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troublesomesnitch · 2 months

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Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate.

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination.

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms.

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him.

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals.

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ”

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern.

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen.

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at.

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you.

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back.

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead.

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh.

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks.

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms.

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair.

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world.

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance.

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice.

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means.

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better.

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat.

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound.

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ”

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most.

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one.

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her.

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own.

You do not know. You suppose no one really does.

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists.

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs.

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.”

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child.

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife.

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child.

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to.

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying.

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.”

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it.

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall.

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm.

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat.

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world.

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly.

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons.

She closes her eyes when you draw back.

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully.

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid.

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes.

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things.

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes.

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs.

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on.

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket.

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza.

Dear. Beloved.

You like that very much.

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond fluff

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3hks · 7 months

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How to Write REALISTIC and SMOOTH Dialogue

In a story, dialogue is quite important, it helps the readers paint a picture of what's happening and the characters themselves. However, it can be difficult to avoid the unnaturalness and choppiness that comes with a lack of experience. But luckily, I have put together A LOT of advice on how you can get over that rockiness and improve!

*** KEEPING YOUR DIALOGUE REALISTIC, AND PACING ***

>> Keep your characters in character:

Dialogue is a remarkably quick way for readers to determine your character's personality. Thus, you want their speech patterns to remain fairly consistent so the audience won't get confused. If your character is more serious, then they will use less slang and perhaps a more impressive vocabulary. If your character is more relaxed, they will use more slang and compress the words. (such as "dunno," "kay," "y'know," etc.)

Basically, you want their tone to match their traits so the way that they talk is more realistic and personlized to themselves. If the way all your characters speak is the same, there's something wrong. A strong tip is to put yourself in your character's shoes and imagine how they would respond!

>> Take the situation into consideration:

This is another part of keeping your characters in, well, character. Different emotional situations will have a different effect on separate people, so make sure that you have an idea of how your character will act during stressful, irritating, and sad times.

If your character is normally cold, they will struggle if it comes to comforting other people because they have less experience in that field.

>> Don't take too long with their words:

Unlike when narrating something, most people talk just to get the idea across. They will be more specific and quicker with what they say. (This excludes any character who likes to talk a lot.) Unless it's on purpose, they won't dance around the topic. Think of when you casually chat with your friends; you're pretty unlikely to use certain words and/or phrases that might be common to use while narrating.

If you want to explain something complicated, instead of writing out a paragraph of just one person talking, use a question-and-answer prompt! This is where another character continuously asks related questions that get answered by another person, so you can indirectly reveal your explanation.

*** HOW TO WRITE A SMOOTHER CONVERSATION AND DIALOGUE TAGS***

>> Having a variety of dialogue tags:

This is a pretty basic thing to look out for if you're new to writing conversations. Using words like "said," every other sentence can easily make it feel choppy and robotic. Instead, use words like "murmured," "smirked," etc. to paint some emotion into their words. Additionally, vary the location of the dialogue tags! They don't all have to go after the statement, you can include something in the beginning or even the middle, too!

Examples:

Beginning - She tilted her head, "What are you talking about?"

Middle - "Oh," he blinked, "I actually never thought about that."

End - "Wait up!" She exclaimed loudly, waving her hands around.

>> Using no dialogue tags to create a smooth conversation:

Having too many tags can also overwhelm your reader--remember, sentence variety is a crucial part of writing--so you can always drop them if they're unneeded. This applies when your characters (two is the suggested amount) are talking back and forth in a pattern straightforward enough for the reader to understand who's talking without it having to be labeled.

Dropping dialogue tags in these moments can create a smoother atmosphere during the conversation because the reader only has to focus on the talking present.

*** USING SLANG, STUTTERS, FILLER WORDS, AND PAUSES ***

Human speech is often not perfect; when talking, we often make mistakes such as filler words, grammatically incorrect phrases, etc. Hence, for more natural-sounding dialogue, it's important to incorporate some of these.

>> Pauses and stutters:

When reading dialogue, we read it at a steady pace unless it's written otherwise. However, that steady pace can soon get too robotic and too smooth. Luckily, there are several ways to change this! You can use dialogue tags, (ex: she quickly spoke) commas, and ellipsis (...). These are often integrated when the character is hesitant, nervous, answering something, or when they need to admit something. The same idea applies to stutters--they're mainly used to demonstrate anxiousness, which can be found in varying situations.

>> Filler words and slang:

Filler words can really just be used where you see fit. They may be used in the situations I previously mentioned (because it shows someone stumbling over their words) but it's ultimately up to you!

Slang, just like everything else, should not be used too often, or it will seem forced and exaggerated. The point is to sound natural, and increasing amounts of repetitiveness can ruin it. It's also important to remember that in real life, our conversations move slower; when someone speaks, another person usually doesn't respond quite literally, right after. However, in writing, dialogue can actually often seem that way, which is why using tags and these imperfections of speech is pivotal for building a realistic conversation!

*** CONCLUSION ***

Lastly, a key point when writing dialogue is to ALWAYS read the conversations! Whether it be in your head or out loud, it can often help you catch anything that seems off! Additionally, like I mentioned at the very beginning, write dialogue from your character's perspective! Imagine yourself as them and how they/you would talk. Try to keep your dialogue tags, sentences, and word use varied to create a natural conversation!

If you were struggling before, I hope that this (extra) long guide was able to really offer you some insight and useful tips! If you read this far, thank you!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #creative writing #writing advice #writing inspo #dialogue #writing dialogue #writing dialogue tips #dialogue tips #how to write dialogue #how to write smooth dialogue #how to write natural dialogue #tips on writing dialogue #tips on writing smooth dialogue #tips on writing realistic dialogue #how to write realistic dialogue

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plussizeficchick · 2 months

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Am I Living an Illusion? | Suguru/Kenjaku x Chubby! Reader

Summary; You’re not so sure your boyfriend is who he says he is anymore.

Warnings; smut (cunnilingus, P in V) imposter! au? cockwarming (mentioned) not proofread (sorry y’all)

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

You tried to ignore it at first. The way he didn’t have that slight limp in his walk. How he started adding cream to his coffee instead of just black. The way he suddenly started treating you.

Suguru had always been a frigid lover. He never allowed you to get too close. In fact, you often wondered if you were even in a relationship in the first place. He never held your hand, hardly cuddled with you, and talking to him was like pulling teeth. The only shred of adoration he showed you was when his hands grabbed at the fat of your thighs to fuck into you.

That’s why you know whatever is in front of you, is not your Suguru.

Because your Suguru would never hold you the way this one does, like you’re his reason for breathing, like you’re a goddess among men and he’s trying to keep you for himself. He would never talk to you like this one does, voice so soft and gentle, almost like a whisper. He would never look at you like this one, like you hung the Sun, Moon and all the stars.

And he especially wouldn't plan an elaborate dinner for Valentine's Day.

— —

“I just want to spoil you, sweetheart. I feel we’ve grown apart these last few weeks.” He murmurs in your ear. You’d been trying to come to terms with your feelings for whatever is inhabiting your boyfriend, thus causing a bit of separation.

Anytime you both were in the same room, you made an excuse to leave. It was a bit immature, sure, but you didn’t know how to cope with what you were feeling. Something clearly wasn’t right with your boyfriend, but he was also beginning to act exactly how you’ve been wanting. You weren’t sure what to do, however, after mentioning in passing how much you wanted to participate in the holiday, you didn’t really have much of an excuse to get out of this.

“I- I don’t know, Sugu. It’s been a while.” You deflect. “Didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to do something on this day? I know I’ve been dismissive before, but I want to make up for that now.” He turns you to face him, thumb caressing the softness of your cheek. It’s moments like this that remind you he’s not who he used to be, that he’s something entirely different.

“Suguru” on the other hand was struggling to hold himself back from just wiping everything off the table taking you right there.

How? How did his host go this long without fucking you?

If it was up to him, you’d never leave his cock, reduced to nothing but a cock-drunk cumdump that warms his dick.

Not to say that was a bad thing. He just wants to ravish you, run his tongue along your curves and grip your supple flesh. Sink his teeth into your pouty lips and just take everything you have to offer.

You feel your cheeks heat up under his stare, the intensity in which he’s looking at you causing wetness to pool in your panties. “Well, yes. But I just think-” He shushes your thoughts by pressing a brief peck to your lips. “Ah, ah, ah,” He tuts, moving to pick up a chocolate covered strawberry and putting the delicacy to your lips. “No thinking today, just… feeling.” He says and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Your clit pulses at his words, so you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down slightly and take a bite of delicious fruit in his hand. “Suguru” feels his cock twitch at the sight of the red juice dripping down your chin. He can’t help himself when he reaches out to wipe the juice, sucking the same finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of you.

And you can’t help yourself when you finally reach out and press a searing kiss to his lips, the taste of the strawberry and each other dancing on each of your tongues.

He pulls you into his lap without breaking the kiss, hands immediately finding purchase on your soft waist. He groans at the feel of you grinding down on his clothed cock, desperate for some sort of friction.

He takes pity on you and lifts you up with ease, the action causing you to squeal in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck to anchor yourself. “Do you really think I’d let you get hurt, sweet thing?” He asks earnestly, an almost hurt expression on his face. But it’s quickly wiped away as his hands run up and down your body. “With me around, you’ll never be hurt again.” It was said with such finality that you had no choice but to believe him.

He carries you to your shared bedroom, once cold now full of love. He carefully lays you on your silk sheets, taking his time to undress you, almost like a present for himself.

“Suguru” can hardly contain his appreciation for the sight before him. You were quite literally everything he was looking for in a partner, and he couldn’t believe his luck when he picked a host that had exactly what he needed.

With that thought in mind, he rids himself of his clothes, eager to make a mess of you. “You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good laid out for me like this.” He sighs, running his hands up and down your thighs. You try to squeeze them tight to prevent him from catching sight of your wetness but it’s fruitless; he can practically taste you on his tongue.

He manages to pry your legs apart, the sight of your sticky folds enough to make a grown man weep. He doesn’t hold himself back anymore, immediately diving into your soaked cunt.

You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over the bundle of nerves as you grind into his face. “That’s it, baby. Use me. Use me to get off, you deserve it.” And you know what? You fucking do.

So you do as he says, pressing his face further into your pussy as you get off on his mouth. He’s moaning into you, hands grabbing at whatever he can as you whine and gasp at the overwhelming feeling.

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming, cunt spasming around his tongue as he uses it to fuck you through your orgasm, your body twitching at the intensity of it.

He presses one final kiss to your clit before pulling away slightly, hands rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He leans up to your face, pressing a deep kiss to your lips before pulling away to look at the softness in your eyes.

“Ready for more?” He asks, pressing sweet pecks to your chubby cheeks. You’re coherent enough to nod in the affirmative, and that’s all “Suguru” needs to get to work, running his hard dick through your soaked folds to lube himself up.

The glide into your cunt is easy, the head of his cock nearly nudging your cervix with every thrust.

He’s beating your poor pussy up, dick slamming into your g-spot and he’s not faring any better. Your moans and the squelch of your pussy is music to his ears, and the way your cunt clenches every time he makes a particularly deep thrust has a shiver running down his spine.

As he nears his orgasm, he realizes he has to feel you cum on his cock. It’s a must.

He reaches up and pinches each of your nipples, licking into your mouth when you open it to moan for him. “Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock.” He demands, slamming into you in quick succession. All it takes is one, two, three more thrusts and you're spilling all over his cock, drenching him in your release. It’s not long before he’s right behind you, holding you flush against him as he spills his seed deep in your womb.

You’re panting against each other, holding each other as you catch your breaths. It’s a few minutes before “Suguru” pulls away and leaves the room and you’re worried things will go back to the way they were before. But then he comes back with a wet cloth, a bowl of the chocolate strawberries and a bottle of water. He hands you the fruit and water, before running the wet towel through your soaked folds, careful of your sensitivity.

Once he’s finished he tosses the towel onto his nightstand to be dealt with later, then pulling you flush against him as he feeds you more of the strawberries. You sigh in content as you let yourself be cared for.

Once you’ve finished the fruit and drank a good portion of the water, “Suguru” hugs you close to him once again, your back against his front, as he rubs his hand over your plump tummy. You think about this. About the intimacy he provides, the safety you feel with him.

“I know you’re not what you once were Suguru,” You start, and you feel him stiffen behind you. You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers. “But I don’t care.”

He breathes out.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 15 days

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ABBA - Waterloo 1974

"Waterloo" is a song by Swedish pop group ABBA, with music composed by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus and lyrics written by Stikkan Anderson. It is first single of the group's second studio album of the same name, and their first under the Atlantic label in the US. This was also the first single to be credited to the group performing under the name ABBA. The title and lyrics reference the 1815 Battle of Waterloo, and use it as a metaphor for a romantic relationship.

In 1974, "Waterloo" represented Sweden in the 19th edition of the Eurovision Song Contest held in Brighton, winning the contest and beginning ABBA's path to worldwide fame. The song differed from the standard "dramatic ballad" tradition at the contest by its flavour and rhythm, as well as by its performance. ABBA gave the audience something that had rarely been seen before in Eurovision: flashy costumes (including silver platform boots), a catchy uptempo song and simple choreography. It was the first winning entry in a language other than that of their home country; prior to 1973, all Eurovision singers had been required to sing in their country's native tongue, a restriction that was lifted briefly for the contests between 1973 and 1976 (thus allowing "Waterloo" to be sung in English), then reinstated before ultimately being removed again in 1999. Watch the performance in Swedish here. Sveriges Radio released a promo video for "Waterloo" that was directed by film director Lasse Hallström, whose first notable English-language film success was What's Eating Gilbert Grape in 1993. ABBA recorded the German and French versions of "Waterloo" in March and April 1974; the French version was adapted by Alain Boublil, who would later go on to co-write the 1980 musical Les Misérables.

The song shot to number 1 in the UK and stayed there for two weeks, becoming the first of the band's nine UK number 1's, and the 16th biggest selling single of the year in the UK. It also topped the charts in Belgium, Denmark, Finland, West Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Switzerland, while reaching the Top 3 in Austria, France, the Netherlands, Spain, and Sweden. Unlike other Eurovision-winning tunes, the song's appeal transcended Europe: "Waterloo" also topped the charts in South Africa, and reached the Top 10 in Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Rhodesia, and the US (peaking at number 6, their third-highest-charting US hit after number 1 "Dancing Queen" and number 3 "Take a Chance on Me"). In 2005, at Eurovision fiftieth anniversary competition Congratulations: 50 Years of the Eurovision Song Contest, "Waterloo" was chosen as the best song in the contest's history.

"Waterloo" is featured in the encore of the musical Mamma Mia!. The song does not have a context or a meaning. It is just performed as a musical number in which members of the audience are encouraged to get up off their seats and sing, dance and clap along. The song is performed by the cast over the closing credits of the film Mamma Mia!, but is not featured on the official soundtrack. It is also performed as part of the story in the sequel, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, by Hugh Skinner and Lily James.

The Australian film Muriel's Wedding (1994), features "Waterloo" in a pivotal scene in which lead Toni Collette bonds with the character played by Rachel Griffiths. The film's soundtrack, featuring five ABBA tracks, is widely regarded as having helped to fuel the revival of popular interest in ABBA's music in the mid-1990s. "Waterloo" features prominently in the 2015 science-fiction film The Martian. The song plays as the film's lead, played by Matt Damon, works to ready his launch vehicle for a last-chance escape from Mars. In "Mother Simpson", the eighth episode of the seventh season of The Simpsons, Mr. Burns plays "Ride of the Valkyries" from a tank about to storm the Simpson home, but the song is cut-off and "Waterloo" is played, to which Smithers apologizes, advising he "must have accidentally taped over that".

"Waterloo" received a total of 89% yes votes!

youtube

(the video is posted by ABBA's own account, not Eurovision's = safe to watch)

#finished #sweblr #high yes #high reblog #low no #70s #o1 #o1 sweep #lo4

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arabellasleopardcoat · 4 months

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Muña (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: At the start of the Dance of the Dragons, you host a familiar face. But it is not your husband who darkens your doorstep. It is his nephew.

Warnings: Daemon haunting the narrative. Smut. Body image issues, self-esteem issues. Tully! Reader (Reddish undertone hair) Implied mommy issues. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink

A/N: I got no explanation for this. Might end up writing a part 2 if this does well. Pt 2

“THERE IS a dragon at our gates.” One of your guards announces. You get up from your seat, a wave of nausea already beginning to make herself known. You would rather not face your husband. Not today. Not ever, if you are being truthful with yourself.

You have gained weight. The slim figure that you flaunted at sixteen is long gone. There is more weight in your hips and chest, a bit of softness around your middle. You know he will mock you for it.

“Open them.” You order, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable encounter. You can’t bar him entrance to what is his home too, despite him not visiting in years. “Tell him to leave the dragon there. I’ll send it some food.”

The guard bows and exits the room. One of your companions, Lady Whent, starts to pace the hall. She fears what your husband coming here might mean for you. The rumors said he had loudly proclaimed he would deal with you himself.

Your choice to keep the Riverlands out of the war effort is controversial, but predictable. Surely, no one in their right mind thought you would aid your husband install his Queen. Not even him. Not after he had left your shared home and started living in sin with her, shaming you in front of the whole realm. Yet again, no one would have called Daemon Targaryen the epitome of saneness.

You go sit on your throne, placing your embroidery aside. Your tenants are happy enough that you don’t hold court as often as the other lords. And when they are not, they still refuse to bring their problems to you unless absolutely necessary. No one wants to burden their poor lady more.

You wish they did. The days would seem less empty that way, rotting away in this castle, your house’s sigil mocking you from every corner. Family, Duty, Honor, they had promised you. None had come.

The guard comes back. You remain sitting on your throne, the one you hardly use. You intend to receive your husband from a position of power, not allow him to cower you. But when you look at the man next to the guard, your breath catches.

This man is not your husband. This man is not even one of Rhaenyra’s men.

“Lady Tully.” He says, taking a deep bow. Very respectful, which would make you doubt his relation to your husband were it not for the fact he shares his silver hair.

“Prince… Aemond.” You say, looking at his face. It’s your best guess as to his identity, considering he has a green banner and an eye patch. He wears all black, the color of House Targaryen. You stand up, and curtsy.

“My lady.”

“My husband is not here.” You say, hurriedly. It’s your first instinct. You do not want that dragon of his torching your tenants.“You are welcome to check the castle and my lands, but there is no love lost between us. I assure you I am not hiding him.”

“I know.” He answers, lips twitching into a smirk. You find nothing humorous about it, but you do not dare voice it. You do not understand what he is doing here, if not chasing after Daemon. “I understand your people… Resent him.”

“It is not our place to judge.” You say, voice firm. This man is at least ten years your junior, you will not allow him to intimidate you. No matter how he towers over you, no matter how menacing and mean his features seem. He is no Daemon Targaryen, this green boy. Your husband is the only man you had truly feared. “Only the Seven are perfect, and thus, entitled to judge others' actions.”

“Very devout.” Aemond steps closer to you, his smile widening. The way his face contorts, sharp and with too many teeth, reminds you of one of the piscivorous fishes you have seen swimming up the stream during summer. The look in their eyes is the same he sports now, right before they decide to feast on an unaware trout. “Just like us. Seems like we have a lot in common.”

You gulp. You wish you were less easy to intimidate.

“We do?”

“We do. I don’t like your husband either. The tales of his prowess have been overly exaggerated. And I do not think you are too keen on bowing to Rhaenyra, considering your marriage will be annulled.” A pair of his fingers pluck a stray curl from your up do, twirling it between his fingers. The slightly copperish undertones of it glint under the candlelight.

The threat looms in the air, uncontested by you. Both Prince Aemond and you know that Queen Rhaenyra would be dissolving your marriage as you speak, were it not for the fact that your husband and her need your lands and men for her war. Annulment in exchange for your life would be a much less cruel punishment than whatever they are cooking.

If you were a quieter woman, a less brave one, you would accept your fate. You would say your marriage had been unconsummated, that you will aid your new sovereign and your ex-husband in their war. But you won’t leave your people to their tender care. With the privileged position your lands have, they are also in the privileged position to be amongst the first to burn.

You are not so craven as to save your life in exchange for the ones of your subjects. Hence, neutrality. Hoping it will spare you. All of you.

“Do you think I want to still be married to him? After all this?” It is not enough, you see it now. With the green banner inside your hall, with the one eyed prince himself sent to rally you behind their cause. Neutrality won’t save you. You need to resist Daemon, not just sit praying he won’t attack you. The Seven know he has no such qualms.

“Perhaps we can make a widow out of you yet.” Aemond says to you, a hint of a smile making his expression turn even more menacing.

Tasting freedom on the tip of your tongue for the first time in years, you smile back.

YOU ARE on your side, Aemond thrusting into you from behind. His hand envelops your hip, greedily grasping your flesh. His other arm is under your head, serving as a pillow. For once, you are not self-conscious.

How could you be, when he had practically begged for entrance to your bed? He wanted you, and the thought of that was as thrilling as it was foreign. You hadn't broken your marriage vows ever since you took them. No man had dared voice interest, considering who your husband was.

Aemond had to convince you to get you here, and you had fumbled like a maiden every step of the way. You didn’t dare defy Daemon either. Despite your loneliness over the years, you had never taken another to your bed. No matter how tempted you had been.

When you had seen Aemond, you weren’t planning to, either. He was your good nephew, Daemon’s family. It was utterly scandalous, yet here you were.

You weren’t too sure how you had ended up into this predicament, though. One second the two of you had been making plans, your Lord Commander eager to be at his service, and the next, Aemond was crowding you against a wall and kissing you with unparalleled hunger. Your doubts had been quieted by his warm hands and eager mouth, as he forced you to writhe on his arms and try to divest him of his clothes. Perhaps he had carried you to your room then. You can’t remember, you just hope no one saw you.

“Did he fuck you like this?” He mouths at your ear, lightly biting. No matter how much you want to banish the thought of Daemon from your mind, Aemond doesn’t let you. It makes you feel guilty, breaking your self-imposed celibacy with your nephew in law, but he seems to get a secret thrill from it.

You don’t have the heart to tell him Daemon and you have only gone to bed together once. The night of your wedding.

You stay silent. His hand slides over your stomach, down to your mound. A single, long finger, slips through your folds and starts to rub circles on your pearl.

“Did my uncle ever make you peak?” Aemond asks you, still rubbing those maddening circles. You can’t think. All that is on your mind is a cloud of pleasure, warm and shameful. You shouldn’t be in bed with Daemon’s nephew. Nor should you be breaking your vows.

Aemond bites at your nape, sharply. Just like his uncle, he doesn’t take kindly to not being the center of attention.

“I asked you a question.”

“No.” You tell him, closing your eyes. Your face burns with your shame. Perhaps it is the embarrassment at your husband hating your bed so much he never visited It any longer, or perhaps it is the fact that you are breaking a vow you had really believed in. But Aemond doesn’t seem to like it, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder in an attempt to relax you.

“I'll give you one.” He promises, rubbing your pearl. His thrusting slows down, allowing the head of his member to hit deep inside you. “In my bed, you won't want for anything.”

The way he says it startles you. Dark, possessive. As if he doesn’t intend to let you go after one night, as if he intends to keep you.

“I don't belong in your bed.” You moan, trying to resist the pleasure that seems so sinful in your eyes. You clench around him despite it, not wanting him to leave your body. His free hand, the one serving as your pillow, grabs at your hair, the auburn mane as a bracelet in his pale arm. The pain of the tug only heightens your pleasure, making your body soar above the wave that threatens to crash and drag you under on the pools of hedonism.

Never before had you felt like this. In your encounter with your husband, as he huffed and puffed over you, you had only felt a quick pain and a vague feeling of shame. He had focused on his pleasure first, kicking you out of bed as soon as he was done.

But Aemond. Aemond stares at you, proud of how you unravel in his arms. He encourages you to do it, taking great delight in watching you fall apart.

“You do. With your gorgeous hair and your delicious cunt, I won't allow you to go elsewhere. You are a gift from the Mother herself.” He whispers, darkly. “I’ll worship you how you deserve, Muña.”

The last word seems to amuse him greatly, for it prompts a chuckle out of him. It’s an odd sound to hear coming from him. He seemed the kind who took himself too seriously. He licks at the shell of your ear, at your face, slobbering all over you.

It should disgust you, yet you can’t help but sigh in his arms. Surrender tastes cloyingly sweet in your mouth.

“I… Married.” You repeat, trying to get Aemond to see reason. You claw at his hands, trying to stop him from bringing you this overwhelming ecstasy that makes your body tense, and your thighs quiver. Your mind feels foggy, your wit reduced to half whimpers and softly spoken words.

“I'll wed you, and place my son on your belly.” He grins against your nape, contemplating his final triumph against Daemon. “My seed will take, where his never could. He is weak.”

“I am already married.” You repeat, a bit more firmly. Aemond laughs, rubbing at your pearl once more.

“Shhh, quiet. Quiet, Muña.” He whispers, pulling you to lie under him. He enters you in a single thrust, not giving you a moment of respite. You cry out, nails raking down his back. “I'll kill him. He is just an old man.”

You mutter something. Maybe a reply. Your lips move, incoherent, and you are screaming, the wave of pleasure finally crashing and pulling you under.

“That’s a good aunt. Squeeze your tight little cunt for me.” He grins, and you think this is it. The two of you are going to the Seven Hells.

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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (3)

← chapter two // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: he's got a plan that neither of you like warnings: enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, biting, bondage, temporary paralysis, concussions, miguel is not nice, no use of y/n notes: this was supposed to be longer but the cut off at the original point was super awkward. this chapter is super exciting for all you fang lovers out there

You really can’t catch a break.

The city bustles with a verve rivalling your own, a kaleidoscope of luminescence dancing upon the glass facades of its skyscrapers. Their spires pierce the ink-dark cloak of night, and if you weren’t so busy running for your life, you’d stop to admire the way their aviation obstruction lights mimic the stars back home.

(Everything has a trade off, you suppose. You remember what it was like as light pollution gave away to reveal the cosmos above, the beauty of it lost upon your own grief.)

Now, it’s fear – clinging like a shadowy spectre to your heels. The pavement is unforgiving beneath you, each step sending a jolt of energy through your bones. Despite it, you can’t go any faster. Sidewalks crowd with the humdrum of everyday life – people filtering out from work and bodegas, dressed in a slightly odd fashion, their clothes a reminder of your unfamiliar landscape. Car horns blend into one another, providing an unsteady tempo to the race of your heart.

It’s disorienting, all of it. Times like these, you wish you’d been given the opportunity to hone your abilities. Stamina, flexibility. Web shooters in particular would have proved handy in avoiding the bustle of the ground.

Of course, he has that advantage on you too.

You can’t see Miguel, but you sense his proximity. It prods you, nipping at your flesh in a constant assault, intensifying goosebumps and raising hairs. Your spider sense usually doesn’t last this long, solely serving as a warning for immediate danger. Yet that’s just what he is, immediate. Dangerous. Predatory eyes track your every move, sourced from all directions. He’s everywhere; atop buildings, within alleys. Neon signs morph into twisted apparitions; serrated talons, red skulls.

How did he track you down so fast?

The day pass?

You wonder if he’d brought back-up – whether there are other spider-heroes here who trust in his noble cause. Your anxiety triples, and passerby’s begin to warp too. Their hurried footsteps now strike discordant notes, amplifying your isolation. You think you see some tense their wrists, or unbutton their coats, ready to reveal their tailored suits and ensure the capture you’ve managed to evade thus far.

It’s luck. It’s only ever been luck, and that fact changes depending on who you ask. You’ve never outsmarted him, never disabled him. You just so happen to have the power of being a pain in his ass.

Something itches at you, though. A nagging sense of foreboding. His presence in the past has spurred chagrin, annoyance, and – admittedly – arousal. But the genuine terror that lights your nerves now is new. Perhaps because you understand him, are far more familiar with his pride than most. The logical part of you can predict that he won’t let you off so easily, not after your stunt with the kiss. You won’t – can’t – get away this time, even if it damn well nearly kills him.

Any hope you had of a bargain dissipates, rolling back from shore and into the depths of an elusive sea. You jerk the rubber band off your wrist, throwing it into some undisclosed corner.

In a then desperate bid to throw him off, your path loses cohesion. Like a leaf seized by a tempest, you turn based on split-second instinct, weaving through the labyrinth of New York’s grid. Your body sways in frenzy, bolstered by pure adrenaline, which works to dim everything else. Your ribs haven’t fully healed yet – they’d taken a pretty bad beating upon your last fight with Miguel – but you can barely feel the ache as you focus purely on the task at hand.

Your determination surges, recklessness taking hold of your rationale. Veering abruptly, you just about collide with the racing line of cars that flow at a green light. In fact, you think you do. Your skin prickles, and a taxi runs straight through you, blearing a loud honk all the while. Some vehicles break off, drifting around your form at the last minute. In your peripheral, you can see the glowing red of your pursuers web, stretched across the gap between two apartment complexes.

Chest tightening, your breathing loses depth at the sight, shallowing to leave room for the distress that torrents up your system. You clamber up on the hoods of parked cars, using a mast arm pole to propel yourself forward. It’s a fruitless effort. You know it’s too late – have known it since he walked into that convenience, prowling in search of one thing.

(A lion only catches its prey a quarter of the time. But that twenty-five percent?)

Your ankle is the first victim to his hardwearing web, wrapped in the silk and pulled out from underneath you. The back of your head smacks into the concrete below, a high pitched ring reverberating through your skull upon impact. The collision sends a shock wave of pain throughout your being, and in that harrowing moment, everything stutters to a crawl. Spots speckle behind your clenched eyelids, metallic warmth flooding your mouth.

Well, fuck.

To add insult to injury, your atoms rip apart and splice into one another, a consequence of your abandoned day pass. The glitch aggravates the headache that begins to pound at you. You’d allowed yourself to forget how bad it could be.

The willpower that had just played a forefront in your mind steadily starts to trickle out, absorbed by your humiliation and the ground below.

“You really gonna give up that easily?”

Yes.

You make a point to never lie to yourself. In truth, you won’t ever get enough of Miguel’s cadence. Deep and resonant – it smoulders with a charred ruggedness. Commanding attention, rumbling like distant thunder, an unmistakable authority woven into each word. Yet, even amidst the rough contours, there lingers a softness, a subtle grace that soothes the edges of his threats.

(Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones. Soft voice.)

More webs bind you, erupting from an unclear point to circle your legs, chest, and secure your arms behind your back. You’re diminished to little more than an aggravated caterpillar, ensnared in a spider’s web. And, just as his little game of bondage draws to a close, said spider stalks within view, splitting through the crowd that quickly forms around the commotion.

With his mask on, he stands as completely impenetrable. You, on the other hand, try to reduce your quivering the best you can, afraid of relaying how truly pathetic you feel.

“Maybe I’m biding my time.” You bite back, calling on a complete bluff. “I’m sure you know how good I am at that?” It’s a low blow. Even if you could control when and where to phase out, you wouldn’t get very far before he catches up to you again.

But Miguel doesn’t waver in his closing in – not until he towers over you, looking down at your incapacitated state. Space buckles under the gravity of his existence; you, too, can feel yourself sinking, drawn in closer by the credence that bubbles off him in flares. You wish you had a cover – your pair of makeshift goggles, a face mask, anything that could elevate you to a degree relative to his. But you’re bare, figuratively naked, and you’ve never hated him more.

He lingers, assessing you, weighing his options. The moment he turns to survey the mass of people who look on inquisitively, you wiggle upward into a sitting position, then throw your head forwards, aiming for his crotch. His wrist gets in the way, though, blocking your pitiful attack on his only defenceless area. Your forehead cracks against his dimensional travel watch, shattering its screen.

“Tu puta madre!” Miguel hisses, snapping back to survey the gadget while you begin to slink away. He seems to have an eye on you, however, because you’re tugged back just as soon as you make the effort.

Like a naughty cat. You shift uncomfortably at the thought.

“Are you gonna spend all night deciding what to do with me, then? I have plans, even if you don’t.”

“Plans. I have plans alright.” The low timbre of his threat slices you where it hurts.

With a calculated flex of his shoulders, he crouches down, gathering the webs around your arms. They serve as leverage when he hauls you upward, exercising his muscles – of which you’d suspected had been padding up to this point – with one swift motion. The world upends on itself, nausea enveloping your senses with its oppressive weight. It allows space for little else; not the uncertainty, not the trepidation. You divert all your efforts on keeping your scarce lunch down, accepting the possibility of a concussion by product of his less-than-refined manhandling.

The journey to wherever he takes you is not at all long enough for you to recover. Before you know it, he’s busting through the creaky door of an empty storelot, carelessly tossing you to the floor. Your vision doubles.

Yeah. Definitely a concussion.

Like you could afford one right now.

“You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.” He points an accusatory finger.

“Sure. Until I’ve had enough, that is.”

“And where would you go, exactly?”

“Nice try, O’hara. Like I’d tell you,” Snickering, you let your head roll to face the ceiling. The action sends you back to earlier, to the robbery you’ve been seeking to suppress. How careless you’d been, letting your fortune to date trick you into thinking that any collateral was safe too. You’d killed that woman. You. “Maybe I’ll fall right through the floor. That way, you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.”

The notion makes him pause mid-pace, hands on his hips, tilting his head to look at you with what you imagine is the most earnest glare. The air bobs, suspended in static tension, a crackling constant that only unravels once he seems to make up his mind.

Marching forward, he drags you along with him to a nearby wall, upon which he then pushes you upward until you have to look down to meet his eyeline. Your bound legs kick forward, but the struggle hardly affects him.

“I didn’t want to resort to this.”

You assume he means treating you like a toddler does its shiny new toy, hurling you across this playpen of a city. “You really didn’t have to, then.”

He stays quiet, fists clenching tighter around you.

“I suppose we’re past the courtesy of letting the other recover from the last fight before starting a new one? My forearm is still fucked, thanks to you. Maybe if you’d given it some time, I would’ve proved more of a challenge today.” Your words, whilst never your most steadfast allies, betray you in lieu of this restlessness, tumbling forth with unruly incoherence.

Miguel's mask pulls back, the nanotech collapsing to just above his adams apple. Your mouth moves faster.

“Okay, I get it. The fate of the multiverse and all that. I’ll listen, whatever you want, but at least try and make the lecture original.”

His hand cups your jaw, tightening around your chin to firmly guide it upwards. Your throat stretches taut at the motion, its smooth expanse spread across the wall – an evening repast for a party of one. The imagery breaks down an all too sobering realisation into fragments small enough for you to register. His talons rest against your cheek, bordering perilously close to your waterline.

Traces of that patchouli aftershave hit you. His skin looks especially bronzed in the dark, highlighted at the edges from the phosphorescence outside. His curls droop where they’re plastered to a sweat slicked hairline.

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers down to those plush lips.

Fuck. Fuck. It’d felt so good to kiss them.

Please let this just be a kiss.

“O-Or go with the… the usual, y’know. I don’t–”

Miguel lunges, sinking his fangs into the fleshy sinew of your neck.

Christ.

Your jaw hangs open, but no breaths filter in. Shock wedges itself at the site of his bite, implacable, steadfast as a barrier between logic and uninhibited emotion. Your reasoning plays no part in this, provides absolutely no valuable contribution to the series of reactions you undergo.

It’s physical, first. The cold slither of paralytic venom distends through your nerves, neurotoxins striking their functions, rendering them useless beyond the point of sensation. Which, you’d say, is the cruellest part. Miguel’s poison doesn’t stop you from feeling anything; not the puncture, nor the burn. You can truly feel it, trekking its graceful path to all muscles in your body, taking hold of the tissue, suppressing their vitality. Your back arches, your body doing its very best to fight what it cannot prevent. It cracks up your bone, down your spine. Your toes unfurl, fingers loosening to hang lamely at your side.

And, when you lose all executive authority over yourself, you’re pulled in to centre on his mouth again. His canines slowly retract, tongue taking their place. It’s warm – so fucking warm – and dextrous, covertly lathering the blood that beads down your nape.

Your last proper breath is wasted on a whine; a loud, keening, absolutely wanton whine. After it, you can do nothing but hold your flat inhales to cycle in as much oxygen as possible – diaphragm weak, your resolve weaker.

Miguel draws away, letting you slump to the floor, heavy and just as useless as a sack of flour. He wipes the excess carmine from his chin, kneeling to regard your glassy eyed stare.

“Fall through now, and you’re as good as dead.”

(You might as well already be.)

chapter four →

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courtofcrescent · 3 months

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Your kingdom has lost the war. The Royal Family is dead, including your mistress, the Old King's beloved concubine. Following her last command, you are forced to bend your knees to the new ruler. You continue to live your life as a dutiful high servant, striving to maintain normalcy as best you can, until one moonlit night, you accidentally uncover a terrifying secret... and attract dangerous attention.

Thus begins your new life as the Royal Consort, navigating the intrigue of your old-yet-new Court, all while guarding The Secret with your life.

"May Luxen always shine upon you."

Play as a male or female bearing the title of Royal Consort.

Romance the Ruler with a questionable reputation who is your now lawful partner; the Knight with a piercing gaze who follows you like a devoted shadow; the scandalous nouveau riche who happens to be the Minister of Entertainment; the striking Cousin who prefers the company of books; or a secret... something?

Join the exquisite intrigue of the Court by planning lavish parties, attending charitable events, or simply lying in your pavilion all day in hope to avoid assassination attempts—or perhaps even plot some yourself.

Acquire an expensively crafted dagger... and stab a few people in the back—or you know, a charming smile works too!

Embrace your new royal life with all its privileges and responsibilities—or find yourself trapped in misery, contemplating your choices.

Secrets. Hidden Truths. Lies. You name it.

Here's the list of romantic options who may or may not desire the demise of the Royal Consort. Questionable information. Proceed with extreme caution.

MALLORY d'ASTRUM | THE RULER (M)

Formerly the enemy commander who slew the Old King, Mallory now become the new Ruler who reigns over the Court of Crescent—your beloved kingdom's new moniker. A member of the Imperial House Astrum, you were familiar with his rumors long before the Empire invaded your kingdom. Wolf of War, they said, so that's why you are quite... baffled when you find him as tame as a pampered royal dog, for lack of better words. Did you hear the right rumors? Were all the bard's tales lies? Is this sweets-loving gentleman truly the same vicious commander once called the Beast of Battle?

"My Moonshine, would you care for a dance with your partner?"

VIVIAN d'BENITO | THE KNIGHT (F)

Every royal family member always has a loyal personal Knight, and so do you. Vivian is the very epitome of a guard on duty, according to your etiquette book. Silent yet attentive, her gaze never strays far from you. Obedient yet firm, she grants any wishes of yours as long as they do not clash with Mallory. Vivian has sworn an oath to protect you from any external threats, however can you trust your life to a knight who serves the Imperial House that destroyed the former royal family? Can you trust any oath that passes the lips of a former member of the Knights of Raven?

"I'm yours to command, Your Serene Highness."

ELLIS EDSELLY | THE MINISTER (M)

Scandal, scandal, and more scandal. Ellis's life is never dull, if the rumors are true. Raised to power by the very incident that destroyed the former royal family, he has garnered quite a reputation. Some despise him, some commend him, some licking his boots—or licking much more. Ellis accepts them all with a grin and a wink. If life is a stage, surely the Minister of Entertainment has the center seat. A commoner turned merchant turned noble, he has certainly climbed the power ladder quite high. You wonder, will he continue to ascend even further?

"Let us raise our glass to the night of merriment!"

SORIN FLAVENY | THE COUSIN (F)

You don't know why your reclusive, anti-court great uncle grants his blessing to send your second cousin to the Court. The last time you met Sorin was when both of you were still nursing, thus your impression of her mostly comes from your other cousin's words. Citrine of Flaveny, or so you've been told, her beauty shines like gems under the sunlight, captivating countless suitors. A face of great asset, yet from her very first gathering, you hear that Sorin always curls herself up in the solitude of the palace library. Why does she even bother to come to the Court?

"Cousin! Ah, I mean, Your Majes—Serene Highness! You have a very nice home. So... yellow."

???? | T̵H̸E̸ ̶E̴N̵I̶G̵M̸A̷?̷

G̶o̶.̵ ̷S̴t̵a̴y̶.̷ ̷G̷o̵!̶ ̵S̴t̷a̴y̴!̴ ̵N̶o̸!̸ ̴D̸o̶n̴'̸t̴!̶ ̸Y̷E̷S̸!̸!̴!̴

"Y̶o̷u̴.̵ ̴A̸r̸e̶.̷ ̷M̸I̷N̵E̸!!!!"

Court of Crescent is rated 18+ for mature themes, death and near death experience, blood and violence, alcohol and drugs, sexual content, morally questionable behaviours, really morally questionable behaviours, and more.

[DEMO COMING SOON]

FALL 2024

[under construction]

#if: intro #interactive fiction #if wip #if game #choicescript #court of crescent #coc: if

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months

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Wait could you do something for Yandere!Rook when he stays over at Ramshackle with the SDC crew? I feel like if you showed him affection he'd take a mile. Like if you sheepishly told him you liked him; the next morning he's broken into your room and happily cuddling you (his prey) in your bed. I just want to see how a lovesick Rook would behave at Ramshackle during the VDC. (How long can he keep paying Grim off with tuna?)

Congratulations! You've acquired a second shadow.

The Devotion of the Rook | Yandere Rook Hunt

He absolutely would but you don’t need to be especially nice

All it takes is just one compliment

He’s so used to the sarcastic and teasing of typical NRC

But then there’s you smiling without any other intention then just being happy

“I love your hat!”

“Why thank you, beau filou! Now what can I help with!”

Thus begins a whole new extensive photo album of all things you

He was probably already curious because of your entrance to NRC but now he’s officially obsessed

It feels like fate when Crowley and Vil dedicate you to help with the SDC crew

Now he has access to you so much easier

So when you do return to your room during a dance break and he’s in there

You shouldn’t mind him, he only misplaced a feather from his hat

Or how he can eagerly offer to do your laundry with the liberty of taking whatever the dirtiest object in there is without alerting you

And the pictures

Oh the pictures

he screws up his sleep schedule and risks scolding by Vil because he’s having a hard time limiting himself

And he’ll find that’s how it always is with you

“Oh Rook if you’ll excuse I’ve got to get past to the bathroom.”

“Ah~<3”

“Uh are you okay?”

“Oui! I just was surprised by how soft your touch was.”

“Hey don’t be weird.”

It only worsens after you survive Vil’s overblot with him

So brave!

You joined him when you sensed Vil’s killed intent

So oblivious!

You just casually called possibly the most dangerous creature alive by a cute nickname and got him to smile

So supportive!

The way you cheered them on despite your little twitch everytime one of them messed up

It’s invigorating

Almost more than he has with Neige

But it’d be wrong to quantify his love for the beauties in his life

Hence why he won’t keep track of how many times he ends up following you more than he does Vil

Or how the ceiling he’d reserved for Neige is filled with pictures of you

Or how often he ends up shooting arrows in the direction of troublesome students who can’t seem to stay away from you

Or how he’s willing to continue spending his allowance to pay for tuna that keeps Grim from telling you of his growing scent in the Ramshackle dorm

“Wow thanks for helping me out Rook, I didn’t know you were into building stuff.”

“I’m happy to help you mon filou! Besides seeing you work up a sweat really does something for me. I love to help you and Grim rest in beautiful luxury.”

“Aw thanks! Ace and Deuce said they’d help too but something came up.”

“I see. A shame they’re missing all the fun probably wondering how they got locked in a room with Floyd. You can trust I’ll always come when you call! In truth one may even say I am your biggest fan!”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderes #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook x reader #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere twst x gn reader

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bibliophile221b · 2 months

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A treeline promise: part 2 — [18+MDNI!!]

summary: tension was at its peak after the battle at Burning Hill. In order to restore peace across the Riverlands, a feast has been hosted by your father. When the newly-anointed Lord Blackwood learns about your publicly announced betrothal, things turn sideways… // part 1

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Bracken!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: angst, enemies to lovers, mentions of blood, dirty talk, swear words, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), (slight) breeding kink, religious aspects, Benji’s a tease, your dad kinda dislikes u, my first language isn’t English…

The wind howled through the castle walls, and harsh rain cried upon your windows. You watched as the trees below danced with the wind, trying to keep up with its rhythm. How long had it been since you left your chambers? Since you’d seen anything other than the same fireplace, the same books, the same stone walls that entrapped you from the outside world.

If you had to blame anyone for your current situation, it would have to be yourself. If you could take it all back, you would.

The sight and smell of battle were still as present and persistent in your mind as ever. The bodies of the dead lingered in your thoughts, haunting you still. How naive you were, believing it to be victorious to fight in the midst of battle, and how terribly wrong you were.

At dawn, you had managed to sneak yourself into a cart with your father’s soldiers. Dressed as a boy, you had taken your sword with you, apt to give up your life for your House. You had been prepared, but as soon as the clash breathed a beginning, it felt as though you were in all of the Seven Hells at once. You slew two men, but soon as the aftermath had hit, there was nothing you could take pride in.

The fight had been pointless, unnecessary, and cruel. Too many lives wasted for a king or queen that would never give up their own for theirs. As this realization dawned on you, paranoia took over your mind, and all it could fixate on was that one person. You had searched around you, over the muddied, bloody cadavers that were piling up over the grassland; all in an attempt to find him.

You needed to find him alive, you had thought, stumbling over people, fallen swords, and all the things you couldn’t reminisce before fortuitously facing your father mid-fight. You can still recall the pure fury in his eyes. It was only after the battle that you faced a truth much worse: your brother, Amos, had been killed. The ride home with your father had been tormenting.

Unable to grieve, you endured your father's relentless anger—a reaction not to the loss of his son, but to finding you on the battlefield; his griefless facade never slipped. All you wanted to do was mourn your brother, and when you expressed this at last, all your father could say was, “And so you will, but not in the sight of mine,” and thus, you had been locked up in your bedchamber ever since. Even so, today would make a difference to your solitude.

After the battle at Burning Hill, tension had risen in the Riverlands. The uncle of the one who sits the throne, Daemon Targaryen, part of the blacks, had left your father no choice but to bend the knee to his niece Rhaenyra Targaryen. Moreover, he had compelled the numerous houses of the Riverlands to fuse together, to become each other’s allies rather than enemies. Your father, aware of your aversion to marriage, had thought of the idea fondly and betrothed you to some Tully lad you had yet to meet.

It was on this sorrowing day that you were to meet your future husband, your other half. Your father had hosted a feast for all Houses in the Riverlands. Today, the announcement would be made, and your father would proudly declare how he sold you to the highest bidder, a decision in which you undeniably had no say in.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. "My lady, you’re late. Your father is waiting for you," Alice, your housemaid, insisted. You nodded and rose from your seat by the window, smoothing your dress straight. Before leaving the room, you felt as if you were leaving a part of yourself behind. When you return to your chambers tonight, you will be promised to a man you didn’t even know. All you will be known for is being his wife. This night a part of you will cease to exist, you just wished someone had known you for more than that, but time was nearing its hour. "It is better to believe I wasn’t someone else before," you thought, closing the door behind you.

The halls of Stone Hedge were filled to the brim with people. Knights, Ladies, Lords and all the people who held titles were scattered across the room. You noticed some of the sigils; House Tully, House Butterwell, House Mootoon of Maidenpool, House Frey- you were overwhelmed with the mixture of noise from the crowd and music blasting from every corner.

You walked through the room, seeking your seat by one of the grand tables set against the walls of the hall. You noticed your father speaking to a Lady you didn’t know, who sat disconcertingly close to the right of him. The table was packed, but a seat had been reserved for you. It was only when you took your place that you realized the table where the noblest of your House sat was shared with another particular House.

House Blackwood.

Your heart started racing. Melded emotions of anticipation and fear overcame you. You casted your eyes across the table, seeking someone or something, but the attempt was ill-fated. You were breathing heavily, clutching your dress by your knees, trying to collect yourself- and, after some time, you did. A cup of ale or two made the food before you start to looking delicious and the music around you kissed your ears rather than harrowing them.

Despite your father’s calling, he refused to recognize your presence, leaving you to fend for yourself whilst an hour passed by. You kept to yourself mostly, avoiding locking eyes with the guests sitting close to you. You were the only one of your family on this side of the table, feeling in your gut that it was a decision made on your father’s part.

Your thoughts got interrupted yet again that evening, but this time by the announcement of your father. “Good evening, everyone, how appreciative I am to be the host of today’s feast,” he started, keeping a cup in hand, silencing the crowd. “Today marks a special day in the near history of the Riverlands as we share the table with all Houses and see each other as equals, at last. All of us have lost loved ones in wars between our Houses, and so we shall know sorrow, but let us, at the very least, bond through grief, lest gaining nil from our suffering.”

When you looked up from the table, you saw your father’s eyes water slightly. His eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. The sight somewhat warmed you, knowing your father grieved his son, even in his own silent, troubled way. “Certainly affiliations can be developed in many other ways, for instance, through marriage-“ as his eyes caught yours. “Therefore my House will fuse with House Tully through a betrothal between my daughter and the eldest son of Lord Elmo Tully,” with that he raised his cup, earning loud cheers and hoorays throughout the room.

His proclamation seemed to have been a sign for many to retrieve to the floor. Amongst you, Lords asked Ladies from different Houses than their own for a dance. Regardless of the fact that it truly felt nice to see clarity after such dark times, your misfortunate fate still hung in the back of your mind. As you returned to your plate, you were at least relieved to find your side of the table almost completely empty, which made you feel more at comfort and less agitated than before. However, you only got a small taste of comfort before it became interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind you.

You turned and locked eyes with a black-haired man; looking into those dark brown eyes that appeared amber in the luminance of the room. You could never forget them even if you wanted to, neither could you his smug face that was quite literally looking down at you as of now. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you getting your melancholy all over your dish,” he chuckled. “You look like shit”.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? I think about you enough as it is,” you admitted, earning a smirk from him. “Daydreaming about me, are we?” he purred, offering himself a seat next to you. “Yeah right,” you scoffed. “Any thought or word I hear about you is another second too many I’ve come to waste of my time, so don’t delude yourself.” You poured yourself some more ale, even though you hated the taste of it. If enough of it could cure you to forget about this night, then so be it. You chugged the liquid and wiped the remnants of it off of your lips.

Benji looked at you with a hint of concern, but you didn’t take note of it as he poured himself a drink as well. “I’d ask if you cared for a dance, but I’m still sore from battle, something you luckily don’t have to worry about,” he teased. “A dance? Have you grown soft on me or has the fight given you brain damage?” you grinned. “Oh, you wish-“ he laughed sarcastically, clutching his stomach. “I’m afraid you’ll have to keep praying to your Gods for my ruin.” “They’re in the process, so beware,” you replied, hitting him against his chest. “Besides, believe it to be true or not, I was also present at battle. I have yet to experience any soreness from it, so I believe it to be an issue on your part.”

You noticed his smile dropping slightly by your last remark, but you thought nothing of it forthwith as you turned around to witness the dance. You saw your father dancing with the same Lady he had been previously speaking to. Her hair was golden, a striking contrast to your late mother’s. Inside you, a sense of one-sided tension brewed, though you tried to ignore it, clutching your cup tightly in your hands. Benji noticed it and you felt his eyes boring into your every movement.

“How’ve you been? I didn’t hear from you since-“ “Since when?” you broke him off, facing him. He was taken aback and frowned his eyebrows, “I don’t know, such as after Burning Hill perhaps?” The name of the battle hit your heart like a knife. Everyone in Stone Hedge avoided the name like a plague, merely referring to it like a ransom battle, a nothing fight, ignoring the catastrophe that it was. “What the hell were you thinking when you decided to show up?” he cursed, raising his voice slightly. “I wasn’t,” you admitted irritated. You looked away from him in an endeavour to make the conversation come to an end.

“What’s going on with you?” he whispered, leaning into you and begging for a somewhat decent answer before the two of you got interrupted. “Lady Bracken,” a voice chimed in. You looked up to see Kermit Tully, your betrothed, in front of you offering a hand. His auburn hair had been neatly brushed back, and his raiments were fit for a man of his status, showing everyone his place high up in the hierarchy between your Houses. His blue eyes caught yours. “May I have this dance?” Even though a pit was forming in your stomach, your face beamed with delight. “Of course, ser.” You graciously took his hand, turning a blind eye to Benji along the way, and let your partner lead you to the floor.

A hand traced down to halt at your waist, while his other hand let go of yours, hovering slightly in front of yours as you mirrored his movements. As you moved your feet alongside his to the rhythm of the music, you noticed Benji remaining at the table, watching the two of you. His jaw was clenched tightly, reflecting his vexation as you moved closer to your betrothed. For the rest of the dance, and the dances thereafter, you paid no mind to him. He was the past, if there had ever been one. You hated him; you always had. The feeling was mutual, and that was all you needed to remember.

When time had passed the twelfth twice, you excused yourself to get some clear air. You felt quite drowsy and drained, despite your good time with ser Tully. He was kind and seemed to care about whatever was on your mind. You were at least glad that he was better than your horrid expectations. You entered a hall past where the feast was being held, when a housemaid greeted you. “Lady Bracken,” she said as she nodded to you. You returned the nod before she greeted another, “Lord Blackwood,” she bowed slightly. Blackwood.

You turned around and faced Benji again. “Seven Hells—are you following me?” you exclaimed. “I was headed to the gardens,” he remarked, “these halls are quite general. Figured you’d be the one knowing that as common sense.” He walked past you, brushing his arm slightly against yours. “And what business do you have in the gardens, may I ask?” You followed him as it was the same route to your chambers, nevertheless. He sighed lightly, his irritability showing as clear as day. “A Lord’s business isn’t that of a Lady’s now, is it?”

The corridors were silent aside from the breeze of the harsh wind forecourt. You grabbed his arm, trying to keep him from ongoing his pace, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He effortlessly tugged your hand from his arm and met your eyes. “You’re a Lady now, correct?” he said, his voice edged with ire. “I believe that Lady’s aren’t expected to be found together in the presence of a Lord, all alone, especially near nighttime,” he shot his head in the direction of the hall where the feast was being held, “what imagination might overcome the guests if only they knew?”

“I don’t trouble myself with thoughts of what others might think, especially the guests” you snickered. He looked at you, narrowing his eyes, as if you were an enigma that needed deciphering, before laughing it off, “You go from an aspirant knight to a betrothed Lady, and I’m ostensibly supposed to find any reason for that change of heart?” Your smile quickly faded. “Some people can’t permit themselves to let their heart guide their actions,” you said sternly.

“What has gotten into you? Seriously?” he snapped, “Since when do you bow down to be society’s pawn?” His sudden change in demeanour from earlier in the evening stunned you, the dimly lit hall capable of imaging the hostility in his voice perfectly. “A stitch in time saves nine,” you disclosed. He let out a sardonic laugh, stained with disbelief. “A marriage- a fucking marriage of convenience. That’s what you settled for?” You stood your ground, though conveying pure astonishment.

“That’s all there was in my reach; I couldn’t settle for more,” you persisted, “Therewithal he’s kind, he’s good-” you argued. “You don’t love him. That marriage will be worthless-” he swore, casting his eyes to the heavens. “How do you know I don’t love him?” you interrupted him, your blood boiling. He always knew precisely how to push your buttons.

“Because I know you. You cannot keep up this pretence for much longer-” he condemned, raising his voice. His brows knitted together, his frustration bleeding through them. “Why do you even care?” you shot back at him as you deflected your eyes away from him. “I-” he tried, but his words were in vain as you interrupted him by a whisper, “I thought you were dead.” His silence synced with your mind, leaving your heart stark. “I looked for you everywhere, I heard nothing from you and couldn’t get a word out of anyone even if I begged them to-” you continued, “I thought you were dead and you couldn’t care less if I knew you were alive, so please do enlighten me how I’m supposed to know that you care for me when today is the first day I’ve seen you since-” You stopped before you could finish your sentence, with heartache overcoming you.

His gaze softened, though his lips tightened into a thin line, his scar faint. “I sent word for you. Ever since,” he said. “I believed you weren’t eager to return a letter, so I let it be.” He moved closer to you, narrowing the space between you. “When it comes to you, I will always comply. Whatever you wish, I will abide by.” You looked at him perplexed, “Whatever do you mean?” “To hell with Tully,” he said, his gaze filled with momentum, “leave tonight with me.”

Confounded was a belittlement to describe your riposte at that moment. “Are you at your wit’s end?” you exclaimed. “You have no reason to pursue this marriage if you go with me. I’m a Lord, whereas that Tully lad is nothing more than a cunt with a stick too far up his arse,” he pressed. “I have a life here, a duty,” you persisted. “Seven Hells— you always think the entire world can be stopped if only you utter a word.” “Quit changing the subject and pretending there’s nothing between us,” he said at last, frustration painted across his face, his poise a sharp contrast to yours.

You narrowed your eyes, “Can you no longer reconcile our past? I don’t like you, I never fucking did, and neither did you. That’s what’s between us,” you said. He took a step towards you, your movements countering his. “You’re a fool if you still believe that either of us adheres to that,” he said before leaning in. Your back pressed against the unforgiving cobblestone wall behind you, its freezing touch sending a shiver down your spine. Eyes closed, your heart raced, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. His lips hovered before yours, a silent plea filling the space between your breaths. “I want you to say it”.

You opened your eyes, meeting his, the brown ablaze.

“I’ve always-”

Hated you.

“hated you” you thought, but you couldn’t bear to say it aloud. It was too strong a word and not fitting evermore. Something held you back, the words remaining in your mind, burning into your soul- why couldn’t you just say it?

As one with the words, he waited and could only look into your eyes, waiting for the end of the sentence, waiting for the kill, but it never came. Your blade never stroked his throat, his sword never caressed your side. Blood never did spill; the tiles beneath never got a taste of either of you.

Breaking the silence, he leaned in, pulling you into a hungry kiss, as if compelled by an overwhelming need. Your hands roamed over his body, craving his touch, while his tongue explored your mouth, making you feel whole and completely intoxicated. Your fingers ran through his hair, gripping it slightly and earning a moan from him. Your body felt as if it were held above a stove, burning from the inside out. You broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily. “We can’t—I’m betrothed, it’s a sin,” you said, your words no more than a whisper.

"I do not care," he breathed. "I do not need the favour of the old Gods nor the new. I am your devotee. I'll face anything sacred; I'll walk through all the Seven Hells if that meant the Stranger could grant me another day with you. I’ll yield my soul if I could receive the blessing of the Mother for both of us; I’d beg forgiveness of the old Gods, so that the feud between our Houses is no longer and our blood can be seen as one.” His teary eyes begged for a response, but you were aghast, your words stuck in your throat, betraying the essence of your heart. “I lay myself bare for you. It’s your choice,” he whispered.

This time, you were the one who leaned into him, pulling him into a carnal kiss. Dizziness spread across your mind like a virus, turning you impulsive, leading him into a nearby room and latching onto him again as soon as the door closed. All you both could manage were sloppy kisses, whilst yearning for more. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. He grinded his hips against yours, seeking any friction between you until he kissed your neck and trailed down your body, halting before your waist. He pulled up your dress, inciting your heat, kneading your thighs. “Let me worship you the way you deserve”, he whispered before unveiling your core and placing a soft kiss on it, sending shivers throughout your whole body.

His eyes glowed in the moonlit darkness of the room as he locked onto yours, maintaining eye contact while his tongue traced a slow path from your entrance to your clit, teasing and savouring every moment before enveloping you completely. Each motion was relentless, fuelling your senses and stirring a rhapsody within. His touch was irresistible, his gaze captivated by you as his moans pulsed against your clit. “Wait—” you breathed as you felt your peak nearing, “I need you”.

With a final lingering kiss, he rose, his mouth slightly open, glistening with your slick. His hand wrapped around your neck, thumb resting on your chin. “Use your words, love.” Your cheeks were painted a shade of red, but its reaction was futile as you felt shame no longer. “I want you to ruin me for anyone else,” you confessed in a silent whisper. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his bulge, begging for friction against your thigh. The space between you endured a burning desire, an ache for more, your hearts syncing as one. “You suffocate me,” he sighed, “you’re fucking killing me.” You brought your hand to his face, caressing his lips and feeling the wetness of your own on his scar beneath your fingertips. “Don’t hold back,” you hushed before capturing his lips with yours.

Afterwards, everything was covered in a haze, every action bewitching your psyche and soul entirely. His lips were a divergent blend of softness and harshness against yours. The deep hunger, alienated for far too long, surged from the depth of each other’s souls, filling the room and drowning out all else. He desperately and swiftly unbuckled his belt, freeing himself from the restraints of his garments as your hands wandered through his tender hair, pulling him closer. “Missed my touch that much, did you?” he teased between kisses, feeling his grin against your lips. You tugged at his hair in response, eliciting a groan from him. “By the end, you’ll be the one begging for more,” you swore as he lifted your dress.

“I’ll beg if only I can hear those pretty noises of yours again,” he purred before he sank into your heat without warning. The sudden contact made him hiss, and in response to his size, you clamped your hands to his shoulders. Once you seemed adjusted, his movements became feverish, seeking that ecstasy you both longed for. The lewd noises from the slapping of your skin and his merciless pounding made you unable to hold back your moans, earning a laugh from him. “There you go,” he breathed, “make your betrothed hear you.”

He lifted your leg, allowing him better access, directing for that sweet spot that made you sing so sweetly for him. “Look how pretty you look, taking all of me so well,” he sighed. His lips wandered on your neck, marking you purple with desire, while his hand ceased under your dress, claiming your breast with his hand. His cold, coarse hand against your sensitive skin made you gasp, your breath hitching as he played with your nipple before pinching it briefly. You squirmed beneath his touch, the sensations becoming maddening, making you light-headed.

He brought his hand lower, pausing before your bundle of nerves, then rubbing harsh circles against it, making your release feel imminent. “Please, Benji, I’m so close,” you begged. “Cum for me, love,” he whispered as he looked at you through his lashes before giving you sloppy kisses around your neck. “Just know no one else can make you feel this good.” His thrusts became bodily, hitting that spot inside you just right, brewing something in your lower stomach and making you reach that euphoria at last.

He watched as you threw your head back, mouth agape. Lightning struck nearby, lighting the room and making your shadows dance on the walls. The thunder hit right after, the weather strong and fierce, aligning with your sinful act. A Blackwood and a Bracken; defying and going against your nature, but Seven Hells- it felt right.

You clenched around his length, uncontrollably, feeling him throb inside you. The corrupt desire to feel him release within you delayed your clarity. “Fuck, I—” he sighed, attempting to pull himself away. “No—“ you pulled him back. “I want to feel you. Fuck the betrothal, fuck Tully. I need you.” His flushed face looked at you reassuringly, silently seeking approval before he yielded; before he melted into you, unable to resist. His eyes rolled back into his head and a silent groan escaped him as he released his load inside you. The pressure of his seed filled you, making you gasp and pull him even closer.

For a moment, you remained together as one, both struggling for breath. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he whispered, breaking the silence between you. He withdrew from your embrace, leaving your hole dripping with his load. He cleaned you up as best as the occasion granted him, before attending to himself. “Did you mean it?” you asked, uncertain of whether or not you wanted to know the answer. He turned to you, a trace of confusion on his face before he took your hands in his. “I stay true to my word,” he insisted, “but before we want Tully, or worse—your father—to suspect anything, we need to leave at once.”

So when the servants walked by the chamber, looking everywhere for a sign of Lord Bracken’s daughter, it was all in vain. The lone wind blew its last breath near the dormer of your bedchamber, your name haunting the grounds like they did you with your victim’s names. No matter your father’s shouting or his scolding, for his voice blew back to its chilling home, and your soul was to return to Stone Hedge nevermore.

Your true name would be plated in silver, laid on a grave to be long forgotten, since there was no more to remember. Your false name became one of songs in the Riverlands, an old maid’s tale exchanged between the elderly and later the young turned elders. A knight of the Riverlands was who you were born to be, and a Lord’s name drenched in blood yielded before you to take whatever fate was yours to claim. His bloodied teeth sang as lasting as oak, dripping your true name in the songs that enshrined your false one, making your own self true at last.

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lilyhyperfixates · 7 months

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I think he knows - B.B

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Wordcount: 0.7K

Warnings: Age gap (10 years, Benedict is 28, Reader is 18.) No Y/N used.

Authors note: Who was gonna tell me our boy Ben is 28 in S2??? I was flabbergasted when i googled it for this fic😭

The ball was absolutely boring to you. You were silently observing the people there and the conversations being held around you. The dance card that dangled from your wrist painfully empty, the small glass lemonade in your hand turning lukewarm from being held so long. Your eyes fall on Benedict Bridgerton, one of the most eligible bachelors of the season.

This social season was only your first, having been presented to Queen Charlotte only two weeks prior. You held no hopes of marrying this season. The gentlemen of the ton had not paid a lot of attention to you thus far, apart from the few dances you’d had.

Despite mr. Bridgerton being 10 years your senior, you felt yourself oddly enamored by him. You had just turned eighteen, only just allowed to be out in society. Regardless of your age you had gentlemen far into their forties approaching you for dances. The thought of mr. Bridgerton wanting to dance with you did not repulse you like it had with other gentlemen. Thinking about it even made your stomach flutter a little, not that you would ever admit that.

Benedict had been getting pestered by debutantes and marriage minded mama’s all evening. Since the ball was hosted by the dowager Viscountess, his mother, it was to be expected he would be approached all night, but in all honesty you pitied him a bit. He had been getting more and more attention each social season that he remained unmarried.

You had heard of Benedict Bridgerton before your debut, as he was an acquaintance of your father’s. Now at the ball you saw him in a completely different light though, not an acquaintance of your father, but a man you found quite attractive. You had always thought him an attractive man, but in the lighting of the sun setting and the stained glass windows from the ballroom he looked simply angelic.

Benedict and your father often painted together and you always found small excuses to be in the room, harboring a small crush on Benedict.

Suddenly you were pulled out of your thoughts when Lord Beswick approached you. Lord Beswick was a man in his late thirties with little to no hair on his head. He had seemed particularly eager to have you dance with him on earlier occasions, which was hard to refuse without seeming impudent. As the man approached you, you prepared yourself to have to dance with him again.

Then you feel a touch on the small of your back. Your head snaps around to find the source of the touch and your eyes meet those of Benedict Bridgerton. Lord Beswick then finally reaches you and asks you for your next dance.

"Unfortunately for you, the lady has already promised her next dance to me, Lord Beswick.” Benedict tells the man in a smooth and charismatic voice. You silently thank him with a look and allow him to write his name on your dance card. He quickly leads you to the dancefloor and gets ready to dance with you.

As the music starts playing Benedict begins dancing with you gracefully, he had obviously had dance lessons as a child. “Thank you for saving me from Lord Beswick.” You thank him, speaking softly, almost as if you were frightened to talk to him. Truthfully you were slightly scared to be talking to him, he was a bit intimidating to you.

“No need to thank me, I could not let a lady such as yourself dance with such a man.” Benedict states. His voice enhances your attraction towards him, it being crisp and confident. You had noticed before he always carried himself with confidence and grace. “I shall thank you for it regardless, I do not believe I would have survived another dance with him.” You utter out, still nervous to be in such close proximity to him.

You feel like he has got your heart skipping down sixteenth avenue, it almost beating out of your chest. He gives you a small smirk, looking down at you as you dance. “I have noticed you looking at me, Tonight and whenever your father and I paint at your estate. Is there any particular reason for that, my lady?” He asks, the smirk still lingering on his face.

I think he knows…

#benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

829 notes · View notes

trivia-yandere · 8 months

Text

with love... k.nj

your valentine's date with namjoon was a success - to bad you don't know who he truly is.

@sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @darkuni63 @minshookie29 @whipwhoops

word count: 3.944

warning: stalking, yandere themes, dark themes, non-con, unsolicited touching/groping/kissing, somnophilia, public indecency, masturbation, non-con oral, alcohol intake, nipple sucking, cumshot,

valentines day masterlist

“Nam…joon...” his name sounds so sweet coming from your lips, Namjoon thinks. It’s slurred only a bit due to the alcohol in your system.

“Yes?” Namjoon smiles down at you, a dimpled smile that has your heart racing because of how handsome he looks now. “Let’s get you home, Y/N.”

“Home…” you murmur.

Namjoon has a protective arm around you to keep you in place. You were heavily intoxicated and he was a bit tipsy, but he understood that in order to get you home safe he couldn’t drink as much as you.

The moon shines bright above the two of you as you both walk down the quiet road. It’s a bit chilly and Namjoon is thankful that he brought an extra scarf so that you'll remain warm in this weather.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Namjoon asks rhetorically. He knows you did - you were nothing but fits of laughter all throughout the night. You danced and swayed your hips to the music, drank with no worries in the world and smiled so sweetly at him that it caused his heart to swell.

“Yes.” you murmur, your eyelids began to feel heavy and you wanted nothing more than to be greeted with your bed soon. “The date was nice. T-Thank you.”

Namjoon hums in satisfaction.

It was your first date with Namjoon - conveniently on Valentine’s day. He had mustered up the courage to speak to you after a few months of quietly gaining up the confidence to do so - his eyes setting on you each morning as the pair of you left for work. You lived directly across from him in an apartment you shared with your mother - a sweet lady.

Namjoon’s mind begins to recall the events of the date - it wasn’t typical as most Valentine’s dates are. Restaurants were booked to full capacity and even cafe’s appeared to be busy. You insisted karaoke was okay when he mentioned it, and thus started the date - you and him drinking while belting out lyrics like your lives depended on it.

The karaoke bar was nearly empty and that meant that it was something special for just the two of you - just you and Namjoon. You danced and swayed your hips as the alcohol ran through your system, a wide smile on your lips.

You were teasing him, Namjoon thinks. Teasing him with the dress you wore - a white dress that hugs you perfectly and left little to the imagination. He likes to think that you wore it specifically for him - wanting him to see just how amazing you looked in it; how perfect your ass sat in it.

Yes - Namjoon knows you teased him nonstop. In the karaoke bar when you chose that song - a song where you had to sway your hips and give him such sensual eyes. Tease him with how close you’d sit to him when the pair of you ate, how you’d touch him when he’d say a joke and you’d laugh heartily.

Even now, you continued to tease him. You leaned against his arm and held onto him so tightly that Namjoon knows you don’t want him to go.

The apartment building was now in sight and Namjoon knows that you don’t want him to go - you seem to clench on his arm even tighter at just the thought. “You should drink some water, Y/N. It would be good for you.”

You nod in agreement, the pair of you now strolling down the hall to your apartment. You and him are in front of your door and it doesn’t strike you as odd when Namjoon already knows the code to get inside.

Your apartment is similar to his as far as layout. He knows where the kitchen is and it's where he goes to get you some water. Again, it doesn’t strike you as odd as it should; how comfortable Namjoon is in your home.

Namjoon hears you shuffling down the hallway, no doubt to your bedroom. He rummages through your cabinets to find a cup - and when he does he fills it with ice and pours the water inside.

“Y/N-”

Namjoon sighs when he enters your bedroom - the door cracked slightly. There's little light, only from the moon shining slightly through your window.

You were asleep already, soft snores could be heard. Namjoon thinks you look cute - you didn’t even manage to get out of your clothes yet.

Namjoon shuts the door behind him with a huff, coming around the corner to your bed. He places the cup of water down on your bedside table. “You still have the flowers I sent you.”

You had them all, Namjoon notes, even the ones from when he first started to send them to you. They’re on both sides of your bedside table and even some on the floor by them - Namjoon couldn’t help but smile.

‘These are for you.’ your mother signs, pointing to the large bouquet of flowers in her hand. She had just walked through the door as you were finishing up washing the dishes.

You tilt your head, eyes scanning the large bouquet - it’s sunflowers wrapped neatly in pink wrapping. ‘Does it say who it's from?’ you signed back, taking a few steps forward to grab the bouquet. ‘There’s a note.’ you sign, grabbing the bouquet of flowers.

‘You never told me you had an admirer.’ your mother signs back, a smirk forming on her lips.

‘I don’t.’ you snicker to yourself, placing the bouquet of flowers upon your kitchen table and grabbing the note. It comes in a pink envelope sealed tightly.

“I repeatedly dream of you when my eyes are laid to sleep.

Often, I think of your golden hue whenever my mind plunges deep”

You re-read the words a few times before shaking your head. The bottom is signed - k.nj.

You don’t know anyone with those initials - but you don’t allow yourself to dwell. You’re sure that the flowers probably weren’t even for you and instead, were for someone else. Maybe it was delivered to the wrong house. Such sweet words can not be addressed to you when you are single.

However, you kept the flowers - what were you suspected to do? Throw them away? They were pretty and even if the card wasn’t addressed to you, you’d pretend they were.

“I know you enjoyed my little gifts, Y/N. I’d see the smile on your lips when you got them.” Namjoon murmurs to you, a hand gently stroking your cheek. “So beautiful, Y/N. Teasing me right now…”

There’s a whine that releases from Namjoon’s throat as his hand trails down your cheek to your jaw then your exposed neck. You had teased him relentlessly the entire night with this dress - the same dress that was now rising up your thighs to expose your smooth skin.

“You are such a little tease, baby. Wearing this dress knowing it would drive me crazy.” Namjoon shakes his head, his pants tightening with excitement. “You shouldn’t be sleeping in this. You’ll be uncomfortable.”

Namjoon was going to take off your dress and assure you were tucked in for bed like you should be. Your snores get softer as he hoists you up, his fingers grasping the small zipper behind your back. He slowly pulls it down, a hand rubbing along your bare back and he shudders.

“So beautiful.” Namjoon murmurs when your dress is off of you. Your breast naturally falls as he lays you back onto the bed, your nipples erect due to the cool air of your bedroom.

Namjoon gently folds your dress and places it aside. His eyes glance your way just as you shuffled. He begins to think you’re waking up, but you only move to get more comfortable - widening your legs slightly.

Namjoon hums. “You want me to look at you?” he asks, in a voice so soft that even he couldn’t believe he said it.

Namjoon swallows, his mouth beginning to salivate at the view of you. Your panties were what was drawing him in - simply because he was the one that got them for you. “Did you know it was me, Y/N?” Namjoon murmurs, his eyes zoning in on the lacy material that leaves little to the imagination.

Your pace begins to slow just as you reach your floor. On the floor right outside your door was yet another bouquet of flowers, this time an array of different types of flowers instead of the sunflowers of before. Right beside it is a gift bag with gift paper inside. “This can’t be for me…” you mumble to yourself aloud.

Nonetheless, you squat down to grasp the flowers and the gift bag, curiosity winning the game. You open the door to your home and go inside.

You place the bouquet on your kitchen table and go to open the gift bag. There’s a card inside the bag that you open.

“My devotion for you is not for any other

For some might say it is overdone

Together we have one another

So you shall not need anyone…

With love, k.nj…”

You blink at the card. Yet another poem-like note was left. You dig deeper through the gift bag and your hands touch a material. You lift it out and your eyes widen slightly. Heat rushes through you as you realize they’re panties - all different kinds. Seamless, lace, cotton and silk.

You inhale, throwing the panties back inside the gift bag and make your way towards your front door. There’s shuffling outside in the hallway and you slam your door open.

“I…”

You startled your neighbor with your actions. He flinches, dropping the plant he had in his hand with the loud slamming of your door opening. He turns towards you with wide eyes.

“Is everything okay…?” the man asks.

You nod your head frantically. “Y-Yes. Sorry about that.” you rush across towards your neighbor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The man smiles a dimpled smile that causes heat to rush through you - similar to before. “It’s alright.” he assures, kneeling down to pick up the plant. “Was I making too much noise? Sometimes I get locked out of my apartment…” he trails off, glancing away with tinted cheeks.

“No, not at all. Just thought you were someone else…” you murmur. “I’m Y/N.”

The man nods his head, offering you the same polite smile. “Namjoon.” he replies.

“You had to have known it was me, baby. That’s why you kept all my gifts.” Namjoon was only torturing himself being around you for this long - but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. You were utterly beautiful; perfect. You didn’t throw away the gift like he initially thought you would have and now you were wearing it. “Yes…that’s why you agreed to go on a date with me, baby. You knew it was me…”

This had to be why you were teasing him. You knew he’d want you to be comfortable while you slept - that’s why you wore a dress. That’s why you fell asleep; so he’d be the gentleman that he was and remove it - so he could see that you were wearing his gift.

Namjoon’s fingers hook between the lacy material of the panties. “You’d want me to have a look, right?” he asks, eyes flickering up to your peaceful face. “That’s why you opened your legs for me, baby. You want me to see you like this.”

Namjoon begins to pull your panties down your legs, eyes widening at your bare pussy for his eyes to see. So perfect, he thinks. His mouth salivates at the thought of tasting you - to dip his face deep into your pussy and feast upon your essence.

“So perfect, baby. You don’t even realize how perfect you are.” Namjoon pushes your thighs apart to get a closer look at your pussy. “I can’t believe I’m seeing your pussy closer than before. Remember that time you touched yourself right in front of the window? It was like you knew I was watching you, baby.”

Namjoon understands that this was going overboard. It was different from him to catch sight of you as you both went to work in the mornings. He’d greet you and you’d greet him back with that soft, sweet smile. Now, however, he was watching you through your bedroom window - just out of sight. It’s a moonless night and you’ve just gotten out of the shower. Your bedroom lights are dimmed and you don’t notice that your window is cracked open when you left it closed prior to bathing.

Namjoon understands that this was going overboard - but he couldn’t help himself. You dropped the towel on the floor and began to lotion your skin - how he longs to touch it. How he longs to feel your soft skin beneath his hand, to smell your scent fresh from the shower.

You had to know he was here watching you - the way you touch your body as you lotion it. The way your hands grip your breast and bend down right in his view to massage your legs tells him that you were putting on a show for his very eyes.

Especially when you lay down on your bed and open your legs. Your hands dip between your thighs and your fingers would soon be playing with your clit. At this, Namjoon cannot help but do the same as you - right outside your window for anyone passing by to see. But it’s night time and dark, he’s completely in the shadows.

Namjoon wraps a needy hand around his cock, fully exposing himself. He doesn’t waste any time - he has to do this now. Your left hand grips your breast - he wish it was his. How erect your nipples were right now, so much so that he wants to wrap his tongue around them and suck until they’re numb.

Your moans are what’s driving him crazy and causing him to pump his cock harder. He spits into his hand for lubrication, his mind pretending that it’s your sweet essence. You sound so sweet and full of lust; fully stuck in the moment.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as your fingers dip inside of you and your moans grow even louder. You begin to pump your fingers in and out, your chest heaving with pleasure-filled moans. Your breast begins to bounce as you pump faster, looking for an orgasm that he wishes he was there to give.

It’s embarrassing knowing that Namjoon cums right in the palm of his hand right as you do around your fingers. You don’t know he’s there, he tells himself, but there’s a sick part of him that tells him that you did.

“You wanted me to do this, baby. That’s why you wore that dress and these panties.” Namjoon is holding one of the flowers he’s gotten you recently. “I’ll try to make it special, baby. It is Valentine’s Day.”

If Namjoon would have known that this is what you wanted, he would have planned something a bit more romantic. However, this wasn’t going to stop him. He removes the petals from the flowers and begins to place them around your bed. “Next time, I’ll make sure I have candles. That it’s more romantic for us.” he assures, murmuring to you as if you could hear him.

Namjoon undoes his pants and allows them to fall to the ground. He does the same to his underwear, getting out of them entirely. He dips onto the bed as gently as he could to not disturb you.

Your pussy is on full display for Namjoon, so much so that he shudders once more. He licks his lips, breathing increasing as he lowers between your legs. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and gently, he licks a stripe up your pussy to your clit. “Fuck.” he says against your pussy.

Namjoon couldn’t hold himself back anymore - not when you tasted this good. He dives deep into your pussy, ravishing you. His head bobs from side to side, his hands hooking beneath your thighs to keep you in place.

Namjoon can hear your sleepy moans and wonder if you’re dreaming of him at this moment - of him pleasuring you like he was doing now. Your thighs slightly twitch and you begin to shuffle in his grasp, but that doesn’t stop Namjoon. No, he only leans back to spit onto your already wet clit, then continues to ravish you like he was.

Namjoon just knows you’re loving what he’s doing to you. There’s soft pants releasing from your lips, even as you remain in a peaceful slumber. He’s positive that if you were awake for him, that you’d be moaning even louder than you were when you were pleasuring yourself - he just knows you would be.

Namjoon leans back to admire his work - your glistening pussy. He licks his lips as he gets on his knees, hovering slightly above you. “So, so beautiful.” he says with a bit of a whine in his voice.

Namjoon gives his cock a hard squeeze after he wraps his hand around it. “So perfect in every way possible. I knew this pussy would be the best ever since that day I watched you in your window.” Namjoon glances up at your window - the outside is just as dark as it was that day. For an odd reason, there’s a rush that goes through him thinking about someone walking by and seeing him and you like this.

“I could eat your pussy all night.” Namjoon continues to tug at his cock, his eyes zoning in at your wet pussy, arousal dripping from it. “You’d let me, too, won’t you baby?” he whimpers. “My perfect little Y/N…all mine.”

There’s a wave of pleasure flowing through Namjoon right now. It’s blissful to be with you like this - so close to you. The act is intimate - something he’d cherish for the rest of his life.

Kim Namjoon loves you with every fiber of his being. You were an angel in his eyes - ever since he first laid eyes on you months prior when you and your mother first moved in.

Namjoon isn’t sure what it was about you that drove him towards you. You were pretty, yes. You were quiet and polite, sending quick grins his way as he passed you in the hallway. He learned that you and your mother move directly across from him - a woman he’d soon realize was deaf when he saw you signing to her one day on his way out of his apartment.

Namjoon isn’t sure what it was about you that drove him to follow you like he did. You went to work and then home - and when you weren’t home, you were at cafe’s. It didn’t look like you had many friends; if any. You spent most of your time alone when you were at cafe’s, drinking latte’s and reading books.

Maybe it was your beauty that drew you to Namjoon. Effortlessly beautiful and you never had to try too hard.

Maybe it was your innocence - purely oblivious to your surroundings. Namjoon followed you constantly when he wasn’t busy - he knew the route you took home from work and the exact time you’d get home each day. He remembered your favorite drink at the cafe and just how long you’d stay there - no longer than two hours.

Namjoon isn’t sure what it is about you that draws so much of his attention towards you - but you’re undoubtedly you. You were a kind daughter who lived a simple life. You held no fear in your heart for the outside world or danger; luckily there was no threat wandering around you. He’d know if there was.

“It isn’t enough, baby.” Namjoon sighs with a shake of his head. “Your pussy’s so wet that I know it’d feel better than my hand.”

Namjoon grumbles when your thighs twitch. “Ah, you agree, right?” he questions, squeezing his cock tighter. “You’d let me, baby? You want me to feel how wet your pussy is for me…”

Namjoon inches closer to you, the tip of his cock already leaking pre-cum with just the thought of having a piece of you.

Namjoons brows furrow. He can feel his body flush with heat, especially his cheeks. He bites his bottom lip when his tip brushes against your clit. He groans, goosebumps erupting onto his arms. “Such a pretty pussy…” he rubs his cock along your wet folds, unable to take his eyes off of it.

Deep in Namjoon’s gut there’s pleasure building up, but he doesn’t want to cum so soon. No, he wants to feel your juices mixed with his precum, feel it drip down the shaft of his cock and -

“Shit, baby.” Namjoon moans aloud. He lets go of his cock to hold onto your hips, his hips thrusting so that his cock was rubbing directly against your clit. “You’re getting wetter by the second, baby. I know it feels good for you.”

Namjoon’s eyes, hooded eyes full of lust, flicker to your now bouncing breast. With the way he’s thrusting against you, it bounces beautifully.

“Wearing the panties I got you…” Namjoon grumbles, leaning down so his lips are right next to your nipples. “...not wearing a bra under this dress. You wanted me, my love.”

Namjoon wraps his mouth around your nipple, sucking on the sensitive bud like his life depended on it. He’s full on panting now, his breathing increasing erratically at how good you’re being for him.

Namjoon pops your nipple from his mouth to twirl his tongue on it, licking as though it’s a lollipop. There’s sweat lining his forehead and he never wanted this special moment between the two of you to end - not ever.

Namjoon couldn’t wait for this moment to happen again - to see you on his cock and your face contorting with different waves of pleasure.He wants to hear those same moans he heard while he stood outside your window - witness the same waves of pleasure go through you. Next time, he’d want to look into your eyes as he has you dive through your orgasm.

Namjoon’s teeth slightly bite down on your nipple, grazing it slightly. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s going to be cumming soon. “I’m gonna cum right on your pussy, baby. You’d let me, right? You’d want me to cum on your pussy?”

Namjoon grunts loudly at just the thought of doing so - his mind flashing with his seed dripping all over your clit and coating your inner thighs entirely. It’s the least you could allow him to do - after all, he has admired you for so long.

“So beautiful, baby,” Namjoon grumbles, his cock twitching for a release. “So beautiful and all mine.

Namjoon detached himself from your breast to lock his eyes with your pussy once more. It’s glistening with your own arousal - he knew you’d enjoy this.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Namjoon whimpers out, your warm heat allowing him the release he wants. “Such a pretty pussy, my love. So pretty and all mine.” he grunts, thick robes of his cum shooting all over your clit, seeping down across your ass.

Namjoon doesn’t stop. No, not until your pussy is fully coated with his love for you, sticky and white and warm. And even then, Namjoon cannot bring himself to want to stop. “I could do this with you all night, baby. You’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

Namjoon leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, whimpering right into it. “My pretty, Y/N.” he murmurs between kisses. “All mine.”

#trivia-yandere #bts smut #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #bangtanwritershq #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #with love k.nj #bts yandere #namjoon yandere #bts stalker #namjoon x you

751 notes · View notes

wriothesleysgf · 1 year

Text

pretty boy. — gojo satoru

notes: some domestic gojo, because god knows everyone needs it today.

content: no angst, here we just reject canon and embrace fluff. implied non!sorcerer reader, but can be read either way. established relationship. not proofread. this post is leak/spoiler free! this song is the vibe i was going for, if anyone is interested.

"honey, i'm home!"

the familiar, ever-joyous tone of one gojo satoru rang through the apartment; it was always the highlight of your day. you, however, didn't respond. it concerned him a little, to be honest, but as soon as he heard the sounds of soft music echoing from the kitchen, he knew just where to find you.

you were too busy gently swaying to whichever song the radio station was playing to notice gojo. so, like any adoring boyfriend would, he leaned against the doorframe and watched.

he never thought he'd be lucky enough to have a love like you. with his position in the world of sorcery, and the prestige that his name carried, gojo always thought he'd be alone. hell, he was absolutely petrified of catching feelings for somebody, since there would likely be people willing to hurt the people that he loved in order to get to him. rationally, he knew he could defeat them, but the thought always lingered.

thus, he was incredibly grateful for peaceful moments like this. moments where he could forget that he was the honoured one, and feel like all he is is yours— because that's all he desires anymore.

gojo knocks on the doorframe, not wishing to startle you as you cook. you jumped a little, but immediately settled the very second you saw those blue eyes and messy white locks. he looked so effortlessly attractive, even after a full day's work.

without even saying a word, he saunters over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. his chin rests on the top of your head, and he continues to sway you to the rhythm. as he hums softly, you recognize that he's probably had a difficult day. it's not like him to be so quiet.

you relax under his touch and let him hold you, knowing he needs it right now. "i love you," he mumbles. each words is sincere with him. the tone is more sombre than usual, almost like you'd have expected the words to come from nanami instead.

you get to a point that you can leave the food alone for a moment as it cooks, and turn around to face gojo. his arms remain around you, but you can see his face more clearly now. he's exhausted, and trying to mask that. you move a few stray hairs out of his face, carressing his cheek. "i love you too," you finally reply.

the returned sentiment puts a smile on his face. it's not the regular, goofy grin he displays around others. it's something more real, and it makes you feel like you're one of the few people that gojo really lets in on how he's feeling. if anything, you quite literally are, as his infinity was lowered the second that he stepped into the threshold of your apartment.

since your guard is so far down, gojo begins to move you with ease. he guides your body around the kitchen, causing the pair of you to fall into a rather messy slow dance of sorts. both are content, at peace in each others' arms. there's a blissful silence, a rarity for the gojo household, where nothing but the calming music fills the air.

the two of you remain in this little, serendipitous bubble for a while. the only thing that pops it is when the food on the stove makes a concerning noise, and you notice that you were so caught up that it began to burn.

"shit!" you squeal, leaping out of gojo's arms to try to salvage your meal. he just chuckles, finding your hectic movements amusing.

"baby, don't worry about it," he says, smiling as he pulls out his phone. "i'm ordering in, we can deal with this mess tomorrow,"

gojo then moves closer to you, wrapping you up in his arms so that you can't escape with ease. he waddles backwards towards the living room, not stopping until you're both plopped down on the couch (of course he's on top of you, pinning you down yet somehow not suffocating you with the mess of long limbs that he is).

he flicks on the screen, which is showing some older and kind-of sappy romcom, and presses a few buttons to order your food. the night ends with the coffee table littered in takeout boxes and some movie still playing— you weren't sure what, as you had both fallen asleep in each other's embrace long ago.

#♡｡ now tracking: kfairy ☆.ᐟ #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojō x reader #gojo fluff #jjk drabbles #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader

2K notes · View notes

x0llaz · 6 months

Text

The Perfect Pair 𖦹 ⋆° ✮

Sungchan x fem!reader

WC: 7325

enemies to lovers, Sungchan is an asshole in the beginning whoops, stucco au, angst, fluff, conflict resolution, childhood bully Sungchan

Synopsis: Sungchan and YN have hated each other's guts since they were kids. Now, in their final year of high school, things have began to boil over...

ִ ࣪𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ִ ࣪𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ִ ࣪𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

It was a sunny day. The sky was clear, the birds were chirping through the wind. It was a perfect day for a perfect recess. YN sat on the ground, playing with a doll by herself while all the other kids played with their friends, taking turns on the swingset, going down the slides. There was a group of boys in her grade, huddled over a bit away, giggling about something. The boys soon pushed someone forward, egging him to do something.

YN looked up as a boy with dark hair looked down at her, a grin plastered on her face. She would’ve had time to process how cute he was, if he hadn’t reached down and snatched her doll. Immediately she stood up, yelling at him to give it back. He just laughed in her face, avoiding her quick attempts to grab back her toy.

He danced around her, teasing and taunting until she stepped closer to him and yelled in his face. In response, he pushed her back on the ground, she landed on her butt, with a little hiss from getting scraped. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes as he laughed before walking away, the lunch bell ending before she could yell for a teacher.

She learned from her friends that his name was Sungchan, and seemed to enjoy picking on girls. They told her stories of his antics, how he got stuck eating with the teacher for a week because he pulled a girl’s hair. All her friends told her he was no good, that he was just a dumb boy.

The worst part was, she never got her doll back.

From that day forward, she hated sungchan. She hated his stupid face, and his stupid laugh. She hated his stupid jokes, and the way he’d pick on her. She hated the way he didn’t remember what he did, no matter how silly it was to hold a grudge.

Yet as they grew up, they walked parallel paths. In later schools of primary school, they were in the same classes, leading into high school they took the same courses, matched in academic skill. When they saw each other in their first shared class, all the way back in third grade, it seemed like sungchan’s goal was to make things difficult for YN. Anything she could do, he could do better.

And YN made it her goal to prove him wrong. Thus was born, the rivalry.

Competing for better test scores, racing to have the correct answer, never missing a beat to show off how smart they were. They hardly spoke, unless to argue, and would often just shoot each other dirty looks across the room.

Sungchan Liked ruffling YN’s feathers, always taking the chance to poke fun at her, call her a nerd, though he did similar things to her. He was the typical bully, YN thought he’d peak in high school for sure.

To be fair, YN was never very nice to him either. If there was one thing she was good at, it was holding a grudge. Anytime she’d think of any redeeming quality for the boy, she’d always come back to that day in first grade. And with her copious vocabulary, she always knew the right words to hit him with. Though, she didn’t think Sungchan would be able to understand many of them.

At some point, a classmate asked YN if she had a crush on sungchan, to which she almost threw up at the thought of. “Ew! Anyone but him!” She explained her hatred for sungchan and his dreamy eyes, but only left the girl unconvinced.

A boy who would become friends with sungchan asked him the same thing, and he just laughed at the thought. “Why would I have a crush on her, she’s annoying as shit!” He ignored how much he truly liked hearing her pretty voice argue back at him, just seeing her as a stuck up little princess.

By their junior year, there was something new to campaign for. Something new for them to compete in, to prove how much better they were. Student council. After a year of campaigning, debating and promoting themselves, the results were announced at the Student council meeting. One of them would be The student body president.

“Choi YN!” her name was called.

Her eyes lit up, a smile emerging as she went to the podium. Her speech was about what you’d expect from a junior, but She hoped Sungchan would feel like the loser he was. A bit later he approached her, a lazy smirk across his lips as he talked to her.

“Congrats on the win, I'd say you had a good run against me,” He spoke condescendingly, but YN couldn’t help but relish in his defeat.

“Oh, it wasn’t that difficult,” she smiled, trying to mask the sarcasm in her laugh.

“You know, you should really fix your attitude if we’re going to be partners,” he pointed out. The smile faded from YN’s face.

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“Did you forget? I’m your vice president!” he said, faking his own joy.

One of them would be student body president. The runner up would be the Vice.

So much for an easy win.

“YN, no offense, but this budget sucks,” Sungchan said, looking over her shoulder at the paper on her desk.

“Thank you for your valued opinion, sungchan, but Mr. Lee said it was the best draft yet, so that’s what we’re sending in,” YN said, trying her best to ignore his figure hovering over her. “You know, maybe you could go do your job instead of trying to do mine,”

“Just trying to help,” He smiled.

Sungchan always found a problem with YN. Whether it was a policy idea she came up with, or an event she came up with for fundraising, it was never good enough. YN had taken up a habit of ignoring Sungchan, confident her ideas could stand on their own. And fairly certain that Sungchan was stupid.

But their disagreements were far too severe for two people who were supposed to be partners. Many meetings had turned into the two of them bickering back and forth, where their advisor would need to step in to make them pipe down. It was becoming unproductive for the two of them to work together, fighting more than they were working.

It didn’t help that YN was beginning to feel the weight of all her courses piling up on her. It was that part of the year where school life balance practically didn’t exist, where most nights were spent doing homework or catching up on work. The stress of being in the top classes, and having to manage multiple jobs for her position was eating her alive. It was only a matter of time before something set her off.

Sungchan always had exquisite timing.

“You know, YN, maybe if you weren’t so behind on your assignments, you wouldn’t be so stressed,” Sungchan’s voice mocked her from across her desk. “I don’t think it’s a very good look if our president is always behind on what she needs to do. Stress isn’t good for the job.”

Something inside her snapped. All the anger she struggled to keep at bay was boiling up all over again.

“Can you just shut the fuck up?” She snapped her head up at him, face turning red. “Like genuinely, let me do what I need to do, and leave me alone!”

“YN!” their advisor shouted from across the room. “That talk isn’t tolerated, apologize!”

“No! He’s done nothing but insult me and my work. Why should I apologize to him?” YN defended herself, Sungchan scoffing.

“Because you two are a team. You can’t work well together if-”

“I can’t work well if he’s always breathing down my back insulting me!”

“I was giving you advice, YN, learn the difference,” Sungchan laughed as he spoke, making YN’s anger rise more.

“I told you to shut up!” YN shouted at him, her anger burning in her throat.

“No! Both of you, out, now. Come back when you’ve figured out your problems.” Mr. Lee told them.

YN groaned, stomping out of the room, as sungchan followed behind her lazily. They stood in an empty hallway, sungchan looked around the hall, seeming bored, as YN stared a hole in the ground. Neither one of them wanted to break the silence, neither wanted to acknowledge their part in their stupid rivalry. But YN had one burning question on her mind.

“Why did you do it?” She asked, her voice quiet, not looking up at him.

“Do what?” Sungchan scoffed, leaning against the wall. His arms folded across his chest as he looked down at her.

“First Grade,” She spoke up a little. “It was recess, you stole my doll,”

“Oh my god,” Sungchan audibly laughed, a wide grin of disbelief across his stupid face. “Is that why you’re such a bitch? You’re mad about a stupid toy?”

“No, I'm mad because you’ve treated me like shit ever since then. And I want to know why. What did I ever do to you to make you hate me? You took my doll, and then you never stopped hating me. You never stopped being a dick.” YN looked up at him finally. She still looked upset, but there was something Sungchan couldn’t decipher in her gaze. He hated it.

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer towards her, causing her to take a step back. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit… insane?” he asked, leaning down to her eye level. “Honestly, has anyone?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a dickhead? Do you get off on being an asshole, or are you really just that stupid?” YN asked him, trying to fight back.

“Ever since we were little, you were such a prick. You were such a prissy princess, and you still are now. You know why I don’t like you? Because you think you’re better than everyone, and someone needs to bring you off your high horse,” Sungchan had a condescending grin on his face.

“No, I don’t,” YN mumbled, stumbling backwards. The words hit her harder than she would’ve expected.

“Bullshit,” Sungchan smiled, cornering her against a locker, his hand resting near her head. “You think you’re so special, that you’re the smartest girl in the world, but you’re not,”

“Sungchan, stop,” Her voice broke, though she tried to keep herself steady, trying to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes.

“Aw, you gonna cry?” He asked. “You know what I think? I think you’re pathetic. I think you’re a pathetic girl who’s never had a reality check. I think you’re pathetic for holding a grudge because I stole your toy. Boo Hoo. Welcome to the real world, there’s more than just your stupid dolls.”

YN shoved at his chest, trying to push him away from her, but he stood firm. She fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You know, YN, you really never changed,” He laughed. “You’re still the crybaby brat you were back when we were kids. Just a pathetic. useless. crybaby,”

There was silence between the two of them. The sound that broke it was a painful sounding sob from YN, as she covered her mouth, tears racing down her cheeks as she began gasping for air. Sungchan took a step back as She slid down the locker and to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs as if she was trying to protect herself.

Sungchan was in shock. He’d never seen YN in such a position. He’d never seen her beyond the perfect image she always wore. The only time He saw her truly cry was when they were little. But this? Seeing her curled in on herself, sobbing into her legs, it made him rethink his actions. He thought she was immune to his words, that she’d spit something back that was just as mean, but here she was, broken down, sobs escaping her as her breathing picked up quickly.

He knelt down a bit, feeling remorse build up in his chest, reaching a hand to her shoulder. “YN?” his voice was soft, a drastic shift from his venomous voice. When he touched her, she smacked him away. She smacked his hand away from her shoulder, looking up at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Fuck you!” she yelled at him as she stood up, fleeing before he could process.

She ran to their homeroom, shoving her things into her bag as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She threw her bag over her shoulders, rushing out of the room as Mr. Lee questioned her. She didn’t respond, just storming away before anything worse could happen. Sungchan was still in the hallway, and when he saw her, he quickly approached, following behind her, calling her name. She heard him, but didn’t listen.

When she got to the front doors, she saw it was storming outside. She heard as Sungchan called after her, telling her not to walk home, that the rain was too heavy, offering to drive her, but She ignored him. She didn’t care about the Rain, she just wanted to get away from him.

YN was gone for the rest of the week, supposedly having caught the flu. Sunfchan knew better. He knew it was likely because he went too far, that what he said was unforgivable. It made him feel even worse.

He tried emailing her, texting her for the first time ever just trying to apologize for what he said, but she never responded. He didn’t really expect her to, he knew he was wrong. When he told his friends what happened, they all told him the same thing.

“Chan, you’re a dick,”

He knew they were right, that he in fact was a dick.

When she came back the next week, Sungchan made it his mission to talk to her. To get her to talk to him. When he saw her in homeroom, he approached her with a small smile, ready to genuinely apologize for what he said. But when she ignored him, looking up only to roll her eyes, he frowned.

He assumed she was just playing hard-ball. That she’d eventually talk if he tried hard enough.

In all their meetings, he’d try to be extra nice, complimenting her or bringing her coffee, but she always ignored him, a straight face plastered onto her like a mask. After a week of trying with no results, sungchan wanted to punch a wall.

“I give up,” He said to his friends at lunch. “What can I do if she doesn’t even listen to me? She won’t even hear me out! What am I supposed to do to fix it if she won’t let me!”

“You’re really dumb, you know,” Shotaro laughed at the younger boy.

“What?” sungchan furrowed his brows.

“You think that she owes you forgiveness after what you did?” He asks.

“No, but-”

“Then stop expecting it. Honestly, I don't blame her for ignoring you. You’ve been a bitch to her since you were in elementary school,” Shotaro sighed. “You’re not going to get anywhere like this. If you want things to be better, then you gotta stop being a dick. You can’t apologize and then go back to chastising her for stupid shit.”

Sungchan looked down. “I know,”

“Then stop being a dick!” eunseok said from across the table.

“Well she’s just a bitch!” Sungchan tried to shift the blame.

“No, she’s really not. She’s a bitch to you because you’ve never been nice to her. She’s actually a really sweet girl,” Eunseok defended her.

“How would you know?”

“She’s in my math class. She helps me with like… everything,” Eunseok shrugged.

“Why is this the first I'm hearing of that?” sungchan asked.

“Because you’d make such a fuss about how bitchy she was and how much you hated her.” the older boy shrugged. “And if you took a moment to stop being such an asshole, you’d see she was way nicer than you thought. And you’d also find out there was more to her than just being a spoiled nerd, or whatever you call her,”

When he went to the library that day, he heard something. While he was reading his assigned reading book, he heard a soft, muffled sound. He heard someone gasping a bit, little sniffles. He realized he heard someone crying.

As he walked slowly toward the sound, he stepped on a creaky part of the floor, and suddenly the sound stopped. He approached the book shelf, trying to see who was on the other side, when he was met with a pair of eyes doing the same, now eye to eye with the other person. He quickly realized it was YN, and a moment later she was running out with her books in her arms.

Another week went by, YN ignored and avoided sungchan like the plague. Sungchan felt hopeless in his attempts to talk to her. He missed when she’d bicker with him, even when she’d insult him or scold him. He wanted anything but silence.

When he went to the library that Thursday, it was a little late. He had finished up his duties, and looked around for YN to try and talk again, but couldn’t find her. As he looked for a spot in the library, his music playing in his ears a little too loudly, he soon realized why he couldn’t find her. Because there she was, cheek resting against an open book, papers spread out on her table, hair sprawled across her forehead, sleeping peacefully in the quiet of the library.

Sungchan couldn’t help but smile, looking at her so peacefully sleeping. He checked the time, and figured she would probably need to leave soon. He picked up her papers and slid them into her folder, and picked up the piles of books she stacked around her, and gently took the last one out from under her. He was lucky she was a heavy sleeper, or he’d probably get slapped. When everything was put away neatly, he turned back to her.

He crouched down, looking at her sleep peacefully. He brushed some hair away from her forehead, smiling to himself at how cute she looked.

How what she looked?

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and brought his hand to her shoulder, shaking her lightly. She didn;t budge, turning to rest her forehead on her arms, and he shook her again. And then again. When she woke up she sat up quickly, not processing her surroundings, or that sungchan was right next to her.

When she looked at him, her eyes widened, looking around at the now clean table.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!” She whispered to herself as Tears welled in her eyes, bringing her hands to her eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sungchan whispered, his hand resting on her shoulder as she cried. “You’re okay, just breathe,” he told her and she shoved his hand away. Deserved. “What’s wrong?”

YN looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “The fuck do you mean what’s wrong? I fell asleep and lost most of my work time, and now you’re here to rub it in!”

“No, i’m not,” sungchan shook his head. “I’m just here to wake you up,” he shrugged.

YN rolled her eyes and rested her forehead in her arms, facing down at the table. How could she have been so stupid? Letting herself fall asleep? And now Sungchan was here, the library, the place she went to avoid him. She sighed deeply, sniffling a bit, embarrassed by her tears, when she heard sungchan speak.

“I’ll drive you home,” He told her quietly.

“What?”

“It’s late, soon it’ll be dark, and you have a lot to carry. So i can give you a ride,” he shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t reject the offer.

“Why would I want a ride home from you?” she asked, looking up from the table, a frown etched onto her face.

“Just an offer,” Sungchan sighed, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Take it or leave it,”

YN had a choice. She could make a statement, stand up for herself and not give into sungchan’s offer. It’s what she should do. She didn’t want to spend anymore time with him after what he said to her.

But YN was tired. And her bag was heavy. And she heard sungchan drove a pretty nice car. Maybe she could tell him off while they were in there. She knew he would be too guilty to defend himself.

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly.

“Good,” he smiled lightly, bending down and picking up her bag, carrying it like it was nothing.

“What are you doing?” YN asked, trying to snatch her bag back.

“Carrying your bag, let’s go,” he started walking away before she could protest. She ended up trailing behind him with a frown, arms folded across her chest.

When they got tp his car, sungchan put her bag in the backseat while she got in the front. He got in after her and started the car without a word. He handed her his phone so she could type in her address, and pick the music. They got on the road, neither of them wanting to talk.

He glanced at her from time to time. She rested her head against the window, watching the road pass by as the day faded into night. He noticed the tired look in her eyes that he realized had been there for a few weeks now, but never had stood out to him. He noticed how her lips stayed in a little pout, wondering what was going through her mind as she looked out into the darkening road.

And then he spoke.

“I’m really sorry,” She turned at the words. “For everything,” She didn’t speak. “You didn’t deserve how I treated you, ever. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I’m so sorry.” Sungchan let out a sigh. “It’s been eating me up, i needed to say it to your face,”

She looked down at her lap, picking at the skin on her fingers. “So why’d you do it?”

“What part?” sungchan asked, a bit of humor in his voice.

“All of it,” no humor in hers. Not the time for lightheartedness.

“I wish I knew, I was just acting on my impulse. WHen you asked me about why I did what I did in first grade, I didn’t know what to say, I just got angry. I didn’t think about all the times I was the one to start things with you, or pick on you, I only thought about that one thing. I just got mad, even though I didn’t have the right to be mad. You had all the right to ask, I reacted badly.” he tried piecing together his thoughts. “And I didn’t realize how badly, what I did, hurt you,”

“You didn’t realize? Sungchan you made me miserable,” YN scoffed.

“I know that now, and I’m sorry. I never knew how to fix things with you, I never was able to swallow my pride and admit I was wrong for how I treated you.” he apologized once more, knowing he could never undo all the hurt he had done to her.

“Are you forgetting everything you said to me? You can’t just unsay all that to me. You can’t say you regret it so much and expect to move on,”

“I know,” Sungchan nodded. “What I will say is that I never should have said those things to you. No matter how angry I was, you didn’t deserve that. I was disrespectful, and I crossed a line by saying that to you. And I don’t expect you to just move on, I don’t deserve that at all,” his voice felt genuine.

“Then why are you driving me home right now?” she asked, still frowning.

“Because I want you to get home safe, and I want to be better. I don’t want you to hate me, but I know that’s your own choice. I just want you to know that I’ll try,” Sungchan pulled up to her house, parking on the street.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes as she opened the car door. Sungchan got out to grab her bag from the backseat, crossing around the car.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” he handed her the bag.

“Let’s talk next week,” she mumbled.

“What?” Sungchan furrowed his brow.

“When I'm not so sleep deprived, when I have time to process, let’s talk about us going forward. Don’t bother me until then,” she told him before walking up to her house, not giving him time to respond.

“Yes ma’am,” Sungchan muttered to himself, watching her get inside before he drove himself home.

Sungchan was nervous. He sat in the agreed upon cafe, waiting for YN to get there like he was waiting on a date. But he was never nervous for dates, Usually because dates actually liked him. But YN didn’t like him, and this certainly wasn’t a date.

Thankfully, YN had seemed to be doing better that week. When she walked through the doors to the cafe, sungchan couldn’t help but think about how pretty she was, though at the moment he should be more concerned with whether or not she was going to murder him. She sat down in front of him, he had already ordered her drink. He was about to greet her when she spoke.

“Against my better judgment, i’ve decided to forgive you,” YN told him.

“Really?” that was not the statement he expected. “So, you’re not going to kill me?”

“I have some measures,” sungchan straightened up, ready to listen. “Going forward, we aren’t going to hate each others guts. Let’s just move on, no more childish insults, no more fights over nothing. From now on, we get along.”

“Alright,” sungchan nods.

“And you have to actually tell me why you took my doll, why you did any of it,” YN adds. “I need closure,”

Sungchan nodded. “I had some really bad friends, which sounds kind of stupid, but they kept telling me that if I did what they did, I would be cool. They were older than me, so I thought they were right. So I spent my first grade year picking on kids like a loser, trying to be cool. They told me to go take your doll, so I did. I thought I’d be the coolest boy in the first grade, but I just felt bad. They told me to keep picking on you and I did, i made the decision to keep going, to keep being a little shit until I realized there was more to life than picking on girls. By the time I realized it, it was too late.” he told her. “And i’m not trying to say I was blameless, I still continued longer than I should have, i’m just trying to give you an explanation,”

“So you’ve always been kinda dumb?” She asked.

“Basically,” sungchan laughed a little, and saw her smile a little bit. “We should study together,”

“Why?” She asked, skeptical of his suggestion.

“Well, we’re supposed to be partners. So we should start learning to work together,” he shrugged, a little less confident than when he initially asked. “Just an idea, you don’t have to agree,”

“Are you good at Calc?” YN asked.

“Uh, yeah, i’m good at it,” Sungchan looked a little confused.

“Well, i’m good at History,” she told him. “So we can help each other out,”

Sungchan smiled. “Cool,” he nodded a little. “I can give you rides, if you need them,”

“Okay,” YN agreed. “Oh and you have to get me coffees before our meetings,”

“Deal,” sungchan smiled. “So, you really don’t hate me?”

“I’m in the process of not hating you,” YN corrected him. “We have a little ways to go,”

Surprisingly, it was easy to not hate sungchan. It seemed like he was making an effort to be a nice person, which YN appreciated. He always showed up to their student council meetings five minutes early with her coffee in hand. He stopped chastising her for her work, and she stopped calling him an idiot. Mr. Lee was surprised, but pleased to see the progress the two had made.

Their study time was productive, spending time going through each subject with one another to make sure they both had a good idea of what they were learning. It was a lot more helpful than she expected.

While the car rides were mostly quiet for a week or two, with only a little small talk filling the air, the two of them began talking to one another more. They’d rant about teachers, or classmates who got on their nerves, or talk about the show that they coincidentally both liked. Who would have thought that the two people who were already somewhat similar would have so much in common between each other.

YN found herself enjoying her time with Sungchan. If you had told her that a month ago, she would’ve called you stupid.

And Sungchan couldn’t deny that he thought YN was great. He struggled to hide his smile when he was around her. He couldn’t contain his thoughts of how cute she was, or how much he liked her laugh.

When he asked her to hang out, outside of stucco meetings, or study sessions, or their drives back to YN’s house, it seemed normal, that this was a progression of their friendship. When she accepted, Sungchan felt his stomach churn with excitement, joy that he could spend more time with her.

The first time, they just went to Sungchan’s house and watched a show on his couch, sharing a bag of popcorn and a bag of candy that was too big for one person. They spent most of the time talking, half of their attention on the show, half of it on each other. By midnight, they had ordered takeout and shared their food, switched spots on the couch, and YN accidentally kicked Sungchan in the jaw.

When people Noticed how much Sungchan and YN started hanging out, they thought it was some sort of joke. Almost everyone knew they hated each others guts, and now, here they were, walking down the halls together? And sungchan was carrying her backpack???? The hell happened?

When she walked through the halls, Sungchan was right behind her. There were times his arm would be slung around her shoulder, or she’d punch him in the arm. He’d ruffle her hair, she’d shove him lightly. Either this was a new form of torturing each other, or they actually got along.

Their partnership as student leaders was strengthened by their newfound closeness, and through their growth they never lost the bickering. But instead of insulting each other’s character, they now just poked fun, made light hearted jokes. And they always seemed to enjoy it.

It was weird.

It was also obvious that Sungchan had a crush.

All his friends could tell by the way he brought her up so much. When she’d approach them, Sungchan’s demeanor would change, a big smile on his face that would linger as she walked away. He wasn’t very slick. Comments that flew over YN’s head that were too flirty for someone you just had platonic feelings for, lingering gazes on her, compliments galore, it was a miracle YN didn’t figure it out.

He remembered what made her laugh, so he’d try to come up with jokes that she’d like because he loved hearing her laugh, watching her cover her grin and try to compose herself. He took note of her favorite snacks, and her usual coffee orders, not needing to ask after getting them for her so many times. He memorized the details of her face, the way her eyes sparkled when she wore certain makeup, how the apples of her cheeks got so big when she smiled, the way her lashed fanned over her cheeks, how she’d scrunch her nose a bit when she was thinking. He knew it all. He liked it all.

He liked her.

And damn, did he know it. He thought about her a lot, trying to come up with what would be their “perfect date”. He tried being obvious, but it was very difficult because somehow, this prodigy couldn’t tell when he was flirting with her. He texted her all the time, staying up late to have stupid conversations with her, wishing she was right there next to him and he could scoop her into his arms and talk to her in person.

Now they sat in sungchan room, laying on his bed watching TikToks and eating ramen. Very romantic. YN sat up on the bed, stretching her back a little as sungchan just watched her. He looked up at her like she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

“Is this weird?” She asked.

“Is what weird?” Sungchan sat up.

“Us, hanging out, being normal and not hating each others guts?” She smiled, looking over at him as he smiled back at her.

“Nah, I think it’s pretty cool,” he tells her. She didn’t notice the way his eyes trailed along her body before landing back on her lips.

“Okay, ‘cause sometimes I just randomly get the feeling that this is like… too out of character for us and we just-“

He pressed his lips against hers.

She froze for a moment before sighing a bit and leaning in, feeling his hand rest on her waist, his other coming up to brush back her hair. Her hand pressed against his chest, grabbing at his shirt as she shifted slightly towards him.

She was kissing him.

He kissed her.

Hello?

She pulled away with a gasp, eyes wide at what just happened. Sungchan looked apologetic, pushing his hair back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ he started, catching his breath.

“No, no, it's… it’s okay, don't worry,” she told him, but was standing up from where she sat on his bed. “I uh, I need to go home,”

Sungchan didn’t say anything to her as she walked out.

Sungchan kissed her. How many other girls had he kissed? What did that kiss mean? Why did he kiss her? Why was he such a good kisser? Why did she enjoy kissing him so much? Did she like sungchan? Did-

Channie: hey I wanna say I’m sorry again

Channie: I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable

YN: it’s ok dw

YN: I just need to think

And think she did. She barely got a wink of sleep that night, all that was in her mind was a replay of their kiss. Thinking about kissing him made her think more. She thought about if she liked him, or if she was just flustered. And then she thought about him, how close the two of them had gotten over the past weeks. She realized she noticed things about sungchan that she would’ve scoffed at before.

The next day at school was awkward, neither wanting to bring up the night before. They attended their classes like normal, but the chatter and playfulness between them was gone, both too scared to initiate anything. The student council meeting after was awkward, everyone in the room could tell, but they remained quiet. Sungchan still drove her home, what kind of guy would he be to let her go alone? But their drive was almost silent, the music only made the air more tense, as if they were both trying to drown out their own thoughts.

It remained like that for a week.

YN would sometimes catch sungchan staring over at her like he wanted to talk. When she’d lock eyes with him, he’d sit up taller and then turn his attention away from her.

At night, the two wouldn’t text as much, sungchan’s goodnight texts stopped as YN had stopped responding to a lot of his texts. How was she supposed to continue as normal? How was she supposed to pretend that everything was the same? How was she supposed to pretend she didn’t like him?

Through their weeks together, YN always felt a little something in her chest. She thought it was just joy that finally the two could put the past behind them. But in her week (that now bled into the second week) of rethinking their last close interaction, she realized that it was a little more than just joy. She realized how much she liked being around sungchan, how she liked when his arm was wrapped around her, and she liked staying up late at night just to talk to him more.

She especially liked kissing him.

Oh she was so screwed.

The next student council meeting was about two weeks from when he kissed her. So two weeks of being extremely awkward around each other. By now, the tension was palpable, and Mr. Lee was getting nervous.

“Are you two fighting again?” he asked as YN and sungchan sat an awkward distance apart, still next to each other. They both looked up, looked at each other and shook their heads.

“No,” they both said at the same time.

“Well you two aren’t as chatty as you were before. Don’t get me wrong, i like the quiet, but i’d prefer if you wouldn’t go back to trying to kill each other,” he told them.

“Don’t worry, mr. lee, we’re just hard at work,” Sungchan told him with a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” Lie.

When mr. Lee walked away, he looked at YN.

“We should probably talk,” He told her with an awkward smile. “You know,”

YN sighed. “Not right now, okay,”

“Okay… when?” he asked, wanting the tension gone from their relationship.

“I don’t know, right now just isn’t the time to talk,” She told him, the cold tone Sungchan knew so well creeping back into her voice.

“YN, it’s been two weeks, we have to talk about it if-”

“Sungchan, drop it!” she dropped her pencil, looking over at him with a look he knew all too well. Sungchan didn’t say anything before getting up, telling Mr. Lee he was going to the restroom.

YN sighed, regretting snapping at Sungchan. The thought of talking about what happened scared her, she was afraid they wouldn’t be the same if they acknowledged the elephant in the room. But she knew she had to talk about it. She knew Sungchan deserved to have a talk about what happened.

When he came back, YN looked up at him hopefully, hoping he’d take his seat next to her and they could resume, but he picked up his things and moved to his desk. YN frowned, going back to doing her work, looking up occasionally to watch what he was doing.

She got up from her spot and walked over to his desk to apologize. She leaned against the table and tapped his shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile. Sungchan didn’t return it, YN couldn’t read what he was thinking.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you-” she started but got cut off.

“Let’s talk later,” he told her, his voice even as he spoke.

YN frowned, but nodded as she turned away. It was what she deserved, she was the one to shut him out first, she shouldn’t be surprised he did the same. But it still hurt. She realized how Sungchan must have felt when she shut him down.

The rest of the meeting passed with awkward silences and reminders of important dates that were coming up. YN could barely focus, but Sungchan seemed to be doing just fine. He seemed to work harder when he was a little frustrated. But at the end of their session he lingered behind, waiting for her to pack up.

She approached him with a little smile, which he reciprocated before looking to the ground, and starting to walk towards the door. Once in the hallway, YN decided to speak.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said, looking up at him. She watched as he turned to look at her, his face softening to a soft smile.

“It’s okay,” he assured, looking down at her.

The awkward silence turned comfortable, and the distance between the two seemed smaller. The elephant in the room was very much present, but at least they weren’t upset with each other. They walked to Sungchan’s car quietly, the drive to YN’s house was nearly silent if not for the occasional small talk sungchan would interject, trying to ease the tension.

He pulled up to her driveway, looking over at her with a small smile. “Have a good night, YN,” he told her.

YN smiled, pulling her bag into her lap, about to open the door when she hesitated. Something rushed her system, and she asked, “do you want to come inside for a bit?”

Sungchan paused for a moment, considering her offer before nodding stiffly. He parked his car and got out, leaving his bags in his car. YN smiled and got out, waiting for him to cross around before leading him inside. “My parents are out of town for a couple nights, so we should be fine,” She didn’t want her parents there to question her motives for bringing a boy into the house.

Sungchan nodded, and she opened the door for him. Her house was neat, everything in place, nice and neat. He looked around and saw all the achievements of the household, her father was a successful lawyer, and her mother a proud business woman. In the shadow, YN was their perfect little student. Sungchan began to understand why she was so serious about their rivalry.

He absentmindedly followed her to her room, looking around the house like it was a museum. He’d never seen a cleaner house, even with his neat-freak mother.

“We should talk,” YN’s voice broke him from his daze. She motioned her arms for sungchan to make himself comfortable. He took a spot on the foot of her bed, glancing around a bit before landing his eyes on her.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling his nerves build up.

Was she going to reject him? Tell him he misread their relationship? Call him ugly? No one could ever call him ugly… right?

“I’ve been thinking a lot about… a few weeks ago, when we-” she made random gestures that in no way implied kissing.

“Kissed?”

“Yeah, that,” she sighed, an awkward laugh following. “Listen, I don't know what it meant to you, but I'm gonna be honest… I really liked it, and I really like you, and i don’t know how you feel, so if we’re not on the same page-”

Sungchan got to his feet the moment she said she liked him, and cut her off by kissing her once more, relief flooding his system, smiling when he felt her wrap her arm around his neck. His hand held her cheek lightly as they kissed, breaking away, smiling brightly.

“So you-” YN started, gasping lightly, trying to catch her breath.

“Yes, you idiot,” Sungchan grinned, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “And you call me dumb, i’ve been flirting with you for weeks!”

YN just smiled, bringing him back in for another kiss.

Around school, most people had heard about YN and sungchan, most were in disbelief, some could see it coming from a mile away. Mr. Lee grew annoyed with their newfound affection, because now instead of constant bickering, he had to listen to sungchan constantly calling YN pretty, or flirting with her.

But the bickering never stopped. If there was anything about them, they always found something to argue about. The two of them always had something to fight over, always in a friendly competition.

This time, they just didn’t hate each other.

taglist: @oftenjisung , @vhuteryh , @skzhoe4life , @cheederzchez

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