover. She sings to you in French the whole time.

Metalgiir, Armored Gandamu

An occult robot constructed by Robot-Master Iji Jr., Metalgiir demands an entirely different kind of gameplay that doesn't fit or scale to anything else in the game, yet is not optional so you have to learn to beat him or you get nothing.

Ouchlord Vivaldi

Just... Don't fight this guy, he clearly has enough problems going on.

Daniel R. Clarksen

Little is known of Daniel Clarksen or why the Tarnished must fight him. He seems like a decent guy, but he probably like turns into a giant demon thing with boobs. These games have lots of those.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Nine

Summary: Emotions take bloom.

Notes/Warnings: Hints of dommy, emperor Geta. Dated views on feelings, ownership & religion.

I saw Gladiator 2. ❤️ed Love Geta. Wrote half of this before seeing it. Only shifted somethings 🫣🥹 my story a smidge.

❤️s, comments, feedback, & reblogs are welcome & appreciated!

Something in him that he wasn’t familiar with came over him. Shifting where he sat, he glanced back at you. There a short distance between the two of you.

“Move closer.” He murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Once you were settled, he reached for your hand and held it over his shoulder.

He kept his attention on the dancers. A smile spread across his face. He felt good.

“Sire?” You felt confused.

His thumb grazed the softness of your wrist. You trembled.

“I want to feel your touch.” He pressed your hand to his chest.

You didn’t say anything further. Your touch was subtle as he continued to enjoy the fruits and bread before him, with an occasional sip of his wine.

Occasionally, he’d bring his hand to yours and press it against him before releasing it to let you continue your idle touch. Which felt as delicate as a butterfly wings has they flutter over new spring blossoms.

Catching the eye of one of the personal guards. He motioned for the man to come over.

In hushed tones, he told him to ready the carriage and to send word that villa was to ready for his arrival in the early afternoon. And to have the men ready as well to give a proper escort for himself and you.

The man replied with a positive affirmation, he knew it was possible. He had given them shorter notice when Caracalla had gone through a period of prolonged feelings of distress and tantrums. This would be much easier.

******

You held the breath in you when he motioned for the guard to come over. Their voices were hushed and low. You could not decipher what was said despite being close. You watched as the man gave a nod, stood straight and left with great haste.

Your thoughts whirled at the possibilities of what the exchange could have been. Your stomach turned.

Though as you felt his thumb graze the softness of your wrist, you were brought back to the room in which you sat.

“Diversion from the city lays ahead of us.” He told you softly.

Merriment still surrounded you, torches flickered and hushed pleasant voices grounded the music that player to accompany the dancers that continued to swish and twirl in the center of the room.

“That will be delightful Geta.” You smiled.

Tingles, from how your arm and hand were prickled at you. It reminded you on mornings where you had woken up after laying on your limb. You didn’t dare roll your hand or pull it back. Despite being the emperor, you surely believed he had those same tingles. But you enjoyed this and didn’t wish to disrupt his pleasure.

Feeling a gentle tug, you looked and caught Geta’s gaze. “Yes, Geta?”

“I’m growing tired. We shall retire to my quarters, there is something we need to discuss.”

“Yes.” You replied softly. “Yes, absolutely.” Before his hand released yours, his thumb once again grazed your wrist.

*******

He glanced at you as the two of you walked down the passageways. The footfalls of the two of you were the only ones that mattered in his opinion. The torches flickered and cast shadows here and there.

Looking at you, once again that feeling stirred in him from earlier in the evening. It reminded him of the excitement on the brink of a banquet celebrating a victory or watching a good fight in the arena. Never towards a person, even less towards someone who belonged to him.

His guards opened the doors to his quarters. He ushered you in first.

“Go to the balcony.” He told you, when you began to turn towards him.

You nodded.

He went over to where the guards stood.

“I do not want to be disturbed, Gallus.” He turned to the guard, he saw the most. “If anything else needs to be done before dawn, please do so. I do not want to delay our departure once dawn breaks. And inform Aelia she is to pack her belongings and hers, if she has not already done so, since she will be traveling with me as well.”

“Every well, sire. They are well prepared for your arrival at the destination and for your departure from here.”

“Good.”

With a nod, he closed the door.

He took off his laurel crown and set it down. Running his fingers through hair, he looked at your figure as he walked over to you. He paused, watching you.

You were gazing at your hand, he had enjoyed holding it. The gods have blessed you, he mused. Your hands were as lovely as the ways you twined words together. They were skillful in touch and in mending as well, as he glanced down where you had tended to his wound which stung with its freshness.

“Geta.” Seeing him, you turned with a smile that curled your lips.

He nodded, as he grew closer.

“Tonight’s festivities after justice was served were very pleasing. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Those dances were fascinating. Nothing, I had ever seen before.”

He smiled. “It was the same for me. They have traveled from one of the new providences. It was to celebrate them now being one with Rome.”

“That is wonderful.” You looked down.

He drew your chin up, he studied your features. Yes, he would definitely have to have a craftsman, capture you. It was as if the gods themselves had wielded a paintbrush or sculptors tool when you were created.

“Yes, Geta?”

He could feel your breath. Its steady increase pleased him.

“I’ve grown tired of city and all of the politics. We shall depart and enjoy the good airs and feel in good humor soon.

“We?” Your eyes grew.

He chuckled. “Yes, we. As much as I do enjoy my solitude. And anytime away from Caracalla can feel very good; I wish you to accompany me.”

********

With cloaks on and the blue light of the dawn, you had climbed in and sat with Aelia and Geta was opposite the two of you in the carriage. It was not long, before the streets of the city were shadows in the dust of the wheels and horse’s pace. The horses did not pick up a good trot till out of the confines of the city to not create a disturbance.

******

You tried, struggled even to stay awake, an eagerness to look out the windows had grabbed you. It was exciting to go somewhere you had never been. Even, Aelia had told you briefly how much nicer it was at the villa. Especially with Caracalla staying at the domus in the city.

Vaguely, you wondered about the woman who sat beside you. She was loyal without question to Geta. She had been firm yet show a warmth, a kindness towards you that you had not expected. Not many were. So you accepted and appreciated it.

On either side of the two of you were also guards, you didn’t speak to them and they didn’t speak to you. You barely ever looked up at one. They scared you. Glancing over at Geta, you noticed that he had even bowed his head to sleep. It had run its soft lulling touch over all of you. Your eyes had been growing heavier.

Before succumbing to its soft touch, you caught a glimpse of Geta from under your hood. His lashes laid on his cheeks, his hair like sun-rays themselves were peaking from the edges of his cloak’s hood and his features were soft. Your heart quickened realizing like this he resembled the sculptures you had been blessed to see. He truly, was touched by the gods.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn @helsa3942

[meazalykov]

dance moms

laura freigang x dancer!reader

summary: after moving back to germany, to escape the chaos you've suffered in the states, you meet a photographer (who happens to be a footballer as well.)

a/n: if you don't know what the american reality show "dance moms" is, I'd do some basic research in order to understand the first part of this fic <3

growing up at the ALDC felt like being in a pressure cooker. 

you were only two years old when your mom, isla, moved the both of you from germany to pennsylvania in the united states. 

she put you in dance classes as soon as she could. at first, it was exciting—you loved the way your body could express emotions through movement. you loved gaining flexibility and having a routine. you loved performing and getting to put on pretty costumes. but that changed the moment dance moms came into the picture.

at just eleven years old, you were pulled into the chaotic world of reality TV. cameras followed your every move, every mistake. 

abby lee miller’s constant critiques weighed you down, her screaming echoing in your head long after rehearsals ended. she changed since the cameras started filming her. 

“you’ll never be good enough if you don’t push harder, y/n!” she’d shout during practice, her words biting deep into your skin like needles.

there were moments where you had solos. those were the dances you loved the most. you always scored very well and got on top of the pyramid whenever maddie wasn’t. 

sometime during season four, there was a significant moment that didn’t leave your mind for a while. 

you stood in the wings at a competition in san diego, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath after your solo. the adrenaline rushed through your veins, but it was dulled by the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

you’d stumbled on one of your turns—something that wasn’t like you at all. but it was there, clear as day, right in front of the judges and the audience. and now, you were about to face abby.

as soon as they announced the results, you knew it wasn’t going to be good. 

second place. you’d lost to maddie. again. but what made it worse was that you weren’t just up against anyone—this was a week where you were up against the candy apples. abby’s biggest rivals. 

this meant that her mood was already sour, and you knew this was going to tip her over the edge.

the second you stepped into the dressing rooms, abby’s gaze was already locked on you, her face a storm of frustration and anger. 

she didn’t even wait for everyone to sit down before coming at you.

“second place?” abby barked, her voice sharp as a whip. “second place, y/n? you know that’s not acceptable. not here!” 

you flinched but kept your head down, your heart racing. you wanted to explain—to say that the stumble was a mistake, something you couldn’t control—but you knew it wouldn’t matter. not to abby.

“what happened out there?” she demanded, sitting down in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. 

“you stumbled on a turn, y/n. a turn! something you should be perfect at by now.”

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “i know, abby. i’m sorry. i—i just—”

“sorry isn’t good enough,” abby cut you off, her voice dripping with disappointment. “you don’t get to be sorry when you’re given this great opportunity! maddie would’ve never done that and her first place showed that!” 

the mention of maddie stung more than anything. it always felt like you were in her shadow, no matter how hard you worked. no matter how much you tried to prove yourself. 

abby’s golden girl could do no wrong, and you were left picking up the pieces when you didn’t measure up.

“you’re better than that,” abby continued, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

“you’re one of my best dancers, but today? you danced like an amateur. you embarrassed me, y/n. you embarrassed this entire team.”

her words hit you like a slap, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. you didn’t want to cry—not in front of abby, not in front of the other girls—but it was hard to hold it in.

“abby, i’m—”

“don’t say you’re sorry again,” she snapped, her voice rising. 

“i don’t want to hear it. i want you to do better. no more mistakes, no more excuses. if you want to be a star, you need to act like one. and today, you didn’t.”

you stood there, frozen, trying to keep your emotions in check as abby continued to berate you. 

it felt like the weight of the world was crushing you, and all you wanted was for the ground to swallow you whole.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, abby huffed and shook her head. “go. i don’t want to look at you right now.”

with those final words, you turned and walked away to get ready for the group dance, your body feeling heavier with every step. 

backstage before the group, you caught maddie’s eye, and she gave you a small, sympathetic smile. but it didn’t make you feel any better. nothing could right now.

you wanted to scream, to cry, to ask your mom why she let you stay in this mess, why she let abby tear you down like this. 

your mom stood by you and seemed like your biggest supporter. but as the years passed and you became a fixture on the show, you started to wonder why she allowed it. 

why she let abby break you down, week after week. 

“mom, why do we keep doing this?” you asked one evening after a particularly brutal competition weekend. 

“why do you let her treat me like this?” 

“it’s for your future, y/n,” isla had said, eyes clouded with hope—or maybe guilt. 

“you’re going to be a star.”

but that wasn’t how you felt. you didn’t want to be a star anymore. 

after six seasons on dance moms, you were burnt out. drained. you’d lost your passion for dance, the thing that once gave you joy now filled with dread. 

when you turned sixteen, you’d had enough. 

“i can’t do this anymore,” you told your mom one night after another exhausting filming day. “i want out.”

isla had hesitated, but eventually, the both of you left the show. the cameras stopped rolling, but the damage had already been done. 

the chaos, the constant pressure to be perfect—it stripped you of any love you had for dancing. you couldn’t even look at a dance studio without feeling a knot form in your stomach. 

you grew distant from your mom too. it was hard to understand why she had put you through it. 

“why didn’t you just protect me?” you’d whispered one evening, tears filling your eyes. but isla didn’t have an answer that made sense.

by the time you turned 19 in 2019, you were desperate for a fresh start. you packed your things and moved back to frankfurt germany, your birthplace. 

germany felt different—calmer, quieter. your mother didn’t come back with you which relieved you.

it was exactly what you needed. 

over the next few years, you dove into therapy, trying to unpack the trauma of your childhood. it was slow, difficult work, but through it, you discovered a few other hobbies like photography, and ceramics. you went to university too.

and then, suddenly, almost unexpectedly, dance found its way back to you. 

therapy helped you see it differently—no longer as something tied to pain, but as something that had once been yours. something beautiful. 

by 2022, you were back in the studio, dancing again, feeling lighter than you had in years.

you built your own studio in a nice neighborhood in frankfurt. you weren’t a dance instructor now, maybe someday, but you used the space to practice or hire (emotionally available) dance instructors to help you.

one afternoon, while you were in the middle of a lyrical practice, your friend macy and her sister, sara, showed up at your studio.

the three of you had become close since you moved back to germany. 

macy went to your university before you both graduated. she had nice tan skin and long raven colored hair. 

her older sister sara is a footballer who plays for frankfurt frauen. sara was like an older sister to you, while macy was your confidant. 

“y/n, you’ve gotta hear this,” macy said, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

you wiped sweat from your forehead, raising an eyebrow. “what now?”

“sara’s photographer friend wants to take pictures of you, specifically, for her portfolio, she’s been keeping up with your instagram content!” macy explained. sara nodded in agreement.

“you know, someone who can capture those insane moves of yours,” sara chimed in with a laugh.

you hesitated for a moment, but to your own surprise, you agreed. “okay, sure. why not?”

both macy and sara looked shocked. 

“wow, that was easier than i thought it would be,” macy said, her eyes wide.

“yeah, thought we’d have to convince you a little more,” sara added with a chuckle.

two days later, you found yourself at a field location, waiting for the photographer. 

the sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the area, when you saw her—laura freigang. 

she was taller than you expected, with an easy smile and a camera slung over her shoulder. you couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was, and you made a mental note to ask sara about her later.

“you must be y/n, i’m laura” laura said, walking up to you.

“that’s me,” you replied, feeling a little flustered as her eyes met yours. 

the shoot started, and laura was immediately in her element, capturing your movements with film. she had a way of making you feel comfortable, encouraging you to move naturally. 

“that’s perfect, just like that,” she’d say, her voice soft but confident. the tone of her voice made you feel a certain type of way as well.

you danced freely, twirling and leaping in the open field, and every now and then, you’d catch her smiling at you from behind the camera. 

there was one moment where laura calls you out for something, 

“where are you from in america?” laura asked. 

this was during a water break after shooting yourself doing high kicks and pirouettes.

“i was born here, but i lived in pennsylvania after i turned two. for a while i lived in california but that was until 3 years ago, when i moved back here.” you swallowed, thinking about the distant memories of your childhood. 

“pennsylvania! i went to penn state for a while!” laura says, surprised. 

“that is so cool!”

afterwards, there was definitely some flirting going on—small comments, lingering looks. after the shoot wrapped up, laura lowered her camera, looking at you with a playful glint in her eyes. 

“you know, this was fun. thank you for doing this for me. we should do it again sometime… maybe over dinner?”

you blinked, caught off guard but quickly recovering. 

“are you asking me out on a date, laura freigang?”

she smirked. “i guess i am.”

you smiled. “okay, i’m in.”

two days later, you were sitting across from her at a cozy restaurant, the low hum of conversation filling the air. 

the two of you clicked instantly, talking about everything from the shoot to your different interests. halfway through the meal, you said something which confuses laura. 

“do you have other hobbies beside photography? you seem like a pretty busy woman.” you smirk. 

“i’m sorry?” laura’s eyebrows raise. 

your eyes widen, afraid that you said something that is offensive.

“wait i’m sorry– its just sara tells me that you’re a photographer so i wondered if you do other things. do you go to another uni here after you left penn state or if you do modeling or–” you pause as laura giggles. 

“i’m flattered that you think i am a model– but i play for frankfurt and the german national team with sara...”

your eyes widened in surprise. how did sara not tell you this? she just made it seem like laura was just a photographer in frankfurt.

“wait, seriously? you’re a footballer and a photographer?”

laura grinned. “yeah. i like to keep busy.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling more flustered than you’d like to admit. 

“that’s... really impressive,” you said, feeling a little shy under her gaze.

as time passed, you started going to laura’s games, cheering her on from the stands. 

your bond deepened with every date, every conversation, until one day, laura asked you to be her girlfriend inside of her living room.

the soft glow of the floor lamp laura has casting a warm light over her space. you sat on her couch, legs curled under you, a half-empty cup of tea resting on the table in front of you. 

you’d spent the evening like this, just talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. but now, a comfortable silence had settled between you, the kind that felt intimate without needing to be filled.

laura sat beside you, her arm resting along the back of the couch. you could feel the warmth of her presence next to you, and every so often, your hands would brush when one of you reached for something or shifted in your seat. 

each touch sent a small spark of electricity through you, a reminder of the feelings you’d been harboring for her since that photoshoot months ago.

“you’ve been quiet for a bit,” you finally said, glancing over at her, noticing the way her jaw clenched slightly, like she was trying to find the right words.

she looked at you, her eyes soft but searching. “yeah, i’ve just… been thinking,” she said quietly, her voice low and a little hesitant.

“thinking?” you asked, your heartbeat quickening just a little. you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind those light colored eyes of hers. “about what?”

she took a deep breath, turning her body slightly toward you. the air in the room shifted, something heavier settling between the two of you. “about you,” she said, her voice steady now, like she had finally made up her mind about what she wanted to say.

your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your chest tighten. "me?" you asked softly, not sure where this was going, but the intensity in laura's gaze was undeniable.

“yeah, you,” she repeated, her eyes not leaving yours. 

“we’ve spent a lot of time together these past few months, nearly everyday, and i’ve really gotten to know you. i didn’t expect to feel this way when i first met you at that shoot, but,” she trailed off, her hand moving to gently take yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

your heart raced as she spoke, her words settling in the space between you like a confession you’d been secretly waiting for but never expected to hear. 

“laura…” you started, but the words caught in your throat, your emotions tangled up in the moment.

“i know this might be a lot,” she said, her grip on your hand tightening just slightly, “but i really like you, y/n. i don’t want to keep dancing around it anymore.” she paused, her eyes softening as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare. 

you both giggled at her pun before she spoke, 

“can i be your girlfriend?”

“what wait?” you were surprised. 

“will you be my girlfriend!?”

for a moment, you couldn’t speak. your mind raced with thoughts of every moment you’d shared, the way she made you feel without even trying, the way her presence made the world seem quieter, more bearable. 

you’d known this was going to happen someday, but hearing her say it out loud made it all feel more real than you’d imagined.

“yes,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. but the word hung in the air like a promise, and the smile that broke across laura’s face made your heart feel like it might burst. “yes, i’d love to.”

her smile widened, and she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours for a moment, the closeness of her sending a shiver down your spine. 

"yay," she murmured softly, her breath warm against your skin.

your fingers intertwined with hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go of the fears, the doubts, the baggage from your past. 

in that moment, it was just you and laura, your hearts laid bare, and the quiet understanding that something beautiful was beginning between the two of you.

you chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look at laura fully. “how about i cook for you? tomorrow night?” you suggested, your eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"i’m pretty good in the kitchen."

laura raised an eyebrow, smirking. "oh really? a dancer, a university graduate, and a chef? you're just full of surprises."

you grinned, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “you’ll have to find out for yourself.” 

and as she pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, you couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

it didn’t take long for fan pages to catch on. suddenly, everyone was talking about how one of their favorite childhood dancers was now dating a german footballer. 

fans were floored and happy for you-- but to you, it was surreal in the best way. 

as you sat next to laura after one of her games, her hand wrapped around yours, you couldn’t help but think that despite everything—despite the chaos of your past—you’d finally found happiness. 

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

a/n: wrote this two months ago but i wasn’t sure if i liked the writing and the concept😭 ill still post it anyways

[kyemna]

Hazbin Hotel headcanons

TW: Mentions of sex and alcohol. some suggestive themes that's it, it's mostly just fluff.

(English isn't my first language)

Charlie

-Will do anything for you.

-you want flowers? Done. You saw a cute stuffed animal in the store front and you want it? You got it. Somebody harassed you on the streets and you want them punished? Let her take care of it. Normally she's against violence, but when it comes to protecting you? She'll do anything.

-will sing to you, all the time

-made a special song that she sings to you when you've had a bad day

-the best listener ever.

-will sit and listen to you talk for hours

-if she needs to get to work early, she'll make you breakfast and leave you a note that says something like:

-hi, good morning lovely! I hope you sleep well.

I had to leave early.. something happened at the hotel while Alastor was away, and they needed me.

See you 2night, i love you:)<3

-i think her love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

Angel Dust

-whisper's provocative things to you during meetings

-definitely a physical touch kind of guy.

-Will cling to you at the most random times

-keeps Valentino as far away from you as possible.

-tries his best to keep his relationships hidden from him as well

-if you'd come home after a long day, he'd give you a massage

-is super funny, tell me otherwise.

-has a high sex drive, and is pretty kinky due to his job.

-so expect him to ring you up at the most unexpected times.

-PS. Don't put him on speaker when you're in public..

Vaggie

-was pretty cautious around you in the beginning, but slowly warms up to you

-once she's comfortable, she tells the wildest stories and acts them out for you

-if you don't know how to fight, she'll teach you

-if you do know how to fight, you guys spar all the time

-jealousy issues, and you can't tell me other wise.

-she hears someone talk to you in a tone she doesn't like? Glare. Someone low-key flirting with you? Glare. If looks could kill.. she will actually kill them though, so..

-not super experienced in bed, but she's open to suggestions

-once she finds something she likes/is comfortable with, she askes you for it all the time

-a "words of affirmation" and "acts of service" girl for sure

Alastor

(i am perfectly aware he's ace, but these are scenario's for if he wasn't, don't come for me)

-now, Alastor is a great dancer.

-he has great music taste too!

-listens to 1940's and below.

-i think he's mostly into Jazz and Classical music to be honest

-i do think Amy Winehouse and Dave Brubeck are his exceptions when it comes to listening to 1950's and above

-somehow always knows where you are..? You often see his shadows follow you, so that's probably why

-kills for you. Also because he has a thirst for blood, that needs to be satisfied. So that's 2 birds with one stone

-holds doors open for you

-just a general gentleman

-loves it when you wear dark red, dark blue and dark green

-it can be anything. Lipstick (just red though), a hat, a dress, heels, etc.

-expects you to respect his personal space but doesn't respect yours LMFAO

-gift giving and physical touch

Husk

-knows all your favorite drinks

-loves to dance with you

-also a Jazz person, but I don't think he'd mind country music to be honest

-once he secretly took a picture of you.

-he thought you looked so good, he keeps it in his nightstand.

-doesn't really talk about his problems/feelings, but prefers it if you do.

-respects your boundaries more than anyone.

-you don't wanna talk? He'll kiss your forehead, and leave you alone.

-you don't really like being touched? He'll always ask first.

-other than making amazing alcoholic drinks, he makes great coffee too!

-quality time and physical touch.

It's been quite a while since i've written something, so I apologize if there's any grammar mistakes or sentences that just don't make any sense LOL

Thank you for reading!

[junelovesaz]

Shadows and Whispers. Part 2

Note: Hello loves! I’m back… I think. Honestly, I promised I’d be more active, but I didn’t make it. I finished my first year of university and got a summer job. Still, I take full responsibility—you can crucify me, I’ll accept it 😌😌 I had the second part of Shadows and Whispers in my drafts, but I hadn’t published it yet because I wanted to edit it a bit. I’m sorry if this is a mess—I’m pretty rusty, and English isn’t my first language and it´s late. If there are any mistakes, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’ve been inactive for so long that I’m not even sure if I should take the liberty of using the tag list. But still, if you’re reading this, thank you so much for your time—I love you 💙💙💙

I’ll leave the song I was listening to while writing this. Take care.

P.S. Someone asked me a while ago if there would be more of Shadows and Whispers, so this second part is for you. I’m sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it.

Warnings: None, only if you squint, something suggestive.

Summary: At the ball, Azriel and the reader pretend to be a couple to gather information about the Autumn Court. However, the situation becomes overwhelming for the reader, leaving her confused, and Azriel’s touches only make it harder for her to clear her mind.

Many times, I stayed awake at night, questioning what I was doing with my life until the early hours of the morning. However, I had never tormented myself as much as I did in this situation.

I had the feeling that I would remain awake for many more dawns, and I was sure that my poor heart would not survive.

In front of me stood the man I was in love with, looking ridiculously handsome. His two large wings surrounded me, while his arms remained wrapped around my waist, as if that were the place where they should have always stayed, where they should remain until I turned to dust and stars.

I was intoxicated by his touch. Az had been quite careful, though deep down, I knew he was worried about making me feel uncomfortable with his chest pressed against mine, his occasional touches on my lower back, and the way his hands left soft caresses on my arms, waist, and even my neck.

He was trying hard to make this ridiculous act believable. When had anyone ever seen the Shadowsinger being so openly affectionate in a room full of nobles?

Not in my wildest dreams—or in those of the vipers surrounding us.

"Are you okay?" Azriel’s deep voice murmured softly, catching my attention.

I turned to look at him and was met with his kind hazel eyes, mixed with a hint of caution.

I nodded, trying to control my pulse. "All good, Az."

I saw doubt cross his face, but I didn’t want him to dig any deeper, so I quickly changed the subject.

"Are you sure this is working?" I asked with a genuinely teasing smile.

Az raised an eyebrow.

"I don’t understand why you’re so surprised. I’m good at my job."

The music changed, and this time, the melody became faster, more intense. Exactly how I felt—restless, euphoric.

Az’s hands were gentle, soft but firm, moving me to the rhythm of the music with ease. He was a skilled dancer, and he was the one doing all the hard work. Unfortunately, I had not been born with the grace and delicacy of a great dancer. Cassian and I used to whisper about which of us would look more ridiculous when we had to dance with someone else.

"Pretending to be madly in love?" A pang hit my chest, but I ignored it and simply raised an eyebrow. "Or gathering information?"

Even so, my heart was pounding wildly, and I could feel my pulse in my head, but I would blame the dance. That would be my great excuse. I knew Az could hear it too, but he was probably too polite to mention it.

"I’d say both," he replied smugly.

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course you would."

He smiled, and his expression was enough to soften me. We stood in silence for a moment until his shadows brushed against my shoulders, and I smiled fondly at them.

"Maybe you should teach him some humility," I told them, referring to their master.

They caressed me again, and their cold touch didn’t seem strange to me at all. On the contrary, it was even… comforting.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize one of my dress straps had slipped from my shoulder until I felt one of Az’s hands gently brushing my skin to put it back in place.

The gesture was so… tender, and his touch was so full of devotion that my head started spinning, and my thoughts became a blur.

It was just a mission, I reminded myself.

Then why did this—whatever it was—not feel that way?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was about to make a comment, but the words caught in my throat because, at that moment, Az and I overheard an interesting conversation between two nobles, and our attention shifted to them.

"…Beron is still High Lord."

We exchanged a brief glance before subtly moving closer to listen. Their voices were little more than whispers, but with a Shadowsinger as my partner… anything was possible.

"That doesn’t mean one of his sons won’t become High Lord at some point."

I frowned.

Eris wanted the throne, of course. His brothers also craved power, but what would this damned court do? Bet on which one of them would stay alive to take the role?

“Eris could become High Lord,” one of them remarked.

“Or… not,” the other took a moment to reply.

Az’s back stiffened, and I assumed my reaction was a reflection of his. We exchanged another glance, and I leaned my body against his chest, syncing with the melody’s shift to a softer tune.

“What do you mean?” one of the voices sounded again.

The other fell silent for a moment, and I held my breath.

“You know what I mean.”

So Eris’s brothers were beginning to form alliances? Were they planning to kill each other?

Not a single part of me was surprised. At least not enough to show a look of disgust.

Az wrapped his arms around me again and lifted my hands to his neck, tangling them there and forcing me onto my tiptoes. It was the signal that he was going to whisper something to me, so I tilted my head to make it seem, from an outsider’s perspective, as though he was kissing my neck.

“They’re planning to kill him,” he murmured so softly that I barely heard him.

“I got that too,” I replied, shifting my position again, moving my head in a way that made it look like I was seeking refuge in his neck.

Probably not my best move, as the scent of cedar filled my nostrils, invading my senses and thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still, we spent the next hour like this—dancing between whispers, eavesdropping on conversations, trying to piece together the alliances and the cursed situation surrounding the Autumn heir.

Some nobles had already left, while Az and I remained in a corner, pretending to sip wine. In reality, I had placed a shield around us to prevent anyone from overhearing our conversation.

“We have to tell Rhys. Now,” I emphasized when he didn’t move.

“Not yet,” Az denied. “We convinced some of them,” he gestured toward the last few people lingering at the ball, “but not all. Beron will likely send someone to follow us once we leave this cursed place.”

I sighed.

“So what do we do?” I asked, my patience wearing thin. This night had been long—filled with half-touches, lies and not-lies that had left my mind more confused than ever.

“We continue the act,” he answered simply. And when he didn’t say anything for a few seconds, I lowered the shield, fairly certain he already had a plan in mind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so, half an hour later, Az and I found ourselves outside the Autumn Court’s castle, surrounded by a breathtaking forest of orange, green, and brown hues.

On another occasion, I might have found it a marvelous sight. Right now, I just wanted to leave, curl up under layers of blankets, and forget this night had ever happened.

Az’s arm rested over my shoulders as we walked, shielding me from the cold but also ensuring that those following us—because he had been right about that—could see us.

They were close, but not close enough to hear what we were saying.

"You don’t need to do that, Az," I said, referring to his wing wrapping around me.

Truthfully, I did want him to stay close, but I had already messed up before—back in Velaris when I had accidentally ended up touching his wing.

"It’s cold," he replied calmly, taking my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Az’s body was like a furnace, providing enough warmth to keep me from freezing. But if I wanted to make it through this night, I needed to put some distance between us.

"Az," I swallowed. "Listen, I need to..." I turned slightly toward him before continuing. His deep gaze met mine, and I swallowed hard.

By the Cauldron, what was I supposed to say? Please stop touching me because you’re confusing my heart? Of course not.

Still, I opened my mouth to speak just as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to mine in a slow, sensual kiss. I didn’t hold back the surprised sound that escaped me—but I also didn’t pull away. Az backed us up, touching me with such intensity that it stole my breath. We didn’t stop kissing as he placed both hands behind my head, making sure I wouldn’t hit the bark of the tree we had landed against. That was how it worked with him—my resolve disappeared as if it had never existed. That was why, in the first place, I hadn’t wanted to come here with Az.

I shivered as his arms lifted me, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist, aligning me exactly where I needed him.

What the hell was happening?

"Az..." I whispered between kisses, trying to clear my thoughts.

The shadowsinger didn’t respond. He lifted his head for just a second, and what I saw made my knees weak. Desire and intensity. I recognized it because I had seen that look countless times—on myself, whenever I was with him.

It was fleeting, because the next moment, he trailed kisses down my jaw, tilting my head back to expose my neck to him.

Surprisingly, he found a spot that made my toes curl, and one of the hands gripping his shoulders tugged gently at his hair, while the other, unconsciously, slid to the edge of his right wing—the one that had never stopped wrapping around me.

I knew Illyrians were sensitive to that kind of touch, but I also knew it was an intimacy I wasn’t sure Az wanted from me.

And yet, drunk on him, I didn’t even think about it—about the consequences of my actions—as I traced my fingertips along the membrane.

The guttural sound that escaped him set my insides on fire, and I knew—I wouldn’t survive the night when he trembled, pressing his face against my neck as his weight sank into me.

Around us, the forest had fallen into absolute silence. Not even the wind rustled through the trees, and that snapped me back to reality.

We were doing this because someone had likely come too close. But now? Now, there was no one else but us.

Regaining a bit of clarity, I noticed how his shadows shifted restlessly—some curling around my calves, others weaving over his shoulders. His silence unsettled me, so I slowly pulled both hands away from his body, feeling somewhat out of my own.

"Az…" I called after a moment, my voice unsteady, unsure where to even begin apologizing.

"Just a moment… I just need a moment, sweetheart," he responded heavily against my neck.

My brain might as well have short-circuited. Without thinking, I placed my hand back in his hair, gently stroking whatever I could reach.

Exactly one minute later, Az let me go, setting me down with his hands on my waist.

I cleared my throat and avoided his gaze. "Are they gone?" I asked stupidly, not sure what else to say.

Az took my chin between his fingers and guided my attention back to him.

"They’re gone," he confirmed.

I nodded and bit the inside of my cheek. This meant nothing.

A mission, I reminded myself.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.

Of course not. I was a mess of nerves, words clogging my throat. I needed to let go—let go of what I felt for him, or this love would continue pouring out of me.

"I think we need to talk."

Az nodded, wrapping me in his warmth once more.

"At home, sweetheart."

He squeezed my hand gently, and I felt his shadows swirl around us, whisking us directly to Velaris—home.

It took me a second to recognize the path to the River House, and I braced myself for the conversation we were about to have.

Az didn’t let go of me, and we walked in silence until we reached the door.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him.

I had known from the very beginning that this entire plan was going to fall apart.

[desigemini24]

AN - Writing for our dear Sasha for the very first time. And so I kind of decided to start with headcanons. Hope you all like it.

Requests are open and well appreciated!

Thank you and have a great read.

Being a Princess and Meeting The Darkling

Warnings - Scheming Aleksander for a while.

GIF Credits to @inknopewetrust

You were the middle child of the Tsar and the Tsaritsa. Which means you were older than Nikolai and technically, second in line to the throne. But you never wanted to be a Queen, you just thought you weren’t meant to be.

At the age of 15, you were sent away from the capital to complete your education and learn about politics and what not.

You were a bright student, as the educators complimented, and a quick learner.

Years outside and relatively alone, you understood the world more closely, learning and watching from the shadows as Grisha were discriminated. They were Grisha, never Ravkans; something you didn’t like.

On your 18th birthday, you were summoned back to the court, to pick up on your duties as a princess.

Despite your lack of interest in politics, you forced pleaded your father to give you a seat on his Royal Council, the very place where all his decisions were taken.

The court was enthusiastic, spreading word of your arrival and speculating all and everything days before you arrived.

“I have heard that the princess has a big nose.”

“No, I have heard she has became quite the beauty.”

“She is stupid, they say.”

“Are you out of your mind? Everyone is aware that the princess is a bright learner.”

“She supports Grisha, or so I have heard.”

While Aleksander met most of the gossips with a straight face and a neutral, if not dismissive approach, he was taken aback by the last of it. To know that the princess supposedly supported as well as sympathised with his people.

But he remains quiet, carrying on his duties as the General of the Second Army.

The day you arrived in the Grand Palace was a day of a grand feast. The Queen and King wished to welcome their only daughter with the fanciest feast of the year.

You were never fond of feasts and grand dinners your family hosted but as the feast was kept in your honour, you put on your best smile and mingled with a flute of champagne in your hand.

That was when you first met the Black General— the infamous Darkling.

You found him intriguingly handsome and equally mysterious. A combination that had your stomach at unrest, but in the most pleasant manner.

A polite conversation began, which might have started from your studies and your experience outside of Os Alta but ended with you both agreeing to your common ideas about Grisha.

“I believe that Grisha should also be given as much respect as any other First Army officer.”

“Much few think that, moya tsarvena.”

“Then surely they don’t understand what your people contribute to Ravka.”

Turns out, you were more kind hearted than the rest of the Lantsov Family, a revelation that had Aleksander taking a deep breath.

He found you beautiful but equally smart and confident. And saw what could be his chance to usurp the throne.

A perfect plan started weaving in his mind. Seduce you; make you fall in love with him; ask the king to marry you both. Now that would be a slightly tricky part, given the Tsar’s hatred towards Grisha. But if he did say anything against the union, rumours could be easily planted in the common people. A story of true and pure love that the King opposed. Being married to you would make him a prince, that would mean that he would have an unsaid claim to the throne. Then he only needed to stage an assassination of your entire family, minus you of course. With all the Lantsov dead except you, you would ascend the throne with him by your side.

With a classic plan set, he had asked you for a dance, which turned into another and then another while words flowed smoothly between you two.

“I hadn’t took you for a dancer, moi soverenyi.”

(Chuckles) “It is not the best of my traits.”

“Well, I would like to disagree.”

At the end of the feast, you realised that you had spent most of your time with the Darkling, something that did not go unnoticed by the courtiers.

“The princess has been by the Darkling’s side throughout the feast.”

“Do you think he has worked his magic on her?”

“She does not know what she is getting into. Meddling with him is never safe.”

But you didn’t care, at least not for that night in particular.

You bid each other good night, and much to your surprise, he pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, making you flush red.

“It was lovely to make your acquaintance, my princess. I hope to be in your presence more often.”

Aleksander lay in his bed that night, restless and his mind evaded with you.

Your smile, your kindness, your eyes, your confidence. Everything had made him wish to acquaint himself and his plan had faded into the background for brief moments that lasted too long.

In the darkness of his room, with his shadows looming high in the corners, he found himself pondering upon you which lead to him asking himself:

Have I fallen for the princess?

The idea frightens him. The thought that someone could have more power upon him. Especially that someone being a mortal; an otkazat’sya. That someone being You.

“What have you done to me?” He groaned quietly, his dark eyes staring into the shadows of his room. All while his mind pictured you beside him, clad in a dark nightwear, sleeping soundly.