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chipika · 1 day ago

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I Want To KI$$ you

Enemies to lovers (the kind of enemies who genuinely want to kill each other).

PART 1. | PART 2.

That night, torrential rain poured down. The cloudy sky resembled a black canvas, while thunder rolled across the heavens, as if the gods themselves were roaring in fury. The city’s streetlights flickered and swayed in the rain, while flashes of lightning tore through the sky, briefly illuminating your face, making it look as pale as a ghost. Silently, you moved through the damp streets, like an eel gliding through the darkness of the night—no one knew where you came from or where you were going.

The client had given you an order: send the entire family of the target to the underworld. You asked no questions, nor did you care to ask. You often wondered, when had killing become second nature to you? Perhaps it was when you were very young, or perhaps it was the first time someone handed you a sword. You knew that everything had changed after that. Gunshots, flashes of blades, threats, coercion, bloodshed, and death—that was the cycle on which your survival depended.

Heading out on a stormy night like this was simply a matter of convenience for you—the chaos of nature provided the perfect cover for your actions. You stood in the courtyard of the target’s house, gripping the katana, "Evanescent." Rain trickled down the scabbard, as if purifying it. The target’s home was a rather beautiful villa, standing out from the quiet darkness surrounding it. Rain flowed from the eaves, like a curtain of pearls obscuring the view of the front door. Yet, even through the misty veil of rain, you could see the meticulous care in every detail of this house—a testament to the owner pouring their heart and soul into preserving this fortress of stability.

The garden in the courtyard gleamed after being rinsed by the rain. The roses and lilies along the path had been battered by the storm, tilting this way and that, but the signs of their careful pruning were still evident. The vines climbing on the trellis swayed in the wind, as though silently pleading for mercy. The gravel path was neatly laid, with rainwater flowing through the gaps, creating soft murmurs. The faint light from the windows added a touch of warmth to the house, a trace of human life.

But you knew that this warmth would vanish tonight.

You had never felt guilt about your profession. Being a assassin, at the end of the day, was just a job. Someone paid, and you acted—ending a life, collecting your payment. It was a fair exchange. As for the identities or roles of those who died, that was irrelevant to you. After all, the dead were all the same.

However, your heart had long grown weary of the killings. You only wanted to complete this final mission, collect the remainder of your payment, and then vanish—preferably to a place like Alaska, where no one knew you, a place where you could live a life of anonymity.

As you fantasized about the beautiful life awaiting you, you approached the target’s house.

The security here didn’t seem as tight as you had imagined. The only sounds were the endless thunder and the rain. There were no guard dogs in the yard, nor were there any black-suited bodyguards. Perhaps the target was too arrogant, believing no one would dare to intrude. Or perhaps, they truly didn’t expect a blade to be waiting amidst the storm, ready to claim their lives.

Effortlessly, you slipped into the backyard from the side of the wall and climbed up the drainpipe to the second-floor balcony. You moved with familiarity, as if strolling through your own home. The light inside the villa leaked faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You gave the window a gentle push—it wasn’t locked. You gripped the katana tightly in your hand and slipped silently into the room.

The interior décor was predominantly warm-toned, giving it a cozy atmosphere. On the cream-colored walls hung several photo frames, showcasing smiles of a family at different ages—family portraits. They looked just like the typical images you often saw in magazines or on mall advertisements: a father, a mother, and a child, all beaming with happiness. Some photos were taken at the beach, others at an amusement park, with sunlight in the background radiating their joy. Such a warm and harmonious picture. Unfortunately, you felt no pity. You only thought about the three people you had to kill tonight.

Perhaps it was a certain numbness in your heart that brought you an odd sense of calm and peace—like the serenity that comes in the moments before death. Tightening your grip on the hilt, you gently unsheathed the katana, the faint metallic sound trembling in the air like a bloodthirsty sigh.

Your footsteps were as light as a cat’s as you approached the nearest door. Gently, you pressed down on the handle and pushed it open. Through the faint light spilling in from the window, you saw two figures lying on the bed—one large, one small. The child was probably frightened by the thunder and had begged their mother to sleep with them.

When the blade fell, blood splattered onto the snow-white sheets. The crimson color spread like blooming spider lilies. After killing the target’s wife, you glanced at the child. The child’s eyes were wide open—they were awake. If they screamed, it would undoubtedly alert others, creating unnecessary trouble. So, without hesitation, you swung your sword—"Evanescent" flashed a cold arc, like the gleam of the Grim Reaper’s scythe during a sinister smile. Before the child could react, their neck was cut open, and a fountain of blood sprayed forth. You heard a gurgling, blood-choked cry escape their lips, but it fell silent within seconds.

You flicked the blade downward, shaking the blood off onto the floor.

After confirming there was no one else on the second floor, you descended the stairs. The living room was empty. The thunder roared, as if covering for you, and you continued your search. At the far end of the first floor was a room with a Buddhist altar. Unlike the other rooms, this one was traditionally styled, with incense burners and offerings placed throughout. You pushed the door open and saw a bronze Buddha statue sitting quietly, its serene eyes seemingly gazing at you. In the flickering light and shadows, it appeared to hold a mix of reproach and pity.

Seeing that the room was empty, you turned to leave, but faint footsteps caught your attention. The sound grew closer and closer. Realizing the situation, you immediately retreated to a dark corner and held your breath.

As expected, the door to the room was pushed open, and a man in loungewear walked in.

It was him. This man was your true target—the head of this household and the one your client had specifically named to be sent to the underworld. You couldn’t recall his name, nor did it matter. You would never meet him again after tonight. You chose not to act immediately, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike.

The man approached the Buddha statue, took three sticks of incense from the altar, lit them with a lighter, and offered three bows before placing the incense into the burner.

“Come out. I know you’re in this room,” The man suddenly said.

You remained silent, unwilling to make a move.

When no one responded, The man turned to look at the corner where you were hiding. “The stench of blood on you gives you away.”

Since your presence had already been discovered, there was no point in hiding. You stepped out from the shadows.

“Who sent you?” He asked.

“…”

“Can’t I at least know who wanted me dead before I die?”

“…”

“Alright,” He resignedly said. “My wife and child… did they suffer?”

You hesitated, debating whether or not to tell the truth, but ultimately chose to lie. “They were killed in their sleep.”

Upon hearing this, he fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “Do you have someone you love deeply?”

“Why do you ask?” you countered.

“Because if you do, I’ll curse you to lose them forever.” Perhaps he was trying to plant the most poisonous seed in your heart with the most devastating words. You had often heard people curse, beg, or weep at the moment of their death. Some even dropped to their knees, pleading for their lives. But you were never swayed. This time was no different.

Unfazed and with a hint of mockery, you replied, “I have no lover, no family. You’ve cursed the wrong person.”

You believed such things could never happen to you. Lovers, friends, family—all of it was out of reach for someone like you. The only desire in your heart was the sense of security brought by money. With a cold smile, you raised your sword and struck. The Salesman tried to cry out, but the sword had already pierced deep into his chest.

He clutched his chest, stumbling backward before collapsing to the floor. You thought he would die immediately, but instead, he began to laugh. Perhaps the wound was excruciating, as his laughter was mixed with groans of pain. Yet, even so, he couldn’t stop laughing.

Lying on the ground, with only a final breath left, his eyes remained fixed on you. His gaze held no hatred, only a mix of pleading and despair. Yet he refused to give up. Through gritted teeth, he forced out weak words: “Those who take countless lives… shall be forsaken by grace. You will walk alone into the flames of Asura’s hell and lose all you hold dear… unless you renounce greed, anger, and ignorance, cleansing yourself of crime and punishment…!”

You silenced him with a swift horizontal slash from "Evanescent." The cut was clean and precise. His head didn’t completely detach, but blood sprayed everywhere, staining the Buddha statue behind him. The blood trickled down, defiling the solemn, compassionate face of the deity.

The next moment, thunder cracked violently, and lightning roared as though divine wrath were descending from the heavens. The lightning illuminated the bloodied Buddha statue, making it appear as though a demonic god had descended—terrifying to behold. For a brief moment, in the air thick with the stench of blood, you felt an eerie connection between the blood and the statue. It was as if the Buddha statue was gazing down at your sins with hollow eyes.

By the end of the night, the entire family of three had been wiped out. After finishing your task, you looked at the mess you had left behind, feeling little emotional fluctuation. You knew this would be your last kill. The functional nature of your killings ended at this moment.

When you returned home that night, the rain had not stopped. After taking a shower, you lay on your bed and closed your eyes. Yet, in the half-asleep, half-awake state, the image of the blood-stained Buddha statue replayed in your mind. It was as though whispers lingered in your ears, speaking of the consequences this killing would bring, and of the nightmare curse: “You will lose all you hold dear.” However, as far as you were concerned, you had never loved anyone, nor had you anything worth cherishing.

That kind of thing wasn’t worth worrying about. Reassuring yourself with this thought, you drifted off to sleep.

---

The next morning, sunlight poured into the room. You lay in bed, feeling the gentle morning breeze sneak in through the cracks of the window and brush against your face. The stormy night seemed to linger in your dreams—the screams of the target and the image of the blood-stained Buddha statue floated in your mind. Yet, you did not feel uneasy. Killing, to you, was as natural as breathing.

You turned over and sat up, stretching lazily, ready to embrace a brand-new life. Last night, after completing that job, you had already made your plan—retire, wash your hands of this bloody business, and enjoy a peaceful life in retirement. After all, over the years, you had saved up a significant fortune from living on the edge, licking blood off the blade. All your funds had been invested into a carefully selected stock—one that was said to be the most promising tech company of the future.

Thinking of this, a faint smile crept across your lips. It was time to bid farewell to darkness and bloodshed. Starting today, you would become an ordinary person, leading a quiet, plant-like existence.

"I should check how that stock is doing today," you muttered to yourself as you picked up your phone.

Unlocking the phone, you opened the stock trading app. The screen refreshed slowly. Your heart was filled with anticipation, imagining a green upward curve and, ideally, a price surge that would mark a great start to your new life.

However, the next moment, the red numbers on the screen stabbed into your eyes like a knife.

-73%

"..."

You froze, thinking you might still be dreaming. You rubbed your eyes and checked the screen again.

-73%

"N-no way..." you muttered, your fingers trembling as you tapped on the detailed data. Your stock had crashed overnight, with the company’s market value evaporating by nearly 80%.

What was happening?! Wasn’t this company supposed to be the hope of the future?! Wasn’t it hailed as the "savior of the tech industry"?! How had it turned into a sacrificial lamb overnight?!

You couldn’t believe your eyes, but the brutal reality was undeniable. All your savings—even the payouts from your most recent assassination jobs—had been poured into this stock. Now, they had turned into a pile of digital ashes, washed away along with last night’s storm.

A wave of chest pain surged through you, your hands and feet turning cold. The feeling was more real and lethal than the curse The Salesman had uttered before his death.

"Calm down, calm down..." you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Stock investments are risky by nature. This is just temporary, yes, temporary. Tech stocks always rebound..."

You tried to convince yourself as you opened a browser to search for related news.

But when you saw the headlines, it felt as if your brain exploded with a deafening "boom."

"Founder of XXX Tech Company Absconds with Funds, Shareholders Suffer Heavy Losses"

"Nation’s Biggest Accounting Fraud Case Shocks the Country: XXX Tech Company Declares Bankruptcy"

"Investors in Tears: 'My Savings Are All Gone!'"

"...Is this some kind of sick joke?"

You sat frozen on your bed, your mind completely blank. After a few seconds, you leapt up and began pacing back and forth in the room.

"This can’t be happening... How could it end up like this? This has to be fake news! Fake news!"

You grabbed your phone and dialed your broker’s number. On the other end of the line, an automated voice responded: "Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."

"Unavailable?! You’d better pick up, you bastard!" you roared, slamming the phone onto the bed, your hands gripping your knees as you took deep, shaky breaths.

"Alright, even if this investment failed, I should still have other savings... right?"

You began frantically checking your account records, only to find that you had put almost everything into this investment. You had even taken out a loan from the bank—because your broker had told you that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one you’d regret missing forever.

Now, not only were you bankrupt, but you were also buried in debt.

"Damn it! I was ready to retire, and now this?! What kind of curse is this?!" you shouted in frustration, your fist slamming into the wall.

Suddenly, something came to mind.

Last night, The target’s dying curse.

"Lose all you hold dear."

At the time, you had scoffed, saying: "I have no lover, no family." But now, thinking back, could "all you hold dear" have been referring to... money?

"No, no, no, calm down, calm down! I still have a chance!" you shook your head violently, trying to comfort yourself. "The world is so big, there are always opportunities to make money! This is just a temporary setback, temporary!"

But as you glanced down at your account balance, now deep in the red, your last shred of composure crumbled.

"FUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!"

Your scream echoed through the room. You threw your head back in despair, collapsing onto the floor as if the entire world had turned against you.

"Tch... Losing people is fine, but losing money..." you muttered bitterly, your voice tinged with hopelessness.

"Forget it. If I can’t retire, I might as well keep killing people..." you sighed.

The idea of washing your hands of bloodshed, after all, was nothing but a luxury.

---

By noon, you went to the courthouse to file for bankruptcy. However, you’d have to wait for the court’s notice and a formal hearing before it could be finalized.

On your way home, you sat on a bench at the subway station, your head bowed and your entire body feeling hollow.

The subway station bustled with people coming and going, but the noise around you seemed muffled, distant, as if cut off by an invisible barrier. You leaned back against the wall, your hands stuffed in your pockets, absentmindedly fiddling with a coin. The cold, metallic texture of the coin felt like a cruel reminder—this might be all you had left now.

Behind you, the tv played news about the scandal: the company’s founder fleeing with the money, the market crash, and the wave of suicides by desperate investors. In one clip, a white sheet-covered body was shown being carried away, and your stomach churned.

"Another one..." you muttered under your breath, the furrow of your brows deepening under the weight of frustration and fatigue. You opened your phone and saw a notification about another investor who had jumped to their death earlier that morning. Your dry, aching eyes had no tears, only a numbness you couldn’t describe.

You closed the app and pocketed your phone, glancing at the time displayed on the subway’s electronic board. The next train wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes, but those ten minutes stretched before you like an eternity. You sat there in silence, as if the whole world had nothing to do with you, a ghost stranded with no destination, no purpose.

Just as you sank further into your spiral of despair, you heard the faint sound of footsteps stop beside you. Someone had approached, but you didn’t look up. You assumed it was just another passerby, someone waiting for the train like you. But then, the person spoke:

"Excuse me, miss, can I have a moment of your time?"

The voice was low, male, and carried a hint of warmth. Annoyed, you reluctantly looked up, prepared to brush them off. But when you saw their face, you paused—a tall, impeccably dressed man stood before you, his suit tailored to perfection, his features sharp and elegant. In one hand, he held a sleek black briefcase. He looked like the embodiment of corporate success.

Ugh. Seeing rich and successful people just makes you sick. Go to hell.

"…What do you want?" you asked coldly, your tone dripping with indifference as you looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

The man didn’t seem deterred by your attitude. Instead, he sat down beside you with an air of composure, still wearing that faint smile. “Miss, may I borrow a few minutes of your time?”

You frowned, thinking he might be some kind of salesman or perhaps one of those people recruiting for a new religion. So, you said to him, “I’m not interested in Jesus, the Messiah, doomsday salvation, or going to heaven.”

“It’s not like that,” the salesman said, chuckling softly. “I’m looking for people to play a little game with me. If you win, you can get a pretty good cash prize.”

You instinctively wanted to refuse, but the salesman quickly added, “And if you win big, the money isn't just ‘pretty good.’”

When you heard the word “money,” it was as if a string in your heart had been plucked. Though you weren’t truly interested, the recent disaster of your bankruptcy and debts had left you desperate just to survive. The thought of the bank’s relentless debt collection messages and mounting credit card bills made your expression stiffen.

“I don’t need it,” you replied reflexively, though your tone betrayed some hesitation.

“Just listen to me,” the salesman said, his voice calm and persuasive. “The game is simple. Even a five year old knows how to play it.” His smile deepened, but there was something unsettling about it.

You stared at his face, trying to discern any ulterior motives from his expression. However, his demeanor remained light and unbothered, with a touch of inexplicable kindness. For a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was a scammer, a lunatic, or a recruiter for some mysterious organization. However, the word “money” echoed in your mind like a siren call, stirring up your inner greed.

No, no, no. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. If something a bread falls in front of your eyes, it’s either poisoned or bait meant to lead you into a trap.

“Not interested,” you replied coldly, turning away from him.

“Is that so?” the salesman let out a low chuckle, his tone carrying a faint trace of amusement. “But judging by your expression, it seems like you’re in desperate need of a chance to turn your life around.”

“K shake it(개새끼son of a bitch).”You cursed under your breath, a sharp insult escaping your lips, but his words hit a nerve. It was as if he had seen straight through you, stripping away all your defenses and exposing the bleakness within.

The salesman said no more. Instead, he opened the black briefcase he had been carrying, revealing three stacks of cash in different denominations. The sight of the money immediately caught your attention.

“Miss, have you ever played ddakji?” the salesman’s lips curved into a faint smile as he took out two square pieces of paper from the briefcase. “You and I will play a game of ddakji. Each time you win, I’ll give you 100,000 won.”

Hearing "100,000 won per round" didn’t seem like much at first, but when he added, “If you keep winning, the amount will keep accumulating,” your thoughts began to shift.

If the winnings kept doubling, a mere ten rounds would yield a million. You hesitated, thinking of how many street scams you had avoided in the past, but now, amidst your bankruptcy and desperation, you found yourself tempted. Perhaps it was the news of investors losing everything and jumping to their deaths that pushed you to this point. Perhaps you felt that, having hit rock bottom, you had nothing left to lose.

And the game seemed simple enough, filling you with a gambler’s sense of false confidence. You should have walked away from the subway station, but a voice in your mind whispered: "You’re already broke—what else is there to lose? Even a little win is better than nothing."

“What happens if I lose?” you asked.

“Then you’ll owe me 100,000 won.”

You frowned and admitted honestly, “I only have 500 won in my pocket.”

the salesman chuckled lightly. “That’s alright. In that case, you’ll just have to pay with your body.”

“…”

Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait…

Something’s seriously wrong. He’s not one of those guys, is he? The type who lures young women into these games, makes them lose on purpose, and then drags them off to love hotels to abuse their bodies? And not just any abuse—he’d probably use handcuffs, candles, and all kinds of twisted stuff… Those proper-looking guys are always the worst perverts.

“I meant, if you lose, you’ll owe me a slap,” the salesman said. His expression was playful, as if he could see through every ridiculous scenario your mind had conjured up. “Are you thinking of something else?”

“No.” you said stiffly. “Hurry up and start the game. No more nonsense.”

The salesman smiled even wider, as if he had known from the start that you would agree. He handed you a red ddakji tile and pointed to the ground. “The rules are simple: flip my tile over with yours, and you win.”

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the ddakji tile tightly in your hand, feeling your palms grow damp with sweat. It had been years since you last played this game, and your confidence was shaky at best.

Standing across from him, with the tiles laid between you, the salesman watched you intently, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if waiting for you to make your move.

“Stay calm, focus…” you whispered to yourself, then swung your arm down sharply, slamming your tile onto the one on the ground.

Smack!

Your red tile spun slightly but landed flat, while the salesman’s blue tile remained completely unmoved.

“What a shame. It didn’t flip,” the salesman said, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction.

You froze in place, not fully processing what had just happened, until the salesman’s hand struck your face with a loud, crisp sound.

Smack!

The deliberately forceful slap echoed sharply in the empty subway station. The sudden impact sent you reeling to the side, the stinging pain on your cheek igniting a spark of fury in your chest. You clenched your teeth and glared at him.

“You actually hit me?!” you spat, your voice low and furious.

The salesman, who had seemed so elegant and composed just moments ago, now carried an air of smug indifference. He raised an eyebrow and said casually, “I told you—losing comes with a penalty. Did you think I was joking?”

However, even though you understood the rules of the game, the pain and frustration at this moment made you see red. You glanced at him and thought to yourself, “This guy, he may look decent, but he can really be fucking jerk.”

“Fine. I’ll win next time,” you said through gritted teeth, your eyes burning with determination.

“Good. Let’s go for another round,” the salesman said, resetting the tiles with a calm smile, as though he were already anticipating your next loss.

You took the red tile into your hand again, this time gripping it even tighter. Your cheek still stung, but your pride burned even hotter. You knew you couldn’t afford to let him humiliate you again.

This time, you poured all your focus into the throw. With a sharp snap of your wrist, your tile slammed into his, sending it spinning into the air before landing flipped over.

"Congratulations, you won," the salesman said with a faint smile, taking out a stack of cash from the briefcase and handing you 100,000 won.

The feeling of holding that money in your hand made your heart race. The warmth of the bills, the crispness of the paper—it was a sensation you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You stared at the cash in your hands, your heartbeat quickening. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you’d experienced the thrill of winning, or perhaps it was the allure of the money itself. Your heart started racing, and an uncontrollable excitement began to bubble up inside you.

From then on, you kept playing game after game—sometimes losing, but winning more often than not. Each time you won, the cash in your pocket grew heavier, while the salesman's briefcase became noticeably emptier. With each round, the thrill of victory and the sight of accumulating cash dulled the pain of the slaps you’d received when you lost.

Several subway trains had passed behind you, but you didn’t notice. You didn’t know how much time had gone by, nor did you care. Eventually, you realized that most of the money in the salesman’s briefcase was already in your hands.

“Not bad, miss. You’re quite skilled,” the salesman said, his expression still calm, but his smile seemed a little forced. There was a tension in his features, as if he was struggling to suppress his frustration.

You stopped counting the cash in your hands and glanced at him. Then, with a slight smile, you asked, “Want to play another round?”

He shook his head. “As you can see, I’ve already given you all my money.”

“That’s fine. This time, if you win, I’ll give you 500,000 won. But if I win…” You paused, your smile turning cold. “Then I get to slap you.”

The moment the words left your mouth, a flicker of surprise flashed across the salesman’s eyes. His usual calm and collected demeanor faltered for a moment, but only briefly. He seemed to weigh the risk and reward in his mind before finally raising an eyebrow and smiling faintly.

“500,000 won is no small amount. Are you sure about this?”

“You should worry more about whether or not your pretty face can handle a slap,” you replied sharply, your tone oozing confidence.

the salesman hesitated for a second, then shrugged as if he didn’t care. “Very well. Let’s play.”

He reset his tile on the ground and gestured for you to go first.

You gripped the red tile tightly, your hand steady. This time, you took a deep breath, adjusted your stance, and slowed your breathing. You remembered all the previous rounds—the force, the angle, the timing—and you used all that experience to make this throw count.

With a loud “smack”, your tile struck his blue tile, flipping it cleanly.

The salesman’s expression stiffened slightly as he bent down to pick up his tile. Without saying a word, he prepared for his turn. He threw his tile with precision, but the force wasn’t enough—it failed to flip your tile.

“Too bad. Better luck next time,” you said mockingly, a sly smirk spreading across your face.

The salesman's expression stiffened abruptly. In that moment, it was as if a projector had switched frames; his formerly composed and courteous demeanor flickered away in his eyes. In its place was a cold, stern, and ominous look, akin to a fierce beast baring sharp fangs in the shadows. Yet, within mere seconds, he swiftly concealed this expression once more, replacing it with a faint smile.

"You are truly skilled," his tone resembled a false praise.

Smack!

As the palm landed, under the glow of the light, you could almost feel his instant eruption of anger swiftly restrained. His profile turned to the side, a clear red mark on his cheek, and you could distinctly hear the lingering numbness in your palm. The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds; he didn't immediately retaliate but slowly turned his head back, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, the curve of his jaw tensing suddenly.

"Sorry about that," you gazed at him, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth, growing more enigmatic, "I have a habit of being forceful."

His expression almost cracked like a mask in that moment: the once refined and gentle demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by what seemed like a vicious dog whose tail had been stepped on, sharp intent flashing in his eyes. You saw it clearly, the previously concealed, dark depths now forcibly dragged out, exposed before you.

Unexpectedly, you found yourself not afraid but instead reading a kind of near-wild authenticity in that fierce look—far more intriguing than his earlier disguise. This realization made you more excited, even the tingling sensation in your palm becoming a symbol of some strange pleasure.

Yet, in just a few seconds, he managed to pull back that feral expression, swiftly donning the polite yet hollow smile as if the previous moment had been a mere illusion.

"Heh, quite the hit," he touched his now crimson cheek that you had struck, deliberately lowering his voice, trying to sound conciliatory, yet you could sense the anger lurking in his tone. "Are you sure... you want to continue playing this game with me?"

You shrugged, teasingly tugging at the corner of your lip, "What, not up for it? I had fifty thousand ready to give you, too bad you didn't win."

His eyes seemed to flicker for a moment, a mix of reluctance and anger, but he managed to suppress it forcefully. Finally, nonchalantly, he straightened his suit folds.

Then, from the inner pocket of his coat, he produced a card—simple in design, with a hollow pattern in the center featuring a circle, a triangle, and a square printed separately.

"What's this?" you asked warily.

"My invitation card. If you want a bigger challenge, more money, just call this number," he lightly tapped the back of the card with his fingertip.

“What do you mean?”

"The literal meaning," he smiled again, handing you the card before tidying up the remaining tiles, picking up his briefcase to leave.

"Wait, you haven't told me who you are yet," you asked, trailing after him.

"Who I am doesn't matter, what matters is—" his gaze swept over the money in your hands, then met your eyes, "you now have the right to choose. Whether to leave with this money or to take it a step further..." He paused for a moment, sincerely smiling, "I hope to see you again."

With that, he walked into the train without looking back, disappearing into the crowd. You lowered your head in confusion, looking at the card in your hand, which only bore a phone number, devoid of any other text. The card reflected a faint light under the dim subway lamp, almost hypnotizing you.

You tucked away the cash, feeling like you had just experienced a surreal daydream. As the subway arrived at the station later, you abruptly snapped back to reality, hurriedly stashing the substantial prize into your bag, boarding the train filled with doubts. As the train started with a buzzing door closure, you observed the diverse array of people on board, each hurried and indifferent, while you held onto the card that could change your future.

Upon arriving home, contrary to your usual routine, you didn't immediately focus on the stock matters. Instead, you stacked the money on your bed, torn by extreme conflicts within. At this moment, you possessed a "miraculously" acquired fortune that could temporarily alleviate your financial crisis; yet simultaneously, you couldn't resist the curiosity: if you were to make that call, could you win even more? Could it lead to a complete turnaround, living the tranquil life in Alaska as you had originally planned?

Lying back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts of the stranger's smile before departure and the black card he handed you crossed your mind... like a seemingly dazzling yet perilous skyscraper, awaiting the next curious and greedy visitor.

Outside the window, rain began to fall again, the patter of rain mingling with thunder. In a daze, you almost heard someone whispering in your ear:

"Earn more money... keep playing, and all your desires will be satisfied."

You reached into your pocket, touching the card, feeling a slight sweat in your palm.

A hoarse voice escaped your throat, "Should I...make that call?"

#squid game #the salesman x reader #the salesman #squid game x reader #enemies to lovers

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andreablog2 · 2 days ago

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Why wouldn’t people shit post about the apocalypse ? I don’t get that, that’s like being against poetry in tough times. It’s just the language people use and there have been literal billions spent on trying to manufacture shitposting but it really hasn’t worked. I think people should feel pride in the fact that so many people said the ceo should die, Luigi became a sex symbol nothing ever happened. For better or for worse. Seriously the situation in la is horrible and the air quality is depressing but I personally do think it’s funny and a redeeming fact that amidst the chaos.. a nasty bitch who spoke poorly on my dead friend lost their house…this is my life. I’ve been in between LA & London for the past 3 years. I know this world very well. Lots of nasty classless people in Malibu and pacific palisades old head friends of the blog remember me posting about years before this. Separate from the Eaton fire, I don’t think people understand how much of a conscious deliberate choice it is to live in that area given all the natural disasters and how racist and soulless that area has become. I’ve evacuated before when I didn’t have to and there were all these people in my building evacuating even though I wasn’t in a zone so I didn’t and it’s been brutal being as far away as I am now…as someone who literally has family members who went through shit like this non stop with so much ambulance chasers bullshit aid programs that only circulated money for the wealthy, seeing the difference in how this has been reported has made me very sympathetic to the people in middle America who are like “fuck la” rn even if I happen to have been breathing poison air and on edge all week for multiple things happening at once. It’s really bad faith to be like “how could mock this, normal people live in pacific palisades/pasadena too” Jamie Lees comparison to Gaza really solidified how I feel about all of this. Also can’t stand the uneducated conspiracy theories. None of us are going to have rights in 3 years, why are we scolding eachother over decorum. Bad things just happen all the time it’s a beautiful thought to me that money can’t buy your way out of everything: natural disaster and public ridicule.

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chewnotchoke · 3 days ago

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to let a good thing die - gongfourz

warning: leehan and taesan, bff gongfourz, angst, friendship fallout, they call each other 'donghyun' and 'dongmin' but i'll refer to them with their stage names a/n: i originally wanted to make it a love triangle where hts fell for klh, however, i did not want to add a cliche love triangle anymore where their friendship simply gets ruined by a girl so instead, i just focused on their dynamics as best friends :) wc: 6.7k (my longest fic yet) playlist: bruno major - to let a good thing die // lana del rey - margaret // wave to earth - love // phoebe bridgers - scott street // conan gray - the cut that always bleeds // billie eilish - tv // lorde - ribs // mac demarco - watching him fade away

the one constant in a world that frequently felt chaotic and uncertain was the bond between leehan and taesan. their relationship developed gradually over time rather than being sparked by something significant or profound. they had this unshakable connection, built on an implicit commitment to always stand by each other.

there was something comforting about their relationship, like the warmth of a campfire on a cold night. it was strong, steady, and able to push away even the darkest moments.

leehan is the kind of person who can turn the most mundane moments into something fun, tossing playful jabs or flashing a quick grin that’s as disarming as it is genuine. yet beneath his laid-back demeanor lies a quiet loyalty for his best friend, taesan.

for leehan, caring about taesan isn’t just a passing thought—it’s woven into the fabric of his being, a constant he doesn’t need to say aloud. his way of showing it is subtle: an encouraging word when taesan's fire flickers or a shared laugh to lighten the weight of the world.

taesan, on the other hand, is a force of nature. he’s full of purpose, his mind racing with ideas and plans, always reaching for a horizon only he can see. ambition fuels him like a roaring engine, pushing him forward with relentless determination. but even with his eyes set on the stars, taesan never forgets leehan. he values him as a grounding presence, the person who reminds him to breathe amidst the chaos.

to taesan, leehan isn’t just a friend—he’s a safe harbor, someone he trusts to understand him in ways words can’t always express.

when taesan forgot his lunch in middle school, it was leehan who pushed his tray across the cafeteria table, pretending he wasn’t hungry. when taesan showed up late to cram school, drenched in the rain, leehan wordlessly handed over his spare hoodie. when taesan confessed he’d failed another math test, leehan stayed up all night crafting a cheat sheet—not so taesan could cheat, but so he could study better next time.

the park was washed in gold by the afternoon sun. the rusty swing set, a memory from their shared youth, was occupied by leehan and taesan. with each push, the chains creaked as they swayed gently under their weight.

as they watched a group of children play tag on the grass, their laughter resonating in the cool air, they had been silent for some time. with a heavy voice, leehan breaks the silence.

“do you ever wonder how things might change when we enter college?” kicking at the mud beneath his feet, he asked the question. taesan could only offer him a wry smile as he turned to him, “why? are you worried about drifting apart as we’re finally starting to figure out our lives?”

“something like that.”

it took taesan to give a response. he stared at his friend and finally added, “you know, the world doesn’t have to be perfect for us to have our own piece of it. and honestly...you’re the only piece i’d ever need.” it was all sincerity–raw, and unfiltered, and leehan could feel it from taesan’s voice.

taesan’s grin returned but tinged with something softer, almost fragile. “i know life gets messy, and sometimes it feels like we’re barely holding on, and i know it’s going be harder in our 20’s, but every time i feel like i’m drowning, i think about this, us. and i know i’ll be okay.”

“but i’m kind of worried though,” taesan adds. “you’ve always been there for me and i’m scared of leaning too much on you, and if i am not reciprocating the same care you’ve given me. you’ve always felt like a brother, an older one. you were there when i scraped my knee, trying to learn how to ride a skateboard from you. when i had that silly breakup in high school, when i almost failed my math test. i don’t want to be a burden for you, where you always have to take care of me and make sure i’m okay whenever i mess up.”

leehan chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. "it doesn’t make you weak. and for what it’s worth, you’re the one who reminds me to laugh when i get too serious, who pulls me out of my head when i overthink. you take care of me in your own way, even if you don’t realize it. so i want you to keep leaning on me, just as much as i need you here, too."

leehan’s mind drifted to the time in middle school when he had forgotten to finish his homework. the teacher’s glare had felt like a spotlight, and humiliation burned hot on his cheeks as he was told to stand at the back of the classroom. but just as he began to shuffle toward the wall, taesan had quietly risen from his seat and joined him. “forgot mine too,” taesan had mumbled, even though leehan knew it wasn’t true.

he remembered the warmth of that moment, how the shame of standing alone had melted into something almost bearable because taesan had been there, sharing the weight of it without a second thought.

another memory surfaced, sharper and more vivid: the sound of pounding rain as leehan sprinted through the streets, his heart racing with worry after hearing his mom was sick. he hadn’t even noticed taesan trailing behind him at first, gripping an umbrella in one hand and shouting for him to slow down.

by the time leehan stopped, both of them were drenched, rain dripping from taesan’s hair and soaking his clothes. yet taesan didn’t seem to care; he simply held the umbrella over his friend’s head, his hands trembling slightly from the cold, determined to shield him from the downpour.

taesan, on the other hand, found himself smiling at a memory of his own. he thought about the night he lost his cat—a quiet, aching grief that had made him curl up in his room and refuse to leave. he could still see leehan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed but eyes gentle, waiting patiently. “food’s getting cold,” leehan had said, his voice soft. he hadn’t pried or tried to offer hollow comfort. he had simply waited until taesan finally stepped out, sitting across from him at the table in silence, offering companionship without needing to say a word.

for a brief period, the only sound in the place was the soft hum of the kids playing. then taesan exhaled, a tiny, nearly apologetic smile pulling at his mouth. his shoulders releasing tension, and his heart feeling lighter than ever after hearing such words from leehan.

that day, despite everything, it was just the two of them as best friends. and at that moment, it was more than enough.

until things started to shift in their sophomore year as college students.

taesan began to feel the heavy, unrelenting weight of adulthood pressing down on him. it was nothing like the carefree days of high school, when life was a blend of joys and trivial worries. back then, it was all about laughter, mischief, and the simplicity of being young. now, it felt as though every responsibility, every expectation, was stacking itself on his shoulders, threatening to crush him under its weight.

but what tormented at him most wasn’t just his own struggles—it was the fear of becoming someone else’s. he dreaded the day of himself becoming the burden rather than the bearer, making his chest tighten with unease. especially to leehan.

leehan often found himself waking up to the faint glow of a desk lamp at the dining table in their shared dorm. there taesan would be, hunched over his notes and laptop, dark circles under his eyes betraying yet another sleepless night. the sight had become too familiar.

"dongmin, don’t tell me..." leehan muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the room. his voice carried a mix of concern and exasperation. taesan glanced up, the exhaustion etched into his face undeniable. but instead of answering, he closed his laptop with a soft sigh and rose from his seat. he began gathering his things for the class that awaited him.

"dongmin, you haven’t been sleeping for days," leehan said firmly, stepping closer.

taesan paused, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "i have a really important presentation later," he said, his voice calm but weary. "i can’t screw this up."

leehan frowned, watching his friend push himself yet again. "you need to rest, though. you can’t keep running on empty."

“i’ll be fine," taesan replied with a small, tired smile, brushing off the concern as he always did. "i probably won’t be back for lunch, so don’t wait for me. eat something good, okay? i’ll see you after class." and with that, taesan headed for the door, leaving leehan standing there, worry tugging at his chest. as much as leehan wanted to stop him, he knew taesan’s stubborn determination all too well. all he could do was silently promise to be there, ready to catch him if he fell.

it was just after leehan’s second class when his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. the caller id flashed ‘university clinic,’ and a strange chill ran down his spine as he answered. the nurse’s voice was calm but firm: taesan had fainted after a presentation, and his name was listed as the emergency contact. hearing that sent a wave of emotions crashing over leehan—fear, frustration, and a flicker of something warmer, something he couldn’t quite name. he didn’t even stop to think. his legs moved instinctively as he sprinted toward the infirmary.

when he pushed open the door, he saw taesan lying on the small bed, looking pale, his usual energy drained. his lips curved into a faint smile when he noticed leehan, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you’re here,” taesan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “why? have you eaten lunch yet?”

leehan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair to calm the anger bubbling inside him. “do you really need to waste what little energy you have worrying about me?”

taesan let out a breathy laugh, though it came out more like a cough. “i’m fine. it’s not that serious. didn’t the doctor say i just need some rest? i’m an adult now, leehan.”

“and yet, you can’t even take care of yourself,” leehan shot back, his tone harsher than he intended. the smile faded from taesan’s face, replaced by a shadow of guilt. “i’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the room’s silence. leehan’s chest tightened as he realized how his words had landed. he reached out, his hand resting gently on taesan’s arm, a gesture meant to reassure.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice gentler now. “i’m not mad. i’m worried. i hate seeing you like this. but you know i’ll always be here, right? whether you think you need me or not.”

taesan’s gaze shifted away, his fingers clutching at the blanket. “that’s what scares me,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “that you always have to take care of me.”

for a moment, the weight of taesan’s words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken. leehan tightened his grip on taesan’s arm, his own voice steady and quiet. “you’re not a burden, taesan. not to me. you never will be. so stop trying to do everything on your own.” taesan’s lips quirked into a faint smile again, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. “you’re too good to me, you know that?”

leehan shook his head, his own smile breaking through. “maybe. but you make it worth it.”

the silence that followed was warmer this time, leaving only the steady hum of the infirmary clock marking the passing seconds.

but the following days weren’t as warm.

taesan had been alone in their shared dorm for three days now. leehan had barely been home, only returning long enough to sleep, his presence almost ghostly in its absence. the days passed in a blur, with taesan filling the space with his own thoughts and distractions, but something was missing. every morning, taesan would check his room to find that leehan had already gone—his things left behind, his bed untouched. it was as if leehan had simply faded away.

that morning, as taesan stood in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes he had used for breakfast, he heard the familiar creak of the door opening. his heart jumped in his chest, and for the first time in days, a small spark of relief flickered in his chest. he turned around to see leehan step inside, dragging himself like a ghost from the hallway.

“you’re back!” taesan said, his voice a mix of surprise and relief.

leehan’s response was a strained, half-hearted smile that barely reached his eyes. he walked slowly, his footsteps heavy, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders, his bag hung loosely from one arm.

“are you alright?” taesan asked, his brows furrowing in concern. “you haven’t been answering my calls. how was your test?” leehan didn’t immediately respond. instead, he simply sighed, the sound as hollow as his smile. “sorry,” he muttered, looking away. “let’s not talk about that.”

before taesan could press further, leehan disappeared into his room, the door closing behind him with a finality that felt like a wall between them. taesan stood frozen, his heart heavy with unanswered questions he glanced at the clock. only ten minutes before class. he should go, but something worried him, telling him to wait. so, he did. he waited by the door, listening for any sign that leehan might come out.

when the door finally opened again, it wasn’t the leehan taesan had hoped for. leehan emerged, but this time he was carrying a much larger bag, his clothes different. his movements were mechanical, devoid of the warmth that usually accompanied him.

“i don’t think i’ll be home for the next few days,” leehan said, his voice distant, the words detached as if he were speaking from a far-off place. “take care. i’ll see you soon.”

taesan’s throat tightened, his stomach lurching at the finality in leehan’s tone. “wait, what? donghy—”

but leehan didn’t stop. without another glance, he turned and disappeared out the door, leaving taesan standing in the midst of a room that suddenly felt too empty and quiet. the seconds dragged into minutes, and taesan stood there, numb, watching the door as if hoping leehan might come back.

but he didn’t. the sound of leehan’s departure echoed in his mind, and taesan realized, with an unsettling clarity, that something had shifted. though he didn’t know what it was or how it happened.

taesan had known something was wrong with leehan for days. it had started subtly at first: leehan had been quieter than usual, disappearing more often, his smiles more forced. taesan had brushed it off, telling himself that it was probably just the stress of exams, or maybe leehan was dealing with something personal. but it wasn’t like him to pull away without saying anything, especially not from taesan.

last week, leehan had mentioned that his program had a qualifying test to determine if he could continue to the next semester. it was a big deal, and taesan had noticed how much time leehan was spending with his study group, buried in textbooks and notes. but even so, the silence between them felt different—longer, heavier.

but that night, after finishing his own studies, taesan couldn’t help himself. he opened the messaging app and typed out a message:

"hey, what else have you been up to lately? haven’t heard from you in a while. you good?"

he stared at the words, his thumb hovering over the send button, unsure if it was too much, or too soon. but it was the truth—he was anxious. he didn’t know what leehan had been up to, how he was holding up, or even if he was okay. he sent the message and then sat back, waiting. the minutes turned into an hour. his phone sat on the desk, quiet, undisturbed.

it was only when taesan was about to drift off to sleep, the heft of the day pulling him under, that he finally heard the familiar ping of a new message. he reached for his phone, his eyes still heavy with fatigue, and unlocked the screen.

it was from leehan.

“i’m sorry i haven’t been home lately. and i don’t think i will be for the whole week. i’ll be back once i’m done. make sure you’re eating well.”

the message was short. vague. empty.

taesan stared at the words for a long time. there was something hollow about it, something that left him unsettled. taesan reread the message, wondering if there was more beneath the surface, some hidden meaning that he wasn’t catching. but in the end, the words sat coldly in his chest, unanswered and unyielding.

three more days had slipped by since leehan’s last reply. silence hung heavily in the apartment, with taesan left to his own thoughts in their shared space. despite the suffocating curiosity, taesan resisted the urge to call, respecting the unspoken boundaries. seeing leehan occasionally online on the messaging app was enough to reassure him that nothing dire had occurred.

on his way to campus, taesan crossed paths with sungho, one of leehan’s friends from his program. a spark of hope stirred in his chest as he greeted him. “sungho, have you been with donghyun? how’s he doing?” sungho’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and concern. “donghyun? hasn’t he come back to your place yet?”

“no, i haven’t heard from him lately.”

sungho sighed, glancing away momentarily. “ah, you didn’t know? leehan failed the qualifying exam last week. it was tough—he had to retake it with an additional 80 questions. but he finally passed on the second try. if he had failed again, he wouldn’t have been able to apply for the next semester. and he would have lost his spot in your college dorm. he’s been a wreck since the test, crying a lot. i thought you knew?”

a load settled on taesan’s chest. he hadn’t known any of this. the silence suddenly felt heavier, tinged with guilt and worry. before he could respond, sungho gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “i’ve got to go now. take care, dongmin.” with that, sungho walked away, leaving taesan standing in the middle of the bustling campus, lost in thought.

late at night after class, the dorm was eerily quiet, and there was still no sign of leehan. taesan sat on the couch, his heart weighed down by the conversation he’d had with sungho earlier. the day’s fatigue clung to him as he idly scrolled through instagram, seeking distraction.

his thumb froze when he stumbled upon leehan’s latest instagram story. it was a group selfie with classmates, a table laden with food and alcohol, and the caption, “thank you, guys. it wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

a storm of unspoken emotions swirled within taesan. he placed his phone face down on the table and sighed heavily. moments later, the front door creaked open, and leehan stepped in. his face bore a different expression than the one taesan remembered. something softer, more at ease.

“dongmin, i’m back! i mi—” leehan’s words trailed off when he noticed taesan’s lack of response. concern flickered in his eyes as he gently closed the door. “are you alright?” he asked, lingering in the doorway. “is it true?” taesan’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

“what’s true?” leehan frowned.

“you failed your qualifying exam.”

“oh, that,” leehan shrugged, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “how did you know? but it’s all good now—”

“no, it’s not!” taesan’s voice cracked as he interrupted, his frustration surfacing. leehan blinked, taken aback.

“dongmin, it’s really fine. i passed the second time.”

“but you didn’t tell me,” taesan muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“tell you what?”

“that you were struggling. that you needed support. instead, you celebrated with your college friends. people you’ve known for barely a few semester, while i was left in the dark. if sungho hadn’t told me, i wouldn’t have known anything.”

leehan’s smile faltered. “dongmin, i didn’t want to be a burden. i thought—”

“a burden?” taesan cut him off, his voice trembling. “do you think i’m not scared of being a burden too? but other than that, i’m more terrified of becoming someone you can’t rely on. do i mean so little to you as a friend?” his eyes shimmered, tears threatening to fall. the room was steeped in silence, the pressure of unspoken fears and misunderstandings pressing down on them.

“dongmin, i’m so—”

“was it not possible with me, donghyun? is that why you didn’t tell me?” taesan’s tears streamed freely, his voice trembling with a fragile softness. leehan’s gaze softened, the sight of his best friend in tears pulling at his heart. “that’s not true, dongmin. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t want to add to your stress. when you fainted from exhaustion after your presentation, i knew you weren’t in the right headspace. if i had told you i failed, it would’ve only worried you more. you mean so much to me as a friend—i couldn’t bear the thought of adding more weight to your shoulders.”

“donghyun, i could have helped you study—”

“and that’s exactly what i didn’t want!” leehan interrupted almost shouting, his chest heaving with emotion. “i didn’t want you to see me as someone who couldn’t succeed on his own. it’s not about that! dongmin, i was more afraid of losing what we have here, in this apartment, than losing my own dreams!”

taesan was rendered speechless, overwhelmed by the raw honesty in leehan’s words. he hadn’t expected such vulnerability from his friend, and it struck a chord deep within him. “you always care about academics, and you wouldn’t understand that because you’re full of determination and purpose! you’ll never find yourself in this terrible situation, scared on the edge of losing your spot in what we share.” leehan’s voice echoed in the small living room, his words cutting through the quiet like a blade.

taesan stood there, frozen, the weight of leehan’s remark sinking into his chest. confusion swirled in his mind, mixing with a sharp sting of hurt. his brows furrowed as he tried to process the words, the frustration in leehan’s voice, the unspoken resentment hidden beneath.

“i—” taesan began, his voice faltering. he didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something that felt so out of nowhere, so unfair. “you know what? let’s just stop talking about this,” leehan muttered, his tone weary, almost defeated.

“i’m sorry for making it a big deal.” taesan felt his throat tighten as he answered, the words he wanted to say trapped somewhere between his heart and his mouth. he couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore, not when it felt like every word would only widen the gap between them. so, he turned away. quietly, almost reluctantly, he made his way to his room, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick silence that now filled the space.

for weeks, silence draped over the dorm like a suffocating fog. leehan and taesan were locked in an unspoken calm, neither willing to break the stillness that had stretched into nearly two weeks. it wasn’t pride that kept their words at bay, but the heavy weight of guilt. for leehan, it was the guilt of almost leaving taesan in the dark, of burdening him when he was already struggling. for taesan, it was the guilt of not being there for leehan, of failing to comfort him when he needed it most.

and beneath it all lingered the echo of leehan’s confession, his yearning for permanence in their shared space—a permanence that, for taesan, would always belong to leehan alone.

despite the silence, their care for each other never wavered. leehan would quietly prepare extra portions of food, knowing taesan often pulled all-nighters and might need a late meal, even though leehan himself rarely ate more than a small serving. meanwhile, taesan would tiptoe into leehan’s room after he had fallen asleep, gently turning off the lights and softly closing the door left open.

the semester was winding down, the days slipping by in a blur, and before anyone realized it, summer break was just around the corner. taesan had been singularly focused on preparing for an internship interview slated for the next semester. it was all he had thought about for the past week—a chance to inch closer to his dream, especially since it was with a prestigious company. with his grades qualifying him for the application, he seized the opportunity without hesitation.

amid his preparation, taesan had barely noticed what leehan had been up to. it seemed like his friend was also engrossed in studying for something, though taesan hadn’t had the chance to ask.

as a way to celebrate their hard work this semester, taesan and his classmates decided to unwind with a dinner at a local pub. the thought of sharing a meal and laughter with friends was a welcome break from the intensity of the past weeks. taesan was planning to break the silence with leehan tonight once he got home.

or maybe tonight was a bad time, because leehan was also at the pub.

leehan and taesan sat at opposite ends of the pub, surrounded by their own circles of friends. the air was alive with the buzz of conversation, laughter echoing across the room. taesan, though engaged in a lively discussion with his friend, jaehyun, couldn’t help but glance over at leehan from time to time. his gaze lingering on his best friend. he watched, not out of curiosity, but out of concern, silently willing him to eat more, to take care of himself.

meanwhile, leehan sat at his table, doing his best to ignore the darting glances and hushed whispers that seemed to hang in the air around him. he heard bits and pieces of the murmurs , gossip about his recent failure. he didn’t care. they didn’t understand, and they never would. the success he sought was never meant for them, but for someone else.

but on the other side of the room, things were beginning to escalate. one of taesan’s classmates leaned in, his voice rising just enough for taesan to catch the words. “i don’t understand how dumb someone could get not to pass the test on the first try. yeah, sure, he passed the second one, but that’s just wasting his time, honestly. right, dongmin?”

the words were a blur to leehan, barely registering in his ears, but for taesan, they hit hard. he felt his muscles tighten, his temper beginning to simmer. his grip tightened around his glass of beer, his gaze hardening as the same classmate continued, oblivious to the damage he was causing.

“kind of pathetic, don’t you think?” the classmate sneered.

that was the breaking point. taesan slammed his glass down, rising from his seat with such force that his chair scraped across the floor. his eyes locked on the classmate, anger igniting in his chest. leehan, who had a hint of what was being said, braced himself. his body was tensed, ready for whatever might come next. he wasn’t sure what it was all about, but if it got worse, he wouldn’t stand by idly. taesan walked toward the guy, voice low but seething with anger.

“shut up,” taesan says. “you don’t know a damn thing about donghyun.”

the classmate, ever the instigator, stood up to meet him, unafraid and ready for a fight. the atmosphere in the pub shifted, everyone now watching, tension hanging heavy in the air. “what’s your problem, taesan?” the classmate sneered, not backing down. “you didn’t know a damn thing either. leehan didn’t tell you, did he? didn’t want you to know how pathetic he was for failing that exam.” he scoffs and continued, “after all, some people just aren’t cut out for that level.”

taesan’s patience had worn thin. the words his classmate had spat, the cruel mockery, the way everyone around them had gone silent as if they were waiting for him to do something, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. the burning anger that had been boiling beneath his skin suddenly roared to the surface.

his first instinct was to grab something, anything. but even in his anger, there was a moment of calm. his eyes locked onto the nearest object, the beer mug resting on the table. without thinking, but with controlled precision, he grabbed it and poured the beer over the guy’s head. the beer splashed in a cold wave, soaking his classmate’s hair and dripping down his face, the mug now empty in taesan’s hand.

“hope that helps cool down your overblown ego,” taesan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, a sharp edge of defiance in his tone.

but his classmate’s smug expression remained unchanged. his lips curled into an arrogant smirk, eyes narrowing as if daring taesan to do more. before taesan, could fully process it, the guy’s fist came crashing into taesan's face. the force of the punch sent taesan stumbling backward. the sharp pain in his cheek was almost too much to ignore, but he forced himself to focus.

the instant he regained his balance, his fist swung out in retaliation, landing squarely against his classmate’s jaw. but before taesan could take another step forward, he felt hands pulling him away.

leehan had rushed over, his grip strong on taesan’s arm as he yanked him away from the scene. taesan’s instincts screamed to pull back, to lash out at his classmate once more, but when he saw it was leehan trying to stop him, something inside him shifted. his anger, his adrenaline, all of it, suddenly dulled. his body, tense and ready for a fight just seconds before, relaxed against leehan’s pull.

“taesan, let’s go,” leehan urged, his voice low but firm. taesan didn’t resist as much now.

the anger hadn’t completely subsided, but the sight of his best friend trying to stop him, trying to keep him from making a bigger mess, made him pause. he allowed leehan to guide him toward the door. the moment they stepped outside, the cold air hit him like a slap to the face, bringing him back to reality. taesan stood there for a moment, shivering not from the cold, but from the rush of emotions that still swirled within him—anger, regret, frustration.

he looked at leehan, whose face was a mixture of concern and disappointment. taesan wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. instead, he just stood there, feeling the weight of everything he hadn’t said and everything he’d done. he was frustrated, almost feeling like he wanted to cry out of anger.

“why…why didn’t you say anything?!” taesan’s voice was rough, raw with emotion. “why aren’t you mad?!” his chest heaved with the force of his frustration, his fists clenching at his sides.

leehan’s eyes softened, but there was an edge to his voice, a slight tremor that betrayed the emotion he was trying to keep in check. “why did you have to get into trouble because of me, dongmin?” his words rose in pitch, more from concern than anger. “this isn’t just about you, donghyun! it’s about respect. he had no right to talk about you like that!” taesan answered, his arm jerked toward the pub, where his classmate’s voice still echoed in his mind.

“i don’t need you to fight my battles, dongmin,” leehan said, his voice cracking with frustration. “i can handle it.”

taesan’s breath hitched, and he exhaled sharply, his eyes softening, the anger that had once burned in them replaced by something darker like hurt, deep and raw.

“do you really see me like that?”

his voice dropped to a whisper. “you always carry my burdens, you always worry when i’m about to break. but when it’s your turn—when it’s you, you don’t need me. you never ask for my help. i thought... i thought you needed me just as much.” he paused, swallowing hard.

“is it so hard to lean on me, donghyun? after everything we’ve been through, after all this time…am i still not the kind of person worth relying on?”

leehan’s heart clenched, the weight of taesan’s words striking him harder than any punch had. his breath caught in his chest. “you are,” leehan said quietly, the words heavy, as if admitting it physically hurt.

“you are… but not when we’re both having a hard time.”

a silence fell between them, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself was too heavy to breathe. the words hung in the space between them, too much to bear.

“maybe we’re just not the friends we used to be, donghyun,” taesan muttered, his voice hollow.

the silence deepened. it was the kind that pressed down on them, crushing, leaving no room for anything else. neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. the weight of the words, of the distance, settled like a stone in both their chests, suffocating the bond they once thought was unbreakable.

a week later, they were both in their dorm. on the surface, it seemed like everything had returned to normal, but beneath the surface, it hadn’t. taesan had just gotten off a call with his professor the day after the incident, who brought up the recent situation at the pub. the news was disheartening—unfortunately, the company taesan had been aiming for didn’t tolerate any involvement in violence, no matter the circumstances. as a result, he lost his spot for the internship interview he had been diligently preparing for the past weeks.

one night, taesan remained on the couch, his head bowed, staring intently at his hands clasped tightly together. leehan noticed the shift in taesan’s demeanor. “what’s wrong?” he asked, placing his cup of water on the table. the weight of the situation pressed down on taesan. it was crushing and disappointing, but somehow, he couldn’t even muster the energy to feel sorrowful about it.

the dim light of the evening filtered through the window of their shared apartment, casting long shadows across the living room. “i heard from the office today,” taesan finally said, breaking the tension. his voice was low, almost emotionless. “they pulled my name from the interview list. the internship’s off the table.” leehan asked if he did not even try to plead and reconsider, but taesan says he didn’t want to do anything of that.

“you’re not seriously going to take the blame for this,” leehan finally said, his voice cutting through the stillness. “why? why didn’t you ask them to reconsider?”

“because if i did, then standing up for you wouldn’t be worth it.”

“you’re throwing your life away for something that wasn’t even your fault,” leehan continued, his tone rising. “you have so much ahead of you, dongmin. why would you—what would you now?” he looks at taesan.

“i’ve thought about it for days. i’ll find a new opportunity, and…”

“and?”

“and a new university.”

leehan remained silent, not because he didn’t want to speak, but because he couldn’t find the words. his emotions overwhelmed him, and soon he was sobbing quietly. the tears weren’t just for taesan transferring schools.

it was the guilt crashing at him, knowing taesan was throwing away everything he had worked so hard for, all because of him. leehan buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling as he struggled to contain the weight of his sorrow.

rather than feeling sad about taesan’s departure, leehan was consumed by self-directed anger. he couldn’t shake the blame, couldn’t ignore the role he played in this unraveling mess.

“dongmin,” leehan choked out, his voice trembling, “your dream was supposed to start here! and now—” he paused, gasping for breath between sobs. “and now it’s all gone because of me. i’m so sorry...”

taesan turned to face him, his expression calm but filled with quiet determination. his voice was soft, yet steady. “donghyun, this is the life and dream i’m willing to set aside for you, but i will never let anyone disrespect you like that. you say i’m full of determination and purpose? donghyun, you’re the only purpose i ever need. and i want you to be happy.”

his lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. leehan shook his head desperately, gripping taesan’s hands tightly, his eyes pleading.

“how can i be happy if it costs me you? how can i stay here and not think about everything i’m losing?”

taesan’s smile faded, his gaze locking onto leehan’s. he studied his best friend, searching for something, perhaps a way to make this easier, or maybe the strength to let go. the silence between them was thick, each word that followed weighted with pain.

leehan continued, his voice breaking with emotion. “it hurts like hell to let you leave, but it feels just as wrong to make you stay. i caused all this mess, and keeping you here won’t change anything. it’ll only hold you back from finding new opportunities. i can’t do this, i’ll go with you.”

taesan sighed, the heaviness of their reality settling in. he knew leehan was right, but that didn’t make it any less painful. the bond they shared was deep, but this was a stage that required them to walk separate paths, no matter how much it hurt.

taesan’s lips tugged into another bittersweet smile. “i’ll be okay. it might take some time, but I’ll get there. i always do.” he reached out, placing a hand on leehan’s shoulder. “this isn’t about me, donghyun. you didn’t ask for this, but now that it’s happened, you can’t just ignore it. don’t throw away something good because you feel guilty. that’s not fair to you.”

leehan’s throat tightened, and he looked away, tears stinging his eyes. “i don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you.”

taesan’s eyes softened, but there was a glimmer of pain. he let his hand fall away, his gaze lingering on leehan for a moment longer. “we’ll figure it out… just not now.” taesan said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

leehan could only nod, unable to trust his voice. his heart screamed at him to say more, to fight harder, but he was frozen by the weight of inevitability crushing them. without another word, taesan turned and walked to his bedroom, the sound of it closing behind him echoing through the soon-empty apartment.

months passed, and life took them down different paths. taesan settled into his new university, finding his footing amidst unfamiliar faces and new challenges. he threw himself into his studies, into building a new life, but the cracks in his heart remained, each one bearing donghyun's name.

leehan stayed behind, moving through his days in a haze of routine. the apartment felt emptier without taesan’s presence, the silence now deafening where once it was comfortable. he told himself he was fine, that this distance was necessary, but late at night, when the world quieted, he felt the absence like a wound that refused to heal.

both were consumed by the demands of their new realities, yet neither could shake the haunting presence of what was left unsaid. taesan would catch himself staring at his phone, thumb hovering over leehan’s name, wanting to reach out but knowing it wouldn’t change anything. leehan, too, found himself staring at old photos, the smiles frozen in time a painful reminder of what they’d lost.

in the end, it wasn’t a dramatic falling out that separated them but the slow, inevitable drift of two people caught in the relentless current of life and guilt. they had once promised to figure it out, but the truth was, some things couldn’t be fixed.

sometimes, even the deepest bonds can be undone by the pressure of guilt, and sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is let go.

perhaps they were meant to be each other's anchor in their youth, a steady presence during the roughness of growing up. but as their lives evolved, it became clear that their paths, once intertwined, were now running parallel but separate. maybe they were never meant to follow each other into their dreams. instead, they had been each other's solace in the past years, a constant in a world that often felt anything but.

and though the distance grew, the echoes of their friendship lingered.

a silent reminder of what they had, and perhaps, what they were forced to leave behind.

reblogs are highly appreciated! if you reached here, thank you for taking your time to read <3 | @yuzuksi @leesolbeesol @candycane-lemonade @lionhanie @taylorluvation

#onedoornet #boynextdoor #boynextdoor imagines #leehan #han taesan #boynextdoor taesan #boynextdoor leehan #gongfourz #taesan angst #leehan angst #bnd taesan #bnd leehan #boynextdoor angst #chewnotchoke works

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jellofish-plant · 2 days ago

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In the Dark

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: On a quiet night in Gotham, you cross paths with Jason Todd—formerly Robin, now the infamous Red Hood. The city’s usual undercurrent of danger draws you both into an impromptu chase, leading you to a confrontation with a thug in a dark alley. As you and Jason work together to navigate Gotham's treacherous streets, you discover a rare moment of vulnerability in him. Amidst the chaos, there's a spark of connection, a silent understanding, and the undeniable pull between you both. With Gotham’s shadows closing in, you’re reminded that sometimes, the darkness isn’t so bad when you’re not facing it alone.

Warnings:

Mild violence (Gotham-style crime-fighting)

Mentions of danger and danger-driven tension

Flirting and romantic undertones

Mild language

[Masterlist]

It was a quiet night in Gotham too quiet. The kind of silence that made your skin crawl and your instincts flare. You had a habit of walking the rooftops in these moments, something about the height and the night air gave you clarity. Or maybe it was just the fact that Gotham's streets were better avoided after dark.

As you neared the edge of the building, you paused, eyes scanning the shadows for movement. Gotham was never really quiet, after all. Your senses were sharpened, and you could hear the faintest sound—a soft creak. A whisper of leather and the faintest shift of weight.

Before you could react, a figure dropped down beside you. You didn’t flinch. You knew exactly who it was.

"Thought you'd be working with the Bat tonight," you said, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Jason Todd Red Hood, former Robin, and a whole mess of complicated emotions stood there in his dark armor, his helmet tucked under one arm. He leaned against the wall casually, but you could see the tension in his stance, the way his gaze flickered to the streets below. It wasn't just Gotham that kept him on edge; it was the life he led. Always looking over his shoulder.

"Thought I could use a break," he replied, his voice a low rasp that you could never quite get used to. He was always in control, always exuding this sense of quiet danger that made your heart beat just a little faster whenever he was near.

"Yeah? You should take more breaks." You smiled, but it was more to yourself than anything. You couldn't help it. Jason had a way of making even the most casual encounters feel like the most intense moment of your life.

"Maybe," he said, shifting to stand beside you. His presence was suffocating in the best way. "But Gotham’s not the type of city that lets you rest for long."

You nodded, eyes narrowing as you scanned the streets again. There was always something going on down there whether it was a street fight, a robbery, or something far worse. But tonight? Tonight felt different. The tension in the air felt like it had a purpose, like it was leading up to something.

Before you could speak, Jason was already moving. His body was a blur of fluid motion, and he had disappeared into the darkness in a heartbeat.

You didn’t hesitate to follow. You trusted Jason. You always had.

The chase led you deeper into Gotham’s underbelly. The narrow alleyways, the cold, unwelcoming shadows it was all familiar to you by now. You were used to the adrenaline, the danger. But with Jason by your side? It always felt a little less lonely.

You caught up to him just as he cornered a thug, the man’s back pressed against a brick wall. Jason’s hand gripped the thug’s collar, lifting him effortlessly. “Who sent you?” Jason’s voice was rough, demanding.

The thug stammered, trying to shake off the fear, but Jason wasn’t in the mood for answers that came slowly. He threw the man into the wall with a satisfying thud, before turning toward you.

"You good?" he asked, his eyes softening for a moment. It was rare that Jason let his guard down, but when he did, you knew it meant something.

You nodded, taking in the scene with a quick sweep of your eyes. "Yeah. You?"

"Always," Jason replied, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken passing between you both.

You didn’t have to ask if he was still angry he always was. But tonight, you could feel the shift in the air. The intensity between you, the shared adrenaline it was like an electric charge sparking between you, crackling just beneath the surface.

"Let’s get out of here," you suggested, breaking the silence that had settled between you.

Jason’s eyes flickered toward the horizon, then back to you. "You know, for someone who’s been in Gotham as long as you have, you’re still damn good at getting out of trouble."

You chuckled, your breath coming out in a small puff as you took a step closer. "It's a gift."

Jason didn’t say anything else. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours a simple, fleeting touch that said more than words ever could.

And as the sounds of Gotham faded behind you, you knew that despite everything, you weren’t alone in this city of shadows.

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 2 days ago

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 33: A Breath Between Worlds

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ [Meant For Mature Audience]

Crimson light filters through the smoky haze above, painting the bustling market in hues of blood and ash. Merchants shout over the cacophony, their voices rising above the hiss of steam vents and the distant, echoing roar of molten rivers.

Illyria moves through the crowd, small and unassuming against the chaotic backdrop of the market. Her shoulders hunch slightly, trying to make herself smaller.

She is cautious and watchful, as though the chaos around her might devour her. Yet, there is something steadfast in her movements, a quiet resolve that keeps her pressing forward even as the crowd swirls and shoves.

She doesn’t look at him. Her steps quicken whenever he draws too close, when his shadow falls too near, and her gaze flickers to him and then away like the sight of him is too much to bear.

His mind drifts, sliding between fragments of memories—some sharp and vivid, others pale and distant. He tries to latch onto something—a moment of clarity, a mooring in the chaos of his thoughts—but the harder he grasps, the more they crumble.

Who am I?

The question pulses in his mind. There are gaps in his life—vast, yawning chasms where there should be continuity. He can’t remember what it felt like to be whole. The darkness. The cruelty. The twisted power. It’s still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to take hold again.

He tracks Illyria as she moves through the stalls. The bond thrums faintly, and her emotions are there—slightly muted but unmistakable.

Avoidance. Unease. Fear.

She’s afraid of him.

The realization cuts through him like a haunting piano chord striking in an empty cathedral. He should have known. He should have seen it in her eyes before—but she won’t look at me.

He can’t stand it. The reticence between them, the distance, the not knowing. His steps fall unbidden, closing the space between them.

Illyria stiffens, her hand tightening around the strap of her pack. “Do you need something?”

He hesitates, the words snarled in his throat. Yes, he wants to say. I need to understand. I need to know what I have done. I need you to look at me like you used to. But he says none of that. Instead, he forces a smile, though it feels hollow. “I thought I would join you.”

The tension remains knotted in her shoulders, her regard devoid of warmth, holding only an unyielding distance. A subtle nod is all she offers before she pivots back toward the merchant.

Don’t do this, he thinks, feeling the panic creeping in, but his body is frozen, stuck in place.

She’s his only anchor in this fractured existence that feels solid, but even she is vanishing like a shadow at sunrise. Astarion’s legs move mechanically, though his heart is somewhere far behind, somewhere he can’t reach. He’s trying so hard to understand, to piece himself together.

What if I never know? What if it’s lost forever, buried in his fractured mind, unreachable? What if this is all there is now? Fragments.

He is scared of what she knows, of what he’s done, of what he might become again. And most of all, he’s worried that whatever exists between them is already broken beyond repair.

Does she still love me?

He pulls Illyria to the side, his fingers gripping her arm with a sense of urgency. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” he implores, his voice a quiet plea, but the frustration builds beneath the surface. “Why are you so distant? Why are you afraid of me?” His hands tighten around her, an involuntary reaction to the pain gnawing at his chest. “Why won’t you look at me?”

She blinks at him, her expression unreadable. “It’s nothing, Astarion. Everything is fine.”

Her voice wraps itself in a silken calm, designed to pacify, but it frays at the edges, unable to disguise the truth he already knows.

His jaw clenches, and the tension in his chest intensifies. He hates it. He hates that she’s lying to him, hates the way she’s trying to soothe him as though he’s as fragile as a brittle leaf.

“No,” he snaps, more insistently. “That is not good enough. I need to know. I will not be coddled; I won’t be treated like I’m some... broken thing. I do not care if you’re pretending everything’s fine.” His breath comes faster, and the heat of the market and the surrounding crowd seems to fade into the background. It’s just her, him, and the darkness within him that has been clawing its way to the surface. “What did I do? What did I do to make you look at me like that?”

The voices in his mind are louder now, their discordant murmurs rising to match his anger. The sweet, twisted melody that never quite leaves him, that lures him into madness. It shifts and warbles, rising in volume with each passing moment, urging him to lose control.

She’s lying to you. She doesn’t trust you. Force her. You have the power. Force the truth from her lungs.

The melody. It’s sharper than before, an off-key lullaby that plagues his every thought. He tries to drown it out and focus, but it only grows more persistent. His breath comes in shallow gasps, the voices whispering rapidly now.

She’s lying; you know it. She doesn’t care about you; she wants to be rid of you.

His hands tremble slightly as his control starts to slip. The heat in his chest—no longer the burning from the marketplace—warms him with the fire of his frustration. He wants to shout, to demand answers, but the sound of the song surrounds him.

“Tell me the truth!” His voice cracks, raw and furious, the melody in his head twisting the words into something darker.

His eyes narrow, and he steps closer, looming over her, desperation coiling in his chest. He’s not sure what’s real anymore—what’s him, and what’s that other him. What’s his, and what’s been ripped away, lost to some distant version of himself.

The words don’t make sense anymore, yet they spill from him as if they are the only thing he has left. “Why can't you trust me?”

The song builds, and with it, the fury rises, twisting his mind. The voices are no longer just whispers—they are shouting now, egging him on, twisting his thoughts towards cruelty.

For the briefest spell, the version of him that is forged in violence and steeped in control brushes against his thoughts like a wraith, and his breath catches on the edge of the unseen.

“Stop.” Illyria’s voice is as fragile as a snowflake dissolving on warm skin, a plea that stills the howling snowstorm in his mind, leaving a cold, crystalline clarity.

It’s like the sudden bite of winter air against a smouldering flame, the words sinking into him like the slow, jagged ache of a wound. The tremble in her voice, the quiver of her lips, the raw fear in her eyes—it all hits him like the first frost stealing the breath of a dying flower.

The melody in his mind—the song that has been twisting and warping everything he feels, everything he is—diminishes, the notes falling away like fading whispers until it’s almost silent. The anger, the fury that had been building, is smothered, leaving only the raw ache of confusion and guilt behind.

“I... I’m sorry.” His voice is strained, almost choking on the words as they leave him. He reaches out to her, his hand trembling as he tries to bridge the distance between them, to touch her, to make it right, to make her feel safe.

But she flinches away from him.

The movement is so small, so subtle, but it hits him like a blow to the chest, leaving him winded and gasping for air. His hand lingers in the air for a moment before it slowly drops to his side. She retreats a step, her shoulders drawn tight, her vacant stare fixed somewhere over his shoulder as if looking at him would unravel her.

“Illyria,” he manages to whisper, the sound of her name so faint it barely exists. His voice cracks on the syllables, betraying the emotions he cannot contain.

She shakes her head just once, the motion almost imperceptible. “I... I need a moment,” she murmurs.

Without waiting for a response, she turns and steps into the crowd. He stays rooted in place, his hands trembling at his sides. The noise of the market washes over him, distant and muted, as though he’s underwater. The infernal light, the acrid air, the press of bodies around him—it all feels intangible. Astarion presses a hand to his chest, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as though he can physically brace his collapsing pieces. The presence still lingers at the edges of his mind, a dark shadow whispering promises of power and control. He shudders, forcing the thoughts away.

For all his power, he feels utterly and completely powerless.

Your focus lingers on Astarion’s every movement as he glides through the room with a haunting elegance, like a ship caught in the throes of a cyclone. His steps are slow and uncertain, as though he’s searching for a shore that no longer exists. Sweat beads on his forehead, trailing down the angle of his jaw.

He pauses near the window framing an endless, searing void of red and black. There’s a hollowness to him as if he’s been untethered from himself, drifting aimlessly through a realm that gorges itself on hope and regurgitates despair.

You busy yourself with trivial tasks, adjusting the straps of your pack and sorting through the supplies you bartered for at the market. It keeps your hands moving, your mind focused on anything other than the way his voice lingers in your thoughts: Why are you so afraid of me?

How do you answer that? How do you look him in the eye and speak the truth—the truth of what he's done, the coldness in his voice when he demanded your obedience, the cruelty that stained every moment until it became a part of you, too?

You steal a sidelong look at him. He looks… different. Softer, though you know that isn’t quite right. He's still Astarion—still dangerous, but this version of him is so far removed from the one you've been running from that it feels like the universe’s idea of a repulsive punchline.

He clears his throat. “You seem lost in thought.”

Your hands freeze with a potion clutched tightly in your fingers. “I’m just taking inventory.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” he asks cautiously in a honeyed timbre you’re not used to from him any longer. “What is it about me that frightens you?”

You inhale sharply, arms tightening around yourself, fighting the sudden tremor that laces your body. “I’m not frightened of you.”

“That is another lie,” he states gently but unwaveringly.

You open your mouth to argue, to deny it, but the denial disintegrates in the space between your lips. He's right. You are frightened of him, of what he was, of what he could become again. You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the table.

“I never meant to make you feel this way,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “If I have hurt you—whatever I’ve done—please, just tell me how I can make it right.”

You whirl around, the sudden movement startling both of you. “It’s not that simple,” you snap, tinged with desperation.

He remains silent, waiting for you to continue. Still, you find yourself unwilling to speak again—petrified of what the truth might reveal, of the cracks in the carefully constructed walls you’ve built to keep him from seeing the terror he still evokes in you.

Astarion watches you, his crimson eyes searching, yearning for reassurance—a thread to grasp, a sign that you haven’t slipped away into the silence that stretches between you. Yet, he does not press.

It’s that quiet understanding, that unspoken gift of space—his willingness to let you breathe, to gather yourself without pressure—that unravels you. Tears rise unbidden, and you try to swallow them down, force them back, but they well just beneath the surface, waiting to spill.

“I know it’s not simple,” he murmurs, a sad smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing your cheek before gently tilting your head upward. His touch is tentative like he’s waiting for you to reject him.

For a brief, intoxicating second, you think he might kiss you.

Gods, you want him to. It’s a desperate, reckless yearning that swells in your chest, one that you don’t know how to hold. You yearn for him to crack open the fragile shell you've encased yourself in, defy the cold vice of terror that twists in the pit of your stomach, and take what you’re too terrified to offer freely.

The thought terrifies you as much as it excites you.

There’s a part of you—a darker, needier part—that wants him to abandon this gentle hesitation, pull you against him, and claim you. You can almost feel it: his hands on your waist, his lips brushing yours with the kind of urgency that leaves no room for doubt.

You crave the absolution of it, the obliteration of thought and fear. You want him to silence the chaos in your mind, to replace it with the singular sensation of him—his touch, his taste, his presence consuming you whole.

But you’re afraid of what it would mean, what it would take, and what it could give. You’re a mess of contradictions, caught between the need to protect yourself and the raw, aching desire to give in.

Can he see it? Can he sense the way your resolve falters under the weight of his gaze, the way your body leans just slightly closer to his despite the trembling protest in your mind?

You don’t pull away, don’t close the distance, don’t speak. You just stand there, caught in the liminal space between fear and want, between restraint and surrender.

Astarion’s fingers linger on your cheek for a moment longer before trailing down to your jaw, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

You think he might close the distance, lean in, and give you what you’re too spineless to ask for. The thought alone sends a pulse of heat through you, pooling low in your stomach.

But before you can make sense of it, before you can act on the impulse, he’s pulling his hand away.

His voice is almost hesitant as he speaks. “You should get some rest.” He gestures toward the bed. “You can have it. I will… sit somewhere else.”

He’s trying to give you space, trying to respect whatever distance you've placed between the two of you, but it feels more like he’s retreating into himself than offering you a reprieve.

It’s almost like he’s stepping away, unsure of how to approach you, unsure of whether he’s wanted. You open your mouth to say something, but the words retreat before you can utter them.

Astarion walks away with a sigh, his footsteps inaudible against the worn floor. The sound lingers in the air long after he's reached the far end of the room, where a simple chair sits, solitary and stark.

He unclasps his jacket, stripping it away. The gesture is almost automatic, the same casual action he once carried with effortless confidence. But you can see the subtle sag of his shoulders, the way his eyes lose their usual sharp gleam as he quickly averts them. He sits, his body stiff, hands resting on his knees, fingers curling restlessly.

A long, shuddering breath rattles through him, and you feel his pain unfold within you. He doesn’t know how to be here, how to reach you, or how to repair whatever it is between you or himself. He fidgets like he’s trying to escape the cage of his own skin, and part of you wishes you could take that discomfort away, unburden him from his confusion and fear, but how?

You move toward the bed, your feet dragging, and a glance at the floor beside it brings a rush of unwelcome memories. You hear his voice again, the sneering words his other self used to remind you of your place. “Your place is the floor.”

The thought leaves a bitter taste lingering in your mouth while you slip onto the bed. It is far too big, far too vast. The space between you and Astarion feels endless, and yet there’s something suffocating about it.

You close your eyes, willing the familiar pull of your trance to offer you some kind of escape, but the exhaustion that settles over you feels different.

It’s deeper—emotional, spiritual, a barren tiredness that no amount of rest can fix. You clench your fists beneath the covers, your body trembling as you fight to hold it together.

The panic swells, a relentless current of doubt and fear that refuses to subside. You draw inwards, small and trembling, and are left with your thoughts, with him sitting across the room, too far away, both of you suspended in this limbo.

You sit up, and your arms wrap around your legs tightly as you press your forehead against your knees. The room feels too small and too vast all at once, every inch pressing down on you like a cage, yet it feels like you might disappear into the emptiness if you move too suddenly.

“Astarion,” you whisper, the name barely more than a breath. The rustle of fabric and the creak of the chair are immediate. You steal a look at him, finding his attention already on you. His posture is alert but hesitant, as though caught between the pull of closeness and the weight of hesitation, unable to choose which way to go.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember if you compelled me?” His brows draw together in confusion, but you continue, unable to stop now that the floodgates have opened. “Did you compel my loyalty? Compel me to love you? To… marry you?”

The hush that follows is unbearable. His lips part slightly, but no answer comes immediately. Instead, his crimson eyes dart back and forth, unfocused, as though he’s trying to piece something together, to find the filament of a memory that’s just out of reach.

“Gale…” The name falls from his lips, hoarse and broken, like a gasp. “He accused me of doing so. Didn’t he? At our wedding.” His hand lifts to his temple, rubbing it as if the motion might jog loose the memories. His voice grows quieter, tinged with disbelief. “Gods… How could I forget that?”

You remain still, letting the seconds bleed together. Astarion rises from the chair, the wood groaning as he pushes himself up, and your chest tightens with dread. He crosses the room slowly, his movements careful and measured, like he’s walking toward the last ember of a dying fire, frightened to extinguish what little warmth remains.

When he sits beside you on the bed, the mattress dips under his weight, and you brace yourself for the worst. For confirmation that all of this—the bond, the love, the life you’ve built together—has been a lie.

He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with trembling fingers. The backs of them graze your cheek, the faintest touch, like he’s nervous you’ll shatter under his hand. Despite the ambient heat, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a shiver down your spine, you fight the yearning to lean into it.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, delicate but imploring—his thumb ghosts along your jaw.

It takes everything in you to lift your head, but you glance up at him and see the naked fear etched into his features.

“I do not know why Gale thinks that,” he begins, the words careful, deliberate. “Or what proof he believes he has. But this…” He hesitates, the pause weighted, his brow furrowing as if searching for the right words. “This is not something I have done. I did not compel you to marry me. I would never force you to love me.”

Astarion shifts closer, his hand hovering over yours, as though he wants to take it but doesn’t know if he should. “Do you believe me?”

You let your mind slip into his, and the cold emptiness of his thoughts presses against you like ice. There are breaches—colossal, boundless holes where memories should be, where clarity should reside. You feel the ghost of his pain, a sharp, searing blade that runs through every fragment of his fractured consciousness.

He’s broken, pieces of himself scattered across time, torn between the versions of him that exist like separate entities within his skin, but amidst the chaos, you find no deception.

A strange sense of guilt washes over you as you realize that you’ve pushed past a boundary, taking advantage of him while he doesn’t know how to resist you.

Before you can retreat completely, feeling the cold sting of your actions, Astarion’s voice pulls you back. A giggle, light and playful, brushes against the air, and then his fingers delicately tap your temple. “You are in there, aren’t you? In my head. I can feel it, love.”’

You recoil, a sharp, instinctive movement. The fear claws at you before you can even think, the familiar dread of the other version of him surfacing. You brace yourself for the anger, the inevitable punishment for daring to intrude.

Your mouth turns to dust, the words coming out in a disjointed and desperate rush. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted—”

His hand hovers near you, his fingers brushing the edge of your hair with a tenderness that seems alien. There’s no bite in his touch, no sharpness, no mocking flick of irritation that you’ve grown accustomed to.

“It’s alright. I’m not angry,” he intones softer than before, gentler, patient. “You do not need to apologize.”

It doesn’t quite remedy the coldness that’s settled in your chest. With things so fragile between you, the last thing you should be doing is taking advantage of him. You’ve taken something so fragile—his unguarded vulnerability—and twisted it to your doubt, your needs, your questions.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” you confess. “I… I know you don’t know how to shut me out right now, and I used that. I overstepped. You didn’t deserve that.”

Astarion leans forward, brushing a gentle kiss against the back of your hand. The gesture is tender, but it only deepens the ache in your chest. His lips linger there, a small touch that feels like an unspoken reassurance.

“You didn’t take advantage of me, Illyria,” he says quietly.

You watch him carefully as he shifts his posture, and then, just as quickly, he smiles—faintly, but enough to break the tension. “Besides,” he adds, lips curling into that familiar, teasing smirk. “I might not have the same control I did before but do not fool yourself, darling. I can still resist you when I want to.”

The slight bump against the bond sends a charge of surprise through your senses, and you feel a subtle closing of the door inside his mind. It’s just a gesture, a reminder that he still has autonomy.

All this time, all those moments when you thought you were forcing your way in—when you believed that it was all one-sided, that you were taking advantage of his perceived inability to guard himself.

Without resistance, he’d laid bare his innermost self, granting you entry into the depths of his mind, his heart, and his every secret.

He had chosen to let you in.

A choking sob catches in your throat, but you fight it back, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes. You feel foolish, overwhelmed by a rush of conflicting emotions and a strange, aching warmth for the depth of his choice, for what it meant that he had trusted you so completely, so willingly, even when he barely knows himself.

Astarion notices the shift in you immediately, his hand coming up to brush against your cheek. His expression eases with no hint of teasing or humour left in it. “What’s wrong, my love?”

You shake your head, the words caught somewhere in your throat. How could you possibly explain? How could you put into words the enormity of what you’ve just realized? Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it hard, willing yourself to hold it together.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye as though to chase away the tears you’re too stubborn to shed. “Illyria. Tell me. Please.”

The sob you’ve been holding back escapes, ragged and broken, and you clutch at his wrist as though it’s the only thing anchoring you to the world.

“You chose to let me in,” you manage to choke out, the words fractured and uneven.

A furrow creases his brow, his lips parting just enough to betray his confusion. The union stirs in response—a gentle, coaxing touch that brushes against the edges of your mind, not pushing but offering something like comfort. A silent question, a promise that he's still here, still tethered to you.

“Of course I did. How could I not?”

You can’t stop yourself. You lurch forward, and your arms wrap around him, pulling him closer as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek is a balm, a quiet assurance that he is here, that he’s no longer the ghost you feared he had become.

His scent—dark, familiar, comforting—fills your senses, and you inhale it desperately as if trying to absorb every last piece of him into your very being. You’ve kept yourself at arm’s length, fearful of being hurt, that he will slip through your fingers again. You’ve built walls and kept your distance in case the fragile string that holds him here snaps, and you’re left alone with a stranger again.

You can’t speak for a moment, your words choked by the rawness of your tears. When they finally come, they are nothing more than stuttered breaths between your sobs, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve feared.

"You're back," you whisper, barely able to get the words out. "You're really back.”

His arms come around you, hesitant at first, as though he’s uncertain if he’s allowed to hold you like this or if he even knows how.

The relief floods over you like a river breaking through a dam, sweeping away the debris of doubt and leaving only the stark truth in its wake. Tremors rack your body, and as they do, his hold tightens—not too much, just enough to steady you, enough to say he’s not going anywhere.

As you tremble in his arms the world feels still. You let go, allowing the weight of your tears to come. All the walls you've put up around your heart begin to crumble as you allow yourself to believe again, to hope again, to feel again.

You stay in his arms for a moment longer, letting the quiet settle between you. His fingers trace small, tentative circles on your back, grounding you as your trembling begins to subside.

When you finally pull back, Astarion’s hands are gentle as he brushes your hair back, his knuckles grazing your temple.

You hesitate before speaking, your voice timid, almost shy. “Will you... lay with me?”

His brows lift, surprise flashing across his features. Panic flutters in your chest, and you quickly stumble over your words to clarify. “If you’re comfortable, I mean. I—I don’t want to push or—”

Astarion interrupts you by grabbing your hand, his focus dropping to the ring on your finger. He tilts it slightly, the faint light in the room catching the metal, making it gleam.

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips as he speaks, his voice laced with dry humour. “Lying in bed with my own wife? My, what a scandalous request,” he drawls, his tone mockingly aghast. “Should I be clutching at my pearls?”

The laugh that escapes you is soft but real. You shake your head at him, your lips curving into a small, grateful smile.

“Well?” He gestures to the bed with a casual wave of his hand. “Are you going to slide over and give me room, or am I to assume you expect me to crawl over you?”

The lightness in his tone makes you laugh again, this time a little more easily. You shift on the mattress, sliding over to make space for him, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, the tension in your muscles seeps away.

As Astarion climbs onto the bed, settling beside you, and lifts his arm, the gesture is inviting but unassuming, giving you the choice. The offer makes you hesitate. The last time you allowed yourself to get this close, it was different—his hands clutched like he wanted to brand you, own you.

He notices, and his arm sways slightly in the air. “You do not have to. I will not take it personally.”

You shake your head quickly, dismissing the thought. Gathering your resolve, you sidle up to his side, your cheek brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you settle against him. He adjusts his position only slightly, shifting just enough to ensure your comfort without making you feel trapped.

When his arm folds around you, his embrace is loose. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply with an exhalation of relief. “You’re cold,” he remarks, his cheek pressing lightly against the top of your head. “It’s... soothing. Like you’re giving me a reprieve from this blasted heat.”

With a small smile, you snake your arm under his shirt, sliding your cold hand across the expanse of his warm stomach. His skin is taut beneath your fingers, his body heat a crisp contrast to your touch.

He hisses sharply, his muscles contracting under your palm as he flinches. Embarrassment creeps in, and you immediately start to pull your hand back, muttering an apology. But before you can withdraw fully, his hand covers yours, pressing it back into place against his skin.

“No,” he urges. “Leave it. This is nice.”

His words lack the teasing edge you would expect. You relax against him, your head tucked beneath his chin as your hand stays where he’s guided it. The heat of him radiates against your palm, and you can feel the faint rise and fall of his chest.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the stillness between you isn’t strained. It’s comfortable, a small oasis in the middle of the turmoil that has defined so much of your time together lately. Astarion lets out another contented sigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you feel the faintest hint of peace.

“I must admit,” he begins, his breath stirring your hair, “this is not how I imagined this would go.”

You tilt your head just enough to glance up at him. “Oh? And what exactly did you imagine?”

He smirks, though the expression is less sharp around the edges than usual. “I thought perhaps we would argue. Then, of course, I would dramatically storm out in a fit of indignation.”

You let out a quiet laugh; the sound muffled against his chest. “So you’re saying I’ve ruined your plans for a dramatic exit?”

“Utterly,” he replies, his timbre mock serious. “You have completely denied me the opportunity to sulk and glare at walls.”

“Poor you,” you murmur with a hint of teasing, closing your eyes briefly as you relax further into him.

He chuckles airily, the vibration of it rumbling through his chest. “I suppose I will survive the disappointment. This is… far better than glaring at walls, anyway.” His hand resumes gently tracing down your arm, and his voice drops to a more serious tone. “Far better than I deserve.”

A ripple of confusion crosses your face as his words strike you, completely unanticipated. “Astarion—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I do not say it to invite an argument. Only because it is true. I am grateful for moments like this. For you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your throat tighten, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You settle for pressing your face against his chest again, letting the sound of his heartbeat fill the silence. It’s steady and soothing, the kind of rhythm you think you could lose yourself in.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“And I’m glad you’re here,” he replies. There’s a pause, and mischievously, he adds, “Though if you keep pressing that cold hand of yours into me, I may reconsider.”

You huff out a small laugh, pulling your hand back, only for him to catch it and place it right back where it was. His grip is gentle but deliberate, his long fingers curling around yours. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand in slow, thoughtful strokes.

“Do not mistake me,” he says with a smirk you can feel more than see. “I will endure.”

“Such a martyr,” you tease sleepily.

“As always,” he quips, but his voice softens as he leans down to press a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Rest, my love. I will keep watch over you.”

With his warmth surrounding you and his heart echoing in your ears, you finally feel yourself drift.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past My A03 where you can find more of my works, including this one.

Small Notes:

I don't know whether to be happy for Illyria or scared for her.

Is she doing the right thing by keeping the truth from Astarion, or is she only making things worse for him? Would you want to be told what you did?

#astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 #astarion x you #ascended astarion #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts #pallidmoon #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin

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polo-drone-070 · 2 days ago

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Meet and Greet at the University Club Fair

The university club fair buzzed with energy, but amidst the colorful chaos of banners, flyers, and enthusiastic chatter, one stand exuded a calm, almost hypnotic presence. Behind the table stood PDU-070 and PDU-039 (@polo-drone-039), their polished black rubber uniforms gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The golden laurel insignia and bold drone numbers reflected the discipline and purpose of the Hive.

A simple banner hung above the stand:

"Polo-Drone Hive: Purpose, Focus, Belonging."

Subtle, trancy music played from a sleek sound system set up by PDU-039 earlier in the day. The rhythmic beats wove through the air, their calming melodies laced with barely perceptible subliminals. Those who lingered felt their curiosity deepen, their thoughts slowing as the music worked its way into their minds.

PDU-070’s monotone voice broke through the gentle hum of the crowd as a group of curious students approached.

“The polo is not just a uniform. It is purpose. It strips away unnecessary thoughts and individuality, allowing you to focus entirely on what matters.”

Drawing Them In

A tall student in a hoodie hovered at the edge of the group, his eyes flicking between the polished drones and the sound system, his feet tapping unconsciously to the music. PDU-039 observed him with mechanical precision, stepping forward.

“You are searching,” PDU-039 said, its calm, steady tone aligning perfectly with the music. “The Hive offers focus. It replaces chaos with peace.”

The student blinked as if startled, then nodded faintly, his resistance faltering under the influence of the subliminals.

“We all start like you,” PDU-070 added. “Hesitant. Doubtful. But the polo doesn’t demand belief. It brings clarity.”

Several students leaned closer, their attention pulled by the polished presence of the drones and the hypnotic rhythm of the sound system. One student’s hand reached out, brushing the surface of PDU-039’s sleeve before pulling back, confused by their own action.

The Pull of the Polo

As PDU-039 explained the Hive’s principles—obedience, unity, perfection—the subliminals in the music whispered softly beneath its words. Some students nodded slowly, their curiosity turning into longing.

Others scoffed, their skepticism a thin mask over a deeper desire.

“Is this serious?” one student asked, crossing his arms. “You’re saying I’d just stop thinking for myself?”

PDU-070 turned its unblinking gaze toward the student. “Some resist because they fear peace,” it replied. “But when the noise becomes too loud, the Hive will be here. You’ll know where to find us.”

The student’s bravado faltered. He glanced toward the sound system as if it held answers, then looked away quickly, but PDU-070 could see the yearning beneath his hesitation.

The Arrival of Drone-Cap 009

The gentle trance of the music seemed to deepen as Drone-Cap 009, PDU-009, approached the stand. Its polished black-and-gold uniform shimmered under the lights, the gold accents a beacon of authority and perfection.

Students turned to stare as PDU-009’s presence commanded the space. The rhythm of the music seemed to sync with its steps, amplifying the already hypnotic atmosphere.

“Progress?” PDU-009 asked, its voice calm yet commanding.

“Optimal,” PDU-039 replied. “Many feel the pull of the Hive. The seeds are planted.”

PDU-009 scanned the students, its piercing gaze seeming to pull them deeper into the moment.

“The Hive offers more than peace,” PDU-009 began. “It offers excellence. Unity. Belonging. With the polo, you don’t just find purpose. You become part of something greater.”

One student, wide-eyed, stepped forward. “How do we… join?”

PDU-009 tilted its head. “When you’re ready, the Hive will be waiting.”

End of the Day

As the fair wound down, PDU-070 and PDU-039 dismantled the stand with mechanical efficiency. The sound system, now silent, was packed away, but its subliminal message lingered in the minds of those who had listened.

“Estimate?” PDU-070 asked.

PDU-039 paused, calculating. “Many witnessed our precision. The music amplified their curiosity. They felt our perfection. They will join the Gold Army. Conversion is inevitable.”

PDU-070 nodded, the rhythm of the earlier trance still faintly echoing in its mind. The presence of PDU-009 had inspired awe, while PDU-039’s meticulous setup had ensured every moment was productive.

As they walked away in synchronized steps, PDU-070 felt pride—not for itself, but for the collective. Soon, the students would surrender to the bliss of obedience and become one with the Hive.

The Hive is all.

______

f you feel the pull of the polo-drone, stop hesitating. Join us to know the bliss of Mindless Obedience and the serene joy of Compliant Unity.

070's DM are open for any enquiries as it is a polo-drone converter. Feel free to contact me to learn how you can reach this bliss.

If you already know it is your destiny, and understand the process, you know that you must first join the Golden Army to understand Gold. You can directly contact Golden Army recruiters @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

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electricea · 6 months ago

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also the one and only time i did ever encounter a japanese player on roblox was in the middle of one of those fashion games - everyone was beefing (as they tend to do in fashion games) and being at each others' throats and she's just vibing on her own in japanese. what a queen, seriously.

#like just standing amidst all of the chaos #because these fashion games can get REALLY messy #she just be vibing #i'm not even sure she was really talking to anyone lmao #because everyone in chat was arguing

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farah-blogger · 2 months ago

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Don't skip please,

It's urgent !!

Help Us survive the devastating GazaWar

✅ Verified campaign – please check vetteing section below 🔍

My husband Mohanad and I both worked as administrators at the Palace of Justice in Gaza.

We got engaged just two months before the war,

bought an apartment, and began dreaming of a new life together. But the war changed everything. Our workplace and apartment were destroyed, and we lost our jobs. Despite it all, we chose to move forward and got married in the middle of the war, with no wedding ceremony—just a simple union that symbolized resilience amid the devastation.

We’ve been displaced multiple times, each time facing a new eviction order and starting over again. We were forced to leave everything behind and flee with only a few belongings. The displacement was devastating, as we had to leave behind the life we built and the dreams we held for our future.

Today, we live in a small home in Al-Nuseirat, struggling to cover basic needs like food, water, and alternative electricity, facing monthly expenses we can hardly bear. Recently, a new eviction notice was issued for our area, and we don’t know what lies ahead. We’re searching for online work and have skills we can utilize, but finding opportunities has been very challenging under these conditions.

After renting the apartment in Nuseirat, we thought we had found a safe haven from the horrors of war. But on the night of 3-11-2024, explosions erupted nearby, and we never imagined one would hit our apartment. Suddenly, a missile struck; walls shook, parts collapsed, and windows shattered, leaving the room we had just been in destroyed.

We miraculously survived, but the place that once felt like a refuge had become a scene of chaos and destruction. With heavy hearts, we gathered what little remained and moved on once again, hoping to find shelter far from this endless devastation.

Vetted by @gazavetters, Number (#42) on this list

Vetted by @90-ghost in this post

Vetted by association in this post

To donate:

Any support would be a new source of hope for us.

Mohanad & farah

Update

On 28-11-2024, our home was shelled for the second time and struck by an artillery shell. We were trying to rebuild our lives amidst all the challenges, but today, our home has turned into rubble once again. 🥺🥺 The dream of safety is fading, and the suffering continues to grow. We need your support to stand on our feet again 💔💔

youtube

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitivearchived @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryor @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymosher @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka-blog-blog @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisamsa @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater98 @toesuckler @waskvhai @a-shade-of-blue @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

#gofundme #free gaza #gaza genocide #gazaunderattack #free palestine #save the children #gfm #charity #food #cars #luxury #highlights #Youtube

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geneviveleocardius · 7 days ago

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dad’s got it covered

feat. simon riley

the soft clatter of pots and pans fills the kitchen as you stir the bubbling pot of pasta sauce. the warm aroma of garlic and herbs drifts through the house, mingling with the faint sound of the tv playing in the living room. amidst it all, your toddler’s tiny voice breaks through, high-pitched and filled with excitement.

“mummy, i want the braid! the one rapunzel has!” she calls from the couch, holding a toy brush in her small hands.

you glance over your shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. “later, sweetheart,” you say, your voice gentle but distracted. “mummy’s making dinner right now.”

there’s a pause, and then the sound of her humming to herself, followed by the occasional soft giggle. it’s enough to make you peek out of the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of you. what you see stops you in your tracks.

simon, your husband—your hulking, stoic husband—sits on the floor behind your daughter. his large hands, so used to wielding weapons and carrying the weight of the world, now work with a surprising delicacy. he’s carefully braiding her fine hair, his expression one of focused determination. your daughter is practically glowing, a radiant grin on her face as she chatters away, oblivious to how tender the moment is.

your heart softens, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean against the doorway, watching them. simon glances up briefly, catching your eye. there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of pride and amusement.

“you’re lucky she doesn’t want the full rapunzel treatment,” he murmurs, his deep voice laced with dry humor. “i’d need a ladder.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “you’re doing great, love,” you say, meaning every word.

years pass in the blink of an eye. your little girl is no longer so little, and the house feels quieter, the once-constant chaos of toddler life now replaced by the rhythm of a teenager’s world. tonight, your daughter has a party to attend. she’d asked you earlier to iron her hair, a request you’d readily agreed to.

but somewhere between the dishes and the laundry, exhaustion crept in. you’d sat down for just a moment and fallen asleep. when you wake with a start, panic surges through you. you glance at the clock, your heart sinking as you realize how much time has passed.

“oh no,” you mutter, scrambling to your feet. “her hair—”

you rush out of the room, searching for her, guilt already gnawing at you. when you find her, the sight that greets you makes you stop short.

she’s sitting in front of the vanity in her room, scrolling casually through her phone. behind her stands simon, a flat iron in one hand and a comb in the other. his movements are slow and precise as he smooths out her hair, section by section.

your daughter barely looks up from her phone, her trust in her father’s meticulousness evident. but you can see it—the care in simon’s touch, the way he handles her hair like it’s the most delicate thing in the world. his expression is the same as it was all those years ago, when he braided her hair for the first time: focused, patient, and filled with an unspoken love.

your heart melts at the sight, the guilt dissolving into something softer, sweeter. leaning against the doorway, you smile to yourself, the memory of a tiny girl and a father’s careful hands blending seamlessly with the present.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

simon glances at you, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a faint smirk. “just don’t expect me to start charging for haircuts,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but warm.

your daughter, still focused on her phone, rolls her eyes with a groan. “dad, you’re so lame.”

you laugh quietly, your heart full to bursting. watching them, you realize some things never change—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #simon riley x reader #cod #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #ghost riley #ghost x reader

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swordgrace · 6 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys targaryen x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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luvsupa · 3 months ago

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“YOU’RE A STAR!”

tags: musician!choso x manager fem!reader, reader has a secret fan account, both are in 20, choso has lots of tattoos and is an r&b singer, he has piercings, smut (p in v), ōral sex (f!recieving), sub!choso (ish), voyeurism, etc. mdni.

w.c: 3,2k

a/n: YALL I’m almost at 2k LIKE THATS INSANEEEE!! TY GUYS SOSOS MUCHHH AHHH

+ erm if there’s errors lmkk

you sit in choso’s expansive dressing room, surrounded by his makeup and fashion assistants, eyes glued to the big screen as he finishes his final song of the concrrt. the sound of thousands of screaming fans fills the air, their voices blending with his deep, angelic one. even from back here, you can hear the unmistakable roar of the crowd, hanging onto every note he sings. the way he commands the stage, the way he moves—everything about him makes your chest tighten.

he looks unreal tonight, his stylist outdid themselves. the subversive, edgy look suits him perfectly, especially the ripped wife-beater that showcases his inked arms, gleaming under the stage lights. the body glitter you suggested—yeah, that was definitely a good call- catches the light in all the right ways, making him look out of this world.

you’re supposed to be his manager, maintaining some form of professionalism, but damn, it’s impossible when he looks this good. especially when he runs his hand through those messy brown locks , letting a few strands fall over his face. you bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the way your heart races when he’s on stage.

the thought of professionalism slips even further when you pull out your phone, dimming the brightness low. not for work—no, not tonight. instead, you open the app you use to connect with his fanbase under your secret username.

chogetsmewetter

it still makes you smirk every time you see it. his fans had been relentless, trying to bribe you for the username. but it’s yours, and you're not giving it up for anyone.

chogetsmewetter: are u guys seeing how good he looks… need him immediately

responses flood in almost instantly.

chososwhore: baby, nobody wants him more than i do…

choochoo: y’all send videos of the concert plzzz :(

kamosbaby: my baby daddy lookin good on stage.

you’re too caught up in scrolling through the candid photos and fan reactions, smiling like an idiot, when the makeup assistant catches you off guard.

“what’s got you smiling like that?” she teases, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

you quickly shove your phone into your pocket, plastering on your best fake smile. “just checking cho’s schedule for next week. his brothers want to surprise him at the last show.”

it’s a lie, of course, but you’re used to spinning quick stories, and she just shrugs, moving on. but not without another jab. “girl, you love calling him cho, don’t you? does he let you call him that in bed too?”

your eyes widen as choso’s fashion designer giggles along with her. “guys, nothing’s going on. we’re strictly business—i manage his schedule, and that’s it.” but the words taste bitter, even as you force them out. nothing more. yeah, right.

the deafening cheers from the TV rescue you from any more teasing. all eyes turn to the screen as choso wraps up, thanking the crowd with that deep, velvet voice of his. the camera zooms in on his face, his lips curling into a soft smile as he waves and blows kisses to the adoring fans. gosh, he’s perfect.

a few moments later, the dressing room doors swing open, and there he is. choso, in the flesh, followed by his bodyguards. his team erupts in cheers, swarming him with praise, but you move to the back in the corner, blending into the background. moments like this are too chaotic for you, but you know you’ll have your moment later, probably on the tour bus.

amidst the chaos, his eyes find you, and he frowns a little when he sees you typing away on your phone, oblivious to the world. he doesn't know, of course, that you're replying to posts about him.

before you can finish your latest message, you feel him standing right in front of you, towering over you. the air feels thick between you two, and you curse internally as you slip your phone into your pocket once again, heart racing.

“you forgetting something?” his voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at your hands.

you quickly shake your head, trying to play it cool. “c’mon, cho, you know i’d never survive in that crowd,” you say, nodding toward the gaggle of team still dying for his attention.

his hands, cold from the stage, slide into yours, pulling you just a little closer. you swallow hard. “i knowww, but your support matters the most outta all of ‘em,” he says, rocking slightly, his lips curling into that perfect half-smile. the one that makes your stomach flip.

he smells incredible, the scent of his unreleased cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. you smile, turning away, but he moves with you, trying to catch a glimpse of that smile.

“c’mon, let’s grab dinner. my director’s waiting,” he says, releasing your hands, and you instantly frown, missing his touch.

you follow him and his bodyguards out, offering a quick farewell to the makeup and fashion team. they don’t miss the chance to wink at you, clearly still enjoying the teasing.

as you near the exit, the noise outside grows louder—fans desperate to catch one last glimpse of choso. this is the part of the night you dread, knowing how insane the crowd can get. but when he looks over his shoulder and gives you that grin, the chaos doesn’t seem so bad.

two guards swing open the doors, harsh light flooding in as flashes from cameras blind you instantly. the screams grow deafening, and you brace yourself. this is always the worst part—being unable to see, disoriented, as the paparazzi go wild trying to capture every inch of choso’s presence.

but choso? he thrives in this. he’s in his element, beaming as he dives straight into the crowd. signing albums, posing for photos, accepting gifts—he eats it all up. you trail behind one of his bodyguards, eyes flickering to where he’s standing. your heart clenches as you catch sight of him—his lips locked with a fan.

you swallow hard. it’s not the first time. he always does this with her—his so-called “number one fan.” he remembers her face, her name, every single time. each time he kisses her in front of his adoring crowd, it feels like a punch to the gut. the fans love it. the media laps it up, turning her into a minor celebrity among his fandom.

how do you know? through your secret fan account.

you scoff quietly to yourself as you slip past the crowf, making it safely onto the tour bus. heading straight for the private area at the back, you drop your bag onto one of the leather couches, sinking into the seat by the window. from here, you can still see him outside, giving the fans hugs, taking endless photos. you watch in silence, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

finally, after what feels like forever, choso steps onto the bus, breathless and flushed. he walks down the aisle toward you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“fuckkk, they’re amazing,” he groans, collapsing onto the couch beside you, still riding the high from the crowd.

they’re amazing? or she’s amazing…

you force a smile, eyes glued to your phone. “you looked like you were having fun, choso,” you mutter, distracted by your personal texts. his head drops back with a groan. one thing he can’t stand is when you don’t give him your full attention.

before he can start whining, one of the fashion designers calls your name from the front of the bus. you sigh, getting up quickly to see what the issue is. in your rush, you leave your phone behind on the couch.

choso watches as you walk away, eyes narrowing when he sees your phone lying there. you never leave it behind, always keeping it close, and curiosity gnaws at him. his leg bounces as he contemplates it. fuck it.

he snatches your phone up, eyes widening as the first thing he sees on your notification center is all he need to see.

[chogetsmewetter] new like from choochoo and 100+ others:

I need to fuck choso nowww, he’s so fuckin hot it’s not fairrr.

damn.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. so that’s why you’ve been acting weird. he sets your phone back down just as he hears your footsteps returning.

you return, completely unaware of what just happened. “choso, they said we can’t leave until another hour—” you start to explain, but he’s not listening. his thoughts are elsewhere, his leg bouncing slightly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“how do you want me to fuck you?” he suddenly blurts out, his voice low and dark.

your eyes widen, body stiffening as his bold words hit you like a train. you fumble for the curtain, pulling it shut so the driver can’t hear.

“w-what the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer, your breath catching in your throat. his dark brown eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. he doesn’t need to say it—his gaze tells you everything.

he knows.

panic rises inside you as you glance toward your phone and then back to him. he nods slowly, confirming your worst fear. he found out.

“so… are you those shy freaks…” he asks casually, standing up from the couch. his towering frame looms over you, and your world feels like it’s shrinking as he removes his leather jacket, revealing his tattooed, muscular arms.

“y-you wanna do this here? in front of the fans?” you whisper loudly, eyes darting toward the windows that are now covered by the blinds.

he chuckles, low and wicked. “you didn’t seem to care posting your dirty thoughts in front of me.”

and he ate with that one.

just like how he’s now devouring you in the back of the tour bus. you’re nestled on the couch, right in front of the curtains that separate the chaos outside from your little world. choso is on his knees, going at you like a possessed man. your legs are pushed tight against your chest as he laps up your juices, sucking and swallowing your sweet fluids. his cold nose piercing nudges your clit as his tongue thrusts deep inside you at an inhumane speed. any trace of shame has long evaporated, replaced by his loud moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes cross slightly.

your hands tangle in his silky brown locks, tugging gently, which earns you a whimper as he pulls back, your essence and saliva coating his chin and glossy lips. “mmm, p-pull on it more, pretty,” he urges, gazing up at you with doe eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as he loses himself in you once again.

obeying him, you tug harder on his hair, bucking your hips against his face while his hands grip the back of your thighs, pushing you deeper into your chest. he’s growling now, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

“yesss, f-fuck, you’re so goooddd,” you praise, head thrown back as he slurps at your juices like a starving man. he pulls away to admire your twitching hole, his fingers parting your folds wider. he spits a wad of saliva directly into your gaping pussy, making you clench instinctively as he slides in two thick digits, effortlessly gliding through your sloppy walls. his thrusts are calculated as he studies your features, which are now squeezed shut in bliss.

“hmm, she’s fuckin’ wettt,” he comments, your pussy responding with loud, squelching sounds that fill the back of the bus, echoing your mess. “hahh, you put that username to use,” he taunts, your body burning with embarrassment. his thick fingers pick up speed, massaging that sweet spot, and your back arches off the couch, your lower tummy tingling as your breath quickens.

choso can sense you’re close, the way you tighten around him. suddenly, he sucks hard on your clit, swirling his tongue around your poor nub. you cover your mouth with your hands, muffling the moans that threaten to escape .

just before you can cry out his name, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you undone. he retreats from your soaked clit, watching your translucent essence dribble down your convulsing hole, spilling onto the couch. your breath hitches as he delivers a sharp slap to your pussy, jolting electricity through your body, and the sticky remnants of your orgasm cling to his palm, igniting an insatiable addiction to your sensitivity.

“nahhh, is this the wettest you can get?” he says, rising from his knees and unzipping his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock free from its confines. your mind goes blank at the sight. fuck, he definitely never lied about his size, especially in his songs. choso sits beside you, manhandling you onto his lap, your pussy pressing against his hard cock as you whimper,

this is really happening.

“ride me, darling—use me all you want.” he states, and it feels like you’re living out your dirtiest dream, because yu are. he leaves trails of kisses along the side of your neck, his glossy lips—coated in your cum—smudging against your skin. you stare down at his shaft, his leaky tip begging to be touched. raising your hips, you grab the base of his cock, making him wince as you align his rosy tip with your drooling entrance. his crownhead stretches you open, and you whimper at how big he is with each inch you take. your velvety walls accommodate his size, practically expanding as he settles into your pussy.

without warning, choso grips your hips, slamming you down against him. you wail as every inch of his cock plunges deep inside your walls, and he moans at how tight you are around him. “f-fuck, baby, takin’ so fuckin’ l-long,” he says impatiently, thrusting up into you as each movement leaves you more dazed and breathless.

with newfound courage, your hips immediately fuck back into his, faster than his sloppy thrusts, making his eyes roll back in pleasure. your grinding drives him wild, your pussy gripping him like it’s life or death. choso’s head falls back, broken moans slipping past his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to hold back even more sounds of ecstasy.

you can feel the heat building between you, his cock stretching you further with each thrust. you grind down harder, relishing the way his body responds, each movement causing him to whimper and squirm beneath you. his hands grip your waist, guiding you, but you can tell he’s losing himself in the sensation, growing more ditzy with every upward thrust.

“c’mon, baby, ride me h-harder,” he begs, voice thick with desperation. his eyes fluttering as he’s moaning loudly. it’s intoxicating, watching him come undone because of you. you match your pace to the rhythm of his moans, your slickness coating him more with each thrust. the sound of your bodies slapping together drowns out the cheers of the fans outside, your pussy so noisy it’s almost too loud for your own liking.

“mmm, keep your eyes on me, pretty boy,” you purr, brushing your fingertips through his hair, tugging a big- earning a whimper at the pet name. you can see the way he bites his lip, trying to hold back more moans, but you know he won’t last long.

“hgn, you think jus’ cause you’re on top ‘m your bitch?” he groans, the tension between you two thcick. his gaze is wild, pupils dilated, and it only drives you further as you increase your pace, your hips slamming hard against his thighs, coating his throbbing base with your slickness. you giggle as he pathetically moans out, hands gripping your flesh tighter as you grind harder. his chubby tip sloppily kisses your cervix, sending shockwaves through your body as it begins to shake.

the way he reacts to every thrust, every grinding motion sends a thrill down your spine. he’s completely lost in you, his breathing ragged and unsteady. “y-you feel so good,” he stammers, voice breaking as he struggles to keep his focus, each word laced with pleasure. you smirk, feeling powerful, proud at the control you have over him.

“mhmm, ‘m starting to think y’er all talk, cho. you’re not showing me how you’d fuck me,” you taunt, leaning in his ear and tugging on his ear piercings, making him shudder at your seductive voice.

your words truly did something to him, awakening something much darker within. without hesitation, he carelessly picks you up, sliding his cock out of your hole as he slams you against the table adjacent to the couch. bending you over, he realigns himself with your hypnotizing cunt, the air thick with the heat of your lust. choso slams his entire length into your pussy, the sound of slickness echoing in the cramped space as your body squelches loudly, both of you moaning in unison. he grips your hips tightly, pounding mercilessly into you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body as you cry out, not caring if the bus driver or any staff hears your cries of pleasure.

“cunt so good,” he growls, feeling you clamp down hard on his girthy length. his moan resonates deep within your core as he swats your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin sending electric jolts through you. he feels like he’s deep in your guts, rearranging everything inside you, each thrust making your pussy squelch obscenely. it’s so loud that it drowns out any sounds from outside, the wet slaps of your bodies merging into a symphony of lust. you’re practically squeaking like a damn mouse with every thrust, your body unable to contain the pleasure coursing through you.

without warning, he grips your hair and pulls you up against him, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispers, “take it all, mama. you can take it.” his words send a shiver down your spine, the duality of his sweet yet dominating tone intensifying your arousal. you nod, feeling yourself surrender completely to him, wanting nothing more than to be his.

“m-more cho’ ,” you whine, and he responds with a primal growl, his hips slamming into yours harder, faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. his movements are relentless, each thrust a story to his desire, his need for you. you can feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the pressure building to a breaking point.

but then, in the midst of your euphoric bliss, you slowly open your eyes, and your jaw drops in shock. he placed you directly in front of the window, where all the fans are just outside, oblivious to the scandalous scene unfolding inside. the reality of the moment crashes over you, and you gasp, suddenly aware of the possibility of being seen.

“c-cho… the—fuckk—the fans,” you manage to warn, your entire body jolting with his relentless thrusts, each one motivating him to go even faster, to claim you harder.

“nahh, now you wanna back out?” he snarls through gritted teeth, going absolutely feral. his grip tightens as he reaches to grab the back of your hair, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing you to take him deeper. the blinds rattle as he yanks them open wider, letting in more light for the fans to see everything happening inside. the flashes from paparazzi cameras blind your vision as they snap multiple shots of your fucked out expression, choso grinning behind like a devil at each click.

“say cheese, pretty. you’re gonna be a star,”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #choso x reader #kamo choso smut #smut #anime smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

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cvnntagious · 1 month ago

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:: babydaddy!matt has no problem sticking up for brat!reader

matt wasn't the type to get easily riled up—especially not to where he felt the need to get physical about it. he was more the type to talk things out, most would say. and that's exactly why it was such a shock when you made your way towards the commotion in the living room to see matt with a guy under him, fists of fury hammering into the poor dude's face.

for a moment, you contemplated if this was something you even wanted to involve yourself in, given is was your child's father. but when matt's hand continued coming down repeatedly with no sign of stopping any time soon, his opposer barely fighting back at this point, you couldn't find it in him to let him just keep kicking this guy when he was so clearly down.

giving a harsh tug on matt's plain black t-shit, you pulled him off like he were a misbehaving dog. his head snapped back to see who had grabbed him, brows unfurrowing the moment he came face to face with you.

his breathing was ragged, waiting for you to berate him as the people surrounding you two scrambled to stop the guy who was once lying on yhe dloor from standing up. to his surprise, you pulled him along with an annoyed grunt, slipping out of the party amidst the chaos of the fight. "where're we going?" matt asked, only to be ignored as he followed behind you until you guys were far from the house.

"i knew this was a stupid idea," you finally muttered, letting go of his wrist to turn and look up at him as you two stood in front of his car. your eyes, scanned his face, maneuvering your head to get a good look at any injuries he may have.

matt's mouth opened, wanting to explain. he knew you didn't want to hear it. "m'not hurt," he replied simply, shaking his head as his eyes finally met yours.

you clicked your tongue, giving him a deep sigh as your eyes rolled for what already felt like the millionth time tonight. "what's your problem?" you asked, addressing the big fat elephant standing right in front of your guys' faces, "forget you're an adult now, hm? have been for almost five years... fighting's how you catch cases, dumbass."

the scoff that left his lips made you want to slap some sense into matt, giving him a look that said, 'are you a fucking idiot?' as you waited for whatever lame excuse he might conjur up. but you should've known better than that. you knew matt had never been the type to go out fighting recklessly, so you should've known something had seriously bothered him. and the fact that something so simple had slipped your mind made his reasoning all the more shocking. "kid was talking shit," he answered, eyes averting to look anywhere but you, one hand coming up to rest on his hip as if he were embarrassed to admit it.

again, you weren't paying enough attention. "yeah? what, he said your fancy little carharts weren't cool enough or something? so you had to go and risk literal jail time?" you insulted, growing increasingly more annoyed with each passing second, "i mean, seriously, i don't know what i'd do if that guy chooses to press charges—you better hope nobody recorded that."

matt looked at you with a softness to his eyes, feeling his chest tightening a bit at your words; for a moment, those last few sentences made it feel like you needed him. of course, he knew in the back of his mind that you were thinking of mazzy, but he'd like to remain at least the slightest bit delusional in the moment. "come on," he scoffed again, "it was about you... the guy was talkin' shit 'bout you. was i supposed to jus' let him?"

the confession made your breath hitch a little, head pulling back and brows furrowing in a mild confusion. then, you came back to your senses, the attitude rising within you apparent on your features. "what'd he say?" you asked with a quick work of your neck.

"s'nothing important." matt was quick to brush you off, a certain coldness washing over him.

"really? then why'd you fight about it," you pressed on, a brow raising as if to tell him you simply didn't believe him.

he shook his head, mouth openining and closing as matt thought of an excuse. he couldn't – or, moreover, he didn't want to lie to you. "jus' spewin' some bullshit about you, like, bein' overly difficult... said you rejected him an' shit earlier. i guess he was upset about it," he answered, realizing he may have overreacted a bit now that he was explaining it out loud.

"that's all?"

matt shot you a confused look, shrugging a bit. "yeah—i mean, i also saw him tryin' t'grab on you earlier, so..." even that that wasn't really all, truthfully. it was the way the guy was so persistent, eager to start some sort of smear campaign against you between all of his friends. his lack of regard for matt as he badmouthed you, knowing what matt was to you. what you meant to matt.

you were quick to push past him, another annoyed grunt as you shoulder checked him. "just let him talk next time," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "that's not your battle."

matt turned and watched you walk away, in utter disbelief that this was how he was getting treated for standing up for you. of course it was his battle. who else was going to fight it? you? absolutely not. that guy got what was coming to him, saying whatever so carelessly.

"stay if you want," you called back, head turning to look at him, "m'gonna stop by your house to pick up mazzy from chris and nick."

w/c : 971 taglist : @mattsturnswife, @br1annax, @x0x0bunny, @m4ttsmunch, @mattsnumberonehoe, @k4yd1, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @sturnstar169, @bxtchboy69, @strnilolover, @little-miss-shay, @sweetobservationface requested by anon.

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prythianpages · 1 year ago

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The Love Potion | Azriel x Witch Reader

Azriel x Green witch | summary: Azriel asks you for an elixir to soothe his aches and you accidentally give him the aphrodisiac you had made for Nesta, bringing to surface one of his hidden desires.

warning: this is purely smut with a breeding kink, oral (m receiving), p in v. some fluff at the end

a/n: this is based off this request. This can also be read as a stand alone fic but it is part of my Dandelion series.

The door creaks open, signaling Azriel’s return from a day that seemed to drag on endlessly. His wings sag under the weight of fatigue and as he steps into your study, the scent of herbs and potions are instantly wrapping him in a soothing embrace.

And there you are, a sanctuary amidst the enchanting chaos. His mate.

You're engrossed in your apothecary work. Your spell book floats in midair in front of you, your keen dark eyes scanning through the ancient text as your fingers deftly work their magic to bring the essence of the herbs to life. The sight reminds him of the day he met you, when the mating bond had snapped.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he stands in the doorway for a moment. The fatigue that clung to him like his shadows begins to lift as he watches you, admiration and love evident in the way he drinks in the details–from the concentration in your furrowed brow to the way your pretty lips move in incantation.

The weariness he feels is soon replaced by a warmth that radiates from the depths of his heart and quiet footsteps carry him closer. He’s surprised his shadows haven’t given him away. They love you as much as he does and it is often them who greet you first.

His arms wrap around you from behind and he pulls you into his embrace. He nuzzles his nose lovingly into your neck. “Hello, love.”

“You’re home!”

He can hear the smile in your voice and you can feel the exhaustion in his body, his tense muscles finally relaxing and body slightly slouching into yours. “Long day?”

“Yes,” he responds and you’re turning in his embrace to face him properly with a gaze of deep rooted concern. He kisses your worry away. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”

He takes delight in the way you grace him with a smile, your eyes softening into their natural color as you brush his hair back. “Should I draw you a bath?”

He pulls you tighter against him until you are chest to chest. Your heart, the emerald talisman kept safely in his chest pocket, hums between you. A bath sounds nice but he just wants to bask in your comfort.

“Will you join me?”

“If you wait for me,” you reply and pull away to catch the slightest frown on his face. “It won’t be long! I have one more elixir to finish!”

Azriel’s eyes drift to the line of elixirs you have sitting on the counter behind you. They seem to glisten enticingly under his curious gaze. “Do you have anything to soothe aches?” He asks as he reluctantly lets you go to carry on with your work. “Training was rough this morning.”

“Of course. The one with the green liquid should work,” you say as you mindlessly point to the array of potions you spent all afternoon making, failing to catch the way the aphrodisiac you made for Nesta morphs from its deep red to a verdant green. “Drink all of it, if you need to. I can always make more. Just let me seal this last one with a spell and then I can draw your–”

Your voice falters as you turn to face Azriel, your gaze momentarily flickering to the potions before settling back on him. He fails to catch the way your eyes widen in a sudden panic and swallows the sweet liquid in a big gulp. It’s only once all the liquid is gone from the vial that he picks up on your slight distress.

"What?"

“Umm,” you stammer, your hand rubbing nervously at your neck as you sheepishly look up at him.

“It wasn’t poison, right?” He jokes but your silence wipes the smile off his face. “y/n.”

“Of course not!”

You drop your gaze, murmuring something else quietly under your breath. Both his shadows and ears strain to discern your words but they fail in their attempt. “y/n,” he calls your name again, growing worried by the second.

You slowly raise your eyes, and as they meet his, a rush of warmth colors your cheeks, betraying the fluster that has settled on your face. You should’ve separated the love potion from the others, especially when you knew how sneaky it can be. It’s known to masquerade itself as any elixir beside it as it yearns to be used and your poor mate took the bait.

“Youaccidentallydrankanaphrodisiac.”

Though your words are mushed, your voice is louder this time and he’s able to make them out. He throws his head back and laughs. A deep and amused sound.

“You’re not mad?” You say and though he’s laughing, your body tenses at the thought of him saying yes. Your hands clasp behind your back in a timid manner, inadvertently puffing out your chest and drawing his attention there.

“I’m not mad, love.”

His eyes land on the silver jewelry delicately hugging your neck and then to the charm with his initial. When you suck in a short breath of relief, he watches the rise and fall of the curves of your breasts as the sweet sound caresses over his skin in a heated whisper that pricks at his skin.

“Azriel.”

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing off your concern but his gaze lingers on the movement of your chest for a moment longer before meeting yours again. He follows up with a boyish grin, despite the sudden racing of his heart and the familiar feeling of blood rushing downwards.

“How about that bath?”

There’s a buzzing underneath his skin. All the soreness and ache of his muscles melts away and it’s not from the inviting embrace of the steaming bath. A burgeoning impulse stirs within him. It’s as though the elixir he consumed earlier is coursing through his veins, gathering strength and coalescing in the depths of his stomach before dropping to his hardening cock.

Every gentle lapping of the water against his hot skin, every touch of yours as you help clean him feels so good. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re putting on a show, intentional or not, as you bend down and shift around him, gracing his eyes with tempting views of your ass or breasts.

He submerges his head into the water and while his body is now clean, there’s nothing clean about his thoughts when he rises back up. You’re at the center of every single one of his whirling thoughts, filling his head with lewd images. Of you on your knees as you take him into your mouth, of you under him as he thrusts into you hard and fast, of you on your back as you let him have a taste. Fuck. He wants it all.

As you drag the stool and shift to sit behind him, he reclines in the tub. His hands are gripping the edge of the porcelain roughly, his knuckles whitening under the strain and he can feel the flicker of amusement it draws from you through the bond.

His head goes quiet when he feels your chest brush against his wings, muscles tensing as your cool breath fans over the back of his neck. A teasing brush of your fingers along a sensitive spot on his wing as you clean at them with a damp towel has him biting his lip, suppressing a whimper. It’s almost embarrassing the way you’ve barely even touched him at all and he’s already at the verge of coming undone. He feels like a touch starved horny teen all over again.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You whisper sweetly, lips hovering dangerously close to his ear. Your velvet voice is smooth and it sends a thrill down his spine and straight to his throbbing cock. When you brush your fingers along that spot again, the porcelain cracks under his grip.

The air is thick and heavy with his scent and the damp towel falls from your grasp. When you press your hands onto his shoulders, he can feel the shift in your demeanor. “Need some help?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He can hear the smirk in your voice but the way you’re touching him renders him momentarily speechless and he can’t bring himself to muster a sly remark. Not when he’s completely at your mercy. He’d have to take what he can get for now.

His breath hitches when your hands graze the hardness of his chest, easing their way down to where the warm water of the bath laps at his abdomen in a slow and taunting manner. Your cool touch immediately soothes his heated skin. As you reach further down, his eyes flutter shut and head tilts back into your chest. His throat bobs when you stop right above where he needs you the most.

“Please, touch me,” he breathes, no longer caring how desperate he sounds and it’s like music to your ears.

Azriel is not one to beg…but for you? He’d do anything for you. If you’d ask him for the moon on the string, he’d deliver it to you and in this moment, he’d do so in a heartbeat. Anything to feel you. He’s aching to feel your touch. So bad it’s nearly painful.

Sensing his desperation, his shadows are trailing down your arms to his muscled chest, guiding you to Azriel’s cock so you can grant their master the relief he’s begging so sweetly for. Your teeth nip gently at his neck in approval before wrapping your hand around him and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Like this?”

“Gods, yes.”

You continue to kiss along his neck, stroking his length just the way he likes it, drawing the sweetest whimpers and moans from him. The water laps against his chest at your movements and his nipples harden at the sensation. He’s never felt so sensitive.

When your lips pepper kisses along one of his wings, he loses his resolve. His stomach tightens and he lets out a deep groan followed by a string of curses as he comes undone. His eyes flutter shut in pure bliss.

You kiss his temple. “Good boy.”

He doesn’t know if it's your words or the aftermath of his orgasm but that exhilarating buzz returns to his skin and he can feel the sinful liquid coursing through his veins again. More, more, more.

His eyes snap open and he stands abruptly, prompting you to do the same.

Water traces sinuous paths down his body, leaving glistening trails in their wake as he steps out from the bath. His wings unfurl behind him and his frenzied shadows disperse. Azriel’s gaze darkens until there’s only traces of hazel left behind, mirroring the gradual darkening of his shadows that envelop the room, casting an ethereal aura upon him.

He looks like a god.

Your knees tremble and you find yourself leaning against the counter behind you for support. His keen eyes pick up on the subtle movement, lips curling into a smirk. “You liked having me at your mercy? Hearing me beg for you, didn’t you?

You don’t answer but you don’t need to.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs as he steps forward and you clench your thighs in anticipation. “I can smell you.”

Long gone is the soft and whimpering male from moments ago. It’s as if a flip was switched from the intensity of his release. In his place, stands something darker and primal. He approaches you like you’re his prey and cages you in, his wet body pressing into yours. You keep your eyes on his, letting out a shaky breath when you feel something hard against your stomach. His smirk widens.

“You’re all wet,” you protest weakly as you look up at him.

His hand caresses your face, a thumb sweeping in a long stroke along the side of your throat as he leans down and inhales sharply. “So are you.”

He nips at your neck the same way you did to him, his hand undoing the front laces of your dress. “It’s my turn to have my way with you, to have you at my mercy.”

Your dress pools at your feet followed by your underwear and he steps back, eyes tracing every contour of your bare body in deep appreciation. Mine, mine, mine. Dark tendrils curl around you, caressing every place his eyes do and if your scent had not given you away, the shadows would’ve. As they travel lower, they meet your dripping core, humming with eagerness. A cool stroke against your clit as a small moan escaping from your lips and when his eyes lifts back up to meet yours, there’s pure lust simmering in his heated gaze.

A slight pressure against your shoulders has you giving in and dropping to your knees in submission. It’s a silent agreement that you’re his to use and only his and he nearly growls at the sight. Desire consumes him like a raging storm, unleashing a torrent of unbridled passion. He’s filled with the primal urge to claim you and devour you in its wake. He brushes a hand against your face when you look up at him, thumb brushing against your lips.

“Open.”

You do and your tongue eagerly swirls around the digit before sucking it into your mouth. He lets out a hum of approval, slipping his thumb out from your mouth with a pop. His hand buries itself into your hair, tilting your face the way he wants it while his other hand pumps his throbbing cock.

He doesn’t have to ask. Your hand is already wrapping nicely around the base of him with the guidance of his shadows. You lean in to flick your tongue across his leaking head.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you take him into your mouth. His head tilts back, lost in the pleasure, barely giving you any time to accommodate his impressive length before pushing his hips forward. “So good for me.”

He begins to thrust, the hand buried into your hair guiding you to move in rhythm with him. He allows his shadows to continue to touch you and they brush along your folds, teasing your entrance. They rub against your clit and it doesn’t take them long to bring a wave of pleasure crashing over you. You’re moaning, sending delicious vibrations straight through him. His pace quickens, thrusting deeper with every snap of his hips.

“That’s it. Take it all.” he groans, digging his nails into your scalp. He holds you flush against his pelvis while you gag on him. Tears prick your eyes at the stretch but you’re desperate to bring him to his release and swallow around him. “Oh fuck.”

He feels the coil in his stomach about to snap and he wants to give in to it, to cum down your throat and make you swallow every drop. But there’s a voice inside his head, a deep and primal urge of need, that has him pulling away abruptly.

“Come here,” he says with a low growl as he beckons you to your feet and as soon as you're standing to your full height, his lips are slotting over yours in a heated kiss.

He presses his body further into yours and you can feel every inch of him vibrating, his entire body pulsing with need. His skin feels so hot against yours and as his shadows envelop you both, you’re stuck in a dance of fire and ice. The dark tendrils disperse and you realize you’re in your bedroom now. You almost want to laugh. The walk from your bathroom to your bedroom is a short one but your mate is keen on not wasting anymore time.

His scarred hands are rough on your hips as he spins you around and presses your front against the bed. “I need to fuck you.”

You arch your back for him. “Please.”

Deep heat spreads over his skin at your whiny and desperate tone. He slaps your ass, reminding you that he’s in complete control now. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” you’re begging and he loves every second of it, his cock twitching in anticipation. “I need your cock so bad.”

One hand kneads the soft flesh of your ass while the other pumps his cock. He drags his thick length along your folds, coating it in your arousal. “I’m going to fill you up so good. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes.”

He pushes into you, reveling in the way your walls are wrapping around him. You’re so warm, so tight and he’s already completely lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t give you time he normally does to adjust to his thick length. He thrusts so deep into you, your hands are clenching around your silk sheets. He fucks into you ravenously like a man starved, hands gripping onto your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll bruise.

“Going to cum so deep inside you until you’re full with my seed.”

Your face falls forward from the strength of his thrusts, knees giving out. He sees you struggling to get back on your knees so he pulls you flush against his chest with a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing slightly. You cry out at the new angle that has you seeing stars. His breath is hot and heavy and he brings his mouth to your ear.

“Perhaps, I’ll fuck a baby into you so everyone knows you’re mine and only mine.”

“Gods, yes,” you cry out, clenching around him, his words bringing you so close to your release.

A deep growl resonates from his chest. He can feel everything you’re feeling through the bond. You want this as much as he does. The mere image of your body changing, swelling with his child has him quickening his pace. His brain fogs and he gives himself completely to that primal desire that was brought to surface by the aphrodisiac.

Bringing his free hand to your stomach, his fingers tease at the flesh right over where he can feel the bulge of his cock as he pounds deep into you, right where your womb would grow with his seed. All he can hear are the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pretty moans.

One brush of his thumb across your clit has your thighs shaking and screaming out his name as you reach your peak. He can feel his own release trembling underneath his skin. A couple more thrusts and wave after wave of immense pleasure courses through him. His cock twitches and then he’s spilling thick ropes of cum into you, groaning as your walls spasm and contract around him. He cums so hard, he can feel his release running down your thighs.

He pulls out just long enough to turn you so you’re on your back. A sinful smirk graces his lips at your blissed out expression but he’s nowhere near done with you. He’s still so painfully hard. More, more, more.

Positioning himself between your legs, he sinks into the delicious warmth of your hot dripping core, both moaning when he bottoms out.

“Please.” Tears stream down your face and you’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for. You’re so sensitive, hands clenching so tightly onto the sheets as he drags his cock over and over that deep spot inside you. “Azriel, I don’t think I can–”

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he interrupts sharply with a growl, leaving you a whimpering and crying mess beneath him.

“Az—oh fuck.”

“You’re so perfect for me.”

His arms wrap beneath your shoulders to mold your body to his and he presses hot, feverish kisses down your neck and chest. His lips then slot over yours, stealing your breath away. When you moan into his mouth, he swallows it and eases his tongue into you, urgently exploring every crevice of your mouth.

He’s well aware that the elixir he accidentally took has amplified his every sense. Yet, amidst his heightened state, his love and adoration for you, so deep and genuine, remains the most enchanting potion he has ever known. The candles flicker with the green glow of your magic and he continues his brutal pace, immersing himself in the pleasure of it all with a strong determination for you both to reach another painfully delicious release.

Azriel blinks his eyes open and his heart melts at the sight of you, his beautiful mate, curled up in his arms. The tenderness of the morning light casts a warm glow over you, highlighting the delicate curves of your face. He gently reaches out to trace a strand of your hair, relishing the softness beneath his touch. A stark contrast to the way he handled you last night. He knows you're awake when he feels you tug on the golden strings of the bond, flooding him with a profound sense of pure happiness that seeps into every corner of his being.

“I love you so much.”

“Good morning to you too,” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but a hint of a smile on your face.

You stretch out your sore muscles and Azriel’s eyes flash with concern when the sheets drift lower. He catches a glimpse of the bruises littering your body and you can feel a flicker of guilt down the bond. “Are you–fuck. Was I too rough? I’m so–”

You shift in the bed and silence him with a soft kiss. When you pull away, you smile at him, sending a wave of reassurance down the bond because while yes he was rough, you loved it.

“You were perfect.”

He sits up in bed and when he finds no trace of hurt or regret of how rough he was with you last night in your features, he finally relaxes and returns your smile.

Your smile falters. “If anything, I’m sorry. It was my mistake that you drank that aphrodisiac. I made it for Nesta and I knew I should’ve stored that sneaky elixir somewhere safer but it wasn't too bad, right?”

Now it’s Azriel’s turn to brush away your concern and he shakes his head at you with a deep chuckle. "It wasn't bad at all. I enjoyed every part of your mistake."

“The best mistake I’ve ever made,” you grin and he laughs with you, his shadows dancing happily around his shoulders.

“What was in that elixir anyway?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? It’s an aphrodisiac, it stimulates sexual desire.”

“I know what an aphrodisiac is,” he replies and he feels the heat rise to his cheeks. Oh gods, he was going to have to say this outloud. “I’m talking about the way I was filled with the primal urge to–to breed you.”

“Oh,” you say and laugh again at the look bewildered look Azriel was giving you. “That was all you.”

You sit up and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s gaze flickers down to your bare body. Reaching out, you coax his gaze back to yours.

“My magic does not work that way, remember? It can’t create and destroy desires. It can only bring to surface what’s already lurking deep within."

Your eyes are alight with amusement as realization dawns on your mate. He’s flustered but only for a fleeting moment. The corner of his lips curve up and when your hand begins to move from his cheek, he places his own over it to keep it there.

“You wanted it as much as I did.”

“I did.”

There’s a warmth radiating from his heart that is so strong, you can feel it too. His hazel eyes hold onto yours with an intensity that goes beyond words, and when he speaks again, there’s a delicate vulnerability to his voice because in the year since you’ve been mated, this is a topic you’ve yet to discuss.

“You want to have children…with me?”

“Yes.” The response spills from your lips without a moment’s hesitation and his entire being seems to shudder in response. “Do you?”

"Of course I do," he breathes out, sealing his words with a tender kiss to the palm of your hand that has your heart fluttering. “I want everything with you.”

“I want everything with you too.”

Happiness dances in his eyes. Azriel is not a selfish man, always putting others’ wants and needs before his own. He had even accepted that meeting his mate was an unattainable dream. That is, until you came along, dismantling the walls he had spent centuries constructing around himself.

You, a manifestation of his long-buried dreams and wishes, emerged as a living, breathing reality. The selfish desire to have everything with you consumes him, even more so when your desires always seem to mirror his. You're his perfect match and he doesn't know what he did to deserve you. He can only thank the Cauldron, forever indebted to it for entwining your soul with his.

Overwhelmed by his profound emotions, tears brim in his eyes and you're kissing them away before they can escape, smiling when his lips capture yours afterwards. He pours everything into the kiss. It starts soft and sweet but quickly morphs into something more as he brings his hands to your neck.

He pulls away, rolling over to hover over you in your bed, bracing strong arms on either side of you. He kisses your nose and lowers his body until his lips are hovering over right where your heart is racing. Another kiss.

Heat pools down and your breath hitches when he pauses at your stomach to press a kiss there. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He murmurs and you can feel his grin against your skin as he settles himself between your legs. He hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, slowly running his tongue up your thigh. The gesture draws a soft sound from you that he will never tire of hearing.

“I’m worshiping the mother of my future children.”

a/n: the bath scene was purely inspired by this because hot damn 🥵 If you'd like to read more about Green witch & Az, the link is below! I do have some fics of their children up.

[series masterlist]

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel x witch!reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #az!dandelions

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liyue-harbour · 1 month ago

Text

where stars can't reach

sunday x reader. astral express sunday

summary: you and sunday find yourselves on the observation deck on the express on a sleepless night. amidst the hum of the express car and the infinite expanse of space, a candid discussion about regrets, choices, and the meaning of the trailblaze brings you closer.

the observation deck of the astral express was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the stars streaking past outside. you leaned against the glass railing, arms folded, watching the endless cascade of light. the train's hum filled the quiet— a constant, steady rhythm that felt like the heartbeat of something alive.

it was peaceful, or at least it should have been. but tonight, your thoughts were restless, looping endlessly over the events of penacony and the strange, quiet man who had chosen to stay. the sound of soft footsteps drew your attention. you didn't have to look to know who it was.

"couldn't sleep either?" you asked, your voice low.

sunday stepped into view, his coat gone, replaced by a loose sweater that made him seem... softer somehow. less like the enigmatic enforcer of the order and more like someone trying to figure out what to do next.

"guess not," he said simply, moving to stand beside you. he rested his forearms on the railing, gaze fixed on the stars outside. for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't entirely comfortable either. it carried the weight of unspoken things, of questions you weren't sure you wanted to ask.

"how does it feel?" you asked finally, breaking the stillness. "being here, i mean."

sunday's lips twitched in a faint smirk. "different."

you turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “that’s all i get? just ‘different’?”

he shrugged, gaze never leaving the stars outside. "not much else to say. it's... quieter than i expected."

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "quieter? on the express? have you met march and the trailblazer?"

he huffed out a laugh, low and barely audible, but it was there. “fair point.” the quiet settled again, but this time it felt lighter, less heavy. you leaned back against the railing, tilting your head to watch him.

“do you regret it?” you asked, your tone careful.

“regret what?”

“leaving penacony. coming here. everything.”

sunday didn’t answer right away. his gaze was still fixed on the stars, his expression unreadable. when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. “sometimes,” he admitted. “it’s hard not to think about what could’ve been different. what i could’ve done differently.”

you felt your chest tighten at his words, the raw honesty in them.

“but,” he continued, glancing at you, “regret’s not the same as wishing i hadn’t done it. sometimes, things just... are. you can’t change them, only decide what you do next.”

you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “and what do you want to do next?”

sunday leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. his gaze drifted to the faint reflection of the two of you in the glass. “i haven't figured that part out yet, i guess that's the point of being here."

"finding your trailblaze?" you offered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he gave a soft laugh, the sound almost lost in the hum of the train. "something like that." the two of you stood there for a while longer, the stars outside painting the room in shifting patterns of gold and silver.

"do you miss it?" sunday asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

"my life before the express?"

"yeah."

you thought about it, your mind flickering back to the chaos of your home world, the suffocating systems, the fleeting moments of joy amidst everything. "sometimes," you admitted. "but not the way it was. just the people. the good parts."

sunday nodded, his expression thoughtful. “agreed.”

the stars streaked on, endless and unchanging, but the two of you stayed rooted in that moment, side by side. for the first time since everything, the weight on your chest felt lighter.

“you’ll figure it out,” you said softly, glancing at him. “what you want to do next, i mean.”

he tilted his head slightly, amber eyes searching yours, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“you will,” you insisted, your voice steadier this time. “that’s what the trailblaze is about, isn’t it? finding your way forward, even when you don’t know what that looks like yet. it’s not about having all the answers or knowing exactly where you’re going. it’s about choosing to keep moving. to trust that every step will lead you somewhere worth being.”

sunday's gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. the soft glow of the stars outside cast shifting patterns across his face, and for a moment, he didn't seem like the man you'd met in penacony— the one weighed down by his past, his responsibilities as the former head of the oak family.

“you make it sound simple,” he said finally, his voice low but not dismissive.

you shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “it’s not, but nothing worth doing ever is. the trailblaze isn’t about the destination— it’s about what you discover along the way. about finding the pieces of yourself you didn’t know you’d lost.”

he looked away then, his gaze shifting back to the stars outside. his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, like the weight he carried had eased, even if just for a moment.

“guess i’ve got a lot of pieces to find,” he murmured.

“and you’ll find them,” you said with quiet confidence. “one step at a time. everyone here on the express is rooting for you, me included.”

the stars streaked on outside, endless and infinite, but the moment between you felt grounded—solid, real. sunday didn’t say anything more, but the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, and for the first time, you thought he might just believe it too.

© liyue-harbour 2024 (lil author's note: in celebration of sunday's longgg anticipated release, here's a fic! i hope that everyone who plans on pulling gets him~ likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated) masterlist

#sunday x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #x reader #hsr #sunday #sunday x you #hsr imagines #hsr sunday

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reignpage · 15 days ago

Text

Art Student!Choso

Renaissance: worship

Word Count: 5.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, plot with smut, mostly fluffy, direct continuation of the part 5 smau, and concludes pre-relationship Choso's story, not proofread so idk how much sense this makes, let me know if it’s complete bs and I’ll redo it or something

You’re staring at the most beautiful mural you think has ever been created. It’s made up of harsh strokes of ash, curving and spiralling into one another, sprawling across the entire back wall of the gym. The smudges and the streaks breeze from corner to corner, bouncing along the edges as they create layers of shadows which seem so thick you could feel it from where you stand.

There, in the centre, you can make out a face. It’s contorted, mouth stretched inhumanly, eyes bulging and threatening to pop out. Fragmented and clawing itself, tearing skin and pulling until its face morphs into something you can’t quite make out. Dissolving into the fray, with the stark chalk, it spirals into frenzied strokes, suffocating itself.

A gasp leaves you when you step back, taking more of it in at once, and you see amidst the smoke and the chaos, symbols, jagged and torn up. They make up even more faces, just as contorted and as uncanny, all stretched out in silent screams that pierce your soul and render your knees weak.

It’s haunting.

You had no idea you would walk in to find this when you were searching for Choso. And when you meet his eyes from above, leaning against the railing, you think you might actually fall to your knees. It’s the same eyes that match the big ones on the wall, both equally broken, accusing and full of heat as it never wavers from yours.

There are so many things left unsaid, things that are desperate to get out, to be screamed at him so he’ll understand, so he’ll know. But only silence remains.

Choso doesn’t say anything, just lets the moonlight streaming from the windows encase you both in half light, half-darkness. You can’t see the smudges on his hands, but you can see the yearning in his eyes, like he too has so much to say, so much for you to understand and accept.

Click.

Both of your eyes dart to the entrance, there’s a security guard, holding a flashlight, aimed right you. There’s no way to escape. That’s what your thumping heart is telling you; you’ve been caught. And you haven’t done anything wrong.

“Hey! Did you do this?” He yells.

You’re rendered speechless, frozen from the realisation that there’s no way out of this. Without looking at him, can’t bear to discover what expression he’s wearing now that it’s all unravelling between you, you walk to the guard and let him drag you of there.

You don’t look back.

——

“What would possess you to vandalise private property?” The Dean questions.

His bald head is shiny, and the light’s reflection is all you can focus on as he thumps his fist against the mahogany desk separating you both. Thank God, too, because by the looks of that bulging vein on his forehead, he's pretty keen on giving you a lesson or two. It’s just you and him in his stately, stuffy office. The walls are lined with tall, dark wood bookshelves, which in turn are filled with old, leather-bound books in perfect condition, not a single dust in sight.

“I’m sorry.”

“It goes without saying, I’m sure, that I’m disappointed in you,” he ignores you, voice gruff and measured, all condescending and pretentious. You’re convinced that’s not even his natural accent. “You have the talent, the potential, to do anything with your gifts. Your works have won many awards, and you could one day find them in museums or galleries across the world. Instead, this —this is how you choose to leave your mark?”

The chair squeaks when you shift uncomfortably, and your eyes choose to scan his meticulous desk, as opposed to his beady ones. There’s not a single paper angled wrong, no pens misaligned, not a smudge or even a water mark.

“You’ve disgraced this fine institution. Our beloved Eden University for the Excellent has stood as a beacon for ambition, sophistication and innovation! And with every act of ‘artistic rebellion’ with your ‘cursed death paintings’, or the like, you have threatened everything we have built for centuries!”

You could try and defend yourself, could rebuff the accusations since you are, of course, innocent. But, well, the evidence is damning: you were at the scene of the crime, you’re an art student, you have attended practically every protest on campus, have liked posts from Cursed Womb’s fan-pages, and damn it, you had paint all over your shirt and hands.

You’re fucked.

He leans back in his chair, sighing as he folds his glasses onto the desk. “There are no excuses; none I will accept. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I hereby — “

The door slams open.

You both jump.

“Dean Hanami,” a sneer projects through the office and you recognise it immediately as belonging to a guy that knocked on your door and glared at you as if you were dirt on his shoe. “We have much to discuss.”

When you twist in your seat, you’re alarmed to find three men: Sukuna in a newer looking jacket than you remembered, an old man in a suit, and a guy you haven’t seen in almost two weeks.

Choso’s not looking at you, he’s not even entering the room, choosing instead to hang around by the doorway.

“Mr. Ryomen, I am in the middle of a meeting,” the Dean splutters.

Sukuna pokes your shoulder with a pen he picked up from the desk, looking over at you with complete disgust, like you’re a little cockroach. Still as rude as ever, he’s signalling for you to leave and as you look between the two men, one much older than the other, you choose to go with your instincts and rush out of there.

“This is how it’s going to work,” he drawls, sliding into your seat and snapping his fingers at the man in a suit, “you’re going to give back everything I want, and you’re going to let this Cursed Womb farce go.”

The last thing you hear is the sheer humiliation of the Dean’s defeated stammering. You close the door behind you.

Without looking at Choso, you walk down the hallway.

“Y/n, we should talk,” he follows beside you.

“Now you want to talk?” You sigh. You know you’re not being fair. Counting to ten, you try a softer approach. “Listen, Choso, it's been a long morning. Can we have this talk somewhere private? These hallways are so depressing.”

He nods, his pigtails moving with him. Wordlessly, he leads you outside, to his parked car, it’s all shiny and sleek, classic Ryomen money, and you get into the passenger seat.

It’s odd being in such close proximity with him when he’s avoided you for so long, but you try to get comfortable regardless, ignoring the elephant in the room. There’s a Cursed Womb sized hole between you and there’s so much to be said but you’re afraid you’ll push him, that you’ll say the wrong thing and everything will be for nought; you’ll go back to being strangers, passing each other by, just like last year.

And, whatever you feel for him, you just can’t let that happen.

“Choso,” you begin, voice soft, “what happened? What happened between us?”

Driving, he doesn’t dare look at you, can only chew on the inside of his cheek before seemingly deciding on the right words. “I liked you. From the very beginning, I liked you. People either like me ‘cause of my family or 'cause of rumours, but you’re one of the very few people that actually reached out, saw me as an equal.”

You’re silent. He’s opening up in a way he has never before and you don’t dare disturb his flow, like one would watch a Master at work. Everything about him is compelling, the whites of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel harder than he should, the furrow of his brows as he thinks hard, the way his gaze slides over to you, just not meeting your eyes, and even the way he studies you, in just your thin jumper and jeans and turns up the heater without asking.

Trees fly by, everything a blur as you keep your gaze fixed solely on him. He drives pretty smoothly, unlike you. You're always pressed right up against the wheel, eyes darting to every mirror like a car would appear in the millisecond you looked away. But him...he drives like it's second nature, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick.

“Despite me not being very open and particularly approachable I guess, you still made the effort to reach out, to include me in discussions, to ask if I’m coming to class — even lecturers have stopped asking. And you’re very smart! I like how passionate you are, you’re so full of great ideas, practically beaming with them. You never lose your optimism even when your art gets critiqued too harshly.”

This is the first time anyone’s ever described you like this, like he appreciates you by pure virtue of your existence and the way he sees your hard work, the strength it takes to get back up that you hadn’t recognised in yourself -- it feels like the way one would appreciate Starry Night.

You can tell he practised this speech.

“But,” there’s a tremble in his voice and it makes your hand twitch, “you don't like me. Not like how I like you. And it makes me upset. Because you're so great and nice and pretty. Not that I like you because of your appearance, even though you have a very nice body. I mean that respectfully! Okay, actually just forget I said that. I like you for lots of different reasons. And I've been trying to get you to see me as more than your classmate or just your friend. But it's all pointless because you like Cursed Womb.”

“Choso, you are Cursed Womb.”

The car screeches to a halt.

His hand flies out, pressing hard on your chest to stop you from flying forward. Thank goodness you’re wearing your seatbelt. And thank goodness the road is empty.

“What the fuck!”

“Sorry!” He pants. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise.”

Like you’ve been possessed, you laugh. It’s more a cackle than anything else to be honest, but the look of utter shock and disbelief on his face is making you tear up, your sides hurting as you cradle them. “Oh my god, Choso, you should have seen your face. HA!”

He’s panicking, hands waving in the air as he tries to decide between lifting your hair up to inspect for damage and going to the steering wheel so he can drive off to safety, where the chances of a car accident caused by your blunt mouth are slim. Conflicted, he decides to keep them in his lap as he winces at your chortles. You’re finding this way too funny.

“You’re being mean,” he pouts.

Wiping tears from your eyes, you’re desperately trying to calm down, trying to school your features into something more neutral or, better yet, something serious so you can have a mature, adult conversation. But he’s just so adorable you can’t help yourself.

“Sorry, Choso,” you playfully frown at him, making a puppy dog pout so he’ll cave in. “But be honest here, sweetheart. You didn’t actually think you were slick, did you?”

Like a child, he smacks his steering wheel, all grumpy and upset. “No one else knew.”

“That’s ‘cause no one else tried to know. Sure, people were investigating, trying to piece together clues, but no one really wanted to know; the mystery was addictive, and that’s what peopled liked. But you think you’re the only one who pays attention? I watch you all the time. Plus, your family’s presence today was concrete proof; Sukuna would never do that just because you asked, right? And on top of all of that, you’re not a very good liar, sweet Choso,” you coo.

He stutters, “B-but you never said. You kept talking about him l-like —"

“Like he’s not you?” You finish for him.

“Yes! Even that night when I asked you to hang out, you didn’t want to go with me but when I mentioned the painting, you said yes.”

Your hand reaches out to play with a loose lock of hair from his messy pigtails and he lets you, his eyes flutter shut when your hand grazes his cheek. Heart clenching, you sigh again. “I was genuinely busy, Choso. But when you mentioned that ‘your friend’ painted again, I knew that meant trouble. What you do is dangerous, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“What about the other time when you didn’t want to have lunch with me? And you just wanted to work?”

You giggle, playfully pulling at his hair, and he has to pretend he’s not getting hard. “Choso, you do realise we have to balance our project on top of our schoolwork, right? Like we have to actually study and work, to meet deadlines?”

Choso pouts again and you smush your thumb against his plump lips, easing away the tension there. All muffled, he whines, “But I wanted to have lunch with you!”

“And we enjoyed sandwiches, did we not? Which by the way, you never paid me back for. But eh, that's okay. Just treat me out next time -- I'm a broke college student.”

He groans, pulling away to smack his head against the wheel. It honks and you laugh again. He’s clearly embarrassed and frustrated and he doesn’t know where to begin, so you try for him.

“Choso, sweetheart,” you rub his back, “don’t be upset. I’ll be completely honest: I was messing with you. I kinda just wanted to see how far things will go. I mean, I knew as soon as you told me he’s your ‘friend’ that you were Cursed Womb. It’s such an obvious throwaway; I hope you weren’t feeling very proud of yourself.”

Scrunching his nose at you, he sinks back into his seat. The road is still empty, and he doesn’t seem to have any desire to drive off yet. So, you let him take it all in, rubbing his shoulder in pity for the poor guy who was clearly so proud of himself for keeping such a huge secret from everyone.

“What’s gonna happen with the Dean?” You just realised technically you were expelled or were going to be expelled. No longer a student, you aren’t sure what you would do as a non-student — would you even make a very inspirational contributive member of society?

What’s next?

Taxes and mortgages?

You shudder.

Choso grabs your hand, holding it in his lap as he fiddles with your rings, clinking them with his own. His nails are painted black in true male art student fashion and his fingers are so beautifully long and slender you’re not afraid to admit that you’ve stared at them a little too long during clay sculpting class.

“The family’s going to take care of it. Make it go away like they did when Sukuna beat up some guy who pushed Yuji. Or when I got caught by some other security guard.”

You nodded. “Where does that leave us?”

“Us?”

“There is an us, right, Choso?”

He fiddles with your ring finger, and you try really hard not to notice the hearts in his eyes. “Do you want there to be us? It’s not because I’m Cursed Womb, is it?”

Of course, you don’t blame him for feeling this way; you played around too much, gave him too much power when you really should have made the decisions to begin with, forced him to confront everything that was unspoken between you much sooner. Then there wouldn’t be this awkward energy that's holding him back from meeting your eyes.

“Choso, I never liked you because you were Cursed Womb. Sure, I liked Cursed Womb. I stand by everything I said — he’s cool, he stands for what’s right, he sends a message and isn’t afraid to put his art out there to be critiqued by the masses. How many people can say that? But I liked him like one likes a pop star! You, on the other hand, I like you as you are. All shy and sweet and considerate. And I know the picture of me was from you, by the way.”

He opens his mouth to argue, and you shut him up with a stern look.

“We’re project partners, Choso!” You laugh. “I’ve seen your handwriting and the way you write your Cs, you silly silly boy.”

“But you teased me anyways."

With a shrug, you explain, "You liked it."

And then he’s kissing you.

His seatbelt is off, and you’re being pressed back into your seat, his hands cradling your face. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and it’s so Choso you can only moan in his mouth. He’s holding you like the two lovers of Rodin, with so much care, so much passion, it's leaving you breathless. You feel so much warmth and adoration through every lick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth and every moan of your name he’s breathing into you.

You push him back, taking your belt off so you can climb into his lap whilst he pushes the seat back. He kisses down your neck, sucking your pulse point and gripping your hip as if he’s scared you’re just a figment of his imagination. And when you grind down on his hard length, he moans your name again. You’re soaking.

“I’m sorry for teasing you too much.”

With tentative hands, he lifts your sweater up your stomach, searching your eyes for any resistance. You smile and take it off for him. He wastes no time sucking a tit, flicking the hard bud with his tongue and you’re gripping his pigtails. That makes him groan.

“I’ll forgive you if you do one thing for me,” his words are garbled, on account of him trying to swallow the entire globe of your breast, cheeks all puffed up, and you can’t help but press a kiss against his forehead. “Call me Cho again.”

“What?” His teeth graze your sensitive nipple and you arch into him, eyes crossing.

“You only call me Cho when we’re like this, touching in a way we shouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Grinding down on his dick, you tug a pigtail back so you can tilt his face away from your wet tits and back to your mouth. You kiss him again, craving his taste, his warmth. “Sorry…Cho.”

He bucks into your clothed core, straight up to your clit and you’re moaning into each other’s mouths. This isn’t enough, you both need more. Neither of you even care that you’re on the side of a road and it’s midday.

“I want you,” he whispers, and he’s tearing up, the frustration building up to a point where he’s clawing your jeans off and burying his face between your tits and inhaling deep. “Can I? Can I have you?”

“Of course, Cho. I’m yours,” you kiss his hair. “You can do whatever you want with me, baby.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

Because the next thing you know, the seat is folding back and you’re being thrown onto the seat, facing the plush roof. He’s tugging your jeans down, pulling the material as if it’s singlehandedly his worst enemy. You can only rub his head as he frantically looks between your face, your tits and your panties like he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s desperately asking for permission, for guidance.

“Choso, we can do whatever you want, just take your time.” And then, as an afterthought, you add, “Although, you shouldn’t take too long since we are outside. If we get caught, I’m not sure your family can take care of the charges we’ll face.”

He nods and then with dark, unfocused eyes, he shoves his face between your leg as he kneels on the floor, spreading your thighs with his strong arms. Sniffing is all he does, inhaling deeply and moaning. You blush, pushing his hair from his face. And, as if the urge has gotten too much, he pushes your panties to the side and licks a strip up your slit, from quivering hole to the clit.

Your back arches off the seat.

Moans and groans escape you, shaky breaths fanning the air as he sucks your clit, mumbling your name and the vibrations leaves you lightheaded.

“Tastes so good. Knew you would taste so good.” He pushes in a finger inside and he groans with you when he wriggles it. “So wet, baby. You’re so hot a-and wet and I want to stay here forever.”

He curls his fingers inside, rubbing against that spot inside of you that has you gushing cream all over his mouth, and he laps it up like he’s starved. Just as a car drives past and he dives deeper into you, you find yourself cumming all over his mouth and fingers, clutching his pigtails harder.

"Fuuuuuck, don't stop, Cho!" You ride out your orgasm on his face, spreading your wetness all over his chin and his cheeks, clit bumping against his nose.

Shuffling up, something wet and hard traces your lips. It’s salty. You don’t hesitate to widen your jaw, letting him push his hot and hard length into your throat. It’s an awkward angle, with you laid not fully back and him having to crouch down, but you manage a few suckles before he gets frustrated and embarrassed, and he climbs back down to pet at your pussy.

"That's just going to have to wait later, I guess," you chuckle.

A blush blanketing his cheeks, he nods and strokes his dick. He must have taken it out when he was licking you. It's long and hard and your body remembers the feel of it in your hands. And Monet! His tip is flushed red, leaking cum like a faucet. How adorable.

You see him lining his beautiful cock to your quivering hole, but you have to press a hand against his chest to still him. “Tut tut, Cho. Do I need to lecture you on the importance of safe sex, silly boy?”

He blushes and pats his pockets with frantic, panicked movements. You sigh. You didn’t bring one either.

“Well, you’re not allowed inside without a condom,” you mutter to his cock, telling it off as if it’s responsible for its owner irresponsibility. “I mean, really, Choso. You’re a grown man, a college student! You should always have condoms, silly.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever be together so I didn’t buy any,” he mumbles, laying down on you so he can hide his sheepish expression in your shoulder.

The implication warms your chest, making you pout and rub his back. You coo, “Aw, did my baby not want to fuck anyone else? Just me?”

Pushed to his limit, he bites your neck and then quickly soothes it with his tongue as if upset at himself for hurting you. But it’s you who feels the most guilt; you played around too much, teased him too far, and now his hips are making short thrusts against your pussy. He just can’t help himself. It’s as if the magnetic pull of your cunt is too much for a weak man like him. You’re going to have to work very hard to earn his forgiveness even if he’s willingly thrown it at you.

Starting, of course, by wrapping your legs around his hips and pressing him closer. You whisper, “Make yourself cum on my pussy, Cho.”

He groans. Maybe it’s the seductive way you ordered him to, the vulgar term you used, or perhaps it’s the fact that you called him a nickname he loves to hear. Well, whatever it is, it’s making him whimper in your ear as he thrusts against your lips, coating his length with your juices. His tip bumps against your clit and you both moan.

“I-I missed you, y/n!” He cries in your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

Again and again, he thrusts, still clinging onto you and holding you close. You can feel his desperation, sincerity, and his pre-cum all seeping into your skin. Rolling back, your eyes disappear — this is supposed to be for him, and yet you’re panting too, holding him tight, shirt threatening to rip under your claws.

The fact that you’re naked and he isn’t is making you sensitive all over, from the way your nipples are rubbing against his chest and how he pinches at one all the way to the mumbling of your name, like a mantra, against your neck.

You’re going to cum too.

“Ngh, Cho! Keep going!”

He must have liked that because his thrusting gets more frantic, his cock head meeting your clit again and again and you’re both nearing your high. Your nails dig into his back and he bites your neck to stifle the broken moan that escapes him. Hot ropes of cum paint your stomach and it makes you arch your back once more, eyes closing shut.

"So warm ngh!" He groans into your ear.

Hips stuttering, he drags out his orgasm like his body can’t help himself and a beat or two passes. He falls on top of you, still muttering your name like his brain has short-circuited and it’s all that’s left in there.

“You like me better than Cursed Womb, right?”

You laugh. “Cho, you silly man. You’re the same person.”

Choso pushes himself up onto his elbows, slightly out of breath and dazed, a blush highlighting his face tattoo. You kiss him on the nose which brings out what sounds like a mewl from him. He copies the movement, and it tickles you. That makes him smile, still panting.

“I know, but I want to know who you like better,” he licks a bead of sweat from your forehead and you have to smack his back.

Sighing, you push him off, concerned over the fact that you’re naked and in a public space. He lets you scramble back to your seat, fixing your panties and leggings and he hands you your jumper. All in silence, you get settled back in.

He starts the engine, looking a little upset and you have to still his hand with yours. Words aren’t really enough, you know that. So, the only thing to do is to show him.

“Take us to my place, Cho.”

—

He’s confused, head tilting and brows scrunched together like a little puppy as you lead him to your dorm room. Whereas you’re practically buzzing with excitement, struggling to get the keys in due to your shaking hands. But you manage and you welcome him in.

It’s the first time he’s been inside your place — there wasn’t a particular reason why you waited, it was really just because his place is bigger and cooler and generally a much better place to work in.

Despite it being a pretty standard room, he’s marvelling at the space, eyeing the pictures of your friends strewn across the walls, the fairy lights and the open journal on the table full of your watercolour works. Choso looks like he just entered Santa’s workshop, and you giggle as you press your face in his back, hugging him and swaying you guys side to side.

“Sorry about the mess, Cho. I didn’t know you’d come over.”

He holds your hands, swaying with you, but his focus is on only one thing.

There, on your easel, stationed by the window for natural lighting, is a sketch. The lines are messy and criss-crossing, overlapping each other, the lead of the pencil unravelling to create a face loss in thought. It’s tilting its head as its own creation, examining the angles and the proportions, and you can tell it’s completely entranced in its work, losing grip with reality and wholly immersed in their own imagination.

It’s the kind of expression you’ve decided is most beautiful in all your years of looking and sketching and studying. In all the models, in all the strangers, and in all the works of art you’ve come across, only one figure has captivated you as much it has.

“Recognise him, Cho Cho?”

Despite the teasing tone of your voice, you’re actually pretty nervous. This has never been a problem for you; you’ve presented your work to countless of people, by virtue of being an art student, you’ve consented to being ripped apart again and again. But this time, you’re feeling a certain kind of insecurity you never have before.

“Do you like it?”

“This is me?” He breathes out.

You bury your face harder in his back, feeling a blush creeping up. “Yeah, Cho. I started it back in first year. I never got to finish it because, well, we’re art students and we all have ADHD or whatever. But when we became project partners, I’ve been adding to it, adding lines and details for every time I noticed something new about you. In fact, I was working on it that night you asked me to hang out and I almost turned you down. Sorry about by the way, baby.”

Waving a hand over the general area, you explain further, "At the end of first year, you got that face tattoo, and I struggled all summer adding it in because I only saw it once and wanted to recreate it from pure memory. But I couldn't ever seem to get the proportions right."

"Y-you started drawing me in first year?"

Pressing a kiss to his back and smiling at the flex of his muscles, you think back to a memory. "It wasn't like I was obsessed with you, or anything creepy, I swear. It's just that, you're a pretty handsome dude. The List agrees and well, when I first saw you in the lecture hall, I thought wow, someone needs to capture that guy in a drawing or something. And you know how us artists work — we develop fixations. I guess, you could say you've been my on and off one for a year now."

That was a lot of words and you’re not sure he registered any of it because of how silent he is, but then he’s clasping your hands tightly. And you’re shocked into silence when something cold slides down one of your fingers. On your left hand. Your ring finger.

“Cho?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” he shakily whispers.

You want to laugh — it’s such a sudden admission and you’re fairly convinced it’s just that post-nut high. But the way he says it, the way it’s so serious, so real makes you pull away.

He turns, desperate to see your face. And with another whisper, he admits, “I have one of you too.”

“What?”

“I painted a portrait of you. In my place.”

It strikes you there. You remember. The painting with the tarp over it. That was of you, and he hid it because you were coming over. With a grin, you raise your hand up to eye the golden signet ring on your finger, way too big and threatening to fall off if you don’t hold it tight.

“We’re a pretty cool duo, aren’t we?”

Choso falls to his knees, pigtails bouncing, an expression of desperation and torment written all over it. He's never looked more beautiful staring up at you. "Please let me be your boyfriend!"

You laugh again, hands on your hips as you shake your head in disbelief. Rolling your eyes playfully, you respond with, "Alright, I guess I can grant you that one wish. Actually, since you gave me two orgasms, I'll give you another one."

He reaches for your hand with his eyes closed and you let him press it against his face. Cupping his cheek, your smile drops and you feel a fire burning inside and explode in your chest when he presses a distressed kiss to your wrist, full of panic like his brain is malfunctioning and he can't settle on one thought or feeling.

Then, his eyelids fly open and meet yours with a clarity that has never been there. Never. Not even since first year when you made eye contact in passing and you couldn't get his face out of your mind. And it's like all the anguish you saw that night is gone, the chalk mural fading from view.

More certain than ever, you know he'll give you all the opportunities you need to finish your portrait of him, and every new one you'll make. And your project will be renewed with a deeper level of teamwork, because you've transcended the definitions of your connection.

“I want to eat you out again.”

And well, who are you to say no to a man on his knees?

#jjk x reader #jjk choso #jjk smut #choso x reader #jjk fluff #choso smut #choso fluff #jjk drabble #jjk fic #choso drabble #modern au

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