#ff: the sounds in silence

[sleepyowlwrites]

Dragon Ask:

Wing: share a snippet that you daydreamed about before writing it (or a snippet that you were really looking forward to writing.)

Talon: share a snippet that tugs at your heartstrings- can be sad or happy!

Teeth: share a snippet that was difficult for you to nail down/required a lot of revisions.

Scales: share a snippet that describes something. (can be a person, a place, a feeling, etc.)

Fire: share a snippet with some dialogue you’d like to show off.

Ice: share a snippet where a character is taking a risk.

Poison: share a snippet that’s all about relationships (good or bad).

Breath: share a snippet that makes you laugh.

Storm: share a snippet where a character is angry.

Tail: share a fluffy or cozy snippet.

this has been sitting here for ages so I'm going to use my fanfic for it because I can, because I want to. because sometimes I reread my own fics as a comfort/coping mechanism and they're good stories! I want more! oh no!

Wing: a snippet I daydreamed about before writing

from Meta-portal, my great fantasy kpop crossover fic (the rewrite) that I have abandoned. sometimes I can still hear its voice.

we gotta start the story somewhere, so I'm starting it here, in Soul City, on the night that Younghoon decides to investigate the lion he's convinced he saw in the woods the other night. since his brother is busy researching, Younghoon gets Haknyeon to come with him, because his brother Juyeon says he's not allowed to go into the woods by himself. this is wise, because Younghoon has a lousy sense of direction and will get lost. turns out it doesn't really matter about direction or not, because they've barely made it past the tree line before Younghoon spots something shiny and runs after it. Haknyeon sort of hurries along behind and is consequently too late to stop Younghoon from tripping and falling into a bush. the bush has a discarded mirror in it, for some reason, and instead of hitting his head, Younghoon goes through the mirror and disappears. Haknyeon stares at it for a few seconds in shock before somebody else pops out of the mirror. then the mirror cracks and starts smoking a little. the new person is not very perturbed by this and instead just asks, "is this northern scarlentis?" "no," Haknyeon answers with some difficulty, since he's still in shock. "this is amarantis." "oh wow," the stranger says. "I came somewhere totally new this time." just then, Jacob - the witch who lives in the woods - comes through the trees, a little out of breath. "I sensed trouble. was I right?" "I hope not," the stranger says. "I'm Jisung." Haknyeon rubs at his eyes. "see that mirror? Younghoon went through there." "and I came out!" Jisung should really be perturbed but maybe he goes through strange portals all the time. Jacob inspects the mirror. "it's a portal," he says, rather unhelpfully as all present understand what it is, or was. "I guess you better come home with me. we'll talk in the morning." it's not even midnight but Haknyeon agrees to sleep over and they tromp through the woods to Jacob's house.

Talon: a snippet that tugs at my heartstrings

from Good Brother, my KinnPorsche fic that I wrote based off of several gifsets and my love of complicated brother relationships

It's five in the morning. Kim can't stand being in this bed, in this room anymore. He doesn't want anyone to see him, but he can't stay here. He leaves the confining space of too much empty space on unsteady legs and creeps out of the house.

The garden is quiet and the sun isn't up yet. A line of pale yellow lurks at the horizon line, waving hello. Kim knows his movements are being tracked. There’s no true solitude in this house. Just another reason why he hates it. He chooses to be alone, but he fears it.

Kim stands in the garden, shivering in the early morning despite the heat already sitting dead in the air. He’s good at being alone. He despises it.

Footsteps sound from behind him. Someone is going to break the illusion. Kim doesn't know whether to be grateful or not.

"I hope you know I don't get up this early for just anyone."

Kim pretends he isn't startled to hear Tankhun's voice. He certainly wouldn't have predicted it. "No one asked you to get up."

"I did," his brother sniffs, coming around into view. "Kinn said you were sick and I told Arm to wake me if you tried to sneak out, which I knew you would do."

"I'm still here," Kim points out, feeling too tired to argue further.

Tankhun rolls his eyes, something he's good at. "You want to run out, though." His tone is matter of fact.

It is fact. Kim just shivers more.

A blanket is draped around his shoulders.

"Thank you," Tankhun says to someone behind him, drawing the edges of the blanket together and securing them in Kim's hand.

Kim needs to say something, snap out a witty retort, shove his brother away. He accepts the blanket and turns his face a little. It's just as hard to look at Tankhun as it was to look at Kinn.

Teeth: a snippet that was difficult for me to nail down/needed revisions

from Blood Curse, the fifth part of my Blood Cultivation series, a The Untamed fanfic. honestly, this part STILL needs another edit, but it's been three years so I don't know if I'll ever do it.

Meili had expected it, honestly. She’d been expecting it since her father had first appeared in front of her in Lanling some days ago. Even with the brief encounter during their nighthunt, he hadn’t really tried anything extreme. It had been surprising that he’d waited so long to make a move, choosing instead to bait her and let her friends work on the problem that she’d been living with most of her life and never thought anyone else would know about. Meili had assumed that she’d spend her days cleaning up after other people and avoiding her father and eventually her cultivation would get the best of her and that would be that.

She had never dreamed of developing close friendships or befriending sect leaders or telling anyone the reasoning behind her unorthodox cultivation. Secrets were her close friends; breaking her silence was the enemy. Sharing a secret had the power to kill, but she’d just handed it over without even a struggle. Besides the obvious one. She hadn’t tried so hard in years to tell anyone all her greatest regrets. The loss of her core and her choices on certain matters had ceased to be something she mourned, being instead something she just accepted. If she couldn’t speak about her horrors, she would at least avoid them. She would refuse to commit more sins.

Watching her father pace back and forth in front of her was like a nightmare come true. Everything she had ever hoped to conceal or ignore stood there, imposing his insistent chaos on her desire for peace. Meili traced the sigils drawn in blood on the ropes binding her hands. She’d found them almost immediately, erasing what was written and instead pricking her finger on a sharp bead embedded in her robe and writing her own in their place, infusing the blood with an energy signature so faint that her father would never sense it.

Wei Wuxian probably would, if he decided to ignore her warning and come after her. It was all the help she was willing to ask for at this point. Couldn’t her father see that he would never get anywhere with her? Wasn’t her initial refusal so many years ago enough? What he’d asked of her a few days ago was of course going to be refused as well.

“You’ve valued your own life well enough this far,” he’d snarled at her, flitting in and out of focus like a mirage. “If you can value it so preciously all these years and keep your silence, then you will value it enough to do this for me, for us. And there’s not nearly so much time now. You will either kill Sect Leader Jin or you will die and then I will take control of you and all your running away will have been for naught.”

Meili had no intention of being anyone’s puppet. That was what the talisman stuck to the inside of her robes was for. When the new adjustment to the curse inevitably killed her, her body would burn to ash, leaving her father with nothing. Sure, she wasn’t eager for death, but if there was something she valued more than her own life, it was those that deserved to live were able to. Also, it would be satisfying to know that her father would lose his greatest creation.

“I really don’t know why you expected anything else from me.” She said it to the air, not interested in seeing the rage on her father’s face.

Jin Feng had enough quiet madness in his voice to set her on edge anyway. “I never expected much from you. You were the one always surpassing my low expectations. If you hadn’t been so clever, I might have given up on you years ago.”

“You wouldn’t have. Once you’re obsessed with something, you won’t change your mind. I was a plaything and you strung me out to dance for you.” Meili tried not to let her own anger cloud her senses. The sound of her father chuckling to himself was hard to ignore. “And of course, once Xue Yang saw something in me it was all over. Even if I’d played dumb you would have just killed me and made me a puppet right there.”

“A child puppet would hardly have been useful,” Jin Feng said, far too casually. Meili dug her nails into her palms to keep herself steady. “I would have simply hurt more people to coerce you. If perhaps you were less of a wilting flower, able to see justifiable costs, I might have taken longer to reinvent you.”

Scales: a snippet that describes something.

from Heartbeat, my first The Lost Tomb Reboot fic. sensory descriptions my beloved.

Liu Sang watches the sky crackle along its seams and flash purple for a moment. There’s a pause that seems too lengthy, making him wait in unearned agony until the following crash of sound reverberates throughout his whole body, hissing at the tips of his fingers. There's a sizzle across his collarbones, a fresh sting in his cheek when he bites the inside.

A storm is a natural, normal occurrence. The air hums with humid energy around him, there are birds beating hard against the wind and trees bending gracefully beneath it. Liu Sang breathes and the same air catches in his throat and hurts to swallow. The natural is fast becoming the unnatural.

He can hear it, surrounding him. He can hear all of it. He can hear Wu Xie’s strong lungs, unperturbed by the weather, can hear Pangzi’s slightly wheezier breath as they hike along the trail. He can also hear Pangzi mumbling under that breath about dinner and how he’s going to have to fend off Wu Xie as he cooks. Liu Sang can hear his ouxiang at the back of them, hear how his heartbeat never changes pace no matter how rough the climb gets, unless Wu Xie slips on a rock, in which case it trips for only a singular beat before relaxing again.

It’s a comfort, or it usually is, when Liu Sang can measure his breaths along with the others’ and calm himself by the mere reassurance of their presence around him. But here, the sky splits and spits and the thunder answers its signals with a coarse trail of anger and Liu Sang feels himself drifting. And falling. His feet catch on a root, which seems to become a hungry claw in the dark, and he doesn’t have the breath left in him to shout as he tumbles.

The trees morph their shapes in front of him and the dirt under his feet becomes a smooth stone floor. There is darkness around him and the air tints green and the thunder is everywhere. Liu Sang is surrounded by both silence and sound and he can’t hear a thing.

He can’t- he can’t hear a thing. There are shapes in the shadows, there are specters creeping past. The ceiling lights up in one moment and descends upon him the next, burrowing past the pillars and soaking him in rain. The shadows cloak him in colors, there is hurt, hurt, he can’t hear the enemy but it kills him regardless, it wraps him in terror and laughs at his pain. Liu Sang can’t hear the mockery, he can’t think with these things, these things clinging onto him. They want to bury him, to erase his existence.

He’s being buried by purple sunlight, by the birds he can’t hear, by the trees made of bronze; the dirt on his skin welcomes him. He’s a thing of nothing, he’s alone, he can’t hear-

He can’t see-

He can’t breathe-

Something strikes his chest like the lightning in the sky. Liu Sang opens his mouth and fresh, mountain air floods his senses. His head aches. The birds are rustling in the trees above his head, can he hear that? Is he only imagining what he believes should exist? He peers out between the raindrops as sees nothing but blurry branches and lumbering shapes above him.

He can’t hear-

He can’t see-

“Jinx, I swear if you don’t say something I’m going to punch you and then both of us will hurt and it will be a bad night for all of us-”

Liu Sang blinks. And breathes.

Fire: a snippet with some dialogue I'd like to show off.

from Beating Hearts, the sequel to Heartbeat.

“Are you still mad at me?” He says to the jacket across from him, his voice coming out a lot croakier than he intended.

Pangzi lets out a noisy breath, shaking his head. He shakes his coat a little, causing the tiny flames to waver and wilt for a moment. “Who said I was mad at you?”

Liu Sang shivers in his wet clothes. They sit uncomfortably on his skin, like they’re trying to become the next layer. “I underestimated you. Again. So you’re upset with me.”

“Honestly, Jinx, it’s just a wonder you can think of such a thing when you’re so cold. Take your coat off and let it dry a little.”

“It won’t help very much.”

Pangzi’s exhale is even noisier this time, the frustration clear in how he stutters into it, how his heartbeat hitches along with his temper.

“Liu Sang,” he starts, and it never bodes when when his real name is brought into things, “I’m trying to take care of you. I’m always trying to take care of you. Why won’t you just let me?”

Liu Sang slowly strips off his jacket to give himself something to do, the squelching noise of it making up for his lack of an answer, at least temporarily. He’s colder without it, but he bites his lip to keep his teeth still. He spreads his outer garment out over his knees and on the ground, holding the side of it up like a wall between him and Pangzi. He measures his breaths, counting them as they go in and out. As he does, he catches himself counting Pangzi’s breaths, too. They’re not any calmer than his own, which is distressing. His fingers slide along the edges of his jacket, feeling the stiff material of threads swollen with water and dirt. He’s distressed to know that Pangzi is distressed.

“How can I let you,” Liu Sang says, slow and hesitant, with his eyes still on the ground, the words like acid as he forces them off his tongue, “when I know that nothing will last?”

He can’t look up at Pangzi, he can’t bear to, so he listens for cues in the other’s heartbeat instead. It gets louder, angrier, and Liu Sang has caused it.

“I used to think, sometimes, that Xiaoge wouldn’t return to us. That maybe I or Wu Xie would die, or that something would separate us, and all three angles would be left alone, or one would be left without the other two.”

Liu Sang brings his head up without meaning to, startled by the strange color in Pangzi’s voice. It’s not resignation, and it’s not fear. He’s just musing, thinking out loud.

“But those sorts of thoughts are useless. Someone must die first, or leave first. That will happen eventually. Until then, we just have to press on as we can and enjoy everything. Xiaoge will outlive us all, but he keeps coming back to us even so. Why does he do that?”

It isn’t a real question, so Liu Sang keeps silent.

Pangzi continues, his face tilted up toward the ceiling. “I won’t speak for him. He can do it himself. But I know that he believes in us, in our friendship. And it didn’t happen overnight.”

Liu Sang keeps his gaze steady when Pangzi drops his eyes to meet his. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t flinch.

“We built this,” Pangzi says, with so much feeling that it’s palpable in the air. “We built our triangle from the ground up and grew to trust each other gradually. It took time. But here we are. And here you are, with us. And you’re not just with us. You’re part of us, okay? We chose you and you can choose us, too.”

Liu Sang trembles under the weight of those sentences. “It’s hard to trust,” he hears himself say, distantly, like his voice doesn’t really belong to him.

Pangzi nods. “It is.”

Ice: a snippet where a character is taking a risk.

from Blood Energy, part two of my Blood Cultivation series.

Blood and poison, her two true companions. As Meili spun the resentful energy into clean energy and send it spiraling down the path, she couldn’t help feeling the pain of it all a little deeper than she normally would. She had been introduced to people who accepted her and talked to her with respect. How was she supposed to be satisfied with the loneliness of her persecuted wanderings now?

And then a real, audible scream echoed across the field from the mountains behind, followed by shouts from her companions in response to it.

Mountain demons. This task would remain unfinished, then. Meili slowly separated her blood from the resentful energy and drew it back into her body, some of the poison coming along and burning through her veins. She couldn’t allow it to remain, but would have to purify it later. In the meantime, it would give her enough strength to fight the demons. As she emerged from the cloud of resentment, Sizhui and Jin Ling hurried up to her, their faces taut and serious.

“Senior Lin, it was only one scream and there was no answer. It’s only a single demon. We should be able to take care of it ourselves. Are you able to fight?”

“I am.”

“Come on, we can’t let it attack the villagers.” Jin Ling was all business after his initial gaze of scrutiny washed over her, his earnest desire to protect the innocent people below him bringing out a bit of pride in Meili even though she’d only just met him.

“Let’s go, then.”

—

In retrospect, Meili could’ve done better, could’ve fought better, could’ve protected herself and her companions better.

But things were always easier in retrospect. At the time, she had been in severe pain from the heavy battering the resentful energy gave her as she’d worked to purify what she could as well as the vestiges of it lingering in her body after pulling her blood back to her. She was considerably weaker than either of her companions, and she was weaponless. She’d let her guard down and it had stayed down. Meili tried to swallow her anger as decisions that could not be undone and instead focus on what was happening in front of her.

Jin Ling and Sizhui were excellent fighters, she could see that. And it was only one mountain demon. Though they were fierce creatures with swift movements, a lone mountain demon was no match for the two cultivators at full strength. Meili was mostly occupied with keeping the resentful energy surrounding them all from aiding the creature in its fight. When it finally fell dead, its own negative energies quickly seeped into the ground despite Meili trying to prevent it. She was caught up in pushing the energy currently under her control behind a talisman barrier when new talismans took the place of hers and held strong.

The jolt of it sent her staggering, control lost. Absently, she watched her own blood leak from her skin and pool in the grass. In another moment, Sizhui was beside her, wrapping her hand with a cloth and Jin Ling crouched beside him, eyes full of curiosity and a little bit of fear.

“Explain.”

“Later,” Sizhui said, tapping on Meili’s face with a hesitant hand. “Senior Lin?” He set his hand on her shoulder and Meili regained control of her spiraling mind. She sat up.

And turned to spit dark, poisoned blood into the grass.

Poison: a snippet that's all about relationships.

back to Good Brother.

His little brother is silent, which is an alarm that keeps going off. Tankhun wants to shake him, to shake some words out of him, to get rid of that horrible melancholy that Kim is wearing. He doesn't, because that would be cruel, and he refuses to be cruel.

Kim sits on the couch where Tankhun puts him, clutching at the blanket like it might fly away. He lets Tankhun feel his forehead, doesn't shy away when he huffs at the heat he feels trapped there.

Tankhun tells him to sit still and not move, which is a test. Kim fails it completely, because he doesn’t move, which puts a feeling of strangulation at the base of Tankhun's throat. Kim is not like this and he hates it.

"Alright, we'll have something light that your stomach can handle. And you need fever reducers, and after we eat you're going back to bed, no arguments." Tankhun orders everyone in the room, which is only Kim and Arm, the latter nodding and leaving to fulfill those orders.

Kim just sits.

Tankhun plops down beside him on the couch. "You're scaring me," he says, returning to his usual self a bit.

Kim cracks the tiniest smile which would be reassuring if it didn't look so broken. "I'm known for being a handful," he says, finally.

"A handful that I can't get my hands on, typically," Tankhun says pointedly.

"You usually a talk a lot more. You talk and don't say anything." Kim sinks back against the cushions, closing his eyes. "So why are you saying things now?"

Thank goodness. This is marginally better, more of the sass he associates with his baby brother. Still, "You're not saying anything, not even lies and excuses. So as your eldest brother of course I will have to take responsibility."

Arm comes back with pills and water. "I told the kitchen about food. They're making it now."

"Thank you," Tankhun says with a smile. Arm smiles back and leaves without a word. He's good like that. "Take the medicine, please."

Kim peels his eyes open just a crack. "Please?"

Tankhun knows he’s out of character, or at least the character he often sinks into, but he has a baby brother to look after. That's more important. He shakes the hand holding the pills a little.

With a sigh, Kim takes them, grimacing as they go down.

"Does your throat hurt?"

"Not really." It's a lie, which delights Tankhun more than it should.

Breath: a snippet that makes me laugh.

from Meta-portal, the original version (which was written almost entirely in a friend's dms. I'm very proud of this.

And then- Hyunjae finally shows up in the story. He stumbles out of his room on the ground floor because Sangyeon knows from experience that he doesn’t mix well with stairs. He looks remarkably sober and like his eyes have sunk far into his face. “Do you need a headache cure?” Haknyeon asks, very dryly. Hyunjae squint at him. “Yes, thank you,” he says in a reedy voice. “Sangyeon, your pub is still a mess. Why do you have guests?” “Hyunjae!” Changmin interrupts, because he is an interrupter. He’s smiling very brightly. “We have need of your services.” Hyunjae looks around for a chair. Jisung coaxes Yeonjun onto his lap so Hyunjae has somewhere to sit. “Aren’t I heavy?” Yeonjun whispers. Jisung snorts. “You weight as much as two heads of lettuce and cucumber. You’re fine.” Hyunjae drops onto the chair heavily. “What can I help you with?” he says, suddenly sounding a lot more professional and awake. Jacob shoots him a suspicious look. Changmin tones down the brightness of his smile just a tad. “There’s a portal. In the labyrinth.” Hyunjae just raises an eyebrow. “We were hoping you’d make it a working portal,” Eric says quickly, happy to contribute. “You make portals, after all.” Hyunjae pauses, and his expression is so blank everyone except Eric is instantly aware that he’s hiding something. But then Sangyeon nudges him with an elbow. Hyunjae sighs. “Yeah, I make portals. But we’ve got maybe two hours before the brainwashing kicks back in and I might try and paint another volcano portal and push you in.” “Hold up.” Haknyeon has come back with a mug, presumably with headache cure in it. “You’re aware that you’ve been brainwashed?” “Well, yeah. Why else would I choose to be drunk at all hours of the day? I’m wasting all of my time, not making a living. I get a window of a couple hours before the alcohol fully washes out of my system and I get evil feelings again. And I am not interested in that. So I keep drinking.” Hyunjae takes the cup and swallows whatever was in it. “Threw in something for gut health, huh,” he comments. Haknyeon shrugs, then snaps out of it and glares at Hyunjae. “I was worried about you!” “You can still be worried,” Hyunjae says tiredly. “That brainwashing is not going to go away by itself.” Eric suddenly looks very excited. “There’s only one solution!” Sunwoo groans and hides his face in his hands. Hyunjae looks at Eric. “Aren’t you that not really lost prince?” Eric slumps a little. “Has just everybody really known where I was?”

Storm: a snippet where a character is angry.

from Blood Enemy, the third part of blood cultivation. Jiang Cheng and anger are synonymous.

Jin Ling could see his uncle ahead, looking like a simmering storm as he always did. “Uncle!” He tried to make his voice sound less happy and more dignified, but even if a potentially disastrous situation lay ahead of them, he would always be pleased to see his uncle.

Jiang Cheng looked Jin Ling over brusquely, like he both cared about his nephew’s condition and was looking for something to criticize. It was probably both. “Couldn’t even be bothered to greet me properly, huh? What kind of Sect Leader are you? I raised you better than that!”

Jin Ling flushed and came to a stop in front of his uncle, bowing with his back straight. “Sect Leader Jiang, the Jin Sect welcomes you.”

Jiang Cheng echoed the bow and immediately started to assess the addition to the party. Senior Lin also bowed, deeper than Jin Ling had, murmuring, “Sect Leader Jiang,” in a pleasant tone. “Who is this?”

“This one is called Lin Meili,” Senior Lin answered, rising from the bow slowly, her face devoid of anything resembling discomfort. “I have been lucky enough to be a guest at Sect Leader Jin’s request.”

“If you’re looking for a marriage, you’ll have to come through me, first.” Jiang Cheng said, politely fierce.

Jin Ling’s jaw dropped and he closed his mouth with a even deeper blush spreading across his face. “Uncle!”

To her credit, Senior Lin kept her expression mostly placid, though her eyes were clearly amused. “He’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Exactly! He shouldn’t even be thinking about marriage!”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement, then, Sect Leader. I am merely here to assist on the nighthunt.”

“The nighthunt?” Jiang Cheng swung around to glare at Jin Ling. “You knew I was arriving but were planning on going on a nighthunt without me?”

“Actually, I assumed you’d just come along,” Jin Ling said faintly, wishing the evening was over already. “Do you want to come?”

Jiang Cheng stared at Jin Ling like he’d grown a second head. “Do I want to-,” he cut himself out, looking quite close to murdering someone. “Jin Ling, you have responsibilities, you can’t just go off on a nighthunt because you feel like it! Were you going with your disciples or just with this new cultivator I have never met before!”

“Uncle.” Jin Ling swallowed hard. “Lin Meili has new techniques that I’d like to see. She was available to hunt tonight and if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I’m sorry to make you entertain yourself, but there are other pressing issues that-”

“Other pressing issues? Other pressing issues that you are just sweeping aside to have fun for a night?” Jiang Cheng was shaking, he was so angry. Zidian was sparking and vibrating on his wrist.

“No, we’re going on the nighthunt because of the pressing issues!” Jin Ling finally snapped, though his courage left him almost immediately. “Uncle, I believe there is a new threat in the Jin sect and Lin Meili is going to help me find and deal with it. The nighthunt is an excuse, but only so I can see the techniques she uses. It’s complicated, uncle, please. Trust me, I’m not shirking my duties.”

Jiang Cheng made a visible effort to calm himself, his spiritual tool also dimming. “Nobody is going on a nighthunt until I know what on earth you are talking about, Jin Ling.”

“Right.” Jin Ling turned around. “We’ll go to my office, then.”

Tail: a fluffy or cozy snippet.

from the bonus Blood Cultivation series collection.

Jin Ling turned and said, “Jingyi,” and glared at him. It was less of a glare and more like he was silently asking for something. But Jingyi only understood Sizhui’s silent communication. He had no idea what Jin Ling wanted from him.

When no words arrived to help translate the silence, Jingyi rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Hug me.”

Jingyi blinked. “What.”

Jin Ling didn’t look away or fiddle with his robes. “Senior Wei said you give really good hugs. I’m tired, I’m stressed, and you don’t want to hear me complain anymore, so give me a hug. Please.”

There was a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue but Jingyi swallowed it when Sizhui looked at him meaningfully. That was a silent sentence he could understand. So, he just shifted closer to Jin Ling and hugged him. His friend positively melted in the embrace, which honestly worried Jingyi a little, and this whole Jin-Ling-being-aware-and-accepting-of-his-own-emotions thing was already pretty weird. Feeling him so relaxed against him made Jingyi both concerned and fond. He tightened his arms when Jin Ling pressed his face closer to his chest, making a sound that might have been contented, might have been a sob. Jingyi really didn’t want to ask which one it was.

Sizhui started to stroke Jin Ling’s hair from the other side. “Are you alright, A-Ling?”

“No.” The muffled sound was petulant, much more Jin Ling sounding. Jingyi’s relief swooped up from his heart and exploded in his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear them. There was no need to get so emotional over Jin Ling being emotional. Sizhui then pat his hair too and it was Jingyi’s turn to melt.

“We’re here for you,” he promised into Jin Ling’s shoulder, pretty sure that this moment had become less about whether their relatives were getting along and more about the three of them being together and willing to listen to each other and apparently, give good hugs.

“I want our family to be happy,” Jin Ling mumbled. “I think most of us are most of the time, maybe, but I can’t always tell, and sometimes it feels like one of us goes just a little too far and there’s a dark edge to everything. If we push into that we get lost and it takes a while to come out and I wish it would go away. I want uncle to smile and my other uncle to smile and I want you two to smile and Senior Lin and everybody. I wish we could just talk at dinner without it either going dark or getting cryptic. Can’t anybody have a happy conversation that doesn’t include thinly veiled insults?”

we made it! @another-white-void I'm tagging you because some of this is wuxia-y.

thanks for asking, Trouble >;(

[parsley-sage-rosemary-n-thyme]

April 3, 1968 • Bookends

On this special occasion, the birthday of this beauty of an album, I'm not only thinking about how great it is. I’m also thinking about my Grandma, and I’ll tell you why via an episode that has stayed with me all this time.

I came to know S&G via my Daddy's audiocassette of Central Park playing in my parents’ car. They knocked me head over feet immediately and I wanted to listen to everything they ever recorded - but we’re talking Italy around 1999/2000, before the internet really was a thing. You had to buy CDs or cassettes, and if you didn’t like ‘em, then what? Lots of money thrown away, so it was basically not gonna happen.

Luckily for me, my Uncle had all the studio albums on vinyl! So I often visited to religiously listen to them on repeat, a goofy 12 yo trying not to scratch them and stuff. I had no idea what the songs were about, I was just starting to learn English, but I was in awe. Those voices! Those sounds!

And the covers of the albums, how unusual they were to my eyes! Not in a bad way, mind you, but so different from what I was used to - I was familiar with Queen, with the Beatles, with lots of other international artists and their pictures, but S&G’s just had their own kind of flavor, if you know what I mean. There were two people and not a whole group, nor a single artist, for a start. They looked so young, so bonded… I didn’t know a thing, I had no idea who they were, but those album covers spoke to me. 

The music told me all I needed to know, really. I tried to follow the lyrics on the back of the albums that had them, but of course I barely understood them - too young to get the whole meaning, but I didn’t mind, because I got the vibes.

So anyway there I was, marveling at the beauty of the harmonies and music and curious about who created such a magic. My Granny walked in one day and something upon these lines happened:

"Who are they? What is it they're singing?" 

"I have no idea Granny - they're American though, from NYC!"

"Oh yeah? What are they like?”

I picked the albums and we started looking at Bookends because you know, it’s the one where you can see their faces better.

“Do you remember seeing them on TV some time, Granny?”

“Not at all.” She paused to listen, I guess Wednesday Morning was on and Go, Tell It on the Mountain was playing. “They sound meh. But they're very handsome."

"I think they sound great and look meh, Granny."

"Hm. Lemme hear something else.” I have no memory of what I chose, but whatever it was, it won her over. “Well, shame they sing in such a strange language, I can’t understand a word. But you're right, they do sound nice. And you'll appreciate the rest when you grow up.”

And I do believe quite a lot of my problems started that day, lol. Anyway, it’s some sweet memory I felt like sharing. Happy Bookends birthday, my fellow S&G lovers!

By the way, I later discovered my Granny knew both The Sound Of Silence and Mrs Robinson because they were both sang in Italian by Italian artists in the 60s. SOS was turned into a love song, Mrs Robinson kinda maintained a pale bit of the original meaning. Anyway, Granny didn’t care about the lyrics, she was hooked by the music. I particularly remember when she heard S&G’s Mrs Robinson: she looked at me with such happiness in her eyes and agreed that it sounded just great - though she was still annoyed at the language, “Why two handsome boys with such handsome voices must sing in such an unintelligible language!”

[novaursa]

The Dragon and The Wolf

- Summary: Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second born child of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is a dragonrider. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (expect for rating to go higher in the next chapter)

- Word count: 3 681

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: I had this one stored away, but I've decided to post it on a request. Harwin Strong one is not yet finished, but will be posted in coming days. I'll see how both of these are received before posting more.

The wind whips across the snow-dusted fields, biting and cold, as you soar above on your dragon, Thraxata. The North stretches below like a vast, white ocean, with Winterfell looming ahead in the distance, its grey walls rising like ancient guardians against the winter sky. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a pale light that glimmers off the frost-coated land.

Thraxata’s dark scales gleam like polished obsidian, a stark contrast to the endless white beneath. Her massive wings carve through the air with graceful power, the membrane tinted in deep shades of violet and blue, like the twilight sky before night fully descends. She is known as the Midnight Fury in whispers—born of shadow and flame, a terror in the night skies. Her roar splits the silence, echoing across the fields, a sound both commanding and otherworldly.

From your perch on her back, you spot the waiting banners below: the direwolf of Stark, surrounded by lesser sigils of Northern houses. Lord Cregan Stark stands at their forefront, a tall figure clad in thick furs and armor, as still and stern as the land he rules. He expects a prince, no doubt, a son of Rhaenyra, a warrior with fire in his veins. But you are no prince.

You are Y/N Velaryon, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Silver-haired like your mother, with eyes the color of amethyst flames, you are the embodiment of old Valyria—a sight that would capture any man’s breath, even in the frozen heart of the North. Unlike your brothers, there is no questioning the blood that runs in your veins. You carry both the fire of your ancestors and the steel of the sea, a daughter of dragon and salt.

Thraxata descends with a mighty sweep of her wings, stirring a storm of snow and ice as her talons dig into the frozen ground. Her head swivels as she growls low, a deep rumble that vibrates through your body, her violet eyes fixed on the assembled Northerners. You dismount with practiced grace, the long cloak of thick fur billowing behind you as your boots crunch into the snow.

The men whisper, their breath misting in the cold air, eyes wide with awe and trepidation. No prince, but something more—something wilder, something that belongs in tales and legends.

Cregan Stark steps forward, his eyes fixed on you. They are grey like the winter itself, hard and sharp, yet there is a glint of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of admiration beneath the layers of duty. He dips his head in a respectful nod, though his eyes never leave yours.

"Princess," he greets you, his voice deep and resonant, like a wolf's growl beneath the snow. "Winterfell welcomes you. I had expected a prince, but the Queen has sent a dragon nonetheless."

Your lips curve into a small smile, cold as the winter air. "My brothers may be princes, but it is I who bears the fire and ice that binds our realms, Lord Stark. I trust you will remember the oaths sworn to my mother, and the duty you hold to the true Queen."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there is no hostility, merely calculation. "The North remembers its oaths, Princess. But oaths are easily sworn and easily forgotten when the fires of war draw near. I would hear your words and judge for myself where our loyalties lie."

Thraxata’s tail lashes behind you, sending a spray of snow into the air. You can sense her restlessness, her desire to protect you, to assert her dominance in this land where dragons are more myth than reality. But you place a gloved hand on her scaled flank, a silent command, and she stills, though her eyes remain fixed on Cregan.

"You speak with wisdom, my lord," you reply, your voice firm but laced with the authority of the blood you carry. "But the North has never bent to whispers or empty promises. My mother’s cause is just, her claim undeniable. The realm needs strength, and you know as well as I that only fire can bring the long night to its knees."

There’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in Cregan’s gaze. He steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until you are but a breath away. The North has always been a place where respect is earned through strength and resolve, not titles or finery. In that moment, you realize that your mother’s choice was not a mistake; you were sent because here, in this land of cold and iron, you are seen not as a delicate princess, but as something fiercer.

"Then perhaps the Queen chose wisely in sending you," he murmurs, his voice low, for your ears alone. "The North respects strength, and it seems that is something you possess in abundance, Y/N Velaryon."

There is a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the game you both play. He is the Wolf of Winterfell, and you are the Dragon sent to bind him to your mother’s cause. But there is something else too—a flicker of intrigue, of something more personal beneath the formalities.

“I shall make my case before the gathered lords,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “And I trust that Winterfell will extend the hospitality due to a dragon and her rider.”

He gives a slight incline of his head, a gesture of respect between equals. “Winterfell is yours, Princess. And I look forward to seeing just how fierce the fire of a dragon truly burns.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to his men. The banners dip in a formal show of respect as you walk forward, the Northern lords parting to make way for you. Thraxata stays behind, watchful, a dark shadow against the snow.

As you enter the gates of Winterfell, you can feel the eyes of Cregan Stark on your back, heavy with unspoken questions, and perhaps—just perhaps—the first stirrings of something that could grow amidst the frost and flame.

The warmth of Winterfell’s great hall is a great contrast to the biting cold outside. The stone walls are thick and ancient, adorned with tapestries depicting wolves in the hunt and battles long past. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that dance across the rough-hewn beams above. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron and earth, as though even the stone itself remembers the blood spilled within these walls.

You stride forward with measured grace, your fur-lined cloak trailing behind you. Eyes turn your way as you pass, curious glances that are quickly averted once they meet your violet gaze. The courtiers and bannermen of Winterfell are not accustomed to your kind—a dragonrider with Valyrian blood, a figure more suited to the tales of Old Nan than to the cold North. They murmur among themselves, voices hushed but thick with speculation, wondering if you are as fierce as the stories of your mother suggest.

Lord Cregan walks beside you, his stride steady and sure, the embodiment of Northern strength and resolve. He leads you to the head of the hall, where a carved wooden chair sits, draped in furs—a seat of honor, meant for you. As you take your place, his voice rings out, commanding the attention of everyone present.

"The Princess Y/N Velaryon graces us with her presence. Her arrival is most fortunate, for it seems the North’s business does not wait. House Glover has brought a criminal before us—a man accused of grave crimes—and they demand justice. Perhaps," he says, his grey eyes locking onto yours, "it would be fitting for a dragon to pass judgment."

There’s no mistaking the challenge in his words. This is a test, one meant to gauge your strength, your understanding of Northern customs, and how you wield your authority. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction, as do the assembled lords. You know this moment is pivotal; how you handle this situation will determine whether they see you as just another southern princess, or as something more—someone who can command both fire and frost.

You meet his gaze evenly, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It would be an honor to dispense justice in the North, Lord Stark. Show me this criminal and let us see what manner of man he is."

Cregan gives a slight nod, and with a gesture, the doors at the end of the hall creak open. The sound echoes through the chamber as two men of House Glover drag a prisoner forward, shoving him to his knees before you. He’s a ragged, weathered man with wild eyes and a face marked by scars. His clothes are filthy and torn, his hands bound with rough cord. There’s a stink about him—of sweat, fear, and desperation.

One of the Glovers steps forward, bowing briefly before addressing you and Cregan. "This man, Wyl Gray, is accused of murdering his kin and stealing from their holdings. He fled north to escape our justice, but we tracked him down and brought him here, as is our right."

The hall falls silent, all eyes on you now. The weight of their expectation is palpable. You rise slowly from your seat, descending the steps with a regal grace. Your voice is soft but carries through the room with the authority that only a dragonrider can wield.

"Wyl Gray," you say, your tone cold as the Northern winds, "you stand accused of betraying your own blood and committing theft in the lands sworn to House Glover. What have you to say in your defense?"

The man’s eyes dart around wildly, searching for some hope, some mercy, but finding none. He looks up at you, trembling slightly. "I did what I had to," he snarls, his voice hoarse. "My kin treated me worse than a dog, taking what was mine by right. I took back what they stole from me—nothing more!"

The hall murmurs in response to his words, some in anger, others in grudging acknowledgment. You can see the flickers of approval from a few of the assembled Northerners—they value strength, even when twisted by desperation. But you know better than to be swayed by the claims of a desperate man. His actions speak louder than his words.

You step closer, your gaze piercing. "You claim they took from you, yet you took their lives. Blood demands blood, Wyl Gray. In the North, justice is harsh and swift, but it is also fair. A man who cannot protect what is his without resorting to murder is a man unfit to live among honorable men."

Cregan watches you intently, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the room. The lords are weighing your words, assessing how well you understand their ways. It’s not enough to be just, you must be decisive—and you must show that you are not ruled by softness.

"You are guilty of murder and theft," you continue, your voice unwavering. "But the North does not deal in mercy for such crimes. You shall face the punishment decreed by the Old Ways. Justice shall be meted out by the one who passes the sentence."

A heavy silence falls over the hall. This is the moment—where the test truly lies. You could ask Cregan to deal with the criminal himself, and none would question it. But you understand what is truly being asked of you. The North respects those who do not flinch from difficult decisions, those who stand by their words with action.

You turn to Cregan. "Bring me the sword," you command.

There’s a ripple of surprise among the lords, but Cregan’s expression shifts, a hint of approval crossing his stern features. He gestures, and a massive sword, long and sharp, is placed into your hands. Its weight is heavy, but you hold it with ease, feeling the cold steel beneath your fingers.

You step before the kneeling man. His eyes widen in terror, realizing that you intend to carry out the sentence yourself. You look down at him, feeling no pity, only the cold resolve needed to see justice done. "In the name of House Glover, for the blood you have spilled and the dishonor you have brought upon yourself, I sentence you to death. May the gods judge your soul as they see fit."

With a swift, clean stroke, you bring the sword down, severing his head from his body. The hall is silent, save for the soft thud of the head hitting the stone floor and the hiss of blood soaking into the rushes.

You let out a breath, handing the sword back to a waiting Stark guard. The lords nod with approval, respect in their eyes. This is not a land for those who shy away from harsh truths or difficult choices. You have shown them that you understand the North’s ways—and that you are as much dragon as you are queen’s daughter.

Cregan steps forward, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well done, Princess. The North remembers strength, and today, you have proven yours."

There’s a weight to his words, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve passed his test. The respect between you has grown, forged not only by fire and ice, but by a mutual understanding of what it takes to rule.

As the hall begins to stir with renewed conversation, you feel Cregan’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you. It’s not just respect now—there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that might grow, given time.

But for now, you’ve earned your place among the wolves. And in doing so, you’ve taken the first step toward binding the North to your mother’s cause.

A little more than two weeks have passed since your arrival at Winterfell, and in that time, you have come to understand the North in ways few from the south ever do. The cold no longer bites as fiercely, the rough customs of the Northerners have become familiar, and even the solemn howls of the wolves at night are a comfort rather than a cause for concern. You’ve spent your days among Cregan’s people, riding alongside his bannermen, sitting in council with his advisors, and breaking bread with his warriors in the hall. You’ve proven yourself capable in all the ways that matter to them—skilled with both words and steel, a dragon in human form.

The Northern lords have come to trust you, their respect won by your ability to speak plainly and match them in courage. They see in you a reflection of their own values—honor, strength, and loyalty. Even Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, has found her lair in the craggy wilderness nearby, roosting among the jagged rocks as if she, too, feels at home in this stark and wild land. The villagers whisper tales of the black dragon seen circling the mountains, her shadow long across the snow, a fearsome guardian from the days of old.

Today, you ride out with Lord Cregan and his men on a hunt. The sky is a bleak grey, thick with the promise of snow, and the air carries the scent of pine and earth. The forest is dense, the trees tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. It’s a test, of sorts—Cregan’s way of seeing how well you handle yourself in their world, not just as a rider of dragons, but as a hunter and a leader.

You ride astride a hardy Northern stallion, its breath steaming in the cold air, and you match the men stride for stride as they navigate the rough terrain. Cregan rides beside you, his expression more open than it had been when you first met. Over these past weeks, a bond has formed between you—one built on mutual respect and a growing sense of trust. He speaks more freely now, and there’s a warmth in his tone that was absent when you first arrived.

When the hunt begins, you do not hesitate to join the chase. The hounds bay as they track the scent of a massive stag, and you ride hard, your cloak snapping behind you in the wind. You’re no stranger to riding, and you handle your steed with ease, navigating the twisting paths and snow-laden ground. When the time comes to strike, you draw your bow with practiced precision, letting the arrow fly. It finds its mark true, and the stag falls. The men around you roar with approval, slapping their shields and calling your name in praise. They respect a woman who can hunt as well as any man, and here, they see you as one of their own—a warrior, not just a princess.

As the hunt winds down, Cregan approaches you, his face flushed from the cold and the thrill of the chase. "You’ve more than earned your place among us, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff but warm. "Few could keep pace with Northern men in their own forests, let alone best them. I see now why the Queen sent you instead of a prince. You’ve shown strength and wisdom—two things the North values above all else."

You incline your head in acknowledgment. "I’ve come to admire the North and its people. But admiration is not the same as allegiance. I must ask, Lord Stark—will you now stand by my mother and send your armies south to fight in her name?"

Cregan’s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his eyes as he considers your question. He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze turning toward the distant horizon, where the land stretches into a vast, icy wilderness. "The North is not like the South," he says finally, his tone measured. "Our duty is first and foremost to our own. With winter coming, my responsibility is to the Wall and to the people who must survive the cold months ahead. I cannot, in good conscience, march thousands of men south when their families might starve without them."

You frown slightly, frustration creeping in. "So you’ll abandon my mother’s cause? You gave your word, Lord Stark."

Cregan’s eyes meet yours, unwavering. "I do not break my word, Princess. I swore to uphold my oaths, and I will. But sending armies south would be folly with winter approaching. However," he continues, his tone softening as he watches your reaction, "there are those in the North who would fight, even in the harshest winters. The Greybeards—elders, warriors who have lived long and seen much. When winter comes, many of them leave their homes, believing it is better to pass in battle than to linger and be a burden on their kin. They are few in number, but each is worth a dozen younger men in skill and experience. I will send them to your mother, to fight in her name. They may not be an army, but they are a force to be reckoned with."

It’s a compromise, one that you didn’t expect but cannot wholly dismiss. You nod slowly, understanding the practicality behind his words. "Your support, even in this way, will strengthen our position. I thank you for honoring your oath, Lord Stark."

Cregan remains silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more personal. "There is another matter I wish to discuss—a way to bind North and South even closer. You’ve proven yourself in the eyes of my people, and I have come to value your counsel and your strength. The North needs a Warden, but it also needs stability and unity. I am in need of a wife, Y/N."

His words catch you off guard. You had expected negotiations over troops and strategies, but not this. You study him closely, searching for any hint of jest, but there is none. His gaze is steady, earnest even, and the weight of his words is not lost on you.

"A marriage alliance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. It’s a move that makes sense, politically and strategically. Your mother’s cause would be strengthened by such a bond, and Cregan’s position would be solidified, uniting the North under his leadership. But you know it’s more than just politics—there’s something personal in his offer, a recognition of the connection that has grown between you over these weeks.

Cregan inclines his head. "A marriage would do more than just bind our houses. It would be a show of unity between North and South, and it would ensure that whatever may come in this war, our strength remains undivided. You are a woman worthy of the North, and I would be honored to stand beside you as more than just allies."

You consider his words carefully, your mind weighing the implications. There’s a certain inevitability in the offer, a recognition that your paths have been converging since the moment you arrived at Winterfell. You could refuse, insist on keeping your independence, but you know that this is more than just a marriage proposal—it’s a partnership that could shape the course of the war and the future of the realm.

Finally, you meet his gaze, your voice clear and firm. "If this is the path we choose, Lord Stark, know that I will be as fierce in our union as I am in battle. The North will have a wife who is as much dragon as she is Velaryon. But I do not take such matters lightly—if we are to do this, it must be done with respect, trust, and understanding."

Cregan’s smile is genuine, his eyes gleaming with both respect and something warmer. "I would expect nothing less, Y/N. We’ll have much to discuss in the days to come, but I believe this could be the start of something greater than either of us alone."

The weight of his words lingers between you, and as you ride back toward Winterfell together, there’s an unspoken understanding—a shared resolve. You have won the respect of the North, secured their support, and now, perhaps, you are on the verge of something more—an alliance forged not just in duty, but in fire and ice, strength and trust.

[mrsjjonstby]

Pairings: idolbf!jay×fem!reader

Synopsis: after a long tiring tour Jay comes back home

Warning: none actually, fluff

WC: 500

After their world tour, Jay’s finally back to get the rest, he desperately needs. He opens your guys’ shared apartment with his key cause he knew you were sleeping as he didn't tell you beforehand that he was coming back home today, sighing he closed the door after getting in and removed his shoes and kept them by your shoe rack. He slowly walked towards your living room with slumped shoulders clearly exhausted from all of the relentless performances and the flights. Soon he plopped himself on the couch and groaned cause of the immediate comfort the couch gave him, he threw his head back on to the couch’s head rest with closed eyes enjoying the feeling, after a few minutes he got up and made his way to the guest room to get changed to not wake you up. After the bath, he got himself in comfy pjays [;)] he opened the door of your guys’ room slowly to not make any sound and set foot in and closed the door behind him, he turned around and smiled softly as he found you peacefully sleeping. He slid into bed beside you, crawling to your side, and gently wrapped an arm around your waist. Resting his head on your chest, he let out a sigh of relief as your hand instinctively found its way to his hair. You stirred slightly under the weight and opened your eyes sensing a familiar scent, momentarily startled to see your boyfriend after the long tour. Surprised, you whispered, “Jay?” jay snuggled more in your chest seeking more of your warmth and replied “Yes, angel?” His voice was heavy with exhaustion, and you could tell he was on the verge of falling asleep. “When did u come baby? ”you ask while your hand soothing the back of his head with your guys’ legs intertwined as his wrap tightened around you. “Just a few minutes ago,” he replied, his voice already drifting. You hummed softly, “Okay, let’s sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow" too tired and sleepy to reply, jay nodded. “I missed you angel” he says after few minutes, you smile at his words and reply “me too jay, missed you like hell” and peck on top of his head and wrapped the your other arm around him and patted his back slowly to lull him into sleep as you feel him smile against your chest as he plants peck on your clavicle and says “I love you so much” as you reply with the same amount of love saying “me too” The room fell into a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle patter of rain against the windows. As both of you drifted into your dreams, wrapped in each other’s embrace <3

.....

sometimes words aren't needed to express what we feel, just the presence of the person who make us feel at home itself fills the void <3

Love,

~ shishi

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

A/: okayyy y'alll this is my first attempt on writing a ff, I wrote it in a rush so this isn't good but I'll make sure to improve my writing :) please let me know how the read was! Love ya!

[moonselune]

Okay 1 I’m new to your blog but I’ve read your pin post. 2 you’ve content has just kept on showing up hence why I’m here and 3 can I request BG3 ladies reaction to gn Reader who has a habit of adopting children on the streets so when they come home to Baldurs gate. Alllll of Readers kids are like “Papa/Mama!” I just can’t help but laugh at the pure Chaos that would happen

I love the idea you were just browsing the tag and I just would not stop showing up and you were just like ah ffs might as well

mwhahaha welcome to this mess

This is such a sweet request and I had so much fun writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The streets of Baldur's Gate hummed with life as you and Karlach made your way home. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded with anticipation and a touch of anxiety. You had mentioned your habit of adopting children off the streets to Karlach, but you had definitely downplayed the number.

As you rounded the corner to your home, a chorus of excited shouts erupted.

“Y/N!” A whirlwind of children of all ages, from teenagers to toddlers, rushed towards you. In an instant, you were surrounded, hugged, and pulled in every direction.

Karlach’s eyes widened with surprise, but a wide grin quickly spread across her face. “Well, I’ll be damned! Look at all these little rascals!”

One of the older kids, a lanky teen with tousled hair, pointed excitedly at Karlach. “You’re the one from the letters! The big, strong one!”

Karlach laughed heartily, dropping to her knees to be at eye level with the children. “That’s right! And you must be the ones Y/N never stops talking about.”

Chaos ensued as Karlach was bombarded with questions and challenges. She revelled in the chaos, roughhousing with the older kids, lifting the younger ones in the air, and roaring with laughter. One by one, the children warmed up to her, their initial awe giving way to delighted squeals and playful shoves.

Karlach’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon, the entire street was filled with the sounds of joy and laughter. She wrestled with the teenagers, showing them moves and tips while effortlessly juggling the toddlers, who giggled uncontrollably.

As you watched Karlach seamlessly integrate into the lively chaos, your heart swelled with gratitude and love. She caught your eye over the heads of your children, her smile softening into something more intimate and tender.

“Hey, Y/N,” she called out, her voice warm with affection. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The walk home with Minthara was filled with a comfortable silence, the drow warrior’s presence a steady anchor beside you. You had told her about your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t quite been upfront about the sheer number of them.

As you neared your home, the familiar sound of children’s laughter and chatter grew louder. Suddenly, a small army of kids of all ages burst from the house, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” they cried, rushing towards you. Minthara’s eyes widened in surprise, her expression quickly shifting to one of mild shock as she was swept up in the chaos.

“By Lolth’s web,” she muttered, stepping slightly behind you as the children swarmed. You were surprised she hadn't leapt up on your shoulder yet and started hissing at them, but there was still time. She came close to doing so when your toddler grabbed at the end of her robes, their little fingers covered in their own drool.

But before Minthara yelled at you to get it off of her, an older child, a girl with bright eyes and a confident stance, approached Minthara, looking at her in awe. “You’re Minthara, right? The drow, the one that saved Y/N?”

Minthara blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Yes, that’s correct,” she replied, her voice cautious as she still panicked about the grubby toddler that was advancing their assault, now using her robes as a tissue.

The girl’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Can you teach us? Please? Y/N said you are the best fighter she has ever met!”

Minthara’s initial reaction was to scowl and correct the child that she was the best fighter ever, but the earnestness in the girl’s eyes softened her. “Teach you?” she repeated, glancing at you for guidance.

You gave her an encouraging smile and to her relief, scooped up the toddler that was about to wipe something on Minthara's leg. “They’d love to learn from you, Minthara.”

Minthara hesitated but then nodded, her usual stern demeanor relaxing slightly. “Very well. I can teach you a few things.”

The older children gathered around her, their excitement palpable. Even the previous enemy toddler, wobbling on unsteady legs, looked up at her with wide, curious eyes. Minthara knelt down, her movements careful and deliberate, and began to demonstrate basic dagger holds.

As she spoke to them, her confidence grew, and the children listened intently, mimicking her movements with the sticks they had. The initial chaos had given way to a more organized form of learning, with Minthara guiding them patiently.

You watched with a smile, your heart swelling with affection and pride. When Minthara had sent them off and returned to you, she gave you a small, almost shy smile.

“This,” she said quietly, “is not what I expected.”

You chuckled, stepping closer to her. “Welcome to the family, Minthara. It’s always a bit chaotic, but there’s a lot of love here.”

She nodded, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “I can see that. And perhaps,” she added, glancing at the children who were now eagerly practicing the dagger holds she had taught, “this small army isn’t so bad after all.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Returning to Baldur's Gate with Lae'zel by your side, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. You had mentioned your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t quite conveyed just how many there were. As you turned the corner to your home, a wave of voices erupted.

“Y/N!”

Suddenly, a throng of children rushed towards you. They encircled you in an instant, their arms wrapping around you, pulling you in every direction. Lae'zel’s eyes widened in surprise, her usual stern demeanor faltering.

“What is this chaos?” she demanded, her voice tight with alarm. “Where is the discipline?”

One of the teenagers tugged at your sleeve, laughing. “Who’s the scary lady?”

“Lae'zel, this is my family,” you said, turning to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “They’re just excited to see us. Relax and go play with them.”

Lae'zel looked at you, clearly puzzled. “Play? What do you mean by play?”

You smiled, crouching down to address the younger children. “Kids, I have a super important adventure for you, do you think you can handle it?"

"We're not babies Y/N of course we can!" The little children shouted at you.

"Okay, well if you think you can handle it" You said in mock disbelief "Can you teach Lae'zel how to play?”

With delighted giggles, the children took Lae'zel by the hands, leading her towards a game of tag. She stood stiffly at first, unsure of how to engage. But as the children ran around her, laughing and encouraging her to join, she began to loosen up.

One of the younger kids, a girl with pigtails, tugged on Lae'zel’s hand. “Come on, Lae'zel! It’s fun!”

Lae'zel hesitated but then nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Very well. Show me how to… play.”

You watched with a mix of amusement and affection as Lae'zel, the fierce warrior, was gradually drawn into the children’s games. Her initial panic gave way to tentative enjoyment, and soon she was running and laughing with the rest of them.

When she caught your eye across the yard, her smile was radiant. “I am still not certain about this play,” she called out, “but it is not entirely unpleasant!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Walking through Baldur’s Gate with Shadowheart, you felt a sense of anticipation. You had told her about your habit of adopting children off the streets, but you hadn’t gone into detail about the number of kids you’d taken in. As you approached your home, a joyful chorus greeted you.

“Y/N!”

A swarm of children of all ages came rushing towards you, their faces lighting up with excitement. They surrounded you in an instant, hugging you and clamoring for your attention. Shadowheart’s eyes widened in surprise, her usually composed demeanor giving way to uncertainty.

“Oh my,” she murmured, glancing at you. “This is… a lot of children.”

“Shadowheart, meet my family,” you said with a smile, you then leaned in and whispered to her, “Just go with the flow.”

She nodded, still looking a bit bewildered. One of the younger kids, a little boy with curly hair, grabbed her hand. “Come play with us, Lady Battleflower!”

Shadowheart blinked. “Lady Battleflower?”

“Yes, you’re Lady Battleflower now!” the boy declared with a giggle.

Shadowheart gave you a bemused look, but she allowed the children to lead her away. You watched as she was drawn into a tea party, the children fussing over her, placing imaginary crowns on her head and handing her tiny cups.

Later, you found her still seated at a tiny table, a group of kids around her. She was holding a teacup delicately, playing along with their game. One of your children corrected her posture, insisting that Lady Battleflower must sit with grace.

You approached with a grin, ruffling your children's hair as you walked past them towards your beloved. “Shadowheart, may I join your tea party?”

Shadowheart looked up, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Only if you address me properly,” she said, her tone playful. “Lady Battleflower demands it.”

"Oh my apologies," You laughed, taking a seat beside her. “Lady Battleflower. It’s an honor.”

As your children continued their game, you exchanged a smile with Shadowheart. She was clearly out of her element, but she was making an effort, and the children adored her for it.

Later, as you sat together, watching the children play, Shadowheart leaned close to you. “This is… different,” she admitted. “But it’s not as overwhelming as I thought.”

You squeezed her hand. “Thank you for trying, Shadowheart. It means a lot.”

She smiled, a genuine warmth in her eyes. “Anything for you, Y/N. And it's Lady Battleflower, actually, your dismissal is offensive, I require five kisses as reparation”

"Only five?" You asked as you leaned towards her, "I believe someone of your stature requires, much, much more." You pulled Shadowheart into a deep passionate kiss, forgetting that you were surrounded by kids who quite quickly made theirselves known.

"Oh my gods, I'm going to throw up!"

"Somebody gouge my eyes out, please"

"Ah! they are eating each other!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh my gods I had so much fun writing this I actually cannot express it ! Hope y'all enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

[coupranghae808]

Birthday Blues

Pairing: Seungcheol x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warning: Slight cursing, birthday blue depression

Summary: Seungcheol is always on time to self-congratulate himself on his birthday, you'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

A/N: This is my first ff, so bear with me y’all

The first year dating Seungcheol was a strange yet overwhelming journey, to say the least. As sweet as the first dates, first kisses, first "I love yous," first intimacy, and first everything, together really tested your small inexperienced heart, but as your first boyfriend, Seungcheol did everything in his power to ease the journey. I mean that's what the first year is all about, right? Getting to know each other and building trust on an intimate level. One fact that you learned about Seungcheol throughout your relationship was that Seungcheol always tends to be on standby minutes before his birthday to receive early birthday messages. In fact, the first couple weeks you two started dating, his brothers all warned you if you failed to congratulate him at midnight on the dot, he would become a sulky monster against you until the end of existence. Although they make it sound like an over exaggeration, sulky Seungcheol is truly a force to be reckoned with. It's not every day he gets showered in love and attention, so he always expects special treatment on his special day. You'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

The morning sunshine peeked through the windows, waking you from deep slumber. Tossing and turning in Seungcheol bed, hoping for early snuggles, your eyes opened, and you realized you were all alone in the empty bed. He must've left early for work It's not the best way to start the day, but you weren't going to let this ruin your day. The day immediately started with a phone call, not from Seungcheol but none other than your mother herself.

"Hello-"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!"

"Aw thank you mom-"

Meanwhile, in the distance, Kkuma's ears perk up to the sound of your voice and dashes towards your end of the bed. She interrupts your conversation with sweet (aggressive) kisses; you have to calm her down with gentle pats brushing through her white fur.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Y/N! Happy birthday to you!"

"Wow, again thanks mom. That's all really sweet to say at 7 am."

"Oh please, can't I just celebrate my kid? It feels like just yesterday you were crying and screaming like a baby and now your__ years old. Gosh. Anyways, hopefully my gift arrives safely in the mail today. Any plans today? Maybe with that boyfriend of yours? Hmmm?"

Of course. Ever since you revealed your newfound partner to people, your mom especially, constantly pesters for any details about him or your relationship. However, dating a worldwide idol doesn't make your relationship any easier, so both of you agreed to be careful about what you share while protecting each other.

"His name is Seungcheol, and no, he hasn't mentioned anything to me, so I'll probably go on with my usual day."

"Ehhh? No, I'm sure he has something in mind like a surprise! *Gasp* How romantic would that be!?"

"Yeah sure. Look mom, I should really get going for today. Thanks for the birthday wishes."

"Yes, yes! Go on, come visit soon sweetie!"

"Alright, Love you-"

*Call Ended*

… Wow, for one who loves to yap, she was quick to end the call

You turned your attention back to Kkuma and cupped her fluffy tiny head in your hands.

"Do you think dad knows about today?" You asked.

There was a moment of silence as if she was seriously contemplating the question until she licked your nose as a pity response.

"Yeah, I'm not sure either. I'll try to ignore it, I suppose."

The mixed internal conflict running in your mind was condensed and released in the form of a heavy sign. Indulging in the peaceful hour, your eyes wander around his room, which eventually lands on the clock, reading 7:30 am!!

"Shit! How is it already 7:30? I'm going to be late- oh sorry hun."

The commute from Seungcheol place to your work only takes 15 minutes, but that wasn't even enough time to get ready. Kkuma, who becomes slightly concerned, watches you running left and right across Seungcheol’s place like a crazy maniac. It was a race against the clock, and there was only time for you to wash, dress, and gather your belongings. You miraculously managed to arrive in the nick of time. However, the moment you parked yourself dark storm clouds began to shroud the sky, and all your efforts to look put together were drenched, all in vain, by the cursed rain. To make matters worse, you misplaced your key card, which locked you out of the building.

Darn, I must've forgotten it back at Seungcheol's place. I almost made it too. Now what?

Sulking on your forgetfulness, you slowly approached the front doors, where you had to negotiate access into the building with security. To the security guards, you seem like an insane freak straight out of a horror film. It took several calls to your department to finally convince them. Once inside, you received several puzzled stares passing by as you trudged your way up the office. You finally arrived 30 minutes late to your desk only to soon be summoned by your authorities for a stern lecturing. You sat obediently through a literal bully session for your incompetence, selfishness, and inactive efforts that discourages your teams to meet deadlines. You've clearly seen better days before. Despite the cursed mishaps, you mask your disheartened feelings with a brave face and push forward. You mentally longed for Seungcheol to comfort you through this humiliating moment. Right on cue, when you attempted to contact him, your phone was on the verge of death, and you just so happened to forget your phone charger behind. *PerfecT*.

Meanwhile, in the practice rooms of HYBE INSIGHT, the seventeen members rehearsed their dance routine once more in preparation for their next comeback. After the dance coach instructed a 10-minute break, the members sat huddled together and took a moment to organize a celebratory party (but really an excuse to drink).

"This might be last minute, but why don't we have the party tonight? We could do it after practice at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place." Hoshi exclaims.

"What dude? Just because I can cook multiple servings doesn't mean I'm gonna serve all your hungry asses," Mingyu argues. "Let's just go out to that new restaurant down the road."

"Oh, that sounds better! What’s the place called again? I'll get reservations ready," Seungcheol says as he searches for his phone.

"But Hyung, I thought you'd be busy tonight?" Seungkwan assumes with a confused face. This news alters all the members' attention towards him. Together their curiosity pierced Seungcheol for answers.

"Uh, nope. Why would you think that?

"Today is (insert bdate) right? I’m pretty sure that’s her birthday, so I figured you guys were going to celebrate."

"Birthday… I had no idea. She never said anything about a birthday." Seungcheol pauses in disbelief.

"What are you serious? You forgot?" Vernon hissed as he knocked him back into reality.

"Wait no, she never told me about her birthday. I need to call her."

His fingers fidgets through his phone to search for your contact. Seconds go by, and the ringtone eventually reaches voicemail. He hits the messages app in panic and spams texts nonstop, but there is still no response.

"Guys I think I really fucked up, she isn't responding back to me," Seungcheol whined while running his head through his hair. "What do I do now?"

"Hey, calm down it's not entirely too late, just-"

" Alright boys, break time is over now. Let's get in position for the last set." Seungcheol eyes widen

"I've got an idea hyung, let's get this over with so we can get out sooner."

After work, you stepped outside the building as the last person to finish. You had to work overtime to compensate for your tardiness this morning. You don't overlook the dark empty scenery before you. You let the cold breeze carry you toward your car and slump into your seat. This rarely isolated atmosphere allowed you to shed a few tears before you started your engine. You were well aware of your chronic case of birthday blues, yet each birthday seems worse than the last. Although you don't mind the attention people typically receive on their birthday, it breaks your heart knowing that most people in your life don't acknowledge you. You obviously can't blame Seungcheol; it was a miscommunication on your part, but you can help to feel unworthy, especially from the heck of a day you had. You just remind yourself that the day is finally over and you can ignore it like a regular old day.

You debated whether you should head straight home or back to Seungcheol place. Every fiber in your body wanted to return home, but you realized you still needed to pick up some essential items you had left behind after learning from your rookie mistakes today. You had no idea of Seungcheol's whereabouts; for all you could tell, he could still be practicing with the boys, asleep, or at home waiting for you. You prayed that wasn't the case because you weren't sure if you were emotionally prepared to confront and mask your weak self.

I'm just going to grab my stuff then leave without him knowing. Yeah… that's the plan

You stand facing Seungcheol's door and take a deep breath before entering. You glance up at the ceiling asking the universe for this impending fate to be in your favor for once. Once you stepped inside, the room was completely dark. There was a faint illumination from another room that piqued your interest. You silently slipped off your shoes and found a trail of rose petals on the floor leading to the light.

" Kkuma, no! Don't eat the roses, those are for Y/Nie. She should be here at any moment…*sigh* I hope she's safe." Seungcheol trembled while making some sort of commotion in the kitchen.

Now that you know Seungcheol is home, you wonder if it's too late to abort the mission, but your conscience reasoned that there is no turning back now. You haven't seen Seungcheol at all today, and he is expecting you. You tread carefully over the roses, following to the end of the trail and witness a sight to behold.

A candle-lit room with a soft romantic tune and the sweet aroma of all your favorite dishes traveled across the kitchen. Despite the pilling dishes in the sink, you realized his place was more polished than you remembered, decorated in fact. The dining table was set almost exactly similar to an elegant restaurant with wine, dinnerware, flowers, and even more candles. Then your attention averts to the man on the ground being all loving and affectionate with his daughter. She barks to alert your presence and struggles to escape her father's embrace.

"Hey…" he said breathlessly. He immediately stands and rushes to your side. You both stare lovingly until his arms engulf you in a warm hug.

"I missed you," he breaks the silence without letting go of you. "You didn't respond to any of my calls… l'm-"

Before he could finish his thought, you knew you had to clear the air.

"Yeah. Sorry, I had a bit of a rough day, and I left my charger here before I left for work," you release the hug to show him your inactive phone when you stare back at his gentle eyes. "So, My phone was basically dead the whole day."

"Oh…" He realizes. He struggles to find the right words to phrase his next thought.

"Look, babe. I'm not gonna pretend with you, especially when I *deep sigh* completely forgot your birthday. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked softly as he spoke the last sentence. He tilts his head up to hide his tears from rolling down his face.

"Oh, how did you uh, find out?" you stuttered.

"You were hiding it from me?"

" No I-"you left a sigh and avoided his eyes. "It's complicated, I didn't purposefully hide it from you… You see I don't exactly have a great relationship with my birthday. I don't know; I just always seem to dread the day because each year, I'm reminded I'm getting older and there’s still so much I haven’t accomplished… It makes me feel like a failure every time. When I was younger, every time I invited people to celebrate my birthday, I always felt guilty for forcing them into a party they would rather not be wasting time at, so I always found myself lonely on my birthday… I guess that's why I rarely tell people about my birthday."

You look back at Seungcheol's bloodshot eyes staring into you whilst he processes your words. His intense stare made you quiver and shrink in size. Before you could look away, Seungcheol slumped his head on your shoulder, and you could feel his hot tears staining your skin.

"You- How dare those shitty people make you hate yourself on YOUR DAY." You laugh in between your tears. Seungcheol takes a deep breath and kisses your tears. "Look I get it growing up sucks, but you can't be so hard on yourself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, so it breaks my heart that you think that lowly of yourself."

You both probably spent a good minute hugging each other to digest each other's words when a soft beeping alarm from the oven catches both your attention. Seungcheol smiles and runs his hands from your shoulders to your hands, dragging you to the sound.

"I might not be the best first boyfriend, but I couldn't let the day end without celebrating it with my girl, so I, uh, tried to make you a cake and set up this special dinner."

He swears he saw the whole universe in your eyes when your eyes sparkled at his words. Together, you decorated the cake, danced hysterically to the music, sipped on wine, and dined with take-out before feasting dessert. All the early inconveniences that ruined you initially washed away with Seungcheol. Now Seungcheol lights the candles on the cake while singing to you.

" Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Y/N, Happy birthday to you~ Make a wish."

You clasped your hands together while taking a few seconds carefully deciding your precious wish. Once you mentally lock it in, you blow the flames out and watch the smoke dissipate between you and Seungcheol.

" What did you wish for?"

"I can't say if I want it to come true hmm?"

[hwallazia]

LATE NIGHT WORSHIP – 김홍중

synopsis . just hongjoong being the best boyfriend in the world fingering you in your sleep <3

pairing . kim hongjoong & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), fluff, comfort, established relationship, non idol!au

taglist . @bro-atz | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 0,8k

DISCLAIMER! softest dom! hongjoong, somnophilia (only practice this with your partner’s consent!), clit play, fingering, praise, overstimulation, reader’s very whiny, sweetest touches from hongjoong <3

NIC’S NOTES i had this thought a few days ago and i had to write it. also, i got inspiration from a banda sunato (from alice in borderland) smut ff i wrote in spanish.

It was past 2 am, and Hongjoong was still awake, sitting by the bed frame and watching his sleepy little fool snuggling in his arms, finding comfort in them. Your eyes were red because you cried and begged him to hold you while you were sleeping just a few hours ago. Your hands cutely grabbed his shirt like a child who is afraid of having his lollipop taken away. The small hiccup that erupts from you can be barely heard.

Cute.

He’s been playing with your hair for hours, occasionally kissing you on the forehead, his hands often pulling you closer to him.

The silence was comfortable enough for him, and he treasured moments like this with you by his side.

But soon the silence was interrupted when he felt you move in your sleep, letting out a noise that he couldn’t tell what it was. He stopped moving and tried to kiss your forehead repeatedly to calm your movement.

After a few seconds, Hongjoong finally identified your noise as sobs, considering that your breathing started to get even heavier. With the idea of you having a nightmare set on his head, he shushed you, singing you a lullaby in an attempt to make the nightmare go away.

Just a few seconds later, the sound you made started to turn into a moan, and he immediately stopped when he noticed that you were having a wet dream.

He smiled to himself, taking a look at your face: you wrinkled your nose, biting your lips, mouth slightly open. there’s a bead of sweat on your forehead, and he silently curses himself for not noticing how you’re rubbing your thighs right now.

Without much thought, he spread your legs, making you shudder in your sleep. With the cold breeze hitting your wet pussy, his finger already found its way to your pussy, only to discover that there is indeed a noticeable wet spot on your panties.

He traced small circles with his finger, playing with your wetness, which caused you to make small noises in your sleep, involuntary moans escaping your lips.

Then he pushed your panties to the side and, without further thought, his thumb pressed your cute little button. You squirmed in his grip and tried to close your legs when his long finger hit that spot only he could reach, only for his other free hand to push your legs apart.

“Joong…” You whimpered in your sleep, which gave him some sense of power.

He can feel himself getting hard by the second, his cock restrained against his pants, screaming to free himself from that piece of fabric. The head of his cock was pushing against your ass, and with you writhing against him, it pretty much didn’t help.

He wanted to fuck you right then and there, pushing his cock into your ass, your pussy, your mouth, making you cry in your sleep, driving you over your limit, making your dreams come true. All while you’re still sleeping. He wanted to do it all.

But he decided that seeing you so helpless and crying from any source of contact is more important than that… for now.

You were hiding your face against his neck, breathing increasingly heavier when Hongjoong pinched your clit, earning a pout from your lips.

He rubbed your clit, using your wetness as lubricant to make it more slippery. He can’t help but feel stunned as he looks at you.

He stopped when he noticed your legs were shaking, before rubbing against them again.

“Joong… ’want more,” You murmured sleepily against his neck, pushing your hips up to find any source of pressure, of relief.

“Shh… Just sleep. M’gonna take care of you,” Hongjoong responded, his eyes still not leaving that little clit of yours that was already glistening with your juice. It was fascinating, how his finger can do you like that.

Then he started to stimulate it, smiling when he saw your legs trying to close and push the finger away from him. You screamed in your sleep, squirming in his grasp, your feet curling as you felt yourself getting closer.

“Joong… I want your cock… mmhm…” You moaned, so you moved your hips in time with his finger stimulating your clit, wishing it was his cock instead of his finger.

Hongjoong only smiled at your words, and with a little more pressure, you whimpered as you felt yourself squirting all over his finger.

You screamed, your whole body shaking as you came, but Hongjoong continued stimulating your clit with a warm smile on his face.

“S-stop!” You screamed against his neck as you attempted to push his hand away from your sensitive bud. Your boyfriend gave you a long, deep kiss on your forehead and whispered, “Shh… I need to finish what I started, so go back to sleep mhm? Sweet dreams my love.” All while continuing to lazily circle your clit.

He was fighting the urge to unbutton his pants and pump his cock inside you, the bulge was starting to hurt and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t shove his cock inside you a second from now.

But he decided it would be more fun if he waited until you went back to sleep.

| masterlist

[swampstew]

Really Really

Breaking news: local cryptid @quinloki was found guilty of leaving tasty treats in my ask box. Feeding the thot after midnight. I let the whoremone monster out and it was feeling some type of way♥

Man worth 3 billion berri is still a virgin, so I threw him in the blender. Warnings: spicy; post-time skip Eustass Kid x AFAB Reader; it doesn't go all the way in :) WC: 1.2K

inspired by this gif

Impatient.                                            

Not a word typically used to describe yourself but after six long months aboard the Victoria Punk, the fierce Captain Kid had once again overlooked your playful flirting as he stormed to his workshop; a hint of red on the tips of his ears were the only sign he’d heard what you said.

You weren’t sure what his deal was – you’d never seen him hook up, not with anyone on the crew and not with anyone on islands the crew landed at. Sure he’d go into strip clubs or make out with random people at the bar from time to time but not once had you seen him spend the night off ship. Or seen a one-night stand stumble from his cabin.

It was puzzling.

A devilishly handsome, well-toned man like him had women and men swooning over him, flirting and spoiling him with compliments, drinks, and food to gain his favor. Kid didn’t always accept the tokens and he almost never accepted them from you. Food and drinks yes but flirting? Almost like it went over his spiked hair; a blush, smirk or scowl the only response he gave you.

It made you…desperate.

Was he really that disinterested or was there something else?

Someone else?

So you did what any rational person could do – you got Killer drunk and tried to weasel out information. But the son of a bitch was like a sealed vault, refused to give up anything about his best friend. And he teased you for it.

“D-you like him or something?” the blonde finally asked.

“I—” you stuttered, “I’m just wondering why! Does he not like sex or?”

Killer didn’t answer right away, swirling his cup before taking a contemplative sip from his straw. “It’s not that, so much as…” he took another sip, “He prioritizes his ambitions and dreams. That’s all.”

“What does that have to do with fucking?”

“Absolutely nothing. He just hasn’t.”

“…Hasn’t? As in had sex?”

Killer shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. That stunned you into silence.

“Really? A guy like him??”

“If you’re so interested in finding out – you should ask him yourself.”

“I’ve tried! I flirt with him, wear revealing clothes, he usually ignores me!”

Killer began coughing, putting his drink aside as he shuddered between suppressing laughter and trying to breathe.

“F-ff-ff- ahh no he doesn’t. He just pretends to.”

“WHAT?!”

“He’s not an idiot, he knows what you’re doing. But he won’t do anything about it since you’re his responsibility; unless you were to, well, be aggressively transparent.” With that, Killer left you alone in the galley.

Transparency.

And Kid’s known the whole damn time and not even acknowledged it. That was frustrating. So much so you decided to try again the next day and be as blunt as possible.

You knew his schedule by heart, you skipped breakfast to hide in his workshop. Wearing a short skirt and oversized sweater, you took a pair of scissors and got creative. Carefully snipping away at the fabric, you cut away at your outfit to expose your bra and panties, not quite getting naked, enough to be as blunt as possible about your intentions.

The sound of thudding boots growing closer suddenly made you nervous but you swallowed your anxiety and snipped the strap of your bra before tossing the scissors and turned away from the door.

“The hell are you doing in here? Why weren’t you at breakfast?" stunned to find you in his sanctuary, a place he expressly forbade anyone from.

You turned your head to the side with a pout on your face, “Didn’t want to eat. I want something else.”

Slamming the door shut, Kid removed his coat and threw it on the table before roughly grabbing your shoulder to face him. His face turned bright red as his golden eyes traveled up and down your body. Studying the way the slit up your skirt gave him a view of your panties, the way your breast threatened to spill over the edge of the cup of the destroyed bra.

You heard his breath sharply release from his lips, “What the…the fuck happened to you?”

You narrowed your eyes, “You did. This is what you’ve driven me to.”

He backed away from you with shock and surprise on his face, “I did what?!”

“I want to fuck you,” you walked towards him, hips, thighs, and breasts jiggling with each step, “I’ve tried flirting with you, dropped hints, given you a share of my loot, and literally hand fed you and you’ve NEVER reciprocated in any manner. So, is it me? Do you find me atrocious? Unfuckable?” your voice became gravelly from the internalized resentment and embarrassment you felt from the efforts you’d put in all this time. “Please, tell me. It’s killing me. If you don’t want me, I’ll stop. But just say something. Am I making a fool of myself for wanting you?”

Kid’s back hit the door, eyes wide as he listened to your rant, “I-wha-no! It’s not you, it’s…”

You stopped a few feet from him, so desperate to hear his answer. You could see the bulge outline in his pants.

“FUCK!” he snarled, smacking his own face to cover his flushed expression, fingers digging into his skin until deep red crescents marked him. “I’ve never had sex!” he finally confessed.

“Really?” you asked, not at all expecting that response. “But…why not? You’re hot as fuck!”

“I JUST HAVEN’T OKAY?!” he lashed out, making you step back from him, a little intimidated by his embarrassed rage. “I’ve got more important shit to do than fuck around and spawn a bunch of bastards,” he spat through grit teeth.

“…Condoms exist…”

“I KNOW THAT!”

Your hip clipped the table’s edge and you stumbled backwards. Before you fell, Kid grabbed your arm and pulled you up, in doing so you fell right into his bare chest. You could feel the goosebumps ripple across both your bodies from the touch but he didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, a bit ashamed from the confrontation, “I just needed to know if you found me attractive, at all. I’ll leave you alone.”

Still holding on to you he barked out, “Have you fucking seen yourself? Who wouldn’t be into you?!”

“Well, you? Considering you keep blowing me off,” you mumbled.

That made him laugh, “REALLY? Shit and here I thought I was being a decent Captain by not sleeping with my subordinates.”

“Really? You parroted in shock, that was surprisingly mature and unexpected. “But I’ve never seen you fuck around with anyone so I just thought—”

“Does this seem like I’m not interested?” he huffed, using his metal arm to grab your waist and pull you into him. Felt his erection against your lower belly. “Fuck me for trynna do the right thing.”

He made you walk backwards, still pressing his body into yours, “I get hard every day just looking at you. When you say cheeky shit, I have to come here and jerk off so I can fucking think clearly. You’re my biggest distraction but—” his hand ghosted up your arm to caress your cheek with surprising gentleness, “—I’ve never not been attracted to you.”

“Oh,” you hummed, still as stone to preserve the moment.

With a click of his tongue, Kid grabbed your chin and planted a wet kiss on you.

Your eyes were crossed from the feeling, lost in a haze as you felt him swing your body around until you were pushed back on top of his coat. The withdrawal of his touch brought you to reality, mouth gaping as he stood in front of you but did not initiate further contact.

“Show me what you like,” he rasped out. “Touch yourself. Teach me what to do.”

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [3].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. mild terrorization, sunghoon has a mental breakdown, beomgyu thinks shoulders are inappropriate, swearing. WORD COUNT. 3.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana

NOTE. i like to call this the sunghoon chapter. the rest of the boys will get their own chapters too in the future, pls tell me who your favorite boy is so far 😔.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 3 — it takes a lemon related accident to get a man to talk.

TODAY IS THE DAY YOU FINALLY FIND OUT WHAT PARK SUNGHOON’S FUCKING DEAL IS. You can only go on for so long of nothing but ominous eye contact and two-worded conversations before you start considering manslaughter (three weeks). You’re going to make him tell you what his goddamned problem is within today even if he ends up punching you in the face (because he always looks like he’s on the brink of doing that, anyway).

The first step to this operation is observation. You have been discreetly watching him this past week, taking note of his daily routine and there are two notable things that you have discovered— one, he leaves his room every single day at three in the afternoon, and two, he returns home at nine in the evening. That’s enough information for you to work with. You have this thing in the bag.

Your next step is preparing for battle. By one in the afternoon, you’ve already showered, blow dried your hair, and dressed in the prettiest outfit you quickly pulled from your closet (a nice chiffon maxi skirt paired with a lacy camisole because nothing lowers a man’s guard better than bare shoulders). You even put on makeup today. If this plan ends up being a failure, you’re going to kill Sunghoon and then yourself.

“You look pretty today,” Jay informs you when you invade his room for the sole purpose of having an outfit check in front of his full-length mirror. “I mean, you’re always pretty. It’s just you’re even prettier today. Like when even though you always make rose tteokbokki for your friends everyday, for some reason the color is just a lot more vibrant this day and it looks extra delicious?”

“Thanks.” You give him a pat on the back and exit the room.

Right when you start climbing up the stairs back to the third floor, your two-forty five alarm goes off. Perfect. It’s all going according to plan. You position yourself in the small space between your room and his, leaning against the archway with a feigned air of nonchalance. 

The familiar click of a lock breaks the silence. You prepare to strike.

“Hey.”

It’s almost funny how Sunghoon immediately flinches at the sound of your voice, but you’re not here to laugh. You’re here to strike a conversation because for some reason, that’s completely impossible with the guy you’re currently staring down. He’s already recovered from the initial shock. You push through even though he’s scaring you shitless. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Apparently, you cannot talk for a sec because Sunghoon immediately starts walking, but you’ve foreseen this. You know he’d ignore you so you quickly kick your foot against the other side of the opening, barricading him inside this small corner with an outstretched leg. 

Bam!

“I asked if we could talk.”

You watch as his eyes fly open in shock, taking a step forward only to jump back from your rather aggressive obstruction. Your arms are crossed, waiting for him to finally open his fucking mouth and surrender. He’s got nowhere to run.

Or, so you thought. Because he does have a way to run, and that is under your leg when he slides underneath as if it’s a fucking limbo stick. It gets a little breezy under your skirt when he skids right by. What the fuck. Is the idea of having to talk to you really that abhorrent to him? Are you seriously considering chasing after him right now?”

“Hey, wait!”

Yes, you are.

Sunghoon is fast. He’s running and running down the hall, down the stairs to the second floor, and you’re right at his fucking heels. You’ve prepared endlessly for this day and you have no intentions on letting him slip away like a slimy lizard. However, you might have made some flagrant miscalculations with your physical abilities, because the moment you reach the bottom floor, Sunghoon is widening the gap, and you’re just about to hack out your lungs and die.

How much stamina does this bastard have? Heeseung emerges from Jake’s room the moment Sunghoon speeds by, and you just barely manage to hold onto the door for support before you give up and start panting. “What’s going on? Are you two playing tag?”

You collapse to the ground. This is too much cardio. “No, I’m trying to kill him,” you say in between bated breaths. “But nevermind, I can’t do this anymore. Can you help me up? I can’t feel my fucking legs.”

When you look up at Heeseung, you notice that he’s brought a brick form of Iron Man from your friend’s room, cradling the red and yellow figure to his chest as hesitant eyes stare down at you with flushed cheeks. “I—I can. I can help,” he chokes out.

“Then help me?”

He simply stares at the arm you have reached out, waiting in the air for his retrieval. You sigh, holding onto the door instead to pull yourself up. Honestly, you shouldn’t have expected anything. “Heeseung, are you mysophobic?”

“What? No, what makes you say that?” The fact that looks relieved that you gave up on him plucks on your irritation. “I love my gay friends.”

You blink. “Nevermind. Can you at least tell me where Sunghoon is going? He usually leaves the house at this time, so I’m curious. Do you have an idea?”

“Oh, he has work,” he answers. “Hoon has the afternoon shifts at The Lounge. I think he works all days on weekdays.”

The Lounge is a cafe near your university (not that you’ve been there. Overpriced ice coffee isn’t exactly within your weekly budget). It’s a little far from this neighborhood and as far as you can recall Sunghoon goes to a different uni for sports medicine, so you’re not sure why he’s working there out of all places. “Alright. Thanks.” You’re careful not to brush against Heeseung when you pass by. One day, you’ll be dealing with him and his suspected germ problem with you, but at the moment your plate is still full with a different problematic male.

You fish for your wallet and phone in your room before crawling back downstairs. However, just when you’re about to grab your sandals from the foyer, you’re stopped by Beomgyu blocking your path. He’s leaning against the wall, waving the PD&J in front of your face (Jay was onto something when he gave it that nickname). “Pay up,” he demands. All these men are stressing you out.

“Why?”

For the sake of maintaining an amicable relationship with your housemates, you surrendered your jar monopoly and agreed that you’d all be using the money for additional grocery budget. However, you do not understand why the fuck you have to pay up now.

“Indecent attire,” is Beomgyu’s justification.

“Beomgyu, my tits aren’t even out.”

He parrots your statement in an annoying voice and you desperately want to punch him. If he wants to pick a fight, he should at the very least hide his blushing and look you in the eye. Your battle armor is working a little too well. “Move. I have another bastard to chase down.” But you don’t have time for him. Goddamnit, you have more men to confront after you’re done with Sunghoon. You shove past Beomgyu and leave the house, on your way to The Lounge with an unshakeable determination to fuck Park Sunghoon up.

It takes you a good twenty minutes to arrive at The Lounge, but you don’t walk in the cafe immediately. Through the large front windows, you spot Sunghoon serving a tray of drinks to some customers behind the counter. Oh, so he can be a normal person if he wants to. He’s even smiling and shit (he has a pretty smile. Why doesn’t he smile at you like that). With a huff, you push open the entrance and bulldoze through the door, stomping up to the counter while planning out your order in your head.

“Welcome! How may I hel—” Sunghoon’s customer service smile glitches when he realizes it’s you. “—he-help you?”

“Hi! Can I have an iced americano without the ice?”

“I’m—I’m sorry?”

You give him the sweetest, honey-dipped stretch of the lips that you can muster. “Iced americano. No ice. Oh, and can you get rid of the espresso shot, too?” 

Sunghoon tries to clarify your order. You talk in circles until you finally settle with a glass of lemonade. This is the first time you’ve heard him talk this much which is honestly such a shame because he really does have a nice voice. Unfortunately, he goes mute around you unless his literal job actually requires him to communicate.

He scribbles your name onto the plastic cup and he asks if you don’t mind waiting. You settle on the table nearest to the counter because you want to keep stressing him out. He is. He has been very stressed from the moment you entered the store and it’s evident from how you hear a resounding swear from his workstation when he accidentally puts in too much lemon reserve in your cup and has to remake your drink.

You thought he’d finally gotten over his bad habit of staring, but you catch him flashing looks at you from time to time and at the moment— it’s rather prolonged. He’s looking at you so intently as he puts on the cup sleeve and calls out your name. You fear that you might have made a mistake because if there’s anything you know well about Sunghoon, it’s the fact that he has a very intense and very intimidating stare.

Like right now, as he continues staring when you get up from your seat to retrieve your drink. Seriously, what’s his fucking problem? You intend on staying here until the end of his shift and maybe corner him in the alley next to the cafe. You might be mildly afraid of him, but you’re not a pussy. You’re gonna settle this once and for all.

“Here’s your order.”

Sunghoon hands over your lemonade but for some reason, he doesn’t let go. You furrow your brows, pulling the cup towards you but it’s like his fingers are glued to the sleeve. He looks like he wants to say something, playing tug of war on your drink as he stalls, but you’re really getting annoyed now. A sharp tug on your end has the drink slipping out from both of your hands— painting a nice, yellow tinted splash all over the top that Beomgyu deemed indecent.

Now, it actually is indecent.

You’re speechless. Sunghoon’s face is flushed scarlet. Thank fucking god you ordered a cold drink.

Things weren’t supposed to go this way.

It’s not yet time for his break, but Sunghoon is already pacing back and forth in front of the breakroom, biting on his thumbnail as a mixture of anxiety and shame floods through his veins after royally screwing up. Fuck, he fucked up. He’s absolutely, absolutely, violently fucked himself in the ass and he has no idea how to salvage this.

He just wanted to apologize for sliding under your skirt earlier at the house, but the words wouldn’t jump out of his fucking mouth so he tried stalling and ended up giving you an unscheduled, lemon-flavored bath. His voice just stops working. It goes into total shutdown when he’s looking at you. It’s pathetic.

Normally, he can talk to people just fine. He gets into arguments with his sister over the phone on a daily basis. Hell, it’s even routinary for him to tell Jay to eat shit.

But something about pretty girls with equally pretty smiles makes it harder to string together sentences, okay?

And It’s not just a him problem. All of your house residents can’t talk to you normally, either, but he doesn’t want to stutter like a dumbass in front of you like Soobin and Heeseung hyung. Jake doesn’t count because he doesn’t even perceive you as a woman.

However because of that fear, he ends up not saying anything altogether. It’s hopeless. He’s as good as out of the running for the fucking bet they called (not that he thought he had a chance to win, anyway).

The breakroom door clicks open. He jitters on the spot.

“Sunghoon?”

Your head pops out from the crack in the door, your now clothed shoulder also peeking through. When you walk out, you’re now wearing the spare top he’s supposed to change into after his gym session later. Now that shirt is on you, and it isn’t helping his you-triggered state of emergency at all. “Thanks for the change of clothes.”

“I—I remade your drink.” For the second time. “Sorry about that.” Okay. You’re doing great, Sunghoon. You’re so cool, so awesome, and if you keep this up, you’ll be home free. You can do it.

You chase the straw with your lips. Why is he staring at your lips? “Sorry for spilling my drink all over me, or sorry about running away from me earlier like I had an infectious disease?”

He gulps. You’re really not making it easy for him to talk to you.

“Look, I think Heeseung acting as if I had cooties is enough of a constant attack to my pride. I might actually snap if you start avoiding me like the plague, too. Seriously.” Sunghoon remembers that he also twisted your arm at one point. He should add that to his list of apologies.

“Th—that wasn’t my intention. I was just afraid of running late.”

“Sure,” you scoff. “That doesn’t explain why the fuck you keep staring at me like you want me dead, though.” Looks like he has a lot more to apologize for. “Sunghoon, be honest. Do you have a problem with me? Like, have I done anything to offend you or something?”

“No, of course not!” he exclaims. “It’s just that—”

And like usual, his voice breaks down. Out of order, like a rundown machine. This is the fucking problem, it’s always the fucking problem, but he can’t just tell you that you make him feel nervous, can he? He can’t tell you that his vocal chords rupture when you’re around, making it impossible for him to talk, so he resorts to staring and staring and staring and hoping that if he stares long enough, you’ll somehow read his mind and get the idea of what he wants to say. 

That clearly hasn’t been working. In fact, it’s making things worse so he has to come clean and oh god, you’re gonna think he’s so lame and he’ll never live past this moment until the day he dies a miserable, lonely death. 

It’s the 21st century— why isn’t mindreading an freaking option yet? You look so genuinely upset that he can feel his heart clench up like an asshole. He should just rip his eyes out to repent.

“I’ll...try to stop staring, I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not the problem, Sunghoon.” Your tone is filled with exasperation and he’s just driven further into guilt. “I have a feeling that you simply just have an unfortunate case of the resting bitch face, but you know what would help? If you actually say ‘hi’ instead of just ominously staring at me. That way I’d know you’re not preparing to throttle me.”

Is his blank expression really that bad? His brows furrow. He’s never gotten any bad feedback about his face before.

But here he goes again. Thinking his thoughts instead of speaking out loud. You let out a sigh and he feels infinitely worse, but he can’t keep stalling because he has to get back to work, and his co-worker is already giving him impatient looks, and he feels like talking is only making things worse. “Can you wait for a while? My shift isn’t over yet, but my break is in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, sure. Sorry for disturbing you.”

While he’s making drinks and serving customers, Sunghoon makes sure to plot out his entire explanation speech so that you won’t think he’s entirely pathetic. But thirty minutes go by so quickly and the moment his break arrives and he’s pulling out the chair in front of you, all the paragraphs he’s carefully constructed disappear into nothing. Gone. Head absolutely empty save for the thought that this almost feels like a date. But this is not a date. This is a fucking interrogation.

“Say your piece.”

You don’t even give him a chance to prepare. You’re ruthless.

“Well—” So, he starts. He skips over the part that you make him nervous but that aside, he makes the confession that although he does find it difficult to talk to you due to a certain, specific, undisclosable reason (because you’re a girl and you’re pretty), he definitely isn’t plotting your murder, and Sunghoon’s cadence becomes slower, a lot more jagged when he notices the expression on your face. You’re smiling, but it’s not the pretty smiles you usually give him. This one feels a lot more ominous. Is this how you feel when he accidentally stares at you for too long? Should he be scared?

“—And that’s it, but why...why are you looking at me like that…?”

“It’s nothing.” It’s definitely not nothing. Sunghoon’s eyes follow your movement as you rise from your seat. “What kind of drinks do the rest of the guys like?”

“Jay likes americanos and Soobin hyung— wait.” He’s also up now. He doesn’t know he’s standing up, but he is. “You’re leaving already?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

At this point, you’re just doing this on purpose. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? “Are we good…now?” hesitantly, he tries to make sure. Something is off and he knows it.

“Yeah. We’re good,” you hum, finishing up your lemonade and leaving it on the table. “See you at home. Oh wait, the drinks.” Sunghoon feels uneasy with this conclusion, but he wordlessly follows you to the counter anyway and takes your takeout orders. You’re just gonna go? Why aren’t you making fun of him for being a loser? Why are you just taking the drinks from him without mentioning anything? 

“Thanks. I’ll come by more often,” you tell him, and it just furthers his confusion. “I can also bring some of my friends so you can keep practicing how to talk to pretty girls. Oh, this latte is yours.”

Ah.

Of course.

There it is.

“Hoon?” You wave a hand in front of his eyes. “Sorry, am I making you nervous again?”

Sunghoon wants to die. 

“Can you just— can’t you just forget everything I told you?”

You shake your head and flash him a smile. The smile that always makes him stupid and nervous. Dammit, why do you have to be so pretty? Why must your smile be so pretty and erode his brain into mush? It doesn’t help when you reach out a hand to give him two soft pats on the cheek. It doesn’t help when the warmth of your touch lingers and burrows deep into his skin. “No way. Not when you’ve finally made so much progress! Let’s keep working on it, okay?” 

Sunghoon is finally able to breathe the moment you exit The Lounge, and he nearly collapses into the ground.

The misunderstanding between the both of you has been cleared up— at the cost of his pride and dignity (not that he has much of that in the first place). How the fuck is he supposed to face you after all of this, much less talk to you.

Words. What even are they?

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Hello, SEX anon again.

hey lovestosuffer, can I be real with you? This teasing thing you’re doing rn? Ngl... it's turning me on. Please, continue. And all the people mentioned - rumoured men, women, all of them - hot af. Add more to the list anons. I want to picture every single scenario. Just don't mention the unmentionables.

Also, this… https://x.com/bridgerthg/status/1557504203764932616

Hm. You're welcome. How's that for a palette cleanser? You just know he's a freak where it counts. Like, little choir boy, shy, then get him alone, and N's head is going to hit that headboard repeatedly. Fr, these guys will be the death of me. Was kind of bummed when I saw the new case and Polaroid but then I pondered the possibility of tension. Like blooming anger tension, awkward tension, eventual rip each other’s clothes off in frustration tension? And like some other anons mentioned, I would be so up for the friends to enemies to lovers pathway. I would be so wide, open, ready for that pathway. I wouldn't have to be asked twice. Here's a taste of what I envision…

It's September. Summer is ending. Everything is cooling down, stagnant. We're on the cusp of S4 filming and N&L are awkwardly texting after a few months of silence. They knew they had to rekindle some level of communication. They had to be professional. So every now and then would pop up a "hey, how are you doing?". All that small talk they detested. But forced.

FF to day 1 of filming. L got to set, hands fidgeting already. He hated how uneasy he felt. He spotted N across the room. Talking to the sound people, not missing a beat. His hands started to tremble as his eyes met hers. He hit them against his thigh in an attempt to quell his body's reaction. He felt so torn. He wanted to see her desperately, he missed her, but he also wanted to run in the opposite direction and go back to mindless bliss. He had to confront this shit. The massive elephant in the room that every god damn person was talking about. Honestly, could they shut the fk up? A random burst of anger rippled through him and he clenched his fists, but released them when he noticed N walking towards him. His heart was beating faster than he cared to admit. But he liked the way her hair was falling across her face, brushing against her pink, full lips. "Hello stranger" she said, half-smiling. They caught each other’s gaze but they both broke away, not daring to hold it. "Heeyy, how goes it? Are you… uhm… were you, like…". She cut him off, "you ok, bud?" It cut through him like a knife. He put on his mask immediately and started babbling about not getting enough sleep, gaming at all hours, etc. She looked at him differently. He felt a change in her and he couldn't help but feel concern.

FF to filming scenes. Every interaction they had was different. She was still bright and warm, but he could feel a detachment. It was uncomfortable for him. But when they were filming, she jumped into character so easily, and her eyes filled with such intense emotion, he felt like they were the only two people there. He felt woozy and drunk, and wanted to stare and observe and take her in continuously. When he touched her, all that feeling would ripple through him and he would see the effects of his touch vibrate through her. It made him smirk at his small power, feeding his ego, but above all it made him feel whole. When her lips met his, pressing and moulding, surrendering to his will, and her fingers were tangled through his wavy curls, it felt just as good as the years previous. It hadn't changed and that scared him. But then the director would yell cut and N would pull back, half-smile and look away. Walk away. He knew he deserved it. He'd been a fkn idiot – been acting the maggot as N would say. He didn't mean for things to happen as they did, and at the time, he apologised a thousand times. But the damage had been done.

FF to confrontation. He knocked on her door. He needed to stop this awkwardness. He needed to lay it all out on the line. The last few months were a time of reflection, of what he actually wanted. What he needed. To understand why he didn't feel whole without her. They chalked it down to being close friends, besties, but he wanted to do things that were not friendly. He repressed those thoughts and feelings, because he knew, and she knew, the parts they were playing. But it was bullshit. The lines blurred so early on and being around her, flirting with her, touching her, breathing her in, pretending to be and pretending to not, it was confusing and exhilarating and painful and addictive.

“Oh hi, what’s up?” she said indifferently, opening her trailer door. He winced. “Can I come in? I’d like to chat if that’s ok?”. She looked at him confused, but conceded, “Sure what can I help you with?”. He sat down on one of the chairs, while she sat on a sofa, at right angles to him. He wanted to sit next to her, feel her leg brush up against his, but he knew that wouldn’t allow him to think straight. There was an awkward silence as he struggled to find the words to begin. She looked at him, half-smiling always, then down to her hands that were clasped in her lap. “Soooo…” she trailed. But he interjected. “Ok yep, sorry. Fk. I just need to cut the crap, yeah? I don’t know how you’re feeling about… us?” He wanted to continue but she cut in, “Us? What us?”. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “I mean, fk. I don’t… Fk it. I hate how things are between us right now. Since we finished the press tour and I acted like a fkn idiot, all I can think about is you, and I tried to bury it, I tried so hard, believe me, I know you don’t want me to say these things. We’re suppose to be professional. I’m sorry, I can’t, I need you to know.. I’m… I’m in love with you.” It came rushing out, like a busted tap. Once it started, he couldn’t stop.

A vague silence draped over them. He hadn’t looked at her properly since his rant began. Her face had softened. But she looked sad, tearful. He felt he fked up again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything…” Tears started flowing down her cheeks, and he immediately jumped up and sat next to her on the sofa, placing his hand on her knee. “Oh god, please don’t cry, please.” She brushed away her tears and stood up. “Just… leave, ok? I don’t need this shit right now!” she sniffed, trying to be as forthright as possible. He was shocked and shifted uncomfortably. “I bare my soul to you, and you tell me to… leave? Are you serious? I…” he was starting to get frustrated. She managed to kick him while he was down, and his defences sprang back up. She saw how her words bruised him. She didn’t mean to hurt him, she just… why was he so confusing? She thought things were clear, and even though it upset her, she finally had an understanding, clarity, and then he was saying all this stuff….

“I told you I’m in love with you, god damn it!” She looked away from his eyes, his face, full of emotion. His eyes welled with tears. He approached her, seething, taking his thumb and forefinger and touching the bottom of her chin. She shivered. He drew her chin upwards, her sorrowful eyes meeting his. ”Tell me you don’t have feelings for me, and I’ll leave” initially his words were rough, but as he scanned her face, they softened. “I… I can’t” she murmured. His face inched closer to hers, noses almost touching, “Tell me…” he matched her tone, searching her face, her crystalline eyes, lips, those beautiful full lips. He unconsciously licked his, wanting to taste her sweetness. She saw and breathed in deeply, breathing in his heavenly scent. Why did he always have to smell so good? He smirked seeing her reaction. She moved her face forward, their noses brushing, and she whispered, “I feel it too…”.

Evil laugh. Sorry guys, I’m not a writer, but this wanted to come out of me. It's not very angsty but they soft babies irl. I’m manifesting this shit so fkn hard. Believe you me, this is gonna happen people.

p.s. this from another anon…. www.x.com/dhraest/status/1812654935093469611

Are you serious? My jaw is on the flo’. I’m literally salivating… gagging. I’m gagged. In the best possible way. Please, for the love of Lukola, please bring these two beautiful people together. So L can fk her everyday until he dies. PLEASE.

🥃🥃🥃

If you get on AO3 anon I will beta test read for you 💜

[lint-beetle4]

Okay, so i have reader almost all your Wukong ff's and i absolutely adore them, they were well written ate them up and i would like to request if its okay.

I would like to ask for a Wunkong x male!reader, just some fluff maybe both reader and the king had bad days just them curling up and showing affection. If you don't really wanna do it just ignore this request, but if i make it i hope you will take care and drink and eat enough! Okay baiiiiii :]

Bittersweet Deserts (Wukong x Male!Reader) Fluff

You and Wukong having bad days was normal

You would pet Wukong as he complained about his day or maybe in simple silence if he wasn't feeling it

Wukong would carry you everywhere, refusing to let you walk anywhere

He also brought you food even if you weren't hungry. Wukong always wanted to ensure you ate right

While Wukong was content with cuddles after a long day, you were more than happy to provide for him

Usually it would be blankets and a glass of water, other times it'd be tissues and takeout

One of you was always ready to pick up the other, it was like clockwork

But, when both of you feel like total crap? That's a different thing

Low energy happens to the best of us, so when it affects the two of you? You have to work together to see how much you're willing to deal with

Some cases it's physical exhaustion, others its emotion, regardless, you two tended to work quite well together in figuring out a middle ground

Gods above, you were tired.

The day had dragged on and on, and you were so tired. You wanted to simply curl up and sleep the rest of your horrid day altogether-- general health, be damned, you're too tired to care.

You stumbled into your house, eyes lazily scanning through the room as you met with Wukong curled up slightly on the couch. You sigh, going behind the couch to observe him further.

He looked like shit too--like actual shit.

You tilted your head, seeing the way his eyes were faded, almost clouded with memory. His glamours had faded, revealing stressed fur streaked with grey and eyes that burned like the fires of Loazi's furnace. You rested your head on the couch, ignoring the way your body demanded to sit. You laid a gentle hand on Wukong's fur, trying your hardest to ignore the way he flinched before looking over at you.

Your eyes soften as he sits up, holding your face silently.

"Hey," Your voiced sounded pathetic. "You holding up alright?"

Wukong huffed, merely patting the couch, embracing you tightly as he nuzzled into you. You hugged him back, squeezing him as tight as you could while letting the stress of the day wash over you as Wukong merely melted into you.

Wukong's voice muffled against you, his tone sounded shattered.

"What was that, dear?"

Wukong lifted his head, "I had a rough day today."

"I'm sorry to hear." You mutter, kissing his forehead as Wukong laid against you. "Is there something I can do to help?"

"You look tired." Wukong whined, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "You should rest."

You chuckle, feeling emotions rise in your chest. You held them back for now. "I can't rest without you--you know this, silly."

The monkey chuckles wetly, choking on a sob. "You'll feel better if you cry too, right? That--emotion thing and the bottles or whatever."

You laugh, feeling your tears run down as you sobbed against Wukong. "The Great Sage--and all that wisdom--is trying to tell me to process my emotions."

Wukong laughed back, hugging you closely as you two continued to cry until your tears went out. With pounding heads and stuffy noses, you remained on the couch, snoring against Wukong as he strokes your hair, feeling his eyes close.

[novaursa]

Good evening, can you write about daemon x little sister

If we can see their relation evolved from really protective brother to lover obsessed.

He was always protective of her, he doesn’t like that Viserys come close to her. And when she grow up he scared every men that came closed to her.

She was supposed to married a Lannister but Daemon could not accept it and take her to dragon stone. Everyone thinks she’s dead because they never see her again but when Daemon came back to King’s Landing, he’s not alone but with his sister wife and their children.

Dragonblooded

- Summary: You always belonged to Daemon. And when Viserys gave you away, the dragon took what was his.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sound of laughter echoes through corridors, a joyful melody that bounces off the ancient stone walls. You are no older than five, your golden-silver hair, so much like your mother’s, trailing behind you as you run through the hallways. Your small feet tap lightly against the cool floor, your tiny hands reaching out to grab at the air, chasing an imaginary butterfly.

"Come here, little dragon!" Viserys calls out, his voice warm and inviting, as he pretends to chase after you. His laughter is softer, more measured, but it carries the same affection that glows in his eyes. He is gentle, your eldest brother, always careful not to frighten or startle you. At ten years old, he already shows the signs of a future king—kindness, patience, a quiet strength that soothes those around him.

You turn, giggling, and reach out for him, and he catches you with ease, lifting you into the air. "I have you now!" he declares, spinning you around in circles, your peals of laughter mixing with his. 

"Viserys, higher!" you plead, clinging to his tunic, your small face lighting up with glee.

But as Viserys twirls you again, you catch sight of another figure standing just beyond the doorway, watching the two of you. Daemon, your other brother, leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips. He is only two years younger than Viserys, but where Viserys is gentle, Daemon is fierce, his eyes always smoldering with an intensity that belies his young age. 

He steps forward, and though he doesn’t say a word, the air between you shifts, a tension that even you, in your youthful innocence, can sense. Viserys notices too, lowering you to the ground but keeping a protective hand on your shoulder.

"Daemon," Viserys greets, though there’s a hint of wariness in his voice. "We were just playing. You can join us, if you’d like."

Daemon’s gaze shifts from Viserys to you, and his frown deepens. "She’s my sister," he says, his voice low, almost possessive. "I don’t need your permission to play with her."

There’s a beat of silence as the two brothers stare at each other, a silent battle of wills. But before it can escalate, you tug at Daemon’s sleeve, drawing his attention down to you. 

"Daemon, play with me!" you say, your eyes wide and pleading. You adore both of your brothers, but there’s something about Daemon that always draws you to him—perhaps it’s the way he looks at you, like you are the only person in the world who matters to him.

His expression softens the moment he meets your gaze. The hard lines of his face melt into something gentler, something only you seem to bring out in him. Without a word, he scoops you up into his arms, holding you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

"She’s tired," Daemon announces, his voice brooking no argument as he starts to carry you away. You peek over his shoulder at Viserys, who watches with a resigned smile. 

"I was only playing with her," Viserys says, but there’s a note of understanding in his tone, an acknowledgment of something that has always been between you and Daemon—something he will never quite share with you in the same way.

Daemon doesn’t respond, his attention solely on you as he carries you through the halls. His grip on you is firm but gentle, his warmth seeping through his clothes and into your small frame. You yawn, your eyelids growing heavy, and snuggle closer to him.

"Rest now, little sister," Daemon whispers, his voice soft in a way it never is with anyone else. "I’ll always keep you safe."

And in that moment, as sleep begins to claim you, you know it’s true. You may be Viserys’ beloved little sister, the youngest and most cherished of the Targaryen children, but you are Daemon’s before all else. In his arms, you feel safe, loved, and most of all, his.

The years have passed, and you have grown from a spirited child into a young woman of striking beauty. Your silver-gold hair cascades down your back in soft waves, your violet eyes—so reminiscent of the Valyrian ancestors—shining with a quiet intelligence. Your resemblance to your mother, Alyssa, is so uncanny that it often leaves those who knew her breathless, lost in memories of the past. You are the pride of House Targaryen, a true dragon in both blood and spirit.

The lords of the realm have taken notice of you, their eyes lingering a bit too long as you walk through the halls of the Red Keep. Whispers of your beauty have spread across the Seven Kingdoms, and it seems that every highborn man with a title to his name seeks your hand in marriage. The attention is overwhelming, though you do your best to remain composed, as you were taught. Still, you cannot ignore the way your heart flutters with nerves when you catch their lingering gazes.

Today, you find yourself in the gardens of the Red Keep, the sun casting a warm glow over the roses in bloom. You stroll through the maze of greenery, the scent of flowers filling the air, when you hear the soft murmur of voices behind you.

"My lady, you are a vision," one of the young lords says as he approaches, his tone smooth and rehearsed. He is tall, with dark hair and a confident smile that seems to have charmed many a court lady.

"Lord Caron," you greet him politely, inclining your head. "You are too kind."

"I speak only the truth," he insists, stepping closer. "You grow lovelier with each passing day, my lady. The realm is fortunate to have you."

You offer a tight-lipped smile, trying to mask your discomfort. Though you are used to such flattery, it always feels hollow, lacking the warmth and sincerity you crave. 

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar presence behind you, a shadow that has always loomed large in your life. Daemon steps forward, his eyes cold as they fix on Lord Caron. There is a tension in his posture, a barely restrained fury that makes the young lord falter, his confident smile wavering.

"Lord Caron," Daemon says, his voice a low rumble, "I believe my sister has endured enough of the sun today. She is in need of rest."

Lord Caron glances between the two of you, clearly weighing his options. But the sharpness in Daemon’s gaze leaves little room for argument. He bows stiffly, offering you one last smile before he retreats, his footsteps hurried as he leaves the garden.

As soon as he is gone, Daemon turns to you, his expression dark and unreadable. "You shouldn’t be out here alone," he chides, though there is an edge to his voice that you have rarely heard before.

"I wasn’t alone," you reply, meeting his gaze evenly. "And I can take care of myself, Daemon. I’m not a child anymore."

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, as if the thought displeases him. "You think I don’t know that?" he mutters, his gaze sweeping over you. "I see the way they look at you—the way they covet you. They are like vultures circling above a feast."

You blink, surprised by the venom in his tone. "They are only being polite," you say, though even as you say it, you know it’s more than that. The attention you receive is not just polite—it is predatory, something you have tried to ignore but cannot entirely dismiss.

"Polite," Daemon scoffs, taking a step closer to you. His presence is overwhelming, a mix of anger and something else that you can’t quite place. "They want to marry you, to own you, to take you away from me."

You look up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his eyes. "Daemon, I’m not a possession," you say softly, though your voice wavers slightly. "I will marry one day, and when I do, it will be my choice."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, until finally, he speaks, his voice low and dangerous. "No man will ever be worthy of you. No man will ever deserve you. You are mine, and I will not let them take you from me."

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat at his words. The possessiveness in his voice, the raw intensity of his emotions—it’s more than just a brotherly concern. There is something deeper, something darker that simmers beneath the surface, and it both frightens and intrigues you.

"Daemon…" you begin, but he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. The touch is surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

"You are my sister," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "You are the only person in this world who matters to me. I will not let anyone take you away, not Viserys, not any of those lords who think they can lay claim to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, despite the confusion swirling in your mind. "I am not leaving you," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "But Daemon… this is not—"

"Don’t," he interrupts, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips to silence you. "Don’t say anything that will ruin this moment."

His eyes bore into yours, and you feel a heat rising between you, a dangerous pull that you know you should resist but can’t. Daemon has always been the center of your world, but now, you realize, he is something more, something that both terrifies and excites you.

For a long moment, the world seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, standing in the garden, the air thick with unspoken words and forbidden desires. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, Daemon leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture that is both tender and possessive.

"I will always protect you," he vows, his breath warm against your skin. "No one else will ever come between us."

And as he pulls away, you find yourself nodding, unable to voice the turmoil inside you. Because deep down, you know that what he says is true—you are his, and in some twisted, inevitable way, he is yours as well.

The wind howls around the towering battlements of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister. Below, the sea crashes against the cliffs, the waves like thunder as they break upon the ancient stone. You stand on a high balcony overlooking the expanse, your heart heavy with the weight of what is to come. The golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows, and though the view is breathtaking, you find no solace in it.

The marriage to Jason Lannister had been arranged swiftly, a decision made by Viserys in a moment of political strategy. It had all happened so fast—one moment you were in King’s Landing, the next you were being sent across the realm, far from the comforts of your home, and even further from Daemon.

Jason Lannister is a man of means, a wealthy and powerful lord, but he is not the man your heart longs for. Despite his handsome features and polite demeanor, he leaves you cold. You do not love him, nor do you wish to, but the weight of your duty had left you with little choice but to obey your brother’s command.

Tonight is to be your wedding night, a thought that fills you with dread. The thought of sharing your bed with a man who is a stranger to you, despite his politeness and charm, makes your skin crawl. You had always imagined your wedding night to be something sacred, shared with someone you truly loved—someone like Daemon. But such dreams seem so far away now.

As you clutch the stone railing of the balcony, you hear the faintest sound of wings cutting through the air. At first, you think it’s your imagination, a product of your desperate longing. But then the sound grows louder, more distinct, and your heart begins to race.

In the distance, you see it—Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, his massive wings beating against the darkening sky, his crimson scales gleaming like fire in the dying light. On his back, you spot a figure clad in black and red, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner. Daemon.

He’s come for you.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him descend, the great dragon’s roar echoing through the air as he nears the fortress. Panic and excitement mix within you—Daemon, your beloved brother, has come to take you away, to rescue you from a life you never wanted.

Caraxes lands with a deafening thud in the courtyard below, his long neck arched as he lets out another earth-shaking roar. The guards and servants scatter in fear, unprepared for such a display of raw power. You waste no time, gathering your skirts and racing down the steps toward the courtyard, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you reach the courtyard, Daemon has dismounted, his presence commanding as he strides forward with purpose. He looks every bit the rogue prince, his eyes alight with determination and something far more dangerous. He spots you immediately, his expression softening for just a moment before hardening once more as he glances at the keep behind you.

"Daemon!" you cry out, rushing toward him. He catches you easily, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace that makes you feel safer than you have in weeks. The scent of him—salt, leather, and dragonfire—fills your senses, and you cling to him as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

"I’ve come to take you away," he murmurs into your ear, his voice rough with emotion. "You belong to me, not to some Lannister dog."

You pull back slightly, searching his face, your own heart torn between relief and fear. "Viserys… he ordered this marriage. He’ll be furious if you—"

"Let him be furious," Daemon interrupts, his eyes blazing. "You are mine, not his to give away. We will go to Dragonstone, and we will marry in the traditions of our House. Fire and blood—that is our way, not these weak southern bonds."

Before you can respond, you hear the clattering of armored boots and turn to see Jason Lannister approaching, flanked by a dozen guards. His face is pale, though he tries to maintain a confident air as he confronts Daemon.

"Prince Daemon," Jason says, his voice steady but laced with underlying fear. "This is madness. She is to be my wife by order of the king. You cannot simply take her."

Daemon’s lips curl into a dangerous smile, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword that has tasted the blood of many a fool. "Can’t I?" he says, his tone mocking. "You think to keep her here, hidden away in this golden cage? You think she will ever be yours, truly yours? You’re a fool, Lannister."

Jason stiffens, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down. "This will bring war," he warns. "If you take her, Viserys will have no choice but to act. The realm will not stand for this."

Daemon laughs, the sound dark and menacing. "Let the realm do as it will. I’ve never cared for the opinions of sheep. You think you can threaten me with war, boy? I am war. I have fought in battles you cannot even imagine. And if it’s bloodshed you seek, I will gladly spill it."

Jason falters, his bravado crumbling under Daemon’s intense gaze. "I…I only seek what was promised to me," he stammers, clearly trying to find a way out that doesn’t end with his blood staining the courtyard. "If you take her, I will not pursue her. But I will require compensation for this slight. The Lannisters will not be insulted without recompense."

Daemon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you fear he might draw Dark Sister and end Jason’s life right then and there. But instead, he takes a step closer to the lord, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"You dare to speak of recompense?" he hisses, his face inches from Jason’s. "She is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock, more than your entire house. There is no recompense for what you tried to steal from me. But I will leave you your life, if only because I have more important matters to attend to."

Jason’s face drains of color, and he takes a stumbling step back, nodding quickly. "Yes… yes, of course. Take her, and may the gods be with you."

Daemon doesn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he turns to you, his expression softening as he reaches out to take your hand. "Come, sister," he says, his voice gentler now. "Let us leave this place. We will wed on Dragonstone, and no one will ever come between us again."

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and trepidation. Daemon leads you toward Caraxes, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. The dragon lowers his massive head as you approach, and with Daemon’s help, you climb onto his back, settling in behind your brother.

As Caraxes takes to the sky, the wind whipping through your hair, you cling to Daemon, feeling the power of the dragon beneath you and the warmth of your brother in front of you. The world below falls away, and with it, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long.

As the Red Keep disappears into the distance, you lean close to Daemon, your voice barely a whisper. "Thank you for coming for me."

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity. "I will always come for you," he vows, his voice full of conviction. "You are mine, and I will never let you go."

And as you soar through the skies on the back of the Blood Wyrm, leaving Casterly Rock and all its golden confines behind, you know that he means every word. The path ahead may be fraught with danger, but as long as you are by Daemon’s side, you are willing to face whatever comes.

For you are his, and he is yours, bound by blood and fire, as it was always meant to be.

The tourney grounds outside King’s Landing are alive, a sea of banners fluttering in the wind, each representing the great houses of Westeros. The air is full of the scent of sweat, horses, and the faint metallic tang of freshly forged steel. The tournament held in honor of the impending birth of Viserys' child has drawn knights and lords from across the realm, all eager to witness the splendor and skill of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. 

King Viserys himself sits upon the royal dais, a smile of pride and expectation on his face. He has every reason to be joyous today—the maesters have assured him that this time, his wife Aemma will deliver a son, a true heir to the Iron Throne. But there is an undercurrent of unease in the king’s heart, a shadow that lingers at the edges of his happiness, for it has been years since he last saw his beloved sister.

Not a word has come from Dragonstone since that fateful day when Daemon stole you away, defying the king’s will and igniting a scandal that has only grown with time. Rumors have spread like wildfire, each one more outlandish than the last—tales of dark rituals, of dragons terrorizing the Narrow Sea, and of a brood of Targaryen children raised in exile, far from the eyes of the court. But none of these rumors have ever been confirmed, and Viserys has learned to silence any mention of you in his presence, the wound too deep to bear reopening.

As the king watches the jousting field, his thoughts drift to you, wondering where you are, how you have fared all these years. He tries to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the spectacle before him. But then, a murmur runs through the crowd, growing louder as the people begin to turn their heads toward the sky.

Viserys follows their gaze, and his breath catches in his throat. 

There, descending from the clouds, is a dragon—its great wings casting a shadow over the tourney grounds as it circles above. The creature’s scales shimmer a deep, blood-red, and its roar is like the rumble of distant thunder. There is no mistaking the beast or its rider. 

"Caraxes," Viserys whispers, a mix of shock and something else—something like hope—rising in his chest.

The dragon lands with a thud just beyond the field, the earth trembling beneath its weight. The crowds part, a mixture of awe and fear on their faces as Daemon Targaryen dismounts from the dragon’s back, his presence as commanding as ever. His silver hair, untouched by time, glints in the sunlight, and his dark cloak billows around him like wings as he strides forward.

But it is not Daemon alone who captures the attention of the gathered lords and ladies. For behind him, gracefully descending from Caraxes, is a figure draped in black and red, a crown of silver-gold hair flowing down her back—you.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as they recognize you, their whispers growing into a chorus of disbelief and astonishment. But you pay them no mind, your eyes fixed solely on the dais where your brother, the king, sits in stunned silence.

You walk toward him with the poise of a queen, your hand resting protectively on the head of a small boy who clings to your side. His hair is a pale silver, much like yours and Daemon’s, his eyes wide with curiosity as he takes in the spectacle around him. Another child—a girl with your likeness—follows close behind, holding onto Daemon’s hand with an air of confidence that belies her young age.

When you finally reach the dais, the entire tourney ground has fallen silent, all eyes on this reunion that none had expected. Viserys rises from his seat, his face a mask of disbelief, his hands trembling as he reaches out toward you.

"Sister," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it truly you?"

You nod, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and caution. "It is I, brother," you reply, your voice soft but steady. "I have returned."

Viserys hesitates, his gaze shifting to Daemon, who stands beside you, his expression unreadable. The king’s eyes then fall to the children, and his heart twists with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of emotions—joy, sorrow, anger, and relief all at once.

"And these…" Viserys begins, his voice faltering as he looks at the boy and girl, "are your children?"

"Our children," Daemon corrects, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. There is a proud, possessive note in his tone as he looks at you and the children, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

The boy, sensing the attention on him, steps forward, his small chest puffed out with pride. "I am Aegon," he announces, his voice clear and strong. "Aegon of House Targaryen."

"And I am Rhaella," the girl adds, her violet eyes sparkling with the same fierce determination that burns in Daemon’s. "Daughter of Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N."

Viserys looks at them, his eyes filling with tears he can barely contain. "Aegon… Rhaella…" he murmurs, reaching out a hand to them. "My niece and nephew."

But before he can take another step, Jason Lannister, who had been standing nearby, watching the scene unfold with barely concealed anger, speaks up. "This is an outrage!" he exclaims, his voice carrying across the silent grounds. "This man stole the king’s sister and has kept her in exile for years, and now he parades her and their bastards before us as if we should welcome them!"

A hush falls over the crowd, tension crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Daemon’s gaze snaps to Jason, his eyes narrowing into slits of cold fury. He releases Rhaella’s hand and steps forward, every inch the dragon that he is, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.

"You dare speak of my children in such a way?" Daemon’s voice is deadly quiet, each word laced with barely restrained rage. "You, who couldn’t even keep what was never yours?"

Jason’s bravado falters, but he presses on, his pride wounded. "They are illegitimate! Faith of the Seven doesn't acknowledge such unions!"

Daemon’s lips curl into a predatory smile, and in one swift motion, he draws Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. He moves with the deadly grace of a seasoned warrior, closing the distance between himself and Jason in the blink of an eye.

"Speak another word," Daemon hisses, the tip of his blade hovering just above Jason’s throat, "and it will be your last."

Jason freezes, the color draining from his face as he stares into the eyes of the rogue prince. The crowd watches in breathless silence, the tension palpable. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, but your focus is on Daemon, on the way his hand steadies, his grip sure and unwavering.

"Daemon," you say softly, taking a step forward. Your voice, gentle yet firm, cuts through the tension. "He is not worth it."

For a moment, it seems as if Daemon might ignore you, might spill blood here and now just to make his point. But then, slowly, he lowers the blade, his eyes never leaving Jason’s terrified face.

"Remember this, Lannister," Daemon says, his voice low and menacing. "The next time you speak ill of my wife or my children, I will not be so merciful."

With that, he sheathes Dark Sister and turns away from Jason, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an insect. The Lannister lord stumbles back, pale and shaken, and quickly retreats, disappearing into the crowd.

Viserys watches all of this in stunned silence, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. When Daemon turns back to you, his expression softens, and he takes your hand in his, pulling you close.

"We are here now, brother," Daemon says, his tone more measured. "We are family, and nothing will change that. Not time, not distance, and certainly not the words of a fool like Jason Lannister."

Viserys looks at you, his eyes searching yours for answers, for reassurance. "Why now, sister? After all these years… why return now?"

You look at him, feeling the weight of all that has passed between you, the distance that had grown and the love that had remained. "Because I could not stay away forever," you say softly. "Because you are my brother, and I have missed you every day. And because our children deserve to know their family."

Viserys steps forward, pulling you into an embrace that is both warm and desperate, as if he fears letting you go again. "I have missed you too," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you could ever know."

Daemon watches the two of you, his eyes flicking between you and Viserys. For a moment, you see something unguarded in his expression—something like relief, though quickly masked by his usual aloofness.

"Let this day be a new beginning," Viserys says, finally pulling back and looking at Daemon, his tone almost pleading. "For all of us. Stay in King’s Landing. Be at my side. Let us be a family again."

Daemon’s eyes harden slightly, as if considering the weight of Viserys’ words. He glances at you, searching your face for any sign of what you might want, what you might ask of him in this moment. For years, you have been his anchor, the one person he would follow anywhere, the one person whose opinion could sway him.

You meet his gaze, and though your heart swells at the thought of reuniting with Viserys, of your children growing up surrounded by family, you know what Daemon is feeling. King’s Landing has never been kind to him. It has always been a place of politics, betrayal, and intrigue, a place that tried to mold him into something he was not. And yet, the desire for peace between the brothers, for some semblance of family, tugs at you.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, and he turns his attention back to Viserys. "You speak of family, brother," Daemon says, his voice carefully controlled, "but it was you who sent your own blood away, who sought to wed her to another man against her will."

Viserys winces at the memory, guilt flashing across his face. "I made a mistake," he admits, his voice pained. "One I have regretted every day since. I thought I was doing what was best for the realm, for our family. But I see now that I was wrong."

Daemon’s expression remains inscrutable, but the tension in his posture seems to ease slightly. "And now you want us to stay," he says, not quite a question, but more of a challenge.

"Yes," Viserys replies earnestly, stepping closer to you both. "Stay. Let us rebuild what was broken. You are my brother, and she is my sister. We should stand together, not apart."

You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the air thick with the potential for reconciliation—or for more conflict. You squeeze Daemon’s hand, hoping to communicate your own longing for peace, for a life where your children can grow up knowing their uncle, their heritage, without the constant threat of exile hanging over them.

Daemon glances at you, his eyes softening as he reads the unspoken plea in your gaze. He exhales slowly, as if releasing a great burden, and finally nods, a small but significant gesture.

"We will stay," Daemon says, his tone firm but not without warmth. "But make no mistake, Viserys—I will not be made a tool in anyone’s game, not even yours. We come as equals, or not at all."

Viserys nods, relief washing over him. "Equals," he agrees, his voice thick with gratitude. "As it should be."

The tension that has hung over the tourney grounds like a storm cloud begins to dissipate, the atmosphere lightening as the onlookers realize that the confrontation they feared will not come to pass. Instead, there is a sense of awe, of history in the making, as they witness the reconciliation of the Targaryen siblings.

The children, sensing the change, tug at your hands, their eyes wide with curiosity and excitement. "Will we stay here, Mother?" Rhaella asks, her voice full of wonder. "In the big castle?"

You smile down at her, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "Yes, my love," you say gently. "We will stay, and you will have your uncle Viserys and many others to meet."

Aegon’s eyes light up, his young mind already racing with possibilities. "And will we get to see the Iron Throne? Will we be able to ride our dragons here?"

Viserys, hearing the boy’s excitement, kneels down to their level, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You will see the Iron Throne, and much more," he promises, his voice full of affection. "You are both of the blood of the dragon, and this is your home as much as it is mine."

Daemon watches the interaction closely, a flicker of something like contentment in his eyes as he sees Viserys embrace his role as uncle. There is still wariness in him, a reluctance to fully trust after so many years of betrayal and bitterness, but there is also a sliver of hope, kindled by the presence of his children and the woman he loves.

As you and Daemon stand beside Viserys, the king rises and takes both of your hands in his, his eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. "Thank you for coming back," he whispers, his voice full of emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance to make things right."

You nod, squeezing his hand gently. "We are family, Viserys," you say softly. "And family is worth fighting for."

Daemon, ever the rogue prince, adds with a smirk, "Just remember, brother, that dragons cannot be tamed. We are here because we choose to be, not because we must."

Viserys chuckles, a sound full of warmth and brotherly affection. "I wouldn’t have it any other way," he says, pulling you both into a rare embrace that speaks of years of lost time and the possibility of a future where the Targaryens stand united once more.

As the sun sets over King’s Landing, casting the tourney grounds in hues of gold and crimson, the three of you—Daemon, you, and Viserys—stand together, a family reunited at last. And though the path ahead may be uncertain, for this moment, there is peace, and there is hope, both of which have been hard-won.

And as you look at the faces of your children, who gaze upon the world with wonder and excitement, you dare to believe that this peace might just last—if only for a little while.

[rispwr]

Wildest dreams - J.JK - MDNI - FF - OS

Pairings : sisters bf! Jk x reader

Content : cheating, slight age difference (reader is 19 and koo is 21), fingering, cum eating,

“No one has to know what we do

His hands are in my hair,

His clothes are in my room”

“Hmpf, who’s this” i answered the phone half awake, my voice still raspy “this is jieun, who is this?” The girl on the line replied, my eyes widened, reaching for jeongguk on the bed, tapping him “gguk! Babe! Jeonggukk!” I whispered yell trying to wake him up. His eyes flutter open whispering back “what’s happening?” “Jieun” i replied pointing to the phone “oh..” his eyes widened as well taking the phone from my hand “hello hello? Babe sorry that was my little sister jeong-ah” he chuckles nervously, running his hands through my face, cupping my cheeks “ohh okay okayy, well then im almost there at your house yeah?” The girl on the other line responds making me jump out of panic “ohh okay okay baby just a minute?” Jeongguk panics aswell. He hungs up the phone quickly leaning onto me giving me a peck on the lips “hide baby hide” he says quickly trying to fix himself as i nodded. I went inside the closet covering my mouth trying not to make any noises.

I then heard the door open “jeongguk-ahh i miss you lovee” jieun squeels jumping on the bed onto him but she feels a damp wet spot on his bed “why is this wet?” She asks him in curiousity.

Shit i forgot i squirted on his bed

I bit my lip as i shut my eyes praying she won’t think anything.

“What the fuck ggukk” my oldee sister cussed, pulling out a purple laced panty “how long has this been huh??” She snapped. Jeongguk stayed silent looking down, fiddling with his piercing “im sorry” jungkook whispered, loud enough for her to hear it “fuck you gguk..we’re over” she then gets out of the bed and storms out of the apartment, tears running down through her face, feeling betrayed.

“Y/n you can come out now” jeongguk weakly announced.

The silence stayed for awhile as i opened the closet, getting out of it.

I went towards jungkook to hug him, still in my bra “aww baby…im sorry” i said ruffling his hair gently as he burries his head on my chest, his arms around my waist, palming my bare ass. “Atleast we can now be together?” He mumurs. I let put a soft chuckle “I’ve been telling you to break it off first with her before fucking me but too late. Was i really that good in bed that you couldn’t wait anymore?” I coo still ruffling his hair. “Very babe. Could fuck you all day long” he replies his hands making its way to my clit, rubbing it making me release an arousal and a slight whimper “fuck y/n..i need you. I don’t care about anything else i need you” he pulls away and pushes me on to the bed, hovering on top of me, still circling my clit. “Kiss me gguk. Kiss me” i let out breathy and whiny.

He then kisses me passionately, using his skilled tounge against me. I could feel his mouth smiling while kissing me. “Jeongguk. I need you. Need you everywhere” i whined in between the kiss.

He then inserts 2 digits inside me, making my body arch, release a gasp. His fingers inside me then crooks making me release moans in between the kisses “hmpf gguk.. fuck so good” i said breathly. He then inserts another digit onto me “feel good? Huh? Tell me. Im the only one who can make you feel this good huh?” He pulls away locking eye contact as he pumps his fingers into me “y-yes gguk!! Only you!” I moaned loudly replying to him as my fingers dig into his back “im close..” i said, my walls clenching around his fingers, he knew i was close. He then started pumping into me even faster and harder making me finally release. Coating his fingers with my white liquid, he pulls out making a ‘plop’ sound, as if pant and gasp for air.

I then lock eyes with him “i love you y/n” he says, taking his fingers to his mouth to suck it, suck my juice off his hands. “So delicious baby” he gives me a grin, giving me pecks all over my face “say it backk” he whines “i love you too” i reply giving him a big genuine smils

[tsukasalvr]

# BLACK HAIR (DARK CONTENT, DEAD DOVE:DO NOT EAT)

“It’s just what you did, don’t hang up the phone, I love you to death” — ALEX G:BLACK HAIR

Scaramouche x reader

AN: Very much vent post, everything’s getting worse and my friends and family are becoming worried for my safety bc of my sh and my past attempt and I refuse to get help rn but maybe soon so here’s a vent ff cus it’s late and my fav guy character in the game

Warnings!: DARK CONTENT, DEAD DOVE:DO NOT EAT, suicide, cannibalism, self harm, describing of cannibalism and organs, slight description of self harm, slight yandere!Scaramouche, captive/kidnapped reader, don’t like this? don’t interact, this is my vent post, was actually dozing off while writing so might make changes in the future

SYNOPSIS: Each day you feel colder and colder in his arms, and it irritates him every time he’s next to you.

He was never one to stay focus on one thing for too long—being stuck in the past can be messy.

But even then he always went back to you, always going back to the room you were kept in. The pristine white walls and floors so clean you could see your reflection, even now after weeks he still made sure the room was tidy. The large bed in the middle of the room with silk sheets, the softest pillows that you could sink your head in with a mattress that you could just die in from how comfortable you would feel to go with.

A thick blanket over you, he pulled it ever so slightly up to make sure you wouldn’t get cold but it only seemed to stick onto your bruised oozing body being glued onto the bed from the blood-containing foam leaks. But even then all he could feel when he rubbed your cheekbones in his delicate hands was cold. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make you warm.

It irritated him.

No matter how many times he stayed in bed beside you and held you in his arms, you were still cold. Every night he would fall into a routine, lay beside you, and watch for any movement but the only movement and sounds he could detect was the maggots crawling in and out of a large cavity in your chest. He didn’t care enough to clean it up, not when the sounds were the only thing keeping him from spiraling in the silence of the room.

Gently rubbing his fingers back and down your wrist, watching the skin the tighten then loosen again around the white and purple scars. Feeling the bumps every time he did. He pitied you, every time he would visit your room, he would see your trembling figure with a new blazing red scar each time in your wrists and legs, and each time he would scold you for it. Maybe that’s why he carved into your chest a week after it happened, he pitied you, maybe that’s why he took your heart from your chest to feel the damp and spongy organ in his hand, feeling the still cold blood running through his hand and dripping onto his clothes. He pitied you, that’s why he took your heart, to protect you, you were too weak and needed protecting. That’s why you did what you did.

But still, why did it bother him? Why did it bother him that you were still so cold in his hands, he pitied you is all so why does it still bother him after these six weeks.

Why did it make him feel so alone the moment he saw you dangling figure on the ceiling, swaying slightly as if it was recent. Hanging from many clothes wrapped and tied tightly—clothes he bought you. The brushing around your neck was the only thing there, no irritation—no signs of struggle or regret. It’s like you actually wanted to do this and he couldn’t believe it.

You really did need him by your side after all, is what he would tell himself. You were so weak willed that you had the audacity to take your own life, it only meant that you had a weak spirit since before you met him. It wasn’t his fault.

He had no part in this and he should still feel the same after, so why does it still bother him, why does he feel so empty now that your gone. He just feels even more of an empty vessel.

Carefully holding the non-beating heart in his hand, the rich red color contrasting from his ghostly pale slim hands as he sat down on the bed beside you. Feeling the maggots crawling around near his feet. He brought the heart to his face, inhaling and hoping for any sort of the warm sweet smell you had—but all he could smell was rot and decay. The gas was foul, your corpse emitting a rotting-flesh and shit like odor—and Scaramouche had no doubt that any agents who passed by could detect the smell and would hurl from it. He wonders what they would think if they walked in and saw the sight. The sight of him looking dazed sitting next to your decomposing body, your disgusting rotting body.

Bringing the cold organ to his lips, he pressed a light kiss onto it, red smearing his lips slightly. He sat there with one knee touching your cold-naked blemished leg, watching the heart as the glow of the moon came in from the locked window in the room, through the think durable glass panes with hand smudges. Emotionless, he stared for a bit…

And a bit longer…

And even more longer he stared…

Until he opened his mouth and bit into the wet organ. He always imagined it would be difficult to eat like this… but it felt so natural. It was chewy and had a bitter taste but it left an aftertaste that left thinking of you, as if you were still there shaking and crying beside him. It was difficult to chew at times, it was tough, he could feel the lumpy-grained texture as it swirled around his mouth trying to get chewed apart by his teeth.

So he took another bite, and then another before deciding he had enough and put the heart down onto the white blanket, making sure it was away from the maggots slowly crawling.

He didn’t even realize the smile that appeared until his face started to hurt from the stretch. It was like both you and him were one and it made him feel happy.

He took the duvet and wrapped the heart in it with ease despite the size of the cover, and placed it carefully on the floor next to the bed.

l could live like this he thinks, he won’t feel so alone anymore and you won’t feel so cold to him no longer he thinks, as he smiles and shifts closer to your sluggish body, despite the absence of a blanket, he doesn’t feel so cold and alone anymore, and gets close enough to place his head on top of yours, right on top of the dirty-matted hair.

Was dozing off and falling asleep at times while making this, so I’ll rewrite a couple things in the future

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 7 -Truth or Dare

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ;Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS : dirty talk, swearing, use of ' 'whore', 'Good girl' , 'Slut', unprotected P in V, teasing, fingering , oral ( f. receiving), begging, edging, Aftercare, Smut. SMUTTTY SMUT, minors do NOT interact. Smut is in between the -- if you wish to skip.

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 5.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ; 1 more episodes left! Who's your guess?

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me. Remember, none of this is real. It is a story. It is fiction. You can choose not to read it if it will make you uncomfortable.

Master Post | Teaser | Suspect Cards

The night had been restless, filled with uneasy dreams and fragmented thoughts. You woke with a start, the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Sitting up slowly, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep as you considered your options.

Chan was gone, that much was true. The dorm room felt emptier without his presence, the air tinged with the echoes of your heated argument from the night before. Staying here alone felt daunting, but the idea of returning home filled you with a different kind of dread.

Glancing at your phone, half-expecting a message from him, there was nothing. The silence between you was loud, laden with unresolved emotions. Sighing softly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

The dorm was quiet, the usual sounds of morning routines absent. It was as if time had slowed down, allowing the weight of recent events to settle in. 

Deciding to freshen up, you made your way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. The coolness was refreshing, a brief respite from the turmoil swirling inside you. Staring at your reflection, you wondered how everything had spiraled so quickly. The award, the mysterious gifts, the confessions, and the loss—all seemed like an overwhelming blur.

All the events were reminders that trust was a luxury you couldn't afford right now.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, you decided to head out, feeling slightly more composed. Standing in the doorway, hesitating before locking up, your phone buzzed softly in your hand. It was a message from Aera, your assistant, whose concern warmed your heart amidst the chaos.

"Hey, how are you doing? Do you need anything done today?" Her message read.

You smiled faintly at her concern, typing out a quick reply. "I'm okay. I will let you know if anything comes up."

Leaving the dorm behind, you stepped out into the crisp morning air, the city awakening around you. People hurried past, lost in their own worlds, unaware of the turmoil churning inside you. You walked aimlessly for a while, seeking solace in the familiar streets of Seoul.

Seungmin remained in the hospital, his condition stable but unconscious. 

As you walked through the bustling streets of Seoul, you found yourself drawn towards the hospital where he lay, a silent figure in a sterile room.

Arriving at the hospital, you navigated the familiar halls with a heavy heart. Nurses bustled about, doctors exchanged quiet words, and families sat in waiting rooms, their faces etched with concern. The atmosphere was one of subdued tension, a stark contrast to the vibrant city outside.

Finding Seungmin's room, you paused at the doorway, hesitating before stepping inside. His pale form lay still on the hospital bed, machines softly beeping in the background. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable and fragile, brought a lump to your throat.

Pulling up a chair beside his bed, you took his hand gently in yours. It felt warm, reassuring in its familiarity. Memories of happier times flooded your mind – his infectious laughter, his unwavering support during difficult moments, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

"You're going to be okay," you whispered softly, more to reassure yourself than anything else.

As hours passed in the hospital room, you remained by Seungmin's side, lost in your thoughts. Aera's messages occasionally buzzed in your pocket, but you couldn't bring yourself to reply just yet.

The hospital had become a refuge of sorts, a place where time seemed suspended, allowing you to confront the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Lost in your contemplation, a familiar voice broke through the quiet. Minho, stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and reassurance.

"Hey," he said softly, stepping inside. "How are you holding up?"

You looked up, grateful for his presence but feeling a wave of awkwardness wash over you. Minho had always been a good friend, someone you could rely on, but the recent events had left everything feeling strained and uncertain.

"I... I don't know," you admitted quietly, your gaze drifting back to Seungmin. "It's just... a lot."

Minho nodded understandingly, pulling up a chair beside you. His usually easygoing demeanor seemed tempered with a sense of solemnity, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.

"Seungmin's doing okay. The doctors say he could be out soon," Minho offered, trying to provide some comfort.

"That's good to hear," you replied with a breath of relief, grateful for the positive update on Seungmin's condition.

After a moment of silence, Minho spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant. "I... heard about what happened between you and Chan."

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised. "You did?"

He nodded, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to Seungmin. "Yeah. He came to the hospital late last night. Looked like he hadn't slept."

Guilt washed over you, not knowing that your argument with Chan had affected him deeply. "I didn't mean for things to get so... heated."

Minho sighed softly, his expression sympathetic. "Chan... he cares about you a lot. Sometimes that passion can come out in ways that surprise us."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I know. I just... I didn't handle it well."

"He'll come around," Minho reassured, his voice gentle. "Give him some time."

"I hope so.."

Minho nodded understandingly, standing up and stretching slightly after hours spent in the hospital room.

"We've been here a while," he said, glancing back at you. "Changbin will be here soon to replace me. I can take you home, if you're ready."

"Yeah," you replied gratefully, giving Seungmin a final glance. "I think I'm ready."

Minho nodded, standing up and stretching slightly. "Let me grab a few things, and we can head out."

As you both gathered your things and prepared to leave, Minho glanced back at Seungmin, his expression softening with empathy.

Together, you walked through the quiet halls of the hospital. The city seemed to hold its breath, the usual chaos muted.

As he drove you home, the atmosphere inside the car was tinged with a somber calm. The streetlights flickered past, casting fleeting shadows across his face as he focused on the road ahead. The silence between you was companionable, yet heavy.

As the silence lingered, your thoughts drifted to the unease of returning home alone. The recent events had left you feeling vulnerable, the safety of your own space compromised. The idea of installing security cameras had crossed your mind more than once, a desperate attempt to regain a sense of control.

Chan had taken the initiative to install security cameras for you the day he found out, a gesture that had should have eased the anxiety of being alone at home. His thoughtful act had provided a layer of reassurance during times when the presence of 'Stay' seemed to infiltrate even your most private moments.

"You sure you're going to be okay here on your own?" Minho asked softly, his voice filled the quiet space.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I have security cameras installed."

he glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Cameras?"

"Yeah," you continued, feeling a bit self-conscious. "With everything that's been happening... I just... I don't feel safe anymore."

He nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his expression. "I get that. But wouldn't that be a bit... paranoid?"

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. "Maybe. But... I don't know what else to do."

Lee Know sighed, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "It's your call. Just... be careful not to let fear consume you."

You nodded, grateful for his honesty, even if it wasn't the encouragement you had hoped for. "I'll think about it."

As you arrived at your house, he pulled up to the curb, the engine humming softly. You hesitated before stepping out, silently thanking him before making your way into your house.

The days had passed in a haze of tension and uncertainty since your argument with Chan. Despite the passage of time, his absence weighed heavily on your heart, the echoes of his words and your own lingering in the quiet corners of your mind. Each day felt like a struggle to maintain normalcy, the absence of his presence a constant reminder of the rift between you.

Each night, you find yourself waking with a start, heart racing from nightmares that seem all too real. Normally, Chan would be there to comfort you, to reassure you that you're safe. But now, with him gone and no word of his whereabouts, you feel different.

Alone.

The days blur together, filled with a mix of worry for Seungmin, guilt over Chan, and the unsettling presence of 'Stay' lingering in the background. You've tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, focusing on work and keeping up appearances, but the fear of being watched, of something lurking just out of sight, is ever-present.

One evening, as you sat alone in your living room, the soft glow of the security monitors casting flickering shadows on the walls, there came a hesitant knock at your door. Startled, you glanced at the clock

—late enough that unexpected visitors were unusual.

With cautious steps, you approached the door, heart racing with apprehension.

Opening it cautiously, you were met with Chan's familiar figure standing on your doorstep. His expression was a mix of apprehension, exhaustion, and remorse, his usual confidence replaced by vulnerability.

You stood there for a moment, stunned into silence as you processed the sight of Chan standing before you.

"Chan," you breathed, the name escaping your lips in a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly. You hesitated, unsure whether to let him in, but something in his eyes—perhaps a glimpse of the hurt you knew mirrored your own—changed your mind. Nodding silently, you stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Chan stood awkwardly in the center of the room. You waited, arms folded defensively across your chest, unsure of what to expect.

"I'm sorry," he finally began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have left like that."

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of his words. "I don't blame you. But... I invaded Hyunjin's privacy."

Chan looked at you, his expression softening with understanding. "But you had your reasons. You felt unsafe. I can't be mad at you for that."

You nodded slowly, grateful for his understanding yet still grappling with the guilt of crossing that line. "I know, but it wasn't right."

"I know," Chan replied gently. "We all make mistakes, especially when we're scared."

"but I... I shouldn't have said those what I said to you." he continued. " I was... I was scared. Scared of losing you."

His admission took you aback, the raw honesty in his words catching you off guard. Despite your own hurt, you couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice.

"I was upset," you confessed softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "When you left... it felt like you were abandoning me when I needed you the most."

Chan's expression softened further, regret shadowing his features. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words heavy with remorse. "I never meant to make you feel that way."

You sighed, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging in the air between you. "I know you didn't... but it still hurt."

"I never meant to hurt you," he continued, his gaze pleading. "I just... I let my emotions get the better of me. And I know that's no excuse."

You watched him carefully, the walls around your heart beginning to soften in the face of his vulnerability. His apology was genuine, his regret palpable in the air between you.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "But I want you to know... I'll do whatever it takes to make things right. I'll give you space if you need it. I'll... I'll grovel if that's what it takes. I want to be here for you, no matter what."

He took a deep breath. "Can we... move past this?" he asked hesitantly, searching your eyes for reassurance.

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity and determination etched in every line of his face. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words and the weight of your own conflicting feelings. The road ahead seemed daunting, filled with uncertainties and the scars of recent wounds. But in Chan's earnest plea, you found a glimmer of possibility—a chance to rebuild what had been fractured.

"I want to," you admitted softly, your voice trembling with both fear and longing.

Chan's eyes softened with relief, his own hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a silent promise. The air around you seemed to shift, charged and electric as you leaned in, hesitantly closing the gap between your lips.

The kiss was tender, tentative at first, a gentle exploration of shared forgiveness and connection. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as if afraid to let go. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the both of you.

--

Chan's hands began to roam over your body, teasing and caressing you, pulling you even closer to him.

"God I love you so much." He said between kisses. You hands mad their wayt o his face, cupping his cheeks softly.

" Y/N.... I want you so bad," he growled.

 "Then take me," you replied, your lips never leaving his. "I'm all yours." 

Chan didn't need any further encouragement. He picked you up and carried you to your bed, kissing you all the way there as you straddled him, until he laid you down gently on the bed.

You removed your shirt and pants, laying before him in nothing but your cute red underwear, feeling vulnerable and exposed. Chan's eyes roamed over your body, a look of pure lust on his face. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "God im so lucky."

You reached out and took off his shirt, eager to feel his muscular body against yours. He kissed you harder, more intensely, as his kisses slowly made his way down your neck and chest. 

His mouth found your nipple, and he began to suck and nibble on it. You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he teased and teased you with his tongue. As you writhed in pleasure, Chan's hand moved between your legs, his fingers gently rubbing your pussy through the fabric. You moaned louder, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Please, Chan," you begged, your voice ragged. "I need you."

Chan didn't reply. He simply smirked at you and began to remove your underwear, exposing your bare body to him.

"So wet.. And so pretty." he growled, his fingers sliding between your folds to find your clit. You cried out as he began to rub it in slow, teasing circles, his other hand gently massaging your breasts. You could feel your orgasm slowly building. 

Chan's fingers were working their magic on you, and you were close to cumming. But you wanted more, you wanted to feel his hard cock inside you.

"Chan..." You whined," Please fuck me." You gripped his hair tighter.

"Hmm? What was that?" he said. His fingers going faster in you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Fuck... Please… please Chan," You cry out. "Fuck me.... please. I need you," you say, whining to his touch.

Chan chuckled, a low, seductive sound that sent shivers down your spine. "What a whore… Look at you.. Whining for my cock. Are my fingers not enough for you?" He inserted another finger, the stretch becoming almost too much to bear.

"Fe-feel so good." You managed to say. You moaned as Chan pushed his fingers deeper into you, hitting your g spot.

"Oh-Oh my God, I'm so close, Chan.." You said, your voice a soft whisper. Your hips bucked against his hands.

"Not yet, baby. I want to taste you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire. "I want you to cum in my mouth instead."

His head found its way between your legs, his tongue finding your clit as his fingers plunged deeper and harder into your pussy. 

You were close, so close, and Chan's tongue and fingers were bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He hummed against your clit as your fingers tangled themselves into his hair.

"Chan, please...I'm going to... "

Chan smiled, as he continued his actions. His tongue teased your tight hole as you reached your orgasm and your cum oozed out of you and down your thigh.

"Good girl," he purred, cleaning you up with his tounge. He pressed sweet, soft kisses to your clit and you whined.

Chan's lips trailed back up your body, kissing and nibbling their way to your mouth. He finally kissed your lips and you could taste yourself on his tounge. Your hands found their way to his clothed cock and you rubbed his hard member.

He quickly grabbed your hand to stop you. "Tsk.. Tsk ..Tsk..." he said. "This is about you. I want to make you feel good."

"No.." You said, trying to stroke him. "I want to make you feel good too."

Chan groaned and his hands went to his pants, unbuttoning and removing them, along with his boxers.

"You do make me feel good.." he said as his hands gripped your hips, lifting you and teasing his cock at your entrance. You took this opportinity to surprise him by flipping you both over, putting yourself on top.

You began to grind against him, mixing your cum with his pre cum.

"Oh?" he purred, his hands cupping your ass. "My baby wants to be on top?"

You leaned down and kissed him, as you slowly sank down onto his cock. You gasped, his length filling you completely.

"Fuck," he moaned, his eyes closing and his face contorting in pleasure.

You started moving up and down, your hips grinding into his as his cock slid in and out of you. Chan's hands roamed over your body, caressing and teasing you as you rode him.

You saw the bulge of his cock in your stomach with every bounce. "Mmm. That's it baby. That-Thats it. Good girl. Good Fucking girl." He said as you bounced faster and faster on his cock.

You began to clench around him, a tell tale sign of your coming orgasm. Groans leave his lips, dick throbbing deep inside you. Chan cursed lowly under his breath as he watched you look down at him.

You continue to grind your hips down against him, loving the look of desperation on his fucked out face as his leaking tip twitched in your warmth.

“Fuck” he said, feeling you clench more and more around him. "Fuckkkk. Fuck.. oh-" He said as he closed his eyes. Chan's hands remained on your hips, holding you as you moved. 

Suddenly he presses his hands down on your waist forcing you to stop.

You whined from the sudden stop, on the edge of cumming. Chan was so thick. So big.

SO big.

Cockwarming him was almost painful. You wanted to keep moving, to keep feeling him hit your cervix over and over and over again.

"Get off" he said sharply. "Get-get… get off. Please" he whimpered. His hips bucked against you, contradicting what his words were saying. "Please.. I-I can't take it. I'm gonna cum if you dont- fuck.....If you dont get off i'll cum inside you."

"You don't wanna cum in me?" you purred, looking him straight in the eyes with a pout. He gulped and looked away, his breathing laboured.

"Tell me how bad you want to fill me up, Channie."

"Baby..please," he begged, his voice low and needy. "We have no protection and-"

"Cum inside Channie" you said, interrupting him. You slowly moved your hips, making sure he stayed deep inside you. And GOD did he feel good.

"Baby…Please," Chan said, his eyes pleading. "Please. You feel so good, and tight and warm and - arrgh.. If you keep going I won't be able to stop myself. "

He looked at you, his face filled with desperation. "You want me to cum inside you? Are- are you sure?"

"Please, Channie." You said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his lips and your hips moved a little faster. "I need you.." You begged him.

Chan moaned loudly and he pulled your hips onto his, his cock fully twitching inside you.

"Oka-Okay, baby." he said as he began to thruste up into you, harder than ever before, hitting your g-spot and cervix at the same time.

"Oh-oh-Ohhh.. oh my god" You said with every thrust.

"fuck, fuck, fuck." Chan cursed, his pace speeding up. "You're a slut you know that? wanting me to fill you up? Cum inside you huh? Such a fucking whore"

"yes! yes! YES!!" you scream, his dirty talk making you even more wet.

"You want it inside? Beg for it." He said, his voice strained.

"Channie..Please...I need your cum in me." you said, looking him straight in the eye.

Chan moaned loudly and his thrusts became erratic.

"Please" you whined, your walls clenching around him.

"Baby..Baby" he moaned, his hips snapping into yours.

Chan cursed again, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild, losing control.

"Chan.. I'm-I'm."

"I know baby. I can feel it. Cum with me." You came first, unable to fight it any longer. "That's it good girl.. good-mmh good fucking girl."

He followed quickly after, burying his cock inside you, his cum painting your walls..

"Fuuuucckkk" He whined. He kept pumping inside you, making sure you took every last drop. You collapsed on top of him, his cock still twitching inside you.

Chan's arms wrap around you, his hands caressing your back as you both try to catch your breath. Chan kissed the top of your head, his fingers gently running through your hair. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you so much."

"I love you more" you said, content.

Chan’s arms pulled you close against his chest. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, His breath slowing down. His hands moved slowly and soothingly up and down your back, each touch gentle and reassuring.

He nestled his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered again, his voice a soft murmur.

You sighed contentedly, feeling his fingers on your body. You both stayed like that for a while, the silence between you filled with unspoken words of comfort and love. Chan's hands continued their gentle caresses, tracing small, soothing circles on your back. His touch was tender, each movement conveying his care and affection.

Your legs tangled together under the covers, your bodies fitting perfectly against each other. You could feel the warmth radiating from him. He held you with a strength that was both protective and gentle, making you feel safe and cherished.

--

As you nuzzled closer, you felt his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Let me get you some water and a snack," he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping you. "Thank you, baby."

He kissed your forehead again before carefully untangling himself from you. "I'll be right back," he assured you, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he got up and walked to the kitchen.

The quietness of the room was soothing, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to bask in the afterglow of the comforting moment you had just shared.

Suddenly, your phone dinged, breaking the tranquility. You furrowed your brow in confusion, reaching over to the bedside table to grab it. It was a notification from the new security cameras you had installed recently, informing you that there was someone at the door. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the alert. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Curiosity and a hint of anxiety swirled within you as you opened the app to check the live feed. The screen loaded, revealing the figure standing at your doorstep.

In the dim light, their silhouette seemed familiar. The person shifted slightly, adjusting their stance. You saw distinct features—strong jawline, and calm demeanor.

His profile was momentarily illuminated by a passing car’s headlights, casting a shadow across his face. He stood there, unaware of the camera, his expression unreadable in the ambient light. But as he shifted you could see his face.It was...

....Minho?

Your mind raced. Why was he here? What did he want? 

You watched intently as Minho lingered for a moment, then bent down to place something on the doorstep. You tried to zoom in on your phone hoping to provide a clearer picture.

It was a gift box, or at least you thought from what you could make out.

Without ringing the doorbell or making any attempt to announce his presence, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

Confusion and curiosity mingled as you watched him leave. What could be in that box? Why didn't he want to speak to you directly? Why was he here at 2 am?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Chan's return with a glass of water and a plate of snacks, his face lighting up with a gentle smile as he approached. “Here you go,” he said, placing the items on the bedside table.

He noticed the change in your expression and the phone in your hand. “Is everything okay?”

You quickly composed yourself, hiding the unease. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you placed your phone face down on the table.

Chan handed you the glass of water. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”

You took the glass and sipped, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat. “Thanks, Channie.”

He sat down beside you, his eyes filled with concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, managing a smile. “Yes, just a little tired.”

He looked at you with a sleepy yet sincere smile. " Okay sweetheart." He said as he crawled into bed with you.

You nestled closer to Chan, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence. "I missed this," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "Me too," he murmured. “I was thinking... how about we go on a date tomorrow? Just the two of us. We could use some time alone together.”

Your heart warmed at his suggestion, and you smiled back at him. “That sounds wonderful, Chan. Where do you want to go?”

" What about dinner? Just you and me, dressed up, enjoying a meal at that new French restaurant downtown."

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of an elegant evening together. "That sounds amazing, Chan. I'd love that."

He grinned, his fingers now gently caressing your cheek. "I thought you might." He pulled you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Chan wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “Let’s get some rest yeah? We both need it.”

You leaned into him, grateful for his comforting presence.

In the quiet of the room, you let yourself relax fully for the first time in what felt like ages. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear was a steady rhythm that soothed your mind. You thought about tomorrow night's dinner, imagining the elegance of the French restaurant and the joy of sharing such an intimate moment with Chan.

A small smile played on your lips as you realized how much you trusted him, how much you leaned on him for support. Tonight, there were no nightmares, no fears—just the comfort of his presence, wrapping around you like a shield.

But as you settled back into the warmth of his embrace, your mind kept drifting back to the box at the door. You knew you would have to see what Minho left, but you decided to wait until Chan was asleep.

As the night wore on, you found yourself thinking more and more about the contents of the box, The image returning again and again to your mind. Finally, you decided to sneak out of bed, careful not to wake Chan. Quietly, you made your way back to the living room and to the front door.

The box sat on the floor in front of the door, its presence casting a silent, haunting aura. It was a simple but elegantly wrapped package, tied with a deep crimson ribbon.

The weight of its contents beckoned to you, stirring a mix of curiosity and apprehension within your heart. You picked up the box and brought it inside to the living room.

The lamplight cast shadows across the room, dancing around the edges of the box as you set it down on the coffee table. For a moment, you simply stood there, hands resting lightly on the lid, grappling with your thoughts.

You carefully untied the ribbon, setting it aside with deliberate care. The soft rustle of paper and the faint scent of memories stirred as you lifted the lid. Your eyes widened in surprise and awe at what lay nestled within its depths.

Resting on a bed of delicate tissue paper, you discovered a beautifully crafted dress made with a corset. The fabric was luxurious, and the design was intricate, a perfect blend of elegance and sophistication.

As you examined the corset, a sense of familiarity washed over you. You recognized the craftsmanship, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it before. The more you stared at it, the more confused you became.

Why would Minho drop this off?

Your mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Why now? Why in this way?

You sat back, the dress draped across your lap, and took a deep breath. This wasn’t just a random gesture. There had to be a reason, something you were missing. The corset felt like a key to a memory just out of reach.

You knew you needed to get some answers, but it was very late into the night. You carefully folded the dress back into the box and returned it to its place. With a final glance at the mysterious gift, you headed back to bed.

On your way back, your phone buzzed again, breaking the silence of the night. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number:

...What?

Could Minho be the stalker? The thought was almost too much to bear, given your complicated history with him.

Confusion swirled within you. You had been so convinced it was Hyunjin—the unsettling letters, the feeling of being watched, the inexplicable incidents that seemed to point in his direction.

Wait.

Wait. Wait.

The letters. You never opened them. You hid them and ran out so quickly that you completely forgot about them.

They were still in your jacket pocket, where you had left them. With Quick steps, you returned to the front door and reached into the pocket and retrieved the unopened envelopes.

Sitting back down on the couch, you carefully unfolded the first letter. The handwriting was elegant and precise. But instead of being addressed to you…

it was addressed to someone else?

Hyunjin had feelings for you? You knew that but that was a long time ago.. right? Why was STAY bringing it up now.? Unless.....

Unless the feelings never left like he told you they did.

You had believed that Hyunjin's feelings for you were a fleeting crush, something that he had supposedly gotten over quickly, according to what he had told you.

The letter realved that it wasnt just a crush.

Hyunjin was in love with you, and Chan didnt know.

As you re-examined the letters and their ominous contents, a sinking feeling settled in your chest. Each letter not only threatened to expose Hyunjin's feelings but also outlined specific actions STAY wanted him to take to keep his secret hidden. Among them were references to Hyunjin's sketches, songs he's written about you, paintings, and selca's together, indicating that STAY had been leveraging these to coerce him into compliance. This oviously meant that this wasn't Hyunjin's doing. Why would he write such threatening letters to himself?

The realization hit you like a weight. The cameras and sketches found at the scenes were likely part of Hyunjin's desperate attempts to appease STAY, to protect his secret at any cost.

You felt a surge of empathy for Hyunjin, realizing the depth of his predicament. He wasn't the stalker you had feared; he was a victim, like you, ensnared by STAY's cruel machinations.

More important than ever. you needed to figure out who STAY was and put an end to their manipulative games. Not only were they messing with you but now with the boys as well. Who knew which others had also recived letters?

You carefully gathered the letters and placed them into the box, and put the box in the closet away from view.

Quietly, you made your way back to bed, slipping under the covers next to Chan. His presence brought you a sense of security, a reminder that you weren't alone. As you closed your eyes, you knew that tomorrow would bring difficult conversations and revelations, but for now, you allowed yourself a moment of peace.

Ep.8 if the shoe fits..

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[boba-beom]

'oh yeah?' | CHOI YEONJUN NSFW

p: bf!yeonjun x ff!reader // wc: 387 // w: petnames (baby, princess, good girl), 'daddy' used ONCE, yeonjun is unserious // drabble; suggestive/smut(?) // this has been a lil thing that comes back to my mind, so I wanna share it 🤭 merry christmas filthy animals 🫶🏼

yeonjun would be the type of boyfriend who would call you up while you're both in the middle of a petty argument that's blown out of proportion. hear me out.

as soon as you pick up the phone you want to tell him to leave you alone, but he starts talking to you like nothing happened, asking you if you're okay.

you reply with, "okay? do you think I'm okay? do I sound okay to you?" and you continue telling him how you've been feeling, ranting and going on a tangent about how you're still mad at him.

but that's not what yeonjun's focusing on, no. he's too focused on that subtle whine in your voice when you're complaining. he's too focused on your heavy breathes over the phone from you letting out that anger.

he does nothing but hold the phone diligently by his ear, scoffing and nodding, pretending to care even if you can't see him. his mind wanders, straying away from the focal point and he cuts you off mid rant.

"oh yeah? is that right, baby?" a smirk playing on his lips.

silence with your breaths on your side of the phone made yeonjun chuckle to himself. and you have to remind yourself to be mad at him at that moment, but why does he have your heart palpitating in your chest.

"come on. it sounded like you had a lot more to say." he'd say, encouraging you to continue your rant. if you had anything left to rant about, that is.

"yeonjun..." your voice would trail.

"talk to me, princess. what is it?" he shoves his hand in his pocket, cocking a brow as he awaits your next few words.

"I miss you." you say in a hushed voice, but yeonjun managed to catch it.

"yeah? need me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours? fuck that attitude out of you, hm? gonna use your pretty noises for me, huh baby?" he bites his bottom lip at the thought of ruining you until your a sobbing, dumb, mess under him.

"please. I need you so bad." the whine in your voice returns and it makes yeonjun's dick jump in his pants.

"be a good girl for me and get ready, okay? I'll be there in ten." yeonjun's voice is stern but has a playful tone to it.

"yes daddy."

© BOBA-BEOM ; do not repost, alter, translate, or claim as yours on here or any other platform.

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