#writers please don’t fumble

[futuremrscameron]

i know it’s about to be prolonged eye contact that says a thousand words before it’s broken up by the other pogues. their scenes gonna be charged with tension, they hate each other but they’re all they’ve got (+ wheezie obviously) they need to stick together but their betrayals are too fresh

the normal amount of fear to have in your eyes when you actually genuinely want to shoot someone in the head

[werewolf-apologist]

ppl who complain that muto hates finn or that the show loses focus on finn bc it also includes side character episodes……..are u ok

[sandu-zidian]

Personally I think TBOY/SNGX would’ve been better overall if it stuck to what endeared people at the beginning: funny, lighthearted martial arts journey, rather than the sudden turn into politics that way too easily shows the writer’s love of NIF (which tbf is valid! But it’s not what the writers are good at writing)

If you wanted to keep some element of politics i would keep it peripheral to the actual journey through the jianghu. Make it about these characters wanting to establish themselves as martial heroes and fighting to learn and make a name for themselves, with certain challenges cropping up because of Xiao Se’s imperial background. We don’t need (nor want) to see these characters in the midst of a political battle

[little-diable]

Bad Omen - Tyler Owens (smut)

This was somewhat requested by a lovely anon reader, so I tried to incorporate it as much as I could. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Reader and Tyler have hated one another with a burning passion for years, but when they get stuck in his dying truck with a tornado nearing both seem to realise that their reasons for hating the other aren’t as valid as they thought they were.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), reader gets slightly hurt, enemies to lovers, some angst

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (2.8k words)

“Tell me this is a fucking joke, Owens!” Sweat was pooling on her forehead, adding to the clammy feeling she hadn’t been able to shake for the past minutes. Curses rolled off his tongue, words she couldn’t spare any attention to as her surroundings began to close in on her. “Tyler!”

Her panicked voice managed to rip him out of his own state, fully focused on getting his truck to start again. Both had been stuck there for a good ten minutes, being shaken from one side to the other as his truck died in the middle of a field. They were surrounded by nothing but a wooden barn the nearing tornado would rip apart any minute now. 

“Would you shut up for a second, (y/n)! I’m trying to save our fucking lives here.” She had known that driving with Tyler had been a mistake, a mistake she had made only for her friends to get some bonding time with Boone and Lily. A mistake she was now paying the price for while being stuck in his truck without a way to reach their friends. “Fuck, of course this only happens when you’re around.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not some bad fucking omen.” A groan ripped through Tyler at her spiteful words, a sound that was swallowed by the cries of the nearing tornado. Both were staring at it, heavily swallowing as it dawned on them that they had no place to hide, unable to find shelter in the truck that would normally be secured to the ground. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, (y/n)!” Anger dripped from his words as Tyler kept fumbling around. He was too distracted to pick up on the tears welling up in her eyes, too distracted to fully notice the panic she was swallowed by. Fears buzzed through her mind, fears that grew louder with every passing second. 

“Fuck, I don’t want to die with you by my side, that’s the worst scenario ever.” Her words drew a laugh from Tyler who stared at her for a second or two. The whole thing seemed surreal, not once had his truck died on him before, not once had he worried about his safety while he was driving it straight into a tornado, all until today. 

“Trust me, darling, you’re also not my first choice to spend the last minutes of my life with.” The truck was rattling from the heavy winds, shaking them while (y/n)’s hands darted out to stabilize herself. Another shake followed seconds later, too powerful to catch herself before her temple connected with the metallic outline of the window, forcing a pained groan out of (y/n). 

“Shit, are you alright?” Her reply was swallowed by the sound of Tyler’s truck roaring to life, drawing relieved sighs from both while he managed to secure the truck. Her shaking hand found her temple, unable to bite down a hiss as blood coated her fingers. She felt his eyes on her, quietly watching (y/n) before he reached for her chin, tilting her head in his direction. 

“Does it hurt?” She barely understood the question, drowned out by the sounds of the tornado which was about to swallow the truck. (Y/n) tried to ignore the concern dripping from his words, concern that also swam in the bright pupils wandering over her features. 

“Of course it hurts, you dipshit!” Tyler let go of her instantly as if her skin was suddenly burning him. His jaw muscles ticked in anger, eyes focused ahead while darkness momentarily swallowed them. (Y/n) reached for her backpack to press a tissue against her wound, hissing once again as the thin fabric made contact with her skin. 

“What did I ever do to you for you to be such a bitch whenever I’m around?” Tyler’s words drew her glassy eyes back to his angry features, breath getting stuck in her throat as her eyes found his. (Y/n) had to look away after a few seconds, trying to ground herself before finding her voice again, solemnly focused on Tyler and not on the tornado both had been chasing for most parts of their morning. 

“How can you even ask me that? Did all the chasing shake your memory? You fucked me over the first times we met, Owens. You left us behind while we counted on your help.” Her voice was cold, fuelled by the anger thumping through her veins like a drug poisoning her system. Everything in her screamed at (y/n) to chase the distance, to move away from Tyler as quickly as possible. She had been too close for too long already, needing to get away from the man who made her feel all kinds of things she couldn’t put a name on. 

“I fucked you over? You stole my data, all that work was lost because of you, of course I didn’t trust you no more!” Tyler’s voice boomed through the truck, almost as loud as the tornado had been. Her mind was racing, knowing that she hadn’t stolen anything from him which left her wondering what he was talking about. 

“I didn’t steal shit from you, why should I? We work on different areas, Owens. Your data wouldn’t help me.” No longer was she close to screaming, no longer was her voice guided by anger and hate as it slowly began to settle in that both had been stuck in heavy miscommunication for a while now. 

“But only your group was around that week, and Michael.” A “Fuck” left Tyler seconds after he had ended his sentence, wondering how he could have been that stupid. Of course, it had been the sketchy guy he had been forced to work with on the project, a guy who had bailed on Tyler at the first given chance, blaming (y/n) and her team for their mishaps. 

“Seems like you need to work on your people skills, Owens.” Chuckles broke out of (y/n) as she shook her head at him, followed by a groan as her headache settled in. 

“Let’s get you to a hospital, and then we’ve got some talking to do.“ 

…… 

“Who would have thought that a massive band aid would look that good on you.” Tyler shot her his signature smirk while she found her way back to him. She was a bit uneasy on her trembling feet, too shaken by the last hour and the emotional whirlwind both had been caught in, from thinking they were about to die to realising that they got to live another day where their enemy slowly turned into somebody else. 

“Shut it, Owens.” She rolled her eyes at him, brushing past Tyler but being unable to escape him due to the fingers that found her belt loops, pulling her back in. (Y/n) collided with his broad chest, having to place her hands against his shirt before she could lose her balance. 

“How about a thank you, huh?” He was walking a fine line, risking another spiral of anger she’d instantly pull him into, but the smile tugging on her lips told a completely different story. (Y/n) stared up at him for a second or two before one of her hands wandered up his neck, pulling him down to her to brush her lips against his ear.

“For a thank you you will have to work harder than that.” And with a soft chuckle clawing through (y/n), she pushed Tyler away to make it out of the hospital. He stared at her for a second or two before snapping out of his trance, unable to bite down his grin while jogging after her. 

His hand clamped down on her wrist, once again forcing her to a halt before she could open the passenger door of his truck. (Y/n) found herself getting lost in his bright eyes, not used to the sudden warmth his touch now pushed through her instead of the anger she no longer felt. Both moved at the same time, getting lost in one another’s embrace while he dipped his head down.

But before he could kiss her, Tyler angled his head to the side, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth, “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling, and I ain’t one for losing.”

……

“C’mon, don’t fall asleep on me, darling.” Tyler was sitting on her motel bed, pressed against (y/n). They had shared dinner a while ago, finding shelter in the dark room while she tried to stay awake, all because of her doctor’s orders. 

“Well then do something to entertain me, the movie sucks.” Her chuckles rang in his ears, sounds that made his heart beat faster as he gazed down at her while her eyes found his. Tyler pondered over his choices for a second or two before he tilted his head down and kissed her, softly pressing his lips against (y/n)’s.

It took her a second to give in to the touch, allowing her hand to find the back of his neck to pull Tyler further down towards her. Their lips kept meeting, sharing desperate kisses that were fuelled by the emotions both were still a stranger to after deeply hating the other for the past years. A hate that had always been accompanied by a form of lust and longing for the other, longings they had never dared to even think about for longer than a handful of seconds.

Tyler shuffled around to hover over her, keeping her trapped between him and the bed while her hands moved from his neck to his shirt, slowly popping open the first few buttons. Her fingernails scratched at his skin as she tried to push the fabric down his broad shoulders, leaving him to groan at the feeling of her skin pressed against his.

For a second, he interrupted the kiss, chasing the distance to rid himself of his shirt. (Y/n) had seized the moment to reach for his belt, unbuckling it with a kind of urgency that made both their hearts race even faster. Her shirt followed moments later, exposing her bra-clad chest to his wandering eyes - a sight that made his cock twitch in his tighter growing jeans. 

“Lean back, baby, let me do the work, you shouldn’t move much.” His voice dripped with lust, a low growl that shot shudders down her spine. (Y/n) sank back into the pillows, watching Tyler move closer to slowly undo her bra. Within seconds he had latched onto her right nipple while his hand palmed her left breast, making her sigh in relief. 

Tyler seemed to know exactly how she needed to be touched, how to draw her closer to the edge she’d eventually fall from. He was everything she hadn’t known she needed, while he had deep down always known that having (y/n) would mean his end. Every second was cherished by the both of them, though while Tyler tried to calm himself, (y/n) silently prayed that he’d move faster. 

“Tyler,” his name rolled off her tongue like a Sunday morning prayer, repeated over and over again. Their eyes held contact as he kissed his way down to her jeans, undoing them with skilled fingers to pull them down her legs with her panties in tow. And there she laid, naked in front of him as he thanked his lucky stars for pushing them into this mess. His fingers itched to take a picture of her, needing to remember this very moment until he’d take his last breath, but the sigh of his name forced him to move again. 

“Shh, I got you, baby. Let me take care of you.” With her thighs spread for him to settle between, Tyler kissed his way to her aching core. His calloused fingertips felt rough against her pulsing bundle, adding enough friction to get her to arch her back. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered close the second his tongue brushed her folds, groaning at her taste. 

“Oh fuck, Ty’, need more.” His chuckles vibrated on her skin, making her shudder while he pushed two fingers into her. Her walls fluttered around his digits, curled against her swollen spot while he sucked on her bundle. Moans clawed through (y/n), knowing that he was pushing her towards her orgasm all too quickly. 

“You taste so sweet, how could I have missed out on this for so long.” Tyler’s groans made her chuckle - sounds that bled into moans as he sucked on her clit again. She gave it a few more seconds before pushing him away, leaving him confused while she tried to catch her breath.

“Fuck me, make me cum on your cock.” Her whispered words made him groan, forcing Tyler to move to get rid of his jeans and boxers, exposing his aching cock to her eyes. (Y/n) made a silent note to suck him off later tonight, needing to feel him rest on her tongue. 

She watched Tyler rip open a condom with his teeth, rolling it down his cock before settling between her thighs again. He hovered over her, had one hand pressed to the mattress next to her pillow, while the other held onto her hip. Their eyes stayed connected as he pushed into her, leaving both groaning in relief. 

“You’re even tighter around my cock, you’ll be the death of me, darling.” His words felt like praises, making her lightheaded and aching for air to flood her gasping lungs. Her walls fluttered around him to pull him in deeper, allowing Tyler to push fully in before pulling out again, set on a slow rhythm. 

“Faster, please.” An almost devilish smirk tugged on his lips, his bright eyes twinkled with mischief but his thrusts stayed slow, calculated almost. 

“You can’t move too much, baby, gotta take care of your head.” Her teeth were buried in her lower lip, leaving marks while she stared up at him with annoyance laced in her gaze. Tyler could only chuckle at her while fucking into her deeper, clearly enjoying her struggling. One of her hands found his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss while wrapping her legs around his waist.

Both groaned in unison as she tugged him in closer, wondering how they fit together so perfectly. Too much time has been lost over the last years, time they could have spent just like that, pressed together in the most intimate way imaginable. Time they now had to make up for, chasing highs and lows together, giving in to the emotions they had to adapt to, all while falling in love with one another. 

“Stop teasing me, I don’t care about my head.” Her words left him chuckling, spurring him on to move a tad bit faster - but not nearly fast enough to push her closer towards the high she was aching for. 

“Ask nicely for it.” It was a simple command - a command she’d normally curse him for with calling him all sorts of names. But she was desperate, aching for her orgasm only he could push through her now.

“Please, Tyler. Fuck me harder, make me cum.” He didn’t reply verbally, only moved faster with a smirk resting on his lips. She left marks on his back with her fingernails, making her shudder against him while her free hand found her aching bundle of nerves, giving her the needed push.

Tyler watched her fall apart beneath him, a sight that left his chest swelling with pride. His hips kept meeting hers, fucking her through her high while his own moved closer. With a deep groan Tyler followed her down the edge moments later, forehead pressed against hers, hand fisting the bed sheet. 

He pulled out of her, got rid of the condom and found his way back to her to pull (y/n) against his warm chest. Both were chasing their breaths while clinging to the other, allowing it all to finally sink in. 

“How’s your head?” Tyler’s whispered words made her smile, pressing a kiss to his naked chest before allowing her eyes to find his bright ones. She cupped his cheek with one hand to feel his stubble pressing against her palm, cherishing the calm moment that felt all too new to them both.

“Not hurting, thank you for taking care of me.” She pressed another kiss to his chest before letting her head drop against it, hearing his slightly accelerated heart pound in his chest. 

“Anything for you, baby.” 

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[luvontour]

❥ . . jealousy, jealousy > joe goldberg

- joe’s happy you’re making friends in london, until he notices the way that stupid writer looks at you.

joe’s hand settles on your hip as soon as the door closes behind him. it’s become a habit since your early stages of relationship. he simply follows as you say your hellos and press your cheek against other girls’ faces with loud kissing noises.

from what you told him, he wasn’t really interested in meeting your friends, if anything he thought of them as one of the many reasons he clung to you a little bit tighter every morning

“y/n, you made it!” joe watches as a peppy blonde throws her arm over your shoulder, not minding how the two of you were almost tangled together.

“hi! phoebe, this is my husband, joe” the blonde brightens up (something joe thought impossible) when you present him. he only nods with a small smile and shakes her hand, despite her attempts of hugging him.

she smiles “come, come. i have to introduce someone to you”

his hand burns into your side, fragments of earlier and your poor attempt of a quickie still in your head as the two of you follow after your friend(ish) to a secluded bar. where a pale, almost your height man sat, swirling his shot of whiskey in its glass. joe recognized him immediately. it’s rhys montrose, the writer nadia had been talking to him about earlier.

“rhys! y/n, the girl i had been talking to you about and her husband joe”

“it’s my pleasure” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. joe doesn’t miss the way his eyes roam you over, throwing the cleavage of your dress a longer stare, he watches you all over, probably imagining lewd scenarios only your husband was lucky to experience.

he wants to leave then and there, but he wants to give it a chance, for you. he can’t think of another reason as to why he would sit there and gulp through this guy’s staring and his always dismissed attempts at flirting with you.

he sees a perfect window when you excuse yourself from the group, something about the powder room, which you never get to, because along the way, he manages to sneak the two of you off to one of many guest rooms.

he knows you felt it too, the way rhyse was staring and making inappropriate jokes, undermining joe and your relationship, inviting you on many scenarios in which he wasn’t included, he doesn’t need anything other than his rough lips and kisses to express what he’s feeling right now.

angry, jealous, possessive? those were just a few of the feelings coursing through him as he moans into your mouth, caving and letting your fingers tangle in his hair and steer him around like a puppy.

“please” your plead breaks him, you look so pretty like this, everytime, even if you were worse than him, kinkier, dirtier, he adored having you like this, under his frame, blushed, sweaty and with your chest racing as if you had just gone running.

“i don’t know doll, what exactly are you asking me for?” his nose nips at your cheek and so do his lips, pressing open mouthed kisses to your skin as he waits for an answer

“fuck me.” he groans when you whisper so sweetly. “please, i want you inside me”

“fucking hell” he struggles to pull away from you even slightly. “you just know i can’t resist when you ask me like that”

there’s some fumbling, but he manages to fish himself out of his pants, tucking your thin underwear to the side before he easily sinks inside you. the two of you make animalistic- guttural sounds at the feeling, and he can’t help when he says

“can’t believe that guy thinks he even has a chance” he chuckles against your jaw before nipping at it, and he just stares. at your furrowed brows, your parted lips. and he listens to your whiny noises and how needy you get for him, and he feels complete.

not as fulfilled as he feels though when he’s sure rhys has heard you, moaning his name over and over until you come.

“y/n?” there’s some incessant knocking, and a faux concerned man on the other side. “are you okay in there darling? you’ve been a while”

“y-yes. yes! im good rhys. i’ll be out in a minute, i think”

“is there anything i can do to help?” god, you wish you could see the two of you from afar. joe’s nibbling at your jaw and neck while your arms around his own keep you closer than ever, your fingers tangling in his hair as you clench your pussy around him. you can’t pretend you’re just touching up your makeup in there. you can care less if the man is waiting for a response, the way joe whispers against you both reassurance and degradations sends shocks of electricity to your poor and abused bundle of nerves.

“are you gonna come?” he chuckles “come on my dick baby, let him hear you. let him know he will never be inside you. that he will never make you feel this good. show him”

“fuck- joe. i’m so close, please”

“i know angel, i’ve got you.” almost on purpose, his hips slam deeper and faster, his thumb quickly presses back and forth on your clit and with his beard grazing against your neck it all becomes too much for you to take. and you’re soon shaking around him, biting his lip after a chain of profanities and his name that you hoped were masked by the music playing outside.

all of this, unaware of the encounter your husband was going to have just outside the door with the relentless writer who did in fact hear everything that just went down

[multifandomloverthrowaway]

Viktor Was a Wasted Character

(But are we really surprised?)

This is my first post ever on Tumblr so please be nice! This is in no way hate towards any particular character or ship; personally I love Viktor as a character and all his ships, and that’s the main reason why I’m posting this. I also know like no LoL lore, so please bear with me. I’m just going to rant and dump my thoughts out here since I don’t really have fans in person to talk to about this, and it’s really bugging me lol!

That being said, I just watched season two, and after sitting with it’s ending, I do not think that the story told in the season is well thought out, and it can be very heavily seen in how characters are treated both in the show and in the fandom. It’s quite disheartening to see the fandom going through the peak-fandom era treatment of mlm and wlw relationships, and the overall treatment of the characters can be a little trashy. How people see Viktor can be very degrading and objectifying, and the whole ship wars and fallout with JayVik is absolutely disgusting. It makes me feel that many watchers did not fully understand Viktor’s character. And to a certain extent, the writers did not care for it either.

Viktor’s character represents what would happen if a Zaunite were able to become “successful” in the eyes of Piltover. Someone who had the intellect and ambition to supersede the conditions in Zaun and were able to compete with those raised in the “better city”. Thus, the questions of “How did they get to their place in Piltover?”, “What flaws do they have?”, “What is holding them back?”, “What is their experience in Piltover like?”, “Are they accepted?”, “Is there prejudice?”, and “What was their life in Zaun like?” are the core questions that make the character and their arc. This character is particularly important because this is the character that shows that those who are oppressed, no matter how “good” they are, will never be good enough in the eyes of the oppressor, especially if they have faults of their own. Viktor is fundamental to the message of season one Arcane. He helps to complete the story in its exploration of class, social, and political divide by personifying that “what if it could work” gap.

Viktor naturally then must be an internally strong character. Giving Viktor a disability is not just good inclusion, but also a good internal motivator. We as the audience then see that his key goal to help Zaun is not rooted in pity for a former home, but rather the cause of an injustice that he was a victim to. We see his steadfastness in going after opportunities that he thinks will benefit Zaun and humanity, and constant relentless means to get there. This is in stark contrast to his personal life. His deeply rooted sentiment that he must be alone because of his disability, along with perceptions of his disability and birthplace, are why he is a closed person only reaching for science, despite being quite empathetic. They also set up his two main conflicts:

1. He is dying with little time to finish his goal of helping Zaun and humanity

and

2. The people around him want to weaponize his creation into something that can be used against his hometown

These conflicts are where the plot fumbled the character. Firstly, we do not see any ties between him and Zaun other than his illness and that he grew up there. Where are his parents that supposedly love him so much? What is his relationship with Sky, which he supposedly cared enough for to bring out of Zaun to work with him and Jayce? His lack of well developed relationships with other characters other than Jayce hurt his character development from occurring naturally. It’s why Sky’s death doesn’t feel like anything. Despite Viktor seeing her in the realm as a metaphor to his shred of humanity left, his garden dedicated to her, her emblem on his robe, we don’t know their relationship or history in his eyes. (It should have been that they were in at least a friendship. Anything less than that would not fit Viktor’s character.) We don’t see him interact that much with Mel, despite her being his close friend’s love interest. We do not see him interact with doctors or his parents. What other real relationship does he have depicted in the show other than, well, Jayce? The only other is perhaps Singed. How do these relationships play into his self perception, and perception of humanity?

Combining his deteriorating friendship with Jayce over politics and with understanding that his work will be used against him without his credit or his voice should set Viktor up for him to make decisions that will naturally lead into his lore as we know it; to create something that allows him to fix himself and others while simultaneously corrupting him, especially in Zaun. Instead in season two we see that path taken away from him within the first Act after he is fused with magic because of Jayce. This is a pity because it makes Viktor reliant on Jayce’s decisions in a way that is outside of their parallel to the power struggle between Zaun and Piltover and thus takes away from his authority as a character - his decision to fuse himself with magic and machinery to go against Piltover needed to be a result of his decisions and actions, not of someone else and magic!

Giving that narrative decision to Jayce also leaves no organic way for Jayce to come to realize who Viktor is as a person outside of just a “partner”. This is especially apparent during the finale, in which Jayce’s love for Viktor is boiled down to “I love you for who you are”… though that undermines Viktor’s illness, why that illness exists and thus his reason to be a character, and by extension… Zaun’s struggle. And yet, Viktor dies accepting Jayce’s words, despite them undermining the reason he exists! Each time Viktor is yet again denied that choice to be what his character represents. Instead he is used as the crutch to Jayce until the end of the second season. This is also why the multidimensional time travel does not work with Viktor being the mage that gives Jayce magic; Viktor’s destiny is then settled firmly in Jayce’s hands and not his own. They are not soulmates; only one’s life depends on the other’s.

Viktor then, despite having some good foundation, never becomes the full representation that his character could be. We see no growth of his insecurities and setbacks that allow him to make the choice to become who is meant to be. Rather we see that narrative handed to another character who does not fulfill his character arc fully either.

It is no surprise to see the JayVik shippers in this case. Because Viktor is so dependent on Jayce in the narrative, there is no other natural relationship for him. This is despite the fact that Viktor’s sax orientation shouldn’t be of speculation, because in the case of the story, it doesn’t matter. Whether or not Viktor is able to have physical attraction to another person is not the core of his story nor his character. (Which is why his ace designation should not be controversial.) However, that his ability to make meaningful connections with the people in his lives, whether as friends or romantically, is. And we do not see that with any other person but Jayce, who cannot not see him as a full person due to the narrative. Viktor, at his essence, is a man whose agency has been taken from him by the narrative.

The better case in the narrative would have been to let the two part their separate ways after the death of Sky and the council attack, and let Viktor be the tragic hero he was made for. The love between each character that was to have a relationship with Viktor would have been that much more apparent, especially with Sky and Jayce. Then perhaps we would not see Viktor become the “disabled tw!nk whose real relationship could have only been with Jayce because only they truly knew and loved each other” because no. Only they didn’t. Viktor always had so much more, which included Jayce, Mel, Sky, and could have been far more! He just wasn’t given the means to explore it. And not by just the characters in Arcane. By the writers too.

[boybandbaby]

Start Over (Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader)

word count: 2233

warnings/tags: exes to lovers, alcohol, being half naked, flirting, tears, as always if i missed anything let me know

note: do yall prefer when writers add summaries or without?

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You’re stood outside Buck’s apartment in a warm colored dress, heels in your hand and jacket lost somewhere at the reception.

It’s been four months since the breakup and you haven't been to his apartment since you came by to collect your things three months ago.

You’ve knocked twice already and a third time would only make you feel more sad and pathetic. Your cousin’s beautiful but extravagant wedding had only added to the months of heartbreak.

Buck was supposed to be there at your side tonight. Instead of dancing with your family and having a good time, you answered too many questions about where Buck was or how he was doing. You lied to everyone stating that he just couldn’t make it due to work.

Only your close family knew that you weren’t together anymore. You wanted to keep it that way. But what you really wanted was to be with Buck, back in his beefy arms and kissing his pretty lips.

After your third drink and no luck warming up in crisp the fall air, you’d made the slightly drunken decision to see him. Though you lost your jacket, you still had the important items in your purse including your phone. With sloppy thumbs, you’d called an Uber and landed at Buck’s apartment.

It’s two am and you’re not sure why you thought he would be up or even home. He’d either be at work or out with friends and family or worse, on a date.

You shake the thought from your head and take a deep breath. Pulling out your phone and opening the Uber app again, you feel tears in your eyes. You should’ve called him first instead of showing up. Would he have even answered or wanted to see you?

Your bare feet stick to the hallway floor, grounding you as you sway. You’re able to use this as an excuse as to why you haven’t left his doorstep yet.

You hear two noises at the same time, the sound of the Uber app notifying you that a driver has accepted your ride request and another chime signaling someone has exited the elevator on your current floor.

You’re already embarrassed and don’t want one of Buck’s neighbors seeing you camped outside his apartment. You finally find the strength to pull yourself away from his door, telling yourself you don’t get a second chance with him.

“Y/n?” His voice is slurred and his cheeks are flushed. He’s stumbling as quietly as he can towards you and his door. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” You point to his shirt. It’s wet around the neck line and chest. You’re not sure if it’s sweat, alcohol or both.

He looks down, laughs, one of your favorite things about him, and runs his hands over his wet shirt. “Yeah, too many shots, I think.” He hiccups and burps.

“I was just leaving, I’m s-sorry for showing up like this.” You apologetically smile and wave bye as you begin to pass him.

“Hey, don’t go.” His fingers brush your bare arms. “You look really pretty. How was the wedding?”

“You remember?” Your hand covers his as he holds onto your bicep.

“Yeah, of course. I still had it in my calendar. I kind of spiraled when I got the notification this morning.” He shrugs. “Do you want to come in? Sober up, warm up? Are you hungry?”

“Yes please, to all three.” You nod and let your hand fall.

Buck's hand caresses your arm, down to your fingers and grabs the heels from your hands like he always used to on date nights. He searches his pockets for his keys and jingles them around his pointer finger when he does.

“Please excuse the mess.” He fumbles to open the door and ushers you in.

“Wow, so messy Buckley.” You laugh, looking around the familiar apartment.

“I think I still have a shirt or two of yours if you want to get changed. You know where everything’s at.” He sets your heels down by the door and locks it behind him.

“I thought you returned everything back to me?” You turn to him, rubbing your arms up and down as he flicks the kitchen light on.

“Did you? I seem to be missing the bracelet I got you for Valentine’s Day last year.” He raises a brow before pulling out a pot and filling it with water.

“That was a gift! That was not going to be returned to you and please don’t tell me you have the black shirt with the embroidered frog on it from that one trip to the zoo." You defend.

“I do.” He smirks.

“I’ve been looking for that everywhere!” You gasp, laughing as you approach him in the kitchen.

“I figured once you couldn’t find it you’d come back and we’d work things out.” He reveals.

“You always could’ve dropped it off at my apartment if you wanted to see me so bad.” You nudge his shoulder.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” His tone is not joking anymore and he quiets down. The apartment is quiet save for the traffic outside and the slow rising boil of the water on the stove.

“I would’ve.” You admit.

“You could have it back?" He says, voice lifting at the end.

You can tell he doesn't want you to have it back by the way he offers it. “No, no. You keep it.”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“This.” You look down at your dress.

“As pretty as you look in that it’s not practical to sleep in.”

“When have I ever been practical.” You both laugh.

“I miss this, I miss us.” He admits.

“Me too.” You sigh. You're not ready to dive into your breakup. At least not yet. “Hey, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, of course. You need any help in there or?”

“Real cute, Buckley. You can help me up the stairs to get my shirt.”

Buck nods and sets the box of pasta down on the counter. His hands find your hips as he helps you up the steps. “You sit.”

He rummages through his drawer before tossing the shirt to you and a pair of sock. “Do you want a pair of sweats or something?”

“No, this is good. Thanks, Buck.” You’re not moving to head back down stairs so he sits beside you. “New bed set?”

“Yeah. Story is too long and gross to discuss.” He shrugs. It’s too embarrassing he thinks. He made himself so sick the first couple of weeks apart, he had no choice but to throw away the bed set. It was one you’d bought him anyway and it hurt to much to sleep in.

“It’s okay if I stay the night, right?” You hope he says yes. Cuddling with him would make everything okay again even just for the night.

Buck normally would be a gentleman and offer you the bed while he took the couch but he misses you too much. He does turn his back as you strip out of your dress and stays that way when you're ready to head downstairs.

Buck stands two steps below you as you hold onto his shoulders. You guys guide each other back downstairs and he helps you start the shower. “Food should be done by the time you get out. We’ll eat then sleep?” You nod and smile up at him as you sit on the toilet seat. “Call me if you need anything okay?”

You nod and wait for him to exit before peeling the towel off of your body and then your undergarments. You step into the warm water and rinse everything from the night and past 4 months away.

Buck settles in the kitchen, stirring the noodles as the water boils. He hopes this isn’t a one night event and that you’ll leave his life after this. He sees it in your eyes though. You long for him the way he does for you. He feels it in the way you're still comfortable around him and the way you don't hold any malice after your rough breakup.

You’d both ended things as they just got too hard. Busy schedules, too many fights, not enough time spent together creating good memories. He thinks that things can be different this time. He knows the mistakes and how he can try to help prevent them this time.

You’re out before he realizes, padding towards him. He can’t keep his eyes off your bare legs as you approach the kitchen and sit at the counter.

He begins to drain the noodles. “Do you want something to drink?” He calls out.

“Can we share?” You answer his question with a question. He laughs and nods.

“You gonna come and help me carry these up?"

“I’m half naked.” You point out.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He smiles.

“Fine but no peeking.” You hop off the stool and attempt to pull your shirt down.

Buck has already served two bowls of pasta and the biggest cup of water he could find. He stabs the pasta with forks and hands you a bowl. “You go up first mister. I don’t need you looking at my butt.”

“How am I going to make sure you don’t fall?” He cheekily states.

“I’ll hold onto you with my free hand.”

“Okay, fine, that works.” He grumbles, you having bested him.

You hold onto his waistband as you follow him up the steps. He turns around as you run under the covers to cover your legs. He really is a gentleman.

You both sit in silence as you eat, sharing small glances and giggling when you meet each other’s eyes. It’s almost as if you’d never broken up.

You yawn and place your half eaten bowl onto the nightstand. Buck holds the cup of water to your lips and watches the way you gulp the liquid down. You wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Can we cuddle?”

“Of course.” He smiles and sets the bowl and cup on the nightstand, quickly. He's just as eager to be in your arms as you are his.

You shuffle under the covers as he stands to undress. The damp shirt is pulled from his body and he shuffles out of his jeans. It’s not long before he’s under the covers with you.

His heart is pounding the more he realizes he’s going to be this close to you again. You’re already turned to face his side and watching his every move.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He whispers.

“Night Buck, thank you for letting me in.” You whisper back.

“Thank you for coming by.” He smiles.

Your hands find his under the covers and you give them a quick squeeze.

His eyes squeeze shut as he can feel your breath on his face. It's a mix of alcohol and pasta sauce, matching his. He's straining himself so he doesn’t try to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you the moment he saw you at his doorstep. Your eyes are open and you watch to see if he’s sleeping. He’s not and you can tell by the way his eyelids twitch.

“Buck?” You mumble.

“Mhm?” He hums back.

“I miss you.” You confess. “A lot.”

He opens one eye, “yeah? I miss you too.”

“Do you even think we could be together again?” Your voice is small and it breaks his heart but your words give him hope.

“I do.”

“What do I need to do to make things work again?” You bring his knuckles to your lips.

“I think we need to work together to make things work this time." He emphasizes the we. He doesn't want you blaming yourself for the fallout.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.” You sigh, words coming out wobbly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better.” He supplies.

“I know I made a lot of mistakes. I don’t want to do that again.” You cry.

“We both made a lot of mistakes but if we’re both willing to not make them again, I think we could work.”

“I think so too." He wipes the tear from your cheek and traces his finger down to your lips.

"Can I kiss you now?" He shyly asks. You laugh all watery and snotty while nodding. Buck pulls you into him. You're both hot under the covers as your bodies mold together. The kiss is hard and desperate but it's perfect. You lay quietly in each other's arm until you both fall asleep. By then it's nearly 4 in the morning and you're knocked out cold.

You're both so slumped that you don't hear the key in the lock downstairs. “Buck, you forgot your damn phone in my car.” Eddie calls out, closing the door behind him. The apartment is quiet as he enters and he shoves his key in his pocket.

He trudges up the stairs to bother a sleeping Buck but freezes in his tracks when he sees you two curled up with each other. His eyes widen and he wonders how this came about considering Buck didn’t have his phone.

He settles on the idea that you’d come to see Buck on your own. His worries from last night of his broken hearted best friend are gone as he sees that he’s right where he’s supposed to be. With you.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[ozzgin]

I love your work! It is so hard to find good Baki writers. Could you please do a Yujiro x Female fighter reader. I feel like Yujiro would actually start falling head over heels with a reader who fights well and is as sadistic as him.

Thank you! And yes, realistically speaking - or at least what makes most sense in my opinion - Yuujirou would go for someone that not only is submissive to him (because any human would then suffice), but also shows impressive skill and strength. There’s an interesting idea that I once read in the introduction of “The Gates of Janus”, the book written by serial killer Ian Brady. The foreword author argued that Ian is what you’d call a rat king, an alpha above most alphas, and that for such personalities, most of the time, an equally dominant woman is sought for as a partner. Naturally she’d submit to him still, but only a woman of high dominance could keep up with this kind of intense character. This mentality felt a bit outdated and potentially misogynistic to me, but I think it really fits in the case of Yuujirou. Sorry for the ramble.

Yandere! Yuujirou Hanma x Fighter! Reader

Featuring The Ogre and a female reader that nearly matches him in strength and ruthlessness. TW: Dubious consent, violence.

[Baki Masterlist]

Yuujirou can have anyone in the world, whether man or woman. It’s not up to them, really. It’s up to his mood and whims. And when he can have just about anyone, actually finding someone worth his interest becomes a difficult task. He doesn’t need an extra weight to drag around and as far as he’s concerned, commitment is not something he requires in his life. What would be the point?

No, for someone of his status, commitment doesn’t come as moral etiquette or requirement for a relationship. He has considered it, and in theory it could only be offered out of his genuine interest and never demanded by someone else. For The Ogre himself to fixate on one person and never wander eyes anywhere else… They would really have to impress him. Guarantee him that this is a one time deal never to be found again. And once that person is found, they’d do well to perform their role as his partner because there is no way out of it.

Lamentably, such temptation has never crossed his path. That is until a feminine figure strides into the ring of the Underground Arena. Yuujirou is ready to burst with laughter, but he’s quickly silenced by the rather abrupt end of the match. The mysterious character remains unfazed by the opponent’s blow and uses the opportunity to swiftly twist and crush the offensive limb. With the same indifference plastered on the face throughout the agonizing wails of the much larger man, she delivers her ending move and within seconds the arena is quiet again. After recollecting himself from this unexpected succession, Yuujirou turns to Strydum that’s been watching with similar amazement. “Who the hell is that?” He grunts. “I don’t know. Should I find out?”

Sometimes Yuujirou will replay the encounter in his head. He still gets shivers of raw excitement whenever he remembers your eyes back then. That utterly defiant glare. Strydum had asked you to meet them in private and as you entered the room, you immediately demanded to know why you’d been summoned. The Colonel begun fumbling in terror, almost begging you indirectly to not upset the redheaded man. “M-Mr. Hanma wished to see you, Miss (Y/N)-“ he was interrupted by your resounding snarl. “And who the fuck is Mr. Hanma to afford such audacity?” At that moment Yuujirou stood up, hands in pockets but visibly tensed up. You instinctively clenched your fists and frowned at the unspoken difference in power. The Ogre was halfway expecting you to fold and apologize, but after a minute your expression relaxed and your confidence returned. “Bitch. You’d rather die than give up your pride, huh?” He smirked at the thought. There was something about your attitude that greatly pissed him off but also turned him on at the same time.

The hardest part is getting you to accept him as your partner. See, Yuujirou will never beg or ask nicely. On the other hand, he’d rather not kill you, and severely damaging you in any way would take away the fun that caught his attention in the first place. That’s the dilemma: you’re stubborn and he can’t use force. Then again it’s not like he’s a mindless brute. Quite the opposite, only if he feels like it. A little charm with a dash of intimidation and you should be convinced, right? Don’t push it, (Y/N). If he really has to choose, he’d rather have you dead than belonging to someone else. It’s either him or nothing.

Really, it’s to your advantage if you learn to behave. He can give you everything you desire. He’s rather experienced in spoiling his women, and for you he’ll go the extra mile. Knowing he tamed you of all people is all the payment he could ever ask for. The satisfaction of putting you in your place, of having you cling to him fills him with greedy pride. A cocky smile distorts his features whenever the realization hits. If there’s such a thing as a soulmate, he’s found his. Although he doesn’t believe in that kind of bullshit.

A frightening pair in the eyes of most people. The Ogre relishes in the fact that displaying you as his woman has further increased his reputation instead of signaling any trace of weakness. As the time passes his conviction only strengthens: there’s no other place for you. You’re all his. Yet his favorite detail, what makes him flushed and dazed and addicted, is that no matter what he does to you as you lay there sprawled, naked, broken, your dignity never leaves. That prideful gaze that leers back at him makes him feel like he’s facing a mirror.

[allwaswell16]

Happy Fan Fic Writer Appreciation Day 2024!

The first lines of some amazing fics by some of my favorite 1D writers! Since I've done this post for so many years, this year I limited it to fics that were published in the last year or so. Please check out the past years' lists here where you'll find even more incredible writers! Thank you to every writer in our fandom for your gifts of fic to us all!

Louis hung up his keys and coat as his cottage door closed to protect himself from the drizzle.

He’d only given in because he was lonely.

The sun sat low in the sky, bathing the expanse of beach in warm, golden light. 

Louis looked around the room, waiting for the others to laugh and let him know that the last ten minutes had all been an elaborate joke and of course they weren’t serious. 

Harry’s thighs burn.

Harry Styles was a star.

Harry Styles has standards. 

The man in the video was annoyingly chipper in the face of what seemed to Louis to be imminent disaster. 

The first time it happens isn’t even intentional.

Louis Tomlinson strived for perfection in everything he did.

Liam Payne doesn’t know how he got here. 

Standing in front of the second-hand mirror hanging on his closet door, Harry looks himself over. 

If she was being honest, the last thing Harry wanted to do at the moment was get ready to go out.

It had been a good idea when he’d agreed to it.

Louis tilted his head up and took in a deep breath.

Bosworth Academy for the Well-Bred Omega sits upon a hill overlooking the quaint town of Kinsey in county Durwin.

Stumbling through the door, Liam dragged the sweat soaked vest over Zayn's head, pushing him back against the wall.

It’s December first.

He gets sent home.

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different.

Liam is in the middle of fucking nowhere, the two-lane highway stretching ahead and behind him, as far as the eye can see. 

When Harry first tells him, Zayn isn’t sure what to think.

Spending his Saturday night with an older man who was not his father was never what Harry Styles pictured his mid-twenties to look like.

Louis rolls over on his back, sighing in frustration as he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand.

“Wait! Please don’t go!” 

Waking up from rut is a bleary, confusing experience. 

He knew scrolling through his phone so soon would only end in disaster, and yet he opened Instagram anyway.

There’s music echoing throughout the rink, an instrumental Disney song.

The telly is on when Louis comes home, keys jangling in the lock as he swings the door open and kicks off his shoes into the haphazard pile by the mat. 

“So, what did you have in mind?”

Two essential tips for anyone planning to take a nighttime stroll: don't forget to bring a heavier jacket, and make sure your phone is fully charged.

The large fluorescent lights groan awake high on the ceiling overhead as Harry flips on the light switch.

“You heading home, mate?” Liam asked as the movie ended.

Louis curls his hands around the balcony railing, tilting his head up to let the slanted rays of the evening sun catch on his face.

When Harry opened Niall's door, a combination of warm air and cologne greeted him.

“Harry? Are you home, love?”

It was the first day back after Winter Break, and Louis did not want to be here.

Louis has been single for 369 days, and the last place he wants to be is at a wedding.

Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate.

Even before Louis presented as an omega, he’d dreamed of one day finding his soulmate.

Authors in order of first lines:

@nouies @jaerie @disgruntledkittenface @2tiedships2 @haztobegood

@lululawrence @daggerandrose @homosociallyyours @alwaysxlarrie @thelavendrhaze

@fallinglikethis @kingsofeverything @becomeawendybird @reminiscingintherain @louandhazaf

@thedevilinmybrain @laynefaire @londonfoginacup @ladyaj-13 @jacaranda-bloom

@voulezloux @phdmama @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @parmahamlarrie @crinkle-eyed-boo

@uhoh-but-yeah-alright @absoloutenonsense @all-these-larrythings @beelou @justanothershadeofblue

@galacticlarry @persephoneflouwers @letthemusicmoveyou28 @enchantedlandcoffee @shimmeringevil

@imogenleewriter @lunarheslwt @red-pandaaa @loveislarryislove @hellolovers13

[little-diable]

The Lord of Gifts (smut)

@theanythingbuthuman has to endure my rambling about Annatar 24/7, so I needed to write something with him and I couldn’t wait for Kinktober to pass. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader seeks out Annatar’s company late at night as she fears that Sauron is close, robbing her of her sleep. Perhaps the lord of gifts can distract her for some moments.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), piv, semi public, lies because duh

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!reader (1.8k words)

“Please, (y/n), you don’t need to keep away.” His soft voice cozied her along, words dripping from his lips like the finest honey harvested in Eregion. Carefully, she stepped closer, eyes set on his handsome features, fully exposed due to the way he had made a bow out of his bright hair strands.

“Forgive me for disturbing you so late at night.” (Y/n) had to avert her gaze, fumbling with her fingers as she came to a halt close to Lord Annatar. She felt him shift closer, cold hand finding her warm chin to tilt her head up towards him. Heat buzzed through her at the touch, making the spot he touched tingle with excitement.

For the past days, she had found herself longing for some alone time with the being, the lord of gifts as he had been introduced by Master Celebrimbor. Something about him seemed to pull (y/n) in, something having a dark touch to it she couldn’t understand but feel fascinated about nevertheless.

“This is nothing to apologise for, I am always looking forward to your presence, (y/n).” The smile tugging on his lips had an addicting effect on her, unable to stop her grin from widening as he slowly let go of her - reluctantly almost. She had to stop herself from chasing the touch, forcing her feet to stay rooted to the ground while her eyes followed his frame.

Annatar sank down in one of the chairs, body hugged by his dark clothes, perfectly matching the fair contrast of his features and hair. He was truly beautiful, a distracting appearance hiding whatever he wanted to keep from curious eyes.

“What is it that keeps you up so late at night, (y/n)?” She watched him pour some wine before pointing towards the chair next to his, waiting for her to come sit. (Y/n)’s legs trembled as she walked closer, fingers interlocked in front of her before she sank down on the comfortable wooden chair.

“There is something lingering in the air, my lord. Something dark, something,” her breath hitched in her chest, wide eyes focusing on the dancing flames warming the workshop. Annatar had his eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he waited for her to keep on speaking. “Something dangerous, it is as if He has found me, speaking to me late at night to drive me towards my end. I feel as if I’m going insane.”

“Trust me, love, there is nothing you need to fear, not as long as I am with you. He can’t reach you within my grasp, that much I can promise.” She dared to look at him again, trying to decipher the emotions tugging on his features. His slender fingers found her trembling knee, placed on top of the fine fabric of her dress to keep close. Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected touch, a touch calling for her to hold onto him, allowing her fingers to slowly find his.

“Have you ever met him?” The question rolled off her tongue without (y/n) being able to stop the words from hallowing through the empty workshop. His expression turned into something rather grim, as if he was plagued by thoughts and memories he had buried a long time ago. (Y/n) could see his jaw muscles clench and for a moment it seemed as if he was a completely different being, shape shifting into somebody else for just a fraction of a second.

“Let us not dim this night with memories dark and gruesome, (y/n). Let us cherish the quietness we have both been aching for.” The soft smile he shot her made (y/n) slightly relax in the chair. She could only nod her head, taking another sip of the wine as Annatar mimicked her movements.

“How do you pass your time when you’re not spending your time with Master Celebrimbor? Is your husband keeping you company?” A soft chuckle clawed through (y/n) at his question, followed by the shake of her head.

“If I were married I would not seek out your company this late at night, my lord.” Heat crawled up her spine, fuelled by the anticipation the smirk now widening on his lips made simmer deep inside of her. (Y/n) had to avert her gaze once again, wondering where she had found the confidence to speak words so teasing to a being this powerful.

Annatar rose to his feet, hand stretched out for (y/n) to take. A soft gasp left her as he pulled her against his chest, hand finding its way back to her chin, “Forgive my foolishness, but I couldn’t dare risk pushing you into a tangled web of misfortunes, (y/n).”

She got no time to overthink his words, pulled closer to let his lips ghost over hers. Her fingers found the fabrics covering his chest, fisting them in her trembling hands as he kissed her properly. Everything had stopped moving, time had lost its meaning, even the clouds no longer moved across the sky as Annatar kissed her breathless - at least that’s what it felt like to (y/n) and her racing mind.

Without breaking the kiss, (y/n) felt herself being pushed backwards, letting her smaller back press against the edge of a table. She was pushed onto the table, legs patted for the lord of gifts to rest between her thighs as he hungrily kissed her. Deep down, (y/n) found herself convinced that this was nothing but a dream, a play of her tired mind to pass its time, but the way his hands roughly grabbed her waist felt too real to be a mere dream, pulling her closer against him.

“I fear I don’t have the strength to hold back any longer, (y/n). The days in your closeness have been torturous as I was unable to touch you. Tell me, do you feel the same bond slumbering inside your chest?” The words were sweeter than any fruits she had ever eaten, any wine only the High King was fortunate enough to drink. Heat clung to every part of her body, forcing words to roll off her tongue while Annatar kissed his way down her throat.

“I do, my lord. I’m yours, I have been since the moment our paths were destined to cross.” It was all he needed to hear before he pushed her back down on the table. (Y/n) watched him push the fabric of her dress up to her waist, dipping his head down to kiss the insides of her thighs before his warm breath fanned over her heat.

“The night is short, our solitude will be disturbed, but soon we will find enough time to get lost in our longings, that much I can promise, love.” Her words got stuck in her throat the second his skilled tongue brushed over her folds, moaning at her taste. Gasps rolled off her tongue at the feeling of his fingers circling her pulsing bundle, touching her just like she had touched herself to the thought of him hours ago. He was eager, eating her out with an unfamiliar kind of urgency to push her towards the edge within a handful of seconds.

“Stars, this feels so good.” It wasn’t much she managed to speak, not many words that made it past her teeth, and yet they seemed to be enough to draw a chuckle out of the lord. His piercing eyes flickered up to meet hers, intently staring at (y/n) while he kept lapping at her folds, high on her taste.

Her hands found his bright hair, tugging on the roots to keep herself somewhat grounded. It felt as if she had lost all strength to guide her body, letting her back arch off the table the moment her thighs began to tremble, feeling her orgasm climb up her body. But seconds before she could fall off the edge with a call of his name, he parted from her.

“Let us become one. Will you allow us to find comfort with our bodies united, (y/n)?” His voice dripped with something raspy, something dark that made goosebumps appear on her limbs. The conscious part of her brain could tell that there was more to his words than she managed to pick up on, something the needy part of her couldn’t care about at that very moment.

“Take me, I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.” Annatar dipped his head down to kiss her, letting their tongues fight for victory while he freed his cock. He aligned himself with her heat, and with their eyes holding contact again, he pushed into her. Another gasp rumbled through (y/n), robbing her of the last air lingering in her lungs as she desperately tried to adjust to his size.

“Breathe, love. Let yourself fall.” He began to move, slow at first, building a steady rhythm. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to feel as much of him as possible. Their lips found one another every few seconds, sharing kisses that matched the strength of his faster growing thrusts.

Moans clawed through the both of them, sounds that would forever ring in their minds as they thought back to this very moment. Annatar held onto her with a strong grip, spurred on by the feeling of her walls fluttering around him with every perfectly calculated thrust, pushing her further and further towards the edge once again.

She was sure that he was leaving bruises on her body, marking her for days to come - and yet (y/n) could only feel excitement at the thought of being marked by the lord of gifts. Her fingernails clawed at his skin, holding onto Annatar as her eyes fluttered close, tasting her close release on the tip of her tongue.

“Let go, let me hear the way you call out my name as lust drives you on.” Her mouth instantly followed his command, choking on Annatar’s name. (Y/n)’s orgasm clashed through her, buzzing through her veins while he kept snapping his hips against hers, following her down the edge seconds later. Another raspy moan left the lord, making a smile tug on her slightly swollen lips as she watched him come undone.

“I will have you until darkness rises again, until time loses all its meaning. Eternity will feel short in comparison to what our path ahead will look like, (y/n).”

[the-crustation-sensation]

How i think arcane s2 fumbled Viktor. Coming from a disabled person

Not proofread we die like all my favorite characters

As previously mentioned, I struggle with chronic pain. I have POTs and probably EDS now that I think about it, and I use a cane on bad days since at times walking long distances is very painful

I started watching arcane shortly after discovering my own disability and I was SO happy to see a well represented disabled character, guess who my favorite character is (hard mode)

Anytime there’s someone with a physical disability represented in modern media, they’re never allowed to just… be disabled, casually. Yes disability massively affects and changes one’s live immensely, but it’s not the only all-encompassing trait of their personality. A lot of the time when I see a disabled character, they’re just there to be disabled. They don’t get a character arc outside of their disability… or much of a personality either (9 times out of 10 their usually always paralyzed in a wheelchair too, but that’s a different conversation)

And sometimes having a characters arc revolve around a disability is acceptable, but it’s not ok to have a token disabled character and do nothing else with their plot line. Disability is allowed to be a part of their story, but it doesn’t have to be the whole story. Make your disabled characters people with a disability, not a blank slate token character.

And that’s why I was so pleased with Viktor in season one. He exists With his disability, not despite it. It was very refreshing to a character have a very defined personality and purpose outside being a token disabled character. Yes of course his disability is a huge part of his story, but it’s not the entire story.

Now how did s2 fumble?

In s1 I think viktors descent into illness was well written, I was kind of expecting his disability to be a big part of his overall character arc in the first place (as it so often is) but in s2 I feels like the writers almost forgot that Viktor was dying of cancer … not trying to perfect himself

I was so excited to see what s2 did with his character arc, and I just ended up.. disappointed. On surface level i loved Jesus!viktor just as much as the next fan, but when you dig deeper into his story it felt so icky

Whenever a disabled person is represented, not only does their character arc revolve around disability, it has to revolve around “fixing” said disability. And a big pattern I see is many character arcs having an undertone of radical acceptance. I.e “you where never broken, you just needed to accept yourself” “you just need to love your disability as a part of you”

No… you don’t have to love the part of you that’s actively causing you pain and lowering your quality of life, or actively killing you like Viktors terminal illness.

Self acceptance with disability is all fine and dandy, but it is SO overplayed and overwritten. You’re allowed to be frustrated with your disability, and learn to move past it.

The big point is Viktor was never trying to “perfect” himself in s1, he was trying to live.

In s2 they took the idea of Viktor working to cure his terminal illness and ran with it. They blew his arc so wildly out of proportion until he literally became a god obsessed with “perfecting” all of humanity.

And that just felt.. icky. It didn’t feel like Viktor. The Viktor in s1 had a dream of helping his people, of using his creations to uplift everyone! He never would have wanted to force all of humanity into “evolving” without their consent. And do not even get me STARTED on how he completely lost his autonomy to the hexcore, and in turn took it from so many people. That deserves a post on its own

I was so excited for the arcane writers to do something creative with his character arc, but no. Once again a disabled character fell victim to their entire arc being about fixing their disability, only to end with radical self love and acceptance

And the thing is I could get behind an arc of Viktor healing! He deserves to heal and live his life happy and healthy, but to me and him all of a sudden obsessed with “perfection” felt completely out of left field

I think my biggest problem with season 2 overall is that it lost sight of the entire theme of the show. Season one was a beautiful statement about classism, segregation, and how differently it affects people. It was representing real world problems on a scale we could understand. And the best part about s1 was that everyone on the main cast was relatively morally grey, they were humans who had realistic flaws, and made mistakes.

Nobody was shoved into a traditional “good guy/bad guy” box, and that made the show feel so much more real.

S2 was rushed, and for some reason the writers said “actually never mind, we’re going to bend everyone’s morals out of proportion so we can have a big bad villian we all fight at the end”

It had an overwhelming undertone of “forgive your oppressors so we can come together against a common enemy” which felt like a massive slap in the face to everyone who’s actually experience the classism and poverty that arcane represented in s1

I think so many of the problems with s2 could have been fixed or at least explained in detail if we got a s3. I understand as a writer myself that would have been a long, and expensive process that the arcane producers weren’t willing to go through. But I can’t help but mourn the story we could have had if the writers were just allowed to spend more time on it.

Overall, I could write an essay picking apart every tiny detail of arcane in general, so I’ll stop here. I just needed to get this rant out in writing and out of my head, I’m so insanely disappointed and mildly insulted with how the arcane writers treated Viktor, who had such potential

Feel free to share your opinions or completely disagree with me in the comments, please be kind as this is just my humble analysis and opinion.

[waiting-for-motivation]

inside out

summary: Carlos is there for his girlfriend when her darkest insecurities take ahold of her.

pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

warnings: insecurities, angst, fluff

words: 1129

a/n: thanks to tumblr for being my unpaid therapist, I guess <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

Having some time off feels relieving as well as overwhelming at the same time. Carlos fears not valuing his free time enough, although he does everything in his power to experience a lot. With his girlfriend, he visits museums, aquariums, exciting cities and breathtaking landscapes.

Other times, they share some quality time, cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie or cooking together. When Carlos is gaming, (Y/n) is always in the same room reading. They exist in silence, still savoring the shared moments with their partner.

Today is no different, relaxing after yesterdays hiking tour, Carlos plays a new game he had been yearning to have a look at. His girl sits next to him on the couch, so close their thighs touch, scrolling through social media. From time to time, she shares some memes, also calming him whenever the game is getting too rough.

“Car?“, (Y/n) breathes, discarding her phone on the side table. Not knowing if Carlos even heard her over the sound of his gaming, she throws a cautious glance towards him. His brown eyes are already on her, concerned about the serious tone. Carlos even places his controller aside.

“Do you think I‘m pretty?“, (Y/n) asks with an unsteady voice, avoiding her boyfriend's eyes. Her heart feels like it might break her rips apart, and her breathing keeps getting tougher. Right away, (Y/n) regrets expressing her insecure mind.

Subconsciously, she starts fumbling around with her fingers, pressing her nails into the palm of her hand. It might be a bad habit, but the pain is what distracts her from her depressing thoughts. What even works better is Carlos taking care of her. He grabs her hands, warm touch halting her nervous fiddling.

“Of course, mi corazón“, Carlos answers, almost at a loss of words. Her question caught him of guard. Watching (Y/n) shrink in front of him, her insecurities heavy on her shoulders cause him to feel rather guilty. Maybe he did not show her his appreciation enough. Maybe he tells her how much he adores her too seldom.

If (Y/n) could see herself through the eyes of Carlos, she would have no doubts about her appearance. The word perfection is not enough to describe the way Carlos perceives her. He might not be an artist nor a writer, but he would use only the brightest colors for her portrait and could write an entire trilogy about everything he loves about (Y/n).

“You are my gorgeous girl“, Carlos adds and places a hand on her cheek, forcing her eyes on him. Pressing her lips to a tight line, (Y/n) regrets exposing her thoughts at the sight of her concerned boyfriend. “Where is this coming from?“

“Forget about it“, (Y/n) says in a rush, already jumping to her feet and leaving Carlos alone on the couch. But she can't escape her boyfriend, who quickly follows her and wraps his strong arms around her from behind, lifting her up.

“I‘m going to show you how much I actually admire you“, Carlos announces as he throws (Y/n) onto the couch. Her screaming turns to soft giggles because of Carlos decorating her face in kisses. His lips wander from her forehead over the frown between her eyebrows to her nose and lead eventually to her neck. Over and over again, he whispers how much he loves her, how pretty she is.

“You are all I need, mi corazón, all I want. Without you, I feel like I can't breathe“, Carlos declares his deep-rooted love to his girlfriend, kissing a trail down her arms. What causes him to halt his fondling is a quiet sob leaving (Y/n)s throat. Quickly, she places both her hands on top of her mouth, but the tears streaming over her cheeks reveal enough.

“No, please don’t cry“, Carlos whimpers in shock, watching his girl sit up with a shaking body. Out of instinct, (Y/n) turns away from her boyfriend, not wanting him to see her so vulnerable, though Carlos won't simply accept that. He hugs her tightly to his chest. Her tears quickly dampen his shirt, but he couldn't care less at the moment. “Tell me what darkens your mind.“

“I feel like I will never be enough, not for anyone, not for you in particular. Comparing myself to the other girlfriends on the paddock, I realize how plain I must be. They are naturally so magnificent, know how to handle all this attention, and treat their partners perfectly. I will never be like that. I‘m not good enough“, (Y/n) manages to say between her sobs, now wearing her heart on the sleeve, revealing her worst thoughts.

“You are enough, mi corazón. Those other girls are nothing compared to you. I would not want you any other way because I see you as you are: wholeheartedly kind and breathtakingly beautiful. You are all I want and having you here with me makes me so happy“, Carlos tries to encourage his girlfriend, caressing her back and placing soft kisses on the top of her head. Bit by bit, (Y/n) seems to calm down, though she keeps her arms wrapped around her boyfriend.

“I just believe that neither my appearance nor my personality are what you deserve“, she whispers against his chest. Having heard enough, Carlos forces (Y/n) to face him, placing both his hands on her cheeks. Their eyes meet, both glinting with tears.

“Stop right there! If I have to say it over and over again, then I will: You are what I want. I love everything you might hate about yourself. I love seeing the brightness in your eyes whenever you see a dog. I love your passion for things you appreciate. I love the little scrunch on your face when you are reading. I love the way you hide behind me when a camera is near. I love you, (Y/n), and nothing you will do or say will ever change that because my affection is unconditional.“

At a loss for words, (Y/n) just stares at Carlos with wide eyes. This sweet monolog was the deepest profession of love she ever witnessed. Her heart felt like it was falling apart moments ago, but with every word that came over his lips, the pieces found shape again.

“Thank you“, she says with a rough voice, all that crying took a toll on her throat. After wiping all the tears from her face, Carlos leans down and captures her lips in a short yet tender kiss. His smile is bright, lightening her mood greatly.

“Don‘t worry, I will always be there when you are too deep in your own head, mi vida.“

[minniesmutt]

⭐︎ ━━━ GRANITE

⭐︎ ━━━ SS + WC: 2 + 0.6K

⭐︎ ━━━ CW: drugs, arguing, crying

     “Fuck,” Hyunjin groaned from the kitchen

     “What’s wrong?” Y/n asked from the couch, not looking away from her computer screen. 

     She was eternally grateful to Felix for getting her website up and running. Now she didn’t have to worry and could just work. 

     “Nothing. Just remembered something I was supposed to do earlier.” 

     “Okay.” 

     Y/n kept on working. Believing her boyfriend. It’d been a couple weeks since she found the molly he left out and they hadn’t talked much about it since. Nor did she think much when he walked down the hallway and into the bathroom. However, she did get concerned after about fifteen minutes of him being there. 

     “Hyun!” Y/n yelled 

     No response. 

     She set her laptop to the side and walked down the hallway. She knocked on the door, “Hyunjin.”

     Nothing. 

     She gave it another couple of seconds before grabbing the handle, then she heard the flush of the toilet and then the sink. She still opened the door and looked at her boyfriend. “You okay?”

     “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” Hyunjin said and walked past her

     “Because you were in there for almost twenty minutes…” Y/n followed her boyfriend into the living room. 

     “Lunch didn’t settle well with me. I’m fine.”

     Y/n nodded and just sat back down to work. Hyunjin sat with her, turning on the TV and watching an anime they had started while she worked. Work she could barely focus on because her boyfriend was fidgeting. 

     “What’s wrong?” Y/n asked him as she set her laptop to the side. 

     “Nothing,” the singer said

     “You’re fidgeting like you’re hiding something.”

     “Just drop it.”

     Y/n stood up and walked to his bathroom, Hyunjin on her tail. “Y/n.”

     “Either you tell me what’s wrong or I'll find out what’s wrong.”

     The latter seemed to be what happened. Pulling out a hidden baggie of pills and looking at him. Hyunjin avoided her gaze. 

     “You didn't toss the drugs.”

     “Be a waste of money.”

     “So you decided to say fuck your sobriety? After how many freakouts you’ve had about using again?”

     “Why are you mad about this?”

     “I’m more concerned than anything.”

     “Well, take the concern elsewhere,” Hyunjin scoffed and walked back to his living room, Y/n following behind him

     “Excuse me? What happened to the guy who was so worried about what I would think?”

     “Y/n, just leave.”

     ”No. We’re talking this out.”

     “I don’t want to talk this out.”

     “What do you want then?”

     “I want you to get out of my apartment and not come back!”

     Y/n looked at the man in front of her, blankly, “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

     “Nothing wrong with me Y/n! It’s you and everyone else that thinks something’s wrong with me!”

     “Because you’ve been thinking of it and now have relapsed! We’re fucking worried!”

     “I’m a fucking grown man! I don’t need people to worry about me!”

     “We worry because we care!”

     “Well stop! I’m fucking done with all this! With us!”

     “Hyun—“

     “Get out!”

     Y/n grabbed her things as quickly as she could and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind her. The tears started to roll down her cheeks. She practically ran to her car and got inside. 

     She sat back and took a breath before it hit. All the heartbreak settled as she fumbled for her phone. Needing someone to ground her. “Lix…”

     “Are you okay? You sound like you’re crying.”

     “Are you home?”

     “Yeah… Y/n, what —“

     “Hyunjin and I got in a fight.”

     “Wait what?” Jisung’s voice came.

⭐︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST  ⭐︎  PREV  ⭐︎  NEXT

⭐︎ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

⭐︎ ━━━ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @skzfelixlove @4l17h4 @hyunjinhoexxx @linocvp1d @chartrucewhore 

@midnightseul @realrintaro @princelingperfect @highlydestiny @hyuneyeon 

@skzswife @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @fun-fanfics @inumaki-toge-senpai @hanadulsetaad 

@dvbkie099 @moonlight-the-writer @inthefairygrove @jehhskz @chlodavids 

@fleurhcss @kpopjackie @onlyhyunjin @hanniemylovelyquokka @velvetmoonlght 

@kkamismom12 @sillyhal @moonlight-the-writer @4ln-stay8 @nicora04 

@tinyelfperson @minhwa @lys4lix @privhace @sillyhal 

@sweetbokji @oddracha @bookswillfindyouaway @auroratiseee @livixcore 

@amaranthlvr @amarecerasus @highkeyinlovewithhanjisung @fun-fanfics @trixiekaulitz 

@trickskz @yeetmehome @sailorkoss @lunearta @seungminindabuilding

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[daydreams-after-dark]

in response to your birthday month!

Okay, imagine this because I can’t get these out of my head 🥴

Rough-ish car sex with Han. Like he’s growling in your ear as you ride him in the drivers seat because you were too impatient to wait until you got home. But you couldn't help it, he looked delicious at the show earlier that night and barely had any time for you so you were bored and had too much pent up energy for a quiet ride home. You started off teasing him, which got him so whiny and did nothing to stave the heat already pooling between your legs, but after he tried to dismiss you with whatever excuse, you decided to satiate yourself knowing it would drive him mad hearing and seeing you touch yourself until he finally snaps. He’d pull you into his lap after parking the car who knows where and start grinding your hips against his hardened bulge without even trying to take any clothes off until you come first and then he’s scrambling to get everything off because he needs to be inside of you. Even with his cheeks rose tinted and his hasty fumbling that grow clumsy with his mounting need, he’d still growl out a “Fine, if you wanna act like a needy hole that just needs to be filled, then we aren’t leaving until I can see my cum dripping down to your knees.” Like, I’m a firm believer that Han can be a soft sub until you push the right buttons and then that man is getting what he wants 🫦

Overstimulation/Bondage with Lee Know. Honestly, a lot less detail for this but really just him strapping on a spreader bar so you can’t close your legs while he mercilessly eats you out until he finally needs to finish inside you, and then he’s flipping you over so he can spread your cheeks too to watch himself slip in and out of your sopping wet hole while you can’t do anything except drool onto the sheets. 🤤

definitely not a smut writer by any means (and not the freakiest mind out there) and don’t usually do asks/requests so.. hopefully this all makes sense?😅

part of #sorshas birthday month submissions

MDNI / 18+

Ummmm... You definitely are a smut writer! That was so fucking hot! I wish I knew who sent this birthday feast to me. Will you be brave enough to private message me???

OH GOD!

Rough, urgent car sex with Han!!!!! Such a confined space too, the windows would fog up. The car would be rocking back and forth. His cock so deep inside you, so snug and tight. Sloppy kisses. Lot's of tongue. I feel like maybe a bit of biting might happen too, The cream pie situation. You don't even care if gets on the car upholstery (I mean you've already dribble his cum on the seat plenty of times, right?). Then when he gets you home he takes you two more times.

OMG Lee Know! Your one little paragraph got me so wet! I have a spreading / stretch kink so YES PLEASE!! I want to be helpless and at the mercy of him.

igshvsufyhlejfsdi 😭😭😭🤪🤪🤪🥰🥰🥰 I LOVED THIS SOOOOO MUCH!!!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY MONTH - DECEMBER

Hey my beautiful friends! I have an announcement / request.It's my birthday month, and I am opening up the ask box (even though it was never closed), for something a little bit different.

Instead of you sending in fic / scenario requests (which you still can regardless of this), I am requesting YOU to send ME your naughtiest thoughts or fantasies about your bias.

Like, what are your most filthy thoughts? What would you let them do to you? What do you want to do to them? Is there a particular theme that really gets you wet or hard? (like me and alien Han)? Or, what's a kink you didn't know you had until you started reading smut (like me and Han with 2 dicks - it doesn't have to be realistic)?

You don't even have to be involved! It could be you really love imagining two of the guys (or more) together. I know you have filthy minds and are horny little things.

Hit me with what you've got. Also... of course you can submit anonymously... that way you hopefully won't hold back.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

[kyuteflesh]

captain john price / f!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ｡･ﾟﾟ･*°:⋆ₓₒ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

uhhh genuinely so down bad for this man (came out of nowhere) and i need him in my life rn so here’s this short lazy excuse of a smut

⚠️: use of ‘daddy’, degradation, unrealistic sex lowk, major writers block, +18

“you’re mine—all mine. try thinking otherwise with this cock stuffed in your stupid little cunt.” price growled as he landed a final, harsh smack on your rear. “come here and help me with my belt like the bitch you are.”

“yes, sir.” tears swelled in your eyes from the stinging sensation left on your ass. you rolled over and started to fumble with his belt buckle.

“atta girl.” he cooed. “i have it from here. you just get your pretty ass in the air.”

you were completely naked, while price was still fully clothed. the only part of his body exposed was his fat, hard cock.

he started to rub the soreness of your cheeks. you could feel his swollen tip rub against your clit, teasing your entrance. without any futher warning, he slowly started to enter you.

“nngh- fuck-! it hurts!” you cried out. it had been one minute too long since he was able to find a moment alone with you.

“quit yer whining, i’m going as slow as i can. seems like your pussy could use this. need to break ye in again.” his thrusts started to quicken. you could feel him hit every spot possible. the mix of pain and pleasure was unbearable.

“john—please! i can’t take it.” you buried your face deeper in the pillow. price started to rub your clit. taking a fistful of hair in the other hand, he forced your head up. “go on. keep screaming you dumb whore. tell them who you belong to.” john snapped, still going at a brutal pace.

“y-you. you, john. my body is yours and only yours!” he only smacked your ass again in return.

you started to feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter with each thrust. “john, im so close to cumming. please don’t stop!” you exclaimed. he finally let go of your hair, face slamming back into the bed.

john lowered down to your ear. his breathing was quick and heavy. you knew he was close from how much sloppier his strokes got.

“thats it. let it all go. want me to fuck my cum into that tight pussy of yours? wanna cum all over my dick?”

you could only give weak nods in response. there was so much happening to your body you couldn’t even think coherent thoughts.

“really, really wanna cum, daddy.”

the use of that name is what sent him over the edge. you could hear low moans and grunts of ‘fuck’ as he shot his load deep inside of you, burrowing into the crook of your neck. he was weak by this point, practically dry humping you to reach your climax.

it worked for somebody who was as cock hungry as you. finally releasing, you both rolled over. price lazily slung his arm around you and peppered your face with kisses. “i love you so fuckin much, doll.”