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xythlia · 5 months

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— FALSE LIFE ˎˊ˗

› ascended astarion x f! spawn tav

› word count : 2k+

› sorry but his ascended lines do something to me >.< & I finally felt brave enough to post this after my 200+ game hours (also im open to astarion requests btw :3)

warnings : mdni. compulsion. noncon elements. posessive behavior. angst ish. fingering. toxic relationship. reader has hair long enough to brush off shoulders. reader wears a revealing dress. pet names (dear, darling, little love, ect.). oral f receiving. he calls you dinner sorry lol

This is the first time he's ever done this, compelled you.

If heat could still pool beneath your skin, anger more akin to molten lava beneath the surface, surely it would have. He broke his promise to you, the small thread of security that allowed you to go along with becoming a spawn. You also want to weep, wish tears could well freely in your eyes and track down your cheeks.

But even that is denied to you. Instead you're rooted to the spot, the marble flooring devoid of any echoing footsteps and the air hanging thick with frightening anticipation.

You can't reflexively jump when his lithe fingers move your hair from your shoulders, brushing your own equally icy skin. Much of your body is routinely on display for the vampire ascendant, something else you've always swallowed your displeasure on. There is also the absence of a gasp as his hand grips the back of your neck, an odd pantomime of a mother cat carrying its kitten by the scruff.

"Tell me," he asked, "do I not give you a life of constant pleasure?"

The words slip from your mouth unbidden. "Yes."

"Haven't I made sure you want for nothing?"

Again. "Yes."

His grip tightens, forcing your head to the side a bit and you wish you could wince.

"Then why, my little love, are you so insistent on acting like an ungrateful brat?" He spits out the question, forcing you to meet his ruby gaze by turning your head himself. You've never felt more doll-like, a petulant child.

"You compelled me. Forbade me from going outside the palace bounds. It upsets me that I cannot see our friends and companions. It upsets me that you broke your promise." Your affect couldn't be flatter, a dizzying contrast to how much pain you truly felt inside, a cruel effect of compulsion.

The dining room is quiet, thick with tension as he seemingly takes in your reasoning in silence.

The laughter that bursts from his lips is harsh, not because it's forced or hollow, but because it's real, legitimate laughter. He releases you to cross his arms, chortling so much tears well in his eyes. It makes something absolutely hideous twist in your gut, watching his display as if your feelings were nothing but the realms crassest joke.

All the while you stand statuesque, frozen and seething as your lover mocks you.

"Don't be stupid, darling. You're mine, remember?" Astarion caressed your jaw, positioning himself front and center in all your senses. "Your future has been mine to decide the moment that little worm was ousted from our heads."

Your eyes catch the scar on the side of his neck, bite marks like a twin to your own. Something else inside you is dying, a slow march, and soon the Crimson Palace will be more like your mausoleum than your home.

"Yes."

"Good," he pauses, seemingly sizing you up for reasons unclear, "Sit back. On the tabletop, darling."

Your movements are automatic, body and mind completely untethered from one another in terms of control. An anxiety grips your mind, sharp fingers digging into your brain and you perch on the vast, ornate table.

"Mhm, you know, I didn't get to finish my meal since you decided to spoil dinner with your silent sulking." His smile is a wicked thing. "But I do think we should move on to dessert now anyway."

One hand slides up the revealing slit of your dress, icily fondling your flesh and slowly inching upwards before his fingers are brushing along the seam of your underwear. All you can do is remain frozen, legs spread, as if you were a plaything for him to pose and contort any way he pleased. You suppose that's all you might be now.

"How about an... even trade, of sorts? In exchange for forgiving this little trespass with no punishment, you agree not to question my decisions."

Its not fair, the answer isn't truly your own. "A deal, yes."

A contented sigh leaves him as his index finger rubs up and down your clothed cunt, but his eyes are sharp and you know it's not lost on him how damp your underwear is. When he grins again those fangs are on full display, exaggerated by the shadows cast from the flickering candlelight.

It breaks your heart that he's as beautiful as ever, that still the baser parts of you can't help but desire him.

His plush lips find yours with comfortable familiarity, the perfect genius of their synched movement a testament to how much time he's spent mapping your mouth, committing it to memory. As you slip your arms around his neck you realize the compulsion is gone, but desire keeps you rooted in place, enjoying the feeling of his wandering, groping hands.

Forcing yourself to forget for selfish pleasure is surprisingly easy, a skill you've cultivated the past few months.

You gasp into his mouth as his fingers slip past your underwear, swiping through your wetness before lazily circling your already aching clit. The stimulation makes your hips jerk, chasing his hand for more friction but his other presses firmly against your hip to keep you still.

"Don't be gluttonous dear. I'm the one who didn't get to finish my dinner." He whispers against your parted lips, trailing sloppy open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, the exposed tops of your breasts, until he's sunk to his knees in front of you.

As he lifts the skirt of your dress you lay back against the heavy polished oak table, and if your heart could race it would be galloping out of your chest in anticipation. Thankfully Astarion doesn't keep you waiting long, he was true to his word that there was no punishment this time as he pulled down your underwear and trailed chaste kisses from your calf, your thighs, all the way to your soaked cunt as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"My delicious little treat," he murmured, his breath fanning across your skin, making you clench around nothing right before he placed a kiss to your clit.

The smallest of moans escaped you and it was enough to encourage him, tongue swiping through your arousal as his fingers prodded at your entrance. When he sucked against your clit your back arched off the table and every noise became amplified: the way you were panting, the slick slurping sounds of his mouth working against you, the squelching as two fingers slid inside you to start scissoring against your spongy walls. The cacophony was enough to make your head spin as your hands flailed downward, looking to grasp any part of him you could reach.

Grasping at his alabaster hair you cry out his name, with the same reverence one would use to call out to a god, and it only spurs him on. He groans against you as your hips start to rise, chasing the stimulation from his tongue and feeling the first embers of climax catching in your abdomen.

"Please -" tears slip down your cheeks as his fingers increase their pace, his tongue devouring you ceaselessly and you nearly choked on your own cries as your thigh muscles tense impossibly tight.

Your legs shake against his shoulders as your fingers scrape against his scalp, the embers now transformed into a roaring pyre, burning you from the inside out as the edges of your mind start to peel from the internal heat and pressure. You squirm recklessly, mouth hung open in a silent cry as your upper half rises off the table.

Slowly you lay back, struggling to control your muscle tremors and with one final kiss to your throbbing clit, that makes you yelp, Astarion pulls back, draping your skirt back in place and slipping your underwear in his pocket.

"You see, I can be quite forgiving darling. Just don't push it in the future."

#꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ kita writes #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate smut #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #ascended astarion x reader #ascended astarion smut #bg3 smut

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mtkay13 · 8 months

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Two illustrations of the "are you sincere?" scene, TYK, chapter 65.

More words below! VERY VERY LONG POST AHEAD

It's probably one of the most famous scenes of the book, considering it's the closest to an actual, outspoken declaration of feelings. Funnily enough, my first reaction to the scene was that of frustration, since WenZhou get once again interrupted, and the running gag + horniness distracted me from everything else that was going on in that scene which I now consider to be truly incredible, imo.

Those two illustrations, but mainly the second one, mainly take from one small paragraph in particular, but I will elaborate a little bit on other parts as well. First, though, a translation of the scene:

[...] Wen Kexing raised his head, looked at him. The lamp's light softening Zhou Zishu's chiselled features shone through his eyes, and Wen Kexing was lost in thoughts— He felt like he and this man had known each other for such a long time. From the moment he'd noticed his shoulderblades, felt this rush of excitement, to when he'd started liking who Zhou Zishu was, when he'd thought——so this is the Commander of Tian Chuang. Suddenly, he'd felt as if he'd met his other self. Both of them, lone wolves caught in a hunter's trap, struggling for freedom to no avail, until they had resolved to coldly gnawing off their own legs in the end. He'd felt compelled to follow him around, watched him, until he suddenly realised—if Zhou Zishu could live like this, then surely, so could he? He thought, and thought, until he fell, fell deep until he couldn't climb out anymore. Wen Kexing absent-mindedly reached out to gently caress Zhou Zishu's face, only brushing him with his fingertips. He felt a slight chill from contact of Zhou Zishu's rough skin against his own palm littered with scars and callouses. All of a sudden, he blurted: "Don't die. Should you die and leave me behind, I would be so lonely..." Zhou Zishu grasped his wrist, but didn't shake him off. He smiled: "As long as there is the slightest chance for me to live, I won't die. My life is mine, my gong-fu is mine. The Heavens granted me this fate, and taking it back from me won't be that easy." Zhou Zishu's breath brushed against Wen Kexing's fingers. He squinted, then said, seemingly deep in thoughts: "Once upon a time, an owl knocked over the bowl of red water carried by a villager..." Zhou Zishu looked at him and, his expression unchanged, he gently asked the question he'd already asked before: "Why was the villager carrying a bowl of red water?" Wen Kexing's lips slowly stretched into a smile, and he answered: "Water is colourless, but should blood trickle into it, wouldn't it turn red?" Zhou Zishu still looked at him but remained quiet. As if Wen Kexing's spirits had suddenly returned to him, his faraway gaze coming back into focus.

"Ah-Xu, you should sleep with me once," Wen Kexing said, his eyes smiling up into crescent moons. "This way, we'll have each other in our hearts; so you won't die so easily, and neither will I. How does that sound?" His tone was playful, but Zhou Zishu didn't banter back; he merely watched Wen Kexing with an odd glint in his eyes, and after a moment, he asked: "Are you sincere?" Wen Kexing chuckled, leaned forward so that his breath was brushing against Zhou Zishu's lips: "Can't you tell, if I'm sincere or not?" Zhou Zishu faintly startled, before he replied in a low voice: "I... I really can't. I haven't seen much sincerity in my life, and can hardly discern it. So, are you?" Wen Kexing's fingers climbed up along the curve of Zhou Zishu's shoulder, and he tugged his bun loose. His black, silky hair cascaded down, at once making the hardened man appear a few shades more fragile. Wen Kexing's playful smile faded, and in a soft, yet deeply grounded voice, he said: "I am." He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to Zhou Zishu's, finally lifting the heavy turmoil from his heart. Zhou Zishu slowly reached up, a long moment passing before he rested his hand upon Wen Kexing's shoulder, gripping his robes with his fingers. [...]

Phew that was a bit long but it felt necessary! TL by me.

Obviously, the second illustration is based on this passage:

"Wen Kexing's fingers climbed up along the curve of Zhou Zishu's shoulder, and he tugged his bun loose. His black, silky hair cascaded down, at once making the hardened man appear a few shades more fragile," which I have lost my mind about too many times to count. I feel like the contrast between this and the mention of Zhou Zishu's rough skin, and his assured words above, is very cool.

About the scene itself, while I guess it's mostly self-explanatory, I feel like mentioning what particularly touches me here:

I think that Wen Kexing's impression of Zhou Zishu, his freedom, "the way he lives", is really the core of what moved Wen Kexing in the first place. It is also echoing that scene, back in Dongting, when Wen Kexing watches Zhou Zishu lazily sitting in a restaurant, feeling what could be interpreted as resentment or envy when he sees how free he looks.

Wen Kexing unconsciously halted his steps. He stared at Zhou Zishu’s relaxed silhouette for a while, with no trace of an expression in his face or eyes. His heart swelled with some strange feeling—strange, in that it was no feeling at all. He felt as though this man was mocking him with this wordless posture; he who rushed around for one thing or another, who was burdened with so many cares, yet obstinately put on a devil-may-care persona. Zhou Xu—as carefree as duckweed, he thought, with a body like willow catkins. In all the world, with its boundless perspectives, where could you find someone who walked their path alone and never allowed anything to trouble them?

(TL by Lianzi)

Wen Kexing longs for him, to be like him, to be free like him; they both came to having to hurt themselves to be free of their shackles, but Zhou Zishu kept living freely afterwards.

By evoking the red water, the past he could never tell straightforwardly, I think that Wen Kexing is expressing how this past of him has been his shackles and how now, he wishes to follow along, to follow Zhou Zishu in his freedom.

And then, Zhou Zishu's words—they almost feel like his own confession, to me. Later, by the tree as well, his words refer to life, the will to live, and not being really direct, it sounds like his way of telling Wen Kexing, "I am serious about you." Wen Kexing was the first one to hold onto his life, to want for Zishu to live, and now Zishu follows along.

His words feel so powerful, and said so straightforwardly, baring himself to Wen Kexing like that, it makes so much sense for me to expect, finally, a proper confession from him as well, considering how each and every one of Wen Kexing's declarations have so far been over the top, jokey or deflected one way or another. Of course, I also think that Zishu does feel some form of insecurity, does need reassurance, and is gambling a lot here, but I guess... he's essentially worked to bare himself and expects the same in return.

ANYWAY. I think this is a gorgeous scene. I DO think, for balance, that the ending is a bit abrupt and that they would have deserved for Priest not to undermine the emotions right away—for that does take away from it a bit and distracts (calling back, once again, to the tired running gag of "oops they're interrupted). Not that the joke shouldn't have come up, but it could have waited a bit more.

But yeah! Thanks for reading!

#tian ya ke #zhou zishu #wen kexing #wenzhou #tyk #wkx #zzs #meta

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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visualtaehyun · 3 months

Text

DFF language notes and observations

This was originally just supposed to be a quick look at Non's meds in ep. 8 but then I finished watching the episode and felt compelled to rewatch the entire show 🫠 So might as well collect everything into one post!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Por's mumblings (ep. 2)

กูขอโทษ อย่าเอาคืนกูเลย /guu khaaw thoht. yaa ao kheuun guu loei/ = "I'm sorry. Don't take revenge on me/Don't get back at me."

Time and ages

The present takes place in 2023, the past was three years ago, in 2020. Apart from White, the boys are all the same age according to the character overview below, which makes them all 19-20 years old in the present (while White is 18 and a freshman). In the past up to ep. 8, they would have been 16-17 years old and in 11th grade (ม. 5/3 -> Matthayom 5, class 3; ม. stands for มัธยม /mat tha yohm/ = secondary school).

Potty mouth Fluke

In the present, I swear every other word out of his mouth is a swear and the subs don't always make it obvious. An example of when he's speaking calmly in ep. 3:

เพราะคนอย่างไอ้เหี้ยท็อปอ่ะ แม่งคงไม่ปล่อยให้โอกาสแบบเนี่ยะหลุดมือไปง่ายๆละเว่ย /phraw khohn yaang ai hia Top a- maaeng khohng mai blaawy hai oh gaat baaep niia loot meuu bpai ngaai ngaai la woei/ = Because someone like that dipshit Top wouldn't fucking let an opportunity like this slip his hands so easily.

It's not like the others don't curse, they sure do lol, but Fluke does so even when not in a stressful situation, and it sticks out in contrast to White especially because the baby speaks so properly and politely to his phis.

Newspaper clipping (ep. 4)

เป็นแฟนไอ้ตี๋แต่มึงไม่รู้จักอาโจ้นะ /bpen faaen ai Tee dtaae meung mei ruu jak aa Joe na/ = You're Tee's boyfriend but don't know uncle Joe?

The headline reads: ตายปริศนา'เสี่ยโจ้'นายบ่อนใหญ่ /dtaai bprit sa naa 'siia Joe' naai baawn yai/ = Mysterious death of 'bigwig* Joe' the gambling magnate** ฟอกเงินบัญชีม้ากว่า 300 ล้าน /faawk ngern ban chee maa gwaa 300 laan/ = Laundered money with over 300 million mule accounts

* เสี่ย /siia/ = a rich guy who squanders money, a big spender in illicit businesses, mostly used for middle-aged men; it's used as a pronoun, hence why he's known as เสี่ยโจ้ /siia Joe/ and we hear his subordinates call him เสี่ย /siia/, often subbed as Boss; it's a term of Teochew origin that describes an aristocrat's son, originally ** นายบ่อนใหญ่ /naai baawn yai/ = big shot gambling den boss or the boss of a huge gambling den

The snippet on the right is another easter egg btw - 'Talking to Pond Krisda, director of "Man Suang", Thai filmmaking [...]' but I can't make out the rest in that box (the snippet above that, too, though some of it I can tell says tourists, free visa, 3 months).

Greasy

What the boys call Non is (ไอ้)เมือก /(ai) meuuak/ which is more like Slimy or Mucous, actually.

More news (ep. 6, 7, 8)

Gang of senior high teens accomplices to mule accounts

Police does 180: Senior high teens escape lawsuit for shady mule accounts

High school kid goes missing at same time as teacher in leaked clip Connected to case of shady mule account teens

Past injury?

Whoever actually leaked the clip has this pelvis x-ray saved that's labeled to be from that same year, 2563 aka 2020. The two files at the top look to be invoices.

Pronouns

When Phee goes to confront Non about the leaked clip, he's so furious that he switches from their usual เรา /rao/ (= I; informal) + calling each other by name instead of using a 2nd pers. pronoun to calling both Non and Keng มึง /meung/ (= you; impolite) and himself กู /guu/ (= I; impolite). For reference, กู/มึง /guu, meung/ are the same pronouns the entire friend group use with each other, as male friends in Thai shows often do. Non, as the new addition to the group, is the only one who uses เรา /rao/ + names, and Jin is the only who reciprocally uses these pronouns with him.

Non's meds

Lorazepam -> benzodiazepine; used for treating anxiety disorders, insomnia, seizures etc.

Sertraline -> antidepressant; used for treating clinical depression, PTSD, OCD, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder

Quetiapine -> antipsychotic; used for treating schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, clinical depression etc.

THC poster, and a goof

ที่แห่งนี้...ไม่ได้มีแค่พวกเรา /thee haaeng nee...mai dai mee khaae puuak rao/ = In this place... it's not just us.

I'm sure there's more going on than just Phee and Tan infiltrating the group to get evidence and avenge Non. Like, Keng was on the phone with his contact Joy when he got hit by that white truck of doom car so I wonder if she's gonna come into play again in the present and who she really is.

And just for fun: that half-heartedly covered poster behind Tee looks suspiciously like a movie about a young chocolatier that shouldn't be out for another 3 years, according to the time line of this show lol

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dead friend forever spoilers #dff spoilers #dff meta #but is it though?? i'm mostly just translating shit #local woman harps on about linguistics #spoiler tags just to be safe ✊

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poorlittleyaoyao · 5 months

Note

one of my very least favorite "jokes" is people making fin of qin su for "not knowing her husband is gay" or the array of fics where he's zero eprcent interested in her from the jump. Like way to take out all the tragedy in service of biphobia

GODDDDDD, I saw that in the same set of post notes that set me off yesterday--"durr hurr, poor girl got tricked into marrying this gay guy." Like, HOW? The Jin clan are by far the wealthiest and most powerful sect, and the Qin clan is one of their bannermen, and QCY and JGS are buddies. If JGY were a mustache-twirling villain trying to boost his status with an advantageous marriage and/or a gay man desperate for a beard, he has better options than a clan of middling wealth and significance that is already under Lanling's sphere of influence.

And they both had to fight for this marriage to happen! "QS was tricked into marrying him" is wild to me, because IIRC it says RIGHT THERE that she took the initiative in this relationship! A relationship that neither her father nor his was super enthused about! JGY was out here bothering JGS for this! JGY, the guy who famously does atrocities if daddy says jump, worked with QS to make sure this marriage happened! After all, while QS has the most to lose if the pregnancy plan goes south, JGY's not totally off the hook either; JGS could've very well punished him to appease QCY. Why the hell would he go through ANY of that if he didn't love her?

Like... you could maybe make a case for him not being attracted to her in CQL, where it's implied that he didn't sleep with her until their wedding night and he hates every second of it a choice that haunts me every day because what the fuck what the FUCK. But even there, he states that he pushed for the marriage, and feared to call it off in part because he'd "spent so much effort, went through such lengths to ask Qin Cangye for permission to marry his daughter... I had finally satisfied both Qin Cangye and Jin Guangshan." So even here he'd worked for it! Potentially antagonizing two noblemen, one of whom is his father the Chief Cultivator, is not worth the potential material benefits here! Even here, the only explanation that makes sense is that he loves her!

Which, you know, he says himself that he does. He says that he loves her to Lan Xichen's face, even, so like... pretty weird lie for a gay guy to tell his boyfriend. And if JGY were lying about everything... wouldn't he think of something better? He could throw QS under the bus and say she forced him. He could say the marriage was his father's idea and JGS directly ordered him to marry her. Both of these options are more readily understandable (and paint him as truly without recourse) than "I felt trapped by the potential ramifications of defying social expectations."

Now, people can write what they want when it comes to fic; if you're writing a canon divergence fix-it, then yeah, an easy way to avoid the incest is to have him simply not into women at all. You can even make a compelling case for comphet that he doesn't recognize for what it is until it's too late if you try hard enough. But in terms of broader trends rather than individual fic, and given the fandom trends of erasing WWX's attraction to women across all canons, or ignoring WQ's whole situation with JC in CQL canon to make her a Mean Lesbian(TM)... are you sure there's not biphobia at play? Are you really sure?

#also 'haha QS doesn't know her husband is gay!' is mean to her #yes she is a fictional character and therefore can't be bullied but I'm still like LEAVE HER ALOOONE SHE'S DEALT WITH ENOUGH

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murkycran · 19 days

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Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List! ^_^ This will include romantic, platonic, and/or queerplatonic Radiostatic fics (and admittedly probably a couple of Radiosilence fics, too).

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work or are wrong!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Staticmoth Fic Rec List

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

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Radio Healed the Video Star by Aspiring_Forest_Witch

Summary: Alastor comes across an unconscious and battered Vox while out on one of his strolls. He feels compelled to bring him back to the hotel.

Notes: 98% of this fic was written before season 1 was released, so keep that in mind, because there's obviously going to be inconsistencies with canon. It's nearly finished (at least according to the author's notes in the latest chapters, I think). I suggest pacing yourself with this one - it's nearly 700k words long. I ruined a good sleep schedule staying up to get through it. (So worth it though.) There are quite a few OCs in later chapters, but they're such good OCs. You fall in love with them just as much as the canon characters, I swear. I would die for Verity and the Trio.

Let's Misbehave by joosymango

Summary: Alastor wins a bet against Vox, now his rival must stop pestering him for two weeks. It should be a pleasant break! So why does he miss the idiot?

Notes: Vaguely inspired by Aspiring_Forest_Witch's Radio Healed the Video Star. Also largely written before season 1 release. First fic I read for the HH fandom. ^_^

Safe with Me Series by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Having only ever set his sights on men who treat women with odious disrespect, Alastor never thought he'd take interest in Vox's turbulent relationship with his fiancé and business partner, Valentino. He decides to lend a helping hand in the hopes of getting Vox out of his sticky situation. After all, what are childhood enemies for?

Unfortunately, neither Alastor nor Vox could've predicted the rollercoaster of unsaid emotions and future horrors that are thrown their way. Will they be able to rely on each other and get by unscathed? Or will destiny have other plans for these two?

[HUMAN AU] [There's art included for the human designs]

Notes: It's so, so good. ;-; Heed the tags. There's a prequel consisting of oneshots, plus a sequel (listed below, bc I can't not put it here)! And there's ART! So much art!

You, My Everything by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Some say that love can conquer all, even in Hell.

Vox begged to differ, and he was damn well sure Alastor did too – or at least he would be, if Alastor hadn’t become one big question mark.

Sequel to Safe with Me.

Notes: Only read if you've read Safe With Me!!! Still pretty early in the story but so good. ;-; The angst, I swear...

You're on the Air by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: A series of short, daily conversations between a radio host and his avid listener, as the two learn more about each other’s lives over the air. Set in the late 90s/early 2000s.

Notes: Same author as Safe with Me, but not set in the same universe! This one is set up in a literal radio show format; almost entirely dialogue-centric.

Of Candied Pine and Cherried Smoke by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Inspired by x_Arcticfox_x’s fanfiction: Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola

After overdosing on them one too many times to curb the steadily weakening suppressants, Vox's body rejects them outright. Now with his scent getting stronger, he finds himself struggling to hide his true status as an Omega. In his desperation, he seeks help from the one person that knows his secret: Alastor.

Notes: Omegaverse. Same author as Safe with Me series and You're on the Air!

Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola by x_Arcticfox_x

Summary: Vox is an omega, that's his biggest secret.

During his life time he hid this fact using suppressants, and counited to in death. One day he runs out of pills and his supplier is out of stock for the time being so Vox is forced to submit to the torture of going through heat for the first time in decades.

Too bad his business partner only see's omega's as mere object's...

But hey, at least Angel found him just in time, right?

Notes: Omegaverse. Currently on hold, but has 14 chapters currently available for reading. :)

Once Bitten, Twice Shy by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor decides that it's time to claim what is rightfully his, consequences be damned.

Notes: It's not porn but it might as well have been for how fucking intense this scene was. 😳

Dripping Pink by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Just before an Overlord meeting, Alastor gets infected by an off-market, highly potent, and incredibly dangerous love potion. Nobody realises until it's too late.

Notes: Simultaneously funny as fuck and erotic as all hell. I suffered from so much secondhand embarrassment on Vox's behalf. It's wonderful. :D

Lucidity's Fog by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Ever since he met Alastor, Vox has been having raunchy dreams about the deer. Those dreams suddenly stop when Alastor disappears. For seven years, he's free of the guilt, of the shame brought on by his unconscious desire.

Until Alastor comes back, and Vox is plagued by a new dream the same day he finds out about the news. This time, however, something is distinctively different about how the deer is acting.

Notes: Author tagged for light angst, but ngl the ending did not feel like 'light' angst to me lol. Hurt in a good way.

Finger Tips and Dotted Lips by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor has sensitive hands; he finds this out at the most inconvenient time possible. Unfortunately, Vox is the one who ends up paying the price for it.

Having to help a seemingly broken Overlord whilst navigating this new discovery proves to be a little more taxing than the Radio Demon could ever have imagined.

Notes: Alastor is such a troll in this omg.

Thawing Out by Seaside_Dreaming

Summary: Seeing a small crack in Vox's screen nags at Alastor more than he likes to admit.

Vox wishes things were better. Sooner or later, Alastor has to come to terms with the fact he has feelings, in general.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. HIGHLY suggest reading the prequel one-shot. It's not necessary to understand the plot here, but you should read it anyway.

Static by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox creates a new and improved version of himself to please Val, only to be replaced by it. He is left beaten and broken with no one to turn to . . . except maybe his oldest enemy, Alastor.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Hating you feels so good by TwoBitJester

Summary: Vox obsesses over his returned enemy and finds himself a little too wound up

Notes: Very good PWP.

Laced Over Dinner by hazbinhearts

Summary: Vox is persuaded to dress a little differently over dinner for Alastor, but finds it remarkably uncomfortable as the night goes on. Written for VoxWeek21 Day 3: dressing up [appearance, formal, dance].

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Corsets. 😳

Observer by DeviousPossum

Summary: He moved the cursor to click off, when he suddenly heard a very recognizable static laced tone.

Alastor.

What the fuck. Alastor is singing.

Vox unintentionally ran claw marks across his desk, an increasingly common habit for him as of late. He grimaced at his now ruined table and unsuccessfully tried to reel in an inexplicable feeling that could only be described as jealousy.

Notes: Porn with a tiny bit of plot in the first chapter. :3

RadioTV Week 2021 Series by Heliosolar

Summary: Pretty much the title; various prompts.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. All worth reading, though they aren't connected.

Sharkblocking by Anonymous

Summary: Alastor is Vox’s number one rival. Incidentally, though nobody involved is aware of it, Alastor’s number one rival is actually Vox’s pet shark.

In which Alastor is actually a little obsessed back and Vark is the biggest obstacle to Radiostatic short of canon itself.

Notes: VARK!

Control + V by TooManyPsuedonyms

Summary: Vox and Alastor have a... thing. Not quite a relationship, but something. Vox is too scared to define it properly, and Alastor is dead set that Vox will eventually get bored of his lack of reciprocity and move on.

So, Valentino tries to show Vox what he is missing.

... too bad Vox didn't want him like that. ... too bad Alastor didn't know want is a vague word.

Notes: Heed the tags!!! There's currently a sequel; I haven't read it yet, but I definitely plan to. 👀

gift of the magi by vol_ctrl

Summary: "... Although husband and wife are now left with gifts that neither one can use, they realize how far they are willing to go to show their love for each other, and how priceless their love really is ..."

Alastor/Vox established relationship fluff.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Very sweet. ^_^

the lost tape by vol_ctrl

Summary: There's a NEW ambitious media demon in Pentagram City. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, right?

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

12 Days of Yuletide by vol_ctrl

Summary: A parody of the 12 Days of Christmas traditional tune, as can only be done by Vox gifting to his beloved adversary.

Or, a series of letters from the desk of Alastor upon receiving a series of increasingly elaborate gifts from his insufferably modern foil during the holiday season.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Fear makes the heart grow fonder by Graysongirl

Summary: After a bit of inspiration from an unlikely source Vox comes up with the plan that scaring Alastor is the best route to gaining his affections. The haunted house at LuLu World seems like the perfect (safe) environment for a bit of pre-planned scaring...

[Stand-alone staticradio]

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Funny af. "Red! Red!" XD

Cordyceps, King of Ants by spappest

Summary: Vox is tired. Of Valentino. Of Velvette. Of Alastor, and Hell, and everything in between. He can't escape, but he can cut himself off, piece by piece, until he feels nothing at all. Alastor takes exception to this approach and commissions a certain princess of Hell to fix his foe. Now Vox has a hotel of misfits on one side of him, overlords on the other, and Alastor crushing his cage ever smaller.

Clearly, the only way Vox will get any peace and quiet is to just kill God.

Valentino did always tell him that he had no chill.

Notes: Started before season 1 was released. Technically features Staticmoth but it's not the focus as much as Radiostatic (which honestly has a relationship status of ??? not romantic but also not friendship or even strictly enemies...just...Alastor and Vox). O_O I think about this fic on a daily basis.

Russian Roulette by spappest

Summary: Vox and Alastor play a game that Vox is way too excited to lose.

Notes: Started before season 1 release. Take note!!! I'm putting this on the Radiostatic list because it's almost entirely centered on Alastor and Vox's dynamic, but the romantic relationship is Staticmoth. The Staticmoth is just not featured very much.

Vox and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Afterlife by spappest

Summary: Alastor goes into rut.

Vox has a bad time. Then a good time. Then a very bad time. Then a brief vacation. Then a confusing time.

Notes: Background Staticmoth, but Radiostatic is most prominent. Funny af. Alastor and Vox have...a very special relationship. Lol.

Killer Ex by FanGirl48

Summary: Alastor was a serial killer who valued his privacy. So when someone who claims to know what he is tries to barge into his life he can't let them live, his secret must be protected at all cost.

A normally easy task easy task becomes complicated when Alastor's ex-boyfriend is dragged into the whole thing forcing the serial killer to go visit them for the first time in seven years.

Notes: Human AU. Love me some possessive Alastor. <3

Negotiations by FanGirl48

Summary: Vox had no interest in attending a meeting between Heaven and Hell following the failed attack by the Adam and his Exterminators. Alastor's little gremlin caused the mess, so he can go clean it up. Vox had nothing wanted nothing to do with the radio demon, king of hell or heaven.

But that was before Lucifer made the media overlord aware of Valentino's little job offer to his daughter.

Damnit Valentino!

Notes: "And they were roommates!" "Oh my god they were roommates"

Down, Up, and Back Down by CowboyEnthusiast

Summary: Vox dies. Surprisingly no one takes this well.

Or, Vox dies and Alastor tries to drag his soul back from Purgatory.

Notes: Another fic I think about daily... Heavy themes. Heed the tags.

Hold Me Like a Grudge by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor has spent a long time running from Vox. Vox has chased after him almost as long. When suppressants fail throughout the city, they finally collide.

Notes: Omegaverse. Fun fact about this author: all their Radiostatic fic titles are from Fall Out Boy lyrics lol. (I fucking love FOB sue me.) I haven't yet read all of Rachello344's Radiostatic fics, BUT I have them all on my To Read list because I've loved everything I've read of theirs so far lol.

What Makes You So Special? by Rachello344

Summary: With Lucifer’s return to the Pride Ring, the other Deadly Sins were bound to take notice. When Asmodeus stops by the Pride Ring to visit the Morningstars, the Vees are able to make a deal to host a pop-up shop of the incredibly popular Lust Ring establishment, Ozzie’s, bringing it to the Pride Ring for the first time.

When Vox and Alastor both attend the restaurant’s opening night, long repressed sparks fly, forever changing their relationship.

Notes: Because of the pacing of this (sex first romance later), I feel like this is the Radiostatic equivalent of Femalefonzie's Freak-A-Zoid (a really good Staticmoth fic). This is hands down one of the most romantic Radiostatic fics I've read. ^_^

Hold Me Tight (or Don't) by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor and Vox finally come to an understanding, both of each other and of what they each mean to the other. Their relationship evolves accordingly, one concession at a time, until they both get everything they could possibly want: power, companionship, and even love.

Notes: So, so good.

Keep You Like an Oath by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor normally wouldn’t bother with the chore—breaking into V Tower was quite a lot of work, even for him—but he found himself curious about what Vox and his little friends might be working on. Especially since whatever it was had Angel concerned enough to report back to the rest of the hotel about it.

Of course, before he can learn anything, he’ll need to sneak past Vox’s watchful eye…

Notes: God it's just...so good. Read it. Radiostatic reconciliation. One thing I love about Rachello344 writing Radiostatic is Alastor's terms of endearment for Vox. ^_^

To Be Yours by pinegreenapples

Summary: Alastor hears something he hasn't heard in years. He decides to investigate why now, of all times, this frequency has turned back on. Vox is not amused.

Notes: Hurt no comfort. Hurts so good, though. ;-;

oleanders in june by spoondrifts

Summary: It seems like while Alastor was off preying on the self-destructive addictions of desperate sinners, Vox was off getting himself beaten half to death, probably from spouting belligerent nonsense at someone with violent tendencies and a far lower threshold for disrespect than Alastor. Not everyone finds poor Vox’s chatter as charming as he does.

If Vox is unconscious, then Vox is not being entertaining, and Alastor came here to have fun, not play nursemaid.

Or: Drunk on power and itching to cause some mayhem, Alastor hunts down the only person in the city who's always up for anything. Unfortunately, he finds Vox... not exactly in tip-top shape. No matter; he can work with that too.

Notes: ^_^ Very sweet.

equilibrium by curtailed

Summary: Post-Finale. The Hotel finds Alastor right on the front lawn, unconscious and bleeding, still injured from Adam's blade. While he recovers, all of Hell scrambles to find out who his mysterious rescuer is.

Meanwhile, Vox tries not to freak out that he might have accidentally made a soul bond to save that deer asshole's life. All he had wanted to do was to scope out the ruins of Alastor's radio tower. Fuck him for being curious, he supposed.

Notes: This fic has me in a CHOKEHOLD. I love the characterizations so, so much. Manages to fit in humor alongside the angst. One of the best fight scenes I've ever seen put into words. Curtailed really took Vox and Alastor as characters and planned out a cool fucking fight scene using their unique abilities. I automatically love anything tagged with "one fell first but the other fell harder" lol.

candlelight by curtailed

Summary: Despite the #SirRepentious success, Heaven remains skeptical of a sinner's ability to change. Logic gets lost somewhere, and really, what's a better way to show sinners can be marginally less horrible than to stick two Overlords who hate each other in the same living space?

Alastor and Vox play house.

Notes: The comedy of Alastor and Vox being forced to be civil with each other and then unintentionally becoming very domestic together. Lol

wallow by curtailed

Summary: A 2+1 fic. Two times when Alastor and Vox were in a love triangle (hard quote on love, hard quote on triangle), and the one time Alastor had Vox to himself.

Notes: Only 1 (very good) chapter so far, but safe to say pretty heavy already. Heed the tags.

Addicted by Dancingdog

Summary: After the latest argument with Valentino, Vox finds himself at the Hazbin Hotel. An injured Alastor is less-than-pleased to see him, which is understandable considering they are enemies.

But as more and more of Valentino's venom leaves his system, Vox begins to remember his days before V-Tower and he learns exactly why Alastor rejected his offer all those decades ago.

His memories return in fits and spurts - not all of them good. His past with Alastor isn't something he expected and it turns out that he isn't the only one suffering.

Notes: Dude. This fic hurt me. Such good angst.

Radio Made the Video Star Series by songofhell

Summary: Snippets of Vox and Alastor's afterlife, and their journey from strangers to friends to enemies to... something more.

Notes: Pretty much what the series summary says - a series of installments that chronicle the beginning and subsequent evolution of Alastor and Vox's relationship. Very good, has tons of possessive!Alastor, which I die for.

Uneasy by Saezs

Summary: “Something’s wrong with Voxy.”

Velvette’s eyes snapped to the tall moth pimp. “And?” she prompted with a raised eyebrow. As if she needed to deal with two piss babies this close to a show. Valentino shrugged, tapping away on his phone, and walked away to stand threateningly close to her new models. Before she could snap at him, she saw it; his wings were twitching. Barely noticeable to strangers, just under the hum of the building’s lights, he was squeaking with each tap of his fingers. She felt unease and a healthy dose of aggravation swirl in her stomach.

Or: Vox was roofied and sexually assaulted. Velvette tries to be better than her mother. Unexpected connections are formed.

Notes: Heed the tags! Features genderfluid Vox. :)

Five Times Vox and Alastor Danced and One Time They Didn't by Drowsy_Salamander

Summary: “I say, good fellow, what are you doing on the ground like that?”

The voice was perky, cheerful, and bright. It had a crisp mid-Atlantic accent, the kind Vox remembered being all the rage for stage and film performers back when he first entered the broadcast industry. The diction was crystal clear with every sound enunciated separately to maximise clarity, the consonants clicked and the vowels were broad. It was a performer’s voice.

A voice for radio.

Oh shit.

... Five times Vox and Alastor danced and one time Vox and Alastor didn't.

From their first meeting through their friendship, to their enmity and fighting. From infatuation to yearning to animosity. Dancing is a partnership, is it not?

Notes: Each chapter so far has been a different type of dance, which is really neat. Especially chapter 2. ^_^ That said, there's a feeling of impending doom, knowing what happens to their relationship eventually... Not saying that as a deterrent but just a comment on how I felt while reading it lol. It's very sweet, which is why it hurts to think of future chapters. 🙃

Days Long Past by Momo52

Summary: All sinners of hell bore some physical marks of how they lived and died. Some physical manifestations were more obvious while others were subtle. Vox was not an exception to this rule.

While his television head was an obvious indication of his life while on Earth, the mark he bore from his death was far more subdued. Luckily enough, his shame was easily concealed behind a high collar. Unfortunately, he is just as well known in his afterlife as he was in his life. As such, trying to make everyone believe that he is so much stronger than what his death implies is a constant battle. He only wished that he wasn’t the hardest one to convince.

Notes: I think platonic Radiostatic is the endgame here. Still pretty early in the story, but I'm really liking this author's depiction of Vox and Alastor's pasts. Heed the tags. There are heavy subjects such as suicide (very big theme for Vox's pov) and period-typical racism (in Alastor's past) present in the story.

Remote Access by x-UsoTsuki-x (its_not_reael)

Summary: In the aftermath of Alastor and Vox's electrifying on-air showdown, Vox finds himself unusually rattled. His usual suave demeanor is slipping, much to his cohorts' amusement – and concern. Velvet can do little more than roll her eyes at his antics. Valentino, on the other hand, is convinced that all Vox needs to do is get fucked and relax.

or, alternatively...

The tech-savvy overlord manages to snag a virus from a porn site and finds himself in the arms of his worst enemy.

Notes: Fairly certain this is firmly Radiosilence based on the tags (and the direction of the story so far). Very funny, very hot. Vox is pathetic in this one. Lol

Nun-thing Like You've Ever Seen Series by A_Cypress_Coffin

Summary: Alastor, the feared radio demon with more blood on his hands than most of hell combined, wasn't always as we imagine him. There was a time where instead of a dapper suit and smile he donned a simple vow and habit. That didn't last of course, but the journey is quite something.

Notes: This author has a great sense of humor, lmao. I enjoyed the unique headcanons for Alastor's backstory. The tag that hooked me: "Accidentally becoming a better person through bad domming and found family".

Empathia by The_Oblivious_Swallow

Summary: Creating new technology is boring, sex is physically unappealing, the other Vee’s are so annoying, annoying, annoying! Even Vark, his baby, his pride and joy, doesn’t stir the same joy in his heart like he should.

So, Vox had concluded that it had to go. For his sake.

Notes: Contains Staticmoth, but Radiostatic seems like the endgame (I write this as there is one chapter still left). Really interesting idea. I love Vox.exe so much. ;-;

Every Madman Has His Vice by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “What the fuck do you want, Alastor? Was it not enough to kill me all those years ago? Now, you had to go for the people I loved and the only things I had left in this fucking Hellhole?”

“It was my fault,” Alastor whispers as he approaches Vox slowly, as if he was some sort of wounded animal he didn’t want to scare off. His prey. “Vox, I’m sorry. If I had a chance to redo that night, I would never have hurt you to this extent. I’ll never harm you again.”

“That’s seven years too fucking late, Alastor.”

OR: Seven years ago, instead of Alastor disappearing, it was Vox who left instead.

Notes: I’m so fucking here for this AU. Possessive Alastor, Vox helping with the hotel, Husk is still an Overlord, yessss

Metathesiophobia (Fear of Change) by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: There's a lot that can change in seven years.

But never once had Alastor expected for something like this from his old rival and older friend.

Or, Alastor and Vox start to rekindle their old friendship again after a shocking discovery strikes the deer demon.

Notes: QPR Radiostatic with MtF Vox! Contains a smidge of Staticmoth, but it's in the background and not the focus. Very well written.

surimi and venison by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: A series of short drabbles (500+ words) in an interconnected universe (peep the tags, they're still in hell), centering around Alastor and his new pet fish... shark... television thing. Will (hopefully) update 1-2 times a week. Written as my attempt at a Mermay series.

Notes: Like the summary says, Mermay prompts featuring SharkHybrid!Vox, along with Alastor, who literally saw Vox and decided to make him his pet. Lol.

an arm and a leg, my dear, les yeux d'la tête by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “I mean, usually when Val gets mad he gets like, super pissy too an’ starts destroyin’ shit ‘round the set and in his clubs, but like, usually Vox can calm him down. Problem is, where the Hell is that guy? I haven’t seen ‘im round the Tower for like, a month or two now. That ain’t normal.”

“What, so you mean he just up and left?”

“No, but like… he hasn’t been seen ‘in public’ for like, two months now. It’s startin’ to get suspicious. Like, I ‘unno if I’m just paranoid or something, but… Vox is like, the fuckin’ face of Hell’s Entertainment District. When he’s not round for a bit, that’s nothing to worry about on its own… but when he’s not round for a bit an’ Val and Velvette are creeping around, looking for his rival…? I mean… the dots are connecting. If Al did something…”

“If Vox was dead, we would know.” OR: Two months ago, Vox went missing. Right now, it seems as if Alastor has something to hide.

Notes: Vox gets attic-wifed and wears a virgin killer sweater. ^_^

we'll go down together in the ashes of our love by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: Glimpses into the Radio Demon's life as he reluctantly navigates parenthood with his co-parenting partner and the demon princess hoisted onto him by the King and Queen of Hell.

Loosely inspired by Spy X Family.

Notes: CUTE! I love domestic Radiostatic.

What Has Been by Tianren

Summary: Vox has never known peace. From being the son of a egocentric cult leader, to being the boyfriend of a self absorbed abuser. Vox has managed to build a pretty sad life for himself. The only spot of sunshine that had ever blessed his existence was when he met an amateur true crime investigative journalist, with a podcast named, Alastor. The man was his only source of unfiltered news and contact to the world outside his father’s compound. But after Vox finally escaped the cult he waited for Alastor. Waited weeks in their assigned meeting spot just to be forgotten. Vox was convinced he’d stopped waiting for Alastor years ago until he meets the man again seven years later at a hotel. What will reconnecting with his past lead to and will it help him escape the hell he’s built for himself?

Takes place in the late 2000s early 2010s

Trigger warning for religious trauma and abuse as major themes of this story. Will add more warnings if they arise as I go on.

Notes: Really interesting human AU concept!

(Fic rec list to be continued)

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #voxal #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #fic rec list

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girlwithamissingpearl · 8 months

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I understand things have been dry in Outlander land but even desert dry has me smh. Ladies, if you have to try that hard to shit all over SH, I’m not saying it makes you a hater but it sure as shit doesn’t make you a liker.

Back after a bit- admit it, we all need to occasionally take a break- I feel I needed to pace myself during the drought. But after a bit of scrolling, I felt compelled to dive right in. Isn’t this fandom about fun, entertainment and guilty pleasure? That’s why I’m here. So why the endless posts from the SH haters? Do people dislike SH, enjoy the snark or just think the man is stupid?

So just for fun (or insomnia) I thought I would play a short game of SH: Stupid, Smart or just SMH?

1. SH and Cons/Private events for $

Why do people have such a problem with SH trying to make a living? Most if not all actors part of a series or movie franchise participate. In my opinion SH is doing it now, so he won’t need to in his 60’s to pay the rent. While most fans are priced out of the more exclusive events, all I can say is the paying fans are the only ones that never complain. Supply and demand. If any charitable component is part of the deal, great. So can we finally put a line under this?

Verdict: Smart as hell

2. SH always “Shilling” SS to his Fans and on SM

Uhm, he is the brand. It’s his company. Can it be a bit much? Yes. Promotion to the fan base and the use of sm is marketing 101. In order for people to try the product they need to know about the product. We can disagree as to his methods or success to date, but fans are not the only ones buying bottles. As for the constant and consistent presence of AN with SH during events? Suddenly they are a couple? WTF. AN is a business partner. He owns part of the business. They both work hard promoting SS, and so far it looks like they will continue to release more SS. Ladies, don’t put your lawn chairs away yet!😉

Verdict: Smart

3. SH and boundaries with his fans

Regardless of the letter you attach to SH, he is a recognized actor around the world. Definitely a people pleaser, in imho, he will happily take a selfie with anyone. Obviously, he never wants to disappoint any fan, but his lack of boundaries and security at events can be cringe worthy at times. If a female actor was touched, mauled, or asked to sign fans boobs or t-shirts it would be a #me too moment. Someone, anyone in security or a handler needs to be bad cop if he won’t. How far is too far?

Verdict: Stupid with a side of SMH

4. SH as a Philanthropist and Charitable Causes

This one really bugs me. MPC has raised over $6m for charity. SH’s name attached to any cause raises awareness and $. The BS from the haters who discount this based on the fact SH apparently never donates his own money is petty nonsense. Gentleman’s ride is one example. Agree it was his female fans that made it happen. And? This is my only fandom but SH is held to an impossible standard. Apparently he is a hypocrite in his support for clean oceans because someone on his team had a catered lunch using single use plastics. Great topic for discussion, but the man didn’t throw the containers in the ocean. Also let’s not judge a person’s commitment based on sm posts. SH can literally, yes ladies literally never win. Thankfully the causes he supports do. I dare you to disagree.

Verdict: Smart

5A. SH’s dating life

According to an extremely ardent part of this fandom, SH has dated😉 every fit blonde 👱‍♀️ within a 250 mile radius of everywhere. I wish that someone would keep track of all the mysterious initials and lack of any literal proof of these women. This is where I separate the snark from the hater’s. While I’m in owe of the investigative skills of some, and enjoy the gossip-even though mom thought gossip was a sin, sorry mom- not all women aka initials welcome the attention. Any woman save CB that SH is remotely warranted or not attached to, has an avalanche of hate comments and 💩emoji in their future, welcome or not. Personally, I believe SH, goes out of his way to protect the people he cares about, and perhaps even those he may not. I think we can agree he is not a monk. However an actor is entitled to privacy. Ginger Jesus included.

5B. SH ‘s Sexuality

From the beginning, 3 years for me, I’ve read posts about someone who knew a friend of a friend of a bartender’s friend who knew for a fact SH had a boyfriend. WTF. You know the drought is real when this bullshit gets recycled. We all know the question has been asked and answered by SH. More than once. Next.

Verdict: SH keeping his private life private: Smart as hell.

6. SH and the use of all things Outlander related

If you don’t get it, I don’t have the time and am too lazy to explain it to you.

Verdict: Smart. Smart as hell

7. SH and CB

The only real problem here is obvious. And I don’t know why the fans or even the haters- btw, I use the term haters like I do profanity- perhaps not the best word, but like GFY, FU, MF, C, etc. I’m lazy and it saves time and no confusion to whom I address. So where the actual f&ck is the audition tape we all want to see? You know the part of which I speak. If only the fandom investigators could put aside any petty differences and uncover the SH, CB chemistry kiss tape? I’m not saying it will be a unifying and CTJ moment, but it would give SH fans something to make the drought less….thirsty.

No verdict necessary. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨😚😉

And last but definitely not least…

8. SH and Thirst Traps

Ladies, because of Outlander and all things Outlander related, we’ve had the pleasure to observe SH from every view and lovely angle. Come on, if you 👀 closely it’s all there. Why the actual f&ck people in this fandom have a problem with his shirtless posts is beyond me. Not only is he promoting the results a good fitness regime can produce, he is literally, yes literally giving his fans something they want. And don’t even try me with- you’re treating him like an object. This is a 100% consensual relationship. And if the word “hater” seems harsh about the same gang that complains and shits all over his shirtless thirst traps, then please find me a better name.

Verdict: Smart as hell and thank you

So for those who may not get it, this post is silly and something for my handful of friends or any SH fan to have a laugh. If anyone has the patience to read the entire thing😉 So any comments are welcome, but to the people or person sending awful and cowardly anon messages: save your time. Or GFY. See what I did there?🤓

#outlander #outlander season 7 #sam cait #sam heughan #sassanach #men in kilts #men in kilts 2 #waypoints #clanlands

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strawberrystepmom · 8 months

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pairing: incubus!grimmjow jaegerjacquez x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

about: the ravenous desire of your roommate never seems to abate despite the late nights he spends outside of the comfort of your apartment. when he approaches you, the truth comes out. can you fulfill the appetite of an incubus?

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw dark content - dubcon, somnophilia. brief mention of masturbation (f), unprotected penetrative sex (piv), light degradation (slut/slutty), creampie, possessiveness. reader is only partially awake/aware through the fic and assumes she's dreaming.

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! yall ever wanted to fuck a cat boy demon before bc i know i have and here he is in all his weirdo glory. what i love about doing this is that it rly forces me out of my element (writing more smut bc historically i haven't enjoyed writing it all that much) and exploring new/darker concepts i haven't always felt like i have the ability to write.

hopefully this is something everyone can enjoy! thank you for reading ♡

Since you signed your lease nine months ago, you’ve always had a standing agreement with your strange roommate Grimmjow.

“If you need anything, just knock on my door and I’ll be there.”

You aren’t sure why you felt compelled to offer your time or support to the man in the first place - perhaps it was your too tender heart taking one roving glance over him and realizing that he simply looked like he needed someone. Eyes like a predator, narrowed and a sharp, angular frame in an oversized t-shirt. You met him through an online post looking for a roommate and desperation, and the end of your relationship, gave you no option but to accept. The situation appeared too fortuitously for you to turn it down.

The past nine months have gone as swimmingly as one could expect living with a stranger would, though.

He comes and goes without much fuss but if you are honest with yourself - you find some of his habits strange. You try not to think too hard about them, after all you’re just his roommate and he owes you no explanation, but there are times where you wonder why he skulks late at night. When he comes home after these late night adventures, you always notice him looking rested the next day and it has never made sense to you. The dark circles under his eyes seem to magically abate and his posture fixes itself, walking tall and strong across the scuffed wooden floors the two of you share.

Aside from this, though - he pays his half of the rent on time, he manages to clean up after himself as well as you can expect, and he asks you no questions about who you are or what you’re doing with your life.

Until tonight, strangely enough.

“What are you gettin’ up to tonight?”

Grimmjow’s voice is a growl more so than anything else, as long as you’ve known him it has been this way, but it sounds different. Lower, perhaps. You tip your head to the side and offer a half smile, shrugging and letting the collar of your oversized t-shirt fall off of your shoulder enough to expose the flesh beneath it.

“Weather’s supposed to be shitty so I’m staying in. Same as usual.”

He hums his answer, stretching his legs to place his feet on the table across from the couch where you both sit. You take a moment to look over him - blue eyes and hair to match. You’ve never asked him if the hair color is natural, assuming the opposite is true, but you have never seen a hint of dark brown or blonde growing out of his head.

In fact, there’s a lot of things you’ve never seen him do but you’ve always just assumed he does them at night while he’s out but you try too hard not to think about it. The two of you have a no questions asked policy, at least silently you’ve agreed to one but you bite further, breaking your own internal code to pry for details.

“How about you?”

Shifting where he sits, he puts his arms up over his head and readjusts his legs, one foot resting on top of the other. You watch his shift in posture, eyes trailing up long legs and admiring the way his bicep bulges with the angle his arm is bent at. It’s strange but you’ve never taken the time to really look at your roommate in all these months but now that you are.

He’s pretty hot.

You look away quickly, hoping you weren’t caught in the act of boundary bouncing, placing your hands in your lap primly and he smirks, settling into the couch behind him with a few wiggles of his shoulders. He takes his turn looking at you, a smile you’re trying to hide and hair still damp after getting out of the shower, and he wonders how you haven’t caught onto him yet. This isn’t the first time he has eyed you with those blazing, partially sunken eyes but you feel the intensity of it this time and tuck your shoulders forward to hide the embarrassment of being seen.

“Might stick around,” he sniffs and wrinkles his nose. “Feelin’ kinda hungry though.”

Instantly, you beam. Perhaps this could be a good way for the two of you to actually get to know each other since you have never really shared a meal with the man outside of shitty pizza on the nights you’ve stayed up late enough to greet him before he leaves and doesn’t return until sunrise.

“I can make us some dinner if you wanna stick around? If not, I get it, it’s not supposed to get super bad out until later.”

What you don’t realize is that the hunger he’s speaking of is something very different than what can be sated by what you’re offering. Despite this, for a brief moment, he considers it and you watch him do so. He licks his bottom lip, pink tongue darting out and takes one of his hands off of the back of his head to rub his thumb in the wet trail left behind by the motion.

“Nah, I gotta do a couple things.”

Heat you’ve never felt before crawls up the back of your neck and you look away again. You’re flustered, the effortless eroticism of whatever just happened making your skin feel itchy, and he chuckles.

What could possibly be so funny?

You think of the question but don’t say it aloud, almost embarrassed at his reaction to you. Did you misread his suggestion? Did you just make the next three months of your lease unbearably awkward?

Grimmjow takes his feet off the table and places them on the ground, leaning forward and your gaze falls on the forward bend of his spine and the way the overgrown hair at the nape of his neck curls slightly.

Why are your eyes so drawn to him today? It feels as though it takes all of your self control just to look away but you manage to, cheeks warm and hairline dappled with sweat. This feeling is strange in a way that you lack the words to explain and you keep your eyes trained on the ground even as he stands up and stretches, his shirt exposing the bottom of his abdomen.

“I’ll take you up on your offer another night, though.”

Flicking your eyes upward, you catch the sliver of tanned skin just above his waistline and another rash of heat crawls across your face. Your mouth is dry and you nod, lifting your face enough to give him an uncertain and forced smile.

“You alright?” Again, you nod. It’s all you can do right now until you have a sip of water or get some air or…something. He smirks and gives you a sidelong glance as he heads toward the door.

“Get some fresh air, it might make you feel better.”

Your face heats further knowing that he can tell what’s happening to you but he makes no other comment. The sound of him slipping on his jacket and boots fills the otherwise quiet apartment and he opens the door hoping he can find something to sate this appetite before he comes home and makes it your problem.

Judging by how you reacted to him tonight, though, you may not be all that upset if he does make it your problem but that’s a boundary to be tested another time.

“Fuck,” you whimper with your lip tucked between your teeth, the squelching of your fingers working in and out of your own sopping cunt filling your bedroom interspersed with whines and moans both from you and the little video on your phone.

The moment Grimm left, the heat became unbearable. You thought about taking your shorts off right on the couch and letting your fingers explore but held yourself back, instead taking a few minutes to walk around, have something to drink, to see if the need started to feel less intense.

After several minutes of intense pacing, you decided to take care of the issue yourself. Sure, it’s perverted and wrong to feel this turned on simply by taking a good hard look at your damn near otherworldly roommate but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and after this you’ll go back to keeping your distance.

Letting your fingers dip further inside of you, you gasp, mouth forming the first letter of his name. Immediately you freeze, shocked that you’d be so brazen despite the apartment being empty, and you shut your eyes tightly and silently work yourself toward orgasm with someone else’s pleas for more playing through the speaker on your phone.

A little whimper is all you manage, walls clenching around your digits. It isn’t the best you’ve ever had but it isn’t the worst either and it seems like enough for now to help your racing heartbeat calm down to something more manageable. Withdrawing your fingers with a deep breath, filling your lungs completely before emptying them in the same fashion by exhaling, you roll over onto your side, locking and tossing your phone on the bedside table.

What the fuck just happened? What the fuck has this entire evening been?

Chuckling at the absurdity of the past few hours, you reach around blindly for something to wipe your sticky hand on and settle on the t-shirt you discarded earlier. You know you need to get up but you feel pleasantly dazed instead, wiping your fingers and keeping your heavy eyes shut.

Free from embarrassment and far less wound up, you start to doze. The room is cool and the fall storm the news warned you about blows outside, the gentle sound of thunder lulling you into an unexpected but much needed rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock, knock, knock at your cracked bedroom door.

Eyes fluttering open just enough to see Grimmjow standing in the doorway, you shut and open them just to make sure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. It’s too dark to make out all of him but your blurry eyes scan his face, noticing his cheeks look almost hollow and the same deep dark circles beneath his eyes before he left tonight look darker and heavier.

“Grimm?” You ask and his response is a low growl, footsteps echoing through your quiet room as he pads toward the edge of your bed. “Are you okay?”

He stalks like a predator across the floor, making methodical and swift footfalls at the foot of your bed. You sit up, forgetting that you fell asleep completely nude, and his pacing stops when his eyes settle on your exposed breasts, your blanket bunched beneath them.

“I’m hungry,” he repeats just as he did earlier and you are too tired to figure out what he means. Giggling, you still haven’t noticed the way he eyes you hungrily, stiffened nipples grabbing his attention and keeping it.

“Couldn’t find anything good to eat while you were out?”

Your words are a jumble, something that would make sense to no one else but the man who has lived with you for 9 months who has figured out your morning sleepy voice and the way it all blurs together. He approaches the edge of your bed and sits down, watching you lay back down and settle against your comforter.

“Nothing sounded good,” he admits, flipping around and crawling on all fours up the bed. You’re so sweet and disarmed, rain pattering on the windowpane while your chest rises and falls and your eyes fight to stay shut. “Definitely not as good as what’s at home.”

You giggle again, eyes closed so you don’t notice the way the distance between the two of you closes further. His body is large but lithe and each movement sends him closer and closer to you until he catches the scent of something familiar.

Arousal.

He grins, feral and large, crawling the extra few inches to fully envelop you. Caging you in with his arms, your eyes open and see his face inches from yours, his bare chest almost pressing against your own.

“What are you doing?”

The question doesn’t seem alerted or concerned, just curious, and sleepy you reaches out to brush your fingers down the defined bicep holding him up. He chuckles and the sound makes the same heat you felt hours ago crawl up your neck and that’s the moment you realize something is different about him. Your hackles raise slightly and you sit up but he pushes you back down gently, hand splayed between your breasts.

“You said I could come to you for anything I needed, right?”

Despite the fact his hand feels so hot it could burn a hole straight through your body, you nod. You offered yourself months ago and he had yet to take advantage of your kindness. Leaning down, he watches your eyes fully open and presses his forehead to yours.

“I need you,” he mutters and your eyes meet his. A storm of blue, a flurry of something you have never seen before. He groans, almost looking pained and you gasp and hold onto his bicep. You can put two and two together, intelligent and alert enough to manage that much, and your hand slides over where his palm rests on your chest.

“Like this?” You ask, sliding his hand from the space between your breasts to cupping one of them and he nearly growls feeling your skin beneath his fingers. His thumb dances over your hardened nipple and you gasp, shivering beneath him.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up with somethin’ like me in your apartment,” he taunts, hand tracing down your body, mapping out your stomach and hips. You don’t think much of his words, lost to the sensation of being touched and the heat incinerating all rational thought inside of you, but one word catches your interest and you repeat it.

“Don’t you mean someone?”

Another chuckle shakes his body, his fingers caressing your thigh. He shakes his head where it’s pressed against yours and you can only watch when he licks his lips again just as he did earlier, the motion making your head spin.

“Nah, I’m a somethin’.”

With this, he wants to stop further questioning and he leans in to kiss you. By this point your mind should be catching up, alert and awake, but you aren’t convinced this isn’t some kind of strange horny dream you managed to conjure up so you kiss him back eagerly. The wet sound of lips smacking together in a frenzy fills the room, tongues sliding against one another and you even yelp when he nips at your lower lip, sucking the fullness of it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand that was tracing across your thighs now pushing them open. He paws at your still slick pussy, a thick finger slipping between your lips with little resistance. He revels in the feeling of your hot arousal, smearing it around your hole and rubbing little circles around your clit rather than on it that make you whimper.

“Grimm,” you pant and he only chuckles, a second digit joining the first in spreading your wetness. The pressure of the two fingers makes your hips buck, desperate for more.

“You've been having fun without me? Sure feels like it.”

Puzzled, you wonder what he means until you realize that he can insert a finger inside of you without any resistance, still worked open from your previous attempts to get yourself off. Walls clenching around the single digit, he groans into your ear. Your warmth feels luxurious, like silk. It’s more than he could have ever hoped for.

“I don’t mind,” he continues massaging your walls with his finger in the way only an expert can. You surely must be dreaming, none of your other partners have ever been this skilled with just their fingers, and you let yourself have this moment. What’s the worst that could happen? “Gettin’ this eager little pussy all ready for me is almost too nice of you.”

The words are filthy and they make you whine, hips bucking against his hand and where it rests over the top of your pelvis. You’re greedy, desperate for more. He could do just about anything to you right now and you know that you’d let him, drooling pussy leaking down his finger.

“You want more? Tired of feelin’ so empty?”

The slow rolls of your hips tell him all he needs to know and he uses his free hand to slip out of the sweatpants he wore into your bedroom, cock already hard and leaving a wet spot on the front of them. He rolls his eyes, tossing them aside as fluidly as he can while still keeping you full of his fingers.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you what we both need. Gonna fill this fuckin’ slutty pussy up, give you what you were almost beggin’ me for earlier.”

Ah yes, that. Even dream you can’t escape the embarrassment of his effect on you in the living room but you let the feeling go, instead focusing on how good it feels every time the pad of his finger brushes against the spot deepest inside of you that your own fingers could never reach.

“I want it,” you admit aloud. He smirks, finger withdrawing from you and making you whine. Your body feels as hot as it did hours ago and twice as wound up, clit throbbing from lack of attention. Blood pulses in your ears and you look up, witnessing the way he’s coating his shaft in his own precum with a gasp.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you up just like you need,” he coos, it’s so condescending but you hardly notice, too busy reveling in the way it feels when the fat head of his cock brushes through your folds. You don’t have to think about anything right now and you embrace the feeling, allowing him control.

What he doesn’t mention is that he needs it even more than you do, the maw inside of him demanding that he slip inside of you just like he is now.

He shudders, body tensing as he sheaths himself inside of you in one sharp movement, your breath catching in your throat when his balls slap against your ass. He’s so impossibly deep and despite how wet and opened up you are, your cunt stretches deliciously to accommodate his girth.

Again, this has to be a dream. Nothing in real life could ever feel this good and your toes curl, spread legs shifting to link at the ankles and wrap around his waist. You feel the firmness of his ass against your calves as he grinds into you, the gentleness ending as quickly as it started when he draws his hips back completely and thrusts back inside of you in one swift motion.

Your back arches off of the bed and he drinks in the sight of you, flashes of lightning outside allowing enough light to leak in to give him a good look at everything he has been vying to see. The knot inside of him slowly starts to untangle, his furious pace making your body bounce up the bed and he wonders why he waited this long to just give in.

Perhaps he’s losing his touch after years. He could’ve just snuck in and taken you any evening he wanted to, you wouldn’t be the first he’d done it to given his nearly unquenchable thirst, but he wanted you to want it too. To want him. To give yourself to him.

He chuckles like a wild man, leaning over your body and kissing you again while holding your hips in place to fuck you wildly.

“Takin’ me so well I might have to make you all mine,” he offers and you moan, clenching around him. So you liked that, he takes a note. You like being wanted, you like being taken. He knew it from the moment he saw you but he always loves it when a gut feeling is confirmed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Lettin’ an incubus use your pussy whenever he wants like a slut, right?”

Your eyes widen at the word. Incubus - you recall reading some asinine online story about a woman who swore she’d been fucked by one years ago but again, this is your weird dream about your abnormally hot roommate so you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I love it Grimm,” you whisper against his mouth, tongue too heavy to say much else. You’ve never felt like this before, body singing and silky walls clinging to his cock, and you’re ready to let yourself start the endless freefall of pleasure, eyes shutting tightly while he grunts above you.

“That’s right, I can feel it. You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”

Keeping your eyes screwed shut, you only nod and he lets you grind against his pelvis, clit brushing the dusting of blue hair at the base of his cock. It’s soft and silky and it’s just what you need, friction spurring you further into bliss as you cum with a shout, eyes shooting open.

This isn’t a dream, you realize suddenly, feeling Grimm’s cock drilling in and out of you at a breakneck pace. You are in your bed, thunder rolling outside, your phone on the bedside table, your body bouncing with every thrust. Your blue haired roommate hovers just above you, face twisted in pleasure while glancing down at where the two of you are joined, the slick sound of your pussy bringing you to reality.

This is really happening and honestly, you just..let it.

Reaching for Grimmjow, you card your fingers through his hair, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. Your fingers dance through the same short hair at the nape of his neck you were admiring hours earlier and he grunts, hips stilling. Using both hands to hold you in place, he fills your eager cunt full of his creamy release and you moan along with him.

Unceremoniously, he slumps forward and your chests touch. You giggle and kiss his forehead, looking down to see him looking far better than he did when he entered your room. His eyes don’t gleam dangerously anymore and the dark circles seem to have sorted themselves out, his face resting on the top of your breast.

“Hey Grimm?”

He looks up, surprised you’re alert enough to even let that much come out of your mouth.

“Everything you said…”

You don’t have to elaborate further, he’s aware of what you’re asking. Is it true? Did he admit what he really is, what the source of his appetite is?

“Yup.”

You don’t ask for further explanation and he doesn’t plan on giving it, content to let you run your fingers through his hair as the storm rages outside.

#grimmjow x reader #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader #kendall writes #thot-o-ween 2023 #monster mash 2023 #cw somnophilia #cw dubcon #cw dark content

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soraviie · 1 year

Text

tugging at his hair.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: angst, fluff, (themes of) smut, the holy trifecta ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: may or may not have seen Yoongi's insta pic...may or may not be feeling very normal about it

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: Atypically, your boyfriend was actually quite the whiny guy. Friday evening, time - 20:30. Thanks to some uncanny miracle, Namjoon was free this night and you’d been eager to soak up each other’s company. You sat largely silent, tucked into his side and openly staring, merely breathing an infrequent “yeah” and “no way” so he wouldn’t suspect you were not listening. Though you were not listening, catching the jumping cadence of his offended voice only with the tip of your ears. Far too engrossed in admiring the glowing shade of his skin and furiously working cheeks, you felt your mind slip. Never before have you thought that someone resting on the couch, passively aggressively minding on chips could make your heart bleed with love. But everything about Namjoon was soft and comfortable.

Unwittingly, you zeroed in on the tuft of his hair, poking out from underneath his hoodie. Without fully registering, you trailed your fingers down the hood, pulling it down and proceeded to tug at the back of his hair. Namjoon’s cheeks froze and with mouth full, he glanced at your side.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t know,” you shrugged. “You’re compelling like that.”

He returned back to the chips, completely unperturbed by the looks of it.

“You need to condition them more,” noting absent-mindedly, you played with whatever strand called your fancy. He rolled his eyes, pinching your bare thigh.

“Ow!

“You should be whispering sweet nothings in my ear,” he grumbled. “Confess how much you adore me, how hot I am.”

“Right,” you agreed, leaning into his expectant expression. “Your hair is also greasy as fuck. You should shower more.”

Violently, he hurled you into the decorative pillows scrunched from your combined weight, frowning at the easy laughter bubbling from your throat.

“I’m dating a bully,” he muttered bitterly, yet when you nosed at his neck, he craned it with no small amount of enthusiasm, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Sure are,” you purred. “Can I play with your greasy hair more? Pretty please?” His eyes lingered, firmly set on the playing movie, but you reckoned his neck did grow increasingly warmer.

“You’ll do it no matter what I say.”

“‘Cause you’ve never said “no” to me.”

At that, he heaved a tormented sigh.

“True. I’m but a lowly servant of love.”

You chuckled, pushing the black hair away from his forehead, messing it up. After a moment, with a barely concealed grin, he offered:

“Maybe now I can card through your leg hair.”

“Not funny,” you glared at him but Namjoon merely sniggered further on.

“A little funny.”

YOONGI: Your hand was practically aching as it laid listlessly by your side, partially sinking into the plush sofa of his studio. Fully drowned in work, he sat by the monitor, one hand coming to rest by his lips, the other - tinkering with the beat. And his hair - the hair - curled around him like a ring of halo. He drew a heavy sigh, reaching up to muss the chief objects of unease further. Yet you couldn’t just follow the delirious caprice. Yoongi was a guarded man, he liked his personal space and, despite how much you longed for it, you couldn’t just tug at his long hair. The relationship was still fresh and had to be trodden like a melting glacier - nice and easy. Crossing the itching arms over your stomach, you huffed in discontent.

“What?” he suddenly hummed, and you recoiled, assuming he was blissfully ignorant of your lingering stare.

“Nothing,” you replied, but his chair turned, a pair of disbelieving eyes falling your way.

“Just say it.”

“I want to tug at your hair,” the sentence practically rushed out as though your body was actively disregarding your own orders.

“Why don’t you just do it?”

You nibbled with your fingers suddenly feeling rather foolish.

“I want to be respectful,” you muttered underneath the nose, and a second later, you grasped what sound Yoongi was making. Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Resting his forehead against the desk, you saw his shoulders wag in muffled glee.

“You know,” he faced you, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Most couples grope each other the first chance they get.”

“Oh, shut it,” groaning, you sank into the sofa, only for all objections to wither into the ether once Yoongi lowered his head with a soft “come ‘ere”.

Cautiously, fearing the dream could shatter at the moment’s passing, you made your way to where he sat and with bated breath curled your palm around his fluffy curls, giving them a tender yet generous pull. Something akin to instant relief flooded your system, making the tips of your fingers tingle.

“Enjoying yourself?” Yoongi wondered, the curve of his smile suggesting he was barely holding himself back from teasing you into oblivion. You tugged at his hair once more, this time harder, and a prolonged moan left his lips, startling you both.

“Not as much as you, it seems,” you smirked down at him, enjoying how his eyes flitted away from you, self-conscious red dusting his cheeks.

“Just go for it next time,” he grumbled shyly, making no move to pull away. “Before you give yourself an IBS.”

JIN: He knew what you wanted by the frankly terrifying gleam hidden behind your eye. There was something entirely transfixed passing your expression as you stared at his head with steely determination. Ordinarily, Jin was content with your inexplicable obsession. Rather this than pulling at his cheeks, he reckoned, however, now…

“I won’t pry ________ off of me,” he whined, gazing into a mirror. Even to his completely normal and unscrambled brain, the permed curls resting atop his forehead seemed inviting. Fluffy. Moussed. Reasonably asking to be tugged.

“Oh, what a torture,” Namjoon dragged aridly, perched in the corner, not unlike a sullen owl. “You have someone to go home to who loves to play with your hair. Poor you.”

Graciously ignoring the seeping sarcasm, JIn breathed a tormented sigh.

“I know right.”

Namjoon merely rolled his eyes, returning back to his quiet moping.

When Jin crossed the threshold, he found you immersed in laundry, folding it and turning to greet him home like always.

“Hello!” you exclaimed cheerfully. “How was your da-”

Frightfully, he swallowed. Your expression grew distant and in spite of his jerky movements, your attention never wavered from the top of his head.

“May I eat at least?” he mewled weakly and you nodded just not before actually thinking about it.

After eating in peace, the last one he’d get for the evening, Jin slowly trodded to the bedroom, shoulders hung low in premature defeat. On the other side of the door, you were waiting for him already, blinking expectantly from underneath the covers. After a prolonged groan, he obliged your whims and settled his head on your lap. To get it over with.

Instantly, your fingers delved deep into his curls, tugging and twirling them to your heart’s strange desire.

“How cute,” you gushed. “So fluffy!”

Jin closed his eyes, trying to suppress the blossoming smile. Perhaps, he didn’t entirely hate being coddled in such a fashion but you didn’t need to know that. Unbeknownst, to him, you were more than aware as, in spite of his efforts to mask the pleased grimace, he failed to conceal the ears burning bright red.

HOSEOK: “Sorry,” he said, squirming and glancing to the side. “But no.”

Well, no was no and you just had to learn how to live with it. Every time your hand subconsciously reached to grasp a strand of his hair between your fingers, not really meaning anything good or bad, just doing so out of instinct, you reigned it back, forcing the treasonous hand to ultimately fall unused. It may or may not have taken you a whole year to timidly wonder aloud:

“Why don’t you like for me to touch your hair?”

Hoseok was practically asleep - his voice came crackling from the other side of the bed.

“It’s nothing personal,” he sighed, cracking one eye open, glancing at your demure expression through the dark. “It’s just…” then he fell silent. Only after a pregnant pause, one long enough for you to assume he’d succumbed to sleep, he casually brushed it off:

“It’s just a preference.”

He rolled on the side and the conversation ended there.

“Hey, ______________!” Jimin greeted you brightly the second you took a step inside the partially hidden makeup studio. Being nearly four in the morning, filming’s end, sparsely anyone was present and even those few people didn’t bother acknowledging you through the haze of insomnia.

“What are you doing here?”

He smirked, all cheek as always.

“Could ask the same for you. It’s really late.”

You shrugged, enjoying the distraction of easy chatter.

“Couldn’t sleep. Supposed Hoseok would appreciate some company home.”

“Ah, dear ______________,” Jimin snaked a hand around your shoulder. “Geniuses think alike.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, scurrying away from his treacherous hold. “Don’t try to seduce me into being your fangirl. It won’t happen.”

What was with Jimin and his tenacious will to make himself your bias you did not know and you never quite asked either, although it provided plenty of icebreakers across the slew of accidental meetings.

“Shame,” he drawled. “Maybe better though. Hoseok would kill me.”

To properly lament the wretched situation, Jimin sighed and reached to rake a hand through his hair. Hair that had been growing out and now sat shining with silver highlights. Unwittingly, your hand jolted by the side of your thigh.

“You want to touch?” he offered, sporting a grin too devious for your peace of mind. You probably shouldn’t but what’s the big deal…It’s just hair…

Doors to the room sprang open with a great bang and you crossed gazes with Hoseok, instantly swallowing in guilt. With expression previously lax, now growing cloudy, he flitted between you and Jimin.

“What’s going on?” with narrowed glare, he questioned, voice falling in a carefully curated tone which was, of course, far more menacing.

“Just waiting for you superstar,” Jimin laughed thinly only to wither when placed underneath Hoseok’s chilling frown. “On second thought, I’ll get home on my lonesome. Goodbye!”

And without giving anyone the time to even blink, Jimin had already disappeared into thin air. No, he was definitely not winning any favours from you.

The drive back home was spent in fraught silence, with Hoseok’s hands gripping the wheel so tight, every now and then it heaved a maltreated scream. Any minute soon the wrath bubbling underneath his skin would surge like pressurised water out of a geyser. However, Hoseok wasn’t a jealous person, even less when it came to the members. Both were trusted explicitly. Was it stress perhaps?

Finally, he crumbled.

“What is it with you and hair?” he sneered sharply. Straight away you bristled at the unspoken accusation.

“Nothing. Better yet what’s with you? I can’t even talk to Jimin now?”

“You went to him with the one thing, I couldn’t give you,” he countered as the car surged with tension.

“I did not go to him!” you squalled in frustration. “Are you even hearing yourself?!”

“It’s our thing!”

“No, it’s mine! You hate -!”

“It’s because of my ex, okay?!”

An awkward silence settled in the space between you. Red light pooled through the windshield.

“She liked to play with my hair,” he explained, anger abating as it was quickly seized by contrite embarrassment. “And I was afraid that if you’d do it, I would unwillingly think of her. You deserve better than that.”

You bit your lip to stop the growing smile, simply breathing: “I see.” Then -

“However, how would I know what you’re thinking?”

He stared ahead, lips thinning identical to yours.

“Probably wouldn’t,” he sighed. “But I’d feel at blame.”

You hummed and gazed outside the window, still battling the blossoming smile, though it was nothing compared to the warmth churning within your chest. A hand reached for yours and Hoseok guided your fingers towards his hair. It was finer than you realized but nice. It was Hoseok after all.

“Are you thinking of her?” you gently pondered.

“Not at all,” he whispered in a breathy voice, eyes briefly falling shut. “You’re the only one for me.”

JIMIN: Instead of happiness, his lips pursed into a thin line, gaze becoming evasive.

“Thank you, but I’m too tired.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I…I’m not in the mood for sex either.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed forlornly, literally feeling him slip through the cracks of your fingers. “Just…get in, and I’ll take care of you,” in a smaller voice, you added. “Like you do of me.”

Standing in the cracked gap of the bathroom door, he contemplated for a second, before breathing a heavy exhale, one expressing the entire weight of the world. Water sloshed as he got in the bath you drew up, and the window soon was covered by a thick layer of condensation, the deep black night growing matted behind it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tossed over the bare shoulder, but you brushed his concerns away.

“I want to.”

“If it's because what I said -”

“It’s not.”

“- then I was out of line.”

“You were not.”

“I take it back.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But -”

Every time he spoke, his head turned to steal a glimpse of you, perhaps entirely on instinct, the water doused you with a heavy wave, drenching the floor and dumping the rose petals out with it. You grasped his head between your palms, keeping him still at least long enough to apologize sans the pain of his scrutinising gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you confessed, letting your forehead rest on the back of his neck. “I won’t ever let you feel like taken for granted.”

He sat unmoving for a long time and you gasped shakily, trying to swallow the budding tears. Well, obviously you would self-sabotage the only good thing in your life. Only naturally at this point in life...

…but this was Jimin and it didn’t matter whether you tucked yourself away in a locked room or an ocean away, he’d extend you the same kindness you were so eager to return. Pulling your arms around his neck, he smiled, laying a tender kiss upon your trembling knuckles.

“Nothing to forgive,” he muttered. “We were never in the wrong.”

You choked back a sob. Nonetheless, the night was still about him.

“Right,” you sobered up, pushing him lower in the water. “Just try to relax.”

“Are you planning to kill me?” he teased tiredly. “Besides, it’s a bit difficult given that my cock is just…out here,” he gestured vaguely at his lower part and you chuckled thinly.

“Nothing new to me. This is just…romantic.”

“Well, you certainly know the befitting aesthetic,” pointedly, he peered across the dozens of scent-free candles littered over every available surface of the bathroom and the pink petals now displayed haphazardly between the bath and the grey mat beside it.

Pressing a handful of shampoo in his hair, you hissed with mock annoyance: “oh, zip it.”

You kept working in now pleasant silence. Peace was in the house, at least it was until…

His groan was near explicit and watching Jimin throw his head back, nuzzling deeper into your hands, you knew you’d never forget the sight. It didn’t even seem like he’d registered it and soon enough the curiosity overwhelmed you. You rinsed his hair and then scratched lightly across the scalp. Another moan, even longer and somehow so filthy you could swear your entire body flushed.

“So…” he chuckled, strangely nervous. “Did I just give you a quick way to control my entire nervous system?”

You laid a kiss on his nape and the water rippled from his shudder.

“Sure did.”

The moons now adorning his spine were entirely at fault here or so you insisted, tugging his styled hair between your fingers, occasionally scratching just to see the struggle to keep his eyes open.

“The stylist is going to kill you,” he warned breathily but Jimin was never more grateful for losing his composure, that day in the bath than he was at this moment. Like grime washed away by a wet towel, your presence eased his worry into the void, while your fingers twirling his hair kept him there. How strange that such a small thing could do so much but then again if it did not, then would Jimin have bought a ring that now laid in his jacket pocket, heavy and searing like the infinite weight of Cosmos.

“Worth it,” you hummed. He couldn’t agree more.

TAEHYUNG: Frankly, the question of your enjoyment never made it into the equation as before you could even wonder of the idea, Taehyung had shamelessly thrust his head into your lap.

“I don’t wanna,” you whined by now not needing a verbal order to know what he craved.

“Too bad,” retorting without so much as an ounce of empathy, he grasped your fingers, bringing them down upon his head. Five minutes later he was snoring on your legs and no amount of force could rouse him, divine or otherwise. It was a language of his, one he talked exclusively with you.

Trees breezed past the rolling car and sitting still, you watched them blur into wide, rushing lines. At first innocent, his palm intertwined with yours, gaze locked on the road ahead. You hummed. He liked to hold hands, and so did you, only for yours to suddenly be submerged within his dark curls.

“Seriously?!” you yelped, and he chuckled with no small amount of glee.

The door smacked behind, or it would have if Taehyung had not been hot on your heels the entire way home.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung mumbled, by now so many times it didn’t remotely even sound like a proper sentence.

“Not accepted,” you sneered, yanking off the jacket, maybe tearing a button or two in the process. “You embarrassed me! And for what?! Some childish caveman display of jealousy?”

The rest of the insult is expressed through a hardened scowl. As you jostled, enraged and unthinking, to peel off the stifling layers, Taehyung enclosed you into a hug, towering above you, his head lowered into the crook of your neck.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” pitifully he muttered, a warm breath ghosting over your collarbone. “Take it out on me but promise you won’t be mad afterwards.”

Without even quite thinking, you wrenched out of his grasp and seized his hair, yanking it harshly towards you. At the back of your mind, panic took root - were you hurting him? Was this not wrong? But Taehyung grew positively limp, pliant, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his widened eyes tracked your every movement.

“I’m really angry,” you whispered with a frown.

“I’m sorry,” uselessly, he whimpered when you grasped at his locks. “It’s just…”

All you have to do is tug again for a high-pitched squeal to rip from the depths of his chest. “Don’t want to lose you.”

Something in the near incoherent way he breathed it, made your heart soften.

“Why are you crying?” you asked quietly, wiping the stray tear off his cheek.

Early morning hued the sky pink as you lay beside each other, relishing in the muted stillness of the room.

“Don’t know,” Taehyung sniffled. “Felt like it.”

You reached to brush his hair and soon enough he was slumbering again - all tears faded into the dawning cold.

JUNGKOOK: Frankly, you didn’t grasp why in situations such as these the other partner always offered sex. You were far more willing to simply lug this nightstand at Jungkook’s head. Without knocking you cracked open the doors to his gaming room, discerning the explosive sounds of combat swirling around the room.

“Jungkook, you promised!” you complained and he held out a hand, gaze locked on the game.

“I’ll be there soon, babe,” he lied in between strangled curses. “Just one more round.”

He’d muttered that already two fruitless hours ago.

“No, now!” you threatened, coming to stand by his chair, watching the battle unfold, thoroughly unimpressed by it. He offered some incoherent noise that lacked any meaning, and in a flash of swirling annoyance, you yanked at his hair, forcing his eyes to land upside down upon your face.

“Now.”

Most people would hastily become upset at such a gesture but the little masochist grinned from cheek to cheek, expression gaining a certain twinkle. You groaned at his satisfaction. Couldn’t even playfully torment him. The brat enjoyed it.

“Okay, folks,” he spoke into the headset, with your hand still firmly latched in his shaggy hair. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to go.”

Someone hollered in the chat but it went entirely unheard. Pushing the chair away from the desk, he reached to pull your other arm to rest on top of his thundering heart.

“What’s up, babe?”

For someone who was jerked by the roots of his hair, Jungkook appeared entirely too delighted.

“I need you -”

“Oh, you need me?”

“To hammer in the nails to the nightstand. Brat,” saying so, your grip on his hair grew harsher. All that came of it was Jungkook’s raspy laughter, eyes briefly fluttering shut and lips carving a sharp line in his dimpled cheeks.

“Couldn’t you just do it yourself?”

“Well if injury is to happen, I’d prefer it is you, not me.”

“Liar,” he smirked. “You cried when I tripped.”

Traitorous heat snuck its way onto your cheeks.

“I thought your leg broke,” you muttered before nudging him outside. “Now get to working.”

“Yes, my liege,” he curtsied, proceeding then to wring his tattooed hands around your waist, making you hobble like some sort of overtly humped creature. His nose quickly delved into its reserved spot in the crook of your neck.

“Always smell so good,” hazily, Jungkook muttered and you shook your head at his antics.

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the one who's constantly trying to dom me by hair pulling.”

“It’s not a dom thing!”

“Sure, baby,” he rasped, planting a wet kiss against your neck. “Whatever you say. Just remember you now owe me three hair pulls in return.”

572 notes · View notes

bunnliix · 3 months

Text

Can't Stay Away from You - Chapter Two

The outline for this chapter, was over 2000 words, so as you can see, I had ideas lol. We get a bit more attention on the boys this chapter, but we do see what's up with y/n as well! Honestly, this series seems to be longer chapters, so the updates will be slower for this story. But either way, I hope this is an enjoyable chapter two!

masterlist

word count: 5.7k

warnings: Angst, fluff eventually, protective members, scenting, scent highs, cute moments because yes we need it, multiple distressed and panicked people, crying, tears, I think that's it?

“Why did you ever think it was a good idea to give her, a random Stay, your number? What in the world compelled you to think it was a good idea?! She could have been a sasaeng for all we know, and you just gave her your number all willy nilly?!” Minho just about exploded on the pack alpha, criticizing his frankly stupid decision.

“You know very well that we’re all pulled to her for some reason. Hell, my alpha wanted to grab her, pull her into my arms, and scent her, right in front of every fan in that room. And I’m pretty fucking sure that everyone else felt something similar to that. So don’t you criticize me on this Minho. I thought about it before I gave her my number. I took a chance, wanting to get to know that girl who captivated even you. Don’t think I didn’t see you watching her after your turn, I saw it all.” Chan went after Minho, feeling enraged after hearing the man’s words.

By the end of his words, Chan was chest to chest with Minho, almost ready to fight with him. Minho is ready to fight his pack alpha, wanting to get it into his thick head how much he could have risked their pack’s safety over this.

“Do you realize how badly this could have gone?! We’re lucky that she hasn’t yet done something. She could post your number out into the world for all we know. And yet you’re standing here, telling me it’s worth it because she interests you? I thought my pack leader, and the leader of my group, was more responsible than that.” Minho said, his words cutting like knives.

A noise at the door stopped their conversation, Minho moving to open the door, their two omegas falling onto the floor. The two of them looked sheepishly up at their alphas, knowing they were caught in the worst way. The two alphas weren’t impressed, as the omegas knew better than to eavesdrop, and they raised an eyebrow at the two until the apologies came rolling in.

“And you two were listening in, why?” Chan questioned them, as they looked down at the floor.

“Jagiya dragged you in here, and we were curious why he needed to talk to you so urgently.” Han answered Chan, before looking up at him. “Do you really have y/n’s number??” He hurried to ask, even though it meant Minho gave him a look for asking at all.

“Yah! That’s what you gained from listening in? That Christopher has the girl’s number?” Minho scolded the younger man.

“Well, yeah. It means we can talk with her!” Jisung says, completely ignoring Minho’s growing glare.

“I am surrounded by fucking idiots I swear.” Minho comments, voice and face giving away just how done he was with the alpha and omega pair.

Felix wisely stayed quiet, hoping that he’d be forgotten about. Unfortunately, that was not going to happen, as both alphas turned to him.

“How much did you hear?” Chan asked.

“I heard everything.” Felix answered, hoping that the less he gave away, the better off he’d be. Once again, he was wrong.

“Where do you stand on this, then?” Minho queried.

“I can’t say that I’m not excited that Chan has y/n’s number, but also I can understand your concerns, Minho-hyung.” Felix explains, feeling torn between both sides.

Chan smirked triumphantly, as Minho sighed. Why are his packmates like this? His own alpha told him that he’s the same way, that he’s being a hypocrite. He shut out his wolf, focusing back on the present situation.

Since he didn’t get scolded for his words, Felix decided to be a bit cheeky. He teased Minho about his reaction to the girl, before getting stuck in a headlock by the alpha.

“I’m not wrong!” He shouted out. Minho only growls in response.

This triggers Han to laugh, before running out of the room, calling out that the great alpha Minho was interested in y/n too, no matter what he said to oppose that thought. Said alpha let Felix go and ran after the other omega, intent on murdering him.

“You little shit, get back here!” He screamed out at the rapper, chasing after him.

“I don’t think so!” Han called back, a cheeky smile plastered on his face. The other observed this chase and laughed at the two of them. This was prime entertainment, after all. Felix and Chan made their way out to the living room, where the majority of the pack had settled, watching the alpha omega pair race around the house in a very scooby doo sort of fashion.

Eventually Jisung was cornered by the older alpha, and was swiftly pushed up against a wall. Minho attacked the omega’s scent gland, Jisung quickly went into a scent high, going limp in the alpha’s arms. Minho smirked victoriously, bringing the now quiet omega over to sit down on the couch, keeping him in his lap. Seungmin emerged from his room, the last member to join them all in the living room.

“Well, I guess we might as well have the pack meeting now.” Chan piped up, all attention turning to him.

“What about?” Seungmin asked.

“About y/n.” Chan quickly replied, and that got everyone’s attention. The boys’ attention was solely focused on their pack alpha, well besides Jisung whose head was resting on Minho’s shoulder, the omega still a melted puddle.

The boys started to get louder, each discussing about y/n, before Chan shushed them all.

“During the fanmeet, I gave y/n my number when signing her album. She messaged me while we were on the way back here. I confirmed it’s actually her, and I know that all of us were interested in her, I could tell by how none of you could shut up about her on the drive home.” He told them, and they all started clamoring for her number.

“Yah! Shut up!” Minho interjected, and they all quickly settled as none of them wanted to earn the man’s ire.

Chan continued once the noise level had dropped, “My alpha also is attracted to her, at the fansign, it wanted me to pull her into my arms and scent her, everyone else be damned. I know Minho’s alpha was behaving similarly.”

Minho sighed as all attention was directed to him. “My alpha didn’t want to let her go. And wanted to take her and keep her in our nest. And he wouldn’t shut up about how pretty Felix and her would look together in our nest.” He spoke.

This admission from the dancer caused a round of teasing by the rest of the pack. They teased him and his alpha for wanting to essentially kidnap a fan because she was so pretty. Felix sat there blushing, the thought of y/n and him in a nest together painted a pretty picture in his mind, leaving him desiring for that to happen.

Fairly quickly afterwards, the remainder of the boys also speak up about their feelings, except for Han, but Felix shares the other omega’s feelings in his stead. They all found that if their wolves hadn’t outright talked about her, that they at least felt drawn or pulled to her.

Changbin quickly brought the conversation back around to Chan having her number, which then brought back the clamoring by the others, bar Minho and Han, for their leader to pass on her number to them. Chan sternly told them that he would have to get her permission first before he would even think of handing out her number, which then spurs on calls for him to text her right then and there to ask, as well as a couple of pouts at Chan not immediately giving her number.

The leader sighed, before pulling his phone out and pulling up their texts.

‘Hey there. So the others found out that I have your number, and they want it as well. I won’t pass it on to them unless I have your express permission to do so.’ He texted y/n.

It took a minute before she responded, and by the time she did, the boys had crowded around him and his phone.

‘That’s fine! You can give it to them, I don’t mind.’ She replied to him.

“Oh! Ask her if we can have a group chat too!!” Hyunjin shouted out, making Changbin and Felix cover their ears.

‘And I have been asked to ask you if you’re okay with a group chat with the whole group.’ He passed on the question to her.

‘That’s okay with me as well. I assume it was Felix who wanted it? Or Han?’ She asked him.

‘Hyunjin, actually.’ He texted.

‘Ahhh, that would have been my third guess.’ She replied, and he laughed.

Hyunjin pouted, as did Felix, at being so predictable.

Chan quickly created a group chat, adding y/n to it last. As he predicted, the chat quickly fell into chaos. The boys all wanted her attention, and he had to step in to tell them to cool it, both by text and verbally. There were more pouts this time, the boys unhappy about being scolded.

Since the industry has a habit of not disclosing the idol’s designations to fans since that incident at the fansign, and the pack of boys not knowing what y/n’s designation is, that’s the first thing after introductions to be discussed. Y/n is the first to spill, telling them that she is an omega, to which Felix chimed in as well. Though he already knew that, and was trying to cover up for the growing pool of guilt in his stomach at hiding it. Chan tells her that Han is the other omega of their group. Changbin, Hyunjin and Sungmin all tell her that they’re the betas, Seungmin noting afterwards that he’s the pack beta. This left Jeongin, Minho and Chan as the alphas, with Chan specifying that he’s the pack alpha.

Y/n was thankful to know what each of the boys was, and now knows why she probably felt the most at ease with Chan, Han and Felix, with two of them being fellow omegas and one being a pack alpha. They start to discuss other topics, though the maknaes try to persuade her to reveal who her bias was, but she kept her mouth shut on that matter. They move on to getting to know her, 20 questions style but really, it was just them asking her questions instead of her asking them any questions.

During all of this, Chan notes that Felix is unusually quiet, which is odd because of how excited he was only five minutes prior. He’s usually the big texting person in the group, and yet he’s barely texting at all, just staring down at his phone.

Felix is feeling the guilt settle in his chest, weighing him down almost. He can’t push himself to be part of the conversation, only staring down at his phone, slowly drifting away from reality. He can’t help but feel guilty, he ran away from her, and his omega had been berating him for his actions since then. He only jolted back into reality when Chan reached out to shake him, asking if he was okay. The freckled Aussie fakes a smile and tells his alpha that he’s fine. He knew he had to come clean, there was no other way around it. It wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark about this, but it also wouldn’t be fair to drop this over text.

Before he can regret it, he texted her in the group chat, ‘Are you free to call? There’s something you need to know.’

This set the pack into pandemonium, thinking that Felix was going to tell her about their feelings. Chan and Minho reach out for his phone, but the omega moves faster, moving out of everyone’s reach.

A ding was heard as she replied, ‘I’m free right now, Felix. What’s up?’

Deciding to just call her instantly, to avoid himself backing out, and to keep the others away from him.

“Hey Felix, what’s up? What did you wanna talk about?” She asked him as soon as she picked up.

“I knew you were an omega.” He blurted out.

“How? You shouldn’t have been able to tell at the fansign, not with my scent covered.” She replied, confused at how he knew.

“I met you before the fansign, actually.” He admitted to her, and the others.

“I think I would have known if we met.” She started, before going silent.

“Y/n?” Felix tentatively called out to the omega over the phone.

“No, we couldn’t have. That was you?” He hears her say, both to him and to herself.

“It was me. I’m sorry for what I did.” He told her.

“Felix-” She started, but he interrupted her.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you, and I’m so sorry that I ran away. My omega’s been berating me for it since I ran. I figured I’d never run into you again, but then you turned up at the fansign and when you didn’t recognize me, I thought that I just had to get through it and it would all be okay.” He apologized, and explained to the best of his ability.

His heart dropped as he heard a tiny gasp before a sob was heard from her side of the call. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, it was the last thing he had meant to happen. The others hear the sob and it’s enough to shock Han out of his scent high, his instincts on alert almost immediately.

“I didn’t say anything at the fansign because I didn’t think it was a good place to do so, nevermind the backlash that either of us may have faced. I had such a good time talking to you I swear. My omega’s honestly been yearning for you since yesterday, and I’m sorry I was cowardly and ran away. I was just so overwhelmed by everything I was feeling and my omega’s thoughts and urges and I couldn’t think of anything else to do but to run. I’m sorry y/n, for the hurt I caused you. I only hope you can forgive me.” He further explained, hoping that she would accept his apology, but know full well that she didn’t have to. Tears running out of his eyes by the end of his little speech.

The rest of the pack could only watch on, concerned about both omega’s but unsure of whether to intervene at all.

“Thank you for telling me, Felix. And thank you for apologizing. In the vein of being honest, after you ran, I went back to the hotel yesterday, because I had been overcome with a feeling of loneliness, and sadness. I made up a nest and after getting in it, I cried myself to sleep almost. My omega cried out for you, she was the most hurt by your actions.” Y/n admitted to not only Felix, but the rest of the boys unknowingly.

Felix started sobbing, as did y/n. Both omega’s feeling great amounts of sadness, and each feeding off of the other’s emotions. Chan decided it was time to step in, pulling Felix in close and hugging the younger man, taking the phone from his hand and handing it off to Minho as the alpha stepped closer, Han by his side. The other omega wrapped his arms around Felix, providing further comfort.

“Y/n? This is Minho. Can I ask for more details?” The elder alpha asked the girl.

She explained from the beginning, going over the two omega’s first encounter, and ending it with what she had said before, about falling asleep in her nest due to her emotions overtaking her. She told him that she had no idea it was Felix, that for all she knew, it was just a random stranger who smelled amazing, but had just run out of the blue.

As she continued to talk to Minho, her sentences eventually devolved into sobs and cries instead, fearing that she hurt Felix. Her sobs continued, worrying Minho that she’d start to hyperventilate and pass out because of it. He started to try and calm her over the phone, looking over to see that most of the group had crowded around Felix, trying to calm the omega down, though it wasn’t working.

Y/n could barely hear Minho’s voice, her sobs having grown louder as she tugged at her shirt, whining and crying that she had made Felix upset. She hadn’t wanted to do that, and she wished she could take back what she said. She curled in on herself, her omega feeling as sad as she was, neither of them wanted this to happen. Her scent soured, smelling bitter now, instead of sweet like it normally did.

Minho called out to the omega, “Y/n? Can you hear me?”

He only received a whine in reply, but it was better than nothing.

“Omega, I need you to verbally answer me.” He told her, not wishing to call her that, but knowing it will help bring her back at least slightly.

“Can hear ya.” He heard her mumble.

“Good omega.” He praised her. “Thank you for answering me.”

He doesn’t think she’s going to fully calm down soon, and he’s worried about her dropping, so decided that he needed to go see her. He asked her where her hotel was, receiving the name of a hotel, which he was able to discover wasn’t far from their dorm. He told her to stay calm for him and to keep breathing.

He caught Chan’s attention, the pack alpha motioning for him to come closer.

“I’m going to see y/n, she’s in as much distress as he is right now. I’m worried she’ll pass out.” He says quietly, trying not to let the others hear, though his effort is for naught.

Felix and Hyunjin whined at what they overheard, the omega of the two freaking out further that the other omega was in distress because of him, enough so that she might pass out. Felix himself started to hyperventilate, worrying about y/n getting hurt while she’s all alone.

“Alpha, protect omega?” He managed to get out, directing it at Minho.

“We’re gonna protect you baby, don’t worry.” Chan reassured him.

“Not ‘mega, pretty ‘mega.” Tears welled up in Felix’s eyes as they weren’t understanding him.

“I’m going to go help pretty ‘mega, okay kitten?” Minho said, running his hands through Felix’s hair, pushing his bangs back as he did so.

Felix nodded, before devolving into further worry, his omega taking over at that point. Tears were falling at a fast pace down the blue haired omega’s cheeks and his distressed scent almost made the others choke. Finally, to calm him down and having no other option, Chan scruffed the younger Aussie, causing him to go limp in the leader’s arms. Han grabs Seungmin, and the two start scenting their omega, trying to bring back that happy citrusy scent that they know and love.

Chan motions for Minho to go see y/n, or they’ll be dealing with a distressed omega all night.

“Go on, go see her. Take Hyunjin with you.” Chan ordered the two of them.

They quickly threw their shoes back on, taking the minimum they needed to get out the door. Hyunjin pulled his phone out, getting directions to her hotel. They hurried down the streets to her hotel, somewhat relieved that they made it there in under 20 minutes.

They rushed into the hotel lobby, y/n having given her room number prior to them leaving the dorm thankfully. They pushed the button for her room, but of course they weren’t alone in the elevator, and it seemed that people had to stop and get out on every single floor. Finally they arrived on her floor, running down the hall to find her room, Hyunjin finding it first.

Minho knocked on the door gently, but loud enough that y/n could hear it. They heard noise from inside the room, before the door slowly opened. Y/n looked a mess, tear-stained cheeks and swollen red eyes from crying. She was still having trouble regulating her breathing, her breath hitching and shaking as she looked up at them.

“Hi.” She said, barely louder than a whisper.

Minho, on pure instinct, picked her up and carried her in his arms, one hand pushing her head into his neck and scent gland, letting her scent him if she wanted to. He brought her to her nest in the bed, laying her in it as he stayed outside of it. He looked at her for permission to enter her nest, and she quickly granted it. He crawled into bed almost instantaneously, pulling the omega into his lap and wrapping his arms around her. He rocked her back and forth, letting her scent him as much as she needed. Minho was just there to comfort her without judgment, as she cried into his shoulder. He softly cooed and whispered comforting words to her, telling her that Felix was fine, that the others were with him and that he would be fine, just as she would be fine.

Hyunjin was waiting outside the nest, knowing better than to climb inside without the omega’s permission. At that point, y/n had calmed down quite a bit, and had taken to scenting Minho, which Hyunjin knew the alpha would never let strangers do. Yet here he was, allowing her to do what she needed for comfort. It really did prove that connection they all felt, that the older alpha willingly left Felix in distress to come and see y/n, and even was acting on instinct to calm an omega he had only met briefly hours earlier.

Minho caught y/n’s attention, pointing to the beta who was waiting. She immediately made grabby hands for the tall dancer, who smiled as he climbed into the nest.

“Hello little omega.” He cooed in greeting, getting a smile and a blush in response.

“Hiii beta.” She said, before hiding her face in Minho’s shoulder, to which the two men chuckled.

Hyunjin moved close to her, rubbing her back softly. Her scent was still soured, which worried the two of them. It meant that she still hadn’t fully come back from her distress, or was hiding how bad it was. Except for the fact that scents never lied, so the two of them changed positions, laying down in the nest on their sides facing each other, with y/n in the middle of them. They took turns scenting her and trying to get her scent to brighten up.

“It’s okay, omega. Everyone’s okay, no one’s upset or mad, you’ve done nothing wrong. Your feelings are valid, and we can talk everything out with Felix later, okay? But we need you to feel better first. We can’t have a sad omega, hmm?” Minho continued to reassure her, telling her that Felix would be distressed to see her like this.

Sometime after they arrived, y/n’s scent finally started to smell better, sweeter. Hyunjin’s beta and Minho’s alpha can’t get enough of her scent, the sweet honey and vanilla was so delicious. The boys felt the same way, the two of them chuffing in happiness. This was all strangely intimate for three people who had only met hours earlier, but there was a sense of rightness as they all laid together. It felt like this is what they should be doing, like they were just laying with another one of their packmates, not an omega they had met that day.

Y/n’s omega was purring in happiness at being in between the alpha and beta. Her omega was loving this, even if it only happened because of a bad situation. The happier she gets, the more delectable her scent gets, and soon enough, the boys can’t help themselves. The two of them descend on her scent glands, attacking them in order to get more of that pretty scent to come out and their wolves want to smell like her, want her pretty omega scent all over them, as a claim of sorts. This attack almost causes y/n to go into a scent high, thankfully for her, they get interrupted before that happens.

Minho picked up her phone to see Chan calling her. He answered, “Hello Channie alpha.”

“Hello Minho. How is y/n doing? Is she feeling better? I tried to get a hold of both of you, but neither you nor Hyunjin answered.” Chan questioned him, concerned.

“We’ve taken good care of her, she’s feeling better now.” Minho replied.

“Y/n’s okay? She’s really okay?” Felix’s voice comes through the phone.

Y/n took this as her time to speak up. “I’m okay, Felix. I promise. Are you okay too, sunshine?” She turned the questions back on him.

“I’m okay, I promise!” He told her, wanting her to not be concerned about him.

The two omegas started chatting on other topics, but before long, Chan interrupted them and told them to save the conversation for another time. They both pouted, the respective boys on either side chuckling at their expressions.

“Minho, Hyunjin, what are your plans now? Are you returning to the dorm now?” He broached the topic of what they would do, now that y/n’s been calmed down.

Hyunjin speaks up first, “Can we bring her back with us? Don’t want to leave her here alone.” Minho hummed in agreement.

Their wolves were insistent on not leaving her here by herself. What if she got distressed again, and they weren’t here to soothe her? That couldn’t be allowed.

“We want her to come back with us. Omega shouldn’t be left alone.” Minho affirmed Hyunjin’s words.

The use of omega tipped off Chan that Minho was not fully in control at the moment. That made him concerned, and their insistence really shocked the others, not expecting them to want to bring her back.

Well, everyone except for Han, he wasn’t shocked that they were behaving like this. Han knew that there was something about her that pulled them in, and he was fully on board with her coming to their dorm. If Minho’s alpha was that protective over her, he knew that she was safe to be around. The man’s alpha is protective over his pack, and he’d never let anyone in that he deemed a threat. Plus, his alpha was right, when he said she’d look cute in their nest. He wanted that too, wanted her and Felix in the nest. She’d be their little omega, that they’d keep safe, and by Felix’s concern, he thought the same.

“I want her here. Minho-jagi, bring her please.” The quokka-cheeked man spoke up, to everyone’s surprise. Thankfully, no one protested it, and Chan gave in, saying she could come and stay the night, to a round of cheers.

Chan sighed, before calling out to y/n, asking her, “Y/n, do you want to come here and stay with us for the night? You can say no, and I will come and get the boys. But you are welcome here if you want that.”

Y/n nodded, forgetting that Chan couldn’t see her nod.

Minho caught her attention, “Omega, we need a verbal answer.”

She blushes in embarrassment, “I’d like that.”

Honestly, she’s still in shock about it all, from getting Chan’s number to now laying here in between two-thirds of Danceracha, and she’s about to go back with them to their dorm. What is this life she’s living right now?

Her omega was thinking about getting to smell Felix’s sweet citrusy smell again. Plus the floral scents coming from Hyunjin, and what she could only think of as a clean laundry scent from Minho. Her omega is increasingly pleased with her situation, knowing that she wanted these boys as her pack, even if y/n hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

After confirming that they’d be heading back to the dorm soon with y/n in tow, Chan hung up. Hyunjin jumped into action, finding a bag of hers, and then heading into her bathroom to collect anything from there that she might need for the night. He found a bag for her hygiene and makeup items in the bathroom, and filled that up, before placing it in the large bag he found. He then moved out back into the main room, looking up at her and asking what he needed to pack for her.

Minho sat the two of them up as she directed him on what to pack, and Hyunjin dutifully followed her orders. Once he had everything, he brought the bag over for her to double check, looking happy once she approved, glad to be of service to the omega. Minho looked at him, pride in his eyes as he looked at the beta, a silent ‘good job’ mouthed to the younger dancer.

Leaving the bag on the bed, he went to find her shoes, as Minho moved them closer to the edge of the nest and bed. Hyunjin came back with her sneakers, and knelt down in front of her. He carefully put her shoes on her feet, the omega looking down at him with slight wonder in her eyes at how sweet the two of them were being. Once he had finished lacing up her shoes, he stood up and stepped back, grabbing her overnight bag in the process.

Minho moved her off his lap, before he slid off of the bed, immediately turning around to reach his hands out for her. She took them, and he helped her slide off the bed as well, landing softly on the ground, as if she was farther off the ground than the couple inches between her feet and the bed. Hyunjin hurried back over to the door, grabbing her coat off the hanger, and helping her into it. The two idols donned masks, and handed her one as well that they nicked on their way out as an extra for themselves. She put it on to conceal her face. They left the hotel room, but not before making sure y/n had the keys to her room.

They quickly rode back down the elevator and left the hotel, starting their journey back home. They two men knew where they were going, and each of them holding her hand, they led her down the streets until they approached the building their dorm was in. Heading up the lift to their floor, the doors opened and they hurried to their apartment. They arrived at the boys’ dorm, but before they could open the door, it opened for them, an excited Han on the other side.

“You’re here! Come in come in!” He nearly shouted, causing the others to come rushing to the entryway as well, Chan and Felix pushing their way to the front. The two Aussie’s kept everyone back so that the three of them could enter the apartment. The boys took off their shoes, as y/n followed them in doing so.

Once everyone’s shoes were off, Minho grabbed y/n’s hand and pulled her with him to the living room. He sat down on one of the couches, pulling her down next to him. Felix claimed the spot on her other side, as Han pouted, before he sat down in front of her. That didn’t stop him from complaining about how unfair it was, to the others’ amusement.

They all started chatting, in an effort to make y’n feel more comfortable in their presence. It worked, to their delight, and she quickly loosened up and joined the conversations. They talked about anything and everything, though the older boys had a lot of fun telling her embarrassing stories about the younger four boys, who retaliated by telling her the same kinds of stories about their elders. This caused her to laugh until her sides hurt, before chiming in with a couple stories of her own.

Eventually, more yawns than words were coming out of y/n’s mouth, and the eldest two took this as a sign that the small omega needed sleep.

“I think it’s time for some sleep, yeah?” Chan said as he came up to her, Han had moved out of the way so he could get closer.

Y/n nodded sleepily, having a harder time keeping herself upright. Chan, after getting verbal confirmation that it was okay to pick her up, did so, before taking her to their pack nest, and laying her in the middle of it. The two omegas hopped in after her, softly talking with her and removing anything on her person that might make sleeping hard. Once they were finished, and moved anything out of the nest, they settled in on either side of her, keeping her between them.

The three betas climbed into the nest next, Hyunjin on the other side of Felix, while Changbin and Seungmin stayed on Han’s side of the nest. Jeongin slipped in behind Seungmin with Chan capping off that side of the nest, as Minho slid in behind Hyunjin, reaching over him to feel Felix and y/n as much as he could.

With how many happy and content scents there were surrounding the omegas, it didn’t take long before the three were out cold. The three betas quickly followed, Changbin being the last of the three to fall asleep, watching the younger ones succumb to sleep first before he could. Minho was next, looking at Chan before nuzzling into Hyunjin’s neck and peacefully falling into the hands of sleep, and Chan took one more look around, his alpha being the happiest at seeing all of them safe here in the nest, before he too slipped into dreamland. The dorms were finally quiet, and the nine of them were safe in the nest, where they couldn’t be harmed.

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