I am now pre warning everyone, my House of the Dragons obsession is coming back because Matt Smith is such a fine specimen. That means, I may write for Daemon Targaryen.
Daemon is a whole WARNING
To give a little background, the Game of Thrones/House of the Dragons has some triggering topics, some of them including p3dophilia and inc3st. Understanding that it’s fantasy and the sort of realism they have to the time period the creators are referencing, these topics aren’t just there for shock value but actually serves a purpose in the plot. Between the Lannisters and the Targaryens, the Targaryens have dragons. The Lannisters do not and I absolutely hate them.
I DO NOT support INC3ST, P3DOPHILIA, ETC. in anyway, but for the sake of writing one of my favorite shows, I will be separating fiction from reality.
If I ever post any HOTD/GoT content, understand that my content does not reflect my morals and values. If you scroll through some content in the future that you don’t like, just scroll past, and know that you’ve been warned.
I don’t want to deal with the aftermath of people sending me hate for something that I have pre-warned. I also have trigger warnings. Those who do decide to continue anyways, first off, at this point you’re looking for a reason to get mad at, and second, you’re clearly not who the content is meant for. Those who send hate and threats will have their comments removed and blocked.
This is just a precautionary to any of my followers. Thank you.
Summary: Alastor didn't realize what he had until it was gone.
Warning: Angst, Violence, Abuse, mentions of racism/sexism
A/N: I understand Alastor is aroace. I don't really know how to properly convey the feelings or thoughts of those on the spectrum, but I tried to portray things in a way that fits in the story. Anyways, I actually tried this time. This is the shit I come up with when I don’t have writers block. I also learned that I like writing depressing shit.
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They say life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but to Alastor, all that he could think about was you. When he recalls his childhood, there’s nothing sweet to reminisce about besides his mother and the way you constantly tailed him wherever he went. It was annoying, it was endearing, and it made him a little less lonely. He’d do anything to hear your voice one last time, the sweet voice that soothes all his insecurities and uncertainties. If only he could crawl to you now and reach for your soft hands that had once held him when he had killed his father. He did it to avenge his mother, that’s what he told himself, but he never admitted to himself that he was scared. He brought you with him to maybe have a celebratory dinner with his mother. He felt guilty for bringing you to a house that harbored a monster of a father; he was embarrassed that you had to witness such a grotesque scene. Most importantly, in that second, when his father had turned his head to you, he was absolutely terrified. He pictured your body lying next to his mother, and suddenly his body reacted on its own.
He fought so hard, in both his career and his murderous impulses, and despite all that, his efforts are in vain. He lost you regardless. What used to be a nuisance of laughter dulled into a quiet hum of emptiness.
“I’m supposed to get married,” You said beside him, a forced smile on your face. The sun dips slightly below the horizon, casting a dark orange hue on the city of New Orleans. The hilltop allowed a great view of the skyline.
“Well, congratulations, dear! We only continue to get older,” Alastor cheers brightly.
You chuckle at his excitement, toying with the daisy flower crown you’ve made. “I don’t think I’m ready yet. After all, you promised to take me to New York,” You smile fondly, placing the crown on his head. “I don’t think I’m ready to commit to the married lifestyle yet.
Alastor shifts his body to face you and cups your face in his hands. He refuses physical contact, and yet it was always comfortable with you around. “Don’t cut yourself short.” His face falls into seriousness, a concept so foreign. It’s almost as if a performative smile has been stitched on his face, and yet when he’s with you, he’s just Alastor. “You are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. You know how to make people smile. Your presence itself brightens the room when you walk in. Your laugh rinses away any stress and worries of the day.”
His words are enough to cast a soft, warm blush on your cheeks. His touch is short-lived as he starts going on a tangent about everything good about you, even if it's false. “I don’t know how to cook.”
Alastor was stumped for a moment, recalling the instances where he thought you were trying to assassinate him. “It may be questionable, but your efforts are admirable, and that’s all that matters,” He smiles brightly.
“The man may not feel the same,” You frown.
“Then he is blind and foolish,” He interjects.
A smile cuts through your face, admiring his passion. “I want to go to New York before I settle down.” You look back at the horizon, the sun almost gone, and the sky fading to a dark purple.
“I know I promised to take you before, but why New York?” Alastor pauses.
You stand up, fantasizing the sound of jazz never fading, the lights never dying, and all eyes on you. “It’s the Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. What’s not to like?” You ask with a smile, though your spark falters for a moment. “I want to be a star. A performer. I can dance and sing all I want down the streets, but I’ll never get my big break in this small well.”
Alastor listened intently. He had once made a promise that when he made it big, he would take you to New York. It was an empty promise, never believing it was possible. You and he were at a disadvantage when it came to pursuing dreams. He believed you had a better chance than him. After work, he’d stop by the jazz club and watch you sing and perform. He knew you worked hard, and a bit of him sits unease when men talk over your song, mock you, or straight up disrespects you. Still, the show goes on with a smile.
“Saturday will be my last night performing. My arranged husband doesn’t like too many eyes on me. Mother says it’s for the best. My- fiancé used to work on Broadway, and father said if I be good to him, he just might just take me.” You smile hopefully, yet it seems the idea was lost a long time ago.
Alastor didn’t know how to respond. There was no way he could just meddle with your life. It’d be wrong to. Alastor clears his throat, “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
—————————————————————
Alastor is a man of his word, and he fought tooth and nail to watch your final performance. His bosses held him up, and how can he complain? He loves the radio. His face is made for radio. He’s made his mark in the industry, and he truly could not afford to jeopardize his moment. He also refuses to give anyone an excuse to replace him, because, despite knowing his worth, his boss won’t hesitate to replace him if he doesn’t hold to their standards. In this territory, he is nothing but prey.
He had arrived at the club, a good thirty minutes late, and you should have been performing still, because your show lasts hours if you wanted to. However, when he had asked around, you had already left early, which should have been the first warning sign, yet just like his feelings, he pushed it aside and assumed the best. You truly deserve the best, and it feels foreign to expect any calamity your way. You’ve had it set for you, compared to him. Though you worked hard to be where you’re at, he had to work triple that, because the world has yet to accept him because of the color of his skin. He left the club, disappointed, yet he pushed away that feeling as well, just like he does with any feeling involving you.
Looking back now, it was love he was feeling, though it was such a foreign concept. The only love he ever felt was from his mother. If he had stopped ignoring his feelings, maybe he would’ve noticed how your eyes longed for him, yet you never reached out. You saw him like fine china, something to be kept within distance, to be looked at and admired. You longed to have him, and yet you knew he did not feel the same, and so you continued to admire, because getting any closer would have left a stain on the relationship you had.
Alastor was still oblivious to his feelings, even as your house burnt to ashes. He watched helplessly as your mother sobbed. “She’s still in there! Save her!” Your mother pleaded with the firefighters as her husband held her back from running into the house herself. He cares for you, he truly does, and that’s what makes him so useless. Alastor watched as the fire roared, debating whether he should go run into the house himself, and yet he was cared of what it could be if he had to hold your lifeless body in his arms.
“I knew she had a fight with her fiancé, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad,” Your father stresses, regret drowning him, knowing he had allowed this man into their home despite your protest.
“A fight?” Alastor asks, a spark of an uncertain feeling burning through his skin. Maybe it was anger, annoyance, or even possessiveness. He’s had fights with you, but they were minor, petty ones where one would give the other the silent treatment. It never really lasted too long, as the other one caves in so easily.
“We assumed if we left, they’d work things out on their own,” Your father says, diverting his gaze in guilt.
“No, cut that crap. You assumed it would be fine. I never approved that man, but all you saw was money.” Your mother’s words grazed her husband like a knife. “I told you he’s a bad man, that he had hit our daughter, yet all you saw was a way to be rich. This is your fault.”
“We’ve got a deceased man and woman, both suffering stab wounds and burns,” Alastor hears a firefighter report to the other workers on scene, and it could only be assumed that it was you and that filthy man. His heart drops, and maybe your mother had overheard as well because her sobs cut through all the noise as she drops to her knees.
“Tell me she’s not dead! Please! My sweet daughter,” She sobs, and despite her husband’s attempts at holding her, she pushed him away. She’d continue to live her life knowing that her husband had led to her daughter’s death, and she wasn’t able to do anything to prevent that.
A few days later, your mother shared the police reports with Alastor. You fought with your fiancé, and during the fight, he threatened you with a knife, holding it to your throat. In self-defense, you tried to wrestle the knife out of his hands, and in doing so, a candle had been knocked down, setting the tablecloth on fire. You both were in a heated fight for the knife to even care about the fire. Then, according to the wounds, you were stabbed, deep enough to cause some internal damage to your organs, causing fatal amounts of bleeding. Based on how severely burnt your fiancé’s body was, and the remnants of fabric from the tablecloth on him, you had managed to take the burning cloth and throw it at him. This caused some minor struggle, causing the man to let go of the knife. You pounced for the knife, and despite how weak you felt from the loss of blood, as the man was struggling with the fire on him, you managed to stab him multiple times, some very fatal, before passing out from blood loss. Both you and your fiancé had gone unconscious from the stab wounds before the fire had spread to the house.
As for the content of the argument, the police could only assume that it had something to do with your performance cut short. The reason why your fiancé was so rich was that in New York, he had taken advantage of many girls, dreaming of being a performer. He had taken them in, made them do scandalous acts, and later the men would pay to spend the night with them. The girls, having left everything to chase their dreams and signing their names away in a contract, had no way out of their deals besides death. That man had tried to do the same with you, except the contract you had tied to him was the promise of marriage that your father offered on a silver platter. He didn’t know, but he is equally to blame.
The unsettling feeling in Alastor’s chest felt foreign and displaced. He didn’t cry at your funeral, as death is a natural thing, whether it was unwanted. He may be your friend, but he’s also a killer. Death is something he can control and manipulate whenever he wants. Maybe that’s why there’s a pit rumbling in his stomach. He should be feeling sad. He should be feeling empty. He should be mourning the woman he had lost, but the days go on just the same. He’d wake up, go to work, and indulge in his dangerous hobbies. Perhaps he’s grown desensitized to death itself that he no longer fears it. He still came back to that hilltop, and even if the sun felt cold against his skin, he still didn’t cry. His feelings are fizzling, begging to be let out, but he kept them at bay, and he continues to do so until he realizes too late.
His final moments were ones of realization. He avenged himself countless times for every wrong he’d been challenged with, yet he never sought to bring justice to your death. He knows how to kill, he knows how to manipulate, but there’s no one left. Your fiancé was dead, so he couldn’t even give the man a piece of his mind. Even if he blamed your father, how could he kill your family? You may have been wronged, but you loved your family dearly. If Alastor killed your father for the sake of justice, it would be like spitting at your grave.
Regrets poured out of him, like the blood that waters the Earth, as he lay still. He loved you, but he was a selfish man, undeserving of love from an angel. He’d encountered many misfortunes in his lifetime to forget what love is. Instead of indulging in crushes as a teen, he spent each day trying to survive, and eventually, he did not need such emotion. Under different circumstances, he would have married you instead. If he had been given more time, he would’ve succumbed to his feelings. He should’ve fought harder. He should’ve rejected his bosses and arrived at your show on time. He should’ve whisked you away to New York, just like you fantasized, the moment you told him you were to be married at that hilltop. He should’ve run away with you. If only he had comforted you when you looked at him wistfully, longingly. He should’ve held your hand and kissed you. He should’ve done many things, and as many times as he repeats all the should-haves, his ego would’ve kept him blind right up until disaster comes his way. Only then, when he’s trying to mend all the pieces, would he realize that he can’t mend what’s already been lost.
Damn I’m stuck in a writers block again. I need inspo AHHHHH inspo for my Man’s Best Friend series and inspo for Alastor bc ma man is back 😩 also I need more of that 1930s vibe human Alastor. Yes I will be using him to procrastinate on my Ateez fics. Gang I’m cooked.
Summary: Bout time I get back on the horse to the rodeo.
Warning: Ass writing, main character is a red flag, San in love with the idea of you rather than you as a person, you being the same. Relationship shallow af. San’s a virgin. Smut. First time sex being awkward bc it do be awkward.
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Against your will, you were unfortunately taken to the bar with your friends. They said it’s better than sitting and moping around. First off, it’s completely valid. After all, those men broke your heart. Second, they said they were hoping to hook you up with someone, and truth be told, you are not ready to handle another manchild.
“Look, I promise you’ll know who these guys are. They were at our college. You’ve probably met them at a frat before. You know? You fucking loved frats,” Zoey encourages.
“More like she liked the alcohol and weed,” Abby interjects. “I mean, come on. Did any of us even remember how we got home after each one?”
“I think I blacked out on almost every one of them,” You wince at the thought of those hangovers you had to deal with the morning after.
“Besides. You are fucking hot. If I weren’t dating right now, I’d literally date you. This dress really makes your ass look fat,” Zoey compliments.
“Yeah, I've got to agree. I couldn’t help but just stare. I mean, they looked at me first. It just recoils so nicely,” Abby stares at your ass intently.
“Oh my god, really?” You feign shock, then bounce on the balls of your feet, forcefully bouncing your ass.
“They move like water,” Zoey swoons before everyone bursts into laughter.
“Okay, we seriously have to get into the bar now,” Abby ushers. “After you,” She makes way for you.
“You guys just want to stare at my ass,” You joke.
“Yeah,” Zoey nods in agreement with Abby.
You indulge your friends, walking before them, but once you all enter the glass doors, Zoey takes the lead. “I think I see them. Follow me,” She says as you and Abby follow her like lost sheep. Zoey greets the herd of strangers as you stand there, not knowing what to say.
“Omg, Y/N? No way,” One of the guys greeted, and you just awkwardly smile, not recognizing the face.
“You made the frat so fun, bro. Like, I swear we almost get noise complaints whenever you’re there,” He continues, and you laugh forcefully. “You don’t remember? You don’t remember the Jackson Wang parties? Your amazing host?”
“Wait, no fucking way! You’re body tequila shot guy!” You gasp. “I swear I was so drunk that night. I was pregaming so hard, like right before that, and I think I had a brownie too.”
“Wait- oh shit, I remember that!” Zoey gasps. “We lost you in the crowd, and next thing you know, he was licking the fuck out of you.”
“Look, I volunteered for that shit not knowing what a body tequila shot was. I thought you just balanced the shot glass on my stomach or some shit. I didn’t think licking would be involved,” You laughed. You definitely partied hard back then. Not so much anymore, but then again, you’ve come to a point in your life where you want to settle and have a serious relationship.
“Hey, for old time's sake?” Jackson hands you a shot glass.
“You know what, why the fuck not?” You laugh as you accept the glass and down the tequila. The liquid burned your throat, which had never been a problem back then. You wince at the terrible aftertaste of alcohol.
“Great seeing you again,” Jackson smirks before heading back to his buddies.
Your friends smile weirdly at you, and you roll your eyes as you sit with them. “Don’t start.”
“I mean, there’s chemistry,” Zoey hums.
You shake your head. Jackson definitely is hot. He was the popular guy back in college, and everybody knew that he threw the best frat parties. He was also definitely a player. He had a girl in his arms every night. Whether he actually slept with them or not, that’s beyond you. Thankfully, you never added to his body count.
You also weren’t one for one-night stands either. The parties were nice, especially after an exam, but you never left with a guy, except once. That was only because he got lost from his friends and couldn’t find them. The party was too overwhelming for him. You don’t remember his name, but it definitely started with a Y.Yun-Yeo-something. He was kind.
“Y/N is that you?” A guy taps your shoulder, and you look up only to be greeted with a man built like a Greek god. The button of his dress shirt is barely holding on.
“I-uh,” You try to speak, but no words come out.
“It’s San,” He says, trying to jog your memory. “Choi San. Since middle school.”
You gasp once the name clicks in your head. “No fucking way- I mean, oh my god- I mean, you look different,” You scan his body. You really can’t help but oggle at him. The guy you’re remembering all the way through middle school and high school seemed like the kind to get bullied. He was definitely a fragile guy. Jesus, he looks hot. “I honestly didn’t even recognize you at first.”
“No, you’re all good,” He gives a dimpled smile. Oh shit, he’s cute. He’s hot, but he’s cute.
“You can sit here and catch up,” Abby sits up from her stool, and it’s obvious she’s planning something. Whatever it is, it’s definitely in your favor, and you silently thank her.
San thanks her and takes the seat. “Long time no see, huh?”
“Yeah,” You smile. “I know this is like some small college reunion, but like I didn’t know you went to the same college as me. I swear, the moment we went to college, we all just kinda drifted.”
San shakes his head with that damn smile. The dimples- fuck. “I didn’t, but one of my close friends did. He kinda ditched me, though. He stopped by for like a few minutes, then left because he forgot to take off at work.”
“Unfortunate, he didn’t even get to have a sip,” You joke as you take a sip of your own cocktail. “I swear I used to be able to handle my alcohol better in college. I’m just getting so tipsy all of a sudden. That tequila was something,” You ramble as you laugh and fan yourself.
“Are you getting hot? I’m getting hot myself,” He says, pushing up his sleeves. You almost fainted right there and then. His forearms, his bulging veins. He’s a nurse’s wet dream because of how prominent his veins are. They definitely have no trouble sticking an IV or drawing blood. He definitely worked hard for them. He’s so well built and crafted by the gods. You have no idea what happened to him in college, but you thank the world that it happened because he looks so hot.
You force a small laugh as you gulp the rest of your drink, hoping that the coldness of the alcohol would cool you down, except it did the opposite. “Jesus, my tolerance must have gone down by then,” You laugh. “Wait, I just noticed. You’re not drinking anything.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of weak to alcohol,” He sheepishly grins. “I’d be fucked from one drink.”
You laugh, yet your eyes are screaming ‘fuck me!’ and your friends can definitely tell. “Hey, at least you’re saving your money then. All you need is one drink to get drunk.”
He4 laughs in agreement. “You wanna get out of here? Take a walk? Cool out?” He asks.
“Yes, please,” You say almost too eagerly.
“Here, let me help you,” He says as he takes your purse and holds his hand out for you.
You take his hand, using him to stand up and steady yourself. You look at your friends, and they just nod, no words needed. They accomplished their job in hooking you up with someone. They’re satisfied. Before you leave, though, you see Abby slip Zoey some money. These bitches had a bet! You’ll definitely ask them later what it was on.
“I’m assuming you didn’t drive here,” San says.
“I have a reputation and drinking till I drop, which is definitely not healthy, but that was back in college. I don’t know. The reputation just stuck, “ You shrug. “And also because my friends were hoping I’d find someone to sleep with,” You added, which you realize too late that you shouldn’t have. You have no idea why you let out such fragile information. Blame it on the alcohol, even if you weren’t drunk at all. Even if you could feel the alcohol, you didn’t drink enough for you to be incapable of making decisions. Still, it’s easier to blame everything on the alcohol.
“So you’re single,” He says, unfazed by your words, which should’ve been a red flag if you weren’t so blinded by how hot he is.
“Yeah. I had like a serious relationship for almost a year, but broke up with him a couple of months ago. I tried getting back into the dating scene, but everyone is so ass. I wish I were gay, not gonna lie. Men are so ass, no offense,” You scoff as you both walk around. You have no idea where he’s taking you, but you don’t really care.
San looks at you curiously. “Can I ask why you broke up? You don’t have to tell me, though, if you don’t want to.”
You sigh, “Too busy? Lack of communication? I have no fucking idea. It’s a mix of everything and anything.”
“That’s a shitty move on his part. He lost a good one,” San hums like he’s stating a fact. “If I were him, I would have held onto you like my life depended on it.”
“San. . .” You bit your lip, too flustered to even say anything.
“Can I be honest?” He asks.
“Sure,” You shrug.
“I had a crush on you... back in high school. But I wasn’t your type, and I knew that. You always treated me like I was your brother,” He confesses. “Do you still see me as that?”
You don’t know how to respond. True, you never considered dating him in high school. Call yourself shallow, but he just wasn’t your type. “San…”
“You can be honest with me,” He quickly adds, as if he already knows you’d reject him.
“I don’t. It’s clear to me that you’ve grown and changed.”
“I did it for you,” He softly says. “I know I was distant from you after we graduated. I just- it made me so insecure that everybody wanted you, and you had so many options, but I was never one of them. I tried making myself an option. Did it work?”
You don’t know if you should be flattered by his sweet words, but perhaps you are an asshole for finally accepting him the moment he became hot. No, you’re a definite asshole. “It worked, San. It definitely did.” You nod, and now thinking back, he was such a great guy, too. Sweet, caring, supportive, and he was always the shoulder to cry on, and god does he now have big shoulders.
“If I asked you if I could hold your hand, would you say yes?” He asks.
“Yes.”
San was shocked by the sudden agreement. In fact, he’s in denial of your recognition.
“How about a date?” He further tests the waters.
“Yes.”
“A kiss?”
“You’re pissing me off,” You scoff and pull him down by the collar.
Albeit, San is most definitely surprised by this, mostly because you initiated first. If he were back in high school and someone told him that in 8 years he’d be making out with his lifelong crush, he would not have believed it.
Meanwhile, all feelings of being an asshole went away and were replaced by hunger that was building up for months of never getting laid. Okay, maybe you are still an asshole. After all, you initially came to the bar with your friends to get laid. Okay, San is an amazing person. He truly is. And physically, he’s hot. However, it’s clear by the way he kisses that he’s never kissed anyone. He’s hesitant, messy, sucking a little too hard at times, and he’s way too eager to use his tongue. Whoever created the propaganda that you must use your tongue to kiss must stop. Even then, you don’t shove your tongue into another person’s mouth more often than you would think when French kissing. It comes out when it naturally wants to. It’s okay, though. He’s a hot guy, and with a bit of training, you could definitely turn him into the best boyfriend.
“Hey, can you guys get a room? Children are walking around here!” Some passerby yells, reminding the two of you that you’re not in some romantic cliche movie, but rather a low-budget parody, like “Scary Movies.”
————————————————————————
“Hurry up, just take it off,” You urge him as he struggles to unhook your bra.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never had to do this in my life,” He apologizes as he fumbles with the hook.
“Here, let me do it, Mr.Virgin,” You joke as you unhook your bra effortlessly and throw it across his room somewhere. San stares agape at you, and it’s much better than he had imagined. “I bet you’ve never seen a pair of tiddies in real life before,” You joke.
“Well uh- Yeah,” He admits.
“Well, you can touch them,” You invite. “They’re not gonna suck themselves.”
San blindly obeys you, seeing as you definitely know what you’re doing. He attacks your chest with such hunger that it makes you forget that he’s just a sweet little virgin. His tongue somehow knew what to do, and in truth, perhaps San had already trained himself with how often he’d imagine doing this to you.
It’s sad, actually. He took a gamble that you’d be there. He heard his friend mention the college reunion, and he knew it was your college. What were the chances of you being there, and yet he took the gamble and won.
“Can I eat you out now?” He asks.
It’s sweet, really, with how he asks before he does something, but it’s getting annoying. You’re more of a flip-me-around-and-make-me-cry type of girl. “Stop asking, just do, please,” You beg, words coming out a little passive-aggressive, but that’s what you get for being sexually frustrated for months.
San complies, and he truly treats your body like a fragile piece of glass. He pulls your dress up and pulls your panties with his teeth. “Was that hot? I saw it in a movie once.”
“You’re hot, San. Everything you do is hot. Now please,” You whine. He’s breathing down on your pussy, and it’s doing nothing to alleviate your need.
“Yup, on it,” He says, lying on his stomach, between your legs, bare back up. He has an amazing back, truly well built. His hands snake around your thighs, holding you still as he gives a curious lick. He’s never tasted a vagina before, so he has always been curious about how you taste. He actually doesn’t know what to expect. It tasted very… human. It definitely doesn’t taste like strawberries and cream. What he does know is that he hyped up sex so much in his head, and now, eating you out, it’s definitely something. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“San, yes, keep doing that,” You moan as San circles his tongue around your clit. “Oh fuck, how are you so good?” You gasp. He must have had some sort of oral fixation, because even if he’s a virgin and has never eaten out on someone before, or fucked, his tongue works wonders. Or maybe this is what happens if you haven’t been fucked in a while. “Wait, hold on. Shit. It’s so good, give me a minute to breathe,” You ramble.
San is more fixated on the fact that he has you acting this way. He’s imagined this for so long, and now you’re on his bed. Is he really making you feel this good? He’s never done this before.
“Oh shit,” You throw your head back, tugging on his hair while you’re body tries to move away from something so good, a mirror to how you are in real life. Because there’s no way there isn’t a catch. It’s too good to be true.
San holds you still as he continues his ministration, watching your every move, and tweaking his actions to ensure your pleasure. His tongue hurts.
“I’m gonna come.” You breathe heavily. “I’m coming, fuck,” You moan as your eyes roll back, body tensing, as San laps at your juices. You collapse on the bed tiredly but still horny.
i know i'm requesting too much but you better do part 3 either nobody's son or go go juice cause it's so damn good i feel like your edging me right now 😭
I’m actually doing a little something. I’m currently in writing for When Did You Get Hot and perhaps starting a series for Man’s Best Friend. Thank you so much!! I rarely get writing inspo but here I am crying to songs while being in a healthy relationship 😭😭
Summary: Called it a false alarm to all of our friends. Then we almost broke up again last night.
Warning: Bad writing bc I’m shit at writing. Toxic relationship. Suggestive but not really. I think the title speaks for itself.
Hongjoong x reader
Part 1
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Your backs are turned from each other, and yet you lie awake in bed. You’re unaware of whether he’s awake or not, that is, until he starts shifting in his spot. Only then did you realize he’s awake by the way he pulls you into a hug.
“You awake?” He asks, kissing your shoulder.
“Yeah,” You say dryly.
“I have to get back to the studio at 7,” He sighs.
You look straight ahead, not bothering to look at him. “You’re usually scheduled at 8.”
Hongjoong’s not dumb. He can pick up the absence in your voice, the lack of warmth. Your voice is just so. . . flat. He can’t help but reciprocate that. “Yeah, they already planned a comeback right after this upcoming one.”
You can’t blame him. He’s an idol. He can’t control that. It still hurts, though, when you’re no longer the priority.
“Look, I’m so sorry for last night.”
“It’s fi-”
“Don’t say it’s fine,” Hongjoong cuts you off. “I fucked up. I know. I’m sorry.” He gently moves you to look at him. “Please forgive me,” He almost begs as he peppers kisses on your neck.
Should you forgive him? Your mind is telling you no, but your resolve soon crumbles as he gives you the attention you’ve been longing for since last night, when he missed your first anniversary.
“Fine,” You sigh.
He looks at you with a cheeky smile. “I love you.”
You’re still angry. You really don’t want to say it back, but what else can you do when he’s acting like this? “I love you,” You force out.
—————————————————————
You know he apologized to you in the morning. You know you should let it go, but god, you’re fucking pissed. “What the fuck are you doing all the way in Hongdae? At a club?” You pace around the room with your phone in your hand. Although the music from his phone sounds distant, it’s still loud enough to know he’s still there.
You both were never against knowing each other's location. Regardless, you often tell each other where you’re going as a habit. For as far as you know, he was late at the studio, not at some fucking club.
“Fuck, I forgot to tell,” He curses, realizing he fucked up. Again. His words are slurred; it is obvious that he had drunk, and suddenly his words are no longer believable to you.
“No, you’re just a fucking ass!” You yell, feeling suffocated by the pressure of the hurt that Hongjoong caused. You’re trying so hard not to cry. “I hate you! We’re breaking up. I don’t want to see you!”
Hongjoong panics, and from what you can tell, he entered a car. “Look, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” He pleads. “Please don’t be like this. It’s one of the staff’s birthday, and they’ve been with us since our debut, so I felt obligated to go celebrate with him. Look I’m not alone. The guys are here too,” He reasons, and yet they’re going into deaf’s ears.
“Fuck you,” You say lastly before hanging up. Once the line goes flat, you finally let the dam of tears burst. You didn’t know what to do. You want to tear up the place, pack your bags, but at the same time, you don’t want to believe that he did it on purpose.
After a few minutes, the door slams closed, and you can hear Hongjoong shuffle through the living room before getting into the room. He opens the door and looks at you like some kicked puppy. “Y/N, I fucked up. I know,” He trembles, his eyes red from probably crying. “Please don’t leave me. I need you. I can’t live my life without you,” He falls onto his knees, hugging your legs like some kid. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry.”
“How can I believe that?” You scoff.
“I should have told you where I was going. I fucked up. I was just trying to show appreciation to that guy. I didn’t know I was being an asshole to you,” He cries.
You sigh. Maybe you’re being too much. His reasoning makes sense. It’s not like it was required that he tell you where he was going every single day. Maybe you’re being too overbearing on him.
“It’s whatever,” You sigh in defeat. You don’t want to push any further. You’re too tired for this.
“Do you forgive me?” He asks.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Please,” He begs, rubbing your thigh as if it would do anything.
“You can’t just bribe an apology,” You try to stand your ground.
Hongjoong shifts, spreading your legs apart and kneeling between them. “Can I?” His voice shifts into a much huskier tone. He kisses the inner parts of your thighs, sending shivers down your core.
“Joong,” You soften, and god is it pathetic. He knows he’s won.
He stands with a triumphant grin, and at first, you thought he was just going to leave you high and dry. That is, until he wraps your legs around your waist and pulls you into an alcoholic kiss. It truly is alcoholic. His mouth tastes like alcohol, and perhaps that awakens the alcoholism in you. It definitely awakened the times when clubbing meant you no longer had any control of how many times you drank shot after shot, despite knowing it’s beyond your limit.
Hongjoong had gone past your limit a long time ago, and yet his tongue works wonders in convincing you to say. His hold reminds you of the comfort he brings. His body was the thrill you craved in your life, and his soul was something you’d forgive over and over just to have his company.
—————————————————————
It wasn’t even a week since the last argument, and yet you’re leaving the apartment with your bags. You were pissed that Hongjoong hadn’t even tried to redeem himself from what he did. He moved on like nothing happened.
“Y/N, please come back!” Hongjoong begs, chasing after you. He’s unsure what he did this time. Was it because he chose to stay an hour later in the studio? Or was it because he left the food you made?
“No! All I do is give and give, and what do I get?” You say harshly, not wanting to raise your voice in actual consideration of your neighbors.
“Where will you go?” He asks.
“Away,” You say as you finally get to the parking lot and unlock your car.
“Can I convince you at all?” He asks.
“No.”
You put all your things into the back of the trunk before getting in the car yourself. You’ve already told your friend, Abigail, beforehand, and they were fine with letting you stay for a bit. She’s been eager for a roommate and even suggested that you move in with her after you told her everything that happened since the day of your anniversary. The response you got, “Yeah, he’s an asshole. Why’d you even stay?”
You were reminded of that reason the next day when Abby called for you after answering the door. You leave the kitchen to peek at the living room, and there he is, outside the apartment door.
“Don’t- No,” You shake your head in denial. “Don’t fucking do this to me,” You pull your hair back in stress. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m gonna let you deal with this. . .” Abby slips away, hiding in her room.
“Look, Y/N, I know I fucked up, and I just can’t leave it off this way. I know I shouldn’t have checked your locations, but you didn’t block me, so there must be a part of you that wants to give me a chance, right?” Hongjoong begs, looking like that kicked puppy you saw the morning after your missed anniversary. He’s mastered it to perfection. He’s gotten you flowers this time and some chocolate. Your favorite ones.
“Please come back with me. This problem is between us, and I want us to fix it. Please. Please, Y/N. I’ll even kneel.” He says, already bending his knees.
“No, what the fuck!” You whisper-scream at him, pulling him back up. “What is wrong with you?” You stress, and suddenly you feel bad for your roommate and are also embarrassed. How could he do this at someone else’s place? Defeated, you agree. “Fine, let's talk in the car.”
—————————————————————
Abby never anticipated that this would be a continuous cycle. You’d get into a huge argument with Hongjoong, you come crying to her and Zoey, and everyone’s sick of it. You’d tell them you’re breaking up with him, and yet the next day, you’d find yourself back in his arms.
Showing up at Abby’s door became a habit for Hongjoong. It happened twice, three times, five times, and not once did he try to change up his methods. It was the same roses and sorrys.
Everyone’s begging you to just end it, stop the cycle, but nobody can convince you. It was to the point that Zoey no longer wanted to let you stay with her.
“Look, we just wanted to talk to you-”
“No. I don’t need some intervention about my relationship,” You say in disbelief. You don’t even know how to feel as your friends are sitting on the couch, hugging the pillows, or drinking some wine while avoiding your eyes.
“Y/N, we just want to help you.” Zoey smiles at you worriedly.
“There’s nothing to help with. My relationship is fine. It’s just a spur-of-the-moment thing,” You explain.
Abby interjects. “Well. . . um. . . it’s not really a spur-of-the-moment if I’m always getting involved in it. . .” Your friend trails off and looks away nervously.
“That’s exactly the point of this intervention. Abby is being so kind, giving you a place to stay after your arguments... for free. And every single time, she has to be the one to open the door to Hongjoong begging like some dog. At least think about Abby, girl.”
You sigh in defeat after realizing how much of an asshole you are. “I’m so sorry, guys. I really have been an ass to deal with. I just. . . I can’t help but take him back. I love him,” You explain, hoping they’d understand.
“What sort of love has you breaking up with each other every single week?” Abby complains.
“Every week is an exaggeration, and well, we almost broke up... We just needed to cool off, you know,” You say, and at this point, you just know that you’re trying to reason with yourself more than them.
“Look, I just don’t think I can do this until you figure out what’s wrong with you and Hongjoong,” Abby smiles painfully. “It’s taxing on me too.”
“I’m trying. I really am. It’s just so complicated, but I’m really sorry. I really will figure my shit out.”
—————————————————————
The ordeal with your friends passed by with no thought. You did feel bad, but right now, you have bigger problems. You decided you no longer wanted to point out the things Hongjoong did wrong, and it’s pissing him off.
“Oh my fucking god, I woke up late! Why didn’t you set an alarm?” He curses as he bolts out of bed.
“Since when was it my job to wake you up?” You say bluntly.
Hongjoong scoffed in disbelief, and yet he can’t blame you. You’re right. It isn’t his responsibility. “You always do it.”
“Well, that’s not my problem,” You shrug.
He wants to push further, start an argument, then probably bring up every little thing that pissed him off. If you get to do it, so can he. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have time, and so he got dressed and bolted out of the apartment.
The issue with the arguments he picks is that they are so minor. It’s the small things that piss him off. Coming home late, and the dishes aren’t washed. Even when he gets home on time, you don’t even talk to him, busy doing work that you brought home, ironically. Hanging out with friends and coming home late. He picks fights over those, and ironically, he does the same things too. He never learns.
On the other hand, you act unbothered by everything. He knows you’re not fine, and yet he can’t force out what’s wrong. For once, you’re not scolding him for coming home late, and it’s unsettling. It’s almost like you don’t care. Most of the time, you're already asleep, and in the morning, he’d throw a fit over something petty. You know he’s mad that you’re no longer chasing him.
The turning point was the day he called you, saying that he’s at the airport. He’d be staying in America for two months. There was no warning beforehand, and it seemed he purposely withheld that information. There’s no way his managers would just tell him the day before. It must have been planned months prior.
“Okay,” You tell him calmly.
“Wait, you're not mad?” Hongjoong asks in shock. He’d rather you be mad.
“I can’t blame you for doing your job,” You answer.
Hongjoong looks back at his members who are waiting patiently to board the plane. He distanced himself a bit just to have this conversation. “Yeah, it’s just I feel like an asshole-”
“Don’t. It’s your job. You can’t control it. Look, I've got to go. I’m also busy. Bye-”
“Wait. That’s it? Just bye?” He asks.
“Do I have to say it in a different language?” You ask.
“What?”
You roll your eyes. “Bye. Adios. Sayonara. Arrivederci. Au revoi-”
Hongjoong cuts you off in frustration. “Why are you like this?”
You laugh. “Because when I say goodbye, I mean forever. Like for life.”
“What?” Hongjoong panics.
“Yeah fuck you, bye,” You laugh as you hang up and block him for good.
Summary: He used to be literally obsessed with me, I'm suddenly the least sought after girl in the land.
Warning: This was written in one sitting after some random inspiration while listening to Sabrina.
Hongjoong x Reader
Part 2
——————————————————
“Want me to show you something?” The usually busy idol asks. Although it’s already 2 am in the morning, Kim Hongjoong hasn’t kicked you out yet. His fingers dance around the keys of his keyboard, producing the best sound you’ve ever heard. It’s intriguing watching the master at play. Despite you being on his lap, he looks to be in his element, eyes fixated on what’s in front of him. Once he’s satisfied with the sound, he looks at you as if asking for your approval.
“I genuinely don’t even know how you do it, not gonna lie. They’re literally just buttons, but you somehow know how to get the sound out of them. You’re a fucking genius.” You look at him with pure admiration.
“Like seriously?” He asks teasingly. He’s not a narcissist or anything, but he is very self-aware that he’s a pretty good music producer.
You lean in closer, foreheads touching, breaths ghosting over each other, “Like serious seriously.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just a big goofy smile on his face that draws a laugh out of you. He rolls his eyes playfully as your laugh dwindles into a comfortable silence. You both look at each other for a second, and right before you know it, you are pulled into a sweet kiss.
“You are so going into the album,” Hongjoong jokes as you both break away from the kiss.
You gasp, “Omg promise?”
“Yeah. The other members would be so pissed. I think they’ve heard enough of me talking about you, but they don’t have a choice. We’re singing cheesy love songs, and I’d enjoy every fucking second of it.” He pulls you into a tight hug, one that you definitely can’t escape from, as if you would want to anyway.
“Oh my god! I can’t breathe!” You laugh, trying to wriggle out of his tight hold.
“No, don’t go!” He whines loudly, littering your face with kisses. “Why are you escaping me!?” He dramatically cries.
“Is this what I get for dating a romanticist?” You scoff.
“I just think my girlfriend hates me.”
—————————————————————
“Hey, I’m going to be late for dinner tonight. I’m like backed up here,” Hongjoong calls with such a rush to his tone. It’s obvious he just wants to end the call.
“It’s our anniversary Joong,” You frown. Your voice tries to remain as stable as possible. You don’t want to sound upset. Why should you? He’s an idol, and he tends to be busy, but then again, he always tries to make time. At least he gave you a call a few hours in advance, very considerate of him, to cancel the reservation you made for the restaurant you both love. He always took you there every other week during the first few months of dating.
“Yeah, I know, babe. I’ll probably be home around 11. Look, I gotta go. We got to relearn this whole choreo again. They fucking changed it last minute,” He sighs. You can hear the music playing in the back, and it seems everyone is stressed. You don’t want to seem like a bitch, so you don’t press him anymore.
“Okay, bye. I love you. I’ll cook dinner instead,” You say. It’ll be a late dinner, but it should be fine.
“Yeah, okay, bye.” He hangs up quickly, leaving silence on the other line. Not even an ‘I love you.’
You look at the time on your phone. It’s only 4, enough time to go grocery shopping, prepare food, and make yourself pretty.
You excitedly prepared everything, rushing and making sure your first anniversary is perfect. Hongjoong had made every other monthsary very romantic, and so you should do the same. Except it’s long past 11 now. The steak has gone cold, the candles have burned off half their original length, and you’re past the third glass of wine. You finally jump up the moment you hear the door open.
“Joong, are you hungry?” You approach him, helping him get settled, hanging his jacket, anything to make him comfortable.
“I’m fin- what are you wearing?” He stops everything he’s doing and just stares at you.
You smile excitedly and give a little twirl. “Do you like it?” You ask, showing off the bold red robe over the little slutty lingerie you have on. It does nothing to cover your parts, and that's what makes it so sexy. You know he loves it when you wear lingerie. In the seventh month of the relationship, he would drive all the way home, in the middle of work, right after you sent a picture of yourself in lingerie. He is weak to lingerie.
“It’s nice,” He says. “I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed,” He dismissively walks to your shared room, leaving you there exposed.
“Nice? That’s it?” You stand there in disbelief. You don’t hear anything back, and to be honest, the alcohol has left you more tired than tipsy. Defeated, you trudge over to the dining table, blow the candles off, and follow Hongjoong to the bedroom, leaving the food out to rot for the night.
After changing into a less humiliating piece of clothing, you lie next to Hongjoong. He truly does look exhausted as he cuddles into the sheets. You’re face-to-face and you can't help but wonder when did he get so distant. He was so obsessed with you in the beginning. Maybe it’s because you moved too fast. Maybe they were right when they said that 8 months is too early to be moving in, but you thought that your relationship is different. He made you feel like the only girl in the world. He repeated that you were the only girl for him. He always said that he could never imagine a life without you.
Maybe it’s because of the fact that he’s an idol. The fact that he’s always working. He’s a perfectionist. He’s never satisfied. He craves more. He gets bored easily. He hates mediocre. He likes things that he can build from scratch to the perfect result he desires. He likes the stimulation of life. He wants a life worth telling, and perhaps you don’t fit in there as much as you hoped.
Hongjoong shuffles in bed, turning his back to you. He doesn’t even want to touch you.
I’m tired of hiding and pretending as if I’m not a sucker for those modern reader x fantasy world stories. Like one of us falling into the hotd universe? The hobbit one? Start wars? Anything? Anytime I see modern reader and some fantasy word I start barking like a dog. I need more of those
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