#misdirected anger... not mad at you...

[contamination-zone]

honestly I never thought your freshmare was romantic. I thought they were like. a qpr. and fresh was his weird lil cat and they snuggle a bunch

mostly lh HAHA; Have a doodle of them cudding :-]

[fumiliar]

you rarely get mad at kento, to be honest, there's nothing to get mad at. he's the perfect man, he's everything you've wanted and more. but it doesn't mean you never get mad at him. you always scold him when he spoils you too much, you hate it. today was one of those days, kento had promised to let you spoil him today, but you uneventfully had to work overtime, making you come home later than kento. so when you came home, you were fully prepared to start cooking dinner immediately, but instead, the smell of tomatoes flooded your senses. kento was cooking...for you.

anyone would love for their fiancé to spoil them after a long day, but you weren't up for it today. not when he's been spoiling you rotten and taking care of you for the past month, you just wanted to do something for him, but you couldn't. you were annoyed at yourself, so annoyed you had unfortunately misdirected this anger at your innocent fiancé who was peacefully cooking.

"hi love, i'm cooking some sp-"

"spaghetti. i know."

"are you upset? did something happen at work?"

"no!" you shouted, startling kento. "why do you think it's about work? it's you. you're the thing that is making me upset." hearing those words, he immediately turned off the stove, giving his undivided attention towards you.

"tell me what i did that made you upset, please," he approached you. he held your hand, drawing circles at the back of your palms with his thumb.

".......let me spoil you ken," you looked at him.

"you want to...spoil me?" kento's demeanour faltered, his stoic face had changed to a delighted one. his shoulders instantly relaxed.

"yes kento!" you shouted out of frustration. "you spoil me so much, i just.....want to do something for you."

"go ahead," he gave a quick peck on your cheek, quickly untying his apron. "where do you want to start first?"

[kumkaniudaku]

Spoiled

Summary: Tensions boil over on the Thanksgiving trip to New Orleans.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,060

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Previous: Sorry 2024

“Where’s Treece?” 

Terry couldn’t care less but entertained the question for his mother’s sake as he took the seat closest to the window at their reserved table for a late breakfast. 

“In the room pouting,” He grumbled with his annoyed glare focused solely on the breakfast menu. “She’ll be down eventually. Or not. I don’t know or care.”

Marvin chuckled over his mug of coffee. “I’m not all that convinced, son, but I’ll let you have it.” 

As much as they were lovers, Terry and Patrice were friends who bickered like siblings. Petty back and forths reared their ugly heads at inopportune moments, leading to heated, silent arguments. A refusal to raise their voices at each other out of respect resulted in hushed whispers and sarcastic jabs that were so ridiculous to those not involved that Terry’s parents often referred to them as live telenovelas. 

Their latest episode was the most trivial to date. 

Separate families stationed in conflicting parts of the country forced the newest Richmond couple to compromise on how they split their holiday schedule. With a family known for their culinary pursuits, Terry naturally claimed Thanksgiving for his side. Although she couldn’t bear the thought of missing her Nana’s fresh apple pie, Patrice compromised with the caveat that their New Year’s plans were neutral ground for them and them alone. Handshake and lip lock agreements set them on a path to plan for the final six weeks of the year. 

For all of his careful planning, Terry didn’t anticipate how his wife’s commitment to the pupils under her care would collide with his plans to spend extended time in New Orleans. 

“Baby, it’s just two days.” He explained to Patrice while he helped clear the table after dinner one evening. “I’ll get you on the first flight out Wednesday morning. Promise.” 

“I know, but still. I’m gonna miss you. We’re not apart that often.” 

“We’ll make it worth the wait once you get there.” 

Repeated promises to steal some alone time once reunited preceded quick kisses as Terry prepared to join his parents and siblings on a flight early Monday morning. But, once the sun set on their first day apart in months, loneliness and frustration set in for Patrice. Text messages slowed to a creep. Sparse voice notes attempted to fill the void left in their near-silent home. She wasn’t mad at Terry for enjoying time with his loved ones. She was pissed at herself for being so lovesick that her stomach churned. Sickening. This type of yearning was sickening.

Excitement took a backseat to unshakeable irritability on her solo flight to the Big Easy on Wednesday morning. No hugs, kisses, or meaningful conversation for 48 hours could send even the most solitary person over the edge. Terry sent messages in droves to share his excitement for her arrival and she fought the urge to snap back at him. His smiling face greeting her at the hotel’s front entrance briefly soothed her ire until the reality that they couldn’t shake his family’s company set in. 

Every private conversion came with an intrusion. Kisses meant to go further than a quick peck were interrupted before they could start. Attempts at sneaking away never came to fruition. Soon, Patrice’s sour attitude became Terry’s disposition. He knew his anger was misdirected, but couldn’t find the words to explain his annoyance. 

They didn’t speak before bed Wednesday night and barely looked at each other Thursday morning. One angry Richmond was enough. Two made everyone uncomfortable. 

“It’s time for breakfast, Treece.” What Terry intended as an innocent reminder came out as a gruff bark that he couldn’t take back before Patrice opened her mouth to respond. 

“I know! I can see the time!” 

“Then hurry up!” 

“Fuck it! I’ll eat by myself!” 

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Their silly exchange ended with Terry tossing the second hotel key on the bed before he stomped out of the room, allowing the door to slam behind him. 

The moment replayed in his head as he scanned the menu for something they could share in case she made her way out of self-imposed solitary confinement. 

“Well, I hope she makes it down. I wanted her to try a few things,” DeeDee added, unaware that the entire conversation was pushing her son to his limits. “The French toast is something.” 

Terry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if you can get her off the third floor, do whatever you please.”

“She’s probably happy to have you out of her back pocket. My girl can’t catch a break,” Zorah teased. 

Zanah laughed and shook her head. “You haven’t seen Patrice. I swear she was trying to climb into his skin when the elevator doors opened last night. They’re equally insane.” 

“See what happens when you end up in grown folks’ business?” 

“Oh, please.” 

Zanah childishly stuck out her tongue and received a middle finger pulled out of his hoodie’s front pocket as a prize for her antics. 

“Stop it, you two.”

“I thought when y’all became adults all this shit would slow up,” Marvin groaned, shaking his head as his two stubborn children traded schoolyard insults just short of joking about each other’s mama. Movement in his periphery offered what he hoped was a change of pace. “Oh thank God. The guest of honor is here.”

Patrice offered a weak wave and smile upon her approach, hoping they couldn’t see the remnants of a frustrated cry on her face. Terry could, though. He flashed her a concerned look and she answered with eyes that begged him not to inquire further. A round of hugs and greetings sent her to the empty seat across from her husband. 

The friction between them was palpable. They didn’t extend each other the luxury of pet names and googly-eyed grins like they normally would. Time spent canoodling was replaced by stolen glances and tight-lipped requests to pass over utensils. 

DeeDee cleared her throat for their attention. “Um, hi. Mom checking in here. Is there a problem between you two that we should be aware of?” 

“No,” Patrice answered loud enough to eclipse whatever Terry attempted to share. “We’re fine. James is not feeling very affectionate this morning for reasons unknown, but we’re fine outside of that. Right, James? Just fine, huh?”

“Peachy. Nicole is throwing a tantrum over God knows what but Nicole refuses to say more than three words to me at a time, so, while I love Nicole, I will not spend my morning chasing her around because Nicole is not a child and can use her words.”

Terry’s rant came through gritted teeth, leaving him almost out of breath as he neared the end. 

Patrice couldn’t formulate a rebuttal despite wanting to take their spat to the next level. She could only hang on to the firmness in his tone, the words sounding more like a warning than an explanation for their distance. Terry caught the flicker of something mischievous in her eyes and how she slowly crossed her legs beneath the table before grazing her foot against his clothed calf. His frown faltered for a moment. An unspoken understanding was telepathically communicated.

Four sets of eyes stared back at the standoff in utter confusion. 

Zanah took a loud sip of water to snap them out of their trance. “Oh-kay. So, I was thinking about gettin’ this crawfish omelet. Daddy, you oughta get the quesadilla so I can get a piece of that and, Zo, you get the Benny.” 

“But I don’t wanna share my food with you.” 

“Zorah! We are twins. We share!”

Chatter about seafood dressing and late-night spades tournaments planned for the rest of the day swirled around Terry and Patrice as they maintained senseless anger, too committed to the misunderstanding to relent without feeling embarrassed. 

The quiet simmer of mixed emotions followed them after tabs were paid, cocktails were consumed, and the elevator lifting them to the third floor was emptied of spectating parties. Terry pretended to type into his phone while sneaking looks at the way Patrice’s ass sat up in her leggings. 

“You wanna talk when we get in or what?” 

Patrice turned to look over her shoulder. “We can.” Her eyes caught the slow lick of his bottom lip before flickering back up to find him already watching her. “If you want.” 

“Good. I’m tired of the attitude.” 

“Great because I’m tired of yours.”

Having a civil discussion became a background thought once the soft buzz and click of their room door put them seconds away from the privacy they so desperately craved. 

Terry covertly slid the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outside handle before double-checking the deadbolt lock and metal latch. Patrice busied herself with the television remote, turning a rerun of CSI: Miami up to a reasonable volume. Just enough to drown out an explosive meeting of minds or bodies. 

“Ready?” Terry questioned as he pulled his hoodie up, then over his head to deposit it on the back of the nearby desk chair. “We only have an hour or so before we need to head out.” 

“I think we can settle this pretty quick. Don’t you?” 

“Depends. I got a lot to say.”

They watched each other step out of their shirts, socks, and pants, still pretending that some relationship chat was on the other side of their time together. 

Down to thin layers of underwear and insatiable desire, they met for skin-to-skin contact. Patrice set a pace that only Terry could match. Frantic hands gripped broad shoulders to hike one long leg around his waist. Heavy hands found a home beneath round ass for a full sensory experience. 

Patrice pulled away from a messy kiss for a deep enough breath to bark instructions at her phone for a 15-minute timer. The race was on. Friction would either bring a resolution or be why they found common ground. 

Words were hard to come by during a hungry heavy-petting period. Shared breaths and wandering hands communicated every need, peeling away the last barriers that kept them separated. Touch me like this. Kiss me there. I need you here. 

Soon, the itchy hotel carpet pressed into the delicate skin of Patrice’s knees while she looked up at a clenched jaw and flexed abs. She wanted to feel him grow to all of his glory inside her mouth, and he was happy to oblige her request. A fist full of knotless braids kept Terry feeling like he had control of the situation, though they both knew the truth. 

Gagging and gawking provided a filthy auditory masterpiece that he hoped to remember for as long as he lived. Curses meant as praise fueled her performance as she pressed crescent moons into his thighs to remain stable. Her lash extensions drooped under the weight of alligator tears. Her jaw ached from being stretched to capacity over and over. Her thighs burned from her kneeling position. None of the discomforts could deter her from the goal. 

Terry gently placed a warm palm on Patrice’s cheek, admiring her work with a hazy smile. “Missed me, huh?” he breathed out, earning a grin. 

“Mhmmm.”

“I missed you, too. Come here.”

“Missed” was an understatement. A flat-out lie. He was just as needy, just as excited to be inside her, just as ready to abandon demure social norms to unleash the lust and love brewing inside as she was. 

An indescribable pleasure emerged from using and being used. No holds barred. Unrestrained aside from muffled groans unleashed into crisp white pillowcases and skin slick with fresh sweat. 

Terry kept Patrice’s chest pressed into the bed with one hand splayed between her shoulder blades and the other tangled at her roots. She fisted the sheets to keep a grip on the bed and reality while her eyes went in and out of focus. An open mouth produced choked squeaks between sharp breaths. She listened to her name roll from her lover’s lips like a sonnet written just for her. 

He was close. His body tensed with every stroke. Sweet talk broke into throaty groans. Hips lost their rhythm as they sought deeper connection. It was a good angle, but Patrice knew it could be better. It had to get better. This had to be worth it. Who knew when they’d have the chance to fuck each other senseless in the city they made their first commitment to rekindle an almost forgotten flame?

“Let me see you,” Patrice moaned, her head turned just enough to get Terry’s attention. “Please. I wanna see your face.” 

Exhausted limbs shifted and reconnected at the head of the bed, dragging linens along with them. Patrice propped her body on one elbow to shorten the distance between their faces before pulling Terry into a kiss by the back of his head. He was equally tender and possessive, leading with full lips and a tongue eager to taste the remnants of juice and syrup left inside her mouth. 

Then came fingers. Patrice replaced her swollen lips with her middle and ring digits in search of lubrication for other pursuits. The dull ache between her legs needed concentrated attention to reach the promised land. Terry didn’t need further direction. He did as he was told with a gaze just playful enough to convey that he knew what was up. He couldn’t wait to witness what she had in store. 

Their foreheads pressed together as they focused on the slow, lazy circles Patrice drew on her pearl. Terry added his contribution according to her pace, drawing in and out so dazed that he wouldn’t have been able to repeat his name if prompted. 

His brow furrowed to match his effort. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He meant his compliment for his wife though he spoke the words to the body responsible for his glee in the moment. She giggled and threw her head back like a cowgirl to enjoy the ride.

Terry readjusted his angle to chase her lips as a familiar tingle set in. His arms hooked one leg at the bend of her knee before pressing forward on one hand for leverage to drive faster. Harder. 

They were close again, each chasing an individual high harder and faster than before. 

Patrice tried to play innocent as her sultry voice egged him on with seemingly innocuous statements. “You’re so good to me, baby. What did I do to deserve you, hm?”

He tried to slow down, tried to prolong the moment despite his hips driving forward with more and more power. Patrice licked and kissed the shell of his ear to egg him on. 

“Don’t hold back, Terrence. I’m all yours.”

A whimper escaped past his lips before a simple concession speech. “Oh…fuck.”

An unraveling. Muffling broken words against lips curled into a triumphant smile, Terry came undone with his eyes clamped shut to see colors dance behind closed lids. Her orgasm crashing in wasn’t enough for Patrice to break eye contact. She stared back the entire time, mouth opened and eyes transfixed in a devious stare under low eyelids. She didn’t want to miss a moment of his chest heaving, arms tensing, and hips bucking to deliver her the perfect body high she could get without drugs. Earth-shattering, thigh-quaking releases had their place, no doubt. They could never replace the sensation of falling more in love with every electric shockwave brought forth by the love of her life. 

Terry floated back into reality feeling lightheaded, stress-free, and searching for sweet kisses to cap off filthy deeds. 

“Baby, you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” he joked before pressing three quick pecks to Patrice’s lips. “Spoiled and gorgeous.”

She giggled along with him. “If that’s true, why haven’t I been able to get rid of you yet.”

“Because I like you like that. You think I do all this for you to be normal?” 

Light laughter and yet another round of theme song guitar synths rang out as they disconnected and found rest cuddled atop crumpled sheets. Patrice shifted to place her chest on top of Terry’s and traced her index finger along his beautiful cheekbones. 

“We’re playing with fire, TJ. I know you got the notification about this week being risky.”

“Don’t act like I was the one throwing a tantrum this morning.” 

“A tantrum is strong, okay! A tiny meltdown, maybe.” The sudden ring of her long-forgotten alarm cut their laughter short and drew attention to the nightstand. “Right on time.” Patrice stretched across Terry to handle the distraction, drawing his physical attention as he caressed and dropped kisses along her hip. She came back to him and kissed both of his lips separately. “Sorry for being a bitch. I’m working on it.”

“Ask for what you want next time. It’s yours. I’m yours,” He answered as he pushed a few stray braids over her shoulder.

“Use my words?” 

“Use your words.”

“I need more kisses. Or I'll melt. You wouldn't let me melt, right?”

Amorous feelings were back on the rise as they shared a slow, relaxed kiss unfit for two people on a tight schedule. 

Patrice pulled a way first to nuzzle her nose against Terry’s. “D’you wanna shower with me? It’s okay if you don’t. I just…need to spend a little more time together.”

She was bashful, almost refusing to look him in the face as if asking him to bathe together was somehow more revealing than what they’d just shared. 

“Not too hot on the water, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Terry chuckled as another kiss and loose instructions sent Patrice on her way with a giddy hop in her step. He listened to her make arrangements in the bathroom while he made the room more like somewhere to sleep and not ground zero of a natural disaster. 

He placed clothes in neat stacks, straightened items that took a tumble in the heat of the moment and piled dirty sheets in the middle of their bed. When all was complete, he took a seat to contact the front desk. 

“Hey, could we get some fresh sheets later today? Room 335.” Patrice calling for him from the shower made him smile against the receiver. “Sure, extra towels too. Yes ma’am. I appreciate it.” 

Thank God for housekeeping. In one hour the room would return to pristine condition for another romp or relaxation. A night of good food and better drinks would decide their fate for them.

-------

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee

[bitchface24-7]

Hear me out. Viktor getting angry at reader and taking it out on us (m or gn reader)

I have vik brain rot..

DO I LIKE THIS? NO…MAYBE?…YES! - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: Viktor is angry. He’s frustrated. Things haven’t been going to plan and his temper is a very thin string right about now. You accidentally break that string, and he takes it out on you. You’ve never seen this side of him before… you’re really into it.

warnings: dom!viktor, misdirected anger, talks of safe-words/signals, oral sex (m receiving), boot humping, under the desk blowjobs, almost caught (you’re in the lab and someone walks in), teasing, dirty talk, degradation/praise, throatpie, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. the libido I have revolving around Viktor is insane. Like lock me up I need help. I’d drain that man dry if I had the chance and I’d also have hearts in my eyes the entire time I’m with him. He’d be scared, he’d also love it immensely.

Viktor’s life has never been easy.

Throughout his life, he’s had to push and shove and climb his way to the top, even if it meant bruised knuckles and ripped-off fingernails.

You'd think he'd be a pro at this. He's not.

Especially when it feels like this whole month has been nothing but valleys, and he's desperately craving a peak right about now.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ──���──── · ·

It’s another day in the lab, another day for failure, Viktor can't help but think. He's been at this for minutes, hours, days, now leading into weeks of work. It’s like his brain decided to take a vacation.

He feels helpless. Useless. He can’t figure out basic equations, his prototypes keep failing, Jayce is constantly out doing council duties, and you're not by his side.

He doesn't want you near him anyway. He's miserable like this, he's snippy and snooty, even downright mean. He doesn't want to subject you to that, and he knows you will be; even if it’s by accident.

So he already has an idea of how this is going to go when he hears the lab doors open and smells your signature scent.

Hopefully you forgive him for what he's about to do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You quietly enter the lab, seeing Viktor hard at work. He's constantly playing with his hair, twirling the pieces at the nape of his neck, running his hands through it, even gripping the silky strands angrily.

He looks like a mess. A very attractive one, but a mess nonetheless.

You almost flinch when you put a hand gently on Viktor’s shoulders, his forgotten blueprints in the other by your side.

He whips around to look at you, a sneer on his face and a glint in his eyes you've never seen before, you lightly gasp as the blueprints in your hand crinkle a bit. He's mad, he's furious.

You've fucked up somehow and you don’t even know what you did.

“What do you want?!” Viktor snips, his tone sharp and snakelike, “Can’t you see I'm in the middle of something?! I almost solved that equation until you pestered me, now I'm back to square one!” His gaze is dark as he looks at you and you wince lightly, you know work has been hard lately but you didn't realize how bad it was until this very moment.

“I’m here because you told me to come at three o’clock, you forgot your blueprints at home and asked me to bring them so when you talk with—”

Viktor cuts off your explanation, “You didn't have to bother me to do that. You could've left them by the door and let me be. No. You had to pester, and now I've lost all my progress.”

You quirk an eyebrow at your lover. He's snippy, he kind of reminds you of a angry cat. All sharp teeth and hisses. You purse your lips and put the blueprints onto the desk, running your free hand through Viktor's already messy hair.

“Anything I can do to make it up to you?”

The lab is left in a tense silence for a bit before Viktor chuckles darkly, “You can put that mouth to good use instead of pestering me.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that but Viktor pays you no mind, he rolls out a bit from his desk and casually unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and lowers them just enough to get his cock out. He's already half hard, and you feel yourself gulp subconsciously.

He just says one word and you obey him. Like a god and it’s devotee.

“Kneel.”

And you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor sighs through gritted teeth as he continues to work on his equations. A light moan escapes him when a wonderful firm suck encompasses the head of his cock.

He looks down and sees you there, eyes glossy as you look up at him and take his cock without question, without hesitation. He can feel all the anger and frustration leaving him with each pass you make. Maybe this was all he needed, he's been pent up.

Viktor puts his pencil down and groans, a long silky note escaping from his throat. Luckily for him he's gotten an updates wheelie chair that now has a back to it, so it helps him with his posture and comfort.

His posture isn't the best right now as he slowly slides down the chair in ecstasy, his ass on the edge of the chair as his head leans back on the headrest. The long stretch of his throat is all you can see and you take him deep.

Viktor startles when he hears footsteps approaching the lab. He looks at the clock and his eyes widen.

The reason why you came to bring the blueprints has finally arrived.

He forgot he had planned to talk to Jayce at three-thirty. It's currently two-fifty-five, and his partner is going to see him with his cock shoved down his other partners throat.

Viktor lightly kicks you to hide under his desk as he frantically pushes himself to slide forward. You're caged in, unable to be spotted due to the plank of decorative wood at the front of the desk. It’s cramped, with Viktor's long legs, the legs of the desk chair, and the plank of wood keeping your dignity intact.

You can minutely see Viktor trying to get his appearance in check. Running a hand through his hair, adjusting his tie, making sure the wrinkles that formed on his clothes are patted down, and touching his lower back, to ensure his ass isn't out.

Just as Viktor deems himself acceptable, the lab doors open, and in walks Jayce.

God damn it.

You can’t really hear their conversation that well, it’s a bit muffled under the desk, but you can hear tones. Jayce is happy, Viktor is a bit tense.

Let’s make him more tense, shall we?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Viktor, hey! I was able to leave that mind numbing meeting early. So, how’s everything going? You said you had some updates you wanted to show me?”

Viktor can’t help but smile lightly at Jayce’s exuberance, it’s been a while since Viktor has been able to work with Jayce in the lab; so this is nice.

Even though his cock is out and shoved down your throat. He just hopes Jayce doesn't notice.

“Ah, yes. I re-calculated the density necessary for—hnn.” Viktor goes to explain but grunts as he feels a harsh suck. There's no way, you wouldn't…

There it is again.

Viktor grunts a little louder this time and Jayce looks at him in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any help?” His eyebrows are furrowed as he chews on his lip. Oh Jayce, you're so sweet. Please don’t notice.

“I’m— I’m okay Jayce. My leg is just sore, that's all.”

Jayce jolts a bit, his spine stiffening up as he looks over Viktor's form hurriedly, “Are you sure I can't do anything to help—” his sentence is cut off by Viktor waving his hand around quickly as a small grimace overtakes his face. He's lightly biting his lip as his face flushes. He must be in quite a bit of pain, but Jayce relents.

“Truly Jayce, I'm fine. You know how everything gets. After our talk, I’ll head home. Get some rest for once. My body’s hnn… my body’s telling me to relax.”

Jayce purses his lips a bit and nods. Througout the conversation Viktor looks a bit desperate. He grits his teeth, groans lightly in pain, quirks his neck to the side, taps his foot. Jayce doesn't feel any anger or frustration at Viktor, he understands he has chronic pain and he's going through what seems to be a massive flare up.

They talk quickly but deeply. Getting all their ideas and thoughts out before Jayce smiles over his shoulder, and exits the lab, “We’ll talk more later Viktor. Take a break. Get home when you can, I’ll see you tomorrow hopefully.” with that, the lab doors shut and Viktor holds his breath for a minute as Jayce's footsteps slowly but surely get farther and farther away from the lab.

When the footsteps disappear all together, Viktor growls as he pushes back his seat, dragging you alongside with him from the harsh grip he has in your hair. You whine at the pain but Viktor ignores you.

“You slut. You couldn't wait and be good for me. No. You had to suck my cock under my desk as Jayce and I have an important discussion. Did you want to get caught? Did you want Jayce to see how much of a whore you are?”

Your whine is garbled as Viktor forces your head up and down over his cock, his head leans back as he moans deeply from his chest. The sound rumbles out deliciously.

“I’m going to fuck your face since you need it so bad. If you want me to stop, hit my thigh three times, if you want me to slow down, hit it twice. Do you understand me?” Viktor yanks your head off his cock to hear you verbally say yes. Your eyes are watery and your lips are puffy, but a raspy yes escapes your throat before its filled again.

Viktor's ruthless, he forces your head up and down, like his own personal pocket pussy. All you can hear is the wet sounds of your throat, skin hitting skin, and Viktor's desperate growls and moans.

He somehow speeds up even more, lightly thrusting as he pushes your head down. You can’t help but squirm a bit, desperate for some tension to be released from your own body. You inhale sharply when you feel the polished tip of Viktor’s shoe nudge your centre. A jolt of pleasure rushes over you as your eyes flutter. Viktor’s dark chuckle tells you all you need to know.

“So desperate. Look at you, grinding against my shoe. Keep going darling, I want to see you fall apart as I cum down your throat.”

You can’t help but do as he says. He keeps using your throat like his own personal toy as you grind helplessly against his shoe. Eventually a loud groan is what you hear as Viktor shoves your head down, your nose brushing against the light auburn curls at the base of his cock. As you swallow his cum down, cock warming his dick in your throat, you thrust messily and frantically against Viktor’s shoe.

A shaky moan escapes you as you finally orgasm, your underwear becoming sticky and wet at the intensity. Viktor carefully pulls your head back, you lightly cough and breathe in shudders to catch your breath. Viktor smiles lovingly at you as he comes down to kiss you on your forehead. 

“How you spoil me my love. You did amazing. You’re incredible, thank you for that.” His tone is sweet as he cards his hands through your hair as he sporadically kisses your face.

You can’t help but giggle at his show of love. He’s not a fan of physical displays of affection, but when it’s just you two, he’s so undeniably sweet.

A groan of pain escapes you as you slowly get up off your knees, Viktor is fixing himself as you lean against his desk as an abrupt opening of the door startled you both. It’s Jayce.

“Sorry! I forgot my notebook— hey! When’d your get here?” Jayce asks as he walks back to Viktor’s desk and grabs his notebook, a blinding smile directed towards you.

“Uh— not too long ago.” You state, your throat dry and voice raspy due to the abuse it suffered. Jayce looks at you in concern, “Wow, you don’t sound good. You two should probably go home, you sound sick and Viktor’s been in physical pain.”

Viktor looks off to the side as he lightly scratches his cheek, you smile at the sweet man, “Good idea Jayce. C’mon Viktor, let’s go.”

Before anyone can move, it’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jayce’s head, “Oh no— no. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t!”

“Didn’t what Jayce?” You ask as Viktor snickers lightly, “For your sake, we didn’t Jayce.”

Jayce groans in pain as Viktor lightly laughs and you just look at the two of them. Then you realize what they’re tip-toeing around and feel your face heat up.

God damn it Jayce. Why’d you have to be smart. Oopsie daisy.

Y’all my libido is 100% tied to Viktor and minutely Jayce, it’s so bad 🙃 hope y'all liked this! ❤️

[crushedsweets]

Do the other proxies get pissed at Kate when she has these "episodes", like the one in the VN where she attacks Y/N? Or is it something they know she can't control and don't judge her for? Do the episodes cause any tension or affect their dynamic and relationships in any way?

Also, are any of them animal lovers? I need to know who is naturally sweet to Max.

its complicated, but...yes, they get angry and yes, it causes some drama. and yesss some are animal lovers.

all of the proxies have these episodes(to varying degrees), so they all understand it. but the chaser is the worst of them

do the other proxies get mad at kate for her "episodes"?

in general, they KNOW kate can't control it - but they all have anger issues and need to direct it somewhere, so it falls on kate.

plus, there are usually signs before these "episodes." she gets dizzy, spacey, headaches, nausea, etc. the proxies are normally good at knowing when the chaser/masky/hoody are coming

thats why tim yelled at toby about "why did you let her get like that?" tim knew there were probably signs the chaser was coming, and he's angry neither of them acted accordingly. but as you can see, kate wasnt really the one being yelled at for it ...partially because they know shes not gonna react, though

Do the episodes cause any tension or affect their dynamic and relationships in any way?

yes!

again, they'll get mad at her for not taking precautions when she's experiencing symptoms, or they'll just be misdirecting their anger at her. even if they know better, it's hard to get rid of lingering resentment

she already has 0 trust in brian and tim, so it just cements her wariness of them. she trusts toby a lot, but hearing him throw her under the bus really irritates her. she wont communicate healthily, but she might later mumble about him being a dick and refuse to talk to him for a while.

additionally, there will obviously be strain if the chaser successfully hurts them. for example, when tim was in college, the chaser was the one dragging him around in a lot of those clips. tim hasn't fully forgiven her for it, regardless of it being her fault or not

they tend to forget that slenderman is the root cause of their issues, though. misdirected anger and all that

are any of them animal lovers? YESSS. toby and brian love dogs! tim is friendly with dogs, but not particularly obsessed. kate is more of a cat person

which. ok . i know toby was the one making jokes about max. he loves pets, he's just a dick and wanted to provoke Y/N cuz he's mad.

in another situation, he'd have been playing catch with max!

[luveline]

Congrats on 40k Jade! Also hi, I hope you're having a great day (I'm really nervous this is my first time sending in a request I'm so sorry if I sound weird)

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less

Can I request a reader that has a bit of a temper and got told that no one would like her because of it so she's a bit insecure about herself? My favourite character is James so maybe with him or with Remus whichever you prefer (and they reassure her and it's awesome because your writing is just so awesome)

Congrats again <3

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much, you didn't sound weird at all dw ♡ fem!reader

The day has been long, your feet dragging up the steps to Remus' flat. His door sticks and the only radiator that doesn't need bleeding is the one in his bedroom, so it's cold, and you're irked. You kick out of your pinching shoes and hang your jacket up, which falls on the floor. You pick it up and it falls again. Huffing, you put it on the sideboard and trudge down the hallway to Remus bedroom. 

"Hello, my lovely," he says without looking up. 

There's a notebook in his lap. He's wearing his reading glasses. If you were in a better mood you'd try to distract him by laying across his thighs. As it stands, you're fucking exhausted. You flop down in his bed and curl towards him where he's sitting against the headboard. 

"Tired?" he asks. 

"Mm." Tired isn't the right word, but the right word makes people cringe at you. 

Today has been awful and you hate the part of you that wants to rail about it. You can't help how you feel; this anger glows molten. It makes you hate yourself, which irks you worse. You grab one of his pillows and pull it against your chest to squeeze it until your arms hurt. 

"Bad day?" he asks, pen scratching.

You exhale. "A bit," you say into the pillowcase. 

"Sorry, dovey," he says. There's the sound of paper leaves catching against one another and the clink of a pen put away. "What did you say? I needed to finish writing that edit down before I forgot."

You're not mad at him in particular but your voice comes out tightly strung anyhow, "I said it was a bit of a bad day."

Remus hears your tone and refuses to skirt around the issue. Not from a want to be confrontational, but a direct way of going about things. "What, are you mad at me?" 

"No," you say, turning away from him. 

"You seem mad." 

"I think I am." 

"Well, now you don't sound mad," he says, dipping down to talk into the back of your neck. "Now you sound upset. Have I upset you?" 

"No, Remus," you say. Mad to sad to mad again, your shoulder and spine ache with rigidity. 

All his questions didn't make you mad, but you were mad to begin with, and so what might usually be very normal turns to irritating. In the moment, you've no hope of controlling it, and, not wanting to further subject Remus to any misdirected annoyance, you shuffle out of his reach. "I just need a minute," you say. 

Remus is used to your temper, though you often worry he'll grow tired of you and your big moods and throw in the towel. You count useless numbers in your head and curl your fists into balls until your bones feel like they're too big for your skin, wanting to deal with it alone. 

A minute or two later and Remus reaches for your side. "I was trying to lighten the mood, and it wasn't my best work," he says, tip of his thumb drawing semi circles into your shirt. 

Remus taking the blame for your emotions has you frowning, rabbit-holing into twisting thoughts. He's always been good for you and good to you, accepting of your short fuse. He's not always sunshine and lollipops himself. But, he's not angry half as often as you are. Does that bother him? People have said to you before that your temper will be the ruining of a good thing, that Remus won't want to deal with it. And it makes sense. 

You don't want to deal with it either. You don't really feel like you have much choice when it comes to being mad. 

"Sorry," you mumble. 

Mattress springs groan as he leverages himself closer to you. Familiar, his hand sneaks under your shirt to tickle the soft roll of your stomach. He draws a slow and winding line with no end nor goal in mind, uncaring of the pouch you get laying down. Remus doesn't really care about anything that could be marked superficial. It's one of the many reasons that he's markedly the best person you know; he loves everything that you hate about yourself without hesitation. Like your anger. 

"Do you want to set a rule?" he asks. 

"Pardon?"

"Humour me. Let's make a condition before we have this conversation." Remus stops drawing to slide his hand between your hip and the mattress, hugging you to him. "I'll assume you're not mad at me even if you sound angry, and you can assume I don't mind." 

"Do you mind?" you ask. 

"Well, I don't love when you're angry, but I know it isn't at me so it won't matter." 

Reassured enough to face him, you meet his eyes. 

"I know I have a tendency to make it sound like I'm angry at you when I'm really mad at someone else," you say. 

"That's not true. And I ask, don't I? If I think you're mad at me?" Remus' already dulcet voice drops to a murmur, words said slowly and with as much care as a person can put into words alone, "I don't know why you feel like you're such a bad person for being angry." 

"Because it's all the time," you say. Your throat burns with the effort that it takes to stay intelligible. 

"It's not all the time." 

"It's often, and it's not fair to you." 

"It's not fair to take it out on other people, and I promise you I'd let you know if you were doing that. So… could you just tell me why you're mad? Without worrying I'll take it personally." 

"It's not about taking it personally, I don't want you to take it personally, but it's just– it's just ugly, isn't it?" 

Remus frowns. "Honestly? I don't think so. You have to be angry sometimes. Everyone gets angry and those feelings need somewhere to go, or it'll eat you up inside and make you bitter instead. Like… okay, he'll forgive me for telling you this, but Sirius used to get into these awful angry tirades where he'd shout at nothing, you know? And I hated seeing him do it, but I wasn't sitting there thinking he was ugly for it. I just kind of hated that something was able to occupy him so heavily. And that's how I feel about it when it happens to you, dove." 

"He used to?" you ask, the bridge of your nose flat to his knee. 

"Yeah, he did." Remus pushes your shoulder flat to the bed beneath you and leans in to give you a kiss. The corner of your mouth takes the brunt of it. 

"Did you kiss him like this, or–" 

Remus laughs and hugs you, "A discussion for another day," he murmurs. He gives you a last kiss and squeeze and then sits up. "So shout at me." 

"I don't want to shout at you." 

"You know what I mean. Tell me what pissed you off today." 

"Are you sure?" you ask. 

"Yeah, I'm sure, I like the way your eyes look anyways, when you get riled up." Remus finds your hand to hold. "Tell me, dove. I'll be angry with you."

[epickiya722]

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like along the way that some people misdirect their anger or whatever other negative feelings when it comes to stories.

Like, when characters do bad or other questionable things the reader gets mad at the writer, some going as far as wishing harm on the writer.

Over fiction.

I don't know about anyone else but when characters do bad things, my emotions are sparked by what the character does. I don't mind it when characters are antagonizing or when characters make bad decisions because stories will have conflict, just what kind is what differs. Stories and its characters are meant to evoke some emotion from you.

I get it if the writing is flawed and sometimes maybe the character's actions don't make sense or it seems the writer really just don't want what they're doing, however...

What about the cases when the character's actions are questionable and that's on purpose? Maybe it does fit into the story and there's a message there to be seen or a reflection you're meant to have?

Should how you feel be directed towards the character or the writer?

Nowadays, I feel like more people have taken the latter and forgot that stories, no matter the form, are meant to be entertaining.

"They're a bad writer." Are they, or you just happen to be a bad reader?

And I don't mean like "you can't read". I mean as in "I think this story should cater to me and only me and the characters should do what I want them to do even though I'm not writing the story and I'm not the only audience out there".

[loreandletters]

WarTrophy!Sokka Snippit

i survived finals. it only cost me my healthy, sanity, and a few years of my life. as celebration, here'sanother semi-polished drabble from my old drafts!

fic in question | snippit 1 | snippit 2

-

Agni, Sokka cursed, I think that made me feel worse.

He hadn’t thought about that night in a long, long time. Was this what brooding did to a person? No wonder Zuko was so grumpy all the time. Sokka sighed. Moping was doing him any good - best leave that to melodramatic prince’s with bruised egos.

Sokka propped himself up with a groan, his chest aching terribly and begging for him to lie back down. Shit. He felt horrible. Almost as bad as he did after his trials.

‘How could you let them get away? We had them!’ 

Sokka snorted, even though it wasn't funny at all. Honestly, what was Zuko expecting? It was the avatar, master of all four elements, versus Sokka, master of nothing. Was he supposed to pull a bomb out of his ass or something? 

Sokka pinched his nose bridge, resisting the urge to bury his face in a pillow and scream. Zuko was understandably upset. He had done the impossible, something everyone had laughed at him for and told him he’d fail at, only for the avatar to simply fly away. On a giant flying spirit-beast thing. 

Could Sokka really blame him for getting mad? 

‘How could you?! You’re - You’re no different than them. I - I should have known. You’re just a savage playing dress up.’

Sokka’s hand dropped onto his lap, cushioned by white sheets. It’s scarred and calloused skin stared back up at him. That…that was a little harder to reason away.

The people they fought, those were savages. Agni’s sake, they had bone spears! Bones! They lived in huts; they traveled on wooden boats - what about Sokka was savage other than his eyes? He may not be a Fire National, but everything he'd done over the past eight years should have made up for it!

Sokka served the royal family even when it went against his personal feelings, which wasn’t even something everyone on their crew could claim. Hell, he’d threatened to kill a kid in front of their mother for Zuko. Who in their right mind would see that and then say he was a traitor? A savage?

His gut grew hot - and he rubbed at his face to try and banish the growing flush, ignoring how it made his ribs twinge in protest. 

In the strictest terms, Sokka didn’t really have any grounds to get mad at Zuko. Zuko was a prince, banishment or not, and Sokka was decidedly…not. If Zuko wanted to call him a savage until the day he died, he didn’t have the right to say no. It’s just that...Sokka knew deep, deep, deep, deep down, Zuko couldn't have meant it. His prince was a kind one, gentle and so conscious of everyone around him. 

Fire spit, Zuko used to make him help sneak turtleducks into his room, wanting to raise them in secret only to give up because the idea of them being separated from their mother was too sad. Sokka sighed.

He forced himself to let go of any bitterness, letting the resentment in his stomach cool. His anger was misdirected (it was). Zuko wasn't the problem here - Ozai was. They wouldn't even be out here in the first place if it wasn't for him! Ursa, Lu Ten, Azulon - everything was Ozai's fault, and as if that wasn't enough, he was trying to ruin Zuko.

Zuko would still be that kind boy Sokka remembered from their childhood and Azula (probably ) wouldn't have turned out so crazy. Even now, oceans away and two years of silence, Ozai had still managed to hurt Zuko more.

That was the root of Sokka's anger. That once again, Zuko let his anger get the best of him, forcing him to embrace Ozai’s poison just a little bit more.

Sokka had held out hope that maybe the years at sea would dampen that connection, the openness maturing him in a way the palace could not, but it seemed he was wrong. Ozai's talons still cut in deep.

Sokka sighed, the sharp twist in his heart throbbing. It hurt him to see Zuko chase senselessly after Ozai’s approval, not when he knew the Fire Lord would never give it. Everything that would make Zuko a great man was everything Ozai hated. Zuko would have to either die or become like his father, before even a sliver of approval floated his way, and Sokka didn’t know which was worse.

Making up his mind, he began to get up. So what if Zuko blamed him? It was nothing, just a bump in the road. There was a lot on the line, and Sokka didn’t have time to get all twisted about some playground insults. Zuko needed Sokka now more than ever, and if he continued to doubt him, well that just meant Sokka needed to work harder to show his dedication.

Sokka rolled out of bed with a groan. He needed to see Zuko and…well, he’d probably have to apologize for that punch. Also, Sokka just wanted to see him. He was Sokka’s prince, but they were friends. And anyways, Zuko still cared about him (duh the guy had moved him to his room) and that was enough proof for him that this was all just water under the bridge.

With great effort, he got to his feet. Sucking in a couple breaths, he steeled himself. Agni, it hurt. By the time he made it to the door, he’d pull himself together. He wouldn’t be of any use to Zuko broken. Letting out a hiss, he limped out into the hallway. When he crossed the threshold, he straightened up and pushed the agony to the corner of his mind that he ignored. There, totally normal. 

(he could make it about a day, tops, before needing like ten hours of beauty rest)

Sokka traversed through at least three hallways before he finally ran into someone.

“Sokka.” The voice was deep, heavy with the scratch that came from breathing out fire, proof of Agni’s blessing. 

“Jogan.” Sokka said back just as enthusiastically, which was to say, not at all.

Jogan looked him up and down with an unkind, critical eye. “You shouldn’t be up.” 

“Probably.” Sokka shrugged, then raised his eyebrow in half-feigned amusement. “Odd to hear it coming from you though. Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” The bigger man huffed, “but the prince has been hovering for days. It’d be disrespectful for you to waste his effort.”

Out of everyone on the crew, Sokka respected Jogan the most, despite the fact it was so obviously not returned. Jogan didn’t like him, but he was a loyalist so he obeyed Zuko. He was nothing like Ryuji, who ignored the prince in favor of his own disgust. 

It was nice to see that there were still people out there who respected the weight of Zuko's status. As the banishment went on and on, Sokka had started to fear the Fire Lords’ propaganda would fully erase support for Zuko’s claim to the throne by the time they returned. At this rate though, they had at least ten years before Sokka really had to start worrying. No great, but it could be worse.

“I would never.” Sokka promised, and tapped his chest confidently, “In fact, thanks to the Prince’s attention, I’m at full health. Could fight off a giant flying buffalo.” 

“Hmph.” Jogan grunted, but that criticizing gleam had dimmed. Sokka couldn’t help the exasperation. It felt odd knowing that a racist crewhand had more trust in his word than Zuko did. 

Sokka looked around then, confusion brushing away his apprehension. “Where is everyone?” 

It wasn’t that late in the day yet; there should still be some people milling about. Were they getting their asses kicked in some all out brawl on deck? Shit, he hoped he hadn’t missed Ryuji getting his ass handed to him.

Jogan thankfully decided to have mercy on Sokka and humor him, instead of ignoring him (outside of orders) as he tended to do. “We’ve docked. They’ve ordered everyone off board.”

“Already?”

Jogan rolled his shoulders. “It’s been a week since the poles.”

Spirits. He was out for a while. “Where are we then?”

“In Sen Dor port for repairs.” 

Sen Dor? Why did that sound familiar? Seeen Doooo – Sokka’s back sent sharp sparks of pain up his spine with how fast it shot up. This was Zhao’s port. Sokka closed his eyes in frustration. Zuko must have been too impatient to go further north. That, or he didn’t want to lose the avatar's scent. Shit! What a horrible time to be out. Couldn’t have happened in the three years they were just wandering out on sea with nothing to do, could it?

Sokka bowed, and bid the man a quick goodbye. He definitely didn’t miss the disapproving stare it earned him. Sokka ignored it, focusing on getting to his room and armouring up as fast as he could.  Zhao was a fucking bastard, an ambitous prick that wouldn’t think twice about hyjacking Zuko’s mission for his own gains. If Lu Ten hadn’t died, he never would have made it up the rank as far as he had.  

Unfortunately for literally everyone, that was just the kind of soldier Ozai liked.

Sokka swore under his breath. 

Zuko just couldn’t give him a break, could he?

[sleepywdean]

(angst, mentions of toxic relationship, violence and cheating. mentions of drugs and alcohol.)

from the moment you first laid eyes on him, you knew ben was the type of man who would break your heart.

you don’t know why you keep going back to him, you're drawn to the hollow pull of his need. a moth to a flame, a magnet. knowing he wants you—even if only on some carnal level—makes you feel something. you know his love for drugs and alcohol will always be stronger than the one he feels for you, if he even is in love with you. with soldier boy, nothing is certain, nothing but silence and distance.

never letting you in, always leaving you wondering.

you know you can’t fix him, can’t make him better and maybe that’s what brings the red cross nurse out of you—such a cliché, the soldier and the nurse—you try. for him, you try. you’d do anything for him, without even asking. every time he comes back smelling like another woman's perfume, your heart drops, but you can't do anything but welcome him back like you've been waiting your whole life for him. every time you find a lipstick stain on his clothes that doesn't match your shade, you're reminded that for ben, you're probably just one of many.

on more nights than you'd like to admit, you find yourself sobbing softly on the floor in front of the washing machine, holding tight in your hands ben's incriminated clothes. most of the times he pretends not to hear.

cold heart, cold hands and cold attitude, ben has all of the above. 

ben's addictions, a heavy fog you cannot lift, break you down silently. it’s all there is for him: sex, pills, fighting, alcohol, late night TV and killing.

thanks to butcher, you find ways to keep him under control so his violent and sudden outbursts won't eventually lead you to madness, but you know the boys pity you. if they just knew he’s not always an asshole, an old fashioned dick. in fleeting moments, he is soft, tender, reminding you of a love that could've been.

sometimes he's the one who forgets. 

ben forgets every time he paces around the room, shouting, fists clenched tight, voice raised. he doesn't hit you, but you still flinch if he comes near you when he's mad, because you both know he doesn't have to hit you to hurt you. he'll say things he can't and won't take back and you'll pretend you didn't hear him.

you forgive him before he says sorry. that's why he never apologises, he just touches you gently, eyes filled with pretend regret while you curl up on his lap as he lights a joint.

his rage isn’t just loud—it’s lonely, misdirected, and brutal. and it leaves emotional wreckage every time.

he doesn't always yell, maybe it'll be a slammed door, a look or a flash in his eyes that makes the room feel like it might shatter under the weight of his fury. you know ben's anger is really a mirror of his inner damage, the anger is not just anger but a symptom—a scar.

the sound of his keys tossed carelessly on the counter, the light in the hallway turning on and he way he never takes off his boots right away are little sensory details that haunt you.

you don't remember falling asleep, curled up in your bed, but the second the front door opens, you wake up, like your body knows when he's close.

tock, tick, tock, tick—

you know it's past midnight because the city is unnervingly quiet, the new york traffic slower until the first hours of the morning.

as you hear the fridge opening, then closing, and the noise of a beer cracking open, you wonder how ben got home.

he doesn't speak when he walks into the bedroom, just stares down at you. before you can let him know you're awake—maybe by whispering a shy ‘hi’—he disappears back into the darkness like he's part of it.

you always hope ben will mumble something, maybe an excuse, but nothing ever comes. just the weight of having him near enough to smell but never knowing where he's been.

he's fine, just tired, he just needs his space—you tell yourself as you snuggle to your pillow, waiting for him to join you in bed.

as he crawls into bed with you, you pretend to sleep. maybe this time he'll pull me closer and hold me all night like im the only girl in the world.

ben still doesn't speak, his back to yours feeling like a wall you cant climb.

"where have you been?" you whisper after a few minutes.

ben grunts like he was just on the verge of falling asleep and your voice brought him back to reality. "out."

"with?"

"does it matter?" his cold and short answer shuts you up immediately. he rarely ever has to raise his voice to shut you up.

"it does to me." you say as you roll onto your side, facing him. you find him stomach up, arm under his head as his green eyes are glued to the ceiling. the scent of smoke clings to him—probably cigarettes, maybe weed, more likely something worse.

ben exhales through his nose. not annoyed, just... weary. almost as if the conversation is too much and your concern just noise in his ears. when he finally turns his head to look at you, his eyes are red—and you almost wish it were from tears. "can we not do this right now?"

"do what, talk?"

he sighs now, doesn't answer. you watch his figure bathed in moonlight peaking from the blinds. you watch his fingers twitching on his thigh, like they're still holding something they haven't put down. you wonder where you'll find the empty beer can tomorrow, bets are on the bathroom counter.

you know this version of him all too well, you've met him before, for months around 1am. this is the ben that comes back home in the middle of the night, smelling like the girl he eyed too long at the bar.

you reach for his arm, not to bring him closer, god no, but just to touch him. to remind yourself he is real.

"i wait for you." you murmur, glancing back up at his face just in time to see the bite he gives the inside of his cheek.

your fingers gently tighten around his arm, encouragingly, and you hope that he's going to say something different tonight, something that will make the waiting worth it.

instead ben grunts again, tired green eyes still avoiding yours.

"i'm here now." he replies like it's enough before rolling onto his side, facing the opposite direction.

you stare at his naked back, inches apart, his silence weight more than what he said.

you roll onto your back as a soft snore breaks the silence and you sigh, another battle lost.

like always, ben falls asleep first and you breathe him in like the apology you'll never receive.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

Got to say, it's very nice to see how good you react about the Keira Walsh situation because I have felt a lot of discomfort from seeing people insulting her for wanting to leave.

She's human and has been living away from home for 3 years - being an expat myself, I know it can be difficult sometimes. It doesn't mean she doesn't respect Barça and doesn't love the club but she's not from Barcelona and her life is in England. There's nothing wrong and some fans react as if she just killed their parents.

Plus her and Ingrid simply want to PLAY which is their job. Yes, it's a huge honour to play for the best club in the world but if you spend more time on the bench, it's not nice, whatever the club.

And for those saying that Keira is putting the club in a bad situation because she's leaving last minute: it's not HER job to find a replacement. We've known for a while that she wanted to leave so Barça should have started looking since she made it clear she wouldn't renew.

So yeah, it's just nice to read opinions from someone not going crazy and extreme on someone simply wanting to go home near her family and simply wanting to play more.

thanks anon! so i guess i have the benefit of old age to reflect on these situations, and i understand how the real world works 🤷‍♀️

certainly i relate to her situation, so i'm trying to be empathetic. i've spent a lot of time away from home to try and build my career and build my financial independence. i would like to eventually return home and take care of my family and live a good life, but part of that is taking big risks, working for the "best" in your field if possible, and then evaluating what you want to do for the rest of your career. so how can i criticise keira for the same?

so yeah, as much as i hate to admit it, barça is still a business at the end of the day. and this boils down to a bad business decision than a fickle move by a player. it would be one thing if keira told barça she was going to re-sign a contract and dragged them along all season (pulling a lieke) only to change her mind at the last minute. that's not what happened here at all. she wanted to leave in the summer and that has not changed. the club should have prepared better! 😤

oh, for sure. to me that is the fatal flaw, our lack of planning. and maybe something happens in the next 24 hours, but to see some culers misdirect their anger towards keira, when it should be the club, shows a lack of understanding how football works. 🙏

yup, i totally understand her rationale and no blame towards her at all. but also, i'm not mad at chelsea as i am frustrated with barça. chelsea is playing its game. i may not agree with the way they are playing, but they are playing a legal game.

so we can complain about it, but it doesn't change the fact that it happened and this is the state of women's football now. we need to plan and act accordingly!

[tashiduncandonaldson]

build a fic: 2 E, and 𓃢

AHHHH THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME!!! alrighty, apologies for the wait, but here we go: art and tashi + "what they said back there. is it true?" + anxiety + the dressing room of a luxury department store

"What they said back there. Is it true?"

Tashi closes the door to the dressing room, feeling Art's eyes on the back of her head as she locks the door. She doesn't need to look at him to see the expression on his face -- his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth curving downward, tension lining his forehead and jaw like a frame hugging a beloved portrait. Hurt, bewilderment, and disappointment. The three things she hasn't been able to figure out how to alleviate in him just yet.

She turns to face him, to see him looking at her exactly the way she knew he would be, and she hangs the dresses she's planning to try on on the hooks in the dressing room. "Yes."

Art bites the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenching even tighter. He's a string too tightly strung, just on the verge of breaking. She's seen him snap the strings of his opponent's racket with the force of his serves before, and as she looks at his face, she's reminded of the sound those strings had made when they'd snapped. Sharp and unforgiving, much like another sound that still lingers in the back of her memory when she allows herself the very rare opportunity to pity herself.

"When were you going to tell me?" he asks quietly.

"At some point." Tashi knows it's not the right thing to say, and Art's reaction confirms her feelings. His face twists into a grimace of disbelief, a dark scoff escaping his lips as he takes a step back from her.

"Tashi, I shouldn't have to find out that my coach was offered a job by John fucking Isner from a fan asking for a picture with me outside the dressing rooms at Saks," he tersely argues. He's angry now. Good, she thinks. She can take his anger and wrangle it down, tame it into something he can use out on the court. She can't do that with his sadness, but she can definitely do that with his anger.

"Art," she says slowly, her voice hardening. "Did it occur to you that I didn't tell you because I'm not taking the offer?"

"But you didn't tell me."

"What does that matter? I'm not taking the offer, and it didn't make sense to me to tell you when it wasn't something I was even thinking about considering." She folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head, studying him. "Do you think you wouldn't have freaked out if I'd told you about it the day he approached me?"

Art opens his mouths, ready to argue, but then he closes it. His cheeks are flushed with a soft pink he only gets when he's emotional or aroused, and he puts his hands on his hips. "I wouldn't have freaked out."

"Yes, you would've," she argues back. "You would've freaked out just as much as you're freaking out right now, and it would've ruined your mood after winning Miami. And then you know what would've happened? You would've started off clay season in a bad mental space, so to avoid all that fuckery, I did the best thing I knew to do to keep you focused. You're having the best clay season you've ever had, Art, and you've been doing it without having John fucking Isner's job offer worrying you."

Art doesn't look at her, keeps his gaze on the floor. The lush carpet of the Saks dressing room suddenly seems to be very interesting to him as more time passes, and he doesn't speak. Finally, Tashi sighs, and she starts unbuttoning her pants, turning to the dresses on the hooks.

"You can be mad at me all you want, but it's misdirected anger."

"What?" Art asks.

Tashi doesn't turn around, and she continues to undress down to her bra and underwear. "You're not mad at me because you know I'm right. You know you wouldn't have been able to focus. But what you're really mad about is the fact that Isner would try to poach me in the first place."

She takes the dress off the hanger, draping it over her arm as she turns back around to face Art. Reaching behind herself, she unclasps her bra with one hand and lets it drop. Art's eyes are no longer staring down at the carpet, nor are they trained on her face; they're focused on her breasts as she bares them to him.

"And you're especially mad over that thought because I'm not just your coach. I'm your girlfriend. And that complicates everything we do a hell of a lot more." Tashi pulls herself up to her full height, her shoulders back and her spine straight, and she crosses closer to him. He blinks rapidly, the exact reaction she wanted from him. "Am I right?"

"Well...yeah," Art manages to grunt out. "It's fucking Isner."

"Fucking Isner," she agrees, her voice dipping down into a soft murmur. "But you don't have to worry. I'm not going anywhere."

"No?" He pulls his gaze back up to her face, and she lets the dress slide down her arm and to the floor. Closing the distance between them, Tashi takes his face in between her hands, and she runs her thumbs over his cheekbones.

"No," she says quietly. "I'm not leaving you."

For a moment, Art simply stares at her, his eyes running over every feature of her face like he's memorizing her. He looks at her and drinks her in with a tenderness she's come to associate with him in everything he does, from how he touches her to how he looks at her. He's quiet when he puts his arms around her waist, drawing her even closer into him, and she arches her back against the warm weight of his palms running over her spine.

"Ok," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"Good." She tilts her head up to catch his lips in a warm, suggestive kiss. "Now I can think of a way you can make it up to me."

Art's mouth curves into a wicked grin, and he's sinking down to his knees to put that mouth where she wants it before she's even done speaking. And as he drags her underwear down her thighs, his tongue already starting to press against the lines of her between her legs, Tashi has never loved her job or her client more.

SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO WHIP OUT, BUT THIS WAS LITERALLY THE FOURTH SCENARIO I CAME UP WITH LMAO I RESTARTED IT SO MANY TIMES!!!! anyway, thank you for your patience, and i hope you enjoy it!!! thank you SO much for indulging me with this build a fic ask game. it was a lot of fun coming up with this even as i was struggling lol 🥰😭

build a fic with me?

[catsofcydonia]

People who hate AI really don’t realize how ridiculous — and especially contradictory — they sound. AI, for them, is somehow both the most terrible and the most useless tool, but even then, you're all panicked and angry about it?

LLMs (which I guess is what you mostly hate, because I don’t see you here complaining about your recommendation algorithms — which, surprise, are also AI models, just not generative) are powerful tools.

Is there stolen information involved? Yes. Sometimes it’s sensitive — and that’s wrong, and I do care, and I think it should be stopped. But in most cases, it’s stuff I honestly don’t care about: like research papers (not because of the researchers, but because fuck Elsevier — and if you’re against that, then I guess you’re also against Sci-Hub, which I’ll always support), or your furry drawings — sorry, I don’t care.

Your arguments against AI art are, in many cases, classist and anti-art. And the amount of hate thrown at people who use AI is honestly scary. People who use AI are not your enemy. They’re not inferior, and they’re not superior either. Using a tool or not isn’t inherently good or bad.

(And don’t start with the environment — you don’t really care. There are plenty of things you do every day that harm the planet more than AI usage, and you’re not giving those up.)

What really makes you mad is that now other people can profit from this, while you work hard and still earn very little. And honestly? I get that. But the people using AI aren’t the problem — they’re also just trying to survive.

The real enemy — as always — is capitalism.

And let me be clear: I do value your work. I do think that a random AI-generated image isn’t the same as a piece of carefully crafted art (though I also believe it’s totally possible to make incredible, high-level art with AI — I’ve seen amazing artists do it). I want you to have a life where your needs are met and you can enjoy your craft and get paid fairly for it.

But if that’s not happening, blame the system — not the tool. And definitely not the people using it.

Capitalism thrives when you misdirect your anger. So please — stop doing exactly what it wants.

[perpetualprocrastinationisme]

After seeing Cassie's recent interview in Spain where she said that Kit would still be mad at Ty when he comes to him at Cirenworth after three years of being apart, one of my biggest hopes for TWP is that Ty gets to defend himself against Kit being angry with him. I sincerely hope that the entire book doesn't go on with it seeming like Kit has every right to be mad at Ty while one of Ty's biggest plot points is that he needs to earn Kit's forgiveness.

Now let me say this, yes, Kit has every right to be mad, angry, furious, and everything else at Johnny Rook for not loving him like he deserved. For being a horrible father when he deserved the best the world could give him. He has every right in the world to be angry at Mother Hawthorn and the powers in the Faerie that have hunted his family for generations, killed his mom, and wrecked his life. These people need to earn Kit's forgiveness and they deserve to suffer for the horrible things they've done to him. They richly deserve to be hated for what they've done.

However, Ty is not on that list of people. Kit knew that Ty doesn't process things like other people do, he knew that if he outwardly approved of what Ty was doing that Ty wouldn't question it. He wouldn't look for reasons for Kit not to mean what he said. Also, I can understand being hurt by Ty not saying he loved him back but he was literally in the middle of raising Livvy!?! Like, my man, what did you expect Ty to do? Drop everything instantly and confess his love for you? It's not exactly the best timing coupled with the fact that Ty was also going through his own grief and was likely incredibly startled. I just sincerely cannot understand his anger towards Ty that he's held onto for three years. I can understand having immense regret over not stopping Ty sooner. Feeling guilt, sadness, grief, trauma, and so many other things from raising Livvy, but I cannot understand being mad at Ty.

But there is something else to consider, emotions can be misplaced and misunderstood. We can be incredibly mad at someone, direct it at them, all to understand that later on we were really mad at someone else entirely (like our parents or even ourselves) and just took it out on someone else because we simply didn't know what else to do with those emotions. We can also misunderstand an emotion as anger when it is really regret, grief, trauma, and anxiety all rolled into one. I definitely think this could be the case for Kit, I sincerely hope it is at least. We are all human and we are all entitled to make mistakes and Kit is no exception. He has the right to be misguided with his emotions. He's also just a teenager that's whole life was turned upside down (multiple times) in the span of a few weeks and now must live in fear for himself and those he cares about because of the threats from Faerie.

My thing is that I hope that in TWP Kit can come to this understanding and that part of Ty's plot isn't solely invested in earning Kit's forgiveness. Ty definitely has to atone for raising Livvy and all that it has wrought, I just don't think he has to also shoulder the burden of Kit's anger when it is unfairly aimed at him. I want to see Ty acknowledge that he has things he as to make up for in life but firmly show Kit that he's not the one who should get all of his anger. I want to see Ty's plotline devoted to him being one of the most talented and elite Shadowhunters of all time while also seeing him come to terms with what he's done while making amends for it. I want to see heroic Ty, the fierce protector and genius.

I say all of this because I love Kit Herondale so much. He deserves and desperately needs complete healing. Healing that is not clouded by him misdirecting his emotions at Ty in the form of anger and denying himself closeness with someone he obviously loves (Ty). Closeness that could bring healing. He deserves clarity over what he's been through and that means fully being able to acknowledge who hurt him: Johnny, Mother Hawthorn, Annabel, etc. while also realizing who didn't: Ty.

I just don't want the whole plot to be drenched in misplaced anger and angst :( I just want Kit and Ty to fully acknowledge what they've been through and find healing together

[bitchface24-7]

A small idea that popped into my brain 💡

This is totally random but I would love to read a Jason Todd fic a la John Wick style. Everything is still the same (relatively)

Jason is adopted by Bruce the same way (stealing the batmobile tires)

Jason becomes Robin

He’s great at it! He’s happy, kind, and a great relief to see for the citizens of Gotham

He and Dick eventually get around to having a lukewarm brotherly relationship

He still gets murdered by the Joker and somehow miraculously wakes up 6 months later in his grave (somehow. That’s up to you)

Here’s where it differs: More below ⬇️

The League of Assassin’s still picks him up and Talia trains him, eventually becoming like a mom to him

and he is a brother to Damian

Jason subsequently gets sent on missions, The Continental Hotels are run by the LoA

Due to his extensive training with both Bruce and Talia, Jason is quite a formidable enemy; even more so since the Pit fixed his years of malnutrition

He’s efficient. So efficient that he’s made quite the reputation.

Like in the first John Wick film (all the films tbh), the antagonist goes to his son,

“I don’t care about what you did, son. I care about who you did it to.”

“Who? That fuckin’ nobody?”

“That. Fuckin. Nobody. Is John Wick Jason al Ghul.”

The “Pit Madness” is barely there, only flaring up when Jason is under extreme duress (such as rage or heavy fear)

Due to this reputation, Jason has no trouble overtaking the crime syndicates in Gotham. We saw how effective he was in UtRH (I did this in two hours. Wanna see what I can do in a whole evening?) imagine him now a la John Wick. Unstoppable.

He went back to Gotham both to kill the Joker but to make sure Damian was okay

Jason holds resentment towards the rest of his family (excluding Alfred) to him, his death was meaningless. Jokers still alive hurting people, there’s a new Robin.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. Jason is going to change that.

Jason doesn’t attack Tim. He’s just a kid, a teenager. His anger is more directed towards Bruce (“You’re not my son. I don’t need your teenage rebellion.” and the fact it seems he so easily replaced him.), Dick (why does Tim get to be Dick’s brother but not Jason? What’s so bad about him?) and even Barbara when she resented him for replacing Dick as Robin. Misdirecting her anger into a kid rather than Bruce.

Damian is proud to call Jason his brother and only addresses him with the al Ghul surname. Not Todd. Not Wayne. Not Todd-Wayne. al Ghul. Jason is an al Ghul down to his bone marrow, he gets affectionately called Ahki (brother)

This makes the rest of the fam stir crazy. Who is he? Is he Bruce’s kid? What’s his goal, his plan? Why’s he in Gotham now?

Dun Dun DUNNNNN There’s an identity reveal

Idk what else to add but I’d DIE to have a fic with this concept. I love Jason so much. Especially all the Jason and Damian meet in the League fics on AO3.

If anyone wants to write this, tag me!!! Please! My AO3 handle is queenie__v. Just give me credit for the premise and I’ll devour the fic you write like it’s ambrosia from the gods. Ps. Please give Jason the white patch in his hair, thanks ❤️

Xoxo love y’all!

[petrifiedperi-au]

Holy ok ok ok so I just read your dev having trouble with being around Cosmo and Wanda but I bring you a different approach. What if he is mad at them! Trying to shift some of this huge amount of guilt because at least he went to Peri! His own parents left him alone to die. (I can’t remember if you said if they actually knew where he was or not)

Oh lordy oh ok gewze imagine Dev having this moment of realising he has something in common with Peri because he sees his parents as neglecting him. How sad would that make Dev? To realise how much guff he gave Peri cause he thought Peri couldnt relate at all. So he pushed him away but then thinking how wrong he was and how Peri did understand. (Even though we know cosmo and wanda are nothing like Dale and really did love Peri just saw a different priority) but the potent agnst of Dev having a miss understanding of it. Everytime Peri tries to deny it Dev relates. Everytime Cosmo and Wanda gush over Peri makes Dev fume because he sees it as all a show. He thinks he knows how it is behind closed doors. Even if hes actually wrong. It could really help them bond. Until Dev finally sees hes wrong and it’s gonna make a huge rift between them as he blames Peri for pretending to have a bad relationship with his parents. Probably saying it was to “mock” Dev or something.

On another note. Do you think Peri would actually be upset that his parents decided to save fairyworld instead? Maybe rationally he tells himself it was the better choice. That it was what ended up bringing him back. It was what saved all the other fairies who take priority. Hes just one guy. But thats still gonna hurt. Knowing your own parents can and have picked the masses over you. Knowing you arent worth the world to them. Of course he wouldnt actually expect them to choose him but maybe deep down he wanted them to? Idk im loosing it cause I just got off ruff 12hr shift at work lol.

Hope this isnt too off the money for your au I just really enjoy angst

~hollys fairy hell

[AU info here!]

OOOOHHH... THIS IS INTERESTING. WHILE C&W DIDN'T KNOW THAT PERI DIED, DEV BEING ANGRY BECAUSE OF THAT IS... OUGH. I think it DOES check out, actually. Feeling angry that they didn't even KNOW their son died, the blame being shifted to help ease the guilt... IT MAKES SENSE, AND IT'S IN CHARACTER.

He's seen their relationship before, and he knows that they're all such a genuinely happy family, and that makes him feel not ONLY GUILTIER, but MORE FRUSTRATED, MORE ANGRY. Their own son DIED, in front of HIM, and they DON'T EVEN KNOW.

HEAR ME OUT... DEV NOT KNOWING THAT C&W DON'T KNOW UNTIL PERI MENTIONS IT. Him assuming that they ALREADY told their parents, and that's why he was absent for a few days. THE GUILT SHIFTING INTO A MISDIRECTED ANGER ONCE PERI MENTIONS THAT THEY DON'T KNOW AND THAT THEY WANT TO KEEP IT FROM THEM... of COURSE, the guilt is still there, but it blends in with the other feelings and it's a Very Complicated Feeling Soup.

THE MISUNDERSTANDING IDEA IS NEAT... AND IN-CHARACTER. I don't know for SURE how I'd implement it [because my brain is very picky about the things I add, and I am too...], make it go, and ALL those good, delicious, juicy things, BUT BUT it will go on the backburner of thoughts. Specifics would probably just come to me randomly at 2 am like they have been lately gHDLSHSLHD 😭

WITH THE LAST PART... PERI DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED SPECIFICALLY. He was DEAD, after all, and SURE, he'd probably find out via things being talked about, BUT, GENERALLY, I DON'T THINK THEY ADDRESS OR THINK ABOUT THOSE THINGS.

Hazel's Wish fixed EVERYTHING that happened in the episode, and I talk about how the whole Millio Wishes Thing worked here, actually! I have a vague idea of how things go with Peri after they come back, but I don't have any set in stone ideas yet/there's no established timeline. I think... THEY don't even know at first, they're just confused at the fuzzy gaps in their memory and then, once they get a closer look at themself and the GHOST thing happens [when they're alone] and all that... THEN they put details together and realize they They Fucking Died.

WHICH... PERI DOESN'T UNPACK THAT. NOT MUCH, ANYWAY. The finale ends as usual, with the motorcycles and all that— that's BEFORE he realizes there might be something off. DO YOU GET ME... LIKE...

THE ENDING ESTABLISHES THAT THINGS ARE OK AND NORMAL BUT THEN AFTER THE EPISODE, THEY GO BACK TO THEIR HOUSE/ROOM/C&W'S HOUSE [ALONE] AND THEN THAT IS WHEN HE KIND OF REALIZES HE FEELS OFF AND WEIRD. AND... OUGH. YEAH.

SORRY I'M... GETTING OFF TRACK. I don't think he'd be upset, not in that way, at least, given the circumstances. I DON'T KNOW IF THIS MAKES SENSE OR IF IT'S JUST WORD SOUP I'M SO SORRY I JUST WOKE UP LIKE AN HOUR AGO. I am throwing words at the wall and hoping they make sense HDJDDGKDDUI 😭

[n-oturbab-y]

Okay so I get it, you guys hate Tesla(valid) and are mad at Chappell for some reason??? But like… you do realize the KKK still exists, there are Neo-Nazi groups in our country, and like the corrupt politicians passing these laws get to go to their mansions at the end of the day, right? I just wanna make sure our anger doesn’t get misdirected which is exactly what they want.