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sourcherryandsprinkles · 7 months ago

Note

i’m visualizing a fic where reader goes off to fight with their dragon and comes back to jace being furious that she would endanger herself and feelings are revealed…. can you make that happen? xx🙈

Request: Being dragonseed and getting close to jace during the trainings. Maybe she claimed silverwing or vermithor? She goes to battle while he is not there and jace is STRESSED

Request: Jace sneaking out to check on the girl he secretly loves

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Jacaerys took it upon himself to teach and train the dragonseeds, he didn’t think his loyalty to his betrothed would be challenged. Since the beginning of war, his bond with Baela became stronger and they got closer, but as he watched you atop Silverwing, hair in the wind and soaring over the water, he felt things he never felt before.

Was it the blood of the dragon, although thin, that was calling to him? Or was it the sight of a woman on a large dragon? Jacaerys couldn’t tell. What he knew was that he never felt that way when Baela was riding Moondancer.

‘’What do you mean, she went to the Riverlands?’’ he shouted at his mother, all manners forgotten.

Rhaenyra met his glare with a calm gaze. ‘’The Greens are marching up to Harrenhal. I sent her to meet their army before they reach the Riverlands.’’

‘’And what of Vhagar?’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice rising as he thought of the beast that had devoured his little brother and his dragon in a single bite. ‘’They know Daemon has taken Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, they brought their biggest dragon to fight him.’’

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. ‘’It is a high possibility, but Silverwing is a large dragon, as you said yourself. Y/N will handle Vhagar if Aemond dares showing up.’’

‘’She is not ready to go to battle.’’ Jacaerys’s fists clenched at his sides, making up the worst scenarios in his mind. ‘’You sent her to her death!’’

‘’I needed to send a dragon. It was Silverwing or Vermithor.’’

‘’Why did you not send Vermithor?’’

‘’Because I didn’t want to reveal our biggest asset to the enemy,’’ Rhaenyra said, her brow furrowing as she noticed her son’s agitation. ‘’Why are you so agitated? The dragonseeds were your idea, Jace. We have to send them on the battlefield at some point.’’

The reasons the search for dragonseeds began was to get more dragons on their team, but also to not risk their own in battle by using those with blood 'thinner' than their own as fodder. It was selfish and evil, but losses are inevitable during a war. Better be a stranger than someone you love.

But now, his plan had backfired.

‘’She’s not just a dragonseed!’’ Jacaerys snapped, his eyes blazing with anger and worry. ‘’She’s—’’ He stopped himself, realizing how much he had revealed in his fury and the implication of what he was about to say.

Rhaenyra spoke his name softly, finally figuring the nature of her son’s worries, but he turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye.

⁂

When night came, Jacaerys was unable to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. All he could think about was you fighting against Vhagar…and losing.

If you didn’t return from the Riverlands, he would never forgive himself for encouraging you to claim Silverwing.

Finally, Jacaerys could not take it anymore. He sprung out of his bed, changed into his riding clothes and slipped on a cloak. Quietly, he sneaked out of his quarters and started heading towards the hills where he knew Vermax liked to sleep. Rhaenyra would be furious in the morning when finding out he went to the Riverlands without her approval, but he needed to go to you.

‘’Lyka (quiet), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys said as he mounted the dragon, not wishing to alert anyone of his nightly adventure. The poor thing was whining and confused why his rider was waking him, but obeyed his command.

They set out into the night, flying towards the northwest. The wind was cold, biting through Jacaerys' cloak, and the darkness was absolute with no moon to guide their way. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of Vermax's wings, cutting through the icy air.

After what felt like hours of flying blindly in the night, Vermax began to screech, a high-pitched, urgent sound that pierced the silence.

‘’Sagon gīda (be calm), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys commanded, trying to calm his dragon. But Vermax continued screeching, his eyes darting around as if he had seen something human eyes couldn’t. ‘’What is it, Vermax?’’

Vermax's screeches grew louder, more insistent, and Jacaerys felt a surge of unease. He strained his eyes, peering into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. He knew that dragons had senses far keener than humans, capable of detecting things long before they were visible.

‘’What do you see?” he muttered, more to himself than to Vermax, as he tried to understand his dragon’s distress.

Vermax couldn't understand the common tongue, but his behavior made it clear that something was wrong. He twisted his head, sniffing the air, and let out another screech, this one more urgent and filled with warning.

Jacaerys suddenly realized what it could mean: Vermax had detected the scent of another dragon.

His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the dark skies for any sign of movement. The thought of encountering Vhagar in the pitch-black night sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to steady both his dragon and himself.

Then, through the darkness, he saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Realization struck him hard.

‘’Silverwing,’’ he breathed, understanding now what Vermax had sensed.

Immediately, Jacaerys commanded Vermax to descend. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that he had not reached the Riverlands yet. If Silverwing was down here, it could mean you were injured. Dragons were known to stay by their rider's side and guard them when they were vulnerable — or dying.

The prince's heart raced as they descended, his mind filled with worry. As soon as Vermax touched ground, he dismounted and scanned the area frantically, searching for you.

Silverwing screeched loudly when Jacaerys got close, the sound stirring you from your sleep and snapping into alert. You reached for your dagger sheated at your hip, ready to stab whoever would try to get close.

‘’It’s me,’’ Jacaerys quickly said before you could touch him.

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you said with a frown. ‘’Has Her Grace sent you looking for me?’’

Jacaerys stayed silent. His mother did not care much for you — or any of the dragonseeds.

The sight of blood on your hands sent his heart into a frenzy. ‘’Are you hurt? What has happened?’’

He kneeled beside you, and you let out a small hiss. ‘’I'm not on my deathbed, my Prince,’’ you reassured. ‘’I saw the Green's army marching to the Riverlands. They were definitely surprised to see a new dragon had been claimed by the Blacks. I engaged in battle, burning several of them, but their archers started shooting arrows at us. Silverwing dodged them the best she could, but I received one in my leg…’’ You glanced down where the arrow used to be, blood seeping through your clothes and down your leg. ‘’I know I should not have taken it out, but the pain was too much.’’

‘’It’s okay.’’ Jacaerys drew his sword to cut a piece of his cloak to make a bandage for your leg. ‘’All that matters is that you’re alive.’’ He began wrapping the piece of his cloak tightly around your wounded leg, but not so tight it would cause you more pain. ‘’I…I was worried about you.’’

You raised an eyebrow at the prince. ‘’Me?’’

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and your wounded leg. ‘’Don't do that again. Going alone in a battle. What is Vhagar had been there?’’

‘’Why? Because I’m a woman?’’

‘’No.’’ Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’No, that’s not— When I didn’t see you at training this morning, I thought you were in the village helping your parents with the sheeps. But Baela informed me that you had been sent to the Riverlands at first light to meet the Greens and all I could think about was Rook’s Rest. What Vhagar did to Luke, and Rhaenys… Gods, if you were the next to fall, I would not handle it.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’Aren’t I just a paw in your mother’s war? I’m not stupid, my Prince. Dragonseeds don’t matter to Her Grace. She just want the power of our dragons.’’

‘’I care. I care about you. I care so much about you that I could not sleep without knowing if you were okay. I would not have taken flight in the middle of the night if I didn’t care about you.’’

His words hung in the dark night, the air filled with his confession. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you processed his sudden confession. This conversation felt like forbidden territory. You were a shepherd’s daughter and he was a highborn prince, betrothed to a princess.

‘’You…you shouldn’t say things like that,’’ you finally murmured, averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. You tried to hide the fact that his words made you feel things you shouldn’t.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, then slowly reached out to tilt your chin, his fingertips gently tracing over your skin. ‘’I should, because it’s how I feel.’’ He leaned closer. His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

‘’What of Baela?’’ you managed to ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest, torn between desire and loyalty.

He shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. ‘’I don’t feel strongly for Baela the way I do for you,’’ he confessed.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

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solxamber · 14 days ago

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Caught in the Crossfire || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil, partners in crime, find that the line between business and pleasure is thinner than you'd like to admit when you can’t outrun the feelings that come with sharing a life together

Or: Mafia Boss! Vil x Mafia Boss! Reader

The eggs are perfect. Light, fluffy, with just the right amount of seasoning—not too overpowering, but enough to whisper of extravagance. The coffee is dark and rich, paired with a delicate pastry that crumbles just right under the pressure of a silver fork.

It’s the kind of meal that makes a person momentarily forget the bloodstains on their cufflinks or the fact that their bank account balance looks more like the GDP of a small country than a personal savings figure.

Across from you, Vil sits with his usual effortless elegance, wearing a suit so sharp it could cut glass. His long fingers tap against the rim of his teacup as he listens to you talk about the new shipment coming in tonight—an assortment of weapons, high-grade, the kind that people don’t just buy, they invest in.

He nods along, occasionally stirring his tea with slow, deliberate movements, because of course Vil would find a way to make stirring tea look like a power move.

“Do you need backup?” he asks.

You consider it. Technically, your men have it handled, but technically, your men also said they had it handled last time, and then one of them accidentally blew up an entire warehouse because he thought a grenade pin was “more of a suggestion than a rule.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” you say, sipping your coffee.

Vil hums approvingly. “I’ll send a few of mine. Not the new ones, obviously. I refuse to be represented by incompetence.”

And honestly? You respect that.

The city outside is a hellscape of crime and corruption, an urban jungle where power is measured in blood, influence, and how well one can survive a fight.

Unfortunately, not everyone in this godforsaken city understands the rules.

The café doors slam open with a force that makes the entire room go silent. A group of unfamiliar thugs strides in, their boots scuffing against the pristine marble floor, and you can feel the collective eye twitch of the waitstaff.

These guys are new—young, eager, dressed like they learned everything they know about organized crime from bad action movies. One of them, some overconfident idiot with a stupid amount of gel in his hair, swings a gun around like a prop in a school play.

You sigh.

Vil sighs.

The staff also sighs because they’ve clearly worked here long enough to know how this is going to end.

“Alright, listen up!” the leader barks, and wow, his voice is nasally. “We’re taking over this joint, you hear me? Hand over your wallets and—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

Because by the time he utters the words hand over, you and Vil are already moving. It’s practically second nature at this point—the quiet efficiency of two seasoned professionals dealing with yet another group of morons who have no sense of self-preservation.

Vil moves with the precision of a man who has choreographed his entire life. One swift motion and his cup of scalding hot tea is in the face of the closest thug, who shrieks as if he’s been dunked into the pits of hell itself.

You, meanwhile, grab your fork—your lovely, silver, overpriced café fork—and embed it in another guy’s hand before flipping the table for cover.

The entire thing is over in five minutes.

By the end of it, the floor is littered with groaning bodies, a few broken noses, and one unfortunate soul who got knocked unconscious with a plate of eggs benedict (rest in peace, you perfect, fluffy breakfast delight).

The remaining patrons barely react. The waitstaff steps over the bodies to continue serving, because they, too, have adapted to the reality of running an establishment in a city where mafia heads hold weekly brunch meetings.

Vil fixes his sleeves with a look of mild irritation, as if the real crime here was the inconvenience. “Honestly,” he mutters. “Didn’t their mothers ever teach them basic manners?”

You shake your head, dragging your chair back into place. “I swear, the new generation has no sense of etiquette.”

And just like that, the two of you sit back down and resume your meal.

Vil’s office is immaculate, as always. A glass desk, perfectly arranged décor, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air like it pays rent. If someone walked in without context, they’d assume they were entering the workspace of a world-renowned fashion mogul.

Which, technically, isn’t wrong.

Except instead of discussing upcoming collections or brand endorsements, the two of you are currently overseeing a money laundering operation disguised as a high-fashion venture.

And Vil is not impressed.

“This,” he says, voice dripping with disdain, as he gestures at the collection laid out before him, “is an atrocity.”

You glance at the designs, then back at him. “Vil, it’s crime. Who actually cares what it looks like?”

That was the wrong thing to say.

The glare Vil levels at you could freeze over the entire eastern seaboard. You’re not a weak person—you’ve stared down rival bosses, assassins, and law enforcement without so much as flinching—but something about the sheer disgust in Vil’s expression makes you reflexively sit up straighter.

Across the room, Epel, who had made the grave mistake of being in the vicinity, excuses himself immediately, because the last time he witnessed this level of ice-cold judgment, he had nightmares for a week.

“This—this mockery—is a crime against fashion,” Vil continues, gesturing sharply at a particularly offensive garment. “Look at this cut! Look at these fabrics! The stitching alone looks like it was done by someone having a seizure!”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Vil. We are actual criminals.”

“Yes, and even criminals should have standards,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Honestly, what’s the point of laundering money through fashion if it’s going to be this hideous? I refuse to be associated with whatever this is.”

You don’t have the energy for this argument. Not today.

“Fine,” you say, standing up. “If it bothers you that much, let’s go shopping.”

Vil’s expression flickers, then settles into something vaguely victorious. He snaps his fingers, and in seconds, his coat is draped over his shoulders like a royal mantle. “Finally, some sense,” he mutters.

You blink. “Wait, now? I meant, like, later—”

But Vil is already walking out the door, and you have no choice but to follow.

You are a mafia boss. A feared, respected individual whose name carries weight in every criminal circle. You have made decisions that have shaped the underworld itself.

And yet, here you are.

Standing in an absurdly expensive boutique, dressed in an outfit that costs more than the GDP of a small country, while Vil meticulously adjusts the buttons on your cuffs.

“How,” you say, staring at your reflection in mild disbelief, “did I get here?”

Vil doesn’t even look up as he smooths the fabric on your shoulders. “Because you had the audacity to suggest that fashion doesn’t matter while standing in my office.”

You exhale slowly. “I meant for money laundering purposes.”

“And I meant for every purpose.” Vil steps back, tilts his head slightly, then nods in approval before turning his attention back to the racks of clothing. “Now, try this one.”

You look at the garment he’s holding up. “That’s the exact same color and design as the last one.”

Vil shoots you a withering look. “It is not. The cut is completely different. Honestly, I pity you sometimes.”

This has been going on for an hour.

An hour of Vil forcing you into one designer piece after another, adjusting your collar, critiquing your posture, and making you question every life decision that led to this moment.

“I run an entire criminal empire,” you mutter under your breath as Vil hands you yet another outfit.

“Yes, and you dress like you just rolled out of a getaway car.”

That’s not even an insult. That’s just factual.

You glance at the boutique’s security cameras and briefly contemplate faking an emergency to get out of this. Maybe start a small fire. Stage a kidnapping. Something.

But then Vil fixes the lapel on your coat, his fingers brushing against your collarbone, and for a brief, dangerous second, you forget that you’re supposed to be annoyed.

“…Fine,” you grumble. “One more outfit.”

Vil smirks. “I knew you had some sense.”

There are a few unwritten rules when it comes to surviving in your organization. They’re not complicated. In fact, they can be summed up rather succinctly:

Don’t talk back to the bosses unless you’ve got a death wish.

Don’t disrespect Vil's design choices unless you really have a death wish.

Don’t, under any circumstances, assume Epel Felmier is weak.

The third rule, in particular, is the one that most fresh recruits fail to grasp. Which is why you and Vil are currently seated comfortably, sipping on expensive coffee, watching the inevitable unfold like a slow-motion car crash.

Epel is standing in the middle of the training yard, casual as ever, looking every bit like the deceptively polite farm boy he used to be. Across from him, a new recruit—one of the unfortunate ones with more bravado than brain cells—grins like he’s just won the lottery.

“Didn’t think this family let kids in,” the idiot sneers, cracking his knuckles.

Oh, you wish you could say you were surprised.

You glance at Vil. He exhales, already unimpressed, and gives a small, imperceptible nod.

And just like that, Epel moves.

It’s not an elaborate attack, nor is it the kind of long, drawn-out fight scene you’d see in a movie. No, it’s fast.

One second the recruit is standing there, cocky and smirking, and the next—CRACK.

His jaw—his entire jaw—is just gone.

You don’t even think Epel used that much force. He just twisted his wrist, landed a clean hit, and now some poor fool is lying on the ground, making the kind of wheezing sounds that definitely mean you’ll have to call a doctor (or a mortician, depending on how bad the damage is).

The yard is silent.

Some of the other new recruits shift nervously. The smarter ones make a mental note to never, ever say anything remotely condescending to Epel.

You, meanwhile, casually check your watch.

“Four minutes,” you announce.

Vil sighs, already reaching into his coat.

“You thought he’d last fifteen minutes?” you ask, grinning as he hands you his card.

“I had hope,” Vil says flatly. “Clearly, that was a mistake.”

Epel dusts off his sleeves, looking more annoyed that his knuckles got dirty than the fact that he just sent a guy to the hospital.

“Any of y’all got somethin’ else to say?” he asks, tone deceptively light.

Silence.

Smart.

You pocket Vil’s card, smirking. “Well, that was entertaining. Dinner?”

Vil nods. “Dinner.”

And with that, you leave, stepping over the still-twitching body of the idiot who learned the hard way that Epel Felmier does not take disrespect lightly.

In the world of organized crime, certain unspoken rules govern the way things operate. Territory lines must be respected. Alliances must be upheld—until they aren’t. And when the time comes to commit heinous acts of violence, one must do so with a sense of style.

But above all else, there is one sacred, immutable law:

Do not disturb dinner.

Every week, without fail, you and Vil sit down for an elegant, civilized meal. A small, fleeting moment of luxury amidst a life otherwise filled with extortion, backroom deals, and the occasional high-speed chase through the city.

It is a time to unwind, to drink expensive wine, to complain about incompetent subordinates and how—for the love of all things holy—does one completely botch a simple shipment of illegal arms?

Which is why when your phone rings—you’re already irritated.

Vil barely spares you a glance, swirling his wine in one hand, as if waiting to see whether he should be entertained or bored by what happens next.

With a long-suffering sigh, you pick up.

“Yeah?”

There’s a brief pause, the sound of someone clearing their throat, and then a voice that is clearly trying (and failing) to sound intimidating says:

“We have your man.”

You blink. “My what?”

“Your man,” the voice repeats, a little less sure of himself now.

Vil raises a perfectly sculpted brow, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“…I don’t have a man.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you really do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god. Who?”

The voice hesitates. Then, like he’s dropping the ace up his sleeve, he announces:

“We have Rook Hunt.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Vil exhales slowly, lips twitching into something resembling amusement. He looks as though he wants to offer the poor idiot on the other end a moment of prayer.

You, on the other hand, have to suppress the sheer urge to cackle. Instead, you take a deep, deep breath and say, in the flattest tone imaginable:

“Oh noooooo. Not Rook.”

The guy picks up on the sarcasm, but it’s too late to back out now. “Yeah, uh—he’s terrified.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Begging for his life. Real mess.”

“Sure.”

“Crying, actually.”

You glance at Vil, who lifts his glass again, the universal sign for let’s see how long this idiot keeps digging this grave.

“Okay, listen,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Do me a favor real quick.”

“…Yeah?”

“Check who the actual hostage is.”

There’s a moment of absolute, ringing silence.

Then, far too faint to be directly into the phone, you hear:

“Wait, why does he still have a knife? Why does he still ha—OH GOD—”

And then, screaming.

Absolute, visceral, panicked screaming.

The kind of screaming that can only come from realizing, far too late, that you were not, in fact, the hunter but the very stupid, stupid prey.

The line goes dead.

You lower the phone, considering your options. Then, still grinning, you turn to Vil.

��Should I have warned them he carries extra knives?”

Vil takes a slow sip of wine and, without missing a beat, says, “They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

And oh, they do.

Because exactly thirty minutes later, Rook strolls in, positively beaming, covered in blood (that is definitely not his), and carrying a suspiciously thick folder of intelligence on who, precisely, had the brilliant idea of kidnapping him.

Vil doesn’t even look surprised. If anything, he looks slightly disappointed that Rook let them die too fast to give a proper monologue.

You, meanwhile, are just sitting there, staring at the bloodied mess of a man you call an associate, and thinking:

Yeah. They figured it out.

It was supposed to be simple.

A mission so straightforward that you almost felt insulted having to do it yourself. But no, apparently this was too delicate to leave to your subordinates, so here you were—sitting in a dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of expensive whiskey, and attempting to charm some information out of the city's most indiscreet criminals.

And in theory, this should have been easy.

You and Vil weren’t just mafia bosses; you were masters of persuasion. Your entire existence revolved around the ability to manipulate, deceive, and seduce when necessary. You could talk a man into selling his own kneecaps if you wanted to.

But there was one glaring problem this time.

Vil.

Because for some godforsaken reason, he seemed dead set on sabotaging this mission at every turn.

The moment you leaned in to flirt with a target, flashing your best smirk, Vil’s hand clamped onto your wrist, yanking you back as if you were about to throw yourself into traffic.

When some well-dressed (if mildly repulsive) businessman slid up beside you, whispering something undoubtedly sleazy in your ear, Vil scoffed so loudly that the man flinched.

You kicked him under the table. He kicked you back—harder.

And when you tried giggling—the universal signal for “yes, I’m interested, please tell me all your criminal secrets” —Vil exhaled like you had personally betrayed him.

It reached a boiling point when you were about to land the final hook—batting your lashes, trailing a hand over your target’s sleeve, just a few seconds away from getting him to spill everything—when Vil, in an act of sheer malice, suddenly pulled you into his side and drawled,

“Apologies, darling. They have an unfortunate habit of attracting the wrong sort of people.”

Your target, now looking incredibly alarmed, muttered something about needing the restroom and fled.

You closed your eyes. Counted to ten. Considered murder.

Then, with a saccharine smile that probably terrified half the bar, you grabbed Vil by the arm and dragged him into a private back room before slamming the door shut behind you.

“The hell is your problem?!” you hissed.

Vil looked utterly unbothered. “I’m looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re blowing the mission!”

His arms folded gracefully across his chest. “You deserve a higher class of admirer. Not some low-life with a cheap watch and a bad dye job.”

You stared. Your hands twitched with the overwhelming urge to shake him senseless.

“Vil,” you said, very slowly, “I am not into that guy. This is a mission. You know, the thing we do instead of dying?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s still demeaning to—”

You shook him.

Physically grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

Vil let out a strangled sound of protest, looking utterly offended, but you didn’t care.

“I AM HERE TO MANIPULATE A MAN INTO TELLING ME WHERE THEY’RE STORING THEIR SMUGGLED GUNS,” you all but shouted. “I AM NOT HERE TO DATE HIM.”

You shoved him away, storming back out of the room with all the fury of someone whose mission had just been single-handedly ruined by the world’s worst wingman.

Vil stood there, unmoving, watching you leave.

Something bitter welled up in his chest. Something unpleasant and sharp, something he didn’t want to name.

But instead of examining it too closely, he merely smoothed down his suit, exhaled, and begrudgingly followed you back out.

You had learned, over the years, how to let things go.

You had learned that sometimes, no matter how much something tugged at your mind, demanded an answer, it was better to step back, breathe, and let time sort things out.

Which is why you didn’t press Vil about whatever the hell was going on with him.

It was easier to not acknowledge the way he kept interfering with your missions.

Easier to not question the sharp looks, the lingering stares, the way his voice would curl around your name like it was something precious when he thought no one could hear.

It was easier to not ask why his irritation felt personal.

Because you knew, if you asked, you might not like the answer.

So instead of adding to whatever storm was brewing inside Vil, you sent Rook and Epel to finish the job.

And yet—despite your best efforts—you still found yourself in front of Vil’s office door, knocking lightly before stepping inside.

It was just tea. Like always. A ritual built over time.

Except—this time, you were bruised.

Your knuckles were raw, shoulders aching from the kind of fight that couldn’t be avoided, no matter how skilled you were at maneuvering through this world. You had faced worse, of course. It was nothing.

But Vil took one look at you and his expression—once neutral, if a little distant—collapsed.

His cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor. Neither of you acknowledged it.

The next thing you knew, his hand was on your wrist, grip firm but careful, urgent.

You didn’t fight it when he dragged you to the bathroom, not saying a word, the tension in his body wound so tightly you thought he might snap in half.

He forced you to sit on the counter, hands moving automatically to pull out a first-aid kit.

“Vil,” you started.

“Be quiet.”

There was no bite to his voice, but the quiet urgency in it stopped you all the same.

You huffed. “I can just call my medic—”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and whatever he was feeling—whatever he was holding back—made your words catch in your throat.

You let him work in silence.

The press of antiseptic against raw skin, the brush of his fingers as he wrapped your wounds, the careful tilt of his head as he studied his handiwork—all of it felt unbearably tender.

Too gentle for the world you lived in.

When he finished, he exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. Then, to your shock, he leaned into you.

His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone. His hands—once poised, always careful—clutched at the fabric of your shirt like he was holding himself together.

“Never do this again.” His voice was quiet. Almost pleading.

Your stomach twisted. “Vil, I’m a mafia boss too. What do you expect me to do? Knit sweaters and run charities?”

He lifted his head then, and when his eyes met yours, you understood.

This wasn’t just frustration. Wasn’t just exasperation over your recklessness.

It was fear.

It was something far deeper, something he had never said out loud, something you had ignored every time he pulled you back at the bar, every time he scoffed at your flirting, every time he lingered just a little too long when adjusting your tie.

The realization hit you like a bullet to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. “...I’ll be a little more careful. If I can.”

His shoulders sagged, and he nodded. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he let himself lean into you again.

You didn’t stop him. You just held him, his arms around your waist, your hand cradling the back of his head, feeling the way his breath finally evened out.

And in that moment, you understood—Vil hadn’t just been acting like a jilted lover.

He felt like he was one.

The plan had been brilliant. Carefully orchestrated, every detail accounted for, every possible hitch considered.

Yet somehow, somehow, you had managed to go from one of the most feared mafia leaders in the city to someone currently hiding in a safe house with Vil fucking Schoenheit, hiding from both law enforcement and some very, very powerful enemies.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

"Explain it to me again," you sighed, pressing your head against the wall. "How exactly did everything go to hell in under three minutes?"

Across the room, Vil sat on a chair, legs crossed, looking far too composed for someone who had nearly been arrested, shot at, and insulted all in the span of an hour.

“Simple,” he said, inspecting his nails like you weren’t on the verge of losing your mind. “The deal was never going to go through. It was a setup. A trap. Which, if you’d just listened to me in the first place—”

You groaned. “Oh, please. If you knew it was a trap, why did you even agree to go with me?”

He flicked his gaze up then, sharp and assessing. “Because you have an appalling habit of running headfirst into danger, and someone needs to be there to drag you back out of it.”

You opened your mouth to argue—then promptly closed it, because, okay, fair point.

Still. It was one thing to walk into a trap, knowing it was a trap. It was another thing entirely to somehow piss off some of the most powerful figures in the city and get half the police force on your tail.

How had it all gone so wrong?

Rook and Epel had managed to escape somehow—how, you still didn’t know, but you were too exhausted to question it. The last thing they had said before vanishing was a quick assurance that they’d “fix it soon.”

Which, coming from them, could mean anything.

Great. Fantastic.

And that left you and Vil, holed up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere, waiting for things to blow over.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “This is not how I thought today would go.”

Vil hummed, stretching elegantly. “Yes, well. Adaptability is an important skill in our line of work, isn’t it?”

You shot him a flat look. “We are literally in hiding. This is not a power move.”

Vil tilted his head, giving you a slow, deliberate once-over. “It’s only hiding if you look desperate.”

You did look desperate.

There was a smear of dirt on your cheek, your shirt was torn, and you were pretty sure you had a bruise forming on your ribs from when you’d had to dive behind a car earlier.

Vil, meanwhile, looked like he had just stepped out of a high-profile photoshoot. Despite the chase, the chaos, and the very real possibility of getting arrested, he somehow managed to remain immaculate.

You hated him a little bit for it.

You groaned, slumping down onto the couch. “At this point, I’d rather get shot than deal with your attitude.”

Vil let out an amused hum. “Dramatic as ever.”

There was a beat of silence. You let your eyes close, just for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts.

Then—softly, almost too quiet to hear—Vil said, “Are you hurt?”

The question made your eyes flick open. You turned your head just enough to see him watching you, expression unreadable.

“…I’ll live,” you muttered.

He exhaled sharply, then stood and walked toward you with measured steps. Before you could protest, he reached out, fingers brushing over your jaw, tilting your face slightly to the side.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

You hadn’t even noticed.

His fingers were gentle, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Then—he leaned in slightly, gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest second before his expression hardened.

“Be more careful,” he said, voice softer than usual.

You swallowed. “Vil, I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand lingered for a fraction of a second longer before he pulled away, stepping back.

“Of course you can,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

The safe house was nice. Too nice.

It was one of your better ones—a sleek, modern apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, a fully stocked bar, and furniture that looked like it belonged in some high-end magazine. The kind of place designed for luxury, not hiding.

And now you were stuck in it. With Vil. For two whole weeks.

You stared at Rook’s message again, rereading the words like they would magically change into something better.

It’ll take about two weeks to fix everything. Hold tight, mes amis. I’ll pick you both up soon.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of living with Vil.

Fourteen days of pretending like you didn’t know exactly how he felt about you.

Fourteen days of not thinking about how you felt about him.

You dragged a hand down your face, exhaling slowly.

This is fine.

You were a professional. A leader. You had spent years navigating crime syndicates, surviving betrayals, outplaying enemies who wanted you dead.

You could handle this.

Vil sighed dramatically from across the room, pulling your attention back to him. “If we’re going to be trapped here for two weeks, we’re going to need ground rules.”

You raised a brow. “Ground rules?”

He folded his arms. “Yes. Firstly, you will not track dirt into the house. Secondly, if you insist on ruining your diet with instant ramen at ungodly hours, do not expect me to partake. Thirdly—”

You tuned him out.

Two weeks.

You were so screwed.

You should have expected this.

The moment you stepped into the bedroom, you knew. There was only one bed.

You stood there, staring at it like it had personally wronged you. Vil, standing beside you, let out the longest sigh of his life.

“Of course.”

“Why is there only one bed?” you asked, because surely if you kept asking, reality itself would shift and reveal a second one hidden somewhere.

Vil pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Perhaps because this is a safe house, not a five-star resort?”

You scowled. “Still. You’d think there’d be at least a couch—”

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

A tense silence.

A battle of wills.

Finally, a compromise.

The bed was big enough. You could share. You would be adults about this. You would put a pillow barrier between you, and that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t the end of it.

The first time you woke up was because you felt something warm in the crook of your neck. You blinked blearily, still half-asleep—only to realize Vil had somehow migrated across the bed, an arm draped around your waist, his face tucked against your throat.

He was softer like this, relaxed in a way you’d never seen before.

You could feel his steady breaths against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful, like for once in his life, he had let go of everything. The weight of expectations, of appearances, of the cold ruthlessness that came with being a mafia leader—it was all gone.

You could wake him up.

You should wake him up.

But you didn’t have the heart to move.

You just lay there, staring at the ceiling till you fell asleep again.

The second time you woke up, it was different.

It was the feeling of wetness against your collarbone.

Vil was crying.

Silent, broken tears, his body trembling against yours. His fingers curled slightly into your shirt, barely holding on, like he wasn’t fully aware of it himself.

Your chest ached.

You had never seen Vil cry. Not once.

Should you wake him? Should you just hold him and hope it chased the nightmare away?

But then, before you could decide, he suddenly jerked awake with a sharp breath. His hands shot up, covering his face as he turned away from you, shoulders rigid.

You hesitated only for a moment before you moved, shifting across the bed to sit closer to him.

“Vil.”

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You ignored him, reaching out to rub slow, soothing circles on his thigh. You could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles were taut like he was barely holding himself together.

Finally, after a long moment, he let out a shaky breath and met your eyes.

“…Promise me something,” he murmured.

You frowned. “What?”

“Hire a bodyguard.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Stop throwing yourself into fights. Just… just run your turf without brawling, please.”

Your instinct was to protest. To remind him that this was just how things worked. You were a mafia boss, you couldn’t just sit on the sidelines—

But then you saw the way he looked at you.

Wrecked.

Like he had already lost you a thousand times in his nightmares.

The words died in your throat.

“…Okay,” you said instead. “I’ll try.”

He exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath, and slowly leaned into you. You shifted slightly, letting him rest against you, arms wrapping around him without a second thought.

He fell back asleep like that, curled up in your hold, like you were the only safe thing in his world.

And you—

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long you were both going to pretend you felt nothing.

Morning came, sluggish and unkind, dragging in the weight of everything unspoken.

Vil was seated at the dining table with his usual elegance, flipping through the morning paper as though nothing had changed. His hair was sleek, not a single strand out of place, his makeup flawless even in the early hours. If not for the faint redness around his eyes, you might have thought you had hallucinated last night entirely.

But you hadn’t.

You could still feel it—the ghost of his weight slumped against you, the quiet tremor in his fingers, the way his voice had cracked when he begged you to stop getting into fights.

Meanwhile, you looked like you had crawled out of a shallow grave.

The bags under your eyes were so deep they should’ve been classified as emotional baggage, and you felt like you had spent the entire night being run over by the concept of feelings.

Vil was ignoring it.

You could see it in the way he didn’t so much as glance at you, the way he casually sipped his tea as if the two of you hadn’t shared something unbearably raw just hours ago.

Fine. If this was how he wanted to play it, you’d let him.

But you were going to make him break first.

The first move was subtle. Elegant. A test of control.

Vil had just finished cutting his breakfast into perfect, bite-sized pieces, his every movement effortlessly precise. You watched as he lifted a forkful of omelet to his lips, gaze still fixated on his newspaper, when you struck.

“Can I have a bite?” you asked.

He barely looked at you. “Then take one.”

And so you did.

Only instead of reaching for your own fork like a normal human being, you leaned over and took a bite straight from his.

Vil froze.

You chewed slowly, deliberately, your eyes locking with his over the rim of his teacup.

“Not bad,” you mused, as if you hadn’t just committed the equivalent of social treason.

There was a long, painful silence.

Then, very, very carefully, Vil set down his teacup.

“Do not step into my personal space.” His voice was calm, measured, betraying only the faintest trace of strain.

You hummed, tapping your fork against the table. “Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

His fingers tightened around his utensils.

You smiled.

Point, you.

The second move was bolder. Personal.

Vil was seated on the couch, a book resting delicately in his hands. The warm afternoon light spilled through the windows, painting golden edges along his profile, catching on the fine lines of his perfectly manicured fingers.

Without hesitation, you walked over and collapsed onto the couch, resting your head directly in his lap.

Vil stiffened.

You tilted your head up, looking at him with a lazy grin. “Comfy.”

He stared at you, utterly still, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, contemplating whether to jump or push you off first.

The moment stretched, long and uncertain, and for a second you thought maybe he’d shove you away.

Then—slowly, painstakingly—he inhaled.

And turned a page.

Didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t say a word.

But he didn’t move you.

You grinned.

Point, you.

The third move was cheating, really.

Vil was cooking dinner, standing at the stove with an almost infuriating level of grace. Even in exile, even in a safe house, he carried himself like a king in his palace—untouchable, unreachable.

So naturally, you did what any sane person would do.

You walked right up behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist, and leaned into him completely.

Vil jerked.

You felt the sharp inhale he took, the way his shoulders went taut as you pressed against him.

Then, with the ease of someone who had made a career out of pushing buttons, you tilted your head so your chin rested on his shoulder.

“Smells good,” you murmured, voice warm with amusement.

Vil did not breathe.

Then, with painstaking care, he raised his spatula and flicked it back toward your face.

You dodged it, laughing. “What, no taste test?”

“What is wrong with you today?” His voice was sharp, an edge of something dangerously close to exasperation.

You blinked up at him innocently. “What do you mean?”

Vil turned, and finally—you saw it.

The tightness in his jaw, the flicker of something raw in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly where they gripped the spatula.

For one, breathless second, you thought—

But then he let out a slow breath, stepping away from your hold.

His voice was cool, measured. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Your fingers twitched.

So close. So close.

You stepped back, watching as he turned back to the stove, his grip on the spatula tighter than necessary.

Fine. You could wait.

But Vil was going to break.

And when he did—

You weren’t going to let him run.

Somehow this was his breaking point.

Not the stolen bites of food, not the way you laid your head in his lap, not the way you pressed against him while he cooked. No, it wasn’t any of those things that made Vil finally shatter.

It was this.

The moment was so casual, so simple, that for a split second you thought you had gotten away with it.

You had leaned over, plucked his juice from his hands, and taken a slow, deliberate sip from his straw—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in days, Vil did not react with cold, cutting silence.

No, he reacted violently.

Before you could even lower the glass, he was on you.

A sharp inhale. The scrape of a chair against the floor. Then suddenly, you were caged against the wall, his arms bracketing you in, his breath warm against your cheek as he loomed over you.

His usual icy composure was gone.

And in its place—

Raw, unfiltered emotion.

“Are you having fun?” His voice was low, rough, his usual clipped elegance ruined by the way his words trembled with frustration.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering, lips still parted from your sip. “Vil—”

“No.” His hands slammed against the wall beside you, cutting off your escape. His whole body was tense, vibrating with barely restrained emotion. “Answer me.” His voice cracked, his breath uneven. “Are you enjoying this? Playing with my feelings? Toying with me like I—”

You stilled.

He wasn’t just mad.

He was hurting.

You opened your mouth, a thousand things on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, his expression twisted into something desperate, something almost—broken.

“Do you think this is a game?” His voice was sharper now, his hands clenching into fists against the wall. “Do you enjoy making me hope? Every time you throw yourself into danger—every time you let me hold you, let me want you—you make me believe that maybe—”

His breath hitched.

Then he tore his gaze away, his jaw tightening like he was swallowing something down.

“Why do you do this?” he whispered, raw and vulnerable. “Why do you make me hope when I know you’re going to leave? This is unbearably cruel, even for you.”

The words slammed into you like a gut punch.

“Vil—”

“I know how you are.” His voice was unsteady, his fists trembling. “You live for chaos. For danger. You chase after thrills like you can’t survive without them, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can’t—I won’t be left behind.” His voice cracked. “Not by you.”

Something inside you wrenched at the sheer grief in his voice.

He had been holding this in for so, so long.

And you had pushed him too far.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out.

Your hands found his face, fingers brushing over his cheekbones, tracing the fine tremble in his jaw. He flinched—once, like he was afraid to believe in your touch—but then he melted into it, the fight in his shoulders loosening just slightly.

“Vil,” you whispered, letting your thumb stroke against his cheek. “I’m not playing with you.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, uncertain, vulnerable.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” Your voice was steady, sure. “Who else could match me like you do?”

Vil swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You leaned in, so close that your breaths mingled.

“I don’t intend to run,” you murmured. “You’re stuck with me for life, you know.”

He broke.

A shattered breath—then his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was messy, desperate, perfect.

His hands dug into your back, pulling you impossibly close, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. Your fingers tangled into his hair, anchoring him, grounding him, whispering without words: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breath ragged. His eyes searched yours, like he needed to confirm it, to believe it.

And then, with a rough, shuddering exhale, he grabbed your wrist—

And pulled you toward the bedroom.

You didn’t resist.

Because some things weren’t meant to be said.

Some things were meant to be shown.

The moment Rook and Epel stepped into the safe house, Epel froze.

It was comical, really—the way his eyes widened, the way his mouth fell open, the way he looked at you like he had just witnessed a crime far worse than anything you’d ever committed.

Because, well.

No coat could hide the marks Vil had left on your neck.

They weren’t subtle.

Not in the slightest.

Epel’s expression was caught between horrified and deeply impressed. His lips moved, but no words came out, and you could see the moment his brain short-circuited.

So naturally, you grinned at him and winked.

Epel made a noise that could only be described as distress.

Meanwhile, Rook—oh, Rook—

He was delighted.

His eyes sparkled, his entire face alight with unrestrained joy, as if the mere confirmation of your relationship was the greatest artistic masterpiece he had ever laid eyes upon.

“Ah, l’amour! The greatest conquest of all!” Rook clasped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Such passion, such fervor! I knew this would come to pass—what is fate, if not an arrow that flies true to its mark?”

Vil, to his credit, only sighed, adjusting his sunglasses as if they could somehow shield him from Rook’s theatrics.

You, on the other hand, laughed.

And maybe it was because you were happy.

Because for once in your life, you weren’t running.

The drive back to Vil’s base was filled with Rook waxing poetic about the beauty of love, Epel staring out the window as if trying to erase the past ten minutes from his memory, and you, leaning against Vil with a smile that you couldn’t quite hide.

When you arrived, when the car door closed behind you, when the others left to give you both a moment—Vil turned to you.

His gaze was steady, unreadable.

And then—softly, carefully—

“Would you consider moving in with me?”

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t just an invitation.

A silent plea that meant stay.

Stay with me.

Stay, even though you have every reason to run.

Stay, even though we’re both tangled in this life of chaos, of crime, of things we can’t undo.

Stay, because I love you.

And you—

You laughed.

Because it was so Vil to ask something like that with all the grace and poise of someone discussing a business deal, despite the warmth in his voice, despite the way his fingers lingered against yours.

You laced your hand with his, squeezing gently.

“Of course,” you murmured. “You’re stuck with me forever now. Crimes and all.”

Vil exhaled—relief, affection, something deeper.

And then, just before pulling you in—before pressing his lips to yours, before kissing you like he meant it, like he had no intention of letting you go—

He smiled.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x you #vil

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somarysueme · 22 days ago

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So, tattoo shop AUs are really popping off lately and personally I love it. What’s more romantic than bleeding for art? Nothing!

But as someone married to a tattoo artist, I have been experiencing some mild She Wouldn’t Say That regarding tattoo culture. So here’s a few quick tips that may help inform your AU. With a grain of salt for my mostly-second-hand knowledge:

NO ONE REPUTABLE SHOP WILL TATTOO A DRUNK PERSON. EVER. or even a person they suspect of any kind of inebriation. This is not just for Regret reasons, but also because alcohol is a blood thinner. If someone is on an acute dose of blood thinners, you generally do not want to stab them dozens of times per second.

Maybe this is regional, but in my experience most tattoo places don’t call themselves parlors anymore. It has a kind of seedy vibe. I see shop or studio a lot but rarely parlor.

Most tattoo artists are hot, yes, but none are as hot at my wife

Tattooing janks up your hands. Sometimes in a RSI way but definitely in a changing-gloves-every-five-minutes-fucks-up-your-skin way.

Artists themselves are rarely if ever employees of the shop. They will be independent contractors who pay the shop either a cut of their sales or rent on their station like a hair dresser. They are also (usually) responsible for taking care of their own supplies, tools, etc. except for the stencil printer. What kind of dweeb would have their own stencil printer?

There is always a line for the stencil printer. Always.

Artists generally spend orders of magnitude more time working on art, replying to emails, doing consults, etc compared to time with their needles in skin.

A typical schedule for an artist might be: wake up at noon and guzzle half her body weight in coffee, one appointment from 1-4, and another from 6-9. Home to eat one (1) real meal at 10 pm. Drawing until 5 am. This is good for her actually and good for our marriage and she’s so healthy all the time.

An ideal shop receptionist needs to be friendly, knowledgeable, and encouraging. They also need to be willing to get out the baseball bat that is kept behind the counter.

If a shop has to choose between “good people skills” and “will promptly rebuff Nazis and the obviously inebriated” the later is often a more important consideration.

At any given moment in any given shop there’s going to be at least one apprentice or someone bumming around hoping to be taken on as an apprentice. They spawn on tic and this feature cannot be disabled.

Again I can not overstate how hot my wife is

#tattoo au #writer resources #fanfiction

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count-on-mi · 3 months ago

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Mommy's little boy Part 4 (Dahyun)

Y/N: So finally I have sometime to translate a fic, I have trimmed down some parts so it would not be too lenghty. Incest fic with Mommy Dahyun, and even make her pregrant, enjoy!

Dahyun is a single mother. Her husband passed away from illness many years ago, leaving her and her young son to rely on each other.

Since her husband passed away, Dahyun has been missing him every day. However, to raise her son to adulthood, she has to work tirelessly to earn money to support the family. In the dead of night, Dahyun often tosses and turns in bed, unable to fall asleep, and her physical desires rise accordingly. But she doesn't dare casually find a man to satisfy her physical needs, fearing it might cast a shadow and impact her son's growth.

At times like this, Dahyun can only rely on her own hands to relieve her physical needs. She would quietly turn off the room lights, take off her underwear, gently rub the two rosy spots on her chest with her hands, then reach down to the already muddy little hole, inserting and withdrawing her fingers until she reached climax.

But such self-satisfaction always leaves one feeling empty and lost; Dahyun longs for a real embrace to lean on. She has never been able to take that step out of consideration for her son.

However, what Dahyun did not expect was that unbeknownst to her, her son was secretly developing unusual feelings for her. Whenever she was alone in her room "entertaining herself," there was always a pair of burning eyes outside the door, closely watching her every move.

The voyeur was none other than her son—me. Ever since Dad passed away, I have been secretly watching over everything about Mom. I watched as my mother gradually became thinner, knowing that she was very lonely. One time, I accidentally stumbled upon my mother in the act of masturbation, awakening something within me. From then on, I often hid outside the door when my mother was unaware, secretly watching her private actions, and even masturbated while watching.

Dahyun was completely unaware of this and continued to live her ordinary life every day. But she didn't know that the embrace she longed for day and night was right beside her.

As time went by, my desire for my mother grew increasingly rampant. I was not satisfied with just peeking from outside the door; instead, I started stealing my mother's underwear to comfort myself.

Whenever my mother was not home, I would sneak into her room and open the wardrobe to look for her worn clothes. I would pick up her wore but unwashed bra, inhale the lingering scent deeply, and then put it on my erect penis to rub against it.; Or take a pair of silk panties that mom wore but haven't been washed yet, wrap them around my cock, and jerk off like crazy. Imagining that this is Mom's little hole swallowing my cock, I always quickly reached climax.

Sometimes when Mom is at home, I pretend to accidentally drop something on the floor, taking the opportunity to quickly glance at Mom's legs while bending down to pick it up, sneaking a peek at the color and style of Mom's underwear. If she is putting on a new pair of underwear, I will specifically choose that one to use the next time I steal underwear.

In addition to stealing underwear, I also started secretly filming videos of my mother masturbating with my phone. One time, I heard strange sounds coming from my mother's room. I quietly opened the door and saw Dahyun lying on the bed with her legs spread apart, one hand kneading her breasts and the other moving rapidly in her vagina. That scene made my blood boil, and I immediately took out my phone and started recording my mother's private parts. In the video, it is clearly visible that Mom's pink labia are being spread open, fingers going in and out, the sound of water is continuous, and her expression gradually becomes more and more lustful.

From then on, whenever Mom was alone, I would take the opportunity to secretly film her naked. I have already collected countless videos of my mother during her orgasms, which I can watch and masturbate anytime, anywhere.

Dahyun was completely unaware of all this and continued to live her monotonous life day after day. She never imagined that her closest son would develop such perverse desires towards her.

I could no longer bear the desire that had been suppressed in my heart for many years. One day during dinner, I suddenly said to Dahyun, "Mom, I have something to tell you."

Dahyun looked at me with some surprise, thinking I had gotten into trouble at school again. "Y/N, what's wrong? Did the teacher make you stand in the corner again?"

"No, Mom. I want to tell you that my feelings for you... are a bit complicated."

Dahyun paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "What do kids know about love? The most important thing for you right now is to study hard."

"Not at all!" I suddenly became agitated, stood up, and took off my pants, revealing a thick, erect penis. "My feelings for you, Mom, are not just simple affection! I know you've been lonely all these years, just like I have! Every time you're alone in your room, I stand outside, staring at your body, wanting to possess you, to touch you, to give you true pleasure!"

Dahyun stared at me in disbelief; my words had completely shattered her worldview. She never expected her son to have such taboo feelings for her. "Y/N! What are you talking about? I'm your mother, how can you have such thoughts about me?!"

"But I can't help it, Mom! Every night, I think about your masturbation and watch videos of you to climax. I know it's wrong, but I just can't control myself!" I gripped my penis and moved it up and down, my eyes fixed on Dahyun's body. "Mom, I know you're lonely too. Why can't we satisfy each other? “I will make you experience unprecedented pleasure..."

"Enough!" Dahyun angrily interrupted me, turned around, rushed back to her room, and locked the door. She lay on the bed, crying uncontrollably, feeling deeply guilty for having ignored her son's emotional changes all these years. At the same time, she felt deeply fearful and uneasy about her son's thoughts.

The next morning, Dahyun woke up early as usual to prepare breakfast for me. I came downstairs to the dining room, and as soon as I sat down, I pulled one of Dahyun's hands and placed it on my lap.

"Mom, please reconsider what I said last night.” I know this sounds crazy, but for so many years I've been suppressing my feelings for you, and now I really can't stand it anymore. As long as you are willing to give me a chance, I will make you feel an unprecedented pleasure..."

Dahyun was so scared she almost jumped up, hurriedly pulling her hand away. "Y/N! What are you doing? I'm your biological mother! How can we do such a thing!"

"Mom, listen to me..." I reached out and gently pulled Dahyun closer to me, then hugged her tightly. "I know this is hard to accept, but don't you really want to experience it? “You’ve been through so much alone all these years; I can't bear to see you continue living in such loneliness. Believe me, you will find true happiness with me..."

Dahyun struggled desperately but couldn't escape my embrace. She looked at her son in terror, this child she had loved and cared for since I was little, now harbouring such wicked thoughts towards her.

"Y/N, wake up! We are mother and son, doing such things is against moral ethics! Even if you don't understand these principles now because you are still young, you will regret what you did today when you grow up!"

"No, Mom. I am already an adult now, I can take responsibility for my actions. And you should indulge yourself once, experience the true pleasure of sex..."

I said this as I began to kiss Dahyun's cheeks and neck, my hands restlessly roaming over her body. Dahyun only felt a wave of dizziness, her whole body weakly collapsing into her son's embrace.

"Don't... Y/N... let go of me... I'm your mother... we can't do this..."

"Shh..." I once again took Dahyun's hand and placed it on my throbbing member. "Mom, look, my cock has become so big. It's craving your comfort. Do you know how much I crave your body? Every time I watch you in the bathroom, I can't help but imagine how beautiful and captivating your naked body is. Why don't we give in to our inner desires and try a taboo relationship just this once?

Dahyun felt her son's palm as hot as a branding iron, tightly gripping her small hand and sliding it along my shaft. My penis is so huge that it almost swallows her entire hand. She never thought her son would develop such a huge thing; it was simply beyond her comprehension.

As her palm rubbed, a surge of heat quickly surged into Dahyun's brain, causing her to involuntarily let out a soft gasp. She hadn't tasted the pleasures of the flesh in a long time, and her lower body was gradually becoming moist.

“Oh my... my son's manhood... so thick and strong... if only it could come inside... how pleasurable it would be...”

Dahyun's cheeks flushed, her reason gradually being eroded by her body's desires. Although she still felt resistance in her heart, she couldn't stop herself from fantasizing and desiring her son's penis. This kind of taboo thought made her feel incredibly ashamed, yet it also brought an inexplicable excitement.

"Mom, I'm waiting for your answer... Are you really not willing to give me a chance to satisfy your needs? I will make you experience unprecedented pleasure... trust me..."

Her son's whispers echoed in her ears, and Dahyun's body trembled suddenly. She knew she had already been captivated by her son's words. Reason told her she shouldn't agree to such a request, but desire kept tempting her.

Dahyun is still struggling with whether to give in to her son's desires, with reason and desire waging a fierce battle in her heart. Her son's penis was simply too sexy and alluring; its hot, firm touch made it hard for her to resist. But as a mother, how could she do something so morally wrong?

I was unaware of the conflict in my mother's heart; I was only focused on enjoying the sensual scene before me. I vigorously kneaded Dahyun's round breasts and erected nipples, feeling their elasticity and softness in my hands. I then turned to knead Dahyun's full, perky buttocks, my fingers sliding between the two fleshy cheeks.

“Ah... so comfortable... Mom's body is truly perfect... I can finally possess you... I'm going to thoroughly enjoy your body...”

I was extremely excited, and my actions became bolder and bolder. However, I overlooked a fact—I was just a newly adult young man who had no idea how to control my strength. My rough touches and pinches left Dahyun's body marked with red, making her cry out in pain.

"Ah... Y/N... be gentler... you're hurting me..."

Dahyun twisted her body trying to escape, only to find herself in an even deeper predicament. Her son's rough caresses, though somewhat painful, were also igniting her desires. She unconsciously began to stroke my penis with her hand, the thick and powerful sensation igniting her desire.

“Ah... I can't take it anymore... I want more... I want my son's cock...”

Dahyun's rationality had long been thrown out the window; she was immersed in the ultimate pleasure brought by her son.

I was brought to the peak of pleasure by Dahyun's sudden actions, almost reaching climax immediately. I stopped moving, and took a deep breath to calm myself down.

"Mom... have you finally decided to give in to my desires?"

Dahyun lowered her head in shame, unable to meet her son's questioning gaze. "I... I don't know... I shouldn't have agreed... but I... I just couldn't control myself... Your cock is just too sexy and alluring... it's hard for me to resist..."

I was overjoyed, grabbing Dahyun and kissing her deeply on the lips. "Mom... I knew you would also be entranced by my cock... Let's start today... Let me take good care of you..." After saying this, I couldn't wait to tear off Dahyun's clothes, revealing her snow-white body. I eagerly licked and kissed the two rosy points on Dahyun's chest, then continued down, biting her lower abdomen and thighs.

“Ah... son... slow down... don't be so impatient...”

Dahyun gently pushed my shoulder, trying to stop my overly rough attack. However, I seemed completely lost in Dahyun's beautiful body, ignoring her resistance. I forcefully spread Dahyun's thighs, revealing her most secret garden.

“Mom... I can't wait any longer... I want to possess you right now...”

I pressed my cock against Dahyun's clits, preparing to insert it. Dahyun suddenly woke up and grabbed my wrist.

"Wait... I... I can't do this... this is just too wrong..."

"Mom... please... just let me have you this once... just this once... I promise I won't bring it up again in the future..."

I rubbed my penis against Dahyun's labia, trying to make her give up her last resistance.

Dahyun had already turned into a puddle under her son's onslaught, her reason no longer able to hold out. "Alright... just this once... you must never bring it up again..."

Hearing Dahyun's consent, I was overjoyed as if I had struck a treasure, I quickly spread Dahyun's thighs and thrust into her hardly.

"Ah!!" Dahyun moaned loudly, her son's huge cock penetrated directly to the deepest point, and her vagina was completely filled. "Y/N...be gentle...it's too big for me..."

"Mom...it feels so good...you're so tight inside...I'm going to move..."

I said and began to thrust hard, my thick cock tumbling inside Dahyun's body. Dahyun was knocked wildly by me, and she lost all reason for a moment. She could only instinctively follow the rhythm and move her waist to suit me.

"Hmm...ah...Y/N...so powerful...you penetrate so deeply...I'm about to be fucked by you..."

Dahyun's eyes were blurred, and she kept moaning incoherently. She had never thought that incest with her son would bring such intense pleasure as if her whole body was about to melt.

I was even more excited when I heard my mother's moans, and my movements became more and more wild.

I listened to my mother's moans, becoming even more excited, my movements growing wilder.

"Ah... Mom... it feels so good... you're so tight inside... I can't take it anymore..."

My breathing became heavier, and my pace quickened. I no longer cared about any techniques of shallow or deep thrusts, only thinking about fiercely possessing Dahyun's body.

Dahyun quickly intervened, "Y/N... slow down... if you go too fast, you'll cum quickly... we finally have this opportunity... you need to try to prolong it..."

However, how could I, who was experiencing sex for the first time, possibly hold back? I was already too deeply enchanted by Dahyun's body and just wanted to reach the climax as soon as possible. I increased the intensity of my thrusts, each one hitting deep inside Dahyun.

"Ah... Mom... I can't take it anymore... I'm going to cum..."

My cock throbbed inside Dahyun, releasing thick streams of semen that filled her vagina for the first time.

"Oh... Y/N... why did you finish so quickly..."

Dahyun helplessly watched as her son pulled out his softening member, a stream of white semen flowing from her open entrance.

"I'm sorry, Mom... I'm just too excited... It's too exciting to do this with you for the first time... I will try to keep longer next time..."

I lowered my head in shame. I originally thought I was well prepared, but I didn't expect to be conquered so easily by Dahyun's alluring body.

"It doesn't matter... This time we finally got what we wanted... You don't have to worry too much about time... We will have many opportunities in the future..."

Seeing that I was a little disappointed, Dahyun couldn't help but feel pity. She sat up, holding my cock with one hand, and wrapped her other hand around my neck and pulled me towards her.

"Good boy... don't be discouraged... we still have time... let mommy teach you now..."

Dahyun took my softened cock into her mouth and sucked it carefully. I felt a familiar feeling of pleasure return and couldn't help but let out a comfortable cry.

"Mom...your mouth feels so comfortable...I'm getting hard again..."

Dahyun glanced up at me with a look of satisfaction in her eyes. She sped up her swallowing speed, sometimes swiping the crown with the tip of her tongue.

"Hmm... um... right there... a little deeper... yes... it feels so good..."

My cock became engorged and swollen again under Dahyun's service, even thicker and more powerful than before.

"Mom...I'm going to insert it..."

I pulled out my cock from Dahyun's mouth, eagerly spread her legs and inserted it again. Dahyun's vagina was filled with my huge penis at once, and the pleasure immediately overwhelmed her.

"Ah...it's too big...Y/N...slow down..."

However, I have been blinded by desire at this moment. How can I care about slow progress? I thrust in and out widely, hitting the deepest part of Dahyun hard with every thrust.

"Mom...I finally have you again...It feels so good inside you...I want to fuck you to death...

Dahyun was fascinated by her son's almost violent offensive, but she knew that she could not let me go on like this, otherwise, I would soon end early again. So Dahyun tapped my shoulder to signal me to stop.

"Y/N... you are too impatient... we still have a long time to enjoy... now you just insert it into me like this... let mommy teach you some new tricks..."

Dahyun stretched out her hand to knead her breasts, her eyes drifting to me: "Look at my hands... caress my nipples like this... They are very sensitive... you can lick, bite and suck... but You must be gentle...otherwise it will hurt..."

I followed Dahyun's instructions and leaned down to kiss her breasts gently. I teased the pink nipples with the tip of my tongue, pursed my lips lightly, sometimes sucked and sometimes licked.

"Yes...that's it...then you have to thrust your cock inside me in small strokes...don't use too much force...this way it can last longer..."

I did as I was told, and my cock squirmed inside Dahyun like a snake, each squeeze bringing a new level of pleasure.

"Ah...Y/N...you are so good...just like this...slowly enjoy your mother's body..."

Dahyun closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the pleasure brought by her son. My lips and tongue moved around her body, like a slippery little snake; while my cock pumped rhythmically inside her body, like a posing enchantress. The combination of the two brought her unprecedented bliss.

Dahyun felt my tongue getting farther and farther away from her nipples, as if I was exploring other parts of himself. She knew it was a good start, but it wasn't enough.

"Here... try playing with my breasts with your hands... just like what I did before... but with gentle pressure... I can get hurt easily..."

Dahyun takes my hand and guides me to move around her breasts. My warm palms gently pressed her breasts, and then used my fingers to draw circles around the nipples.

"Um...yeah...a little harder...and squeeze it between your thumb and forefinger..."

I did as I was told, and Dahyun's nipples quickly hardened in my hands. I seemed to find it very novel, caressing Dahyun's breasts in different ways, sometimes squeezing and sometimes rubbing.

"Ah...you learn so fast...it's so comfortable...now put your hands on my waist...grab my hips..."

Dahyun taught me how to grasp her ass cheeks and then ordered me to thrust in and out of her.

"Now feel free to do whatever you want... Just remember not to use too much force... Let Mom guide you for the rest..."

After I got the right to express myself freely, I was immediately excited. I kneaded Dahyun's breasts into various shapes and dug my fingers deeply into them; at the same time, I thrust deeply into Dahyun's body, and each thrust hit her deepest part.

"Mom...your body is so sexy...I want to possess you forever...never stop..."

Dahyun couldn't help but smile after hearing this. This young child finally truly understood the wonder of sex.

I attacked every inch of Dahyun's skin tirelessly, and her pleasure gradually accumulated to its peak. Suddenly, an electric feeling rose from her spine and spread throughout her body.

"Ah——! I'm about to cum...!"

Dahyun hugged my back tightly, her whole body trembling. I also felt the vibration in Dahyun's body and knew that I had brought her an unparalleled climax.

"Mom... Your insides are tightening like spasms... Your orgasm is so wonderful... I'm about to cum too..."

Dahyun immediately stopped him after hearing this: "No...Y/N...we have more new tricks to try...change your position...let mom kneel in front of you like a doggy...then you start from Come in from behind...that kind of perspective will make you feel particularly exciting..."

Dahyun turned around and kneeled with a blushing face, raising her butt high and waiting for me to enter.

"Y/N... come on... fuck mom hard... like a pussy..."

Junhao was immediately excited and penetrated Dahyun from behind with his still-hard cock.

"Ah...this perspective is so exciting...Mom, your body is so sexy...I want to fuck you..."

I thrust violently, making Dahyun's ass crack with each thrust.

Dahyun thought that the doggy-style perspective would make me more excited, but she didn’t expect that her son’s favourite thing was her buttocks. When I lay on her back and kept thrusting, Dahyun felt extremely ashamed.

"Ah...Y/N...don't slap my butt so hard...it hurts..."

Dahyun begged, but I couldn't stop at all. I galloped across the grassland like a wild horse, slamming into Dahyun's ass again and again.

"Mom...your ass is so sexy...I just like to see it swaying in front of my eyes...listening to the slapping sound is so exciting..."

My hands kept slapping Dahyun's butt, leaving a red mark. Dahyun's face turned red with embarrassment, but she had to admit that this method really made me more excited.

"Y/N...Mom knows you like this...but please be gentle...it will really hurt..."

Dahyun twisted and tried to avoid my slap but was firmly held by me again. I increased the speed, thrusting as deep as possible with each stroke, and slapped Dahyun's ass hard.

"Ahhhh——! I can't help it...you're too fierce...I can't stand it anymore...please be gentle..."

Dahyun couldn't help but scream, her sanity had been completely destroyed by my crazy behaviour. She could only let her son do whatever he wanted behind her and hoped that the storm would pass as soon as possible.

Dahyun's words only aroused my animal nature. I roared like a beast and kept thrusting behind Dahyun. Dahyun could only keep begging for mercy, but her begging became my best aphrodisiac.

"Ah... don't... you're too big... I really can't stand it anymore... please stop..."

Dahyun cried, her body shaking. I, however, acted as if I couldn't understand the human words, and instead intensified my efforts, thrusting harder and deeper into Dahyun every time.

"Mom...you are so sexy...I love the sound of your cries...you should lie down in front of me like a dog...let me fuck as the way I like..."

I said and slapped Dahyun's butt hard again, leaving a red stain. Dahyun let out a cry of pain, but she also felt an unprecedented pleasure.

"Ah... no... don't... but I feel so good... this feeling is so weird..."

Dahyun was so ashamed that she never thought that one day she would be fucked like a bitch by her son, and she felt extremely excited. I also felt the tightening and throbbing inside Dahyun, knowing that she was about to climax again.

"Ah... I'm going again... Y/N... please be gentle..."

Dahyun cried out, her body arching involuntarily. Her vagina spasmed violently, wrapping my cock tightly.

Dahyun's vagina bit down on my cock, making me immediately on the verge of ejaculation.

"Mom... Your pussy is about to pinch me off... I'm going to cum inside... Let me cum inside you... give birth to my baby..."

I roared softly as I made the final sprint. My words made Dahyun even more ashamed, but she was already blinded by sexual desire and could not think about ethical issues.

"Hmm...Y/N...come on...cum inside mom...let mom give birth to a baby for you..."

Dahyun agreed softly. She never thought that one day she would be eager to be creampied by her son, and she even agreed to give birth to a child for him. But at this moment, she just wants me to be released in her body, so that she can reach a higher level of bliss.

Hearing that my mother agreed to give birth to me, I was so excited that I finally reached the peak after dozens of frantic thrusts.

"Ahhhh——! I am cumming! All of it inside you! Make you pregnant!"

I let out a low growl of satisfaction and cummed all my seed deep into Dahyun's womb. Dahyun was also stimulated to orgasm again and again by the scalding heat. Her vagina contracted violently, tightly wrapping her son's cock, as if she wanted to squeeze out every drop of semen inside.

"Oh...god...so much...I'm really going to get pregnant..."

Dahyun said absently that she no longer cared about the consequences and now only wanted to enjoy this ultimate pleasure.

Since the accident, the relationship between Dahyun and me has become closer and closer. At first, Dahyun still had some concerns, fearing that my body would if I ejaculated too many times a day. But she soon discovered that her son's energy was too amazing.

On the first morning after that day, when Dahyun got up, she saw me standing naked in front of the bed. The giant thing under my crotch was already erect and covered with bright morning dew.

"Mom...you wake up...I want you again..."

I smiled and climbed onto the bed, spread Dahyun's thighs with ease, and thrust myself into them.

"Ah...you're here again...didn't it just end..."

Dahyun was a little helpless, but she quickly indulged in the pleasure. Although my speed was not fast, I penetrated deeply every time, and Dahyun soon had a second orgasm.

"Mom...I love you...you are my little evil...I can't get enough..."

I murmured, speeding up and thrusting inside Dahyun again.

This is a portrayal of the mother and son's life day after day. Dahyun was a little resistant at first, but was soon impressed by my love words and skills. Now as long as I am horny, Dahyun will open the door to welcome my invasion. She uses her body to teach me the secrets of sex, and I use my cock to repay Dahyun's generosity.

Sex between us takes up most of their lives. Dahyun's vagina has become my exclusive toy, waiting for my use at any time.

I soon moved into Dahyun's room to stay overnight, and we had sex all the time. When cooking in the kitchen, Dahyun would suddenly lift her skirt to expose her wet pussy, allowing me to penetrate her directly from behind; when taking a bath, Dahyun would kneel in the bathtub and give me a blow job until I couldn't help but erupt in her mouth. So far; when eating dinner, Dahyun accidentally touched my leg, I would grab Dahyun's hand and guide it to my crotch, and then push Dahyun down on the sofa; when watching TV, Dahyun would sit on my lap and move by herself, until my mood comes, we changes to the normal position. The lives of us have been completely filled with sex. No matter when and where, as long as one of us is sexually excited, the other party will cater to it.

No matter where we are, as long as one of them proposes to "fuck until mommy gets pregnant" the two of us will be particularly excited. I will also ejaculate more and thicker semen, filling Dahyun's vagina to the brim.

The tacit understanding between mother and son is also getting better and better. Dahyun knows where my most sensitive parts are, and how to stimulate me to reach climax faster; she also knows how to control her body posture and rhythm, so that she can reach multiple orgasms and prolong my ejaculation time.

Once, Dahyun deliberately rode her hips on the bed and played with my scrotum, which made me only last five minutes before exploding inside her. Another time, Dahyun adopted the method of "nine shallow and one deep", slowly guiding me to rush inside the body, allowing Junhao to enjoy the sex for an entire hour.

Dahyun has mastered these techniques to such an extent that she knows how to drive me into ecstasy and madness. Dahyun is already familiar with where my sensitive points are. As long as she wants, she can make me stay in her pussy for a long time. But seeing I struggling to cum inside her body, she would always soften her heart and let me wreak havoc in her deepest parts.

Dahyun soon became pregnant with my child as I creampied her as frequently as a stallion. Faced with this unexpected result, Dahyun was a little overwhelmed - she had to admit the fact that she and her son were incest and faced social condemnation. But just when she was hesitant, my idea once again made her indulge in physical desires.

"Mom, since you are already pregnant with my child, let's take this opportunity to play some new tricks! I can fuck you and suck your milk at the same time!"

I suggested with a smile, while untying Dahyun's clothes, burying my head on her breasts and nibbling.

"Ah...you little...you are so full of tricks..."

Dahyun hummed softly, stretched out her hand to hold my head, and took the initiative to put her breast into my mouth.

"Mommy's milk must be so sweet...I'm going to suck you dry...and keep fucking you...until our child is born..."

I said vaguely, sucking harder with my lips and tongue.

Under the temptation of my big cock, Dahyun was quickly overcome by desire. She no longer thinks about her child's future, nor does she care about the outside world's opinions. The only thing she wants now is to have intense sex with her son until she faints.

So, with a burst of rapid breathing, Dahyun held my head tightly and allowed me to explore between her breasts. I slipped my fingers into Dahyun's vagina, stirring inside, preparing for the next wild sex.

Under my strong request, Dahyun resigned from the company on the grounds of concentrating on childbirth. In fact, her purpose in doing this was just to give me more time and space to fuck his mother.

Due to the changes in hormone levels during pregnancy, Dahyun's sexual desire is stronger than before, and she is becoming more and more addicted to my big cock. Except when going to the toilet, my penis always remained inside her.

Whether in the dining room or living room or even on the balcony and bathroom, every corner of the home left traces of our intense intercourse. The gurgling juices and milky white semen mixed together, soaking most of the room.

Dahyun lay on the dining table with her butt raised high, allowing me to thrust violently from behind. Her top had been torn off, and her round breasts were exposed to the air, swaying with the impact from behind.

"Hmm... it's too deep... My boy ... you are always so rough... you're going to break mommy..."

Dahyun bit the corner of her lip, reached up to her chest with one hand to rub the erect nipples, and reached down with the other hand to rub the engorged clits.

"Mom, don't you like being fucked bad by me? You said you want our child to be filled with my big cock until he is born..."

I growled, speeding up my sprint.

My penis moved in and out of Dahyun's vagina like a tamping machine. Every time I inserted it, a large amount of nectar would flow out down the top of her thighs. Dahyun's delicate labia has long been red and swollen from being fucked, but she still tirelessly swallows my huge cock.

"Yes...let's let our baby feel...how it forms in mom's pussy...ahh...going to cum..."

Dahyun raised her head, her eyes blurred, and a wanton moan escaped from her mouth.

My movements became more and more fierce. I grabbed Dahyun's waist, pressed her against the table and thrust her hard, and every time I penetrated her to the deepest point. Dahyun's body began to convulse, and a warm juice surged out of her body, soaking my lower body.

"Ha...it's so hot...Mommy's climax...I'm almost there too ..."

I gritted my teeth, and after the last few deep thrusts, I also cummed a large amount of semen, filling Dahyun's womb.

Dahyun lay weakly on the table, her legs trembling, and the clothes underneath her were completely soaked with water and semen. I pulled out my cock which is still hard, it was covered in the mixture that belonged to both of us.

"You're so beautiful...Mom...I can never get enough of you..."

I leaned down and kissed Dahyun's sweaty back.

Dahyun chuckled, turned around and kissed me back.

"Me too...my son...you are the one who really makes me happy.”

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #dahyun smut #twice dahyun

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mytheoristavenue · 6 months ago

Text

Aki, Denji, & Power Period Comfort!

Summary: Having four roommates in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is complicated enough, but it's even worse when you discover you're the only one to have a period.

Warnings: All platonic, fem!reader, period comfort, fluff, takes place just after season one, just three idiots trying their best

🌸 None of you were very enthralled when Makima ordered you to move into Aki's apartment, seeing as it was already overcrowded. He had half a mind to pile you in with Denji and Power, or make you sleep in the living room but Makima convinced him to accommodate you properly. To his dismay, that meant sharing his room with Denji and letting you share with Power.

🌸 As much as you hated the arrangement, you adjusted. Luckily, Power tended to end up sleeping on the floor in a nest of blankets and dirty clothes, cuddled up with her cat, which gave you the bed to yourself most of the time.

🌸 That came especially in handy in times like these. This was the first period you'd had since moving in and it was especially bad. You'd been in terrible pain all morning, curled up with a hot water bottle like it was your lifeline. Luckily, Meowy had sensed your discomfort and came to cuddle with you for a change.

🌸 "Cat thief!" You heard from your roommate as she stirred awake to find her beloved companion's betrayal. "Unhand my darling Meowy!" Yeah, you definitely weren't in the mood for her crap today, lifting the cat, much to it's dismay and setting it on the floor.

🌸 "It came to me, jeez," You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. "Not trying to steal your cat, you psycho."

🌸 Before you knew it, the feral girl was pressing her nose into Meowy's fur in pursuit of something, turning her face to the air, sniffing it as well. "The scent of blood is in the air, did you hurt my cat?" She asked accusingly before giving a smug grin. "I see, you tried to take him and he scratched you, is that it?"

🌸 "No, dipshit, I'm on my period." You groaned, patience already thinner than trace paper. Power gave you the most condescending look she was capable of, explaining that a period was a grammatical symbol of punctuation, not a physical thing you could lay on. You paled, staring at her blankly. "Power, do you not have a menstrual cycle?"

🌸 "Of course not!" She huffed. "Fiends are incapable of organic reproduction! Such is a human weakness!" Great, the only other girl in the house had no clue about girl problems. You went on to explain a few things to her, such as what a period is and why it had you so disgruntled. "Ahh, so that explains your paler complexion, you're suffering from blood loss!"

🌸 If there is only one thing Power understood, its blood and how a lack there of can affect the performance of the body. She thought to herself before getting an idea. "Iron, you need iron!" She decided, scrambling to her feet, darting to the kitchen.

🌸 You couldn't help but laugh. She wasnt not the brightest, especially when it comes to human affairs, but it warmed your heart to see her so eager to help solve your probelm, even if she didn't fully understand it. Just as you were about to get out of bed and see what she was up to, you heard a voice that makes you cringe.

🌸 "Yo, stop pullin' everything outta the fridge, dumbass!" Your shoulders slumped, knowing Power would surely explain her antics to Denji, who you were certain would be disgusted.

🌸 "Unhand that contianer, I'm on the hunt for red meat!" Your roommate shouted, sparking an altercation. "(Y/N)'s life hangs in the balance! She's bleeding out, she needs iron!" Her words seemed to quell his irritation and before you knew it, he'd barged into your room, panic written all over his face.

🌸 "Holy shit, are you dying?!" You couldn't hide your annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose as his eyes scanned you worriedly.

🌸 "I'm not dying, I'm not bleeding out, and my life does not hang in the balance." You grumbled, brow twitching. "I'm just on my period."

🌸 "Oh, gross," The look on your face told Denji he'd made a mistake with that comment and he was quick to backtrack. "I-I mean, uh, it's cool, it's totally natural! I-I think..."

🌸 "You're an idiot." You deadpanned, pointing out the door to usher him out. To your dismay, he came right back with a stale pillow and blanket. He nervously fluffed the naked pillow and shoved it behind your back, spreading the blanket out on top of you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was trying.

🌸 "Oh shit, periods like- hurt, right?" He thought aloud, leaving again and returning with a bottle of generic painkillers. "Oh wait, you need a drink, uh, hold on." He tossed the bottle at you and scrambled back to the kitchen, before bringing you a soda.

🌸 "Can I have some water instead?" You asked politely, trying to hide your amused smile. He looked between you and the soda can, puzzled.

🌸 "I mean, I guess," He accepted suspiciously. "What, you don't like soda anymore?" Before you can explain to him the link between the pain and the caffeine in the drink, Power bursted into the room, shoving him to the side and pushinng a plate of raw red meat into your lap.

🌸 "You dumbass, humans can't eat raw meat, it's bad for us!" Denji scolded, grabbing the plate and handing it back to her. "You have to cook this shit!"

🌸 "I don't know how to cook!" Power argued back childishly. "Besides, the bloodier the meat, the more iron it will restore to her bloodstream! It has to be raw!"

🌸 "Listen, humans can't digest raw shit like that! If (Y/N) eats that she'll probably die of salmonella or somethin'!" You didn't have the heart to explain that that's not how such a bacteria was passed on, but you did agree that, knowing Power's hygiene habits, she could give you salmonella.

🌸 You groaned, letting them bicker until the front door opened, slamming shut. "Why the hell is my kitchen in shambles right now?" Aki bellowed prompting both of your 'care takers' to scurry away.

🌸 "(Y/N) is dying of blood loss!" Power informed him, urging how dire the situation is.

🌸 "Nuh-uh, dipshit, she's just on the rag." Denji rolled his eyes at her concern.

🌸 "And that means you destroyed my kitchen and piled all the raw beef we had on one plate, why?" Aki narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Mind explaining further?"

🌸 "She has to build up her iron levels!" She growled, irritated that nobody is listening to her expertise. Denji continued to argue, thinking surely, she's full of crap.

🌸 "No, that's actually true," Aki admitted with a heavy sigh, already beginning to clean up her mess. "Red meat contains iron and when you lose a lot of blood, you develope an iron deficiency. Eating iron rich foods help replenish your iron levels faster." He explains, finally putting Power's words in a way the boy would understand.

🌸 "But she just can't eat a fuck ton raw meat!" Denji huffed, more irritated that he was wrong than anything else.

🌸 "Also true," Aki sighed, taking out a skillet and setting it on top of the stove, pulling the plate closer. "Look, I'll take care of this. Denji, go run a hot bath, Power, you go see what kind of products she uses and what snacks she likes."

🌸 Power came back and asks you what you prefered for this time of the month. After both of their tasks are completed, Aki sent them both to the nearest corner store with a specific list of what to buy.

🌸 After they left, he peered into the room calmly. "Denji ran you a bath, go ahead while I make you some food." He suggested kindly tilting his head towards the bathroom. You thanked him, relieved to have someone who sort of understands.

🌸 By the time you got out if the bath, you were much more relaxed, muscles no longer as sore. To your suprise, your fuzziest pajamas were sitting on the sink along with a warm towel. Exiting the bathroom, you realized Denji and Power were back, bags still in hand.

🌸 Aki waved you over to the table, inviting you to sit down with them all. When you did, he served you a portion of broccoli and beef. After lunch, he took the dishes, giving the other pair a chance to pass off what they bought you.

🌸 You didn't miss the pink in Denji's cheeks when he handed you a specific bag, tied off at the top. You correctly guessed that it was the one containing the products you'd asked for. Aki walked back over and sits back down as Power starts to hand you snacks.

🌸 She piles your arms with junk food, decaffeinated drinks, and dark chocolate. "Aki forbade us from buying anything with caffine!" She explained, annoyed, as if the idea was inconvenient for her specifically.

🌸 "Caffine will make you feel worse than your already do." He explained, passing over a still packaged electrical heat pad and a small stuffed bear. "These are just for comfort."

🌸 After spending a bit of time them, thanking them for their help, you decided to curl up in bed and test out the heating pad. You most definitely didn't expect to find your bed with many more blankets and pillows than you'd left it with. It had effectively become a nest of comfort and Meowy was already waiting to do its part in helping you recover. The sight made your eyes water a bit.

🌸 Power had tried to cuddle with you as well, reasoning that her body heat would also help, but Aki quickly shut her down, banishing both her and Denji to the living room. To ensure they left you alone, he sat on the balcony, watching them while blowing through a pack of cigarettes. Though he'd tried not to let on, he was a bit worried about you, texting you frequently as the day drug on. He'd seen you take bullets with less trouble so it was hard to imagine what kind of pain had you doubled over in bed.

🌸 'You okay?' 'Need anything?' 'Idiots being too loud?' He'd silently check up on your throughout the day, never going to physically check unless you'd left him unanswered for longer than an hour. He wanted to let you sleep if you could.

🌸 When you felt better, you were sure to wear your mood outwardly to show them how well their caretaking had worked. You thanked them endlessly in the next few days, always willing to spend time with them to show your gratitude. Power was happy to have you at full strength again, and to once again be the center of her cat's attention. Denji was glad he would no longer be subjected to your mood swings, at least for a while. (also that Power would sneak him some of your snacks after she deemed them unnecessary due to your period ending.) Aki was just relieved to see you felt better, being the 'dad friend' of the house.

🌸 Ranking of how they handled it:

🌸 Power: 7/10

Very willing to help, just clueless of where start. She feels a kinship with you, being the only other girl in the apartment. Blood is her area of expertise, so she knows a surprising amount about what will help on a logical level, she just doesn't really get how to safely put that knowledge to practice.

🌸 Denji: 5/10

Doesn't really care as much as the others, but they're freaking out about it so it must be important! He's mainly concerned with your pain. Knowing he's seen you take some serious blows that left you with little change in demeanor, it makes him a little nervous to see you so pale and dizzy. He doesn't really know how to help, but he's not opposed to learning. He secretly does think it's pretty gross, but when Aki explains he'll have to know this stuff if he ever wants to get a girlfriend, he's a over it.

🌸 Aki: 10/10

Knows exactly what you need, thanks to his experience with the women around him, especially Himeno. She definitely overshares with him enough for him to understand what to do. He knows the fundamentals and is able to steer the other two in the right direction. Very knowledgeable and level headed, but a bit of a worrier. Will text you if you are in the bathroom too long and will remind you to pack products before you leave for work.

Let's face it, me writing for Chainsaw Man was only a matter of time, I've been cooked since the first episode.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x reader #denji hayakawa #denji x reader #power hayakawa #powerr x reader #period comfort #csm fluff

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ot8xbangchansgirlsblog · 3 months ago

Note

I love ur writing sm, like I would worship you if you wrote this request, basically, you are the 9th member of skz, yall are all dating, and today, they all had a concert. The first half of it went fine, but somewhere in the second half, you all heard gunshots, you reacting the fastest, saw them heading to (member of your choice) so you shove them out of the way while you take the bullet (chivalrous ikr). The members all immediately stop the concert despite u reassuring then you could finish (with blood everywhere) then the ending is just comfort and angst bc they didn't sallow u to do anything, and you got bored. Plsss take ur time if ur going to make this, I will literally cherish this with my heart if you make it

𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕓𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖?

Warning: Angst

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It happened so fast.

One second, Y/N was standing next to Felix and Han, laughing and joking around with them, and the next, there was a blood-curdling scream that shattered the lighthearted atmosphere.

"Guys, duck!" Y/N screamed, her voice sharp and urgent.

She barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. In a split second, she shoved Felix and Han out of the way, her hands landing on their shoulders with enough force to knock them off balance. The world seemed to slow as they stumbled back, confusion still clouding their faces.

"Y/N—what—?" Felix started to say, but his words were cut off by the deafening sound of something heavy crashing against the floor.

The moment she pushed them away, Y/N’s eyes darted to the source of the danger. She had been watching them—Felix, Han, and the rest of the group—having fun, playing with the toys and gifts they had gotten from STAY. It was supposed to be a lighthearted day, a sign-meet with fans, some laughter, and silly moments. But something had felt off all day. The atmosphere felt thinner, like the air itself was stretched too tight, and Changbin had been out with a stomach bug, so the energy was lower than usual. They didn’t want to do the event, but it had been scheduled. They had no choice.

They’d gathered so many toys and gifts from STAY that it seemed like they were almost swimming in them. But right now, they were just strolling on stage, talking casually to the fans in the crowd. Y/N had been teasing Chan all day—playfully, of course. Then she had moved on to teasing the members of the Racha subunit—Felix and Han—just like she always did.

"Y/Nnie, look," Felix giggled, suddenly putting a pair of bunny ears on her head.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she grabbed a pair of oversized sunglasses from one of the gifts. "I look ridiculous," she said, still smiling.

"Let's take a picture!" Han beamed, grabbing the selfie stick and clicking a few shots, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Y/N held up a tiny pony plushie in front of them, laughing at how tiny it was. "Look what STAY got me," she giggled, passing it to the two of them.

The pair squatted down, completely entranced by the toy, their faces lighting up with genuine curiosity. Y/N snapped a few pictures of them, capturing how adorable they looked. She smiled softly, feeling a deep warmth in her chest. These were the moments she treasured—the small, quiet seconds when everything felt perfect.

Her gaze shifted over to Hyunjin, who was laughing with his usual carefree energy. She raised an eyebrow, confused, before her eyes landed on Chan.

The sight that met her eyes made her stifle a laugh. Chan, their leader, was wearing a tiara. It was completely ridiculous.

"So silly," she thought, shaking her head with a grin. She opened her mouth to call out to the crowd.

"Stay, don't you think our leader is a little too old to be a princess?" she teased, her voice light and playful.

Before she could even finish her sentence, she heard Chan yell, "Hey!" into the microphone, and a few giggles escaped from the crowd.

STAY responded with loud, drawn-out "nooo's," their laughter ringing out. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully at them but kept her focus on Han and Felix, who were still deeply engrossed in the tiny pony toy.

But something didn’t feel right. A strange sense of unease settled in her chest, making her skin crawl. She was on high alert now, her body rigid as her eyes scanned the surroundings. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

And then it happened.

A sound.

It was faint at first—a click, barely noticeable over the laughter and chatter around her. But it was enough to make Y/N freeze. The sound sent a jolt of adrenaline straight through her, and her military training kicked in. She had been through safety drills before debut, and she knew exactly what that sound was.

A gunshot.

Before she could react, a blur of motion caught her eye. A figure—clad in a large hoodie, with Felix’s SKZOO merch clearly visible—stood up from the crowd. The person’s face was obscured, but their intent was clear. The girl was shaking, tears streaking down her face, but her hands were steady as she raised the weapon in their direction.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Y/N didn’t have time to think. The world moved in slow motion as she lunged forward, adrenaline flooding her body.

"NO!" Y/N screamed, her hands pushing Han and Felix out of the way just as the girl pulled the trigger.

The loud bang of the gunshot reverberated in her ears as Y/N threw herself onto the ground, the sharp, metallic scent of fear thick in the air. Felix and Han hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, their faces contorted in confusion and terror. But Y/N barely noticed.

Her eyes were trained on the girl. The gun had been aimed at the boys, and Y/N’s body had moved before her mind could even catch up.

Everything happened so fast. One second, they were all laughing and smiling, and the next, Y/N had just saved their lives.

But the danger wasn't over. The moment her body hit the ground, she heard the sound of people shouting, running, and chaos erupting all around her.

Security was swift, moving through the chaos like trained professionals, their hands outstretched to clear the crowd and usher the members away from danger. But in the chaos, Felix crawled toward her, his face twisted in panic. His hands grasped at her arm, pulling her closer as he let out a strangled yelp of distress.

"Y/N! No, no, no!" he cried, his voice breaking.

She could barely move, her body feeling heavy and unresponsive. The adrenaline rush was fading, and all that was left was pain. As security worked to move her out of harm's way, Y/N’s side felt like it was on fire. It stung with every movement, sharp and unbearable. She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, and that’s when she saw it.

Blood.

It was seeping through the fabric of her crop top, dark and spreading quickly. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Y/N?!" Han’s voice was frantic, barely audible over the chaos, but she could hear the terror in his tone as he tried to reach her. His voice cracked. "Oh my God… Y/N!"

Through the blur of bodies and flashing lights, she saw Chan, Hyunjin, I.N, and Seungmin being pushed away, separated from the group. But even from a distance, Y/N could hear Chan's voice—loud, desperate, shouting for them.

"Do something!" Felix screamed at the security guard who was already dialing 911, his voice thick with panic.

"Y/N? Can you hear me?" Han sobbed, his hands trembling as he tried to pull off her tight clothes to check the wound, his movements erratic in his panic. Felix had moved to her side, gently cradling her head in his hands, trying to keep her conscious.

"We need backup!" the security guard shouted, his voice tense as he spoke into his radio.

Y/N could barely register what was happening. Everything was moving too fast, and she felt too much, too much pressure, too much noise, too many people around her.

"Guys? Where are you?!" I.N shouted, pushing through the commotion, his voice filled with alarm as he searched frantically for his friends.

"Get Chan, I.N!" Felix yelled, his eyes wild with fear. "She got shot! Get him now!"

I.N froze for a second, stunned by the reality of the situation. His gaze swept over Y/N’s body, the blood staining her clothes, and his eyes went wide in shock. "What the hell?!" he gasped, his voice shaking as he took a step back.

"Get Chan, now! Go!" Han shouted again, his voice hoarse from the panic that was threatening to consume him. He reached down, trying to stop the bleeding, but his hands shook too much to do anything useful. He was a mess, just as terrified as Felix.

"Ow..." Y/N gasped, the pain intensifying now that the adrenaline was wearing off. A sharp, searing ache shot through her abdomen, and she couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat. It was raw, desperate, and filled with a pain she couldn’t even understand.

Everyone was crowding around her, too many hands, too much noise, too much pressure. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She wanted them all to stop.

"Felix? Han?" she gasped, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. She felt like she was suffocating. "Please... please, let me go." Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t stand it—everything was too much. She wanted space. She wanted air.

"Baby, we’re right here," Felix’s voice was soft, but there was desperation in it. He was cradling her head, his fingers gentle against her skin. "We’re not going anywhere. We're right here, okay?"

"Chan... Chan..." Y/N whimpered, her hands trembling as she reached out for anything, anything to grab onto. Her fingers found nothing but air. She could feel the pain growing, spreading through her body, and she knew she couldn’t last much longer without him.

"Chan..." she repeated, her voice breaking as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to hold on.

The paramedics were on her now, their hands moving quickly as they hooked her up to various machines, pushing IVs into her arms, trying to stabilize her. Y/N barely felt it. The sharp prick of the needles was nothing compared to the agony she felt in her abdomen.

"We need space!" one of the paramedics barked, his voice cold and professional, as the others worked to stabilize her. The security guards, looking frantic themselves, began pushing Felix and Han away to give the paramedics room to work.

"No!" Felix shouted, struggling against the security guard’s hold. His heart was hammering in his chest. "I need to be right here! She’s claustrophobic—don’t you see? She’ll panic if you take us away!"

"Please, we need space to work!" the paramedic insisted, his voice hardening as he tried to maintain control of the situation.

But Felix wasn’t backing down. He twisted in the guard’s grip, desperation clear on his face. "No! You don’t understand! She’ll freak out! She needs us! She needs me!"

"Where is she?! Where is she?!" Chan’s voice rang through the air, raw with panic as he shoved his way through the crowd. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with tears, and his entire body trembled with rage and fear.

I.N had reached him, breathless from running, and before he could say anything, Chan’s eyes locked onto him, wild and frantic. "Where is she?!" he demanded again, his voice breaking.

"She’s over here! She’s over here!" I.N shouted, pointing through the crowd. "They’re working on her, Chan. They’re trying to save her."

The scene in front of him was like a nightmare. Chan’s heart stopped for a moment as he caught sight of Y/N, bloodied and pale, surrounded by paramedics, with Felix and Han still hovering anxiously at her side. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He had to get to her. He had too. He couldn’t lose her.

With one final push, Chan broke through the crowd, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. "Y/N!" he cried, reaching for her.

His hands gripped hers with a desperation that didn’t care about the blood soaking into his clothes. The warmth of her skin, so pale and lifeless, felt like the last connection he had to her.

"We need to transfer her now," the paramedic said, his voice steady but urgent. "I’m sorry, sir. You can ride with us if you’d like."

Chan barely heard him. His focus was on Y/N, on her cold hand slipping from his as the paramedics gently lifted her onto the stretcher. His grip faltered, but he didn’t want to let go. Please don’t leave me, his mind screamed, but reality was moving too fast.

“Y-yeah, I’m coming,” he whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the tears, but it didn’t matter. They kept coming. He took a shaky breath and stood up, his legs feeling like they might collapse beneath him. He had to move.

“I need Lee Know. Where is he?” Chan asked, his voice hoarse as he searched frantically for a familiar face.

One of the managers, still on the phone, glanced up from her conversation. “His changing room. He doesn’t know anything’s going on right now,” she said quickly, cutting off the call. “Go get Lee Know now,” she ordered another staff member, who immediately ran off in search of the missing member.

Chan nodded, turning to go after Y/N’s stretcher, but a shout stopped him in his tracks.

“Hyung!”

His heart skipped a beat. He turned, finding Felix in I.N’s arms, his face streaked with tears, his body shaking violently. Han, still in a state of panic, had managed to get through the crowd and was now crumpled into Chan’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“This is my fault, hyung! This is all my fault!” Han choked out between gasps for air, his voice thick with guilt. “She won’t forgive me, she won’t forgive me…”

Chan’s heart broke for him. He pulled Han closer, trying to soothe him, even though his own chest felt like it was being crushed. “Hey… shh,” he cooed softly, brushing his hand through Han’s hair. “Stop. It’s not your fault. You hear me? None of this is your fault. Don’t think like that.”

Han’s sobs only grew louder, and Chan, desperate to calm him, took off his sweater and wrapped it around Han’s shoulders. He was only wearing a vest, and Chan could see how shaken and cold he was. “Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?” Chan said, his voice firm but gentle.

Han nodded slowly, wiping his face with a trembling hand. “Yeah… yeah, hyung.”

Before they could move, another voice cut through the commotion, sharp and full of rage.

“Hyung?! What the hell?!”

Chan turned to find Lee Know standing at the edge of the crowd, his face flushed with anger and confusion. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes—bloodshot from lack of sleep and stress—were scanning the room in disbelief.

“Why wasn’t I told before? Where is she? What the hell happened?” Lee Know was seething, his voice low but furious, and Chan felt his stomach drop.

“She’s with the paramedics,” Chan said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos. “I need you to take the kids and meet me at the hospital. Please.”

Lee Know barely seemed to hear him. His eyes were still darting around the room, searching for something, anything, that could make sense of the mess. “Okay, but if she dies, I swear to God…” His voice trembled with emotion, a dangerous edge creeping into his words. “I’ll sue this company. I don’t care about my image. If anything happens to her…”

“Lee Know, not now, please…” Chan interrupted, his voice pleading as he grabbed his phone from the assistant who had been trying to help him. He needed to leave. He needed to be with her. “Just take care of the kids. Get them to the hospital.”

Lee Know nodded sharply, his face tight with a mix of anger and worry. He didn’t say anything more as he reached for Han, pulling him gently out of Chan’s arms. “I got you, Han. Let’s go.”

Chan didn’t have time to process it all. He was already rushing through the crowd, trying to catch up with the paramedics. His mind was a blur, thoughts racing too fast to make sense of them. All that mattered was Y/N. He had to be with her.

As he finally caught up with the paramedics, his heart skipped again. He sat in the back as he watched them work. He could hear them talking to each other, medical jargon flying over his head, but he didn’t care about any of it. His eyes were fixed on Y/N’s pale form, her chest rising and falling with the aid of an oxygen mask. Her face was still, and the blood on her clothes haunted him, more than any words could.

"Y/N…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please, stay with me. Please."

One of the paramedics glanced at him, then at Y/N. "We’re almost there, sir. We need you to stay calm. We’ll do everything we can."

But Chan barely heard them. His grip on his phone tightened, his thumb brushing over the screen as he dialed Changbin, his mind only focused on one thing: whoever did this had to pay.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you @galaxy4489!

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