#NO HATE INTENDED WHATSOEVER

[irinanonyme]

While I totally get the sentiment, I don't think this was the story's point at all.

Please read 👇 I promise this is just an analysis of what we've seen so far and NOT MEANT as hate towards the people who think that her character was ruined.

Makoto wants to be police commissioner not just a random "cop" which means she wants to lead the operations and oversee them. She has brought up in her confidant multiple times how she hates that the people who are in unfair situations always get taken advantage of, like the immigrants coming to Japan and getting tricked into shady jobs in Shibuya and so forth. (Pretty sure this was brought up in either rank 2 or 3?)

Part of the reason why she wants to join the police forces (aside from idolizing her father) is because she hates their lack of investement in issues that truly matter. For example, although Japan is considered to be one of the safest countries in the world, in truth, a lot of illegal practices are ignored because they are supervised by the yakuza who have now turned to markets, commerce and trading instead of the "gang violence" image we have of them in the west, they mostly trick people into paying huge sums or pushing young desperate girls to sex work. Which, from what we understand, is the type of thing her father was trying to stop and died while doing so.

Unfortunately, a lot of times the Japanese police will turn a blind eye to it or even go as far as blaming the victims (who are in big part also foreigners) telling them that it's their fault that they got scammed, that it was obvious because it's a dangerous area and that they should've been more careful, or even asking assaulted women exactly where and how they've been touched to be able to file a complaint. (I'm pretty sure until very recently, unless there wasn't penetration, they didn't even consider "assaults" as rape!!!) Makoto obviously doesn't want to particiapte in that sort of toxic culture as she calls it out multiple times, she wants to change the forces from the inside.

Now, is it a realistic endeavor? From our point of view, of course not. But this IS fiction. I mean, we've got Ann who is apparently a pretty successful model at only 16-17 years old and who went overseas for a couple of months for her career. Ryuji who's pretty much on his way to becoming an olympic athlete, Futaba who's a 15 year old genius hacker, Haru who's the daughter of a billionaire conglomerate, etc etc. This whole cast is made of incredibly extraordinary teenagers who all just so happened to come together so I don't see why it's so hard to imagine that Makoto, within this fictional world, will be able to realize her goal of clearing the police forces of corruption, or at least limit them as much as possible.

I've seen some people in the notes also bring up how she should've gone into politics instead but it's not like politics are much better than the police?? 💀 Like, you THINK that the political world is less corrupt than the police forces? No. It's just that the police are actually there on the field being either useless or aggravating while the politicians backing them up actively enable their actions comfortably from their seats.

Also, I'd like to add that although yes, Zenkichi didn't manage to effectively "change" the police forces, his boss who's a woman AND police COMMISSIONER (like Makoto wants to be) actually turns around in the end, showing that ultimately yes, she also wants "true justice" like he did, like Makoto does, like her father did. Miyako Kaburagi is a side character but she was put into the story for a reason that is clear as day, that reason being that she would ultimately turn Zenkichi's pessimistic view of the police onto his head by coming to his aid at the end. Showing that yes, the police forces are fucked but some people amongst the forces are working their asses off in hopes of fixing that.

I get that we all have a really fucked view of the police for completely valid and understandable reasons, but cherry picking particular scenes/conversations out of a 50 hours long game while ignoring what the narrative was actually trying to accomplish is a disservice to it and an intellectually lazy way of consuming media.

Strikers started off by showing us, the players, a Zenkichi who's been beaten down by reality, by his inability to change anything. But then he meets this young adult who's studying law, who wants to climb the ladder and help from a higher place, Zenkichi tries to dissuade her from it, telling her that once you join, even with the best intentions, in front of all the corruption you won't stand a chance. But then what happens? An older woman who's in the exact same position Makoto wants to reach actually comes around to help them showing to Zenkichi that not all hope is lost. If this woman can do that, then maybe this young woman who wants to reach that same spot one day will also make some change as well.

The story tried to show a more optimistic future, a future where more reasonable and competent people will eventually step up, not that "there's no hope, please never join the police, you'll never manage to reform society from the inside".

What Makoto wants to do is not serve the "law", it's to serve the people, the civilians, the weak, the ones who've been put in unfair situations because of fucked up circumstances.

So now, seeing so many people completely miss the message of the game and ACTUALLY understanding the exact opposite of what it was trying to convey annoys me a bit. Like. YES, seeing Makoto as a kick-ass vigilante on a bike would've been cool but she took the harder way in hopes of making lasting change. And like she said when she broke out of that prison cell in Royal:

"Victory against a single criminal is meaningless... The true enemy is society itself. And even against that foe, you still have to try to somehow emerge victorious. [...] Regardless, this isn't a situation with a straighforward answer... But even if there is no clear solution, I'll just have to make one... with my own two hands. [...] I... I will win. Even if it means going up against the entire world."

Makoto is still very much a strong character who broke out of her shell and stood up for others and herself! Everyone just invalidates everything she went through because she chose the hard path, one that many don't approve of because WE have already given up on society, not her though. Not Makoto. She poured her entire heart into what she decided, into what she wants to accomplish and yet everyone just dismissed her because she went down a difficult road we didn't want her to take, thinking that she's naive in trying to do better while the story has shown us time and time again that she is fully aware of how complicated this path will be. She just decided to take it anyway because she's driven.

IT MAKES ME SO MAD HOW BAD THEY FUCKED UP MAKOTOS CHARACTER BECAUSE HER AWAKENING IS ONE OF THE HARDEST IN THE SERIES ITS SO FUCKING AWESOME

[hypertechnica]

worfzia is the writers room crack ship that should never have been canon

they are so bad for each other

this is not to say i hate them or the ship. not at all. it’s immensely entertaining to watch them argue. just… god, why? did they write them in solely for that purpose? or did they actually think they were a healthy couple?

every worfzia episode is literally just them complaining about each other’s very legitimate red flags but being like man. i’m still down horrendous. let’s have bone breaking nasty femdom klingon sex RN

this is fanfic trope type shit. how do you unintentionally write the most divorced couple ever and air it on television

[freebooter4ever]

what did neil gaiman ever do to you? if you don't mind me asking

LOL! "do to me"? Absolutely nothing, he doens't know i exist! It's a piece of writing of his i took issue with - quite a bit of sexism. But this is an OLD grudge of mine. Like i read this essay in my teens. A pattern i have noticed in myself: if i decide i like someone i tend to get - sometimes blindly - very very loyal. And neil wrote a thing about someone i hero worship more than anybody else ever, and teenage me got very angry. Im sure his opinions have very probably changed in two decades, my anger is not exactly rational, but i still hate him. And because my anger is irrational i mostly just ignore him and keep him off my blog. BUT i respect what he has been doing for the strike and writers of the next generation. So on my blog he goes. BUT i still hate him. Hence the tags. I didnt think anybody would care/notice. Sorry!

Also its not like i dont like some of his work, cor*line is cute, good ome*ns is entertaining, i love star*dust. I just really, really hate him. As a person. :P

[rebelpeas]

did you want fries with that

[saksukei]

simon ‘ghost’ riley has a crush on you

masterlist | subtle things he does for you | simon my love

simon’s feelings hit him like a truck, as if he's a deer caught in the headlights. he only comes to realize it in the heat of the battle, chests heaving up and down as the two of you hide behind a wall for cover. you tell him to reload first and it's something so insignificant, so minute and yet it pieces things together for him. so he does what his first best. swallow the lump in his neck, ignore the swelling of his heart and focus on what’s next.

except

he sucks at it and boy is it evident.

it is so subtle though, subtle enough for it to slip under everyone’s radars including yours. except, captain price is no fool. he's known simon long enough to see the little change in his demeanor when you enter the room. how simon immediately sits up right, in his best posture, giving you a firm nod of acknowledgment.

how simon always looks your way, always. even when you’re not looking, he’ll still check what you're doing, where you are. it’s not intended to be creepy, it's just a form of reassurance that you’re alive, that you’re okay, that he has another chance to confess. (also the type to lean against the door frame and observe you)

what’s shocking is that even during his infamous cigarette breaks, he chooses to hang out with you. he adores the fact that it’s comfortable silence between the two of you. and more importantly, it contains the two best things he needs, silence and you. “what a view” he thinks to himself.

moreso, the lieutenant’s eye for detail is insane. simon is incredibly nuanced, he can notice when your mood is off, when you’re hurt, irritated or whatsoever. he tries to deal with the issue silently, like handing you a bottle of water, leaving a seat for you beside him, ensuring that he does most of the paper work and so on.

simon reacts at the speed of lightning if he notices you’re hurt or in range of fire. he remembers the one time he ran, grabbing you by the waist to make sure you don’t get shot. your small frame clinging against his, your body weight almost nothing to him and he felt lightheaded. he desperately wanted to keep you in his arms but he settles for asking, “you holdin’ up fine?” as he lets you out of his grip.

he enjoys bantering with you so much. such snide and snarky remarks all the time. from “what? can’t handle a little teasing from your superiors?” to “you know it's bad manners cussing behind your lieutenant’s back,” to “thought you were tough?” to “all that back talk, why don't you come and prove it?” he absolutely loves the reactions you give him.

moreso, when he begins getting more and more comfortable, he invites you eat lunch with him as opposed to with the rest of the soldiers. adores the fact that you both can converse without having eyes on the two of you. “plans for lunch?”

oh and of course, the most difficult moment of his life, when you reached forward on your tippy toes to fix his balaclava, simon thought he’d have a heart attack. took all of his strength to not lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead. “looking alright now?” he jokes, you can almost hear his smirk.

he hates the vulnerability, he does. but what he doesn't hate is the fact that it's you. it's you he’s being vulnerable with. and he repeats it to himself every night that you’re the best choice anyway.

[oharaslove]

HIIII V !! i didn't think that you'd actually reply to meeee T ^ T but I was wondering, if you have enough time and space for writing in requests, i wanna suggest a storyline where the reader is Miguel's "first evreything", and the story would be about/start off with Miguel establishing his first moves and his feelings to y/n (kinda like the start of the relationship). AND DO ADD YOUR TOUCHES AND WRITING STYLE IN, AND IT'D BE PERFECT. thank u so much ! love u a lot ! ♡♡♡

𝘚𝘰..., 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰�� 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘨, 𝘐 𝘈𝘔 𝘚𝘖𝘙𝘙𝘠!!

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶!! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦!! 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥.

This was supposed to be a one-shot but my mind kept adding more information and I can't keep it out. So anyway! This is part 1.

Summary: The story of Miguel's first and only love, you. A passage through the most significant moments of your relationship.

Word count: 2040

Tags: pre!Spiderman2099 Miguel x civilian!Reader + Spider!Miguel x civilian!Reader, fem!reader

||masterlist|| part 2>>

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎

𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

The fact that it was February was starting to annoy Miguel. 

The constant reminder of his loneliness was not something he expected to be annoyed about. Sure. He had been alone his entire life. Never a slight romantic interest in a person. Never the feeling that oh so everyone talks about. Love. 

What was so appealing about it anyway?

He marched into Alchemax’s reception at his usual time, after passing an uncountable amount of men with bouquets and chocolates. Ugh. The sight of it made him roll his eyes. It was Valentine’s day again. He prepared himself mentally for the usual questions: “No one important in your life?” “Got a lady waiting for you at home?”. Ugh. Why do they even care? He doesn’t. 

Miguel headed straight to the lifts, paying no mind to the people around him. He just wanted to get this over with. Get in the lift. Go up. Lock himself in his life. Simple. Easy. No human interaction whatsoever. Or so he thought. 

As he entered the lift and pressed his floor button, a sigh escaped his lips. Finally. He rested his back against the back wall and threw his head back, inhaling deeply while closing his eyes. The door began to close. The outside world fading into what it looked like a peaceful and perfect day of just Miguel and Science. No one else. But he had chanted victory too early. 

A foot stopped the doors for closing completely. The sound of them opening again making Miguel snap his head to the front, locking eyes with the person entering. It was a person he had never seen before. Not that he paid much attention to the various workers of Alchemax, besides his coworkers in the lab and his superiors. 

“Ugh, love, love, love. Isn’t there something more important than love” You muttered under your breath, probably something not intended to his ears, but your words had reached him nonetheless. 

Miguel snorted quietly, making you whip your head towards him. “Oh, so sorry. Didn’t notice you there. My mind was elsewhere” you rambled. “And… sorry if you heard that. I promise I don’t hate love.” you continued, avoiding his gaze, the lift closing behind you. 

“It’s okay, honestly.” He shrugged. “I can’t say I disagree. Valentine’s day is always the same.”

“Right!” you exclaimed, fully turning your body to look at him better. “And the never ending questions: ‘Do you have someone special waiting for you at home?’” you mocked, rolling your eyes with a smile over your lips.

Miguel left out a belly laugh, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. “They are horrible.”

“They really are.” you answered, looking towards the button’s panel.

Miguel relaxed against the wall again, glad that the interruption of his alone time wasn’t unpleasant. Crossing his arms over his chest and resting his head against the wall, he took the opportunity to eye you better. 

You were beautiful. The way you were dressed and the way you held yourself let him know you were confident, and strong. He was really surprised he had never seen you before. He would for sure remember it. Besides, you seemed interesting, and had the same thoughts as him regarding this dreadful day. 

Miguel was so focused on you he hadn’t realised the lift had stopped and the doors opened with a “ding” until you chimed “Oh, we are here”. He pulled himself out of his thoughts shaking his head. God, what’s wrong with me he thought. 

You stepped out onto the corridor, looking at both sides, seeming lost. Just then, Miguel realised he was on his lab’s floor. Have you worked on the same floor all this time?. He didn’t want to part from you, not at least without knowing your name, or a way to meet you again. He hesitated, all being oh so new to him. How do people approach a woman without sounding like a creep? 

“Um… sorry, I am new here,” you interrupted his thoughts. Your beautiful doe eyes staring right at his. “Could you help me find this lab?” you motioned towards the piece of paper on your hand. 

Miguel gazed into your eyes for an awkward amount of time, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, his brain slowly processing what you just said. “Oh! Yeah… yeah! Of course!” He answered a little too excitedly. 

He darted his eyes quickly to the paper, his lab number written in it. Wait. HIS LAB. 

“Uh…” he began.

“Oh, am I on the wrong floor? I swear this was the floor the guide told me” You retreated your hand, holding the piece of paper closer to your face. Frowning, cutely,  your eyes darting from left to right.

“No…” Miguel shaked his head, trying to get out of the spell he was in. Come on, focus, he reprimanded himself. “No, you are on the right floor” hd informed, his voice sounding more sure this time. “I was just surprised. That is the lab I work in”

Your mouth stretched into a smile from ear to ear. “Nice! Are you a geneticist too?!” You held your eyes in his, blinking slowly.

“Yeah…” he scratched his neck, looking away. Your gaze was intense, and he was feeling things he couldn’t explain. “I’ll lead you. This way”. 

Miguel turned on his heels, not bothering to check whether you were following or not.

𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

After the initial confusion and surprise of your arrival, it turned out you and Miguel worked amazingly together. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the bond between you only grew stronger. 

Before you, Miguel dreaded speaking to people. He spent his days cooped up in his lab, only answering questions if necessary. And not even that. He would grunt, nod and hum most of the time. But, you changed that. 

Every morning, before leaving for work, he would check himself in the mirror, trying to look his best. Miguel didn’t know exactly why, but he liked it. And he hoped you liked it too. His quiet and montone days turned into a game, what topic would you come up with today? What outfit were you going to wear? 

It didn’t really matter, you looked good in everything. Or, so he thought. As a friend and colleague of course. Miguel could never get enough of you. Could never stop listening. But, that was normal right? Friends want to be with each other all the time. Right? 

He doesn’t know how it happened, but a workspace that started being only his, a sacred place no one, but him could touch, became yours. You had started working on the station behind him. But gradually, with time, as you and Miguel became closer, without you two realising, your workspace and work in general, had merged together. 

Sometimes, you would work so close together that your shoulders brushed against each other, or you would try to grab the same thing at the same time, making your hands touch. And, every single time, Miguel felt a tingle run down his spine. A short-circuit on his mind. Plus, a warm feeling on his chest, produced by your giggle. 

Today was supposed to be like any other day. Miguel got ready for work, double and triple checking his appearance before leaving. Upon his arrival to the lab, there was already an odd feeling. You two arrived at almost the same time, which meant, you always stumbled upon each other on the corridor or in the lift.

That morning, Miguel had to go up alone, the silence, despite the horrible lift music, deafening to the ears. Maybe she is already here, he thought. Nothing to get worried about.  He stepped out on the corridor with a heavy feeling on his chest. What if you weren’t? He had grown so accustomed to your presence he never thought about not being by your side anymore. 

Miguel took small and indecisive steps towards his lab, the expectation of the reveal weighing him down. He needed to know if you were already there, but at the same time… he didn’t know what to do if you weren’t. 

The door to the lab appeared in his view. Miguel stopped in his tracks, a metre away from the entrance. He closed his eyes as he took a big breath in. Okay, this was the moment of truth. He clutched the strap of his bag against his chest. Sweat dripped from his forehead, as his trembling hand reached for the door knob. 

Miguel took another deep breath before closing his eyes and twisting the knob. He stepped in slowly…

Emptiness. There was not a single soul in the lab, just him. 

Miguel stood locked in place. His brain processed the information. You weren’t here. He tried to recall your conversation the day before. You never told him you would be absent, right? 

What if something had happened? You had a car accident! Or your flat caught on fire. Million thoughts running through his head, none of them happy. 

Miguel clutched his head. His fingers running through his locks, tugging. His chest was heaving up and down. The air wasn’t reaching his lungs properly. Miguel shivered, the lab was cold without your presence. His life was an iceberg without you in it. 

He was out of his zone. He had never felt like this. All Miguel wanted to do was curl in a ball and hide. Hug himself to feel some warmth, closing his eyes imagining it was you. A tear slipped from the corner of his eyes, trailing down his cheek before falling into the floor. 

After that one, came a dozen. Miguel’s body was shaking. He sniffled, a sob escaping his mouth. How could he not have your number? All this time and he never asked. Were you okay? What if he never had the chance to see you again. What if–?

“Miguel?” he heard from behind him. 

He whipped his head around, his hands falling to his sides. There you stood, two coffee cups, one on each hand. You had a smile on your face, but upon seeing him, it dropped. 

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed. You rushed to place the cups on the table before going to Miguel. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Your hands landed on his arms, grounding him. You were safe! You were here. 

Miguel left out all the air he was holding, another sob cursing through his body. He slumped forward, his head landing on your shoulder. His arms snaked their way around your middle, embracing you. 

You stiffened for a moment, before melting into his touch. Your own hands embracing him, caressing his broad back. 

“Shhh it’s okay,” you cooed. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m here”. 

Yes, you are, he thought. He sighed, all the tension in his body dissipating. 

He pulled back from your shoulder, now towering over you, but not stepping back. His hands remained on your body, seeking your warmth. Yours regained their previous position, on his arms. 

You looked up at him, your eyes big while examining him. 

“I’m alright now, thanks” he said hoarsely. Miguel, very reluctantly, moved his hands away from you, wiping the remaining tears of his cheeks. Your arms dropped to your side, as a small smile formed in your lips. 

“Okay.” you murmured. You glanced towards the coffee cups on the table, before meeting his eyes again. “Why don’t we sit down and talk over coffee? Or not, you don’t have to tell me. Just..” you rambled, fidgeting with your fingers, and looking away. “I got your favourite”

Miguel smiled, his eyes softening. “Thanks”

You beamed at him. Taking the lead, you walked past him, grabbed the coffees and took your usual seat on the table. You looked at him expectantly. Remembering how to function, Miguel took off his bag and placed it over the desk, before taking a seat next to you. 

You handed him the cup, your fingers brushing against each other. The usual spark present. Miguel stared at you, his mouth slightly open, while you took a sip of your coffee. Realisation hit him like a truck. He had a crush on you.

Oh, he was fucked.

|| masterlist || Part2>>

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳! 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸!! 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 (𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘩𝘦) 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵!! 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!!

𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 2 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄! 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝖨 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 ��𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗌!

[notsofrozt]

So, for y'all "S2 Jayce meets S1 Viktor" hungry folks, here's a list of 5 of the bookmarks I've been collecting (for you specially @maiawhimsicalt) in no particular order and with no particular comentary, my braincells are on strike rn:

1. Of Memories and Tomorrows by Lieyantosh

Post-Season 2 Jayce and Season 1 Viktor, the grief of having lost your soulmate while having to look at his younger version who doesn’t even know you, the endless exhaustion of being a second-hand love and also science.

This fic has changed something in my I cannot describe, and if anyone here even remotely likes Arcane (or even if you don't know the series at all, it's that well written) y'all should read it right know.

You didn't hate me because of what my future self did,” Viktor said, feeling distinctly pathetic. There was a certain vulnerability in this, like he was opening up his ribcage for Jayce to see. “You hate me because I'm not him. Because you came back. And he didn't.”

2. the future came undone by Lieyantosh

Instead of appearing several months after the wild rune took him, Jayce lands in the past and decides to take out Viktor before he can turn into the monster he saw in the future.

This author is just *chef kiss*

3. intertwined, sewn together by lamoureg

Just as soon as the dance begins, it’s over.

In the silver, the faint mist rays of light, he can make out a face. One that’s achingly familiar, one he knows like the back of his hand, yet isn’t familiar with whatsoever. A man, bronze skin pallid and devoid of the life Viktor is so used to seeing. Shaggy dark hair hanging in curtains around his face — a face littered with cuts and bruises, stained with dirt and soot. Heavy set brows and eyes wide in shock.

Rather inappropriately, Viktor’s first thought is oh, fuck. And his second. And his third.

Because staring back at him is Jayce.

If you read this with Jinx and Ekko's song playing in the background you're going to cry.

4. You’re starting to look really weird by anónimo

Viktor lays awake, listening to the steady breathing beside him. The breathing of a man sleeping on his husband’s side of the bed, in his husband’s clothes, with his husband’s face, but who is most certainly not his husband.

This one has a very original concept: the reunion from Viktor's POV. Older Jayce got Ekko'd into his other self's body, so there's a stranger inhabiting his partner. It delves into that whole psychological horror aspect. I love it.

5. Stay Your Pretty Eyes On Course by Neibba

“I do not recall telling you my name.” Viktor stated matter-of-factly. “Yet you know it. Have we met?” Yes. Many times. Practically lived together inside their lab, but he couldn’t tell Viktor that. No, this Viktor had no idea who Jayce really was, and he intended on keeping it that way.

After the Hexcore collapsed, Jayce gets sent back to where it all started, the day he met Viktor, but Viktor seems to have no recollection of him. What happens when Jayce gets another chance, knowing what he knows now.

This author is a writing machine powered by glorious evolution and brainworms. I love this fic, its updated almost daily, and the way the relationship between the two of them develops is wonderful.

I have many, many more saved, especially one shots of S2!Jayce having all kinds of breakdown as soon as he sees S1!Viktor. I'll make another list later when deadlines aren't breathing on my neck.

I hope you like it!!!

[mythicmanuscripts]

Had another Aegon thought that definitely falls under himbo!Aegon/sub!Aegon in which his wife runs everything and being sexy while doing it. Basically they'd been promised to betrothed when they were younger but reader being from a different house thought it best to try and learn High Valyrian to be better suited. But upon finding out Aegon doesn't speak it she keeps it hidden but uses it to defend Aegon whenever Aemond tries to offend him. Just imagine she's sat besides Aegon when Aemond has his whole speech in High Valyrian knowing Aegon can't understand or respond, to suddenly have the biting words of his queen come to his defense having never heard her speak it before.

Man would be looking at her believing she was secretly some goddess or smth!

God I love himbo!aegon so much!! I’m gonna make it a tag just so we can group it all together.

I started out fully intended to keep this SFW and well, I had to put a cut in by the end so we all know how that turned out….

So firstly, I’ve never thought of this before but now that I have I can’t stop: I think Aegon would absolutely have a competency kink? Any time he sees you just completely in your element and doing anything that he doesn’t know how to… he just goes full empty no thoughts only pretty wife.

It’s an interesting development because he’d hate it if it were anyone else. Normally people being so good at things he can’t even grasp leaves him feeling insecure, stupid and inadequate to be king. But with you it’s completely different? With you he just stares in awe and then promptly gets very very turned on cause pretty wife!!! Pretty wife is so smart and talented and he is merely her little gremlin that follows her around asking for attention. He loves it so so much.

(Picturing a scene where Allicent is telling him off and trying to say he lets his wife run everything and he’s no real king but instead of him getting insecure and ashamed and doing whatever Allicent says, he instead just goes “yeah! Yeah she does! It’s great!”)

He loses his little mind every time he sees just how smart and good at politics you are? He hears you saying the perfect things and controlling the situation perfectly and then the next time you’re alone you even tell him what to do next time and just… no more thoughts. None whatsoever his wife is too smart and pretty for him to have thoughts. She is a beautiful powerful queen and he is merely a horny little jester.

You don’t tell him about trying to learn Valyrian mostly because you know it’s a bit of a sore spot for him? He genuinely has tried to hard to learn it, but it’s like his brain just wasn’t made for it. So you keep your lessons to yourself, and decide to worry about how to tell him at a later date when you’re fluent.

The problem, however is that even after you become fluent you still don’t know how to tell aegon without upsetting him. Sure he’s happy to have you make pretty much all decisions, but language skills or lack there of will always be a sore spot for him.

So for the next few weeks you spend most of your time trying to come up the best way to tell him.

When you walk into that small council meeting later that week,’you had absolutely no intention to reveal it there but then Aemond decided to be Aemond. You can understand every insult he hurls at his brother and you know aegon doesn’t understand.

What really makes your resolve break was when you looked over at Aegon and he was just sitting at the head of the table staring down. You can tell just from his body language that he’s trying not to cry and you know it’s not because of the insults themselves but because he actually can’t understand them and he feels so stupid.

You can’t take seeing that and so you fire back at Aemond, speaking to him in Valyrian. The look on his face when he realised that you understood every word he just said was incredible.

Aegon, meanwhile, is utterly astonished and just staring at you with shock and happiness plastered on his face.

He obviously doesn’t understand what either of you are saying, but Aegon knows you so well and he can tell by the tone of your that you’re defending him.

The moment the council meeting is over Aegon runs to put out a pillow down on the floor and kneel there, asking you about how long you’ve been studying been studying it and why. When you tell him you learnt it because knew he struggles with it and you wanted him to have someone he can ask to translate and speak for him without worrying of being misrepresented or misled.

Needless to say, Aegon burst into tears after that because it is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him. You end up having to pull him up and into your lap because he was literally just sobbing while kneeling on the floor and you won’t allow that for your good boy.

You end up giving handjob while he’s on your laps and you make sure to tell him he’s doing so well and you love him very much.

All of this is to say when you fired back at Aemond in Valyria Aegon has never been more turned on in his life and he is once again reminded how utterly incredible his wife is.

Also, now you can help him with it!! Aegon stopped his Valyrian lessons a long time ago because he just couldn’t get it quite right and all the teachers were just so patronising and made him feel horrible, but now you can teach him!! He doesn’t feel stupid at all when you tell him he’s gotten something wrong and correct him and he also feels so so good when he gets something right.

And honestly, even if he does get much better at Valyrian he’d still rather have you translate for him because then he gets to hear you speak Valyrian.

[itsnotbird]

Ghosting

Post!Hydra Dark! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

‘I’ve been ghosting…I’ve been ghosting along, ghost in your house, ghost in your arms.’

Summary: Maybe his tendencies are odd, but maybe the two of you are just meant to be? He doesn’t want to be the ghost that looms around, but what choice does he have?

Warnings: Stalking, dark themes, 18+ content, not intended for minors! Reader gets harassed in the beginning, Bucky is…he’s a little crazy but he means well. Isn’t he so dreamy? Trust the process here.

A/n: I had this idea and I’m going to poorly execute it! Not cannon whatsoever, post Hydra/Winter soldier Bucky but…old habits die hard.

“You want to come back to my place?”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s um…that’s a kind offer, Connor, but I’m kinda tired.” You politely say as you leave the restaurant.

It’s a bold offer for him to make after a first date- a lousy first date. He made you pay half the bill, made subtle comments about your choice of outfit, talked about himself the entire time. Now, he has the audacity to ask for a lousy hook up.

He looks at you with a confused smile. “No? Oh…okay.”

“I don’t know if you were…expecting something but…I just don’t think we’re the best match.” You say honestly.

He scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Okay, wow, um…I was trying to be nice because you’re clearly desperate-”

“Desperate?” You choke out a dry laugh.

“-but hey, go ahead and be a tease, that’s fine.”

“What?” You squint, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Yeah, it probably doesn’t take much.” He says with a serious look.

“Wow, what a wasted night.” You say to yourself.

“Yeah tell me about it, you sat there going on and on about your parents and I’m not even going to get head? Hey, newsflash! Your parents are probably just disappointed they have a screw up of a daughter. Seriously, you’re so fucking boring.”

You huff in disbelief, not able to wrap your head around how mean his words are.

“I’m gonna go.” You say. “I hope you can find a decent personality.”

As you turn, walking back in the direction of your apartment, he shouts a few choice words in your direction. You only wrap your coat around you tighter.

Though you hate it, tears burn your eyes. Silently crying in the dark, you place a call to your best friend.

“Hey! How was the date?” She asks in a cheery tone.

Immediately you sniffle. “Pretty bad.”

Your soft sobs echo off of brick walls, all the way up to Bucky sitting on the roof of the building you pass. The sound is enticing, causing him to look over the edge at your figure.

Somehow, he knows that he should just stay where he is, it’s really something he doesn’t need to get involved with.

But…he finds himself hopping over to the next roof, following you. It’s like he’s enticed to do it. Part of him - the small part that’s still sane- recognizes how crazy and creepy he’s being.

The much larger part of him doesn’t give a fuck.

Rooftop to rooftop, he’s like your shadow, listening to your conversation, watching the surroundings around you to make sure you don’t get hurt. He aches for you, utterly displeased that you are upset. Which is a crazy idea because he knows nothing about you.

Well, not for long.

See, it’s like the universe is on his side. Because though he’s not trying to keep track of you, you’re constantly crossing his path. Over the next week, he quickly learns your schedule. He learns that you leave your apartment building at 8am to go to work at the overpriced coffee shop down the street, you usually get off at 3pm. Then your night plans alternate, one night you go to a college class, the other you go to a friend’s house where you don’t come back until very late.

You grocery shop at a Whole Foods, you don’t shop for yourself, you like music, you play the guitar. He watches you open your apartment window and sit on the sill, smoking a cigarette once in a while and that’s how he knows you’re stressed.

At first, he ran into you purely by chance.

But it became almost too easy to pin you down when you lived the same, boring life.

On the coming Saturday, you go on another date. He doesn’t know this until you and the man come into the bar he’s in.

You look gorgeous, like always. You seemed to have this classic elegance about you, and this guy…well, he’s wearing brown shoes and black trousers so there’s no hope.

He tries not to stare, but you laugh so beautifully and your smile is sparkling, then he’s angry because this fool is making you laugh and smile.

You have much hope for this guy, Noah is his name. He’s sweet, he’s funny, he…is so insanely boring.

But you push past it and claim that everyone is a little off on first dates. He pays for your drinks and offers to call you a cab home. What you don’t expect is for the way he grips you sharply in the alleyway of the bar, kissing you heatedly. You awkwardly laugh and try to tell him this wasn’t really your style, but he’s rather persistent.

You feel stupid. Did you give him the wrong signs? He was so good the entire night and this is how it has to end?

“Noah, wait. Wait, stop.” You say, trying push his hands off of you.

“You’re really gorgeous.” He huffs, pulling the strap of your dress down so he can suck on your shoulder.

“I- thank you but really, I don’t want you to do this.” You struggle again, only to be pushed back harder against the brick. Your head hits it and pain blooms in your skull.

“No, it’s okay.” He claims, holding your hands down.

You begin to panic, frozen in fear as you start begging him to let you go.

“Hey.” A voice suddenly says.

You look over at the man who has a very scary look in his eye.

“I think the lady wants you to stop.” He says.

Noah rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Bucky looks at your quivering lip and determines that he can’t do that.

So he sighs, then calmly comes to grip Noah’s shoulder and rips him away from you. He stumbles back, aiming to throw a punch before Bucky stops his fist and punches him in the face, hard enough that he falls to the ground.

You gasp, fixing yourself and quickly wiping your face. The stranger turns to you, eyes searching you.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks.

“No. Thank you.”

He nods, then motions to the street. “I’ll get you a cab home.”

You aren’t completely sure what to do, it was all so strange. Looking back to Noah on the ground, you quickly get away from him, trusting this stranger more than anything now.

He does exactly what he says and hails you a cab, watches you get in and shuts the door behind you.

There are no other words spoken.

You drive away and that’s where it’s left.

Or so you think.

In all actuality, that little interaction has been fueling his growing obsession. He’s paying closer attention, in every shadow, you could find him there. But you never do.

From the fire escape, he sometimes- lots of times- he sits when he can’t sleep. He sits on the ledge, concealed in darkness, and silently observes you. Bucky determines that you were strategically placed in his life, you had to be.

The universe was never on his side, so why was he being rewarded now? If he didn’t understand it, it’s because his brain is still trying to connect wires back together. Oh but it does make sense, you’re this shining star, you’re the lark bird with a broken wing and who is he? He’s the man to help.

He recognizes the look in your eye, the gaze that searches for salvation in every person, he knows desperation because it’s been under his mask for years. He could be your savior.

He is.

No, no he won’t force anything. You’ll have to ask, admit that you strive for something other than the cards you have been dealt. But you couldn’t do that if you keep ignoring your ghost.

He’ll pull the sheet off of his head, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll strategically plan the way your paths will cross again, like any good soldier does, and it’s going to open that shut door. He won’t have to look for an open window anymore, physically or metaphorically.

Saturday night. You’re dressed up. You leave your flat in heels and a backless dress. You should really put on a coat, that shall around your shoulders won’t keep the chilly air away.

He watches from the adjacent roof top, he makes sure you get in your cab alright.

He knows you’re going to your best friend’s birthday night out at the city’s newest jazz club, a very elegant place, he’s heard you discussing it with her for weeks.

That’s where he’ll be.

Dressed the part in a suit he’s lifted from the dry cleaners, he’ll lurk around the bar, hide within the crowd, stay far away from the dance floor.

Nostalgia seems to make him feel a little sick, the music, the theme, everything seems to be reconnecting him to the boy he was before.

James Buchanan Barnes. That’s who he needs to be now. Charming and all smiles and smooth talking, he could do, can’t he?

Irritation bites at his nerves when opportunity doesn’t present itself for a while. You seem glued to your star-of-the-show best friend. He admires your loyalty, your blind adoration for a woman who tends to brush you off often for much more interesting people.

How dare she? If you were stitched to his side, he’d never make you feel pushed out, he’d give you his attention, he’d make sure you knew you were the most important thing in the room.

He’s bitter now.

He needs a drink. The idea of it soothes more than the alcohol does, given the fact he could drink three entire bottles before feeling something. That’s a painful disadvantage of the serum in his blood, he couldn’t even effortlessly get drunk to forget his troubles.

At the bar, he orders whiskey neat and pushes his hair back in a huff.

“Hi, could I get another glass of champagne?”

There it was, that voice that’s better than every song being played here.

You stand beside him, smiling at the bartender.

“Actually.” You change your mind. “A Martini, please. No- just a double Tito’s with three olives. Please.”

The barman chuckles at your request and begins to make it for you.

You’re here, all elegant in your green silk dress that compliments your eyes, smelling like your nice perfume, the one you spray on your wrists and behind your ear. Suddenly, Bucky is at a loss of words.

He’s waited around all night and you’re finally here.

You sigh in dissatisfaction, it’s a noise he never ever wants to hear from you ever again.

“Thank you.” You thank the barman again as he slides your drink to you.

Bucky watches you take a sip, he envies the martini glass for the way your lips wrap around the rim. Your eyes shut as you taste the alcohol, dark lashes flutter together and you look just like a doll.

“Rough night?” He questions.

You face him, an excuse on your lips but you pause when you recognize him.

“No, no my evening has been fine. I’m sorry, you look so familiar. Have we met?”

He thinks it’s cute the way you pretend you don’t remember him.

“Briefly, I believe. Outside of the-”

“Outside that bar. Right. You…helped me.” You state, obviously feeling a little embarrassed even though he isn’t sure why you would be.

“That guy was a dick, don’t worry about it.” He says, drawing your eyes back to him.

“Thank you…most people would’ve just kept walking.” You say, genuine tone, vulnerable face.

“Most people suck.”

You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s known. He smiles, watching you tuck away a strand of hair that has fallen from your updo.

You introduce yourself now, giving him your name to hold, not like a secret.

“I’m James.” He says.

“James.”

His name has belonged on your lips for over a hundred years.

“I like that name.” You determine, sipping on your drink. “What brings you here tonight, James?”

He’s quick to think on his feet.

“A failed double date.”

You give him a questioning look.

“How was it failed? She wasn’t a damsel in distress?” You joke, and he smiles at your smile.

“No, she left with another man. Honestly, it’s fine, I wasn’t interested in her.” He lies, adoring the pout you gain on his behalf.

“That’s a shame, you seem like great company, James.”

He hasn’t been told that for as long as he can remember, well, he can’t remember much, actually. But he does know that he loves getting to know you face to face, not just learning from a distance. There would never be a distance again, he knows this, feels it in the way you accidentally touch his arm as you laugh in conversation.

You feel as if you’ve known him for ages, you haven’t but he sure knows you.

“Why look so drab if you’re celebrating your best friend’s birthday?” He asks, watching you toy with your empty glass before the bartender takes it away.

A sigh leaves your perfect lips. “I’m happy, of course I am…I just, well, sometimes I get looked over. It’s fine, it’s not my night, it’s hers…but somehow it happens very often when her and I go out. I suppose it’s just easy for people to forget I’m around, especially her when she has so many people’s attention.”

He shakes his head, you might as well have confessed to a crime. Those words shouldn’t have left your mouth.

“You’re not easy to forget.” Bucky tells you, his clear, blue, eyes heavy in yours. “In my opinion, you’re much more memorable and-and admirable than her.”

He hasn’t spoken this much in forever, he’s surprised he remembers words as big.

You blush at his compliment. “Really?”

“Really.” He coos. “Girls like her are a dime a dozen, but not you. I could tell from the moment I saw you, you have something far more interesting than her.”

You selfishly let his words flatter you for a moment.

“She’s my best friend since high school, she’s really been there for me so for that I am grateful but…well, she has a tendency to make me a sidekick. I don’t like being Robin.” You laugh.

Bucky pretends he knows who you’re talking about.

“You deserve to be the hero.” He chimes.

You giggle. “I am no Captain America.”

That has him at a loss for words.

You don’t notice though. You look over to the stage, the band plays a slow throwback, a smooth jazz song.

The alcohol bas mostly calmed your nerves, and the way your best friend has yet to notice your absence, has you making an offer you’d never make.

“Are you a fan of Frank Sinatra, James?” You ask.

“Never heard of him.” He jokes, definitely finding it far more amusing than you do.

“Do you dance?” You question now, boldly taking his hand.

You haven’t figured out the deal with the gloves he wears yet, but you don’t ask in fear you’ll offend him.

And though he said he’d stay far from the dance floor, he’s blindly guiding you to the space where the others sway, it’s like he’s enchanted by the low lighting on your skin, or the way you’re so willing to let him in. He’s not even sure he remembers how to dance, but he falls right into the rhythm like it’s always been with him.

Gentle, he’s oh so gentle with you, you have no clue how much he’s thinking about the touch he’s giving you.

It’s you who gets flirty, hand sliding over his shoulder to gently hold the back of his neck, you gently press into his rather broad frame.

You can see the way your best friend’s eyes finally find you, and she’s immediately curious.

You’re immediately frightened.

She’s going to want him, she’s always had the same taste as you.

You let out a shaky breath and look away.

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks in a protective tone as he feels you go rigid in his hands. His defense is up, he looks around the room for a threat.

“Nothing, sorry. I’m sorry, I’m okay.” You let out a soft laugh, laying your head on his chest.

The action immediately distracts him.

Here you were, falling right into him like you were meant to, his perfect girl.

He tucks that loose hair behind your ear, he lets his fingers gently trace down your spine until he comes back to hold your waist.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast.” He says close to you, not thinking about the possibility of you asking just how he could tell.

“I’m trying not to step on your shoes.” Is all you say with a fleeting giggle.

As the song closes, you’re in some sort of dream land. It’s not the alcohol, even if it was a strong drink, it’s all him.

That elated feeling continues as he pulls you away from the crowd, and it dissipates right when your best friend finds you.

“There you are!” She smiles at you. “I see you’ve made a friend.”

You should just go home.

“This is James.” You say, watching them greet each other.

“It’s my birthday, James.” She tells him in her tipsy tone.

He looks at her birthday sash and nods. “I can see that. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. You can give me a gift later if you want.”

You should really just go home and put on your sweats and a movie.

But then you feel his hand on the small of your back.

“We’re actually going for a stroll.” He says, because what else is he to say? That your friend’s actions aren’t attractive? How she comes on far too strong in the worst way? Perhaps he’s only in this mindset because he can see the way your face fell when she posed a threat.

She’s no threat, sweet girl. No one is a threat to you, ever, not now that I’m here.

He says it with his eyes as you look up at him in question. The gentle nod he offers has you easing. A stroll sounds nice.

You find yourself agreeing? How is it so easy to agree and tell your friend good night? It’s as easy as your hand around his- large- bicep as the two of you walk the glimmering night streets of the city.

He makes you feel so…secure. Maybe this is how girls get kidnapped and turn up dead in alleyways, but you feel the need to trust him with your life.

You feel the need to grow obsessive over every word and touch he gives you.

Maybe that’s how you end up showing him your apartment. He acts like he’s never seen it before.

And he has not one intention on things going further- well, maybe just one. But he’s a perfect gentleman, drinking the coffee you make him, complimenting your music collection, asking about the instrument in the corner.

It’s all you who gets closer.

And as your lips touch, you can’t help but think this is insane.

You should pull away, but then he grips your waist and deepens the kiss and you completely lose your mind.

He’s a stranger in your home, on your lips.

But is he really?

“I’m sorry.” You immediately say when he pulls back and turns his head away. “I-I don’t do this, a lot of girls say that, but I really don’t do this.”

He knows you don’t, and the fact that you’re doing it with him has him trying to control himself.

“I’m sorry.”

You apologize too much. He’s going to have to fix that.

“No, no.” He says, looking back down at you. “Don’t. It’s me, not you.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You laugh awkwardly, anxiously.

His hand comes to your cheek. “Hey, no it really is me. You’re perfect, I…am not.”

Your brows droop together. “You seem pretty perfect to me…I’m pretty sure I like you. Is that crazy?”

How sweet, how innocent.

He struggles with his emotion like he always does, too confused to put things into words, and the confusion turns into irritation and soon he’s huffing and drawing both hands to your face, like it will help.

“Not crazy.” He says. “I like you too, I’m certain of it…but I am not perfect, do you understand?”

He’s a magician, or he’s drugged you. James speaks assertively and it’s like you’re in a daze, just nodding along.

He sees that spark in your eye, in that moment his suspicions are confirmed. He’s watched you strike out on dates because you try with men who don’t understand what you need. Only he knows, only he knows you want someone to comfort and lead you. That’s how he gets you to do as he asks, which all just consists of changing out of that damn gorgeous dress and relaxing on your sofa with him. But in the long run, he knows you’ll follow with your blind loyalty and never forsake him.

He doesn’t let you be nervous, thinking he’s expecting something from you. He sits and lets you decide how close you want to be next to him, and that’s because Bucky is confident you’ll be following right along in his plan without his assistance.

You sit about five inches away from him, knees curled to your chest in your flannel pants and you bunch your sweater sleeves around your hands. When it’s supposed to be a two way conversation, you hardly notice how he lets you do all the talking.

That’s because he isn’t sure how to go about explaining things to you yet, he has to wait for the moment he’s confident you’re all in on this.

“It’s weird, I feel so comfortable around you…like I already know your presence.”

You do, you just don’t know that.

Bucky hums, then is immensely pleased with the way you draw yourself closer.

“Sometimes people are just like that. Familiar.” He says, slightly stiff as you turn to lean into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you seem familiar, James.”

That’s a statement echoing in his haunted mind, bouncing off walls as he carries you to bed and tucks you in after you fall asleep against him, it’s with him in the following days when he shows up in your life again after you had the fear you were never going to see him. You woke up and he was gone, no note, no number to call and you cried and felt pathetic and yet, here he is now.

Bucky is waiting outside the coffee shop as you come out after your shift, he looms in such a way you almost don’t see him.

“James.” You say in surprise, heart beating a little faster at the abrupt introduction of him. “Hi, I-I didn’t- were you waiting for me? Meeting someone?”

Bucky smiles at your nervousness. “I was waiting for you.”

Interactions like this become common. Before you realize it, you’re getting to know someone who has you memorized perfectly. There’s no concern on how to reach him, because he always manages to find you, he’s always there when you need him. And weeks pass and Bucky wants to hear you say his name a thousand times over, his obsession grows and you know it.

The best part? You don’t mind it. Sure, it’s an adjustment, your whole life has been a constant fight for attention. So when he’s here, physically ignoring people when you’re near him, your first reaction is to think it won’t last.

He assures you through his actions that he is here to stay, because when he wants something, he takes it.

You could classify this as dating, wouldn’t you? Those nights he takes you away to places where it’s just the two of you, those are dates in your mind. To Bucky? There what life is meant to be like forever.

A month after the meeting in the bar, you’re sitting in your lounge chair, murmuring about how much you hate your job and the fact that you can’t seem to get a better one, it’s a conversation Bucky hears often. And somewhere from the moment you’re draped over his lap and his hand nudges your chin up when you get blue, you sigh.

“You never touch me.” You say, large eyes blinking at him.

Bucky grows confused. “That’s not true.” He states.

Your head rests against his collar bone, face almost nuzzles into his neck and you reach for his hand.

“I don’t know the feeling of your skin.”

It’s in this moment that he knows you’re ready for the truth, as much of it as you can handle.

When you started to fall for James, you knew he was different, had a different energy about him. Never in a million years did you expect him to start explaining a story so dark and horrid, and it’s only the version he alters for you, not having it in him to taint your perfect mind with the entire nightmare.

He talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk, for thirty two minutes you sit in his lap with wide eyes and a pale expression, trying to wrap your head around it. You have about a hundred and one questions and can’t fully form any, you wait until he finishes, then he looks at you with something so humble and vulnerable.

“…What?” You breathe. “What!?”

You’re off of his lap, pushing the sleeves of your shirt up and starting a pace while you try to process the information. He sits there, watching you, letting you get through the shock.

“James- you know that sounds crazy, right? Metal arm, wanted by the government, over a hundred years old- crazy.”

You continue to mutter and work through the sheer fear of ‘oh God what did you just get yourself into?’, then after about eight and a half minutes, you settle.

Just like he knew you would. Because that’s the kind of woman you are, able to think things through from an alternate perspective.

You stand before him, hair tucked behind your ears and you breathe.

“I want to see.” You state, sure of it.

“Why?” He questions.

“I might not believe you otherwise.”

You believe him, of course you do, this is something that could only happen to you. The more you think about it, this story explains things. Like the way he always hold you with his right hand, how he goes rigid at the mention of things that could be triggering for him and you had no clue.

Bucky processes it, then stands.

A glove comes off, a perfectly normal, large, right hand is under it.

Then, the other.

You blink, staring at the metal that has been revealed, shiny and silver.

He swallows hard, then pulls at the hem of the henley shirt he wears. It lands on the floor and you don’t move, just let your eyes explore the new discovery. Up his right arm, toned bicep, broad shouldered, expanding chest, down his stomach and back up and then…

His head turns, he looks away when you see it, the scarred skin of his left shoulder. It’s jarred, metal meets flesh and you can’t look away.

Maybe you should be repulsed, but you aren’t. You step forward, hand raised and he flinches slightly.

“Can I? I-I’ll be gentle.” You whisper.

If you were not made just for him, you would have left already, screamed perhaps, anything but let your fingertips graze his skin with no anger or malice behind it.

He continues to look away while you explore, and even though you’re filled with curiosity, a sour feeling stirs in your stomach at the thought someone did this to him.

“What is it?” You ask, your index running down the metal, watching it flex almost human like.

“Vibranium.” He says, tone bare.

“This is like…Stark technology stuff.” You gasp, watching his fingers flex.

He lets out a shaky breath at the Stark name, you make a mental note to not speak of it again.

Your hand skims the expanse of his chest, firm, tense. Had you truly not realized just how huge he is? Down his flesh arm, fingers follow valleys of muscle until they slip right into his. His hand is warm and entirely engulfing yours.

The other, it holds the back of his neck, lost in his hair, forcing him to look down at you, just in time for you to lean up and kiss him slowly.

You’re okay with it, all of it.

Perhaps you’re secretly just as crazy as he is?

With your hand in his, he has no choice but to grab your waist with the thing he viewed as a weapon. You do not hurt, he does not maim you like he has feared, you draw closer to his body and show him kindness and comfort.

There was no going back now, you couldn’t reject him now. Not when you’re shifting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. The sky outside could be falling and you’d still be here, barefoot in your living room, tip toed to reach him. His hand leaves yours to cup your jaw, fingers flexed into skin like he could sink claws in.

Your hot. It’s a heat that blooms inside out and you find your hand twisting in hair and the other drawing his hips closer. Perhaps your actions shouldn’t come like this after he explained how tortured he is, but he does not stop you. In fact, it’s Bucky that nips at your lip, drawing you away in shock.

“You bit me.” You state, shocked.

“Sorry.” He says deeply.

Licking your lower lip, you shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

That had to be it, that connection he felt, it’s because you could handle insanity.

Huffing against his lips, you breathe, open mouthed into his. “Is the serum a real thing?” You question before his tongue slips to yours.

Without a word, he’s gripping your sides and pulling you up, feet dangle before your thighs trap his waist, just one arm holding you there.

Okay. Serum’s real.

It’s hot mouths on each other until you tell him to take you to your bedroom.

“Listen to me.” He says as he sits you on the bed. “Don’t give me this just because you think it’s what I want.”

Immediately you shake your head. “No, no, I want this.”

He strokes your hair. “Think this through, there’s no going back after this, okay? You’ll be tied to me, you’ll be guilty by association, if you have me this once, I’ll want to keep coming back.”

Your heart hammers inside your chest, knees press together and your lips hang apart.

“You won’t have to keep coming back if you stay.” You say, reaching out to grip the top of his jeans. “I want it all.”

Psychotic, absolutely psychotic for speaking the words you speak and mean it so deeply. How could you say such things and still look like an angel? And how could you make him feel the way he does when you do nothing at all?

Bucky’s drunk, he’s gone, he doesn’t even know if it’s him or yet another alter ego that is enjoying all of this. But he’s undressing you and feeling every single valley and curve and soft spot. His lips are everywhere, pressed to your bare skin as you trust him with the most vulnerable parts of yourself. He’s kind to you, bringing you to a point where he knows you’re going to be relaxed enough for it. It’s his fingers that draw it out, they’re warming you up, causing your head to tilt back in ecstasy.

It courses in his blood, the rush he gets from watching you twitch and moan.

There’s stars that dance across your vision, they linger and burn, especially when you start to come down from the high you haven’t felt in awhile and he’s kissing your chest while lined up to your entrance.

“You can tell me no.” He offers one last time, but you shake your head fiercely.

“I want it.” You say, hand in his hair. “Do you?”

Does he? What a silly question for you to ask. He wants your everything, he wants to lay his claim and make you belong to with him. He wants to know you inside and out, wants to feel the way you’ll shudder and cry when he pushes you off the precipice.

“Yes.” He whispers, heavy eye contact as he stares down at you. “I want this. I want you.”

Your free hand comes to gently clutch the dog tags that hang from his neck, and you’re slightly breathless as you drag him down to your lips.

“You have me, you have me.”

Those pesky wires in his brain? The ones that are half connected? Well, they’re short circuiting. Maybe the wrong ones connect, because the level of possession he feels now isn’t one he thinks is normal. As the asset, he wasn’t allowed to possess anything, he was the possession…and before? Before the war and the snowy day in Austria and everything, he was sure he didn’t feel this way.

This is new, this is entirely because of you.

One hand braced at your head, the other grips the underside of your knee, keeping it far from the other and he pushes into you, maybe too fast.

The gasp that escapes your lungs is sharp and long, your eyes squeeze shut and he mirrors your drawn brows.

“I know, I know.” He comforts. “Breathe. There you go, just like that, my girl.”

His girl.

Toes are curled into the sheets. Maybe it’s because you haven’t done this in a while, or maybe because he’s so…big. You hide in his neck, chest heaving, fingers gripping his hair in hopes of relieving the pressure.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, trying to get you to look at him.

“I just- ah, I need a second. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things.” He grunts in your ear. “We could stay like this for an hour, if that’s what you need.”

With the slight adjustment of your hips under him, you breathe out. “I-I’m okay, please, do something.”

Your normally soft voice has gained an octave, it’s bordering a whine, pinched and breathless and oh so desperate. And just like that, he slowly drags out and back in and it’s the best feeling he has ever known, better than the relief that comes after the electric shock stops.

He’s courteous, he’s gentle and slow and it’s soothing to the burn between your legs, all the way up until you get comfortable and needy for more.

Holding his jaw, you kiss him deeper, with no concern for how messy it is.

“More, please.” You say into his open mouth.

“So polite.” He teases, moving a hand up to your hip.

You choke on your inhale as he quickens his pace, driving into you in such a vulgar way, you’re threatening to arch off the mattress. But he holds you down and you take it, you take it as well as he knew you would, with nails digging into his back.

“Oh- like this. Ah, James, it’s so good.” You say, slack jawed and whiney.

You sound perfect, because you sound like this just for him. He has to grunt with a face of contortion.

“It’s because you take it so well, such a good girl.”

You blush violently at the moan that you let out, and from the way you flutter around him, he has a feeling you like the name you don’t get called often.

He might not 100% remember doing things like this, but he figures it out perfectly, encouraging you to tell him what you want and how you want it. But you’re so shy. He’s practically buried in your cervix, and you’re acting shy.

He laughs at you.

“You’re too sweet.” Is what he comments before making it his mission to figure out what it is exactly that you want.

That unserious and unspoken thought that you had to be a little crazy in order for you to be so perfect, it might just be true. Because Bucky sits back on his knees and grabs your hips, pulling them up to match the way he thrusts deeply into you, and you love it.

You love it so much, you curse and he gains a look of surprise.

His angel girl is writhing and cursing.

“Fuck, I think you’re in my stomach.” You laugh, you laugh. He’s fucking you in a way soft lovers would cringe at, and you’re laughing with pleasure.

You’re perfect.

Bucky doesn’t even know if he’s fully conscious anymore, he has to be, right? It’s not guaranteed with the haze in his head and the film over his eyes and the voice that whispers over and over.

Take, take, take. It says.

брать, брать, брать.

It sounds good in both languages.

Almost as good as the sound of you practically shouting praise. Maybe it’s intense for the first time, but nothing about this relationship was going to be subtle and calm.

You don’t want it to be.

That knot forms in your stomach, it shoots heat everywhere, your heart beats so loud you’re convinced he can hear it. Your back will ache from the way it’s arched, but it all feels too good to be a concern.

“I’m getting close.” You cry, legs shaking around him, hand over your mouth.

He leans back over you and takes the hand away, caging it to the pillow, under his.

“I want to hear you. I want to hear the noise you make when you come for me.” He tells you, hot breath mixing with yours.

You nod, wide eyes, aimed to please.

Bucky’s fingers curl with yours and that’s how he keeps your hand while the your other is damaging the skin of his back. He is no stranger to pain, and the fact you don’t mean to inflict it has his lips on your throat. His teeth graze the skin, like he’s the wolf ready to rip it apart. When he does bite the skin and you jolt at the feeling, you can only assume it’s a tic that he comes with.

His tongue presses to ease any discomfort, and hips are heavy into yours as he drives you to the point of breaking apart.

It’s high pitched and sob like, how you cry and tense against him. That hand squeezes his to ground yourself, and your head tips back, pressed into the pillow, and you lose it.

He watches in amazement and that voice is so pleased.

Mine, mine, mine.

It all pushes him overboard.

He does his best to work you through it, then he’s pulling out too fast and fisting himself to finish the job, painting across your stomach and he can’t look away.

You mourn the loss of contact, but far too overwhelmed to do anything about it. You look at him with blurry eyes, hot tears have leaked into your hair and he’s looking at the way his spend lays across your skin.

Then, deep blue eyes flick back up to yours and he’s….proud.

“You with me?” He asks in a husky tone.

You nod with a heavy head.

That’s when he finally lets go of your hand, moving to rub your cheek before he grips your jaw. Not tight, nothing to hurt you, but he grips it and your swollen lips part.

“It’s you and me now. You’re mine, do you understand?”

You shouldn’t love the sound of that but you do. So you nod, eyes heavy, skin aflame. He wipes tears, kissing you sweet and like he’s following orders, he cleans you up wordlessly.

Later, he’ll watch you sleep because you can’t fight it anymore, and he’ll know that feeling in his chest has settled. He’s a ghost with a home now, he’ll stay because you invited him in.

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ You're Such A Loser pt. 2; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw (18+) cw: switch(dom)!art donaldson, switch(sub)!reader, reader guiding art through domming, begging, brief choking, slight hate fucking themes, orgasm denial, slight bit of tears/crying (he’s okay), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, praise, degradation, creampie.

all that frustration from losing his matches has built up in him, and now Art is ready to let it all out. only because you’re letting him, of course.

word count - 2.9k

note : part twoo (part one) !! i hope that those who liked pt. one will like this part just as much :) it’s a lil bit of a switch in dynamic (pun not intended)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

He’s diving back into your cunt without hesitation, lapping at the remnants of your orgasm that have spilled and sprayed down your inner thighs. His arms are hooking under your legs so that he can bury his tongue deeper and deeper into you.

You groan deeply, running your fingers through his hair before pulling the locks taut in your fist.

“Yes, baby, just like that.. your mouth always feels so damn good,” you breathe out, moaning at his expert tongue skills.

As you gaze down at him, you can see the way that his eyes are squeezing shut and his brows are turned up in arousal as he licks at your insides. He lets out a pathetic whimper at your words of praise, which shoots a mouthful of vibrations up through your form. Your knees tremble, clamping down on his flushed cheeks, and you use your grip on his hair to guide him gently up to your clit. He takes notice of your cue, and moves his mouth up to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp brokenly and toss your head back, before looking down again to see his face.. and god, he is beautiful. His brows are still knitted up, but now his big aquamarine eyes are watery and looking up at you like a lost puppy. He was all yours. Just yours, and he knew it too -- in fact, he loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart, doing so--mmf!--so well,” you moan out, using your hand to now stroke at the back of his head and give him a bit more physical stimulation. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his scalp, and out of habit he reaches up with one of his free hands and uses his middle and ring finger to brush against your dripping hole. Immediately, you wince at the contact, and he lets out a drawn out groan that you can tell is an incoherent plea for permission. You nod.

He wastes no time in turning his wrist so that his hand is palm-side up, and then his fingers are gliding into you without any resistance whatsoever. Your body is absolutely starved for him at this point, and you can’t do a thing to hide it. As he feels your insides wrap warmly around his digits, his eyes prick with tears while he continues to mouth at your clit.

He brings his head back, detaching his mouth from your body, and moves to look longingly at the way your fingers are sucking him in every time he pulls them back. Your slick is covering his chin and his lips, which are currently parted in arousal as he huffs and puffs from desperation. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, relishing in the way that he can feel you clench and twitch.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, not breaking eye contact with the point of connection between your body and his. He then decides to bury his two fingers so deep inside of you that they actually completely disappear. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers repeatedly in the “come hither” motion while he’s still buried up to the hilt. About thirty seconds of this is all it takes for you to get there.

“SHIT-! Oh my god, Art, don’t fucking stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m g’na-”

You manage to moan out a quick warning before your hips are arching into his touch, going completely still for a few moments. Then, wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, causing your pelvis to spasm rapidly as you babble incoherent phrases of praise to your partner.

Art’s mouth is now completely agape, his eyes lidded, as he takes in the show of your orgasm, not stopping the movements of his fingers. You couldn’t really tell over the sound of your own vocality, but he was letting out tiny whines and whimpers from the way that your body was making his cock leak pathetically in his already-soiled boxers. He could barely hold his second orgasm off.. it was so damn hard.

After you collapse fully on the bed in an attempt to recover in your afterglow, sticky with sweat and panting heavily, you are now able to fully hear Art’s pure and unfiltered anguish. He’s moaning lowly as he glances from your cunt down to his clothed cock, which is jumping over and over in his underwear -- begging for attention. He then moves to pull his wet fingers from inside of your pussy, which allows for a few drops of viscous wetness to spill from your hole. Without hesitation, he lurches forward with his pretty tongue sitting gently on top of his bottom lip so that he can gulp down the taste of your release. He sucks and licks greedily at your hole, letting his eyes flutter closed as he grips his own thighs. He doesn’t want to touch himself yet. After all, you never gave him permission.

“You’re such a good boy, baby.. so needy and hungry for me, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly but shakily, his nose brushing against your clit as his mouth continues to relentlessly engulf your heat.

“You want me to let you cum?” you ask, knowing from his track record that he’s probably already on the edge.

He pulls back, licking at his bottom lip to not waste any of your taste, before he removes his hands from gripping his legs and instead places them to your waist. He digs his fingers into your soft flesh as he looks up at you from his position on the floor.

“Please, please, I’m already there-- just tell me I can and I will! I promise,” he gasps out, drawing out the second half of ‘promise’ to emphasize his sheer closeness. His brows are still turned up as tears start to well in his eyes. He’d cry if you said no, you knew that. The real question was: did you want to keep punishing him tonight? Had he had enough?

“Tell me how bad you want it, love.”

You could stand to be cruel a little bit longer.

He whines, his fingers clenching around the skin of your hips, as his pelvis continues to buck involuntarily.

“I want it so badly- I wanna cum- I’m so close, please please please.. I don’t know if I can stop it,” he moans, the slight friction of his cock against his wet boxers pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return.

“What if I said no?”

“Nooo, god, please don’t.. I’ve already made you cum.. I could prob’ly cum just from you telling me that I can.. can I? Oh shit, please-”

“I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you cum if you can take control for once.” 

He looks at you, confused, before trying to stave off his orgasm by biting down on your thigh as he lets out a broken whimper. You yelp, before stroking his hair, knowing that he was deep in an animalistic state of mind -- he didn’t mean to hurt you, he just was trying so hard to be good.

“Use your words, Art.” 

He releases you from between his teeth, before tears are spilling down his cheeks.

“I,” he sobs, “I can try.. but you know that I’m not like that..”

“I know, baby, I know. I want to teach you. Would you like to try that?”

He nods. He’d do anything to cum at this point.

You use your hands to push yourself farther back onto the bed so that your head is now close to the headboard. Art watches your every move, but stays as still as he can. He still wanted to please you, and didn’t want to do anything without your say-so. This was going to have to change within the next ten minutes.

You pat the bed’s comforter, and he immediately crawls up onto the bed and hovers over your form. His breathing remains uneven as his cheeks continue to flush with the torment of his delayed release. The erection in his boxers is still as stiff as ever, and you eye the way that it visibly jumps with anticipation.

One of your hands reaches up to comfortingly caress his face, and he leans into your touch.

“Breathe, honey, breathe. You’ll get what you want soon.”

He sighs, which almost turns into a moan, but he cuts himself off as you start to give instruction.

“Okay, first I want you to take off my top and bra. Undress me, understand?”

“Yeah,” he responds breathlessly, moving to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra in under a minute. You were now completely naked, and he allowed himself the pleasure of drinking in the sight of your uncovered body. You were so gorgeous, it made his dick twitch.

“Good. Now, take off your boxers and shirt. I wanna see you,” you couldn’t help staying in a dominant headspace for a few seconds more.. it was just so fun to boss him around. He was so quick to follow directions, too.

He unsurprisingly does as he’s told, swiftly removing his gray tee and pulling down his boxers. At the sight of his bare cock, you bite your lower lip and place a hand on the back of his neck to guide him down to meet your mouth. You kiss him deeply, letting your own tongue lick his as he reciprocates with equal ferocity. He’s mashing his lips with yours, moaning into your open mouth when you pull back to switch the angle of your head. You bite down on his bottom lip before sucking it, which causes him to groan deep in his chest. Your hands snake to his lower back and you pull him down in one swift motion so that his body is now pressed flushed to yours as you continue to make out. A few more moments of this go by before Art knows that he has to speak up.. 

“I th-think I’m gonna c-cum,” he stutters, rubbing his hard cock against your lower stomach, “I can’t hold it, I cannn’t-!”

You reach down quickly and grasp his dick, which makes his eyes roll back into his low lids, and then you’re sliding it inside of your tight hole without warning.

“Nnghh-! I’m--fuck!” he sobs out, immediately spilling a thick, warm load inside of you. You let him thrust shallowly into you as he pumps you full of cum.

“Ah hah hah haah-!” he cries as he overstimulates his cock by continuing to fuck himself through his long-awaited orgasm.

As you watch his face with a smile and feel his throbbing dick inside of you, Art suddenly pushes himself up onto his hands so that he’s looking down at you. He’s gasping for more air but his brows are sitting low on his face and he looks weirdly upset.

You reach a hand up to his face, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and shakes his head without breaking eye contact with you.

“Don’t,” he breathes out, before beginning to thrust his spent cock more forcefully inside of you. Was he pissed that you had initially denied him..?

“Wha-”

“Don’t say anything, please,” he cuts you off, “just let me fuck you some more..” 

You close your mouth, feeling a new kind of heat swirl in your gut. There was something about his tone that was new for him.. there was a bit of authority in it. Art hangs his head as he groans, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip before slamming it back into you. The wind feels like it just got knocked completely out of your lungs, and you squirm on the sheets.

“You feel so good.. f-fuck, I’m already hard again,” he moans, a growl beginning to creep up his throat.

A moan escapes your lungs as you let your head fall back into the plush pillow, and then before you can fully comprehend what he’s doing, his hand is over your mouth. His elbow is resting by your neck as his palm covers the lower half of your face and muffles your sounds.

“I said to be quiet,” he says gruffly, now speeding up the movements of his hips. They snap back and forth with a renewed sense of fervor, filling you up with his heavy cock with every thrust inside of you. You moan, although muffled, and you can tell that your stifled sounds were driving him crazy.

“You did a lot of talking tonight, babe, now let me say something--” 

You drool under his hand, your mouth open and panting, as you try to focus on his words,

“I don’t get why you called me a loser when you’re my coach.. my loss is your loss- shit!” 

The tip of his cock hits your cervix as you clench around him, causing him to briefly lose his train of thought. He finds it quicker than you thought he would, though.

“So that means that you’re a loser too, aren’t you?” he spits out with gritted teeth, leaning down close to your face and looking deep into your eyes. You compulsively whimper and buck your hips up to meet his.

“Use your words, baby,” he mocks you from earlier, anger laced potently in his command.

He knows that you can’t talk coherently right now, and it’s not his hand that’s stopping you. He knows damn well that if he removed his hand from your mouth, you’d still be a slurring mess of moans and pleas for more beneath him. His cock was fucking you so well, and it was hitting all of the right places at all of the right times. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer, and neither was he to be honest..

Before, he was in the mindset of a defeated, washed-up tennis champ, but now he was taking on the same persona that he did when he was in his prime. When he won back-to-back matches. He was a fucking beast.

“Mmmph-! Mm-!” your moans rolled around in your chest and were muffled by Art’s large palm as he continued to fuck mercilessly into you. You felt the cord in your gut being pulled taut.. ready to snap at any moment..

Suddenly, he pulls his hand from your mouth and groans, bringing it up to his mouth as he licks depravedly at your drool left behind on his skin. You whimper at the sight, and he follows it up with a similar vocalization before speaking down to you.

“You taste so good, baby, fuck fuck...” he pants, the movements of his hips becoming sloppier by the second.

he places his wet palm down across the center of your collarbones, and you groan lowly at the feeling, before you take his wrist and manually move his hand up to the base of your throat.

“please,” you whimpered. 

and he readily obliged.

Art squeezes gently at the sides of your throat, stifling the blood flow to your brain and initiating the spread of a pleasant fuzziness throughout your body and head that made your impending orgasm feel that-much-more intense. 

“you like that? you like when i choke you, baby..?” he moans, clearly enjoying the switch in dynamic as much as you were.

you nod immediately, trying to take in more oxygen as his fingers pressed deliberately against your pulse. then, he released you from his grasp like a lion drops a gazelle from its mouth before feasting upon it.

you take a huge, broken breath into your lungs before everything begins to feel like it’s getting too much .. everything feels too good right now.. 

“Honeyimgonna-mffphh!-imgonnacumpleaseohmygod” you couldn’t stop the slurry of nonsensical pleas and whines as you felt your orgasm getting ready to wash over you.

“I’m gonna give it to you so good.. i wanna fill you up.. you’d be nowhere without me, let’s face it.. if i didn’t win any matches we’d have no income.. so i’m not a goddamn loser.. i’m not.. i’m.. i..”

Art was becoming more and more incomprehensible the closer he got, and then he felt everything crash down around him once your orgasm started to rip through you and pulse around him.

“OH GOD! HOLY SH- OH FFFUCK! I’M CUMMING I’M CUMMING!” he shouts, unable to hold anything back as he fills you up again.

You feel the warmth and tingly pressure of his release spread throughout your cunt as you cum on his throbbing cock, your eyes rolling as your head tips back against the bed. You whimper and groan as you take in the feeling of your second orgasm of the night, and relish in the heat and aftermath of your partner’s third one.

After you both come down slightly from your highs, Art collapses in a sticky, sweaty mess on top of you as his chest heaves against yours. You close your eyes, smiling, as your hands move to rub lovingly at his lower back. As his head rests heavily in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, he slowly pulls his hips back and you whimper as the feeling of emptiness starts to rush through you in the absence of his length.

You could feel his cum oozing down your pussy, and you laughed softly at the sudden realization of the reality of your situation.

“You know,” you huffed, still trying to catch your breath, “i think you just came inside of me again.” 

he laughs.

“i don’t think i could have stopped that from happening..” he smirks, rubbing his soft but sensitive cockhead against the inner part of your right thigh.

“right, right.. all i’m saying is that you better not get me pregnant. you’re already a handful as it is.”

“You love it,” he whispers, picking up his head slightly to bite at your neck.

“Whatever you say, loser.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

guys, this took so long to finally finish up and that’s on me lmaoo

writer’s block had me in a firm chokehold n i didn’t like it

i feel like i ended this fic a bit quickly, but i think that can mostly be chalked up to sleep deprivation.

anyways, hope this quenched ur mike faist thirst for the moment, but i have more ideas that i want to write about asap.. so there’s definitely some more hot stuff coming soon hehe

[meanbossart]

just wanted to say that your art and writing inspires me a lot, so I HAD to draw DU Drow—

may have gone overboard, but I hope you like it! :3

NOT OVERBOARD WHATSOEVER I'D SAY YOU GONE JUST FAR ENOUGH 👁️👄👁️

This is AMAZING, the lighting, his smug fucking face, I love the really subtle blue tint reflecting off from his skin and BUDDY THAT HAIR RENDERING........ AS SOMEONE WHO *HATES* RENDERING HAIR YOU CAN COLOR ME JEALOUS (NO PUN INTENDED)

Thank you so much for this incredible portrait OH MY GOD THE RIM HIGHLIGHTS ON THE HAIR I JUST NOTICED IT ok sorry as I was saying this is absolutely beautiful god bless you holy shit. I feel so spoiled.

[angelicsoka]

BEAUTIFUL THINGS, l. hughes

pairings | luke hughes x fem!actress!reader, platonic!quinn hughes x reader, platonic!jack hughes x reader

summary | in which luke and his girlfriend announce to the world the secret they’ve been keeping

warnings | not proofread. no use of “y/n”, use of the name “winona” change if need be :). lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | i’ve had no motivation to write as of late but this won the vote so i figured i’d post it! the quinn fic should be up in the next few weeks (hopefully). i feel like this sucks ass but i wanted to post it. ive never posted a social media fic on here so this was very different for me

liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes, and 3,223,034 others

yourusername i want you, i need you, oh god, don't take these beautiful things that i've got <3

1.9.23

welcome to the world, miss winona ellen hughes 🌷

tagged lhughes_06

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user1 oh. my. god

user77 i think i might explode

_quinnhughes my favorite niece!!

yourusername your only niece... _quinnhughes

_quinnhughes 🤫🤫 yourusername

jackhughes WINNIE!!!

jackhughes proud to hold the title of favorite uncle 😎

_quinnhughes i beg to differ

jackhughes kys

lhughes_06 i hate both of you

yourusername hey! be nice! plus i’m pretty sure nicohischier holds the title currently.

nicohischier suck on that jackhughes _quinnhughes

_quinnhughes he’s not even a blood relative?!

jackhughes i can’t anymore

nicohischier she’s so cute! you need to bring her around more :)

yourusername definitely! she loves you and the team

elblue6 my sweet granddaughter ❤️ can’t wait to see her again!

yourusername we can’t wait to see you both either <33 soon i promise!

liked by yourusername, edwards.73, and 2,559,162 others

lhughes_06 my daughter winnie, sending the internet into absolute chaos even as a baby :)

tagged yourusername

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user2 a sad day for luke girlies all around the world 😔

user1 bro if you actually cared you would be happy for him! it’s not a “sad day” whatsoever!!

edwards.73 bro her caption is so cute and then there’s yours.

lhughes_06 hey! it’s true!

yourusername it’s a good thing i love him 😔

yourusername i love you lu <3

lhughes_06 i love you mamas, and our beautiful lil winnie

edwards.73 congrats to both of you!

yourusername thank you eddy !!

jackhughes bro she’s too little to be sharing feet pics

comment deleted by lhughes_06

jackhughes i liked yourusername’s caption better

lhughes_06 i’ll revoke your godfather rights

yourusername don’t listen to him he’s all bark no bite

_quinnhughes bring her to vancouver please i have a gift for her.

lhughes_06 only hughes 43 jersey she will be wearing is a devils

yourusername luke quit being a baby! she can have both!

lhughes_06 -_-

rutgermcgroarty winnie has broke the internet i think

lhughes_06 that's my daughter!

rutgermcgroarty we expect no less from the daughter of a hughes brother

user100 my heart just shattered into a million pieces :(

user6 girl be so fr you never had a chance.

[vanderdyks]

I literally dont know how to continue explaining to people that part of the reason Goku decided to stay dead was because Gohan hated fighting.

He didnt know this until cell. He literally had no idea. Gohan NEVER gave any indication whatsoever. Couple that with the fact Bulma pointed out most of people threatening the Earth during that point in time were all people wanting Goku. The saiyans. Frieza. The androids. Doctor Gero. Cell.

All because of Goku. Its not his fault but his very existence consistently put the Earth in danger. He truly believed Earth would be safer without him and therefore, gohan wouldnt be consistently placed into battle.

Because Goku didnt know gohan hated fighting. But once he knew came the very interwoven nature of these threats he brought making his own son fight because gohan felt he HAD to. Not because he wanted to. For goku, protecting the earth always aligned with his own love for fighting. But gohan fought out of necessity, out of the very idea that they couldnt afford to do it without him. He has this power he didnt ask for so he must use it right? Because it would be selfish if he didnt.

But goku... goku thought gohan was like him. Gohan WANTED to return to help fight vegeta. He WANTED to go to namek. He WANTED to stay and fight after piccolo almost died to frieza. Goku didnt see gohan train that first year. Didnt witness what it took to make gohan a fighter. All he saw was his son who now was strong and wanted to join the fight like his dad. And he knows gohan is more powerful than them, knows he can stop cell, FELT IT. Gohan has to defeat cell because no one else can. So he thinks if gohan gets angry enough fighting cell, itll be the answer. Because thats how its always been for goku. And in thirty seconds piccolo makes him realize he's wrong. He doesnt argue back, he listens and concedes and realizes that piccolo is right. And suddenly goku wants to abandon his plan and stop the fight. He made a mistake. He intends to get gohan out. And in the end, he still ended up being right, but it doesnt change what goku now knows. Gohan isnt like him and he doesnt enjoy fighting.

Goku would have NEVER made gohan fight if he thought he didnt want to. You know this whenever adult gohan gets involved in a fight and goku apologizes that he had to. Or when someone suggests gohan for a battle and goku is like nah he's "out of practice," even when they have time FOR PRACTICE. He never wants to force gohan into a situation like cell again. Because cell was a mistake and goku has learned from it. So he never asks Gohan to fight anymore. If Gohan wants in then of course he's in. But he wants his son to be able to choose that. He wants gohan to be HAPPY and if thats not fighting then thats perfectly alright with goku.

So it wasnt just about keeping the earth safe. Or his friends. It was knowing that in the safety of gokus absence, gohan wouldnt have to fight either. There would be less threats, less chances of his son being forced into battle. And sure he also trusted that gohan and the others could keep the earth safe if they had to, but he was banking on the threat level significantly decreasing instead.

And decrease it did. They had seven whole years of peace. Not a single threat. Meanwhile from the moment Raditz shows up to gokus death to cell, it all takes place within the span of FIVE YEARS. The longest they went without a threat was the three year gap spent training for the androids. And they spent every waking moment knowing they were coming.

And then if you look at trunks future... majority of the human population being wiped out by the androids. Majority of gokus friends. His son. All dead. Because of him. Because he defeated the red ribbon army when he was a child. And that very easily could have been their future as well. So Goku does his job in preventing that. He saves all of them. And if hes the only one who ends up dead, well... it doesnt matter. Because they aren't. And he intends to keep it that way. So he stays in otherworld, to keep them safe and to give his son a future that he can choose. If Gohan has to fight, then he can. But at least his father wouldnt be the one bringing the threats to his door.

[spaghettiposts]

Devotion

Wanda Maximoff x Sorcerer!Reader

Summery: You could never escape Wanda, much less the Scarlet Witch. Even bound to a chair, you couldn’t help but fall into her again. Your precious witch.

Warnings: Dark Obsessive Wanda, sorta possessive, you’re tied to a chair, hurt/comfort, Wanda’s been feeling neglected, established relationship? Not really Wanda’s just obsessed with you, toxic relationship maybe

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: I had a dream Wanda tied us to a chair, sue me. This honestly got way softer than I intended LMAO

“I was wondering when you’d wake up…” The words rang through your ears as you regained consciousness again, your eyelids fluttering opening to the sight of Wanda— no, The Scarlet Witch—before you. A sly smirk played on her lips, illuminated softly by the dim glow of red candles flickering around the room. She took a leisurely sip from her coffee mug before making it vanish with a flick of her wrists. 

Your eyes squinted against the candlelight, trying to see through the madness that seemed to swirl behind her red irises. Something you tried to search into, only to be blocked out. She simply smiled at you, taunting you, teasing, her eyes darting lower to which you followed her gaze.

Now you understood why you couldn’t feel your arms, they were tied up to the chair, every inch of you.  “Wands…what’s going on?” You managed, attempting to keep your voice steady as you tested the restraints. 

“Oh Detka, there’s no use in struggling,” She purred, chuckling in such a condescending tone it sent shivers down your spine. You would be lying if you didn’t admit you had found Wanda attractive before. 

Right now that wasn’t the time for that, again you tried to reach into your head. Desperately trying to recall what led to this moment, but your memories were clouded completely until all your focus was on her. 

And her only. 

Your eyes weren’t familiar with your surroundings whatsoever, figuring it was a reality Wanda made for just the two of you. It resembled a home, something the witch had always dreamed of, something you failed to provide with all your lessons. 

Still, despite knowing how unfair and neglectful you had been to her, you knew this wasn’t how to fix things, “Wanda, this isn’t right. Let me go.” 

But she only laughed, approaching you the next second. She bent down to your level and you sucked in a breath, her cold finger grazing underneath your chin, forcing you to look at her as she slid into your lap effortlessly. 

“Mhmm now why should I? You look so good for me, sitting there.” She murmured, her lips brushing against yours as her hands roamed across your body, landing to rest on your shoulders. You’d also be lying if you said you weren’t equally as affected. “You know we haven’t gotten time for ourselves since…well, Strange.” Her nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of your mentor.

“Honey, I'm his apprentice. I have to spend my time there, surely you understand?” You spoke softly, trying to reason for your obligations. “I’ve always devoted myself to you.”

“You call abandoning me devotion?” She scoffed, not for a second believing you, and yet again her eyes returned to their crimson color. Your unresponsiveness only pissed her off further, rolling her eyes and withdrawing from you with a wounded expression written across her face. 

With another sigh, you bowed your head, knowing that the little progress you had made had been erased in milliseconds. Biting back the frustration, you reminded yourself of the delicacy of the situation. You had to be careful. 

Wanda shifted in your lap, her gaze averted and hurt. Part of you longed to reach out to her, whisper all the things she needed to hear and make her believe you, but your hands were pulled back by their restraints. Damn, you were really starting to hate these things. 

“Untie my hands?” You asked softly, gesturing towards the ropes. Wanda’s eyes snapped to yours, looking at you in disbelief.

“No.” She muttered darkly, “You’ll only run from me.” She explained, her words falling heavy. Slowly, she shifted, positioning herself in a way that allowed you to cradle her, her nose brushing your cheek, gently nuzzling against you. 

Your lips parted, so that’s what it was? Wanda was afraid. She wasn’t just upset; she was afraid of losing you. You understood what she needed, to be reminded of your so-called devotion, understood again. When her head landed to rest on your shoulder, you took your chances, risking your life to ever so gently place a kiss on her head. 

You felt Wanda stiffen against you, but she nestled in closer, tilting her head just the slightest bit. Though the position was quite awkward and strained your neck, you persisted, peppering slow lingering kisses across her face. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and you took the opportunity to ask again, “I just want to hold you, untie me?” 

Reluctantly, Wanda opened her eyes, not really wanting to move but deciding to trust you when you gave her a crooked smile. Without much effort, she complied, reaching behind you to loosen the ropes on your hands. As the knots came undone, you sighed in relief, rubbing at your wrist to ease the soreness. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, pulling Wanda close as you wrapped your arms around her. She hummed in response, pressing her lips to your neck. You put considerable thought into your next words, you had missed these moments with Wanda, moments where the world wasn’t red it was just green.

“I’ll talk to Strange tomorrow, to let him know I’m pausing my lessons.” You said into the silence, and Wanda’s arms tightened around you. 

“Really?” 

“Really, I need to show my girl she’s my priority after all.” You affirmed and Wanda smiled, Wanda—no longer just the Scarlet Witch, but the woman who held your heart entirely. With a gentle touch, she pressed her lips against yours in a loving embrace; satisfied with your answer. 

You smiled into the kiss, absorbing as much of her as you could. Eventually, you broke away, but Wanda was quick to lean her head against yours, and a breathy chuckle escaped her lips, echoing yours. Unable to resist, you pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s nose, enjoying the way it scrunched up in response. The witch blushed shyly and buried between the crook of your neck, and you had trouble believing this girl was set to be the destroyer of worlds.

The thought only made you hold her further. The sudden weight of responsibility bore down on you. It wasn’t how you wanted things to go, but it was how it had to be. For Wanda’s safety and the promise of gaining your future with her, undisturbed.

Swallowing hard, you brushed loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear and taking one last look. Recalling what you had been taught, you chanted the familiar spell you had been practicing, murmuring it softly in her ear to ease her. Her eyes drooped heavily before she went completely limp against you and all you could hope was that she’d understand. 

Carefully, you untied the ropes holding your legs together before shrugging them off. You stood up, mindful of Wanda, tightening your grip around her, lifting her up properly. As you walked down the unfamiliar path, slowly transforming back into what it used to be, you were determined to prove your devotion to Wanda.

But first, you’d help her fulfill her own destiny, no matter the cost.

Even if she didn’t quite understand it.

[olderthannetfic]

Here's something that's been driving me crazy in my fandom lately: people lay out arguments that X character can be interpreted as transfem (cool! I like reading about stuff like this, tell me more!) but then follow up with "and so anyone who depicts this character as transmasc instead is a transmisogynist!" (not cool)

Now, I'm not going to get into the character who gets this most often, because she's a complicated case who was declared trans by word of god after the fact, and the whole resulting quagmire could be the subject of an entire doctoral thesis.

But lately, I've been seeing this attitude for other characters too, characters where there's no indication whatsoever that the author "intended" them to be anything but cis. And yet people are now going around saying that they're so obviously transfem that the only possible reason you could have for depicting them as transmasc instead is because you hate women.

The themes that they're saying make the characters so obviously transfem, by the way, are things like "character struggles with toxic masculinity and the expectations thrust upon them by their role as a hero" -- themes that could resonate with all sorts of gender experiences, not just transfem ones.

And the part that bugs me most is that somehow it's always trans dudes who are getting the brunt of the ire here. These people seem to take way more issue with the small subset of people depicting these characters as transmasc than with all the people who just… continue to depict them as cis.

And I am just like… my friends, I promise you that a trans guy who saw the character at 16 and went "wow he's just like me fr" is not your enemy. They are not headcanoning the character as transmasc at you. Can we please calm down and stop making this a "transmasc vs. transfem" thing. I am so tired.

--

[quasi-normalcy]

I think that Emilia Perez goes a long ways towards illustrating just how stupid and pointless the Oscars actually are. First of all, because it was even nominated in spite of abysmal critical and audience reception, and the fact that it never even did numbers on Netflix where it was released; secondly, the fact that its nomination felt like it was intended in part as Hollywood rebuking Trump's racism and transphobia, with no regard whatsoever to the fact that both Mexican and transgender audiences seemed to absolutely hate how they were represented in the movie, and finally because, when it came out what a ginormous fucking racist Karla Sofia Gascon is, suddenly everyone agrees that she's not going to win best actress and might have torpedoed the film's chances overall.

It's the exact same movie that it was two weeks ago! It has the exact same performances!