#I thought of this post the second I sent you that ask

[bluebanistrs]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪vicious .

franco was the kind of situationship that never had made her sad, just angry and more obsessed.

franco × journalist ! reader

im thinking abt a part 2 for this one (cause its kinda short)

Moving from a small town to study journalism was my biggest dream. In 2023, it finally happened. I moved to an apartment in Monaco with my best friend and started the college I always dreamed of doing.

2024 started with me having a really good time with my friends and family, and after the journalist who did the pre and post race interviews randomly decided that he would retire in the middle of the season, my internship manager decided that I would be the best option to replace him, even though I was only in the second year of college.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one to get promoted. Franco Colapinto was the newest Williams Racing F1 driver.

Franco was someone I've kissed in a lot of parties. I thought that he wasn't like the other guys, but that was before I really knew him. He is the type of guy that texts you the whole day, pretends to care about you, asks how you're feeling, sends you roses, tells you he spoke about you to his mother in a space of time, and completely ignores you for the next whole month.

If someone asks me about him, I would just say that he's a dickhead and I absolutely hate him. But if he sent me a message saying he feels so sorry for ghosting me, I would forgive and not fight. Why does he gotta be so vicious? I could never be mad at him, even if he was destroying my heart. All my friends just told me that I'm being stupid and should stop talking with him, but they didn't understand me.

✸

Franco was ghosting me for a few days, but he couldn't escape from the pre free-practice interview, specifically in his first time driving an F1 car. He couldn't escape from talking with me, even if it was for professional reasons.

He finished FP1 in 17th place. I've already interviewed his teammate, Alex Albon, and Kimi Antonelli, who sadly crashed George's car.

The Argentinian was in his flirting mood, responding to all my questions with phrases that could be interpreted in another way. I was already angry at him, and the way he was acting was really annoying me.

I was leaving the paddock when I felt someone touching my left shoulder. Of course, it was him.

“You can't just ignore me for weeks and then pretend that you didn't do anything. I can't play your little game anymore.” I almost screamed at him.

“Hermosa, you can't just pretend that you don't like me. Stop being selfish and let me talk to you. Let me explain myself.” He said with that accent that I couldn't hear without getting crazy.

“So you are calling me selfish? Oh, please, Franco. Act like an adult for a second. I don't wanna talk to you."

He just laughed.

“And stop fucking laughing.” said while I started walking faster.

✸

When I got to my hotel room, the first thing I did was block him everywhere. No more Franco, no more stress.

But only an hour later the room phone started to ring.

“Miss y/n, someone left a thing in your name at the reception.”

“I'm going there.” I put my shoes on and left my room.

“It can't be Franco.” I said to myself while waiting for the elevator.

The ‘thing’ someone left to me was an example of my favorite book, My Year of Rest and Relaxation. I told Franco it was my favorite book when we had our only date that wasn't in a club. On this day, we went to a coffee shop and talked there for hours. I think it is my favorite memory with him.

I unblocked and called him.

“You can't just buy me with presents. I said it before, and I'm saying it again. I can't play your little game anymore.”

“This was the only way I found to grab your attention. I tried to talk to you in the paddock, but you just ran away from me. I would call you, but you blocked me. I really feel that I have to explain myself, but I want to do it face to face. Can I go to your room? No second intentions, I just want to talk.”

I stopped for a moment and considered whether I should let him come and talk.

“My room is number 1043. But you better have a good excuse.”

15 minutes later, I heard someone knocking on my door.

“Come in.” I said to him.

We sat on a sofa. He had his elbows on his thighs, his hands under his face.

“I've had a lot of failed relationships, and it was all my fault. I think I just get scared. I'm scared about things just getting wrong again, and I lose you. I don't know why I kept doing it. Treating you like the whole world and then after, completely ignoring you. Y/n, I really like you, and I can't keep treating you like you're nothing. I'm really sorry for everything I've done to you, and it would mean the world to me if I could only get a second chance.”

I knew he wasn't lying. I saw the truth in his eyes.

“I can't give you a second chance because I've already done that. I really like you, Franco, and I wish things weren't that complicated.” I looked him directly in the eyes.

“I know I kept making you more and more upset with me, and I'm really sorry for everything. I would do anything for you to forgive me. Te lo ruego hermosa.”

“Actually, you've never made me really sad. You just made me really angry, but that always went away when we started talking again.”

“I'm so sorry about everything.”

I grabbed his hands.

“You'll have to prove that you really have changed.”

“Anything for you, mi amor." He gave me a soft kiss after saying that

I told him to go back to his room and just went to bed.

That night, I couldn't sleep well. Was he really being honest? How could I be so sure he wasn't lying? What will happen with us? all these thoughts kept me awake for a few hours. But something inside of me said that everything would be fine.

✸

It was the race day. Lando Norris was on pole and Franco placed 18th.

He had never been so sweet to me and I was really happy cheering for him.

After a long race, he finished 12th place, which was a pretty good result considering that it was his first time racing in an F1 car.

He was the third driver I would interview. After I congratulated Leclerc on his win, the Argentinian driver came in.

“Franco, it was your first time racing in F1, and you had such a great result. How are you feeling right now?”

“I'm feeling like a brand new man.” He said with a big smile.

“The car is really good as far as possible, and I'm really excited for the next race. It's all so different from F2, but me and the team are doing a great job.”

“Congrats, Franco.”

“Thank you, Y/n.” He looked at me with shiny eyes and a sweet smile.

[mielsonrisa]

The Weight of Survival Ch1: ‘Old Debts, New Burdens’

Joel Miller x Reader Fanfiction

You’ve always survived by keeping your head down, your knife sharp, and your heart out of it. As an old friend of Marlene and a seasoned smuggler, you’re used to taking risky jobs—but when she asks you to help move a teenage girl named Ellie out of the Boston QZ, nothing feels simple anymore. Especially when you're forced to partner with Joel Miller—a man you’ve clashed with in the past, and whose guarded silence hides more than he lets on.

(Content Warnings Ch1 - none)

Word Count: 1.7k

Hello my lovelies, this is my first official post/fanfiction that I am releasing to the internet, so please don't be too harsh! This story will be canon-compliant through details, characters and rough plot, but will digress at times, so don't expect a carbon copy of the games or series. I don’t have a definitive number of chapters, just going to keep writing and developing as we go! So get cozy, grab a warm drink and settle in. It’s going to be full of angst, emotion, passion and pain. A real journey if you will.

Chapter 1:

You were never supposed to owe Marlene anything. Not after everything. But when she showed up in that half-collapsed safehouse, bleeding and breathless, clutching your wrist with the same fire in her eyes she’d had twenty years ago, you didn’t say no. You didn’t ask questions. That was the problem with old friends in this world - they knew just enough of who you used to be to make you forget who you’ve had to become.

Even so, in this moment, you were still trying to decide if that made you loyal or stupid when the door opened behind you. Heavy footsteps…deliberate. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, there was only one guy in the Boston QZ who walked like the whole world owed him a fight. Accepting this job was one thing, but Marlene had to be joking if she believed you would spend a second with Joel Miller.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath. “This is who she sent?”

Shifting the coarse fabric of the backpack onto your shoulder - and adjusting the worn straps so you wouldn’t scrape your back again - you turn slowly but surely to find one pissed off man staring straight back at you. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the heaviness bearing down on your shoulders…backpack aside. Joel Miller stands in the doorway like he owns it - like he owns every room he walks into - and for a second you hate how familiar it feels. Shoulders squared, that permanent scowl carved into his face, arms crossed over his chest as if he’s already two steps into an argument you didn’t even know you were about to have.

It’s been years since you’ve seen him this close. Long enough that you’d convinced yourself whatever existed between you…whatever grudges, whatever unspoken things you left bleeding in the dirt, had finally died with the rest of your past.

Clearly, you were wrong.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grunts, scanning the room like he might find Marlene tucked into one of the shadows. “This is what I’m working with?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes toward the crumbling ceiling. Same Joel. Same condescending tone that grates under your skin like sandpaper.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you bite back. “I was just leaving.”

He doesn’t move from the doorway. Doesn’t even blink.

Of course he doesn’t.

The backpack digs into your shoulder as you adjust it again - more forceful this time - using the sting of it to anchor you in the moment. You’re not that person anymore, the one who waited for him to show up. The one who thought maybe - just maybe - he’d have your back.

That version of you died somewhere in a blood-soaked alley years ago.

Joel’s jaw ticks as his gaze sweeps over you, landing briefly on the faded knife strapped to your thigh. The same one he once returned without a word.

“You don’t have to like it,” he says finally, voice low, like gravel underfoot. “But Marlene needs this done, and we don’t got no time to play catch up on old bullshit.”

Your stomach twists at the sound of her name on his lips. Like it means something to both of you. Like it tied you together in ways you never asked for.

“Old bullshit?” you echo, with a bitter laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now?"

He stares at you for a long moment, unreadable. The tension between you tightens until it’s almost unbearable, a silent war neither of you have the energy to fight but refuse to back down from.

Outside, somewhere in the QZ streets beyond the cracked windows, you hear distant shouting - FEDRA patrols or desperate civilians, you can’t tell anymore. It doesn’t matter. The world keeps moving while you and Joel stay stuck in the same ugly loop you swore you’d never fall back into.

“Look,” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, the lines of exhaustion etched deep into his weathered skin. “We can stand here all night throwin’ punches that don’t land, or we can get this shit over with and go our separate ways.”

His eyes flick toward the door, toward whatever job Marlene’s roped him into, and you feel something twist in your gut. An old, familiar ache you thought you’d buried.

Separate ways.

Right

Because that always worked out so well before.

You adjust the strap of your backpack one last time, ignoring the way your heart hammers a little too hard beneath your ribs.

“Fine,” you mutter, stepping past him without another glance. “But don’t think for a second I’m doing this for you.”

He doesn’t respond, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back as you disappear down the hallway. Like he’s waiting for you to look back.

You don’t.

Not this time.

The abandoned subway station stinks of mold and rust. Water drips steadily from somewhere up in the cracked ceiling, the slow, miserable sound echoing off concrete walls. Your boots leave faint prints in the dust coating the floor, ghost trails that will vanish long before morning. Joel stays behind you the whole way down the crumbling stairwell.

Not close enough to crowd you. Not far enough for you to pretend he’s not there.

When you reach the platform - empty, save for a few shattered benches and the remnants of some long-dead camp - you shrug your backpack off with a grunt and drop it at your feet.

You’re tired.

Tired in a way that’s older than your body, buried somewhere in your bones. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of pretending old wounds don’t still bleed every damn day.

Joel leans back against a graffiti-scarred pillar a few feet away, a stones throw, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. The overhead lights - barely flickering to life from a half destroyed generator nearby which has certainly seen better days - cast deep shadows across his face, hollowing out the tired lines, the permanent frown he wears like armour.

The silence between you stretches. Heavy. Lingering. Unforgiving.

You kick a broken beer bottle across the concrete with the toe of your boot, the sharp crack echoing off the walls.

“So. We’re just supposed to waltz out of the QZ with a kid in tow, huh? No big deal.” You say. Your voice sounds rougher than you expect. Tired. Like you’re already bracing for the failure you can feel creeping up around the edges.

Joel shifts his stance, arms unfolding briefly as he scratches at the scruff on his jaw. He shrugs once, a sharp, dismissive motion.

“Not my first choice either.”

You turn towards him fully now, crossing your arms over your chest like it might keep the cold - and him - out.

“Then why’d you say yes?”

Joel looks past you, toward the busted tunnel mouth at the far end of the platform - the place where escape should be waiting, if the Fireflies kept their word. You watch the way his mouth tightens, the slight twitch of his fingers, like he wants to be anywhere else but here, talking about this with you.

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” He murmurs, voice low and tired from the conversation already.

The words hit something sore inside you, the idrs that maybe none of you are choosing anything anymore, just surviving one awful decision at a time. You huff a bitter laugh and slide down the wall, the rough concrete scraping against the back of your jacket until you’re crouched low, elbows on your knees. It’s easier not to look at him from here.

“Yeah. Story of the goddamn century.”

For a minute, all you hear is the whistle of the wind through the station, the distant thud of something heavy falling in the ruins above. It’s the sound of the world crumbling piece by piece, a familiar soundtrack. Joel shifts again. Not restless - deliberate.

You know that about him, even after all this time. Joel Miller doesn’t move unless he’s decided something.

He studies you for a long beat - the way your hand rests protectively over your knife, the tension locked in your shoulders, the way you stare out into the dark like you’re expecting it to bite. You wait for the judgement.

The lecture.

The cold, hard assessment he was always so good at giving.

Instead -

“You’re good at what you do.”

The words slide into the silence like a knife.

You blink at him, thrown off balance. It’s not what you expected. Not even close.

Snorting, you respond dryly, “Gee, thanks for the ringing endorsement.”

But Joel’s not smiling. Not smirking. His face is serious, gaze steady and mouth a tight line. As stoic as ever, he says,

“Ain’t a lotta people I’d want watchin’ my back out there.”

For a second - a single, shuddering heartbeat - the wall around your chest cracks.

You remember what it felt like once, standing back-to-back with him in the dark, weapons drawn, trust implicit. You remember thinking nothing could break you.

You were wrong, of course.

You swallow the lump rising in your throat. Quietly, betraying yourself before you can stop:

“You used to.”

The words hang between you, trembling.

Joel’s jaw ticks, his gaze dropping for a second like he can’t bear the weight of it. The firelight from a broken trash can casts long, flickering shadows over him, painting the years you lost in stark, brutal relief.

“Yeah…I did” a gravelly voice murmurs into the abyss.

You don’t say the rest. Neither does he. You both remember what came after: the fight, the silence, the way you turned your back on each other because it was easier than asking why.

The air feels too thick. Your skin too tight.

Joel pushes off the pillar with a grunt, moving toward your bag where it sits slumped on the floor. He picks it up easily, tossing it back toward you without ceremony.

“C’mon. They’re waitin’ on us. Don’t make the kid think we’re already a lost cause.”

You catch the bag against your chest, the weight of it grounding you. You push up to your feet, slinging it once again over your shoulder with a grunt. You don’t say anything as you fall into step beside him, matching his stride without thinking.

The silence between you isn’t easy.

It isn’t forgiving.

But it’s familiar.

And for now, that’s enough.

(Ahhhhh I hope you’ve all enjoyed the first little chapter of this series. I have big plans for this one…the lore shall be insane. Buuuut that only comes if you ask nicely. Please lemme know if you want more of this series, and if so, your wish is my command! xo)

[formedab]

Office Dorks [James Sunderland X Reader]

synopsis: Hoping to cheer up James' daughter leads to accidentally making him realize there's something more between you two. Or making a move on him without actually trying!

status: oneshot

content warning: gender neutral [?] reader, slight anxiety problems, fluff, office romance, gen, idiots in love

author's note: Heavily inspired by this post from @woodsidej. Hope this is what you've been thinking of!

It had been a little less than a week of James being absent from the office when you started to get worried. Despite working alongside him, with your cubicle being just across from his, which might have been uneventful and sometimes too quiet, you've come to cherish your small conversations and occasionall joke over coffee as you worked. And well... You might have had a little crush on him. As you snooped around the office, not so subtly asking your colleagues where he might be, you eventually came across the evident answer.

— He took a sick leave?

The fact that it was so unlike James left you even more confused. Out of all the people who jumped at the opportunity to take on additional tasks and do overtime, it seemed like he'd be the last person to stay home just because of some bad cough.

— Oh no, I think it's not him who got sick, actually, — one of your colleagues chirped in as you stood by the old coffee machine, nursing your lukewarm cup, — I believe it was his daughter, Laura? I think that was her name...

A thought suddenly occurred to you as you turned back to the slightly disheveled and empty cubicle.

As you clocked in over the next few days, you brought in a new gift. Of course, the majority of those items were for Laura. A charming dinosaur keychain in a pink tutu, a few hair ties, a tiny set of glitter pens... All those carefully left on his desk.

Was it a bit weird to do something like this? Given, it wasn't something you'd give to just a colleague, you weren't that close after all. But something about thinking of James as a caring dad sent a fresh surge of affection through you. In fact, it was making you giddy. You just couldn't help yourself, leaving some coffee candy on his mousepad as well.

And soon enough James trudged into the office looking more dead than alive. He hardly addressed your other coworkers, offering them a little nod before settling into his chair with a low sigh. As he tugged off his glasses to rub his tired eyes he suddenly noticed the neat array of trinkets on his desk. Puzzled, James took the plush dinosaur keychain, rolling it between his fingers curiously as his eyes caught your somewhat embarassed look from across.

— Hey. Hope this isn't too much, I... I thought you guys could use a little pick me up, — you mutter with a nervous smile, eyes darting back to your computer screen as you pretend to type nonchalantly.

James' stare on you lingers for a few seconds as he watches your cheeks flush lightly, the bright morning light playing with your hair through the office window. He clears his throat, hunching slightly to boot up his computer, his blonde bangs hiding the humbled look on his face.

— Yeah, uh... thanks for the gestures. She's feeling better already. That's really... sweet of you, — James mutters the last part more to himself than to you, catching the view of your feet shifting restlessly under your desk.

As he begins working through the invoices and emails that piled up through the week, he catches himself stealing glances at your cubicle every time he looks at the small gifts you left him. Reaching for the small piece of sweet treat that's been tempting him for quite some time now, James pops the coffee candy into his mouth, relishing the bitter flavor.

James liked the quiet serenity and understanding that seemed to fill the air whenever you were around, truly. The sound of your humming when working in silence for hours, or the melody of your laughter while chatting with coworkers. The fact that you were able to be cheerful while still being kind and reasonable enough to consider his daughter, whom you had never met... It was heartwarming to say the least.

James' breath hitches as you catch him stealing glances at you for the upteenth time, getting lost in the depth of your eyes as you hold his stare. It's too late to look away; the eye contact is stretching forever, and it'd be awkward to turn away now. The candy's rich taste fills his mouth as he struggles to swallow his own spit.

— Yes, James? — you inquire with a soft smile like you always do, and it seems to help him function again. The hum of the office community fades as he tries to find the right words to not embarrass himself. He feels a sudden urge to reach out and cup your cheek.

He's a grown man, c'mon.

— Hey, yeah, I was just... wondering if you'd like to grab coffee with me. Outside of all this, not from that ancient thing that they call a coffee maker, — he makes an attempt to laugh casually even though it comes out poorly, cringing — I know a cafe just a few minutes away that makes a decent brew, good sandwiches too, so —

— Yes! — you answer way too quickly and way too eagerly, startling both James and you, quickly correcting yourself, — I mean, of course um... It'd be nice to take a break from typing all day, ha-ha...

— Yeah, — James nods as a small nervous smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and he runs a hand through his damp hair, realizing he's sweating bullets, — A break sounds great.

He's thrilled and terrified at the same time.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

In which Madoc finds out about Taryn murdering Locke and negotiates for his surrender with three conditions: the first is rewards and accolades for his men, the second is full, unconditional pardon for himself and his two daughters and the third— for Cardan to marry his daughter as the High Queen of Elfhame.

And Cardan—

Cardan accepts.

This was a request from @imaginelovewrite that I took too long to post because tumblr was being very uncooperative.

In one of their many training sessions in childhood, there was one lesson Madoc was particularly fond of drilling into us, that power is a blade anyone can grasp in a moment of darkness— but to keep it honed and in hand, to hold it against every other blade that points at you is the true trial. I believe that I had remembered this lesson. I believe that I had guarded my power with as much zeal as with which I had acquired it. But that was not true. I had let the wicked king spin his web of lies and fallen into them, tangled in a web of promises. I had let it all slip through my fingers like quicksand. And here I sit again— pardoned daughter of the newly anointed seneschal, sister to the to-be high queen— ensconced in gilded chambers where silks and sighs mock me in equal measure. I didn't think anything my twin sister would do could hurt me again. First, she had sent Locke to dance at my heels, to pretend to affection he did not feel, to test him. Then she had slipped on my face like a second skin, assumed my place, and committed treason, persuading or ordering or stealing away half an army. All for some benefits for her husband. The same husband she later killed. And then she had arrived in the mortal world, begging me to take her place in court, violate the conditions of my exile, and risk everything for her child— and because no one who knew her could not love her, Madoc gave up his ambitions to free her before I could agree. I thought she could never hurt me worse than that; worse than asking me to risk my life for her sake, until she arrived once more at our door, all smiles, and with a wedding invitation in hand.

I laughed until I cried.

I knew he had tricked me in everything, tricked me and won, spun his web of lies, persuaded me to relinquish my power over him, and then he had exiled me. But some of it had been real— when he said she was his dearest punishment, his sweet villain, his darling god— faeries could not lie, therefore it must be the truth.

And yet, here is my twin sister about to marry my husband.

I close the door behind me and move towards the throne room to join in the revelries in honor of my sister, dressed in one of her old gowns (because she has purchased herself a brand new wardrobe in anticipation for her wedding, and because nothing I own is suitable according to her). A few smiling courtiers stop to greet me in the hallway and I greet back politely, startled but not displeased, until I realize they think I'm her. It happens twice more until I reach the hall, and their deference burns something inside me. I never had half of all this, when I did so much to earn it; when I was a seneschal with the wicked king as my puppet, I faced only disdain; when I was made queen, they laughed at the mere thought; but she gets all of this— of course, she does.

The formal distribution of rewards has already started when I enter the hall. It smells of roasted venison and burning beeswax. Soldiers stand in gleaming armor, waiting their turn to receive silver clasps, jeweled brooches, and new ranks. It's jarring to see Madoc stood beside the throne— in place of seneschal, which was once reserved for me— but he stands at attention as his men are rewarded, as he is congratulated for his daughter's impending marriage. There are no signs of displeasure on his face, but I have no doubt he is still scheming. He once planned to sit my brother Oak on the throne, and rule from behind him— just as I once had with Cardan. But it seemed clear enough that he meant to continue his plans, through Taryn this time. My sister had no appreciation for power, not in the way Madoc did, not in the way he had taught me to do. She would do as he said in all things that mattered, as long as she could run around as she pleased. It was not a bad plan. They had only to wait for the wicked king to marry her, and then do away with him. But well, it doesn't matter to me any more. In the game of princes and kings, I had been swept off the board.

“Jude,” calls Vivi.

Vivienne looks concerned for me, because I’m attending my own husband's marriage ceremony with my twin sister, and she believes it is going to blow up in my face soon.

“Vivi,” I say, determinedly looking away from her. “Where is Oak?”

“He's with Oriana,” she replies, lowering her voice as she steps closer. “They’ve been inseparable since we came here. They've gone off to collect Taryn from her rooms, on Madoc's orders.”

I nod.

Oriana has always loved her best friend's son as her own. It's no surprise that the seperation was hard on both of them.

Vivienne's eyes search mine. “You don't have to do this.”

“I do.”

She sighs. “If you would just tell her—”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Yes, there is.”

“There's not,” I say finally, tears pricking at my eyes; but then I relax my face again. There will be too many eyes on me tonight. I can't slip. “It wasn't real. I don't know how— but I was tricked, Vivi— I think we never married; otherwise, he could have never agreed to this— this marriage.”

“Then let's go back,” she insists, like leaving faerie is easy. I suppose it is easy for her because faerie never leaves her; she carries it with her everywhere— unlike me.

I exhale loudly. “I don't—”

“Taryn.”

I freeze.

And then I curtsy, heart hammering inside my chest because I've just realized that I have to act like he is just my king, that I have to pretend I'm unaffected— today, tomorrow, maybe forever. I have to pretend I'm not hurt, and humiliated, and betrayed, and that I don't want to kiss his throat with my blade or his lips with my lips like we once did.

And he thinks I'm Taryn.

I do look like her today.

I cursty like she would, because I'm a coward unprepared to face him as me and choose not to correct him on his misunderstanding. Vivienne steals concerned glances at me.

And then I look up.

He is even more horrifically beautiful than I was able to recall. His every finger sparks with a ring. An etched and jeweled breastplate in polished gold hangs from his shoulders, covering a frothy white shirt. Boots curl up at his toes and rise high over his knees, and his tail is curled to one side of his leg. I suppose he has decided he no longer needs to hide it.

And at his brow is that blood crown.

His gold-rimmed eyes regard me with cool capriciousness, but he turns instead to Vivienne. “It's been too long.”

“It really has,” she says, and they keep up the conversation for some minutes.

There is some camaraderie between them, lingered from years of playing games in childhood, and if they are not precisely friends, they are friendly enough that I can fall into the background as they converse, speaking only when called upon to speak— not as myself, but as Taryn— and Vivienne is good enough to go along with my ruse.

She curtsies and says, “I should go find the others.” And then she walks away.

Leaving me alone with him.

A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, jeweled fingers waving away the courtiers trailing beside him, and there's a lover's caress to his voice. “You never returned any of my letters.”

It is so different from anything I thought he would say that I am floored.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

He towers over me, his gold-rimmed eyes shining with caprice. The weight of it is too much and I almost want to run away.

“The letters,” he repeats himself with a delicate frown but his tone remains glib. “You never replied to a one. I began to wonder if you'd misplaced your ambitions in the mortal world.”

I stumble over my words.

I wonder what he means, and what my sister would say. Did he send letters to my sister after she came to us in the mortal world to ask for help covering up Locke's murder in the inquest? Did he know her before? Was all of it a grand ruse? I don't know what he means, and I'm fishing around for what to say, and soon Taryn will come to the hall and he will know anyway that I'm not her so I try to tell him but—

“Jude,” he says slowly like somehow, I'm the one behaving strangely. “You can't really think I don't know it's you.”

I shake my head, reeling. “You said her name.”

“Because you were dressed like her— but the moment after that, I knew it was you.” That's not possible. I don't know about any letters, and if he knew— how could he talk to me like it was alright, like I was his lover and not victim.

“Come closer, Jude.”

I take a step backward.

He frowns. “I was unwilling to believe that you'd been working against me— with Madoc— before but, seeing you now, perhaps I must. My sweet villain, tell me it's not true.”

I grit my teeth. “I'm not the betrayer here.”

“You're afraid of me,” he says, brows furrowed. “But why would you be afraid of me?”

I’m trembling with a feeling I barely understand. “I'm not afraid,” I lie to him. “I hate you. You sent me into exile. You tricked me, and I was stupid enough to believe you once.”

“Yes, of course, it was a trick but—” he looks flummoxed, about to continue when Madoc joins us, whispering something in his ear. He looks reluctant but takes my leave and goes away. Madoc stares at me. “Come sit with me a moment. You've been so busy since we returned here.”

I'm so confused, until I understand even he has mistaken me for his dutiful daughter.

He looks open and friendly, and I'm sure he wouldn't look half so much of either if he knew it was me so I take the opportunity to ask, “Why did you surrender the troops and return?”

“Because that was the best way.”

“The best way to— what?” He looks at me like it should be obvious and to me, it is, but Taryn wouldn't know he means to continue ruling through her so I continue to look confused.

He smiles indulgently, like I'm a child asking questions whose answers I wouldn't understand. “Sometimes, one must retreat an inch to gain a mile,” he says. “I will spare you the whole of the strategy, but that boy— he is young and foolish and it will be easy enough to take care of him.”

My blood runs cold. “But can't you just control him— like Jude did?”

“And look where that got her.”

There is a brief silence as I decide how to respond. “But aren't you worried he will suspect your plans?”

“I'm sure he already does.”

I try to look appropriately alarmed. “Then what's stopping him from ridding himself of you first?”

Madoc grins. “Love.”

“Love of whom?” I wonder if I've made a mistake asking that— if it's Taryn he's talking about— but he doesn't look suspicious.

“There is no banquet too abundant for a starving man,” he says, smiling to himself at some private secret. At last, he takes pity on me. “There is a prophecy that he would make a poor king. I will let him prove himself a good ruler, and when he inevitably fails—” his grin is sharp— “You will be called a Princess.”

I want to ask more but I am worried it will give my identity away so I pivot the conversation. “Vivi told me Jude is very sad.”

“And you do not wish me to punish her further when I am High King, is that it?” he asks. “I am proud of her. What she achieved was no easy feat. She's perhaps most like me of all my children. If only she had shared her plans with me, things would be very different today. But like children the world over, she grew rebellious and out of reach.” He looks steadily at me. “You must have felt as though I favored her despite her ingratitude. But it was only that I understood her better. And yet, we both made unhappy marriages and unhappily did the both of them end.”

The fact that he is comparing his marriage to Taryn’s— but I'm past pretending so I simply nod, the thought that perhaps I've lost his favor forever stinging with each of his remarks.

The next words slip from my mouth without half a warning. “Will you forgive her?”

“Jude?” He looks surprised at the question. “I suppose you want me to. And I—” he catches a look at something and stands up. “Don't think I forgot your loyalty. You put our family's interests above your own—” something I certainly didn't do— “and when this is all over, you can name your reward and I will make sure you get it.” l

The smoke of betrayal lingers and I can't help thinking this is the prize for which she impersonated me to steal half an army. And tangled with that hurt is the knowledge that I am no longer the daughter to whom he cares for like this, for whom he would care and cherish. He leaves to the dais, unaware that it is me, but soon Taryn will be here— the real beauty— and everyone will see me for the imposter I am. And the duplicitiousness of today will perhaps be the last nail in my coffin. He will want to kill me if he doesn't already— the reason behind the ruination of all his plans, the reason why he isn't already in power. But I'm far from accepting defeat right now. I can't. I have come to far. And if Taryn becomes queen, I will not have only Cardan to deal with but Madoc too; one of them alone is too much to deal with. Ridding both would be impossible.

Oak would never be able to inherit.

I have to stop this marriage.

The goal fixed, it becomes easier to breathe. Purposelessness is not a state of mind I'm accustomed to. I can fight and scheme and train all day, but the previous weeks knowing I was out of the games permanently has shown me that peace is never what I wanted. The ceremony of granting rewards to men is over. The doors open and Taryn finally makes her grand entrance. She is dressed in the kind of finery we have never dared wear before. For all that there was no lack of resources, for us mortal sisters, attention is dangerous. And even Taryn, though she looked sweet and beautiful always, prettily-dressed and prettily-mannered, has always taken care to be unassuming before. But she seems to have finally shed her skin— unafraid, bold, confident in the knowledge that no one can ever hurt her again. The arrogance looks charming on her sweet face. I see Madoc look over at her, surprised, and then back where him and I had been conversing. There is a strange expression on his face, a tightening around the corners of his eyes but he remains standing with composure. I watch toasts I can't hear, and see plates heaped with roasted doves on spits, leaves half-wrapped with sweetmeats, and stuffed plums. In that moment, he looks nothing like the boy who exchanged rings with me in the privacy of his rooms, who called me his sweet villain. He looks like the boy who shoved me into the water and laughed when it closed over my head. He steps forward, resplendent in his midnight blue tunic, and he looks like the person who tricked me, the blood crown slanted atop his inky-black curls.

A hush falls over the court.

In the corner, Madoc nods at Taryn and she begins to walk slowly towards the dais, the picture of serenity.

I stiffen.

It's time.

“A week ago, in this court, Lord Madoc put forth three conditions in return for maintaining peace,” he says. “The first— rewards and ranks for his loyal men which I have just granted.” The soldiers standing beneath the dais bow in acknowledgement. “And the second— full pardons for three members of his household which I have already issued.”

Madoc and Taryn both bow their heads.

His lips curve. “And the third.”

Taryn begins to blush.

“The third was to marry his daughter— and so I have.”

The court bursts into whispers.

Madoc frowns.

“People of Elfhame,” says Cardan, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Jude Duarte is my wife, and the rightful high queen of Elfhame.”

Tags: @courtofjurdan // @thesirenwashere // @jurdanhell // @clockworkgraystairs // @blog-lady-vi // @the-dark-swan // @fangirltrash76-blog // @augustintodarkness // @aesthetics-11 // @mijaldraws // @hades-flame // @annejulianneh111 // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @chaotic-fae-queen // @thewickedkings // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @thefolkofthefic // @st00pid231 // @iminsanenotobsessed // @bellamyblakru // @fangirlprincess09 // @1islessthan3books // @po1sonous-l0ve // @imaginelovewrite

[starflungwaddledee]

Regarding the ask with starstruck’s star spears and Galacta,I’m guessing they have some sort of beef? Maybe they’ve met in the past?

[x] i'm not sure if i'd call it beef so much as the whole entire herd of cattle

[ssreeder]

I just finished reading Fourth Wing which is a 632 page book in about 12 hours and so I went "I wonder how long LIAB would be page wise???? So, I put the word count of the whole series into a calculator site.

It states currently, your fic is equivalent to a 2,809 page book. Congrats on essentially writing five 562 page novels. I just thought youd like know! :D

-Scroll Anon

[waitineedaname]

have you ever seen the hog

ya

[a-special-ship-safe-space]

Hey there, King Dedede! I remember hearing about you! Something about you and that pink round alien thingy... either way, big fan of you! :>

Anyways, what's a couple of your favorite memories with S/I? It'd be cool to hear some stories from you!

- 💫 Snail-chan [via @snailchans-imaginarium]

"Well aint this a nice surprise!! Nice ta' know there more of my fans out there!" "we dont mention the puffball when im around."

"ANYWAYS!! The question!" give him a minute he is rereading it..silly king cant read that well. yes its a hc of mine.

"Good stories about Mercury huh? I got plenty but ill tell you around two since i got stuff i need ta do"

"Fun fact about him is that he LOVES halloween. So me and him usually try to scare everyone. Me and him also have this competition to see if we can scare each other. Last Halloween i decided to sneak up behind him and just do the usual yell behind him and make him jump tactic while he was trainin' (to be honest i did't expect it to work)

"AND HOOOO BOY HE JUMPED SO HIGH I THOUGHT I SENT HIM FLYIN'. Of course he was mad at me for a bit but now every time i mention it he just chuckles at it i think he liked being scared like that to be honest"

"Annnnnnnndd..I guess him asking me to be his boyfriend was pretty special. I always noticed him picking up rocks and then putting them down. i thought nothin' of it to be honest. but after..around i say....5 months? He walks over to me and tells me to close my eyes and open my hand. I did what he asked and he placed a shiny blue rock in my hand. It was awfully pretty and shiny. It was basically him asking me "you wanna be boyfriends?" and i knew what he was getting at since he asked me alot about my kind before doing this.

"so it was and still is one of my favorite memories i have of him. Just seeing his face get all red and shy and seeing him stutter like a mad waddle dee was adorable. Even if he hates to admit that"

[fatherbrat]

ONE LAST TIME, R. SUNA

sum. two months into your relationship with your current boyfriend, your ex-fwb finally sends you a voicenote to let you know exactly how he feels about it.

feat. rintaro suna

cw. ex-fwb!suna, cheating, mutual masturbation (kinda lol), jealousy, dirty talk, anal mention, pillow humping, possessiveness, degradation

wc. 1.2k

When you posted your first official pictures of you and your new boyfriend, you had expected Suna to react…negatively. You basically braced for impact the moment you hit post, but all you got from him was an Instagram notification and two texts.

sunarin liked your post.

rin ;)

lmk if you want me to delete our pics.  and hmu when you two break up :p

You never bothered replying, initially not sure how to reply, and then forgetting about the texts entirely. The two of you barely have any contact for a few weeks after that, but he's obviously keeping up with your socials; liking every post and viewing every story. It doesn't bother you, but it's weird going cold turkey on your relationship like that. You had expected him to reach out for some sort of closure. You wanted him to. 

Halloween swings by in no time, and (much to you boyfriend’s dismay) you dress up as a sexy nurse. You don’t remember much of the night, but you do know that you posted a picture of you and your friends all dressed up on your story before getting blackout drunk. 

Your phone dies early on in the night. Your friends take good care of you up until it’s time to bring you back home, and you don’t wake up until the afternoon. You don’t check your phone until a couple hours after that—long after it's been turned on and charged to 100%. 

When you finally check it, two particular notifications catch your attention. 

sunarin liked your story. 

rin ;)

Voice Message

The voice message is 12 minutes long. 

You exit your texts immediately, opting to distract yourself by tending to your other notifications. It doesn’t help much. Your mind races, wondering what he was talking about for so long and if it was really so important that he reached out after almost four months of near-silence. 

You toss your phone onto your bed, shaking your head. You try to ignore it, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry and vacuuming the living room all in an effort to forget about the lengthy recording sitting in your phone. 

But it doesn’t take long for the curiosity gnawing at you to win. 

You practically run back to your bedroom, grabbing your phone and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Your fingers move quickly across the screen, hitting play without hesitation. 

The first 8 seconds are nearly silent, and you start to wonder if it’s possible that he sent such a long message by mistake.

But then you hear a heavy sigh.

“I like your costume.” His tone is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. “You look hot.”

There’s another moment of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind and stop listening. 

But then Suna moans and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. 

“You never answered my text, y’know. When I asked if you wanted me to delete our pictures. So, uh, I kept ‘em.”

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

“I’m looking at one right now. It’s from last Halloween. When you-“ His breath hitches. “When you went as a Playboy Bunny.”

You remember. Suna dressed as Hugh Hefner and the two of you went to a party together. Then he took you back to his apartment and fucked you while you were still wearing the bunny ears and bowtie. 

You’re pretty positive you’re not wearing the bodysuit in the picture he’s looking at. 

“I don’t know how much of this night you actually remember, but I can describe the picture for you.”

You tense, anticipation sending goosebumps up your arms. 

“You’re kneeling on the ground, looking up at the camera, and you’ve still got those bunny ears on your head.”

This voice message is going in the last direction you thought it would.  Is he—?

“You’ve got cum all over your face, baby.” He laughs to himself before continuing. “And you’re sticking your tongue out like a fucking whore.”

Suna takes a ragged breath, a sound you're all too familiar with. It confirms your suspicions—he’s definitely jerking off. 

“That was a good night. We had a lot of good nights.” He sounds miffed all of a sudden. “I seriously doubt the boyfriend is fucking you as good as I did.”

You suppress a shiver. A pang of guilt heats your chest at the mention of your boyfriend. You should stop listening. Delete the message. Tell him to delete the pictures and then probably block him. 

Or you could let the message keep playing. 

Suna inhales sharply, followed by a shaky moan. You swear you can hear the sound of his fist stroking his dick. 

“I hope you’re not letting him put it in your ass like you let me. That’s our thing, okay?”

Under different circumstances you would have laughed. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “And I hope you’re not letting him spit in your fucking mouth. Or–shit–doing that thing where you’d suck me off with your head hanging upside down off the bed.” He falters at the end of the sentence, groaning into the phone.

“I’m not gonna–” he interrupts himself, sighing deeply. “I’m not gonna pretend I’ve been happy for you. I miss you.”

You feel hot all over, a heady combination of annoyance and arousal and embarrassment. There’s a dull throbbing between your legs and in the back of your mind you wonder if this is what Suna wanted when he sent the message. 

“Just–just let me fuck you one more time. Okay princess? I’ll make it sooo good for you,” he whines. You can hear his hand picking up speed.

“It’s still early. Two months is nothing, it won’t even count as cheating.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “God, just one last time. Please?”

Without thinking, you grab a pillow and position yourself over it in a straddle. You won’t let him fuck you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make you come one last time.

“I promise I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue. And you can pick all the positions if you want to.” There’s a tremble in his voice. “Or just lay there. I’ll do all the work.”

You grind into the pillow beneath you, picturing the expression you know he’d be wearing if he were in front of you–batting those dark eyelashes with raised eyebrows, just barely able to control the smug curve of his lips.

Heat pools in your gut and a whimper falls from your lips. Suna keeps talking.

“I know you miss me. You have to. You’re probably touching yourself to this right now.” 

You gasp softly and rock your hips faster.

“Such a fucking slut.” You hear the telltale quiver in his voice that tells you he’s getting close. “My fucking slut.”

You moan, his words giving you flashbacks.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps, before letting off a series of moans and whimpers that almost make you concede. You grind harder into the pillow beneath you, imagining Suna in his room, chest heaving, talking into the phone and making himself come to pictures of you. 

That does it. A tsunami of pleasure washes over you, forcing your body to tense before you go limp, collapsing onto your bed with a shudder.

You and Suna breathe in tandem, both of you catching your breath. 

You hear another laugh through the phone. “Damn, that was a lot.” There’s the sound of sheets rustling. “Kinda made a mess, princess.”

He’s silent for another few beats before clearing his throat. “Text me, okay?” he says quietly. “Please.”

The voice message ends.

part two

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon still watches the videos you made together

!cheating

Simon still watched the homemade videos, even after the breakup up. The ones you made when still together.

The one where you were on your knees between his thighs, lips wrapped around his cock, eyes glassy, your soft little moans caught on the audio as his hand gripped the phone with shaky fingers, the other tangled in your hair, guiding you, while murmuring “That’s it, sweetheart. Look at me.”

And you did.

The one where he was fucking you from behind, knuckles white from gripping your hips, skin slapping against skin, and your breath hitching every time he bottomed out.

The one where his mouth was buried between your thighs, licking you up like he needed it to survive while you clutched the sheets like they were the only thing grounding you to the earth.

He still jerked off to them. Still spilled into his hand with your name in his mouth.

Used to be only when he was gone on missions— weeks away, stuck in cold beds and colder countries. But now?

Now it was in his apartment.

In his bed. The bed he should’ve been fucking you in. The one he should’ve been holding you in after, your bare skin pressed against his, lips brushing over your shoulder, murmuring stupid shit like, “Still with me, sweetheart?”

But you weren’t in his bed anymore.

No, you were somewhere else. With someone else.

Your new boyfriend. The one you posted on Instagram. The one with perfect smiles and vacation filters. Simon wouldn’t even have known if he hadn’t made a burner account to keep watching. User28707.

Pathetic.

He didn’t even follow you. Didn’t like a single post. He just scrolled. Watched. Stared.

And maybe he did it out of spite. Or maybe it was exhaustion. Some fucked-up combination of the two. But that night, he typed in your number, the one he never deleted, the one he still knew by heart and sent you a string of those old videos.

No warning. No shame.

Just you, falling apart under him. Legs shaking. Eyes rolling back. Spilling his name like it was a prayer.

Along with one message:

“Can he make you feel this good?”

When morning hit, the regret did too. It crawled in slowly, like it always did, the bitter taste of too much whiskey still on his tongue.

But that was before he saw your text.

“Meet me at the bar tonight.”

He didn’t even hesitate. Was already out of bed, halfway to the shower, wiping sleep from his eyes like a man getting ready for war.

You didn’t waste time either.

“Why do you still have the videos, Simon?” you asked the second he sat down across from you, the bottle of beer untouched between his fingers.

“Better question,” he muttered, voice low, “Was I right? Can that bastard make you come like I did?”

“No. Your wrong”

A bitter sound broke out of him, something between a scoff and a chuckle. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

You answered. He couldn’t remember exactly what you said. Maybe it wasn’t even words.

All he knew was how it ended.

Back in his flat. You in his lap again, bouncing on his cock like you’d never left. Moaning his name. Coming undone around him for the third time that night.

By the fourth round, you were asleep in his arms, body limp and soft against his chest.

And maybe that should’ve been enough. But Simon reached for your phone anyway.

Snapped a photo.

Sent it straight to your boyfriend. Your bare back along with the way your face tucked into his chest.

“Tucks in real nice after four rounds. Thought you should see what that looks like.” He added

Recent

[linklethehistorian]

Okay but as someone who deeply enjoys reading but also prefers videos for a lot of tutorial stuff — please understand that not all of this has anything to do with “being lazy” or “not knowing how to read” or “being ruined/spoiled by having access to video”, and that you are in fact being ableist if you think that it’s okay to act superior over this stuff.

Some of us can read and comprehend the words just fine, but often need a visual aid to actually understand the stuff that happens in between and during the steps, in addition to the written steps themselves. Some of us simply have brains that comprehend instructions better when shown them visually. It has nothing to do with not being able to read, and everything to do with the way some people’s brained were wired to process information when we were born.

It’s okay to tell people what your preference is, but you don’t have to make it about what generation you are, or put down other people who have a different need than you. Having preferences does not make you morally or intellectually superior, in either direction.

In Prince's funky name, amen.

[ashvampire]

🤔🍄

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Ohh I have so many. In terms of tes stuff I want to write one with Nerevar and Voryn making sketchy agreements involving pirates. sounds better in my head

🍄Describe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  

drunk tribunal + voryn = mild dramas

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

[madewithsilk]

hi sweetheart!! i saw your post asking for reqs but feel free to ignore this!! ive been so into bestfriend!ellie recently so maybe fix something up for herrr?? and if youre up for it maybe somwthing a tad bit dark…?? i see you write that alot :) no pressure ily

— ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ? 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

pairing; bestfriend ellie williams x f!reader

cw; spit, cheating, male relationship, strap-on, biting, dumbification, filming, dubious consent.

𝜗𝜚 Bestfriend Ellie that hated the fact you got a boyfriend, resenting everything about him. She knew he didn’t pleasure you, he wore you out. You always looked exhausted.

𝜗𝜚 Bestfriend Ellie who didn’t back down from telling you how she felt at any moment. She’d shout whenever you cried about another thing he did unfairly, hand running through her hair in frustration.

𝜗𝜚 Bestfriend Ellie who realized you stopped telling her about him since. She’d hear you complain on a call with another friend, crying about him flirting with other girls or scaring you. Or how he could never find your clit nor make you cum.

𝜗𝜚 Bestfriend Ellie who took that as a challenge, whispering sweet words into your ear to convince you into letting her pleasure you. “He’s good for nothing, huh?” She whispered into your ear, caressing your tummy and hips. “I could cure that ache, promise,” She mumbled gently, kissing down your neck an nibbling down.

She made you dumb enough to believe her, letting her strip every article of clothing off of your body and position you into a full nelson. Her strap was so big, so thick. The girth hardly fit inside you, nudging at your cevix. “Shiit, baby, thought it wouldn’t fit?” She chuckled, ramming her dick further inside you. You babbled in response, head thrown back against her shoulder.

You shook your head, tongue lolling out. Ellie felt so lucky you hadn’t even noticed the camera set up, filming your cunt clenching around every inch of her cock. “Els— Els-“ You were rambling only her name and pleads, whimpering at the feeling of being stuffed to the brim. “His cock isn’t as big as mine huh?” Ellie cooed, pressing her palm down on your belly to feel the imprint of the strap.

You didn’t reply, too lost in the feeling, trying to flutter your half-lidded eyes open to look at Ellie. Her hair was disheveled along with a cocky smile plastered across her face. She mocked the pout you had on your lips, wiping it off with a kiss. “Don’t frown, baby.” She reprimands and breaks the kiss, increasing the pace in which she dug into you. “So big,” You moaned out, hiding your face into her neck.

The camera was picking up every second of your cunt drooling onto the silicone, eyes filling up with tears of pleasure. Ellie’s hips angled to hit your g-spot, abusing it over and over again. She swore she felt you get tighter, knowing you were just so close. Her hand slithered between your thighs, rubbing at your clit in gentle, teasing circles. “Gonna cum on camera to show him how much of a nasty bitch you are, baby?” Her voice was so sweet, it was nearly absurd the words that actually left her lips.

Your eyes wideed at her words, noticing the camera and pushing against Ellie. Either way, it was useless, every moment was there for it to be sent to him. The tears that weled finally spilled, streaming down your place. “Ellie— Ngh- Els please stop,” You babbled. She hushed you gently, thumb pulling out your bottom lip and spitting on it. “So dumb, baby, thought you could get fucked dumb with no consequences?” She tuts, watching you give her the doe eyes she loved as you swallowed her spit.

Your jaw went slack with her harder thrusts, cumming on the silicone and leaving a white ring of it. Your grip on her arm was so tight, trying to get her to no overstimuate you with the little rubbing on your nub. “Hey, hey, let me take care of it,” She said muffled against your cheek, bottomed out inside you but not moving. You murmur with tears, “Please don’t send that to him..” She bounced you on her lap with one harsh thrust. “Why shouldn’t I?” She laughed gently, taunting you and copying the little whimpers you gave her.

Ellie pulled her strap out, elicitng a whine from you at the empty feeling. She quickly crams you with her fingers, “Can’t even live without something inside you, such a baby.” You hummed pleasantly at her fingers curling inside you, kissing Ellie’s jawline in hopes she’d listen to you. “Just a warm hole to be filled.” You nodded mindlessly, leaving a purple hickey against her jaw.

“Think I’ll keep you here till I say so.”

[yintous]

꒰ 🍯 ꒱ ─── 𝓢WEETER THAN HONEY! ㆍ₊⊹

gn! reader ; embarrassing things the batboys did when they had a crush on you.

notes. might be a little ooc since i got carried away and this is satire 🙏 [masterlist]

DICK GRAYSON

changes his pfps to whatever you called cute

for example, you called an orange cat cute, his profile picture in every account you have him added on is a picture of an orange cat. they’re all different pictures of orange cats, too

depending on his mood, he might even post something about orange cats 😭😭😭

he MIGHT say the “without me?” phrase once in awhile whenever you say you have to go somewhere or whenever you have to run an errand…

once tried to be nonchalant and mysterious so he could get your attention but he crumbled the moment you smiled at him; he didn’t bother hiding it either!! he FOLDED as quick as light

posted a thirst trap with your favorite song and deleted it when you haven’t viewed the post in five seconds

JASON TODD

screenshotted your text and sent it to YOU instead of roy in a panic

tried to gaslight himself into thinking that he didn’t have a crush on you when it was blatantly obvious to EVERYONE

tried teasing you once by taking your phone and saying “you’re too short” and he immediately failed because you managed to retrieve your phone in seconds

one time, you turned around to look at him and he was already staring at you with a thousand-yard stare (he was zoned out)

he takes an hour or two to reply whenever you send a risky text not because he wants to leave you on read, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to reply

TIM DRAKE

somehow found your spotify playlist and started bragging about listening to your favorite artists to EVERYONE so said people could spread that he had a similar music taste to you 💔

but if you actually ask him about the artists, he’d lowkey just freeze and say “yeah..” while nodding with a small smile on his face

probably stalked your social media following and who was following your account, analyzed every single account and has been praying to whatever entity that was listening to him that you wouldn’t end up with any of the people you were following/or the people that were following you

left you on read for a good five hours because he accidentally fell asleep while texting you and it felt like hell was waiting for him the moment the realization kicked in

DUKE THOMAS

learned a whole new language for you when he wasn’t even sure you spoke it in the first place (thankfully, you did)

he also learned almost ALL of your interests such as the shows you match, the genre of movies you like, the music you listen to, etc. just so you could talk about it together

started manifesting every night while he thought about what the two of you would be like as a couple

it turned into a habit that he couldn’t get rid of no matter what and he can’t sleep without doing it

bought a bunch of puzzle boxes so you could solve it together (after three months, half of them still aren’t finished)

wrote poetry about you in the woods and felt like shakespeare

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[sleepyjuice]

toxic!rafe will blow your phone up the second you post something on instagram that he’s ‘iffy’ about.

you posted a photo dump which consisted of some random photos of the beach, some of your friends, one of you and rafe of course, but the one that had rafe seeing red was the last slide, which was you in a bikini. he texted you several times at first, and while you were literally typing your response, he called you. your fingers were typing so fast to respond to him that you accidentally declined the call, and he did not like that. you immediately went to call him back, but another text from rafe rolled in, saying ‘fuck you don’t talk to me we’re done’ you sighed loudly, knowing damn well he was talking out of his ass right now, so you sat back and waited for the inevitable next string of texts to roll in. which they did, only seconds later.

rafe <3: do you get off on making me mad or something

rafe <3: like i’m racking my brain trying to understand why you do the things you do and that’s all i can come up with

rafe <3: and i see at least 4 guys have already liked your post like that’s crazy to me?? thought i told you to block all the guys that followed you?? of course you didn’t

rafe <3: also who even took that pic of you??? bc i know damn well it wasn’t me so who the fuck you posing for with your fucking ass and tits out? WHAT THE FUCK

rafe <3: DO NOT PUT YOUR SHIT ON DO NOT DISTURB answer me rn.

rafe <3: nah it’s cool actually i’m gonna go hit up my other gfs so you have a good night.

you rolled your eyes at that last text, deciding to fully turn your phone off. you knew he would likely try to text or call you again very soon but you didn’t want to deal with it right now. this wasn’t your first rodeo, you knew nothing you could say to him right now would calm him down, so letting him freak out on his own was the best method to his madness.

three hours had passed since you turned your phone off. you had caught up on some reading and turned on your current favorite show, but found yourself interrupted by a knock at your front door. you expected it to be rafe, but instead it was a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag. you glanced around to see if rafe was lurking around, but saw nothing. when he freaked out over text and was able to reread his actions, he usually waited a bit longer to show his face as opposed to a verbal argument.

you brought the flowers inside and set them on the counter before grabbing the card attached to the side of the bouquet.

sorry we argued. you are so beautiful and i love you so much. got you a little gift and sent you some money for food and i set your appointment with your nail girl for tomorrow at 10. love you forever baby -rafe

you couldn’t help but smile just a little. the flowers were beautiful and the note was pretty sweet, so you chose to ignore the part where he said ‘we argued.’ you didn’t get a word in, but you let it slide. especially after you opened the gift bag to see the new dior bag you had been wanting.

you hurried to turn on your phone, immediately seeing a $500 apple payment from rafe as well as a new text from a few minutes ago.

rafe <3: hope you like the flowers and bag baby. love you! :)

you: i love them. thanks rafe, love you too

rafe <3: good to hear. lmk what you end up getting for dinner and i’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you to your nail apt. can’t wait to see you baby

you would order yourself dinner that was obviously way less than $500, but you would send rafe a picture and thank him again. you’d facetime him before bed and conversation flowed like nothing had even happened just hours before. he’d ask you what color nails you were getting, tell you funny stories about the old men at the country club and excitedly plan what you two were going to do the next day. the cycle seemed like it would never end, but you often forgot about the bad when he was talking so sweetly to you and all you could think about was how excited you were to see him tomorrow.