#wow x reader

[jals-stuff]

Prey: Astalor's Initiative

@stars-of-shadowmoon @doodlenood and I don't know if anyone else was interested in the end. A grand total of four people will probably read this, but either way, I hope you enjoy. Forgive any mistakes as english is not my native language at all. Proofreading was never an option.

...

The sun was finally setting on Eversong woods. Guards were exchanging shifts, shops were closing, and the poor, ever so exhausted workers at Saltheril’s haven were almost done cleaning up the mess left by their guests. Yes, sundown marked the end of the day and beginning of respite for most, but not for one especially bloodied individual, dragging their feet from the walk of Elders to Murder Row. 

By now, both the guards and the civilians were used to seeing them overworked and covered in branches, scratches or guts. The champion who had seen Deathwing fall, the one who brought Zovaal’s folly to an end, but also the one who ended up becoming Astalor Bloodsworn’s favorite trainee: you.

Quite frankly, you couldn't even tell why you began following him in the first place. You weren't that fond of the Blood Knights to begin with, and his strange obsession with draining anguish out of his targets gave you a rancid Denathrius aftertaste. Yet here you were, loyally coming back to the Hall of Blood after slaughtering yet another unsuspecting prey, all for Astalor’s personal entertainment.

As much as the elven magister would claim he needed to harvest anguish for the sake of Silvermoon, his… eagerness to scry them while you terminated their lives had not gone unnoticed, and we of course shan't mention his suspicious orders to different crafters for things such as skinning knives… you were pretty sure the man wasn't proficient in leatherworking. 

What was it, then? Was it his luscious blonde hair that flowed down like sacred threads from the Sunwell? His glowing, stunning emerald eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul like bright fel shards? Was it the way he carried himself around high-ranking members of society yet proved to be completely unserious around you? Or his tone every time he praised you after a successful hunt? The way his deep voice would subtly crack when he laughed? Perhaps it was all of that at once. 

Nevertheless, you were now training under his wing and, needless to say, his “courses” were quite intense. You couldn't help but wonder who if not yourself would be able to learn in such circumstances anyway…

You tossed the bloodied linen bag containing a head onto his table with a sigh, rubbing some unwiped bloodstains off your cheek. Astalor’s green eyes met yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at your unusually unmotivated behavior. 

“Well done, little one” he purred, narrowing his eyes. “The scrying was exquisite with this one.”

It took every fiber of your being not to fold under his charismatic gaze. This prey had been especially tough, the amount of effort you gave just to stay alive making his usual praise unsatisfactory.

“I traveled all the way from Silvermoon to the very south east of Zul’Aman, and for what? A handful of heroic crests, some silly trinket to summon a powerful foe, a measly five hundred Voidlight Marls to buy a new set of curtains and two words of praise? Am I some sort of circus pony to you?” is what you were very tempted to say, but you did none of that. No, you took your praise just like he knew you would, and you swallowed down your complaints, as you always did; there was no point in arguing with someone like Astalor anyway.

No. “Thank you, sir” was all that came out of your mouth, almost sheepishly even. He seemed to have noticed your slight irritation but chose not to mention it before he put down the scroll he was reading and clasped his hands together, as if choosing his next words carefully. 

You were never able to guess what he was thinking, nor was anyone, you believed. It was improbable that he had ever formed a normal thought, at least not after the Scourge’s invasion. Whenever you imagined whatever unholy ideas he might be having, he always managed to surprise you with something far worse. This was one of those occurrences; he was just looking at you, as though contemplating an idea.

“Is.. something the matter?” you asked, a tad confused.

“I have an idea,” his lips curved into a slight smile. Oh no. An idea. That sounded anything but auspicious. “A special hunt, with a special prey. But this time, I will be participating too.”

For once, his idea wasn’t too terrible. You had expected him to come up with something like “hunt someone down all the way through Murder Row”, which would’ve attracted the unwanted attention of thugs and other lurkers or something of the sort. But before you could express your agreement, he continued.

“This time, I’ll be the hunter…” he trailed off, raising an eyebrow at you, “and you’ll be the prey. How does that sound?” You felt your skin grow a little cold and your organs sink. Being hunted by Astalor was not a good situation to be in, but before you could retort anything… “Of course, I will not scry you. That would completely ruin the thrill.”

Had he gone more insane than he already was? And beyond the fact that escaping him would be a feat of strength, it was already almost nighttime. You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than a warm bath to wash off the blood and a good night’s sleep. 

“I must admit, I’m quite tir—”

“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll have a headstart. Let’s say… two hours.”

You blinked. Was he not listening at all?

“I beg your par—”

“Then beg. But do that later and start running now, little prey.”

You couldn’t quite place what that feeling was, but his words did something to you and, as if compelled to do so by your own body, you started running. Fetching your mount from the stables would be pointless as the poor thing would leave too many traces behind and, frankly, there was no telling if he would harm it or not. In fact, was he going to harm you? Had you outlived your usefulness and were about to get turned into a power source for Silvermoon? Or maybe he was just bored, right? 

Your thoughts became so chaotic, you didn’t even think of a hiding spot. You stopped in your tracks in the middle of the Bazaar. Where could you even go? He knew the Eversong woods like the back of his hand, so that was out of the question. He had hunted hundreds, maybe thousands of times in Zul’Aman, so it wasn’t an option either. How about the Voidstorm? Ah, that wouldn’t work either, because you’d have to kill whatever beast would get in your way and that would be akin to leaving a trail behind like a molten corgi with an itchy ass. Harandar was not an option either since you didn’t know the area that well… 

In all honesty, the only place you really knew was the Eversong woods. But where would he not look for you? You were probably already doomed the second he told you to start running. Your blood was running cold and your time was running out. You decided that wherever you hid, he would find you anyway. Running away from Silvermoon and Astalor, you went as far as your feet could carry you, all the way down to the Thalassian Pass, hoping Bad Zed would be away so you could sneak into the building and hide there. 

It was as if the gods were with you, since the undead was nowhere to be seen. You quickly scanned the room for a good hiding spot and decided to settle for a dusty, probably forgotten crate. It was cramped, but also as good as it could get… or so you thought. Even better now, he had come back from whatever walk or errand he had been on and assumed his usual spot in the middle of the room, then summoned his fiends as per usual. Astalor would probably think you aren’t around, since Zed was still alive. I mean, not a corpse. I mean, not a dead corpse. I MEAN… not standing on his two legs anymore. Anyway…

...

You couldn’t tell how long you had been in there. You wanted to stretch your legs so hard, but you couldn’t afford to do so. 

Before long, you heard Zed grunt and summon more fiends, and you had a really bad feeling about it…

You heard the undead shriek in pain before the sound of ripping flesh— or whatever was left of it, and breaking bones echoed through the room and then… complete silence. Calm, calculated footsteps heading towards you, and you started sweating.

“I know you’re in there, little prey~” the source of your anxiety trailed off, and you shivered at his teasing tone. 

The dark interior of the crate became filled with light as he removed the lid and nonchalantly gripped your arm to drag you out of it, as if you weighed nothing. Well, that was it for you, wasn’t it? You couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to kill you now. You anxiously looked at him, at a loss for words before his content expression. It was easy to tell he had enjoyed hunting you down all the way to the Thalassian Pass. And now he was just looking at you— almost gloating, and you didn’t know what to say.

“T-there’s no heroic crests this time I’m afraid, haha…” you blurted out awkwardly, trying to ease your own stress. 

“Heroic crests? I have no use for such things. Oh, no. I get to have an even better reward, the best one, in fact,” and with those words, he pinned your shoulders to the wall behind you with a grin, “you.”

You could have dyed your house furniture with the bright red color on your cheeks. Your face was heating up like a needle in the Firelands, and it was hard to deny his words held a certain… appeal. And now to understand what he meant by that, because the man was beyond capable of killing and eating you, you were painfully aware of that. But before you could ask, his face had grown closer to yours faster than you could react, and he pulled you into a searing kiss, his body crashing against yours and pinning it to the wall behind you in the most deliciously obscene way. He was way, way taller than you, yet you could tell his legs were bent at just the right angle so that his hips were right against yours.

The anxiety turned into desire and you let his hands wander all over your waist and back, kissing back in a yearning way you didn’t know you could ever muster. The taste of blood creeped onto your tastebuds as he bit your lip, but you couldn’t even say you hated it. He bit his way from your lip to your chin and the crook of your neck, curious fingers inching underneath your top slowly…

"I did interrupt you earlier... maybe now's the time to beg. Don't you think?"

That night, you realised something: Astalor was not only skilled for hunting.

---

So yeah that's it, sorry it's kinda short, haven't had sleep in a while, hope it was a good read-

[dersite-day-dreamer]

The bass thrummed through your chest like a second heartbeat as the final notes of the metal concert crashed through the Darkmoon Faire grounds. Your ears were ringing, your voice hoarse from singing along, and you felt absolutely alive. The crowd around the stage was a chaotic mix of Horde and Alliance, all usual tensions forgotten in the shared euphoria of the music.

As people began to disperse toward the carnival games and food vendors, you felt someone's presence behind you—solid, warm, and radiating heat even in the cool island breeze.

"Quite a show," rumbled a deep voice that seemed to resonate in your bones.

You turned to find yourself looking up—way up—at an orc warrior. He was massive, with green skin marked by traditional tattoos that traced down his muscular arms. His dark hair was pulled back in a topknot, and his tusks were adorned with silver rings that caught the flickering torchlight. But it was his eyes that held you: amber and surprisingly gentle despite his fearsome appearance.

"Best concert I've seen at the Faire," you managed, trying not to stare too obviously at the way his leather vest hung open, revealing his broad chest.

His lips quirked into a smile. "First time I've been. My guild mates convinced me to take a break from campaigning." He extended a hand—large enough to engulf yours completely. "Garok."

"Nice to meet you, Garok." You gave him your name, feeling the careful control in his grip as he shook your hand, conscious of his strength.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, gesturing toward the tavern near the boardwalk. "Unless you're meeting someone..."

"No one," you said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "A drink sounds great."

The tavern tent was crowded but you found a corner table, and Garok returned with two mugs of the Faire's signature brew—something dark and spiced that warmed you from the inside. You talked easily, discovering he was a warrior from Orgrimmar who'd spent the last months in too many battles and needed to remember what he was fighting for. You shared your own story, and he listened with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

"You want to walk?" he asked after your second drink, his voice lower now, intimate. "The Faire is better at night."

You nodded, and he offered his arm—a surprisingly courtly gesture. You took it, feeling the solid muscle beneath the leather, and let him guide you out into the night.

The Darkmoon Faire was transformed after dark. Lanterns bobbed in the breeze, casting dancing shadows. The carousel music mixed with distant laughter and the crash of waves against the island's shore. Garok led you past the game booths and toward the quieter edge of the grounds where the beach met the carnival.

"I should tell you," he said, stopping and turning to face you, "I find you very attractive. But if this is just a pleasant evening of conversation, that's good too. I don't want to assume—"

You stopped his words by stepping closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. "I don't want it to be just conversation."

His smile was slow, almost predatory, but his touch was gentle as he cupped your face with one large hand. "Then I'm a very fortunate orc tonight."

When he kissed you, it was careful at first, mindful of his tusks, but you pressed closer and he groaned, deepening the kiss. His arms came around you, lifting you easily against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers finding the tie in his hair and loosening it.

"My camp," he breathed against your lips, "is just through the trees. Private."

"Show me," you whispered back.

He carried you like you weighed nothing, moving through the shadows beneath the trees to where he'd set up a tent away from the main campgrounds. It was spacious inside, with furs laid over bedrolls, and he set you down carefully before lighting a small lantern that cast everything in warm gold.

"Last chance to change your mind," he said, though his hands were already tracing down your sides, pulling you close again.

You answered by pulling him down into another kiss, and this time there was no hesitation from either of you. His hands were everywhere—large and warm and knowing—and he took his time learning every curve of your body with a warrior's focused intensity. When he laid you back on the furs, his weight above you was thrilling rather than frightening, and the way he whispered your name like a prayer made you feel powerful.

The night stretched out in pleasure and warmth, his strength tempered with surprising tenderness, and when you finally lay tangled together in the aftermath, listening to the distant sounds of the Faire and the ocean, you traced the tattoos on his chest lazily.

"Stay until morning," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'll buy you breakfast. The faire donuts are worth the stomachache."

You laughed, snuggling closer into his warmth. "I'll hold you to that."

Outside, the Darkmoon Faire continued its eternal carnival, but in this moment, you'd found something more rare than any prize at the games—a connection that burned brighter than any torch, if only for one perfect night under the stars.

[endursent]

An Aspect's Affection

characters; alexstrasza, ysera, nozdormu, x gn!reader

summary; bullet-point affection in headcanon format, a spice of character analyses and some angst if you squint. the three original remaining aspects need some loving, and them to love us some, it's healthy for everyone involved.

note; started this before dragonflight came out—for ao3, decided to slap it here as well—planned to have it done before release… took longer than i thought it would, my bad lol. i love reader-inserts and all dragons but especially the aspects, first fic i post in years yikers. please enjoy.

read on ao3

Alexstrasza

As the Queen of Dragons, Leader of the Red Dragonflight and most importantly, a mother, Alexstrasza serves her duties with unmatched tenacity and grace. You would be hard-pressed to find a more suitable person for the job. But despite her parental nature and deep desire to fiercely protect those dear to her, she does not baby you—she trusts you and believes you are perfectly capable to handle obstacles thrown your way, it is only when you either ask her for assistance or she deems the situation out of your control that she will interfere. Alexstrasza loves every creature on Azeroth, sometimes to an unreasonable degree, she makes sure it is known that they all fall under her wing, her protection and care—and few move independently from the shade her wings cast and can so easily find her attention as you do. She favours you, unafraid to admit your presence is much more desirable than some—than many—and will seek your company over others.

Alextrasza is not a young whelp, she has flown Azeroth's skies for far longer than the older races that walk the soil have on two feet, and even if she loves and cherishes every life on Azeroth, even though she desires to protect and preserve their health, she will also have them understand that they will stand on their own legs through the high wind—but that were it to come to it, she will always stand before the storm.

If you were to allow it, Alexstrasza would love to decorate you, to gift you gold and jewels to hang upon your person wherever you so desired. She would prefer you wear red and gold, adorned with her gifts and more often by her side than not—fitted like you truly to belong to each other, made for each other—Alexstrasza would not insist you do as she would like, but would appreciate it even more so if you chose to by yourself.

Were you to lay the palm of your hand to her scales, you would find them to be comfortably warm. Her body emits a comforting heat that reflects her burning love and passion for her children, family and consorts, a love that does not fade even for the dead. Her golden gaze—whether draconic or elven—eases whatever nerves might trouble you, a gaze so soft you might feel cotton fill your chest.

It's a far more subtle and independent relationship than one would expect, sometimes there are days that Alextrasza is busy and must attend to her duties, and as much as she would love to have you accompany her... most of them can be quite boring, and you have your own daily tasks to go through. Alexstrasza isn't much for parading you around like a drake with a newly found mate, but she does not hide you either—she simply isn't much of a hand-holder, in the simplest sense.

The quickest way to improve Alexstrasza's mood, were she to seem troubled or feel under the weather is to grab a whelp our of the air—they're everywhere, those little rascals—and plop them down in her lap. She will look momentarily confused, but her heart will instantly lighten at the high-pitched squawk the whelp lets out, Alexstrasza thanks you for your consideration and suggests you accompany her on a walk to clear her mind. The whelp is freed from their voluntary confinement and flaps back to enact chaos on it's caretakers.

Speaking of whelps, I hope you find them cute, because they can and will swarm you anytime you are in their line of sight. Unfortunately, they are young enough not to understand their impressive strength despite their small form and will sometimes grip and nip at you a bit too hard. A nearby sitter—or even Alexstrasza herself, if she happens to be nearby—will scold the horde of excited whelps, trying to get it into their small heads that they must be aware of and have care with their strong jaws and sharp talons. The whelps will give you the largest, shiniest pleading eyes you have ever seen in your life in attempt to beg forgiveness, and it would be a crime of the highest degree to not forgive them on the sport. They would then bite you again—gently—for fun, they love you very much.

Alexstrasza has a tendency to bring you things, differently from the gifts she gives you involving jewelry or clothing. You had once stopped on a stroll for a minute to re-tie your boots—not noticing that Alexstrasza had continued walking—and looked back up to see her approaching you rapidly. Confused and a bit startled by her brisk pace, you ask if there is anything wrong.

"Nothing at all," she replies with a smile, placing something in your pocket.

You reach into your clothes, curious what it was that she had slipped into it and pull out an oddly shaped stone. You blink at the rock and look to her again, Alexstrasza had begun walking again—turning when you spoke. "Thank you...?"

She says nothing for a moment, inclining her head slightly. "What for?"

You raise the stone between your fingers, a flicker of the sun peeking between leaves above you shines it's side.

"Oh, it is strangely shaped, is it not? I thought it was interesting."

Many times you don't even notice, as the day comes to an end and you begin removing your outside clothing in favour of something more comfortable, you do not remembering having seen Alextrasza for the entirety of the day—yet your pockets are full of strangely misshapen shells and discoloured wood. And dirt.

But you can be assured that when the sun is below the horizon and the chill of night falls over the land, you will never embrace sleep without her warmth beside you.

  Ysera

I hope you're not afraid of bugs.

Ysera spends a lot of time in greenery, thick and moist forests filled with bugs and creepy crawlies--though sometimes in open plains, laying on the soft moss, a natural cushion under your head.

You will never for the rest of your life have a sense of privacy in your sleep—Ysera will know what you dreamt of and she will talk about it, mostly because she finds it fascinating what your subconscious comes up with in the dark of the night.

On the upside, you will also never for the rest of your life have a bad or uncomfortable sleep, whether you mention it or not, Ysera has made it her personal mission in life to keep your dreams peaceful and comfortable—if asked, she will simply say that since she watches it anyway, why not ensure it is nice? 

Outside of napping and dreaming—her favourite hobby and occupation—Ysera has a lot of teaching and consulting to do, druids and dragons young and old seek her advice on both important and sometimes painfully trivial matters, yet the dreamer addresses every single one of them with attention and care that’s enough to quell any worry and anxiety in regards to the problem at hand.

But Ysera is not all-knowing, she often asks you for your perspective and values your opinion greatly—don’t worry if you don’t know or understand the weight or intricacy of the problem, sometimes it helps to have access to an unbiased view she trusts.

One day she offhandedly mentions she likes your smell and upon asking for her to elaborate on the strange comment, Ysera would say that among the heavy wet smell of the morning forest, of the lingering chill of the night, your scent stands out and draws attention to you. A smell she likes to follow. You weren’t sure exactly what that meant but at the time you thought it was a thinly veiled insult, or suggestion to bathe more often (it was not). 

You like to think you know more than some how visages work, and you’re confident that Ysera can wear her hair any way she desires when she uses the magic. Then why does she, almost every time you get ready for the day and she makes use of her visage form, ask you to style and form her hair? It’s simple, she does not say it—too bashful to voice it—but she likes the way your fingers thread through the hair of her visage, how you try your best to make it different every time and sometimes place flowers and greenery in it to elevate your newest work. Whether you have any knowledge of styling hair doesn’t matter, she will wear it until she changes from her visage form. 

Despite her seeming unending wisdom to her flight and Azeroth’s druids, Ysera sometimes asks you the most out of pocket, insane questions known to man.

“Why do mortals say ‘after dark’ when it is usually said after light has gone for the day?”

“That saying—if roses are red, why is it followed with ‘violets are blue’? They are not blue.”

“The book you were reading the other day, ‘Unsolved Mysteries of Tol Barad’—why are they called ‘unsolved mysteries’? Do they not have to be unsolved in the first place to be called a mystery?”

You sometimes wonder if she asks these types of questions only to see your completely bewildered and befuddled expression as you attempt to both decipher her thought process and come up with an appropriate answer.

She does, catching you off-guard and watching the gears in your head turn as you try to understand what she just said is a rare change from the composed, wise elders and druids she so often speaks to. It makes her feel more… awake, interacting with something more alive, makes her feel more alive. 

She is one of the the best people—next to her sister of course—to be around if you were to get sick or have a need for quiet and caring, remedies and letting the body work it out is the healthiest way to deal with the common cold or any mostly harmless sickness, so she mostly helps you even out your body heat and soothe any headache or other pain. She is confident in you to handle any small illness but is unafraid to ask for the second opinion of a dragon or druid specialising in caring for and healing sickness if she feels the need, or finds your condition become concerning. 

Overall the embodiment of care and comfort when you need it, five stars.

  Nozdormu

Early on, you had to use every single cell in your brain to navigate a single conversation with this guy. The amount of mental gymnastics you had to do to decipher some of the stuff he says offhandedly is impressive—you were advised to not think too hard about what he says, that the effort is too great for something he won’t explain to you if you asked anyway, but you choose to engage with his pondering and strange comments despite the occasional headache. Which is something the Lord of Time find increasingly more impressive as time goes.

That doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal conversation with him, if Nozdormu truly wants to tell you something or chat, he will. He simply finds it amusing and strangely engaging to create conversational hoops for you to find your way through, it's not malicious... on purpose.

You once complemented the tattoo on his visage form’s shoulder and he has never covered it since, even when he conjures more clothes on his visage form he always keeps his tattooed skin exposed—even if it might be impractical, and if you asked, he would never tell you it was because you seemed to like it. 

As the Guardian of Time and leader of the Bronze Dragonflight, Nozdormu is extremely busy. Not only has he had to lead an entire flight, but the entirety of time to watch for as well—less so after the loss of his titan-given powers as aspect, but his position is demanding. There might be days or weeks where you would not see him, not knowing what he was doing nor optimistic that you would ever know—and despite having no idea where or when he is, you are unfortunately the person most would assume knows and you'll have to become skilled relatively fast at answering the question of where he might be to those who need his attention. 

Fortunately, Nozdormu doesn’t leave you to answer for his hand forever and instead will leave you with answers to give—his definition of an answer to; “where is Nozdormu and when will he be back?” being along the lines of; “he will come to you when the time is right.” which is not technically an answer, but it gets them off your heels for a while.

Nozdormu does not often explain what he’s doing, where he’s going or why to you—nor anyone, really. He has many things on his mind, so much that it is surely unreasonable to assume one being could shoulder the entirety of time on their own, he reasons with himself that it is precisely for that reason he must be the only one to bear the burden of time. Most of the dragonflights operate separately and many of the dragons within them fly independently, but the Bronze Flight much more so. Many of the flight work alone and rarely do they work in groups, the dragons of his own flight rarely or ever speak to Nozdormu directly, even if they desired to do so—which most don’t have a reason for. 

Over time, despite his flight taking considerably less losses than others comparatively, Nozdormu has short times where he feels a strange, cold pit of… loneliness strike him. He often distances himself from the mortal world and spends time gazing into the timeways, sometimes to an unhealthy degree where he would not emerge for a long while—and who would notice? For the longest time, he has been so detached from the ‘current’ time that there was no one who would ask. 

He would wonder, often, what it was that drove his future self to insanity... was it some event in the future—unseen to his current eyes—of losing control of himself in a horrible way? To lose grip of his senses and fall to madness, lose the desperate battle to cling to rationale and grasp of what makes him himself...? What is it what makes Nozdormu what he is? Is it his power over time? If so, then who was he before? How does he know if his understanding of himself is true, that it does not fool him? Unable to see that he has become different before it is too late? Where his morals and senses have become too altered—twisted unrecognisably—to the point of insanity?

It is an uphill battle to get the dragon to open up about his doubts, of the nagging, itching concerns he never allows to crawl far enough to the forefront of his mind to show behind his eyes. You only have vague assumptions of what Nozdormu might be thinking when he gazes distantly over your shoulder—you might never know what he is feeling, and you certainly might never understand those feelings. But it does not mean you can’t try to reason that perhaps if he confined in someone, not necessarily yourself, anyone, that it might help him sort his thoughts. 

As is his expertise, Nozdormu deflects and guides the conversation away from the topic. He does not wish to become Murozond, but he knows he cannot’ alter the true timeline—he will not stop his pursuit of preventing his own downfall, but how far can, and is he willing to go? He cannot’ allow himself to fall to madness—he cannot’ allow you to see him fall. 

You know there is little you can do to actually help him while he keeps this distance, so you stay where he places you—so barely within arms length that it’s obvious he wants you not to interfere for your own safety, but yet somehow so barely closer than most that perhaps, you can find a way to ease his burden just a little. Until the time is better.

theyre my little meow meows

[spacequokka]

Page 61

Sehyoon cherished the privacy of his bedroom, as it was the one space where he could indulge in his secret obsession. It served as his personal sanctuary, allowing him to surreptitiously observe your every move. From the comfort of his bedroom window, he had an uninterrupted view into your life, a voyeuristic privilege that both thrilled and consumed him.

For hours on end, Sehyoon would find himself captivated by the sight of you in your art studio. There, you would sit at your easel, completely engrossed in your creative process. With each stroke of your brush, a masterpiece would come to life on the canvas, leaving Sehyoon in awe of your talent. He longed to catch a glimpse of your other works, to witness the full extent of your artistic prowess, but his shyness held him back from approaching you directly.

Lost in his thoughts one day, Sehyoon was suddenly startled by a voice behind him. "Who are you peeping at?" Yuchan's mischievous grin greeted him as he turned around, causing Sehyoon to jump so forcefully that he accidentally hit the window. His heart raced as he tried to compose himself, realizing that his secret had been exposed. "Oh, her? Why don't you just go say hi?"

He shook his head. "How would that work? This is the only time I see her." He looked down. "She'd freak out if she knew I watched her."

Yuchan shrugged and reached into his bag of chips. "How would that be better than her simply looking up and seeing you staring? Might as well just introduce yourself." The chip almost touched his lip when his eyes widened. "Or…" He muscled his way to the window and flicked the latch. A second too slow, Sehyoon tried to stop him. "Wait--"

"Hey!" Yuchan called out. You startled at your easel, looking around in bewilderment until you spotted a guy all but leaning out a window waving to get your attention. "Yeah, up here. Hi!"

A few blinks and you were waving back with a brush in your hand. "Hi there!"

Sehyoon covered his face as his skin heated up. "I can't believe you." He muttered.

Yuchan ignored him. "My friend here likes your art! Can he see what you're working on?"

It was your turn to freeze up and turn red. "I--uh--this one?" Yuchan nodded like a happy little idiot. You hesitated but to their surprise you reached over and picked up the canvas. "Please don't think badly of me."

Your shyness was endearing and Sehyoon found himself pushing Yuchan over. "We won't."

Maybe he was imagining it, but it seemed like your blush deepened when you made eye contact. "Okay." You turned the art towards them and for once even Yuchan was speechless. The painting was nowhere near finished but the sketch was good enough to know what it was. He could honestly say he'd never thought that you could see him as well as he could see you. It was a candid portrait of him leaning on his window sill, gazing up at the clouds. You captured him in a way he'd never seen himself, and he liked it.

"Wow that's amazing!" Yuchan pushed him aside. "Will you do one of me next? I wanna hang it up in the living room."

You let out a laugh so precious accompanied with a smile that warmed him from the inside out. "Why don't you come over for tea and cookies and we can talk about it?"

[whattodowithace]

Silk (Seyoon)

Title: Silk

Pairing: Seyoon x Reader

Genre: Spice

Word Count: 1.1K Words

Writer: Whattodowithkpop

Warnings: Slight bondage themes

*****

I hold the silk material in my hand as I touch the pleasant material against my skin. I felt nervousness bubble inside me as I thought about bringing them up to Seyoon. He was very calm in everything, but it didnt calm my nerves any knowing this.

I emerge from the bedroom, Seyoon relaxing on the couch with the tv on, although he was distracted by his phone, just using the tv as background noise.

“Hey Seyoon?” I catch his attention, keeping the material bunched in my clenched fist. “Can I ask you something?” I sit next to him as he watches me with a small smile.

He gives me a nod to continue as he give me his full attention.

I look down to my fist as I try to think of the best way to bring up the topic.

“I want to try something.” I finally tell him, looking up to meet his eyes that swirled with curiosity.

“What did you want to try?” He asks with an innocent smile, not realizing the bomb I was about to drop on him.

I bring my fist towards him, unclenching it to reveal the light blue strings. Seyoon tilts his head, reaching out to grab on of the silky strings as he inspects it close to his face. It takes him a moment before his face finally changed to realization, then to a bright blush as he realizes what the item was used for.

“I have one question.” He looks to me, his eyes hazy, making them shine in the light. I nod at him, my nervousness filling my stomach once again.

“Who wears them?” He asks, excitement evident on his face as he leans in closer to me.

I blush as I realize he was agreeing. “Either one of us can.”

“Who do you want it to be?” He asks, leaning his head into my neck where he begins to kiss the side.

I close my eyes as I lean my head back to give him more access, breathing out a sigh as I answer him. “I wanted to try them with you wearing them.”

Seyoon quickly licks my neck, his tongue licking up to my jaw as his lips reach my ear. “Then tie me up.”

I feel an ignition in my belly at his words, grabbing his face to meet mine as I bring our lips together in a heated kiss. Seyoon stands us up, leading us into the bedroom but keeping our lips locked throughout the process. He sits on the bed, bringing me into his lap as he rests his back against the headboard. He pulls away, grabbing my wrist gently as he places the silk in my hands and brings his wrists in front of me.

I reach my hands down to his shirt, tugging it roughly. “This needs to come off first.” I raise it above his head, his torso now exposed to me. I bite my lip as I bring the light blue material to his wrists, the silk complimenting his skin as I tie it loosely around. I tie both of them to the headboard, restraining his wrists outwards.

“These are delicate.” I whisper in his ear, my fingers tracing the strings to his wrist, trailing them up his arm lightly. “You can break them easily. But if you don’t, you’ll be rewarded.”

Seyoon shuts his eyes tightly as he lets out a heavy breathe, his muscles tightening at my featherlike touches. I scoot closer to him on his lap, my hands resting on his shoulders as I lean in to kiss his lips. It was odd at first, not having Seyoon’s hands resting on my hips as I ran my fingers through his hair. But with each tense of his shoulders and sigh of frustration that came from him, the oddness was replaced with confidence as I took control. He tried to force his tongue into my mouth, but with his hands restrained he failed as I, instead, slide my tongue into his mouth, rubbing it against his. His knee bent towards me, pushing my body flush with his as my hands came to his chest to catch myself. His skin was hot to the touch, making me excited that he got so worked up so quickly. I trail my hands down to his stomach, feeling his abdominal muscle that he had worked so hard for.

“How do you manage to be so beautiful?” I ask him as I watch my hands trace his defined lines.

I lean my head down, bringing my lips to the skin just below his jawline. I bite and suck gently, Seyoon’s head leaning back as he tenses and pulls against the silk. I smile against his skin as I lick the red spot I had just formed before creating a trail of hickies down to his chest. His chest moves up and down quickly as he was practically panting against my lips. I begin to bite the expanse of his chest, his arms pulling against the silk roughly, I was surprised they hadn’t snapped yet.

I enjoyed seeing him this way, but I also missed his hands on my body.

“Seyoon.” I whisper as I bring my head to face his. “Break them”

Seyoon smirks as he looks up at me. “Do you want me to touch you that bad?” He teases.

I glare at him, leaning away from him and completely taking my hands off of him.

“Wait.” Seyoon whines out, pulling against the material in a failed attempt to grab me before I pull away fully.

I smirk at him. “Look who wants to be touched now.”

Seyoon’s eyes suddenly spark, a smirk appearing on his face as he begins to flex his arm against the silk material, loosening it. I watch his arm with widened eyes. It snaps in half, Seyoon’s hand immedietly pushing my back to push my stomach into his chest.

I gasp as I grab the silk that was still attached to his wrist. “You broke it.”

Seyoon reaches behind me, uniting the other ribbon from his wrist, both of his hands free. “I cant wait to see you with these on and see how tortuous it will be.”

I suck in a breath, my body rigid as Seyoon flips us over, his body hovering over mine has his teeth begin to attack my neck.

I breath out as my back arches off the bed, pushing against Seyoon. His hand goes to my back, his fingers slipping past my shirt to run against my spine delicately.

“Seyoon, please don’t tease.” I manage to get out between breathes.

“Since you begged so nicely.” He whispers as he proceeds to slip the material over my head, finally giving me what I want.

MAIN MASTERLIST

[cloudykaii]

Coukd you make a blurb for a.c.e Wow with prompt 98.

98. “I don’t understand.”

After yelling at you, the last thing Sehyoon expected when he came into the bedroom, was for you to kiss him sweetly. When you pulled away and smiled up at him gently, he was even more confused. “Lay down, baby,” you gestured to the bed.

“I-I don’t understand,” he mumbled, doing what you asked. “I was mean to you.”

You hummed, unbuttoning his shirt and handing him a softer tee shirt. “You were, but that’s okay.”

“It’s not, why- why aren’t you mad?” His voice seemed so lost and hurt you felt your heart break for a moment.

You eased him into changing into comfier clothes, mumbling, “You yelled at me, and that wasn’t right. But what would be worse is me getting mad instead for talking out the real issue, which is you pushing yourself so far that anger is your go to. You need to rest.”

“But, Y/N-” you cut off his protest by gently pushing him on the bed. “You’re tired, and overworked. I love you, I’m not mad, and we can talk it out in the morning. For now, rest,” you leaned over and kissed his head and he could have sworn he teared up at that. He had heard you say you love him countless times, but tonight... tonight he really knew.

[raijuto]

Are there still blogs out there who accept World of Warcraft imagines/headcanons? ;u; It’s so hard to find new writing

[nam-nam-joon]

fall

Pairing: sehyoon x reader

Genre: angst

Wordcount: 0.8k

Warnings: heights; christian religious images (ig?)

Summary: you have been deemed unworthy to remain among your kind; for loving someone, unlike what you'd been told.

the last moments before your fall are filled with the sound of ringing bells and someone reaching out to hold your hand

The wind whipped around you, tugging on your sash and pulling mercilessly on your wings. A reminder you were no longer welcome here.

You felt the celestial plane trembling under the soles of your bare feet as you closed in on the edge. Where gold ended, stormish grey descended into spiralling pits of darkness.

Earth lay below, somewhere. Far, far down; blocked by the winding tunnel weaving back and forth.

It would be a long way.

The air smelled metallic as you stepped up to the ledge. Lightning zigzagged through the mist, lit up parts of it and gave the area a ghostly hue - nothing like the eternal glow of the lampions lining the walkways, the shine every wall gave off.

This one was unpredictable and harsh; flaring up once and then submerging the clouds back into darkness.

There had never been coldness in the celestial planes but stood here, with nothing but pain waiting for you, with the darkness beckoning you closer, you thought this might be it. This feeling of anticipation, of dread worming its way through you, that made you shiver.

The wind turned and carried the sound of ringing bells over. You lifted your head.

Once they had fallen silent the bell of the hour would ring, twelve times, and after the last tone had rung out you were no longer allowed here. It was time to go, if you wanted to receive punishment freely, and not risk more than three times seven human lives, riddled with sin and hardships.

Still you waited a bit longer, closing your eyes to take in the heavenly sound, to bath in the soundwaves one last time.

Did they have bells on Earth as well?

It was getting close now.

This portal was one of the very infrequently used ones, it wasn't even guarded. It spared you the humiliation of having anyone witnessing your fall.

There was still time, the bells had only begun their main song, but you steeled yourself. You had never felt pain, either. Would it hurt?

Yelling disturbed the sound of wind and music, a voice you thought you recognized. Taken by surprise you turned your head.

He had to fight against the strong currents in the air, more than you had. It was another grim reminder your time here was running out. The abyss stretched out its hands towards you, eager fingers ready to pluck the feathers from your back, break the bone and damn you.

It was mesmerizing to look down upon in.

Warm hands caught your own. Your eyes flitted from the edge of the walkway to him, and your hand in his, and how his skin was warm. So warm.

"You're so cold." He breathed out, rubbing the palm, trying to work eternal life back into it.

You shook your head at his antics, smiling, sad.

"It is no use, Sehyoon. I know my destiny now, and I have accepted it. I shall dwell among the humans, experience pain, experience sin. It is just."

His eyebrows twitched together, his expression changing to one you would have rather not seen on him anymore.

"But it is not fair only you were punished. If all, it is as much m-"

You took a step towards him, even if it was strainous, and covered his mouth with one hand of yours.

"Hush. Don't you remember our parent-eternal is all-seeing?"

His shoulders relaxed but his eyes continued to scream at you.

Not fair.

Not fair.

The bells started to fade and even the wind around you calmed.

Your eyes slipped around him, to the entrance of stone not far down the wall. But there was noone coming for you yet.

"Byeongkwan and me got placed on guarding one of the heavenly gates." He spoke up, taking your hand off his face and into his second palm. "I will wait for you. Every lifetime you absolve, I will greet you at the gate before you'll have to go back. I will be there."

"Sehni..."

"It is decided." He spoke with determination, yet you could see the tears pooling in his eyes. He took a resolute sniff. "It may be your punishment to fall. But it will be mine standing watch by the gate, anticipating your return."

The bells fell silent, left behind a droning nothingness. Nervosity stirred in your middle, a fluttering as if of wings but within your body. You felt heavier by the moments that passed.

"It is time." You announced to him, smiling despite the uncertainty lying ahead.

Three times seven human lifes. Live without sin, and you shall be granted your return. That had been the sentence.

You parted from him, stepped closer to the edge once more but his hold on your hand wouldn't lessen.

"I will think of you, every time the bells are singing." You spoke to the abyss, raising your shoulders and braving the fall. Three times the hourly bell had chimed already.

"Do you regret it?" He asked, and you looked back once more. "Loving more than only their highness-eternal?" Loving me?

His face was unreadable.

"I shall live, so I shall love." You answered.

Ten times now.

"Farewell, Sehyoon."

And then you let go of his gaze and stepped over the edge.

author’s note: my first a.c.e. fic :’) let me know if you liked it?