#t: war without reason

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 3

Reconstructing More Science from Portal 2

vs.

War Without Reason from Ultrakill

Propaganda under the cut. If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

War Without Reason:

Best alsrm sequence in any videogame ever

[basket-of-radiants]

Why were you so disappointed by Rhythm of War?

This has been sitting in my askbox for years. I've taken several cracks at answering, only to get frustrated with the subject matter and burn myself out every time. I didn't like Rhythm of War. More than that, I didn't like it in a way that tainted my enjoyment of the entire series. And despite what it may seem, I don't actually enjoy discussing things which I don't like. I always want to talk from a place of good faith. Which is why now that my feelings towards the series are a little more positive, I think I can finally answer this.

I'm going to try to stay away from specific plotpoints and story beats for this post, because my goal isn't to nitpick (if for no other reason than it would take a week to write this post), I'm just looking to talk about my overall impressions. I think that might mean the only spoilers here will be structural? idk, if you haven't read Rhythm of War yourself then you should probably do that before looking for other people's opinions anyway. 

I liked Way of Kings when I first read it. I didn't love it at the time, but I liked it. Certainly enough to keep reading once I'd finished. One thing that made me a bit uncomfy, however, was the war against the Parshendi. They were this unknowable enemy which the book was not interested in knowing. An inhuman army. Their main purpose was to kill Kaladin's friends, or else be killed by Dalinar's armies. And yet the Parshendi, and the parshmen in the form of Shen, did show hints of personhood. And so it bothered me how Dalinar spoke so casually about how the Alethi had decimated their numbers, how the others used the war as a means to amass wealth and power. (It didn't bother me in a "this is a bad book" way but in a "these characters are bad people" way.)

One of my foibles as a reader is that when a book is very clearly treating one side of a conflict with more humanity, I tend to be a bit predisposed towards the other to account for that. And with the Alethi clearly being the invading party and superior military force, there was also some underdog favoritism. I didn't really like how the book treated the Parshendi. This is to say that going forward, the singers would be more important to me than any other through line.

So imagine my delight at reading Words of Radiance and meeting Eshonai, one of the Parshendi, who even gets her own point of view sections! They were no longer being treated as a faceless mass, we were getting to see things from their perspective as well. And it became plain to see the damage the Alethi had done to them. I couldn't really bring myself to root for Dalinar or really any of the humans against the listeners. I couldn't even bring myself to like most of these characters. I still enjoyed the book but once it became clear there wouldn't be a peaceful conclusion, let's just say that I wouldn't have wept for Dalinar and Adolin if Szeth had managed to off them. Like everyone in the book, I assumed that going forward all the parshmen would be turned into evil voidbringers in the everstorm and that the listeners were mostly dead. Except for Rlain, and Eshonai because I'd read or been told that book 4 would be Eshonai's book and thus had assumed she was fine. (Oathbringer spoilers, she was not fine.) So ultimately it was still a bit of a downer way to end the book. 

So imagine my delight at reading Oathbringer, where for the first time singers were being treated as people, full and real people, and where the human characters could no longer ignore or dismiss them. We met Khen and the others, common singers who were sympathetic and just wanted freedom from bondage. We see Venli grapple with the loss of her home. We see Leshwi and Moash connecting with and understanding one another. We learn of a history where singers were the original inhabitants of the planet. Parallel to this, Dalinar is having a truly excellent character arc about confronting one's past actions and acknowledging them to move forward and do better. I loved Oathbringer, for some years it was my favorite book, and I was excited as hell to see what came next. At the time, it seemed to me that there is a clear direction the story is going. Two books about needless war, and then a third where the main cast is forced to acknowledge the personhood of their enemies. This was so cool, all of my feelings from the previous installments were being validated, the characters were going to have to face what they've done in the past and outgrow their militaristic mindsets, I was so sure of that.

Imagine my disappointment when that does not even remotely resemble the direction the story went in Rhythm of War. RoW presented a clear, straightforward “us vs. them" narrative, where every character was totally fine with killing singers. Characters aligned with the singers were either flattened into wholly evil versions of themselves (Moash) or were expected to turn on their side in favor of the humans (Venli.) Because clearly there was no reason good people would be on the side that's all former slaves trying to stay free. Maybe there's some sort of accord or understanding between Navani and Raboniel that I might have found meaningful if the seeds of mutual understanding weren't already there in Oathbringer and then apparently ignored for a year by all the characters.

I have a lot of issues with how the listeners are handled in these books. (Here's some elaboration.) Following OB, I had thought that all my concerns were going to be addressed. Following RoW, I knew they never would be. 

Which is my main complaint, because that's the thread that matters most to me in this series.

I have a lot of other Things as well. Gonna just talk about a few big ones. 

One outsized source of disappointment that may seem a little petty, and which probably is, is that I felt mislead by the premise of the book. It had been announced that this book would center Venli and Eshonai, and I was unbelievably hyped for that. That did not really turn out to be the case. The purpose for their backstory chapters felt less about exploring them as people and contextualizing their arcs, and more about filling in gaps of world history. In the main plot, Venli was a POV character and she certainly played a role, but honestly not a very important one overall. To me she felt like a side character in her own book. I don't think it's controversial to say that the main character of RoW was Navani. A lot of people really like Navani and are happy about that. Unfortunately I'm not one of those people, and I found it all the more difficult to enjoy her when it felt like it was coming at the expense of some of my favorite characters. 

This particular gripe somewhat comes down to preference, obviously everyone prefers to read about characters they like more than those they don't, and it can go both ways. (For instance, on a craft/technical level RoW is probably the superior book to W&T, but I liked the latter a lot more because of my stupidly outsized attachment to Szeth and Nale.) But I do think there's something of a real criticism in how the book would rather focus on the feelings of a queen rather than those of a genocide survivor, and how the former's are given significantly more weight and import. It ties in with my main criticism, I think. 

And then there's how human/human racism had also been wholly cast aside as a plot point. Jasnah fixed slavery so that's resolved, and the only person who still cares about structural racism is the evil bad bad evil villain Moash/Vyre, who is now wholly irredeemable and who you're allowed to totally write off because he's sold his soul to Odium. I've already talked a lot about this. Other people have already talked about this, probably better than me. The writing was actually on the wall for me in OB, but again, RoW was when I fully accepted that this was never going to be addressed. 

There's something else that probably deserves its own discussion rather than being quickly tacked on at the end here, but here we are. This book changed how the series approaches war. 

In WoK, war was very clearly portrayed as a bad and inglorious thing. It was brutal, it was painful, those at the bottom died cruelly and unceremoniously and pointlessly while those at the top turned a profit. Every day was a new horror. The enemy were never evil, they were always just more people forced to go through the same thing. Through the next couple books, it felt to me that even if the characters had accepted war as necessary, there was still a tragedy to it. Conversely, in RoW (and W&T) war is basically a series of boss battles, in between which our protagonists can kill dozens of footsoldiers with barely a thought in the same way WoK had criticized.

Final note on all this, it sucks how we have no perspectives from the former-slaves-singers demographic. Those guys are really thrown under the bus, and seemingly get no self-determination now or ever. It was a glaring problem to me in RoW. Conscripted and enslaved humans and singers probably have just as much ground to form mutual understanding as a fused and a queen. (In fact they already had. In Oathbringer.)

In essence, RoW disappointed me because it left me with the distinct impression that none of the series's most important through lines (well, most important to me) were going to be resolved well. I liked W&T, but I haven't revised my opinion very much about the overall handling of these topics across the series. Maybe one of the reasons I was able to enjoy W&T so much more was because I no longer had such high expectations.

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

you will never make me hate Gale Hawthorne

[barnesonly]

Obsession

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

word count: 6021

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, masturbation, dirty talk, degrading, praising, desperation, fingering, teasing, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex and he talks through it, breeding, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), possessive behavior.

A/N: i’m horny, okay?…

You don’t have a crush on Bucky Barnes.

That would imply affection. Admiration. Maybe even a little emotional investment.

You don’t have any of that.

What you do have is a deeply inconvenient, soul-destroying case of lust. A constant, throbbing ache between your legs every time he walks past. A full-body reaction to the way he stretches, or leans on the counter, or wears those fucking grey sweatpants like a goddamn weapon.

It’s chemical. It’s hormonal. It’s not personal.

Because Bucky Barnes is grumpy. Bucky Barnes is quiet. And Bucky Barnes has absolutely no idea that he’s the reason you can’t go three days without needing to fuck yourself stupid.

Like right now.

He’s just standing there in the kitchen, back to you, broad shoulders stretching that worn black Henley like it’s a second skin. His hair’s short now, freshly trimmed at the nape, the kind of cut that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, the back of his neck.

You’re staring. Again.

You don’t mean to. But he makes a little grunt when he stretches — just a tired noise, nothing sexual — and you nearly whimper like a kicked dog. Instinct. Pavlovian response.

And he doesn’t notice. Not even a flicker of awareness as he pours his coffee and walks out, oblivious, muttering something about the mission report.

You just stand there, holding a spoon, clenched thighs and flushed cheeks like you’ve just been fucked by the idea of him.

It’s getting worse.

Like, medically worse.

You’ve gone from horny to feral to clinically unwell, and it’s all because of one man.

One grumpy, emotionally constipated, vein-poppingly hot man who can’t say a sentence without sounding mildly irritated. Who barely even looks at you unless you’re in the way. Who definitely doesn’t like you — and yet somehow owns your nervous system like a fucking landlord.

And it’s not fair.

Because he’s not even nice to you.

He’s short with you in meetings. Scoffs when you crack jokes. Gives you that look when you say something mildly reckless on a mission — like you’re exhausting. Like you’re annoying.

But then he’ll do something that ruins you completely. Like grunt your name low and gravelly when tossing you your gear. Or casually push you out of the line of fire with one big, rough hand and say, “Watch it, sweetheart,” like you’re some dainty little thing.

You pace your room that night, ranting to no one.

“I don’t even like him,” you mutter, folding laundry with violent purpose. “He’s so rude. He never smiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to.”

Your shirt gets yanked onto a hanger too hard. You nearly snap it.

“And he doesn’t even like me. Not even a little. I’m just some girl who laughs too loud and gets in his way and—oh my god, I would let him ruin me.”

That’s probably the most honest thing you said all week. You’d let him manhandle you. Throw you over his shoulder. Rail you into the mattress like a war crime. That arm? The metal one? You’ve thought about it. God, you’ve thought about it so much it’s starting to feel like a sin.

You can’t help it.

You collapse onto your bed, still in your T-shirt and underwear, legs kicking uselessly against the sheets. Your body is hot — too hot. Your skin prickles, stomach twisting tight with the sheer need of it.

You shouldn’t do it.

But fuck it — you do.

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties like second nature, no hesitation. You’re already soaked — of course you are. One fucking grunt from Bucky in the kitchen and you’ve been like this all day, wound tight and throbbing.

Your fingers slide through the slick heat of your folds, and your hips twitch. You let out a soft, breathless whimper, biting your lip like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

He’s all you can think about.

Bucky, with that low rasp of a voice. Bucky, sweat-slicked and panting, muscles straining above you. Bucky, staring down at you like you’re a mess he likes making.

You rub lazy circles around your clit, teasing yourself, letting it build slow. Letting the images crawl behind your eyes:

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open.

That cold metal arm wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he pounds into you, relentless and filthy.

His voice in your ear, rough and possessive —“You been thinkin’ about this, sweetheart? Been touching yourself like a needy little thing?”

Your fingers move faster.

You arch into the mattress, breath stuttering, hips chasing the pressure. Your other hand slides up under your shirt, finds your breast and squeezes hard, tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whisper, squirming, already so close it’s pathetic.

You imagine his hand — that hand — between your legs. Imagine him shoving your panties to the side with those cool, precise fingers and just… watching you squirm. Watching you come undone with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s filing it away for later.

You imagine him making you come like this. Telling you you’re not allowed to stop. That you’re gonna do it again, and again, until you’re crying.

Your thighs start to shake.

You gasp, pressing harder, grinding down. Your toes curl, muscles tensing, pleasure tearing through you like lightning — sharp, wet, overwhelming.

You come hard, moaning into your pillow, breathless and ruined, hand still trembling between your thighs.

And then?

You lie there. Sticky. Hot. Unsatisfied.

Because no matter how many times you make yourself come, it’s never enough.

Not when it’s him you want.

Not when it’s Bucky fucking Barnes.

———

You’re minding your business. Truly. Peacefully. Drinking your stupid little smoothie, scrolling through intel reports on your tablet, trying so hard not to think about last night and the shame spiral that followed.

You’re in the common room, feet tucked under you, hair up, living a clean and quiet life.

The front door hisses open. Voices filter in—Sam laughing, Nat muttering something dry, Steve’s boots heavy on the floor.

And him.

Bucky.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t need to. You can feel him. Like some sixth sense activated just by his presence, like the air itself is different when he walks into it.

But then you do look up and you regret it immediately.

He’s just back from the field. Tactical gear still clinging to him, black shirt soaked through with sweat in that way that makes it stick to every hard line of muscle underneath. The sleeves are tight around his biceps—dangerously tight—making it look like the fabric’s seconds from giving out under the strain of his arms.

His hair’s damp, just messy enough to be criminal, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Dog tags resting against his chest. Black cargo pants slung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like they were custom-made by someone with your exact problem.

He’s flushed from exertion, a little dirty, jaw tight like he’s still coming down from combat.

And he doesn’t notice you. He just walks past, arm flexing as he drags his glove off with his teeth.

You actually—physically—have to grip the edge of the couch.

You squeeze your thighs together so tight your eyes almost roll back. Your smoothie is sweating in your hand, condensation dripping onto your leg, and it’s the least of your problems right now.

Because that man?

That man could rail you into next week with the anger he carries in his shoulders alone. You’d let him wreck you in the debriefing room, up against the wall, still wearing that gear and not saying a word.

You’d tear those tactical pants off with your teeth.

And he just keeps walking. Oblivious. Like he’s not singlehandedly dragging you through the gates of horny hell.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, heart hammering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pauses for half a second like he might’ve heard you. Glances over his shoulder—just once.

And then he’s gone, down the hall.

You stare at the door for a long time, smoothie forgotten, thighs still clenched like your life depends on it.

You need help. You need prayer. Exorcism. A cold shower.

Or maybe you just need him to ruin your entire existence.

You barely make it back to your room.

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s a blur. All you can see is him—sweaty, panting, muscles strained beneath that black t-shirt. His arm flexing, the curve of his jaw, those goddamn tactical pants hugging every inch of thigh like a threat.

You lock the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You don’t even bother taking your clothes off properly—just shove your hand down your shorts as you collapse back onto your bed, legs spread, head spinning.

He looked so good.

Your fingers slide through your folds, already wet, your body acting like it’s been starving for him. Like it’s been waiting all day, all year, for a glimpse of that man so it can break down on command.

You rub your clit in tight, needy circles, moaning quietly.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You picture him over you, sweaty and still in gear, that black shirt pushed up just enough to show the cut of his stomach. You imagine his voice, low and rough, right next to your ear—“Couldn’t even wait, huh? Needed me that bad?”

Your hips buck, thighs shaking, pleasure building fast and desperate.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you gasp, breath catching.

You don’t hear the quiet footfalls in the hall.

Don’t hear the door next to yours click shut.

Don’t know he’s just gotten back to his room.

But he hears you.

Bucky stops with one boot halfway unlaced.

He frowns—still half in mission mode—until he hears it again: a faint whimper through the wall. A soft gasp. Then—his name. Muffled. Almost whispered.

His blood goes still.

He steps closer to the wall, heart suddenly pounding, every nerve pulled tight.

Another moan. Higher this time. Desperate.

He can hear the rhythm now—quiet, wet sounds, a bed creaking slightly with every movement. You’re touching yourself. Saying his name. Whimpering like it’s been torturing you.

His mouth goes dry. Something low in his stomach twists.

He shouldn’t listen.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

You don’t know he’s there—don’t know you’ve already ruined him. That he’s standing on the other side of the wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against his pants, while you moan into your pillow and come with his name on your lips.

———

The next day, you tell yourself you’re fine.

You look fine. You act fine. You sit in the common area with your laptop open and a mug in your hands like a picture of peace. The night before? Never happened. The hand between your thighs? The breathy moans into your pillow? The orgasm that left you limp and half-ashamed?

A delusion. A private, pathetic delusion.

Until he walks in.

And your entire body remembers.

Bucky enters like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Joggers low on his hips, black T-shirt riding up in the back, hair damp from a shower and curling just slightly around his ears.

You look up instinctively.

And he looks right at you.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. He holds your gaze for half a second—half a second too long—then nods, casual as ever, and heads to the kitchen.

No hello. No smirk. Nothing to suggest he heard the way you moaned his name with your fingers stuffed between your thighs like you were starving for him.

He doesn’t say a word.

You try to refocus, try to look at your screen and breathe, but your eyes keep flicking back.

He’s moving around the kitchen now, calm, quiet, efficient. Forearms flexing with every movement. The joggers cling when he crouches to grab something from a low cabinet, and your mouth actually goes dry.

Your thighs squeeze together.

He knows.

He has to know.

But he’s pretending like he doesn’t, and it’s driving you fucking insane.

You don’t even want to like him. He’s grumpy and rude and dismissive. He doesn’t flirt. He barely talks. He exists like a thundercloud with muscles and you still want to cry from how badly you want him.

And now he knows.

Now you’ve moaned his name with a hand between your legs, and he’s seen you since and said nothing.

You want to crawl into the floor.

You want to jump him.

You want him to ruin you until you can’t even say your own name.

He walks past you again with a cup of coffee, eyes flicking toward you—slow, heavy, unreadable.

And this time?

You swear there’s a hint of a smirk.

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, that black mug dwarfing in his gloved hand. The steam curls around his face, catching the light, and he’s just staring at nothing—completely unreadable.

Until he speaks. “Sleep okay last night?”

You freeze. Your heart flatlines. Then kicks into overdrive.

You glance up too fast, trying to act casual, but your grip on the mug betrays you—tight, white-knuckled.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs. Sips again. His face is all calm, cold stillness. Like he’s discussing the weather. Not like he heard you moaning his name behind the paper-thin wall like your soul was leaving your body.

“Nothing,” he says, low and even.

You swallow hard. Try to hide the heat crawling up your neck.

You stare at him. Waiting for something. A look. A smirk. A single flicker of anything.

But he gives you nothing.

Just turns back toward the hallway, casual as ever, coffee in hand, like he didn’t just dangle a loaded gun over your head and walk away.

And as he disappears down the hall, your thighs press together again.

You’re so fucked.

———

You try to sleep.

You really, really do.

You toss. You turn. You fluff your pillow. You kick the blankets off and pull them back up. You stare at the ceiling and beg your brain to stop replaying the way he looked in that shirt. The way his voice dropped when he asked about your night. The nothing he gave you like a damn grenade and walked away.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

You squeeze your thighs together for the fifth time in twenty minutes, but it only makes it worse. Your whole body’s aching—burning. Tight with the need that’s been building for the entire day.

You glance at the door. You know you should get up and lock it.

But you don’t. Because you’re tired. And turned on. And pathetic.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, dragging your hand under the sheets. “I’ll be quiet.”

You bite your lip as your fingers slide down, already warm, already soaked. You work slow at first, trying to stay silent—just enough to relieve the pressure. Just enough to breathe again.

But then your mind starts drifting.

To him.

Always him.

Bucky in the gym, sweat-slick and scowling. Bucky walking past you post-mission like a walking sin. Bucky pressing you into your mattress with that big metal hand wrapped around your throat, voice rough in your ear—“You’re so fucking loud for me, baby.”

You gasp. Then whimper. Soft. Barely audible.

But he hears it.

He’s in his room again. Reading. Trying to pretend like he didn’t spend all day imagining the look on your face when he asked about your sleep. Trying not to picture your hand between your thighs again.

And then he hears you.

Again.

A muffled moan, breathless and aching, like it’s being pulled out of you against your will.

He stands without thinking.

Crosses the hall with quiet, deliberate steps. His pulse is steady, but something low is stirring—something primal. Something possessive. The kind of heat that doesn’t burn—it consumes.

He stops outside your door.

Closed. Not locked.

He doesn’t even knock.

The handle turns with the softest click, and then—

He steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick.

You don’t hear it.

You’re on your back, one knee bent, your hand buried under the hem of your shorts. Your head is tipped back against the pillow, mouth open in these soft, gasping little whimpers as you chase the edge, hips twitching, breath fogging in the dim light.

You have no idea he’s there.

Not until you hear him speak.

“Didn’t I just ask if you slept okay?” The voice—his voice—cracks through the quiet like a whip.

You bolt upright.

Everything inside you lurches, heart ramming against your ribs, a violent rush of heat and panic rising through your chest like you’ve been caught in a fire. Your hand yanks back from your shorts like it’s been scorched, and you scramble to pull the blanket up, dragging it over your thighs as your breath shatters.

Your eyes fly to the source of the voice.

And there he is. Leaning against the door like he’s got all the time in the world. Arms crossed. One brow slightly raised.

His expression is unreadable—casual, maybe—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. Like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you in one glance.

You can’t move. Can’t think.

Your heart’s thudding like a drumline, and your cheeks go hot, burning as your stomach flips over itself in full-blown horror.

You can still feel your arousal—sticky, heat pressed between your thighs, your pulse fluttering in places he’s not even touched.

“Bucky—” you croak, throat tight. “I—what are you doing—how—”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he says flatly.

Matter-of-fact. Like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

You just sit there, still clutching the blanket to your chest like it can undo what he saw. As if it can erase the sound of you moaning into your pillow while your fingers worked yourself over to the thought of him.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches.

Like he’s curious. Patient. Like he’s giving you a chance to dig your own grave or shut up and let him lower you into it.

You look at him and it hits you how big he is. Broad and solid, filling the doorway like a wall. The black t-shirt is stretched across his shoulders, tucked into his pants just enough to show the lines of his waist, and that goddamn metal hand is flexing at his side like it’s already made its decision.

And still… he doesn’t leave.

Your voice breaks trying to fill the silence. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was quiet— I didn’t know—”

“I heard everything.”

That shuts you up.

His voice is calm. But it’s not soft. Not gentle. It sinks into your gut like a stone, and your thighs squeeze together before you can stop yourself—before your body betrays you again.

You look away. You can’t look at him. Not when you’re like this—hair messy, skin flushed, caught in the act like a filthy little secret with your want written all over your sheets.

He moves. Not quickly. Not harshly. Just decisively. Like this is inevitable. Like he knew the moment he opened that door that he wasn’t going to leave until you were ruined.

He crosses the room in two slow steps. Sits on the edge of your bed, right next to you. His thigh brushes yours, warm and solid, and your breath hitches—your entire body tensing as his presence crowds the air.

Then his hand—the metal one—reaches out.

He takes your wrist. Your fingers are still damp. Still twitching from where they were buried between your thighs. He stares at them for a second, then meets your eyes.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink. “What—”

“I said touch yourself,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Show me.”

Your heart slams. His grip stays locked around your wrist, not forcing—but not letting go either. He doesn’t need to threaten. Doesn’t need to beg.

He’s already heard you fall apart for him.

Now he wants the show.

And fuck—your body obeys before your brain can stop it.

You shift beneath the covers, breath shaking, eyes wide as your hand slides back down, slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin’s hot. Everything throbs and you’re soaked.

Shame prickles in your chest, but it’s drowned by the way he watches—focused and still, his hand still gripping yours like he owns it.

You let your fingers find that spot again, slick and swollen, and you shudder.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breath catching.

His voice cuts through it. Soft. Direct. “You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

“And now you can’t stop, can you?” he murmurs. “Poor thing. You want me this much, baby?”

You let out a tiny, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and press harder.

His metal thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtful, like he’s testing your pulse. You’re so wet your fingers glide without resistance, your hips moving on their own.

“Messy little thing,” he mutters. “God, you’re desperate. Didn’t even lock the door.”

His flesh hand moves too now—reaching up to push your hair from your face, tilting your chin toward him.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you—back arching, thighs tensing, rhythm faltering as your orgasm creeps up again, fast, tighter than before.

He sees it. Feels it. And he knows.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers. “Right here, baby? With my hand around yours and your pussy soaking your sheets?”

You sob his name and he finally leans in—breath warm against your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers slip again—rhythm stuttering, body caught in that maddening edge.

He watches you falter. Watches your mouth fall open, brows pull together, your thighs start to shake with the pressure of holding yourself there. So close. Too close.

And that’s when he moves. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you freeze.

“Let go,” he says.

You whimper. “But—”

“I said let go.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

You obey. Your hand slips from your shorts, fingers slick and trembling, and your chest rises in short, desperate breaths as he shifts closer.

“Bucky—” you gasp.

But he’s already there. His fingers slide between your folds—just one, at first, cool and unreal, brushing over your clit in a slow, torturous circle. Your hips jerk like you’ve been shocked.

“God,” you moan, clinging to the sheets, “fuck—”

“So sensitive,” he murmurs.

His eyes are locked on your face, hungry, focused—like he’s memorizing the way your mouth falls open for him, the way your lashes flutter when he presses a little harder.

You can’t stop the sounds you make.

You’re already too close—too much—your body wired tight from teasing yourself for nights and thinking of him, only him.

One metal finger dips lower—in now, slick and slow—and your breath punches from your chest.

Your hips grind into it, chasing it like you’re starving.

He fucks you with it slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Watching you unravel inch by inch.

“You’ve been dreaming about this?” he says, voice like gravel. “Getting off to the thought of my hands on you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers clenching around the sheets.

Another finger slides in.

Your body wails for it—so full, so good, the metal stretching you just right—and your thighs tremble, back arching as your orgasm builds so fast it almost hurts.

“Then come for me,” he growls. “Right now. I want to feel how tight you get when you finish.”

You choke on a cry.

And then you fall apart.

Hard.

Your walls clamp down around his fingers, body convulsing as the wave hits you—sharp and electric—shaking through your entire frame with a loud, wrecked moan that echoes in your room.

His hand doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it—slower now, drawing it out, holding your body steady with his free hand while you tremble and sob and drip around him.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You just know you’ve never come like that before.

Not in your life.

Not until him.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching, brain static from how hard you just came—but he’s not done with you. Not even close.

His fingers slip from you slow, drenched, and he brings them up to his mouth, sucking them clean without taking his eyes off you.

Then?

He smirks.

That low, dangerous smirk you’ve only ever imagined. Dreamed about. Touched yourself to. And now it’s real.

“You’ve been thinking about me so much,” he says, voice thick with heat, “I bet you want to feel my cock, huh?”

You don’t even answer. Can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out but a broken moan.

He laughs. Dark. Rough. “You fucking slut.”

He stands. Hands go to the waistband of his pants.

Your breath catches, watching.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to.

The black tactical pants slide down slow over those solid thighs, revealing the outline of what’s beneath—thick, heavy, hard. You feel your whole body clench at the sight.

He steps out of them, shirt already discarded somewhere between your moans, and he’s standing there now in nothing but black briefs—soaked at the tip.

And holy fuck, he’s big.

Your lips part, staring. You want to drool.

He notices.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’ve been aching for every night.”

He pulls the briefs down—slow, shameless.

His cock springs free, thick and hard and flushed at the tip, veins running along the length like something out of a wet dream. You whimper, thighs pressing together reflexively.

“You wanted this inside you so bad you couldn’t keep quiet,” he says, climbing onto the bed again, crawling over you until his weight cages you in. “Moaning my name with the fucking door unlocked.”

Your body arches up to meet him.

“Please,” you whisper.

He fists his cock once, dragging his head through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

You’re still sensitive. Still pulsing.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, notching the tip right against you. “Want me to stretch you open and fuck the brains outta that filthy little head of yours?”

You nod, desperate.

His cock sits heavy in his hand, the flushed tip glistening as he slides it through your slick folds again. Over and over—up and down—until you’re squirming beneath him, hips chasing every motion like you can’t stand another second of not being filled.

But he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

He drags the thick head over your entrance, slow and deliberate, just barely nudging inside before pulling back again.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you whimper, body arching.

“You’re soaked again,” he growls, almost to himself. “You got this wet just thinking about my cock?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. Not for him. He taps your clit once—sharp and teasing—and your whole body jerks.

“Say it.”

Your breath catches. “I—I thought about it every night,” you gasp. “I wanted it so bad. I still want it. Please, Bucky—”

He groans, low and ragged. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance again. Just a little. Just enough to make you feel the burn of it—how thick he is, how your body tries to pull him in even as he holds himself back.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, circling your hole with maddening precision. “How much your pussy needs me?”

You moan, desperate. Hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can hold onto.

He grins. “Needy little thing.”

Then he pushes. Just the tip—slow and thick, stretching you inch by inch.

Your mouth falls open. Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“Oh my—fuck,” you cry.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Patience,” he mutters, teasing your entrance again. “Wanna feel you beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky—please, I need it, I need you to fuck me—”

His mouth crashes over yours, swallowing your cry as he thrusts in deep—all the way—filling you to the hilt in one thick, devastating stroke.

Your back arches. Your vision whites out.

“So fucking tight,” he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips, grinding in deeper. “Fuck—you were made for this, weren’t you?”

He stays there for a moment—buried inside you—his cock stretching you open so wide it burns in the best way, hips pressed flush to yours. You can barely breathe, your body trembling with the shock of just how full you feel.

Then he moves. A slow pull out—just a few inches—before slamming right back in.

You scream. Not from pain. From everything. The pressure, the friction, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down like he owns you.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking dripping around me.”

Your nails dig into his back.

He starts thrusting—hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with brutal rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where to hit.

And all the while, he talks.

“Been thinking about this tight little cunt every night since I got here. Didn’t know it was mine to take.”

You moan—choked and desperate.

“You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Wanted me to catch you with your legs spread and fuck you like the filthy little cock-drunk slut you are.”

“Y-Yes—please—” you’re a mess beneath him, eyes wet, mouth open.

He grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away while I fuck your pussy.”

You blink up at him, dazed. And fuck—he looks insane. Hair a mess, sweat dripping down his temples, that metal hand gripping your thigh so hard you might bruise.

And still—he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like it’s punishment. Relentless. Ruthless.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, your body jerking with the force of it. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall, your moans echoing like you’re meant to be heard.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You gonna soak my cock just like you soaked your fingers last night?”

“Bucky—Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing fast circles over your clit as he keeps fucking you open with brutal thrusts.

“You’re gonna come with me inside you, sweetheart. You’re gonna come on my cock like a good little toy.”

And it snaps.

You cry out—loud and broken—as your orgasm slams into you hard enough to steal your breath, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, grinding deep into you as you come, riding you through it. “That’s it. So fucking tight—so good for me—”

He’s close now too. You can feel it—his thrusts stuttering, muscles tensing.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “You want that, baby? Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy?”

You’re still shaking, but you nod. Whimpering. Needy.

“Please—inside—want it so bad—”

He buries himself deep and groans loud—raw and wrecked—as he spills inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as you feel every hot pulse of it.

You’re ruined.

His weight sinks down on top of you, breath ragged in your ear, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting.

The room’s heavy with heat and sweat, skin sticking where it meets, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of how hard he fucked you.

Then he lifts his head. Eyes drag down your flushed face. Your parted lips. Your chest rising and falling fast. Still dazed. Still ruined.

He shifts back onto his knees between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, keeping you spread open wide beneath him.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he pulls out—slow and thick, his cock dragging against your fluttering walls before slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper.

And fuck.

You feel it immediately. The warm spill of him leaking out of you—thick and hot and so much—trickling down your folds and onto the sheets in sticky, glistening streams.

Bucky groans under his breath, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You took it all. So fucking good for me.”

You try to close your legs on instinct, flushed and wrecked and so overstimulated—but he stops you with a firm grip, holding you open with his metal hand.

“Uh-uh. Keep ’em open. I wanna see it.”

His thumb slides down, spreads you further, letting him watch as more of his cum drips from your aching hole.

“Look at that mess,” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You’re leaking all over the place, baby.”

You shiver under him.

He swipes his thumb through the slick, then presses it back in—just a little—pushing some of it inside again while your body jerks from the sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be filled like this.”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You’re gonna clean me up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick with command. “Gonna taste every drop.”

Your pulse spikes. You barely have the strength to move, still reeling from the wreck he’s made of you—but you obey, because you need it, because he told you to.

He shifts forward, settling between your thighs again. His metal hand spreads you open, keeping you wide for him, raw and messy. His other hand trails down, steadying his cock where it rests—still hard, still slick with both of you.

He throbs against your skin, flushed and glistening.

You lean forward without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the first salty bead that clings to the head. He lets out a quiet groan above you.

His eyes burn as you take your time, licking slowly around the tip—teasing, deliberate—before your lips part wider and you sink down, wrapping him in heat.

Your cheeks hollow as you draw him in deeper, your mouth soft and eager.

“Fuck,” Bucky grits, his hand sliding into your hair, curling tight. “You’re good at this.”

You moan around him, letting the praise sink in as you begin to move—slow, controlled bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls, tasting the mix of him and yourself, and it only makes you hungrier.

You’re not just cleaning him up. You’re savoring him and he knows it.

He pulls you up by your hair, not rough—controlled. Intentional. His mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and claiming, like he’s branding you from the inside out. His metal hand clamps around your waist, anchoring you, holding you still as he devours you like he owns you.

And fuck, maybe he does.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips, low and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and satisfied. “You did so well. That’s my good girl.”

Your stomach twists, body still trembling, as you melt into him — breathless and soaked, the taste of him still slick on your tongue.

He doesn’t move for a while, just lets his weight settle into you, chest rising and falling against yours, heart still pounding beneath sweat-damp skin. His breath is warm where it fans over your cheek, his metal hand still possessively wrapped around your waist.

Then, gently, he shifts. His fingers slide up, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. He kisses your forehead—soft, slow—like he’s claiming you all over again, but quieter this time.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, the words husky but reverent now. “You were perfect.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the sound, overwhelmed, wrecked in the best way. His flesh hand strokes your cheek, soothing the heat from it, while the metal one trails lazy circles over your spine.

“Did so good for me,” he whispers again, like a secret meant only for your bones.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nuzzle closer, tucking yourself into his chest.

Fuck, he did ruin you.

tags: @iamthatonefangirl

[marvelstars]

Meanwhile on the Executor:

Vader: The asteroids are not my problem admiral!!, I need that ship not excuses.

Also Vader when the Emperor is on the phone:

Vader to Piett: Take the ship outside the asteroid field to get a clear signal.

I guess he didn´t want to explain to the Emperor why exactly was his ship and his army inside an asteroid field, sure Sheev would just cackle with laughter at that but he remembers Anakin and knows exactly which kind of things get him to this level of obsession: friends and family, so Vader doesn´t have friends left unless you count Sheev but family he does have.

Sheev: You already knew about the boy right?

Vader, Who has been looking for the rebellion non stop for 4 years straight looking for his boy all over the galaxy before his master finds him.

Vader: Of course not master, I am merely teaching the rebels a lesson, they are not going to get away this time.

Emperor: (thinking sure Jan) XD

Han, steering into an asteroid field: “They’d have to be crazy to follow us in here!” Narrator: “Unfortunately, Darth Vader was crazy.”

[shortsweetespresso]

okay, but on a serious note, as someone with a degree in history, this is a terrifying event. not only is this showing that our leaders and former leaders are not safe from an attack, but this attempt also happened against a former president that may will use this to his advantage. this man, a former REALITY TV STAR, knows how to play a crowd. he knows how to put on a show and manipulate people to be on his side. he already has an insane fan base who has ALREADY incited an insurrection attempt on the very government they CLAIM TO LOVE.

history loves a martyr, and a living martyr can make things worse. whether this was real or staged, it will be treated as real by every single news source that matters unless proven otherwise -- which could end up being proven years down the line. the right are already using this as a reason to vote for trump. I can't scroll through my facebook without people in every single group I'm in discussing this. all press is good press, especially to the right wing where they can spread their propaganda.

this night is going to be in history books. unless the American people come together, and EVERYONE who can vote against trump, votes for Biden (god help us), this night may very well be listed in the reasons fascism came to take hold of the United States.

you can read the reasons why World War I and II happened, and you can see the clear picture as all of those reasons are laid out in front of you.

Not to fear monger, but World War III's causes are already being laid out in front of us clearly, unless we can work together to stop it. Ukraine, Palestine, and many other places are already the places of first conflict. take a look around. read the news from all angles.

Vote. VOTE. V O T E. FUCKING VOTE. Biden is the much lesser of two evils, and it literally hurts to say that the president currently funding a Palestinian genocide is the better option, and the fact that I HAVE to vote for him in order to keep trump out of power is breaking me and everything I am inside. biden is funding it -- yet trump said he would help israel "finish the job"

donate to Palestinians. donate to the people of Ukraine. vote democrat in the 2024 election.

I'm sorry that this is not the most eloquently written tumblr essay, but I am terrified.

[seresinhangmanjake]

About Time

Tyler Owens x Childhood Friend!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Tyler’s best friend since childhood, but a near-death experience makes him realize he feels much more for you than friendship and he shouldn’t have allowed himself to deny it for so long. 

Warnings/Notes: cursing, mild angst, mostly fluff, typos

Words: 2300

Masterlist

It was when he almost lost you that Tyler knew he was in love with you. When he was forced to play tug of war with the violent winds to keep you in his arms. When he felt your chest move against his with your shallow, rapid breaths. When he heard his name, a soft whimper from quivering lips. 

“T–Tyler…”

He tightened his grasp on your waist and mumbled, “I got you, darlin’. Just don't let go.”

At that moment, he didn't know if he could protect you, but the alternative was an unbearable thought. Living without you was unimaginable, unacceptable, so if the winds planned to take you, they would have no choice but to take him, too. Then at least you'd be going together. 

He’d always felt something for you, and he understood that he probably always would, but he'd been unwilling to give it a name more intense than a teenage crush that just happened to last well past its expiration date. And while your perpetually growing beauty and intoxicating laugh made it hard for him to tame what he continued to feel, he’d managed. 

But that fear of imminent death—more potent than ever—tapped into the depths of those feelings he’d been swallowing for more than a decade. The abuse of pelting rain and flying debris paled in comparison to the overwhelming storm breaking free from the neglected portion of his heart. 

Once disaster moved along, you looked up at him with wide, weary eyes, and he couldn’t think clearly past the repetitive chanting in his head: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, overpowering every other sense of logic and reason. He pushed strands of damp hair from your face, cupped your cheeks, then leaned down and sealed his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The first kiss. A kiss that typically has a much better outcome than what followed.

He hasn't seen you since that day. A week has come and gone and not one glimpse of your face, and now he’s more desperate for the sight than he’s ever been before. Missing you when you’re not around is far from new, but having released his feelings, the all-consuming sensation is worse. It’s harder to tolerate.

You're avoiding him, he knows it, but he supposes that can happen when someone kisses their best friend with no prior discussion of deeper feelings. It's not what he would do were the situation reversed—he'd still be all over you, kissing you back, smiling, never letting you go—but you've chosen to handle things quite differently, and in doing so, has left him no choice but to respond accordingly.

—

“Mornin’,” you hear, nearly dropping the pail of milk you’d been collecting all morning. Eyes darting to your right, you find Tyler sitting in one of the living room's quilted armchairs. Your heartbeat stutters. 

When you turn your head to the left, your mother is leaning against the kitchen countertop, her fluffy robe tied around her body and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands that she brings to her lips as she reads the newspaper splayed out beside her. 

“Mom, what is Tyler doing here?”

She glances up, swallows, and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip to catch the remnants of caramel-colored liquid. “Oh gosh, dear, he must've snuck in,” she replies, feigning ignorance. “But I’m not one for kickin’ anyone—especially not a fine, young man—off my property, so I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

With a huff, you set the pail down on the breakfast table, knowing your mother will take care of it, and shoot her a glare before making your way to the living room. Tyler stares up at you. You cross your arms and nudge your head toward the storage barn just behind the house where the two of you used to hold your late-night meetings when you were children, and later, teenagers. Many nights you spent in that barn after Tyler had snuck out of his parent’s house and chucked a pebble at your window to wake you. 

Tyler nods and follows you out the back door to the large structure that protects your privacy from the prying ears of the woman inside the house. 

“We gotta get you a new phone, darlin’,” Tyler says to your back once you're enclosed in the barn. “The one you've got doesn't seem to be receiving my calls…or texts…or elaborate voicemails.”

“Tyler…” you sigh, twisting to face him.

“You know we gotta talk about it,” he says. And he’s right, despite how the complicated element introduced into your relationship is entirely his fault and so you shouldn’t have to owe him the time of day until you're ready to give it. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” Tyler’s eyes follow the movement of your arms wrapping tighter around yourself and he swallows hard. “I walked.”

“Speed-walked,” he counters. “Borderline jogged.”

You groan, your tense shoulders sagging. “Tyler listen, I just–”

“Do you really think disappearing on me was a fair thing to do?” he interrupts. “I’m your best friend.”

Your jaw drops at the audacity. Not surprising, really; Tyler’s always had a way of wording things that gets under people’s skin, but out of the two of you, he is the last person who should be doling out the criticism. 

“Fair?” you huff. “You’re the one who–”

“I mean, what was so wrong with it?” Long fingers slide through his blond hair. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about me in that way? It hasn’t crossed your mind once? No sex dreams? Nothin’? ‘Cause I’ve been wrestlin’ with it since fuckin’ high school, but ok, sure, fine.”

“Ty–”

“And I know it was unexpected but was it really that shocking? Don’t you think we’d be good together? I think we’d–”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler, will you let me talk!” you snap, your voice carrying throughout the barn.

If you were trying to preserve your privacy, you’ve definitely failed now. Half of town probably heard you and they’re nothing short of a mile away, but at this point, Tyler has pushed you well past caring. Let them hear. Let them know what’s going on between you. They all saw him kiss you anyway.

“We nearly died,” you continue. “People around us did die.”

Tyler’s face breaks down and you instantly regret your words. You know he stuck around after you left. You know he helped everyone he could in the aftermath of disaster while you let your emotions override your system and ran home to cry to your mother over how he just rocked what was your very steady relationship.

“Look,” you sigh. “Even if I wasn’t thinking about death—and that is a massive ‘if’—I told myself a long time ago that you are my friend, just my friend.”

Tyler’s hands settle on his hips. His eyes fall to the floor and his back teeth clench. “Why?”

“Because I repeated it so many times in my head that it solidified,” you tell him, throwing your arms up. “You know why Bradley dumped me last year? And Pete a couple years before that? And Bobby back in high school?” you ask. “Because of you. They all sensed this weird…energy…from you. All of them. Do you know how many times I had to tell them they were crazy? Do you know how many times I had to tell myself that I was crazy whenever they brought it up to me and I actually considered the possibility of you feeling that way?” 

You know exactly how many. Bobby had mentioned it five times before he decided he was done; broke it off with you right before prom and scoffed when he saw that Tyler had stepped up as your date. Pete was shorter-lived; asked you about Tyler three times before he said he could see which way the wind was blowing and had no interest in getting in between anything. And Bradley held the record at seven, each time making the fight outdo the one prior before he was simply fed up with the friendship you refused to sacrifice. Three boyfriends have ditched you solely because of Tyler, and fifteen times you had to talk yourself down from the jolt of excitement you got from imagining him loving you.    

Taking a deep breath, you say, “You don’t just get to kiss me and not let me sort out my thoughts for five damn seconds.”

Tyler’s head snaps up, jaw ticking and eyes blazing. “Five seconds?” he spits. “I haven’t seen you in a week. That’s the longest we’ve gone since I graduated.”

“This isn’t just about you; how you feel; what you think; what you want.”

“Then what are you tellin’ me?” Tyler asks.

The light quiver in his voice unnerves you. Not because you aren’t used to him expressing himself to the fullest—and if he’s ever going to be vulnerable with anyone, it’s with you—but that quiver is typically the trigger for you comforting him, taking him into your arms and holding him, letting him wrap himself around you until he feels better and is ready to stop. For some reason, you never noticed how long he would stay tied to you when you gave him the chance. 

“Are you feelin’ like this is it?” he continues. “Are you wantin’ us to be done?”

And suddenly, you’re irritated again. You can’t stop the roll of your eyes. In no universe would you ever be done with Tyler Owens, and the fact that he would entertain otherwise is asinine. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, what do you expect!” he shouts. “You’re actin’ like I’m about to lose you!”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“But you're mad that I kissed you!”

“Damn it, Tyler! I am not!”       

Green eyes widen, his breaths heavy from his heaving chest. His mouth opens then closes then opens once more. “You’re—” He licks his lips as you watch him grasp for words. “Then why haven't you called me back?”

You shrug. “I don't know. We've never fought before, and I thought you'd be pissed that I walked off, which clearly you are, so…”

“That’s not true,” he says, moving to take a step closer to you before thinking better of it and staying put. “I haven’t been pissed, darlin’, just terrified. And missing you. And…wanting you.” Heat flares your cheeks, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the desperation in his. “But I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…I mean, you left and I thought…”

You shake your head. Whatever he let himself think, he was wrong.

The silence that settles over you is thicker than you're used to in his presence. You're used to laughter and jokes, sweet comments and banter. Tension zings in the space between your bodies, but it's pleasant, electrifying, invigorating. You feel the full impact of everything that was tucked underneath the stress and anxiety of barrelling through such a hard conversation. 

Tyler feels it too. His face shows it. His eyes you can only describe as heatedly glittering as he stares at you staring at him. His brows are pinched from frustration of a different kind. It's his lips, though, that reveal his thoughts better than any other feature. They're softly parted, glistening from a swipe of his tongue like he's ready to lock them to yours at any second. Like he needs to be ready just in case you give him the go-ahead so he can kiss you before you dare rescind your permission. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, words quieter than you meant for them to be, but Tyler hears you.  

His chuckle is short, half-formed, partially overtaken by the exhale of a breath. You detect a slight tease, as if you should already know the answer to that question. 

“That I wanna kiss you again,” he says. “So fuckin’ bad.”

The corners of your mouth struggle not to quirk upward. “Tyler.” He hums. “You know what it means if we do this, right?”

He nods. “We can’t go back,” he says. “But darlin’, I don’t wanna go back. I wanna keep on goin’...with you.”

“Everything will be different.”

“Not everything. We're still us, we'd just be kissin’ and touchin’ and, you know, doin’ other stuff,” he replies with a smile. “Hopefully.”

You picture Tyler standing before you as you have secretly wished you could have him for years—bare and muscled and grinning and telling you he loves you—and for the first time, you aren’t awash with guilt and shame. It feels right to think of him like this. Natural. There’s a soothing ocean of serenity flowing under the flames of desire, and it hits you that this was probably inevitable. All the pieces were there—friendship, trust, love—all there was left to do was act on it. 

“You won't change your mind?” you ask, stepping to him. 

At your question, distress takes over Tyler's face, but it melts into a grin once he notices your smirk. He closes the remaining distance between you and takes your hand, carefully interlocking your fingers. 

“No chance,” he tells you. 

“Ok,” you say, nodding. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, then I guess it’s ok if you kiss me agai–”

Your chuckle is muffled against his lips. His fingers untangle from yours and he guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck so he can cup your cheek. His free arm coils around your waist, pulling you in closer, and your body melts into his. Your brain fuzzes. You lose all awareness of your surroundings. You think you might just stay like this forever.

----

Tag List (if you wanna join)

[astraystayyh]

Israel doesn't want to repopulate Gaza, you loveable dummy

Seriously, find one Israeli on this site who'll say otherwise. And no, quoting Ben Gvir doesn't count (assuming you even know who that is) anymore than quoting, say, Rudy Giuliani would count for anything, even though he supposedly spoke for the president of the USA for a time.

Hamas has 136 hostages. Including women, and actual literal babies, assuming they're still alive, that is. This could all have ended weeks ago if they'd fucking returned them. Israeli society would physically march on Benjamin Netanyahu's home and remove him in a coup if the hostages were returned tonight. But as long as they have Israeli people, and are unwilling to negotiate their return, that's an ongoing war crime. Is Israel evil for being a bull in a China shop trying to get back a "mere" 136 innocent civilians? Maybe. But Hamas started this and they can end it, they just don't want to. Please, justify that.

Hello, since you asked for one Israeli, here, I'll give you multiple statements:

Hundreds of activists at an Ashdod gathering in late November called for the reestablishing of Jewish settlements. “Let it be known that you support the appeal to renew Jewish settlement throughout all of the Gaza Strip. The nation is waiting for you”— Yossi Dagan, head of the Samaria Regional Council.

Israel “should fully occupy the Gaza Strip”— Heritage Minister Amichai Eliyahu, of the far-right Otzma Yehudit party.

An Israeli real estate firm pushes to build settlements for Israelis in Gaza. “Wake up, a beach house is not a dream” reads the ad.

Israeli Knesset member Limor Son Har Melech posted a video of herself in a boat with other settlers off the coast of Gaza. “Settlement in every part of the Gaza Strip … A large, extensive settlement without fear, without hesitation, without humiliation. This land is the land that the creator of the world gave to us.”

Israeli Settler, Daniella Weiss says Palestinians who live in Gaza, have no right to stay in Gaza.

An Israeli soldier saying that Israelis should start “investing” in Khan Younis.

Also why would the words of Ben Gvir not count? He is an elected minister, his words hold weight and they expose Israel’s clear intent to make Gaza inhabitable for Palestinians so that Israelis could settle in there— by destroying the infrastructures, making the health system collapse entirely, bombing entire residential neighborhood, Israel is trying to ensure that Palestinians wouldn't be able to return back to their land, because there is nothing livable left there.

And I'm glad you bring up all of this ending if the hostages were returned— Hamas tried to strike up a deal for the return of ALL the hostages, in exchange of the release of all Palestinian prisoners. Israel refused. You know why? Because this has never been about hostages and their safety for Israel.

There is a reason why Israel shot its own hostages when it mistook them for Palestinian civilians, waving a white cloth. There is a reason why the IDF called to shoot indiscriminately on Oct. 7, knowing that it could kill some of the hostages too. Because Israel wants to kill Palestinians, to "thin out its population" (or maybe we shouldn't take into account the says and actions of Netanyahu too ://). This is why it targets schools and mosques and hospitals and ambulances and refugee camps. Israel knows that if it does get all its hostages back, then there would be nothing to “justify” its genocide in Gaza (although, as UN Secretary-General said : "Nothing can justify the collective punishment of the Palestinian people. The humanitarian situation in Gaza is beyond words")

Israel is the only reason why the hostages aren't fred yet. THEY are unwilling to negotiate the return because they don't want to stop this genocide. What good is a five days ceasefire only for the bombings to return? Do you even realize how psychologically traumatizing it is to have a countdown of when your massacre would resume? The only acceptable deal is for Israel to establish a permanent ceasefire, something that it refuses to do. The only one to blame is Israel.

And you say Israelis would instigate a coup to oust Netanyahu, that's nice, then what? Will you return the land to its rightful people? Will you give back Palestinians their rights unequivocally? Will you call for the dismantlement of Israel that was built on massacres? The reason why Israelis are angry at Netanyahu is rooted in the unresolved hostage situation. Just because you don't support Netanyahu doesn't mean that you aren't a zionist who finds the murder of more than twenty thousands Palestinians justifiable. A young girl had her leg amputated with no anesthesia on the kitchen counter of her home and you talk about “Israel being a bull in a China shop”? You consider the targeted attacks on civilians as careless actions by Israel? It actually astonishes me how inhumane some of you can be.

And here is what Dr. Refaat, who was targeted and murdered by the IDF btw, had to say about this matter:

Whether it's Netanyahu or someone else, it does not matter because Israel as a whole is an occupation, one built on the bloodshed of palestinians.

And it is funny how you choose to distort history whichever way you like it, to regard October 7th as an isolated instance that happened out of the blue. Hamas didn't start anything, Hamas was created in response to the indiscriminate and careless shooting of palestinian civilians in the first Intifada, that was decades ago. October 7th was a resistance to an ongoing colonization, Israel started this when it displaced and murdered palestinians on 1948. None of this would've happened if Israel did not colonize Palestine. It has been 100 days of this ongoing genocide, wake up and stop deluding yourself into a reality where Israel is the victim.

[atimelessheaven]

mom!paige x mom!reader taking their afternoon nap with their baby girl when all of a sudden she got curious with paige’s phone and accidentally go on live on paige’s instagram

FAMILY NAP MISHAPS

fluff ◡̈

warning: none that i can think of! let me know if i missed any!

this is my first request, hopefully i did it justice.

*please excuse any grammar errors! ◡̈ *

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

paige and her wife had just gotten their daughter, matilda, into the car after a meltdown about not wanting to leave the park. little tilly definitely had no chill, and was just go, go, go. so it wasn’t surprising she was upset about leaving.

they were exhausted to say the least, and tilly? oh she was knocked out. completely asleep in her car seat two seconds into the drive home. paige looking in the rearview mirror and then over to her wife for a split second before saying “you know since we are already tired, and she’s napping so she’s for sure going to stay up late tonight, we should take naps too. we have to prepare.” paige’s wife laughing, “you say that like we are going to war” paige rolls her eyes “we might as well be with how insane she is coming off of her nap time high.” “well i am pretty sleepy, i guess a nap to prepare for the tilly war sounds nice.”

when they finally arrive home, paige’s wife going inside to start getting herself nap ready while paige was tasked with getting their daughter in the house without waking her. tilly looked so peaceful in her sleep but paige was just stuck wondering how she manages to sleep with her head at that angle in her car seat. paige unbuckled her as quietly as possible, and picks her up as gently as possible trying to keep her asleep. to paige’s disappointment tilly opens her eyes “mama?” “shhhh go back to sleep, you’re sleepy.” “play?” “no baby it’s nap time. we can play after nap time.”

immediately taking offense tilly cried “mama mean” “see baby you’re so upset because you’re still sleepy. you need a nap.” tilly tried very hard to push herself away from paige, paige sighing and putting her down. this child was always going to test her patience. her wife had been telling her since they had matilda that paige felt so challenged because tilly was her. they acted the exact same.

tilly immediately running to find her mommy. “mommy, mama mean. want you” immediately picking tilly up asking her what’s wrong “how is mama being mean baby? what’s the matter?” tilly just pouted holding onto her mommy. “babe, why is tilly so upset?” she asked hearing paige finally walking inside “i told her it was nap time and she would have to wait until after to play.” paige’s wife giggles and looks at tilly, who’s sitting there staring at paige, like she had just threw away all of her stuffed animals. “wanna play now” tilly states. “tilly baby we can’t always get our way, mama is right you do need a nap, we are all going to take a nap. “mommy nap with me?” “yes baby, mama and i will both nap with you.”

after all three of them got ready for their nap, they’re finally all laying in bed. tilly between them, clearly favoring her mommy, since she’s still holding a grudge against paige not letting her play. paige had even attempted to turn on her side and hold both of her girls, but tilly whined and tried kicking her off. “no tilly. kicking is not nice. apologize to mama” her mommy immediately corrected. tilly rolled over snuggling up at paige “im sorry mama, didn’t mean to make you sad, i just wanted mommy because you made me sad” “baby, i didn’t mean to make you sad, mama just knew you were tired and needed to sleep after using that much energy at the park. me and mommy always know what’s best, we would never mean to upset you we just know what’s best for you.” paige says frowning knowing she made her princess sad, but she knows it was for a good reason. “i love you mama” “mama loves you more princess tilly” paige says snuggling up finally with both of her girls. they all ended up finally getting that nap.

an hour or so later tilly wakes up, she sees a phone next to her mama. obviously her little toddler mind wants to play with the phone. she always sees her moms using them, she wants to, too. somehow after some messing around she finds talking to her aunt kk? “aunt kk!! miss you” “i miss you too tilly girl! how did you get your mamas phone?” kk asks confused. “mama and mommy sleeping, and i awake, so i play on phone” tilly says like it’s obvious. “tilly girl can you wake up your mama? i wanna talk to her” tilly immediately nods and starts shaking paige “mama wake up, aunt kk wants to talk to you” paige grumbles “tilly baby, go back to sleep” “no mama wake up kk wants you” “tilly i thought we were all nappi- wait did you say aunt kk? what is going on?” paige says immediately getting up.

“what’s up p boogers?? tilly girl went live somehow on your phone and i joined” kk says half laughing at paige’s confused face. “how does a almost three year old even figure that out?? she can’t even read” paige says shocked. “mama mad?” tilly asks suddenly aware that she did something she wasn’t supposed to. “no baby mama isn’t mad at you, i’m honestly impressed you managed to do that. we do need to talk about not using mama’s phone when she’s not with you though.” paige says smiling at her little princess. “okay guys that’s enough of tilly’s nap time shenanigans. i’m going to get off live now, well end tilly’s live” paige says laughing while reading the chat. “say bye bye tills” “bye bye aunt kk, bye bye peoples” tilly says as paige ends the live.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to you patting their head

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

You? Patting him? On his head?

Oh, you’ve done it now.

The moment your hand made contact with Gojo’s fluffy white hair, the man melted. Like, physically melted—sagging against you with the dramatic flair of a dying anime protagonist, hands clutching his chest like he had just been shot. Gojo thrives on validation, and you just gave him a gold-star experience without even realizing it.

He immediately plops his head back into your hand, full-body leaning into it like a Great Dane that doesn’t understand its own size. "More. Again. Do it again."

If you try to retract your hand, he will simply follow it. He is a pat-seeking missile. If necessary, he will crouch, lean, or—even worse—puppy eyes you.

"No, no, no. I like this. Please, continue." He leans his entire head into your palm, sighing dramatically.

He is so smug about it. He makes it so weird.

He closes his eyes, murmuring, "This is what I deserve. The strongest also deserves the strongest head pats."

You have created a monster.

Gojo weaponizes the head pats. He starts doing things just to earn them.

"I saved a kitten today."

"That kitten was fine, Satoru."

"I held open a door for an old lady."

"It was automatic."

"I didn’t commit war crimes today."

"…"

You give him a reluctant pat.

"Yay! I love positive reinforcement!"

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

The moment you pat him on the head, he freezes. His usually smug, smooth expression flickering through about sixteen different emotions at once. He wasn’t prepared for that.

Then, after a long pause, he tilts his head up, looking at you with lazy amusement. “Oh? You're bold today.”

Despite his composed exterior, you can tell he secretly loves it. He leans ever so slightly into the touch, acting like he’s doing you a favor by letting you do this.

“Hmm, I could get used to this…” he hums. If you stop too soon, he’ll give you a teasing look. "That’s all? I thought you had more in you." Smug, smug man. But if you go for another? You might just hear a tiny pleased hum escape him. And then he realizes it and immediately tries to play it off by fake coughing.

You have power over him now. Use it wisely.

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

You had been foolish.

You had let your instincts override common sense.

Because Nanami had just finished a long, grueling shift, and he looked so tired—shoulders heavy, sighing like an overworked single dad. And for some reason, your brain had gone: Pat him, he deserves it.

So you did.

And then you immediately wanted to enter witness protection.

Nanami froze. Entirely. His body went rigid, his hands stopped mid-air, and the slow, agonizing turn of his head toward you felt like a damn horror movie.

“…What,” he said, in a voice that made you reconsider every life decision, “was that?”

“A gesture of support,” you answered carefully. “And respect.”

Nanami stared at you for a long time. You were about to start saying your last prayers when, finally, finally, he sighed.

"…Just this once," he mutters, completely betraying himself.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso is like a cat who has never been pet before. Your hand lands on his head, fingers ruffling his dark locks, and this man absolutely freezes.

You did not expect this much of a reaction.

He just stands there, completely motionless, staring at you like you just introduced him to a fundamental human experience he did not know existed. His mouth moves like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out.

Finally, after a very long pause—

“…I see,” he mutters, nodding very slowly.

He does not elaborate.

Then he leaves.

He comes back the next day and awkwardly hovers near you, tilting his head forward just a little in your direction, waiting.

“…Do you want another head pat?” you finally ask.

“…I would not be opposed.”

If you pat him again? You might see him physically relax for the first time in forever. You are his comfort now.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

The second your hand lands on Toji’s head, he reacts like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

"Oi. What do you think you’re doin'?" He glares at you, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch slightly upward.

He leans into it. But he also refuses to let you know that he is enjoying this. His pride is on the line.

"You treating me like some kinda dog? Huh?" He teases, but he doesn’t move away.

And then—he does it back. This menace of a man head pats you right back, but way too aggressively. It’s not even a gentle pat—it’s a ruffling, noogie-level disaster.

If you complain? He smirks and shrugs. "What? Thought we were tradin’." Absolute menace. You are stuck in a head-pat war.

And if you dare stop first? He clicks his tongue, "Tch. Weak." and then just walks off like he didn’t just enjoy that entire interaction.

[youngsadlesbian]

hey! i saw you were taking requests so:

a fic where popular!wanda and popular!reader have always been rivals. they love eachother as much as they hate eachother because they were childhood bestfriends, not until wanda left without a word, leaving reader alone.

i think it would be great if they have a scene wherein they get stuck in a bathroom after a couple of friends locked them in there, and they start talking about what actually happened.

ANDDDDD wanda getting pissed at reader's boyfriend, even if she has one as well.

i hope you consider this, thank you!!

BETWEEN LOVE AND WAR

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: rivals since wanda left without explanation, you love each other as much as you hate each other. when you're locked in together, buried feelings resurface. between stolen kisses, jealousy, and secrets, you must decide—keep fighting or finally surrender to love.

a/n: thanks for the request hope u like it <3

word count: 2k

warnings: angst if you blink, enemies to lovers but mostly fuff.

Highschool hallways were your battlefield.

From the moment Wanda Maximoff waltzed back into your life years after disappearing without a trace, she had been nothing but a thorn in your side. The childhood best friend you had once adored had morphed into your greatest rival, someone who matched you in everything—popularity, grades, social influence.

If you threw a party, Wanda threw a bigger one. If you aced a test, Wanda’s score was somehow a fraction higher. It wasn’t just a competition anymore—it was war.

And she played dirty.

“Nice speech, printsessa,” Wanda cooed as she brushed past you after the morning assembly, the smug smirk on her lips igniting a fire in your chest. “Almost convincing. Too bad I wasn’t impressed.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a steady breath. “That’s funny, Maximoff. Because last time I checked, you were watching my every move like your life depended on it.”

Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else lurking beneath the surface—something almost… regretful? You ignored the nagging thought.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, stepping closer until you could smell her familiar vanilla perfume. “If I wanted to watch something entertaining, I’d look anywhere but at you.”

A slow smirk curved your lips. “Then why are you still here?”

For a split second, Wanda faltered. But before you could dwell on it, she rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, walking away as if she hadn’t just invaded your space like she owned it.

That was how it always went between you two—like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to explode.

But nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

It was supposed to be a harmless prank.

The idea was simple—your so-called friends thought it would be hilarious to lock you and Wanda in the girls’ bathroom until you either killed each other or worked things out.

“You guys need to fix your tension!” one of them had laughed before slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of dread through your stomach.

You whirled around, heart pounding. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Wanda groaned, banging a fist against the door. “Let us out, idiots!”

No response.

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Wanda turned to glare at you, arms crossed. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” You scoffed, incredulous. “How the hell is this my fault?”

“You have terrible taste in friends.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, and you would know all about loyalty, right?”

The second the words left your mouth, the air between you shifted. Wanda tensed, her expression hardening as if you had physically slapped her.

And maybe, in a way, you had.

A thick silence stretched between you.

Then, Wanda exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I had my reasons,” she muttered.

Your heart clenched. “For leaving?”

She didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay composed. “You never even said goodbye, Wanda.”

The raw emotion in your voice made her flinch.

You hated the way your chest ached. Hated the way her absence had wrecked you when you were younger.

Wanda finally met your gaze, and for the first time in years, her walls cracked. “I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “My father got into trouble. My family had to leave town overnight. I didn’t have a choice.”

Your breath hitched. “You did have a choice. You could have told me. I would’ve understood.”

“I didn’t want you to understand,” she snapped, frustration laced in her voice. “I wanted to protect you. I thought leaving without a word would make it easier for you to forget me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Well, congratulations, Wanda. It didn’t work.”

The weight of the past hung heavy between you.

Then, in the quiet, Wanda’s voice softened. “I missed you.”

Your heart clenched at the admission.

But before you could respond, a loud click echoed through the air, and the door swung open.

Your friends had let you out. But neither of you moved.

Because everything between you had just changed.

\*/

You knew something was wrong the moment you spotted Wanda at the party later that night.

She was standing across the room, her gaze locked onto you like a predator watching its prey. And she was pissed.

At first, you thought it was just the unresolved tension from earlier.

But then you followed her line of sight—straight to your boyfriend, who had an arm draped around your waist.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wanda’s lips, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t know you had such low standards, printsessa.”

Your jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”

Wanda stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as she tilted her head, eyes dark with something dangerous. “Your boyfriend. He’s a walking red flag, sweetheart. You can do better.”

You glared at her. “Oh, so now you care about my love life?”

Her expression darkened. “I’ve always cared.”

The words made your breath hitch, but you refused to show weakness. “Funny. You didn’t seem to care when you disappeared.”

Something flickered in Wanda’s gaze, but before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Wanda.”

You turned just in time to see her boyfriend—a tall, broad-shouldered guy who looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine—wrap an arm around her waist.

Wanda’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move away.

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to acknowledge the feeling.

So instead, you smiled, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Well, isn’t this adorable? You’re acting jealous while you have a whole-ass boyfriend.”

Wanda’s grip on her drink tightened. “It’s not the same.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so you can date whoever you want, but I can’t?”

Her eyes burned into yours. “I don’t want you with him.”

Your heart stuttered, but you masked it with a smirk. “And why the hell not?”

Wanda took a step closer, voice low. “Because he’s not me.”

For a moment, the world stopped.

Then, before you could process what was happening, Wanda grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the crowd, away from her boyfriend, away from everything.

Because this war between you and her?

It had never been about hate.

Wanda’s grip on your wrist was firm but not painful as she dragged you out of the party and into the cool night air. The music from inside was still pounding, but it felt like a distant echo compared to the erratic beating of your own heart.

“What the hell was that?” you snapped, wrenching your arm free the moment you reached the empty backyard.

Wanda didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she ran a frustrated hand through her dark hair, her green eyes flashing with something wild, something desperate.

“You know what that was,” she finally said, voice tight.

You let out a humorless laugh. “No, I really don’t. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just pissed I’m not still waiting around for you like some lovesick idiot.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now you care about what’s fair?”

Wanda took a step closer, invading your space. “I never stopped caring.”

Your breath hitched. The heat of her presence, the intensity in her gaze—it was suffocating in the best and worst ways.

“Then why did you leave?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching. “Why did you let me believe you just didn’t give a damn about me anymore?”

Wanda exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment. “I told you—I thought it would be easier that way.”

“For who?” Your voice cracked, betraying you. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t easier for me.”

Silence.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it—

“I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you.”

The confession landed like a punch to the gut.

For so long, you had convinced yourself that Wanda had abandoned you without a second thought. That she had simply moved on. But the way she was looking at you now—like you were the only thing in the world that had ever mattered—made that lie crumble to dust.

She took another step closer. You didn’t move away.

“I missed you,” Wanda murmured.

Your chest tightened. “Then why did it take you so long to tell me that?”

Her eyes flickered to your lips for just a second. “Because I was scared.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“And what about now?” you whispered.

Wanda reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering against your skin.

“I’m still scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a breath.

But she didn’t pull away.

And neither did you.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

One second, you were standing there, staring at Wanda like she was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had been asking. The next, her lips were crashing against yours in a kiss that tasted like frustration, longing, and years of unresolved emotions.

It was messy, desperate—more of a battle than a kiss.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of her jacket, pulling her impossibly closer. Wanda’s fingers gripped your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

The intensity made your knees weak, made your mind spin.

But just as quickly as it started, reality slammed into you like a freight train.

You pushed her away, panting. “Wanda, I—”

Her expression was unreadable, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that,” she said, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard. “I have a boyfriend.”

Wanda flinched at the reminder. “You don’t love him.”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed.

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course. Of course you don’t.”

You ran a shaky hand through your hair, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. “And what about your boyfriend, huh? What does this mean for him?”

Something dark flashed across Wanda’s face. “He was never you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

For so long, you had been fighting—against each other, against your feelings, against the past. But maybe… maybe you had been fighting for the wrong reasons.

Maybe you weren’t rivals. Maybe you were just two people too afraid to admit that you had never really stopped loving each other.

And maybe… it was time to stop fighting at all.

\*/

You ended things with your boyfriend the next day.

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was necessary. Because Wanda had been right—your heart had never truly belonged to anyone else.

And as for Wanda…

Well, she wasn’t far behind.

She showed up at your locker that afternoon, her usual smirk replaced with something softer, something real.

“So…” she started, leaning against the lockers, “you free later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Planning on dragging me into another emotionally charged confrontation?”

Wanda grinned. “Tempting. But I was thinking something more along the lines of an actual date.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm. That depends. Are you finally ready to admit that you like me?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the blush creeping up her neck.

“Shut up,” she muttered before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe, after all this time, it finally was.

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 5

War Without Reason from Ultrakill

vs.

THE WORLD REVOLVING from Deltarune

Propaganda under the cut. If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

War Without Reason:

Best alsrm sequence in any videogame ever

Do you like funky alarm sounds in your song? We got alarms! You like songs that can be broken up into multiple tinier songs? There's 10 phases to War Without Reason! Do you like a really, really cool electric guitar section? Timeskip to 5:52 in the official release of War Without Reason or search up War Without Reason Phase 10 and skip to about 30 second Do you like a song with so much meaning crammed into it that when you tried to dissect it you'll have to make a 100+ slide powerpoint slideshow to explain how good it is to your poor friends? War Without Reason! War Without Reason is such a delightful theme song that represents the absolute brutality, beauty, and sadness that are the Earthmovers in Ultrakill. The Earthmovers were the strongest and most terrible machines used in the Final War, the shining star above all other machines. They are the totality of humanity's violence. The theme does them more than justice There's a amazing evil sounding yet somber piano section that fades intermittently throughout the last part of War Without Reason. It gives the same feeling as the piano during Bo Burnham's Goodbye, specifically in the Welcome to the Internet Reprise. It's just a really good song

the flag signals the mannequins are doing spell out “gay”

THE WORLD REVOLVING:

Jevil jumps on beat with the song and that’s pretty cool

[finelinevogue]

hi!! can I get an azriel fic where he and the reader had a fight before a battle or mission and then she is presumed dead so he spends his days spiraling with guilt and he misses her a lot and that stuff. And then when she makes it back he finally confesses his feelings to her and happy ending :) bonus if she's rhys' sister but not necessary. thank u so much and happy new year!!

please come back

thank you so much for your request - i hope this lived up to expectations since i’ve wanted to write a fic like this for ages 💫

word count - 1.6k

“Where is she?”

“Az.. We… We don’t—.”

“I said where is she?” Azriel bellowed, readying Truthteller for anything.

Rhys rubbed a bloody hand over his chin whilst Cassian hung his head low.

Rhys looked at Azriel with those deep violet eyes, conveying a whole conversation to him without having to use any words.

Truthteller dropped to the ground.

Azriel followed.

His knees let out an earth shattering crack as he crumbled onto the floor. His whole body went slack, his entire demeanour changing from how he had been seconds before.

How evil a few seconds could turn life into.

“No.” He whispered to the wind.

“Az…”

“No!” He screamed, spit and blood flying from his lips - blood from the battle which he didn’t feel like they’d won anymore.

Why had any of that been worth it?

Days of war and fighting, and for what?

The peace and safety of the Night Court wad restored once more, but was life worth truly living without his person living beside him? He couldn’t even comprehend the thought of figuring that question out.

He could feel the bond slipping away. That once golden-feel thread, rusting and greying away.

Azriel tried pulling on the bond with all he had, whispering pleads under his breath. “Please, please.” He pulled and pulled, but the void when nothing pulled back was too empty to deal with.

“I’m sorry, brother.” Rhys said, kneeling down in front of Azriel. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me it isn’t true.” Azriel looked from his blood-caked hands and into his brother’s eyes once more.

Azriel’s own eyes pooled with tears. He didn’t think he had any energy left to think, let alone cry and yet the tears would not stop falling.

His body rocked as his cries took over him.

He felt like the world was ending and he was ending with it.

He pulled that bond again, wishing for anything to give him a sign that you were at least trying to pull back - to give Azriel reason to believe you were still there - but all he felt was nothing.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

The sun was setting when Azriel woke up.

He sat up in your once shared bed, holding himself up by his hands behind him.

He looked from the setting sun to your side of the bed. He’d set up your pillows so it looked like your body was underneath the sheets. They had dents in from where he’d been holding them at night - trying to replicate the feeling of you.

He can’t believe you were gone.

Azriel took one of his hands and placed it over his heart, tugging at that thread - he wasn’t giving it up so easily. He could feel it still there, only it felt distant. Distant didn’t mean forever gone, though.

And so he pulled.

Every morning - or evening - he rose, he pulled.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

“You look…” Cassian started as Azriel entered the kitchen.

Cassian was sat at the table eating some bread and sauce - forever snacking.

“Handsome?” Azriel asked in a teasing voice

“You don’t want me to answer that honestly.” Cassian shook his head, tearing off a bit of bread and throwing it across the table for Azriel to catch.

Azriel caught it with one hand and immediately took a bite from it. It didn’t take an intelligent someone to know that Cassian was just trying to make sure Azriel remembered to eat, seeing as he kept ‘forgetting to’ recently.

Azriel hadn’t attended family dinner in 2 days - the battle having ended 3 days ago.

Cassian was impressed that Azriel was even out of bed - proud, even.

“Answer me this, then.” Azriel counter offered, “If… If you thought there was still a small chance the bond was still alive between you and Nesta, even though she’d… gone, would you pull it? Persue it?”

“Without hesitation.” Cassian nodded.

Azriel nodded in agreement.

“Why—.”

“It’s nothing.” Azriel shook his head, leaving the bread on the table and disappearing from the room once more.

“What a weird guy.” Cassian spoke to no-one as he dipped his bread into a spicy-red sauce.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

You looked peaceful.

Madja had dressed you in lilac robes - traditional to your homeland for your upcoming memorial service.

You were lying to rest in a room away from the main part of the House of Wind. You looked so beautiful. Your Fae skin had not yet withered or cracked.

“Hello, my love.” Azriel said, brushing the tips of his fingers over your cheek.

Azriel had been coming down to speak to you every spare moment he had, not wanting to miss a single second he had to watch over you.

“Are you ready to come back yet?”

He tugged that bond and he tugged it hard.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

It was the third morning.

Azriel was at his desk, writing away as he often did in the mornings. His diary was the one constant - other than you - that he had always known he could turn to each day.

Now with you gone, he–

Mor burst through the door, panting like she’d run up the steps to reach the House of Wind.

Azriel hadn’t noticed he’d dropped his pen and spilt the ink everywhere. Mor had startled him, but his shadows had calmed him.

Mor caught her breath long enough for her to speak two words.

“She’s awake.”

And that’s when he noticed he could feel it; the bond.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

Azriel was running faster than he had ever before.

He sprinted down the halls, apologising when he knocked over a vase but continuing nevertheless.

When he approached the end of the hallway that led to that door, he spotted Rhys speaking to Madja just in front of it.

Azriel slowed down his pace until he was actually apprehensively approaching the door.

He looked at Madja first, needing medical reassurance more than anything. If this was real, how did the Mother pull this off? He would owe his soul for this.

Madja gave Azriel a knowing look that made Azriel want to crumple to the floor and kiss at the feet of the Gods.

Madja, Rhys and Mor stood beside the door as Azriel didn't waste a single moment more waiting behind the doors. He pushed them open widely and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he saw your eyes open.

You smiled at him from across the room and he was done for.

Azriel's shadows went into a frenzy to reach you and you laughed as they hugged and tickled you, moulding around your body in a protective cocoon.

"I came back." You said.

Azriel nodded, not understand how this was even possible. How was this possible? Could Madja even explain this phenomenon?

"You.. You were..."

"I know." You nodded sadly. "I can't imagine how that must have been for you."

"I pulled on the bond every other moment." Azriel walked towards you slowly, careful to tread carefully in case he blurred the dream that he was sure he was dreaming.

"I know." You rested your hand on your chest. "I could feel it."

"You could?"

"I'm certain that you brought me back, Az."

His shadows met back with him but only because he was so close to you now. Close enough to be able to reach out and make sure you were real.

He brought a scarred hand up to your cheek, hesitating in case this was some cruel trick. His hand hovered where he wanted to cup your cheek, like he was internally stuck with choosing what to do next.

"It's okay. I'm here."

You moved for him and pressed your skin into his.

Azriel gasped as he felt how real you were beneath his own body. He quickly brought his other hand to cup your other cheek and greedily bring your lips close to his so he could seal this moment with a kiss.

The kiss poured all of his love for you back into him.

He felt that bond grow tighter in his chest, begging to burst out and fill the room with the endless happy that you brought him.

"You're here." He said between kisses, not letting you go for a moment.

"I am."

Azriel's kisses were hungry and desperate. It was almost like he refused to believe this was real and that he would lose you the moment he stopped. As much as you loved him and his kisses, you did need to breathe and so you reluctantly pulled away.

"No..." Azriel whined, desperate to pull you back.

You cupped his cheeks this time, grounding him to you. "Hey, sweetheart, I am here. I am right here. We have all the time in the world. I'm okay."

"We're okay." And he sealed the fact with another kiss.

🦇 • 🤎• 🦇

"Az, get off!"

You laughed as you tried to push him off of your side of the bed.

"You're too big." You grunted as you tried to move him off you, but he was too big of a lump of muscle to move. Of course you were only struggling to suffer - you actually quite enjoyed the feeling of him on you. If it comforted him then it comforted you.

"I am, aren't I." He said cheekily, like a teen Illyrian.

"Ugh." You rolled your eyes, but were glad to see he'd gotten his spark back. "I give up."

You stayed laid down, Azriel's body completely wrapped over yours and his legs intertwined with yours. His arms were wrapped so snug around you that you couldn't move even if you did want to. Seemed like he was attached to you from here until forever.

"Good." He said. "Now, let's sleep."

He gave one last tug on the bond before you tried to go to sleep and he was only comfortable enough to go to sleep when he felt you tug back.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Amanda Marcotte at Salon:

It's starting to look like Donald Trump is deliberately wrecking the economy. As Robert Kuttner at the American Prospect wrote this week, "no other president has gone out of his way to create a collapse," but there's no other way to interpret Trump's actions. Pointless tariffs will only jack up inflation. Illegally shutting down much of the federal government and laying off thousands at random will suck money out of the economy, forcing a recession. Both consumer confidence and the stock market are diving and a likely surge in unemployment — driven in no small part by Elon Musk recklessly firing federal workers without regard for law or necessity — will make it worse. And if all these federal cuts lead, as expected, to people not getting Social Security checks or health coverage, the disaster will likely spiral.  Kuttner can't decide if Trump wants the economy to crash or if his actions are "based on sheer ignorance and impulsivity." Trump, however, indicated malicious intent during his seemingly endless speech in front of Congress on Tuesday night. Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. In this case, however, his victims include most Americans, who aren't independently wealthy and can't simply afford rising costs and massive job losses.  Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. It's an understatement to call it "unprecedented" to have a president who hates most Americans, including his own voters, and wants them to suffer. But, as Jamelle Bouie of the New York Times persuasively argued Wednesday, Trump's psychology makes it explicable. Trump's "every executive function exists to satisfy his ego," Bouie wrote. He continues to whine on a near-daily basis about losing the 2020 election. "[I]t stands to reason that Trump would want revenge against the public," Bouie concluded, adding that Trump is now undergoing "a retribution campaign against the American people." Thomas Edsall of the New York Times spoke with psychologists who confirmed Bouie's layman understanding of Trump's disordered mental state. They affirmed that Trump suffers from "a congenital sense of entitlement," whose personality is like that of "street toughs, bullies, abusive husbands and hate-crime perpetrators." Even in the 2024 election, he didn't get over 50% of the vote. It makes sense that, after nearly a decade of most Americans rejecting him, a malignant narcissist like Trump would detest Americans categorically, and wish nothing more than to punish them all.  As for his supporters, there's good reason Trump enjoys hurting them, as well. One of his favorite moves is to humiliate people who are dumb enough to fawn over him. Even during Tuesday's speech, he reminded us he loves to kick someone in the face after they bent to kiss his feet. After congratulating Marco Rubio for getting the secretary of state job — for which Rubio had to repeatedly prostrate himself — Trump threatened him. "Good luck, Marco. Now we know who to blame if anything goes wrong," Trump said, relishing one more bit of public shaming of a man who has done so much to flatter him. 

Like most abusers, Trump's go-to move when challenged is to blame his victims. Unlike most abusers, however, Trump has a small army of spinmeisters and apologists who will echo his victim-blaming rhetoric. As the economic damage starts to balloon out, the number of people who will be told that they brought this on themselves will grow — likely until most Americans are being blamed for what Trump inflicted on them. 

Malignant traitor Trump victim-blames Americans for his struggles to get a functioning economy.

[fantasydreamland]

Betrothed

cragen stark x fem tully reader x aemond targaryen

Summary: You have been betrothed to Cragen Stark since you were children and grew up in the North preparing for the day you would become the lady of the Winterfell. Your entire world changes when your parents decide to wed you to the cold prince Aemond Targaryen instead. When the war begins everything changes once again and you eventually find your rightful place.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smut, angsty af, fluff, p in v, loss of virginity, dragon ride, some spoilers.

Word count: 5.6k

x thank you so much for this request x

PART TWO

masterlist

taglist

You have been betrothed to Cragen Stark since you were children and grew up in the North preparing for the day you would become the lady of the Winterfell. Your parents visited often but remained occupied in the Riverlands.

Along the way, you and Cregan fell in love though neither of you would speak of it. Although you were to be wed, you were both shy about your feelings towards each other.

One day your mother and father return to Winterfell to visit and you greet them excitedly.

“There is a reason to our visit.” Your father says sternly as you hug your mother.

Your smile fades and they lead you to private room to speak. Your father explains that there was an offer from King Viserys to wed you to Prince Aemond Targaryen.

“What?!” You yell. “Absolutely not. Tell them no. I am to marry Cregan soon. That has always been the plan.”

“We have already agreed.” Your father states.

“You cannot marry me to that cold evil prince!” You raise your voice again in panic.

“Prince Aemond is an excellent match, my dear.” Your mother says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“But I am to be lady of Winterfell! That is what I have been preparing for my entire life!”

“Well, now you will be a princess of the realm.” Your mother says.

“I do not care to be a princess!” Tears begin to fill your eyes. “What about Cregan? We have been betrothed our entire lives. He is the sweetest man I have ever known and now you are going to ship me away from him… away from you.”

“We would join you if we could, my dear.” Your mother says softly.

“But as you know we have a duty to the Riverlands. We cannot always choose our duties in life.”

“But father please-“

“There is no negotiating.” Your father speaks over you. “We have already promised the king. You should be grateful to earn such a title.”

“…When?” Was the only word you could choke out through your increasing tears.

“We will escort you there tomorrow.” Your father says.

“Tomorrow?!” You cry. “That is hardly any time at all!”

“Your mother and I need to return to Riverrun, we have no time to delay. I suggest you begin packing.” Without another word, your father storms out of the room.

“I’m sorry dear…” Your mother whispers to you as she follows behind him.

You collapse to the floor in tears. It feels like your entire world just went up in flames. You did not want to live in Kings Landing, you wanted to stay right here in the snowy North you had grown to love. You did not want to marry the prince, you wanted to marry Cregan who you had also grown to love.

‘Oh Cregan…’ You think. Breaking this news to him would be heartbreaking.

You pick yourself up off the floor and take deep breaths to steady your still shaky breathing. Once you have composed yourself you rush to find Cregan.

Cregan was standing alone in the Godswood looking to the tree before he turns and spots you approaching with a red nose and puffy eyes.

“What is wrong (y/n)?” He asks concerned.

You throw your arms around him and begin to sob again. He hugs you tightly as your tears dampen his fur cloak.

“Shh, it’s ok.” He pets your hair, causing you to cry harder, his tenderness being a reminder of what you would lose soon. “Tell me what is going on.”

“I h-have t-to leave.” You choke out before you begin crying again.

“What do you mean you have to leave?” Cregan pulls back to cup your cheek and look into your eyes.

“My father- he…” You can barely get words out between sobs.

“Take a deep breath darling. You’re ok.”

You do as he says and take a deep shaky breath before continuing.

“He is marrying me to prince Aemond. We leave tomorrow.”

You bury your face back into his furs as you cry harder. He hugs you tighter than he ever has and for a moment does not say a word. The shock of everything fogging his thoughts.

“Please say something…” you whisper.

“How is this possible?” He finally speaks.

“I do not know…” You sniffle as you lift your head. “But my father said it is already decided.”

“But…” He cups both your cheeks in his hands and looks into your eyes with intensity you have never seen from him. “I can not lose you… I- I love you.”

“Cregan…”

Before you can respond he crashes his lips against yours. You kiss him back with all your passion. The kiss is filled with so many unspoken feelings between you. You had dreamt about kissing him many times before but never in sad circumstances like this. You continue to kiss each other like it is your last day in this world. Which for you, it would be your last day in his world. Your lips finally part and you can see tears in Cregans eyes.

“I am so sorry, my love…” You whisper.

Cregan kisses your forehead and takes your hands before placing a kiss on each of them.

“He better treat you how you deserve. Because… you deserve the world (y/n).” Cregan chokes back tears as he speaks.

“You are my world…” You whisper, looking deep into his grey eyes.

“And you are mine…” He whispers back before pressing his forehead to yours and sighing.

You could not bear another minute of this heart shattering goodbye so you excuse yourself to pack for the trip. Tears stream down your face as you organize your belongings. Sitting on your dresser was a beautiful wooden horse your father gave you the day you arrived at Winterfell.

You run your fingers along it, remembering your excitement when you saw snow for the very first time. Your father had said it was to remember that although they were in Riverun they would always be by your side to support you in the North. You scoff at the thought of your father’s words and chuck the wooden horse into the fire.

You did not leave your room the rest of the day as you finished packing. You had no appetite at all and could not bear to see Cregan or anyone else for that matter. After sobbing in bed for most of the night, sleep finally pulls you under.

**********

The next morning your things are being loaded onto the carriage. The snow fell gently, snowflakes landing and melting in your red hair, for the last time. You spot Cregan coming to wish you farewell. You run over to him and he wraps you in a tight hug. You both remain there for a long moment, not wanting to let go. He knew once he let you out of his arms you would be gone for good.

“I do not wish to speak the words since I am leaving… but you know my feelings for you.” You sniffle against his shoulder.

“I know…” He says as you finally part. “Me too.”

Cregan held back the tears in his eyes while yours streamed freely down your face. He holds your hands in his and places a final kiss to your forehead.

“Farewell, (y/n).” He says quietly. “I wish you good luck.”

“Farewell, Cregan.” You sniffle, barely holding back from bursting into tears again.

As your hands slowly part you could literally feel him slip away from you. You rushed into the carriage, choking back sobs. As the carriage takes off you stare through the window having one last glance at Cregan, one last moment admiring the beautiful white snow, one last moment in Winterfell. You watch as everything you have grown to love fades into the distance.

The ride is long, and silent, your parents barely speak a word and you were constantly focused on keeping yourself from crying. When you reached a far enough distance the air becomes warmer, forcing you to finally take off your favourite furs made for a lady of the North. After an agonizing few weeks of travel you finally reach Kings Landing.

**********

You follow behind your parents as a guard leads you to the throne room where the king and his family await.

“Lord and Lady Tully.” The guard announces your arrival. “And their daughter, (y/n) Tully.”

You greet the king as he welcomes you and your family. Your eyes meet Aemonds as he stares you down, his face cold and unreadable. He was even more handsome than you could have imagined. You break the eye contact with the one-eyed prince and look down nervously.

The guard escorts you to your new chambers and leads your parents off to their guest room for the night. You did not want to see or speak to them ever again. When the guard returns to escort you to dinner you refuse despite his insistence. You knew it would be taken as an insult to the king but you did not care. You hoped it may even encourage him to deem you unworthy of the prince and send you back home.

Not long after someone bangs at your door, startling you. You approach the door and cautiously open it to see Aemond holding a plate of food.

“It is a great insult to refuse the kings welcome feast.” He says as he pushes past you and lets himself in.

You scoff as he places the food on the small table in your room.

“Forgive me for insulting the king, my prince. I did not have much of an appetite.” You say firmly. “And frankly, I do not care to see my parents again before they abandon me here.”

“You need to eat.” He says in a stern tone.

“What I need is to go home.” You snap back.

“This is your home now.” He states, unphased by your attitude.

You simply huff and cross your arms.

“You need to eat.” He repeats. “I know that you must be hungry by now.”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs before heading toward the door. “Goodnight, Lady (y/n).”

He bows slightly before closing the door behind him. You stand there with your arms still crossed before your stomach starts to grumble. You sigh as you sit down and tuck into your food, silently grateful he brought it to you.

You change out of your dress before curling up into the large canopy bed with red and golden curtains. You felt like a trapped bird in a royal golden cage. Your thoughts swirl around in your mind like a tornado. Your entire world has been flipped upside down in the matter of weeks. Everything you had envisioned for your life has just gone up into flames. Now you were stuck here with these strangers, forced to marry a man you did not know or want. You sob into your pillow until exhaustion finally drags you into a restless slumber.

**********

The next morning you sleep in and take your time dressing. You had no intention on intending breakfast either and having to see your parents before they depart. Once you’re dressed you sit at the vanity and brush your hair in the mirror. Suddenly, there is a loud knock on the door.

“Come in.” You call, placing your brush down.

The door opens and Aemond appears with a plate of breakfast food. He walks over and places it on the same table as before.

“I assumed you would not be at breakfast with your parents in attendance.” He says flatly. “But you should eat.”

He says nothing else as he turns to leave.

“Thank you.” You say as he goes to close the door.

“Mhm.” He nods, turning his head to look at you before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

You sit down to the plate full of a variety of foods from the breakfast table. His caring gesture felt so confusing when he acts so cold towards you.

**********

You finish doing your hair before looking through the small bookshelf in the corner of your room. Most books seemed to be about boring histories until you find a book about dragons. You pull it from the shelf and spend the rest of your day reading through it. You had never even seen a dragon but now you were about to marry someone who has the biggest one in the world.

That evening you plucked up the courage to attend dinner. You would at least not have to see your family anymore but you worried for how the this family would treat you, especially with how you had isolated yourself away from them.

The guard leads you to the dining hall where the royal family were seated for dinner. You were surprised by the warm welcome as the king offers you a seat. You did not say much as you ate looking down at your plate. The light conversation was mainly between the king and queen. Aemond sat across from you and kept his eye on you the entire time.

When supper was finished Aemond offers to escort you back to your chambers. You say goodnight to everyone before taking his arm. The air was tense as you walked down the halls in silence.

“I would like to take you on a walk through the gardens tomorrow.” Aemond says once you reach your chamber, the offer catching you off guard.

“I… um, I’m not sure.” You respond looking down.

Aemond lightly lifts your chin with his finger, making your eyes meet his. The contact made your heart race before he casually drops his hand back down.

“You must be bored remaining alone in your bedroom.” He questions.

“No.” You scoff. “There are plenty of books to keep me occupied.”

“What are you reading?” He raises a brow.

“Why do you care?” You glare at him.

He simply shrugs and slightly smirks at your attitude.

“I am not sure the title… it’s just a book about dragons. I thought it sounded interesting.” You shrug.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” His smirk grows.

“No…”

“Would you like to?”

“I am stuck here in Kings Landing for the rest of my life… I am sure I will see one sometime.” You cross your arms.

“I have a better idea than a walk in the gardens. I will meet you here midday tomorrow.”

“But-“ You begin.

“Goodnight, Lady (y/n).” He says over you as he bows and leaves you.

“Goodnight, Prince Aemond.” You say under your breath once he’s out of ear shot.

**********

The next morning you attend a quiet breakfast. You pretend not to notice Aemond observing you the entire time. Midday you are reading in your chambers when there is a knock at the door. You answer the door to Aemond, as expected.

“Ready?” He asks.

“For what? You never told me where we are going.”

He lightly chuckles, the first time you have heard him laugh, and offers his arm. Without further questions you take his arm as he leads you through the castle.

You follow him into the dragon pit. You stop in your tracks when a gigantic dragon comes into your sight.

“There is no need to be afraid. She will not harm you unless I command it.” Aemond reassures you.

“And what if you did command it?” You question.

“Then you would be a pile of ash.” He smirks. “Lucky for you, I would not want to destroy such beauty.”

You blush at his response. He was acting so differently than the coldness you expected.

“Here.” He offers his hand to you.

You place your hand in his and feel instant sparks as he looks into your eyes, clearly feeling it too. He clears his throat before leading you over to Vhagar and moving your hand up to stroke her. She grumbles which startles you and you feel Aemond chuckle again behind you. He slowly removes his hand from yours as you continue to pet Vhagar.

“She seems to like you.” He says. “And she does not like anyone.”

You smile to him and see a rare smile on his lips. Not a smirk, a genuine smile.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” He asks.

You look to him with shock in your eyes as you contemplate the question. The idea terrified yet excited you. Not many people get the chance to ride a dragon in their lives and you could not pretend like you have not dreamt of it before.

Aemond seems surprised when you agree and then a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Very well.” He smiles.

You watch as he climbs atop Vhagar before reaching his hand to you, gesturing to climb up. You pull yourself up the ropes before grabbing Aemonds hand. He hoists you the rest of the way so you are sitting behind him. You were certain he could feel your heart beating rapidly against his back.

“Hold on tight.” He smirks.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, your body pressing up against his. The heat in your cheeks rise as you realize this is the closest you have been to him.

You don’t have time to dwell on the thought as Vhagar begins to walk out of the dragon pit before taking off. Your breath catches as you are lifted up into the sky. You close your eyes and squeeze Aemond so tight you were surprised he could still breathe.

“Open your eyes.” Aemond says, somehow knowing you closed them.

You open your eyes and for a brief moment you worry you had fallen off the dragon and died. The way you soared above the clouds was a sight of the heavens. After that you don’t shut your eyes for another second, taking in the sky around you and the lands below you. Aemond circles back around and you squeeze him tight again as he begins to descend. Once you’ve reached the dragon pit Aemond jumps off and helps you down off Vhagar.

“How did you enjoy your first dragon ride?” He smiles to you.

“I- I- I am hardly ever speechless.” You say with a beaming smile. “That was indescribable.”

Aemonds smile remains as he kisses your hand. You gaze into each others eyes for a long moment before you lean forward and place a soft kiss to his lips. He smirks to you before taking your hand again and leading you out of the dragon pit.

You and Aemond were both more lively at supper than usual, talking of the dragon ride you went for earlier. Once the meal is finished Aemond escorts you to your chambers for the night.

“I had a wonderful time with you today.” You say to Aemond as you walk down the halls. “That was honestly the first time I have felt true happiness since being here.”

“I am glad. I quite enjoy your company here. So I hope I can continue to make you happy.” Aemond responds.

“Well, now you have the rest of our lives to do so.” You playfully nudge him, making him smirk.

Once you reach your chambers you look to Aemond.

“Thank you, my prince. For everything.” You think back to the meals he first brought you when you refused to leave your room.

“Of course, my lady… Soon to be, my princess.” He takes your hand to kiss.

You gaze into his eyes with a heartfelt smile. He smiles back at you before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. When your eyes meet again there is a strange tension in the air. You watch him glance to your lips again before he suddenly cups your cheeks and brings your lips back to his. The kiss quickly turns heated as you wrap your arms around his neck and his tongue dips into your mouth. Your heart races against your chest as he grabs your waist and pulls you closer against him. The desire between you both is electric. He pushes you up against the wall and you feel his hardness press against your hip, making you gasp into his mouth.

When your lips part you feel yourself almost lean back in, like a moth to a flame. You look at each other with wild eyes as you catch your breath.

“Goodnight, my lady.” Aemond places a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, my prince.” You say bashfully.

Once you enter your chambers you let out a heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. You get ready for bed, your thoughts full of Aemond. You did not expect to develop any feelings in this new marriage but now he was all you could think about. The fire between you was indescribable. You fall into a peaceful sleep as you begin to imagine your wedding and future to come.

**********

The next day everything changes. King Viserys passed away overnight. All the small folk are gathered to witness Aegon being crowned as the new king. Your family had pledged fealty to Rhaenyra when she was first crowned heir. You panic and worry for what may come from the throne being usurped.

The next few days pass by in a blur. You hardly saw Aemond and when you did there was never private moments to talk. He even stopped escorting you from meals. You could tell it pained him greatly but he could not find the time right now with everything going on.

One night a knock on your door startles you awake. You rush over, hoping to find Aemond on the other side. Your face drops with disappointment when instead you find a guard standing there.

“What is it?” You ask sleepily.

“Please keep your voice down my lady.” He says as he hands you a hooded cloak, making you arch your brow at him. “Your parents received a raven regarding this treachery. They asked I bring you home.”

“Home? What are you talking about? This is my home now... And why would they ask a gold cloak to take me away from kings landing? Why would you agree?” You babble.

“I will explain everything on our way to Winterfell. Please, my lady. We haven’t much time.” He says, peering over his shoulder.

“I would need to collect my things…” Your brain was hazy from sleep trying to comprehend what was happening.

“There is no time, my lady. Please, we need to leave now.” He begins to panic.

With no time to give it thought, you simply nod and put on the cloak to hide your vibrant red hair. He leads you cautiously through the castle through hidden passages you had never known were there. Eventually they lead you to the streets of Kings Landing. There was a carriage waiting for you just outside the city gates.

Once you are on the road you finally have a moment to process your thoughts. Your heart sinks and your stomach twists at the thought of Aemond discovering your disappearance. Tears run down your face at the thought. You did not want to leave Kings Landing, you did not want to leave him.

The next weeks of traveling was even more dreadful than when you were going to Kings Landing. Multiple times you considered jumping out of the carriage and running back to the Red Keep.

You could hardly eat with your stomach in knots. Aemond blurred all of your thoughts. All you could think of was him. The intense kisses you shared, the amazing dragon ride, his acts of kindness. It broke your heart to imagine how much you must have hurt him by leaving. You had disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving all your things behind. You worried how he would think you chose to abandon him, or worse, think you had been stolen in the night. Which in a way, you had been.

You begin to shiver as you get closer to Winterfell, the air getting colder. The guard notices and pulls a fur cloak out of a small chest inside the carriage. You wrap it tightly around you and try to steady your nerves.

“We should be there soon.” He says.

You simply nod and rest your eyes. The next time you open your eyes the carriage comes to a halt.

“Are we here?” You shoot up.

The guard nods and opens the door. You’re instantly blinded by the white of the snow. Your eyes adjust to see your parents waiting for you. You simply glare at them before your eyes land on Cregan and your expression softens. You had been so worried about Aemond that seeing Cregan nearly slipped your mind entirely.

You jump out of the carriage and do not hesitate to throw yourself in his arms. He hugs you back tightly and pats your hair.

“I thought I would never see you again.” He whispers in your ear.

You nod as the tears start again. You part and he wipes them from your face. You softly smile at him and he kisses your forehead.

“My darling, we are so glad you are safe.” Your mother interrupts to hug you.

“As soon as we heard Aegon was usurping the throne we knew we had to bring you home.” Your father says.

“Yes, thank you.” You say dryly. Your father goes to respond but you cut him off. “Thank you for dragging me away from my home, my life, everyone I have ever known. Then, deciding to bring me back and steal me away in the night. I am not sure the royals even know where I am.”

“We made them aware once you were a safe enough distance that they could not go after you.” He responds.

“Now you no longer have to marry that ‘cold prince’.” Your mother quotes your words from when you were leaving.

You think to Aemond finding out they had taken you back to Winterfell.

“Do you not think they will come after us? After me? They have dragons.” You cross your arms.

Part of you feared Aemond would come for you and steal you away. Another part of you hoped he would.

“They are far too busy with the coming war to worry about a stolen bride.” Your father says.

“That is all I have ever been to you, huh? A bride to be sold off to whichever family benefits you most.”

Before your father can respond you stomp off to the castle.

**********

You make your way to your previous bedroom, relieved to see it remains the same as you had left it. You sit down on the bed and cry into your hands. A knock at the door interrupts your sobs.

“Come.” You call dryly, assuming it was your parents.

Cregan cautiously opens the door and you stand from your bed.

“Cregan…” You say as you walk over to him. “I am so glad you are here.”

Cregan boldly closes the distance between you and pulls you into a searing kiss. All of the feelings you have for him come flooding back as you kiss him back passionately.

“(Y/n)… I have been so lost without you.” Cregan says lowly. “I feel like the luckiest man alive to have you in my arms again.”

“I missed you too.” You whisper as you rest your foreheads against each other.

He kisses you again, this time lifting you up and walking you over to the bed.

“My love… I don’t know if I can wait for our wedding night to have you.” He says as he puts you back down. “You are all I have been able to think about since the moment you left.”

You meet his eyes and they’re filled with so many emotions. Heartbreak, sadness, worry, relief, desire, love. You gaze back at him with the same feelings in your eyes.

“Then don’t.” You whisper.

Without hesitation, he kisses you again before moving his lips to your neck causing a small whimper to escape you. You tug at his cloak until it drops to the floor and he moves to push yours off your shoulders. You begin to underdress each other layer by layer, stealing hungry kisses in between. When Cregans upper half is finally exposed you run your fingers down his toned stomach. He moves his hands along the curves your body as you stand in nothing but your shift. You step back slightly and he watches as you slowly lift the thin dress over your head.

“You are so beautiful.” Cregan whispers before capturing your lips again.

You crawl into bed and watch as he unties the strings of his pants and they drop to the floor. Your eyes widen at his hardened length on display. When your eyes dart back up to his there’s a fire that lights within you both. He crawls on top of you before taking your breast in his mouth as his hand massages the other. You squirm underneath him as your hands move to his hair. His lips make their way back up to your neck.

“I love you (y/n).” He says lowly in your ear.

“I love you, Cregan.” You breathe.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles down at you with pure adoration.

“Are you certain about this, my love? We can wait until we are wed…” He asks, though you can tell there is only one answer he is hoping to hear.

You nod and kiss his lips. He dips his tongue into your mouth as he lines himself up to your entrance. You wince in pain as he slowly pushes into you. He moves slowly to give you time to adjust but also because he was barely holding it together. The feeling of you wrapped tightly around him made his head spin.

The pain soon begins to fade and you crave more of him. Something overcomes you as you move to push him onto his back and climb on top of him. He looks at you with wide eyes as you begin rocking your hips against his. You grind against his length and it sends sparks through your entire body. Cregan quickly closes his eyes, the sight of you above him as pleasured moans begin to pour from your mouth had him barreling towards his release.

“My love, please…” Cregan breathes. “I’m not going to last much longer if you continue to do that.”

You smirk down at him and watch a small gasp escape him as you line him up to your entrance and begin to slide down onto his cock.

You moan louder and have to remind yourself to be quiet, you two were not really supposed to be doing this before you are wed. His choked out moans as you ride him makes the knot in your stomach tighten more and more. You cry out his name and before you could even comprehend what was happening your entire body feels like it lit up in flames. Your vision goes black and pleasure clouds your mind. Cregan finally opens his eyes and watches you as you come undone around him. The sight of you instantly triggers his release and he groans out as his fingers dig into your hips and he comes deep inside you.

You collapse onto the bed beside him and you both lay there panting. Cregan pulls you in close and wraps his arms around you. You nuzzle your face into his neck as you hug him back.

“I feel like I’m dreaming, I just cannot believe I am holding you in my arms right now.” Cregan says softly. “Please promise me this is not a dream. Promise me you are real.”

You move your head to meet his gaze. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek as you smile warmly at him.

“I promise you this is real. I’m real.” You say before placing a kiss to his lips.

“I hope so.” He smiles warmly back at you as he lightly strokes your hand on his face.

**********

The next few days are busy with wedding preparations as your parents did not want to waste any time. You spend most of your time with Cregan, chatting away like you used to and stealing private kisses in between.

The day of your wedding was quick to come. You were filled with excitement and nerves as you put on the last of your furs.

Snow gently falls from the sky as Cregan comes into your view. You smile to each other as you walk down the snowy isle. He takes your hand in his and the ceremony begins.

“She is mine and I am hers. From this day, until the end of my days”

“He is mine and I am his. From this day, until the end of my days” You recite together as you gaze deeply into each others eyes.

You seal your marriage with a kiss. Cregan holds your hand up to the crowd and they cheer for you both. As you smile widely to the crowd, the thought of Aemond crosses your mind and there’s a pang in your chest. You push the thought away and try to focus on the present moment. Standing side by side with Cregan, whom you loved deeply, you looked like the true lady of the North that you were always meant to be.

PART TWO

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[kpoplustzone]

Training My Idol Daughter - CHAPTER 1

OC X DAHYUN

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The humid air of her hometown train station felt both familiar and alien to Dahyun. It had been so long since she'd walked these platforms, the last few years a whirlwind of schedules, stages, and constant public scrutiny. Now, with TWICE on a much-needed hiatus, the quiet anonymity she craved felt within reach, aided by the simple white mask covering the lower half of her face.

Beneath the loose-fitting white t-shirt, her toned idol body was a tightly coiled spring of energy. The fabric did little to hide the perky roundness of her breasts, the nipples pressing ever so slightly against the material with each nervous breath she took, a secret known only to her and perhaps the lingering memory of countless adoring fans. Her short denim skirt, riding high on her thighs, showcased the long, pale expanse of her legs, their smooth skin begging for a touch. Even in simple sneakers, the shapely calves and delicate ankles that had danced their way into the hearts of millions were unmistakable.

She fidgeted slightly, the anticipation of seeing Papa Choi bubbling up inside her. It had been too long, filled with rushed phone calls and fleeting video chats. Now, the promise of real, in-person connection was a tangible warmth spreading through her. Her eyes scanned the arriving passengers, a practiced idol habit of discreetly observing without drawing attention. Even masked, there was an undeniable allure to her presence – the subtle sway of her hips as she shifted her weight, the elegant tilt of her head as she searched for her father. Her "idol sexy body," as her fans so often described it, possessed an inherent magnetism that even casual clothes and a mask couldn't completely conceal, a silent promise of the captivating energy that lay just beneath the surface.

Just then, a familiar figure emerged from the bustling crowd, his gait a little heavier than Dahyun remembered, but the warm smile instantly recognizable. Papa Choi. His eyes, however, widened noticeably as he spotted the masked figure walking towards him, a figure that undeniably possessed the alluring physique of his globally famous daughter.

His breath hitched in his throat. Even beneath the loose t-shirt, the undeniable curves of her chest were apparent, and the short denim skirt showcased the long, smooth legs he remembered from her childhood, now even more toned and captivating. He couldn't help but let his gaze travel the length of her body as she approached, from her stylish sneakers up to the tantalizing expanse of thigh on display. It had been too long, and the innocent little girl he remembered had blossomed into a breathtakingly sexy woman.

Beneath his own casual trousers, his cock began to stir, hardening with a surprising intensity at the sight of his daughter. He tried to reason it away, attributing it to the shock of seeing her after so long, coupled with the undeniable allure she possessed. But the truth was, even masked, the way she carried herself, the inherent sensuality of her idol body, was having a powerful and unexpected effect on him. He just stood there, a mix of paternal affection and inappropriate lust warring within him, his eyes glued to her every move as she closed the distance between them.

Settling into the passenger seat of his car, the relief of finally being with family washed over Dahyun. She reached up and pulled off her mask, taking a deep, refreshing breath of the non-city air. Then, with a languid stretch, she extended her arms above her head, arching her back slightly, the movement causing her t-shirt to ride up just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of her toned midriff. Her breasts, no longer confined by the pressure of the mask, seemed to lift and become even more defined under the thin cotton.

Papa Choi, glancing over at her from the driver's seat, had a full eyeful. The simple act of stretching transformed her casual outfit into something intensely alluring. The curve of her ribcage as she arched, the slight upward lift of her t-shirt exposing a sliver of smooth skin, and the way her denim skirt rode even higher on her thighs – it was a feast for his hungry eyes. The blood rushed south, and his already throbbing cock tightened painfully against the confines of his shorts. https://www.reddit.com/r/kpopfap/comments/1irii7z/twice_dahyun/ This is torture, he thought, his gaze lingering a moment too long on the exposed skin of her thigh. This beautiful, sexy body… my body created it. The possessive thought sent another jolt of lust through him. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain some semblance of control. He had to have her. The thought was no longer a fleeting impulse but a burning desire. He started to imagine the feel of her soft skin under his hands, the way her body would move beneath him, the sounds she would make as he finally made her bounce on his hard cock. The image was so vivid that a drop of pre-cum escaped the tip of his already straining penis. He knew he had to play it cool, be patient, but the seed of a forbidden fantasy had been planted, and he knew, with a sickening certainty, that he wouldn't let this opportunity slip away. He would find a way to have her.

Papa Choi pulled the car over to the side of the road, parking in front of a small, dimly lit pharmacy. “Just need to grab something quickly,” he muttered under his breath, glancing over at Dahyun. Her head was resting against the passenger window, her lips slightly parted in sleep. The short denim skirt had ridden up even further during her nap, exposing a significant length of her pale, smooth thighs. His eyes lingered there, tracing the delicate curve of her leg, the innocent vulnerability of her sleeping posture doing nothing to quell the lust that churned within him.

He quietly got out of the car and hurried into the pharmacy. He quickly located the section with over-the-counter medications, his eyes scanning the shelves until he found a small box of strong sleeping pills. He grabbed it, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, after a furtive glance around the almost empty shop, he approached the counter.

“Excuse me,” he said to the pharmacist, keeping his voice low. “Do you have… something for, uh… low libido?” He tried to sound casual, like he was asking for a friend. The pharmacist, a tired-looking man in his late forties, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He reached under the counter and pulled out a small, discreet bottle of liquid. “This is quite effective,” he said, his tone neutral. “Just a few drops in a drink.” Papa Choi nodded quickly, a sinister excitement building within him as he paid for both items.

Back in the car, Dahyun was still sound asleep. Papa Choi’s gaze swept over her body once more. Her t-shirt had shifted, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts, the faint outline of her nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. He imagined those soft mounds in his hands, the taste of her skin. His eyes then drifted down to her thighs again, so smooth and inviting. Soon, he thought, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Soon, this beautiful body will be mine. The sleeping pills would ensure she was compliant, and the libido enhancer… well, that would make sure she enjoyed every moment, wouldn't she? He started the car, his mind racing with dark and forbidden thoughts as he drove his sleeping daughter home The atmosphere in the Choi household was warm and filled with happy chatter as Dahyun and her mother caught up after their long separation. Dahyun recounted stories from her life as an idol, carefully omitting certain details, while her mother shared news about their hometown and old friends. It was a comforting scene of familial bonding, a facade that Papa Choi observed with a calculating glint in his eyes.

“I’ll take care of dinner tonight,” he announced, his voice jovial. “Let you two relax and enjoy your time together.” His wife smiled gratefully, unaware of the dark intentions hidden beneath his offer.

As he moved around the kitchen, preparing the meal, his mind was a whirlwind of wicked plans. He carefully measured out a double dose of sleeping pills, crushing them into a fine powder. His target for these was his wife. He would slip them into her drink, ensuring she would be sound asleep and out of the way for the night. https://www.reddit.com/r/kpopfap/comments/1fv6494/twice_dahyun/ For Dahyun, he retrieved the small bottle he had purchased earlier. The libido enhancer. Just a few drops, the pharmacist had said. He planned to add it to Dahyun’s drink, a subtle dose that would amplify her desires, making her more receptive to his advances. He imagined the effect it would have on her, her idol body writhing with uncontrollable lust, directed solely at him.

He worked with a deceptive calmness, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, his mind picturing the night ahead. He would make sure Dahyun had plenty of her favorite dishes, laced with just enough of the enhancer to cloud her judgment. He would be the doting father, ensuring she was comfortable and relaxed after her journey. And then, when the time was right, when his wife was fast asleep and Dahyun's inhibitions were lowered, he would finally make his move. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. Dinner tonight was not just a meal; it was the first course in his twisted plan.

When Papa Choi emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with dishes, Dahyun was already seated at the dining table with her mother. She had just finished showering, and the subtle dampness in her dark hair, still clinging slightly to her scalp, hinted at the recent wash. She had changed into a simple, oversized white t-shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. The soft cotton clung to her damp skin in places, particularly around her chest, where the outline of her nipples was visible, hard and erect as if still tingling from the shower's spray.

The shortness of the t-shirt left her long, pale legs completely bare. He could see the faint pinkness of her freshly scrubbed skin, and his eyes lingered on the smooth curve of her thighs, imagining the feel of them wrapped around his own body. Even in such a casual outfit, her "idol sexy body" was impossible to ignore. The loose fit of the shirt only served to emphasize the delicate slenderness of her frame while hinting at the curves beneath. As she reached for a glass of water, the fabric stretched across her back, revealing the subtle definition of her shoulder blades and the gentle curve of her spine. Her face, scrubbed clean of makeup, looked fresh and youthful, but there was still an underlying allure in her full lips and the way her eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled at her mother, a smile that Papa Choi found both innocent and intensely provocative. The scene of his daughter, so effortlessly sexy in her post-shower state, sent another jolt of desire through him, hardening his already anticipating cock even further. They ate their meal, and the atmosphere was initially light and pleasant. Papa Choi made sure to refill their glasses, offering Dahyun’s mother more of her usual fruit juice, the crushed sleeping pills dissolving unnoticed within the liquid. For Dahyun, he poured another glass of iced tea, carefully adding a few drops of the libido enhancer, swirling it gently before handing it to her with an overly affectionate smile.

Soon after finishing their meal, Dahyun’s mother started to feel the effects of the sleeping pills. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she began to yawn frequently, her sentences becoming slurred and her head nodding slightly. “I think I need to lie down for a bit,” she mumbled, pushing back from the table with a weary sigh. Papa Choi offered a concerned look, his facade of a loving husband perfectly intact. “Of course, dear. You looked tired all day.” He helped her up and guided her towards her bedroom, a sense of sinister satisfaction washing over him as he tucked her into bed, ensuring she would be out cold for the night.

Meanwhile, Dahyun was experiencing a different kind of shift. At first, it was a subtle warmth spreading through her body, a pleasant tingling sensation that started in her toes and worked its way up. She found herself feeling unusually lightheaded and giggly, her laughter at her father’s jokes a little too loud, a little too unrestrained. Then, the feeling intensified. A flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, and she started to feel a throbbing warmth between her legs. Her t-shirt suddenly felt too tight, the soft cotton rubbing against her now incredibly sensitive nipples in a way that was both irritating and strangely arousing.

She shifted in her seat, a restless energy building within her. Her gaze kept drifting towards her father, noticing the way the light caught the strands of gray in his hair, the strength in his hands as he cleared the table. There was a strange, unfamiliar pull towards him, a burgeoning curiosity about the man who had always been just her father. Her thighs felt heavy and slightly damp, and she found herself unconsciously rubbing them together beneath the short t-shirt. Her breathing became shallow and quick, and a strange, insistent ache began to bloom in her core, a desperate longing for something she couldn't quite name but felt deep in her bones. The effects of the libido enhancer were taking hold, and Dahyun, completely unaware of the chemical manipulation, was starting to feel an undeniable, urgent desire stirring within her.

Dahyun felt a strange restlessness settling over her, an unsettling heat that no amount of deep breaths seemed to quell. She tried to focus on the familiar comfort of her childhood bedroom, but the energy thrumming through her body made it difficult to relax. This insistent, unfamiliar arousal was unsettling, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over her. This isn't normal, she thought, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

Determined to shake off the strange feelings, she lay down on her bed, pulling the thin cotton blanket over her bare legs. But the friction of the blanket against her incredibly sensitive skin only intensified the throbbing ache between her thighs. She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but the insistent heat refused to subside.

Finally, succumbing to the undeniable urge, Dahyun’s hand tentatively slipped beneath the hem of her oversized t-shirt. Her fingers brushed against the dampness that had already gathered there, and a gasp escaped her lips. The sensation was immediate and intense. Hesitation warred with a growing desperation for release. No, I shouldn't, she thought, but the insistent pulsing between her legs was too strong to ignore.

Her fingers, now slick with her own juices, began to explore. She gently traced the swollen lips of her vulva, feeling the velvety softness of her skin. A soft moan escaped her as she found her clitoris, the tiny nub already hard and throbbing. With a hesitant touch, she began to rub it, the pleasure that shot through her both shocking and undeniably welcome. The more she touched herself, the more the strange arousal intensified, driving her closer to the edge of control. Her breathing quickened, and the small sounds of her pleasure filled the quiet room. She continued to stroke and tease herself, the tension building with each deliberate movement, her earlier unease slowly being replaced by a singular focus on the escalating sensations.

Just as Dahyun’s pleasure was beginning to spiral, a sliver of darkness appeared in the doorway. Papa Choi, having made sure his wife was deeply asleep, had quietly crept towards Dahyun’s room. He’d hesitated for a moment, a knot of guilt momentarily tightening in his stomach, but the desire that had been simmering within him all day had now reached a boiling point. He slowly, silently pushed the door open just a crack, his eyes peering into the dimly lit space.

The sight that greeted him sent a jolt of pure lust through his body. Dahyun was lying on her back, her oversized t-shirt hiked up to her waist, revealing her bare legs spread slightly apart. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, and her breathing was ragged. And then he saw it – her hand moving rhythmically between her thighs, her fingers caressing her most intimate place. He could see the subtle movements beneath her fingertips, the gentle rise and fall of her hand as she pleasured herself.

His own cock, which had been stubbornly hard since seeing her at the station, but had softened slightly while he was tending to his wife, now surged back to full, throbbing glory. It strained against the fabric of his trousers, demanding release. The image of his daughter, lost in the throes of self-pleasure, was an intensely erotic spectacle, fueling the forbidden desires that had been consuming him. He leaned closer to the crack in the door, his eyes glued to her every movement, a dark and wicked anticipation building within him. A wave of heat washed over Dahyun, the confines of her t-shirt suddenly feeling unbearable. With a sigh of surrender to the intense arousal coursing through her veins, she reached down and pulled the t-shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. The cool air against her bare skin sent a shiver of heightened sensitivity through her. Now completely nude, she lay on her back, her pale skin a stark contrast to the dark sheets.

She brought both hands to her body, her fingers exploring the landscape of her desire. One hand cupped a full, perky breast, her thumb gently stroking the already erect nipple. The other hand returned to her slick pussy, her fingers delving deeper now, pressing and stroking with increasing urgency. A soft moan escaped her lips, the pleasure building rapidly as she indulged in the forbidden sensations.

From the shadows of the doorway, Papa Choi’s breath hitched. He had only ever seen his daughter’s incredible body on television screens, carefully curated and presented for public consumption. But this… this was raw, unfiltered, and impossibly erotic. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, the gentle curves of her body more captivating than any camera could capture. Her breasts, perfectly round and full, quivered slightly as she touched them, her fingers a stark contrast against their soft white skin. And the way her hips lifted slightly as she pleasured herself, the unmistakable evidence of her intense arousal… it was a sight that both thrilled and deeply disturbed him.

His own cock, throbbing with an almost painful intensity, demanded release. He could no longer resist the urge to be closer, to touch, to possess. Quietly slipping into the room, he closed the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes never leaving Dahyun’s blissfully unaware form, he reached down and silently pulled down his boxers. His thick, engorged penis sprang free, standing erect and pointing directly at his unsuspecting daughter, lost in her own world of self-pleasure. He stood there for a moment, a dark and conflicted figure in the shadows, watching her, his desire battling with the last vestiges of his conscience.

Dahyun’s eyelids fluttered open, the haze of self-pleasure slowly receding. Her gaze drifted upwards, and her breath hitched in her throat. Standing at the foot of her bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in from the hallway, was her father. Naked. And his cock… it was huge, thick, and pointing right at her.

A jolt of pure shock shot through her. Her eyes widened in disbelief and a wave of panic washed over her. She instinctively tried to pull the blanket up to cover her naked body, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. But her gaze kept being drawn back to her father's erection. It was hard, dark, and she could see a glistening drop of pre-cum oozing from the tip.

And then she became acutely aware of her own body. The throbbing between her thighs, the lingering wetness on her fingers… Shame and confusion warred with a confusing spark of something else, something she couldn't quite name. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing the image to disappear, but when she opened them, he was still there. Her body betrayed her attempt to cover herself. Instead of pulling the blanket up, her thighs instinctively pressed together, a desperate, involuntary grind against the sheets in a futile attempt to quell the insistent arousal that the sight of her father’s impressive cock had ignited within her. The confusion and the forbidden thrill warred within her, leaving her paralyzed, caught between shock and a burgeoning, unwanted desire.

Papa Choi’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as he observed his daughter’s wide-eyed shock. Her attempts to cover herself were half-hearted at best, her gaze constantly flicking back to his fully erect cock. He took a slow, deliberate step towards her, his eyes roaming freely over her exposed body. The pale skin of her chest, the delicate curve of her waist, the long expanse of her thighs – he took it all in, a possessive hunger burning in his gaze. He could feel the heavy throb of his cock against his trousers, eager to finally bury itself inside her.

He continued his slow approach until he was standing right beside her bed. He reached out a hand, his fingers gently tracing the delicate curve of her jawline, then down her neck to her collarbone. Dahyun’s breath hitched, and a visible tremor ran through her body. Her eyes, still wide, flickered from his face down to his hard cock and back up again. The libido enhancer, combined with the shocking intimacy of the moment, was taking its toll. Her earlier attempt to cover herself was forgotten, her body now reacting in a way she couldn't control, a confusing mix of fear and a burgeoning, unwanted arousal.

With a swift, almost dismissive gesture, Papa Choi reached down and yanked the thin sheet away from Dahyun’s body. She lay there, completely exposed, her pale skin gleaming in the soft light. Her curves were soft and feminine, her breasts full and round, their nipples already hard and erect, peeking out invitingly. The soft mound of her pussy, framed by delicate dark hairs, was clearly visible, glistening slightly with her own arousal. Her long, slender legs lay slightly parted, vulnerable and inviting.

Papa Choi’s fingers, rough against her delicate skin, trailed down her arm, then across her chest, his knuckle brushing against a taut nipple. Dahyun flinched slightly, her eyes still wide with a mixture of shock and a dawning, unwanted desire. He then moved his fingers lower, his touch feather-light as he traced the outline of her stomach. He dipped a finger below, gently parting the folds of her wet pussy. Dahyun gasped, her muscles tensing slightly in resistance.

He continued his teasing touch, his fingers now gently stroking her clitoris. She squeezed her eyes shut, a small whimper escaping her lips. There was a conflict in her expression, a silent battle between her initial shock and the undeniable pleasure his touch was starting to evoke, amplified by the drug coursing through her veins. After a moment of barely perceptible resistance, a soft moan escaped her, and her hips shifted slightly, a subtle invitation for him to continue. Her legs relaxed just a fraction, a sign that her body was beginning to surrender to the forbidden sensations he was so expertly eliciting.

Leaning down, Papa Choi’s lips found Dahyun’s. His kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration of her mouth. Dahyun’s lips remained tightly closed, her head turning slightly to the side in a clear attempt to resist. But Papa Choi was persistent. He gently nudged her lips apart with his, and then deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping inside to taste her.

Dahyun’s body remained tense, her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to pull away, to scream, but the drug coursing through her system was clouding her judgment, and the forbidden intimacy was stirring something within her, a confusing mix of revulsion and a strange, unsettling pleasure. Her father's lips moved against hers with a practiced expertise, teasing and sucking, igniting a warmth that started in her mouth and spread down to her core.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dahyun’s resistance began to waver. Her lips softened slightly under his, and a small, involuntary sigh escaped her throat. His tongue continued its sensual exploration, and she found herself unable to completely pull away. A confusing warmth began to spread through her, overriding the initial shock and disgust. Her hands, which had been balled into fists, slowly started to relax, her fingers twitching almost imperceptibly. The pleasure, amplified by the libido enhancer, was becoming increasingly difficult to fight, and against her will, Dahyun found herself surrendering to the forbidden intimacy.

Papa Choi deepened the kiss, his hands now moving freely over Dahyun’s body. He cupped her breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, his thumb circling her already hard nipples. Dahyun gasped softly against his lips, a tremor running through her. She tried to pull away, a small whimper escaping her, but her body felt heavy, strangely disconnected from her will. The insistent throbbing between her legs was growing, a distracting heat that made it harder to focus on her revulsion.

His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a wet path on her skin as he moved lower, pausing at the swell of her breasts. He licked and sucked on her nipples, drawing them into his mouth, eliciting involuntary moans from Dahyun. Her hands, which had been pushing weakly against his chest, now lay still, her fingers twitching almost imperceptibly.

His hand then slid down her stomach, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her navel before dipping lower, finding the damp warmth between her thighs. He gently parted her folds, his fingers stroking her engorged clitoris. Dahyun’s breath hitched, her hips lifting slightly off the bed, a clear indication of the pleasure she was trying to deny.

“Papa…” she whispered, her voice weak and trembling, but the word lacked any real force of protest. Her legs, which had been pressed tightly together, slowly started to relax, opening slightly in unconscious invitation. His fingers continued their sensual dance, and Dahyun’s head fell back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut. The internal battle was losing ground as the effects of the libido enhancer, combined with the skilled touch of her father, began to take complete control. Her small whimpers of protest were gradually being replaced by soft moans of undeniable pleasure, her body slowly but surely surrendering to the forbidden sensations. Leaning further down, Papa Choi’s mouth moved from Dahyun’s stomach to the juncture of her thighs. His lips parted, and his tongue flicked out, tasting the wetness that had already gathered there. A gasp escaped Dahyun’s lips, her hips instantly arching off the bed as the unexpected sensation shot through her. She had been resisting, caught in a web of shock and confusion, but this… this was pure, undeniable pleasure.

Papa Choi’s tongue delved deeper, exploring the swollen folds of her vulva, lapping and sucking with an expertise that belied their familial relationship. Dahyun’s head thrashed back and forth against the pillow, her small whimpers escalating into loud, unrestrained moans. Her body trembled violently, every nerve ending firing with intense delight. Unconsciously, her hands lifted from her sides and found their way to her breasts. Her fingers gently grazed her taut nipples at first, and then, as the pleasure intensified, she began to rub them, her touch becoming more insistent, her fingers pinching and pulling as if seeking to amplify the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. She was completely lost in the moment, her earlier resistance completely forgotten, her body reacting purely to the exquisite torment her father was inflicting with his mouth. Papa Choi, his desire reaching a fever pitch, lifted his head from between Dahyun’s legs. His thick, hard cock pulsed with anticipation. He positioned himself between her now fully spread thighs, the head of his penis nudging against the wet lips of her pussy. He rubbed it slowly across the slick surface, feeling the immediate response as Dahyun’s hips lifted slightly, her eyes opening to look at him with a gaze filled with both pleasure and a clear invitation. The initial shock had completely melted away, replaced by a raw, drug-fueled desire.

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a guttural groan, Papa Choi gripped her hips and thrust forward, driving his thick cock deep inside Dahyun’s slick, welcoming pussy in one powerful stroke.

A gasp of pure pleasure escaped Papa Choi’s lips as he felt the incredible tightness of Dahyun’s pussy gripping his thick cock. It was a sensation unlike any he had experienced before – a perfect, almost painful, fit that sent a jolt of raw desire through him. He remained still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being so deeply embedded within her, his engorged member throbbing with anticipation.

Then, he began to move slowly, withdrawing slightly before thrusting back in, his cock gently exploring the walls of her tight channel. Each movement sent waves of intense pleasure rippling through Dahyun’s body. Her eyes flew open, her previous haze of arousal sharpening into a focus of pure sensation. A cry escaped her lips, a mix of surprise and overwhelming delight at the feeling of her father’s thick cock stretching her so intimately.

“Papa…” she breathed out, her voice trembling and filled with a desperate longing. The sound of her calling him that, a term of endearment now laced with a primal desire, sent another surge of lust through Papa Choi, urging him to continue his forbidden exploration. As the initial tightness began to ease slightly, Papa Choi slowly increased the pace of his thrusts. Dahyun’s milky white thighs, now fully spread and framing his dark cock, rubbed against his hips with each in and out motion, creating a sensual friction that heightened his arousal. He continued to explore her body with his hands as he fucked her. He ran his fingers over the smooth, toned skin of her abs, marveling at the firmness beneath his touch. Then, he moved his attention to her breasts, cupping them in his hands, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples, pinching and pulling as he continued his rhythmic pounding deep within her.

Dahyun was completely lost in the overwhelming sensations. Her head thrashed back and forth against the pillow, her moans growing louder and more unrestrained with each deep thrust. “Ugh… Papa… oh, fuck… it feels so good!” she cried out, her voice raw with pleasure. Her body arched with each powerful movement of his cock inside her, her screams echoing through the room, a testament to the intense pleasure he was giving her. The combination of the libido enhancer and her father's skilled lovemaking had completely shattered any remaining resistance, leaving her writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

Just as Papa Choi was about to reach his peak, he felt a sudden, intense tightening around his cock. Dahyun let out a strangled cry, her body stiffening, and he knew what was about to happen. With perfect timing, he pulled his penis out of her just as a powerful stream of liquid erupted from her pussy, spraying all over the sheets beneath her. Dahyun’s whole body arched upwards, her fit form momentarily lifting off the bed in a series of convulsive jerks. Her dance practice had honed her core muscles, giving her incredible control and power, even in this state of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The milky white liquid soaked the sheets around her, a testament to the intensity of her orgasm.

Papa Choi, still hard and pulsing, lifted Dahyun by her thighs, positioning her so she was kneeling on his bent knees, facing him. Her legs straddled his body, her wet pussy hovering just above his erect cock. With a firm grip on her hips, he pulled her down sharply, his thick penis sliding back inside her with a deeper thrust than before. Dahyun’s breath hitched, and a long, shuddering moan escaped her lips. Her body was still reeling from her orgasm, leaving her in a blissful daze, able only to react to the intense pleasure of her father’s powerful cock plunging into her.

With Dahyun kneeling on his knees, her weight pressing down on his lap, Papa Choi gripped her hips firmly, his cock now plunged deeper inside her than ever before. The angle was different, hitting a new spot within her that sent shivers of intense pleasure through her dazed body. Dahyun could only moan, her head lolling back, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as he moved beneath her.

He began to thrust again, each upward movement lifting her slightly before slamming back down onto his engorged member. The friction was incredible, the feeling of her tight walls gripping him so completely, driving him closer to the edge. He could feel her inner muscles clenching around his cock, a lingering effect of her recent orgasm. He savored every moment, the forbidden nature of their encounter only amplifying the raw, primal desire that consumed him.

He continued to fuck her in this position, his hands roaming freely over her body. He cupped her breasts, feeling their softness and the hard tips pressing against his palms. He ran his hands down her back, feeling the smooth curve of her spine and the tautness of her muscles. He explored the delicate dip of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips, his fingers occasionally dipping down to touch the still-wet folds of her pussy.

Dahyun was completely lost in the haze of pleasure, her moans and whimpers the only sounds she could manage. Her body moved instinctively with his, her internal rhythm matching his powerful thrusts. The sensations were overwhelming, the intense friction and deep penetration pushing her further into a state of blissful oblivion.

Then, with a guttural groan that echoed through the room, Papa Choi felt his climax building rapidly. His thrusts became quicker, more frantic, his body tensing with the impending release. He lifted her slightly, bringing her face closer to his. And then, with a final, powerful surge, he emptied his entire load, an insane amount of thick, hot semen erupting from his cock and spraying across Dahyun’s beautiful face, coating her forehead, cheeks, and lips. More of his cum cascaded down her chest, pooling in the valley between her perky breasts, and then streamed down her toned, fit abs, glistening against her smooth skin.

He collapsed back against the edge of the bed, his breathing heavy and ragged, his body still twitching from the intensity of his orgasm. Dahyun remained kneeling above him, her body slick with sweat and his copious semen, her eyes glazed over with a mixture of exhaustion and utter bliss.

Papa Choi, a dark satisfaction washing over him, reached for his phone on the bedside table. He aimed the camera at his daughter, capturing the surreal and deeply taboo scene before him – the beautiful K-pop idol, her face, breasts, and stomach completely covered in his thick, white cum. He snapped several pictures, preserving the evidence of his forbidden conquest.