#ffs he shouldn’t race at all

[exasperatedsportsfan]

gotta love how much this sport cares about concussions and the overall health of their riders 🤡🤡

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the king's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the dance

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Consider this to be a serious version of A Lion's Leap. I'm not sure where it will fit into my posting schedule. It depends on how well the story is recived.

The quiet of the evening is your only companion as you find yourself wrapped in the warmth of Tyland Lannister’s arms, his breath a whispered heat against your neck. Your pulse is still racing from the sweetness of his kiss, one that lingers with the faint taste of Arbor red wine and the spice of his desire. His hands move over your skin with a certainty, his touch igniting in you a need you hadn’t realized until you found him at the periphery of courtly life. Hidden away from the glare of prying eyes, Tyland is your haven, one of indulgence and escape in a world filled with duty and restraint.

There’s an urgency to his touch tonight, his body pressed against yours as if he can’t bear any distance between you. He captures your face between his hands, his blue-green eyes watching you with that flicker of intensity that only comes when he’s this close.

“You shouldn’t tempt a lion, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr that has you sinking further into him, into this space that is all your own.

“I’ve never known fear,” you reply, your voice a breathless whisper, fingers sliding through his golden hair, the softness of it like silk against your skin.

Just as his mouth descends to capture yours once more, the door creaks open.

“Y/N?”

Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the charged air, her familiar tones suddenly a sharp and shocking reminder of the world beyond this room. You freeze, eyes widening as the unmistakable figure of your sister stands there, her expression a mix of disbelief and something akin to amusement.

Tyland pulls back, releasing you with an urgency that borders on panicked, though he composes himself as he turns, straightening his disheveled tunic. You, however, find yourself momentarily rooted in place, unsure if this is a dream or a waking nightmare.

“Rhaenyra—” you start, scrambling to find words, but your sister only raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest as she observes the two of you with an unmistakable glimmer of surprise.

“Of all men in Westeros…” she says, a hint of laughter in her tone. “Tyland Lannister?”

Her eyes sweep over Tyland, who’s doing his best to look as composed as any nobleman caught in a compromising position could. He manages a polite, if slightly sheepish, nod.

“Princess,” he greets her formally, though you can see the tension in his jaw as he fights to keep his composure under Rhaenyra’s unwavering gaze.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker between the two of you, an unexpected curiosity lighting her expression. “I thought you’d have chosen someone younger,” she remarks with a slight smile. “Perhaps a knight… or a squire. But a Lannister?”

You feel your cheeks burn, heat flooding your face at the implication. “He’s more than just a Lannister, Rhaenyra,” you reply, stepping forward as you gather your courage. “He… he understands me.”

Tyland’s hand reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent show of solidarity, but his eyes are trained on Rhaenyra, calculating the depths of her reaction. He is used to navigating treacherous waters, and he knows that, in this moment, every word counts.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens, her curiosity morphing into something gentler, though her tone remains teasing. “It seems you’ve found yourself an unusual ally, sister.” She pauses, a slight smirk touching her lips. “I suppose there are worse Lannisters than Tyland.”

At this, Tyland inclines his head, his voice as smooth as ever. “High praise from the future queen,” he replies, his eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s without hesitation. “Your sister is…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “remarkable.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts to you, a hint of approval glinting in her eyes. “I’m surprised by the choice, but perhaps I shouldn’t be,” she muses, her voice softening as she takes in the way Tyland’s hand rests protectively over yours.

She sighs, her expression growing more thoughtful. “I always knew you’d find someone who saw you for who you are. Even if he’s… well…” She waves her hand in Tyland’s direction, her smile widening. “A lion.”

Your heart aches with the realization that she does, in some way, approve. Rhaenyra, always the fierce, protective sister, has a flicker of understanding in her gaze that you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll leave you two to… whatever it is that brought you here tonight,” she says finally, smirking as she turns toward the door. She glances back, adding in a tone laced with mischief, “Do try to be discreet. Rumors travel fast in the Red Keep.”

With a final, amused glance over her shoulder, Rhaenyra slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

For a moment, you and Tyland stand in stunned silence, her words echoing in the quiet. Finally, Tyland lets out a low, relieved chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms once more, his lips finding your forehead in a lingering kiss.

“Your sister has a way of surprising people,” he murmurs, his voice laced with admiration.

“She’s always had a knack for the unexpected,” you reply, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace as a balm against the shock.

His thumb brushes your cheek, his voice soft. “Then let’s give them something else to talk about, shall we?”

And as he kisses you once more, the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in a moment that feels like it belongs to no one else but you.

Tyland Lannister sits quietly, his eyes assessing each of the faces present as the King’s Small Council convenes. Viserys, resplendent yet weary, presides at the head of the table, his fingers idly tapping against the polished wood. Otto Hightower sits beside him, his sharp gaze flickering with purpose as he waits for the council to settle.

Clearing his throat, Otto finally leans forward, voice carrying the deliberate calm of a man who measures each word for impact. “Your Grace,” he begins, glancing pointedly at Viserys, “I bring before you a matter of some… importance. As you know, your youngest daughter has now reached an age where the question of marriage becomes both pertinent and pressing.”

Tyland’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and he shifts in his seat, the motion subtle but enough to catch Otto’s eye. The words ignite an unwelcome heat in his chest, but Tyland maintains his silence, allowing the Lord Hand to continue as he carefully considers his next move.

“Many houses have sent petitions for the Princess’s hand, Your Grace,” Otto goes on, his tone professional but carrying a faint undercurrent of ambition. “The opportunity for a marriage alliance is ripe. And House Hightower, already bound in loyalty to the Crown, would be honored to strengthen that bond.”

Tyland clenches his jaw, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. Otto’s words are too familiar, too practiced, as if rehearsed. Of course, the Hightowers would press for another foothold in the Targaryen family. Alicent was already Queen, and now Otto had the gall to suggest another marriage to his kin.

The silence in the room stretches for a moment, broken only by the slight creak of leather as Lord Beesbury shifts uncomfortably, clearly weighing the implications of Otto’s proposal.

Tyland seizes the pause to lean forward, his golden hair catching the light as he speaks. “Your Grace,” he begins, his voice smooth and calm, carefully measured, “while House Hightower’s loyalty is unquestioned, it would be wise to consider the value in expanding alliances beyond what is already secured.” He pauses, letting his gaze sweep across the council, landing on Viserys with a look of respectful counsel. “There are other noble houses, some with ties yet to be strengthened, who could offer their fealty through a marriage bond. The Princess, after all, is a precious jewel to the realm.”

Viserys nods, seeming to take in Tyland’s words, though his weariness is evident. But before he can respond, Otto speaks again, his tone calm but unmistakably forceful.

“With all due respect, Lord Tyland,” Otto interjects, “House Hightower is not simply any house. It is a trusted pillar of the realm, deeply invested in the Crown’s prosperity. My son, Ser Gwayne, holds the princess in high regard, as he has demonstrated with unfailing respect and admiration. Such a match would ensure not only the Princess’s happiness but the Crown’s continued stability.”

Tyland’s mouth sets into a line, his irritation sparking to life at Otto’s boldness. The Hightowers already held the Reach and the Queen herself—did Otto truly believe the Crown needed more from Oldtown?

Clearing his throat, Tyland leans forward again, speaking with an air of practiced calm. “Your Grace,” he says, directing his words pointedly at Viserys, “Otto’s suggestion has merit, yet the needs of the realm go beyond what House Hightower alone can provide. House Lannister is well-known for its loyalty and wealth, resources that could serve the Crown in countless ways.” He lets his words linger, letting the subtle hint of his own interest shine through as he meets Viserys’s gaze. “A match that unites the Princess with a house of the Westerlands might open new avenues of support and loyalty.”

Lord Jasper Wylde’s deep voice cuts through the tension, surprising everyone as he joins the discussion. “Lord Tyland has a point, Your Grace. House Lannister is an influential ally. Expanding alliances to the Westerlands would create a balance among the great houses, preventing any one house from holding undue influence over the Crown.”

Otto’s gaze hardens, his fingers steepling as he speaks again, his voice low and steady. “The King knows the loyalty of House Hightower, and what could be better than family to ensure trust?” He leans forward, his eyes fixed intently on Viserys. “Gwayne is a devoted knight, one who would honor the Princess and protect her with his life.”

The room falls silent as Viserys considers the weight of each suggestion, his brow furrowed. The aged Maester Mellos clears his throat, his ancient, gravelly voice adding a cautious note to the conversation. “Your Grace, while the idea of strengthening alliances is sound, one must consider the Princess’s own wishes in such a matter. She is not without her own mind, and a union should serve her interests as well.”

Tyland nods in agreement, glancing briefly at Mellos before speaking again. “Precisely, Your Grace. The Princess should be given a choice that does not bind her exclusively to those who already wield power within the realm. A broader reach, a different alliance…” He allows the words to hang, his gaze settling firmly on Viserys, silently pressing his case.

Otto remains unyielding, but there is a flicker of tension beneath his composure. “The Crown should value loyalty that is proven, not loyalty yet to be tested,” he insists, glancing briefly at Tyland, a thinly veiled challenge in his gaze.

King Viserys shifts, his fingers rubbing at his temple. “Enough,” he says, raising a hand, his voice weary but firm. “Otto, Tyland… you both have made your points. The decision will not be made lightly.”

Tyland bows his head, the flicker of frustration barely visible beneath his polite expression. He had not anticipated Otto would be so relentless, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. As the council disperses, he lingers, waiting until the others have exited before catching Viserys’s gaze once more.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs softly, “my only wish is that your daughter’s choice brings her happiness and serves the realm.”

Viserys offers him a faint, tired smile. “I know, Tyland. But these matters… they are never simple.”

As Tyland takes his leave, a fire burns within him, one fueled by the prospect of having to contend with the relentless ambition of the Hightowers. But he is a lion of the Westerlands, and he will not yield his pursuit so easily.

The corridor is cool as Tyland makes his way from the council chamber, his thoughts swirling with a mix of frustration and resolve. The weight of Otto's persistence hangs in the air like a heavy mist, lingering and clinging as he mentally reviews their exchange. He is only halfway down the hall when he hears footsteps approaching—a purposeful, measured cadence he recognizes without needing to turn.

"Lord Tyland," Otto’s voice, calm and composed, cuts through the quiet. Tyland pauses, inclining his head politely as he turns to face the Hand. Otto’s expression is unreadable, his sharp, calculating eyes studying Tyland with the intensity of a man who does not often find his decisions challenged.

“Lord Hand,” Tyland replies, his tone cordial but cool. “I gather you have words left unsaid?”

Otto steps closer, his expression calm but firm, hands clasped behind his back. “Only that I find it curious, Lord Tyland,” he begins, voice smooth, almost conversational, “that you seem so… invested in the matter of the princess’s marriage.”

Tyland raises a brow, masking his irritation with a faint smile. “And why shouldn’t I be? She is the King’s daughter and a Targaryen princess. Whoever she marries will wield significant influence over the realm.” He allows his words to sink in before adding, “Surely, it benefits the Crown to consider all its options, rather than binding itself to the Reach alone.”

Otto’s lips curve slightly, though the smile does not reach his eyes. “The Crown has always valued the proven loyalty of House Hightower,” he says evenly, “and a marriage between my son and the princess would only strengthen those bonds. My son, Ser Gwayne, is an honorable man who would care for her deeply.”

“Indeed,” Tyland replies, his tone deceptively mild. “But House Lannister has long been a stalwart of the Crown as well, with a reach that extends far beyond the walls of Oldtown. We bring not only loyalty, but wealth, resources, and alliances across the Westerlands.” He pauses, letting his words settle, before adding, “Surely, even you can see the wisdom in that.”

Otto’s expression remains unmoved, though his gaze sharpens, a flicker of irritation betraying his controlled demeanor. “And yet, Lord Tyland, you speak as though it is the Crown’s duty to court Lannister favor. I assure you, we are quite capable of holding the realm’s loyalty without undue dependence on the Westerlands.”

Tyland’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice steady. “Perhaps, Lord Otto,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “but it would be unwise to dismiss the value of broadening alliances. Overreliance on a single house… can leave one vulnerable.”

Otto’s eyes narrow slightly, a glint of something cold flashing within them. “Are you implying, Lord Tyland, that the Crown is vulnerable with House Hightower at its side?”

“I imply nothing of the sort,” Tyland replies smoothly, though he meets Otto’s gaze with a steely look of his own. “Only that diversifying one’s alliances strengthens a kingdom. Surely, that is something a man of your experience can appreciate.”

Otto regards him in silence for a moment, and Tyland can almost feel the calculations turning behind his gaze, assessing, weighing. Finally, Otto speaks, his voice cool but edged with warning.

“Be mindful, Lord Tyland. Ambition is a potent force, but so is loyalty. My family has served the Targaryens with unwavering dedication, while others… have not always shown the same consistency.” His tone carries a subtle, implicit threat, as if reminding Tyland that House Hightower’s position within the Crown’s inner circle is not one easily challenged.

But Tyland is not so easily cowed. He straightens, his own expression hardening as he meets Otto’s gaze directly. “Loyalty is indeed a powerful thing, Lord Otto. But loyalty should not come at the cost of wisdom. And it would be unwise to assume the King’s daughter would prefer a match simply because it pleases you.”

Otto’s mouth tightens, his facade slipping just enough to reveal a hint of irritation. “The King knows the worth of House Hightower. And Gwayne is a respectable choice—far more appropriate than other… options.”

Tyland inclines his head, offering a slight smile that does not reach his eyes. “And yet, the choice remains the King’s… not yours, Lord Otto.”

The silence between them thickens, charged with a subtle animosity. Finally, Otto’s face smooths, his expression carefully neutral once more as he steps back, as if dismissing Tyland’s challenge. “Indeed,” he says quietly, though there’s a steely edge to his voice. “The choice is the King’s.”

With a curt nod, Otto turns, his robes swishing as he strides down the corridor, leaving Tyland standing alone in the dim light. Tyland watches him go, his fingers curling into a fist as he steels himself. He would not allow Otto to dictate the fate of the woman he cared for.

Tyland continues down the corridor, the distant echoes of his footsteps mingling with the faint whispers of the castle walls. He feels the lingering bite of Otto’s words, flicking like embers. His mind turns toward Y/N, the thought of her lifting the weight of his frustrations, though the path to her chambers is already proving more circuitous than anticipated.

As he rounds the corner, he nearly collides with a tall figure—none other than Ser Gwayne Hightower, resplendent in his polished armor, his posture as upright as his father’s ambition. Gwayne’s brows knit together momentarily before a polite, if strained, smile forms on his face.

“Lord Tyland,” Gwayne greets him, his tone courteous but carrying a faint edge. “A fortunate encounter. I’d hoped to find the princess and offer her my company this afternoon, should she wish it.”

Tyland’s expression remains calm, though a flicker of annoyance rises within him. He bows his head slightly, maintaining the polite veneer expected in the corridors of the Red Keep. “Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice smooth. “The Princess has not been one to lack for company, as I understand it.”

Gwayne’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he regards Tyland with an air of subtle scrutiny. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. “Yet, as one who holds her in high regard, I believe she deserves companionship suited to her station.” There’s a faint emphasis on the last word, his gaze assessing as though to imply that Tyland’s attentions may fall short of that standard.

Tyland’s jaw clenches, though he forces a polite smile. “Indeed,” he responds, his tone even. “I’m certain she values the company of those who see her as more than a stepping stone toward ambition.”

Gwayne’s expression cools, his own smile thinning. “I assure you, my interest in the Princess is nothing less than sincere. She is, after all, a Targaryen—a rare jewel, worthy of reverence.” He hesitates, his eyes flickering as he chooses his words carefully. “Not all who approach her can say the same.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement barely masking his irritation. “The Princess’s worth is evident to anyone who possesses a mind,” he replies smoothly. “Yet, unlike some, I do not seek her company for the approval of others.”

The slight barb does not go unnoticed, and Gwayne’s eyes harden, his polite facade slipping just enough to reveal a hint of irritation. “I wonder, then,” he says slowly, his tone almost thoughtful, “whether your intentions are as noble as you claim. The Princess may find herself the subject of… unwanted scrutiny if certain alliances are encouraged.”

Tyland’s patience wears thin, though he keeps his voice calm. “The only ‘unwanted scrutiny’ the Princess might face would be due to those who believe they have the right to decide her future. She is not a pawn, Ser Gwayne. And if your intentions are as noble as you say, you would know that she deserves respect beyond what can be claimed through marriage.”

Gwayne’s lips press into a thin line, a flash of offense coloring his face. “You speak as if you alone hold her respect, Lord Tyland,” he counters. “Perhaps it is you who misunderstands her station. A Targaryen princess deserves more than whispered conversations and stolen glances.”

Tyland steps closer, his gaze unyielding as he meets Gwayne’s stare. “And yet, I am not the one using her as a bid to curry favor with her father and his council. My respect for the Princess does not hinge on how close it brings me to the throne.”

A tense silence hangs between them, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Gwayne’s hands clench at his sides, though he forces a calm expression, his eyes darkening with a restrained intensity. “Remember, Lord Tyland,” he says quietly, his voice a warning, “the loyalty of House Hightower is not a force to be taken lightly. My father’s position is one earned through unwavering commitment to the Crown.”

Tyland holds his ground, his voice steady as steel. “As is the loyalty of House Lannister. But unlike some, my house does not rely on proximity to the Crown for validation.” His tone hardens, his words pointed. “The Princess deserves a choice, not an obligation.”

Gwayne’s composure falters for a brief moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. He takes a step back, offering a curt nod, though the tension remains clear in his stance. “Then let the Princess make her choice,” he replies, his tone sharp. “And may it be one worthy of her name.”

Without another word, Gwayne steps past Tyland, his shoulders tense as he disappears down the corridor. Tyland watches him go, a sense of satisfaction tempered by lingering annoyance.

With renewed purpose, Tyland resumes his path toward Y/N’s chambers, his steps quickening. He would ensure that Otto Hightower and his son did not shape her future. And, if he could help it, he would be the one at her side, proving his devotion beyond the words of a council chamber.

[hannie-dul-set]

CRASH & BURN.

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, humor. w — swearing, one absolutely horrendous dad joke, the secondhand embarrassment is even worse this time i'm not sorry at all, the rest of the en-kids are also losers. 1.3k words.

note — listen, who am i to deny the public from their needs and wants? i have no idea how rizzless hoon became such a hit, but ask and you shall receive. i'm sure this won't be the last you'll see of this loser. PART ONE. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.

also tagging those who were asking for a part two hope u all don't mind! — @gyulune @jngwnlvs @snowysab @miercerise @karinasswifee @cerealdreamwriter @dinonuguaegi @tyongff-ff

for the past five days, you have been routinely returning to the skatepark at the same time without fail. this has obviously attracted questions from your friends considering the first time you tried out a longboard, you crashed and scraped and bruised your chin within seconds, but you can’t exactly tell them the truth about your endeavor— that you’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of mr. kuromi bandaid with the rollerblades again, and being left disappointed every single time.

he hasn’t shown up. not even once.

it’s day five, and there’s still no sign of him nor his lollipop. it’s day five, and you’re just about to give up until you spot from your peripheral a familiar group of boys that scared the shit out of you the other day— except this time, they aren’t staring at you like maniacs, and they seem to be one person less.

“are you fucking stupid?” you overhear as you hesitantly approach their circle, cautious steps because they’re still as intimidating as you can remember. they all look so serious, two individuals glaring at each other while the rest simply watch, both unconcerned and amused. “oh yeah? you really think you can beat me? wanna duke it out right now, dickwad?”

cold sweat breaks out and you freeze in your tracks, expecting them to spiral into a fist fight.

“my dragonite will sweep your fucking team, loser.”

“your dragonbitch doesn’t stand a chance against my tyranitar!”

nevermind. you really shouldn’t be so quick to judge them again.

you regain the bounce in your step and race up before they could metaphorically kick each other's asses.

“hi!” 

you flinch when the six heads suddenly snap towards you. your smile twitches, discomfort  lasering into your skin from the half a dozen set of narrowed eyes leering at you so intently and so intensely. “who are you?” the one previously bragging about his dragonite asks.

“dumbass.” another one smacks the former on the backside of his skull. “it’s shoelaces.”

the nickname sets a few lightbulbs off, and a pair breaks away from their violent staring at you to give each other knowing glances. “oh, shit!” this time it’s mr. tyranitar who exclaims. “right. the dude hoon absolutely decimated himself in front of. poor guy. he’s still going through the five stages of grief.”

hoon must mean sunghoon. you want to open your mouth and present your business about the missing individual, but it’s not so easy to butt in when they’re busy conversing amongst themselves.

“what do they want?” 

“how should i know? i’m not them?” 

“no fucking shit. but what do you think they want?”

“maybe it’s about hoon?”

“no way. that guy’s done for.”

“hey, don’t be too harsh on him! he’s grieving!”

“what if it’s because we‘re being too loud—”

“what if they’re here to have a pokemon batt—”

“you do realize they can hear you, right?” 

light-haired guy is right. you can very much hear them, and they’ve all finally quieted down, slowly turning their heads to you once more but with a dampened intensity this time. they’re waiting for you to speak. you can’t believe you thought they were scary. you can’t believe you were intimidated by a group of nerds.

“sorry for the intrusion,” you smile, pressing your palms together. “i noticed one of your friends hasn’t been coming around lately. is he okay?”

a cough. a nudge. a silent conversation between the six pairs of eyes. “he’s been sick these past few days,” dragonite owner finally says. “sickeningly unbearab— ow!” 

your smile disappears. “oh no.” he’s sick? he already didn’t seem that strong when you met him the other day, collapsing into the ground and all.

“i think you can help him get better— ouch! jungwon, what the fuck?” one of them gets hit again. you’re sure it’s been the same guy hitting the rest of them since earlier.

“why are you asking about him?”

the nicest looking one squeezes out of their group while asking his earnest question, fishing out the answer from you with bright, curious eyes. “ah,” you sound out. “i just wanted to tell him that i also think his shoelaces are really cool.”

they stare at you, then stare at each other. and then someone spews out, “is that a new pick-up line, or some shit?” before getting hit again, and the light-haired guy comes forward to block the squabble happening behind him, and to tell you that they’ll be dragging their friend tomorrow at the same time (isn’t he supposed to be sick?) so you can compliment his shoelaces in person(?), and that they are looking forward to welcoming you to their family (whatever the fuck that means).

as promised, they do drag the sick man into the skatepark— literally dragging him because the guy who introduced himself yesterday as jake is pulling him forward by the sleeve while jungwon pushes him from behind as the wheels of his roller skates make sure that sunghoon keeps on moving. he looks like he’s ready to move on into the afterlife. your eyes light up when they drag him closer.

“c’mon, hyung! just a little bit more— a liiiiittle bit—

“i told you, i’m never coming back here again!“ you hear him groan, attempting to break away from his escort team. “never ever. never again. this is is where half of my dignity is buried. my pride. my shame. my—”

and then he freezes.

sunghoon gets frozen by an invisible force when your eyes meet, frozen but his cheeks are set ablaze. his friends did a great job in escorting him to you, encasing him and in consequence his view of his surroundings until you’re within an arm’s reach so he doesnt run away. the heat from his face thaws him back into movement, panicked and angry expressions sent to his friends and they all look pretty stupid trying to talk with just their eyebrows, but it’s cute nonetheless.

“hey!” you finally chipper in, causing sunghoon to freeze once more, creaking to meet your gaze. 

“h—hello. hi.”

sunghoon’s greeting comes out as a choke. jake and jungwon send each other signals before hurling the poor boy at you.

it’s like he’s suddenly forgotten how to skate. he can’t control his muscles, sliding over the short path at a dangerous speed that mimics his racing heart and oh shit— oh shit, oh shit. how does he stop again? how does he make a turn? how does he not fucking crash into you like a meteor being sucked into the earth’s orbit?

“oh!”

like all of his (very limited) interactions with you, sunghoon crashes and burns. it’s inevitable. but this time, he crashes and burns into you. you’re both on the concrete and his hand feels like it got crushed between the hard ground and the back of your head, but that pain quickly subsides into a numbing buzz, pumping his arteries with nectar, burning his veins with gasoline, because holy crap—

“close.”

“you’re right, that was a close call,” you breathe out. “i could’ve cracked my skull open.”

“i— i mean, close, you’re— you’re too close.”

does he realize that you can’t exactly move underneath him? he probably doesn’t, not when you can practically see the smoke emitting from his head and the panicked swirl in his eyes and you can’t help but laugh. “ah, sorry.” that was a mistake. sunghoon’s face flushes warmer and like a hammer to his skull, the realization hits and he and slowly pries himself off of you.

“sorry—”

“it’s fine.” you sit up and brush the dust off your clothes, stretching out your legs as you nudge yourself closer to him on the ground. “your friends told me you’ve been sick. are you feeling better now?”

“huh?” 

you’re not sure why he’s confused, but he looks very confused before turning his gaze to his friends. you find jay snapping out a thumbs up and sunoo’s stern face somehow reading don’t fucking blow it. he turns back to you with a lot more sweat on his neck than prior. “oh, yeah i was sick, i was so sick, ahaha—” he stammers. “a—anyway, what’s up?”

“i just wanted to see you again. it’s not everyday that i get a compliment on my shoelaces, you know?” you smile. “what about today? aren’t they prettier than the last ones?”

you wiggle your shoes to show off, laced in a complicated pattern that you’ve been practicing for the past five days, and you expect to receive another compliment for it, but sunghoon is oddly quiet. 

he’s quiet. you’re sure you chose a cool pair of shoes this morning. you’re about to be disappointed, until you notice that he’s actually thinking. he’s thinking very hard he’s thinking of something, and that something comes out of his mouth in the form of a badly timed pun.

“...what about...toe-day...”

park sunghoon only knows how to crash and burn. all his friends are a witness to that. they’re a witness to this events that transpired this afternoon, but what they didn’t expect is for you to have an affinity for disasters. you’re laughing at his dumb joke. you’re actually laughing. they’ve been shitting on sunghoon for being hopeless, but maybe there’s something wrong with you, too.

CRASH & BURN.

© hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[theemporium]

38 and 53 for charles leclerc ff the smut promos list pleaseeee 💞

send in a prompt + name

38. "I'll let you do anything if you just touch me now"

53. "you're more than just a one night stand"

.

It was a mistake. 

A mistake the two of you decided was a one time deal and promised to never discuss again. A mistake that should have never happened in the first place. A mistake that would drag you both down if it ever got out. 

When you were introduced into the world of Formula One, the public knew you as one of the closest—if not the closest—best friend of Max Verstappen. Max was young and bright and ready to really start his career after signing with Red Bull Racing. You were his supportive best friend who dabbled in and out of races between your years at university and work. 

However, things started to change once you graduated and suddenly you were in the paddock for more than a weekend here or there. 

And suddenly, you were bumping into the likes of Charles Leclerc—a boy you knew so much of and yet nothing about. 

In the earlier years of Max’s career, Charles was nothing but the nuisance that Max would constantly complain about. He was the boy who drove recklessly, who was unfair, who would constantly push him off the track. 

As the boys got older and matured, Charles was just another face amongst the other Formula One drivers who you’d hear the odd thing about, here and there. Max was far more friendly with the boy, but their dinners out or time spent together never seemed to coincide with whenever you were in town. 

You officially met the Ferrari driver after the Monaco Grand Prix—and that was when the first of many mistakes were made. 

You kissed him. 

You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have. In fact, you should have never been out on that balcony in the first place. You should be out with the rest of the team, celebrating the fact your best friend just won one of the most prestigious races in motorsport history. 

But instead you were on a balcony with someone who could be considered his enemy, listening to the way he sounded so defeated about letting down his home country once again, and you just couldn’t help yourself from leaning over and placing your lips on his. 

The second mistake was just a few weeks later when a double Red Bull DNF and a grump Max made you take solace in some other paddock friends (knowing Max just needed space to be grumpy before he talked about it), and instead of dancing all night with friends, you found yourself hidden in the corner of some club making out with a certain Monegasque man. 

The biggest mistake was not even a week or so later, another country for another grand prix, only this time you had lost Max and the others and instead found yourself in Charles Leclerc’s hotel room. 

It all led you to now—summer break for the Formula One season—where you promised your best friend you would spend time with him in Monaco.

Except, instead of Max’s apartment, you were in his rival’s on the other side of Monte Carlo. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured against his lips, the plush sofa beneath your knees making it comfortable as you straddled the driver in the dimly lit living room. “This is a bad idea.” 

“It’s a great idea,” he argued as his head ducked down to press kisses down the column of your neck. 

“It’s a mistake,” you said firmly, but maybe you were trying to convince yourself more so than the boy underneath you. 

“All five times?” Charles humoured. 

“Those were one night stands,” you muttered, knowing full well you should be pulling away, creating some distance between you both as you spoke. “They didn’t mean anything—“ 

“You’re more than just a one night stand, cherie,” Charles groaned, hands around your waist tightening almost like he could read the thoughts in your head that wanted to move away from him. “You know that.” 

And maybe deep down you did. 

At least you knew he was different from every other one night stand you had before. You knew that the feelings you harboured for the Ferrari driver were stronger than you had felt for anyone before. You knew that you never enjoyed kissing someone the same way you did with him, or touching them too. 

You knew that Charles Leclerc was like nothing and no one you had ever experienced before. 

“What are we doing?” you whispered softly, your hands resting on his chest with his racing heart beating wildly beneath your palm. 

“We are enjoying each other and the pleasure we give each other,” he told you, his lips tracing over your pulse and you could have sworn you felt his lips twitch when your breath hitched. “And I can promise you I am enjoying every single moment of it.”

Your hands slid down his chest, pausing at the waistband of his sweatpants as you fiddled with the drawstrings. “Yeah?” 

He gulped a little. “Yeah.” 

“You enjoy me touching you, Leclerc?” 

The teasing tone of your voice wasn’t lost on Charles, not at all. But it was hard for him to even bite back when your fingers dipped beyond the waistband, your fingers wrapping around his cock and squeezing him in a way that made every thought in his head just stop.

“Shit,” he hissed between clenched teeth as his head fell to rest on your shoulder.

“That doesn’t sound very encouraging,” you murmured as your thumb swiped along the head of his cock, a soft whine escaping his lips as you did so.

“Baby, please,” he moaned, his soft pants fanning against the skin of your neck as he spoke. 

“Words, Charlie.” 

“I–” But the boy only let out a pathetic whine when you pulled your hand away, and it was quick reflexes that had his hands clamping down on your waist before you could jump off his lap completely. 

“I said words, baby, can’t do anything unless you say it,” you teased lightly, your palm pressing down the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Anything,” he rasped in a husky voice, his accent coating his words thicker. “I’ll let you do anything if you just touch me now.”

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to hide your grin. “Anything?” 

“Anything,” he confirmed. 

“Get those sweatpants off, Leclerc,” you ordered him as you shuffled off his lap, your knees hitting the soft carpet. “I want your cock in my mouth.” 

Charles groaned, muttered prayers whispered under his breath as he quickly shed his sweatpants to the side.

.

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

A Gift That Keeps on Giving

characters: Astarion x race/spellcaster fem!Tav/reader word count: +1.6k Rating: T read on ao3 FF Masterlist This hasn't been beta-read.

Astarion is an absolute menace when it comes to celebrations, especially Winter Solstice. Merry Christmas! ♡

Astarion had been driving you to the brink of insanity, which wasn’t anything new to you; over time, you’d gotten used to his antics. 

The weeks leading up to the Winter Solstice, however, had been something entirely different. 

The pale elf had become unbearable, positively so. 

One would think the Winter Solstice celebration was, in its essence, a simple affair. You decorated your house with evergreen and holly, maybe even some ivy, if you felt like it. Lit some candles to expel the long night. Danced around. Exchanged presents with your loved ones. It was all rather straightforward, really.

But not with Astarion, no; things were seldom simple with him, so you shouldn’t have been that surprised. 

He’d been planning for the celebration for weeks on end and—being a gods-awful planner—had turned that nice, simple affair into a proper ordeal.

Nothing had met his unprecedented standards.

The evergreens hadn’t been festive enough, so he’d crafted straw stars as additional decorations—only to deem them hideous after you’d helped make three dozen of them.  

Candles had been needed, a whole lot—nay! a sea—of them. Astarion had wanted the entire house to be filled with soft candlelight, only to get annoyed when he’d finally realised how much of a hassle it would be to actually light two thousand candles at roughly the same time.

Astarion thought you were a terrible dancer and teaching you some proper dance steps had already ended in tears once—neither of you wanted to speak of it ever again since you had more or less promised each other everlasting love and respect and little to no bloodshed. Dancing, let alone another dancing lesson, was off the table—indefinitely.

The only thing you’d been rather optimistic about was the celebration’s gift-giving aspect. Astarion had a very keen eye for things you might enjoy; pretty little trinkets, an excellent bottle of wine, a lovely new dress. 

The only issue Astarion had with gift-giving, however, was the gift-getting. 

He’d grossly misjudged the amount of time left until the Winter Solstice, only to find—with less than a week to go—that no potential gift had been good enough to present to you. 

Astarion had let you know in great detail that every trinket he’d come across had been tacky, and that every wine he’d sampled had tasted like piss. He was also strongly convinced that every seamstress in town was blind in both eyes. 

It had been a perfect predicament and with the days being reduced to only a couple of hours of scant sunlight, Astarion had been out and about most of the time—which, in all honesty, was the best gift he could have possibly given to you until the celebration was over.

And then the longed-for day had finally come. 

In true midwinter fashion, the weak sun rays barely penetrated the grey cover of clouds, and so you and Astarion found yourself tramping through knee-high snow in the early afternoon. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line as Astarion cursed again, kicking against a wayward pile of snow blocking his way. The snow scattered prettily before settling on Astarion’s already-drenched hood. He hissed but refrained from using any more profanities—for the time being, at least.

You wouldn’t be exaggerating when you said the general mood was a little sour on this most festive of days. 

For all your Winter Solstice planning, the fact that you two were travellers with no permanent residence to hold an actual celebration in, had somehow eluded you both. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, really. Sometimes, one could miss some crucial details here and there. Things like that happened all the time. No big deal at all. It was fine! 

You gave Astarion the side eye as you adjusted the straps of your pack which was stuffed with an ungodly amount of candles and greenery.

By the time you eventually reached an inn, you were cold and miserable. The inn’s soft candlelight dancing behind stained glass windows had guided you through the gathering darkness and you let out a deep sigh of relief when the warmth of its entry hall caressed your frozen skin. 

The inn was packed to the brim, the elderly proprietress informed you the moment you walked up to the reception desk—off you go again; there was no need wasting her time.

You took a deep breath before glancing over your shoulder to where Astarion was waiting outside, shivering and unable to cross the inn’s threshold. In your time together with him, you had learned that a dagger usually worked wonders, and it did not disappoint now, either.  

The elderly lady stared at the shiny blade you’d rammed into the polished wood of her desk and recalled that the attic was quite available to lodge in after all. 

You’d thought so, too, and gave her a courteous nod before taking the key from her.

“It’s cold outside. Would you be so kind and invite my partner in, too?” 

The proprietress assured you that it was no problem at all and invited Astarion in oh so enthusiastically.

“All settled,” you said as you held the door open for Astarion a moment later. They were the first words you’d spoken to him in hours but you fell back into thick silence when you stalked up the stairs to your rooms after him. 

The attic was a cold, damp and dark place. You’d made do in worse accommodations, though—and the hot bath the proprietress had promised you would make up for it.

To your surprise, Astarion bid you to warm up first. 

Although you all but wanted to fall asleep in the blissfully steaming hot water, you washed up quickly. You wouldn’t risk pushing your luck asking for another bath to be drawn but you didn’t want Astarion to soak in cold water, either. 

Red-faced and squeaky clean you hurried from the washroom back to the attic. You’d barely made it through the door that Astarion squeezed past you down the attic stairs, leaving you standing alone in the gloomy room. 

You knew he was only sulking because nothing had gone as he’d planned once again, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t bothered by the tension between you. 

It was the night of the Winter Solstice, after all. 

Sighing, you sat down on the old bed, suddenly wishing for a decadently decorated, candle-lit parlour and maybe even some music to dance to. Almost anything would be nicer than this draughty attic room and a frustrated vampire spawn. 

Grimacing, you were just about to comb your fingers through your wet hair when your sight fell on a little box resting next to you on the bed. You hadn’t noticed it before but a soft smile was already tugging at your lips when you picked it up. 

The box held a dainty pendant necklace with the palest ruby you’d ever seen. It was a subtle little thing—not at all Astarion’s style—but absolutely stunning in your eyes. 

You wasted no time putting the necklace on before you rummaged through your pack, looking for some candles. There were enough to light up the damn house, but one or two dozen would do nicely for your purposes. 

Over the past few weeks, you’d come up with a spell that lit every candle within a room with nothing but the snap of your finger, so it took no time at all to bathe the attic in soft candlelight. 

The evergreens you’d carried around looked a little worse for wear but you covered the narrow windowsill with them anyway before hanging some holly to the shabby bed posts as an afterthought. 

The room had turned cosy enough by the time you could hear footsteps behind the door. 

Not knowing how you’d received his gift, Astarion entered the room sheepishly enough. He raised an eyebrow at the sight in front of him, but his initial surprise was swiftly masked by a crooked smile. 

“You’ve been busy,” he observed, looking around before his gaze settled on you. 

He eyed the beautifully embroidered silk robe you’d gotten him as a present for the Winter Solstice. It was a little long for you, but that didn’t really matter—you’d only donned the robe for the purpose of presentation. 

“Do you like it?” You asked, stepping closer to him. 

Astarion reached for your hand, drawing his thumb over the back of it as he took a better look at the embroidery across your chest—although his eyes stuck to the collarbone that you’d left generously exposed.  

“You know, darling” he mused, cocking his head as he cupped your cheek, “Your taste might be a little questionable at times, but…” 

Chuckling, you pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. Leave it to Astarion to insult you to your face and have you thank him for it. 

Maybe he did have a point, though; the colour of the robe did clash a little with his crimson eyes…

“But?” You sighed as his hand wandered from your cheek down your throat, brushing against your new necklace before it vanished into your deep, silken cleavage

“But…” Astarion started again, visibly pleased by your reaction to his touch; his gift around your neck.

You didn’t break eye contact when he tugged at the belt of your robe, nor when he circled your waist with his lean arm, pulling you flush against him.

“You do have an exceptional eye for presentation, my love.”

You tilted your head back to welcome his lips on yours.

Astarion’s kiss was deep and sweet at once—intoxicating you like no wine in all the realms ever could. 

The silk robe slid down your shoulders with only a little help from Astarion’s nimble fingers; the luxurious fabric pooled around your feet like water. 

You cupped the back of Astarion’s neck with your hand, deepening the kiss as he slowly guided you backwards until your legs brushed against the bed frame.

It would be a wondrously long night and it seemed like you would even get to dance together, after all.

[ildiavoloro55o]

I don’t know how much of the whole Kimi Antonelli replacing Logan in Imola is true, I really hope it’s not, but this just going to end badly.

Kimi has done only three race weekends so like six races of F2 so far. Why do they want to put him directly into an F1 car and not for one race but for a whole season? He isn’t that experienced yet! Let him at least have a full season under his belt. And I’m sure he’ll be in F1 soon but right at this moment, no he shouldn’t be.

‘But Ollie and Liam did good.’ Yea. But they had at least one or two full season of F2 before they raced in F1. Same with most of the recent rookies, they all did a season or two before they made the jump to F1.

If they really want a Mercedes junior driver on the grid why not bring in Fred Vesti. He’s right there. He came in second in the F2 championship last year and he was leading it until the last three races. Why is he never in this conversation? I’d say he is much more qualified than Kimi at the moment.

If it wasn’t for Toto’s stupid obsession with wanting Kimi to be the next Max Verstappen we wouldn’t be in this mess!

And Williams for god’s sakes stop disrespecting your driver! You’ve done nothing but humiliate him this whole season so far! If the season was going good for y’all and Logan wasn’t doing good maybe there would be a whole another conversation, but it isn’t. You still have zero points and it’s not looking any better and replacing Logan with an inexperienced young kid isn’t going to make it better!

This whole thing is going to be so difficult for both the drivers. Logan with his self esteem and confidence taking a hit and Kimi with so much pressure.

Also the whole pushing a Mercedes junior driver to take the Williams F1 seat while Williams has its own flock of capable junior drivers irks me.

//TL;DR: let kimi get more experience and finish his first f2 season before putting him in an f1 car for a race. let logan be and prove himself before doing anything this stupid. It’s only been three races for him ffs!

[youdontjustgiveup]

August: Chapter 21

( ao3 | ff )

Previous Chapters: [link]

Summary: A fight, a twisted ankle and a heartfelt apology after a week-long absence. Chuck and Blair reunite.

Pairing: Chuck x Blair

Word Count: 6k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: None

----------------------------

A deafening silence lingered between them, a void that demanded to be filled. How could he possibly start? He had to find something, anything, to say. Thoughts raced through his mind like nimble fish—small, slippery, and impossible to catch. Every word felt insufficient. Distant whispers that came far too late. His fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against his thighs, the movement becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. 

Blair, on the other hand, wasn’t making things any easier. But why should she? Why should she speak first? What reason did she have to offer him anything but silence? She stared out at the vast, pitch-black ocean, the silvery moonlight painting a soft glow on her features. Not once did she look in his direction, as if he were a ghost, unseen and unworthy of her attention.

Perhaps he didn’t deserve it. Perhaps he never had.

Chuck scooped up a handful of sand and let it slip from his grasp. Though it briefly occupied his restless fingers, he soon regretted it. He sighed, rubbing his palms against his pants, the gritty residue leaving faint streaks on the fabric. 

The distance between them seemed infinite. Did she hope he would stay? Or did she want him to leave? Did she want to yell at him? Hit him? Watch the ocean swallow him up? Drown him herself with her bare hands? Or was it all of the above at once? He hated feeling so lost, unable to read her mind or understand her intentions. 

Facing reality proved more daunting than mere contemplation. Before, the path forward had been clear. But now, sitting next to her—beautiful, real, and capable of hurting him as much as he could hurt her—he couldn’t speak. 

He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. 

What if he said the wrong thing? What if he had already missed his chance? The windows closed, the door nailed shut. What if she didn’t care anymore? What if, in this poor attempt to make things right, he only succeeded in causing deeper wounds?

Despite being a warm night, the proximity of the ocean made Blair shiver slightly, her hands rubbing up and down her upper arms to ward off the chill. Like a natural cadence, Chuck took off his riding jacket and held it out to her, but she didn’t turn to take it. Instead, she remained focused on the remote and flat horizon, her eyes distant, hard and unreadable. He hesitated, then gently draped the jacket over her shoulders. For a brief moment, he hoped she would acknowledge the gesture, offer him a glimmer of hope, but as soon as the fabric touched her, Blair stood. The jacket slipped off her shoulders and landed softly on the sand.

And then, more silence. 

Desperation took over, and he reached out, fingers closing around her wrist with a trembling grip, halting her retreat. She couldn’t leave. Not like this. Not without hearing him first. The touch of her skin sent a chill down his spine, her coldness contrasting sharply with the warmth of his own hand.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice betraying an unfamiliar crack. “Please.”

Blair paused, the tension in her wrist easing slightly, but still didn’t look at him.

“Please.”

With a deliberate but firm movement, she pulled herself free. “Why shouldn’t I, Chuck?” 

“Because I… I really need to talk to you.”

“Oh, isn’t that just hilarious? I needed to talk to you, too,” she shot back, her tone cutting like a knife. “And you left.”

Her eyes finally met his, and once again silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. His heart pounded in the oppressive quiet. But this time it was fleeting, broken by the reminder of his own actions. 

“For a week.” Blair looked away, crossing her arms. “A whole damn week.” 

She wasn’t just angry. She was furious.

“I didn’t—”

“Why should I even bother listening to you now?” she interrupted. “You could have called, you could have picked up the phone, replied to a single text. Just one. Let me know you were at least alive. But no, you disappeared. Poof, gone. You see? Sometimes we don’t get the things that we need.”

Chuck swallowed hard, the words stuck in his throat. He had no easy answers, no perfect explanations. Still, he had to try. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, repeating what he had written on paper a week ago. 

But those two words only stoked the fires of her anger.

“You’re sorry?” she spat. 

His tone grew more determined. “I am, Blair. Truly.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

He took a deep breath, knowing that saying it out loud had been the necessary starting point, though it was far from enough. “No, that’s not—”

Blair cut him off again. “What now? You expect me to forgive you and act like nothing happened? Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” 

“I know exactly what I’m apologizing for, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I couldn’t stay away—”

“You couldn’t stay away? You’ve got some nerve, Chuck. Some goddamn nerve.”

“Are you going to let me speak?”

“Save it. Why did you come back here? Why put in the effort when you could have just written yet another delightful note and sent it to your newfound best friend to deliver the good news?” 

Chuck’s brows furrowed, his voice catching mid-breath. “What?”

She began pacing back and forth, each step kicking up little clouds of sand that danced under the watchful eye of the moon. “It would have spared you the inconvenience of facing me and saved me from having to listen to your lame apologies.”

“What the hell are you even going on about?”

“Oh, Blair, I’m sorry,” she taunted him. “This has all been a mistake. Let me go back to my whoring and drinking and shutting down all my feelings because my father once told me that’s what a real man does.”

“Who told you that’s what I came here to do?”

“You did! Every single day this past week.”

“That’s not fair.”  

But Blair was lost in her own world, her words spinning out of control. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her pace quickened, unable to stand still. “Can’t believe I let you mess with my head like this. Trusted you, thought we could be something. What was I even thinking? You are Chuck Bass. You don’t do relationships.”

His own pulse quickened as the tension between them tightened like a coiled spring ready to snap. Chuck stood up abruptly. “Just let me explain.”

“I should have known better. What did everyone say? Shit, I’m so stupid.”

“You are not stupid. It’s not like that at all. I am the one—”

“Why did I—”  

“Blair!” 

“What!” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Do you honestly think saying ‘I’m sorry’ fixes everything?” 

He ran a hand over his face. “Of course not. But—” 

“Think I’ve been living it up at polo parties, sipping champagne, laughing it off and sunbathing on the beach like life’s a breeze, all because you scribbled sorry in that stupid handwriting of yours and ran away like a fucking coward?” Her voice rose, hitting a pitch that seemed to echo off the waves crashing nearby. “Well, news flash: that’s not how it works! You really think that was enough?”

“No!” Chuck started to really lose it as he struggled to get more than a word in. “I don’t think so. Please, calm down.” 

Blair’s breath was ragged, her chest heaving. “Calm down? You don’t get to tell me to calm down, Chuck. You left me. With nothing but a note. Do you have any idea how that felt?” 

He took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding in his ears. “I know. I knew it was wrong the moment I set foot out of that room.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you would have stayed.”

“Look, I—”

As Chuck opened his mouth to speak, Blair’s finger stabbed into his chest like a dagger. “And you... You.” Her words came out in a rush. “What have you been up to these past few days, huh? Living your life to the fullest, I bet? Indulging in all the usual vices? Oh, forgive me, should I direct my questions to Serena? Cause she seems to know a lot about you. More than I do, apparently.”

His stomach dropped. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Leave Serena out of this,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s all my—”

“Oh, really?” Blair scoffed. “So gallant of you to defend her. What’s next? Between texting each other, you braid her hair?”

“For fuck’s sake, Waldorf! Can you let me finish a sentence?”

“You knew how I felt about her. You knew, and you didn’t care. Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Why do we keep circling back to this same damn argument?”

Blair’s laugh was bitter. “I don’t know, Chuck. You tell me. Or better yet, tell me how you’d feel if I ran away from you and the only person I confided in was Nate. Would that hurt?”

His jaw tightened, eyes darkening. “It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same!”

“It’s not,” Chuck insisted. “Nate was your boyfriend. There is history there. Feelings.”

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’? I only talked to Serena because it was the closest I could get to you! I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you are the only one I care about.”

“So now it’s my fault?”

“Stop twisting everything I say! Damn it, Blair, do you even hear yourself?”

“I was right here!” Blair screamed, her voice breaking. “You only had to come to me. Not Serena. Not anyone else. Me.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so damn impossible to talk to, I wouldn’t have needed to go to her in the first place!”

Her eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me just fine,” Chuck replied sharply.

“If I’m such a nightmare, why are you here? Why not run back to your entourage of not-so-impossible girls?”

“Right now, I’m asking myself that very same question.” 

Blair shoved against his chest. “Then leave. Go!” 

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” 

“Fine!”

They stood there, facing each other, chests heaving like marathon runners at the finish line of a race they never intended to run. The air was charged with unspoken words and the bitter taste of those that had already been said. For a moment, he saw it clearly in her eyes, she actually thought he was about to turn and walk away. 

And why wouldn’t she? He had done nothing to earn her trust, in fact he had spent the last seven days methodically dismantling it piece by piece. The realization cut deep. How could he expect anything different? How could he blame her?

“You’re a coward,” Blair said, not giving him a chance to collect his thoughts or plan his next move. 

Wasn’t it always like that with her?

“And you can’t stand it when things don’t go your way. I’m not a fucking robot,” Chuck snapped. He was still too tense, too on edge, bruised by her words and ashamed of his own. “You can’t program me to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Go to hell, Chuck. You don’t get to turn this on me. You are not the victim here. All I wanted was for you to act like a human being.”

“Well, I’m really sorry for not being one.”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But you’re just a scared little boy hiding behind his father’s big shadow.”

“And you’re just a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her. You know what? It doesn’t.”

“How dare you.”

Without another word, insult or barb, Blair spun on her heels and stalked away, her steps quickening as she headed in the opposite direction, leaving the beach house behind.   

Meanwhile, Chuck stood rooted to the spot, his chest tightening with each inhalation of the crisp night air that did little to soothe the burn of their argument. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a distant roar in his ears, almost drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. 

“Where are you going?” he called out, his voice harsher than he intended. 

“Away from you!” 

“That is not the way!” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Slow down! You’re only going to hurt yourself!”

Her footsteps didn’t falter, her silhouette slowly fading into the night. “Shut up!”

Every inch of the widening distance between them was irrefutable proof of his failure. So much for trying to make things right, he thought bitterly. So much for apologies and explanations. The words he had said, and still wanted to say, twisted painfully in his chest. Why was it that the more he tried to bridge the gap, the wider it seemed to grow? He let out a heavy sigh, feeling the sting of his own impotence. 

He had tried to get through to her, but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. Every attempt at reconciliation slipped away before it even started, leaving him grasping at nothing. He had tried, but had he tried hard enough?

Blair Waldorf was a force to be reckoned with, impressive and proud, and you never wanted to find yourself on the opposing team. As a partner, she was unparalleled; as an adversary, she was devastating. Feared by many, her wrath left few unscathed. Yet she never let her composure slip—always calm, collected, and executing her vengeance with poised precision. He knew this well. He had been her ally, her accomplice, and reveled in it. Together, they could watch the world burn. 

The confrontation replayed in his mind, every word and gesture echoing with excruciating clarity. To see her lose control so completely only revealed the depth of her pain. The look in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice—it all hit him harder than any physical blow ever could. 

Did she know the power she had over him? How her contempt could unravel him completely. 

It was so easy for her to push his buttons, and his knee-jerk reaction was always to fire back. Putting up a defensive front, countering with sarcasm and hurtful remarks was his way of protecting himself, a shield against admitting just how much he was hurting. How desperately he needed her forgiveness. How her silence and disappointment felt like nothing but condemnation. Because if there was anyone, anyone at all, who could get under his skin like no one else could, it was her. With others, he just didn’t care; their opinions were insignificant, sliding off him like raindrops on glass. But Blair—Blair could cut him to the bone. Her words, her approval, meant more to him than he would ever admit. 

With her, it was different. It always had been, and perhaps it always would be. 

Blair was his anchor in a world that often felt chaotic and meaningless. And he didn’t want to give up. Not on her, not on them. Not on himself. 

He squinted into the darkness, his eyes straining to follow her path. Where the hell was she going? “Blair, wait!” Finally, Chuck moved, his steps quickening to catch up.

“Come on, just hear me out!” he called after her. “I screwed up, okay? I was scared out of my mind. I thought I was protecting you, but you never needed that. I had it all wrong, and it just took me some time to figure things out, but walking away and shutting you out was a mistake. I understand that now. I just... I want you to know that I...”

Her voice cut through the night. “Shit! Ouch! Damn it! Shit!” 

“Blair?”

“Ow!” she whimpered. 

He sprinted over until he was within inches of her. Blair sat on the sand, cradling her foot. Her face, illuminated by the moonlight, was contorted with pain, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed into a tight line.

“What happened?”

“Go away.” 

“Are you okay?” Chuck insisted.

“Just peachy,” she said through clenched teeth. “I woke up this morning and thought, ‘What a wonderful day to break my ankle!’ So after wasting my time with an insufferable, obnoxious bastard, I decided to end it by coming here and doing exactly that! Shit! Ow! Go away, Chuck. Leave me alone.”

“Let me—”

“Don’t you dare come one inch closer! I don’t need you or your so-called help. Just stay away from me.”

“Is your foot numb?” he asked, ignoring her protest and crouching down beside her. “Is it swollen?”

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, swatting his hand away. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? You’re the one who insisted on running barefoot on the beach at night.”

“Well, you didn’t stop me, did you?” She shot him a look that could freeze fire.

“I tried.”

“Like you always do, half-heartedly.”

He winced slightly at her remark as he tried to assess her injury, squinting in the dim light. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to listen to me once in a while.” 

“And you’re an idiot,” she shot back. “Ugh, all this sand. It’s everywhere.”

“We’re on the beach. What do you expect? Manhattan’s paved streets?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. Let me help you,” Chuck offered. 

“I don’t want your help. I can do it myself,” she insisted stubbornly, attempting to get up only to collapse back onto the sand with a cry of pain.

“Always so stubborn,” he said.

“So besides being impossible, I’m stubborn too?” Blair’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Make up your mind.”

“You can be both,” Chuck said, a hint of a smile breaking through. 

“I hate you.”

“I know, but let me take a look.”

“No.”

“Why are you always so difficult? Why can’t you just let me help?”

“Because I don’t need you,” she snapped, her voice softening slightly as pain overcame her resistance. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Clearly, you do,” he countered, nodding towards her ankle. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels wonderful. What do you think?” she rolled her eyes. “Of course it hurts! I think it’s broken.”

“Can I?” He gently reached for her foot, his touch careful and tentative. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“Ouch!” she yelped, smacking his shoulder. “Watch it! Can’t you be more careful? Chuck! It hurts! It’s broken, I know it is.” 

“It’s not broken,” he said, examining it thoroughly. “Likely a strain or a sprain. I can’t see much in this light, so I don’t know if there’s a bruise, but it’s not broken. Trust me.”

“How do you know? It definitely feels broken,” she whined. 

“It’s not misshapen or misaligned.”

“Chuck…”

“Did it make a popping sound?”

“No,” she said, trying to remember. “I don’t know.”

“Does it feel numb? Does the pain extend from your foot to your knee? Can you wiggle your toes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Give it a shot, Blair. Or do you want me to move them for you?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on injuries? Some kind of twisted Boy Scout?”

“Why, Waldorf? Would you like to see me in those olive convertible pants? I must admit, the color is hideous, but I would make an exception just for you.”

“As if I’d ever be impressed by a pair of pants.”

“Is the neckerchief doing it for you then?” Chuck teased, raising an eyebrow. 

Blair scoffed, but he caught the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Your toes,” he reminded her, not wanting to lose focus. He could flirt and tease her all night if she let him.   

She hesitated for a moment, then followed his instructions. Her toes wiggled tentatively as she tested the responsiveness of her ankle.

“It hurts, but you can move it, it’s warm to the touch, and it feels like muscle cramps, right?” Chuck recounted.

“Yes.”

“And you’re as stiff as a board.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

He let go of her foot, and she slapped him lightly on the arm.

“Fair enough,” he said with a smile.

As he stood up, Chuck extended his hand to Blair. “Come on.”

She eyed his hand suspiciously. “Where exactly?”

“To the water. Soaking your ankle in cold salt water will help reduce swelling and numb the pain so you can shut that pretty mouth of yours and stop whining. It’s also a natural antiseptic. Try to keep up, Waldorf. You’re the smart one.”

“How? How do you know that?”

“Because I read.”

“You read.”

“Why is that so shocking? Do you think I’m Nate?”

“No, it’s not that. I just… It’s nice. That you know.”

“Someone has to balance out your dramatics with some actual knowledge.”

“As if.”

“I twisted my ankle when I was a kid,” he offered. “Spent hours bawling my eyes out. Yeah, yeah, I know, Chuck Bass reduced to tears. Pathetic, right? I couldn’t let dear Bart witness a moment of such weakness, so I hid in the hotel kitchen. One of the Palace employees, a sweet lady, found me and helped me. She took some ice from the freezer, wrapped it in a cloth and applied it to my throbbing ankle. Of course, I objected, insisted I didn’t need any help. But she wouldn’t have any of it. I don’t think she even knew who I was. Then, because I couldn’t let it go, I had to find out why the damn thing actually worked.”

“Sweet lady, huh?”

“A real charmer. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Can you stand up?”

“I’m not limping to the shoreline. You go.”

“I go? I can’t exactly take your ankle with me, Blair.”

“Then bring the water here. I’m not budging. It hurts.”

“And how exactly do you propose I do that?”

“Figure it out.”

He shook his head in amused disbelief. “You are insane.” 

Well, if she wanted him to figure it out, he was going to do just that. Capitalizing on the fact that she didn’t appear inclined to throttle him on the spot, he rolled up his pants. In one smooth, confident motion, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

Blair’s eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. “Chuck!” she protested. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” he countered, tightening his grip. “And quit squirming, or we’ll both end up eating sand.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

With each step, Blair’s resistance melted away. Her protests faded, and the tension in her body dissolved like sugar in warm tea. It felt so nice to carry her like this, intoxicating even, so he deliberately slowed his pace.

He had never claimed to be a saint, so he let himself revel in the luxury of holding her close.

As they neared the water’s edge, the waves swirled around Chuck’s feet, inviting them further into the embrace of the ocean. The gentle lapping of the water against his ankles sent a soothing chill up his legs, grounding him in the present moment. He stopped when it rose just below his calves, the rhythmic pulse of the tide a calming counterpoint to his racing heart.

Blair, uncharacteristically quiet, raised her gaze to meet his. There was an intensity in her eyes, an earnestness, as if she was trying to dig out the unsaid words hidden deep between them. The connection that had been lost. Her stare lingered on his lips, a subtle but unmistakable gesture. It almost seemed as if… as if she wanted to… No, he must be imagining things. The night breeze ruffled her hair, sending loose strands dancing around her face, and the sight alone stole Chuck’s breath away. 

He exhaled softly. “What is it?”

“Your lip has healed nicely.”

Her observation caught him off guard. “I had a great nurse,” he replied absentmindedly, the words automatic.

“Don’t remind me.”

With a tender touch, he gently set her down, making sure she could stand as the water enveloped her injured ankle. Though he remained nearby, she instinctively grasped his arm, pulling him even closer for support. Just to keep her balance, he told himself. At first, Blair winced, then exhaled in relief as the coolness of the water dulled the ache, her breath escaping in a whispered sigh of relief.

“Ah, it feels so much better,” she murmured.

“You see? I told you.”

“Don’t look so smug about it; I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

In a bold move, Chuck wrapped his arm around her waist, steadying her as she leaned fully into his body. Blair didn’t resist; instead, she let go. Her face softened into an expression of deep calm, and she closed her eyes with a small, sweet smile on her lips.  

A warmth spread through Chuck’s chest, and he found himself reluctant to let her go.

How could he suspend time, if only for a little while longer? How could he preserve this instant for eternity?

After a while and much to his dismay, he knew it was time to go. The night air had grown colder, and the chill of the water seeped into his bones. He could hardly feel his feet. Blair hadn’t complained, apparently lost in thought, though he suspected she was more attuned to him than she let on. The nerves that had briefly calmed down now churned in his stomach again, tightening with the conversation they had yet to have. 

Now that the shock of her injury and the urgency to deal with it had worn off, were they destined to plunge into another round of fighting, screaming, and pulling each other’s hair out?

He feared that speaking now would upset the fragile balance between them, a balance so precarious that even the slightest breeze could topple it.  

“Let’s head back,” he suggested.

“Can we stay?”

“You’ll freeze to death.”

“You’ll keep me warm.”

Her cheeks flushing in the moonlight, she realized her slip and quickly added, “Okay, let’s go,” before he could even answer.

Was this it? Would they just walk back to the house and let the silence swallow them whole? 

Chuck turned and offered her his back, inviting her to climb on for a piggyback ride. He helped her up carefully, mindful of her foot. As Blair wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his back, the caress of her breath against his ear made him question his very existence. 

Making their way back along the moonlit beach, the rhythmic sound of the waves accompanied his steps while the same nagging feeling tugged at Chuck. Something needed to be said. They couldn’t just go back to their bedrooms and pretend nothing had happened. What good would that do?

His voice was a hesitant knock on the door. “Blair…” 

She shifted slightly on his back. 

“I need to explain.” 

Blair’s breath hitched. “Explain what?”

“Everything. What happened, why I acted the way I did.”

“And why did you?” she asked, cracking the door open just enough.  

Chuck cleared his throat, refusing to be left standing on the threshold any longer. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The fact that he couldn’t look at her, and she at him, made it easier to speak.

“Scared? Of what?”

“Of me, of you, of us. I honestly believed it was for the best. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Blair tightened her hold around his neck, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “You think leaving me on that bed didn’t hurt? I waited for you. That day, and the next few.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“It was pathetic.”

“It was not.”

“Then what would you call it? Please, enlighten me. What do you call trusting you to fight for us? Apart from sheer masochism, of course.”

“You were, and still are, stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for, especially when it comes to listening to your heart. That’s what it boils down to.”

Her grip on his shirt loosened a little bit.

“Hold on a second,” he said.

Chuck carried Blair to the spot where the night had started, where it all had started when they were kids, under the same stars that had witnessed their deepest secrets and shameful thoughts. His forgotten jacket, helmet, and the towel she had brought to sit on were strewn across the beach. Carefully, he lowered her onto the fabric. 

Enough was enough. No more hiding, no more taking the easy way out. He couldn’t keep talking without looking at her. The cloak of cowardice he’d worn like a second skin for too long now was suffocating. Chuck sat at her side, their eyes locked like a melody finally finding its harmony.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I fucked up, I know that, but I was only trying to protect you.”

Blair blinked rapidly. “Protect me from what?”

“From myself.”

“What do you mean? Did you really think I would be better off without you?”

“Not right away, no. I knew it would hurt, but in time, yeah. I hoped you’d find some peace. Happiness, even. I convinced myself you would. In a twisted, fucked-up way, I just wanted you to hate me.”

“Why?” Blair’s voice softened.

“Because I can handle hate. I’ve dealt with it for as long as I can remember. In that moment, with you curled up next to me on that bed, it just felt easier than facing the reality that I might not be the guy for you. That I might not be able to make you happy. That we might not be the picture-perfect fairy tale you’ve always dreamed of.”

“I don’t want a fairy tale, Chuck,” she said, her eyes holding his. “I only want something real.”

“If you hated me,” he continued. “I could easily keep up the act of the heartless playboy. The one who doesn’t give a damn, who’s all about the power plays and the ruthless maneuvers. The one who doesn’t show any signs of weakness. The guy who wouldn’t shed a tear if he twisted his ankle. I could shut myself off and finally be the son my father wanted me to be. But it was just a cop-out, an excuse to avoid the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That I’m not the son he wants, and I’ll never be. That no matter what I do, I’ll always be a complete disappointment to him. No matter how hard I try, I’m always going to fall short in his eyes. But that’s his problem, not mine. I feel, as deeply as the rest of you do.”

“Your worth isn’t defined by your father’s approval. You don’t have to be Bart Bass,” she almost spat out the name.

Chuck’s shoulders slumped as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I don’t want to be,” he admitted, the words heavy with years of suppressed pain. “I really want to be my own person, Blair, unapologetically so.”

It felt like a heavy chain had been lifted from his chest. He straightened his posture, as if reclaiming his own identity right there on that beach. To finally declare his independence from his father’s crushing expectations. To chart his own path.

Her eyes softened, glistening with unshed tears. “I think you might be surprised at how much people really care about you. Lily, Nate, Serena.” A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Me.”

“Why are you so afraid to let yourself feel?” she asked. “Why were you afraid of me?”

“I didn’t want you to see me,” he confessed.

“Why?”

“What if you end up hating me like he does? Not for anything I’ve done, but for who I am.” His hands fidgeted with the edge of the towel. “What if you see the real me and turn away, just like he did? He knows my true self, and he doesn’t like me. It’s never been enough, and it’s always too much. Too soft, too weak, too emotional. No one has ever truly loved me—why should you be any different? Why should you even care?” 

She reached out and gently placed a hand on his, stilling his restless fingers. “Do you hate me for who I am?” 

“What? Of course not. That’s absurd.”

“Why do you think I would?” Blair moved closer, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Because I’m Chuck Bass.”

“And I’m Blair Waldorf. You may screw up, I may screw up. That doesn’t take away the fact that we understand each other better than anyone else ever could.”

“I truly am sorry, Blair. For not staying when it mattered the most, for leaving you alone, for giving up on us. I’m sorry for letting you think it was all a mistake. But most of all, I’m sorry for not listening and for taking away your right to send me to hell yourself if you wanted to. And for that lame-ass note.”

Her hand squeezed his. “Thank you.” 

“You need to know, no matter how far I’ve been, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. It’s been that way since the first moment I saw you.”

Blair’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? Has it?”

“Really.”

It was as if she’d been hit with something as wild and unthinkable as water not being wet or the earth being flat. How could she still think so little of herself? How could she not see how incredible and amazing she was? 

She stayed silent for a moment, then let out a slow, measured breath. “Can I ask you something?” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything.”

“When we were playing the drinking game on the yacht, you mentioned one thing.”

Chuck tensed. Not the yacht again, he thought. Not now.

“I said a lot of things that night, Blair. Many of which I’m not proud of,” he admitted.

“Nate’s surprise,” she pressed on.

His heart pounded hard in his chest. “What about it?” 

“Was that the romantic night you said he asked you to plan? Was that all you?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Answer me.”

“It was.”

“Why?”

“Because Nate asked. He made you a promise he couldn’t keep, so I stepped in. I’d do anything for him,” Chuck explained, his words coming out in a rush. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. There was a small, guarded part of his heart that he still wanted to protect. 

Blair clicked her tongue. “The truth, Chuck.”

But what was the point? Wasn’t it to show her everything? To tell her everything. If there was ever a moment to be completely honest, it was now. So, he did. 

“Because the thought of you being so excited only to be crushed again was unbearable. You were always waiting, hoping for something that was never going to happen. Always so miserable, letting him treat you like you were worth nothing. I just wanted you to be happy, even if it was only for that one night. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” 

“Oh.”

“I did it for you, Blair. Because I… I love you.”

Her hand trembled over his, her breath quickening. “You really love me?”

“More than anything.”

Every nerve in his body screamed to close the gap between them, to press his lips against hers and finally show her just how much. 

“It’s as if the world might burst into flames if I kiss you,” he murmured without even thinking. 

“Then let it burn,” Blair said.

[goodoldcharley]

Attention: Long post (fanfiction)

Recently @businesscalamity pointed out that there aren't enough Armand Gamache fanfictions out there. That's 100% true. I decided that something had to be done about it. And while I haven't written any ffs in years, I can now proudly say "I'm back at it". What started as an idea now already turned into something bigger than I first intended, so it will take some time, especially since English isn't my native tongue. But lovely people like @gmache and @illiana-mystery who already read my first few drafts were nothing but encouraging and supportive *thank you so much*

What to expect? A mix of show and book universe, humor, food, mentor relationship, unrequited (really?) feelings, fluff, drama, intimacy (rating M I'd say) and a desperate attempt to stay as true to the characters as possible... Oh, and there is a new rookie in town (OC, who would have guessed)...

If you read this far, congratulations!

No, honestly thank you for bearing with me

Have a short excerpt from Chapter 4 to get in the mood. Comments and reblogs are welcome... Have fun...

*throwing text in and running off*

( ‐-----------------------------------------------)

Chapter 4 (a look back)

“You should try Gabri’s pasta, it’s delicious!”, Gamache praised. He had been talking about blueberry pancakes and croissants the last 15 minutes. It seemed he had now moved on from breakfast to lunch. Her own stomach grumbled quietly in response, reminding her that a mug of hot coffee wasn’t really a sufficient meal. Maybe she’d grab something there… if they ever made it.

Tensely she sat in the backseat, right behind Gamache, desperately holding on to his seat as Jean-Guy raced over the bumpy road. A soft ping notified them that the navigation system had finally lost the last satellite. Leaning forward to check the tiny digital map, it seemed they were driving right into the middle of nowhere. Another bump made her hit her head against Gamache’s head rest.

“Careful back there in the cheap seats…”, groaning she glared at Beauvoir who completely ignored her though, keeping his eyes on the road, staring straight forward. Rubbing her temple, she shifted back, unconsciously pulling the seat belt tighter. She begged it wasn’t far anymore. Before their boss could move on to possible dinner suggestions, Beauvoir darted in:

“Speaking of being careful, shouldn’t you warn our rookie about the crazy duck lady, Patron?”

Gamache chuckled and adjusted his glasses. They kept sliding down his nose with every pot hole the car hit. And it seemed Beauvoir was determined to hit as many as human possible.

“Lady, really?” Gamache wouldn’t particularly call Ruth Zardo a lady. Forrest-witch would probably be the very first thing that came to his mind when he thought of the old poet and her pet duck Rosa.

“Well, have to watch my language, Patron, minors present”. Beauvoir pointed behind, right at her.

A deep frown appeared upon her face. Annoyed with herself she registered that a blush crept up her cheeks, too. She hated it when Beauvoir made fun of her being a rookie. However, Gamache started to laugh and turning in his seat, he wink at her playfully. His smile and laugh were always so contagious, she couldn't help but smile, too. Her blush deepened even further. If he noticed, he didn’t comment, instead, leaning closer towards her, he lowered his voice as if he was about to hand out classified information. The only thing giving him away was the boyish twinkle in his brown eyes as he whispered:

“Whatever you do, beware of the woman… the duck is harmless…”

”Alright, Sir!”, she said in all seriousness which made his grin even wider.

“We’re there, Patron”

The car climbed the final meters to the top of the hill and came to hold. Curiously, she shifted in her seat, leaning forward between the two man, taking in the scenery in front of her for the very first time.

( ‐-----------------------------------------------)

[darthlordcommie]

Krakoa: The Pinnacle of the Problems with the X-Men

As the title will clue you in, this post is about how the Krakoa storyline represents everything that I don’t like about the X-Men. And I say this as a big fan of the X-Men. If y’all like Krakoa, or Professor X, you probably won’t want to read this. I’m going to be heavily critical of both.

To start with, Professor X. Charles Xavier. As a character, I’m going to start with a simple truth about him in the Krakoa storyline, and it’s that he plays a similar role to Tony Stark in the original Civil War storyline (which I also despise). Put bluntly, when in charge of everything, these two characters bring out the worst in everyone around them. I will leave Stark here, as I don’t want to get distracted.

Charles Xavier is fundamentally 2 things. A rich white man, and a telepath. The combination of these things means that he spent a great deal of his life never having to deal with consequences for anything, or having to deal with systemic prejudice. This can easily be seen in his approach to activism. His idea of the X-Men bringing peace between humans and mutants is “hold up the X-Men as such morally good people that they will shame humanity into accepting them”. Which is a fundamentally stupid idea. There is never a point in Marvel comics where we see actual protestors or activists trying to argue for mutant rights. There are the X-Men, and there are terrorists. There’s never an in-between. And when Xavier decides that it’s not working, he doesn’t try to shift methods in the name of his goal. Instead, he builds an entire island and separate society for mutantkind, and says “fuck the world”. If what he is doing is not working, that must mean humanity will never accept mutants, and not that what he is doing was wrong. And of course, Xavier is in charge of Krakoa, because why wouldn’t he be? In charge is Professor X’s natural state of being. And he brings out those impulses in Magneto, as well.

Magneto is a complicated character, but his friendship with Charles Xavier is arguably the worst thing to happen to him. Professor X brings out the worst in Magneto, his controlling tendencies, his inflexibility, his belief that he is right. Ultimately, he is a character who can be egged on by those around him.

And now to talk about a fundamental flaw with the concept of mutants in Marvel. To start with, rather than being a metaphor for race, mutants work better as a metaphor simultaneously for queer people and disabled people. This is because rather than being one race, as the comics have insisted for literal decades, they’re a multicultural group brought together by something out of their control. In Marvel, we are expected to believe that everyone hates mutants because they’re mutants, ignoring the real-world bigotries that many mutants would be attacked with. And the final flaw. The most simple one. The one that brings it all crashing down. The average person cannot tell the difference between a mutant and a mutate.

Put quite simply, mutants and mutates are widely treated differently within Marvel despite all logic dictating that they shouldn’t be. One of the rare times this is brought to light is when Reed Richards admits the reason he made the FF into celebrities is because he knew that they would be hated and feared otherwise. The world of Marvel should not differentiate between Spider-Man and mutants. If there is going to be bigotry against people with powers, it should be applied across the spectrum, rather than selectively at the people born with them. It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of how bigotry works. Bigots are far more likely to tar all minorities with similar brushes than to try and tell the differences, unless they’re trying to push divisions between groups. So, if there is bigotry against people with powers in Marvel, bigots should be aiming their bigotry against every single superpowered individual, not just at the people who are born with it. Because how could they even know that someone wasn’t born with it? The average person doesn’t have a way of knowing that Spider-Man isn’t a mutant.

And this leads to Krakoa. Mutants being treated as a single identity, ignoring the multiculturalism, separated from the world, and led by Charles Xavier. I’m not going to ignore the good things about Krakoa: bringing different characters together, and allowing some characters who have been stagnant for a long time to start growing and evolving again. But overall, I cannot ignore the fact that Krakoa represents the idea that “why don’t we just take all the disabled people queer people mutants and put them in their own place”. It’s a messy thing to do, and Charles Xavier’s declaration feels more like a child saying “I’m taking my ball and going home” than a powerful ideological choice.

And that’s not even going into the politics of Krakoa. A nation governed by 12 people, who select each other, without any democratic process. Where clones like Evan Sabah Nur and Madelyne Pryor are painted with the brush that simply because they’re genetically identical to Apocalypse and Jean Grey, they’re not their own people. Where genuinely monstrous people like Mr. Sinister and the Shadow King, among others, aren’t just allowed in to the society, but allowed power and influence within it. Where the people who are resurrected are the ones Charles Xavier says can be resurrected. If Legion wasn’t as powerful a telepath as he was, he would have remained dead because of Professor X’s bias. Where mutants are treated as having value primarily because of their powers, and not simply having intrinsic value as people.

Where people like Orphan-Maker and Empath are put onto a military strike force, instead of being given psychological therapy. Orphan-Maker lashing out and killing people at the first sign Nanny was in danger is something entirely predictable, and being imprisoned for eternity (they call it exile when it literally isn’t, it’s prison where you can’t die) for the crime of having the developmental level of a child and being put on a military strike team, is a horrific response.

There’s so much more I could say about how justice is applied on Krakoa, but I won’t. It’s truly a mess.

[woomycritiques543]

(TW: SA, Rape, Cannibalism, leak mentions.)

Ah, I understand, thanks for apologizing.

Im just used to people going “WHY ARE YOU SAYING ____ DONT INSULT MY BLORBO” thats all. As for the show, I wouldn’t assume subversion when this is the same show that’s going to have angels named after vaginas and a villain with the subtly of a toothpick despite the fact that the show is meant to have loads of “depth” but only does so for pitty points instead of looking at things from both sides.

Like in HB: you got stella, a racist who owns imp slaves being all “>:)” but then Stolas, another racisr who owns imp slaves, being shipped with the race he discriminates and going “🥺” all the time. Stella getting demonized just because she dislikes one of Viv’s blorbos, and the blorbo gets “🥺” when he’s equally as horrible. So do you expect them to suddenly know how write a show about development and accountability when they couldn’t even do it with Helluva Boss, something that was written recently that the creators refuse to improve, especially since it’s gotten only WORSE with time? To assume that it’s going to be subversive just because it’s another show, when the shows are from the same creator, doesn’t make sense.

As a poc, for me Hazbin just comes off as a white savior story that only depicts what a character is as “bad faith” for the audience to hate that character, but gives any main character the “🥺” treatment despite them being just as awful. Adam is a mysognist who likes killing people, but so is Angel Dust.

So why should I see one as “good faith/root-able” while the other one as a “complete monster” when both seem to have people that they care about (for Adam: to an extent…) and either way, both are genocidal murderers that are creeps? It gives the message that someone “deserves” to be rewarded just because they changed for THEMSELVES and not because they actually want to, especially since in HB, a show with the same exact kind of message, the show depicts their bad behavior as “charming” to the point where it’s not even really showing it as “bad” anymore and they still literally get away with murder, out of the blue, and aren’t pushed enough to change just because the writers say so, and they also, like Angel, make it so its just “They’re traumatized, so you should root for them to change for A REWARD and be rewarded by said superficial development despite being racist, mysogynistic sexually harassing serial killers!” instead of the nuanced “You should change for you, but also should be to help others because it’s the right thing to do. Oh yeah, and a sexual harasser shouldn’t go to Heaven, that shit doesn’t suddenly go away just because they go “UWU” and have a “UWU” backstory. They’re still terrible, people don’t actually change if it’s for a reward, it’s superficial change, and there’s just some behaviors that stick to people for life if it’s severe enough. Have some boundaries ffs!” ,

The main goal of the “Happy Hotel!” is to have people change for an award. Even Katie acknowledges this with “You want people to change- just because?!” But then the show DEMONIZES her for saying this- when she was right?! Charlie wants people to suddenly change after years of being sexual predators and serial killers. -and for Hazbin and HB to suddenly give this “Anyone can change! Just BRIBE THEM! What could go wrong? -and if they’re traumatized, give them some slack even if they’re a creep, they’ll change eventually just CHILLL! Stay with your abuser! What could go wrong?!” Is a terrible message to give people!

Especially when there’s abuse victims who have “apologist” issues because of their abuser weaponizing their trauma to guilt them into staying. All of Vivziepop’s shows so far is the literal definition of guilt tripping.

Weaponizing Stolas and Blitz’s trauma so they can do as much horrible things to people and each other but still get together just because “they’re sad and traumatized!” and “but they can get the booty if they change!” just because the creators dont actually want them to change in the first place, but to be eventually rewarded after an entire show of just awful behavior without real consequences to bring them to actually change.

Hazbin Hotel, on the other hand, having a premise that’s even worse because it REVOLVES around weaponizing trauma to guilt trip you into wanting to give serial killers, racists, rapists, and abusers rewards for their behavior by having them suddenly change out of nowhere just because “the white savior” of the story used Heaven to bribe them into doing so. So unless the show suddenly realizes that these “bottom of the barrel” people dont deserve eternal paradise just because they were BRIBED into changing and changes it’s entire premise out of nowhere, it’s doomed to fail as a message because it will just be “I KNOW THAT THESE ARE RAPISTS AND MURDERERS BUT THEY’LL CHANGE! Just- give them a season, and they’ll change right away because there’s Heaven to look forward to!” The creators even went “were coining hell!” when these characters are just a bunch of gay stereotypes in Hell, so it’s not even proving homophobes wrong either which is why THOUSANDS of homophobes love Hazbin Hotel and HB on 4chan!

It’s toxic positivity, all of it. Even from the premise alone. People don’t deserve to be rewarded just because you bribed them into changing, and they don’t deserve to be rewarded just because they were traumatized either. It’s like giving a kid candy after breaking all your dishes- on purpose! -just because they decided to cry or pat you on the back for said candy. Not because they care about you, but JUST BECAUSE they wanted candy.

Which is an AWFUL MESSAGE to give not just to trauma victims- but to anyone!

There’s thousands of fans going “People deserve to be cheated on!” just because of how Stella is depicted in comparison to Stolas, and people who want Husk and Angel together, just because Angel is “sometimes sad and sympathetic” when Angel Dust SEXUALLY HARASSED HIM and just to make it worse, the show presented this as being “sex positive” when this is a TERRIBLE WAY TO PRESENT SEX WORKERS in a world where people still see sex workers as “creeps” and think that sex work and trafficking are “the same thing.”

It weaponizes trauma as an excuse for Vivziepop’s ocs to not be given any true consequences for their actions, and it gives the message that full on change should “only” happen with a reward. I don’t need to watch Hazbin Hotel to see why it’s premise, and the show itself, is going to be awful because the toxic positivity is RIGHT THERE in the premise alone! Even more so with how awful the character “development” is handled with there being more trauma weaponizing and even less accountability than Hazbin- which is saying something, since Hazbin’s premise revolves around changing for mostly bribes instead of actually feeling “bad” and to weaponize trauma as an excuse to get said reward.

So it’s interesting how you say that Hazbin Hotel will be subversive, when the premise alone reveals that it’s going to have the same problem as Helluva Boss just by having a show where the main thing is to weaponize trauma again and to reward serial killers, racists, and cannibals with “eternal paradise” just because skinny white girl “savior!” Mcgee is going to “CHANGE THEM FOR THE BETTER!” when she’s the literal incarnation of a toxically positive TikTok girl who says that “It’ll be ok! DONT CRY! and everyone can change!”

So again.

Unless the show suddenly changes it’s ENTIRE PREMISE and also STOPS doing the “its ok to be rewarded for your behavior and to stay with your abuse victims if your abuse looks “cute!” and you had trauma, get cut some slack!” bullshit- Hazbin’s screwed!

The writing doesnt have moral bounderies.

People are rooted for to be “end game” just because, and they are also to get a reward for “changing” just because they changed for said reward. Because sure, they changed, but not FOR their friends or family, but to escape a punishment for their own actions since they’re in Hell, when the reason they’re in Hell in the first place is because they’re awful.

They’re in Hell for a reason, yet instead of thinking of other ways to solve the issue, like the tiktok cupcake Charlie is, she goes through with the hotel anyway when if you actually think about it for more than a few seconds…

The plan is just as stupid as it sounds!

-and if things were “nuanced” instead of oc favoring, Charlie’s hotel would fail, and the show would have the mcs lose because they’re TERRIBLE PEOPLE who are only wanting to change for a bribe from a “princess of Hell” who thinks of morality like a 5 year old when she’s 100+ years old and should clearly know better from age alone, but is made to have no brain for plot convenience-

So I don’t even need to watch Hazbin to know that it will be bad because since Viv doesnt think much before she writes:

THE ENTIRE PREMISE BEHIND HAZBIN makes no sense!

It’s just “Toxic Positivity “I can be as shitty as I want but can be rewarded at the last second just because “IM SOWWY”, not because I actually feel bad, so i can get a reward after being a murderous creep!”

Which could have been good if this was intentional, but it’s not! Helluva Boss roots for Stolas and Blitz, two people who rape each other, to be together just because “uwu trauma!” and for Charlie to “prove her haters wrong!” just because she’s the protagonist!

-Vivziepop herself having tons of toxic positivity, her standom too, so the show was actually doomed to be terrible from the start because it’s a show written by a terrible person who REFUSES to change from her anti-blackism with Alastor and over overall toxic behavior for the past years. So after examining the premise for the first time in years, wow, Vivziepop really hasnt changed at all!

The toxic positivity is still in full swing!

The entire premise of Hazbin Hotel is:

“Inside every demon is a rainbow!”

It’s Toxic Positivity: The Show.

When “demons”, are the bottom of the barrel, and even if they have some morals, should you give them a chance just because they want to be rewarded for it! NO! They’re still awful, and them having a “sad life” doesnt make them any less terrible than ANOTHER person just because the only person (Adam or Stella) doesnt have said “UwU!” backstory!

They’re ALL TERRIBLE PEOPLE and the fact that a show like this is going to be streamed to a public full of abuse victims who will see this and likely go “Wow! My abuser is sad too, I should stay with them!” seeing how it’s gotten to a point where people are now literally saying that “Some people deserve to be cheated on” or “Give a abuser some slack, they’re tryinnnnnng!” instead of “Be the bigger person, dont betray someone’s trust and be an asshole yourself just because your wife sucks!” Or “Some relationships are so bad that it’s not meant to be-”

The fact that Vivziepop is encouraging these REAL lack of boundaries with the messages of her shows is horrifying!

People are taking these messages, and actually applying them to how they live.

THAT’S HORRIFYING!

So thank you, because I didnt realize just how terrible Hazbin’s premise was until you mentioned all this to me, and also just how awful Helluva Boss is, and how much that’s going to effect Hazbin since the premise alone is akin to Helluva Boss’s issues. I actually keep forgetting that they’re from the same writers too honestly- lmao, im even more excited now this is show is going to be awful! ❤️

So both shows, from the same writer, from premise alone, send the message that someone “deserves” to be rewarded for their behavior just because they “changed” for that reward or because they had trauma.

Which clearly- is an AWFUL message.

But Vivienne didn’t think much into it, so we got: “A character trying to redeem demons, who are in Hell foe a reason, and trying to get them to change, not for the good of others, but just to benefit her getting her parent’s approval, and for them to be rewarded with eternal paradise right after being CANNIBALS and RACISTS and SERIAL KILLERS and RAPISTS!” Again, there’s no boundaries here and the writers arw rewarding these characters just because they like them, not because they actually deserve it, and weaponizing the trauma of these characters so the audience doesn’t just see them as better faith than they actually are, but just as an excuse to give them a “HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY!” reward to some extent, or any happy ending at all (unless Vivziepop actually takes a risks and has a sad ending where they stay in Hell because they’re actions were THAT bad that they don’t get to Heaven and Charlie learns MORAL BOUNDARIES where she realizes that not everyone deserves redemption or will suddenly turn a new leaf just because you bribe them with a chance to go to Heaven. , which would be actually nuanced… but I doubt that she’ll take that risk.)

What ive been trying to say is…

Vivziepop isnt going to stop being “Vivziepop” just because Hazbin Hotel is slightly newer.

We’ve seen how she reacts to criticism, and Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel were written at the exact same time period of Viv’s life, so your entire argument falls apart just from Helluva Boss’s existence alone! A show, that turned out to be awful, and was written at the EXACT SAME TIME as Hazbin Hotel!

-and the problem is that you’re giving this show way too much credit before it’s even premiered when all of the episodes of Helluva Boss that are coming out the same time as Hazbin Hotel are awful- and we already know that it’s going to be bad, not just because of the leaks but because HB and H are from the same creators, and the premise alone is a TOXIC MESS that shouldn’t have been published, in the first place, and should have stayed on the drawing board before anyone got hurt by this franchise’s awful messages.

So you want to know why I don’t have hope in Hazbin Hotel’s writing? Four Words-

VIVZIEPOP is the writer.

That is a lot of discourse for a fandom that only has one full episode huh?

[whateven-is-my-aesthetic]

Writing a Latine character

Here’s a little PSA for people who would like to write a Latine/ Latinx/ Latina/ Latino character in their stories and want to be a decent writer.

The great thing about writing is that you can make whatever you want, come to life. You can create characters and plot points and twists and all that good stuff. 

You can also chose to not be a fucking racist piece of shit. 

Recently there was a book written by a white woman called Drive which involved a lot of racist tropes, jokes, and stereotypes that deal with a Mexican girl. I feel like this should be talked about. 

The writer issued a bullshit apology on IG but she turned off the comments so here the fuck we are. The examples listed are from said book as well. 

If you don’t know how to write ethnicities that are not your own make sure you  get a sensitivity reader to help you, or just don’t write them. However, this author had a “Mexican friend” who informed the general public that the author had lost her v*iginity to a person with a Hispanic sounding last name... yeah idk. And that she had lots of Hispanic people on her team because she is color blind, but “not in a bad way”. So idk get someone that doesn’t know you and is confined to a very racist state, again she’s from TEXAS. 

However if you would like to make your list of characters more diverse without being a racist these are somethings you can avoid doing. 

Don’t add r*cist jokes (that should go without saying, but here the fuck we are). Or unnecessary race jokes even if they are being said by your Latine characters. You aren’t us, so leave these things out of your writing.  

For example: 

Immigration jokes, specifically border patrol jokes. (Below is a screen shot from the book I mentioned)

Internalized racism “She doesn’t speak Spanish because she thinks she sounds stupid. She hasn’t used the lounge enough, and she doesn’t like being half a b*aner.” (This was written by a White Texan woman in 2017. I wonder what was happening at the time that made a lot of Mexican and Latine people the target of xenophobia and racism). 

Inquisition jokes: “’No, it’s the Latina Inquisition,’ he said with a twist of his lips.”

Colonization jokes

Fetishization “’There’s the cocky little Latina I know and love,’” 

Tropes

The spicy latine (angry/ loud/ jealous):“’You’re so rough around the edges, my little Latina.” And “’Yeah, well, you were getting a little fucking feisty back there, Stella.’ I laughed. ‘You don’t like it when I show my Latina.” WHAT THE FUCK!!!

The maid 

The self hating brown girl: “And every dark girl want to know what it’s like to be a light girl at some point in their life.”

The dancer: “’Come on, woman, you’re half Mexican. You were born with rhythm.’” “’I’m Latina,’” I corrected “’And I have rhythm. Shut up.’”

Certain mentions of one’s ethnicity where there shouldn’t be

“’GO!’” I screamed at the top of my Latina lungs...” (Ah yes to show that she thought we are very loud.)

“‘How about you kiss my Latina ass.’“

“Paige, I’m fine,’ I said, trying to keep the angry, tequila-filled Latina at bay.’“ (Because we are always pissed off and prideful) 

DON’T USE SLURS, even if you have heard people use them with each other, You aren’t us so stop. If you don’t know if a word you are using is a slur, look it up, thankfully Google is free, or don’t use that word you are unsure of. No one should have to remind you not to be a piece of shit.

Avoid racist situations towards your characters in your books especially if you are writing in a fantasy setting. Most readers like to escape to a different reality, why the fuck are you making them take these things with them as they read your book. 

Just because you saw some racist shit go down from one Latine to another, DON’T WRITE IT IN! FFS

If you are a latinx/e person who has experienced these things and your main character is also Latinx/e that is fine because it deals with YOUR experiences, everyone else stfu. 

And if any of you feel some kind of way about this post, figure out why and change that shit because what the fuck?

- Sincerely a Mexican- American woman that shouldn’t need to be writing this. 

[034463]

Maxiel fanfic rec

yes thats right you heard me a maxiel fanfic reclist because apparently im crazy and ive been reading so much maxiel tht i can make a reclist now. its all so very catered to my taste soooo have fun

1. With The Sun In Our Eyes by screwstyles | T, 36k

“A fake dating AU set in 2025: It’s bad enough that Max is outed by an ex in the middle of racing season, and then his team suggests he pretend to date Daniel to soften the blow. It’s as bad an idea as it sounds.”

a maxiel classic, theres just something about fake/pretend relation ship that just gets me. also a lot of miscommunication so heads up for that”

2. you pick me up and take me home again by wintrs | M, 28k

“It feels like a dream, seeing Daniel again after all these years. It's a second chance Max knows he doesn't deserve, and he isn't going to waste it.Or: Max isn't racing in 2027, although he couldn't tell you exactly why. But it isn't a big deal. He's fine.”

max deals with his feelings and also his past trauma. very very angsty.

3. Little Drops of Anguish by semperama | E, 45k

“After a crash in Baku 2021 leaves Max unable to race, he's left trying to figure out what to do with his life—and with Daniel, who doesn't seem to want to let him go.”

also like fic no 2 max cant race and must face the fact tht theres a life beyond racing and daniel showing him that.

4. well we can settle down by tiredtiredsharl | M, 24k

“Sometimes Daniel watches the tapes back and he thinks: shouldn’t I be jealous of this kid? Or: Max drives the way we all aspire. Or: Christ, I’m in the presence of someone who will go down in FIA history.He never says any of that. Because after he watches Max stumble through an interview with a journalist who quotes Toto, he realizes that the pressure is the last thing Max needs.Max is one bad race away from combusting. Or going into the wall again. And Daniel can’t handle either of those options. For reasons he can’t examine right now. Or ever.”

dont remember much of the plot except that i found myself finishing the ff at 6 am in the morning and the light were coming through my window. amazing shit

5. The Dog's Home by dm3rv | M 33k

“Max Verstappen liked dogs. Max Verstappen loved cats. The jury was still out on people.Max has spent years climbing the ranks at an Animal Welfare Charity, moving from volunteer to intern to Animal Care Manager. The dogs and cats he cares for are his life - if only he didn't have to spend so much of his time putting up with 'VIPs'; entitled celebrities and donors with image-based agendas. Daniel is going through an image and identity crisis after an uninspiring season with McLaren. Keen for an image overhaul, he gives his time to a local animal shelter. What he doesn't expect is the prickly Animal Care Manager who has been assigned to look after him. Animal Shelter AU.”

THE BEST! max vet au youre crazy and dog boy daniel scared of dogs? good content also dont forget to check out the side galex. also good shit.

6. The Drive Of Your Life by  littleprism | ?, 70k

“Daniel is a semi-known actor. Max just got his second WDC a few months ago. There was absolutely no reason for them to meet.

Until a fateful crash in testing changed that.”

b list actor danny and racer maxy playing in a movie together. theres some plot holes but if you dont really think about it its soo good. 

7. anything to get to the rush by kingsguarding | E, 18k

“It’s so stupid, that’s the thing.Every year, the World Champion gets to choose another driver to … celebrate with. It’s an old tradition, apparently. As old as the sport itself. Part of the prize of winning, part of your reward.Max has never understood it.”

the ff that made me realize im soo deep in maxiel lore that i will sink w this ship. basically two emotionally stunted boys doing emotionally stunted boys thing

8. MV33 by Whippasnappa | E, 14k

“Daniel finds out Max is on Grindr. He's curious. He's just going to download the app, just to see. Just to look at Max's profile. He's curious how Max picks up men, curious if Max puts his real face out there. He's definitely not going to message Max. He's definitely not going to do that. He messages Max.”

yeah.....

9. Happier than Ever (so why are you crying with blue-sky eyes) by Whippasnappa | E, 30k

“From the first time they met at RedBull, Max knew he never wanted to be without Daniel. A look through their relationship as Max tries (and fails) to keep his feelings for Daniel hidden, as Daniel leaves for Renault, then McLaren, as Max tries to hold himself together.”

it hurts but it hurts so good. retelling of their whole history

will be updated as i read more ff

[novaursa]

Can you write about Ser Duncan meeting Targaryen!reader (the older sister of Aegon) and they fall in love but they have to keep it hidden since he's a knight and she's a princess?

The Princess's Knight

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You and Duncan are smitten with each other, and Egg is too smart for his own good. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Ser Duncan the Tall

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air in Summerhall is warm, filled with the soft hum of life all around. The sun filters in through the wide windows, casting golden light on the marble floors, making it feel as though the world itself is holding its breath, keeping your secret. It has to, after all. No one can know.

You stand at the far edge of the gardens, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air as you watch Duncan from a distance. He’s standing with your brother, Aegon—Egg, as you so often call him. Duncan's towering figure beside Aegon’s smaller, wiry frame is an amusing sight. A knight of his stature, a princess like you. The absurdity is not lost on you, yet your heart races every time his eyes meet yours, even if only for the briefest of moments.

You look away, feigning interest in the roses, though your thoughts are all on Duncan. You’ve learned to be discreet, but it's difficult when every glance, every stolen touch feels like a secret promise between you both.

From where you stand, you can hear the faint murmur of conversation between your brother and Duncan.

"So, Duncan," Aegon says, mischief lacing his voice, "how is my dear sister?"

You can practically hear Duncan’s heart skip a beat, even from this distance. He clears his throat awkwardly, and you don’t need to look at him to know he's glancing your way, trying not to be obvious.

"She’s well, Your Grace," Duncan replies, voice gruff and steady, though you catch the slight hesitation in his tone.

Aegon snickers, elbowing the knight in the ribs. "Well? That’s all? You’re always watching her like she’s the only person in the entire realm, Duncan. Come on, admit it, you’re utterly smitten."

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. Egg always did have a sharp tongue, and though you appreciate his wit, it’s dangerous territory.

"Your Grace—" Duncan begins, but Aegon cuts him off.

"Don't deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You can’t fool me, Duncan. Just don't get caught staring too much, or Father will have your head—and that would be a shame. You’re too useful as a knight," Aegon adds with a wicked grin.

You feel your face heat up at Aegon’s teasing, though you know Duncan is probably redder than you. You risk a glance at them, and sure enough, Duncan’s expression is somewhere between flustered and exasperated. For a knight of his stature, he’s remarkably bad at hiding his feelings. It’s part of why you love him.

Love. The word dances in your mind, dangerous yet thrilling. Love is a powerful thing for a princess like you—a daughter of King Maekar, bound by duty and honor. Yet, with Duncan, it feels as though the weight of the crown and all the expectations that come with it slip away, if only for a little while.

"Egg," you call, striding toward them, trying to act as though you hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

Aegon spins around, a smirk on his face as he eyes you. "Sister! I was just telling Duncan here how he should be careful. After all, a knight shouldn’t lose his head, should he?"

You arch an eyebrow, meeting Duncan’s gaze for a heartbeat before turning to your brother. "Is that so? And what do you mean by that, Egg?"

Aegon chuckles, stepping back. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all." He looks at Duncan, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Isn’t that right, Ser Duncan?"

Duncan stands stiff, clearly uncomfortable under Aegon’s scrutiny. "Y-yes, Your Grace," he stammers.

Aegon grins like the cat that caught the canary, obviously enjoying himself far too much. "Well, I should leave you two alone. I’m sure Duncan has much more important things to tend to." He winks at you before walking off, his laughter trailing behind him.

Once Aegon is out of earshot, you turn to Duncan, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well?" you ask, unable to hide the teasing note in your voice.

Duncan rubs the back of his neck, towering over you but somehow looking like a boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. "I... didn’t mean for him to... I wasn’t staring," he mutters, though the flush in his cheeks tells you otherwise.

You laugh softly, stepping closer. "You’re a terrible liar, Duncan."

He looks down at you, and there it is again—that quiet, unspoken affection in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. "I try to be careful," he says softly. "But it’s hard. Every time I see you…"

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the rest of the world seems to vanish. There’s no king, no court, no duties. Just the two of you, standing together in the sunlight, sharing a secret the world can’t know.

"You don’t have to be careful with me," you whisper, glancing around quickly to make sure no one is watching before you place your hand lightly on his arm. The contact is brief, but it sends a shiver through you.

Duncan looks down at where your hand had been, and when he meets your eyes again, there’s a tenderness there that makes you feel as though you’re the only person in his world.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice low. "But I can’t help it. You’re a princess, and I’m… just a knight."

You shake your head. "You’re not *just anything, Duncan. Not to me."

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, it feels as though you might be able to forget the rules, the restrictions, and the expectations. But then you hear footsteps approaching, and the spell is broken.

Duncan steps back, his expression guarded once more, though there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes.

"Until next time, my lady," he says, bowing his head.

You watch him go, your heart aching with the weight of all the things you can’t say, and yet, there’s a smile on your lips. Because despite everything, you know that next time will come.

And when it does, you’ll be ready.

[nutmegalomania]

Sweet Tooth

a beelzebub x reader ff

description: a midnight snack before bed turned into more when you ran into the object of your recent sexual desires: beelzebub. Instead of sinking your teeth into a delicious snack, he devoured you instead, and it was more than you could have asked for.

ingredients: beelzebub (obey me!)/reader, gender-neutral reader, beelzebub (obey me!), smut, blow jobs, fingering, sir kink, asphyxiation, hair pulling, food play, spanking, degradation, creampie

flavor: spicy  🌶️

calories: 8,272

🥐

Your mouth stretched open, and a yawn pushed itself out as you walked out of Levi’s room towards the kitchen. Between playing games with him and Mammon texting you every five seconds asking if he could borrow money which you knew he’d blow instantly and never pay back, you were in desperate need of a deep nights sleep, but before that, your stomach beckoned you to eat something to calm the grumbling down and allow you to have a good rest in your soft bed. Tears sprung up in your eyes as another yawn hit you along with the scent of something sweet that led you deeper into the kitchen.

A large back met your droopy eyes as you dragged your feet on the floor, and you plopped down into a chair at the wooden table as you rubbed your eyes with a fist. The smell of cake mixed with peanut butter, chocolate, and fruits hit your nose—or at least things that smelled similar since your comfort foods on earth didn’t exist here in Devildom. Your stomach let out a drawn out and pathetic growl, and saliva filled your mouth at the thought of tasting whatever was cooking. You wiped the side of your mouth with the back of your hand, and leaned forward to catch a better whiff of the baked goods.

“Are you hungry as well, Y/N?” a voice asked, and you shook your head to snap yourself out of your hunger daze to see Beelzebub staring at you, his orange hair falling into his amethyst eyes as he leaned against the table to look at you, a bar of what you assumed to be chocolate in his hands, a large bite taken out of its corner. 

You blinked and leaned back at his proximity to you, your cheeks reddening as the smell of chocolate from his breath wrapped around you and mixed with his natural scent. “Uh… Y-yeah. I got a little hungry after playing with Levi so I decided to grab a little snack before I went to sleep.” You gave him an awkward chuckle and scratched the back of your head while avoiding his eyes. “The smell of whatever you’re baking made me stop though.” He took another large bite of the chocolate bar, almost all of the chocolatey goodness gone now, and you watched as he licked his lips after swallowing the food. “It-It smells good,” you said, mentally hitting yourself for honing in on his lips instead of looking him in the eyes and managing to stutter. 

You didn’t know what was wrong with you that your breath kept getting caught in your chest whenever you saw Beelzebub lick his lips after eating, but it had been happening for a few weeks now. You had been hanging out with anyone but Beelzebub to get your minds off it, whether that be playing games or talking about manga with Levi, going shopping or getting mani pedis with Asmodeus, kicking Mammon out of your room for begging to borrow money, taking naps with Belphie, reading in Satan’s room, or helping Lucifer with artifacts he’s found. Frankly, you should have known that Beelzebub would be in the kitchen, so you should have steered clear and gone straight to your room, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach won and led you to the predicament you found yourself in right now, aka trying not to grab Beelzebub by the back of his head to smash your lips against his. 

He tilted his head to the side, his hair bouncing as he smiled at you. “It does, doesn’t it? It’s almost done. When it’s finished cooking, do you want a piece? I might be willing to share if it’s you,” he said, and you nodded as your heart thrummed in your chest at his words. 

Though you didn’t tend to read too deeply into things, his words struck something in you that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he liked you even a smudge of what you felt for him. Just someone bringing his name up in conversation sent your face flushing and pulse racing, and being in his presence only worsened those symptoms. 

After you nodded, he turned away from you to take the cake out of the oven, giving you a full view of his wide back. You bit your lip as his back muscle contracted underneath his shirt, and you slapped the sides of your face to get your mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t be. Instead, you opted for looking at the steaming cake he pulled out of the oven and decorated it with swift ease, white icing dripping down the sides of the dark brown cake, red strawberries dotting the top with whip cream piped around where the fruits touched the cake. You licked your lips as the smell became stronger and hit your nose, triggering saliva to fill your mouth at the sweet, tantalizing scent. 

“Someone looks excited to see the food,” Beelzebub said, and you nodded your head so fast that he thought it would fall off.

“It’s very, very rare that you offer food to others, so I know it has to be good enough to share. It smells so good though that I’m dying to dig in. Please hurry up or I’ll die of hunger!”

“Now you know how I feel every day,” he said with a chuckle, and you groaned in agony, unable to imagine this empty feeling in your stomach lasting every single day, every waking hour. 

Your eyes remained glued to the cake as he set it down on the countertop, a knife in hand as he prepared himself to cut you a slice. The knife sank into the cake, and Beelzebub slipped it underneath the slice he cut for you before he placed it on a plate and handed it to you with a fork. After he set the knife down, he grabbed the rest of the cake and sat across from you to indulge in his food. 

Hunger gnawed at your stomach, begging for food, and you used your fork to cut off a tiny piece to eat. You brought it to your mouth, and Beelzebub watched with an intense gaze as you wrapped your lips around the cake. As it entered your mouth, you chewed it a few times and licked your lips. You just about moaned when the familiar flavor of sweet and sour strawberries hit your tongue and mixed with the whipped cream frosting and rich chocolate cake.

“It’s so good!” you said as you shoved another piece into your mouth. A glob of icing fell out of your mouth and hit the exposed skin of your chest, your baggy shirt’s collar hanging low enough that all Beelzebub had to do was lean over the table to see down your shirt. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he responded as he brought a piece up to his mouth, but his eyes widened when another blob of icing dropped onto your collar bones and trickled down.

“Where did you even get all of this stuff? I thought the Devildom didn’t have any human foods,” you said, shovelling more cake into your mouth, not caring how messy you were.

“I asked Lucifer if he’d allow a one time import of human food so I could try it once, and he surprisingly agreed.”

You nodded as you chewed, this time not hiding your satisfied moan as the sweetness of the cake spread throughout your mouth, and Beelzebub’s body tensed at the sound. The amount of thick, white icing dotted across your face with your moan made not-so-innocent thoughts run through his mind. Once you cleaned your plate of any crumbs, you licked around your mouth and sucked icing from your hands. Beelzebub set his fork down, the metal clinking against the plate, and your eyes shot up to look at him. 

He leaned over the table, and you stared at him with wide eyes, warning sirens blaring at full volume inside your head. From how close he was, his body heat reached you, and you wanted nothing more than to climb on top of the table and push your body against his. His scent that always made you light headed and five seconds away from pouncing on him wrapped its musky fingers around you and trapped you in its grasp. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, and before you could get out a single sound, his face was centimeters from yours. The sweet, tantalizing smell of his breath fanned across your face, and your eyes honed in on his lips.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he ground out, and you shot your eyes up to look into his. 

“W-What do you mean?” you asked while your heart pounded in your chest and body heated up from the look in his eyes.

In response, he took a finger, dipped it down to where the collar of your shirt ended, and swiped up a glob of icing from your skin. You shuddered when the rough pad of his finger grazed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from following his finger as he brought it to his mouth and slipped it inside, his tongue wrapping around the digit to lick the icing clean off. You squeezed your thighs together as he looked into your eyes the whole time, a burning fire of desire lit behind his purple irises.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” he said, voice deep and husky as it puffed across your face, and you breathed in the chocolate scent of his breath. 

Your throat felt thick as you gulped, eyes unable to look away from his lust-filled ones. Instead, your body instinctively leaned forward until your lips remained a hair from his. Air escaped you and fanned against his mouth, and his tongue snuck out to swipe along his bottom lip, the touch of his tongue ghosting over your soft lips. Shivers ran down your spine, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and your body begged for more of his touch.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your eyes fixating on the other’s lips, and you snaked a hand behind his neck to tangle your fingers through his orange hair. He shuddered when your fingernails grazed the skin of his nape, and you sucked in a deep breath as you curled your digits in his locks and tugged his head back to see his reaction. The deep groan that escaped his mouth rumbled in your core, and your thighs squeezed together, arousal burning deep inside. 

His amethyst eyes peered down at you, lips parted, and you licked your lips when his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Your chair scraped against the floor as you pushed it back and climbed onto the table, the wood digging into your exposed legs while you slid the cake away from underneath you two, and Beel’s tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth as a heavy breath pushed past his lips. Lust swam in your hooded eyes as you locked eyes with him, his eyes telling you all you needed to know. He was ready to fuck you up. 

A soft tug to his hair pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry eyes, and desire burned in your veins and spurred you on to latch your slick lips to his smooth skin. A content sigh tickled his neck as the taste of his skin melted on your tongue, the salty taste from the thin sheen of sweat coating his neck addicting you to him. You dragged your tongue over the muscles in his neck, stopping as you ran it over his Adam’s apple, and your teeth nipped at the skin beneath his Adam’s apple, red splotches staining his skin. He hummed, the vibrations stimulating your lips against his skin, and you tightened your finger in his hair. 

His large hands slid underneath your thighs to pull you into a sitting position in front of him, your legs dangling on either side of his hips, and he pressed his pelvis into you. Your lips detached from his neck as you threw your head back to let out a quiet moan as his clothed cock pressed against your lower half. The size of it from behind his clothing left your mouth drying and heart rate quickening, and your throat bobbed. You needed him inside now.

“Beel…” you breathed out, and he hummed in acknowledgement as his hands slid to your ass to press your lower half flush against his, and your body jerked when he rocked his hips forward, rubbing against your arousal and slicking your underwear through your shorts. He peppered wet kisses against your jaw, his tongue slither out to lap at the perspiration forming on your skin, and you whimpered and slid your hand from his hair to grip his shoulder. Your nails dug into his back, and he hissed in pain against your neck, though he didn’t stop swiping his tongue along your skin and nipping to leave his mark. Your toes curled, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull his cock flush against you. “Fuck… I-I want you to fuck me now.” 

Your unwavering eyes that begged for him to fuck you senseless made his cock twitch in his pants, and he rested his forehead against your shoulder, the last shred of sanity he had ready to snap. The grip on your ass tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh when impatience filled your body and urged your body to grind against his clothed erection. The friction of your clothes rubbing against you left high-pitched mewls slipping from your red lips, and he groaned against your shoulder.

“If you keep doing that, Y/N, I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, and you tugged his head back to bite your lip at him, taunting him with your eyes.

“I don’t mind.” Your arms slithered behind his neck as you pulled your face closer to his, the tip of your nose pressing against his. “Make a mess of me, Beel,” you said, and the sweet scent of strawberries lingering in your breath invaded his nose and muddled his brain, your words taking a few moments to register in his mind.

“Shit…” he said once the words processed, and he wasted no time in slamming your back against the table, a large hand gripping your wrists to hold them above your head. The wood digging into your back and the tight hold on your wrists burned in your core, your arousal increasing as you moaned. His head dipped down to your shoulders, his tongue pressing against your collar bones. You had dreamed of being roughed up by Beel, and now that it was happening, your body couldn’t take how much you loved it.

“Rougher,” you said, and he groaned against your neck. His hot, damp breath burned against your skin, and your fingernails dug into your palm to control yourself. “Slap me. Pull my hair. Make me your bitch!” 

His hands around your wrists tightened, and your back arched as the burning pain spread through your body and made arousal spill from your lower half. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, and a hand slid underneath your shirt, the calluses on his fingers scraping against your skin as his hand crawled up to your nipples. 

A shuddering gasp dissipated into the air from your lips as his fingers pinched your nipple and yanked on it, your back arching and legs trembling around his waist. He grinded against you as his teeth sank into your trapezius, fingers still twisting, pinching, and yanking on your nipples. Curses spilled from your lips as searing pain flared up in your shoulder and chest. 

“More!” 

His hand on your nipple retracted and reached up to grab your hair. He yanked it back, your scalp screaming in pain, and you winced as you stared into his purple eyes.

“Don’t get greedy, bitch. On your knees. Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice as your body twitched in pleasure from his degrading words and commands, and you unhooked your ankles to slide from of his grasp on your wrists to sink to your knees on the ground in front of the table. Beel turned around and leaned against the table, the outline of his cock free for your hungry eyes to take in. You crawled towards him on your hands and knees, your legs burning from the hard floor, but before you could run your hands over his bulge, he grabbed something from the table and held it up. A bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Why don’t we have a little fun?” he asked, lips curling into a smirk as your mouth went dry. You nodded, and he sat on the table, spreading his legs. “Pour this on me.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slotting your body between his legs as you propped yourself up on your knees and rested your hands on his hard thighs. 

He shoved the bottle of chocolate syrup into your hands, and your mind whirred with ideas of what to do. An image of the dark liquid dripping down his stomach for your tongue to lap up popped up, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Your hand slid underneath his shirt and ran over his abs, the muscles tensing beneath your soft touch, and you rubbed over his hard chest before dragging your hands back down to the edge of his shirt, loving the way his body trembled beneath your hand. He groaned at your touch, eyes closing as his head rolled back, and when you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he peered down at your face and chuckled.

“You sure are eager,” he said as he took in your glistening red lips and hooded eyes that begged for his cock. 

His muscles rippled as he gripped the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head to discard off to the side. Your eyes dragged over his body, and you brought the bottle of chocolate syrup up once you popped open the cap. Your hand tightened around it, and a stream of dark liquid poured out and trickled down his chest. The syrup dipped down into his abs, and before it could reach the waistband of his pants, your tongue stopped it. The sweet, chocolatey taste of the syrup mixed with his sweat to create a tantalizing new flavor on your tongue better and more addicting than any drug. 

 A needy sigh hit his skin as you ran your tongue up the sauce running down his body, bottle of chocolate syrup on the chair next to you, hands running up and down his sides. You stood to your feet as your tongue trailed up to his chest, fingernails scratching his sides, and your head craned down as you swirled your tongue around his nipple to get every last drop of chocolate off of his body. You looked up at him as you lapped a streak of sauce from his chest. He groaned, and a hand snaked up to grip your hair. He yanked your head back once you licked the last drop of sauce from his chest, and your tongue stuck out as a breathy chuckle left your open mouth, hands resting on his thighs.

“Good, bitch. Here’s your reward,” he said, and he pushed his face towards yours, his tongue rubbing against yours as he pushed it inside your mouth. 

He swallowed a surprised whimper escaping your mouth, his tongue circling yours, and your body trembled when he sucked on your tongue, the wet sounds echoing in your head and muddling your thoughts. His grip on your hair and the warmth of his tongue running along your teeth and prodding inside your mouth stole all your attention and made it impossible to think of anything else. The chocolate on your tongue mingled with the sweet icing and strawberries on his, but you couldn’t focus on it as you dug your fingers into his thighs, your nails sinking into the cloth of his pants. He let out a pained grunt into your mouth, hand tightening around your hair.

His lips pressed into your abused ones in a heated, open-mouth kiss as he yanked your head back, and a shaky breath slipped from your mouth as searing pain shot up on your scalp. The pain traveled through your body in a burning sensation that brought forth a wave of desire that his soft, warm lips dancing against yours only served to worsen. His teeth sank into your bottom lip, and your body flinched. He pulled back from your face and tugged on your bottom lip as your chest heaved up and down.

His fisted your hair tighter, and his free hand snaked up your torso, grazing your hardened nipples to clutch your jaw as his teeth released your lip. The pad of his thumb pressed into your jaw, and you pursed your lips at the dull pain echoing in your face. He turned your face over, watching with mild amusement as you let your head follow his guidance, and his large hand let go of your jaw to slide down to your neck.

Before you could react, his fingers dug into the side of your neck, and his lips slammed into yours again. Your head felt light as oxygen flow to your brain cut off, all thoughts flying out of your mind, and his tongue curled inside your mouth to run across the roof of your mouth.   Your hands on his thighs fumbled around as your lungs and head begged for air, but the enticing burning sensation left you wanting nothing more than for his hand to stay around your throat as he tongue-fucked your mouth. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and right before darkness took over, he detached his hand from your throat and pulled away from your lips. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, a deep, broken breath rubbing your throat raw as you gasped for air. As oxygen reached your brain and allowed you to think again, you licked your lips as a tempting thought came to mind.  “I wanna suck you off, sir…. Please,” you whimpered as your hands ran over his erection, the warmth seeping into your hands through his clothing. “I need your cock in my mouth.”

His eyes fluttered back, the whites exposed to you, as he tilted his head back, and a guttural groan kissed your ears and set ablaze a burning desire in your lower half. Your hands climbed up to his abs, the muscles contracting beneath your touch as you glided your palms against his warm skin, and you leaned in towards his neck to press wet kisses to his throat. As you trailed the kisses lower and lower on his body, his hands gripped your ass and squeezed it, an aching whine escaping your lips and fanning against his skin as his fingers dug into your clothed ass and pulled at the flesh. You pressed your ass back against his hands as he massaged it between his digits, and a needy mewl released itself from your throat when he delivered a slap to your cheeks, the flesh bouncing before he grabbed it again in a vice grip. 

Your fingernails scratched against his stomach and left red marks as the pressure against your ass cheeks moved to your waist, his large hands pressing into the dips in your waist, and your lips trailed down to his chest. You looked up at him as your tongue rolled his nipple around on your tongue, and when his eyes locked with yours, you let out a breathy laugh and wrapped your lips around his nipple, teeth nipping the bud, before you moved down to his abs. Your knees sunk to the kitchen floor, hands on the waistband of his pants as you traced the outline of his stomach muscles with your tongue.

A hand moved to run through your hair as you licked his stomach, and the other reached over to grab the bottle of chocolate syrup from the chair. As your hands slipped underneath his pants, he tugged your head back, your tongue sticking out, and he squeezed a stream of chocolate onto your tongue. The brown liquid trickled down your tongue into your throat, and you swallowed, the chocolate disappearing from the flat of your tongue, and stuck it back out. 

“Good, bitch,” he said in a rasp, and you wasted no time in tugging his waistband down to let his erection spring free. 

You gasped when it hit you in the side of the face, the size of it bigger than your mind ever imagined, and your underwear felt even wetter than before. This was really happening. You were about to put his cock in your mouth. 

He chuckled as your wide eyes stared at the red tip of his erect cock, the deep huskiness of the sound shaking you to your core. All of a sudden, a stream of chocolate syrup hit the head of his dick and dripped down his shaft to rest on his balls. Your tongue swiped across your lip, slicking the plump flesh as you mentally prepared yourself to take him into your mouth. The chocolate glistened in the lighting of the kitchen and begged for your tongue to lap it off of his pulsating erection.

A shaky hand reached out to rest underneath his balls, the chocolate syrup running down onto your hand as you brought your face closer to his tip. Your throat bobbed as you gulped, ready to test your gag reflex on his length, and you pressed a kiss to his red tip. Chocolate coated your lips, the bitter taste of his precum blending with it and making you wince. Had it not been for the deep sigh he let out when you kissed the head of his cock and the way his hand tightened in your hair, you would have been hesitant to go further.

Your lips wrapped back around his head to suck the chocolate off of it and ignored the slight bitter taste of it as your lips wandered down his length, stopping to press sloppy kisses against his dick to remove the chocolate syrup. You reached the crevice between his balls and the base of his dick and peppered kisses against it as your left hand on his balls gently massaged the flesh, your right hand circling around his shaft. As you lapped at the liquid around the base of his cock, sometimes running your tongue across the creases on his balls, your right hand tugging at his length. 

Your thumb pressed into his slit, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, and you rolled the pad of your thumb around his head to slick it up with his precum. You hummed against his cock and balls, and his grip in your hair pulled at your roots as he tightened his hand. Once you had spread his precum, the bitter liquid mingling with the leftover chocolate syrup on his skin, you twisted your wrist around his head and worked your way down his shaft as you returned to sucking at the base of his dick, nipping softly to leave love bites on his tan skin. 

“Put it in your mouth, whore,” he ground out, and your throat went dry as his strained, rough voice went straight to your core, your thighs squeezing together to hide the wetness between your legs. 

You ran your hand along the length of his shaft before resting it at the base and pulling your lips free from his warm, chocolate-covered skin to press them against his head once more. Your right hand gripped his base, your left supporting his balls, and you took a deep breath before wrapping your lips around his head. His warmth spread across the flat of your tongue as his dick inched farther inside your mouth. To accommodate his size, you relaxed your jaw and your throat as he invaded the heat of your throat. Before you reached half of his length, the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, your throat closing on his head and trying to force it out.

“Watch your teeth,” he said when your mouth tried to instinctively close around him, and you looked up at him with teary eyes as you forced your throat to adjust to his size. He sighed as your right hand twisted around his base, shaking rapidly to send vibrations through his length while you readied yourself to take him in more. 

With a deep breath through your nose, you pushed your head farther down his length, and your grip on his balls and shaft tightened for a second as his tip slid down your throat. Your throat bulged as you took him in, and you forgot to breathe when you slid down to his base. As your nose pressed against his pelvis, he tapped your cheek with his hand to remind you to breathe, and your hands moved to grip his thighs and dig into his flesh as you took a deep breath through your nose. You whined around his length in your mouth, and he threw his head back.

“Yeah, just like that, slut. Take it nice and slow for now.”

His encouraging words lit a fire inside you, and you dragged your mouth up his length, reaching halfway, before shoving your head back down onto him. A wet gagging sound reached your ears as he slid fully into your throat, but when he grunted and adjusted his hands in your hair to move it out of your face, you didn’t care about your gag reflex and only wanted to make him cum. 

You rocked your head forward on his cock, sucking as you tilted your head to the side and took him inside your mouth at a consistent pace. Your tongue traced the large, bulging being on his cock, smirking around his dick when his body twitched under your tongue. A moan vibrated against his length as you dragged your head up his shaft to press the tip of your tongue against his frenulum. 

“Fuck!” he cursed, hands gripping the back of your head as you flitted your tongue back and forth over the sensitive spot beneath his tip, and he pushed your head down onto his length once more, his cock sliding fully into your mouth and resting on your tongue. You gagged around him, but you relaxed your jaw and let him rest in your throat.

He held your head down on his length, and you breathed through your nose as your throat closed around him, hands clutching his thighs. You pressed the flat of your tongue against his length, the last smearing of chocolate on his cock disappearing on your taste buds. His head fell back, and his hand holding your head on his dick loosened. You dragged your head off of his cock as his hand dropped from your head, swirling your tongue around his tip and sucking on his slit. As you detached your lips from him and sat back on your knees, he gripped his cock in his hand and twisted his wrist around his length.

“Fuck, I want you to cum in my mouth, sir. Give it to me. I’ve been a good slut,” you said, eyes trained on his hands violently jerking up and down his shaft. The heavy, guttural grunts leaving him warned you of his oncoming orgasm, and you stuck your tongue out, ready for his thick, hot cum to shoot onto it. 

“Shit…” he cursed, and you scooted closer to his pulsating cock as it twitched in his hands.

You cupped his balls in your hands and rested the tip of his dick against the flat of your tongue, and his cock bulged in his hands before he released onto your tongue with a rough, drawn-out moan, his hot liquid trickling down your tongue when you swallowed all of it and lapped at the white cum that spilled from his slit. The bitter liquid made you cringe, but knowing it was Beel’s, you didn’t care and made sure not to waste a drop as your tongue ran along his shaft to lick up any that trickled down. As you dragged your tongue up his length to get all the cum and leftover chocolate from his skin, your eyes bore into his with a burning flame of lust. His tongue poked out to swipe along his bottom lip, and his teeth snagged the flesh as the flat of your tongue rubbed against him.   

“Get on the table and spread your legs,” he said, and the rough, filthy growl with which the words left his saliva-slicked lips had you obeying in an instant. You licked your lips as you settled yourself onto your back and opened your legs, exposing your pulsating entrance to his hungry eyes. “Fuck…” he breathed out as you used two fingers to spread open your hole for him to see your pink walls.

He trailed a finger from the base of your opening to the top, loving the way your body shuddered beneath his calloused touch. Your hands gripped your thighs as you pulled your legs back towards your chest, giving him full access to your wet, needy opening. The tip of his fingers swirled your arousal around your hole, slicking up his digits, and he spread you open. His cock twitched when you whined in annoyance, wanting his fingers inside you already, and he chuckled.

“Desperate whore,” he said. “I’ll give you what you wanted.”

You bit your lip and giggled, eyes rolling back in your head and mouth opening in a silent moan as he pushed his middle finger inside of your warm walls. The presence of his finger inside made you clench around it, and you rolled your hips as he pumped the finger in and out of you. When he curled his finger inside of you and scraped the calloused pads of his digit against your walls, your legs trembled and threatened to escape your grasp. 

“Just like that!” you said, whining as he complied and curled his finger again, pressing into your walls and dragging it along it. 

“You like that?” he said, and you nodded your head, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He slapped your thigh, and you moaned. “Use your words, bitch.”

“Yes! I love it! More, sir.” 

“Good bitch,” he said, slapping your ass as he inserted another finger. 

You gasped as your walls stretched around the two fingers inside of you, and your head rolled back against the wooden table. He licked his lips, an idea twinkling in his hooded eyes, and your body tensed in anticipation.

He pulled your shirt up to expose your chest to his eyes. “Bite it,” he told you, and your teeth sank into the hem of your shirt without a word. 

Your pupils trailed after him as he reached over to the side, his arm flexing, and grabbed your unfinished slice of cake. The food sat on the white plate, and before you could question why he held it in his hand, he tilted the plate and let the slice fall onto your stomach. 

While he thrusted his fingers into you, he used his other hand to smash the cake against your stomach and smear it onto your skin. His tongue poked out to slowly lick up the cake coating his hand, and the lustful look in his hooded eyes left your hips jutting in the air. He shoved his cake-coated fingers into his mouth, tongue rolling around each digit with care to get everything off of it before he retracted them from his mouth to push your hips back down to the table. Your back rested against the wood, and he bent down to kiss your stomach, a shaky breath exhaling from your nose.

His tongue pressed against your stomach, licking the icing from your skin as his eyes bore right into yours. Your breath caught in your throat, and he closed his eyes as he panted against you, tongue swirling around your body. You rolled your hips when his fingers pressed against the top of your walls, tongue still dancing on your skin. Little by little, the white icing smeared on you disappeared as the sweetness melted against his tongue.

“Fuck, it taste so good on you,” he moaned while he pumped his fingers inside you, his other hand trailing up your side to run over your chest. His hand stopped to pinch your nipple and tug at it, watching as you arched your back and whined through your shirt in your mouth, and he chuckled against you, his hot breath hitting your skin and making your stomach tense. “Such a waste that you couldn’t finish your slice of cake, but it tasted better on you anyways.”

You dropped the hem of your shirt in your mouth, the cloth sticking to your sweat coated chest, and he sucked at your skin, nipping and relishing in the hisses you let out as he left red splotches on you.

“Who said you could drop your shirt, whore?” he asked, and he pulled away from your stomach. His hand circled around your throat, and you clutched at his wrist as airflow cut off. You gasped around his grip as his fingers thrusted into you at an erratic pace. The tips of his fingers jabbed into your soft, wet walls, and the pain from his digits abusing your walls mixing with your lightheadedness brought your high closer. 

“Cum… cumming,” you choked out as your lower body tensed and the pool of heat in you spilled over. 

His fingers kept moving in and out of you, not changing pace or depth as he helped you chase your orgasm, and you threw your head against the table, back arching as a choked moan left you, legs shaking and hole clenching around his fingers. He pumped his digits in you for you to ride out your orgasm, and as you whined from overstimulation, you moved your hands from his wrist around your throat to his hand between your legs to pull it away from your walls. The hand around your throat disappeared, and he leaned over you, his sweet breath puffing against your face as you looked him in the eyes.

“You’re so wet. Aren’t you naughty?” he ground out in your ear as he slipped his fingers out of you, a string of your juices connecting the tips of his digits to your hole. The huskiness in his voice reverberated through your body, and you rolled your head to the side to give him a sly look out of the corner of your eyes.

“Just for you, sir.” You rolled your hips and pressed his hands harder against you. “Please fuck me now.” The sharp inhale from him made your entrance clench as confidence coursed through you. It made you proud to know you were able to have an effect on him and make him as crazy as he was making you.

“On your hands and knees. Now.”

In an instant, you flipped yourself over and pushed your ass into the air for him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you waited for his cock to enter you. He slid closer to you, pushing the chairs out of his way, and his fingers slipped back inside you. A broken moan left you as he curled his digits inside you, his fingernails scraping against your walls, and your legs trembled as your arms gave out and left your upper body leaning on the table.

“Give me your cock now, sir. I want it in my hole. Fucking abuse me—I can take it,” you begged against the table, the wood pressing into the side of your face as his fingers slid out of your wet hole and left you clenching around nothing.

A slap to your ass jolted your body, and you threw your head back to moan at the stinging pain spreading through your skin. He grabbed your hair, shoving your face into the table before he yanked it back to lean into your ear. Your neck ached from the way he craned it, but you let out desperate pants in anticipation for what he would do to you.

“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch. I’ll fuck you how I want to, and you’ll take it,” Beel growled into your ear, his hot breath hitting the side of your face, and you pushed yourself back onto him.

“Yes, sir. I’m just a hole for your cock. Use me,” you said in between heavy pants, and your voice turned into a whine near the end of your words as your entrance clenched, ready for him to enter and mess you up.

The palm of his hand slapped your ass once more, your body twitching at the impact before he gripped it between his fingers and spread it apart. His other hand released your hair and gripped his cock to press the tip of it to your entrance, and he ran it around your hole, chuckling as you tried to push yourself against it to get it inside of you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” he said, and you bit your lip to hold in a cut-off whine, your head still thrown back. “Fine, I’ll give you what you want so badly.” Without another word, his dick entered your hole, and your body jerked forward at the sudden action.

“Oh, fuck yes! Shove it all in! Yes, yes, yes!” you cried out as your walls spread when he pushed inside you. Your mouth hung open in a silent moan as his length rubbed against your walls before a long, drawn-out, and filthy moan pushed its way out. The loud noise echoed in the silent kitchen. 

“Not so loud, slut,” he told you, a hand snaking around your throat to hold it as his digits dug into your throat.

You choked as his fingers curled around the sides of your neck and squeezed your throat shut for a second. As you coughed on your saliva, his hips rolled forward, pressing his dick farther inside of you slowly as he let you adjust to his size. Your coughs turned into surprised gasps as your hole burned from his cock forcing it open. 

“Yes… Abuse my tight hole with your large cock, sir,” you choked out, throat scratchy from his hold, and the lack of oxygen to your brain and lungs made your thoughts hazy as words slipped from your lips in incomprehensible babbles. 

“Don’t egg me on, whore. If you do, I’ll make it so that you can’t walk,” he growled into your ear, and shallow pants left you.

“Do it, sir. Fuck me so hard that I’ll be walking sideways for a month!” you said through a gasp, and the pads of his fingers dug into the side of your neck more, his other hand slapping your ass and watching it jiggle from the impact.

“You asked for it, bitch,” he said, and he pulled his cock out until only his head remained inside of you. Before a complaint could slip from your tongue, he snapped his hips and thrusted his full length inside of you, his head prodding a bundle of nerves deep in your walls that shook your body.

You moaned, the noise cut off from his hand around your throat, and more whiny sounds spilled from your lips as he continued to slam inside of you. Your ass jiggled each time he slammed fully inside you and pressed his pelvis flush against you, and the sound of skin slapping created a symphony in your ears with your moans and his grunts. Each thrust from him burned your entrance and pricked your insides, but the pain mingled with your lack of oxygen to produce a dull pleasure in your body that you couldn’t get enough of. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure as he abused your hole, using you like his own little slut as he chased his orgasm, and your walls cried out from the pain and pleasure his cock gave you. With each snap of his hips, his cock nestled farther inside of you and hit all the spots on your walls. You pushed yourself back onto his cock to meet his thrusts, loving the way it pushed his cock even deeper into you than before, and he raised his other hand to deliver a hard slap to your ass.

“You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you, slut?” he drawled, rubbing your reddening skin. He yanked your head back by your throat, a strangled gasp leaving you, and his hand loosened to grip your jaw as he leaned down to your ear. “Who said you could fuck yourself against my cock?”

“I’m sorry, sir… It just… it just feels so good,” you whined, still bouncing back onto his dick. 

He released your jaw and grabbed your wrists with his hands to pull you back until you sat on your knees. His dick slipped in and out of you at a faster pace as he held your wrists in a tight grip. The burning on your skin from his hands brought a delicious tingle of pain crawling through your body, and you knew it would leave bruises on your skin. Strings of moans and whines spilled from your lips as you arched your back from the stinging pleasure in your lower half, and he cursed when you clenched around his cock. His balls slapped against you as he moved faster and faster inside of you, and you let out breathy ‘yes’s as your core burned.

The head of his cock prodded against walls, and you looked down to see the bulge in your stomach from his dick. Your eyes watched as it disappeared before returning, your stomach bulging out once more. The sight made your hole squeeze around him as it reminded you of who was inside of you, making you a moaning, blabbering mess, and before you knew it, the puddle of heat deep inside of you burned while your body tensed. He released your arms, and you fell forward, bracing yourself against the table as your high came closer and closer.

“I’m… I’m cumming!” you cried out, and he kept his pace consistent as he leaned forward to press his front into your back and groaned in your ear.

“Cum for me, slut,” he said, and you let out one last filthy moan before your orgasm slammed into you. 

Your whole body shook, the wave of pleasure spreading from your scalp to your toes as your head tingled and toes curled from your orgasm. You blanked out for a second as all you could register was the pleasure in coursing through you. Your lower half dipped down towards the table, and he slid an arm around your waist to hold you up as you clenched around him. He craned his head down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, and as your walls squeezed him once more, he cursed against your back as his hot, thick cum shot out into your hole. A helpless whine pushed past your abused lips as he filled every crevice inside of you with his cum, your walls expanding to let his seed fill you up. You rocked your hips back onto his cock to milk him of every last drop and to ride out your orgasm, and he hissed as you squeezed his dick.

As you rocked yourself on his cock. he slipped it out of you, your body twitching from the overstimulation. His cum slipped out of your hole as it clenched and pushed his seed out of your opening. A blob of cum hit the table, and a small bit trickled from your hole down the inside of your thighs. Beel used a thumb to spread open your hole as it pushed more of his cum out, watching with mild amusement as your hole clenched uncontrollably to push his white liquid out. 

You tried to hold his cum in, wanting to savor the feeling of it inside of you, but he dipped his head down to press his lips to your entrance. A soft kiss pressed itself against your sweaty skin before he poked his tongue out to enter you and swirl it around inside of you. He licked up his liquid painting your walls as you whined from the uncomfortable burning in your lower half. 

A sucking sound echoed through the kitchen as he made sure to get the last drop from your hole, and you reached a hand back to latch onto his hair and tug at it. He swirled his tongue inside you once more before he pulled off, and you fell forward and flopped onto your back. Your chest heaved up and down, sweat sticking your clothes to your torso, and Beel ran a hand through his orange hair to push it out of his face. Your hazy eyes trailed down his body and fell onto his erection. You knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and you silently apologized to everyone in the dorm, knowing they’d hear everything. You gulped, and he smirked at you, lust still swimming in his purple irises as he grabbed his cock. 

“Care for seconds?”

[binniedeactivated]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧. || 🌪💦

[ m.list ]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐏𝐎𝐂 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐮

𝐖/𝐂 |  4k

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 | 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫-𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

 POC = person of color

a/n; should this be a ff?

adriana didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. her dirty thoughts never stopped ever since he walked into her kindergarten classroom that one morning. with his sleek parted blonde hair, tall physique and lush pink lips she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him day in and day out. she had a job to do of course. teach the children, take care of the children and make sure each and every one of them were safe.

but myla rose’s father looked nothing like any man she had ever seen before. and it was a pity that his ring finger was occupied. that made her attraction to him even more difficult at the school’s open house.

adriana greeted every parent who stopped inside her classroom, guiding them to their child’s work display and giving short reviews of their performance in class. she was an excellent teacher. one of the school’s favorite in fact and every child loved her. the parents were always pleased with her enthusiastic attitude and compassion for their child. and this was evident especially when myla came running to hug her legs at the door.

“Hi ms. A!”.

in awe, adriana hugs her gratefully. “hey myla!”.

she glances up and with a warm smile the man takes her hand. “good evening, I’m choi yeonjun. myla’s dad”.

adriana smiles back a little harder than normal but she tried her best to conceal it. to her demise though, yeonjun didn’t come with just his beloved daughter.

“this is my wife, leah. our eldest son daniel. and this little guy right here--“.

yeonjun pauses for a moment to squat next to the baby stroller that his wife was pushing. he lifted the top of it a little, revealing the small one year old child who was currently dressed in a brown furry onesie with a dog ear hood. he sucks cutely on his blue pacifier glancing upwards at his father in wonder and being immediately surprised by the splashes of color around the classroom. he looked just like yeonjun.

“this is our youngest son logan”.

adriana smiles and coos at the younger child, “aww he is adorable. myla why didn’t you tell me about your little brother?”. she directs to the small girl with a  pink ribbon wrapped around her ponytail. she rolls her eyes.

“because he’s annoying”. she says with more attitude than she ever showed in class. adriana laughs.

“nice to meet you leah. and hey daniel”. she greeted the eldest. he looked to be at least 8 years old. not very far from myla. he waves shyly, burying his face into his father’s chest. how lucky leah was, to have a family with yeonjun. as a single woman, dealing with families was always hard. it’s just what adriana wanted especially at this stage of her life.

“well, first things first myla is a pleasure to have in my class. she is always doing her work diligently like I ask and she’s always the first one to answer questions when it’s time”.

yeonjun nods in approval rubbing his daughter’s back as they were then guided to myla’s work display. he was here for his daughter he had to remember that. especially when his eyes kept slipping below adriana’s waist as she walked. but it was something about the way she walked. she walked like she wanted to be seen. as if she were inviting yeonjun’s eyes to admire her every curve. nevertheless he snaps his eyes back up whenever she turned around.

“and right here is myla’s art work, her math work, and her reading caterpillar. as you can see she really loves watercolors. her math work is outstanding. she grasps every concept I teach. and her reading caterpillar--eh it can be longer”. she playfully laughs. she tried to make the conversation as general as possible but with leah on her phone pretending as if she had no care in the world adriana’s only focus was on yeonjun who, didn’t hesitate to give an unforgiving stare into her eyes every time she talked.

adriana was an afro-latina beauty. black spiral curls dropping just above her mid back, deep set brown eyes, and full sensuous lips that anyone wanted to kiss with just one glance. and yeonjun took advantage of admiring her every chance he got.

“and um,” she fidgeted. “for each book she reads she gets a segment added onto to her caterpillar. the first student to become a butterfly wins a prize”.

“you hear that myla? don’t you want a prize?”. yeonjun cooed holding her hand. she nods excitedly. “yes!”.

“you have to start reading more okay? see look, your caterpillar is short”. yeonjun pointed at the green bulletin board. “can you buy me more books daddy?”. she asks in the soft voice that she knew would touch his heart.

“you already have enough stuff myla”. daniel chimed in, annoyed. wanting nothing more than to go home and play his play-station already.

“hey! you have stuff too”.

“you’re always asking for the most”.

“so what! daddy will buy it for me”.

“that doesn’t mean you have to ask all the time”.

“but--”.

“guys. enough. we’re not at home we’re at an open house”. yeonjun settled. all the while leah just stood there just as annoyed as them. she could’ve helped yeonjun calm the kids down but she didn’t. she didn’t even seem interested in myla’s work nor her progress. much less wanting to be there in the first place.

“I’m sorry,”. yeonjun apologized. “my kids are spoiled”.

adriana chuckles. “it’s alright I understand��.

“so how are myla’s grades? is she getting along with the kids okay? I know she can probably be a little chatty”.

“oh myla’s grades are amazing. she’s great with the other kids, rather a leader. she’s only chatty when I allow it”.

yeonjun hums in approval. “good job baby”. he coos to her. he pays his attention back to adriana though. “she loves you. she always comes home with stories about what game you played with them or what you taught them that day”.

“oh really?”.

yeonjun nods. “yeah she does. you’re a phenomenal teacher. thank you for taking good care of her”.

“thank you yeonjun. it’s no problem I love these kids like they’re my own”. adriana spoke, sinking into the hypnotics of his lustful gaze. the one that made her feel like she was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.  “she’s a pleasure to teach”.

“thank you for this. so um--we go to the gymnasium now right?”.

“yeah, do you need help finding it?”.

“no it’s alright, I think I saw it on my way in. thank you though”.

“no problem. I hope you guys have a nice rest of your evening!”. she smiles sweetly.

“you too”, yeonjun nods, nudging his wife to push the baby stroller before they turned to leave. and adriana instantly wondered what he saw her in her. she was beautiful. but she wondered why he loved a woman with such an attitude. perhaps they had argument beforehand that she didn’t know about. but even that wouldn’t explain how careless she looked about her family.

and she was almost too careless. yeonjun could feel his adrenaline rushing at the sheer thought of fucking someone new. it’s been a while since him and his wife had any kind of sex. she’d always blame it on the fact that she was tired and would postpone it to another night. but yeonjun had needs and once he saw adriana he became desperate once again. he didn’t want to ruin his marriage. god knows he didn’t.

but things in the choi household never went how yeonjun wanted it to go.

“give me back my controller myla!”. daniel shouts.

“no! you shouldn’t have cut the hair off my dollie! now your controller is going in the toilet!”. the smaller girl runs to the bathroom and locks the door behind her, leaving daniel angrily banging on it in agony. “stop it myla!!”.

“no I’m flushing it away!”.

all the commotion in the next room over was enough to startle logan, who was sleeping so soundly leaving yeonjun thinking that he was out for the night. but he wasn’t in this case. now he was crying and screaming to the top of his lungs and rattling his hands wanting nothing more than his father’s warmth. 

daniel races to the kitchen, “daddy!! get myla she’s trying to flush my controller down the toilet!”. he screeches to his father who happened to be cooking over the stove top. “what do you mean she’s trying to flush it?”.

“get her! my controller is going to be broken!”.

overhearing the baby crying yeonjun rushes down the hall to get him, slowly lifting the infant out of his crib. still sobbing, the baby clings to his sweater and yeonjun shakes him gently hoping that his presence would be enough to calm him. but he could still hear daniel banging his fists against the bathroom door. yeonjun scrambles into the hallway and fiddles with the door knob.

“myla open up this door right now. you two are being too loud you just woke up your brother”.

“daddy?”. she asks innocently.

“yes this is daddy open up the door”.

there was faint shuffling on the other side of the door before she opened it. daniel gives a sigh of relief at the sight of his game controller sitting on the bathroom sink away from the toilet. myla glances up at her father with big eyes and the cutest face she could give. she’d do anything to avoid her father’s wrath.

“I wasn’t really going to flush it daddy”.

“give your brother back his game controller. why are you messing with him?”.

“he cut all my dollie’s hair off!”. she points, stomping her foot for good measure.

yeonjun looks back at his eldest son sternly. “daniel? why would you do that?”.

“daddy she’s always teasing me and being annoying”.

“give me the controller myla”.

she strolls to the sink and pushes the controller in her father’s hands while crossing her arms. yeonjun turns, “I’ll give you this controller but if i find out that you’re sabotaging myla’s toys again I’m selling your play station. If she’s annoying you come tell me so I can deal with her. I spend a lot of money on this stuff daniel”.

he huffs his breath with his back against the wall. “fine”.

“and myla,”. he turns, “if I find out that you’re trying to destroy your brother’s stuff again I’m selling your dolls. I spent a lot of money on that too”.

she gives a sigh that was identical to her brother’s. “fine”.

“good. you guys go play. where’s your mom?”.

“she said to tell you that she had to go someplace and that she’ll be back soon”. daniel exclaims while walking to his room. yeonjun checks his phone lock screen wondering where did she have to go at 9 o’clock at night. and the crazy part about it is that this isn’t the first time she’s done this.

“daddy?”. myla murmured fiddling with her fingers. yeonjun hadn’t notice she never went to her room.

“yes?”.

“can you buy me a new dollie? since daniel ruined my last one?”.

“yes. but stop teasing your brother so much and maybe he won’t mess with your stuff”.

“yay!!”.

“go on your ipad and pick one out. after you’re done show it to me okay?”.

“okay!! thanks daddy!”. she jeers, scurrying to her room already having the perfect doll in mind. yeonjun sighs, now looking at his messy haired baby boy who inches his tiny fingers up to press on yeonjun’s bottom lip.

“are you ready to eat logan?”. he asks in spite of the chaos that was going on in his mind. throughout the night he was calling leah consistently and she never picked up, her phone going straight to voicemail. so it was up to yeonjun, pretty much like it was every night. for him to cook dinner, for him to feed and change the baby, for him to make sure the kids are washed and ready for school the next day. and as frustrated as yeonjun was he always made sure he got everything done with or without her.

he was laying logan down in his crib for the night, the sleeping baby’s head falling tiredly into his pillow. he kisses him on his forehead and his cheeks before he heard the front door open and close.

making his way downstairs he spotted leah walking into the house, no--stumbling into the house with her work attire on. he approaches her before she could knock the kitchen chair over.

“leah? what is wrong with you? where were you?”. he whispers. she gives him a solemn glance trying to make herself look sober. it was failing miserably.

“I had to finish some stuff back up at the office yeonjun. don’t start”. she kicks her heels off at the door.

“don’t start? you’re never here. when are you ever going to be here? the kids see you once in the morning and then somehow you disappear for the rest of the day”. 

“I just told you where I was. I’m going to bed now. I don’t feel like talking about this”. she brushes past him making her way to the staircase. the things yeonjun wanted to say to her-- but he bit his tongue. he didn’t want to pour his heart out just for her to leave him single and alone. had that been him coming in late and drunk she would’ve raised hell. accusing him of cheating and trying to kick him out the house. with three kids, the last thing yeonjun wanted was to be alone. it stressed him out. 

and adriana saw it all over his face.

“hey, um- myla left her lunchbox in the car I just wanted to drop it off”. he approaches the vacant classroom-- the kids playing outside for the hour with the P.E teacher. adriana softly smiles at the man whom she wasn’t expecting to see so early in the day.

“hey yeonjun. no problem you can just sit it right there on her desk”. she guides. she was at the back of the classroom stapling work to the bulletin board.

“are you okay? you look a little stressed”. she adds.

“yeah I’m fine you know--just kids. they’re a handful sometimes. I’m sure you understand”.

“of course! I know how they can be at school. i don’t have any of my own though so I have no idea how they can be at home”.

hm, so she didn’t have any kids. yeonjun was annoyed with himself for even taking note of that. even worse, wondering if she was single.

“imagine a 24 hour school day. that’s exactly what it’s like”.

adriana chuckled. “god that’s brutal”.

“it is. you’ll find out for yourself soon enough. whenever you and your significant other decide to have children at least. it’s a world you haven’t known”.

she hops off of the stool to grab another sheet of paper to staple. she chuckles a little, “i hope this doesn’t sound weird but i actually look forward to that. whenever I actually get a significant other”.

yeonjun nods his head in disbelief. he wondered how a woman so beautiful with such an enthusiastic, compassionate attitude could be single at all. maybe she had a secret past yeonjun knew nothing about. perhaps she’s a psychopath. maybe even a gold digger.

but with the way she carried herself, in confidence but with humility, it attracted yeonjun he wouldn’t care if she was both.

“you’re single?”. yeonjun blurted out, wanting to smack himself for thinking out loud. she grins.

“why do you sound surprised?”.

while she stretches her arms up yeonjun stares at the small dip in her back and swallows. “well because you’re gorgeous”.

she steps off the stool again stifling a blush. she toys with the stapler in her hands.

“thank you and if i’m not mistaken it kind of sounds like you’re flirting with me”. she accuses, the cute grin of hers twisting into an innocent smile.

yeonjun breathes. it’s been years since he flirted with anyone other than his wife. but with the stress he was feeling nowadays he was willing to take any type of chance he could. he approaches her,

“it’s because I am”. he reassured, looking down at her hoping she felt the same way. only if he knew how much she thought about this moment, he’d take her right then and there. she pushes her face closer to his teasingly.

“aren’t you a married man? choi yeonjun?”. she licks her lips at the up close sight of his.

 “please don’t mention my marriage while you’re licking your lips at me like that”. he monotones.

“or what? hm?“.

he grins, bending lower to hover his lips over her ear. “don’t test me adriana“.

his words sent chills down her spine. her heart races and before she could say her next word he was already glaring into her eyes soon after. he places his fingers at the bottom of her chin forging her attention on him.

“kiss me”. he demanded.

she clutches his wrist, half leaning in and half hesitant. she was uncertain. he had a wife. a family. children. but he was sexy and she could already feel her panties clinging to her now sticky folds. his lips were halfway there but he had other plans.

he sticks two fingers between his pretty pink lips while maintaining his gaze. adriana could feel her legs turning into jelly at the streams of saliva that slipped in between them and running down his hand. when they were finally drenched with the contents of his tongue he pulls them out and instead sticks his messy hand directly into her panties.

her lips parted and she tensed immediately, not gasping the air but gasping in his mouth---because it took almost nothing for yeonjun to pull her into a wet heated kiss. her lips felt just as yeonjun though they would. soft and full. she whimpered in delight as her tongue lolled into his hot mouth. his fingers slid through her slick liquid so easily, she was practically gushing for him and all he was doing was tracing his fingers around the circumference of her clit, not wanting to give her too much too soon. but the lighter his fingers were the more she twitched up into his hand. she wanted so much more. she needed so much more. her mind went blank.

“y-yyeonjun”., she mewls before he roughly sticks his tongue down her throat. she waited until she got another speck of air. “you’re m-married”.  she partially wanted to warn, mainly because she didn’t want him to do anything that he was going to regret. he only let his fingers do the talking,  allowing them to travel into her channel, pumping them into her gradually. she does that little innocent gasp again. the one that yeonjun likes, the one that made her seem like she’s never been touched before. the euphoric waves his fingers gave her was like venom, swimming through her nerves and making her legs tremble.

his hand searches for the back of her thigh and he lifts her leg around his waist, widening her legs.

“you’re thinking about my marriage and I’m thinking about pounding you into this fucking table”.

he watches her face contort in pleasure and he smirks. he couldn’t deny the hard on she gave him by her measly moans alone. she sounded so helpless and needy for more of him. she was dripping down his fingers and it took every instinctual part of him to not unbuckle his jeans. she pressed her body into his like a bruise, gasping into the crook of his neck as his fingers delve deeper into her. “ohh m-my god please ddon’t stop”.

pulses of arousal amended around yeonjun fingers and he sloppily kisses her hungrily. she steadily grinds her hips into his rhythmic thrusts in need.

“just like that adriana, fuck my fingers”. he groans into her mouth, she wondered if it was possible to get wetter at the sound of his voice. if not, she was definitely pulsating harder than before after he said that. with a shaky hand she reaches down to unzip his pants. “pplease fuck me I need it”. she whines, not being able to withstand anymore of the finger fucking. she wanted to be stretched. “pplease make it quick I have to go get the kids in 7 minutes”.

yeonjun lets her undo his pants, he enjoyed her desperation for him. it was hot and it was something he wasn’t used to. leah was never like this. but adriana was a woman who knew what she wanted and who she wanted it from. so it wasn’t as embarrassing for her to slide down on his dick the way she did. she was turned, her back facing his front where yeonjun could see her ass swallow his dick whole. he wasn’t going to fuck her initially since this was their first  sexual interaction. but he was hard and she was needy so he didn’t care anymore.

the setting quickly fades from his mind while he watches her bounce against him wildly. his breathing becomes weighty and he grips her waist in absolute heaven, her slick sheathing his dick faithfully. he hid his bottom lip behind his teeth to produce a curse word but couldn’t quite get it out entirely; everything felt so fucking amazing and unbelievably so. broken curse words fluttered from his throat.

“fu--fuckk”. he utters with a low grunt. with her own electricity shooting through her veins and torso obscene moans fled from her lips and yeonjun clasped his hand over her mouth before she could get any louder. he had no intentions on getting caught but on the other hand it was hot hearing her unable to control herself.

her hips rolled down as she took up a measured pace riding him, her thighs burning but her movements were pleasing the both of them and the way yeonjun smacked her ass in praise gave her every reason to keep going. he soon met her thrusts by gripping her ass and grinding against it, chasing the orgasm that wouldn’t come if she kept going at the same pace. “ohh my god”. she hissed. he was gripping her ass rough enough to leave a significant bruise. not that adriana cared anyway, it would be an honor to be bruised up by yeonjun.

“god I’m going to fucking cum all over you”. she whines, reaching down to play with her clit along the way. yeonjun fucked into her a bit harder, exhaling all the choked up groans he withheld until her juices was spilling down his dick with ease. she trembles, wiggling her ass on him a bit longer before rushing to pull her panties up and look presentable for the rest of the school day. she was shocked to see that yeonjun was still hard as a rock, yet he was zipping up his jeans.

she clutches her clipboard, totally not expecting yeonjun to grab her from behind and kiss her on the cheek the way he did. she felt his bulge pressed against her backside.

“next time ride my dick until I cum”.

[jerzwriter]

Day Six - Their "First Date" 💕

Book: Open Heart (After Series)

Series: Their First Two Months

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Casey MacTavish)

Rating: Teen

Summary: Ethan takes Casey on an official first date, three years after their relationship began.

Category: Pure, diabetes inducing, unadulterated …. FLUFF

Warnings: Suggested Sensuality

Words: 2348

A/N: Part of a series outlining the first two months after Ethan and Casey finally make it official. These can be read as part of the series or as stand alones.

A/N1: This series is meant to highlight the two-month period covered in the alternate OH ending found here.

A/N2: So, Casey and I share a couple traits, an obsession with musicals and deep love of Motown. Ain’t To Proud was the last musical I saw on Broadway before the pandemic (and it was awesome) and it will be playing at the Citizens Bank Opera House in Boston this fall, so this was just too perfect. And, because of this FF, my Ethan & Casey officially have “their song”. 💕

My Girl - The Temptations

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS

Casey had last minute emergency at work, so she was running late for her official “first date” with Ethan.

She was slipping on her jewelry and adding the final touches to her makeup when the doorbell rang.

Shit! Ethan’s almost here and no one is home to get that!

The bell rang a second time.

“I’m coming! Just a minute!” she yelled as she raced toward the door in her new high-heeled sandals.

“Holy crap,” she gasped as she swung the door open. Before her stood Ethan looking so handsome in his new Armani suit that she immediately envisioned getting it off of him. In his hands, he held a dozen red roses wrapped in an elegant gold and white bow.

“Is that always how you greet your dates?”

“Only the incredibly hot ones, and you certainly fit the criteria. Are those for me?” she asked, pointing to the flowers.

“No. They’re for Sienna. I bought them as a bribe to keep her quiet about us being a couple.” He rolled his eyes, “Of course, they’re for you.”

“You know, the sarcasm could work for me because I’m already your girlfriend. But being that this is our first date, I must admit, I’m not impressed.”

“You’re not,” he smiled as his eyes traveled slowly from the top of her head to down to her toes and back again, “that’s a shame because I am definitely impressed with you. And, for the record, I don’t need any first date advice because this is my official last date. I am retiring after tonight.”

“Are you? Shouldn’t you see how this date goes before you commit to that?”

He grabbed her and placed a passionate kiss on her lips.

“I’m fairly confident it will go well.”

“I’m glad because you look incredibly handsome, Dr. Ramsey, and I am all for claiming you for life.”

He sighed, “What have I told you about calling me Dr. Ramsey?

“Only do it at work…and in bed.”

“Exactly!”

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I believe I am picking you up for our date. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?

“Absolutely not! But I figured you’d text me and I’d meet you outside.”

“Casey, I honestly don’t want to know what kind of heathens you dated in the past. But I do things properly.”

She rolled her eyes, “It’s just that you’re taking a risk. What if my roommates were home?”

“Luckily,” he said as he pushed her hair away, gently kissing her neck, “your boyfriend had the foresight to check their schedules before showing up at your door. Since they are all working tonight…” he trailed off as his kisses became more passionate.

Casey giggled, “You truly are one of the brightest minds of your generation.”

“Ehhh – hemm!”

Casey & Ethan jumped apart at the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.

“Dr. Ramsey, while checking schedules is a slick move, you should probably have checked if anyone switched schedules today, for example… me.” Jackie stood not three feet away with her arms crossed and the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh, uhm, Jackie….”

“Dr. Varma,” Ethan nodded.

Jackie laughed, “You know, you didn’t really have to jump apart just now. I already saw you sucking her all over the place.”

“It was not all over the place, Jackie! It was just my neck… and maybe a little bit of my collarbone.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ethan sighed.

“Jackie, I need you to keep quiet about this, no one….”

“Casey. Everyone knows you two have something going on,” Jackie pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the couple, “It’s just that no one had hard proof, until now.”

“Hard proof you’re going to keep to yourself, right Jackie?” Casey looked at her friend with pleading eyes.

“Dr. Varma…” Ethan said, only moderately mortified.

“Jackie,” she interrupted.

“OK, Jackie. We’re going public with our relationship very soon, but could you please keep quiet until then?”

“Hmmm..” She was enjoying watching them sweat.

“Jackie, I will personally make sure you have the rights to our first photos to be sold to the paparazzi,” Ethan deadpanned.

“DEAL!” Jackie laughed, “But since that may not pay too much, just buy me a drink next time you see me at Donahue’s. Where are you two lovebirds off to anyway?”

“It’s our first date!” Casey beamed.

Jackie rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Because I always see you getting your neck sucked at the door when being picked up on your first dates. I should have known.”

Ethan shot Casey a look.

“She is joking, Babe. Hey, Jackie, since you’re here, you can make yourself useful.” She tossed the bouquet of roses her way. “Would you please put these in a vase for me?”

“Sure, and what exactly am I supposed to tell the others when they ask about these?”

“Tell them I have a secret admirer,” Casey winked, leaving the apartment.

__________

“Well, I didn’t exactly think that one completely out, did I?”

“Not thoroughly. Why is it that no one seems surprised when they find out we are together?”

“Well, Sienna did.”

“Sienna was excited, not surprised. There is a difference. Were we that bad at hiding there was something between us?”

“I guess so,” he said with a shrug.

“I guess the sexual tension between us was impossible to ignore.”

Ethan laughed, “I’ll buy that!”

“Speaking of buying, where are you taking me tonight!”

“First, we are going to get you dinner.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“And after that?”

“You really are nosy, aren’t you?”

“Well, it’s our first date. I am not going to head just anyplace with a virtual stranger, you know.”

“I understand your trepidation,” he said.

“Well, I’m going to guess. You’re driving toward the Seaport?”

“Yes.”

“You sure have been spending a lot of time there!”

“Well, you love the Seaport, and I love you, so it kind of works. Plus, we will be moving there shortly. Don’t you think we should get to know our new neighborhood better?”

“Well, you do. I already know it. Oh my God, you’re taking me to DelFrisco’s!”

“What gave it away?”

“The fact that you are pulling up to the line for their valet parking.”

“That’s why I wanted you on my team MacTavish, nothing gets past you! You have mentioned wanting to go to the one in Philadelphia, so I thought you might want to check this one out too.”

“God, I love it when you pay attention to me.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

“Really? When did your studies begin?”

“The day you walked up and asked for my autograph at the vending machine.”

“It wasn’t really an autograph,” she said blushing.

“Oh, yes, it was.”

She smiled and bit her lower lip, “Oh, just open my door for me already.”

__________

As they waited for the host to seat them, Casey noticed a discrete sign in the lobby outlining the restaurant's dress policy. At the very bottom, there was a disclaimer stating, “We have the right to refuse admittance to any patron.”

Her brow wrinkled as she nervously looked down at her fitted, green, off-the-shoulder dress, her nude sandals, tasteful jewelry.

“Casey is something wrong.”

“Do I look OK?”

“Seriously? You look so much more than OK. If I haven’t properly communicated that, then perhaps I am a failure as a first date.”

“Oh, you have,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “but I’m not exactly used to going to restaurants with a two-page list of instructions regarding their dress code. At the places I usually go, it’s essentially ‘keep your shirt on.”

Ethan shook his head and laughed heartily, “Really, well, I hope you will be taking me to such an establishment on our second date next week.”

“Relax, Ramsey, the shirt-on thing is referring to the guys. The girls typically already know to keep theirs on.”

“Ah, damn. But, don’t worry, Sweetheart, you more than pass the dress code here.”

Oddly enough, once they were seated, the awkwardness of an actual first date seemed to settle around them.

“So, what are we supposed to do?”

“Drink? Eat?”

“Well, Duh. I mean, do we pretend like it’s an actual first date. Should I pretend that I’m trying to get to know you better?”

“Do you really want to know more about me?”

“Always. OK, let’s role play here.”

“Well, if it’s role play you want, we could just leave and head to my apartment..”

“Ethan!”

“OK, OK. Go ahead.”

“So, what made you decide to become a doctor?”

“Well, growing up, I had a premonition that I would become a world-renowned diagnostician. But, more importantly, I also saw that it would lead me to meet this incredibly gorgeous, pain-in-the-ass blonde intern who would forever change my life. I decided there and then that it would be worth all the years of school and sacrifice to make it happen. Now that the prophecy is fulfilled, I may just quit and become a golf-pro.”

“But your dating bio said you hate golf?”

“Dating bio? What dating bio, you know I don’t have a …. “

She started laughing.

“OK, I think pretend time is over. Let’s just enjoy our first date as it is supposed to be, for us. I really don’t care how other people do it.”

“Neither do I,” she grinned, “now, let’s get down to ordering some $75 steaks.”

“You’re using me, aren’t you?”

“One-hundred and fifty percent!”

__________

After enjoying one of the best dinners she ever had, Casey suggested that they take a stroll along the waterfront.

“As much as I’d love to, we have to be someplace by 7:30.”

“Where?” She asked excitedly.

“It’s a surprise.”

“AGAIN!”

“Yep!” he said as the valet pulled up with their car.

Once Casey was strapped into her seat, he pulled out a blindfold, and she shot him a sheepish grin.

“What the hell is that for Ethan?”

“To cover your eyes.”

“I understand that part, but why. Usually, this is used for … other things… not meant for public consumption.”

He shook his head, “You are adorable, you know that, right?”

“Yes, and I use it to my advantage. Now what gives?”

“If I start driving in the general direction, you will know where I’m taking you, and I really want it to be a surprise. Will you indulge me.”

“Don’t I always, love,” she said, kissing him. “OK, now go ahead and blindfold me. Even though this is really weird.”

Once Ethan parked his car at the second location, he exited his door and helped her out, seemingly ready to guide her as they walked.

“Oh, no. No, Ethan Ramsey, this is where I draw the line. You are not leading me around the streets of Boston with a blindfold on for a myriad of reasons!”

“I hadn’t really intended to,” he laughed as he removed the blindfold.

Casey looked around a little bewildered, “This is your spot at the Opera House.”

“Yes. It is.”

“But there aren’t any performances taking place right now. Aida isn’t coming until September, and Don Giovanni in October; by the way, make sure you don’t give your tickets away for that one; I’m dying to see it. But right now…what? What are you staring at?” She asked her slack-jawed boyfriend.

“How do you know all this?”

“Well, my really hot boyfriend likes opera, so I needed to up my game! I think it is only right for us to learn about each other’s interests, don’t you?”

He kissed her and smiled, “You are truly incredible, Casey MacTavish. But now that you mention it, learning about each other’s favorite things is kind of why we are here tonight.” He pointed to the marquis.

Casey covered her mouth and gasped. “How did you know I was dying to see this!”

“Well, you’re obsessed with musicals, and since your playlist consists of more early-ish Motown than anyone I have ever met, I figured ‘Ain’t Too Proud’ might please you.”

Casey scrunched up her face and shoulders and let out a loud squeal.

“Oh, God, it’s squeal-worthy,” Ethan laughed. “I guess I got it right.”

She threw her arms around him. “Oh my God, it is so squeal-worthy! You are the best! Are you familiar with The Temptations?”

“To a degree.”

“Oh, you are about to learn so much more. And I hope you know that we are totally stage dooring when it ends.”

“Stage dooring? Yes, don’t worry, just follow my lead, you shouldn’t get hurt!”

Ethan delighted in watching Casey’s face light up as she silently sang along to the songs in her seat.

And the minute the show ended, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and said, “Come on,” rushing him out of the theater.

“Wait, why aren’t we staying for the curtain call?”

“Because we want the best spot for stage-dooring. Do I need to teach you everything?”

On the drive home from the show, Casey was on cloud nine. Her face was beaming as she clutched her signed Playbill and gushed about how much she enjoyed the show.

Ethan stopped his car and pulled into a spot next to a small park several blocks away from Casey’s apartment.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

“It is the last part of our date.”

He circled the car and opened Casey’s door. “You’re not going to blindfold me again, are you?”

“No,” he laughed, "but just stand here.”

He moved her to a spot about 4-feet away from his car as he began fiddling with something on his dashboard.

Suddenly the Temptation’s “My Girl” was blaring from his car’s sound system.

He walked up to Casey with his hand extended.

“May I have this dance?”

“Ethan….” she said, deeply touched.

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May. I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way … My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin’ bout my girl, my girl

And just like that, they had “their song.”

__________

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