#balancing on breaking branches

[purrincess-chat]

People in this fandom really be like "Oh no we're not salting on Adrienette/Marinette, we're coming up with worst-case scenarios just for fun and then expecting them to happen in canon. The fact that we're the same people who used to whine about canon "killing off ladynoir" for months and that the funny break-up/cheating scenarios are always about Adrienette is just a coincidence, it's totally unrelated, no no you don't understand, it's different. We don't want Adrienette to break up for real, nobody wants it, but a breakup would be beneficial for them, so we'll be holding our breath.". ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As someone who was both around for the great Chameleon salt wars as well as a participant in them, at least the salters back then could admit that we were salty and owned up to it. We called shit writing way back then and people were like "no, the writing is great you guys are just so picky and don't understand the show" and now that canon has done something they don't like they're doing the same shit but insisting they're different and better 😂 like nah, babes, yall are salty. Say it with your chest.

And like I'm not immensely pleased with the ending of s5, but Adrinette is not what went wrong last season. Adrinette was one of the only good parts of the latter half of s5. I still hold that their development in s5 was good, and I appreciate how they handled their relationship with going slow and building trust and understanding. Everything that happened with Gabriel that whole season is what was wrong with s5. But we don't see anyone talking about that shit. Everything is Adrinettes fault, or more specifically, Marinette's fault, and she needs to be punished and get dumped by the boy of her dreams so she can run into his arms again in a cat suit for comfort. That's not likely to fuck either of them up when a reveal happens. How could it? 🤡

Point blank, if yall are actively rooting for an Adrinette breakup solely bc you want LN to get together or want Marinette to be punished for keeping secrets, yall are salty. Own it.

[cafegraces]

@starlcved continued from x.

she's been sick with worry every day since she'd first noticed the way the color seemed to be leeching out of the edges of his aura, the area that fluctuated depending on someone's mood. as horrible as it had been to see him lying there, to watch something happening to him and be unable to do anything about it, she equally could not bring herself to deny when they asked her to make observations. it had been her only means of assuring herself that he remained alive, at least in some capacity. despite the terrifying change, the core of his aura remained strong, that had to mean he was alright. when they'd finally told her he'd woken, she'd hoped by some miracle that they gray effect had been somehow linked to his state of unconsciousness, but the concerned whisper escapes her lips when she finds him alert and the effect remains. she watches with growing horror as he tries to use his empathic abilities, noting the flare of focused energy pulse from the center of his aura, and fails to connect. the magnitude of the loss is something she can't fathom, tears now burning in the corners of her eyes. her throat is thick, but she forces her voice to remain steady, not wanting to upset him further. " it's... it's faded to gray all around the edges, " she whispers, one hand passing through the air around him, right through the colorless edge, while the other reaches for his shaking one. " i was so worried when it first started... i thought you were dying. " her hand closes tightly around his, taking in a shaking breath. " i don't know what it means, zig, i'm sorry. but we can figure it out together, now that you're awake. it's going to be okay. " it wasn't okay, none of it. but at least he was still here, at least they were still together.

[inaredflush]

introducing jane porter & reintroducing marlene mckinnon!

[birbhouse-doodles]

Being super extra about painting a particular d&d character part 2: electric boogaloo

[hotshotsxyz]

.

[memories-break-our-fall]

I think I finally get why everyone loves exile so much

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

 His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

 Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

~

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

[galedekarios]

Dragon Age: Veilguard | The Ultimate Preview Summary

shinobi602 on twitter shared this amazing in-depth summary of all new information about the game that we have so far:

Coming to PS5, Xbox Series X and PC in Fall 2024

Consoles: Quality and Performance modes (60FPS)

Photo mode is confirmed

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions'

Play as a human, elf, dwarf, or Qunari

Choose your backstory, 6 factions to choose from when you create your character, all with "deep roots in Thedas": Antivan Crows, Grey Wardens, Shadow Dragons, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, The Mourne Watch

Each faction offers 3 distinct buffs each, like being able to hold an extra potion or do extra damage against certain enemies, and the odd reference in dialogue

You can customize your Inquisitor from Dragon Age: Inquisition in the character creator and "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins"

There are some "killer cameos" from past games that show up

Warrior Class: Use a sword and shield or two handed weapon to send enemies flying

Rogue Class: Utilizes quick movement and reflexes. You can wield a bow or dual swords with "powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage"

Mage Class: Use magic to incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat

Each class also has 3 sub-specializations, such as duelist, saboteur, or veil ranger for the Rogue

Classes also have unique 'resource system's, for example, the Rogue has "momentum", which builds up as you land consecutive hits, and each will always have a ranged option

One Rogue momentum attack is a "hip fire" option we saw for the Rogue's bow, letting you pop off arrows from the waist

Another momentum attack for the Warrior lets you lob your shield at enemies

Quests are more handcrafted and mission based, curated with alternate paths, secrets to discover and optional content

There are also open ended explorable areas

Party size of 3 during combat, ala Mass Effect

Combat is focused on real-time action, dodge, parry, counter, "sophisticated animation canceling and branching", using risk-reward charge attacks designed to break enemy armor layers

Enemies have elemental weaknesses and resistances, and you can chain together elemental combos for extra damage

One example is a squadmate using a gravity well attack to suck enemies in, another slowing them down, and the player then unleashing a big AOE attack

You don't take direct control of companions like past Dragon Age games, but you can still pause and issues ability commands for you and your allies

There is a hub area for the player like Skyhold and the Normandy, called The Lighthouse

Companions can eventually start romancing other characters if you opt not to romance them

Each companion also has unique missions tied to them that play into the larger story

Nudity confirmed - romance scenes can get "a little spicy"

"Incredibly deep" character creator: 5 categories including: Lineage, Appearance, Class, Faction, Playstyle

Players can also choose different body sizes and shapes

Dozens of hairstyles to choose from, with "individual strands of hair rendered separately and reacting quite remarkably to in-game physics", pulled from EA Sports

Character creator lets you adjust the lighting so you can be sure your character looks good

The team wanted to balance the look of the game with both light and darkness. "When everything is dark, nothing really feels dark. For this one, we really wanted to build that contrast again."

Skill tree is "vast", you can also set up specific companions with certain kits, from tackling specific enemy types to being more of a supporting healer or flexible all-rounders

There are tarot cards you go through during the character creation process that will let you choose decisions from past games to implement into Veilguard

The team teases you may lose some characters during the story

[dantakeyoman]

the, “his secret mate.” part in your fic where she took the bullet from neteyam had me tearing up huhuhu can we get the detail of their intimacy in relationship before that war? not always to be nsfw, but fluff with full of lovesick moments aarghhwbd

You and Neteyam Mate In Secret (Slight-NSFW / Comfort)

Prologue of "You Take The Bullet"

CW: nsfw implied ( and a little described ), right after his second birth ( he is now a tribe-observed man, and part of the People ), you and Neteyam are so in love, kinda magical ngl, reminder that Utral Aymokriyä is the place Jake and Neytiri mated, Neteyam is a consent king

"You skxawng! Where are you taking me?" you laughed, Neteyam's hand in yours as he ran through the forest with you, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"You'll see," he teased, jumping off a large tree root and landing on the mossy ground.

You did your best to keep up, jumping as well, but you landed off balance, and were about to fall.

Neteyam noticed this and quickly turned around, yanking you toward him so you landed in his chest, instead of the mud.

You sighed, pulling your face out of his pecs, and resting on it instead.

You were tired.

This man had made the both of you sprint from Hometree, all the way to....wherever here was.

Technically, the both of you weren't even supposed to be out right now.

Neteyam had just had his Second Birth, and was supposed to be spending it with the People.

But through the commotion, he managed to sneak the both of you out.

"I must show you something. Come!" his words echoed in your head.

If Neteyam wanted to sneak out, then it must be something incredibly important.

"Irayo," you panted, breathless as you took your quick break.

A dark tint of blue rested on his cheeks as he nodded, his hands instinctively going to rest on your hips.

"Kea tìkin," he assured, averting his eyes from you so you could not see his blush.

Noticing the slight purple-ish glow that was shining from behind him, you lifted your head, peeking over his shoulder and gasping at the sight.

Utral Aymokriyä.

"Oh, Neteyam!" you gasped, quickly breaking from the hug and walking over to the large tree.

It stood tall, and proud, like the might of thousands lay hiding in it's branches.

Despite being Omaticaya, you had never been to this place. Though you had constantly told Neteyam how you dreamed of doing so one day.

Out-stretching your arms, you walked toward the base of the tree, smiling as you allowed all of it’s tendrils to rake over you, softly.

Neteyam did the same, but not without letting his gaze linger on you.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you experience the tree in wonder.

You were adorable.

The tree bathed you in purple light, accentuating your every feature.

Your beauty was a sight to behold, that was what caught his attention first. 

Your face was sculputure-like, ethereal.

Even if he were to stare at your face for hours, he wouldn’t be able to find a single thing wrong. 

You laughed, dancing with a tendril of the tree as if it were another person.

And your voice. It came out so smooth and silky, like his favorite song on repeat.

Sitting down on the ground, you rested your hands on the ground, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the beautiful energy the tree was emitting.

It wasn’t just your physical features, either.

It was the way you carried yourself, the way you were strong, and tough, yet soft and kind for your people and Pandora.

You had this man weak in the knees every time you crossed paths, and it was getting to the point where it was affecting his day-to-day life.

All he thought of was you. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. You.

You were a distraction, but a beautiful one. One that deserved to be protected by every ounce of his being.

"My mother took me here when I was no older than a baby," Neteyam started, walking over and sitting down next to you.

"She said this was a place for prayers to be heard. ....And sometimes answered."

He took his queue, making tsaheylu with a soft sigh, before turning back to you, who was watching him in peaceful, silent awe.

It made him blush.

You did the same, a soft gasp leaving you lips as you shut your eyes, the songs and chants of past peoples dancing through your ears, as clear as day.

When you opened your eyes again, Neteyam chuckled at your child-like expression, your mouth slightly gaped in wonder.

“I can hear them,” you nodded, eyes trained on the tendril you were bonded with.

Neteyam disconnected the bond, and looked up at the mighty tree, your gaze burning holes into his face.

"My mother told me that now I am truly one of the People, I can make my bow out of the wood of Hometree.....and choose a woman," he cheesed, the thought of you being his mate bringing a smile to his face.

But you did not think the same.

Oh. He has already chosen.

You expression fell, but you did your best to keep your smile happy.

"Who are you going to choose? We have many good women for a future Olo'eyktan," you tearfully recommended, a quiet gasp leaving you lips as a atokirina floated down to you, resting in your palms.

Neteyam snapped his head over to you, confused.

What in the world are you talking about?

"Eyati is a good hunter."

"I do not want Eyati," he quickly shut down, looking at you intently.

Lovingly.

"Oh," you nodded. He didn't want a huntress, then.

"Ilyena is a good dancer."

Neteyam internally facepalmed.

You were not understanding.

He thought he was being quite obvious with his admiration.

His frequent touches, talking of finding a woman, taking you to a spot where people literally go to mate.

You were the only one he wants. The only one he could ever want.

What else would he have to do to get that through your head?

Once the atokirina flew away, you returned your hand to the earth, where Neteyam smoothly interlocked his with yours.

"I do not think you are understanding. I have already chosen," he smiled, looking down at your conjoined hands.

"Oh," you sighed, averting your eyes from him. "Who is the lucky woman?"

Oh, for Eywa's sake.

He groaned, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to face him, where he roughly landed his lips on yours, practically knocking the wind out of you.

At first, you were shocked. All this talk of women, and now he was kissing you?

But you decided to let a good thing be.

You kissed back, matching his roughness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands immediately went to your waist, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled out from the kiss, staring at you like a lovesick fool.

And his heart seemed to pick up speed when he saw that you were looking at him the exact same way, a beautiful smile on your face.

It seems you liked it better when he showed, not told.

He would remember that for the future.

"(y/n), it is you. You are the woman I have chosen. I cannot think of anyone better to be at my side," he beamed, switching his gaze to the glowing tendrils around him, along with the many atrokirina that decided to make an arrival.

"Do you not see? Eywa has chosen us for each other."

You were on the verge of happy tears.

You had loved this man for so, so, so long, and so hard. And to hear that he has loved you with the same intensity, if not more, was something that warmed you from the inside out.

"I see you, my Neteyam," you smiled, cupping his face in your hands, resting your forehead on his.

"I see you, my love," he smiled back, giving your lips a peck.

It wasn't enough.

As he pulled back, you chased him, attaching your lips once more, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

He groaned, his hands softly caressing your hips as he kissed back with just as much fervor.

"My Neteyam," you sighed, trailing your kisses from his lips, down to his jawline.

He understood your quiet plea, shifting his position so he sat on his knees, before lifting you into his lap.

With this new angle, he peppered your chest with loving, heavy kisses, making you sigh once more.

You raked your hands through his hair, one sensually trailing down his braid and carefully holding up his kuru.

Using your other hand, you found yours, and were about you connect them when Neteyam stopped you.

"My love, are you sure? We do not have to do this if you are not ready," he asked, firmly.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted do to this more than anything in the world.

Having you in his arms, kissing him like this, was his greatest dream come true.

But just because it was his, did not mean it was yours.

And he wanted you to do this of your own volition.

"I am ready, Neteyam. I have always been ready," you assured, resting your forehead on his as you landed another heavy kiss on his lips.

With that, he nodded, and you made tsaheylu.

And the moan you two set loose surely reached the stars.

The feeling that enveloped the both of you was too much.

You could feel everything the other was feeling perfectly. Their heartbeat, their longing, their love.

Oh, the feeling of Neteyam's love was flooding your senses so much it was overwhelming.

Every piece of exposed skin he touched burned with fiery heat, but it felt so, so good.

You had no idea he loved you to this extent.

And as he lay you down on the mossy ground, him placing feather-light kisses across your exposed chest, the vision of children flashed through your head.

His vision.

They were your children, the kids running around the tent as the two of you lay in the corner, curled into each other.

Even in a moment so intimate, even as he entered you, his thoughts still traveled to something so wholesome and domestic.

It made you blush uncontrollably, and he sensed this.

"I....hnngh...see you, my (y/n). And there...fuck....is no one else I can see to be the mother of my children...shit...," he said huskily, peppering kisses on your shoulder with each thrust.

As tears welled in your eyes, you tightened your grip around his neck, another moan escaping you lips.

"I see you....ohhh!....my Neteyam," you sighed, bringing your hands to rest on his chest.

But for the first time, the both of you felt like that word didn't express enough.

Your love for each other expanded farther than just I see you, it was indescribable.

There was no Na'vi word for it.

But there was an English one.

One Jake had taught both of you, respectfully.

"I love you!" the two of you exclaimed in unison as you finished together, Neteyam making his final thrust.

And as you both lay on the ground, intertwined, coming down from your high, Neteyam said something that made you feel all the happiness in the world.

"I am with you now, (y/n)," he sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"We are mated for life."

[cafegraces]

alarm makes her eyes widen, but her smile is still bright and innocent as she shakes her head, laughing softly, if with a hint of hysterics. " why would i lie? i certainly believe you'd be the wrong person here to cross! " color drains from her face slightly at the question, mouth going dry as she glances around them furtively. her smile is held in place by sheer force of will at this point, her reply strained as she looks back to the other. " what makes you think that? " her heart is racing now, hardly assuaged at the agreement, only mildly calming once they're inside the tent and at least somewhat removed from the wider public. so much for her hopes and dreams of attending a market. the reminder of dru hits hard as she rummages in her pouch for the coins they'd stashed away when she reaches the vendor's table, heart thumping painfully in her chest. a couple of sticky buns in hand, she turns to the other with a renewed apologetic smile. " sorry, again. i hope this makes up for the inconvenience. "

brows dip into a scowl at her shocked expression, eyes lifting to the sky as she exhales a huff through her nostrils. " if you're lying, trust me, busy markets will be the least of your problems. " arms fold over her chest, though her offer surprises her enough for a brow to lift, head tilting slightly to the side. " are you being serious...? " it seemed much too kind an offer, especially considering the hatred in most people's eyes when they looked at her, realised what she was. " you're not from around here, are you olive ? " her realisation is spoken quietly, realising now the attention she might have drawn to them both, the danger. " fine. come on then. i'm hungry anyway. "

[cafegraces]

for @starlcved cont from here.

at his prompting, she looks up, surprise flitting over her features faster than she can contain it when she realizes what exactly he's holding in his hand. the note she'd left him all those years ago, the one that had tasted like regret even as she wrote it. she'd known she could never have left if she had to say good bye to his face, but she'd still hated having to do it that way. why he'd kept it... she could hardly understand. " chris, i... " it's far too late for an apology though, so she swallows it back, brown eyes still fixed on the worn bit of paper. " you kept that? " the question is so quiet that she wonders if she even asked it aloud for a moment. her eyes finally lift from the paper to meet his again, fingers reaching absently again for the silver pendant at her chest, like holding onto it could be a replacement for reaching out to him as it had been when there was distance between them. but there's no distance now; he's right there, and she could reach out to him if she wanted. all the more reason to hold onto the bullet instead.

[gracexthoughts]

Seven

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!aunt!oc

content/warnings; canon typical incest, slight talk of death/violence, Alicent being rude, angst and fluff

summary; Jacaerys and Aelyria were childhood bestfriends, inseparable and mischievous, until the princess Rhaenyra moved her family to Dragonstone, leaving her youngest half sister without her closest companion. Nearly a decade later, King Viserys has decided the feud within his family too far gone and declared the betrothal of Prince Jacaerys to his youngest daughter to help heal the rift. 

a/n; inspired by seven by taylor swift and jace’s talk with baela about fathers. I know this pairing has been done a lot but I really love it and hope I did it justice. about 4k words. 

Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

“Aely!” The young prince Jacaerys called after the princess as she sprinted off into the woods. “Slow down!” Even though he was taller, she was quick and had run off before he could even get ready. Her laugh rings out over the grass as she darts into the woods, Jacaerys on her heels. 

The entirety of the royal family, accompanied by many lords and ladies, had traveled to the Kingswood for a royal hunt in celebration of the Prince Jacaerys' 10th name day. As he is the future heir to the Iron Throne, the crown had spared no expense for the celebration. Jacaerys himself, however, was not at present interested in whatever creature was being tracked down in his name, his sights set on adventure with the young Princess Aelyria, the King and Queen’s youngest child. Having been born mere months apart, they had grown to be quite close; they trained with their dragons together in the Dragonpit, had discovered and begun exploring the passageways in the Red Keep, and Aelyria had taken to sneaking into the princes’ training sessions in her own desire to learn to fight along with her favorite nephew. And when she would inevitably get dragged away by her mother or the septa, Jace would sneak into her chambers later that evening with two training blades in hand to teach her what he had learned that day. 

As Jacaerys breaks through the treeline, he runs straight into Aelyria, who had stopped suddenly in the woods, sending the pair tumbling forward in a heap of limbs. “Jace!” the princess cried, a laugh in her voice as they disentangled themselves and their cloaks. 

“You’re the one who stopped!” Jace laughs in his defense. “Why did you? I thought we were racing to the creek,” he wonders, standing and extending his hand down to help up the princess, a princely boy even at his young age. 

“I thought I saw something but we must have scared it off now,” she says, taking his hand and standing, not bothering to brush the dirt off her skirts. The princess’ lilac eyes flicker with mischief as she looks around the woods surrounding them, her eyes settling on a nearby tree with low branches fit for climbing. “C’mon!” 

Before Jacaerys can respond, the princess is pulling herself up to the lowest branch, swinging her legs over with ease, not a care in the world for the preservation of her skirts. She was always quite boyish, never heading her mother’s lessons of ladylike manners and behaviors. The young prince has never minded though, enjoying her wildness and sense of adventure. A day with her was never boring. 

Soon the young royals were high in the treeline, standing on either side of the large trunk balanced on branches as they took in the view around them. Their breaths were labored from the climb, their cheeks flushed and smiles wide. The ruckus of the hunt was left far behind and below them, not able to reach them in the trees. “I wish we could stay here forever,” the princess sighs, sitting down on her branch, her legs swinging. 

“Why?” the prince asks, watching her curiously. 

“It’s quiet,” she says softly, looking up at the still standing prince. “And beautiful and here my mother can’t yell at me to be more ladylike.” She rolls her eyes and mimics her mother’s intonation. Jacaerys laughs, climbing over and sitting next to the princess on her branch. 

“When we are older, I’ll be King and I’ll command your mother to leave you be.” 

“Will you let me be a knight?” the princess asks, excitement in her voice. 

“If you’d like!” Jacaerys laughs. “You could be my sworn protector.” 

“I’d be a brilliant knight.” the princess declares, straightening her back and puffing out her chest and the pair fall into giggles. 

“Well I promise then, once I’m King I’ll make sure your mother can never tell you to be ladylike again!” Jacaerys declares, holding out his pinky to the girl, who smiles and links hers with his, thankful for him. 

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Jacaerys makes his way through the dark halls of Dragonstone, his footsteps echoing through the hall as he makes his way to the Great Hall. Nearing his destination, the voices of his mother and stepfather leak out through the ajar door. He pauses for a moment, not wishing to walk in on an intimate moment. 

“He says he wishes for it in the hope it will heal the rift between our families,” his mother says, her voice smooth and calm. 

“So he may fall prey to their vicious children? How do we know this isn’t a Hightower scheme?” Daemon challenges with clear disdain in his voice. 

“I cannot believe this idea came from Alicent nor Otto,” the princess responds. 

“Does not mean she won’t take advantage of it. She may be instructing Aelyn on how to best manipulate him at this moment.” 

“Her name is Aelyria, Daemon,” Rhaenyra corrects, peaking Jacareys’ interest further. His mother’s youngest half-sister was not a common topic of conversation in their home, even if she far preferred her half-sisters to her half- brothers. “They were friends when they were children; Jace doted on her even. It may prove to be a good match.” 

Daemon opens his mouth to respond but stops when he sees Jacaerys entering the room with a questioning look on his face. 

“Jace,” his mother says happily, smiling at him and motioning for him to come in. He obliges, his long stride carrying him through the room quickly to stand at the Painted Table with his mother and stepfather. “Apt timing. We just received word from your grandsire the King, he has suggested a match for you.” 

“A match? Who?” the young prince inquires, his gaze darting between Rhaenyra and Daemon, acting as if he had not been eavesdropping. 

“The Princess Aelyria. You are the same age, both unwed, and the King remembers how close you were as children,” his mother states, setting down the scroll of parchment in her hand on the table. “He thinks you would make a fine pair, and she a good Queen to have by your side.” Daemon scoffs slightly to her left, walking away to lean against the mantle above the hearth. Jacaerys stays silent for a moment. Marriage was something he knew would be coming but in truth, he hadn’t given it much thought. The princess he remembered was a small, spirited little girl with a quick wit and even quicker temper. She often snuck out of her own lessons to join the princes in their trainings, and trained in the Dragonpit alongside them for many years. He’d certainly held a boyhood crush on her then but Jacaeyrs struggles to imagine who she has grown into.

“What say you, Mother?” he asks finally, looking up from the Painted Table to meet her eyes. 

“I quite agree with my father,” she says after a moment. “It would do well to have our line of succession shored up, and the princess would make a fine match. While she has a reputation for being a little wild, I also hear that she has a good heart and a kind reputation among the smallfolk that would strengthen your reign when the time comes,” She says, moving closer to her son, “But it is your opinion that matters most in this.” 

“And of the Hightowers?” Daemon interjects from his place at the hearth, his eyes fixed on the flames. 

“Even they are not above the will of the King,” Rhaenyra responds, “We would have to go to King’s Landing for the wedding, but we needn’t stay.” Jacaerys holds his mother’s gaze for a long moment, mulling the idea of marriage, to someone he hardly knows any longer, over in his mind. “So?” 

“Yes, I accept,” he says with a nod, attempting to look more sure of himself than he feels. His mother smiles, raising his confidence slightly, and nods. 

“Then I shall write to my father,” she says, and kisses Jacaerys’ forehead before retrieving the scroll from the table and retreating from the room. Jacaerys lingers for a moment, watching Daemon whose eyes are trained on his wife’s retreating figure.

“The Hightowers are scheming and dangerous. You should watch this girl carefully,” he says to the young prince finally. 

“She’s not a Hightower, she’s a Targaryen,” Jacaerys responds quickly, already feeling protective over his betrothed. 

“Same thing for that lot,” Daemon responds darkly before grabbing his sword from the table and following after the princess. 

Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

The Prince grunts slightly as his feet hit the solid ground after lowering himself from Vermax’s back, stiff from the long ride. He and his mother have come to King’s Landing for the first time in many years so he and the princess can be reacquainted before their wedding in a moon. The rest of their family will come for the wedding but Rhaenyra wanted to avoid any repeat of the last time they were all together. 

Jacaerys would never reveal this secret but he was quite nervous. He could barely remember the face of the princess, let alone what she could look like or what her personality was now. Was she still as wild and rebellious and boyish as she was or has she relented to her mother’s will and become a lady? Jacaerys watches quietly as his mother speaks with the guards, requesting a carriage be brought to take them back to the castle, and as the Dragonkeepers escort Vermax and Syrax into the Dragonpit. Jacaerys wonders if Vermax remembers his first home still, the place they first bonded. He is quickly torn from his thoughts as a shadow passes over them and looking up, he sees a beautiful white and golden dragon making its descent to the ground.

The dragon and her rider’s backs are facing the prince once they land but the woman in front of him was undoubtedly the princess, for he’d recognize her dragon, Starfyre, anywhere. He watches as the princess pats her dragon on the neck, before leaping from the saddle and landing easily on the ground. She faces away from him still, speaking to the Dragonkeeper in High Valyrian but the prince finds himself taking in every detail he can. Her silver gold hair is intricately braided to hang down to the small of her back, her legs are long and wrapped in trousers made for riding, and a black riding coat accentuates her curves and hangs to her knees, her voice is melodic and sure in her High Valyrian. She nods to the Dragonkeeper and turns, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth before her lilac eyes find Jacaerys and Rhaenyra. 

“Jace?” she calls, stepping away from her dragon and closer to him. She has the wide doe eyes of her mother still but everything else of her is Targaryen through and through, sharp features and high cheekbones, and her smile more beautiful than Jacaerys remembers it. 

“Aely,” he responds with a smile, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword, unsure of where else to put them. 

“I didn’t think you were arriving until later this evening,” the princess says, her eyes scanning the prince. Like Jacaerys, she has spent much time wondering how the boy she knew has changed into the man she’s been betrothed to and she is stunned at what she finds. His face is angular and handsome framed by long dark curls. He is tall and lean while still appearing strong, his warm brown eyes the exact same as she recalls. 

“We got an earlier start than expected,” Rhaenyra steps forward, “How are you, sister?” 

“I am well, and you?” Aelyria nods. Rhaenyra has always been her favorite sibling, even if they weren’t close. She looked up to the women as a child, and her mother’s distaste towards the princess made Aelyria feel a certain kinship with her half sister. 

“We are well. Are you headed back to the Keep?” 

“I am, would you ride back with me?” she offers, motioning to the carriage pulling up to the gates of the Dragonpit. 

“That is kind, thank you,” Rhaenyra says with a smile, and a wink for her son, and moves toward the carriage but Aelyria hangs back, her eyes trailing over her betrothed again. 

“You are much changed since I last saw you,” the prince says, stepping forward. 

“I can say the same for you, nephew,” she says, failing to keep her mischievous smile from her face. Jace had always hated when she called him that as children, but he can’t find the annoyance in him at the moment, too entranced by the sound of her voice. Instead he laughs and shakes his head, holding his arm out to escort the princess to the carriage so they can make their way back to the Red Keep. 

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Jacareys wanders through the halls of the Red Keep, familiarity and strangeness battling in his mind. The castle has changed much in the near decade of his absence and yet, he could see it as it was in his youth: the halls the same he and his brother ran through, the Dragonpit the same as it was the first day he rode Vermax, the secret passages the same as when he and Aelyria discovered them as children. Jacareys found himself mindlessly making his way to the training yard, allured by the sound of steel against steel. 

Jacareys steps into the training yard to find Princess Aelyria and Prince Aemond sparing in the center. He remembers well how she would watch the princes in training, even picking up a sword and practicing herself before being run off by Ser Cristen or her mother or the septa. She’s grown much in the years since he last saw her, her skills far outpacing that of which he had imagined. Jacareys watches as she circles Aemond, striking, blocking and dodging with surprising speed and accuracy. Jacareys finds his gaze drawn to her legs, unhidden by skirts as she stands in trousers, the riding coat she favors tossed over a training dummy. 

Princess Aelyria’s laughter echoes off the walls of the yard as she stands up from her dodge of her brother’s blunted sword, having ducked and rolled under the blade to recover behind him. Aemond turns around in frustration, swinging again with his blade as Aelyria reaches up to block his attack before stepping under his reach and elbowing the prince in the side. With her small stature and lesser strength, the princess had learned that speed and agility were her friends in bouts and quickly excelled in her capabilities. Aemond grunts from the blow to his side, his steps staggering slightly as his sister circles him, waiting for her to recover. 

“Ready to yield, brother?” she taunts, her lips turned up in a smirk. 

“You’re the one running,” he bemoans, righting himself and raising his sword, readying to strike again but lowers his blade, his eyes fixed over Aelyria’s shoulder with a sly smile. “Come to train, nephew?” The princess turns, her eyes finding Jacaerys pushing off the wall, his brown eyes trained on the prince. 

“To speak with my betrothed,” he answers, his gaze shifting to Aelyria and softening for her. Aemond eyes narrow, upset at the match as much as his mother, leveling a menacing glare at his nephew before taking his leave without another word. “He doesn’t like me,” Jacaerys states, as the door to the yard slams, and turns back to Aelyria who chuckles. 

“Aemond likes no one,” she responds, leaning on the training blade, "He merely tolerates me as he has no one else to spar with save Cole."

“It may be,” the prince says, suddenly feeling uneasy under her gaze. “When did the Queen surrender to your training?” 

“Soon after your leave, if I remember correctly. They grew weary of disciplining me with no effect,” the princess smirks. 

“As you always hoped,” they chuckle, a hint of their old familiarity returning. The prince glances at the table of training weapons. “Care for another round?” 

“If you can keep up,” she smirks, tossing him the blade Aemond had left in his wake. Aelyria makes the first move, but Jacaerys quickly counters. He holds back at first, unsure of fighting with a woman, but he quickly learns that Aelyria is quite capable and a formidable opponent and he begins to let loose. They are well matched, meeting blow for blow until both of them are sweaty and panting. 

“You fight well,” the prince compliments, his chest rising and falling quickly and a curl sticking to his damp forehead. 

“Thank you, you do as well. Much better than when you would teach me in my chambers,” Aelyria laughs, wiping at her hairline where baby hairs stick to her skin. 

“You make it sound quite scandalous,” Jacaerys jests, setting aside the training blades. 

“It was to us then,” the princess points out, remembering how careful they were to not get caught. 

“True enough,” he laughs, his eyes lost in hers, the soft lilac of her irises beautiful and intriguing to him as ever. “You know, I’ve missed you, in truth. I never had as much fun alone as with you here,” the prince says softly, stepping forward and brushing a stray hair from the princess’ brow. The air becomes thick between them, their eyes locked together. 

“I missed you too, my brothers are poor company compared to you-” 

“Aelyria!” The voice of the Queen rings out over the courtyard, startling the Jacaerys and Aelryia who back away from each other quickly. The queen stalks over to her daughter, grabbing her arm roughly. Aelyria’s face sours and she yanks her arm from her mother’s grip, leveling her with a hard stare. “You have a dress fitting you are currently missing and you look a mess. I thought you could put away this foolishness for one hour. You would think this is my wedding for as much as you seem to care about it!” 

“Mother, I-”  

“I apologize, your Grace. The princess had finished near an hour ago but I stepped in. I don’t have many sparring partners save my brothers on Dragonstone. The fault is mine,” Jacaerys steps in, unable to ignore the anger bubbling in his stomach at the queen’s treatment of her daughter. 

“Price Jacaerys, it is good to see you again. I am afraid I cannot stay, but I hope you are settling back in well,” Alicent says to the prince, her face barely masking her distaste of him, before she turns back to her daughter. “Come, Aelyria.” Jacaerys watches as the princess takes a deep breath and, flashing him an apologetic smile, turns to follow her mother back into the castle. 

Please picture me In the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Come in,” Aelyria calls softly at the knock on her door. Jacaerys steps into her chambers at her permission and smiles as he closes the door. “Hi.” 

 “Hi,” the prince says softly, moving to sit next to Aelyria at the table in the center of her room. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I did not mean to keep you and I regret that I did.” 

“I do not. I could have been bathed and early and perfectly excited and she still would have found something wrong. The fault is not yours,” the princess assures, placing a hand over his and squeezing gently. Before she can pull her hand back, Jacaerys clasps his hand to hers, relishing the feeling.  

“I’m sure it is hard for girls and their mothers as it is with boys and fathers,” the prince says sympathetically. 

“Is it hard, with you and your stepfather?” The princess asks, her eyes on their hands. 

“Sometimes, it was strange at first but he’s been my father almost as long as my actual father was,” Jacaerys shrugs. 

“You know, I don’t think I ever got to tell you how sorry I was for you when your father passed,” Aelyria says softly.

“Oh,” the prince says, surprised by her and shakes his head. “Seems so long ago now but I was glad he passed on Driftmark, I know he missed it while away.” 

“That’s not who I meant,” the princess says, and Jacaerys, on instinct stiffens at the realization she means Ser Hardin Strong, and not Leanor Velaryon from whom Jace received his name. “I don’t hold it against you like my mother and brothers do. Seems a silly thing for them to care so much about,” Aelryia adds quickly, sensing his unease. 

“Really?” Jacaerys eyes find hers, shock shining in the dark brown of them. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you had another father and I’ve always quite liked you as you are,” the princess smiles, her thumb grazing against the back of Jacaerys’ hand as a slight blush colors his cheeks. “What was he like?” She asks after a moment. 

“He was gentle, and fierce… They called him Breakbones,” Jacaerys smiles, Aelyria along with him, but there’s a sadness in his eyes still. “He loved us, I think.” 

“Of course he did. Otherwise he would not have defended you so fiercely against Cole.” 

“You remember that?” 

“I do,” Aelyria nods, leaning back in her chair. “It was the first time I saw a true fight. I remember thinking that I had to learn how to fight like that. It felt so necessary, like it was all I wanted… Your father gave me that.” Jacaerys blinks at her for a moment, a strange smile on his lips. “What?” He shakes his head slightly. 

“No one ever calls him my father, not even my mother,” he says after a moment, looking down to where their hands are intertwined on the table. “It’s nice,” he adds after a breath. 

“He’d be proud of you, of who you’ve become,” Aelyria says suddenly, sitting forward and using her free hand to lift Jacaerys’ chin. 

“He’d be happy we’re betrothed,” Jacaerys smiles, leaning closer to the princess. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” he nods, “I remember one time, he happened to be watching training and you had just gotten dragged away by the Queen but you had put up a good fight before you left and he said, ‘There’s a warrior if I’ve ever seen one.’ I remember looking up at him and he just winked at me, almost like he knew.”

“I wish I had known him better,” Aelyria says softly after a moment and  Jacaerys nods, squeezing her hand. 

“Me too…” Jacaerys nods. For a moment, the pair sit in a comfortable silence, gazing at each other, taking in the fact that they’re together again after all this time. “Do you remember that hunt we had on my tenth nameday? When we ran off into the woods, hiding in the trees?” Aelyria laughs, the memory washing over her at his question and nods. 

“Yes, I do. Oh, what fun we had that day. We only got found because we could not stop laughing as they rode underneath us. Mother was so angry I ruined that dress,” they laugh at the memory together. Even though it had ended in a scolding for each of them, neither ever regretted that day. 

“I remember what I promised that day, and I swear I’ll keep it. Now that we’re betrothed, you are mine, and I am yours and once we’re wed, I’ll make sure you never have to heed your mother unless you wish to,” Jacaerys leans forward, intensity in his gaze as he makes this promise to Aelyria. “I quite like you as you are, and I won’t have her try to change you.” 

Aelyria smiles gratefully, wondering how she got so lucky as to be marrying this man; the boy she grew up with and loved as a girl, and the man sitting in front of her, with all his fierceness and devotion. Aelyria, too moved to speak, leans forward instead, pressing their lips together softly in thanks. Jacaerys doesn’t miss a beat, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he kisses her back. Her hand winds in his hair and their hands hold to each other tighter on the table between them. As their lips part, they don’t move away, instead connecting their brows together. They smile at each other, giddy in their love, hearts beating rapidly as one, as they always have and always will.  I, I Sweet tea in the summer Cross my heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long

[sadnymi]

Lovefool

[Mattheo riddle × reader]

Summary: Being the only girl in the group, and now stuck in the middle of nowhere with them, you found myself in a tricky situation. You had to share rooms, and Mattheo, leaving no room for negotiation, insisted that you would share with him. The problem was, there was only one bed. From uncovering feelings to heartbreak, it was a night you wouldn't forget.

Warning: Smut,Strong language, oral (f!received),Fluff,Angst.

Words:4k.

We arrived in a small, shadowy village. The air was thick with an eerie mist, and the dark, gnarled trees seemed to reach out with twisted branches, making the place feel even more foreboding. It was far from the safety and familiarity of Hogwarts, and I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as we approached the only inn in sight.

The inn's receptionist, a wizened old wizard with a long, silver beard, looked up from his desk as we entered. "Welcome," he said in a raspy voice. "I'm afraid we only have three rooms available tonight."

I glanced at our group: Mattheo, Theo, Enzo, Draco, Blaise, and myself. Sharing rooms wasn't an issue, but the arrangement was bound to be awkward, especially since I was the only girl.

"Looks like we’ll have to pair up," Theo said.

Glancing at Mattheo, jaw tightened, and I could see the tension in his eyes. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and I understood why.

"I can stay with Draco," I suggested, trying to ease the situation.

"No," Mattheo said immediately, his voice firm. "You'll stay with me."

His tone left no room for argument, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. He was trying to balance his protectiveness with his discomfort, and it made my heart ache a little.

"Okay," I said softly, trying to sound reassuring.

We collected our keys and made our way up the creaky staircase. The inn was old, and every step seemed to echo through the halls. When we reached our rooms, the guys exchanged looks, each of them aware of the unspoken tension between Mattheo and me.

"Alright, let's get some rest," Theo said, clapping Mattheo on the shoulder. "We have a long day ahead."

Blaise and Enzo nodded, giving us a final glance before retreating to their own rooms. Draco offered me a small, reassuring smile before disappearing into his room with Theo.

Our room was small and modest, with a single bed , a couch and a worn-out armchair in the corner. I set my bag down, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Mattheo stood by the door, his shoulders tense, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you," I said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "It's not you," he said, his voice softer now.

I knew Mattheo had problems with sleep, something I shouldn't have known if I wasn't so focused on him. I couldn't help it. I couldn't help watching him and realizing what annoyed him and what didn't, what made him uncomfortable and what made him angry in a minute. It was torture to care so much about someone who had no idea and wouldn’t see me as more than a friend (and that’s if I were lucky).

"I'll take a quick shower," I said. He nodded, and I made my way to the bathroom, grateful for the excuse to escape the tension for a moment. The bathroom wasn’t bad, and all I wanted was some warm water.

When I finished, I changed into my pajamas and stepped out. Mattheo was sitting on the bed, looking at a book. "Pride and Prejudice," I said, smiling nervously. "It's a Muggle author, but I like her works."

He nodded, his eyes softening just a fraction, before heading to the bathroom himself. I settled down on the bed, opening my book and trying to lose myself in the familiar words as I listened to the sound of the water running.

I was so lost in the book that I didn’t notice the water stop. When Mattheo emerged from the bathroom, his hair was damp, and he looked so handsome. I smiled at him, but he didn’t respond, instead heading straight for the drawer.

"What are you doing?" I asked, curious.

He didn’t answer.

"Mattheo, what are you doing?" I repeated, getting out of bed.

He was pulling out extra blankets. "I'm sleeping on the couch," he said bluntly.

"No, the bed is big enough for both of us," I argued.

"I’m not sharing a bed with you," he snapped, his voice harsh.

"Why are you being like this?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to push me away, but I won’t let you. If you refuse to share the bed, I’ll go see if one of the boys would like to switch rooms."

"You won’t," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch me," I said, holding his gaze.

After a long moment, he sighed heavily. "Fine," he muttered, climbing into bed beside me.

I lay down, trying to ignore the awkward tension between us. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" I whispered.

He was on his back and without looking at me he just said, "No, keep reading."

I smiled nervously, trying to relax. Sharing a bed with Mattheo felt surreal, and I could see how hard he was trying to keep his distance.

"Do you want to read with me?" I asked, hoping to ease the tension.

He turned to look at me, and I blushed. I started explaining the plot of the book up to the chapter I was reading, nervously detailing Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy's brooding nature. Mattheo's gaze softened as he listened, his eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes and then to my fingers holding the book, nodding occasionally.

"Here," I said, scooting closer and showing him the page I was on. "I really like Mr. Darcy. He's misunderstood, but he has such depth and integrity."

Mattheo nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Once you’re done reading, let me know to turn the page."

He shook his head. "No, read to me," he said softly.

I blinked, taken aback but then whispered, "Okay."

I continued reading aloud, my voice steadying as I immersed us in the story. When I reached Mr. Darcy's love confession, I felt a lump form in my throat:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

I paused, the intensity of the words hanging in the air. Mattheo's eyes were fixed on me, a softness in them that made my heart ache.

"You know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "she was in love with him, but she had to turn his proposal down because she couldn't just forget what he did to her family. But can you see the way he just bared his heart out to her?"

Mattheo smiled, watching me closely. "What do you think?" I asked, curious about his thoughts on the characters.

"I think Elizabeth is remarkable," he began, his eyes not leaving mine. "She’s strong and brave, even when faced with someone like Darcy. She sees the best in people but isn’t afraid to stand up for herself. She’s... unforgettable."

His words struck a chord deep within me, and I realized he wasn’t just talking about Elizabeth. My heart fluttered at the thought.

"Unforgettable?" I repeated, my voice almost a whisper.

"Yes," he said softly. "Someone who can see the truth about people, even when they try to hide it. Someone who isn’t easily swayed by first impressions, who digs deeper and finds the good, even when it’s buried under layers of pride and prejudice."

My breath caught, and for a moment, I was lost in his gaze. It felt like he was seeing right through me, seeing the parts of me that I tried to keep hidden.

"Do you think... do you think Darcy deserves her?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

Mattheo's eyes softened even more. "Yes, I do. Because despite his faults, he’s willing to change. He’s willing to be better for her. And that kind of love... it’s rare."

My heart ached with the weight of his words, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was speaking from his own heart.

I recalled a moment from the past, a moment of clarity and pain when he had dismissed the idea of love entirely.

"You said you don’t believe in love once," I said, avoiding his gaze. I still remembered the day he said those words, the hurt I felt, the realization that he probably would never return my feelings.

"Do you?" he asked instead of answering my question.

"I do," I said, my voice firm. "I have so much love in my heart. That’s how I know love exists."

We were so close now, our faces just inches away. His eyes searched mine, and then he reached out, gently pushing a strand of hair from my face. Nervousness bubbled up inside me, and I blurted out, "Did you know that the light from the stars we see has traveled for millions of years to reach us?"

He chuckled softly. "Are you nervous?" he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, biting my lip.

"You don’t have to be," he said, his fingers brushing my cheek softly. My heart was beating fast, my chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Relax, my love," he murmured.

I nodded again, trying to calm myself. "What do you love about Mr. Darcy?" he asked, his eyes locked on mine.

"He loves deeply and passionately," I said. "He’s willing to change for the person he loves, to be better. He’s flawed, but his love is unwavering."

"Sounds like you’re quite taken with Mr. Darcy," Mattheo said, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

I smiled softly. "He’s just a character in a book, Mattheo."

His fingers trailed down to my lips, brushing them gently. "Every time you talk, I just want to kiss those lips." he murmured.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss. His hand cradled my face gently, as if I were something precious and fragile. When he pulled back, I opened my eyes, searching his for any sign of regret.

He leaned in again, this time kissing me longer, his lips moving against mine in a perfect rhythm. His tongue brushed against my lips, and I parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss. A soft moan escaped me as the kiss intensified, our breaths mingling, our bodies drawing closer together.

When he finally pulled back, he placed soft kisses on my lips, whispering, "Am I your first kiss?"

I nodded, my cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and joy.

"Good," he said, a smile playing on his lips before he kissed me again, and again, and again.

His kisses moved slowly down to my neck, each one more intoxicating than the last. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured against my neck. "And you smell so good."

I gasped as his lips found a sensitive spot, my body arching into him. His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breast through my shirt. His fingers brushed against my nipple, and I couldn't help but arch my back and let out a small gasp.

He smiled against my neck, sucking gently. "So sensitive, baby," he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

I was lost in his touch, his smell, his lips. My hand instinctively moved to his, which was still cupping my breast. He kissed his way back up to my lips, his breath warm against my skin.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, his lips brushing against mine.

I was too embarrassed to speak, my cheeks burning. "Just tell me what you want. Anything, and I’ll give it to you," he said, cupping my face gently.

I bit my lip, feeling shy and unsure. His eyes searched mine, full of understanding and patience. "Talk to me. Tell me if you want to stop," he urged softly.

"No," I blurted out quickly, then blushed even more. He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement and tenderness.

"So, what is it you want?" he asked, his voice a soft caress.

I looked at him, begging him to understand me without having to say it. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against mine. "Don’t be shy now, baby," he whispered.

"I... I don't know how to say it," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

"Then show me," he said, his hands gently guiding mine.

I placed my hand on his, urging him to touch me more, to explore further. His eyes darkened with desire as he understood my silent plea. "You want more?" he asked, his voice husky.

I nodded, unable to form words. His lips found mine again, more insistent this time, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hand moved under my shirt, his fingers brushing against my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck again. "So perfect."

I moaned softly as his hand cupped my breast again, this time without any fabric between us. His thumb brushed against my nipple, and I gasped, arching into his touch.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

"Yes," I breathed, my body trembling with need.

“Good,”He smiled, his lips trailing kisses down my chest. "I want to make you feel good," he said, his hand moving lower, exploring every inch of my skin.

I was lost in a haze of pleasure, my mind unable to focus on anything but his touch, his words, his presence. "Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for, just needing more of him.

"Please what, my love?" he asked, his fingers teasing the edge of my waistband.

"Just... more," I managed to say, my voice shaking with desire.

He chuckled softly, his fingers slipping under the fabric. "As you wish," he said, his touch sending waves of pleasure through me.

I moaned, my body arching into his hand. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He kissed me again, his lips claiming mine with a fierce passion. "I’ve got you," he whispered against my lips. "Just let go. I’ll take care of you."

I moaned, my body arching into his hand. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He kissed me again, his lips claiming mine with a fierce passion. "I’ve got you," he whispered against my lips. "Just let go. I’ll take care of you."

He lifted my shirt over my head, slowly trailing kisses down my chest. His mouth found my nipple, and he sucked gently while his hand teased the other. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down my stomach. He looked up at me, and I nodded, giving him silent permission. He pulled my shorts down, leaving me in just my panties.

He kissed his way back up, pausing to murmur, "You have a birthmark here," his fingers brushing the spot on my hip, "and a few moles here, here, and here," he continued, placing gentle kisses on each one.

I smiled widely, touched by his attention to detail. I reached out to touch his face, then pulled him into a hug, hiding my face in his neck. He held me close, his hands rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Can I touch you?" he asked softly, his breath warm against my ear.

"Yes, please," I whispered.

He started to circle his fingers over my panties, feeling how wet I was already. My breath came in heavy pants as he touched me. "Relax, my love," he murmured, his voice a calming balm. I nodded, trying to calm my racing heart.

He slipped his hand inside my panties, and I shivered when his fingers found my clit. "Is that okay?" he asked, watching my reaction closely.

"Yes," I breathed, my body trembling under his touch. "It's more than okay."

He circled my clit with gentle precision, building the pressure slowly. Then, he carefully slid one finger inside me. "Just one. You can take it," he said soothingly.

I nodded, gasping as he entered me. He kissed me again, whispering, "Good girl."

I started to moan, my hands gripping his shoulders for support as he continued to pleasure me. He placed tender kisses all over my face, his finger moving inside me while his thumb pressed against my clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and I felt the tension building rapidly.

My body arched against the bed, and I screamed as the orgasm crashed over me, shivering in his arms. "Fucking hell, this is the most beautiful thing I've seen," he said, his voice full of awe as he pulled his finger out of me and put it in his mouth.

I opened my mouth, breathing heavily, still riding the waves of pleasure. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "Can I taste you?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," I whispered, my body trembling with anticipation.

He kissed his way down my body again, his hands gently spreading my thighs apart. His eyes met mine, and the intensity of his gaze made my heart race. As he lowered his mouth to me, I felt a surge of nervous excitement.

The first touch of his tongue against my clit made me gasp, my hands flying to his hair. He moved slowly, his tongue circling and teasing, driving me wild with need. I moaned his name, my hips bucking against his mouth.

"Relax, my love," he murmured between kisses, his hands holding my hips firmly.

I tried to relax, letting the pleasure wash over me as he continued to work his magic. His tongue found a rhythm that had me writhing beneath him, my fingers gripping his hair. He was relentless, his mouth and tongue bringing me to the brink over and over again.

"Mattheo," I moaned, my voice a breathless whisper. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't stop, his tongue moving faster, more insistent. I felt the tension building again, stronger this time, and I knew I was close. My moans grew louder, my body arching off the bed as the orgasm hit me like a tidal wave.

I cried out his name, my entire body shaking with the force of it. He held me through it, his tongue and fingers never stopping until I was completely spent, lying boneless on the bed.

He didn't stop, his tongue still moving in slow, deliberate strokes. "Just one more," he said, his voice rough . "Give me one more."

I shuddered, my body still trembling from the first two orgasms. "I can't," I whispered, but he was relentless, his tongue and fingers working together to build the pleasure back up.

"You can," he insisted, his eyes locked on mine, his fingers sliding inside me as he continued to lick and suck my clit. "You can," his voice a low rumble. "And you will."

I couldn't help but moan, the sensation of his fingers and tongue working together to bring me to the edge once again. "Oh, god," I gasped, my hips bucking against him.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper against my skin. "So beautiful so responsible."

I couldn't hold back any longer, my body trembling with pleasure as my orgasm washed over me, my cries echoing through the room.

He finally lifted his head, his lips glistening with my juices. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum ," he said, his voice a low growl.

I could feel my heart racing, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his lips. The intimacy of it made my heart swell. He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. "Let me take care of you," he said softly.

He got up and grabbed a cloth, wetting it with warm water. He gently cleaned me, his touch tender and reassuring. When he was done, he handed me a glass of water. "Drink," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I took a few sips, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. He lay down next to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Do you think someone heard me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he said with a smirk. "Let them."

I looked up at him, pouting. He kissed the words I was about to say away, his lips warm and comforting. When he pulled back, he said, "You'd be so blind if you didn't notice that Blaise and Draco have a crush on you."

"No, they don't," I said, shaking my head.

"Believe me, they do," he insisted, his eyes serious.

I hugged him again, exhausted, and held his hand. "I know you have trouble sleeping," I said softly. "Here, hold my hand."

The smile on his face faltered, but he held my hand tightly and kissed it. "Now you're going to sleep well," I said, resting my head on his chest.

I couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer and let myself drift off to sleep, feeling safe and content in his arms.

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face, but it quickly dropped when I found the bed empty. Sitting up, I clutched the blanket to my bare chest, looking around the room frantically. There was no sign of Mattheo. My heart pounded as anxiety began to take over.

Did he regret it? Did he leave? Did I do something wrong?

Tears pricked my eyes as I fought to calm myself down. I forced myself to get up, feeling how weak my legs had become, and made my way to the bathroom. It was empty too. The loneliness hit me like a tidal wave, and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

After a shower, I dressed and headed downstairs, where I found the boys except Mattheo and Theo sitting together. I sat next to Enzo and Blaise, trying desperately not to ask about Mattheo.

Blaise noticed something immediately. "What's that on your neck?" he asked.

"What?" I replied, my voice strained.

"You have a fucking hickey on your neck, Darling," he said.

"No, I don't," I said quickly, trying to brush it off.

"You do," he insisted.

"Leave her alone, Blaise," Enzo said. I could feel Draco's eyes on me too, scrutinizing.

Unable to handle their stares, I got up and went to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw it—several purple and red marks on my neck. I quickly pulled out my hairpin, letting my hair down to hide the evidence.

Trying to walk back with some semblance of dignity, I nearly ran into Mattheo.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Hi," he replied, avoiding my eyes. The awkwardness was palpable, and I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. I glanced at Theo, who was talking quietly with Mattheo, and then hurried back to my room. I couldn't face any of the boys after this.

I spent the entire afternoon in the room, trying to make sense of everything. When Enzo came to tell me we were leaving, I nodded and grabbed my bag, following him downstairs. As we approached the others, I heard Blaise talking to Theo, his voice loud and angry.

"You know Mattheo loves to fuck them thenleave them, Theo. But she's not just anyone. He fucking ruined it. He'll do to her what he's best at—destroying."

Theo tried to defend him. "It's not like that, Blaise."

Blaise cut him off. "You know she likes him. And you know damn well it meant nothing to him. Just another fuck."

I looked at Enzo, who tried to step in and stop them, but I shook my head, gripping his arm. "It's okay," I said softly.

Blaise continued, "He should have never done that."

I slipped out, making sure they didn't notice me or realize I had heard them. "You okay?" Enzo asked, concern etched on his face.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, don't worry."

"Listen, Blaise doesn't mean—" Enzo began, but I cut him off.

"It's okay, really, Enzo."

I saw Mattheo standing next to the van Theo had gotten for us. I stepped to the very back, choosing a seat as far away from him as possible. He looked confused for a second but didn't say anything. The rest of the boys climbed in, and I felt the crushing weight of my heartbreak.

Just last night, I thought I owned the whole world, and now I felt like it was so small that I couldn't breathe.

As the van started moving, I stared out the window, the landscape blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to keep it together, but the pain was overwhelming. Every word Blaise had said echoed in my mind, making my chest ache with each beat of my heart.

I had opened myself up completely to Mattheo, and now it felt like he had torn me apart. The thought of facing him, of seeing his face and knowing how little I meant to him, made me want to disappear.

Enzo kept giving me worried glances, and even Draco seemed to be watching me with an unusual intensity. But I couldn't bring myself to care. I felt broken, and no amount of concern or sympathy could fix that.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Part-Two

[stillgotscars]

thinking long and hard about “second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches” and “lost the game of chance, what are the chances?”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Alrighty, beautiful human, I have a request for you if you have the time: I desperately need fluffy Ford. I need kisses and cuddling. The general story is up to you, but I NEED sweet, loving Stanford.

hello, sweetheart <333 thank you for requesting this because I also need sweet, loving Ford myself :,,) but I’m so sorry, about the cuddling part - I got carried away and missed it aghhh I hate myself :(((

ps - I’m absolutely in love with ur fics💗

tags: kind of awkward Ford, coffee date, autumn, forest, fluff, sfw

Leaves crunched underfoot as you and Ford wandered through the forest, the path framed by trees ablaze in shades of red, orange and gold. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp moss and fallen leaves. Ford seemed to take it all in with a kind of wonder, like he was seeing the world with new eyes — which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. After so many years spent away from this dimension, you thought it was cute how he marveled at simple things like sunlight filtering through branches.

“Thirty years,” Stanford started. “thirty autumns I missed. I almost forgot the way the colors seem to breathe in this season." 

He reached up, fingers brushing a low-hanging branch laden with scarlet leaves, and you smiled at that. There was something so sweet about his awe, his joy, so obvious at moments like this.

“Guess you’re getting to be an Earth tourist now,” you teased gently. 

Ford chuckled, giving you a sidelong glance. “Ah, yes, perhaps. But I think I like this. . . rediscovery.” a small smile tugged at his lips. “some things are even better than I remember.”

The path opened to a clearing with a breathtaking view of the valley below, a sea of trees stretching into the distance, every shade of autumn imaginable. You stopped, a thought popping into your head as you took out your phone. “Hey, Ford,” you called, grinning. “take a picture of me?”

He looked at you, surprised, then down at the phone like you’d just handed him a puzzle box. “A picture?” he held the phone with both hands. “Of course, but. . . er, bear with me. These things were a bit. . . different last time I checked.”

You stifled a laugh, nodding as you struck a pose. “Just press that button,” you said, pointing at the screen. “It’ll be easy, I promise.”

Ford cleared his throat, focusing intently as he poked at the screen. "Alright. let me see. I just. . . press this here?"

But as he tried to get his bearings, he accidentally tapped the wrong icon. Suddenly, the camera flipped and his own face filled the screen — caught mid-frown, brow furrowed in confusion. He froze, staring at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him.

“Oh. . . uh. . .” his cheeks flushed as he looked between you and the screen, thoroughly bewildered. “It appears I’ve become the subject instead. Hold on. . . where did— no, this— ah, infernal contraption. . .” Ford mumbled, eyes squinting in concentration as he fumbled to switch it back.

You couldn’t help it — laughter bubbled out and you doubled over, nearly losing your balance. “Awww, Ford! you look so lost, it’s so cute!”

He looked up, flustered but laughing along with you. “Yes, well,” he grumbled, a crooked smile breaking through. “I can navigate alternate dimensions, but apparently, your ‘smartphone’ remains beyond my understanding. I think it’s mocking me.” with a sigh, he handed the phone back, an embarrassed grin still tugging at his lips. “Perhaps. . . perhaps I’ll leave the photographs to you, sweetheart.”

You took the phone from Ford’s hands, still chuckling as you swiped the screen to switch back to the camera. “Alright, here we go, Mr. Genius. Just try not to look too cute when you take my picture or I might just keep it as blackmail.” 

“Blackmail?” he feigned horror, eyes widening dramatically as he stepped back. “Sweetheart, you wound me! I thought we had an understanding! I’m an esteemed scientist, not a criminal mastermind!” 

You giggled and turned your back to him, posing with the beautiful autumn scenery as your backdrop. “Okay, now I’m ready!” 

Ford cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he positioned the camera. “Right, focus,” he told himself. “just like in my journals. You know, I could’ve cataloged the beauty of this moment scientifically, but no, I’m reduced to a photographer.” 

He pressed the button, and you could hear the faint click of the shutter. Turning to face him, you couldn't help but brighten at the awkward seriousness in his eyes. “You’re doing great! Now, maybe try a few more. I want options.”

“Options,” he repeated, still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. “Isn’t one good photo sufficient? the universe won’t implode if I don’t get a perfect shot.” 

“Yeah, but what if I want to look cute in a different way?” you teased, putting your hands on your hips.

With a smirk, Ford nodded. “Alright, what would you like? a ‘mysterious thinker’ look? of perhaps a ‘fierce scientist’ pose?” 

“Definitely the fierce scientist!” you exclaimed, throwing your head back dramatically. “I’ll pose like I just discovered a new dimension, just like my man.”

“Very well,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “On the count of three. . . one, two—”

But before he could reach three, you struck a ridiculous pose, one hand on your hip and the other dramatically raised as if you were battling interdimensional forces. “take that, Bill Cipher!”

Ford burst out laughing, shaking his head. You were just too adorable in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Bill would be quaking in his. . . well, whatever he has in place of boots.”

He snapped the photo and you saw the corners of his mouth twitching, clearly trying to suppress his laughter. “Okay, now that was an excellent one. Hold on. . .” he leaned closer, inspecting the image as if it were a rare artifact. Ford seemed to have caught fire with the idea of photographing Bill's defeat.

“Let me see!” you leaned over, your shoulders brushing against his as you peered at the screen. 

“Oh, this is just splendid. You look so cute, darlin.” Ford leaned closer to examine the screen, fixing his glasses. 

Your heart fluttered at compliment and you nudged him playfully. “Now, you should get in the next one. I want a picture of us!”

He looked a bit apprehensive again, glancing at the phone like it might explode. “Are you sure? I mean, what if I fumble it again?” 

“Trust me, you’ll be fine!” you shot him an encouraging smile, and after a moment, he relented, taking the phone back.

“Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his glasses as if preparing for a complex experiment. “just don’t move too much. I need to concentrate.”

You stood beside him, leaning into his side, feeling the warmth radiating from him. “Okay, how’s this?” you asked, flashing a big grin.

“Perfect, hold still.” he raised the phone, staring intently at the screen like it contained the answers to the universe. 

“Uh, Ford, i think you need to press the button now.”

He blinked, breaking out of his focus. “Right! the button!” he pressed it, and just as he did, his finger slipped, causing the phone to snap a picture of you both in the most ridiculous pose — your mouth still open mid-laugh and Ford’s expression a mix of shock and concentration.

You burst into laughter again as Ford stared at the photo, face turning a shade of crimson. “Well, that’s certainly not going to be framed,” he muttered, trying to suppress his smile.

“Oh come on, it’s adorable!” you pressed your cheek against his.

However, your laugh made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “I suppose it has a certain charm to it,” he admitted, chuckling softly. 

You grinned, putting your hand on his arm. “Let’s take another, hun, but this time, we’ll get it right. Just be yourself, Ford. No need for dignity.” 

“One, two. . . three!” you both said at same time.

Click! 

As the image captured, you both broke into laughter, the sound echoing through the autumn trees. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this free, this happy, sharing this moment with your couple. 

When Ford looked at the photo this time, a satisfied grin spread across his face. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, glancing at you with that spark of affection in his eyes.

As you admired the photos, a realisation suddenly struck you. “Wait!” you said excitedly, grabbing his arm before he could put the phone away.

Ford looked at you, curious. “Wait for what?”

“You’ve been gone thirty years, right? that means you haven’t tried my favourite coffee at that little café by the lake!” you could barely contain your enthusiasm, a wide genuine smile spreading across your face. “we have to go there right now!”

Ford raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile as he followed your lead. “Well, you know I can’t say no to my seasoned guide of modern luxuries.”

🍂🍂🍂

The café was a cozy little spot nestled on a quiet corner, with big windows that showcased the lake outside. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans, warm spices, and just a hint of something sugary, like caramel or maple syrup, filled your nostrils. You spotted a chalkboard behind the counter listing their seasonal drinks and pointed eagerly at one in particular.

“That’s it! The ‘Golden Harvest Latte.’ It’s a mix of espresso, steamed milk, cinnamon, nutmeg and a swirl of caramel. It’s like autumn in a cup, I swear.”

Ford eyed the menu with interest. Well, considering his last ‘caffeine experience’ involved coffee brewed over a campfire in another dimension. . . he was open to something a bit more refined.

The barista greeted you with a smile. “Hey there! the usual?”

“Absolutely! and I have a new fan who needs to try it,” you said, motioning to Ford.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “You won’t regret it! just wait until you taste it.”

And soon, the barista handed over two steaming cups topped with a dusting of cinnamon and an artful swirl of caramel. The scent hit you first, warm and sweet, making your mouth water. You handed Ford his cup, watching as he eyed the foam with curiosity.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a careful sip, eyebrows lifting as the flavors blossomed across his tongue. The richness of the espresso and a hint of spicy warmth from the cinnamon and nutmeg, all balanced by the buttery sweetness of the caramel.

“Wow,” he murmured, eyes widening. “yeah, this is delicious. I didn't know that a drink could have such a complex taste.”

You laughed, pleased by his reaction, and took a long, indulgent sip of your own. “Right? It’s like drinking a warm hug, this is my absolute favorite fall treat.”

Ford took another sip, clearly savouring it this time, his expression softening as he looked out the window at the golden leaves falling. “It’s funny,” he said quietly, “I’ve been to so many places, seen so many strange and alien things, but it’s these little, simple moments that feel the most surreal. Sitting here, with you, drinking coffee.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, there are plenty of little things like this to rediscover. And I’ll be here to make sure you try them all.”

🍂🍂🍂

Stepping out of the café, the refreshing autumn air greeted you both, still tinged with the scent of cinnamon and coffee. Ford held the door for you, the smile never quite leaving his face as he watched you rummage in your bag for something. Finally, you pulled out your lipstick, a soft, rich shade that matched Ford’s turtleneck perfectly. 

“Would you look at that,” you said, holding it up beside his collar with a little grin. “I guess I’ve got a good eye.”

Ford chuckled, glancing between the color and his sweater. “It seems I’m unknowingly fashionable. I’ll take that as a compliment.” his eyes lingered on you as you applied the lipstick, your lips soft and inviting, the color blooming in a way that seemed to suit the season and Ford watched, clearly entranced.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you capped the lipstick, noticing the way his gaze softened.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, though his voice had a gentleness to it, he swallowed, shifting his stance slightly. “just appreciating the moment.”

You took a small step closer, lifting a hand to rest gently on his chest. Ford’s breath hitched, neither of you spoke, both letting the warmth build in the silence, the soft murmurs of the town around you fading away.

“I think you might need a little color yourself,” you whispered, your thumb grazing his cheek as you leaned in. His eyes closed as your lips met his, softly, tenderly and you smiled in a kiss. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours and you could still taste the coffee and caramel. Ford’s hands found their way to your waist, holding you.

The world seemed to blur, the only thing that held you back was the feeling of his lips against yours, soft and warm, as if they had been waiting for this. Ford’s fingers brushed against your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a mixture of gentleness and longing.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a softness you’d rarely seen. He reached up, brushing his thumb across your cheek, unable to take his eyes off you.

“What’s got you so captivated now?” you asked, a smirk creeping onto your face.

“Just realising how lucky i am.”

you noticed the gleam in his eyes, as if he had finally, after all these years, found his way home.

[sixpennydame]

Part One: The Feint

Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]

Word count: 4.5k

Summary:

Choso's life is simple: eat, sleep, train, fight. But everything changes when a mysterious doctor comes into his life.

Author's notes: This is me, branching out and writing for something other than Attack on Titan! But I just love me a dark-haired, misunderstood man. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.

Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

AO3 | Playlist

Line dividers: @saradika-graphics

The first time you meet Choso, he’s covered in blood.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’re a doctor.

Or rather, you used to be. It was all taken away from you. Now you’re forced to treat fighters in an underground fighting ring, patching up broken bones and open wounds.

This was your life now, and you’d resigned yourself to that.

You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.

“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.

“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...” 

You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.

“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”

“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.

The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.

He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”

“Ah,” is all you can think to say.

You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”

He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.

“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion. 

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.

You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.

“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”

He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you. 

“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”

“And how long have you been fighting here?”

He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”

There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.

You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread. 

He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.

He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.

“Any pain?”

“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.

This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.

“Am I good, Doc?”

“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”

“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.” 

He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.

But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.

“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.

“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”

At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”

“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.

But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.

“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.

“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.

He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.

You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise. 

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He furrows his brow at your statement.

 “Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”

Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.

Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”

You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.

“And what’s yours?”

“Choso. Choso Kamo.”

Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.

“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.

“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”

That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.

So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.

He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”

There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.

“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.

“Yeah.... thanks.” 

Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.

The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room. 

By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone. 

Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.

But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment. 

Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently. 

You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”

”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”

You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.

”How’d you get that one?”

“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”

He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and  now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations. 

The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.

Slightly masochistic, but impressive. 

From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.

Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.

He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time. 

You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door. 

Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.

And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.

And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.

“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.

The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting. 

Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.

“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.” 

He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.

There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.

You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?

There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But it’s true.”

”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.

“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.

Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”

”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”

”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”

”You purse your lips when you concentrate.” 

You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”

 He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”

As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.

”See?”

”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”

His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”

”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”

”I… sigh loudly?”

”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”

”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”

“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”

Snip.

Silence.

“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”

“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”

Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”

“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”

You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding. 

“I’m a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”

“A challenge? In what way?”

“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you.  But there’s some things I can tell.” 

His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face. 

“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”

“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”

“That’s not what I meant -” 

He walks toward you, but you turn away.

“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”  

You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.

It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.

There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.

——

“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”

Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment? 

That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.

This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.

Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”

Shit. 

The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster. 

Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away. 

(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)

Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.

”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”

Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.

”Doc…” 

He cautiously walks towards you.

”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.

Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”

That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.

Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”

You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.

He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”

Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.

“What happened?”

You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”

”What kind of trouble?”

You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.

”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days.  “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”

He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.

But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.

Or maybe he is.

He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours. 

“Let me in.”

Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself. 

Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.

”Choso...”

That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you - 

“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.

Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.

“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”

This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it. 

“Alright,” is your answer.

And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath. 

“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”

He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.

You’re gonna wait for him.

He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.

”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”

He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.

But right now, all he wants is you.

”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”

——

You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow. 

Let me in… he’d said.

You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both. 

You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…

And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats. 

Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind. 

But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.

And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him. 

It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes. 

The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.

”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”

”Choso! Choso! Choso!”

The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring. 

In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood. 

You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.

——

True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night. 

You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.

When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.

You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.

”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” 

His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.

An offering. And a surrender. 

You decide to accept.

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

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