#if you understand where that particular line comes from

[eldritadh]

My top tip (as a PhD candidate) for doing scientific readings in the Social Sciences is this:

Break it up. Read out of order. Then critique.

Read the abstract first, then the intro, then the conclusion. Then go back and read the discussion (usually the discussion comes before the conclusion). At this point, you should have a pretty solid understanding of the paper; these sections are where The Information is.

Now go back and read the rest. This is where you'll find context for The Information. If you're bored out of your skull, pretend you're a reviewer and need to critically evaluate whether this study is done well.

Is it clear what question(s) the text is trying to answer or address? Sometimes the question is broad, but present; that's fine. But if it's hard to figure out what the question is in the first place, that's bad academic writing!

(This does not apply to readings for Literature or related courses. Obfuscation is often the point of literary texts and it's up to the reader to interpret, analyze, and read between the lines).

In science, the opposite is true. The more clearly stated something is in scientific literature, the better. So you can ask yourself if the author has succeeded in this regard.

Have the authors sufficiently explained their methodology? Do you think that they can reasonably draw the conclusions that they did based on that methodology?

There are always limitations. Have the authors sufficiently addressed them? Can you see any limitations that the authors didn't notice or mention?

What theoretical or conceptual framework is this study based on? Is it stated clearly, or do you have to make a guess?

Hard mode: Why do you think you've been assigned this reading in particular? What do you think your instructor wants you to take from it?

I used to seriously struggle with doing readings in undergrad. Part of it was because I had unmedicated depression and ADHD and couldn't retain written information to save my life, but part of it was because I didn't know how to approach the texts.

I learned the above techniques during my Master's and these first two years of my PhD. For me, at least, it's been really effective to put myself in the shoes of a peer reviewer and be critical of the papers I'm reading (bearing in mind that critique does not mean criticism! You can do a critical analysis of something and decide it's a thing of beauty!)

But at least for me, it has really helped with information retention and active engagement with academic texts.

So it's come my attention that there are a lot of students, particularly in humanities and social sciences disciplines, who need to hear this, so here goes:

Do the readings.

Oh my God, just do the readings. I promise, it gets easier once you get into the habit of it.

What makes a good student? Doing the readings. Literally just doing the readings is enough to make you a good student.

[taelophone]

✦ Teach Me ݁˖ ⋆˙⟡ — TA!Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Pining . Sexual Tension . No Penetration . Smut . Power Play . Glasses on Luigi lol . Reader is kinda strange . Fingering . Kinda Mean Luigi . Overstimulation . ｡⋆ A/N: Sorry it took me so long I actually wasn't the biggest fan of this work. But I hope you enjoy it!

You could imagine that teaching was a tough job. The grading, the organization, teaching the same material at different levels day after day and hour by hour. Surely, the days would melt together, subjects and responsibilities sticking to each other and creating an unfortunate planning crisis.

That’s where the teaching assistant comes in. 

As you made your way into the lecture hall, you pep-talked your mind to brace yourself for a long, boring, and mentally draining speech that would last over an hour. At least you had some questions written down that you planned to ask Professor Harrison regarding the lesson.

But at least it was your final class today before you could crash into your room.

So when you waltzed into the lecture hall, scanning the room for your professor, you were immediately confronted with the realization that he…wasn’t there. Even when you took your seat, the metal feet of your chair dragged against the dull blue carpet, generating the only sound in the room full of silence.

The clock ticked, that nerve-wracking tick-tock for a whole three minutes. Two minutes left until the lesson started, the red seconds hand gliding across the clock as you thought about leaving. But then in came someone you’d never seen before.

He looked about your age, maybe even a smidge older as he waltzed in through the open doorway, his head tilted upward like he was the biggest in the room.

“Hey, guys. Harrison isn’t here, he had some family stuff to do, but I’ll probably be leading today’s discussion” he said, his strong and sculpted arms peering through the soft fabric of his maroon tee.

It was a conscious effort to not let your jaw clatter down onto the floor like a skeleton. Tall, muscular, incredibly well-kept, and graced with the strongest Italian genes to ever kiss the surface of the twenty-first century. 

“My name’s Luigi, I’m the new teaching assistant for Harrison, and my office hours are from four to seven-thirty.”

He smiled– the cute and content kind that left your heart squeezing with cuteness aggression and induced heart tremors. You stared directly through his eyes the best you could, following him with rapt attention that you seldom gave your real professor.

His voice; was a melancholic and deep hymn of firm knowledge that could mimic years of experience. He was tragically good and articulate with his words, subjects that you didn’t understand the first time untangling themselves in your mind to build clear pathways to the answer. In fact, you didn’t even need to ask the questions you had written down.

When he finished the lecture, gently closing his laptop and sitting atop the professor’s desk, he tapped his pen on the wooden surface repeatedly before turning to the room.

“Any questions? We have like…5 minutes left of class. Leave early, stay put, goof off, anything. As long as you’re not confused.” 

There was no way in hell you were gonna leave without so much as speaking to him. You gathered your things up, leaving your notebook full of questions and doodles down on the table before trotting your way down to where he sat.

“Questions?” He asked, his head tilted to the side slightly as he bit the little push button of his bright blue pen between his plush and pink lips.

“Yeah, sorry, I just need you to explain these to me in a little bit more depth,” you murmured, shooting him a breathy and nervous chuckle before handing him your small notebook.

He hummed, taking the notebook from you graciously before his onyx brown eyes darted across the bulleted questions and the little doodles on the edges of the white-lined paper. He chuckled, eyeing a particular drawing you did of a bunch of hearts and flowers in a vase.

“Pretty drawings, they’re very nice,” he nodded, leaning back to grab his notepad and quickly write down your questions on his own. “Alright, what’d you need help with specifically? What’s confusing you?”

You made up some excuse on just needing it to be explained in more detail, prompting him to pull up a chair next to the cherry-oak desk. You quickly sat down in front of him, listening to him carefully as he essentially re-explained the lesson all over again from start to finish.

“Wow thank you,” you smiled, letting out a particularly girlish laugh as you finished writing down key points you had already written earlier on a clean leaf of paper. “That makes a lot of sense, I was so confused earlier.”

“Glad I could help,” he murmured, returning your giddy and girly grin with a boyish and bright beam of his own. He watched as you swung your backpack strap over your left shoulder and headed out the door, giving you a quaint wave as you did so.

Holy shit. Holy shit. OH MY GOODNESS.

Poor you. Poor, poor you.

He was even cuter up close with his smooth and seemingly flawless skin. A perfectly tanned tone with hints of olive under his complexion. And god, not to mention his nose…it’s faces like that that make you wanna cook and clean all day.

“No, Kat, you’re not listening. He’s perfect, like ten out of ten no flaws,” you said while staring at your vanity, gently applying moisturizer to your face. Kat, on the other end of the FaceTime, only grimaced at you with furrowed brows, the only sliver of her face you could actually see.

“Okay…let’s not sleep with the TA…” she joked, chuckling just out of frame as she propped the camera up and slid on a green spa headband before taking out her contact lenses. “I haven’t met him yet I don’t think. When did he start working for Harrison?”

You paused, ceasing your hand movements across your face as you thought about it for a moment. “I dunno actually. We didn’t make small talk, I just wanted to hear him say anything to me.”

Kathy laughed, glaring at you momentarily with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Oh you’re filthy,” she giggled, repeating her skincare steps as you finished up yours. You sighed, shaking your head in what should have been a shame if a giddy and amused grin didn’t find shelter on your face.

“Hear me out, I just-“

“No.”

You sighed yet again, heavier and less enthusiastic before picking up the phone again. By now the device had grown hot, your 3-hour-long girl talk proving aggravating to your phone's thinning patience and heat capacity. “Phone’s getting hot, girlie. I’m gonna go lay down and rethink life.” You murmured.

“Alright babes goodnight,” Kathy smiled, leaning forward over her own vanity to hang up the phone.

And with a deep exhale through your nose, you stood up from your stool and climbed into your soft bed. With the comforter up to your ribs and your legs crossed at the ankle, you stared up at the ceiling before letting drowsiness lull you to sleep.

As days went by and Luigi slowly became more and more present in Professor Harrison’s class, you felt yourself spending more time during lessons watching his every move. If you were lucky enough, Luigi would teach a class and then chat and socialize with your classmates.

Days had turned into weeks, and weeks rolled over into months. You had been to pretty much every single office hour, pretending to be behind on certain topics and playing a dangerous game of feigned catch-up just to sit at the desk with Luigi and let him reteach what you already know. At some point it was like child’s play, seeing how long you could dance around the bomb until it blew up into lovelorn smithereens.

And today you planned on it being no different. Front of the room, head straight, and leg-crossed at the ankles while you spaced out on your teaching assistant’s tantalizing hands. Oh, how darling they’d look wrapped around my neck instead, hurling me into oxygen-lacking delirium while he made me cry for being such a bad student. To prevent yourself from being any more provocative than you were already being, you lowered your eyes to the table in front of you.

The conversation around you continued on without you, vowels and consonants linking together in a pained effort to create muffled and static gibberish while you daydreamed about the man four feet in front of you.

“Yeah, no I get that…I don’t even know why I signed up to be a TA sometimes I still have my own things to work on,” he said, fidgeting with the end of his light-blue collared shirt. “I actually have a paper I’m supposed to be working on.”

He must’ve noticed how quiet you were. Your arms folded across your chest as you leaned and slouched all the way back in your chair, maybe the way your eyes were trained onto the table in front of you. But either way, he made his way over.

He tapped on your table, once, and then twice to grab your attention before holding up a thumb and tilting his head to the side. The question was silent, but loud and clear as you nodded your head.

“You okay?”

Upon seeing your nonverbal confirmation, he mirrored your action and made his way back over to Harrison’s desk. The sounds of chatter and rushed packing filled the room, watching as people gravitated toward one another and began preparing to file out one by one.

“Alright guys, have a good rest of your day. If anyone asks you were here the whole period. If you need help or anything or just wanna chat, stick back” he said. 

If you weren’t staring at him so hard, you would have missed it. His eyes flickered over in your direction for a fraction of a second, knocking the wind right out of your lungs.

An invitation. One that you could easily deny or accept without feeling pressured or guilty later. A clever man, he was, something that you caught onto very early into him easing into your days. You learned that he was a computer science engineer, which immediately made sense with the way he detangled the wires in your brain.

Your legs carried you over to the desk before you could even think of a plan, placing yourself before him like he called you with some imaginary whistle.

“I knew you’d notice. Good catch” he beamed, straightening his back a little bit as he leaned his back hips against the edge of the desk. “You seemed spaced today, are you doing okay? You’re usually more…active.”

“Oh yeah I’m okay, I was just a little tired today,” you replied, giving him a reassuring nod. You were lying through your teeth, and a part of you felt like he could possibly sense it with the way he wordlessly stared down at you for a moment before nodding slowly; hesitantly.

“Get some sleep, okay? You can always come to me if you need help or don’t understand something. I’ll try to explain” He nodded, giving you a boyish smile with a light pink dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said, shifting your weight to one leg. “I’ll probably come by during office hours.

I want help reviewing my notes.”

“Nice. I’m gonna be back in here, but I’ll probably come in a bit earlier than four so I can…grade quizzes,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the realization slowly sunk in.

“Oh, well good luck,” you said, giving him an apologetic smile. 

He nodded, a deep and exasperated sigh reverberating from his lungs as a pained smile crept onto his face. He ran his hands through his coco curls, giving you a thumbs up and watching you exit out the door.

You and Luigi’s relationship, or for better words connection, was strictly professional. You barely saw him outside of the days when he wasn’t assisting in Harrison’s class, and if you did happen to catch glimpses of him on campus he was always preoccupied with something else.

Strictly academic and professional.

Right?

What a lack of judgment. The red hot sin and embarrassment that would crowd Luigi’s face whenever you stood too near. He felt almost dirty in a sense; after all, it wasn’t entirely ethical to crush on your “bosses” students.

But when your eyes honed in on him like the only object in the room, picking him apart piece by piece and ripping away each thread of his clothes with your eyes, it was hard not to get a little warm on the nose. Day by day and piece by piece, he could feel himself getting sidetracked with your memory.

So when he leaned back in his chair, staring down at the papers he had only halfway penetrated with red ink and comments, he thought of you bouncing back into the room with your not-so-secret lies of confusion.

The smooth sound of pen ink gliding across paper filled the room, scribbles of minus three and half credit echoing subtly through the empty classroom. He murmured under his breath as he wrote, flipping back and forth 

between the rubric and the long pages of text as his eyes slowly began to glaze over.

There was fire burning every inch of his body; lustful and jeering in his ears as he did everything in his power to repent against the thoughts of how gorgeous you would look crying on this desk while you panted from overstimulation. The scandal…the pleasure. The taboo of the situation left him with a bitter and tangy taste on the tip of his tongue as he swallowed.

thump-thump-thump-thump

Your shoes patted the cheap carpet halls as you made your way back into the class, locking your eyes onto a hunched-over Luigi with a pen between his pointer and middle finger. Back and forth, he flicked the pen repeatedly as he took deep breaths in a last-ditch effort to self-soothe.

“Hey,” you murmured, placing your bag down next to the desk and your notebook on the opposite end of his stack of papers. “How’s grading going?”

His eyes jetted upwards, locking onto yours with a small smile. “Horrible!” He started with a contrastingly happy grin. “I’ve hated every second of it. How are you doing this afternoon?”

You stifled a chuckle, pulling your mouth down from the shameless smirk that had snuck onto your expression. Dry, dry-humored man.

“I’m doing okay! Been working on my notes. I suck at taking them, I feel like I never know what’s important to write” you mused, flipping through your notebook until the most recent lecture notes came into view.

You peered over the pages, trying to see if you could see your own answers under his inspection. Your eyes darted over the pages, snooping around names and numbers before he slowly shifted his hand to cover the scores. He let out a small huff of a chuckle, clicking his pen closed before setting the stack of papers to the side.

“Did I do okay? You’re giving me anxiety, Mangione” you joked, pulling up a chair in front of the desk.

He covered his mouth, failing to prevent a smile from creeping on his face as he giggled a little. 

Oh fuck.

“You passed, but you’re one of like…five who did by an actual hair. I actually graded yours first cuz I knew you’d be stopping by again. We can go over it now if you want! Unless you wanna do notes first?” He offered, flicking his long and skinny fingers through the many many pieces of paper until he plucked out yours.

You thought about it for a moment, thinking it over in your head. It was kind of hard to focus on anything with him sitting so close…those glossy black-framed glasses sitting just right on his face. And oh my god his slender and large hands—

“Yeah, can we go over the quiz first?” You blurted, leaning to the side of your chair to retrieve your pencil case from the front compartment of your backpack.

“Sure,” he said, placing the quiz in front of you for you to review. 

You looked it over, thanking whatever divine force had your back that day for somehow clearing a path for you to even pass this quiz. You were surprised that some of your answers were even correct, shit, you might as well have said you took the quiz with your eyes closed. That’s how gone you were.

“I’m not gonna lie…the quiz was kind of unfair,” he started, his eyebrows shooting up momentarily in amused disbelief. “I wrote maybe 50 percent of this, so I’ll help you with what I wrote, but I cannot help you on Harrison’s part. Sometimes I think we don’t even speak the same language.”

You nodded, letting out a deep sigh before flipping the packet back to the front page and handing it back to him. You knew then and there you were gonna be there for a while, even if your intentions were to just pop by and review fake notes. At least you were spending time together!

He broke everything down piece by piece, watching as you jotted notes down in your spiral notebook and wrote down little tidbits of info along the way. And when he was done, he took a sip of water, leaned forward, and gazed over what you had written in your notebook.

“Huh. Weird, I thought you said you couldn’t take notes?” He chuckled, standing up and walking around the desk to lean over your shoulder. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him; comforting and affectionate like a man raised by gentle hands.

“Two birds with one stone” he chuckled, the sound echoing in the shell of your ear as you fought the urge to squeal and panic like a child denied their lifeline of sugar. “Don’t worry, I’ll still help you go over them.”

“I feel like I did better cuz you watched me take them,” you chuckled, instantly relaxing as he made his way to the long whiteboard, popping open a red marker as he began to jot down the topic, and a few empty bullet points under. 

“So this is how I take notes…excuse my handwriting,” he said, jotting down the main point, key details, and miscellaneous info.

He was so shaky. His hands were like a humbug and his mind was taunting his sanity. Your eyes trailed after him, pausing to linger on a specific feature of his before following him again.

It drove him up a wall. He wasn’t even registering the conversation happening between you two as he gave pointers and red-ink examples.

“Oh I have another question,” you blurted, now leaning against the front of the desk to see the board a little closer. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” He answered, turning around and leaning against the whiteboard.

“What’s your type? You seem like you like smart girls.” 

He paused, putting the cap on the marker before jutting his bottom lip out slightly. He pretended to think about it, processing your bold statement. His heart thumped in his ears, loud and fervent as arteries in his muscles threatened to pop.

He made his way over to the side of the desk, placing his hands down on the oak and leaning forward. He was so close, but oh so far. The once dark and charcoal-brown eyes revealed themselves to be a deep hazel, glimmering with satisfaction and authority.

“Well, I don’t think I have a type per se,” he said, adjusting his readers with the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I just like women with goals and a strong sense of self,” he smiled.

“I have goals,” you murmured, glancing over his features with a newfound feeling of hunger. 

“Do you, now?” He mused, tilting his head to the side as he slowly rounded the corner of the desk to stand in front of you.

By now it was beginning to get dark outside. The ember-like orange glow of the various lamps around the room, and the back lights gave their best effort to keep the dimly lit room visible. His heavy hands came to rest next to each of your thighs, the palms of his hands flat on the smooth desk while he stared down at you.

“You’re…adorable” he smiled, propping you up on the desk and watching you closely.

Darkness kissed your features, the soft and lively look of your skin spurred his desire to ravage you whole like an animal. He stood between the gap in your legs, knowing that he wasn’t going to make the first move regardless. He knew he’d lose a lot of respect from Harrison if he kept going, and he knew that you had a lot to lose by sleeping with him.

Fair trade.

He would have expected you to kiss him, make a comment about his glasses, or even squeal and say you can’t do it anymore. But what he didn’t expect —

Was for you to jet your hips forward, rolling them teasingly against his half-hard bulge. His brows pinched together at the fleeting friction, tingles of pleasure shooting through him for a fraction of a second. His eyes were glued onto where you briefly connected before they shot back up to stare into yours, an even mix of disgruntled desperation.

“You…you’re very bold. Very very bold,” he chuckled, gathering your face between his thumb and the remainder of his fingers, squishing the fat of your cheeks until your teeth resisted his strength.

You smiled, a squished and crooked one as he mashed his lips against yours. A brutal, teeth-and-tongue-filled fight for dominance occurred in your mouths as spit and sin were exchanged on this very desk. Horny and rampant like untouched virgins left alone after hours.

You whined in his mouth when he pushed you back, shoving your back flat against the desk and sending papers floating to the floor with the grace of a mother swan. You had no time to adjust to the way he began to consume you, coaxing every meek and subtle sound of pleasure from your mouth as he slid his knee between your legs to nudge up against your achy cunt.

He pulled away, taking a brief intermission for some much-needed air as he slid his readers off the strong bridge of his nose. Red with fury, and pink with lust, his cheeks and nose flared in the faint orange light as he basked in the way your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

“Words, c’mon. I know you have them…” he urged, his knee growing more insistent at your crotch, plucking strings of moans and whines from your orchestral lungs.

“Please…need you so bad,” you panted, your hands coming up to your face to conceal the way your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head.

“I know you need me, that’s why you came to office hours!” He joked with a patronizing grin, his large hand linking around your wrists to pull them away from your face.

“It’s not funny, I want you inside of me!” You whined, fighting the urge to throw a fit when he gave you an imitation of a sympathetic click of his tongue and a condescending little “awww.”

He chuckled, lowering his knee back to stationary before hooking his hand into your jeans, glancing up at you for confirmation. He let out a scowl when you only nodded.

“I didn’t teach you for months for you to not use all the many words I taught you” he warned, slowly withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“No, no it’s ok! Take them off please” you said, immediately grabbing his wrist to prevent him from withdrawing his hand from you.

He nodded, undoing the button on your jeans and sliding them down to your lower thighs. He took his time fidgeting around with your puffy clit through the cotton of your panties, up and down with the pad of his thumb before experimenting with small and tight circles.

He listened to the way your moans grew in volume, ending in shrill whimpers the longer he teased the sensitive pearl. He chuckled, an amused smile spreading up to his face.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m being mean” he giggled, pulling your panties to the side and toying around with the sticky and glossy wetness that glossed your pretty folds.

His middle and ring fingers pushed into you slowly, in and out with languid and almost practiced strokes to that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Cosmos aligned, universes collided, and galaxies crumbled before you as he learned the astronomy of your body.

“So tense…you’re never gonna take me if you keep being this tight” he chuckled, picking up the pace with his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to loosen you up a little. I don’t wanna hurt my favorite student.”

You couldn’t understand why he was apologizing then. With his fingers plunging in and out of you so deliciously, the sloshy and obscene noises mingling with your moans of euphoria ushered any thoughts or coherency in one ear and out the other. There was no way you were hearing him right now, and he knew that.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his free hand seeking refuge over your hipbone. “You’re too pretty to have such an empty mind…but don’t worry I’ll teach you again.”

You tightened around his fingers, his knuckles prodding and pleasuring your gummy walls as you attempted to close your legs around his wrist, much to Luigi’s dismay.

“No, don’t do that. You wanted this. You wanted this for who knows how long, and you’re gonna take everything I give you, okay?” He said, the hand that once rested on your hip coming down to hold your knee, prying your legs open.

You whined, your vision going white with snow as your breath caught in your throat— barely hushed cries of his name rushing from your lips as you soaked his knuckles in milky white ecstasy.

“Just like that…mhm, look at me?” he purred, relishing in the dazed and confused expression that washed over your features. But he wasn’t slowing down.

His fingers were still pistoning in and out of you, and the overstimulation began to bite and nip at your sensitive and puffy cunt. It was deliciously painful, tears pricking and rolling down your cheeks as your lips parted in loud moans. You attempted to scoot back, push his hand away, anything. It just wasn’t working.

“Don’t run from it…I’m not done,” he commanded, holding under your leg to keep you tugged in place. “So pretty…” he purred, his eyes transfixed on the sight of your weeping cunt begging for more while you begged for less.

It was like he was hyperfixated on your moans. His ears pressed to hear more like you weren’t directly in front of him, listening carefully to every single sound you made.

You cried, twitched, came, and writhed as he carried on for what felt like hours. Two turned three, three turned four, and four pulled into five as you felt your eyes completely cross and roll into the back of your mind. So far into the dark depths of pleasure, you could still faintly see the ghost of a smirk on Luigi’s lips in the back of your mind.

Any form of coherency was beginning to leave you as the painful euphoria clouded your mind and squeezed the oxygen out of your body. He was everywhere, cooing and. mocking in your ear as he reduced you to your simplest form. Babbles of "I can't take it" and pained whined as he took what he wanted from you.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he purred, an unapologetic grin on his face as he coaxed you into one final orgasm. “I’m done, I’m done. I promise.”

He laughed, this one lacking his usual boyish charm and innocence. This one was mean but warm and loving, like watching a nostalgic home video. He watched you, twitchy and sensitive as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you. 

“Good girl, you did so well for me. C’mon, get up. We’re not finished with your notes. If you can show me you understand the material I’ll let you get all of me.”

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 30th 2024-January 5th 2025

Welcome to 2025 everybody!! The year of #BuddieCanon!!!

Started working on my favourite fics of 2024 rec, I'm hoping to post it in the next week! And when I'm looking back, I always end up distracted on the way, which is the reason for the ungodly amount of re-read fics in this rec 😅

Little bit unconventional but I'm gonna rec some meta! The Buddie Vers-Switch Theory: a Meta-Analysis is really interesting!

Complete

just like coming home by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (S7, First Kiss | 1,5K | Teen): Buck and Eddie go on their first date. Eddie wears the 'good cologne.' 

when the clock strikes midnight by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (Post-S8 Spec, Christmas | 4K | Teen): Future Buck looked at his watch, then at the clock on the wall, then back to him. “In about five minutes, Eddie’s gonna try to kiss you.” Buck’s heart skipped a beat, his throat drying from back to front. He wetted his lips in instinct. “What?” “And I’m gonna need you to kiss him back.” OR: on christmas night, buck is visited by what seems like the ghost of christmas future. he has a very particular request (that he cannot refuse). 

every corner of this house is haunted by justhockey (NYE, Chris comes back from Texas, Getting Together | 4K | General): And now that love is everywhere, is in everything. It’s worn so deeply into the grooves of his skin that it’s changed the very structure of his fingerprint - is burrowed so deep inside of him that it has rewritten his DNA. His love for Eddie and for Christopher is carved into his bones - etched onto his heart like an epitaph: love lived here. Love left here.

Next in line by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (Getting Together, Post-S6 | 6K | Explicit): “Hold on,” he muttered, putting his finger up and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “So you’ve been dating this man for six months, b-” Buck cut him off. “Yes.” “But,” Eddie continued, “he’s not your boyfriend?” “N-No.” Eddie’s frown deepened. He tried to keep it in; he really did. “Okay, well, does he want you or not? Because he’s holding up the fucking line!”

Let me give you my life by paleredheadinascifi (Post-S8S6: Confessions, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am. Fuck. I am freaking out,” he agrees, lifting his head to look at Buck helplessly. “You’re in my lap.” “I’m so extremely aware of that. You’re not wearing any pants,” Buck adds. A smile tugs at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “I am also very aware of that.” Or, another take on what happened after the couch scene. Eddie *wants*. They're both brave about it.

a lighthouse in the fog by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (BT Break-Up, First Kiss | 7K | Teen): The one where Buck wakes up after surgery and realizes that Tommy doesn't meet his emotional needs. The break-up doesn't go quite like he expected.

It Still Gets Cold in Texas by jukoist/ @beforejuko (Post-S8A, Eddie moves to El Paso, Outsider POV, Getting Together | 9K | Mature): Cara Alvarez of the El Paso Fire Department knows exactly two things about her new coworker Eddie Diaz. One: Diaz has a husband named 'Buck', who he left back in LA. Two: Diaz is Extremely Annoying about how much he misses his husband, the aforementioned 'Buck'. Or; Eddie moves to El Paso, and his new coworkers come to certain assumptions. Eddie... does not correct these assumptions.

🔥 If Only In My Dreams by songbvrd/ @songbvrd (Post-S8A, Eddie goes to El Paso, Christmas, Getting Together | 9K | General): Evan Buckley had never been good at knowing when to let go of things. So when Eddie Diaz told him on a chilly Friday afternoon that he had put his house on the market and started packing, Buck told himself that this time, he wasn't going to cling to someone trying to leave him behind. This time, Buck would understand what rejection looked like, and he would let someone he loved walk away with dignity. OR Eddie moves to El Paso a month before Christmas. Buck goes a little bit insane about it.

see both sides by snorlaxer (Post-S7, Mind-reading | 9K | Teen): When Buck overlooks a small injury to the head during one of his shifts, it turns out to be a very big problem once he starts hearing the internal voices of everyone he walks by, including his best friend, who seems to be undergoing a silent life-crisis. As Buck listens more and more to the thoughts that surround him, he becomes increasingly more confused with his own. OR Buck can hear other people's thoughts, and Eddie's are everything and nothing like he expected.

Wherever you find love (make it last all year) by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Canon Divergent, Christmas | 12K | Mature): Buck first met Eddie on Christmas. This is the story of seven Christmases they spend together.

🔥 i can't see you (the light is in my face) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S8A, Eddie goes to Texas, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 15K | Explicit): "Have you even tried making friends?" "God, Abuela, what am I in kindergarten again?" "No, you were much more outgoing in kindergarten. Made friends with the whole class. Teachers too. Now, your only friend is an old lady. If you're really moving here, Eddie, you need to make some friends. You can't just rely on me and Christopher to keep you company." "I know. I know. I think I'm just scared to put roots down. It doesn't feel real yet, you know? Every time I wake up, I keep waiting to see my ceiling from home, walk past Christopher's room on the way to the kitchen, find Buck in the kitchen making pancakes. I don't think I want it to feel real. Plus," he adds with a brittle grin, "the last time I made a new friend, Buck almost broken my ankle." And then slept with said friend, he thinks. "I'm not convinced he couldn't give me a bloody nose from eight-hundred miles away just by thinking real hard." (OR: eddie makes a new friend, she makes some assumptions, eddie spirals about it in his patented life-ruining way)

🔥 all the ashes I've earned by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Near Death Experiences | 22K | Teen): A horn blares. Buck looks in time to see the truck barreling right for him. Something a lot like relief washes over him. Good, he thinks. At least now he doesn’t have to watch Eddie walk away. -- OR: Spiraling about Eddie's announcement, Buck gets into a car accident and falls into another coma. This is Eddie in the aftermath.

🔥 wake up, boy, you're far from home by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S8A, Christmas, Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 23K | Explicit): Eddie is miserable in El Paso, having seemingly made things worse. Buck is miserable in Los Angeles, without him. When Buck agrees to go home to Hershey for the holidays, everything implodes.

WIP

🔥 Finding Mr Christmas by JJK/@trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Reality TV, Christmas | 9/11 | 52K | Teen): "Welcome to Finding Mr Christmas! You’re all here chasing the same dream, to star in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and over the next few weeks we’re going to be putting you through your paces to see which of you has the most star quality and that ‘it’ factor that makes you shine above the rest." 🎄🎄🎄 An AU where Buck and Eddie meet as contestants on Hallmark's Finding Mr Christmas competition (and fall for each other).

🔥 Cadence by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (Future fic, Getting Together | 1/2 | 6K | Explicit): When the credits finally finished rolling and Buck was left in the shrouded silence of Eddie’s house, he sighed. He turned his head slightly, feeling Eddie’s unbelievably soft hair brush against his cheek. Eddie’s cologne was all but gone after a day like today. Eventually, he’d need to shower and get ready for bed. Buck wanted to wait a moment; he wanted to sit in this silence a little longer.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 141/? | 454K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 10/? | 63K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

Podfic

[podfic] and we can stay all day by be_brave13/ @djemsowhat // fic by trippedandfell/ @trippedandfell (Zoologist Buck AU | 20-30min | Teen): “So let me get this straight,” Hen says, once she’s stopped laughing at him. “Your nerd crush-” “-Evan Buckley,” Eddie miserably interjects. “Your nerd crush,” Hen repeats, waggling her eyebrows. At the kitchen table beside her, Chimney is grinning like Christmas just came early. “Read your drunk tweet and then sent you animal facts via DM?” or: Buck's a zoologist. Eddie's pretty sure he's in love. (Part 1 of zoologist buck)

[Podfic] What's love got to do with it? by Pretzel26 // fic by ColorMeParanoid/ @color-me-paranoid (Platonic Boyfriends to Lovers | 1/30 | 10-20min | Mature): "Hear me out," Buck said. "Clearly, both of us are sick of dating other people. And we're a good fit, in pretty much every way that matters. So what if we're not in love? We don't need to be in love to be happy together." Eddie frowned. "So basically, we'd be boyfriends, without benefits?" "Yes!" Buck snapped his fingers. "Like platonic boyfriends! We'd get all the benefits of a relationship and none of the heartbreak." And maybe Eddie had finally lost his mind, or maybe it was from all the alcohol clouding his judgment, but the idea of it didn't sound half as crazy as it should have. *** After Buck’s and Eddie’s dates both end with disasters – proving once again that maybe dating just wasn’t meant for them – they decide to simply settle for each other. If there was one person in the world they'd ever trust with their hearts, it was each other. And who was a better person to date other than your very own best friend?

Re-read

🔥what if i can't have us by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-S7E5, Getting Together, Sexuality Crisis | 47K Explicit): In which Eddie is dating Marisol; Buck's dating Tommy, and Eddie has feelings about that, which he simply does. not. understand.

🔥 The Heart Opening Sequence by Leslie_Knope (Post-S3, Getting Together | 34K | Mature): Eddie’s handsome, that’s obvious, Buck clocked that the second he met him. Part of him still can’t really believe that the guy he was so threatened by at first ended up as his closest friend, which is why these weird twinges are so unsettling. Buck isn’t sure if they’re real, for one, these odd flashes of what it would be like to lean over and kiss Eddie while they’re watching a movie or brush a hand over his back while they’re in the kitchen. And for two, it’s so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s barely worth thinking about.

🔥 drink the river dry by Rianne/ @rianneeyre (Post Shooting, Getting Together | 32K | Explicit): It wasn’t until they were discussing his discharge paperwork and painkiller schedules that it really sunk in for Eddie that Buck would be staying with him and Christopher. That he would be around 24/7 except for his shifts at work. That he’ll sleep on the couch, where he’s been sleeping for days now to look after Christopher. The worst part is that it’s necessary—Eddie isn’t going to be able to do a damn thing for himself for the next couple of weeks. He’s lucky if he can put a shirt on by himself a month from now. Yeah, that’s going to be a problem. Or: Eddie gets shot, breaks up with his girlfriend, and pines like there’s no tomorrow.

🔥Plus or Minus by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (S5 | 10K | General): “Why are you cleaning out the kitchen? Why is my stuff in boxes?” Eddie slows, then stops. “Figured you’d want it back.” It’s quieter. Pained. When he says it. “I haven’t decided anything. So unless you’re kicking me out—” “Buck. Come on.” He’s not angry or snapping. It’s still quiet, and somehow that hurts even more. He’s resigned and defeated, and Buck is a scooped out, gutted, hollow shell. “I know how this ends the same way you do. You want to be loved, you want to be married. You’re going to leave. Might as well…” His voice cracks before he can finish and get it under control. “Shouldn’t drag it out.” ~ Taylor is offered a job across the country and asks Buck to go with her. Buck has to figure out if he wants to start over or if he has a reason to stay right where he is.

🔥 The Pain Will Leave You Once It's Done Teaching You by fruitsdoesnotknow (Canon Divergent, Daniel Lives-kinda | 40K | Mature): “Hi, I’m Buck, a firefighter with the 136,” for now, the thought crashes through Buck, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “Uh, you’re both welcome to take a tour with us, if you’d like.” Buck awkwardly scratches at his neck, running a hand through his hair, unsure what else to do, and it spurs the man in front of him to take a large step forward up to Buck’s bed. “Eddie,” he says, thrusting a hand to him, and Buck reaches over without a second thought. His whole palm feels electric, it smarts and carries the touch of Eddie, Eddie, that Buck feels it completely. He has no idea what’s happening to him. “Edmundo Diaz, but just Eddie though, uh, no one calls me Edmundo. Right. I’m a new nurse here, at Cedars-Senai. Oh –” *** When Daniel Buckley lives a little longer, Evan Buckley dies a little more. And this is how Eddie Diaz saves him, a little later on.

i find you in everything (but its here you find yourself) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Buck takes another sig of beer, "she left." "Sorry, man, I know you liked her. Guess where most people are scared of death, a death doula is scared of life." "Wow, that's actually pretty poignant," Buck says. "Didn't know you had it in you." Eddie just rolls his eyes. "Its weird, though, her being scared off by a donor baby." Eddie frowns over at him. "Chris didn't freak her out?"

and if someone asked me if I love you (I'd lie) by forgetmyname/ @kingmieczyslaw (Crack | 10K | Explicit): Eddie has a concussion. Suddenly he can't lie. It would be fine if he wasn't trying his best to not confess his undying love for Buck.

🔥 the kiss that lingers by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): 5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

🔥I'm Hearing Secret Harmonies by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Witch Eddie, Coffeshop AU | 18K | Teen): When the firefighter walks into Eddie's coffeeshop, Eddie immediately knows two things about him: he's not human, and he's the love of Eddie's life. Oh, he knows a bunch of other things too, obviously. He's about thirty, a few months younger than Eddie himself. He has a scar on his throat, like he got stabbed there, and one of his legs has some metal rods in it that must have come from a bad injury. The guy doesn't know he's not human, which is a tricky thing to figure out, but Eddie's almost positive. Most of the non-humans he knows have always known they aren't people, but there are exceptions, and they tend to carry themselves differently. The firefighter moves like he knows he doesn't belong, but not like he knows why. Like he's afraid of taking up space, afraid of being noticed. As if Eddie is even capable of not noticing him.

you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad by bellabrady (Post-S6, Getting Together | 5K | Not Rated): Or: Eddie is annoyed with Buck for being so very kissable but his drunk self isn't the best at phrasing things.

🔥 This May Be Practice, But I'm an Experienced Idiot by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Fake Dating, kinda, Getting Together | 10K | Teen): Buck overhears a conversation between Eddie, Hen, and Chim and misunderstands it all. Or, the one where Buck thinks Eddie’s only asked him on a date for practice.

[pickles4nickles]

"Gimmighoul, huh?"

[wild-at-mind]

Don't want to tone police anyone else, but I kind of hope that if anyone sent me a misguided ask trying to 'correct' some terminology I used for my own self-identity, I'd be able to reply in a way that didn't frame myself as superior for being out longer than the asker.

[anti-dazai-blog]

ngl that dazai anon™ reminds a little of myself when i was hyperfixated on a specific character and would go on to guilt trip every single fic writer who dared to kill her

but like... i was 10

Oh I relate to this so hard in the sense that dazai anon reminds me of my pre-teen self— when I was like 12 I went through a phase of hating on an actor who played a character I didn’t like (the actor did a perfectly fine job of portraying the character, my 12 year old brain just couldn’t differentiate between an actor who’s really good at playing an asshole and an Actual Real Life asshole).

Luckily I never harassed anyone over it, and once I outgrew that phase I was like “That was so stupid.”

anyway that’s why I keep saying I really hope the Dazai anon just outgrows this phase naturally. I think the fact that this is all taking place on the internet instead of in some private group chat between Dazai anon and their friends is making this so much worse, because it’s creating this cycle where they have to keep doubling down and the internet will never let them forget about this and outgrow it in a healthy way.

point is the internet is the REAL problem here.

[comatosebunny09]

inebriated | sylus

— summary: you comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. for you, he would give up this menacing life he leads if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs.  — cw: written with femme reader in mind, alcohol & drug use, mild language, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, sylus is down bad & probably ooc — notes: head empty, just vibes. i needed some domestic, self-indulgent fluff, and this is the result. thank you so much for reading. — now playing: waiting in vain - jordan ward

Sylus, but in the midst of a meeting. And it's all tense, everyone shifty-eyed and tight-lipped, trying to figure out the best way to expand Onychinus’ reach. But then, a particular ringtone breaks through the seemingly impenetrable silence that’s befallen the dimly-lit, smoke-laden room.

The gentleman beside Sylus stifles a laugh into his fist under the pretense of clearing his throat. Sylus gives him a look that bodes disaster as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Fearing for his life, the man glances away, straightening his tie.

With his cell poised in the air like a loaded gun, Sylus dares anyone else to comment on his choice of ringtone with a ticked brow and a swift survey around the room. Everyone pointedly looks elsewhere, hoping to leave with their lives intact.

Seeing as no one’s ballsy enough to contest him, the crime lord brings the phone to his ear, answering with a curt “Speak.”

“Mister Skye?”

The voice breaking through the static is most certainly not yours. And that notion has Sylus sitting up at breakneck speed, assuming the worst. That tense air from before returns, slung over everyone’s shoulders like sandbags.

An anxious chuckle erupts from the other side of the phone. “Sorry. It’s Tara. I probably should've led with that. Didn't mean to freak you out.”

The rigid set of his shoulders eases up the slightest bit. At least you’re with a friend. Still, why is she calling him from your phone?

“Sorry to bug you. But could you come get her? I think she’s had a little too much to drink. She keeps antagonizing the biggest guys here. Says she’ll sick her bad-ass mafia boyfriend on them or something.”

Sylus’ lips quirk. He pinches the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a migraine creeping in whilst a sigh pushes through his nostrils. He doesn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed.

“They’re about to kick us out of the bar. Please come.”

He can taste the exasperation in Tara’s voice, the poor girl. On cue, you chime in from the background, wailing about needing your ‘Big Daddy Caw-Cawk.’

Someone in the briefing room snorts but quickly hides it when Sylus levels a glare at them.

Relieved, Sylus straightens, rolling the tension from his shoulders. “Where are you?”

It’s laughable how quickly Tara answers, ready to pass you off like a baton. “Husk. Downtown on Main Street. I can drop a pin—”

“No need,” he interjects, well-versed in your points of interest. What? He’s just being the model boyfriend. Definitely not stalking you. “I’ll be there in ten.”

She laughs, the sound of it relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Skye. Seriously, you don’t understand—what the hell are you doing?! Get off the table!” 

Before the line cuts, furniture crashes and glass shatters.

Sylus clears his throat, adjusting his collar. Straightens the cuffs of his sleeves before abruptly standing, the jarring screech of his chair across the tiled floor making everyone in the room wince. 

He doesn’t bother with formalities, shoving his hands in his pockets, that customary bored look descending onto his face. The twins materialize at his sides without a hitch as he makes his way to the door, the atmosphere charged with unanswered questions and anxious looks.

“Mister Sylus!” one of the men calls to his retreating back. But he’s silenced by his seatmate with a hand on his shoulder and a head shake. 

“No sense in getting between that man and his girl. Last guy who did…well, you can probably guess the rest.”

With this new information hovering in the air, the gentlemen around the table exchange grumbles and stiff looks, deciding to carry on as if their leader never left.

—

Sylus has impeccable timing.

He’s tugging his motorcycle helmet off when you emerge from the bar’s double doors, arm linked with Tara’s, the straps of your heels dangling off your finger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit back at the bouncer who so graciously escorted you out. He counters you with his middle finger, muttering something about you being a bitch. 

Sylus’ jaw tenses. His skin prickles with the threat of his Evol. But he tamps down his irritation when Tara spots him. And she’s damn near sprinting, dragging you alongside her. 

“Mister Skye!” Tara beams, a nervous chuckle in her throat. He acknowledges her with a nod and a rehearsed half-smile, his gaze sliding to you. 

You stand beside Tara with crossed arms, bottom lip jutting out with a pout as you pointedly look elsewhere. You’re adorable when you know you’re in trouble, the ambient string lights strung overhead highlighting the pretty contours of your face. Glancing between you and Sylus, Tara slips behind you, practically shoving you into his arms. You stumble with a slew of curses into the hard planes of his chest. 

“She’s all yours,” says Tara, a little too ecstatic for his liking.

Gently wrapping his fingers around your arm, Sylus guides you over the curb towards his bike. Nods at Tara over his broad shoulder, and she grins, frantically waving goodbye. He stifles a chuckle when her shoulders slump, relief washing over her features. You must’ve been quite the handful throughout the night.

Wordlessly, he pulls you to a stop before his motorcycle. Turns away to fetch your helmet, expectantly holding it out for you to take. You continue this huffy game of yours, instead glaring at something behind him. Before he can speak, your eyes alight with childlike glee, and you dash past him across the street in a blur of glitter and perfume. 

With his mouth slightly ajar, Sylus watches you cross the street to a brightly colored cart. The cart's awning features a telltale hotdog logo, and he sighs, shaking his head before following after you. You’re shoving a hotdog into your mouth when he reaches you, your eyes gleaming whilst an appreciative hum eases from your throat.

“Sweetie,” he tries, something akin to affection swelling in his chest. “You’re not wearing shoes.”

You ignore him in favor of savoring your meal. Clearly inebriated if the heavy flutter of your lashes is anything to go by. Try as he might to suppress it, a smile rounds his lips, and while you eat, he takes this time to appraise you. 

Errant curls cling to your comically full cheeks. Your makeup is flattering, your lashes wispy, and your lips painted a dangerous shade of rouge. One strap of your dress falls off your shoulder, and the tight cling of your attire leaves little to the imagination. Full thighs peer from beneath a devastating hemline, legs stretching for days. His study ends at your feet, bare and probably sore from wearing heels all night.

Sylus reaches out to pat your head, eyes slit with affection. Internally, he gushes when you turn innocent eyes on him, the brooding figure you once were tucked far beneath your skin. He surmises that Tara couldn't tame you because you were hangry. You always are after a night of drinking. He steps behind you to fix your straps, fingers softly gliding over your shoulders. 

He angles himself to ear level, murmuring, “Let’s get you home,” before ushering you towards his bike with a wide, reassuring palm at your back. 

You’re more agreeable this time around, nodding and toddling in front, scarfing down the remains of your hotdog. 

—  

You cut a sleek outline amid the bustling streets of Linkon, streetlights glazing over the dark lenses of your visors. 

Your arms loosely wound about his stomach, you’re a warm pressure at Sylus’ back. And you’re giggling something cute, uttering incoherencies that make his lips quirk beneath his helmet. Whatever you drank has you feeling good, your grasp on him slackening even more as you lose yourself to the music blaring in your helmet’s speakers. 

Sylus’ hand covers yours, wordlessly encouraging you to hold fast to him. Linkon’s streets might have the speed limits that the N109 Zone lacks, but he’s still driving fast enough to lose you if he isn’t attentive.

“Sylus!” you call amid the wind sweeping your bodies.

“Sweetie?”

The mischievous giggle that follows makes something cold drop into his belly. 

“I had an edible!” And you sound so proud, like a child showing their macaroni art to their parents. 

An indignant sound is pinched from Sylus’ throat. His eyes widen the slightest. He makes a note to give Tara an earful when he next sees her, squeezing your hands over his navel whilst he cuts a turn.

—       

Your laughter ricochets off the stilled halls of your apartment complex. 

He’s got you cradled in his arms, bridal style, not at all fazed by your jostling about. With a flicker of his Evol, your front door clicks open, and he dips inside, kicking the door shut once you’re nestled in your entryway's cold, dark embrace. He entertains your nonsensical talk with an occasional hum as he toes off his red bottoms, carrying you deeper into your home.

“Shh,” you suddenly hush, shifty-eyed and stiffening in his hold. 

Sylus quirks a brow, slowing to a stop.

Your lidded gaze slides to him, and with a pretty, drunken smile, you say, “My boyfriend’ll be here any minute, Mister. If you’re trying to get freaky, we better do it before he comes.”

Rolling his eyes, Sylus continues through your apartment, effortlessly hauling you to your bathroom.

The room floods with fluorescent light, and you wince against its brilliance, tucking your face into his chest with a hiss. He chuckles something low, depositing you onto your countertop. Your arms fall listlessly from around his neck at your sides, where you try vainly to prop yourself up. It seems gravity has other plans, a blissful, blurring wave of vertigo crashing into you. You reel forward with an intoxicated laugh, but Sylus is quick, steadying you with hands wrapped around your arms. 

He studies you beneath the light. Bites back a grin at your adorable swaying, soundlessly assuring you won’t go barrelling off the counter again if he steps away. He props you against the mirror before getting to work. Snatches a towel from your rack, dampening it beneath the warm spray of your sink’s faucet. 

Delicately, Sylus blots at your forehead, soaking up the sweat and grime you’ve accumulated throughout the night. He ducks down briefly to fetch some wipes from your cabinet and steps between your legs, cleaning off your makeup with rehearsed precision.

It’s not the first time he’s done this, and he finds solace in the monotony of it all. He feels honored, being this close to you. Tilting your head back with cautious fingers encasing your jaw. He strips you down to the marrow, literally and figuratively wiping off the facade you outwardly present to the world. 

You comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. For you, he would give up this menacing life he leads. Would arrange the stars in the sky if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs. 

For now, he settles for this. And when he’s thoroughly swiped the remnants of your makeup from your face, he steps back to appraise his work. He prefers you like this, he thinks as he taps his temple. Bare-faced and unguarded, smiling without a care in the world. 

Taking up your hands, he tugs you to your feet. Moves like he’s working with porcelain, slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders. He blisters your shoulders with kisses in his fingers’ wake as he slips your dress down until it pools into a serpentine pile at your feet. 

He divests you of your bra and panties, promising to behave despite how bewitchingly your skin glows and how easily it glides beneath his roving palms. He escorts you into the shower once he finishes, where its warm spray works as a soothing balm over your strained muscles. 

When you’re clean and lavender-scented, he swaths you in a towel he’d procured from the towel warmer he bought you and guides you into your bedroom, chuckling when you stop occasionally to tempt him into a kiss. 

Helping you into a comfortable set of pajamas, he eases you into your bed, the cozy linen drawing a pleased sigh from the dredges of your chest. Your eyes dance with sleep, and he’s about to leave you before your fingers weakly wrapped around his wrist stop him.

The look you give him makes his chest squeeze, and had he been anyone but Sylus, he’d be fawning and cooing over how adorable you are. 

“Stay,” you beseech, your voice husky with exhaustion. 

He hesitates for a moment. Murders you with anticipation, though he very well intends to stay. With a smile curving his lips, Sylus peels off his shirt, clad only in his trousers, as he slips beneath the comforter behind you. You settle against him, winding his arms around your middle. And you notch your hips up against him as if you’ve always fit there like a puzzle piece. 

You wiggle your bottom mischievously, but he stills you, reasoning that he’ll never take advantage of you while you’re inebriated. With a haughty pout, you give up on your efforts to seduce him.

You’re content with him holding you like this, stroking over the skin of your wrist with his thumb as you surrender your consciousness to the pretty girls of sleep, ushered to them by his even breaths at the shell of your ear.

[sun-kissy]

Hi i was wondering if you could do a poly wolfstar fic with a fem reader where she feels left out of the relationship because they start to drifting apart which then leads to them breaking up. But then Sirius and Remus realises what they did wrong but reader just doesnt want to because shes scared they'll leave her out again.💗

hi angel! thank you for the request ♡

meant to be | poly!wolfstar

part 1 | part 2

tw: angst

poly!wolfstar x reader

You lean against the doorway, quietly observing them. Something you always seem to be doing these days. Your eyes rake over Sirius, with his legs propped up on one arm of the couch while his head lies in Remus’ lap.

Sirius laughs, and the smile Remus gives him while he strokes his hair is so full of love. It makes you wonder if Remus thought he personally strung up all the stars in the sky or something.

You try not to let it get to you but it does anyway, that same stinging sensation in your chest, as though someone had pierced your heart.

It felt silly to feel as hurt as you did. The boys were so hopelessly in love, it was endearing. They had claimed to love you the same way too just a few weeks ago. When they first proclaimed their love, it felt surreal. Perfect. But now, it felt like a chore.

Not to you, never to you. Loving them would never feel like a chore to you, you were sure of that. But what if they felt that way? What if you were just an experiment gone wrong?

Maybe you were just overthinking the whole thing. Or maybe this relationship was a mistake.

Sirius and Remus perfectly complemented each other already, it was like Remus was a container and Sirius was water. And you were the lid that just never fit right. Remus was calm, peaceful, loving. Sirius was fun, snarky, and full of affection.

What were you? Just a random girl who had the fortune of stumbling across the lovely couple.

They hadn’t done anything in particular to upset you, they never would. But it was the way they instinctively walked closer together, their fingers interlaced. The way they glanced at each other, having silent conversations you would never understand. How they seemed to know everything about the other, from every inch of his skin to every thought in his head.

It was like they could see colours you couldn’t see, speak a language you didn’t understand.

You told yourself it was fine, they had just known each other longer. They stayed in the same dorm room and took the same classes, of course they were bound to be closer.

But wasn’t that exactly the problem? Their lives were inexplicably intertwined, and it felt like you were trying to wedge yourself in. It left you feeling like the side character in your own story.

You heard your name and snapped out of your daze, blinking as you find Sirius grinning stupidly at you from where he lazed on the sofa. His expression softens when your eyes meet his. “Love, come over here! We’ve been looking for you all day.”

That was a lie, your brain screamed at you. You spotted them chatting in lessons, eating together at the Great Hall, taking a walk in the garden. They were not looking for you, it was a lie.

Remus smiles softly, beckoning you over. You will yourself to move, to go sit with your boyfriends, but it’s like your legs have turned to stone.

You silently stand there, watching them. You try to muster a smile or open your mouth to say something. But nothing comes out except for a quiet wrangled sort of noise.

Remus looks at you strangely. Sirius frowns, his eyebrows creasing. He pushes his palms down on the couch, elbows buckling as he sits up a bit. “Y/N, baby? Why don’t you come on over?”

You watch Remus gently move his fingers to Sirius’ forehead to smoothen the lines between his eyebrows, and him turning around to give the sandy-haired boy a lovesick smile. That simple action causes the last ounce of willpower in you to break.

You clench your fists to stop your hands from trembling as you suck in a deep breath, feeling the ache in your chest start to grow. Was it jealousy? Anger? Hurt?

Sirius seemed ready to move to your side right that moment, looking utterly confused as to what was wrong. But Remus kept his hand wrapped around Sirius’ bicep, a silent order to let you be.

“Angel,” Remus breathes quietly. You visibly flinch at the term of endearment, not missing the flash of hurt across his face which he quickly replaced with his usual stoicism.

Your heart was thudding so loudly you wondered if the boys could hear it. You swallow the lump in your throat, stuck between wanting to burn the bridges between you or to walk across them.

“I…” your voice comes out scratchy as you try to explain yourself. You clear your throat, watching Sirius’s frown deepen and Remus bite his lip anxiously.

“I don’t think I want to,” you say quietly, feeling your heart sink to your stomach. You knew Remus would understand, always the perceptive one. It was obvious in the way his eyes widened and his grip on Sirius loosened.

But Sirius just tilts his head, looking at you quizzically. “Okay…? You can sit on the other couch then. You can sit anywhere you want to, love.”

You wince, glancing at Remus for help. But he’s looking at you with that sad look on his face now, the one he only wears when he sees Sirius crying after receiving a letter from home, or when you show up at Hogwarts after the holidays with bruises all over. Did it really hurt him that much?

A sigh escapes you as you decide to try to be gentle with it. That’s the least you could do, after the boys had so generously let you in on their already perfect relationship. You suck in a shaky breath, mustering the courage to croak out the words.

“It’s not about the couch, Siri. I… I mean this,” you mutter, gesturing between the three of you. Immediately, your head ducks down, scared of what you’ll find if you look back up at them.

An uncomfortable silence is cast over the room, the kind that makes your skin crawl. A beat of quietness passes before you find the strength to raise your head, peeking at the boys. Sirius looks cracked open, his face a picture of anguish.

“What?” he rasps out. Remus’ features are tight with something that looks like grief, his hand ghosting over Sirius’ ankle to provide the little comfort he can.

The croakiness of his voice makes your heart feel like it’s being cleaved in two. But you knew you had to do this. For your sake, and for theirs.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you mumble in a rush, eager to get it out and not have to endure watching them in pain for too long. Sirius stays silent, his lips pursed so tight you think he might burst into tears.

“Why?” Remus asks quietly, gaze still trained onto yours as he rubs circles onto Sirius’ ankle comfortingly. “I… I don’t fit in. You guys are perfect for each other. But I just don’t fit in,” you admit, feeling guilt clawing at you. “This just isn’t working,”

“We’ll make it work,” Sirius says immediately, and the sincerity in his voice almost makes you want to concede. But you know that’s not possible. “Just… just tell us what we’re doing wrong, we’ll fix it. I swear.”

Remus nods slowly, looking at you expectantly. The hope on their faces make you feel like the worst person in the world as you give them all you have to offer - a small shake of your head.

“But love,” Sirius murmurs, his voice cracking. “Why… what… where did we mess up?”

“It wasn’t you guys,” you say immediately, even though it was. You just can’t bear to see the pain etched on the black-haired boy’s face. “It’s just not meant to be. We’re better off as friends.”

“But we love you,” Remus speaks up quietly. Sirius nods earnestly.

“I can’t,” you say, relieved that your voice comes out evenly. It’s a miracle with how hard you’re fighting to hold back tears. “I can’t do this. The both of you are always together, and I'm not blaming you for it. It’s in your nature to be together-”

“It’s in your nature to be with us too, dove,” Sirius says, the anguish in his voice leaving to make way for pure sadness.

“It’s not,” your voice coming out as a pathetic sob. “I’m not like you guys. I’m not fun, I don’t take the same classes, I don’t ever get what you mean. We’re just not right for each other.”

You think you can see something break in Remus when you utter that last sentence. Sirius bites down on his quivering lip and wraps his arms around himself, as though physically restraining himself from pulling you into a hug.

This isn’t the first time they’ve ignored what you said, isn’t the first time they didn’t respond. It happened on a daily basis, for Merlin’s sake. But this is the only time it hurt as much as it did right now.

You glance at them one last time, heart breaking at their pained expressions. But none of them say a word as you turn around and leave the room, letting you go all too easily.

Perhaps you were just not meant to be.

[anantaru]

ONE KISS IS ALL IT TAKES ... OR MORE? — SCARAMOUCHE

your boyfriend scaramouche can be so grumpy sometimes, but you know of a couple ways that will make him show his soft side, wc. 1.3k

・✶ ｡ warnings — heavily making out & tit play, fem! reader, fluff, established relationship, grumpy scaramouche

it's not difficult for you to discern whenever your boyfriend scaramouche was grumpy after a long day and you could already hear it from afar, not needing to see him— the familiar sounds of grumbling and frustrated sighs flowing from his lips to your ears even before you entered your shared apartment.

to be clear, you really don't mind your boyfriend being in one of his moods again, it was quite normal to you and in all honesty, there was nothing more inside of you than a burning impulse of wanting to help him as good as you could.

you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what might've been the reason this particular night.

right as you walked into your bedroom, you found him lividly pacing back and forth, his brows furrowed and his lips set in a tight line of frustration, agitated to the point where he didn't even acknowledge your presence, too wrapped up in whatever was bothering him.

"hey, are you okay?" you ask him gently, stepping a bit closer before setting your jacket on the bed, not taking your gaze off him.

"hah, what? oh, yeah, totally fine, totally okay," he mutters back, awkwardly glancing at you before resuming his pacing, giving you a cold shoulder— and ah, he did this often, for scaramouche it was difficult to actually open up but also, the last thing he wanted was to somewhat drag you down with him.

"those people in the akademiya just, they're, ugh, aggravating, you know? they don't under- understand me, they don't listen, they don't leave me alone,"

"they also can't stop staring and muttering their little mouths to death."

you listen patiently, nodding contently as he vented out his frustrations while ever so often attempting to stop himself by biting into his lower lip— and well, scaramouche had a big tendency to get grumpy pretty easily, and it often took him a while to wind down but talking to you helped, even if it takes him a little to actually do it.

not to mention that you knew the secret to calming him down, always, achieving great relaxation in softening the expression on his face.

you take his hand, guiding him to the edge of the bed as he flinches he moment you touched him, "come over there," you motion towards the bed as he nods, pulling him down to sit beside you, "relax, okay? you're home now."

"i can't relax right now," he barks back, furrowing his brows although he can never resist your welcoming, more so warm embrace as you tugged him closer to your chest, "how can people be so stupid there? aren't they supposed to be geniuses or something?"

you couldn't suppress a laugh, chuckling as you tenderly run a hand through his tousled hair, "maybe you're just too smart, ever thought about that?" you add and listen to him as he exhales shakily through his mouth.

but the man grumbles and you could swear you saw a smile, a slight pucker of his lips when you called him smart, seeing it as a small victory in itself before you shift closer, your arms wrapped around his neck.

he reacts to your touch immediately, his body tense against yours as you just hugged him for a while, holding him gently and waiting until you felt him start to relax.

"breathe and— and just feel me, okay?" you utter.

he sighs but you know whenever he sighs just like that, when the tension in his soul and body eases a bit more, "you're too good to me, keeping up with this," he frowns, his voice losing some of it's earlier sharp edge as it attains a pillowy note.

"ah, i know," you tease, "—don't have to tell me that all the time," as you playfully roll your eyes, kissing his cheek, "kidding, i love all sides of you."

"feeling better already?" you ask him, "now that i'm here?" your voice barely above a whisper.

"maybe, only a little though," you're helping and he knows it, he's both in love and scared by how well you already knew him by now.

his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes, "there's something that would make me feel better, great even,"

a curious expression dances over your cheekbones, a playful smile tugging at your precious lips, "oh, really now? what are you thinking about?"

and instead of answering you with words, he captures your lips in a kiss that was a cross between a need and a fleeting frustration, an eager want that quickly deepened the kiss between you. you tug at his hair, pushing him into your lips as he kissed you like a man starved of love and lust, his tongue moving over yours in a hunger well beyond desperation.

the intensity multiplied in seconds, in every touch and every swipe of tongue— scaramouche was eager, he made sure to kiss you even harder as his hands roamed freely over your chest, leaving you short of breath.

never in a million years was his touch not possessive, not almost desperate to the point where you immediately needed more— although it was easy to discern that there was an underlying reason as to why scaramouche kissed you that way, it's as if he was afraid you might slip away if he didn't hold you tight enough.

you broke the kiss only long enough to gasp for air, looking into his doughy eyes as your heart knocks and knocks against your chest, his facial expression drowsy and clouded, his lips swollen and glistening, "scara," you whine, your thighs pressing together.

"hmm?" he just hums an answer, not giving you a chance to say more before capturing your lips yet again, another kiss that was even more fervent than the last one he has given you.

he helps you get onto his lap before one hand slipped under your shirt to play with your tits, instantly targeting your erected nipples with a playful pinch and tug.

you shiver and moan his name, your body responding to his touch with a need that barely matched his own.

he shifts the both of you before pressing you into the bed, his body on top of yours and his lips searching for your neck as it elicits a hefty gasp from your throat.

scaramouche laughs with a deep groan as he continues to pinch your nipples and squeeze your pretty tits, his bangs sticking against his forehead and only showing the pace he was going for.

"scara, please— please," you whine, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you arch into his touch.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire, "please what, hmm?" he asks teasingly, like he doesn't know what he's doing to you— as if he's not fully aware on how to get you to this point.

his voice was now, consisting of a low growl that sent shivers down your spine before he grabs at his clothed cock to show you what you're doing to him, stroking the obvious bulge in his pants and hissing as he grinds his cock into his palm.

"please don't stop," you whisper and cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you before your voice trembles in need, "i need you, it feels so good,"

ah, what was the reason he was grumpy about again? because archons— scaramouche swears he forgot, he can forget just about anything when he hears you say that you need him.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[moonlight-prose]

dust to dust

a/n: i chose to combine two prompts from the logan promptober hosted by the lovely @silverskyeline. only because old and belt buckle just blended so well for me and the idea i had in my head. i know i've basically written a different version of this in my fic slow, but i've made this one a whole lot filthier. solely cause this is literally my dream scenario with this man.

logan promptober: day fifteen + day seventeen - belt buckle + old

summary: when the days are long and he's grown weary of everything, he knows he can find his peace in your body. that is until he brings a whole new understanding to the belt buckle that sits proudly on his waist.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, fluff, exhausted logan, dirty talk, dry humping, he's so filthy in this one, overstimulation, domesticity.

The temperature of his body was the first thing you sought out. His scuffed boots that had seen better days were discarded by the door—his flannel on a hook beside the heavy leather jacket. You heard him by the shuffle of his feet, the tinkling echo of keys hitting the glass bowl in the kitchen. A creak of the couch filtering through the bedroom door—his raspy groan followed right behind it.

There wasn't much that could pull you out of a book when you were settled in a comfy spot, but the sound of Logan coming home still grasped all of your attention. He called to you silently, his presence strong enough to fill the house with a staggering amount of warmth. As if this place, these walls, wouldn't be the same without him.

"Baby?"

He grunted, rubbing his thumb between his scarred knuckles. "'M here."

"Long day?"

The audible huff gave you enough of an answer to make your way over to him. The dark lines beneath his eyes did little to prevent your stomach from twisting in empathy. He worked too hard. Broke himself right down to the bone and yet refused to let you help when it really mattered. You were his pretty girl, the soft swell of love he came home to every night.

To mar your skin with exhaustion was something he refused to accept.

You simply longed to help him. Bear the brunt of his anguish with him, your hand tightly gripped in his. The walls he built were too high—a mountain that only seemed to grow with each new precipice of emotion he came across—but you were resistant. You would climb until your hands were bloody and raw; you'd dig your heels in and refuse to let go.

His face dug into your stomach, hands curling low around your waist.

Silence became the embodiment of your conversations when he fell into his own mind. You tangled your fingers in his hair, thumbs curving along the base of his neck. The drop in his shoulders as tension released made you smile—the flutter of your heart dropping to your stomach within seconds.

He didn't even have to look at you, yet he had you in the palm of his hand—wrapped tightly around his pinky finger where you belonged.

"What can I do?" you hummed, tugging at a particular chunk of hair that always followed with a raspy groan.

The calloused brush of his palm dragged down your hips, grasping the flesh of your ass to drag you even closer. His face now pressed an inch above your crotch - the sweatpants you wore doing nothing to hide the fact that you were completely bare beneath them. The slight hitch in his back told you he knew. By your scent alone; the slick forming between your legs was sweet in the air, begging for his tongue to bury into you.

"Lemme see her," he grunted, inhaling sharply against your hip. "She's callin' to me princess."

A rush of air escaped your lungs. "But don't you want–"

"To see what I waited all day for." His head rose, eyes peeking at you through drooped lids—a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

"You should rest."

"You callin' me old?"

Your hands froze on the back of his neck. "No. You just–"

Fingers curled into the waistband of your sweats, dipping down beneath the fabric to slide along your hip. What little breath you had left caught in your throat—the flutter in your stomach dropping to press right up against your clit. He caught onto the minimal reaction instantly. His hand moving to cup your drooling pussy.

"Nothing underneath," he muttered, wetting his bottom lip. "This all for your old man?"

"Logan," you sighed.

"You like that huh?" Pushing further, his chest stuttered at the hot pool of wetness that greeted him—your body practically purring with such a simple touch. "Knownin' you're fuckin' an old man. Makes you wet doesn't it?"

"Oh fuck–"

"There you go." A huff of laughter escaped his mouth at the way your eyes slid shut. "Dust to dust. One foot in the grave and you still want me to ruin ya."

Unable to even comprehend what he was muttering, you nodded aimlessly.

A harsh tug dropped your sweatpants to the ground, your legs clambering out of them in clumsy quick steps. You felt uncoordinated—untethered. And Logan drank it down like the greatest whiskey known to man. He pulled you close, helping you straddle his lap, to grab a glance down at your sticky folds glistening in the low light of the lamp to his right.

You spread your legs wide unconsciously, the need to please him choking your insides until you held no other option but to relent. Yet you did so willingly and without hesitation. The smile on his face became your sole reason for why you breathed—why you lived.

All for him.

"I bet you missed me." You nodded frantically, canting your hips up into his touch. Only to realize...he wasn't talking to you. He wasn't even looking at you.

His attention lay solely in your fluttering hole creaming for the heavy cock that grew hard between his legs. Starvation bled into his features—darkening his eyes as they dragged down the length of your body. He wanted to eat you, dine on the flesh of his lover with a smile, anticipating more than just your shouts of pleasure.

Oftentimes it scared him how much he longed for the touch of your skin, the warmth that seeped from your softness. He craved you, desired to know each intimate part that lay between the crevices of your bones. The gaps in your ribs encased around the heart that beat solely for him.

"Touch me," you sucked in a breath, chest heaving beneath your tank top.

He barely spared you a glance, his thumb stroking the edge of your cunt. "That's not what she wants."

"W-What–"

The lift was nearly effortless, barely forcing a soft grunt past his lips as he pulled you directly over his cock. The very bulge you were eyeing the second you saw him. He didn't bother to unbutton his jeans or give into the throbbing ache that grew unfathomably quick. You clambered to hold onto his shoulders—mouth searching for his in the hopes of gaining something in return.

"I want to kiss you." A whine spilled free, hips shifting in his tight hold.

"Hang on princess."

"What are you–" The slow drag of your hips along his cleared the words from your mind—a stuttered cry replacing any other sound that might have come to the surface.

Cold and hard was all you could comprehend as he pushed your body back to repeat the same move. His lips plastered with a knowing smile as your eyes rolled back—a low throaty moan ripping from your throat. The belt buckle sat directly beneath you. Covering the button of his jeans. You'd maneuvered your way around it before, barely giving any detail to what it looked like.

Now you felt every minute carving drag along your pulsing clit, stimulating you in a way that shoved you towards a blinding release. Logan's hands became pliant on your hips, giving you the freedom to move as you wished. You thanked him with a kiss.

"Feels good doesn't it?" His tongue slid into your mouth, swallowing down the choked sound that rushed to the surface. "Gettin' off on your old man's belt buckle."

"F-Fuck. It feels—oh god–"

"That's it. Keep goin' honey." Cupping your chin, he pressed his forehead to yours, the hot brush of his breath hitting your lips with each word. "Soak it for me, yeah? And I'll wear it to work tomorrow."

A soft pleading cry was all he got in return, your hips jerking frantically over his lap—a wave of slick coating the tarnished metal. And he laughed. Chuckled softly into a spit soaked kiss that left your mind reeling, lips chasing his for just a bit more.

"I'll drive around with it." His words burned your skin, seeping right down to the erratically beating heart that struggled to keep up. "I'll lick it fuckin' clean while I get off to the thought of ya princess. Me sitting alone in that fuckin' limo. Stroking my cock to your pretty face."

The image flashed neon in your mind and that was all you needed to fling yourself off that cliff. With trembling thighs you pressed your clit down hard onto the metal surface, coming undone with a broken shout muffled against his cheek. He talked you through it, mumbling small praises of good girl, did such a good job for me, makin' me feel good. into your skin punctuated by the brush of his lips.

"Feel good?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, sagging into his chest with a sated grin. He grinded his hip up into you, pain sparking up your body and forcing you away from him. "Sensitive."

His hand brushed down your back, slipping beneath your top to knead at your waist—a soothing rhythm pressed into your skin. A sigh escaped his lips as he settled deeper into the couch, clutching you closer than before. You knew where this would lead. How you'd wake up with him atop you on the couch, restricting you from movement.

That alone kept you from moving.

"Good day now baby?" Your words were whispered against his neck, your lips trailing down to his chest.

A small grin pulled at his lips - his thumb working a circle into your lower back. "Yeah honey. It's a good day now."

[thewriterg]

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰

pairing(s); simon riley x fem!reader, reader x toxic family

summary; You tried to keep it together to keep him away from it to not get attached but it only take one situation for you to come crumbling down reaching out to simon for comfort —angstober day;14—

word count; 900+

warning(s); age gap, sweetheart is her/your own warning, thinking college student reader so like early twenties and simon is about mid to late forties, arguments, crying, angst, kisses, pet names, mention of violence, simon abt to risk it all, and language

playlist; nothings new by rio romeo

A/n:—GIFs; @astrolux111 & @silenthqll— GIF does not determine race

Simon was up it didn’t take much to wake him and when he heard the footsteps approaching his flat front door he was up the handgun from his scratched wooden nightstand that he’d bought off some older man who he was sure had passed to the unknown by now

The rough knocks on his door frame were demanding and rushed as if the person behind the wood was on time crunch he approached the door the firearm clutched in his hand his finger taking no time to rest on the trigger his hand was on the nob before he swung the door open his eyebrows furrowing not expecting to see what was in his line of sight

Your eyes were red and puffy tear streaks stringing your face your hair out of place as well as your shifted clothes Simon swiftly setting down his defense on standing table next to his door grabbing your arm to bring you into the shelter of his home he checks over your body to find nothing alarming but the soaking wet clothes clinging to your body

“S-simon” Is all you can get out as your body racked with sobs you shoulders hunched and he wraps an arm around you littered with tattoos your face hidden in his chest covered by the cotton tshirt that was a little small on him your cold wet clothes transferring onto his as shushes you slowly moving you into his bedroom sitting you on his mattress slipping your drenched shirt over your head as you sniffle your head throbbing from the continuous tears and energy spent you didn’t realize you were dressed in dry attire until you were getting picked up and suddenly the weighed down fabric wasn’t overwhelming you anymore your legs wraps around the blondes torso lying your head on his shoulder you body still shivering as you felt yourself dip onto his worn mattress rubbing his hands down your goosebump covered arms

“Come on love what’s the matter with my sweet girl, hmm? Tell Si what’s the matter” Something triggers in you causing more streams of tears to fall down your face and you try to speak choking out incoherent words and sniffles simon rubs a hand over your hair pressing a kiss your forehead his brain screaming at him to to go punch the nearest punk out on the street because there has to be something, something major to keep you acting this way

“I don’t want you to leave me” You body wracks you chest feels like it’s gonna cave any minute you feel like your airway you’ll be cut off and your sound will be free from your body

“Sweetheart it’s gonna take more than a few tears to get rid of me, matter of fact you won’t be able to you understand?” You nod your head before your spewing everything weighing your chest down to the floor about you family and how they make you feel more down then you’d ever been without meaning to the situation I particular causing your weaker construction to tip over and collapse your siblings couldn’t keep their hands out of your things and this time it had did it you’d been saving for a new laptop for class it cost more than you liked to admit and your sister god you loved her but she was at the age where she couldn’t keep her hands off of thing your things to be exact and long story short your laptop was broken in your sisters hands you berated her scolded her it was the least you could do for the trouble she caused you

When your parents arrived home you expected them to finish the job rip your sister a new one she ran into your father arms rambling of how mean and what a monster you are and even after you told your parents about what she had done she’s barely get a slap on the wrist you were older you shouldn’t yell at the younger ones defending your honor and standing your ground got you yelled at a stinging mark on your cheek

“My h-head hurts” You whimpered after a moment of silence and it was true you didn’t know how long you’ve been crying for and your head felt like it was going to explode Simon sets you down on the mattress briefly your head still spinning and pounding in your ears he leaves and returns again two pain killers that look like a spec of nothing in his palm he sets and on your cheek gently prying your jaw open setting the drugs on your tongue before you swallow the he praises you for it and your realize how much of a all time low you are

“Come on sweetheart no more tears you know it’ll make it worse” This time you’re not sobbing from the pain your chest but rather the pain your head hiccups slipping from your lips falling apart in his grasp and he held you like he always will and as he always had

He’d glue all your broke pieces back together

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

NEW; sweetheart and simon headcanons

[theapangea]

Bruised

Characters: Lip Gallagher x reader, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, V

Summary/ Request: How do you think lip would react if fwb that they've known each other forever ends up coming to the house in the middle of the night in the middle of winter with sleep shorts and a tank top with socks, covered in bruises

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Parent abuse, physically abuse

A/N: PROTECTIVE LIP AHHHHH!!!! I just love him and know he'd protect reader at ALL COST! All mistakes are mine as I am sometimes too lazy to proof read but I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think!! <3

You are in a daze.

Your frail body shakes as the sudden flashbacks of yelling and pushing and crying continue to play in your head. Trying to understand, to comprehend what in the hell just happened. Thinking a million thoughts yet completely nothing at all. Your head aches, the shooting pressure builds, beating against your skull. 

The snow crunches under your steps, soaking through your socks as you stumble to keep yourself up right. The icy wind causes you to tremble more than the horrors of the night. Barely able to keep your eyes open wide enough to see where you are going. 

Having no particular destination in mind but here you are standing outside Lip Gallagher’s house, knocking on the door in the middle of the night, begging to be let in. 

Lip has been the person you’ve leaned on for almost every bullshit thing that has happened in your life, understanding each other on a deeper level. It was only recently that your relationship with Lip became sexual but your connection was much more than that. And unfortunately neither of you have the guts to make it anything more than just friends who sleep together.

Your knocking rapidly increases, quickly becoming impatient until you hear the lock on the other side click and the porch light turn on. Coming face to face with his older sister Fiona who’s look of annoyance quickly washes over with concern, brows furrowing, mouth open in shock as she stares at your fragile body, wearing only a cotton tank top, small boxer shorts and socks shielding you from the cold. Your exposed skin is covered in purple bruises, deepening in color with every second that you tremble in front of her. 

Immediately snatching one of the jackets off the hook behind her and wrapping it around your shoulders as she pulls you inside. Goosebumps lining your skin as the warm, inside air circles around you. The pain is no longer from the cold but from the aching bruises. 

And while your world has been turned upside down, a happy boy on the next street over is fighting a huge grin as he walks back home.

The extra skip in Lip’s step was from the wonderful night he just spent with Karen, mainly the sex part. Their relationship has become more positive and Lip hopes that they are finally going to make it more official, like boyfriend/ girlfriend official, no one else on the side.

But...becoming official with Karen means that he will no longer get to see you...at all. Karen is hugely jealous of your relationship with Lip. The inside jokes, the constant hanging out, the connection that she sees that you two are obviously oblivious to. And the only way that she agreed to making things official with Lip is that he will have to cut off all ties with you.

Lip is feeling torn, picking between you and Karen should be so easy for him but these past couple of months, especially when you add sex into the equation, makes him question everything. He lets out one more deep breath, the fog floating in front of him as he knows that tomorrow he will finally have to tell you that you can’t be friends anymore. Knowing that the outcome is going to be disastrous.

Skipping every other skip as he jogs up the stairs of the back porch, a curious thought enters his mind as he notices all the lights shining into the darkness of the night and the door unlocked as he jiggles the handle. Walking into the warm kitchen, unwrapping his scarf and shrugging off his jacket, dismissing the items onto the table until some unknown later time.

The commotion from the front end of the house travels around his body as he stumbles to kick off his boots, catching himself on the wall by the stairs to stop himself from falling over. Peaking around the corner, trying to understand the roaring chaos that fills that Gallagher house tonight. 

Ian comes down the stairs, his hand placed on his forehand and the other holds a phone tightly to his ear. Practically arguing with the person on the other line, speaking some details about a house over on Gilmore Street.

Gilmore Street…that’s where you live. 

Lip’s interest suddenly peaked, his face asking a plain question towards his younger brother…what the hell is going on here?

But Ian waves him off, continuing on his story on how the police need to check on the house now and how something really fucked up happened. 

Lip stands there dumbfounded, trying to figure out this super confusing situation that he just walked into. His attention floats elsewhere as the two women in the next room talking abruptly loud. If he didn't know Fiona and V personally, then he would think hat they are arguing. Walking closer to the dining room but not actually in the room itself, Lip watches their interaction. 

Their movements are elaborate and complex. Fiona runs fingers through her hair, tossing it to one side, passing the hard floor beneath her. The conversation between them is making no sense to Lip, something about having to wait until tomorrow and trying to solve some problem. 

Lip stands still, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together from the small details that he has been given. But how could he, when it feels like everyone is talking in code. Like it's some top secret event that he can't know anything about.

Feeling something graze his side, bringing him back to reality to see Debbie walk between the two women towards the living room. In her hands a mug with steam coming from it. Walking quickly to the couch where she hands the mug to a girl. Lip following Debbie's same movements to get a better look at who's in his house. Eyes wide when it see that it's you...

A confused look freezes on his face as he studies your body. Your shaky hands reach out towards the mug as the warm contains seeping through the glass cup through your body. Your eyes fixated in front of you, as if the small girl standing in front of you isn’t actually there. Your chest heaving rapidly, breathing heavily through your nose. Knees bruised, shaking together. 

It is as if the dam that keeps the water of emotions behind a strong wall suddenly shatters. The instant fire spreads through Lip’s body as he sees your weak state. The walls of decorum crumble as his hands turn into fist and his jaw locks. The blood making his face bright red, moving quickly to your side, his knees hitting into the wooden floors hard as he practically pushes Debbie out of the way so he is kneeling in front of you.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Lip voice breaks through the chaos of the house as he holds onto your shoulders, shaking slightly but your gaze would shift to meet his, “What happened, tell me!” He whines, the pain mixed with anger driving his actions.

“Don’t yell at her dummy.” Fiona shouts as she comes over, grabbing Lip off the floor so they are face to face.

“What the fuck is going on?” The spit spewing from his mouth, his hand signaling towards you and why you are bruised and bleeding and hurt. Why you? Why you?

“We don’t know. Your little girlfriend just showed up here like 10 minutes ago.” V crosses her arms behind Fiona. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lip quickly remarks, the comment would have stung you more if you can actually concentrate but tonight is not the night for you to be dwelling over how Lip Gallagher feels about you. 

Your soft voice speaks his name.

Lip coming to you again, “Hey,” Lip’s kind eyes are on you, his touch now gentle as his heart aches. 

Eyes shaking as they meet him, glossing over as a tear slips down your cheek. But you struggle to get any words out.

“Just tell me what happened?” His hand on your cheek, wiping away the tears, “Please tell me.”

Gulping hard, your trembling body making the liquid in your mug move, hesitating as you say, “My dad."

“He got out?” 

“From where?” Debbie asks.

Lip groans, hate having to explain further, “Prison. Shut up.” Debbie rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed.

“Th-this morning.” The words feel like cotton balls in your mouth.

“He did this to you?” Standing up immediately, “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker. Get the bat Ian.” He points towards his brother who instantly follows his orders.

The tears start flowing now, the snob leaking from your nose. Your body collapsing as the abuse of the night finally settles in causing you lose yourself.

“Lip.” Deb pulls Lip's attention back to you.

“She needs you right now buddy. You can beat the son-of-a-bitch up tomorrow.” Fiona patting his back before leaving the room.

And he knew Fiona was right. He didn't need to be this guy who beat the shit out of some low-life, that isn't going to make him a hero to you. Lip needs to be here for you now, comfort you, take care of you. Be the man that you need.

He realized why you came over to his house, looking for him at your darkest moment. Understanding that you and him can spend hours together without saying a word. Be closer, more intimate then sex with Karen will ever be. It was always going to be you, he was always going to pick you.

Wrapping his arms around you as you sob deeper against his chest, shushing as he rocks you, "I've got you." Kissing the top of your head. The instantly relief coating your body.

~~~

Let me know what you think!! thank you for reading. I LOVE YOU!!!

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Fifteen

— Little Big Aftermath [aka the end]

Series Masterlist

wc: 3k

we’ve made it to the end guys! I just have to say I never thought I’d complete this story and that too fifteen parts of it but to all those who read it and motivated me to keep writing, thank you. While it is the end of the official story, I will continue to take requests for blurbs on specific scenes you’d like to see. However, there won’t be a set posting date on these blurbs, it’ll be out whenever it’s requested and completed. Once again, thank you so much for those who were here since the first chapter, and here’s to more fic series in the future. P.S lemme know if you want to be tagged in the blurbs.

Your frown grew deeper as you turned in the direction your daughter had pointed, unfortunately spotting Tyler. Luckily, he wasn't looking at you two since he was focusing on the podium celebrations about to happen.

"I didn't know daddy was here, mama." Picking Isabella up, you shook your head, "I didn't know either, angel, but let's focus on Max for now okay?"

She gave a nod of agreement and applauded for the drivers, Oscar and Lando in particular, who finished second and third in the race. She did, however, cheer the loudest when Max, as he has done after almost every race this season, stepped onto the top step of the podium.

He was having trouble finding you and Isabella right away in the crowd, and you could see the slightest frown forming on his face until a smile emerged when he succeeded, connecting his gaze with yours.

Isabella giggled as Max held his hand up to wave at her before blowing a kiss in the air in your direction. His behaviour drew Lando and Oscar's attention to you as well, with the former driver rolling his eyes at Max jokingly and Oscar smiling at the interaction.

However, you didn't realize that someone else was also looking at you because your gaze didn't waver away from Max.

The champagne bottles were popped, and this time Isabella was awake to see it all, watching with fascination as it was the first time she was able to see it in person. "I wanna do that, mama," she pointed at the drivers spraying the alcoholic drink, soaking each other's race suits while laughing. "Maybe when you're older, Bella."

"When I'm 7?" She asked, and you chuckled, "a little more than that, sweetheart."

Once the celebrations were over, a huge part of the crowd dispersed, the teams resuming to their usual scheduled routines, preparing for post-race debriefs and other meetings. "Where's Maxy going?" Isabella asked, watching as he was led away by someone clad in a RedBull uniform.

"He's a little busy with interviews, but he told me that he'd come back as soon as he's done," you explained, knowing that Max had a post-race conference and a few other duties lined up.

Isabella huffed, "but he won the race." She rested her head on your shoulder for a moment while playing with a strand of your hair—the habit formed back when she was a few months old.

"Yeah he did, which means he's very famous right now and so many people want to talk to him," you explained and while she nodded in understanding, she still pouted, "I wanna talk to him too."

"Why don't we wait for him inside his driver's room?" You asked, turning around when she nodded.

You had almost reached Max's driver room—a place he had suggested for you and Isabella to stay to wait for him, but pausing in a secluded area as a familiar voice called out, "Isabella!" then heard your name as well. Isabella squirmed in your lap, wanting to get down after seeing Tyler walk up to you both. You sighed, knowing that you'd have to stop and chat.

"Tyler," you greeted, and awkwardness hung in the air for two seconds before Isabella decided to speak up. "Daddy, you said you were busy, what are you doing here?"

Despite her hesitance to stay at her father's place, which she still hasn't done since the day she was discharged from the hospital, she frequently spoke to him over the phone.

Unfortunately for him, Isabella rarely forgets promises. While he was busy playing the "good father" role after your ultimatum, he had make false promises, agreeing to everything she asked for without hearing her out properly. In that conversation, she asked about the promise he made of taking her to a race before she had met Max.

While you and Max had taken her once, she still wanted to experience the thrill with her father since he was the one who introduced the sport to her.

He glanced at you, silently asking if he did in fact claim that he was busy, and frowned when you nodded. "Oh Bella, sweetheart, I didn't know that I would have the time to be here, it was an unexpected decision or else I would've brought you along, but you're here anyways!" He tried to uplift her mood, but instead of hanging on to every word he spoke like she used to do, she just shrugged.

Deciding to divert the topic of conversation, Tyler asked, "did you enjoy the race?" He stepped forward, kneeling down to be closer to her but on instinct, Isabella moved away, clutching on to your hand tightly.

He frowned, once again glancing up at you after noticing her behaviour, but you didn't let an ounce of emotion show on your face. "I'm so happy Maxy won!" She exclaimed, her mood improving for a moment as she thought about him.

Standing up to his full height, Tyler looked at you, "why don't we sit and chat for a moment?" Pressing your lips together in a tight smile, you replied, "I don't think that's a good idea."

He scoffed, then shrugged, "fine, have it your way like always." You were not in the mood to indulge his stupid comments which would eventually lead to an argument, in fact you were here to enjoy the weekend with your boyfriend who you dearly missed in this moment.

His eyes widened briefly when you didn't respond to his comment, wondering how you changed so much in a matter of a few weeks that you couldn't care less about him anymore.

"Hey Bella, why don't you show daddy the caps that you got?" You prompted another topic, that Isabella quickly agreed to. Tyler's gaze remained on you for a moment, understanding that you truly had no intention on speaking to him longer than necessary. The conversations you did have were only necessary due to your daughter, but even those texts and calls started becoming less and less frequent.

Isabella took off her Red Bull cap, which had autographs from Max and Checo, to expose a Ferrari cap with two more signatures from Charles and Carlos, and then a McLaren cap that undoubtedly featured two signatures from Oscar and Lando. She caught up to Lando and Charles, who had given her their hats earlier, as well as their teammates, to obtain signatures. She then wanted to get autographs on her RedBull cap as well. When she asked Max and Checo, they chuckled with the latter claiming she had them all at her beck and call, but they nevertheless signed the cap.

Isabella ended up stacking all three caps on her head because she couldn't choose which one best matched with her outfit. She began explaining the story behind the signatures, and Tyler intently listened, asking a few questions in between as well.

"And then-" Isabella's gaze wandered off, eyes lighting up in excitement as she spotted, "-Maxy!"

Without any hesitation she ran up to him, colliding with him as she tried to wrap her arms around him, earning a low, "oof" from him.

Picking her up and settling her on his hip, holding her up with one arm, he held up his other hand that had a medal hanging from it. Max placed the medal around Isabella's neck, which he received on the podium earlier along with his trophy. "We won, princess," he commented, smiling as wide as she did.

She held both of her hands up, imitating the action Max did as he held his trophy on the podium, causing him to laugh. You watched the interaction with a smile on your face, and could hear their laughter from a few feet away.

Walking towards you as Max was initially planned on doing, he noticed a man next to you, which based on your descriptions was Tyler. He decided to overlook him for now, instead greeting you with a kiss to your cheek.

Tyler held his hand out, "great race, congratulations on the championship. I'm a huge fan by the way." Max, nodded politely, still holding Isabella in his arms but shaking his hand nonetheless. "Thank you," he prompted, waiting for the man to introduce himself to confirm his suspicions.

"Oh, so you're Tyler." Max glanced at you for a moment, watching as you tried to hide your smile behind your hands because of his antics. "Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" He questioned, and Max was quick to retort, "well, it's not really the best thing now is it?"

"I don't understand," he trailed off, and your boyfriend shrugged, "I figured you wouldn't understand, it's okay," he patted Tyler's shoulder in faux consolation. You had to take a step back so Tyler wouldn't see your expression, placing a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.

Tyler was quick to catch on to the condescending tone Max spoke with, looking at you—after you composed yourself fortunately. "So what, you get invited to one race and you guys are best friends now?" He asked, a hint of jealousy you were familiar with revealed in his tone.

"More like she's my girlfriend and they're here to support me," Max clarified. Tyler looked at Max, then Isabella, finally understanding why she was always so enamoured by him.

He scoffed, "oh great, enjoy my sloppy seconds then mate, I will warn you though, it's not worth it because a few months later she'll show you a positive pregnancy test and force you to be a father."

Your jaw dropped, instantly responding, "in front of my daughter?" You glanced at Isabella who was in fact hearing all the words spoken, only frowning due to yours and Max's expressions as she didn't understand the full context of the words her father had said, just knowing that it wasn't good.

Max wiped his hand over his mouth, jaw clenching while his warm gaze turned cold within seconds. "Apologize, now," he instructed, trying to hold himself back from causing a fight.

"Now why would I do that? It's true." Max placed Isabella back on her feet who quickly shuffled over to you, standing behind your legs. "How dare you stand here claiming to be my fan yet talk shit about the person I love?" The driver placed his hand on Tyler's shoulder again, but this time you could see the fear bubbling up in his eyes as his grip tightened.

Still, Tyler managed to scoff, "love? Bold claims there. Sorry to break it to you but she's probably just with you for your mon-" he couldn't finish his sentence because he was punched square in the jaw by your boyfriend.

"Max!" You shrieked, and watching the interaction, Isabella held on to your hands tightly with tears welling up in her eyes. You picked her up again, noticing that Tyler was fuming in anger. "Gonna fucking sue you for that," he spit out some blood, but Max only shrugged, "try me."

Fortunately, you guys were stood in between the team motorhomes, which meant you were slightly hidden away from public eye due to the buildings covering the scene.

Readying himself for another punch if needed, you shook your head, "it's not worth it, Max."

"Yeah Max, listen to your girlfriend," he taunted, angering you in the process. "Will you ever shut up?" You shot back. Max glanced at Isabella who had hid her face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you. Although he couldn't see her face, he guessed that her eyes were tightly shut.

Nodding as a silent agreement with Max, you decided to walk away from the scene as you didn't want to expose Isabella to any more of this argument than what she has already heard. Glancing at Max once more, you hoped that your expression was indicating something along the lines of, "don't do anything too bad."

However, you could hear Max's words as he began speaking to Tyler, "listen here you little shit..." but you didn't stick around to hear the entire conversation, smiling to yourself knowing that Tyler would finally be put into his place—that too by his favourite driver.

Finally entering his driver's room, you sat down on the couch sighing in relief. Isabella was still in your lap and you ran your hand up and down her back in a soothing motion because you could feel her sniffling against you. "Bella," you murmured, wanting to see her adorable face.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, sweetheart." You kissed her head before brushing your hand through her hair. You heard her mumble but didn't catch her words, "what was that?"

She lifted her head to look at you, and you frowned seeing the tears staining her cheeks. "Why is daddy so mean? I don't like him."

"Some people are just mean for no reason, and unfortunately, your daddy is one of them," you explained, no longer covering for him knowing that after what Isabella witnessed, she wouldn't want to be near him no matter what you said.

She frowned but didn't respond, leaning her head against your shoulder again. You didn't disturb her peace, knowing that after the eventful day, she needed some quiet time.

Max entered the room a few minutes later, and he smiled to greet you but it fell flat. He pointed at Isabella, then put his thumbs up to silently ask if she was okay, but you shrugged.

"What did you say to him?" You asked, knowing that whatever conversation followed probably wasn't kind. "I told him that I'd ban him from future races if I saw him anywhere near you or Bella, and he left."

You knew that it probably wasn't that easily done, but you didn't ask for more details.

You had thought Isabella fell asleep since she hadn't moved in a while, nor could you see her face, but she lifted her head up to look at Max once she heard some shuffling about in the room.

He paused as soon as his gaze connected with hers, unsure of how to initiate a conversation because he did literally punch her father. Isabella wiggled off your lap, and both you and Max thought that she would walk away further into the room so her next action surprised you both. Running towards Max, she held her arms out, engulfing him in a hug.

"You're better than my dad, Maxy," she muttered, and he audibly sighed, the stress wrinkles on his face disappearing while wrapping his own arms around her smaller frame.

"Thank you, princess," he whispered back, and she pulled back to kiss his cheek. Isabella looked back at you, smiling when she saw you smile as well. "Thank you for taking care of my mama," your daughter told Max, and his heart warmed at her words. "Always."

The ring of your phone interrupted the beautiful sight in front of you, but your eyes widened when you saw that it was your mother calling. As soon as you pick it up, you're greeted by hearing your full name.

"Hi, mum," you stood up and walked further away just in case you were about to get a scolding although you had no idea what you could've possibly done. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.

"Tell you what?" You answered with a question of your own, knowing that she could be referring to anything at the moment. "That you have a boyfriend."

Your mouth dropped open, "how do you know that?" She chuckled, "because a friend of mine called me and told me that she just watched you kiss someone on live television, some racer guy."

Covering your mouth with your hand, you thought back to the moment Max kissed you in front of the huge crowd after getting out of his car, and of course there had to be cameras capturing the moment. "Max, he's a Formula 1 driver," you explained.

"Wait, the same Max that Bella talks about?" You hummed, "the same one."

"I'm glad you finally moved on from your daughter's father, but I'm also sad that you didn't tell me sooner and I looked foolish because I didn't know until my friend told me about it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think my relationship would be broadcasted live. Plus, I think the chapter with Tyler is finally over, for both me and Isabella."

"That's good to hear, she doesn't deserve a father like him. Is Max good to you?"

"He's the best to both of us, she lights up with joy every time she sees him." Your mother hummed as she heard your response, "then me and your father have to meet him one day."

You heard some laughter in the next room where Max and Isabella were, and you smiled at your mother's words, "I hope we can come by soon, I'd love to introduce him to you and dad."

After saying goodbyes and promises to meet soon, you returned to the room Max and Isabella were in, pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of you. Just like how Isabella was sitting in your lap earlier with her head against your shoulder, she did the same to Max.

You were about to make your presence known when you heard your daughter's question. "Maxy, why do you call me princess?"

Max's gaze found yours, always finding you whether you were standing in the corner of the room or in a crowd. "Because your mama is the queen," he responded casually, as if he was stating a fact.

Isabella lifted her head, "does that make you the king?" He shrugged, "I guess it does."

She giggled, "and does that mean we get a happily ever after like the storybooks?" Max reached his hand out towards you, asking you to join them which you obliged to easily.

"Ours is better than the storybooks," he stated, placing a kiss on Isabella's forehead before pecking your lips briefly.

The End.

Taglist: @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @wonnou @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo @samantha-chicago

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Magic Systems

Magic - change wrought through unnatural means

Most fantasy can be placed along a spectrum where there are 3 main points: soft magic at one end, hard magic at the other, and a middle ground between the two.

Soft Magic

Magic that is not well-defined for the reader.

Generally, we don’t understand where the magic comes from, who can use it, or what its limitations are.

Readers can see this type of magic being used.

But they can never anticipate when magic will be used in the plot because they can’t begin to guess how it works.

You can’t break a rule if the rules don’t exist!

Most stories that feature this system will have the magic users be secondary characters, allowing them to avoid explaining exactly how the magic works.

It’s also argued that without knowing everything about the magic, it tends to hold more wonder and excitement for readers.

Hard Magic

Has very rigid boundaries.

Readers know where the magic comes from, how it’s used, who uses it, and what its boundaries and limitations are.

We know the limitations of the characters and can understand why they can’t simply magic themselves out of any particular challenge.

Stories with hard magic systems do not need to avoid the main character being a magic-wielder, as they have the capacity to explain to the reader what is going on.

A lot of writers this system because it gives them very explicit guidelines to follow in their plot and creates some more satisfying pay-offs for readers.

The Middle Ground

The meeting point between the soft and hard systems.

We might understand a bit about the way the magic works, but not all our questions are answered.

While most of the content adheres to rules, these rules aren’t fully explored.

This system relies on the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

The main character can be a magic-wielder or not, and it’s up to the writer to determine when magic will be used in terms of plot.

How to Choose a System

You can and should use these guiding principles to build your magic system. Remember that you don’t have to choose one or the other. Your system can draw from aspects of both. Just stay aware of the weaknesses of the path you choose, and ensure you utilize its strengths.

Use a hard magic system if:

You are going to use magic to solve problems

Your audience is accustomed to the tropes of hard magic

You are okay with jumping through hoops to expand your system

Your magic doesn’t convey a theme

Use a soft magic system if:

You want to convey a theme through magic

You want to create a sense of wonder

You want the ability to expand easily

You want to be accessible to a broader audience

Your magic won’t regularly be used to solve problems

Branches of Magic

Like most writing processes, there isn’t really a correct place to begin designing a magic system. A common, and efficient, place to start, however, is by choosing what type of magic system(s) you wish to employ, such as:

Nature-based magic: water, earth, fire, air, and everything in between

Divination magic: see beyond sight and peer through time and space

Conjuring magic: move objects through space over any distance

Psychic magic: master the world of the mind

Life and death magic: tap into the very forces of life, death, and un-death with this surprisingly versatile collection

Animal- or creature-exclusive magic: some creatures just do it better

Magitech systems: the blurring lines of sorcery and science give magic a next-gen, high-tech flair

Eclectic magic: it doesn’t have to be “real” magic to have a real effect

Uncommon magic systems: the unsung heroes of fantasy magic

AALC Method

How to create your own magic system using the AALC (Appearance, Abilities, Limits & Cost) Method

Appearance

What the magic looks like

Makes the world feel more exotic

Can cause problems for characters but cannot solve them

Usually tied to a character arc

Abilities

What the magic does

Points calculated based on magical effect, range, number of people affected, and duration

Characters have a finite amount of fuel (mana) to use abilities

More powerful abilities require more fuel

The fuel does not have to be overt for the audience to understand

If points not overt, cannot solve conflicts unless a cost system is added

Limits

Unlimited uses of magical abilities

Abilities stratified in codified levels defined by their limits

The more the levels' abilities and limits are known by the audience, the more they can be used to solve conflicts

Focused on clever uses of abilities against stronger foes

Cost system can be added to enhance dramatic moments

Cost

Costs must be greater than or equal to abilities to make them dramatically satisfying

Costs can include time, exhaustion, materials, sanity, morality, etc.

Adds dilemma to magic by forcing characters to make choices

The greater the character's sacrifice, the more audience satisfaction at conflict resolution

Each system builds on the previous ones, so that Cost Systems use all four, while Point Systems only care about Abilities and Appearance.

Multiple systems can exist within the same story, and systems can harden over the course of the story.

The Force, for instance, has been a Soft, Point, Level, and Cost System depending on who wrote it at the time.

SOFT SYSTEMS (Appearance Only)

Window Dressing - magic for secondary characters; can instigate conflict but cannot solve it; e.g., Gandalf

Soft Villain - No explanation or upper limits needed; makes villains more powerful to make heroes greater underdogs; e.g., The Emperor

Chosen One - Unknown power keeps hero safe throughout story; can be considered plot armor unless earned through character arc

Sort Hero Incomplete - Curse or positive ability the character cannot control; hero still learning limits of ability at story's end; powers and arc continued in next adventure

Soft Hero Complete - Hero embraces ability to complete arc and solve main conflict; magic must become harder in subsequent adventures

POINT SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities)

Points Opaque - Non-explicit reservoir of energy fuels powers; cannot solve main problems without cost option because characters finding hidden energy reserve feels like deus ex machina

Points Hard - Both abiliites and points system must be explicit like in video games; becomes about resource management; easy to understand but takes sense of wonder out of magic

LEVEL SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits)

Soft Level Static - Unchanging power without upper limits; cannot solve conflicts because feels repetitive; power must be used cleverly; e.g., Wolverine's healing factor

Soft Level Advancing - Increased powers or new powers with unknown limits; cannot solve conflicts unless tied to a character arc like Soft Hero Complete, at which point "unlocks" new abilities

Hard Level Static - Unchanging abilities with clear-cut limits; can solve conflicts so long as setup is properly seeded, usually resulting in sacrifice; e.g., Genie

Hard Level Advancing - Well-established abilities with limits; can solve conflicts based upon clever uses of abilities, usually against stronger foes; e.g., Airbender

COST SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits + Cost)

Static Cost - Well-established cost remains consistent for each use of ability; can solve conflicts since based on personal sacrifice

Cost Fluctuating - Costs change based upon dramatic need; costs must be greater than or equal to ability; possible costs include lost time, money, sanity, health, memory, life, morality, etc.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ Writing Notes & References Writing Notes: Magic System ⚜ Fictional Items; Poisons ⚜ Fantasy

[seresinhangmanjake]

Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime. 

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home. 

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention. 

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

“He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric. 

“But why?” he asks. 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring. 

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler. 

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside. 

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough. 

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been. 

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. 

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”

[getosbigballsack]

Random thought! - Husband Gojo x Wife Reader-chan #inside the diary

Hear me out! Gojo read your thoughts in your diary and came to realize that he was a terrible husband to you.

He knew he was a good lay, hence the reason he managed to knock you up three times. But as of lately, he came to realize that you weren't interested in having sex with him.

At first, he thought it was just because you were too tired, having to take care of the kids while he works, all day by yourself (in which he understands, and he praises you for being such a wonderful mother).

But that wasn't the case. He just happened to come home early from work while you were out shopping with the kids, and he got a hold of your diary.

Interestingly, he took it upon himself to skim through the pages of your book, just to see what's inside your little head. Nothing out of the ordinary, just little notes and reminders to yourself about the task you had to complete and a few words of encouragement here and there.

He usually doesn't read through your thoughts, always thinking that if you had an issue you'd come and talk to him, so he was about to put your diary back where he found it because he didn't want to pry further into your thoughts, but that's until one page in particular caught his eye.

I find it difficult to enjoy sex with my husband nowadays and I don't know why?

Words in blue handwriting are written beautifully on the paper. He kept on reading, and as he continued to move further down the line, he felt his heart break.

It’s just me, but I don't think I'm attractive enough to have sex with my husband.

I wanted to suggest the last time we had sex [that was a month ago], but I didn't wanna ruin the moment for him because he looked like he was having fun.

Satoru came home today and wanted to have sex. I told him no. He never forced himself on me. He only kissed me goodnight and left to go sleep in the guest room. I know he was upset but did he really have to leave?

It's been 2 months, and Satoru hasn't tried touching me since that night. Am I not worthy of loving anymore? He doesn't even buy me flowers anymore or take me out on dates.

He doesn't compliment me anymore, doesn't tell me that I'm beautiful. He doesn’t even call me baby girl, doll or even honey.

No more I love you, only kisses to the forehead and peck on the lips before he leaves for work in the morning.

He comes home late, I'm always alone with the kids, no more family dinners, no more kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom conversations. No more late-night kisses, no more holding me tightly in his arms while he sleeps.

Does he not want me anymore?

Sometimes I wanna visit his office with the children but I’m afraid that he’ll find my presence a bit annoying. I feel lonely without him here with me.

I should've said yes that night and spread my legs for him,

That's my duty as his wife.

To have fulfilled all my husband's needs without complaint.

But it hurts to have sex, I'm just not in the mood. I'm too tired, I just need my husband to hold me, but he's not there.

I can't complain, he's the reason I don't have to work.

But is it so bad to ask my husband to love me without having the need to touch me?

The last entry to your diary reads.

I'm going to do it today, bare the pain and have sex with my husband, just so that I can feel his love once again. 

Now he knows the real reason you won’t have intercourse with him, or let's say the reason you don’t enjoy having sex with him. You feel as though he doesn’t love you anymore, and he needs to fix that. So, until he can figure out a way to prove to you just how much he loves you, he’ll have to deprive himself of your warm loving touch. 

Later in the day when you came home with the kids, you saw your husband cooking up a storm in the kitchen. “Hey baby girl, want something to eat? It’s been a while hasn’t it.” too stunned to even say a word, you just watched as your kids, ages 3, 4 and 6 ran over to their dad and engulfed him in a big hug. He giggled and stopped whatever he was doing to bend to his children’s height and kissed every single of them on their cheeks. “Hey boys. Did you all take your mom out shopping today?” Oh, that’s right you’re a boy mom. You managed to pop three boys, all of them came out looking just like their dad, especially your eldest son. 

The boys chatted away with their dad until he excused himself and walked over to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. You're in a state of shock, unable to move for a moment until he whispers, “can I get a hug back?” and you did give him a hug. 

“Welcome home, have a seat, dinner’s almost ready. I cooked vegetable curry today, I know it’s your favourite,” and indeed it is your favourite. For the rest of the day, he spent time in the kitchen cooking while chatting with his kids, not without taking small glances at you. You all ate dinner together, got the kids ready for bed when night falls, before preparing for bed yourselves. 

You remembered that you wrote in your diary that you were about to try and have sex with your husband, all for the sake of feeling his love again, but that didn’t happen. Instead, you found your husband already waiting for you on the bed, fully dressed in pjs, a cup of your favourite tea in his hand and a warm loving smile on his face. 

He immediately started up a conversation with you, asking you about your day and your trip to the shopping centre. You had no clue what was going on inside your husband’s head, but it’s been a while since he last sat down and had small conversations like these, and you weren’t about to miss this opportunity. 

So with a smile on your face, you told everything that happened today and even the fact that you had to buy a bag of grapes you had no intentions of buying, but you did so because your 3 year old son stole and ate a few while you picked up a bag of oranges. The conversation went all a while until he sighed. 

“Y/N,” he whispered in a serious tone. “We need to talk. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t bear the fact that my wife would be going to bed with doubts about our relationship and my love for you.”

You swallow thickly and rest your now empty cup against the nightstand before turning to face your husband fully. He reached his hand out for you, and you gently placed your left hand in his. He wrapped his large hand around your finger and gently pulled you until you were straddling his lips. You swallowed that thick lump yet again, before whispering, “So what is it that we need to talk about.”

“Why do you always refuse to communicate your feelings with me?” he asked as he let go of your hand and wrapped both hands around your waist and rested his head up against your chest. “I know I haven’t been a good husband to you these past few months, but I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you or that you’re not worthy of loving.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

He sighed heavily before taking a deep breath. “I found your diary in the living room when I got home, and I read through your notes.” Your body tensed up in his lap, your mind immediately racing towards negative thoughts. Is he angry? Why did you have to carelessly leave your diary out in the open for him to see. 

“Oh!”

“I’m sorry for reading through your diary, but I’m happy that I did because my wife won’t communicate with me,” he said with a frustrated sigh. 

You frowned, “Would you have listened even if I tried?”

“I would’ve dropped everything and listened to whatever it is that you have to say. I know it's my duty to ensure that my wife is living her best happy life, and that it’s also my responsibility to take care of your wellbeing, but I can’t always know what's going on with you if you don’t communicate with me.” 

Communication on your end has always been a big issue in your relationship with your husband. It bothered him and he’d hope that after a while you would’ve grown out of your bad habit, but he guess he’s wrong, because here you are now after 8 years of being a relationship total and that includes the four years of marriage, and 3 kids later, you still struggling to figure out a way to communicate your feelings with him. 

“I broke my heart when I read that you thought that as my wife, your duty is to only provide for me sexually or even the fact that you don’t think that you’re attractive enough to have sex with me. What hurts me the most is that you have so many doubts about my love for you. Y/N you know that I love you right?”

“I do,” your voice trembled slightly as you answered. 

“Then why are you doubting my feelings for you? I apologise for leaving you to sleep in the guest room that night, it was wrong of me to be upset all because you told me no.” There was a moment of silence, you figured he was waiting for a response in which you never gave.

“I know I don’t say this as much as I need to, but I love you. I LOVE YOU so very much. I love you as my best friend, my wife and I love you even more as the mother of my children.” Tears started to obstruct your vision as you stared off at your wedding portrait that was above your bed and listened as your husband poured his hurt out to you. 

“I need you to stop thinking that you are not worthy of loving because you are more than worthy. You’re an amazing woman, an amazing wife, and an amazing mother to our children. Just the fact that you're a mother makes you worthy of loving.” 

“Satoru… I- I,” you stuttered, trying to formulate the words inside your mouth, but even if you did, what are you going to say to your husband? You had not one clue. 

“I’m not a mind reader Y/N, so you need to start communicating your feelings with me, because if you don’t tell me, I’m not going to always know,” he said to you as he snuggled his head against your chest. 

“I- I’ll do better.” 

“I’m happy to hear that, and I promise to show you just how much I love you and do whatever it is to ensure that my wife is happy, because your happiness means the most to me. I’ll get you those flowers you want, and I’ll try my best to buy you loads of flowers in the future. And about visiting my office.”

“Yes?” you said. 

“I would love for you to pop up at my office one day with the kids and surprise me. My workers have been dying to meet my beautiful wife and children. And about the late-night work meetings. I can’t promise you that there won’t be any more late-night meetings, but I'll do my best to get home as early as I can to be with you and the kids. I don’t want you to feel as though I’ve abandoned you with the kids. I’ll take a few days off from work too and take the ends out. You’re right we barely have family time.”

“Thank you,” you said smiling as you allowed those tears to run down your cheeks. 

“I’ll do better as your husband. It wasn't my intention to not cuddle and hold you tightly while we sleep. Baby you know you can always smack me in the head or do that cute silly little thing you do and crawl underneath my arms if you want to cuddle with me,” he said to you, and you let out a small giggle. 

He chuckled too as he removed one hand from around your waist to cradle your cheek. “Lastly, this is about our sex life. If I make you feel physical pain, or uncomfortable at any time during intercourse you need to let me know because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. In your diary you said that you wanted to suggest the last time we had sex. I want you to tell me what it is.”

Your face heated up immediately, why would he have to bring that up now. Couldn’t he have waited until a better time. But nonetheless despite the obvious look of embarrassment on your face you whispered, “I was wondering if… if…”

“Yes?” 

“I was wondering if we could try something outside the usual vanilla sex,” you said to him, and he cocked his eyebrow towards you. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy vanilla sex, I love having vanilla sex with you and you know how to be rough when you need to be. But I thought it would be nice if we could do something different.” 

“What do you suggest?” he asked with a sunning grin on his face. 

“Maybe we could try using some sex toys.” 

“Sex toys heh?” he said, and you quickly covered up your face with your hands. “I’m open, I don’t mind getting a few sex toys here and there for us to use. I can order us a few online on another day.”

“Ok…”

“Good girl. I love you.” he whispered as he kissed your lips. "I promise I'll be a better husband for you."

“I love you too, Satoru.”