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les4elliewilliams · 1 month

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bound by love // ex-girlfriend!ellie

☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆

daily click・palestine masterpost・do not buy any game from naughty dog, neil druckmann is a zionist.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

wc/warnings: 5.6k ; strap-on sex (r!receiving), tribbing, oral (r!receiving), cheating, use of names like whore, slut, baby etc. and toxic relationship. do NOT read if you're sensitive about this kind of stuff!! do not romanticize toxic relationships and run far away from toxic people.

a/n: also first time writing smut so please be kind😭. not proofread so i'm sorry if you find any mistakes

pairing: toxic!ellie, ex-girlfriend!ellie also stalker!ellie???(just ellie stalking your social media and location) and jealous!ellie ig.

☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆・・・・☆

I know that you're shitty and you're bad for me

But I can't stop thinking 'bout it

✩ You used to console yourself by saying that the problem was not you but her. You believed that she was the one who caused all the issues in the relationship. However, as time passed, you started to realize that the situation was more complex than you initially thought. You began to question your own actions and words and wondered if you could have done things differently. You tried to stay positive by reminding yourself that sometimes things don't work out, and it's okay to move on. But you couldn't move on.

✩ Despite all your efforts to move on and forget about her, you always found yourself drawn back to her for some weird reason. You tried everything you could think of to let her go — you blocked her on every platform you could, hoping it would help you move on, but it never seemed to work. No matter how hard you tried to forget her, you always ended up unblocking her, usually within an hour of blocking her. It was as if you were powerless to resist the pull she had on you, no matter how much you wanted to be free of her.

✩ You were the one who broke up with her, claiming she was too toxic for you. However, you cannot deny that you also had your fair share of faults. Both of you were aware of the toxicity in your relationship, but still, it lasted for three whole years. You often wonder how you were able to tolerate her for so long. She always seemed to go out of her way to provoke you and get a reaction out of you. She would intentionally make you jealous, making nasty comments about other women's bodies to make you insecure and maybe even cry. She loved it when you got possessive and jealous; that was the only way she felt cared for and loved. She constantly needed reassurance, and her overthinking would stop only when you got possessive of her or extremely jealous; it didn't make sense, and she knew it wasn't normal, yet she couldn't help herself. But it wasn't only that. She was also extremely manipulative and a liar. It was a never-ending cycle of negativity, and both of you were caught up in it.

✩ If she was a toxic girlfriend, imagine how toxic she was once you two were broken up. When you broke up with her, you thought you were better off as friends, but soon enough, you started to realize how wrong you were.

✩ Even though she treated you poorly throughout your relationship, you always returned to her. Your love for her was strong, and it seemed as though returning to her was the only thing that felt right. Even though she was responsible for causing you a significant amount of emotional pain, she still felt like home to you — like the person who you could always run to whenever you needed it. She always knew the right thing to say to calm you down, cheer you up, and sometimes even make you cry. That was the thing about Ellie that confused you the most; She could be either the best person ever or the worst.

✩ When something big goes down in your life, she's the one you call up first. It doesn't matter if it's something totally dumb or something that seriously ticks you off, she's the one you rely on for comfort and support, and she's always there to baby you.

"S'okay baby— mhm, you got this," whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you rambled about your day "Want me to beat them up for you? You know I would," and she wasn't kidding, sending whoever made you mad to the ER without you even knowing it. You have always been someone who disliked violence. In fact, you were never the kind of person who would resort to violence, no matter how heated a situation may have been. You've always been the rational one between the two of you, thinking things through before acting. On the other hand, she was more impulsive, acting without much thought or consideration for the consequences of her actions. Anyway, you would find out what Ellie did to your coworker when he showed up with a cast around his arm, threatening to take legal action against her. You always found yourself in the middle of the conflict, pleading with your coworker not to sue Ellie and trying to smooth things over.

✩ Lots of

"you're the hottest girl i've ever dated" "i would take you back in a heartbeat" "i still have a soft spot for you" "best pussy i've ever had"

✩ She'd randomly show up at your place in the middle of the night, pounding on your door, little did you know she'd be pounding into you the second you let her in

"nfuckk— my pussy…s'all mine" Murmuring nonsense into the crook of your neck as she fucked your tight little hole with the new strap she desperately wanted to show you (which became your favorite for obvious reasons). "think anyone else can make you feel like this, hm?" and she wouldn't let you cum if you didn't reply, she wanted to hear you say that you belonged to her and her only.

✩ She constantly checked your social media accounts like a fucking maniac, fearing that you may have moved on or started spending time with other girls. This behavior was not healthy, and she was aware of it. Despite that, she couldn't help herself and even had access to your location, which she used to stalk you whenever you didn't respond to her messages or calls quickly enough. On two separate occasions, she unexpectedly showed up while you were on dates with other girls. At first, you brushed it off as a coincidence, but after the second time, you realized that she still had your location and that her sudden appearance was not coincidental at all. Therefore, you turned off the location sharing. and in no time she was blowing up your phone with texts

"why the fuck would you turn it off?" "moving on already?" "where the fuck do you even think you're going?" "try all you want, but you know who you belong to"

✩ It became increasingly clear that you and her were not meant to be friends. You still belonged to her in her mind — and perhaps it wasn't just in her mind. Deep down, you knew that she was right even though you were no longer together.

✩ Although you had repeatedly told Ellie that you wouldn't get back together, she remained convinced that you would eventually return. Instead of giving up, she actively pursued ways to reconnect with you. She would often surprise you by showing up at your apartment with a bouquet of your favorite flowers or things she knew you would like.

"Ellie, what're you doin' here?" you asked as you saw your ex-girlfriend holding a lovely bouquet of flowers in her hand. You were taken aback as you looked at the bouquet — it was a Hello Kitty bouquet. You had mentioned this type of bouquet to Ellie before you broke up, and you were surprised that she even listened to you when you kept rambling about how cute it was. You had seen it on Pinterest before and never thought she would remember. Her green eyes met yours, and she scratched the back of her neck before flashing a warm smile your way. She knew you'd love it. "Hi, angel," she said. She handed you the bouquet and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. Her free hand quickly found its way to your waist. She leaned back enough to gauge your reaction and asked with a cocky smile, "What d'you think?" The sudden appearance of Ellie took you aback, but you couldn't help but admire the bouquet in your hands. The Hello Kitty plushie and the colorful flowers were so cute. You didn't expect her to remember your love for this particular bouquet, but you were grateful that she did. "May I come in?" Her tone was confident, and her eyes shone with a mischievous glint. You couldn't help but wonder what she was up to, but you stepped aside to let her in nonetheless.

✩ She would listen intently to everything you said during your relationship and make mental notes of all the things you wanted or needed. However, she never acted on them until you broke up with her. Suddenly, she would start getting you those things, being the girlfriend you always wanted her to be, trying to convince you to give her another chance. But you weren't stupid; you knew that as soon as you let her back into your life, she would go back to her usual self, and her toxic behavior would come out once again.

✩ She showered you with compliments, gifts, and attention, making you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to her. When she realized that her love bombing wasn't working on you, she changed her tactics. She began dating a girl she had always insisted was "just a friend," even though you had always felt insecure about her because you thought she was prettier than you. But Ellie was using this girl only to get to you. She wanted to make you jealous and make you feel like you were missing out on something she could provide. She hoped you would come back to her, begging for another chance. You were devastated and couldn't help but compare yourself to this other girl, wondering what Ellie saw in Dina that she didn't see in you. But as time passed, you began to realize that Ellie was playing games. She didn't care about this girl, or about anyone else for that matter. To her, you were the one that got away, the one that she couldn't have. And so she used this other girl as a pawn in her game, hoping to win you back. But you didn't fall for it.

✩ She just went ahead and started posting pictures with her new girlfriend on Instagram to make sure you saw them and felt like shit. And, well, it worked like a charm. Even though you knew she was doing it on purpose to upset you, it still hurt like hell because she never posted pictures of the two of you together on social media, claiming she preferred to keep things private but as soon as she started dating her new girlfriend, she suddenly started posting about her non-stop, which made you feel even more hurt and insecure.

✩ You realized that cutting ties with Ellie and blocking her from all platforms would have been the wise thing to do. but let's be honest, getting revenge felt much more satisfying than being wise sometimes. You wanted to show her that you were not someone to be toyed with cause that's what you felt like: a toy. You started seeing a girl you had recently met, but you made sure not to make it too obvious. You didn't want Ellie to think you were only doing it to get back at her. Of course not, it had to look natural. You wanted to show her that you had moved on with your life and that you were over her. Even though it was quite the opposite, you weren't over her.

✩ When you began sharing pictures of your new girlfriend, she dropped her fake composed demeanor and started bombarding your phone with messages. You finally had her exactly where you wanted her.

2:33 am "who the fuck is that girl in your story?" 2:34 am "hello?" 2:36 am "answer your goddamn phone" 2:37 am "Why do you even care, Ellie? you're in a relationship." 2:39 am "what the actual fuck" 2:42 am "tell me" 2:46 am "who is she" 2:53 am "My girlfriend."

✩ After that, she vanished from social media and every other platform for nearly a week, leaving you on read. You had mixed emotions about it. On one hand, you felt a sense of pride for getting back at her. It was working because she seemed jealous. On the other hand, there was a part of you that couldn't help but miss her. You longed for her presence and wished she would come back. Her presence wasn't the only thing you longed for; you missed her hands all over your body, touching you just in the right places. She knew you like the back of her hand. She knew exactly how to make you arch your back and make you scream her name.

✩ You couldn't cum. It had been weeks, maybe a month, and your little friend down there was starting to ache. You were horny, so fucking horny, but you couldn't cum. All you could think of was your fucking ex-girlfriend almost as if your pussy had a mind of her own. Not even your favorite toys were helping. it felt good, but you felt like something was missing. You reached out to the nightstand and grabbed your phone, unlocking the screen with a swift gesture and opened the messaging app. It was wrong, so wrong and you knew you would regret it the next day, but you needed her. Your fingers moved effortlessly across the virtual keyboard as you typed a message to her.

1:15 am "Els, I know it's wrong but" 1:15 am "I'm horny" 1:16 am "I need you, please"

You let out a deep sigh of frustration as ten long minutes ticked by, convinced she wouldn't text you back. The last conversation you had hadn't gone well, and you were starting to think it was all over between the two of you, for real this time. Just as you were about to give up and put your phone back on the nightstand, you heard a familiar chime. Your heart leaped into your throat as you saw that it was her.

1:27 am "lol your little gf can't make you feel good like i do?" 1:29 am "omw"

In just 10 minutes, she was back in your apartment, in your arms, and inside you. It was almost like nothing happened like she hadn't just made you cry for a whole month for getting with the girl who made you deeply insecure. All her 8 inches buried deep into your soaked hole, stretching it out and making it hurt, but it felt good. "Is this what you wanted, hm?" she kept mumbling random things into the crook of your neck, not that you were listening to anything she was saying; she was fucking you dumb, and you couldn't seem to focus on anything else but her thick strap pounding into you relentlessly, hitting your cervix just right. You were a mess, literally. "Ellie...nngfuck.. slow down" you breathed out between incoherent moans, panting like a fucking dog in heat "Take it, slut. Show me how much you missed me." She hissed, thrusting hard into you, all your juices spilling out of your pussy, making a mess on your pink sheets. All she wanted to do was destroy you, mark you as hers.

"C-can't," you whined as pornographic moans left your throat. She groaned deep in her throat, savoring the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips, almost as if her life depended on them. She missed this so much. She missed you so much. She increased the pace, pushing deeper into you each time. Her hands moved to your hips, gripping them tightly as she continued to thrust her hips against yours, her thrusts becoming faster and harder, your breath coming out in heavy gasps. "So fucking tight, baby," she panted, her voice hoarse with need "You belong to me, don't you?" She bit down on your neck, her teeth grazing lightly against your delicate skin, leaving behind a mark as evidence of her claim over you; you whimpered at the sensation. You were hers, no one else's. She wanted to mark you all over, hoping your girlfriend would see the hickeys on your breasts and neck the next day.

All you could do was nod frantically, "m'yours, all yours" you babbled out, painfully arching your back. So fucking incoherent. Especially after promising yourself that you would never let her lay a finger on you ever again. But you were desperate, you needed to cum, and you needed her right now. "That's my girl, only I can fuck you like this, yeah?" Her hands roamed all over your body, pinching your nipples and rubbing your throbbing nub harshly. She wanted to hear you beg for her and admit how much you needed her. She needed you to need her.

"Tell me how much you missed my cock." She demanded, slamming into you again and again. Your high-pitched moans filled the room, each one driving her wilder. She could feel her own climax building as her clit bumped against the back of her strap with each thrust; the sound of your pleas combined with the tightness of your pussy around her strap-on were enough to push her closer and closer to the edge. You felt that familiar sensation build in your stomach; you were close. "Soo much, ahhh!...missed it, yeah.." you couldn't even put together a proper sentence. Her grip on your hips tightened, tugging slightly as she continued to thrust into you, hitting the spot that had you rolling your eyes into the back of your skull, over and over until you couldn't hold back anymore.

"That's it, whore. Cum for me. You don't belong to anyone else," she snarled, her voice laced with possession. She knew just what to do or say to push you over the edge, and it worked every single time; that's why you ran to her whenever you needed a good fuck. She could feel your body tensing up and your pretty pussy clenching around her strap-on. You came simultaneously, your combined moans filling your cozy bedroom, her well-defined abdominal muscles glistening with a thin layer of sweat. She rolled you over, so now you were on top of her, riding out your orgasm on her silicone cock as she ground her clit against the back of her strap. "Oooh fuuuck!" you cried out as pretty moans left your mouth. She took in the sight of you on top of her, her strap still buried deep inside you, riding her cock; your tits bounced as you did so, a sight that she loved. No one did it like you. No one was remotely as good as you. She took a glimpse of your cum sliding down the strap, you were so fucking wet, and nasty wet sounds filled the room, but she loved it. "Fuck, baby," she groaned, clenching her teeth tightly together, causing her jaw muscles to bulge prominently. Her hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you moved your hips, setting the pace, your eyes locked on hers the entire time. Her fingers dug into your skin, leaving small marks that she knew would fade within hours but would always remind her of this moment. Her veiny hand reached up, grabbing one of your breasts, squeezing it firmly and twisting the nipple between her fingers. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, her eyes never leaving yours as she watched you take her cock like the fucking slut you were. "Taking me so well, such a good girl f'me, aren't ya?"

"El..." you whined as she toyed with your nipple. You weren't going to last long; you were still sensitive and your pussy couldn't handle it. "'m gonna cum again!" you cried out once again, bouncing faster on her thick strap. She watched you with unabashed hunger, her eyes never leaving your body as it moved above her. She thrust up, meeting your movements, pushing you closer to the edge. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with your thrusts and the strap disappearing inside your juicy-coated pussy almost made Ellie cum right then and there. Your thighs started to tremble, and she could feel you clench around her dick; your gasps and moans becoming more frequent. She wasted no time, her fingers digging into your hips as she slammed you down on her strap, making you cry out her name, "Just like that, yeah...take it."

When you finally collapsed against her, panting heavily, Ellie couldn't help but smile. "Mine," she rasped, her voice thick with possession and satisfaction. As your bodies finally came down from their highs, breaths slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you, leaving your wet and sore pussy gaping open. You whined at the sensation, suddenly feeling empty.

The smile plastered on her face faded as you pulled away, the coldness in your voice seeping into the air between you two as you told her to return to her girlfriend. She reluctantly mimicked your movements and sat up, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes met yours, searching for any trace of warmth or affection, but all she found was distance. She grabbed her clothes and started to dress herself quickly, trying to calm down, her movements precise and controlled, hiding the hurt and anger she felt at your words. She was confused. You had called her, and she thought you were ready to take her back into your life. She wasn't expecting you to discard her like a toy. "I see how it is," she muttered, her voice cold and distant. She gathered her belongings, not meeting your gaze. "I shouldn't have come here." When she was fully clothed, Ellie turned to face you, her eyes filled with regret and anger.

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," your tone coming off as sharp and cold. You put your shirt on, struggling to process what happened. You missed her so fucking much, and the sex with her was also something you missed a lot. You knew she was right when she told you that no one could fuck you like she did; your girlfriend couldn't even make you cum, while Ellie knew precisely how to touch you to make you feel good. "Can't believe it...Dina, really?" you muttered under your breath as you got dressed, catching her off guard. Your outburst was so sudden neither you could understand it. She could sense the jealousy in your voice and knew exactly what was going on, and the realization made her feel a twinge of satisfaction. "Is this what it's all about? Me fucking with Dina?" she scoffed, her eyes rolling in annoyance. But despite her outward annoyance, she was secretly glad you still cared and got jealous. It meant that you had never indeed gotten over her. You struggled to maintain eye contact with her, the words "Just…get out" barely escaped your lips. You felt a burning sense of shame for letting your jealousy get the best of you, but at the same time, you couldn't help but release all the pent-up emotions you had been holding in for so long.

She snorted from her nose, shaking her head in disbelief, almost amused by all this "Just say the word, and I'll dump her ass," she said in a flat tone, her emerald green eyes staring right back at you as she placed her hands on her hips. You could tell she was serious, as there was a hint of desperation in her voice. She was hoping you'd ask her to drop Dina's ass and come back to you, but of course, you didn't. "I would do anything for you" desperate, so fucking desperate. You let out a deep sigh and firmly shook your head, looking into her eyes. You could see the pain and desperation in her gaze, but you couldn't just let her back into your life like that. "Go," you repeated yourself. "Fine, whatever," she sounded so pissed, disappointed. For a moment, you wanted to take your words back, but you knew that letting her into your life again was the worst idea ever.

✩ That night only made it incredibly difficult for you to move on from her (not that you could before), but she was all you could think of. You found yourself constantly yearning for her at every moment of the day. You'd often text her, and she would always come over, no matter what she was in the middle of. She was willing to drop everything to be with you and 8 inches inside you or between your thighs. Even if she was out with Dina, she didn't seem to care — it became obvious that something was going on between you and Ellie. You couldn't understand how Dina couldn't tell that Ellie was cheating on her with you.

6:34 pm "Baby, need you" 6:36 pm "I'm so wet, been thinking about you all day :(" 6:37 pm "proof??"

✩ One of the things you used to do quite regularly was sending her nudes. You would send her nudes on Snapchat unexpectedly, mostly to surprise her or get some sort of reaction from her. Sending snaps to tease her was one of your favorite things to do. Whether it was a picture of you in sexy lingerie or a video of you playing with your pussy, riding the purple strap she had left at your place weeks ago. You loved making her horny, and it always worked. She would always end up knocking at your door, eager to fuck you or eat you out.

"Teasin' me like that in public — tsskk," She mumbled against your throbbing core as she teased your clit with her tongue. Your legs were on her shoulders, and you watched her head disappear between your thighs. Your fingers tightly gripped into her auburn hair as she devoured like a starved animal, so pussy drunk. But even in that state, she was such a sight.

✩ You were the only one she could think about, even when fucking her girlfriend. Her mind too fixated on the cute little whimpers that left your mouth when she was inside you or sucking on your clit. The way your legs trembled when you were close, your hips jerking away from her when it became too much for you. No one could make her wet like you did, it was a fucking curse having to fuck someone else while thinking of you, hoping that would be enough to trick her brain into thinking she was fucking you instead.

✩ She would save each of your snaps into her phone's gallery and meticulously organize them into a special and hidden folder she had created just for you. This folder contained not just your nudes but plenty of other stuff — from intimate pictures you'd send her to videos she'd take while fucking you. She would go through the folder occasionally for personal use (iykwim).

✩ Your girlfriend was quick to pick up on something odd going on. She'd notice how you would turn your phone upside down, making sure the screen was facing whatever surface to make sure she wouldn't see your ex-girlfriend spamming your phone with texts (she would do it on purpose, by the way). That's how she knew something was up, but for some odd reason, she brushed it off.

✩ She was fed up with your stupid girlfriend constantly in the way. Why weren't you breaking up with her already? She couldn't understand; she was trying to be the best version of herself for you, yet you were still not hers. She tried everything to get you caught, like texting you while your girlfriend was around, sending you risky snaps, calling you...but nothing seemed to be working. So, she decided to hurry things up by texting your girlfriend and sending her some evidence.

She selected a video from her gallery to send to your girlfriend, writing a text message to go along with it before hitting the 'send' button "is this ur girl?" In the video, she was strapping you from behind, and you were telling her exactly what she needed to hear, "Better than your stupid girlfriend, yeah?" "Y-yes. Oooh fuckk. nhhmmm...faster, please" "Can she fuck you like this, hmm?" "No one can fuck me like y-you do...pleaseplease faster"

✩ Your girlfriend felt hurt and betrayed after realizing that you were using her to make your ex jealous, and she ended things between you two. You didn't seem to be affected by the breakup significantly, as if you had been expecting it all along. Honestly, it was almost as if the relationship never existed to you.

✩ Despite feeling indifferent towards your recent breakup, you were furious that Ellie had been the one who caused the end of your relationship. Who was she to control your life in such a way? Well, she couldn't give a fuck, to be quite honest. Seeing you with other girls consumed her from the inside. Nevertheless, she did not break up with Dina.

✩ But of course, you couldn't just let it slide. You already had a plan.

You were at Ellie's place, your back pressed onto her messy blankets, your leg on top of her shoulder as she held the other one firm, adjusting herself on top of you, to be more precise... on your pussy; grinding her wet pussy against your dripping cunt as filthy wet sounds and whimpers echoed in the room. Her hips moved in a slow motion, her green forest eyes fixated on yours. You reached to her nightstand to grab her phone, "Can I...nghhm... record us, baby?" you managed to utter between soft moans as she rode you, her movements became more desperate, chasing her own orgasm. "Record how good m'fuckin' this pussy?" her voice was husky, her breath ragged. Her head rolled back as she continued to grind against you, moaning at the friction, and her eyes fluttered shut. You unlocked her phone and quickly went through her contacts, pressing on Dina's name to start the call. Although the plan seemed foolish and overused, it worked out perfectly.

Dina appeared at Ellie's doorstep in no time to shout at her while you listened from her bedroom. You were amused by the drama that was unfolding before you. It was entertaining to watch Ellie deny the evidence. Dina's voice rose higher and higher as she accused her of sleeping with her ex. When Dina stormed out of the apartment and slammed the front door behind her, you emerged from your hiding spot and leaned against the doorframe, gazing at her with a mischievous grin on your face. Your arms were crossed over your chest as you watched her, waiting to see her reaction. When she turned to look at you, her face etched with confusion and surprise. You shrugged nonchalantly and said, "My finger slipped," with a lopsided smile.

She snorted and shook her head, but you could see the amusement in her expression, "Such a bitch," she said, though you could tell she was trying to suppress a smile. For some reason, she couldn't help but find it funny, she knew she deserved it.

✩ She gradually made her way back into your life, taking slow but steady steps to regain your trust and affection. And before you knew it, she asked you to be her girlfriend again. You hesitated at first but eventually gave in to the strong feelings you still had for her. The first few months of your second chance together seemed to be going smoothly, or so you thought. Then, one day, out of the blue, she broke up with you, claiming that she needed a break from the relationship.

✩ Your heart was shattered into countless pieces, struggling to comprehend where it had all gone wrong. And to make things worse, it seemed like you were the only one suffering, while she appeared to be completely fine, almost as if she were unbothered by the whole situation. You had poured your heart out, begging her to give your relationship another try, but she seemed to be holding back, almost...distant.

✩ But that didn't stop you; you were determined to win her back. You tried everything in your power to get her to love you again, just like she used to do when she wanted to win you back. You started showing up at her place unannounced, always with little surprises for her: her favorite snacks, flowers, handmade stuff, and love letters. But unfortunately, all your efforts seemed to be in vain. The more you tried, the more she pushed you away. You couldn't tell how she had switched so fast and went from doing anything to get back with you to this.

✩ When you asked her for an explanation, she said she felt emotionally unavailable. She went on to say that she wasn't sure if she still loved you and that she needed a break. You could see the hurt in her eyes and feel the weight of her words as they slowly sank in. It was a devastating blow that left you feeling utterly destroyed. The pain you felt was almost too much to bear.

✩ She promised to come back to you once she felt better. Months passed, and she didn't return. You were left feeling lost and heartbroken, struggling to cope with the pain of the breakup. To move on, you tried to distract yourself with other things, keeping yourself busy with work, hobbies, and spending time with friends. As time went on, you slowly began to heal and accept that it was over. When she unexpectedly came back, you were already over her.

"im ready to give us another try" "Ellie, it's been a fucking year." "and?"

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 4 months

Text

Winners Always Win (Take It All series) - Max Verstappen

Current/Ex!Lewis (also massive age gap)

Summary: Lewis dating a woman in her early 20s was controversial, but he promised her nothing would ruin what they had. What he didn't expect was for the Dutchman who took his title to take his girlfriend.

This is for the girls who love a bit of controversy and definitely love a bit of villain!Max

Part 1 - When I Speak. He Listens.

Part 2 - So I'm The Villain

Part 3 - No Point in Fixing It

Part 5 - They’ll Never Shut Up

Y/n knew that she was going to be delivering a blow to the ego. But she feels like Lewis has to suspect there's something is going on here.

They walk into the hotel room where she already had her stuff removed, though it's not so obvious upon first glance.

"Lewis..." Y/n murmurs as he continues to walk inside and she stops at the door after closing it. "We need to talk."

"Can it wait? It's kind of late, baby." Lewis states before turning and seeing her expression. "Ok. Ok. We can talk."

"Lewis...I can't keep doing this anymore. I think...I think we need to stop. Now." Y/n explains trying not to let her voice shake with her words. She has to be confident, put her foot down.

"You're breaking up with me?" Lewis questions looking almost void of emotion? He doesn't look sad or angry but just blank. "Is it Max?"

Translation: Not quite as subtle as you thought you were being.

"He's using you. The two of you will be over because he's just using you to prove he can have anything I have." Lewis states while y/n swallows thickly, trying not to wince at the below freezing temperatures of his tone. "You can leave, we can be done. But he's not going to love you in a way that's worth it."

Y/n feels a fizzle of angry, her guilt and sadness of having betrayed him so unintentionally replaced with upset that he thinks he knows what is happening.

"Then I guess I'm not losing or gaining anything by leaving you for him." Y/n states then turning reaching for the door handle.

"Guess everyone was right about you." Lewis comments making her freeze and tears well in her eyes. "All about the money and fame for you."

"If you had ever paid attention, you'd know your attitude about all those people saying that is how we got here. Telling me to just ignore vicious attacks on MY character when I have only withdrawn and kept further out the spotlight than any other girlfriend in the paddock. I wanted to be here only to support you but being continuous ripped into by wolves and your solution being not to defend me or tell them how I've never accepted a penny of your money but instead to just ignore them." Y/n seethes feeling her anger overwhelm her entirely, fists clenched as she spins around to look at Lewis who seems stunned by her words. "Next time you are lucky enough to find yourself in a relationship. Do not neglect them when they tell you multiple times that there's an issue."

As if Vegas wasn't cold enough the room had dropped even further than that from the atmosphere's tension.

"Now if you're done being just as sickening about me as your fans. I think you've taught me a lesson not to trust the ones who are labelled as a gift from god." Y/n states grabbing the door and leaving before Lewis has a chance to say another word.

She closes the door behind her softly, not wanting to gain any attention but the reality of what she did just slaps her in the face.

Max was waiting up for y/n, he's already suspected that things going down with Lewis wouldn't be as smooth sailing as y/n was really hoping for.

"It's alright." Max whispers as she appears at the door way and falls against him in a heavy hug.

He doesn't want to ask what was said, whatever it was was bad enough to gain tears and he doesn't want to pour salt into a fresh wound.

"How about we get into bed, get to sleep and we can leave later for Abu Dhabi?" Max offers making her nod a little since she is more than ready to get out of there.

"You want me to come to Abu Dhabi?" Y/n questions with unease as he slowly guides her over to the bed and she looks at him looking like she's about ready to cry again.

"If anyone has anything to say about it. They can speak to me directly." Max shrugs watching y/n soften a little. "Sleep on it. You can decide tomorrow. If you don't want to I'll book a flight to Monaco and you can hide away from the cameras with my cats."

Y/n finally cracks a smile and there's plenty of comfort that he finds in that.

"I definitely need sleep." Y/n yawns making Max hum in agreement since that Vegas race was fun but equally in the middle of the night it's long and tiring with jet lag. "Did my stuff get brought over?"

"Yeah, it's just in the closet." Max nods while y/n looks at him for a moment then standing up forcing him to move back before she finally does the one thing that they both feel they've waited for.

A kiss.

They both melt into it with the heat of their bodies finally warming them from the chilly night air they'd spent so much time in after the race.

"Alright, I needed that. I really needed that." Y/n sighs softly before she smiles up at him. "I'm going to change and then curl up, pass out and hopefully be able to cope with being awake tomorrow morning."

Y/n slept on it and ultimately she didn't think it would be wise for her to attend the Abu Dhabi race. Though it hurt to miss the last one, she didn't need to spit in Lewis' face by appearing as his girlfriend in Vegas and then moving on so swiftly to Max the next.

But she did find herself being dropped off by Max in Monaco, left in the company of his multiple cats all of whom took to her like she'd been there always. Honestly it was a nice feeling, just winding down and settling.

Of course, she saw there was already rumours of her break up with Lewis. Privacy in F1 last as long as a second is really asking too much and she knows that.

Max, as expected, won Abu Dhabi with ease. Then he returned to Monaco for only a couple days.

Then he flew out taking y/n with him to the Honda event where it's safe to say Daniel Ricciardo didn't hide his shock over her presence by Max's side. Though no one commented on it directly, there was no hiding the confusion and later realisation.

But that event ended and Max took y/n back to Monaco having every intention of keeping her there.

With the season having come to a closing end. The ripples of all sorts of drama were being brought to the surface. But Max and y/n had thankfully gone overlooked even with her break up from Lewis not being so ignored. The 7 time champion had been shamelessly been showing himself online like he was doing a mating dance to the masses. It was a habit he'd stopped during their short-lived relationship but his newly single again status seemed to provoke him into flexing everything he could.

However, secrets can't be kept forever and when she accidentally appears on Max's stream. The world falls into meltdown. At least in terms of the F1 community online.

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capslocked · 5 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run.

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you.

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst.

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth:

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?"

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven.

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks.

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music.

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart.

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

#wooah smut #nana smut #kwon nayeon smut #el7z up smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember #woo ah smut #woo ah nana smut

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cassandraclare · 11 days

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A bit of publishing stuff (if you get my newsletter you've already seen this)

So by now you lovely people have all seen the announcement about what books I have coming up next. Ragpicker King is coming March 4, 2025, and The Last King of Faerie is coming early 2026.

I know a lot of you were hoping for LKOF to come earlier. It’s going to be a big gap between the last Shadowhunter book and the next — three years. Previously the longest gap between Shadowhunter books was two years, between Mortal Instruments and the Dark Artifices.

I announced last year that I was taking time off — six months. It was the first time I’d taken any real time off since 2005. The pandemic had just happened and I was wiped out physically and mentally. I also needed to take stock of where I was in my publishing journey and really think about what I wanted — it had been years since I’d had time to consider whether I was happy, because I always had another deadline and that was always more important.

When I came to the end of The Last Hours, I was “out of contract” — meaning I didn’t have any further Shadowhunter books that were owned by or owed to a publisher. it was the first time that had happened since, again, 2005. Being out of contract is your one chance to change anything you want to change about your career, and I knew I was going to leave my longtime US publisher of the Shadowhunter books and move to Random House, who published Sword Catcher.

This isn’t a small decision for any writer to make. It sometimes happens when a writer has been at a publisher for a very long time that the nature of the publisher changes. Maybe all the people you worked with when you first came to that publisher have gone elsewhere, so your team has inherited you rather than having chosen you. Maybe your publisher has been sold to another company whose vision for that publisher doesn’t fit with yours. Maybe your publisher isn’t interested in your genre anymore.

I spent a lot of time agonizing over the decision—I certainly could have stayed where I was, but I knew that was no longer the best decision for the books. So those of you who pay attention to these kinds of details will note that where the other Shadowhunter books have all been published by McElderry Books, these next ones will be published by Knopf. (Who are an amazing imprint. They make great books.)

Normally a writer wouldn’t really address switching publishers — it happens a lot, and most readers don’t care who publishes a book. I’m talking about it now because I know there will be a lot of people who are angry and don’t understand why Ragpicker King is coming out before Last King of Faerie. The short answer is: Ragpicker King has been under contract since it was sold along with Sword Catcher, years ago now, and I’m obligated to get it done when I said I was going to. The books of The Wicked Powers are only just now securely under contract enough to be announced, as you just saw! So Ragpicker King is planned to be turned in in a couple of months, and after that I will be able to focus entirely on The Last King of Faerie (which I already began, but since it was only sold to Knopf last October, I was only able to get started after that).

And it takes a a year at least to write a book and another good year or so to publish it, and that gets us to the pub dates we’ve got. I would love if I could get it to you earlier, but multiple factors have brought us to this point, and in the end, not rushing through them is the best thing for the books, and will produce the best version of those books. I always want to get you my best work — that’s what is important to me above all things.

In terms of other publishers in other countries — I’m staying with all my longterm Shadowhunter publishers. Nothing’s going to change for y’all — Walker Books is still publishing Shadowhunters in the UK, even though a different publisher is going to publish In Fire Foretold there (due to spiciness.) ;)

For those of you who backed the Kickstarter, that will mean you do get new Shadowhunter content between now and early 2026* — which was part of the reason I did it! I’m also talking to my new publisher about bringing Better in Black out — with at least a six month gap for the Kickstarter backers to have it to themselves — so fingers crossed. There’s also Black Volume of the Dead, the final Eldest Curses book, which is still planned and which I am still excited to write, but since it is set after Last King of Faerie, it hasn’t been scheduled yet. More news on that as it develops—for now, I wanted to talk directly about the schedule in the next couple of years, since I feel confident it is set and will reliably happen this way, something I can’t yet say about 2027 and beyond. The point is, I’m really excited to bring you Wicked Powers just as soon as it is ready, and I know enough about it to say it’s going to be quite a ride!

And also an early look at In Fire Foretold.

#shadowhunters #the wicked powers

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spacedace · 8 months

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Reluctant War AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

More of the brain worm that has taken me over, gonna probably post it to Ao3 here before too long. Already got another part started and so many ideas for additional stuff, someone please send help I've been consumed by this thing lol

Sorry if Waller seems out of character, outside of fandom I'm mostly familiar with her through Justice League the animated show & Justice League: Unlimited and her vibe there has always struck me as "deeply incredibly unlikable character that also kind of has a point but also has done so much fucked up shit in the name of her goals that you don't really care about her point anymore." So you know, complicated lol. If she's completely unrecognizable let me know, but I'm hoping she feels at least somewhat like Waller.

Forgot to say this in the last update, but still feel free to use all this as an overly long prompt if yall want. Literally anything I throw out to the void should be treated as a prompt lol If there's anything at all interesting to you in any of this nonsense go for it <3 <3 <3

---

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Ruthless, heartless, vicious, cruel.

She’d been called it all. Wore the words thrown as insults as a badges of pride and valor. Because at the end of the day, when it came to the problems she was given to face, the issues she was meant to solve, those words meant she’d done what others had been too squeamish or cowardly to do. Life was a never ending slog of trolley problems and she the only one unshakable enough to pull the levers that needed pulling.

It wasn’t so simple as a matter of greater good.

Greater good was what the weak willed muttered to themselves after having feelings over doing the bare minimum. A justification used by people on all sides to do what they wanted with fractured, faulty logic thrown around like truth was a thing immutable. To assuage their guilt when they were forced to make a call they didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a matter of greater good. It was a matter of preservation. Of protection. Of digging through the filth to find the threats skittering beneath and crush them with ruthless abandon. Of facing a god and not blinking because if you did it could cost the world.

Of doing what needed to be done, no matter how underhanded or atrocious it was.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the throat of something that could threaten to destroy it all.

When the Ghost Investigation Ward had been shoved her way with it’s sucking wound of a budget, it’s bloated incompetent staff, its asinine methods she’d seen a rotted limb in need of hacking off. It hadn’t been until she’d been conducting her inspection, digging through the trash for a few pearls of effective agents she could snatch up and put to work elsewhere, that she’d truly seen what they were working on. The potential.

Potential to better arm themselves with in the forms of the strange new weapons being created.

Potential for threats far greater than anything even she had thought possible before.

The GIW as it had been when she’d first come across it was a fetid waste of time and resources. A laughing stock agency only secret because no one took them seriously enough to look. Made stupid and useless with its own conceited delusions of importance it didn’t actually have. Yet.

She went to work on it. Hacking away as she’d originally intended, but this time with a different goal in mind. She ripped out the weeds with bare, calloused hands and planted proficiency and loyalty in their place. She took over as director herself, tossing the self-aggrandizing fool that had been running the place into the ground to the dogs as the culprit for misappropriate spendings, saving the agency by tweaking things until their ballooning budget was pinned neatly onto the former director as an embezzling charge.

Then she got to work.

The Fentons were brilliant, if entirely insane. But Amanda could work with that. She’d reigned Harley Quinn in - more or less - she could do the same to the two deranged scientists that so eagerly wanted to be apart of the fight against the dead. Especially when the benefit came in the form of the inventions they threw together so easily, especially when those inventions were weapons.

It took very little to get them on board with her plans for the GIW. Keeping their focus could be a chore, at times, but she didn’t even have to really do much in the way of pressing to get them back where she wanted them. They craved knowledge and understanding nearly as much as they craved the eradication of the entities themselves. Letting them have the first look at a new subject here, free reign over a vivisection there, it took so little to fuel their fervor and keep them busy working on the projects she set for them.

Things had been going smoothly.

For a time at least.

Until Phantom.

He’d been the main focus of the previous director’s attention, the big fish he’d so desperately wanted to catch and put up on his wall. Amanda wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tempting prospect, but not one she’d put above the other projects she had set in motion since taking over. No, Phantom was powerful, enough to be a real problem one day, but she could the awkward youth in the way he held himself, the inexperience in how he handled situations. She had time to get everything else in order before focusing on getting Amity Park’s would-be hero brought to heel.

And he would be brought to heel. One way or another.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the Core of a fledgling god and bending him to her will.

An artifact, old an powerful, recovered with some effort. A means of controlling specters, of chaining them to the will of the artifact’s wielder. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous in the right hands.

It was shattered, and even whole and functional Phantom was resistant to its power. But Amanda Waller prided herself in her ability to see the potential in things. It could be repaired, be made better. Even gods could be bound, be made to kneel, with the right pieces, with the right application of force.

It was just a matter of time to gather everything needed.

Phantom didn’t know he could single handedly destroy every last member of the Justice League. The baby fat, the innocent eyes, the split-second hesitations when he fought. He knew enough to be confident in fighting the usual ghosts that haunted Amity Park, but he still very much saw himself as a little fish. Maybe it was the part of him that was still Daniel Fenton, gangly teenager not quite sure what he was truly capable of yet.

She had time before the Fenton’s son truly became an issue. Time to judge if his parents’ obsessiveness would overcome their - rather shoddy, by Amanda’s estimation - parental instincts and continue to hunt him once they knew the truth. Time to get as much out of them as she could before hand, should they falter at the idea of attacking their own son. Time for the staff to be repaired and returned to working order, to get the other items needed for the truly big fish hidden on the other side of the veil between worlds.

She had time.

Until she didn’t.

Pariah Dark had not been something she thought she’d have to account for - not yet, at least.

If he wasn’t already dead, she’d ring the Ghost King’s neck with her bare hands. His arrival had opened Phantom’s eyes to what he was capable of, of just how big of a fish he was. Worse still, Phantom’s defeat of the war mongering King changed the state of play. Phantom was no longer an impressively powerful half dead teenager.

He was King Infinite.

He was an Ancient.

He was getting on her last damn nerves.

Phantom’s rogue gallery were now firmly under the boy’s control. Still distinct nuisances around Amity Park, but no longer considered true concerns. They were loyal to their boy king, delighting in ruffling his feathers but never crossing the line into treason or attempted regicide. Which meant that the GIW was the only thing that held his attention.

Amanda took the time to send a care package to the former GIW director in his tiny, dank prison cell. As thanks for his carelessness in revealing to the entire town - both living and dead - of the agency’s existence and their intentions. Had he stuck to standard protocol, Phantom would have been none the wiser to their presence. Would have scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders at the ghost that went missing upon occasion. Would have been boredly uninterested in the people his parents had begun working with. Would have been taken by surprise when they finally came for him.

But no.

No that self-obsessed, fame chasing imbecile had to go and announce to everyone and their dead mother that the GIW existed and exactly what it was they were in Amity Park to do.

Phantom knew what they were there to do.

They could only count on his naive certainty that he could broker peace with them for so long.

Peace. As if he and his people weren’t the invading force, the monsters slipping in through the cracks between worlds, the latest threat that had to be accounted for. As if he himself hadn’t rent their world asunder himself in another world, another time. No. Peace was not something they could hash out with this baby-faced monarch with his too-big crown. Peace was the assurance of safety, security. Of control of the situation.

There could be no peace.

The higher ups were somehow surprised when Phantom took that to mean there would be war.

Amanda Waller was not.

The Fentons, as suspected, took the right side when all was revealed. Steady hands and flinty eyes as they crafted the weapons that would be needed for the coming fight. Minds even sharper in their maddened grief, hearts set on revenge for the son lost and the entity that stole his face and friends and sister in his garish pretense at humanity. They were blinded to the reality of the situation in its entirety, the potential in what their son truly was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. They did what she needed them to do, they could believe whatever it was they wanted so long as they did.

By the time the boy king and his armies marched upon the Amity park facility, preparations had been put into place. The base in Amity had been stripped back to bare essentials, everything of importance moved to more secured locations.

The weapons labs.

The artifact.

The girl.

All tucked well away from the front lines where Phantom and his motley crew could not reach. Their time to be put in play would come, but not yet. First she needed to gauge what Phantom and his people were capable of, what they were willing to do in the name of what they wanted. Amity Park was a pawn well sacrificed on that front. As were the other facilities she’d left easy to find.

The problem with making children gods, with giving them crowns and calling them King and giving them armies to play with, was that they thought there should be rules. That even in the trenches tearing apart their enemies, there was a certain level of playing fair that everyone was held to. They thought there was a way the world worked, of how things should be that blinded them to more effective options even as time stretched on and desperation set in.

It was the Dead’s problem though, not hers.

She reached out to the Justice League. Sour faced, unhappy, bitterly reluctant to accept that she needed their help. Stone faced and barely containing their rage at what little they knew of the situation, they agreed to a meeting.

She didn’t let herself smile until she was well and truly alone in her office.

Greater good. A lie people told themselves. A fairytale told to children. A means of convincing the weaker willed that they had no choice, that they had a noble duty to bend to. A belief that could be wielded like a weapon if the fantasy of the idea had dug in deep enough. And there were few it had dug into so deep as the members of the Justice League.

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands clenched tight on a victory long in the making.

---

Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton #amanda waller #GIW #ghost investigation ward #Jack Fenton #Maddie Fenton #bad parents jack & maddie fenton #cause none of this is angsty enough yet lol #tw references to vivisection #tw references to death #waller out here playing 3d chess #of course she wasn't surprised by the inevitable war she was just hoping she'd have her secret weapon ready before it actually kicked off #oh well she still has plans B - J to get through #and all the variations for each #gonna take care of her ghost problem and her justice league problem in one fell swoop if she gets her way #just throw some GIW agents into the meat grinder for a bit while she gets stuff in order & so she can see just what Danny is willing to do #anyway wonder what Elle is up to during all this #i'm sure she's fine and there's nothing to worry about #waller playing the long con yall

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miloformula123fan · 3 months

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PART 2 OF THE LOGAN SISTER FIC PLEASE

okay, I know this is short, and yes part 3 is coming and yes it is angsty but I need to get it done

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist, anyone tagged is just people who asked for a second part :)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

part 1 is here

part 3 is here

george russell x sargeant!reader

---

“SO YOU’RE TELLING ME OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP WAS A LIE GEORGE.”

“No, no, it wasn’t. Y/N, you have to understand…-”

“UNDERSTAND WHAT? THAT YOU TREATED MY BROTHER LIKE A HUMAN BEING JUST SO I WOULD FUCK YOU? OUR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP WAS BASED ON YOUR KINDNESS WHICH WAS A LIE! WHY, WHY WOULD YOU FUCK MY BROTHER OVER LIKE THAT JUST TO WIN A GIRL?” she took a deep breath ‘I’m done.’

“What? What do you mean, you’re done.”

She looked won, took another deep breath and looked George in the eyes. ‘I meant, I’m done george. I’m done with this relationship. I’m finished. I can’t forgive you after learning that our relationship was based on you treating my brother like a decent human being, and you planning on winning me over ike that. Well congratulations it worked. And now you’re back to treating my brother like absolute shit, because you finally got the girl. Congratulations. If you want to ‘win me back’, then maybe start with treating my brother like a human being again. But you’ll have to do more than that, Russell.’

And she walked out. George put his head in his hands. He’d signed so many NDAs, you would’ve thought he wouldn’t have left his laptop open and unlocked, particularly with Logan coming over. He really should remember to close his old files. Particularly when your girlfriend, no ex-girlfriend, had looked through your old powerpoints and found an old presentation he’d made to alex about how he was planning on wooing y/n. With the first slide being ‘treat logan nicely.’ and yeah maybe after he’d started dating y/n, his priority to include everyone had fallen behind.

And yeah, Logan was nice. He had learnt that after many morning jogs and coffees and dinners and hanging out after races. He still remembers how scared he had been a year ago, when he had first officially met Y/N.

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

And he had. Or at least he had tried. And Logan had really warmed up to him and started participating in the driver evenings, but George always visited his house, partly for the runs, partly because his trainer was less strict and he could make a better breakfast at Logan’s, and maybe partially for the hope that Logan’s sister would rock up.

And then she had. And logan had still been asleep. And she obviously still was a professional athlete so she had been more than willing to do a run with him. And then have breakfast when Logan had finally stumbled out of his bedroom. And then get her phone number

And then yeah maybe he had deserted Logan, assuming he now had enough interaction with the rest of the grid to be okay.

Until Logan had called Y/N last night, asking her to come over because it turned out the grid had gone to dinner without him, and he was feeling a little hurt. And she had promised to once George got home, and then she had absolutely laid into him. And now she was gone, presumably to Logan’s and George didn’t know what to do.

---

taglist: @folklorsweet @the-untamed-soul @thatgirlmj @cstads-blog

#f1 fic #miloformula123fan #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant x you #george russell x reader #george russell #george russell x you

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stuckinapril · 3 months

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u don’t have to answer this if u don’t want to or u feel u don’t have anything to say on it (obvi) but how do u deal with jealousy and comparison?

i genuinely just like my shit. i love how i look like, i love my stuff, i love where i come from, i love my family and friends, and i appreciate all the circumstances (good and bad) that have led me to be the person i am today. i've done a lot of esteemable things that have bolstered my confidence growing up, like getting an extremely hard degree and pushing myself outside of my comfort zone more than ever before. i treat other people w kindness and respect. i make sure to be a source of support rather than needless negativity. what people think of me (or have) doesn't get under my skin anymore, bc i've already proven my worth to myself. the fact of the matter is, i'll always hold my own opinion of myself higher than i do other people's opinions of me. i'm at a place where i just don't care that much. i've lost the need to correct people on their takes of me a long time ago.

my own happiness is king--everything else is secondary. if i like it, that's enough for me.

i find it pointless to compare myself to somebody else, simply because no two people have been dealt the exact same cards. i wouldn't compare a rose to a lily, so why should i be comparing myself to people who're--no matter who they are, no matter where they're from--never gonna be me? i'm me. the only person i should be comparing myself to is my past self. i am only in competition w myself. that is all.

as for jealousy, viewing people who have things i want as proof of concept has really helped. if another person gets a higher score on a test, i don't get jealous that they outdid me. i just view them as proof that i can get that score if i studied more efficiently. someone else's success isn't a lack of your own--it's just proof you can reach that success, even if the route doesn't look exactly the same, even if it might take longer.

contentment is entirely subjective. i've known wealthy people who're incredibly miserable. i've known people who struggle financially but could not be happier. other people's advantages don't rattle me, bc i don't care about them, bc i'm so eternally grateful for what i already have. i've also never really been that materialistic to begin with, so i've always understood that a person's worth lies in who they are rather than what they own (whether it be things, money, opportunities...). i can say w my whole chest that i wouldn't swap places w the most famous, most rich celebrity there is. i legitimately don't want to. i know that even if i have to work harder for things, i'll have more to say by the end of it all, and that in and of itself is so profound. not to mention the satisfaction from having challenged myself to get there--and i love a good challenge.

i've unleared the idea that i should view other women as competition. life is hard, we all struggle, we'll be living in a man's world for a long time, and it's just not worth the energy. yeah i'm ambitious, but not at the expense of other people. there's enough room for everyone. another woman's achievement doesn't mean less space for mine. we'll all be fine.

w all that said!! there are bad days. no human is just confident all the time, doesn't feel jealous all the time, doesn't compare themself all the time, doesn't let people's opinions get under their skin all the time. don't feel bad for doing it every now and then. it's natural and normal and just part of the human experience. nobody is perfect. just focus on you, view other people as inspiration rather than competition, and compare your progress to nobody else's but your own. it's been a game changer for me :)

#ask

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tossawary · 6 months

Text

Someone responded, "Howl would do chores for Sophie! He loves her so much!" to that Prince Turniphead house-boyfriend post about the "Howl's Moving Castle" movie where I said that Howl wouldn't reliably help around the house. And... no. No, I said RELIABLY, that's a really important word here, but also no.

Nothing about his home setup (the mess of the kitchen in the beginning, the RAINBOW BATHROOM, his cluttered bedroom) suggests that he's in the habit of picking up after himself. I don't think he's purposefully a slob, but I do think he's too distractible and thoughtless to do the required regular cleaning. I think he's a "I'll put this down here for now and deal with it later *proceeds to walk around this object every day for the next three years while doing more interesting / immediate things*" person at best. Being in love does not suddenly change all your habits as a person or your personal interests! I think Howl would definitely try (important word here) to do better for Sophie, but I think it would take a lot of work and he's kind of lazy about these things!

I do think he cooks. Movie Howl IS shown cooking with Calcifer and I think he and his fire demon could have fun with that task, very cute, and leave a mountain of dishes behind them in the process.

Also, (trying to limit referencing the books for those who haven't read them, but I can't resist here) Book Sophie is... kind of controlling and loves to complain? And can also do magic herself? When I said that Howl can't be trusted to RELIABLY do chores, it's partly because I don't think he'd be doing them to 1) Sophie's exacting standards and 2) in the EXACT way that Sophie wants it done. I think Sophie would in many cases decide that it's easier just to train Howl to better stay out of her way, honestly.

Especially because HOWL IS A WIZARD!!! You can't fucking trust those assholes with a simple chore! It doesn't occupy their brains enough and they're ALWAYS going to think, "I bet I could invent a spell to do this for me," and that's how you get floating dishes or animated broomsticks or a fucking water spirit in your house. It's the hubris! Can't smack it out of wizards with a stick!

Howl swallowed a star and made a deal with a fire demon! He built a giant walking castle that was holding together JUST using magic (it completely fell apart at the end of the movie) and wandered freely around the country! He was pretending to be two different people to run businesses and then abandoned the buildings when the government caught up to him! I'm pretty sure he used a magic spell to SQUAT in Sophie's family's former hat shop! He impersonated the king! He dodged the draft literally afterwards in an airship battle! He nearly irreversibly turned himself into a bird monster and fought bombing airships by HIMSELF - and there's no way that Sophie wasn't confusedly picking black feathers off the floor. He summoned the spirits of darkness and started turning into ooze because his hair dye came out the wrong color!

Howl would TRY for Sophie, I believe that. I just also think that he'd rather use magic to completely renovate the entire house than actually scrub floors. I think he would invent an incredibly ugly magical vacuum cleaner for her and Sophie would love it so much that she would choose to overlook the fact that it tries to eat the carpet and curtains and the dog sometimes. I think that if Book Sophie was told she could melt wizards with a bucket of soapy water with a little bit of lemon juice (like the Enchanted Forest Chronicles), she COULD DO IT by choosing to believe it, and Howl hides from her and that bucket because he loves her but she's TERRIFYING.

If Sophie's sister Lettie was visiting and Sophie was panicking because she hadn't had the time to dust on top of the guest room wardrobe... whatever the magical equivalent of shoving all of your stuff into a closet at the last minute to make the place LOOK clean is, THAT's how Howl would help.

#tossawary hmc #howl pendragon #sophie hatter #spoilers #fic ideas

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meanbossart · 2 months

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i always love asking ppl this; how does your character (du drow) see themselves .vs. how they are seen by others (loved ones, friends, acquaintances, etc)

That is a good question!

When it comes to his self-perception, DU Drow assumes he cuts a very intimidating and off-putting figure at worst - and someone impressive and powerful at best.; he doesn't care either way as long as it favors him in either being left alone or getting what he wants out of people. He believes himself to appear confident and as having little regard for other people besides for his tight-knit group of friends and partner. He does believe that he's reliable - and even caring, as weirdly as he may express it. Not particularly intelligent but not dense enough to seem like an idiot. When it comes to more complex stuff - his needs, wants, beliefs, and how that comes across - his self-understanding is extremely lacking and vague. He doesn't have much of a point of comparison, however, so he doesn't really grapple with that.

When it comes to strangers (at least on the surface) he is pretty much right that he comes across as a scary, powerful person. Funnily enough, in the Underdark he is way less impressive to most of the population - a strange sight nonetheless, but his tactics don't work as well on it's citizens. Most drow don't know what to make of him, and generaly don't take him seriously or assume him to be half-something else or even not a drow at all.

(Shadowheart's and Astarion's POVs below, NOTE: these are based on what their relationships are like at the end-game/post-game, obviously there would be some significant differences if we were to talk about first-impressions and so on)

Shadowheart, being his closest friend, sees DU drow as kind of a doofus. She understands him as an animal with simple motivations and impulses, and has no real interest in pushing him to be anything else - in fact she envies how simplistically DU drow seems to view life and every hurdle that it throws his way, and looks up to him for seeming largely unaffected by his circumstances and unburdened by the things he has done/have happened to him. She does think he's a very fun person to be around - and someone she can say anything to and trust him to tell her exactly whats on his mind back, and generally tell her to pull herself by the bootstraps instead of letting her wallow in misery - she has overall a lot of respect and appreciation for the guy, though she doesn't express it too often since she thinks his ego is inflated enough. She isn't afraid or unnerved by him in the slightest and is kind of amused at how much other people are - she pretty much forgets that he looks like a freak.

As his romantic partner, Astarion's perception on him is fairly different. He thinks a bit more highly of Du drow's intellect than it probably appears, and finds it frustrating that he guy just doesn't seem to want to entertain a lot of... Thinking. He knows he can be perceptive and insightful based on how he treats him, but for whatever reason never applies that to himself, and the more they grow to know each other the more he thinks it's just a barrier DU drow has set up so he doesn't have to grapple with the things he's done and what he is. He is under no illusions that DU drow isn't a egoistical, blood-thirsty person (he likes those things about him, anyway) but worries that one day something will click in his brain, and all that willful ignorance will culminate into something terrible. He also thinks DU drow is a far more empathetic person than himself.

He really likes DU drow's company for his unfiltered demeanor - he thinks he's funny and a good listener (lol) and finds a lot of comfort in being with someone who seems incapable of hiding how they feel about him and their relationship, and doesn't think DU drow has much capacity for being manipulative or deceptive. Naturally he adores how much DU drow seems willing to devote himself to him, but it bothers him that it sometimes seem to veer into weird, damsel-in-distress-fantasy territory. Basically there's a lot about the guy that Astarion both likes and doesn't simultaneously.

#ask #du drow #astarion #shadowheart

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hazbin-a-helluvamagines · 6 months

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Hello ! I have a request for you so I hope you can do it ! 🩷 (no rush obviously, take your time ☺️💓)

I wanted to request for Verosika mayday and (she's my favorite gal) with a cute idol reader (they're in a relationship)

example for idol reader: (basically They're cute as hell)

Can be any gender you want

Verosika Mayday With A Cute Idol S/O

Now, I'll start this off with the obvious: before you start dating, she sees you as competition. I mean, how dare you come onto her turf and steal her fans?!

However, it doesn't take long for her to meet you with intent of threatening you away, only for her to begin swooning over you soon after.

You're just?? So sweet??? Like??

She's enamored with you, but she thinks it's suspicious. Soon after, though, she learns that it's not an act, that you really ARE that sweet and that cute.

It isn't long until you two start dating, and she makes it VERY clear to her posse that you're off-limits because you're HER sweet little S/O.

She'll also actually refrain from fucking people, either on earth or in hell, as long as she has you. She adores you beyond belief, viewing you as just too sweet to do that to.

Now, she's got that pop star money. So anytime she sees anything that even SLIGHTLY reminds her of you, congratulations, you've got twelve.

You two would bond over music, definitely. No matter what kind of music you sing (I assume pop based on the term 'idol'), and she'll even suggest karaoke dates for the both of you.

Plus, she'll integrate herself into your professional life, too, with collabs! Interchanging, switching vocals, with one of you singing your part of the main chorus and the other doing the backing vocals, and vice versa.

Another thing: she'll have you help with writing songs and everything! It's nice dating another musician, because you both know how to support each other endlessly.

If you're a succubus and you're interested in seducing humans together, perfect, she'll do that with you! But if not, that's okay, she only needs you.

Because you're so sweet and cute, though, it'd be a long time before she opened up about her psst relationship with Blitzø and how he broke her heart.

That said, she'll write a diss track about him with lines along the lines of "fuck you, got my new boo". She's petty, even if you aren't, and unless you say you're uncomfortable, she isn't gonna stop putting you in her pettiness anytime soon.

She'll help you with outfit coordination and ask for the same in turn, figuring that if you're both coordinated, it's a sly way to show everyone that you're hers.

PDA is a must, but it'll be lower than if you weren't an idol, because she doesn't want to risk you being made upset if it's in the tabloids. Anything that can be construed as 'friendly', she'll do in public. The kissing and stuff is saved for later. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That said, if anyone ever flirts with you in public, she has no shame in making out with you or grabbing your ass right there in public, just to show that person that you're hers and only hers.

And likewise, if anyone ever flirts with her, she'll grab your hand and offer a cruel smirk while she turns them down.

"Yeeeeeah, no. I already have a fucking amazing S/O, who's most definitely better in bed than a lame fuckstain like you ever would be."

She'll try harder to get through rehab entirely for you. She wants to see that sweet, adorable smile on your face when she tells you that she's done with the Beelzejuice...

Basically, contrary to what you'd think, your sweetness an innocence inspires her to be better.

Although...

There's always a small part of her that wants to corrupt you more than anything else.

"Aww, S/O, you look almost good enough to eat~."

"Are you saying I'm sweet? :D"

"...Yeah."

She would never do that of course, but the thought is kind of just... there. But she loves you too much to ever try to do that to you.

All in all, Verosika is a good girlfriend to you, and both your professional and personal lives are filled with love and laughter together.

And she'll be damned if she lets anyone keep you apart...

Ever.

#verosika mayday #verosika x reader #helluva boss verosika #verosika helluva boss #helluva verosika #helluva boss #helluvaboss #blitzo #helluva boss x reader #notsfw implications

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via-l0ve · 7 months

Note

Hello! I've been binging your fics/imagines lately and I just can't get enough! I don't know if this was ever done before, but--

Could you do a general, platonic (perhaps mildly romantic, like how I see Dean kinda gushing over Y/N idk, your choice!) imagine on how the men (Sam, Dean, Castiel, maybe Crowley [which would be funny]) would react to Y/N being some kind of powerful angel, like that sits at a pretty high rank and has the power to do all sorts of stuff? Healing, destroying, anger being so destructive it could kill a human (but albeit a peaceful being). This angel would probably serve as a guardian to the Winchesters, or a superior to Cass or a complete surprise and maybe unlikely companion for Crowley? I imagine it'd be a scenario where they're saved last second during a massive fight, probably get to know er type deal. This sounds kind of cheesy as I ask someone else to write this but I hope it doesn't sound too weird, I almost wanna go anonymous HAHA. I know this is VERY specific but I don't wanna confuse you! It's something I wanna write out into a fic myself but the way you write would make it super interesting! :)

So sorry if this was too much, I'm very descriptive!

Angel. (SPN pref!) 🩷

a/n: stop omg. this idea is so cool! also - thank you for the kind words!! i appreciate you so much!! i hope you enjoy this!

warnings: slightly romantic!!

Dean:

Dean met you on a hunt

he was being himself and basically bleeding out, but he was still fighting

you, being in charge of the dink, had to come down and help out

when you appear, a bolt of white light strikes the ground and your voice projects through the atmosphere

“you will not hurt this man.” you say, hair blowing in the wind and eyes glowing

dean was flabbergasted, also a little scared, but also a little bit in love

eventually you just kill the entire vampire nest because they’re stupid and you turn to dean.

“are you okay?”

he’s even more confused because this angel just came down and slaughtered the threats to him and now they’re talking so.. nice.

you heal his wounds and boom. now he’s your friend

he follows you around like a lost puppy and also brags that he’s friends with not one, but two angels, and one is even more powerful and higher up than fucking CASTIEL.

as he gets to know you he knows how sweet you are and it inteigues him even more because - as i said, you’re a powerful angel who can kill anyone but you’re so nice to him, Sam, Bobby and Cas.

the first time he sees you angry he literally gets all red and falls for you

—

Sam:

You first met sam when he was basically bleeding out in a motel room

Dean had gone to get food and sam had been hiding a pretty nasty gash from him

so now he was sitting alone trying to patch himself up (and being unsuccessful)

so, you made your appearance and tried to keep him calm

you appeared and he saw you and went 👁️👄👁️

“it’s okay. i’m an angel. i will not hurt you.” you say softly, stepping towards him

sam is still a little wary but he lets you heal him

you press your fingers to his forehead and he’s all good (albeit a little scared hahah)

he always has the smuggest little smirk on his face when you get angry on his behalf

he likes the feeling of having such a powerful being watching over him all the time but it also makes him nervous because of… his past💀

addicts recover

—

Castiel:

When you came down from heaven to help the Winchesters and Castiel, he was happy to see you

he knew, despite rebelling from heaven, you wouldn’t judge him

he spends a lot of time near you

like, standing right next to you

i like to think that you have better “people skills” than him for whatever reason (it’s just funny) and he just kind of sticks to you ykwim

he thinks you’re so cool

he dosent step in to help you in fights because he knows you can handle it and kill anyone you want

he’s blushing and kicking his feet when he sees you🤭🤭🤭

absolute power couple if you guys got together like omg

but yeah

he always defends you if anyone says shit

he’s just such a cutie pie

—

Crowley:

you popped in when crowley was holding dean and sam hostage

you came into the room, eyes rolling already.

“let them go.” you said, voice sounding bored as you’d done this multiple times already.

crowley looks at you

“oh god, you again.” he scoffs

BUT he dosent even bother to argue and lets them go

which shocks the boys because that’s not like crowley

but he’s smitten for you

it’s giving enemies to lovers

but anyways

you guys have many encounters and end up talking a lot

crowley talks about hell and you talk about heaven

and he finds himself not hating you

and suddenly he wants to be around you more and learn about you and watch you be a badass angel

#love u mwah #thank you sm for this request #dean winchester #castiel x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #castiel #sam winchester x reader #crowley #crowley x reader #dean winchester supernatural #sam winchester supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #castiel supernatural #supernatural #crowley supernatural

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kichiyosh1 · 5 months

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Finally free from lots of work and chore aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

(Just for the heads up, I'm really sorry for the rant I instead doing than ramble ⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄)

The next part of deceitfully your mak3 me scream, lord I need a man like cross dress scaramouche. He's creepy but I love him.

Also a thought about cross dress scara.

Imagine him getting popular among girls and them keep asking for him to hang out with the girl, he was annoyed consider whenever he ask for you to also join, the other girls were somehow surprise and down. (just imagine the popular mean girl group ask him to join but he also include you)

Imagine scara who realize not many people like you because you didn't share the same opinion about boys, some say your just asking for attention by pretending to be scared. Oh how he wish he can just beat all of those word back to their mouth, how dare they?!? Saying stuff like that about you! Only he can do that! is what he thought when he hear the nasty rumor.

Cross dress scara who keep asking the teacher if he can be place near you always, need a group? Oh can you be so kind to place me with [name]?, have some project? Oh [name] be my project partner. Ect Ect.

Also the though of cross dress scara who make 2 lunch when he realize you keep buying the cafeteria food. He says he accidentally made more for him and his sister, while in reality he go so much as far to ask you about your favorite food (how much you like your egg done is, how much rice you would like, how much seasoning and so on with the detail) while you didn't notice too much about the topic when the two of you were going home from school. Him who make an 'extra turbo maximum pro efforts' with your lunch and he has a decent effort lunch while his sister has the leftover of all the ingredient he just use (you= a cute bear/cat/character you like with many side dish like meat and vegetable, him= a decent mean any other human eats normally, his sister= anything scrap, but still presentable. Half an egg roll? Sure why not put it in a place where it look like it's full. (she can't complain to her mother because none of them can't cooked))

Cross dress scaramouche who keep getting popular and popular the more day he going to the school. Who always have girls looking up at him while he deceitfully fool all of them. He who have visit your house and meet the sole reason why you have a very close minded to men. Him who butter up your mom to make her thrust him enough that he will protect you from other men harms. Him who now remeber your emergency house key placement after your mother thrust him enough to protect you. Him who keep suggesting you had a sleep over with him in your house while you play it like a normal thing to do.

Cross dress scara who definitely hug you form behind while you were asleep when he sleep over, making sure the door was close and he got a recorder to record you while you sleep. Who brought camera to take your sleeping face (like his wall is not full enough with your picture now), he who take a peek at your bathroom and noted the many different products like sampo and soap you use so he can also use the same one.

My head is SOO full of cross dress scara to the point I wish he was real OMG I need him he's creepy and kinda gross but I need him.

➡(link for au)

Rei you legit just wrote the most jaw dropping scenarios for this au and I'm loving it!

note: He is viewed as a 'girl' from other's point of view

〰〰〰

When the other girls try to invite him over to their table he'll try to politely decline at first, saying he has somewhere else he has to be yet they're always so persistent to the point he has to clench the fabric of his skirt in order to ground himself. Besides, why would he want to hangout with a herd of stuck up girls when he can be—

as if on cue, you walk through the doors of the cafeteria

"come on, we really don't mind if you sit here and-" he was already walking away, his focus solely on you as you gave him a small wave when you noticed him approaching you. "[y/n], perfect timing. Luckily for you I was able to snag us a table before all the seats were taken." he says taking ahold of your hand and leading you to the table he's previously been at. The girls tried to hide their shocked expression when Scara brought you to their table, both from how he so nonchalantly ignored them just now and because out of all the people he decided to befriend it just had to be you.

Scara was aware that some of the girls in the school disliked you for disliking boys, often hearing how they whispered about how weird you were for being the way that you are, and it takes every fiber in his body just to hold back and to not shove the student's binder notebook down their throat and tell them to shut up and mind their own damn business.

The quick switch from his crescent-eyed smile directed at you to his disinterested gaze looking back to them made a shiver crawl down their spine. One of the girls fakes a cough, trying to get your guys' attention.

"You sure are lucky we saved you a seat, huh Scara?" his eyes twitched wanting to scrape his name off of the girl's tongue. "Yes, though it would seem there aren't anymore seats left for you guys." The look of confusion passed around the table left even you slightly baffled by what Scara said. A loud thud resounded around the space when his hand collided on top of the table as he gave them a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Get lost."

It's also common for him to find excuses in order to just be in the same group and or partnership with you for projects. Fr the type to pull out a whole ass presentation about "100 and more in counting reasons why me and [y/n] were made for each other should be group partners." at this point the teacher doesn't even bother stopping him from suddenly declaring himself a part of your group or him transfering you to the group he's already in. cheeky little thing.

I'd like to think he's terrible at cooking, but he gave it a shot and got better and better the more he realized you liked his cooking. The little goofy smile on his face whenever you complimented the meal he made for you. He does disregard your questions as to what he was going to eat for

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

I don't mind the rant one bit, so please don't apologize!

I promised myself I wouldn't write anything and just react to what you sent but i couldn't help myself

૧(ꂹີωꂹີૂ)

The more I read and read the more my imagination started to flourish with your amazing headcannons. He just wants to love and be loved by you that his actions go from cute to overly obsessive without him even realizing it (he doesn't even think watching you sleep is crazy!).

Overall he does have good intentions but his methods of expressing them are definitely interesting.

I might write a few more headcannons for this ask so thank you for sending it in rei :)

#genshin impact x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader

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absolutely-esme · 3 months

Text

Monster!Tim Coraline au part 3

I had more thoughts on the au from here and here.

First off, It's called Hungry Monster Tim au unless and until I come up with a better name.

That's the tag that will help you find related content. I titled the post the way I did so that people who found the au before it had a name could recognize it. I'm hoping this will minimize confusion.

...

Now, I figure I'll talk a bit about how others view Tim.

The most of the earlier additions to the Batfam have mostly interacted with Tim in Emotional Support Tim mode.

Emotional Support Tim is pleasant and comforting. He is not overly exuberant and joyful in a way that would grate on fresh grief. He is also not joyless in a way that might make a hero feel obligated to worry about him. He is gentle and competent. His patience seems nearly endless. He can tolerate both being coddled and being leaned on. He can tolerate both being clung to and pushed away. He can tolerate switching back and forth at unpredictable intervals.

Tim approached Nightwing in his standard state of "tired, low on patience, and possibly about to do something stupid," once before Tim realized he was also grief-stricken and in no fit state to get Batman under control. He might have an inkling that Emotional Support Tim is an act, or he might just think Tim was having a bad day.

Bruce thinks Emotional Support Tim is what Tim is actually like. By the time Bruce was functional enough to not need so much managing, he'd gotten attached enough to the facade for Tim to have concerns about dropping it.

Alfred can tell that Tim is putting on a facade. He can tell that the role Tim has taken on is wearing on him. He doesn't like it. He feels guilty for allowing it to continue. He can't bring himself to put a stop to it when it's keeping his adoptive son alive.

Barbara initially meets Emotional Support Tim, immediately clocks the act, and pulls him aside to make sure there isn't something sinister afoot. Babs has reservations about every aspect of Tim's involvement, but agrees that something had to be done about Bruce. She lets him carry on for now, but she's ready to pull the plug if it seems like it's getting too much for him. She insists that Tim drop the act when it's just the two of them.

Babs doesn't know about the supernatural stuff specifically, but she knows there's more going on with Tim than what she knows about. She may learn that he has some hereditary health stuff that requires him to be extra careful about his food intake. She makes a point to not be weird about it because people being weird about her wheelchair annoys the crap out of her.

I like to imagine that Babs and Tim have a certain amount of solidarity over being the sensible ones who keep all these unhinged, dramatic bitches in line. They also have solidarity over ignoring the fact that they are just as dramatic and unhinged as the rest of the Bats.

Steph meets Tim in Regular Tim mode because Bruce isn't with him. Instead of trying to discourage Spoiler, he introduces her to Babs. Steph knows Tim as a tired smartass who kind of always seems like he's a bit hangry and trying not to take it out on anyone, but apparently he's just like that.

They don't date, but do become friends. Part of this is because grouchy, eternally hungry, constantly done-with-this-shit Tim isn't attractive to Steph but is kind of hilarious. Part of it is because Babs points out that there is no possible timeline where the kind of power imbalance from only one member of a couple knowing the other's secret identity doesn't turn toxic.

When Steph eventually encounters Emotional Support Tim, it creeps her out. She uses the term "pod person" when asking what the heck that was.

Steph's disastrous stint as Robin doesn't happen because she's already got her own thing going. She already has a mentor and appropriate protective gear. Babs and Steph actually get along better because they start their mentorship as Oracle and Spoiler without any of the complicated emotions of taking up a mantle.

I like Steph as Spoiler the best because it always seemed a little messed up to shove someone who already had their own original Identity into two legacy mantles. Let her do her own thing. She doesn't need to be a successor to Babs or Dick when she's already the OG Steph. Instead of giving her the Robin gear or the Batgirl gear, get her some upgraded, Bat-quality Spoiler gear.

Steph doesn't start a gang war or fake her death in this timeline, because the circumstances that caused it do not exist here.

Jason initially encounters Tim in Feral Cryptid mode, then writes that off as a fever dream after waking up to Emotional Support Tim. Once free of the Lazarus parasite, Jason makes it his mission to be a good big brother to Tim. Tim seemed a little stand-offish at first, but warmed up to him. (As soon as Tim realized that food was part of Jason's love language, he rearranged his meal plan to let Jason feed him without triggering supernatural problems with his metabolism.)

Jason eventually manages to earn Tim's trust enough to meet and get to know Regular Tim. Jason is both honored and concerned. Putting on such an extensive facade for the comfort of others has got to be exhausting, and Tim seems so worn down underneath it. Well, he doesn't have to do it for Jason anymore. Jason will happily hang out with and support any version of Tim.

When Damian shows up, he mostly sees Emotional Support Tim. Then he starts trying to kill him. Eventually, Tim's patience with the pint-sized murderer wears thin (possibly due to Damian hitting a PTSD trigger), and Tim goes Feral Cryptid mode. This freaks Damian out. There is no video evidence (which the rest of the Bats assume to be because Damian tampered with the security system in an attempt to get away with murder).

It doesn't happen again.

Tim doesn't bust out his powers or cryptid form against Damian again, but now that he's seen it, Damian sometimes sees traces of Feral Cryptid Tim lurking below the surface. Various little things he'd ignored that hadn't seemed significant on their own now seem to stem from the nature of what lurks inside the human skin.

Damian stops the murder attempts early. It's not because of ethics (which will take time to learn). It’s because he has no idea how to kill whatever sort of unearthly thing Tim is, and he recognizes how unwise it would be to continue attacking something he cannot kill. For now, Tim seems content to leave him be whenever he's not directly under assault. Damian doesn't want to risk becoming enough of a pest to be worth the effort of swatting.

...

I also had thoughts about Tim's post-Robin period.

When Tim goes on his quest to retrieve Bruce from the time stream, he doesn't take the Red Robin suit. He's going to be outside of the Bats' scrutiny, so he gears up with a suit and equipment he'd secretly made with his supernatural nature in mind. It's got Bat-standard armor and padding, but modified to accommodate a bit of form shifting without compromising protection. It's got a patchwork thing going on.

Tim sewed it himself, which allows him to manipulate it. It's also got buttons sewn in strategic locations to eliminate blindspots. (Taking down the beldam gave him the ability to control things he made and see through buttons he sewed).

His utility pouches are full of both Bat-standard equipment and things relevant to Tim's abilities. Also, he makes his pockets bigger on the inside, so he can carry a lot.

Tim isn't around the other Bats, so he's not being Emotional Support Tim. He's not using the minor illusion powers he got from the beldam to make himself look pleasant. He only makes the effort to be comforting when dealing with victims. He's just being the semi-feral scrungly dude he is.

...

Tim keeps in touch with Jason, Babs, and Steph while he's off on his quest to find Bruce. He occasionally pitches in with stuff that can be done from a distance.

Tim didn't say that Bruce was still alive before he had evidence. It's not because this version managed to predict that they wouldn't believe him, but rather because he thought he might have to do some supernatural stuff to get him back and didn't want witnesses. He just told the other Bats he needed to investigate something and would tell them more once he had figured out enough to know what to tell them.

This means that the other heroes don't think he's crazy, and Tim can use hero resources for his investigation.

I haven't decided yet if Tim will interact with the League of Assassins at all. On the one hand, I think this Tim might not need to work with them. On the other hand, Hungry Monster Tim terrorizing the League of Assassins and fighting the Lazarus Pit would be funny. Maybe Ras doesn't try to recruit him. Maybe Tim just shows up, fights the Lazarus Pit, and leaves without explaining anything to anyone.

Either way, I think that Tim is pretty much done with keeping up the Emotional Support Tim facade by the time he comes home after saving Bruce. It's been long enough to justify the change.

Babs, Jason, and Steph are happy for Tim because they can see how much better he's doing without the added strain of keeping up the act. They are also glad that he feels comfortable enough to just be himself.

Bruce and Dick are more in the horrified/concerned neighborhood because, from their perspective, Tim started off gentle-natured and glowing with health, got fired from Robin, disappeared for a while, and came back gaunt and world-weary.

...

I'm thinking about whether or not Tim should tell Babs, Jason, and Steph about the supernatural stuff he's got going on.

It would have come out at some point. If he tries to keep it secret forever, you can bet some kind of dramatic, high-stakes threat would force the reveal. That's just how the Bats' lives are.

What I am debating with myself is whether or not to have Tim choose to share a secret he's been keeping for as long as he can remember for fear of the danger discovery might bring with the people he trusts most without something forcing his hand.

If he does, I think he would tell Jason first. Jason has seen that side of him, and Tim allowed him to think it was a nightmare. Tim wouldn't want to risk Jason hearing about it from someone else. Tim would probably be scared. He doesn't know if Jason will still like him once he knows that Tim really is the Monster from his nightmare. He doesn't know if Jason will forgive him for lying about it.

I think this would happen after Tim comes back to Gotham after saving Bruce.

#Hungry Monster Tim au #dc #batman #batfamily #cryptid tim drake #feral tim drake #Eldritch au

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