#proclamations and asides

[ancientsweek]

Ancients Week 2024 (!!!)

Welcome to Ancients Week 2024! This is a KOTLC fan-week dedicated to Ancient elves — because the concept of elves old enough to remember the very distant past is deeply fascinating, and because I love the Ancients. This event will be running from July 7th to July 14th 2024 (so a week and an extra day, but we'll call it a week for simplicity's sake). This is the first time I'm running this event (and, for that matter, any fandom event), so please be kind if I mess up somewhere. I'll try not to :)

Rules

DO NOT USE AI. NONE WHATSOEVER. I'm being serious. (although I'm pretty sure anyone won't, it doesn't hurt to state it outright)

No negativity on others' posts! We're all here to have fun.

And on that note, have fun!!!

PROMPTS!!

Questions I Anticipate Getting

What can I make?

Anything! Fanfic, fanart, headcanons, meta, memes, incorrect quotes, dashboard simulators (those fake dashboard things), whatever — nothing is out of bounds!

Whom/what can I make something about?

Ancients! You can make any kind of fan piece about any and all Ancients, including implied/textual-ghost Ancients (like Bronte's mother, or Fintan's dead friends, who would have been Ancient had they survived into the modern day), characters you headcanon as Ancient, Ancient OCs, and even younger characters written as Ancients, so long as your piece involves an Ancient or is Ancients-centric somehow. So basically, go wild and have fun!

When will prompts be up?

If I stay on schedule, prompts should be up on (or in the week of, depending on what's going on) May 1st 2024. In the meantime, I'd love it if you could send prompt suggestions to this blog! I can only put seven prompts up but, I'd love to hear your ideas!

Do I have to complete every prompt or post every day?

No, you do not have to complete every prompt, or post every day! Feel free to post late, skip days, ignore the prompts, combine the prompts and so forth — do only as much as you want to. Remember, Ancients Week is a fun little thing and also a state of mind not bound by petty things like dates. (And I'd genuinely be delighted if I saw new ideas I hadn't considered and new posts in the tag even months later.)

How do I tag my works?

I will be tracking the #ancients week 2024 tag, so please tag your fanworks with that! You can also tag @ancientsweek in your post. All the posts I find will be reblogged to this blog.

Can I post my works elsewhere?

(Not sure if people think about it but I always wonder about it if I'm participating in an event so, here you go.)

Yes! If you would like to cross-post your fanworks onto another site (like AO3, for example), go for it — after all, it's your work, and I can't (and don't want to) dictate where and how you publish it.

Where can I find announcements/reminders/important stuff?

Announcements, reminders, prompt lists, and all other things in the vein of housekeeping will be tagged #proclamations and asides (like this post). You can search for this tag on this blog.

Tag list under cut (I'm extremely sorry if I've forgotten someone)

@drama-llamaaa @fintan-pyren @swans-chirping-in-the-distance @chronically-ill-psionipath @kale-of-the-forbidden-cities @oroshka @ch3shireacat @crescentpaws @autistic-daydreamer @periwinkle-the-11th @lezabeththetheodoraimposter @i-died-dead @heliophilia63194 @mango-cheese67 @chaotic-starlight24 @jkriordanverse @mmeemy @myfairkatiecat @strange-cat (can't seem to be able to properly tag you sorry)

[communistkenobi]

prefacing this post by saying that I am a big enjoyer of “this site has poor reading comprehension” jokes on here, but I think there needs to be better and more precise language about this sort of thing that isn’t bound up in like, the ability to parse text, which is always going to be tied to class and ability. I’m not saying every joke about this site not being able to read is classist/ableist, and I don’t think anyone is making any grand ideological proclamations when dunking on a stupid reply to their post, but the backing behind that kind of joke is, ultimately, “haha you’re an adult that can’t read.”

And aside from some potentially troubling baggage, I don’t even think that’s what’s going on in the first place! I think the more precise (but admittedly less catchy) term for “poor reading comprehension” is something along the lines of chronic incuriosity, or a rigid adherence to normative thinking. if you see a post saying, for example, women shouldn’t have to wear makeup to be viewed as human beings, and the comments are filled with “actually you can just wear some winged eyeliner and foundation it’s not that hard to wear makeup and also women love makeup stop gatekeeping,” what is happening is not a failure to comprehend the text in front of them. these responses are not made in ignorance, as in, they are not the result of a failure to understand the sentence they just read. these responses stem from a refusal to challenge base assumptions, and reacting emotionally to the mental dissonance this causes (probably something along the lines of “I think of myself as progressive but this person is challenging something I like doing and this threatens my weak political instincts”). These people are rejecting the opportunity to analyse the habits and behaviours they previously assumed to be non-political (eg, wearing makeup), and then externalising that rejection as a defence mechanism. That is not a failure to read a sentence, that is a demand to be intellectually coddled, which is very different.

Again, I’m sure people are already aware of this. I enjoy being a hater, and having people constantly swarm your posts with ridiculous and hysterical replies is incredibly frustrating (speaking from a lot of personal experience here lol). This is also not me saying you have to do the coddling and explain to them that they’re being ideologically incurious about the world, you don’t have an obligation to do any of that. but I think framing a person’s failure to be curious about their own biases as “they don’t know how to read” situates the problem as an issue of ignorance or lack of technical skill, instead of the much more prevalent problem of people refusing to be challenged or reconsider things in their life they didn’t think about before. Calling these kinds of people ignorant is just letting them off easy

[allbark-no-bite]

Don’t Say Love || Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: you notice Rafe is different in the mornings, softer in someways. Definitely not in others

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ smut, wouldn’t consider anything in here a OBX3 spoiler

author’s note: this one’s pretty short and sweet. enjoy :)

Propped up only by my own elbow and a tangle of his limbs, I caress his timelessly drawn face. There's a half smile underneath my fingers, and I pass my index finger over his mouth. My finger ventures past his lips, pushing them aside to reveal glossy white teeth. Rafe reels his head back slightly as to ward off my ridiculous ministrations.

"What are you doing?" His tone verges on the rhetorical side, obviously possessing little interest in entertaining whatever I'm up to but willing to amuse me for now. It's the least he could do after being inside me just a few hours ago.

Nevertheless, I am relentless, as with all things in life and when he returns to my reach, rather than answering him, I pursue my venture again. This time he allows it, his lip curling upwards to indulge me further. My finger runs along the slick gloss of his pearly teeth — teeth that have both scraped along the tender skin of my throat and aligned on occasion to remind me of just what made him so attractive. I rather adored his pristinely bleached smile and it's viscous canines.

"I love you," I whisper to him. It means no more than the obscenities that I moaned into his mouth last night as he ground his hips into me. It's not a dramatic proclamation of my affection for him, nor a confession in the slightest. I just—I like him. I like him differently than I have ever liked anyone else.

He breaks into a smile and scoffs, almost laughing as he falls backs onto the mattress. "Don't say that," he admonishes gently.

I bite the bottom of my lip to keep from laughing myself. This whole thing was ridiculous. Turning to catch his gaze again, we smile at each other, lips pressed together to convey what we won't say out loud. Something inside me knows he won't be this way tomorrow. He won't share this same look with me, won't be this gentle or placid again.

The thing is, I would go all in if he let me. Would place all my cards on the table if he said he wanted me to. He needs a four? Sure, I've got a four. What else? I would willingly give him everything.

Laying in his bed together the morning after a party is an occurrence that has become more and more common over the past month. Admittedly a welcome one. We're not a item, probably never will be, but it's nice to think that he's mine for now.

With Rafe, things between us are so utterly simple. I don't think I've ever had so much fun with one person. And it's not even that he's so entirely special or even the love of my life. He's cocky and charming and a bit of a jerk at times, but I like that about him.

Sometimes, while we're laying in the darkness together, he tells me that if he had grown up differently he would be less of a nervous wreck and more honest. I tell him that I grew up mostly alone, in a small little house with my alcohol obsessed father, who was still growing up himself when he became a dad. That nothing was ever enough, but how was I supposed to know the difference? I tell him that his family is alright because at least he has siblings and a father who loves him, even if that love is questionable.

He smiles softly and pulls my hand away from his mouth, kissing the palm of it tenderly. His lips grace the inside of my wrist and warmth spreads through my naked body. I slip my leg over his waist, pulling myself on top of him. The white sheets that have been doing very little to cover our bareness slip further down my waist — I am sure much to his enjoyment. His broad chest expands as he breathes in, and I watch the steady rise and fall of it.

"Quit doing that."

"Doing what?" he asks, his voice still gruff with sleep, wondering what I could possibly be on about this time.

"That panty-dropping smile. It's ridiculous."

Twinkling, his blue eyes gaze up at me, as if storing the image of me to his memory. His billowy white shirt is barley enough to cover the top of my thighs from where I'm straddled over him, pining his hips to the plush mattress. The light coming in from the early morning sun seeps in through the curtains, slowly swallowing everything in his bedroom whole and washing us in gold.

"It worked, didn't it?" he chuffs, lazily sliding a warm palm up my bare thigh. Timidly, he hooks a finger on the edge of the sheet bunched around my waist and tugs it back slightly. Without an ounce of shame, his eyes dip down to indulge in my bareness. "God, you're so fucking sexy," he groans, his head falling back onto the pillow for dramatic effect.

Laughing, I lean down to kiss his puffy lips, and he graciously meets me part of the way. I pull away to press my lips to his chin, and then his jaw, and then his collar bone, spending no more time on the next than the first until I reach his shoulder. This time, I kiss the firm muscle there, lingering to drag my nose along his skin. His scent engulfs me – manly, with the lingering traces of expensive cologne and the musk of sex.

With all the tenderness that I can muster, I attach my lips to the hollow of his throat, close my eyes and breathe him in. I want to remember him. All of him. My tongue smooths across his salty skin, working to soothe the already bruising flesh. Beside my ear, the swallow of his throat echos clearly, but he doesn't budge beneath me. His skin tastes salty and raw, unsullied by the usual cleanly redolence of woody soap and washing detergent. I continue to suck until his taste is tinged coppery, and only then do I release him. The imprint remains after I pull away, the impression red and tender on his throat.

There, in the bruising flesh of his skin, is my only claim to him.

In a way, it is impressive — his charisma. He is so good at giving me nothing at all and making me feel as though I have everything. He breathes my name and it sounds like his religion. I'm an atheist, truthfully, but I have come to believe that religion is mostly subjective anyhow. I'm certain the golden cross around Rafe's neck means very little to him.

His jaw cracks open in a yawn, revealing pink gums and pearly teeth again as he reaches his arms over his head and flexes his legs beneath me. I reach out to graze my knuckles along his jaw, reveling in the barely there bristles and the way the sun catches on them, turning blonde to gold. In the morning light, his eyes shine wet with a combination of bleary affection and sleep.

After stretching his body into wakefulness, Rafe grabs my face in his large hands and draws me towards him, kissing my forehead, then my nose, and then the corners of my mouth. His thumbs caress my cheekbones, petting aside lose strands of hair.

"I've got some things to take care of today," he informs me vaguely while gently removing me from the entanglement of his body. Suddenly he's not underneath me anymore, and I'm left on his pristine mattress alone.

It's my turn to stare as he shuffles around the room. Smiling smugly to myself, I watch as he tugs on a fresh pair of boxers from the floor, the material fitting snuggly around him.

"Yeah?" I hum, trying not to sound too disappointed. "What kinds of things?" I really don't care, just want to ask him to stay a while longer, but I'm not sure I should push my luck.

"Family stuff," he answers mindlessly, effectively putting a stop the the conversation as he turns away. His retreating back gives me a perfect display of his sinewy body as he walks into the connecting bathroom. I wait, listening to the sound of water splash into the sink and Rafe brushing his teeth before I muster up the will to get out of his warm bed.

The title is cold against my bare feet, and I whine at the unpleasantness of the sensation. Immediately seeking the comfort of Rafe's warmth again, I curl around him from behind, my face pressed into his neck. He hums from around his toothbrush, one palm leant against the counter as he scrubs with the other.

Presented with the opportunity in which both of his hands are occupied, my own hand that is splayed across his stomach slides downwards. His blue eyes flicker up to mine in the reflection of the mirror. Teasingly, I cup my hand to palm his crotch.

He's already hard, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. His nostrils flare, toothbrush still in his mouth as my hand slides back up, fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers, warming to his skin.

Rafe dips down to the sink to spit and rinse his mouth before straightening, both palms gripping the counter. His chest heaves, muscles sliding over his ribs when I take him in my hand. He's heavy and throbbing. There is nothing deceiving about what's being concealed within the confines of his pants.

"You gotta go?" I ask softly, kissing between his tensed shoulder blades as my thumb swipes over his weeping tip. His hips stutter into my hand at the motion.

Rafe swallows heavy, head dipped down as he shakes it. "No, no," he dismisses, his voice thick. He clears his throat. "If you stop now I'll never get that thing tucked into my pants."

I nearly laugh against his back, pressing my lips against his impossibly warm skin again. His blue eyes narrow at me jadedly through the mirror. Not funny, is what that look means.

I pump him lazily a few times, twisting my wrist as my hand slides up and down his shaft. He's already slick with precum and likely very close to coming. There's an a large portion of it already leaking through the front of his navy blue boxers.

"Fuuuuck, baby," he moans, tucking his nose into his shoulder to get a grip on himself. "Jesus—fuck me."

With a whimper that's a dignified as he can muster, his body jerks when I rub my thumb over the swollen pink head. He's breathing hard at this point, trying to breathe and restrain himself at the same time. He won't let go until I say so.

"Good boy," I murmur softly, my lips attached to his shoulder, the top of his spine — the spine that I'm noticing is becoming less and less ridged with each passing week. With his dad off in Guadeloupe, his posture has lost the intensity that it usually carries. His brow has softened too, and he smiles a bit more often.

“You're a good boy, Rafe," I repeat. He is. He's good to me. He can be a good guy when he wants to be. I think people are so focused on this preconceived idea of him that he just goes with it rather than fighting it.

He whines, with his eyes closed, jaw slack, and head hanging down. I change the pace, alternating between pumping him until he's clinging to the sink and going so slow that his hips buck up into my fist, chasing what I won't give him.

"Please, (y/n)," he finally asks, his voice strained as he pants.

I hum, my body lounging nonchalantly against his back, admiring his ability to keep his composure for so long. He's beautiful like this, golden skin flushed red, chest heaving. So much to be trusted with in my hands.

The moment I give him the okay, he's spilling into my hand, his hot release dripping down my fingers and I'm sure the front of his boxers. He sags against the sink, body limp and boneless as the high of his orgasm fades away.

Smiling privately to myself at his sudden lethargy, I draw my hand away as he gathers himself. There's a crumpled towel on the floor that I use to wipe my hand. I’m not entirely sure it was clean in the first place.

Rafe nabs it from me when I’m done and uses it to clean himself up as well. Then, as if he was not doubled over, receiving a handjob against the sink moments before, he splashes cold water on his face and slips out of the bathroom. Through the doorway, I can see him opening and closing drawers as he searches for clothes.

"Very dignified," I hum watching him tug his pants on out of the corner of my eye. "Coming in your boxers."

"Shut up."

[chososluv]

P L U G ! Y U K I

✎₊˚⊹♡ summary & note: a continuation of my plug series and my interpretation of what plug!yuki would be like. i really enjoyed writing this one might've been my favorite thus far. . .sortve proofread and subject to edit! it i just got rlly excited to share this ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

🏷 tags & warnings:  smut 18+, black!fem reader, black coded, weed smoking, oral sex, fingering, creaming, squirting, yuki got da strap, petnames (ma,mamas, pretty girl) top!yuki but mentions of you returning the favor

✎₊˚ word count: 3.9k

minors do not interact

Plug!Yuki is a girl's girl.

Unlike plug!toji and plug!choso, Plug!Yuki and you developed a relationship as really good friends before she became your plug. You confided in her one evening in passing that you hadn’t smoked in so long and missed the cannabis high from your undergraduate years. She decided to let you in on a secret at your proclamation.

"You know I'm a plug.... right, mama?"

Plug!Yuki had took that time to casually drop on you that she was a lucrative supplier and that's how she was paying her student loans off. It was quite a surprise to you if you were honest. You knew she smoked, but you didn’t know she was one of the most popular dealers on campus.

Plug!Yuki would start slipping you nugs for you to try out from the new strains she would cop from a new drops. It was from the first quarter ounce she gave you for free it became unspoken that she was your plug going forward and you loved it. She wasn’t a shady nigga who only spoke to you through snapchat, but instead a gorgeous, stunning, and trustworthy woman.

Plug!Yuki's looks aside, she's a legit business woman with her craft. She packages up all her drops in pretty pink bags and sometimes throws in medicinal paper wraps fused with lavender and fancy shit. All of these things at your disposal for free because Yuki Tsukumo liked you that much. You almost had it all.

Almost because you had a sweltering crush on Plug!Yuki.

Smoking in close quarters with Plug!Yuki was truly a test of your discipline. Whether it was in the car, at her place, or at yours, the background melted away and she had your undivided attention. A gravitational pull seems to always occur because you always ended up so close to her. So close you can always see the way her soft lips pucker against the blunt and always you yearn to taste them directly and not from the blunt you share.

Plug!Yuki is a goddess when she smokes. Everything about the way she inhales, exhales, and giggles when she's under the influence of cannabis makes you feel deeply enticed by her even more. The way her eyes sink low and go red made her face fall into a seductive gleam and whenever she looks at you with it you feel so weak.

You can’t recall when you started crushing on Plug!Yuki, but you remember one night you awoke with an ache between your thighs, breath raging as you recovered from a wet dream of your best friend and plug going down on you. From that moment forward you felt different towards her, but you never entertained telling her. You didn't want to ruin the beautiful and close relationship you two have. So, you pushed yourself into thinking you would grow out of it or maybe someone would distract you from her.

But Plug!Yuki would never let that happen.

Contrarily to you, Plug!Yuki was confronted with her feelings for you when one of her best friends, Suguru, asked about you.

"Whats up with y/n? You think I got a chance with mama, Yuki?" Yuki turned her head a bit too fast at her friend, arching an eyebrow as jealousy and possessiveness began to spread through her veins like a nasty virus.

"Fallback, if you wanna keep this friendship, Suguru." Plug!Yuki answered honestly and Shoko bursted into boisterous laughter.

"You owe me!" She said before puffing off her lit cigarette. Satoru could be heard groaning, fishing money out of his pocket to slap into the woman's hand.

"Wait so is y/n completely off limits or is just Suguru because mama got a fat-" Satoru couldn't finish his sentence because Yuki promptly picked up a nearby object and hurled it at Satoru's direction. He giggled, ducking before running out the room before Yuki decided throwing shit wasn't enough and needed to shoot him. Everyone present to that moment sees Plug!Yuki has feelings for you and knew it was only a matter a time before she finally acted on them. But they saw that look in Yuki's eyes whenever you were around and knew the mental blockade she was at war with. That internal battle of fear and rejection was holding Yuki back from making a move on you.

Women weren't hard for Yuki. If she wanted a girl she always got her, but you were different. Yuki didn't want to fumble you and she knew if she did she would be devastated.

So here the both of you were, crushing on one another yet no one made a move.

Until tonight. . .

Plug!Yuki and you currently sat smoking in her bedroom. You were laying down as the woman sat up, sharing a blunt between the two of you. It is a break between semesters and you two unwind the best way you two know how. Giggles fill the air along with the fragrance of cannabis and aroma from the takeout you two ordered earlier. The evening is languid and lazy just how you two wanted after a stressful semester.

“I missed you, mamas.” Plug Yuki coons, her voice raspy from smoking but the deeper voice is sexy on her. The husky tone made you shiver yet you feel heat flush to your cheeks at the pet name. Coupled with that and how intense Yuki looks at you tonight something felt different. Her stares seem to be lingering longer and the touches seem to be far more intimate than usual. Or maybe it was the strain you guys were smoking this evening?

"I missed you more," you pout, hand coming to her thigh and you stroke it delicately, "seeing Satoru and Suguru made me realize how bad I was deprived of you." Plug!Yuki wants to focus on your sweet words but she raises a brow.

"When were you with them?" The sudden question should throw you off, but the cannabis makes you miss the slight agitation in her voice.

"Couple days ago, they offered to take me to lunch for finishing the semester." You say to her and she rolls her eyes. You only laugh, playfully smacking her thigh from where your hand rested.

“They didn’t make you feel weird or anything right?” You shook your head.

“They were respectful,” you look up at Yuki from your position from the bed, “calm down. No one is gonna take me from you, baby.” You’re teasing her and don’t realize the affect your words have on her. The pink lighting in her room hides the light blush that dusts along her cheeks and she shakes her head, trying to shake that stupid grin that wants to stretch across her lips.

“They can be weird ass muthafuckas. Just making sure they didn’t try anything.” Yuki grumbles, taking a hit from the blunt to calm her nerves and you only peer at her. You have a smile on your face as you stretch out a hand to take the blunt.

“You mean they some ho ass niggas and you making sure they didn’t holla at me.” Still wearing that lazy grin, you inhale the blunt as you see the look that flashes over her face. You realize you were right.

“Yes that exactly, mama.” Yuki said, not bothering to fix up a lie because she knows you would see right through it. You look adoringly at her and offer the blunt back. She takes a generous drag, your expression sending butterflies to her stomach before you speak.

"Don't worry. They aren't my type, babes." You softly giggle, continuing to look up at Yuki and she smiles at the pet name. She has to take another hit from the blunt, more butterflies setting lose but with those butterflies came courage sprouting within. She takes this feeling and runs with it before she let cowardice return.

"What exactly is your type, beautiful?" The pet name comes out of Yuki's mouth before she can stop herself. She just wanted to come off casual and curious but now she feels like she's revealed her angle. Her crush on you felt obvious now and time seemed to slow as she awaited your response. Yuki sees you smile wide, peering up at her through your lashes before you spoke.

"Not Geto Suguru." You soothe her, that hand that you had on her thigh earlier creeped back. Your sneaky fingers began drawing circles and you bit back a cheeky smile as you felt goosebumps erect on her strong thighs. Yuki stares at you, wondering how you caught on to her disdain towards him lately. Ever since his comment about you she felt so sensitive regarding any topic pertaining to you. It got to the point where even just his name rolling off your tongue began to make her feel jealous.

So, when you had lunch with Suguru and Satoru you just had to ask.

"Something happen between you and Yuki?" You ask, taking a sip of your drink and Satoru looks at Suguru. Suguru only furrows his thick eyebrows, confused just as much as Satoru.

"No. Why did she say something?" Suguru asks and you shook your head.

"No, but she acts funny when I mention you." Lightbulbs seem to have went off in Satoru's head because a grin spreads across his face.

"Oh she's got it bad." The comment seemed to jolt something in Suguru's head too because then he laughed, making a noise of recollection and slapping the table in excitement.

"Oh fuck yeah, you're right!," Suguru looks at you, seeing the confused expression before explaining, "Yuki got mad cause I asked to holla at you. I think ole girl crushing on you, mama." Suguru finishes and you look at Satoru to see him nodding in confirmation. You look back at Suguru, not only shocked because 1) yuki did have a crush on you 2) suguru also had a crush on you but 3) not only did suguru have a crush on you but Yuki too?

You felt like your world was a giant paradox. You felt like time was slowed down, yet it was fast. You felt like the world was spinning, yet it was at a standstill. That feeling of your crush liking you back? You felt jubilant and delirious.

"Oh and don't tell Yuki we told you, ma. She'll kill us."

"Yeah please y/n."

You fall back to present time to watch the pretty woman lick her lips, eyes falling to the bed before she spoke.

"He's got a crush on you." Yuki says.

"I know." You answer, looking at Yuki as you waited for her to spill her own feelings.

"He wants you." Yuki sneers and you rub gentle circles to attempt to soothe her. You sit up from the bed, realizing this conversation was taking a serious turn. Upon sitting up, you didn't realize how close you were to Yuki until your noses were inches apart.

None of you dare to move though.

"I don't want him." You say, fingers skating up her thighs but Yuki doesn't notice. Or at least, she pretends not to.

"Who do you want, y/n?" Yuki finally has the courage to ask. You hold a stare with the woman, heat spreading along your cheeks as the question hangs heavy. You already had the answer though, you rehearsed it a million times since lunch with Suguru and Satoru.

"You, baby." You say. You barely can get a breath in before her soft lips you've been dreaming about are finally on yours. Elated can't even begin to describe the feeling resonating through your entire beings.

Plug!Yuki is the best kisser. She's precise, romantic, yet so salacious and seductive you kept chasing after her lips for more. Her sweet taste of mango gloss mixed with her natural sweetness was destined to become one of your favorite flavor. She takes a second to pause but you only try to dive back in for more. Her thumb comes to your bottom lip to stop you, giggling as she drinks in your needy expression.

"Been wantin' you for sometime, pretty girl." She confesses. You smile against her thumb, kissing the pad before speaking.

"I'm yours, baby."

Plug!Yuki makes you wish you confess sooner with the way her tongue skates along your swollen clit. She flickers her muscle skillfully, stimulating the beating nub in explicit and lewd circles that left you mewling and panting. Her blonde locks tickle your inner thighs as she feasts on your pussy.

No amount of vivid wet dreams could prepare you for the actual experience of Yuki eating you out.

"You taste so good, mama." Plug!Yuki moans shamelessly, she's squeezing her thighs together, knowing she has her own mess in her panties but she can't care. Not with the way you smell so delightful and writhe against her tongue. She looks up, seeing your nipples pebble through the thin cami you wore.

"Aaah—Yuki!" You're whimpering as she takes your clit in her mouth. She suckles, her soft finger slipping in curiously to feel the warmth of your cunt. She moans against your clit, vibrations sending you wailing as well as the sudden pressure from her finger. Yuki slips a second finger inside, loving the way your cunt squeezes so tightly around her fingers. The soft squelching your gummy walls made whenever she curved them up was an addicting melody to her ears. She was becoming pissed at herself for not acting on her desires for you sooner.

"You're so wet, baby." Yuki comments, looking down to see her fingers drenched with your arousal and cream and she's licking her lips. She pulls her tongue off your clit, sticking her fingers in her mouth to savor the taste. She's moaning lewdly and you only whimper from the loss of her ministrations. She smiles, looking up at you before crawling up your body.

Plug!Yuki is dying to have your nipples in her mouth. Ever since she saw them peek out for the first time due to a tanktop you wore she’s been wondering what they felt like against her tongue. What they tasted like and how sensitive they were crossed her mind too and now finally she would get her questions answered. She pulls down your top, freeing your breast and her tongue is aching to be back on your body. She licks her lips before speaking.

"Been dying to have these pretty brown nipples in my mouth so bad you don't even understand, pretty girl."

Plug!Yuki sucks on your nipples, her hot tongue swirling along your areola and the sensation drives you wild. Your back arches off the bed, fingers carding in her golden strands before pushing her face deeper into your chest. You let out out whimpers as she sloppily kisses and sucks on your nipples.

"Aahaaa—Yuki!—feels so good!" You praise when she sneaks her fingers back in. That warmth and wetness around her fingers again has her wondering if you needed her to dick you down.

"So wet and tight," Yuki releases your nipple, her lips wet and shiny from her salvia, "think you can take my strap, pretty girl?"

You didn't need her to ask you twice.

Plug!Yuki fucks you from behind like you never been fucked before.

The blonde woman has you face down in a nasty ass arch as she pistons her pretty pink dildo through your tight folds. You're whimpering, pleading even for her to not stop as she continues to give you the best dick of your life. You can't recall the last time someone made you feel this good during sex and you knew damn well no man could ever slang like she could.

"Yu—ki! Fucknnnggg!" She's fucking you dumb and you go stupid hearing your own ass recoil against her harness and the soft squelching of your cunt against her silicone piece. You want to bite on your lip to keep from screaming but she felt so good bullying herself between your folds.

"Feel good? Huh, my pretty girl?" Plug!Yuki cooes, still fucking you and a strong hand strikes down on your ass. You whimper, crying out and let out a hiss when her domineering fingers find themselves in your hair. She's pulling the dense curls, forcing you to lift your head from the pillow.

"I can't fucking hear you, y/n." With a growl she strikes your ass one more time. Tears are coming from your eyes at the pain, but when your cunt twitches and lets out a soft leak, you know you're in love with the feeling of Yuki being rough with you.

"Yuki! You fuck me so goooood!" You praise, crying out as you felt a soft and tense sensation begin to form in the walls of your cunt. You knew the feeling, but knew of only yourself being able to do it. No one was able to hit those parts of you and yet . . .

You squirt all over Plug!Yuki.

"Creamy as fuck and you squirt? Fuck, I'm never letting this pussy go."

Plug!Yuki has to pull herself out to slurp up your folds. You cry, enjoying how her tongue dances from your clit to your soaking hole. Her tongue collects your arousal, slurping noisily and the sounds — along with her tongue — have you rolling your eyes back. You're huffing, moaning as her tongue continues to skate along your soaked labia. When she felt satisfied she slips herself back in you with no warning.

Plug!Yuki continues drilling into you. Your wet pussy, Yuki's groans, and your pathetic whines were the only sounds to fill the room. Yuki savored each and every moan that fell from your lips. Her ego swelled as her pussy drooled. Her cockiness resonating in her brutal strokes and a grin on her face, knowing Suguru — or any other man — couldn’t make you feel the way she was right now.

"You're so good for me, pretty girl." She hears your moans increase an octave, pants becoming more frequent as you struggle to even swear at this point. You whimper, sobbing into her pillow as she never let up her relentless thrusts. Her stamina was that of a godly one and you were loving every second of it.

"Yuki — i'm so close—” You manage to warn and Yuki grins. She leans down, her skin touching yours and her skin sets ablaze. She lets out ragged breaths in your ear that send jolts down your spine, adding more to your sensory pleasure and she kisses your cheek.

"Want you to cum all over me." Plug!Yuki coaches, throwing her hips harder against your ass. The pink tip kisses deeply in your cervix, causing you to choke out. Your body begins to tremble as you felt that familiar tingle build in the walls of your cunt. You nod, screwing your eyes shut as her strokes became more animalistic.

"I'm gonna cum—Yuki!" You scream her name when she sneaks a finger on your clit. She rubs fast, causing you to choke and clamp down on her as you prepare yourself to tumble into bliss. The white hot sensational building in your clit and she presses harder and rubs even faster. She lifts her lips to your ears before speaking, her gentle words sending you over the edge.

"I gotchu, pretty girl go ahead and cum for me."

Plug!Yuki gives you the best orgasm of your life.

Plug!Yuki peppers kisses along your spine as you came down from your orgasm high. Your thighs are shaking from the intensity of it all, goosebumps all over your body and Yuki trails affectionate and gentle caresses up and down your body to coax you through your orgasm. She finishes up her trail of kisses and you eventually make it back to Earth. You roll onto your back to look at the caring woman above you. Concern is over her eyes, but all that drifts away when you shoot her a sensual grin.

"What?" Plug!Yuki would say and you only bring a hand back to her thigh.

"You think this is over? Park that pretty pussy on my face I been dying for a taste." You say obscenely.

You don't need to tell Plug!Yuki twice and she mounts your face.

Plug!Yuki's moans were just as beautiful as herself.

Your tongue savors every last drop, her cunt was completely soaked between going down on you then her dicking you down. A buffet awaited you and you were moaning as you licked up every last drop. Yuki moans, hissing and even whimpering your name when you suckled on her clit. Her cream is all over your nose but you didn't care with the way she moaned your name.

"Fuck, y/n." Plug!Yuki sighs out, her hips starting to move back and forth on your tongue. You immediately caught on and stuck it out, letting her ride it and she moans louder. Yuki starts to ruts faster and her tits bounce, the scene making you horny yet again. You try to ignore that tingling that starts to awaken in your belly once more.

"Taste so good, baby." You praise her and she sighs, eyebrows scrunching as another moan fell from her mouth. You move your tongue back to focus on her clit, taking the swollen nub and sneaking a hand between her soaked folds. She lets a sensual croon when you shove two fingers inside her hungry cunt. The sound only makes you place a third finger in. She gasps, her cunt beating around your fingers as you stretch her with your digits.

"Tongue feels so good." Plug!Yuki praises you and you moan, curving your fingers into Yuki harder. More arousal seeps out of her, oozing onto your chin and chest.

"Oh yeah? What about my fingers?" You tease Plug!Yuki. A smile comes onto her face but she answers.

"Fucking fantastic, mama." Plug!Yuki tells you. You giggle, kitten licking her clit with the tip of your tongue causing her to shudder above you.

"Good." You tell her before kissing on her clit and going back to enjoying your meal. You curve your fingers faster, earning louder moans from Yuki above you as you continue suckling on her clit.

"Y/n, fuck—i might—” You find the strength to fuck her even faster, feeling the way Yuki's cunt sucks around you greedily. You suck harder on her clit and flicker your tongue faster. Yuki shrieks, letting out an erotic scream as a soft geyser pours out of her folds. Your mouth catches it, and what it doesn't spills along your chin and drips along your chest, soaking you completely. You're moaning at her squirting all over your face and you take your fingers out of her cunt. You place both hands on her hips, sliding yourself from under her before pushing Yuki down on her back.

Plug!Yuki watches as you take the very same strap she used earlier on you and secure it on yourself. You look down at the blonde woman who has her hair wild, legs spread, cunt glistening in the pink light. You smile as you realize you wouldn't have it any other way.

"My turn."

And Plug!Yuki knows she's in for a long ass night. . .

©𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐯 ╰┈┈➤ MASTERLIST!

[mickyschumacher]

NGL I LOVE UR WORK... ive been hopping thru ur m.list since the last hour.... its currently 1 am and i have an essay to finish before 8 am(im sure my prof will give me more time ik dey love me) anywasy i was wondering if u could do an enemies to lovers with Lewis((like really hated eachother)the reader could be a driver its oky don mind what she does) and then they were arguing abt sumting lewis says something thats completely out of the line and she starts crying in front him then he just kinda leaves her be, a few days later he would go on then apologize to her abt wat he said and then more fluff. (just ignore this if ur not into it or not takin a request at the moment. but im actually just hapi i kind of got the courage to ask u for a request also ur stories are soooo good i admire and envy u at the same time.)

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as lewis's former teammate, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. but a bad move from lewis puts him completely out of line.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies to lovers trope!, poor humour, some fluff, in depth moment of an alternated 2021 wdc (apologies in advance), therefore ANGST, bad race jargon, horner and masi discussed :(, mention of intermittent explosive disorder, misogyny, allusion to racism (not from the reader ofc!), shitting on the fia for a bit, lewis kinda being a dick for probably an unfair reason lol, a proclamation of feelings from sir lewis himself

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lewis hamilton x red bull!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: you're too sweet to me! 🤧 i couldn't tell if you wanted this to be romantic but i went that way in the end! hope this was good! ♡︎ very very loosely based of swift's 'right where you left me'. but if you argued it wasn't, i would be inclined to agree. proof-read...ish?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

No one ever truly understood your move to Red Bull. It was in 2019, far from when Max was practically living on pole, so Red Bull wasn't exactly a threat to Mercedes, your previous team. Toto had even put a three-year extension on the table several months before your contract came close to expiring.

Yet you had chosen to sign with the devil.

When the commentators, journalists, and fans took a closer look at your decision, the only thing they could all collectively agree on was that you had moved to Red Bull because of Lewis Hamilton. Because you both couldn't keep your differences aside and Lewis had finally struck your last nerve.

While you weren't quite sure about the last part, the first was true. You had Lewis had never ever exactly met eye-to-eye. Every F1 driver had a specific style of driving. You liked to call Lewis' the 'calm before the storm'. He raced with a composure and maturity that most drivers did not hold. He was particularly calculative and the everyone loved him.

You, on the other hand, had given yourself a new nickname along side 'Flash 13' because you did everything in a flash: you overtook ruthlessly and calculated, you pushed the car till it was undrivable, and you were decisive to the very nanosecond. But you had also garnered yourself the name 'IED', after the behavioural disorder.

In part this nickname was due to the misogyny you faced as the only current female driver in F1 but also due to the sheer anger that bursted out of you whenever you encountered Lewis.

The amount of warnings Toto had given the both of you was simply endless. He had even resorted to putting you two with the team therapist.

The source of your hatred for each other was as clear as day. You hated Lewis' arrogance because somehow it was even worse than Rosberg, Alonso, Räikkönen, and Verstappen. And Lewis hated you for your 'perspective'. You didn't know what he initially meant by that but you regretted asking him. He said you needed to be stronger to be in F1 and that you were far too soft-hearted. Right after you had gotten your first ever pole.

It was ridiculous, to say the least.

No F1 driver was soft-hearted. You were all, simply put, a bunch of dicks. Not literally, of course. Naturally, following that comment, Lewis had pissed you off. He hadn't even had a second to know you before even making that judgement. It was ironic as well, considering your nickname that labelled your anger.

After watching Lewis win several championship titles with you following multiple places behind and seeing you only get angrier with each other, you had decided to call it quits for Mercedes. If people were going to take your annoyance and frustrations with amusement, you were going to head to the angriest team of all and leave your former team fuming.

Two years later, in 2021, you had finally gotten the perfect opportunity.

You hadn't really a clue how exactly Red Bull had made the 2021 car so well that you were matching the speed of Mercedes' car but you didn't care. You were matching Lewis. And Christian Horner was a happy man. A sexist prick but a happy man nonetheless.

Pole was either Lewis' or yours. Either he was a Grand Prix winner or you were. It was a game of cat and mouse, always in a constant pursuit of each other. The same went from your team leaders, Toto and Christian, who practically had the race director, Masi, on speed dial.

And by Abu Dhabi, you were equally tied, locked at 369.5 points. It hadn't been easy after getting penalised for multiple incidents against Lewis, but you were here. Lewis was trying to get his eighth championship and you your first.

You weren't sure how this was going to end. Heck, no one could've predicted what happened that day. But all you knew was that you were not going down without a fight.

You secured pole in Abu Dhabi which had put the entirety of Mercedes and F1 on edge. After a discussion with your engineer and several strategists, you had opted for soft tyres to further your advantage over Lewis.

Despite all of that, it was Lewis who had led the first corner after those red lights had gone out. It was only by turn six did you even get a lead. But it was a moment too short as your former teammate regained his top position by going off into the damn run-off area of the track.

You didn't need to scream in annoyance. You couldn't hear Horner, but deep down you knew he had already called up Masi, demanding an investigation. Your engineer reported to you that the stewards had dismissed it. The gap between you and Lewis was getting bigger, the race was coming to and end, and you knew you needed a miracle towards the end of the race if you wanted to win.

And that miracle was called Nicholas Latifi. The poor guy had crashed into Mick and the safety car was out on the tracks. Thankfully, they were both okay, but the timing of it was simply impeccable.

You had pitted to get new soft tyres and Mercedes was on the fence about heading to the pit lane in fear of the race restarting. So Lewis didn't pit. Miracle 2.

You re-joined the track with five lapped cars in between you and Lewis. And soon enough, Race Control had given the dooming message: lapped cars were not allowed to overtake.

The taste in your mouth was bitter. You had cussed out Horner, asking why you were even seeing these lapped cars in front of you.

Then came Race Control again: only the five cars in between you and Lewis were allowed to overtake. Miracle 3.

But of course, F1 had a flair for the dramatics. Because you were fucking restarting. Putting you and Lewis on a tight show-down for the final lap.

The bad news? Lewis hadn't pitted yet.

The good news? You could overtake Lewis. Miracle 4.

And the headline? You won.

You fucking won.

You were F1's first female champion in history.

You made history... or, well, herstory?

Yes it was controversial. Yes it was dramatic. Yes, questionable decisions had been made.

But you won.

By the time you had gotten out of your car and finished with screaming and crying in pure happiness, you had finally caught a glimpse of Lewis.

A small part of you felt bad. You knew for a fact, that these decisions weren't 'human error' as the FIA would go on to claim the following year in Bahrain.

It was entertainment. It was business. It was money.

You had both worked so hard this year. But the fight between an F1 driver breaking the record for the most championship titles and the first possible female champion in F1 was too good to resist.

Things between you and Lewis after Abu Dhabi hadn't gotten worse. You just talked far less than you normally did. You barely argued with each other anymore. It was disconcerting to say the least. Especially now that you were struggling to match Max's pace, always coming second or third as per the instructions of your engineer. For a moment you thought, what was the point of winning if you weren't going to win again?

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were still determined. Beating your own teammate would be hard. But you weren't a stranger to the idea. You had spent years trying to beat Lewis while purposely being the support for him to win. They were two actions they didn't go together but it had happened.

That being said, the venture was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. In fact, it had caused a full collision with Lewis in the first lap of the Qatar Grand Prix.

You were so focused on beating Max you hadn't taken a second to look around you.

"What the fuck was that?" Lewis' voice invaded the air as he barged into your driver's room, ridden with sweat and still in his racing gear.

"Look, I'm sorry okay. I didn't see you. It was my fault. End of story," You told him curtly, not really wanting talk to Lewis any further.

"Damn right, you didn't see me. You could've taken me or anyone out! Are you so fucking stuck up your ass that you couldn't see me?" Lewis asked incredulously.

You scoffed at his accusation. It was true. But you didn't like when the truth fell from his lips... especially not when they sounded like that.

"Lewis, drop it. No one got hurt. Let's just move on okay?" You queried, annoyance dripping from your voice.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, L/N?" He laughed gently, almost mocking you. "Right... you were always like that."

You snapped your head towards him, raising a sharp brow. "Excuse me?" You spat as if to say he was becoming dangerously close to crossing a line he did not want to cross.

Lewis folded his arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? You don't like the truth. It's simple. I told you that you need to be stronger because you're too soft-hearted. And you hated that. And now that I'm telling you that you're selfish, you obviously can't handle it."

"Oh my God, you are one to talk. Lewis, you are so blinded by your arrogance that you can't see anyone else win. That's why you can't accept that I won right?"

"Not Abu Dhabi, aga–"

"Yes, Lewis, Abu Dhabi again. You are so fucking sour about losing that even when the hate targeted me, you let it. You let them say that my win was due to race and gender. Me, Lewis, out of all people, me."

No matter your differences, you had stuck up for Lewis on many accounts when it came to the FIA, 'fans', and haters. But he wasn't there for you.

You could see dark expression fall onto Lewis' face. "That's not true, Y/N."

"Then what was it Lewis?" You flailed your hands in exasperation. "Because you sure as hell didn't come to my aid."

"Because you didn't deserve it!"

You blinked blankly, arms falling to your side. Your mind took a minute to process the words that had fallen from his lips in mere seconds.

Lewis' face dropped as realisation struck him. What the fuck did he just say? "Y/N, I–"

"Get out," You grumbled.

Lewis did a double-take on the fresh line of tears accumulating on your waterline. He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out. "No, no, no, Y/N, I–" But your words made him stop.

"Lewis, get the fuck out of here before I start screaming like the bitch everyone thinks I am."

You watched Lewis return his hands to the side, clenching his jaw tightly as he made way to the door of your room. He stopped briefly, hesitating to open the door, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Four days.

You had pondered in deep thought for four days. And after 72 hours, one thing had become obvious to you.

Lewis wasn't with you or any of the other drivers. He was still in 2021, right where you had left him. Not a second had gone by for Lewis where he hadn't thought about Abu Dhabi.

What if he had just pushed for Bono and Toto to get him in that pit lane?

What if he had veered the car a little to the side and you didn't overtake him?

Lewis was still reliving the worst moment of his career and his life and everyone had moved on. Sure, every fan and commentator talked about it time to time. But it was something of the past.

To say you didn't deserve your championship title... you had heard it from several 'fans' and insignificant others. But to hear it from Lewis? It fucking killed you.

You cared about his opinion more than anyone in the world. And he knew that.

You would've never said anything as shitty as that to him or anyone for that matter.

You had worked your ass off to get to F1. Fuck, you had won F2 two fucking times because no one was willing to let a girl on their team... into a man's sport. Every driver worked hard to a certain degree. But you were a girl who didn't grow up with the means of driving yourself to your death every day. If everyone worked hard, you had worked ten times harder.

Everyone knew that you and Lewis had fought. And by the looks of it, they also knew it was far worse than your normal fights. You wouldn't look at him, you refused to speak to him, you spent minimal time in the same room, you had even paid your media fines in full to avoid everyone...

Max had even become some sort of bodyguard, telling Lewis to turn back around when he neared the Red Bull garage.

All of this protection, and yet, he had still found you in your favourite place. The one you both came to when you needed to become level-headed. The top stand of any empty Grand Prix, in this case the México Grand Prix, where the air felt a little bit cooler against your heated skin and you could think for even it was for just a second.

You sucked in a sharp breath, seeing Lewis in your periphery while you were firmly seated. He looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and taking cautious glances at you.

"Hey," Lewis greeted, making you raise a brow at his lame entrance.

You forced yourself to look at the rest of the empty seats in front of you. "Hey," You mumbled back, trying to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth.

An unsettling silence enveloped the both of you. You were sure Lewis was here to apologise. But you could also tell he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in a selfish way. But in the most guiltiest way possible.

You sighed. "How are you?" You asked gently, peeking out of the corner of your eye.

Lewis winced at your question. Leave it up to you to still be this kind after what he had said to you. "Sorry. I'm so so sorry," He rasped, voice raw with the pain that had been gnawing away at him ever since those god forbidden words had left his mouth.

You nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. "I know you're going to call me soft-hearted but what you said really fucking hurt, Lew," You jested with a brief smile.

Lewis grimaced at your poor humour, before his ears perked up at the old nickname you had given him when you first started getting on each other's nerves. "I know. I'm an idiot for saying something like that. Or that you're soft-hearted. You've worked so hard for all of this. You absolutely deserve everything and that win was only the first of many, I'm a hundred percent sure of it. Your Dutch shortie doesn't really know what's coming."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile after huffing in amusement at his diss towards Max. "Thank you," you told him earnestly. "Although, I am quite positive he is like almost ten centimetres taller than you. But, thanks anyways."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Have you seen me? You don't think I give off tall energy?"

"You mean tall in insults?" You joked, grinning at the blank look on Lewis' face.

Lewis sighed. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of it. And by 'it', I mean all of the insults and fights. I was just disappointed in myself. Even more so that I didn't stand up for you. I'm so sorry."

You drew your eyebrows together, turning your body to face him. Confusion filled you. "Then why did you say it at all?"

"I–" Lewis blew out a small laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lewis, can you not see me dying here? Like a whole kitchen set of knives in my back?" You deadpanned.

Lewis rolled his eyes again. So dramatic.

He brought his hands together, staring at you briefly before looking at the empty stand. "Well, obviously, I heard of you before you joined Mercedes. I thought it was ridiculous that you had to get two F2 championships to get a seat, but anyways, I digress. Toto told me, he was considering you even though you had never been in the junior team.

And I remember just being so fucking jealous of you. Toto was consumed by you. He and Horner had been fighting for your seat for so long and now that they finally had an open seat, it was chaos. Toto won, obviously. And then we met each other in person for the first time and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world."

You felt your heart begin to race and your skin heat at the sudden proclamation. "You... you what?"

Lewis smoothly glossed over the compliment. "And then we had our first quali together and you beat me. You got pole on your first race. So you were talented and beautiful. A crime, might I add.

And so when you came to tell me, you were so excited with all your talent and beauty, I was pissed. Because out of all things in the world, I had gotten an amazing competitor I was bound to feel for. I thought that by saying you were soft-hearted and all, it would get on your bad side and it would make me less attracted to you. It didn't. It got worse while it got easier to pretend to hate you."

You blinked blankly at him, cheeks aflame. Lewis Hamilton liked you. Your stupid teammate? The same one who's eighth championship you arguably took? "I'm sorry... hold up, we've been fighting for years because I'm a hot, talented, gifted, smart driver and you're a simp?"

Lewis squinted his brown eyes at you. "I did not include all those adjectives."

"I mean... that's basically what you said," You shrugged, flickering your eyes to the setting sun.

Where did all the damn cool air go? You wondered, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks and feeling your soft palm absorb the molten lava known as your skin.

Lewis chuckled, picking up your flustered reaction quickly. He watched as you suddenly stood up. "Okay, well I'm... I'm going to meet Hugh and find a way to beat Max. See ya!"

Lewis paused, grabbing your wrist. "Wait? What? You aren't going comment about what I just said?"

You eyed his hold on your wrist: it was searing you. You turned to him, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You briefly looked down at his lips before looking back up. "I think I prefer hating you."

Lewis felt you press your lips on his cheek before walking past him. He watched your retreating figure, your kiss feeling heavy on his face, putting him right where you had left him: absolutely and utterly smitten.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[b00tyliciousbabe]

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

barbie tingz

marcus scribner x THICC male reader

summary: just marcus loving you like with his heart, soul, and FAT SCHLONG. slight feminisation - don’t kill me.

notes: LOVELIES! hope everyone is having a beautiful day. i wanted to let y’all know that i will be taking a lil break because it’s exam season. don’t be sad…because this means i have an entire summer of smutty content to write and catch up on! ps. each word in this fic is me being another squat closer to the fattest ass in the world. ENJOY!

ALSO! the met gala is tonight! my favourite event of the year, i might make a short rec…how do we feel about that?

song rec: ‘freak’ - victoria monét

marcus was well on his way to establishing a name for himself in hollywood. booking new roles, alongside his debut as a director, he was on track for a career that would rival his mentors. but if you were to ask him what his biggest achievement was, he would say being with you. the corny mf has actually reiterated his adoration multiple times during interviews, and the world is obsessed with how lovestruck he was. aside from being social media’s favourite young couple, you, yourself, had a blossoming career in fashion that meant you were styling your man to make sure he looked good for his press tours.

notoriously, you garnered a reputation for EATING UP on the carpet - zendaya being your only competition. this ain’t no exaggeration, but every time you’d step out, those fits would break the internet. thus, when the news dropped that you’d be attending the premiere with your boyfriend, all eyes would be on you - yet again. having you on his arm, instantly elevated his aesthetic. not that he ever saw you as some pawn too boost his career, you meant the world to him, but your beauty as his trophy wife made him even more palatable. usually, you’d have an entire glam team by your side cultivating your iconic, polished look. but, you and marcus had both been working so hard, to the detriment of your relationship, and so you decided to spend the night at his, agreeing to do all the glam yourself.

‘Y/N,’ Marcus bellowed from downstairs, putting on his rings, and spraying cologne onto his clothes. ‘baby, we gotta go.’

‘Y/N! over here! to the left! Y/N!’ a flurry of paparazzi screamed. ‘the body is TEA!’ one reporter exclaimed, making you laugh.

you graciously blushed. they weren’t wrong, your pear-shaped figure, defined abs, and toned arms were nothing short of a sculpted masterpiece. amidst the bbl allegations on twitter, and every tabloid claiming to have the secret to getting an ass as perfect as yours, YOU were the standard. a beautiful, androgynous mix of allure and charm. not even chris evans, america’s ass, said that you had the best glutes in the industry. it was a thing of wonder; something so many lusted for, and even more desired to have a piece of whilst having you in backshots. there were an array of wolf whistles from the public whenever you walked, swiftly followed by a gaggle of photographers snapping shots of your post-gym bawd.

marcus soon joined you on the carpet after finishing up on his interview. if the sensory overstimulation of flashes and cheers wasn’t enough, this was heightened when marcus snaked his arm around your lower back. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, spectators were foaming at the mouth by his public proclamations of love, hiding your blush from the world.

‘don’t be shy,’ he said lifting your chin to his face. ‘there’s that smile I love.’ the whole crowd was gushing, you could’ve cringed at how clingy he was being in public, but found his confidence to do so, all the more endearing.

one thing that you sly liked about marcus, was how he jealous he could get, so many of his friends and industry buffs would come up to talk to you during the interviews, coming up for hugs, and even though he trusted you, his need to protect had him riled. marcus had a great relationship with all of his co-stars and they all became such a family over the filming process. you being there made the family even stronger, embodying the role of MOTHERRR in more ways than one, and they all appreciated your kindness. always there to soften the stressful tones of your bf’s criticism.

you were particularly close with his friend from another project, and due to mutual management you spent a lot of time in the same spaces. he came up and hugged you from behind, before being whisked away to speak with another reporter. all but a few seconds, lasted an eternity, the worst kind, burned into the possessive psyche of your man.

moments passed and it was time for group pictures on the carpet. you and marc were dead center, with his large hands gripping you tighter than usual. you looked up to see he was scowling, ‘lighten up bubs.’ you giggled, to which your bf fixed his face - he could never stay mad when you were always there to calm his demons. not long after, the same face screw, that made his nose look so cute came back, as he remembered the voices of the media resounding in his head.

‘damn I’d hit that.’

‘Marcus is one lucky mf to be all up in dat pussy’

‘I bet the recoil on that thing is insane.’

it infuriated him to hear how the public spoke about you, as if you were some object, and not the kind person he grew so enamoured with. ‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you gon’ beg me for mercy.’ he whispered , breaking that veneer of respectability for a brief moment, squeezing your butt, then turning back to smile at the cameras. you’d never seen that side to him, it’d be a lie to say it didn’t turn you on.

throughout the screening, he made sure to let you know that all your teasing would soon be dealt with. the vulgar remarks were still plaguing him, and you knew you were about to be on the receiving end of it. literally.

‘upstairs.’ he said sternly,

the two of you started kissing, unbuttoning his shirt as he unbuckled your pants to free the globes of juicy flesh he loved so much. strewn across the floor, all fear of creasing the custom couture outfit you were wearing had disappeared - the overwhelming desire to make love to your boyfriend clouded your judgement.

you get down to business, kneeling to align your lips with his cock head. ‘don’t take this the wrong way.’ marcus sighed, urging you to stand up, so frail against how tall your man stood.

‘Y/N, i just wanna fuck right now.’

you knew how badly he needed this, and a part of you liked how desperate he was to be inside you. but it was bizarre, marcus loved watching you suck him off, getting him all lubed to plough your hole, almost as much as you loved gagging on his meat. nonetheless, you obliged, bending over as you had your knees on the edge of the bed, hole puckering at the chill of the air. marcus grabbed your left cheek, caressing and massaging your upper hip.

‘so fucking soft.’ he whispers against your skin, kissing at your taint. it was as if he snapped out of his love drunk trance, and was left a primal shell of himself. he practically ripped off your underwear, leaving your naked bodies to rub up on each other as he scrambled to find lube.

‘fuuuuuuuk’ he groaned.

his thick schlong fit like a glove in your inviting hole, slick from your desire and his precum.

‘damn i missed that boy pussy’ - LIES. that man combusts if he isn’t inside of you at least 4 times a week - wtf was there to miss? this sentiment made you smile at how whipped he was for you though.

his pace quickened. pulling his entire length out of you, except his bulbous tip, and spitting directly on your pussy to get you even more slick. ‘hear that baby,’ he praised the ‘mac n cheese’ sloppiness of your hole. ‘your pussy was made for me.’ he was right; most guys love skinny twinks because their petite butts made their tops’ look hung. despite the voluptuous curves you had, you were ample in both chest and derrière making average look like a micro penis inside you. all but marcus. he overpowered you in ways no other man could, his thick, girthy cock stretched you out in a way that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. not to mention his length, during your first time he could barely fit half in without it feeling like he was stabbing your insides. but after some practice, you started taking him - ALL of him.

his grunts deepened. ‘practically begging me to cum inside that hole.’ gripping your hair up fucking you in doggy. style. marcus began leaving love bites on your neck, marking you for all to see. his big hand crossed to caress your childbearing hips. whoever said men can’t get pregnant must’ve never accounted for marcus’ determination. his dick wanted to make you a mother so badly, and nothing was going to stop him trying.

‘you can take it.’ he praises. ‘all. of. it.’ slamming into you with a bold rhythm on his final three words. and that you could. your hole was heaven for him. every time he would enter, your thick meaty globes would bounce like jelly on his lower abdomen, making marcus even more inclined to give you your reward. you moaned out in ecstasy, your bodies were made for one another.

‘who’s pussy is this?’ his grip on your neck became tighter, still allowing you to moan out in response, ‘it’s yours marky, all yours.’ fuck. you were whipped, almost as much as he was. ‘that’s right baby, moan for me.’

‘scream like the little bitch you are.’ you and marcus both enjoyed the passion of rough sex, but this was something you hadn’t ever seen in him before. he was a beast and you loved it, way more than you could ever admit. there was something sweet about the high you were on as you were being impaled by his dick.

particularly, he relished in hearing your slutty cries, ‘music to my fucking ears.’ praising you ‘my pretty little slut, fuck yeah, you want my load.’

‘fuck yeah marc, give it to me please.’ you screeched, loving how hard he was clapping your cheeks.

‘shiiiiiiit, baby, fuuuuuck.’ he spouted, spilling his pearliness into your pussy. he used his thumbs to kneed the dough around your hips, losing himself in the bakery he so enjoyed visiting every morning for breakfast.

gently, he collapsed on top of you, still inside the warmth of your flesh. after a gentle make out sesh, cockwarming your boyfriend until he was soft, your bf brushed up against you. massaging your thick thighs, marcus tended to the bruises he gave, kissing them reassuringly. you ushered him to lay his head between your pecs, as he put his entire body weight onto you. he sighed deeply, feeling safe in your warm embrace. ‘marc, is everything okay?’ you stroke his face, as your fingers laced into his curls. he snickered groggily, ‘shouldn’t i be asking you the same thing?’ - a fair question because he litch just wrecked your shit. ‘real, but we both know that in a couple hours i’ll be fine.’ a silence filled the room, concern brewing in your heart. you played with his ear, knowing how he becomes putty in your hands. ‘fuuuuuck, you ain’t gon’ stop unless i talk, right?’ you kept quiet, trailing the tips of your fingers on his lobe. he sighed deeply, ‘i just get so possessive over you.’ his last words muffled by your ample bosom as he came to the realisation that the press’ words got to him more than he thought.

sitting up, marcus exhaled deeply. ‘i can’t even blame them for ogling, you’re so beautiful.’ ‘but u ain’t an object, and i hate that people treat you like that.’ you caressed his cheek with a loving care. ‘call it jealousy, possession, toxic - I don’t care. you’re all mine.’ marcus always felt the need to take care of what was his, doing better than what he had seen throughout his childhood.

you had an idea, trailing your fingers down his torso, circling his belly button, ‘why don’t you show me again?’ whispering into his ear as he breathed out in pleasure.

you kissed his cheek, before slowly massaging his dick tip, ‘how much do you love me.’

marcus turned you over. stroking and licking his ear, y’all were so intimate. he held onto the grooves of your waist, fucking into you slowly, marking your neck with his saliva.

‘you’re such a dream to me Y/N,’ he always had a way with words that made you smile like a school girl. ‘I was so selfish before, you didn’t even come.’ you always placed marcus’ pleasure above your own, but he was never satisfied with just brutalising your hole. he needed you to enjoy taking his dick, just as much as he enjoyed gaping your hole.

‘guess I’ll have to fuck another load in, to get one out of you.’ he joked, sucking on the sweet skin of your plump ass.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

[aprilsprincess]

you are in love | cedric diggory x fem!reader (part 1)

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Cedric was content with what he had. He was prefect, quidditch captain and the unspoken partner of yours. He wouldn't want to risk a thing with you because everything is so good as it is. But when other students are thrown into the equation, at the end of the day, is he truly yours?

warnings: two dummies in love, reader is a Gryffindor

word count: 2.5k

a/n: This is my first fic published so I'm nervous!! But I'm going to try to make multiple parts for this one because it was just getting too long and I have so many ideas for Cedric (bc we were robbed!) Also not proofread! ₊˚⊹♡

Fred pushed the list of self made “Prettiest Girls at Hogwarts” in the new first years’ faces. The tiny moving portraits of the Hogwarts girls looked a little silly in the first years’ minds but the twins insisted that pictures solidify their case.   

“These are who you lot should be aiming for,” he stated with confidence, utterly prideful of the list, “aside from y/n of course, she’s off limits.” 

“Off limits? She said she didn’t have a boyfriend while she toured us though?” a small first year girl chirped. The twins exchanged a knowing look before chuckling slowly. 

“The beautiful Gryffindor prefect, my little unknowing friends, is off limits because ah, right on time as usual” George dramatically cocked his head in your direction.  

You had been eating your breakfast alone quite peacefully when you felt someone in yellow dawned robes slip into the open seat beside you. 

“Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect, quidditch seeker-“ 

“And captain” George sang. 

“And just all around dream boy. All the girls think he’s bloody fit.” Fred concluded. 

“He has kind of an unspoken dibs on y/n. Has had one since last year when they became prefects. No one has even tried to make any advances on her cause of it.” 

“Why’s that?” the first years were now all huddled close to the twins, listening with intense interest. 

Fred rolled his eyes, “because look at the bloke!” A couple of students from neighbouring tables looked curiously in the direction of the loud proclamation. Looking around he leaned in closer to whisper, “Rumour has it he’s planning to put his name in for the Triwizard Tournament this year too. He’s as fit they come!” 

“Not to mention he’s so bloody nice that you can’t even hate the bloke for being so perfect.” George finished as the rest of the table nodded along, absorbing the precious information. 

“He’s not perfect you know.” Everyone whipped their head to see Hermione chiming in, not even looking up from her books. 

“If he was the dream boy you all say he is, they would’ve been together by now. Personally, I think he’s too comfortable for his own good.” 

“What’d you mean by that Hermione?” Fred asked. 

She shut her book with a thud and sighed, “Yes he’s attractive in all ways, but how long do you reckon he’s going to keep stringing her along like that? He’s been flirting with her for as long as he’s known her but won’t do anything about it. It’s sad really.” 

The twins paused while exchanging confused looks, not understanding what was so sad about the two perfect prefects’ relationship. 

“Ugh, boys!” Hermione, exasperated, gave up and opened the thick novel to continue her literature. 

It’s not like Cedric didn’t like you. He liked everything about you, but Hermione was right, he was comfortable with how things were. He wasn’t cocky, not in the slightest, but he was always far from worried when it came to you and other guys at the school. Everyone knew about you two, so he’s never been challenged for your attention. He in all honesty, guiltily enjoyed the lack of complication that the two of you had when it came to your relationship status. There wouldn’t be anything to lose if he didn’t start anything, so he stayed in his comfort with you. 

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“Morning y/n!” Cedric’s presence instantly made you feel relaxed and warm. 

“It’s such a pleasure seeing you here at my house’s table this morning Diggory.” you teased. It wasn’t completely unnatural for Cedric to join you at the Gryffindor table, but he usually felt that as a prefect, sitting at his own house table was almost a requirement. 

“I came bearing quite honourable and exciting news y/n,” he was beaming, so excited that it seemed like he was going to jump out of his seat, “I’ve decided to do it this year. I’ve officially made up my mind that I’m going to throw my name out for the Triwizard Tournament.” 

He was ecstatic, to say the least, and it was difficult for you to match his energy as you had just heard the worst news you could’ve expected from him. The Tournament has had students die while participating, so it wasn’t surprising that you didn’t want the boy you cared so much about to have a chance at it. 

He caught onto your uncertainty fairly quickly; you were obviously smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. He let out a breath and carefully reached for your hand. 

“I know that you may feel hesitant about it but believe me, I know the risks but there is so much for me to gain from this experience. So please trust in me y/n.” his pleading eyes were too difficult to resist. 

“I do, I do trust you Cedric,” you mustered as much support as you could in that moment, “the Goblet would be stupid not to choose such a fine competitor.” Your words seemed to satisfy Cedric as he jumped out of his seat, gave you a quick kiss atop of your head and sped off to the Hufflepuff common rooms. 

He had made his mind up and the only thing you could possibly do was to try to hex that stupid over-gloried cup in your mind as you prayed to Dumbledore for Cedric’s name not to be pulled.  

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The news that students from other schools were coming to Hogwarts excited the masses. It wasn’t every day they got to see such new faces. Especially faces as attractive as the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students. 

Everyone was bursting with excitement in the Great Hall, awaiting anxiously for the foreign students to arrive. You on the other hand were busy glancing at Cedric who was chatting happily with his housemates. 

“You’re staring you know.” Hermione’s deadpan voice made your head turn to face her, your eyes lingering just a second longer on the Hufflepuff table. 

“Honestly y/n, we have some of the greatest wizarding students coming in for a tournament that only happens every five years and your focus is on Diggory? Merlin y/n if anything, focus on the OWLs instead.” Hermione wasn’t annoyed, but instead truly baffled as to how you could easily ignore such a large celebration for one boy. 

You held up your hands in defense, but before you could retort, Dumbledore had already started introducing the new guests. 

The vision of blue overwhelmed your senses and you were stunned for a second, only being snapped back to reality by the hollering of the surrounding boys. You shifted in your seat in an attempt to see Cedric’s reaction to the Beauxbaton girls, but the rowdiness of the male students blocked your vision. Sinking back in your seat pouting, you wondered if Cedric was enjoying this as much as the other boys were. I mean, Ron was practically drooling. You didn’t have much time to sulk over the issue as you got simultaneously shoved on both sides by Hermione and Ginny. You craned your neck to see what was causing this female commotion. 

“Oh Merlin y/n, it’s Viktor Krum! And he’s even better up close!” Ginny whispered excitedly. You stared at the older boy not really impressed but you giggled with Ginny nonetheless, feeling left out of the Viktor-Krum-is-so-handsome festivities that were happening at the table. 

From across the grand path of new students, Cedric stared at you as you giggled and whispered with Ginny. Following your line of sight, his eyes were met with the stiff, soldier-like, famous Viktor Krum. Groaning, he hung his head in his hands as the noises of the Great Hall faded in his ears. He was beginning to think, maybe he was, in fact too cocky when it came to you. 

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Your friends were whispering excitedly in the courtyard when you had joined them. 

“What’s got you lot so excited?” you asked while squeezing to sit between Hermione and Ginny on the ledge. 

“Viktor Krum! What else?” Ginny chirped excitedly. Just at the mention of his name, the other girls squealed in pure bliss. You observed your young friends’ excitement happily. You hadn’t had much time to observe the new Hogwarts guests, as the reality of Cedric putting his name into the goblet this year became more and more clear to you. A warm hand delicately tapped your shoulder from behind you, breaking you from your worries temporarily, and you looked up and behind to see Cedric standing behind you while giving you his most infamous, heart-stopping smile. 

“Ladies” he nodded to the group of girls in acknowledgement before bringing his full attention to you. Content, you leaned your head back into his chest as you looked up at the boy who seemed to be radiating sunshine. 

“Cedric! What are you doing here?” you were beaming. He looked like honey. You couldn’t really describe it, but he was just so warm and so sweet. Beautiful really.  Especially in the courtyard sun. 

“I thought you could perhaps lend me your potions books for today?” he grinned lopsidedly at you as you sighed and pulled out the heavy book. How could you ever say no to this boy? 

“You’re the champion of my heart y/n, you know that?” you laughed when he clutched his heart with his free arm. Your heart bubbled with warmth. You let yourself bask in the feeling only for a moment when Ginny moved to head back to the common rooms first. Feeling rather amorous, you told her you would meet her back there soon. You wanted to share your bubbly feelings with someone and Ginny always loved listening to it. 

“Not just your heart Diggory.” Hermione teased quietly seeing that you were distracted with Ginny for a moment. She gestured Cedric towards a pair of Durmstrang students. One in particular seemed to be taking quite an interest in you. As the Durmstrang boy kept glancing at you, Cedric’s hand on your shoulder unconsciously became a little stiffer and he pulled you a little closer. 

Cedric then bent down to reach your ear and whispered lowly, “I really do appreciate it y/n. You’re not only the champion of my heart but also the one who holds my mind, body and soul in all completion.” The cheesiness of his words had you giggling. You knew he didn’t truly mean what he was saying, but the light tinge of pink on your cheeks was evident. 

Stretching back up to stand Cedric held his gaze on the Durmstrang boy, feeling rather confident and accomplished as he watched the boy’s friend pat him on the back consolingly as they walked away. 

“Oh, Merlin! I forgot that I told Ginny I’d meet her in the common room!” you frantically gathered your things and hollered rushed goodbyes. “Don’t forget to return my potions book Cedric!” you reminded and he chuckled lightly to himself in response. 

As your sporadic figure grew smaller in the distance, Hermione turned to face Cedric. “You know Diggory, every guy at Hogwarts may know of your guys’ relationship, but the ones at Durmstrang don’t.” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, making Cedric’s grin falter. 

“What’s that supposed to mean Granger?” Frustrated, Hermione groaned, “It means that although the boys at Hogwarts don’t fancy y/n, that doesn’t mean that the boys at Durmstrang won’t. You can’t pull that kind of stunt again with every Durmstrang boy she comes in contact with. Godric, boys are so dim sometimes!” she huffed as she turned on her heel to leave. 

Cedric rubbed the back of his neck, feeling quite sheepish for being caught in his rather childish act. Hermione was right though, he wouldn’t be able to keep every single guy away from you. So what was he supposed to do? 

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The night of the choosing of names came all too fast for you. You knew he put in his name. You knew he really wanted this. And for some reason, you felt like you knew he would be picked. This weighed heavily on your mind and you honestly could not for the life of you, pay attention to who the other two victors were. 

The paper flew out and Dumbledore caught it. The dread in your stomach increased to a nauseating level, the chatter of the students ringing in your ears and then the room went quiet. It wasn’t actually quiet but suddenly you weren’t able to hear the cheers of your peers as you watched the boy you yearned for so dearly, walk through the aisles in celebratory fashion. Your head started spinning, how many students had entered their names? What were the odds? How was it possible that the one student, the one student that you couldn’t risk being out in that tournament, had gotten picked? 

Cedric was on top of the world at that moment. He wasn’t too interested in becoming legendary or glorified through the Tournament but was simply elated to bring pride to the Hufflepuff House. He would be lying though, if he said that he would gladly take on the glory if it meant you would see him as such. Thinking of you, he searched quickly for your head in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, his grin widened but as he saw your fallen and disconnected expression he grew concerned and tried to move his way through the crowd to your spot. Unfortunately, it was a lost cause as the Goblet erupted once more and the wave of confused students swept Cedric further away from you. 

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“Krum’s got a yes!” Cedric turned his attention away from his house tablemates to the rowdy group of Durmstrang boys that were chirping excitedly. 

“Who’s the lucky woman Viktor? I mean half of this school wants to be your date to the Yule Ball! You have to tell us who you ended up asking!” the boys leaned in eager to hear more about Viktor’s proposal. 

“Who else, I asked the pretty Gryffindor I said I would ask.” he replied shortly, seemingly unamused by his friends. 

“Bloody hell, he’s asked y/n!” Cedric whipped his head around to the first-year Hufflepuff who had also turned to listen in. Cedric’s facial expression dropped. 

Glancing at Cedric nervously one of the older Hufflepuffs questioned the girl, “How in Merlin’s Beard would know that? Krum didn’t even say that he had asked y/n.” 

“It’s obvious!” she smiled as she hurriedly reached into her pocket and fished out a piece of paper. 

“Prettiest…Girls…At…Hogwarts” one of the Hufflepuffs read aloud slowly. Unbeknownst to you, the twins have not only been solidifying their list with the Gryffindor first years, but ALL the first years. 

“Look!” she pointed to your tiny moving portrait on the paper. 

“It says right there: y/n, 6th year, Gryffindor. If Viktor Krum had been talking about a pretty Gryffindor, it had had to be her. She’s a prefect, he would absolutely go for her!” the tiny girl smiled proudly at her findings as if she had cracked a hard case. 

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Sitting alone in the Hufflepuff common room, Cedric was deep in thought. 

Had Viktor Krum really asked you to the ball? Had you really said yes? He knew he hadn’t asked you at all but he had assumed it was only natural that the two of you would’ve gone together. Right..?

The more he questioned you and himself the more miserable he became.

[haoboutyou]

Hi! (^3^)/ I really liked the way you wrote "Mornings With You" and I wanted to request if you can make a version with Seungcheol if you want to. Thankies in advance (●•^-^•●) 💜💜💜

fren u r in luck :D

lucky in love | choi seungcheol

fluff | 730 words | no warnings

an: tbh that wonu fic was actually a cheol fic but then i realised… i have way too many… (i need help)

wonu ver. | kwan ver.

Choi Seungcheol knows that he’s loved. He’s loved by his fans, who greet him with resounding cheers every time he comes on stage. He’s loved by his members, whom he has gone through multiple trials and tribulations by each others’ sides. He’s loved by his family, who have given and will continue to give their unwavering support for everything he wishes to pursue. Most of all, he knows that he’s loved by you.

It’s evident in the way you know his coffee order by heart. In the way your pinkies stay connected even while you’re talking to someone else. He sees it when you unknowingly lean into him in crowded spaces. How you nag at him to take better care of himself and eat his meals on time. How your eyes seem to sparkle a billion times more when you see him walking into the room.

He knows just how much he’s loved by you when he arrives home and spots you knocked out on the living room couch. Seungcheol smiles quietly to himself, removing his shoes aside before carefully walking up to you. The television in front of you is still running, but you’re cross-legged with Kkuma snoozing away in your lap. No doubt you were doing some work before Kkuma deemed herself more important – your laptop is tossed to the other side of the couch, screen dark.

He sinks into the couch next to you, hand outstretched as he leans over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear when Kkuma stirs awake in your lap. The little white dog yaps when she realises her father has returned, bounding over to him instead. He giggles as she attempts to lick his face all over. The sudden noise and movement wake you, sleepily turning over only to be greeted by the sight of your lover doused in dog saliva.

“Hey,” a sleepy smile graces your features, greeted by Seungcheol trying to calm the excited puppy down. He turns to you, a fond smile and an eyebrow raised. Understanding his silent question, you stretch your arms up, leaning into his shoulder as you scrunch your nose. “I wanted to wait for you to come home,” a cheeky grin appears. “Welcome home!”

Oh, he feels his heartstrings being pulled, and suddenly he’s overcome with a wave of love and adoration so strong that his eyes start to water. Kkuma jumps off, her little paws padding off elsewhere as Seungcheol pulls you into his arms.

“I’m home,” he murmurs into your hair. His hand engulfs your own, grip tightening with the sudden proclamation. His brows furrow deeper as he inhales deeply, taking in your familiar comforting scent. “Practice was so hard today – missed you a bit more than usual.”

“Aww, my big baby…” You can’t help but coo. Using your free hand, you smooth the wrinkles between his brows with your thumb. “You did well today, do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, choosing instead to bury his slumping figure in the crook of your neck.

“Have you eaten?” He nods, fluffy hair tickling you. “Do you want to take a shower first then? I’ll make some chamomile tea for you.”

You gently guide Seungcheol into the bathroom, leaving him to clean himself up while you prepare his promised tea.

Fresh out of the shower and nighttime routine completed, Seungcheol finds you already tucked into bed and follows suit. He wraps himself around you, arms and legs tangling under the sheets. Seungcheol can feel his entire body relax under your soothing touch as you card gentle fingers through his hair.

He’s fighting sleep, especially with you patting his head like a child, when he remembers something he’d been meaning to say.

“I don’t have to go to the company tomorrow.”

“Hmm?” You squint through the darkness, barely making out the twinkle hidden behind his tired eyes.

He smiles, pressing soft kisses by your collarbone. “I’m all yours tomorrow, do you want to do anything?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You ponder a little bit more before resting your head back down on his chest. “Eh, it’s tomorrow’s problem. ‘m sleepy now.”

Seungcheol lets out a light chuckle. He pulls the covers higher over your bodies, pressing you impossibly closer to him. He knows he’ll spoil you senseless tomorrow anyway.

“Sounds good. Good night, baby.”

“Good night, Cheollie.”

He hopes you know how much he loves you too.

[txttletale]

I'm only saying that because when people made jokes and badgered me about being trans, it made me not wanna even come out :/ like people speculating if I was a girl or not

Hey I'm newly Transfem and have a lot to learn so I wanted to follow up on the previous ask about Aaron and his gender identity. Is it disrespectful to speculate on his gender because it could be misgendering? I don't think transfem is insulting, but I fear that a projection of transfemininity on aaron could be misgendering and disrespecting the identity he chose in death for whatever reasons he chose. Thank you for your thoughts and words.

i mean, i'm sympathetic to your personal account and i've heard many like it! but on the other hand i've equally heard people telling stories about how they felt unable to broach the subject but kept hoping one of their trans friends would say something or give them a push they felt they couldn't take themselves. i've gone back and forth on this kind of thing and i do think ultimately it is something where you cannot make a single proclamation that covers every circumstance. every person is unique and has a unique social circumstance--the only real answer when it comes to asking or joking about someone's gender is that 'it depends on the person and who you are to them and their stated comforts and discomforts and how well you know them and a thousand other things'

however that is all to do with interpersonal interactions -- i don't think any of this applies to bushnell, who is not going to be discouraged from coming out because he martyred himself for palestine and who is not here to read posts and be affected by them because he martyred himself for palestine. i don't think it's "misgendering" -- i don't think you can meaningfully 'misgender' cis people, because what misgendering is when done to a trans person is an implicit threat of transphobic/transmisogynistic violence, an implicit denial of the social reality of trans people's own self-understanding and an implicit voicing of support for the politics of depriving and subjugating trans people into the grave or the closet.

i think that is all aside from the question of whether it's wrong to speculate about bushnell's gender. obviously i don't think anyone should be making super bold definitive claims about his identity, or digging into his private life for information, or talking about his identity in exclusion to talking about the cause at hand. but i haven't seen anyone do that, is the thing. i've just seen a handful of trans women have what i think is a natural and obvious reaction to hearing that someone with the name aaron had a twitch account called lillyanarkitty and then being treated like they're spitting on his grave for doing so, which leaves a pretty bad taste in my mouth.

[saphirered]

Hi! I have come to request an astarion x reader? How would astarion feel about a asexual reader? Maybe learning about it when the reader refuses to have sex with him? You can decide how it ends! Thank you! ❤️

This was an interesting one to write but I hope you like it! Angst with fluff of course. Hope you like it! 😘

Astarion has never struggled to find the right people to suit his needs one way or another. He also never struggled to wrap them around his finger. A little wink here, some charming words there, maybe even a brush of the hand or soft touch to sweeten the deal and he’d have anyone be putty in his hands to be shaped and sculpted for his every use. It’s easy. It’s always been easy. It’s been his way of survival, of safety and security. It’s been his weapon and his shield. He’s well aware he’s not exactly everybody’s favourite person right now. Especially not since he may or may not have tried to take a few drops of blood from his newfound companions and in doing so exposed his secret. Only the more reason to charm the de facto leader of this little group and keep you on his good side. Gods how he’s been trying and he’s sure he’s got you now! Just a tiny little push more and you’ll be in his arms and un able to let him go. He’ll gladly keep you there until you’ve served your purpose of course. 

He’s been having some of these pesky little feelings. Nothing he can’t cast aside. Nothing he can’t get over. It’s not like he truly cares you come to him when he’s hurt. It’s not like you really value his opinion or input even when you ask for it and consider it. You’re just that wrapped around his finger. Or so he keeps telling himself. He might be a good liar but he’s not that good. It’s the little things really. When you smile or praise him or simply offer him some form of comfort, he feels warm within when he’s only ever known the cold of the grave he crawled out of, or the dungeons he’d been confined in for so long. Were he an elf of theatrics, which he most definitely is, he would say you make him feel alive and that’s something no amount of gold can buy, yet more dangerous than any opponent he’s encountered. What has he gotten himself into? Nothing yet. He still needs you to comply, to remain on his side and for him to puppet you to his advantage. That’s your only use. That’s his only task, his only reason for getting involved with you; you are just like everybody else. He just needs to woo his way into your bed and you’ll be just like everybody else and he’ll just be his old self. He’ll use his body to achieve what he set out to achieve; your compliance. 

He got reckless. Astarion made the wrong call when he asked for but a few drops of your blood to deal with the hunger. You’d offered him your delicious neck and he almost lost himself in the closeness, almost forgot he had his teeth pierce your skin. It took every ounce of restraint to not kiss you right then and there, high on the taste of your blood and the energy- the life it gave him. He could feel every tremble, every skip of your heartbeat, every breath when he held you so close and in that moment he could imagine himself being with you. That very early morning he dreamt of being with you not because he had to for whatever reason but simply because he’d have you in his arms, you would hold him in return. For the first time in perhaps forever he desired to know what it felt like to be held, to be cared for and loved. For the first time he desired to be close to someone far beyond the false proclamations of love he had told so many right before he lead them to their doom. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t let himself. Not anymore. He had to, if he wanted you to be his tool in taking down Cazador. 

You sat there in the glow of the fire basking in the warmth and glow. Astarion could only imagine what your skin would feel like right now, to hold that warmth, that soft and gentle touch but he couldn’t. He refuses to give into this petty little obsession of his, or so he’d tell himself. You sat alone, the others having gone to do their own thing before they too would retire. You simply kept watching the flames dance like a beautiful performance. You must have seen his shadow move from the corner of your eyes because when your gaze meets his and you smile he feels his feet push him forward involuntarily. You silently invite him to join you which of course he does. He sits down diagonally from you, far away enough from the fire but close enough to have you within reach. He gives you that look he’s trained so well, looks at you through his lashes, makes sure he looks as appealing as possible, not that he truly has to try because he knows he is magnificent. 

“Hello, Astarion. I hope you’re having a lovely evening.” You speak so gently, so unburdened. He heart clenches in his chest. A hand might as well have reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his slow beating heart. 

“Much improved through your simply radiant company, my darling.” You offer a smile and soft chuckle at his blatant flirt. He tries to once more school his features knowing the marks to hit just right, to make you make the first move, to catch onto the bait he’s been laying out. 

You slide into easy conversation. You enjoy Astarion’s company but you’ve caught onto things you’d hoped not to see. It’s no secret he is a massive flirt and will make use of that silver tongue with anyone who even shows the slightest interest. Rarely have you seen him be genuine about any attraction, about anything mutual. You don’t even know if you’ve ever seen him be genuine in his advances, to not have that wall separating himself from whoever stands on the other side. You’d dare argue that same wall separates his mind from his body. You’ve seen it break too. You’ve seen him ease into the need to be physically close to someone yet the moment he realises what’s happening he either removes himself from the situation or that wall goes back up again in the blink of an eye. You’d like to say you’ve caught on when he does. Whatever he puts forth, whatever act it is it never quite reaches his eyes. He’s far away when he furthers advances and the further in he goes, the more removed he becomes. You count you could ever reach him. 

You see it now too. He’s slipping and falling back and forth into this habit at this. It’s been happening with you before. What used to be playful flirts have turned into a bit more and he’s been making advances and when he does the life disappears from his eyes when you respond a certain way so you’ve taken to simply going along with the flow. You won’t play into his traps. You don’t pretend to know his reasonings. He is a complex individual that definitely has secrets wrapped in secrets and you know it’s a cruel world that closes off someone like he does. You know he has a reason for keeping these things close to his chest and that is his choice. You are not entitled to his life and neither is he to yours. The difference is that if he asks, you will share most if not all even if you know better than to fully trust him, even if you’d wish to know. 

He lays it on thick. You don’t bite. No matter what he does. Every time he thinks he has you, he can push you to where he needs you to be. He needs you to fall in love with him, to be addicted to him but you seem utterly oblivious to him, or maybe it’s wilful. Dammit you’re so difficult to read. He supposes he’ll be blatant then. 

“We’ve been dancing around for long enough. Let this unspoken thing finally be spoken.” He begins and the more guilt sets in his heart, the more difficult it becomes. He simply decides to squash the little pesky feeling until he can ignore it fully and continue. The way you look at him just makes that terribly difficult. Why do you have to be so difficult? He continues at your request. 

“I like you and you clearly like me too.” His cold heart skips a beat and the flush to your skin he manages to classify as that interest, that desire you must hold for him or so he tries to convince himself because when he looks into your eyes he sees a spark of concern and pity. “I could feel it when I got lost in your neck.” He reaches out, still far away enough not to touch you. A gesture to the faint identical puncture marks along the side of your neck. You subconsciously reach out to touch them. How he wishes those fingers were his. He could but not yet. Not if he wants to play his cards right. 

“Astarion…” His name from your lips. Were he not so far removed from himself he might have melted. He’s pushed away his pesky feelings and once more removed mind from body. He has an objective and so he must see his plan through. He can’t back down now. He presses a single sultry finger to his lips and shushes playfully. He’ll ignore the frown beginning to form and your downcast gaze for a second. 

“Shhh. You don’t have to say a thing. I already know how you feel. Because I feel it too.” He takes your hands in his. Your skin might as well have burned him like the sun for your touch truly does hurt and that pain pierces straight through the wall, right where it hits most true. He feels it crumble but he has to hold on. “We could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp. Get some privacy. I know somewhere quiet, somewhere intimate.”

You take a deep breath. You see what he’s doing. You see that desperation to hold on whatever he tries to keep together. You just feel bad for him. He’s not wrong. You truly do like him. Perhaps you could be something more but not in this way. That’s not how your mind, body or soul works. You’re not his usual audience. You don’t dissolve under his so called interests. You don’t desire to share a bed with him in that way, like so many others do. You’ve seen how they look at him and how he basks in it all. He wants to be desired, to be wanted but the moment it comes to reciprocating, something is lacking and that’s what you see here. He’s struggling. He’s conflicted between the way he’s known and what he finds within himself. 

“Somewhere we can indulge in each other. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.” Still holding onto your hands he rolls onto his knees so he is in front of you, in your space too and gives you the most charming look that would have anyone be begging for his attention in an instant, to be jumping at the opportunity. But not you. You pull your hands from his ever so gently it almost breaks him into pieces. He might have had further thoughts was he not appalled by the rejection. Rejected. Him? He’s the one who rejects. This is not part of the plan. His plans come falling down. What is he supposed to do now? 

“While I’m flattered- and you are a wonderful individual… Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in spending a lover’s night with you and no amount of convincing is going to change that.” There go his hopes. There goes his true protection and shot at killing Cazador. It slips between his fingers like ashes in the morning sun. He hasn’t even the mind to cover it up; the hopelessness and desperation, the pain and suffering and fear.  “I’ve never been sexually attracted to anyone.” 

“So you were all just playing a game?” There’s frustration in Astarion’s voice but it seems directed solely at himself. 

“No! Not at all. Astarion, I have loved our little flirts and banter and you’re not wrong. I truly do like you. You’re amazing and wonderful albeit a bit of an ass most of the time. I like you for you and not for what you have to offer or provide. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for and I would continue if I didn’t know this would inflate that ridiculous ego of yours beyond divine proportions.” 

He process your words. You’re not attracted to him? At least not in that way. You care about him, like him and you haven’t been playing him like he began playing you. It was genuine, same as he had found himself become more genuine in his advances. Every time he set out the bait for you to pursue him, for him to share your bed and you didn’t bite, it was because you truly had no interest in using him like that. Your feelings are not driven by desire and sex. You just care. He’s so caught in his mind he nearly jumps when he feels you take one of his hands. He’s pulled out of his mind and back to reality. For the first time someone cares about him for more than his body or what he has to offer. For the first time he might actually be loved truly. And to know he almost ruined that… And you knew all this time. You’d seen through him and his motives but you hadn’t called him out. You’d let him find this out on his own. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” He speaks breathlessly. He doesn’t shy away from your touch instead he relishes in it. 

“The things I offer you are not some payment plan or a way to have you be indebted. I offer them because I see you suffer and if I have the means to make a difference then I will because you matter to me. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m not asking you to care about me at all. If I was just a means to an end, someone to help you find whatever you’re looking for, that’s okay. I want to make a difference and if you need my help my aid is yours. It is regardless of my own or your feelings. You fight demons far greater than your ego so let me help you.” 

Were he another man he might have cried. Instead he feels a shattering quiet right after the pieces hit the ground. In all his plotting he did not consider this outcome. All he had to do was not fall for you but he had. All you had to do was fall for him. You had, in your own way. Just not in the way he thought to be the only way you could fall for him. You’d figured it out without knowing the details and even still now you know, still without those details you offer to he his shield and weapon simply because he needs you. He feels horrible. Yet he feels elated. 

You didn’t expect a response. You don’t get a verbal one. Instead he just gently clasps his hand over yours and holds on like you might fade beneath his touch. You don’t and once that reassurance is there he deigns look you in the eye. His hand slides up your arm ever so carefully until it goes up your neck, over those bite marks and settles upon your cheek. You give him a reassuring smile. 

“I truly don’t know what to say… Except-Except thank you.” 

[probablyasocialecologist]

The Holocaust was undoubtedly one of the greatest tragedies of modern history, where millions of innocents were murdered in an unspeakably cruel and industrialized manner. Also true is that this was not the reason for the creation of Israel, which had its colonial seeds planted nearly a century prior. It was not remorse that motivated the colonial powers to support Israel, powers which were actively committing genocide against multiple colonized populations. Framing the creation of Israel as repentance for the Holocaust is not only historically inaccurate, but deliberately paints the legitimate rejection of its creation at the expense of the Palestinians as complicity with Nazi genocide. It transfers Europe’s guilt onto Palestinians, where they become the embodiment of everything the grandchildren of fascists claim to despise in their grand quest for (empty, symbolic) redemption. A redemption with the theatrics and loud proclamations of regret and change, but none of the substance. At the end of the day, nothing can justify the ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people, who share no blame for the barbarity of Europe’s pogroms and genocides. Palestine has always been home to countless refugee populations; Jewish people fleeing persecution and finding a safe home in Palestine was never the issue. The issue is that these ideals of coexistence were never reciprocated by the Zionist movement, who showed disdain towards Palestinians from the very beginning and sought to take over the land. It sanctioned its own settlers working with Palestinians, even calling Arab labor an “illness” and forming a segregated trade union that banned non-Jewish members. In 1928, the Palestinian leadership even voted to allow Zionist settlers equal representation in the future bodies of the state, despite them being a minority who had barely just arrived. The Zionist leadership rejected this, of course. Even after this, in 1947 the Palestinians suggested replacing the Mandate with the formation of a unitary state for all those living between the river and the sea, to no avail. These gestures were brushed aside, as they did not benefit the Zionist leadership who never intended to come to Palestine to live as equals. For decades Palestinians have been massacred, their homes stolen and destroyed, ethnically cleansed into refugee camps and denied their right of return. The notion that these colonial powers were ever concerned about Jewish safety as they fomented the conditions that made pogroms possible and denied Jewish refugees safety within their own borders is absurd. So too is the idea that Jewish people from all over the world must all live in a singular nation-state in the Middle East where they are a demographic majority to be safe, that the eradication of anti-Semitism around the world is a lost cause, and that whatever violence is wreaked upon Palestinians for the maintenance of this regressive demographics-obsessed state is justifiable.

[ancientsweek]

Ancients Week 2024: Prompt List

The prompts for Ancients Week 2024 are here!

PROMPTS:

Day One: July 7th — Past | Memory | Youth

Day Two: July 8th — Language | Culture | Folklore

Day Three: July 9th — Invention | Discovery | Obsolescence

Day Four: July 10th — Change | Constant | Tradition

Day Five: July 11th — Secrets | Truth | Lies

Day Six: July 12th — Absence | Death | Mourning

Day Seven: July 13th: Age | Present | Future

Day Eight: July 14th — Free Space

A reminder that there is absolutely no need to stick to the prompts if you don't want to :). And please tag your works with #ancients week 2024 or tag @ancientsweek in your posts so that I can find them! For more rules and FAQs please see THIS post (which is currently pinned to this blog).

[dreaming-of-lu]

Continuation to this ask

CW: Self-deprecation (in Sky’s part)

Part 1

Part 2 of 3 (Warriors, Four, Sky)

Warriors

The captain usually kept his head high on his shoulders, never once drooping or faltering. He was a proud man, sometimes occasionally getting in over his head, but it was inevitable since he was just like the other men who all shared the same namesake and wielded the triforce of courage on the back of their hands. Brothers in arms that he admired for their strength in places he lacked, which they made up for.

Chosen hero or not, he was still a Hylian; there were days when he didn't want to listen to others. Consistently, he wanted to not exist as the captain and be a stranger to all so he could breathe. There were regrets, deep ones indeed. Ones that scarred harshly, but were invisible to the eyes.

"Ya know," a form blocked his view of the sun, "looking directly into the sun for too long can destroy your retina." “Oh?” he blinked away the dryness that took place, splotches of colors danced in his vision; his voice limp, “I hope so.” “...Hey, what’s wrong?” The frown was evident in their voice, making him wince lightly at the worried tone. He shifts in his spot, avoiding the question as he faintly picks at the scar on his left arm. Warriors jolt when they softly grabbed his hand, pulling it away slowly and carefully that made him huff at the gentleness they gave him. He kept avoiding their eyes, not once looking in their direction, “Don’t wanna talk about it...please,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to at all; want me to leave?”

“No,” he swallowed thickly, “stay here with me?”

“Of course, darling.”

Sky

“I honestly don’t want to be here right now,” Sky looked up from his carving at the sudden proclamation that left your lips. His brows furrowed when you didn’t say anything else after that; he never thought words like that would ever leave your lips, it sort of scared him a little and he felt a cinch in his chest. You were, well, not new that’s for sure to him, but to the others, you were new to the group.

He knew you all too well on the back of his hand, your likes and dislikes. Your dreams and hopes. He knew it all and he cherish them as much as he cherished you. Though, seeing you like this and hearing you sound so...broken, made his lip quiver.

“Why...why’s that?” He asked softly, keeping his voice calm to hide the wavering in it.

You weakly shrugged your shoulders, “Just felt like it. I could be too much in my head right now or hell, overthinking a bunch of dumb shit I said in the past. Ma’s probably pissed at me right now, deeming with the words that she said in the letter to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you guys and all, but there’s only so much shit I can handle at this point and- look at me, complaining about this to you.”

You covered your face with your hands, a helpless watery laugh left you, “I’m fucking pathetic, aren’t I?”

Sky sets the carving and knife aside; settling his body down next to you while taking his sailcloth and putting it over you. His hand ran through your hair as he struggled to keep himself in check for you,

“You aren’t pathetic at all. You’re so strong whether you realize it or not. I get how you feel in a sense; it’s okay to feel, you know? It’s okay to cry. I- We don’t expect you to carry the entire world on your shoulders alone that’s what we’re here for.” “But it’s not fair to co-” “I’m going to stop you right there,” Sky interrupts you, “you are human. Your feelings are valid.”

He breathed in through his nose and slowly exhaled out his mouth, “I don’t expect you to be a hero at all, you know? You’re such a talented, beautiful and kind soul that I’ve ever met in my life. I love hearing the stories you paint to us, I love the songs you sing that I never heard of before. I love how you feel and- and just being honest to us while lending an ear. You don’t give yourself a lot credit than you realize.”

It’s silent between you, save for the chirping of birds and the running of water nearby. You piped up,

“Sky?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’re such a sweetheart.” “So are you.”

Four

Four usually wouldn’t share his mind with anybody within the chain, he kept more so to himself. While yes, he shared ideas or theories with the others, the rest? Hidden. Locked under key and away from sight. Though when it came to you? It’s a dam spilling over; you don’t got to understand what he’s saying, just listening is enough to make him goop.

He could ramble all about the different metals and hijinks that exist all day to you if given the chance. He would flush slightly under your gaze and attention that stayed on him as he continued to shoot off thoughts to you. He always wanted it on him; selfish a bit? You could say that. Yet, why did he curl today under your sight on him? 

He tried so hard to avoid you, not once even glancing or speaking in your direction; just curt answers to others and putting up a wall to distance himself from the group. He was tired, not willing to mentally argue with himself as flashes of dark memories rose in numbers in his mind. There was bags under his eyes that’s for sure from the sleepless nights, the slump in his shoulders were more visible than ever, and for this, he failed at dodging you.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” you sounded timid when you settled next to him.

“...There are none,” he shrugged.

“Oh...i-is it something I’ve done or have said that might’ve upset you?” Goddesses, you were picking at your fingers; a nervous tick he figured out, but seeing you be anxious at the thought of him being upset at you? It didn’t sit right with his stomach.

“Goodness, no!” he splutters, “it’s just...been a rough time, I guess.”

You slumped in relief, “how bad?”

“...bad enough,” he mutters.

“Do you want me to give you some alone time?”

“No, just you is enough for me.”

[meyousing]

𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤; 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

FOR MY POOKIEWOOKIE @moongreenlight !! who i adore sososo much I HOPE U ENJOY !! 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after realizing what raphael could do for you before; ridding your mind of the emperor for the briefest moment, you wanted to know how that could feel for a second time, no matter the cost. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: -> sneaky HUMAN raphael, non-con, deception and lies its raphael what else did you expect. probably a little ooc since this is for pookie so fk canon :D. as always all sexual nsfw will be under the cut!

I'm walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half-dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

You told yourself that you’d do anything for answers, that the cost didn’t matter–you wanted a solution, a cure to your tadpole infliction, and despite knowing better than to trust a devil, you were growing hopeless and running low on any other options. Yes, you knew the magic that Halsin told you about, the same words later spoken by the Emperor; their proclamation of impossibility regarding the worm’s extraction no matter which method you attempted, from whomever. But there was one time, and only one, when you remembered what mental quietude could sound like amidst such circumstances.

So, veiled by the darkness of the night sky en route, you navigated through Sharess’ Caress to the upper floors, intent on finding Raphael–even though he was hardly the paragon of trust–and experiencing solace in silence once again, something that, unfortunately, only he could provide. Gale was always going on about the benefits of respite, and this one you craved like a drug, now that you could remember how solitude felt after so long without it. What a crime to wish for independence within one’s own mind these days. 

You didn’t bother knocking, he likely sensed you at some point or another on your way here, what with his attentiveness to you and all that implied your involvement. You didn’t care about being the intrusive one for once, careening the door open and briskly sending it shut behind you.

“Surely you didn’t think that little disguise would work?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.” You tugged your hood down easily and shrugged the rest of your cloak off, balling it up and tossing it aside carelessly. You spotted Raphael standing a few feet away, in the first doorway of the den, his back to you. Yet he knew what you were wearing. 

He turned and lifted a brow at you, but the rest of his expression showed obvious disinterest in speaking about this any further than the short exchange. 

“Have you come to make the right choice?”

“Bold assumption,” you said quickly, not yet ready to fully admit why you sought him out in your situation; in the dark, on your own. “Shouldn’t you ask why I’m here first?”

“All I needed was a look at you to know.”

You didn’t respond, and he grinned, his lids low as he watched you.

“But I’ll let you tell me anyway, I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun. What troubles you, little mouse? What is it that’s brought you right into the cat’s paw?” he approached slowly, hands interlocked behind him as he subtly looked you up and down–knowingly–like you were the subject of an experiment. That wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I want you to do… whatever you did for me before, again.” You kept your eyes on him, speaking somewhat hesitant but remaining strong in your stance, your gaze unwavering. You noted the way he subtly mouthed along when you spoke the word ‘again’, tauntingly, like he already had you figured out. Perhaps he did. 

“You don’t mean this?” He murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, your mind was yours again; that insistent, idle static now fizzled out. 

Your eyes widened, brows uplifting alongside your lips as you nodded; it was just like the last time, pure silence aside from your own little conscience as it came to the same giddy realization that it was alone once more. Raphael only chuckled, and after a too-short moment, your mind was back to its newly but usually muddled state. The Emperor had nothing to say yet, which you were grateful for, as it saved you the need to seek an excuse for his inability to communicate with you in a second instance that shouldn’t have been possible the first time around.  

“Are you expecting me to do you a favour like that for nothing?” he laughed dryly, mockingly; it made you feel like the vermin that was about to be squashed beneath a dirty boot sole. “You may be the brightest, most shimmering jewel in my crown, but something so deliciously close to free will in a time like this cannot come without charge. What’s more, it is most costly when one chooses selfishness over the common good.” 

You should have expected this. You must’ve known deep down that it wouldn’t be so easy, that Raphael wouldn’t be a one-time good samaritan–a saint–and do you this favour, even in spite of all the honeyed names that’d roll off of his tongue when he sought you out, making it seem as though you were a little more special than his usual clientele. Stepping forward with a frown, you scoffed:

“How am I being selfish?” Was he just toying with you for his entertainment now? You hadn’t been here for long, but the trip would be cut off even sooner if this continued. You craved relief, but not enough to get tangled up in the deep end with a devil, to a point of no return.  

“Why do you deserve the fix before anyone else? Do you think I’m a good-willed cleric made to provide relief to all those with your affliction?” Despite how incredulously he spoke, you could tell now that he was merely testing you. Testing you for what exactly, you couldn’t tell; your will, your determination?

“Who are you to be the dictator of right and wrong?” you countered him with a question of your own, stepping up closer once he stopped in his tracks. He hardly raised his brows in his fullest reaction to your bravery, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m not. But I’m the only one who can provide a moment of respite to you, and I don’t work for free. Is that not fair? You are asking for quite a privilege.” He smirked like he knew what you would say next.

“You’ve already done it for me once before, what makes it different now? It’s temporary anyway, is it not? Am I wrong?”

“It is. But last time was just a… sample if you will. For a second taste, a true dealing between us, you’ll need to do something for me too.”

You grimaced, and he looked too pleased with himself. You’d managed to avoid getting involved with him this far along, rejecting most ultimatums he offered, and you’d been fine without his assistance–or obstacles, rather. Yet now, something initiated completely of your own accord was creating a conflict that you could’ve avoided if not for your greed and its insistence; you weren’t done yet.

“Fine” you conceded, rather quickly too. His smirk widened, he looked so smug.

“Good, good” he purred. You blinked a few times, your body having an unexpected reaction to the bassy sound as you averted your gaze, refusing to recognize it.

“What do you want from me, then?” you mumbled.

“What do you think I would like from you–my dearest–” he drew out, “in exchange for my services?” He tilted his head, and he seemed a lot closer than you last remembered. He was much more visible in your periphery even as you forced your eyes aside. Were you supposed to answer that question and know what to say, what he wanted?

“I-I don’t know. Do you want me to take the deal with you and promise you the cro–actually, no, that is way too much in exchange for a few minutes of sile–”

“No” he cut you off sharply, his expression falling flat. “That, I can wait for. Your choice will be even sweeter to hear the longer you hold out on me. But considering our current circumstances…” he trailed off, and when you didn’t look at him during that pause, you felt hands slide up your waist. 

You blinked at the same time that your body jolted–a millisecond–and your surroundings changed. You still stood in Raphael’s grasp, just before the dining hall’s grand table within the House of Hope. Your eyes darted around warily, but you still felt an odd sense of… calm. Raphael, so tenderly that your heart thrummed a little off-beat, slid his fingers up your body and down your arms, grasping your wrists as he led you to one of the seats; facing the flames that so ironically burned in the fireplace. He walked slowly, dare you say methodically, striding to take a spot across from you.

"Indulge yourself” he muttered, looking utterly observant. He placed his chin atop his hands, fingers interlocked into a fist. He didn’t touch the food, but you expected as much.

“I’d rather not” you garbled, your gaze careful while you studied him and tried not to overreact, still settling into the new environment. You didn’t have an appetite per se, not for the deceptive refreshments that were too perfectly laid out before you anyway. Raphael may have been worming his way into your routine so often, just like the godsdamned tadpole itself, but his presence lingering for so long didn’t equate to trust yet. 

“Then indulge me.”

You watched him reach for and open a bottle of wine, one you didn’t recognize as common among those you’d scraped together from wooden boxes and crates on your way to the gate. It looked more prestigious, the bottle was embellished with what you could only assume to be real gold melted within the glass, and it caught the light so intriguingly each time he tilted it to pour some out; a drink for him, a drink for you. You looked away when he stood and took the chalices in his hands, placing one before you and promptly returning to his seat. When you looked to him again he had elevated the goblet in his hand, his chin lifting.

“To a new era.”

Your fingers approached the table, tips dancing towards the stoup’s base, the entirety of which could have been crafted by Gond and polished by Moradin. You wondered, despite how aged everything throughout the House was by the natural processes of time; cracked tile, buffered but helplessly dull stone… the stemware looked so new; untouched. He didn’t save it just for you, surely? Flitting your eyes back to Raphael as you thought about it, you noted how he finished taking a slow sip, lowering his cup back to the tablecloth. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching his tongue dart out to get some more of the taste, from what lingered on his lips. He noted your longer-than-usual silence, and those same lips turned up. 

“Your insistence, or stubbornness, rather, is very endearing in more… suitable circumstances. For once, you should try to act less like the illithid you’re bound to become and let go of those inhibitions. Look where you are” His head swayed slightly to his left, to the room, fingers drumming mutely on the tabletop. 

The wine was tempting, and his taking a first sip did comfort you in some way. You spared him a final glance before zeroing in on your goblet, staring down the dark liquid inside, watching the warm candlelight rippling reflectively on its surface. Perhaps it couldn’t hurt to indulge just this once, you thought, as you took the cup into your hand.

Raphael nodded along, encouragingly. Uncharacteristically. 

You figured there was no harm in it, especially if he was as fond of you as he claimed, then he wouldn’t want you to meet a preemptive demise. Not yet. 

You bit the bullet, raising the chilled gold to your lips. You did feel rather parched, and the substance slid down your throat so smoothly, so soothingly.  

“You know, I poisoned one of our goblets.” 

Exhaustion was sent over you like a wave, and not because of the poison immediately having an effect–had it been your substance that was tampered with–but because of course he did. You sighed, your eyes falling closed to console that Raphael-induced fatigue. 

“Gods, I hope it’s mine,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He let out what you may have heard as, amidst all of your quarrels, his first genuine laugh. His face was delighted as he shook his head. 

“Are you so displeased at the prospect of dining with me?” he leaned back in his seat, grinning and crossing a leg over the other. Getting comfortable. Settling in. You were tense in opposition, knees tight together as you kept yourself at the edge of your chair.  

“This clearly isn’t all that you want from me, Raphael. Either get on with it, or let the toxins do their job and let me off easy” You put the goblet down, pushing it forward and away as you inhaled sharply, now on higher alert considering the circumstances. 

“It’s only a bit of fun. The dose isn’t lethal, I couldn’t rid Faerûn of such a treasure in that crude of a way.”

At least you were right about that. 

Raphael said nothing else as he took in your silence, and his expression didn’t say much either. He stood slowly, his eyes remaining on you as he dragged his fingers along the tabletop until he landed at your side.

“If you’d like to experience mental solitude again, then I’ll only ask for one, small thing from you.”

You certainly felt a touch drowsier than before, your limbs a little more numb and tingly, like they had fallen asleep on you in a too-short duration. You turned your head to look up at him, and even at a neutral pace, the motion made you nauseous. You let out a soft groan of displeasure, closing your eyes and moving to drop your head down. Raphael caught your chin and forced your eyes to remain on him, his voice barely above a whisper as he proposed: 

“Solitude, for a kiss.”

“The least isolating ask,” you muttered bitterly, eyelids heavy as the sight of him became a degree blurrier than what you knew as typical. Yet you could still make out his smirk, and he leaned closer.

“But not a very weighted one. Don’t you miss being able to think without the added badgering of the Emperor’s two cents?” 

Truthfully, you did, if this last-resort decision wasn’t enough of an indicator. A kiss also wasn’t a huge deal, but Raphael was the cambion equivalent to the poison coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you also weren’t in much of a position to deny him. Would you even be able to enjoy the seclusion if this didn’t wear off after he did this favour?

“That’s really all you want?”

“It is. Perhaps if you wished for something more permanent it would be a different story, but alas. It doesn’t need to be written contractually either, nothing so serious.”

“Fine, then.” 

You chose to take the initiative, the leap of faith, pressing your weight into the armrests of the chair so you could stand up and lean in. Your resistance was, helplessly, nonexistent when Raphael pushed you back down; the side effect of his poison making it too easy.

He grabbed your jaw, fingers firm but the motion gentle as he turned your face towards his. Your eyes were already half-closed, but you didn’t miss the intensity on his features. He hovered over you, his mere presence so imposing as he kept you right where he wanted; under his thumb. He moved closer until his cupid’s bow brushed over yours, ever-so-tender, so close yet so far. Your heart nearly skipped a beat once he tilted his head a little further, his lips parting in the slightest as they touched yours, but it wasn’t yet a kiss. Yes, you had expected him to draw this out considering the circumstances of the required affection pertaining to a deal, but what you hadn’t expected was your subsequent anticipation and eventual impatience. 

“Just do it–” you managed to murmur out against his mouth, some natural venom lacing the words without the help of the poison. You were surprised that he closed the gap properly right after by pulling your head up to him, his fingertips pressing deeper into your cheeks as he did, fingernails scraping the thin skin. 

He kissed you hard but without much aggression. You were taken aback by his normalcy, but it appeared that he was just getting started, as he soon used the leverage of his hand on your face to bring you to your feet. You winced, the motion pulled at your neck, but you weren’t given time to dwell on it when he jerked you to the table and tore his lips from yours. 

“Not going to put up a fight? How unlike you” he smirked. You could only glare at him because if he wasn’t sharp enough to nullify any resistance efforts, you both knew who would be pinned down right now. He chuckled once, appraisingly, before pushing his body into you again, his lips finding your neck instead. 

He started with nipping at the skin, then tasting it with a languid lick that made you squirm, and moving to hold your hands down against the table–as if you’d be able to move them on your own anyway. 

“More than a kiss–” you managed to state, your voice containing a hint of matter-of-factness, but was a little raspier as his closeness certainly affected your fortitude. 

“You knew better” was all he had to respond with, the words muffled as they were kissed into the horripilation on your skin. He remained content here for a while, bringing a finger up to your jaw to turn your head in the opposite direction of where he had already ridden your skin with his lips and hot saliva; making you shiver when the wetness caught the air and consequently cooled, regardless of how hot it was in the hells and logically shouldn’t have been possible. 

You were equivalent to a ragdoll by now, simply letting it happen when he grabbed your arms and flipped you around, your loose-limbed body immediately tipping over so your front was flat against the table; your hips perfectly positioned for your ass to press into his hips. He laughed and didn’t even try to create space, pressing himself into you so you could feel how hard he was, and it made you grimace at the realization of just how far this was going to go.

“You’re the only person worth this,” he breathed, his fingers snaking up to wrap around the column of your neck and force your head up. “The only one who deserves to experience this privilege.”

Unable to suppress your snicker when he said that, you almost whined aloud when his fingers tightened in response, and began rutting his hips into you steadily but with enough force to shift your body against the tabletop each time, your shirt getting caught up in the tablecloth and pushing it up so the cool surface touching your heated flesh made you tremble. The strong scents of all the lavish foods surrounding your immediate proximity almost drowned out Raphael’s scent, but it wasn’t enough, especially not as he leaned down so his front was against you completely, his face next to yours. 

“So amusing, is it?” he rumbled, subtly bringing his free hand up the side of your limp thigh, finding your hip, and reaching to tug at your panties. You couldn’t even feel shock anymore, simply letting out a strained exhale the material shifted when he slid it down your skin; off. “We’ll see for how much longer you feel that way.”

How much had you missed within those few seconds, to be surprised when he was already playing with his cock against your entrance? You felt a lot hotter then, your skin crawling with pleasure-induced chills as he moved his tip slowly, heavily up and down, prodding so slightly into your warmth and making your muscles tense each time he slid it away and down to your clit. He never lingered against one spot or the other long enough for any long-term sensations to last, and you couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a disgruntled groan. His chuckle reverberated through you, making your breaths shake as they became increasingly rapid. 

“I wonder if any of your devotees across the realms know that you can be reduced to this–if they think about it,” he pressed the tip of his cock into you now, making your hastened breaths hitch, your lungs burn, “if they imagine you beneath them, or maybe even above them–but you only deserve to be here,” he pushed his hips forward and slid in deeper, with ease, the motion so precise it made your thighs twitch, “beneath me.”

He set a slower rhythm to start, but the way that his movements bumped you further into the table each time made it so that you could feel all of him so perfectly. You felt so open, so exposed–

“Y-You seriously want to do this right here?” you whispered, only because your voice was so strained under his palm, and his cheek went taut in a grin next to you.

“My bed is still busy being warmed, this will do for now. You deserve better than mediocre; the real thing, not my copy. Feel fortunate” he sighed, pressing deeply into you for a moment and staying there, enjoying you, nearly pushing into your cervix–distracting you from the tongue-in-cheek response you wished to give to his words. You instinctively squirmed away, the intensity of it being too much too quickly with how teasingly he had been going thus far. But he wasn’t having any of your resistance despite how it was impulsive and not of your volition; pushing his body down heavier upon yours until you were trapped entirely, forced to take what he gave. Then he resumed movement, and he was moving faster now. 

You fisted the tablecloth before you with the weakest grip; the strongest you could muster, physically fighting every part of yourself so as to not give into him too quickly by carelessly moaning out and letting him know that he was actually making you feel something good. It didn’t matter though. Hoarse, uncontrollable whines vibrated in your throat, locked behind your canines as they sunk into your bottom lip in a further attempt at deceiving him. You were shocked that somehow, throughout the numbness in the rest of your body, each stroke and deep tingle of pleasure could be felt in its most intense form. You continued to amuse him, making him laugh as if this were something wholesome and wholly reciprocated. 

“What do you hear?” he whispered to you, the closeness and low volume of his voice making you writhe, igniting prickles of delight inside of you, making your pussy squeeze around him and pull him in deeper; even shocking yourself as your jaw dropped open from the sensation. All that you could audibly make out were your breaths and his, accompanied by the slick sound of his cock pistoning in and out of you with ease by how wet he made you in such a short time. 

“Just you–” you lied, “–mumbling in my fucking ear,” you tried to chuckle, but when the hand that wasn’t on your neck squeezed your hip tightly enough for you to actually feel it amidst all of the numbness, you gasped quietly, the dry laugh devolving into a whimper. 

“You shouldn’t hear anything,” he said slowly, but in a tone that was maybe one pitch higher than normal, like he was concluding another one of his awful riddles. You’d have taken time to cringe if he hadn’t grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up at the same time that he moved, pulling you flush against him and continuing to fuck you like you were nothing more than a toy fulfilling its purpose. 

He favoured intensity over speed, ensuring that you couldn’t escape him as his cock never fully left your sex; only sliding back to quickly grind deeply inside once more, making you see stars each time–you didn’t care about whatever else he had to mumble to you now, all you cared about was engrossing yourself in the feeling of him. It made your stomach churn deliciously too, and that familiar warmth of finality was beginning to stir within as he bit down on your neck, sliding his fingers out of the way so he could hold you still by a shoulder. If your body wasn’t essentially dead you’d have regretfully reached back to hold onto him for support, grasping at the material of his intricately designed garments which would probably irritate him; perhaps your situational debilitation was for the better. 

“You’re not about to come for me, are you? Tut tut” he purred, and you couldn’t discern whether the way your eyes rolled was from annoyance or pleasure. Despite the degradation he didn’t relent, encouraging you above all else. His body encapsulated yours as he held you how he liked, keeping your back arched just slightly enough for your hips to perch nicely off of him as he pounded into you; had you seeing stars. “Don’t keep me waiting, then~”

When a sneaky hand left your shoulder and made its way to your front, pinching your clit, you came undone with a sharp whine; you could barely feel the way your thighs clenched, tightening alongside your pussy as you ground back into him to experience the sensation in its fullest, whimpering his name so weakly as your head lulled back to rest against his chest. You hardly caught the sight of him smirking down at you, so self-satisfied as his hand in your hair tightened, and only a smidge of embarrassment crept into your overall feelings of elation because you knew that he had every reason to feel that way. 

Soon enough the waves of bliss calmed, to your dismay, and Raphael pulled out of you with a soft groan, releasing your body carelessly and stepping back out of your sight, making you rush to reach out and have your palms land against the table rather than your face. 

As you turned around slowly and panted to catch your breath, you watched while he adjusted what minimal undressing he’d partaken in, and only then did you notice the feeling of something wet and thick sliding down the inside of your thigh. You looked down, your eyes widening a bit as you rushed to pull your panties back up to be rid of the sight of it; when did he cum?? You also wondered about how much control he must’ve had over the poison as you could feel the toxins wearing off now that it was all over; the ability to perceive and to touch returning to your body again, albeit weakly. 

“Good, don’t let my gift go to waste. So intuitive.”

You shuddered in disgust and swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring his stupid, contented face and even happier statement. Now that you were approaching a state where you held a semblance of control again, you cleared your throat and redressed fully, smoothing over your clothes and standing taller after giving a quick shake of your head. 

“Okay–you got what you wanted, give me my end of the deal now.”

Raphael grinned, his brows lifting in feigned surprise.

“Oh, darling, that was it. Couldn’t you tell? Surely you didn’t want your dearest Emperor to know about our fornication?”

You stood there, stunned, slowly but surely feeling hot rage seep into your bones. No fucking way was he being serious.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed at you in a falsely taken-aback way, even raising a ridiculous hand to his chest.

“That’s no way for a lady such as yourself to speak–you chose to jest when I asked what you could hear, that was your chance to tune in and tell. Regardless, we both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.”

“Oh that’s rich,” you started, not knowing what to do with your hands as they fidgeted at your sides, itching to reach up to him and–

“If you wish to experience this again, you know where to find me. Hopefully next time you’ll have come to a decision about the crown, too.” he chuckled in a muted way, to himself, like he was considering some inside joke that only he was part of, not you. Perhaps you were the joke to him, after doing something like this; surrendering to him. The thought made your face twist in anger and you began to approach him, your arms raising.

You only caught the split-second motion of his hand reaching out, and then… nothing. Moments of black, of unconsciousness… and then you were standing outside the den again. You lurched for the doorknob, tugging at it to no avail for the first time ever. After cursing aloud you hit the wood with your fists, letting out a long, deep sigh, shutting your eyes as you realized what a mistake this was to begin with. 

You turned shamefully after a few more seconds of basking in exhaustion, your feet heavy and still feeling abnormal to use after so much time spent being dead weight. You trudged along to the exit of the brothel, cloakless, having left it in Raphael’s room and now being forced to endure the rain that had started. At least it was still dark outside, and you could return to camp innocently beneath the moonlight; be unheard beyond the pattering of the condensation while everyone else rested, acting as though nothing had happened at all, that you’d been there all night. 

You kept your head down, blinking away the raindrops that slid from your hair and into your eyes. Only once you were alone, past the business outside of the Caress, that familiar bustling moved from the ambiance of the bordello to the innards of your brain, and a question was posed by the voice that’d been with you since the beginning of this life you had grown accustomed to:

“Where were you just now?”

© meyousing 2024. do not share/export my work onto any other platforms. do not translate my work.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Best friend's brother Miguel

Hey guys! So, I based this one off this fic I anonymously requested from one of my ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE writers - @exhaslo - and my inspiration on this website. Please check out her account if you enjoy my writing. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 - the past

Part 2 - the present

Part 3 - the future

Warnings: None. Just a little sweet and fluffy one.

_______________________________________________

Gabe stood at the counter facing the wall, scraping the butter and sugar off the sides of the mixing bowl before starting the machine up again. “Do you have to separate the eggs like that?”

X ignored the annoyed tone in his voice, letting the white flow from the crack in the eggshell before setting it down and starting on the other one. “Yes! It’s how you make the perfect vanilla cupcake. Trust me! I’ve perfected the receipt!”

Gabe rolled his eyes at his best friend’s proclamation and sighed. “Whatever you say.”

“Just wait ‘til you taste it!” X insisted, turning around to set the bowl of egg whites down by the mixer. “It practically melts in your mouth!” She grabbed the eggshells off the kitchen island and emptied the yolks into the mixer bowl, letting the machine stir the yellow liquid into the creamy mixture of butter and sugar.

“What melts in your mouth?” Miguel asked, strolling into the kitchen. X looked up when she heard his voice, her stomach flipping with excitement as she peeked over at him, her best friend’s older brother. She lowered her gaze quickly when he stopped by the fridge, trying to hide the nervous expression on her face.

“This vanilla cupcake recipe X has ‘perfected’,” Gabe replied, too focused on the mixer to notice X’s reaction. She leaned over to look him in the eyes, her expression serious.

“If you don’t want to help, Gabe, I can always find someone else to partner with for the baking stall.”

“I’ll partner with you,” Miguel volunteered, setting the bottle of milk down on the kitchen island. He glanced up at X, flashing her a mischievous smirk. She gulped at the look and quickly turned away, grabbing the bag of flour beside her to start measuring it out.

“Ugh! Please!” Gabe scoffed. “You’d probably just start messing around with the other guys and then leave poor X all alone!” He took the cup of flour X was holding out to him, tossing it into the mixing bowl while the machine continued whirring away. Miguel let out an offended scoff, walking over to get a glass from the cupboard.

“I would never leave X all alone!” he argued, leaning over her to open the cupboard door, intentionally pressing his chest against her back as he reached up and pulled out a glass. “Isn’t that right, chica?” She gripped onto the edge of the table, trying to stop the shiver from running down her spine at the feeling of his low voice murmuring in her ear.

“Sure,” she mumbled softly, her tone barely managing to hold the sarcasm she intended it to. Miguel set his glass down and placed his hands on the counter around X, trapping her beneath him.

“How could you have such little faith in me, X?” he asked her, his voice laced with fake hurt. She didn’t respond, too busy trying to steel herself against the way his breath tickled the back of her neck as he spoke, the spicy, masculine scent of him surrounding her the same way his arms did. She snuck a glance over at Gabe, hoping he wouldn’t find anything suspicious about the way the two of them were interacting. He kept his gaze fixed on the mixing bowl, stopping the whisks to start scraping the mixture off the sides again.

“Leave her alone, Miggy,” he chastised Miguel, pretending to be completely oblivious to the tension between his older brother and his best friend. They hadn’t said anything about it yet, so he wouldn’t either. Although he was getting pretty tired of having to act like he didn’t know anything about it.

“But you just told me not to!” Miguel pointed out, still wrapped around X. Gabe sighed and chucked his shoulder into Miguel’s arm, shoving him aside. His brother held his hands up in surrender, then grabbed his glass before backing away from X.

“¡Vale, vale!” he relented, returning to the island to pour himself some milk. X took in a breath, relieved at being able to breathe again, and leaned over the mixer to take a look at Gabe’s work. She nodded, satisfied, then removed the bowl, replacing it with the egg whites so Gabe could start working on them instead. She was so cute, Miguel thought to himself, his eyes drifting over the curves of her hips and ass and trailing down her bare legs as he watched her lean over the countertop. He turned back to the fridge, returning the milk to its original position.

“Oh, wait!” X stopped him, running over to him quickly. “We need the milk!” She stopped when she reached him, fluttering her curly eyelashes up at him pleadingly, and he grinned. He bent over to sneak a glance at Gabe, making sure his younger brother was still completely focused on his egg whites before he took a step back, guiding X further behind the open fridge door. She stretched onto her toes, trying to grab the milk bottle from Miguel, but he raised his arm, holding it high out of her reach. She frowned at him, huffing in annoyance before folding her arms across her chest, her rosy lips twisting down into a pretty little pout. Mierda, she was cute when she was mad. Miguel smiled and leaned forward, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he silently demanded her for a kiss.

What was he doing?! What if Gabe saw?! Her stomach fizzed with nerves at the thought, but she stretched up and pressed her lips to his quickly, praying that Gabe wouldn’t be able to see them behind the open fridge door. Miguel opened his eyes and grinned at her, finally handing over the milk bottle to her, and she felt her heart skip a beat at his smile. She lowered her head as she snatched the bottle, trying to hide her own smile as she scurried back over to Gabe, her heart thudding with excitement at what she’d just done.

Mierda, she was so cute when she was flustered, her lips curling into that cute little smile meant just for him. It was too bad that she was still too afraid to tell his brother about them: he didn’t want to hide their relationship anymore, sneaking in a kiss or touch whenever they were sure that no one was looking. No, he wanted to grab her hand and twine her fingers with his, showing her off to the whole world, his precious little girlfriend. He sighed and took a seat at the island, tugging his glass closer to him.

“So?” Miguel asked, licking off the strip of milk he could feel coating his upper lip. “When can I expect my cupcake?” X turned around to face him and he met her gaze, fixing her with a teasing look over the rim of his glass. She lowered her eyes quickly, biting down on her lip to hide that shy smile he loved so much, and he decided then and there that that was going to be his new nickname for her.

“Your cupcake?!” Gabe repeated, scoffing in disbelief. “You can buy it from our stall tomorrow like everyone else.” Miguel grinned at the response and turned to X, injecting his features with as much helplessness as he could possibly muster.

“X?” he pleaded, sticking his lower lip out in a pout. She gulped at the sight, trying to come up with a response. Then, she smiled, her lips curling wickedly at the ends before she leaned over the island, resting her chin in the palms of her hands as she looked up at him.

“I’ll give you a two for one special if you bring all the guys from the football and basketball teams,” she promised him, fluttering her eyelashes up at him mischievously. He smiled, unable to help himself - Dios, she was cute.

“¿Para ti, mi cupcake? Siempre.” (For you, my cupcake? Always.) He raised his glass, downing the rest of his drink and Gabe groaned.

“Ugh! You’re so gross, Migs,” he scolded him, rolling his eyes at his brother’s words. Miguel gestured to X with his glass.

“X doesn’t have a problem with it! Do you, cupcake?” She wrinkled her nose at him, then turned back around to add the vanilla extract and baking powder. Miguel took advantage of the moment to admire her ass, his thoughts drifting to how he’d like to give it a little squeeze before spinning her around and trapping her against the kitchen counter, holding her in place while he kissed her. He loved kissing her, her legs curled around his waist, her arms wrapped around his neck, his own hands running up and down her sides as she explored his mouth with her tongue. She was so slow and careful with her touches, always pulling back whenever he got a little too excited. But he didn’t mind - he wanted her to be comfortable with him; to feel safe with him in the same way she always made him feel safe, bringing food over whenever their mother was having one of her headaches, staying back in the library with him and Gabe when they were too afraid to go home and face their father, dragging them over to her house every time the fighting got too bad for him to handle. He protected Gabe, but she protected him. He stood up and went over to the sink to wash his glass, placing it on the drying rack before leaning against the counter behind X. “You sure you don’t need any more help?”

She turned to look up at him, thinking. She didn’t want him to go back up to his room, sitting alone at his desk while she and Gabe messed around downstairs. Besides being her secret boyfriend that she absolutely adored, he was her friend too, and she loved him just as much as she loved Gabe - just as much as she loved her own siblings. She swivelled back around to grab the mixing bowl, then held it out to him, gesturing from him to steal a taste. He raised his eyebrows, but dipped his finger into the batter, licking it up before pursing his lips in thought.

“Well?” she asked him when he continued to remain silent. “How is it?”

He grinned. “Delicioso.”

Gabe felt his lips curl at the ends as he watched the way his brother’s eyes lit up every time they landed on X. He was a good person, his brother, always looking out for him and putting his needs before his own. But he was always so serious, so responsible, and Gabe sometimes felt guilty that he’d had to miss out on his childhood just to make sure that his younger brother had one. So of course he’d been glad when Miguel and X had finally started dating, his best friend easing some of the tension off his brother’s shoulder so that he could finally relax and start acting like every other teenage boy his age. He just couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t tell him yet.

X bounced on her toes, delighted by Miguel’s reaction, then moved the mixing bowl to the island, where she’d already set out the baking tray. “Okay, I’m going to need you guys to fill up the tray with the cupcake holders, then we’ll start pouring the batter in. One spoon should be enough for each, because it’s going to rise when it starts baking.”

She left the two of them to fill up the tray and prep the cupcakes, turning back around to the counter to begin working on the frosting herself.

One month ago.

Gabe winced as he heard something being thrown across the room, the sound barely muffled by Miguel’s closed door. He glanced over at his brother, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, his ears shielded by the large earphone he’d put on. He always snuck into his brother’s room when it got too loud, the fighting. Miguel would close the door behind him, then go turn on his computer, setting his little brother down in front of it and letting him play whatever games he liked while he himself blocked out the sounds with his music. Gabe turned back to the desk and picked up his phone, shooting off a message to X. ‘They’re fighting again.’

‘Are you safe?’ she replied immediately.

‘Yup,’ Gabe reassured her. ‘In Mig’s room. He’s here w me.’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘Got his earphones on.’ X bit her lip at the response, knowing it must have been really bad for Gabe to message her during the fight. She got up from the sofa and ran over to her mum, quickly finding her in the guest room.

“Mum?” she called out to her. Her mother looked up from her sewing machine, glasses sitting low on her nose.

“Yes, darling?”

“Gabe’s parents are fighting again,” she confided in her. “Can I ask them to come over? Just to play some games and stuff?”

“I’m fine with it, but you better tell your father first,” she warned her. X’s stomach churned at the thought. “Have they had dinner yet?” She looked back down at her phone.

‘My mum’s asking if you’ve had dinner yet,’ she asked Gabe.

‘Yup.’

“Yup,” she repeated to her mother, looking up from her phone. Her mother nodded approvingly and X went off to find her father. She peered around the doorway of his study, trying to gauge his mood - it was better when he was in a good mood, though he usually said yes to Gabe and Miguel coming over anyway.

“Papa?” she called out, creeping into the room carefully. He hummed in question and she relaxed, her shoulder slumping with relief at the friendly sound: he was fine. She moved closer to him. “Is it okay if Gabe and Miguel come over? We’ll just play some games and watch a movie! We won’t disturb anyone!” Her father frowned and turned to look at her.

“So late?” he questioned. X shifted in position uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze.

“Their parents are fighting again,” she revealed to him. “I’m just scared they’ll get hurt.”

“Okay,” he relented, turning back to his computer. “Tell them to bring their clothes if they want to sleep over. It’s a Saturday anyway.” X bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement.

“Thanks Papa!” She leaned over to give him a hug, then ran back downstairs, sharing the good news with Gabe. Then she pulled up her chat with Miguel.

‘Are you busy?’ she asked.

A notification popped up on his screen and his heart fluttered when he saw X’s name there. He sat up and sighed, a wave of relief washing over him as he replied to her. ‘No. What’s up?’

‘Want to watch a movie?’ He tapped on his phone, thinking. Gabe had probably told her then, that their parents were having yet another fight.

‘Now?’

'Yeah!’ she replied enthusiastically. ‘My dad said to just bring your stuff and sleep over.’

Miguel slid his gaze over to his younger brother, already watching him, waiting for his decision. His lips quirked at the eager look on Gabe’s face and he rolled his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Pack your stuff. We’ll sneak out the front.”

They’d grabbed some snacks from the kitchen first, then gone to hang out with X’s younger sister and brother in the family room. The former had already been watching something on the TV while the latter was sat in front of the computer, eyes fixed on the screen as he played some shooter game. Miguel and X had pulled the sofa out into a bed and the two of them had settled on it next to X’s sister while Gabe jumped onto the bean bag. They’d joked and laughed as they watched one Disney movie after another, the minutes ticking by as they all sat together. X looked over at the clock, noticing how late it was getting, then glanced over at her siblings, finding them already nodding off in their seats. She leaned over to give them each a little shake.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered, “it’s late.” They got up and began drowsily heading off to their bedroom, leaving Gabe space to bound onto the sofa and sink into it on X’s other side. She wriggled a little closer to Miguel, and he raised his arm, draping it over the back of the sofa so she had more space to squeeze in. They’d stayed like that a bit longer, all of them fighting to stay awake as the movie continued to play. Finally, Gabe lay down and turned over, curling the blanket around himself as he fell asleep entirely. X turned to Miguel, wanting to laugh about it with him, but found his eyes closed as well, his head propped up on his fist as he rested his elbow on the headrest behind her. He was cute when he was asleep, his eyes closed peacefully, his forehead smooth without the concern constantly furrowing his brows. She grabbed the remote to switch the TV off, yawning as she realised how exhausted she herself was. Then she reached over to the armrest to steady herself as she climbed over Miguel.

He’d felt some movement beside him and opened his eyes to find himself face to face with X, her lips twisting into a sheepish grin as she looked at him. He raised an eyebrow and she reached up to pat his cheek gently, her touch soft and reassuring.

“Go back to sleep,” she told him quietly. He sat up and wrapped his arms around her instead, turning them around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed with her in his lap. His arms stayed firmly around her as he stayed there, trying to get the words out, trying to tell her that he loved her - he loved her - and he was so, so glad to have her in his life. But the words just continued to hover on the tip of his tongue, refusing to make themselves known.

She’d been surprised at first, when he’d curled his arms around her so tightly. But then she’d relaxed into the hug, wrapping her arms around his neck, his soft, wavy hair tickling her cheek as she gave him what he needed. Finally, he spoke, the words a hoarse whisper in her ear. “I’m really glad Gabe found you.”

He loosened his grip on her, enough for her to pull back and give him a pleased smile. “Thank you. I’m really glad I found you guys too.”

He held her for a moment longer, his eyes travelling over her sweet features as he built up the courage to ask her the question. “Can I kiss you?”

What? Her eyes widened in surprise, unsure if she’d heard him right. Then she smiled and lowered her head, trying to hide the curl of her lips at his request. Of course she wanted him to kiss her, of course she’d had a secret crush on him for ages, with his fiery eyes and his heart-stopping smile and his friendly and thoughtful demeanour. He was her first love, and she didn’t think she’d ever feel for anyone the same way she felt about him. Never.

“On the cheek?” she asked shyly, looking up at him again when he didn’t respond. He swallowed hard, his grip on her waist tightening as he sucked in a nervous breath. He shook his head.

Not on the cheek. Her lips parted in disbelief and she dug her fingers into his broad shoulders, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest in anticipation. She smiled again, then leaned forward slightly, closing her eyes as she waited.

He inhaled another breath, then licked his lips before leaning forward and pressing them against hers. She was soft and small beneath him, and he felt the tension ease from his body as her familiar strawberry scent washed over him. He’d never kissed anyone before, but it felt nice; intimate - like a way he could tell her how much he really loved her without actually having to say it out loud. He pulled back to gauge her reaction, but she stayed in position, eyes still closed, lips puckered up adorably. So he kissed her again, just as gentle, just as light, then he gave her a final quick peck before sitting back.

He felt nice, his lips lush and soft against hers, and she felt like she’d float into the air at any second, her stomach bubbling with happiness as it was. She blinked her eyes open slowly, his handsome face coming back into focus before her: his deep-set eyes, his thick brows, his chiselled features. She grinned and he smiled as well, soft and shy, his sharp canines pressing into his bottom lip. Her toes curled at the sight and she leaned forward again, wrapping her arms back around him. “I really like you, Miguel.”

He ran his fingers along her back, stroking her tenderly. “I really like you too, X.”

Present day.

It was the day of the charity event - the fair they held in their school every year to raise money for whatever organisation their school had collectively agreed on that year - and Miguel had gathered his teammates around him in a group huddle.

“All right,” he began, putting on his captain’s voice, “you guys are going to go out there and make sure my girl … ‘s stall is empty by the end of the day.” ¡Ay, mierda! He’d almost called her his girlfriend! In front of everyone! When she’d specifically told him not to! Not until they’d told Gabe, at least.

“Your girl? Oooh!” Ben nudged Peter playfully, wiggling his eyebrows at him suggestively as he teased Miguel. Miguel rolled his eyes and shot Ben an exasperated look.

“We’re just messing with you, Miguel,” Peter chuckled playfully, taking a brief pause. Then, “we already know she’s your girl.” The group of boys broke into laughter once again. Miguel groaned, pushing them to get them to start moving.

“Just go,” he chided them, following behind as they formed a line to go to X’s stall. She looked up when they came, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she saw the entire under 18’s basketball team line up by her stall.

“Two cupcakes, please!” Hobie requested, holding out the required number of tickets once she’d given Ben his order. She grabbed the tickets and handed them to Gabe before picking up two of the cupcakes and passing them over to Hobie.

“What are you guys all doing here?” she asked them curiously. Hobie grinned and gestured to the back of the line.

“Miguel said to make sure his girl’s stall is empty by the end of the day,” he informed X, causing her cheeks to heat up with embarrassment. She leaned over to sneak a glance at Miguel, her eyes lighting up when they landed on him. He smiled back at her, giving a small wave in greeting as he flashed her a proud look.

“Two cupcakes, please,” he ordered, handing her his tickets once he’d reached the front of the line. He leaned over and shot her a mischievous smirk before adding, “and I believe I was promised an extra?” She wrinkled her nose, pretending to be annoyed by the flirtatious tone he always took with her, but he could see the way she’d pressed her lips together to stop her smile as she gave him his three cupcakes.

“Gracias, mi cupcake,” he teased her playfully, causing some of the guys to shoot him puzzled looks.

“‘Mi cupcake’?” Ben repeated, lips twitching with amusement. “Did he just call her his cupcake?!”

“Yeah!” Pavitr confirmed, punching Ben in the arm lightly. “That’s his girl, Ben! What do you expect?” Miguel rolled his eyes as the guys broke into laughter, but he kept his attention fixed on X as he watched for her response. She slid her gaze over to Gabe, biting her lip in apprehension as she awaited his reaction. Gabe threw his hands in the air and groaned.

“Ugh! I know, okay!” he revealed finally, unable to take it any longer. “Just … make it official already! Or something.”

Her eyes widened with surprise at Gabe’s confession and she turned to him fully. “You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was waiting for you to say something!” he chastised her. She glanced up at Miguel, looking to him for backup, but he just held his hands up in defence.

“Don’t look at me! You were the one who said you wanted to keep it a secret until you told Gabe!” he accused her.

“‘A secret’?!” Ben repeated, serious now. “Wait. You mean you guys are actually dating? Oooh!” The guys broke into a cheer, clapping Miguel on the back in congratulations at the news. X turned back to Gabe.

“How did you know?” He sighed.

“Besides how obvious you guys make it,” he began, his expression softening as he looked at the two of them, “he’s my brother and you’re my best friend. Of course I knew.” He shrugged nonchalantly, the matter resolved as easily as that. X lowered her head, her lips curling into a sheepish smile. Then she straightened and punched Miguel on the arm, trying to get rid of the heat burning her cheeks.

“I told you you were being too obvious!” she scolded him.

“Oh no no no no no,” Gabe wagged his finger at her, stopping her in her tracks. “Miguel was fine. You were the one who was so giggly whenever he was around.” Gabe fluttered his eyelashes and curled into himself in a perfect imitation of X, his voice rising in pitch as he copied her.

“Oh, hi Miguel! Can you help me with my homework? You guys want to come over today? We can just hang out and stuff! Good job at the game yesterday, Miguel, you were so good!” X frowned and punched him in the arm instead, putting more force into the action this time.

“Ow!” Gabe exclaimed, rubbing his arm as he glared up at her. Miguel grinned and leaned over the table to press a kiss to X’s cheek, overcome by happiness at the knowledge that they didn’t need to hide their relationship any longer. X’s lips parted in surprise and she clenched her fists as she lowered her head, her lips twisting into an embarrassed smile as the guys cheered Miguel on.

“Um, thanks for coming guys!” she told the team before plopping back down into her seat, steadfastly avoiding Miguel’s gaze.

“Cupcake.” He waited until she looked up at him before continuing. “You’re going to come by the haunted house later, right? To support your boyfriend?” His lips stretched wide as he rested his hands on the table, his excitement at finally getting to call her that in front of everyone drowning out the sounds of yet another round of hollers behind him.

She curled into herself shyly, her cheeks catching on fire as she fidgeted with her hands. Her boyfriend! He’d called himself that! In front of everyone! It really was official now. She brushed her hair behind her ear, her eyes staying fixed on the ground as she replied. “You know I get scared, Miguel.”

“You don’t have to get scared, princesa: I’ll be there.” He leaned over the table, trying to catch her gaze. “I’ll even hold your hand if you want me to.” She groaned in irritation as the guys whooped at that, trying not to smile again.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll come, I’ll come!” She sat up and waved her hands at him, trying to shoo him away with the rest of the guys. “Go!”

“Hasta luego, cupcake.” (See you later, cupcake.) Miguel shot her a naughty wink, then left.

She picked at the skin around her nails as she waited in line with her friends, nervous. “I don’t know, guys. Is it really scary?”

“It’s fine! Don’t worry!” MJ reassured her. Then she wiggled her eyebrows at X and gave her a playful shove. “Besides, your boyfriend will be there to protect you.” X rolled her eyes at the statement, her lips pulling back in a grin.

“Oh my god, yeah!” Gwen exclaimed suddenly. “How come you never told us?! How long have guys even been dating? Like, actually?”

X twirled her hair around her finger as she thought about it. “Um, like, a month?”

“What?!” Gwen and MJ exclaimed together, the news a shock to them both. X winced guiltily at their reactions.

“I was just scared to tell Gabe!” she admitted. “I didn’t want him to think I was going to choose Miguel over him or something.”

“So? What did he say?” MJ asked, curious to find out more.

“He said he already knew! He was just waiting for us to tell him!” MJ rolled her eyes amusement at that.

“You guys,” she sighed, knowing them all too well by now. She’d been X’s friend even before Gabe and Miguel had moved to the neighbourhood and X spent almost as much time with her as she did with Gabe.

“Hey!” Peter greeted the three of them when they’d reached the front of the line. “X! You came!” X brushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at him quickly.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Miguel!” Peter twisted his head back, calling out to Miguel somewhere inside the haunted house. “Your girlfriend is here.” MJ and Gwen giggled at that, both of them nudging her teasingly. It wasn’t long before Miguel himself bounded out of the room, his eyes lighting up in excitement when he saw X waiting for him.

“You came!”

“Yeah,” she told him, like it should have been obvious that she would have come. “You said you wanted me to support you.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She always supported him when he asked, and even when he didn’t, going to all of his games and sitting on the sidelines, cheering him on right next to his brother.

“Miguel!” she whined, curling up against him once he’d loosened his grip on her slightly.

“¿Si, mi cupcake?” he asked her, refusing to let her go just yet. But she wriggled out of his arms, taking a step away from him and setting her features into a serious expression.

“Let’s go.” She nodded to the entrance and he grabbed her hand, gesturing for her friends to follow behind.

“Come on. It’s really good, trust me.”

X pulled her phone out of her pocket, clicking in the message she'd received.

“Oh! My mum's on the field!” she informed Miguel, looking up at him as he walked down the corridor with her. “She said my cousins are doing the bouncy castle. They're probably going to head back soon.”

She smiled as another message came through, squeezing Miguel's hand where it was still firmly clasped around hers. “She says they tried to find me in the canteen, but my stall was already closed!"

She grinned up at him again and his heart leapt at the sight, his stomach bubbling at the adoring look on her face. The look he'd put there. He swung their hands lightly as they continued walking. “You want to go see them?”

“Can you … Do you want to meet my aunt? She's really nice!” She brushed her thumb across the back of his hand reassuringly, her smile turning a little nervous as she waited for his answer. Of course she wanted him to meet her family, of course she wanted to show him off, her sweet and smart boyfriend that she was so proud of and adored so very much. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Of course!” he agreed, gesturing for her to lead the way. She squealed with delight and pulled him down the corridor, racing over to her family.

“X!” Her aunt shrieked when she saw her. She held her arms out and X barreled into them, squeezing her tight.

“Masi! How was your trip?” (Aunt!)

“It was fine,” her aunt reassured her before gesturing to her three young kids. “They were mostly just sleeping on the bus.”

“Penji!” her cousins screamed, swarming her and tackling her with their small forms. (Older sister!)

“We came to find you in the canteen, but you’d already sold out?” her mum asked her, curious. X gestured to Miguel, suddenly shy.

“Yeah. Miguel got all the guys from the basketball and football teams to come buy my stuff.” Miguel stepped forward to give X’s mum a hug - a greeting that had become a habit as he’d opened up to her more over time - then he held his hand out to X’s aunt.

“Hi aunty, it’s nice to meet you,” he greeted her politely. “X talks about you all the time. I’m Miguel.” Her aunt reached forward to shake his hand, her lips stretched into that same wide smile that X always wore.

“Hello, Miguel, nice to meet you too!” She shot X a mischievous look. “What a handsome young man!” Her youngest daughter turned to X, eyes wide.

“Is he your boyfriend?” She gasped at her own question and her siblings smacked her on the arm, sneaking glances over at Miguel as they waited for X’s answer. She shifted nervously in position, glancing over at her mother meaningfully - X always told her mother everything.

“Um, yeah,” her lips curled at the corners as she said it. “He … His younger brother is my best friend! So, we were friends first and everything.”

“Did you tell Gabe yet?” X’s mother asked her, features scrunched up in concern. X nodded.

“Well, he said he already knew anyway. So … yeah.” She bit her lip, her cheeks aching from how much she kept smiling.

“Did he say anything?” her mother continued. “Is he okay with it?” She liked how happy Miguel made her daughter, the two of them always finding comfort in one another’s presence. She was an anxious girl, her daughter, and it had been a relief when she’d found a good young man who took care of her properly. She just worried what would happen once Miguel went to university - he was a year older, after all, so they’d have to spend almost as long apart from one another.

“He was fine,” Miguel reassured her. “He said he was just waiting for us to tell him.” Her mother turned to X, a knowing expression on her face.

“See? I told you he���d be fine!” X nodded enthusiastically, smiling happily. Then she turned to her cousins.

“Have you guys done the dunk tank yet?” she asked them.

“Oh! Coach Matthews is doing it!” Miguel pointed out to X. He turned to X’s cousins. “You guys want to try? I can help you!”

X nodded in agreement. “Miguel’s captain of the basketball team. And he’s also on the football team too! He’s really good at sports!”

The kids agreed and Miguel and X led them over to the dunk tank.

“Miguel?” Coach Matthews called out when he saw him approach. “I think there’s a rule against athletes being allowed to do the dunk tank.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Oh no. I’m just here with my girlfriend’s cousins.” He gestured to X and she waved at Coach Matthews shyly. His eyes widened in surprise.

“You two?!” He was the football coach for both the official school team and the casual after-school club - which X was a part of - so he knew both of them pretty well. He’d watch quietly as Miguel stayed back after his own practice to train with X, partnering up with her on the drills, filling in as goalie when one of the other girls couldn’t make it - even though he was absolutely hopeless at the role, being a striker himself - and they always looked so happy together, the older boy finally finding relief in the smaller girl’s presence. He knew about Miguel’s parents, of course - all the teachers did, all of them making sure to keep an eye out for him in case he needed anything. He was always so quiet, so responsible, and his coach was glad that he had at least one person he confided in. “Finally! I was getting tired of waiting!”

“Coach!” X scoffed incredulously, her jaw dropping in surprise. He grinned and pointed a finger at Miguel accusingly.

“At least I don’t have to watch all the other girls try to flirt with you at practice anymore,” Coach Matthews teased him. X punched Miguel on the arm and he flashed her a sheepish smile before giving her a side hug. Their coach continued. “But stay focused on your studies, all right? I don’t want to see you guys mucking about.”

X straightened and gave him a salute. “Yes, sir!”

Coach Matthews sighed. “Just drown me already.”

The kids tried, one after another, each doing their best to throw the ball hard enough to dunk Coach Matthews and all of them failing miserably.

“Wait,” Miguel stopped X’s youngest cousin before she could take her final throw. He bent down to whisper something in her ear, then looked at her in question, waiting until she nodded in agreement before straightening up again. “Okay. Ready? One, two, three!” He picked her up in his arms and ran to the button, holding her up so she could smash the ball right into it, dunking Coach Matthews straight into the water. Then he set her back down and kneeled by her side to give her a high five.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Coach Matthews accused them once he’d swam back up to the surface.

“You asked us to dunk you!” Miguel pointed out jokingly. His coach rolled his eyes as he climbed out of the tank.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you at practice on Monday, Miguel.” He shot him a warning look, hinting at the revenge he’d be bestowing upon Miguel on Monday. Miguel just grinned and waved after his retreating figure.

“See you on Monday, Coach!” He turned back around to X. “You want to go help with cleanup now?”

“Sure." She shrugged. She turned to face her cousins. “You guys go home first. We have to clean everything up.” Her cousins sighed in disappointment, but started making their way back to their mother, saying goodbye to Miguel before they left. He returned his attention to X, brows furrowed in concern.

“Do you think they like me?” She grinned and grabbed his wrist.

“More than me, probably.” She let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be offended by the thought. “You’re too cool, Miguel.”

He raised his eyebrows and slipped his fingers between hers. “I don’t hear anyone else complaining.”

X rolled her eyes, but smiled as she tugged him towards the stairs. “Let’s go. Haunted house?”

Miguel nodded and they made their way back up, hands intertwined, the two of them grinning happily at one another the entire time.

[farity]

Sorrow, part 10

"The announcement shall take place in the morrow - many rumors swirl regarding the king and we must end them."

Aemond nodded, watching as his grandfather unrolled the parchment that proclaimed him, officially, Prince Regent. His eye landed on his wife, who was watching him. She'd gained some color in the last few days, he thought, not so pale as she had been when she'd first arrived at King's Landing, her ribs not as visible when she undressed.

He felt the stirrings of lust at the thought of Elyse removing her clothing. He'd had her that morning, yet he felt as if he had not bedded his wife in days.

"Sign."

Aemond took the quill, added his signature and some flourishes to the bottom of the parchment.

"What news of that whore, my sister?"

Ser Otto closed his eyes at the language, but merely said, "we have yet to hear anything. She has certainly heard of Daemon's death and she will be more dangerous than ever."

"Let her try. We shall be ready for her."

Elyse stood, and joined him at the desk, looking down at the proclamation.

Ser Otto left, and Aemond wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders. "And you, Princess, shall we have a crown made for you as well?"

"Aemond," she chided gently. "I want no such thing."

He kissed her until she was clinging to his shoulders, her mouth demanding on his. She had lost some of her timid nature around him, and he would do everything in his power to encourage her. "I wish to take you while riding Vhagar," he whispered in her ear, and felt the shiver that went through her. "Have you ride me while I ride the greatest dragon in the realm."

Her arms went around his neck and he grabbed her, lifting her off the ground as he walked to their chambers.

"Maybe some other time," he muttered, once he had closed the door, "I have to have you now."

He kept his eye on her face while he tore the clothes from her body, ready to stop if he saw fear in her eyes, but she was as frenzied as he, pulling at his tunic and the laces on his breeches until he could take it no more and drove inside her, not caring that he still had one leg mostly in his trousers and the leather tie was hanging from his hair.

She moaned as he filled her, arching her back, and he pressed his forehead to hers, trying desperately not to rut into her mindlessly like the animal he was. He kissed her upturned lips, and felt her fingertips caressing his cheek.

She was life and warmth and he would push aside all thoughts of war and death when he was with her. "Mine," he whispered as she kissed his jaw. "Mine."

* * * * *

Alicent stood, once again, as a son of hers was crowned as ruler of the realm.

Regent. Ruler. It was the same, she thought. Her father would always be plotting behind the scenes, except this time she hoped he would meet some resistance. Aemond wasn't as willing to let go of the reins as Aegon had been, and she wanted to see her middle son prove himself.

She watched Elyse, dressed in grey, standing next to Aemond. She'd gently but firmly declined to wear any sort of crown or headpiece, and wore her blond locks down, held back only by a black ribbon. She wore no jewels, either, and Alicent decided to choose her battles when it came to the young woman and she would not fight this one.

She had ordered more suitable gowns to be sewn and embroidered for her. It would not do for the wife of the regent to walk around like a peasant in those simple dresses she wore. She might talk to Aemond, appeal to his vanity to take pride in his wife.

The crown of Aegon the Conqueror was placed on Aemond's head by Ser Criston Cole and the crowd cheered. Here there was no chance of a dragon tearing through the floor like when that bitch Rhaenys had nearly killed them all. Still, she knew her father had ordered extra men to keep watch, not only here, but all the way to Dragonstone.

To her surprise, after Aemond raised a hand to thank the crowd, he turned and grabbed his wife's hand, placing a kiss on it, and the crowd roared in approval.

Elyse had turned a bright shade of pink, but Aemond wasn't letting go of her hand.

Alicent considered, maybe Aemond was already playing the game. Aegon would certainly never had made any sort of loving gesture towards Helaena, but here was a young couple clearly in tune with each other.

Too bad about Elyse, though. A child might have cemented Aemond's legacy as regent until little Jaehaerys came of age, but if Elyse was right, there would be no children for them.

Aemond took Elyse back into the keep, and Alicent followed. Helaena had chosen to stay with her children and Aegon, well, Aegon was probably not even aware of what was happening. His beautiful face often wore a mask of confusion and pain, his mind dulled by milk of the poppy.

"Daeron might have made an appearance."

She turned to her father. "At least he gets to live away from all of this. Leave him be. He will be in your clutches soon enough." She spoke without looking at him, and walked faster to put distance between them.

* * * * *

"Dragonstone is far too close."

Otto watched as his grandson issued his first challenge.

"I do not want that bitch and her remaining bastards so close."

He saw Aemond's point. Dragonstone was a short dragon ride away from Westeros and they would always live under the threat of Rhaenyra amassing some semblance of power.

"Where do you suggest, then, Prince Regent?"

Aemond didn't bother to hide a smirk. "Pentos? Volantis? The middle of the sea?" He laced his fingers together. "She can live where we choose, surrounded by our people, in case she begins to plot."

"Then Pentos would be ideal. I shall draft terms and head to Dragonstone."

"I will go."

Otto shook his head. "I cannot risk that. They might be waiting for us, Aemond, and you going would be giving them a prize we cannot afford."

"I'm glad you have such heartfelt feelings for your flesh and blood," Aemond said mockingly. "Fine, but take enough men so that you do not become a prize yourself."

When Aemond stood, Otto simply stared. "We are not finished here-"

"I'm finished here, grandfather, but if you wish to stay here until dawn, you are within your right."

* * * * *

Elyse said nothing as the seamstress adjusted the neckline on her new dress. "Not too low, please," she had said, and the young woman had nodded and pulled up the fabric until Elyse felt more comfortable.

The dress was simple but it was nicer than anything she had ever worn. The silk alone shimmered whenever she moved, a silvery blue that made the earbobs Alicent had given her sparkle even more. She had never been one for jewels or adornments, but she was well aware of her position and how she might reflect on Aemond, and more than anything she wanted to be of help to him. If it meant dressing up, so be it.

Alicent had also given her a small pendant shaped like the star of the Seven, and Elyse had dutifully worn it every single day since.

Once the seamstress was finished, the helped Elyse remove the gown and put her own dress back on.

She would be visiting the orphanage in Flea Bottom later and she felt better wearing one of her plainer dresses. It would almost be an insult to go see the poor, destitute children wearing priceless jewels and dazzling fabrics.

Ser Criston would go with her. He was loyal and a fierce warrior, and although he was hardly needed when she was going to see children, Aemond would not agree to this outing unless she took Ser Criston with her.

"Princess."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and nodded, making sure the bag of sweets was safe in her pocket.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Ser Criston."

"It is my honor, Your Highness. It is very kind of you to bring some joy to those poor souls."

Once at the orphanage, the children watched her warily at first, until a little girl bravely walked up to her as she extended a hand containing a sweet. Elyse smile as the girl unwrapped the sweet and put it in her mouth, and then turned to the other kids and called them over.

Ser Criston hovered, but Elyse never stopped smiling as the children surrounded her, their soft murmurs of "princess" giving way to laughter as she tickled them or ruffled their hair. She ran out of sweets but promised to return, and then headed down the corridor to speak to some of the septas that ran the orphanage.

She meant to donate as much as Aemond would allow, make this a place of joy, not just survival, make sure the children were not only educated but could also play and thrive. When she knocked on the office door, Ser Criston took his place nearby.

The door opened and Elyse walked in, a warmth filling her at having seen so many children smiling and knowing she would be doing more for them. She could make a difference, she had access to resources that might not mean much to others but they would change so much in these children's lives. If she could not have her own children, then she would do whatever she could for others.

When the door closed behind her, she saw there was no one at the desk and she turned around and found herself facing a woman, holding a dagger toward her.

* * * * *