#so. stupid. i hate him. /pos

[kristiliqua]

obsessed with this stupid fuckin guy

[nerdrooikat]

drabbles about the deer imagery in The Secret History (specifically in relation 2 Camilla) because her becoming a deer/believing that she did stuck in my mind (although this post will mostly take Camilla and the other's recollection of events to be as they recount it – if i examine it in it's effect as an incorrect account, that would be in a separate post)

Obviously there's, on a meta level, an irony to it – Camilla and Charles are named to make fun of the Princess Diana scandal that was happening at the time, and so ironically Camilla transforms into an animal sacred to Diana.

There's also a parallel that I think could be interesting to make between Camilla and Taygete, who for anyone unfamiliar, was turned into a deer by Artemis to protect her from Zeus' sexual advances. Although I think that what happened in the Bacchae was concensual sexually, I think it could possible be indicative in Camilla's narrative role as the "wanted"/"desired" one within the greek class – by Charles, Henry, Richard (although he wasnt there) and even Francis, although he wants to be her more so than actually wanting her.

Additionally, outside of how it actually functions within the story, her transformation into a creature associated so closely with innocence, especially in relation to Diana/Artemis' virginity, might perhaps be tied to Richards view of her as this "pure" and "virginal" person – obviously we know this is far from the truth, and he himself learns this later, but I think it definitely ties into this flawed angelic idea of her he so covets.

I think this interpretation ties into the myth of Actaeon (in terms of "deer transformation myths") although its very interesting to me that they different at key points – Camilla, the "virginual" character, is the one transformed, rather than the sexual transgressor (Charles) or the one who introduces miasma (Henry). But, like Actaeon, she is pursued and hunted – which, another key point – Actaeon is pursued and killed by his own hunting dogs, and Charles returns from the ritual with a bite mark, perhaps tying him into the myth thurther?

[ii-meeple-confessions]

What makes me so sad is the fact that like.NONE of the contestants truly do know what happened to MePhone4 in Meeple

They recognize that MePhone is not okay in some ways but they don't know enough to actually see why he acts so jerkish most of the time. Some of them aren't even aware that Cobs did anything to him they just know Cobs is not a good person. Majority of the contestants weren't in S2E13 and some of them didn't even see the gemories themselves (Mic and Taco and Fan). The ones that did see gemories probably didn't even know what they saw actually happened (based off of Lightbulb's S2E15 dialogue) and even if they were there and did see it and did know it actually happened, they only saw one singular gemory and most probably just brushed past it anyways. Because to them that was just a challenge in the show and they probably didn't look too deep into it.

MePhone also wouldn't have opened up to someone about it, he's extremely hidden behind this persona and HATES talking about his past or even so much as thinking about it. Sure he might've told Floory but that's what, one person? He also wouldn't have had any time to open up to anyone in the S2 finale. And now hes gone off somewhere with 3GS, not to mention how most of the contestants wouldn't want to see him anyways. MePad did know that MePhone4 was abused but seeing as the fact that MePad had not gone through that themselves and their whole 'i can't feel much' thung, they weren't really sympathising with MePhone over it and didn't really take into account everything that had happened. Not to mention that MePad didn't really know any details about what happened.

The S2 finale was not a happy end to me. I think I would've been reassured if I knew that MePhone would actually be understood by more people instead of a select few who he's close with. The contestants shouldn't be all forced to forgive him but I think it would be nice if they at least were given a change to understand why he acted the way he did and be aware of what he's been through.

Okay that's all for now, Kebowyre out

.

[anewpage-png]

Random Leo drawing cause yes.

[no-ditches-no-bitches]

＼＼Hi Five!／／

˚ ∧＿ﾍ　 ﾍ＿∧

（／ω･)人(･ω＼ )

／`　／　 ＼　`＼

“HELL YEAH-!! I’m practically the KING, of high fives.”

he moves back a couple steps, running forward to give you a very fantastic high five.

[alaskashigh]

i hate this dumb motherfucker so much.

he’s stupid and i love him.

microwaves your arrr kansas

[orca-iguana]

^ your tag reminded me of me & my friend in the stsg mines my apologies

Satosugu is for real the very normal but traumatized college smart dude x the most infuriating gay bitch of all time, you both are so real. One of my IRL's love gojo more than life itself, and I just keep on thinking about how much Gojo reminds me of a mean queen. Just imagining Gojo being the worst while my friend yaps for 3+ hours about Gojo. It's perfect.

[chisungie]

.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

De-aged Danny shenanigans with an adult Damian taking after his father.

Danny, about 6: *drigging through the trash*

Damian, 26: Hello? Are you alright?

Danny, whips around to look at him with glowing green eyes: hissssss

Damian, blinks: Oh, dear....Are you hungry?

Danny, suspicious:... yeth

Damian, nods: If you come with me, we can either go to a batburger down the street or my apartment a block over. I have a washer and dryer I can run your clothes through while you bathe.

Danny: Are you trying to kidnap me?

Damian: If I was, I'd be a fool to say so

Danny: mm twue...why else would you want to help me though?

Damian: one. It would be irresponsible of me to level a toddler alone, in an alley, in Gotham.

Danny, pouting: I'm not a toddler

Damian: Two. I will never hear the end of it from my siblings whether or not I help you, but it'd be more teasing than lecturing if I do help you.

Danny: Why would they do dat?

Damian: If you don't have any place to go, I might just tell you. But only if I can make sure you don't tell the wrong person.

Danny: I'm good wif secrets!

Damian, amused: We shall see. And now third and final reason. Are you aware your eyes are glowing green?

Danny, gasps and slams his eyes shut: You're not supposed to see!

Damian, softly: It's okay. I understand what that means. One of my elder brothers' eyes glow the same way. It must have been very scary for you to die

Danny, sniffling: It was... does his eyes weally glow green?

Damian: They do. His usually glow when he gets angry, is it the same with you?

Danny, now blinking blue glowing eyes at Damian: mmm? No? Green is too much bad emotion

Damian: Bad emotion?

Danny: Mad, um, strezz? No, the bigger one!

Damian: Panic or anxiety?

Danny, points at him with a bounce: Yeah!!

Damian, amused and concerned: I see

Danny: mmm let's see, um, and scared?

Damian: Interesting. Jason's eyes are usually an indicator of angry, but I know he likes to cover his fear and concern with that same anger. I shall look into it. On that note. And what does glowing blue mean?

Danny, blinks: Blue?

Damian: Yes. Did you know your eyes are glowing blue now?

Danny, shocked: No! They didn't do that before!... At least I don't think they did?

Damian: Well, they're a very pretty shade of blue.

Danny: Maybe... Maybe that's how my parents noticed...

Damian, trying not to frown: What did your parents notice?

Danny, turning his big teary eyes on Damian: That I'm not fully human anymore. They didn't notice. They never noticed!

Damian, slowly reaching out to the kid to see if he'd accept a hug: Sounds like your parents didn't deserve you.

Danny, giving into his childish instincts and flinging himself into Damian's arms to sob his little heart out: They didn't even know I died! It's not fair! I'm not weally human and it's their fault! I hate their stupid po-po- THING! It shocked me and it hurt and now I'm dead and it's their fault!

Damian: *gently rocking Danny til he tires himself out*

Danny, sniffling: It's not fair...

Damian: Something I've found is, it never is. Every stray my father has housed has had an unbearably harsh life, and I, being his blood son, was no different. My mother and her father raised me for the first ten years of my life, and I've come to understand that my childhood was not a good one. It took me a long time and a lot of patience from my eldest brother to come to realize what I was missing.

Danny: Like, Jazzy?

Damian: mm? Who's Jazzy?

Danny: My big sister. She's a big know it all, but she tries...

Damian: Well, that's-

Danny, jolts in Damian's hold: Tried! *GASP* Jazzy doesn't know mom and dad didn't kill me!! *pause* um, kill me again?

Damian: Well, we'll have to tell her, won't we? You wouldn't happen to know her full name? I can ask my family to contact her while we get you cleaned up

Danny: Yeah! Her name is Jasmine Fenton! She goes to a big big school here! That's why I came here! I just... I got lost..

Damian: That won't do

Damian, pulls out his phone and calls Barbara while starting to walk to his apartment: Gordon. I have a request.

Barbara: Yeah? Whatcha got, baby bat?

Damian: Can you look up a Jasmine Fenton? I have something she will probably want back.

Barbara: Holy shit! Is that a child??

Damian, sighs: Yes, it's her little brother. He ran away from a bad situation with his parents and got lost trying to find his elder sister.

Barbara: Alright. I'll check out her entire life to make sure she's safe to- wait. Damian, is that kid's name Danny?

Damian, realizing he never asked: One moment.

Damian, looks down at a sleepy, but curious Danny: Is your name Danny?

Danny, beams: Yeah!!

Barbara: Caught that, but, uh, Damian, Danny is supposed to be 20, not...4? 5? Not a tiny child

Damian: umm... Danny did you used to be older?

Danny, shrinks into himself and his eyes turn green: Ye-yeah... I don't know why I'm little... mommy did something and it Huuurt and hurt til suddenly I was free and I ran and hid in a bus

Damian, soothingly petting his back: Okay, it's okay, we'll figure it out.

Barbara: Take care of him for the night, we'll contact his sister tomorrow at a reasonable time. I'm not finding anything too concerning on her yet so she's probably safe

Damian: Copy that. Goodnight, Gordon.

Barbara, teasing: Goodnight, mini-Bruce!

Damian, flushes, but doesn't deny it before hanging up and glancing towards Danny: That was Barbara Gordon. A family friend. She'll help us find your sister, but you'll be staying with me for tonight.

Danny, sleepy: Okay..

Damian, slipping into his apartment lobby and going straight up the stairs, ignoring the gaping attendants: Don't fall asleep just yet. You will be fed and bathed first

Danny, huffs, but straightens up: What food?

Damian: That depends, I only really have vegetarian food so I suppose we'll have to find something you'll eat

Danny: Sam is vegetarian! I eat vegetarian sometimes with her!

Damian: hm? Very good, then it should be easier for me to feed you

Damian and Danny have a wonderful time. Danny is fed, watered, and cleaned up before being set up with a quiet sound machine to sleep. Damian has a crisis over wanting to keep Danny and suddenly understands his father's adoption habit. He sets alarms to check on Danny throughout the night, but it's otherwise uneventful.

[lazy-ahh]

YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE GOES GOOD WITH GAMING?

pairing mark grayson x male reader

you’ve waited weeks for him to return from his mission, and now he’s here, warm and insistent against you, while your ranked match blares ignored on the screen. the worst part? you don't mind losing. despite the weeks of hard work. you want his lips on yours, his weight pressing you into the chair, the way he murmurs "i missed you" between kisses like it’s a confession. but you’ve clawed your way to this rank-up game, and you never quit—even when mark’s tongue is lapping up the precome leaking from your tip and your fingers are trembling on the keyboard.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

mark’s been gone for weeks—some off-world mission, because apparently, the universe can’t handle itself without him. not that you’d admit it, but you missed him. more than you should. more than you’d ever let him know. you caught yourself staring at your window too often, half-expecting to see his silhouette against the glass, that infuriatingly patient tap-tap-tap before you’d let him in. as if he didn’t know you left the damn thing unlocked for him every night. typical.

everything reminded you of him, which was unacceptable. so you buried yourself in distractions—school, homework, then straight to your pc, booting up marvel rivals before you could even think about how quiet the room felt without him. the game had been his idea, of course. he’d all but shoved it at you, that stupid, eager grin on his face as he said, "just try it. if you hate it, i’ll never bring it up again. but you won’t." as if he hadn’t already known you’d love it.

at first, he was the one explaining everything—mechanics, lore, all that useless trivia he’d absorbed like some kind of nerd-shaped sponge. "see, magik’s portals work like this—" or "no, don’t engage yet, strange’s cooldown is—" annoying. endearing. you’d never admit either out loud. but then you got better. faster. soon, you were the one calling shots, dragging his sorry ass through ranked matches while he laughed in your ear, loud and unguarded, every time you pulled off some insane play. "holy shit—did you just parry that ult?! that’s illegal. you’re actually cracked. YOU JUST SAVED MY LIFE OH BABY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU-"

he never complained, even when you outclassed him. just watched you with that quiet, proud look, like he’d somehow won just by getting you to play. sometimes, when you were both too tired for another match but not tired enough to log off, he’d let his character idle beside yours in the lobby, humming some off-key tune while you fiddled with skins. "you’re keeping me up," you’d grumble. "then kick me out," he’d shoot back, knowing full well you wouldn’t.

now, with him gone, solo queue was a nightmare. you tried comms, but it was a coin toss—either decent teammates or the kind of toxic dps mains who threw matches the second things went south. you added a few tolerable players, grinding comp at set times, but most of your matches were still solo. and you’d climbed. platinum, after weeks of stubborn, teeth-gritted effort. you could already picture mark’s reaction—that mix of irritation (probably pretend) and admiration he got whenever you outdid him. not that you’d gloat. much.

the real problem would be playing together once you hit diamond. he was still stuck in gold, and you refused to smurf. so for now, you were stuck in elo hell—platinum I to diamond III, then back down again, in a cycle that felt like the universe mocking you. but you’d figure it out. you always did. and when he got back, you’d make sure he knew exactly how much ground he had to cover to keep up.

you were half-heartedly proofreading your essay, the queue timer ticking away in the corner of your screen, when your hand moved before your brain could stop it—grabbing your phone, unlocking it, immediately swiping to mark’s messages like muscle memory. it was a bad habit at this point. every idle moment, every second of downtime, your fingers betrayed you, pulling up his chat like some pathetic reflex. and there they were, still staring back at you: his last messages from weeks ago, before comms cut out and space swallowed him whole.

your thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the timestamp like you could will it to change. then—there. that stupid, stupid one-liner he’d sent right before losing signal: ‘try not to miss me too much!’ as if he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing. as if you weren’t already doing exactly that.

a quiet, involuntary laugh escaped you, sharp and fond all at once. "idiot," you muttered, but the word came out too soft, too warm, and you hated how easily he could drag that out of you. like you were some sappy romance protagonist instead of yourself. you tossed your phone back onto the desk, maybe a little harder than necessary, and forced your eyes back to your essay.

it didn’t work. the words blurred together, your focus already frayed, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. stupid. stupid markus sebastian grayson, turning you into this—some lovesick fool who couldn’t even function right without him around. worst of all? you knew he’d be grinning if he saw you like this. that smug, infuriating look he got when he realized he’d gotten under your skin.

you gritted your teeth and stabbed at your keyboard, queue be damned. you had an essay to finish. and not think about him.

and then—as if the universe itself was mocking you—tap-tap-tap.

your head snapped up so fast your neck protested. for a second, you wondered if you’d finally lost it, conjuring him up out of sheer, pathetic longing. but no. there he was, floating outside your window like some overgrown, dirt-streaked moth, his stupid grin brighter than the goddamn moon behind him.

mark looked wrecked—hair a mess, suit scuffed, one of his lenses cracked—but his smile was the same as always: crooked, too-wide, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made his stupid dimples pop. like he’d been waiting for this moment, like seeing you was the best part of his damn day.

and then—because you were a fool—you scrambled for the window like some desperate rom-com lead, fumbling with the latch like you hadn’t left it unlocked for him on purpose. your face burned. disgraceful.

mark’s expression flickered—confusion, then worry, his smile dropping as he darted forward. "baby? is everything alright?"

before you could even attempt to salvage your dignity, he was inside, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. his palms were rough, still warm from flight, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he searched for injuries. "you okay? you look—" he paused, studying your flushed face, the way you were very pointedly not meeting his eyes. then, slowly, his lips twitched. "…oh."

oh. like he’d just figured you out. like he knew.

you wanted to die. "shut up," you muttered, but it lacked any real bite—not when your traitorous heart was pounding loud enough for both of you to hear.

mark’s grin softened, something unbearably fond in his eyes as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "missed me that much, huh?"

"no," you lied, immediately.

he laughed, quiet and warm, and you hated how it made your chest ache. "liar."

and then—because he was the worst—he kissed your stupid, burning cheeks, one after the other, like he was savoring the way you squirmed. "it’s okay," he murmured, lips brushing your skin. "i missed you too."

you were never living this down.

and then—because he was the absolute worst—he kissed your stupid, burning cheeks, one after the other, lingering just to feel the way you tensed under his touch. "it’s okay," he murmured, lips brushing your skin like he was savoring every second of your embarrassment. "i missed you too."

you were never living this down.

just as you opened your mouth to snap something—anything—to wipe that smug look off his face, your pc chimed. the two of you turned in unison, and there it was, flashing bright and mocking on your screen: match found.

"shit," you hissed, scrambling back toward your desk. "i forgot to fucking cancel queue—"

mark barked out a laugh, loud and delighted. "no way. you’ve been grinding rivals this whole time?" he was already following you, leaning over your shoulder with that infuriating grin. "aw, baby. did you miss me or the game more?"

you elbowed him hard enough to make him oof, but he didn’t budge, just hooked his chin over your shoulder as you frantically clicked to lock in your character. "shut up. i was bored."

"uh-huh," he drawled, eyes scanning the screen. then—"holy shit." his fingers dug into your shoulders. "you’re one game from diamond?!"

you could feel the grin in his voice before you even saw it—that stupid, contagious excitement thrumming through him like a live wire. it was unbearable. worse, it was working, that familiar warmth pooling in your chest despite your best efforts to stomp it out. pathetic. since when did you let him sway you so easily?

"took you long enough to notice," you muttered, aiming for derision but landing somewhere dangerously close to fond. your chest tightened traitorously when he let out that low, impressed whistle—the same one he used when you pulled off something reckless in the field. like you’d impressed him.

"damn. guess i’ve gotta step up my game." his lips brushed your temple, lingering just long enough to make your fingers twitch on the keyboard. you jerked your shoulder up to shove him off, but he just laughed, the vibration of it rattling through your ribs. "carry me when i’m back in gold, yeah?"

"in your fucking dreams," you snarled, but the bite dissolved the second his laugh vibrated through your shoulder—warm and familiar and alive, filling up the hollow spaces his absence had carved into your room for weeks. your traitorous heartbeat steadied against your ribs, and you didn’t shove him off when his chin dug into your shoulder. pathetic.

you’d never admit it out loud—would rather chew glass than acknowledge how much you’d missed this—but his presence at your back, solid and warm and breathing, made your fingers stutter over the character select screen.

then mark, the insufferable bastard, decided words weren’t enough.

his lips found the hinge of your jaw first—soft, teasing—then the corner of your mouth when you tilted your head automatically. "distracting me on purpose?" you muttered, but the protest cracked when his teeth grazed your bottom lip.

"is it working?" he murmured against your mouth, all smugness, and you hated how easily your body betrayed you, leaning towards him with a scoff that turned into a sharp inhale when his tongue swept over yours.

his hands cradled your face like you were something precious, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you slow and deep, the way he knew unraveled you. your fingers curled around his wrist—anchoring, needing—while your other hand slid up to cup his jaw.

when you finally pulled back to breathe (because unlike him, you were human, damn it), mark didn’t go far. his forehead stayed pressed to yours, lips swollen and curved into that stupid, satisfied smile, his breaths just as uneven as yours. his eyes were half-lidded, dark with something unbearably fond as they traced your face—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your fingers still clung to him like you’d die if he let go.

"missed you," he whispered, like it was a secret.

you swallowed the i missed you more threatening to spill out. "shut up. i’m trying to rank up." you shoved at his chest, but your fingers curled into his suit instead of pushing him away—another pathetic betrayal your body refused to stop committing.

mark’s grin turned wicked, eyes flashing with that infuriating knowing look as he chased your lips before you could even think to turn back to the screen. his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time, hungrier. his tongue swept against yours, slow and teasing, then insistent when you made a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper.

you could feel his smirk against your mouth, the way his free hand gripped your thigh to pull you closer, his body pressing yours back into the chair until you were arching up into him without thought. his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach flip, and when you gasped, he took advantage, licking into your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

your hands were everywhere—one fisted in his hair, the other clutching at his shoulder, nails digging in when he nipped at your tongue. his breath hitched, and the sound went straight to your already-fogged head. you could feel his heartbeat where your thumb brushed his pulse point, wild and alive, and it made something possessive curl in your chest.

then—

the sudden blare of the match-starting music ripped through the haze.

you jerked back, breath ragged, lips swollen and wet, just in time to see your character standing idle on-screen, the round start timer already counting down.

"fuck," you hissed through gritted teeth, fingers scrambling across the keyboard with desperate precision. mark blinked, dumbfounded as he processed your sudden panic before chuckling, that infuriatingly warm puff of air hitting your pulse point. "seriously?" his arms tightened around your shoulders in protest, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck like some overgrown cat refusing to move from its favorite spot.

"you're really playing right now?" he murmured, lips forming the words against your skin in a way that made your fingers stutter on the WASD keys. the amusement in his voice was unbearable, especially when you could feel his smirk pressed into your shoulder.

"one game away from diamond," you muttered, the words coming out flatter than you intended. the forced casualness did nothing to mask the frustrated and disappointed edge underneath. "if i leave now, i lose twenty fucking points."

mark sighed dramatically, the full weight of his disappointment radiating through his entire body before he finally—reluctantly—peeled himself away. the sudden absence of his warmth against your back felt criminal, and it took every ounce of your pitiful self-control not to spin your chair around and drag him back by his sinfully narrow waist. "fine, fine," he conceded, stretching with exaggerated resignation. "I'll go shower. but you owe me," he added, pausing just long enough to press one last kiss to the top of your head—chaste but loaded with promise—before sauntering toward the bathroom with that infuriatingly perfect sway to his hips.

you waited until the bathroom door clicked shut before allowing yourself one single, shaky exhale, your fingers finally steadying on the mouse as you looked at your character. the screen blurred for just a second before you violently blinked it back into focus. damn this stupid game. damn mark for being so distracting. and damn you most of all for caring about either.

the match loads in with that familiar chime, and suddenly the world narrows to the glow of your monitor—every neuron firing, every muscle coiled tight with precision. your fingers dance across the keyboard in practiced patterns, movements sharp and lethal despite the phantom heat still burning where mark's lips had been moments ago. focus. you need to focus.

the numbers don't lie—48% ult charge, one teammate already flaming in chat, the enemy hawkeye picking your supports like fucking target practice. your teeth grind together hard enough to hurt. stupid. you never should've filled as support. if you'd locked in iron fist from the start, this match would've been over already.

when the third round starts with another pathetic stagger, you snap. "swap with me," you speak into voice chat, voice steady and determined, already selecting iron fist before the whiny psylocke main can protest. the second the lock-in confirmation pings, your shoulders drop half an inch—better. this you can work with. this you can carry.

your crosshair finds the enemy healer's skull just as—

warm fingers skate up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. mark's palm presses flush against your leg, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your sweats.

your entire body jerks so hard your knee slams into the desk—mark's suddenly between your legs like some fucking phantom, all sharp teeth and wicked gleam in his eyes as he looks up at you. "what the fuck," you snarl, but he just presses a single finger to his lips, the bastard, like this is some goddamn library and not your room.

"don't let me distract you," he murmurs, voice dripping with false innocence—and then his clever fingers are sliding your sweats down with agonizing slowness. you should shove him off. you should. but your hands stay frozen over the keyboard even as your pulse jackrabbits in your throat.

then his mouth—fuck—his mouth is on you, and the world narrows to the wet heat of his tongue dragging up your cock in one long, filthy lick, from base to tip, slow enough to make your thighs tremble. he lingers at the head, swirling the flat of his tongue over the slit just to hear the choked noise it punches from your throat. bastard.

he does it again—slower this time, savoring the way your hips jerk up, your fingers flexing like you can’t decide whether to shove him off or pull him closer. but mark just hums, amused, and pins you down with one broad hand splayed across your stomach, his grip firm enough to keep you in place but gentle enough that you could break free if you really wanted to. (you don’t.)

then he sinks down, taking you into his mouth inch by inch, his lips stretched tight around you, his tongue pressing up against the underside in a way that makes your vision blur. he pulls off just as slow, dragging his teeth just shy of too much, before diving back down like he’s got all the time in the world. like he wants to ruin you.

and the worst part? he’s watching you the whole time—eyes dark, lashes low, his gaze locked onto your face like he’s memorizing every twitch of your expression, every bitten-off curse. like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

it’s unbearable.

your character dodges a stun on pure muscle memory because christ—the way mark hollows his cheeks, lips stretched obscenely around you, the wet slick sounds filling the room every time he pulls up just to plunge back down. his eyelashes flutter against flushed skin when your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head, and your mouse creaks under your death grip, sweat rolling down your temples as you choke back a moan that's been building in your throat for minutes.

"m-mark—" you hiss through clenched teeth, but he just hums around you, the vibration shooting straight to your spine. your foot kicks out involuntarily, knocking against a wall as he picks up the pace, lips red and slick with spit, watching you unravel above him. the match is chaos—your team screams comms in voice chat, frantic calls to focus the enemy tank, but all you hear is the filthy slide of his mouth and your own ragged breathing.

you're so fucked.

mark's tongue drags along the underside of your cock with practiced precision, swirling around the head before sinking down until your hips twitch against the chair. his throat works around you, warm and tight, and you barely register the kill feed flashing on-screen as your healer dies, leaving you alone on point with the overtime bar bleeding out. for one delirious second, you think there goes my rank-up game—but your hands move anyway, your body reacting on pure instinct as you somehow, somehow clutch the round.

"p-please—" the word tears out of you like a surrender, raw and desperate in a way that would’ve had you recoiling if your brain wasn’t reduced to static. your fingers twist in mark’s hair—pulling? pushing?—as your hips stutter helplessly. "mark, please, go—ah—go easy—" it’s pathetic, how your voice cracks on the last syllable, how your thighs tremble under his palms like you’re some inexperienced kid instead of—

mark listens, but not the way you wanted. he pulls off with a filthy, wet pop, your cock twitching against your stomach, flushed and glistening under the low light. the bastard has the audacity to grin, lips slick and swollen, breath coming in quick puffs against your overheated skin. "that good, huh?" he rasps, dragging his tongue along your length in one torturously slow stripe, savoring the way your abs clench violently.

you barely have time to gasp before he’s mouthing at the head, pressing wet, open kisses along the vein underneath—teasing, always teasing—his breath scorching where you’re oversensitive and throbbing. then—just as the enemy team respawns, just as your team’s frantic pings flood the screen—he swallows you back down in one smooth slide, deep, until his nose brushes your stomach and he stays, throat working around you in slow, deliberate pulses.

your hips jerk instinctively, chasing friction, but mark just digs his fingers into your thighs, pinning you to the chair with infuriating ease. the contrast is maddening—the game’s frantic audio in your headphones, your team’s character voice lines of getting hurt, the enemy pushing point—while mark’s mouth is nothing but molten stillness, his tongue pressing just there every time you twitch. sweat drips down your temple. your knuckles whiten on the mouse. you can’t tell if the choked noise that escapes you is from the hawkeye headshot that just wiped your backline or the way mark breathes through his nose, content to let you unravel in his grip.

his eyes flick up to yours through his lashes—dark, amused, the bastard—lips stretched obscenely around you as he watches your screen with detached interest. like this is just another game to him. like he knows you’re two seconds from either throwing the match or throwing your dignity out the window to fuck into his throat.

somehow—through the haze of sweat and mark’s fucking teeth grazing you on an upstroke, through the way your thighs tremble around his shoulders—you clutch. iron fist’s ult meter hits 100% with a deafening chime. your muscles coil, every fiber taut with tension, and mark’s grip tightens on your hips in warning, nails biting into skin. but you launch yourself into the backline anyway, the kill feed exploding in a burst of color. triple. quad. your team’s hysterical screaming in voice chat drowns out the wet, obscene sound of mark finally moving, sucking you down to the root just as "victory" flashes across the screen in blinding gold.

your team continues to scream—cheering, cracking jokes, their earlier hostility forgotten in the adrenaline rush. you would've thought this was a beautiful moment if you weren't currently being sucked off by your boyfriend. you mutter a breathless "gg" into the mic, lips twitching at the chorus of "holy shit, w fucking iron fist!" before you’re cutting them off with a sharp click of your mouse. the headset hits the desk with a clatter.

you don’t even get to savor the win. mark’s hands are on your hips now, dragging you to the edge of the chair with a roughness that makes your stomach flip. his nose presses into your stomach, lips sealed tight as he swallows around you with a filthy, shuddering groan—like he’s been waiting this whole fucking match to ruin you properly. your back arches off the chair, fingers tangling in his hair hard enough to hurt, but he just moans around you, eyes fluttering shut like this is exactly where he wants to be. like he’d happily die here, between your thighs.

"f-fuck—mark—" you whimper, but it’s too late. he’s not stopping this time.

his tongue drags along the underside of your cock in a slow, filthy stripe before he takes you deep again, one hand sliding up your chest to thumb at your nipple through your shirt. the dual sensation punches a ragged noise from your throat, your hips jerking involuntarily. mark hums in approval, the vibration rippling through you like a live wire. his free hand slips under your thigh, hiking your leg over his shoulder to press you even closer, until you can feel every hitched breath he takes through your skin.

he pulls off just to mouth at the head, tongue circling the slit with agonizing precision, and you whine, high and desperate. his eyes flick up to yours, dark with something unbearably fond even as his lips glisten with spit. "love you like this," he murmurs against your skin, voice wrecked. "all mine. fucking perfect. i missed you so much baby, you don't even know the half of it—"

then he’s sinking down again, taking you until his throat flutters around the tip, and you’re gone—fingers tightening in his hair as you spill down his throat with a broken cry. mark swallows every drop, lips staying locked around you until you’re twitching from oversensitivity, until your grip on his hair loosens to cradle his face instead.

when he finally pulls away, his lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed. he rests his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard, and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh—soft, reverent. like you’re something sacred.

"welcome home," you mutter, voice hoarse.

mark's grin is worth every goddamn second of the wait—all bright-eyed and breathless, his lips kiss-swollen from where you'd bitten them. you're still coming down from your high, chest heaving, fingers trembling against the keyboard where you'd gripped it too tight. you should shove him off. you would shove him off. any second now.

"baby," mark murmurs, and fuck, the way your stupid traitorous heart lurches at that tone—all soft and reverent, like you're something precious instead of a mess of sweat and frustration and arousal. his fingers trail down your stomach, feather-light, and you hate how your body arches into the touch before your brain catches up.

"don't—" you start, but it comes out hoarse, ruined. mark just smiles, that dorky, infuriating smile that makes your chest ache, and presses a kiss to your shoulder while his other hand navigates your mouse with infuriating ease.

"c'mon, diamond boy," he teases, clicking queue with one hand while the other slips lower, fingers tracing your rim in slow, maddening circles. "wouldn't want you to lose your hard-earned rank, would we?"

you choke on air when his fingers slide past your lips—calloused and tasting faintly of salt—pressing down on your tongue with deliberate pressure. "suck," mark murmurs, and your traitorous mouth obeys before your pride can protest, hollowing your cheeks as you work his fingers wet. his breath hitches when your teeth graze his knuckles, his other hand fisting his own cock through his pants at the sight of you—lips stretched, lashes fluttering, teary-eyed, that fucked-out daze already clouding your expression just from this.

then those slick fingers are dragging down your stomach, pushing past your thighs, and—"fuck—" your hips jerk when one curls inside you, crooking just right. "you're insufferable," you spit, but it loses all bite when your hands scramble uselessly between the desk and his wrist, torn between shoving him away and grinding down onto his hand.

mark laughs against your pulse point, the vibration rattling through your ribs as he adds a second finger with that same unbearable patience, stretching you slow. "keep playing," he breathes into your ear, twisting his wrist to drag a broken noise from your throat. "i wanna see you try to focus when i'm fucking you full of my cock."

the match loads in with that obnoxiously bright chime, but the sound barely registers—not when mark’s fingers crook just right, scissoring deep and dragging a broken moan from your throat. your vision whites out for a second, hips jerking uselessly against his hand as he adds a third finger, stretching you with that infuriating, practiced ease.

"fuck, you’re tight," mark murmurs against the shell of your ear, his free hand sliding up to palm your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple. "when was the last time you touched yourself, baby?"

you choke on a gasp when his fingers press deeper, hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble. "few—fuck—few weeks ago," you manage, voice ragged. "didn’t— didn’t do shit. couldn’t—"

his teeth graze your earlobe, sharp and teasing. "couldn’t what?"

you hate how breathless you sound. "couldn’t reach deep enough. wasn’t—hnng—wasn’t you."

mark groans, low and filthy, his fingers stilling inside you just to feel how you clench around them. "christ, you’re gonna kill me," he mutters, but he’s grinning when he nips at your jaw. "lucky for you, i’m real good at reaching where you need me, huh?"

you scoff, the immersion breaking for a second as you look at him unimpressed, "did you really just say that—ahh—" and then he curls his fingers just so, and you’re pretty sure the entire universe short-circuits.

mark withdraws his fingers with a slick sound, and the emptiness is agony. your head drops forward, teary eyes staring down at yourself—flushed, trembling, needy—and you hate how pathetic you look. how wrecked he’s made you already. his cock twitches in his pants at the sight, and the groan he lets out is filthy. "look at you," he murmurs, voice rough. "all desperate for me."

before you can snap something defensive, his hands are on your hips, hauling you up with that stupid superhuman strength of his. you stumble, legs shaky, but he steadies you effortlessly—then drops into your chair, pulling you down onto his lap in one smooth motion. the heat of him sears through his clothes, and you feel him, hard and eager beneath his boxers, the fabric damp where he’s been leaking for you.

"there," mark murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your legs apart wider. you can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, "better view, yeah?" his fingers make quick work of his own pants, shoving them down just enough to free his cock—already hard and leaking against your back. "still gotta pick, baby," he teases, nipping at your earlobe when you hesitate on the character select screen. "unless you wanna dodge? though, i don't think you can dodge in this game."

you scoff, locking in iron fist with more force than necessary. "shut up."

the game loads in a blur of colors and sound, but all you can focus on is mark's teeth sinking into your shoulder as you guide your character toward the point. his hands roam your chest, pinching and teasing until you're squirming in your seat. "f-focus on the fucking game," you mutter, even as your hips push back against him.

mark just laughs, low and dark, before licking a stripe up your neck. "giving yourself pep-talk? how cute."

"i swear to god, markus sebastian grayson, if you say one more cheesy thing i will throw you out of my room."

when the enemy team finally pushes in, bullets and abilities flying across your screen, mark chooses that exact moment to shove two fingers past your lips. "suck," he orders, and you do—tongue swirling around his digits, moaning when he curls them just right. he pulls them out slick with your spit, trailing them down your stomach before reaching between your legs.

"f-fuck—" you choke out as his spit-slick fingers circle your rim, teasing before one pushes in to the second knuckle. your back arches off the chair, thighs spreading wider despite the game still raging onscreen. "mark—!"

"that’s it," he growls, his free hand groping your chest as he works you open again—first one finger, then two, scissoring slow until you’re panting, your neglected cock dripping onto your stomach. his own erection grinds against your lower back, leaking precome onto your skin. "still gonna carry, or am i too distracting?" he taunts, curling his fingers just so until you see white.

you barely register the starlord that flanks your team from behind you, killing your punisher as mark withdraws his fingers, leaving you clenching around nothing. "look at you," he murmurs, lining up his cock—thick and flushed and yours—against your hole. "already fucking yourself back on my fingers like you’re starving for it." he pushes in slow, just the tip at first, and the stretch burns so good your toes curl. "shit—" he groans, hips stuttering when you clench around him. "still so tight, even after i loosened you up. fucking perfect."

he pulls out until just the head remains, those shallow, teasing thrusts making your nails scrape against the keyboard. "more—" you demand, voice cracking, but mark just laughs—bright and smug—keeping the pace agonizingly slow.

"beg prettier," he murmurs against your ear, and you’re going to fucking murder him later.

the thought evaporates when your character dies on screen, a sharp "fuck!" tearing from your throat as your head thuds back against his shoulder. mark’s chuckle vibrates through your spine. "distracted, baby?"

"shut the fuck up," you groan, but your hips twitch back against him instinctively, seeking friction. his hands tighten around your waist, holding you still.

"uh-uh. you wanted to play." his teeth graze your earlobe. "so play."

then your character respawns, and you barely have time to register the 30 SECONDS OF OVERTIME warning before mark slams up into you in one brutal thrust, filling you completely. your back arches as you come with a choked gasp, vision whiting out around the edges—

"that’s it, sweetheart," mark praises, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to bruise before soothing it with his tongue. his arms cage you against the desk, his cock twitching inside you as he murmurs nonsense into your skin: "so good for me, taking me so well—fuck, look at you."

you’re trembling, oversensitive, but the game’s still going. with a shaky breath, you force your hands back onto the keyboard, your movements sluggish as you try to focus past the haze. mark hums approvingly, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch the screen, his cock still buried deep. every slight shift of his hips—every lazy pulse inside you—has your fingers stuttering on the keys.

"c'mon, baby," mark murmurs against your jaw, his breath warm as his fingers trail higher up your thigh. "carry us." his other hand slips around your waist, pulling you back flush against his chest—solid and familiar and home after weeks of empty space and staticky comms. "missed watching you play," he admits quietly, lips brushing your earlobe. "missed watching you win."

you're going to strangle him. after you win.

his nose nuzzles into the space behind your ear, inhaling deeply like he's memorizing your scent. "god, missed you," he continues, voice going rough around the edges. "mission was hell without your voice in my ear. kept thinking about how you'd chew me out for taking stupid risks." a soft laugh vibrates through his chest and into yours. "missed that too."

your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for half a second before you tilt your head just enough to press a grudging kiss to his jaw—the closest part of him you can reach without twisting your entire body. "i missed you too, beloved," you mutter, the endearment slipping out despite yourself. "but right now, i'm trying to focus."

mark makes a wounded noise at the nickname, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "say that again," he demands against your throat, lips dragging wet and insistent over your pulse. "c’mon, sweetheart, just once more—" his hips shift minutely, and fuck, you feel it—the way his cock twitches inside you, already so hard it makes your breath stutter. your grip on the mouse tightens reflexively, knuckles going white around it as you try to focus on the flickering screen instead of the heat of him buried to the hilt.

"later," you rasp, securing a kill and kicking away through sheer muscle memory. "if you can fucking behave."

mark groans like you’ve wounded him, but he mostly stills—except for the way his fingers keep tracing absent, possessive circles low on your stomach, except for the way his lips keep finding patches of skin to suck bruises into between ragged breaths. "better win fast then," he murmurs, teeth scraping your shoulder in warning. "cause i missed all of you, [y/n]."

your eyes flick down instinctively—and there, just below your navel, the faintest swell where the tip of him presses up inside you. the sight punches a shaky noise from your throat, your body clenching around him before you can stop yourself.

"f-fuck—" mark’s whimper is wrecked, his forehead dropping heavily between your shoulder blades as his hips jerk involuntarily. you can feel him throbbing, the slick drag of him as he accidentally pushes deeper. "christ, you’re gonna kill me," he grits out, fingers trembling where they splay across your stomach like he’s mapping the bulge.

you swallow hard, throat bobbing against the thick press of him inside you, forcing your attention back to the screen even as your thighs tremble on top of mark's. "then fucking stop moving," you snap, but your voice fractures halfway through, turning the command into something embarrassingly close to a plea. the kill feed lights up with your username in bold strokes but the victory does nothing to hide how wrecked you already sound, how your walls flutter around him when he chuckles darkly against your neck.

"you're doing so good, baby," mark murmurs, lips dragging along your pulse point as his hands slide up your chest. his thumbs brush over your nipples through your shirt, teasing just enough to make you jolt but not enough to truly distract—not when you're finally gaining ground, finally winning. "carrying this match and taking me so well..."

you bite back a whimper, fingers flying across the keyboard as you cap the point. eight minutes. eight agonizing minutes of mark's cock seated deep inside you, his hips making tiny, barely-there rolls whenever you did something particularly impressive—a well-timed ult, a perfect parry—until you were dripping around him, your sweat-slicked back sticking to his chest. you don't even remember when you (or mark) had taken your shirt off. the start had been a disaster, but after forcing that useless jeff to swap, after taking matters into your own hands, your team steamrolled through the enemy like they were nothing. just like you knew they would.

the victory screen flashes gold, the triumphant DING of your rank-up swallowed whole by the filthy, wet sound of mark’s cock driving into you—deep, too deep, the angle so brutal your vision whites out for a second. his hands lock around your waist, flipping you before you can even process it, and suddenly you’re straddling him, knees digging into your chair as he yanks you down onto him with a groan that rattles your bones.

"fuck, look at you," mark gasps, voice shredded. his fingers scramble over your hips, your stomach, your chest—like he can’t decide where to touch first, like he’s starving for all of you at once. his hips snap up, relentless, the thick drag of him punching a broken noise from your throat. "all mine. perfect for me."

his praise is molten, spilling between feverish kisses, between the slick clash of tongues as he licks into your mouth. you can taste your name on his lips, sweet and desperate. his cock brushes that spot inside you with every thrust, just right, and your back arches on instinct, nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.

"knew you could do it," he growls, hands fisting in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to his teeth. "knew you’d win. my brilliant, beautiful boy—"

his voice cracks on the last word, and god, the way he’s looking at you—eyes black with want, lips swollen from kissing you stupid, his usual awkward confidence unraveled into something raw and needy—it’s worse than the pleasure, worse than the way his cock stretches you open. because this? this is mark grayson coming apart beneath you, for you, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his grip on your hips turns possessive.

you’re both a wreck—skin gleaming with sweat, your thighs trembling where they bracket his hips, the filthy, wet sound of him sliding into you over and over until your vision whites out at the edges. his grip on your hips is brutal, thumbs pressing into the bone hard enough to bruise, holding you down as he grinds up with a snap of his hips that punches a sob from your throat. "mark—!" his name comes out broken, slurred between panting breaths, and he’s no better, his voice ragged as he chokes out, "that’s it, baby, take it—fuck, just like that—" like he’s unraveling, like he’s worshipping you.

you cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips, stealing the groan right from his lips as you take control, your fingers tangling in his hair to yank his head back. "shut up," you mutter, but it’s fond, "you’re so fucking loud." his hands scramble at your back, blunt nails dragging red lines down your skin as you ride him with ruthless precision, chasing your own pleasure just as much as his, the whimpers and groans coming from his lips not stopping. the chair creaks dangerously beneath you, your forgotten headset hitting the floor with a clatter, but you don’t care—not when mark’s thrusts are growing erratic, his rhythm faltering under your relentless pace.

you lean in, teeth scraping his cheekbone before you kiss him, messy and biting, swallowing his gasp as you nip at his bottom lip. "gonna come already?" you taunt, voice rough, "thought you had more stamina than that."

mark growls—low and feral, the sound rumbling through your chest like thunder—and suddenly the world tilts. his arm snakes around your waist, hauling you back flush against him with a brutal yank that makes your gaming chair screech in protest. your chest meets his, sweat-slick and heaving, as he manhandles you like you weigh nothing.

one hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your throat while the other grabs both your wrists, pinning them behind you with crushing ease. "stay still," he groans against your ear, voice ragged with want, and then he’s moving—snapping his hips up hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs, each thrust deeper, meaner, the angle punching ragged moans from your throat.

you’re burning. tears streak down your face, hot and humiliating, but you can’t—fuck, you can’t stop the way your body arches into him, the way your thighs tremble as he fucks up into you with punishing precision. his hand gropes your ass, fingers digging into flesh as he holds you at that perfect, devastating angle, every drag of his cock lighting your nerves on fire.

"that’s it," mark pants, his breath scalding against your shoulder. "take it. fucking take it." his pace turns brutal, the wet slap of skin on skin drowning out the game’s distant lobby music. you don’t care. can’t care. not when he’s ruining you like this, not when every snap of his hips has you sobbing, oversensitive and wrecked but needing more—

"fuck, look at you," he pants against your ear, voice wrecked as he watches his cock disappear into you with every snap of his hips. "taking me so fucking good—god, you feel perfect—" his words dissolve into a whimper when you clench around him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fucks into you with desperate, uneven thrusts.

you can feel him everywhere—the heat of his chest pressed against yours, the bite of his fingers on your wrists, the relentless stretch as he bottoms out again and again. "gonna—fuck—" mark's warning is barely coherent, his whole body tensing as he pulses inside you, his release hot and overwhelming. but he doesn't stop—can't stop, not when you're still clenching around him, not when your own orgasm is so close.

his hand slips between you, calloused fingers wrapping around your neglected cock, and it only takes three rough strokes before you're coming with a broken cry, painting both your stomachs in streaks of white. mark groans as you tighten around him, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks as he mouths at your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach—like he still can't get enough even now.

mark gathers you against his chest as you both come down, his lips pressing shaky, open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin he can reach—the sweat-damp curve of your temple, the corner of your swollen mouth, the frantic rabbit-quick jump of your pulse. "so good," he mumbles against your throat, voice wrecked and raw. "so fucking perfect for me. missed you—god, missed you so much, baby." his arms lock around you like steel bands, all that stupid superhuman strength trembling with the effort of not crushing you.

you feel him shift—his softening cock dragging slow and filthy out of you, the obscene wet sound making your thighs twitch—then pause. his breath hitches when he sees it: his cum starting to leak from your used hole, glistening in the dim light. a rough noise tears from his throat, and before you can even process it, he's pushing back in with one sharp roll of his hips, the thick head of his cock scooping up the spill and stuffing it back inside you where it belongs. "mine," he growls, biting at your shoulder as he seats himself to the hilt again, making sure not a single drop escapes.

you should shove him off. should snap something scathing about his disgusting possessiveness, his pathetic need to keep you full of him. but your traitorous hands fist in his hair instead, dragging his mouth to yours in a biting kiss as your legs lock around his hips. his groan vibrates through your chest when you arch up, taking him deeper—like you couldn't bear to let him pull away either. pathetic. you're both so fucking pathetic.

so. this was supposed to be a quick little 3-4k one-shot. supposed to be. but then reader and mark decided to have feelings (gross) and now here we are at 7.7k words of competitive gaming, unresolved tension, and mark being absolutely insufferable (affectionate). whoops? anyway, hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent mess as much as i enjoyed writing it—because honestly, i have no regrets.

[narnian-neverlander]

For You, Always [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Word Count: 4,7k

Warnings: slight angst, self-worth issues (both of them need a freaking hug), internalized ableism, talk about a non-consensual relationship (nothing explicit/graphic or sexual, but reader’s ex is clearly an abusive, ableist pos)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Jayce is playing matchmaker, because both Viktor and the Reader have such bad self-worth issues, they’re not gonna get anywhere unless he whacks them over the head with his hammer

“According to Mel, he is an absolute ass, but unfortunately one of the most influential people in Piltover, so—“

“Unfortunately, he’s also kinda, sorta my ex…” you mumble into the rim of your glass, interrupting Jayce and it is comical, cartoonish almost, how his head turns to look at you so fast you’re afraid his neck might snap. Not to mention Viktor accompanying his reaction perfectly by choking on his own drink. You watch Jayce open and close his mouth several times until he finally settles on: “That guy? Seriously? Didn’t think that was your type…”

He casts an incredibly unsubtle, overly obvious glance over at Viktor as he says this and you would’ve loved to strangle him for it; thankfully the man in question is too busy coughing up fancy champagne to notice, he does however manage to get out a “Oh please tell me you lost a bet.”

Downing the rest of your drink in one go, you shake your head. “Gods, I wish. Just… young and stupid and naive and always too eager to please and — and he’s coming this way. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” You all but flee the scene about to unfold, grabbing another glass off a passing waiter’s tray as you make a break for the nearest balcony. Your friends watch you disappear into the crowd with worried frowns; Jayce’s statement of “Probably a pretty bad breakup…” getting answered with an eye roll and a heavily sarcastic “You think so? I never would have guessed.”

The next hours are spent hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, snatching drinks and snacks off trays whenever you manage while keeping an eye out for your personified worst nightmare. By some godly miracle you manage to utterly avoid the man and the next familiar face you spot when you dare venture back into the crowds is the Man of Progress himself, surrounded by nobles and merchants alike, polite smile on his face as he makes conversation. A polite, fake smile in danger of slipping that you spot from a mile away. Catching a glimpse of the band getting ready to strike up another song, you decide to be merciful and rescue him. It’s not entirely selfless though, as you figure if the asshole does end up spotting you, watching you dance with Piltover’s very own golden boy might be a good enough repellant.

“Excuse me, Mr. Talis?” Relief floods his features as he turns around to find you right behind him, having shoved your way through the circle of admirers. “I hate to interrupt, but you did promise me a dance. You’re not the kind of man to go back on his word are you?” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at the man leading the city of progress into a brighter future. And it takes all he has not to burst out laughing, because he’s seen this from you before, except it’s usually not him on the receiving end of it, but his partner. It is charming, endearing even, he will admit. No wonder Viktor can never say no to you when you look at him like that. And right now he’s beyond elated you’ve decided to play his saving grace for some reason, so he wouldn’t even dream of turning you down.

“Of course not. If you’ll excuse me.” he states, ignoring any protests from bystanders and guides you to the dance floor with a hand on the small of your back. He leads you into a waltz and waits until you’re swallowed by dancing couples until he lets his face drop into an exhausted grimace. “Oh sweet Gods, thank you. Anymore of that and I would’ve driven the cocktail sticks into my ears.”

“You’re welcome. How did you even end up like that, though? Where’s your better half? He’s usually pretty capable of getting you both out of situations like that.” He sends you a knowing grin as he spins you. “Oh so you think he’s the better half? Ouch.” It earns him an eye roll, but you’re smiling nonetheless. “Like you don’t know I have a favorite. Now answer the question, golden boy.” There’s hesitation before he answers with, “He went home for the evening.” and you almost fumble your next steps. “Excuse me? The bastard begged me to come along for weeks and now he just ditches? The only reason I agreed to come was because he actually promised me a dance.”

Jayce hems and haws and you’re ridiculously close to intentionally stomping on his foot to get him to cough up an explanation; luckily for him he manages in time. “No, no, it’s more like… I sent him home cause if he would’ve had to be in the same room as your ex any longer, I was genuinely afraid he’d take the guy’s head off with his cane.” The laugh that bubbles up from your throat is joyful and real; Jayce has always been good at defusing your irritation with humor. It takes another few seconds and another look at his face to realize that he’s dead serious and your laughter dies on your tongue, leaving behind the taste of ashes. “You can’t be— He— What?! I left you guys for two hours max!”

“Yeah, well…” he starts as he dips you, “your ex has a way of getting under people’s skin.” No shit. But you’d honestly thought Viktor was above it. “What did the asshole do? Dismiss Hextech as an obsolete fantasy?” Shaking his head, he leads you into another turn. “No, quite the opposite, actually. He was incredibly interested, but his demands for becoming a sponsor were ludicrous, to put it mildly. Final say in the direction of Hextech, majority of the shares, unrestricted access to all stages of development and… you.” This time, you do stumble over your own feet in shock, falling straight into his chest. “Pardon?!”

The poor man looks as uncomfortable as you feel as he explains. “Apparently he saw the three of us talking earlier and one thing led to another and— fuck, I don’t know what happened between you, but that man is absolutely not over you. For some reason that is entirely beyond me, he was under the impression that because we’re friends we’d somehow be able to coerce you into being with him again. And the way he was talking about you? Gods, it made me wanna punch him in the face; it was so utterly vile I can’t even repeat it. Scratch that, I just really don’t want to.” All things considered, you’re glad for his hands steadying you, cause the room’s spinning even without the dance you’re still enagaged in and you feel like you’re gonna loose all the fancy hors-d’oeuvres from earlier on the polished marble floor any second now. “Great. Lovely. Perfect. And how exactly does Viktor fit into this now?”

He sighs. “Honestly, I can’t repeat what he said either.” This seems to ground your spiraling for a moment and you cock a brow at him. “Are you kidding? He’s usually pretty eloquent.” To say you’re surprised when he snorts in amusement would be an understatement. “I mean I literally can’t repeat it, because he was so utterly livid, he slipped into his mother tongue and while I can’t be sure, it didn’t exactly sound like he was complimenting the guy.”

Finally all the pieces click into place and when they do, you slow your steps to a stop and blink up at your friend owlishly. “He… Viktor got upset on my behalf?” The way he so openly laughs at you makes your ears burn and your fist connects with his chest in a halfhearted punch. “I don’t see what’s so funny about that!” Catching your hand as you ready yourself for another swing, this time aimed at his stupid, handsome face, he reigns in his laughter and simply smiles at you; not mean spirited or teasing, but shockingly gentle and sweet. “You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?”

The anger and embarrassment in your veins all but evaporates, replaced by something soft and warm; heat gathering at the back of your neck and the balls of your cheeks for an entirely different reason now. Your mouth drops open as you try to formulate some sort of response, only to fail miserably; incoherent stuttering and beginnings of words the only thing you manage to produce. The music finally fades out and is replaced by applause for the band as your friend chuckles and inclines his head towards the door. “You should go talk to him.” A glance over his shoulder shows you the gaggle of potential investors you’d saved him from earlier already making their way towards you again. “And you’ll survive if I leave you alone with these people?” An overly dramatic sigh is your answer. “I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for your happiness.” The ‘my hero’ he gets in return is dripping with sarcasm as he winks at you and makes a shooing motion towards the exit, then turns around to head back into the fray, giving you a clean escape.

Freezing winter air hits you as you exit the venue; bitingly cold but a welcome change from the sweltering warmth of the gala nonetheless. Starting left, you catch yourself after only a few steps to reconsider. Left would be Viktor’s apartment. Right would be the lab. You know him better than that, don’t you? So you change directions, readjusting your scarf over your nose. It’s a relatively short distance to the academy, even so your fingers are starting to go numb when you reach one of the big, heavy doors leading inside. The hallowed halls are quiet and dark, making the high ceilings and ornate walls seem even more imposing than usual as you make your way towards the lab with hurried steps. It all feels like you’re doing something illegal - or maybe it would, if all the security guards hadn’t seen you hang around the two Hextech pioneers often enough for you to know all their names by heart at this point. Arriving at the lab, first glance tells you it’s as empty as the rest of the building. Except for the tiny sliver of light peeking out from under the door. Bingo.

You gingerly, quietly press down on the handle, not wanting to involuntarily startle the man you know to be inside, just in case he’s handling something explosive. One experience like that had been enough to last you a lifetime. You’re in luck, as you instead find him hunched over one of the desks, furiously scribbling notes onto various scattered pieces of paper, muttering under his breath. The small lamp at his side casts deep shadows across his face, but you’re still able to make out the frown; thick eyebrows drawn together in irritation and lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about what happened at the gala, could he? No, impossible. Preposterous. Idiotic. He’s hit a roadblock in his equations, that had to be it. But seeing as you’re not in any danger of accidentally causing him to blow you both to pieces you make your presence known to him.

“I do believe Jayce told you to go home, didn’t he?” Viktor almost drops his pen in alarm, swiveling around on his stool to find you have sidled up to him, leaning against the desk, in the process of ridding yourself of your coat and scarf, an amused grin on your lips. He puts a hand over his racing heart, as he says “And a heart attack is a fitting reprimand for my crime in your eyes, yes?” You only raise your brows in return, smile slipping from your face, disapproval obvious in your eyes as they flit towards the clock in the corner of the room for just a second; it’s the same look he always gets from you when he’s working when he clearly shouldn’t be. Running a hand through his already messy, chestnut hair, he shrugs. “I simply didn’t feel particularly tired when I left.”

“So I’ve heard.” you muse and pick up a random cogwheel from the table to fiddle with. “Apparently you had some… disagreements with a potential investor?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and all but chucks the pen still in his hand across the desk. “Potential investor, don’t make me laugh. That appalling, pathetic excuse of a man shouldn’t be allowed in a five mile radius of anything Hextech. Or a five mile radius of you, for that matter.” Humming in both agreement and intrigue, you continue with what’s really been eating you up. “Jayce said you hit him with some choice words. Mind repeating those for me?” A sideways glance your way to confirm you’re certain and then he launches into a repeat of his rant from earlier that evening. He gets about three or four words into it before you throw the cogwheel at him; it bounces off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a ping. “Oh someone thinks he’s particularly funny tonight. In a language I understand, maybe?” Try as he might to hide it, you catch the corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly. “That’s not what you asked of me, though.” Know-it-all bastard.

“Oh how dare you?” Hopping up on the table for additional theatrics, you grip your chest in mock offense and throw your head back dramatically. “Here I am, having braved a journey of freezing winds and complete darkness, to bestow my thanks upon you and you don’t even have the courtesy to thrill me with a retelling of your courageous deeds. Disappointing, truly.” A pointed cough into his fist does little to hide the laugh at your antics. “Please, the venue is a ten minute walk from here and all the streets are lined with lanterns. You’ll need to try a little harder, miláčku.”

Huffing, you run a hand over your face, desperately trying to hide how much the nickname affects you and give you a second to think. Your salvation stares at you from the other end of the lab, the golden horn of the phonograph glinting in the light of the moon that filters through the windows. And he immediately knows he won’t like what comes out of your mouth next, with the way your eyes flash and your lips curl in an absolutely wicked smile. “Well you see, I still haven’t been paid for tonight.” Confusion is clear as day in both his face and his voice. “I do not recall discussing payment for your participation in the gala…?”

“Oh but we did!” you giggle as you hook your foot around the center of his roller stool to drag him closer, very much enjoying the look of utter shock on his face and the slight graze of his hands on the sides of your things as they land on the desk next to you to try and regain his balance. “A certain someone promised to dance with me if I showed up. Guess who ditched before he made good on that?” At least he has the courtesy to look sheepish, a little knowing ‘Ah…’ sound escaping him as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze to his lap. With how the night had gone, he’d genuinely forgotten all about it. And before the night had even started he’d hoped you’d forget. He really should’ve known better. A finger enters his field of vision to poke him in the chest. “You’re in luck; I am nothing if not merciful, so I’ll leave it up to you: a dance or an explanation. So what’ll it be, darling?”

He’s beyond grateful you can’t get a proper look at his face at the moment, with how pink he knows his cheeks to be, lest you realize how much the nickname actually affects him. And this shouldn’t be such a hard choice, really; the way his heart stutters at just the thought of either, he should be doing both. Besides, you deserve to know. Deserve to know that he’d told that pompous swine to go choke on his wine the moment he’d as much as uttered your name. Told him that he shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air as you, much less be allowed close enough to touch you. That he could amass as much money and power as he liked, he’d never be worth even a fraction of you.

You deserve to know all of that. And yet he doesn’t tell you. Because while he did what he did for your sake, it had still been selfishly motivated. Because if he tells someone interested in you off, then at least it feels like you’re his, even for just a second. Because the irony of the situation is that while your ex might be undeserving of you, so is he. For different reasons, yes, but he feels it’s true nonetheless.

So he doesn’t tell you any of it, his personal demons are not your burden to bear after all, simply grabs his cane in silence and walks over to the phonograph. Slow notes of a gentle melody fill the air a few moments later, as he turns and offers you his hand.

And you’re absolutely shell shocked, to say the least. This is… not the choice you’d been expecting. Words are his forte; he’d always choose them over physicality if given the opportunity. Or so you’d thought. This doesn’t make sense to you; why was he so desperately trying to keep what he’d said about you a secret? Or had Jayce completely misunderstood the situation he’d recounted to you and Viktor had never said anything about you at all? Why would he bother to anyways? You and your past demons aren’t his burden to bear, after all. The uncertainty must be written all over your face, as you’re met with a concerned, “Are you alright?”

It’s a simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, yes or no, but all of a sudden, you’re a child again. Sitting bruised, bleeding, soaked to the bone and crying your little heart out in the shallows of one of the offshoots of the river, an altercation between you and some other kids having turned out to be another case of you biting off more than you could chew. And then a little pale hand holding out a dirty handkerchief had appeared in your peripheral, belonging to a small, lanky boy with a cane and big, worried golden eyes.

Are you alright?

You hadn’t known him then. But you’d taken his hand anyways. Had decided to trust him. He’d never once let you down since and you have no reason to doubt him now. So you do the same thing in this exact moment as you did all those years ago: just take his hand and trust him.

He pulls you flush against him, hands linked behind your lower back, your own coming up to rest on his shoulders. It’s nowhere near as elaborate and elegant as your waltz earlier this evening, more of a simple swaying from side to side, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not as long as it’s him.

Smiling softly, you say, “A dance with each one of the Hextech geniuses in one night. I must be the luckiest person in Piltover.” He hums in acknowledgment. “And do you have a preference?”

“Oh come now, that is an utterly unfair comparison.” And your heart aches at the way his face falls just the tiniest bit. “I’ve had my preference for years, regardless of dancing abilities; poor Jayce never even stood a chance.” It’s quiet and subtle, barely more than a deep breath in and out, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “Don’t tell him that, it’ll break his heart.” In direct comparison to him, the bark of laughter that escapes you is loud and boisterous, only amplified by the muted, soft atmosphere surrounding you both. “Please, he knows. He’s been yanking my chain about that for a bit.” Not that you particularly mind; it’s a chain you wear proudly and for all to see after all. You’d shout your love for this man from the highest towers of Piltover if only he asked. “Besides…” you start while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “I’m here dancing with you because I want to be. I really only danced with Jayce because I thought if… if you-know-who saw it, it might keep him off my back a little longer.”

A slight turn of his head has him nuzzling your hair; the hushed whisper of your name almost sounds pained as his arms tighten around you protectively. He isn’t sure what exactly happened between you and your ex, but he’d be willing to bet that the nature of your relationship hadn’t been… consensual. It’s plain to see that the man scares you and it makes him sick. Angry. Desperate. But most of all, he’s disappointed - in himself. The conversation him and Jayce had had with him had been one thing; the bastard knew how to behave at least somewhat diplomatically while there were people of importance present. Of course, Jayce, and by extension, you, couldn’t know that he’d had the misfortune of running into him yet again while he was leaving. He’d had to listen to that waste of oxygen in expensive clothing talk about you like you were nothing more than a filthy piece of his property yet again and this time around he hadn’t managed to remain even remotely civil. Had thrown every curse and threat under the sun in two different languages his way. Had hissed at him that he’d turn him inside out if he ever even looked at you again - only for the pig to laugh in his face, pat his cheek condescendingly and give a disgusted, embarrassed look at his cane, telling him that he was ’welcome to try’ before vanishing back into the crowd. Viktor had wanted to scream at the top his lungs; it had been a while since he’d felt so utterly livid, yet so humiliated and useless at the same time.

And here you are, wanting to thank him for some courageous, chivalrous deed he didn’t actually commit. Looking at him with the biggest eyes, like he’d hung the stars in the sky just for you, when in reality, he couldn’t even properly defend you against someone who’d clearly hurt you. He has to tell you. He’s not the hero you think him to be.

“About what I said to him—“ is as far as he gets, as you promptly cut him off with, “Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” Not even ten minutes ago, you were essentially blackmailing him into spilling this secret and now you don’t care anymore? “I would argue that it does.” He feels more than sees you shake your head, your hair tickling his cheek. “You stood up for me, right? That’s all I have to know. It’s enough.”

Anger and disgust come back full force, choking him like bile rising in the back of his throat, not aimed at you, never at you, but at himself.

“It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and bitter and cold.

“It’s plenty.”

Soft and sweet and warm, the exact opposite of his own words in every way; the reassurance and comfort he’s supposed to be offering you dripping from every word. When did your roles get reversed? You’re the one in distress and you’re comforting him? He’s not just useless, he’s absolutely pathetic. And even though you might be none the wiser to his self destructive thoughts, some part of you seems to know; it always seems to know as your fingers dance across his shoulders to busy themselves with the hair at the nape of his neck, calming his nerves.

“I haven’t had— I mean, no one’s ever— Most people—“ A sigh, a clear sign of frustration as you try to get your thoughts in order, warm breath fanning over his neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. “I can count the people who ever stood up for me over the course of my life on one hand; I mean, my birth parents never even bothered to. So knowing there’s someone who has my back, even when I’m not present? It’s…” Pulling back to look at him, his breath catches at the way the silvery light from outside empathizes the affection in your eyes and the tenderness of your smile. “It’s a nice feeling. Thank you.”

His hand is moving before his brain has time to play catch up, cupping your cheek and all but melting when you nuzzle into his warmth, eyes fluttering closed.

“For you? Always.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen you look quite so peaceful and at ease and it feels like his heart is gonna jump right out of his chest; his gaze is drawn to your lips before he can fully think about what that could entail.

He watches your lips part slightly and when he manages to wrench his golden eyes back up, he finds yours already on him, wide in astonishment and he knows he’s been caught red handed.

And you consider yourself most fortunate, cause if he’d looked up even a second earlier, he would’ve caught you staring. The air is heavy and promising and whoever makes the next move decides wether or not things between you both are gonna change irrevocably.

Tonight, you’re the one that makes that decision. The decision that you’re not ready for things to change. You like what you have and are too scared of losing it. Instead, you settle for something different, yet just as poignant and important; a clear and explicit expression of love for people from Zaun. Softly tugging on his neck, he goes oh so willingly, happily even. You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.”

He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Neither one of you notices the music coming to an end, replaced by the scratchy static of needle against vinyl, too wrapped up in the moment, in each other. A bell tolls outside, signaling the coming of midnight and just like in a fairytale, the spell you seem to be under comes to an abrupt end. With a deep breath, you step back, putting some much needed distance between you, if you want your brain to function properly again, that is, and clear your throat awkwardly. “I uh… I should be getting home. Some people still have a regular day and night schedule, unlike you.”

With a small smile, you go to gather your coat as he switches off the phonograph. When he turns back to you, his heart falls in disappointment; you’re already dressed and halfway to the door. He would’ve liked to walk you home, at least, but you honestly look like you’re fleeing from something; he apparently has imposed on you enough for tonight. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you call his name again, delicately, quietly. When your gaze finds him, you’re pleased to find his full attention already on you.

“Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?”

And with the way his golden eyes start to shine like the stars and his beautiful lips quirk up into that crooked half smile you adore, you can almost believe Jayce’s words - almost.

You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?

“For you? Always.”

[astonmartingf]

GOOD RIDDANCE OP! ; CS55

carlos sainz x aston martin fan!reader . . . after breaking up with your stupid boyfriend your number one idol hooks you up on a date with one of his "sons" which is a driver from the same team your ex boyfriend likes

amgf i'm back to my roots!!! carlos sainz fics 😛 y'know some amgf lore is that carlos was the first driver i knew other than lewis but he's everywhere atp i think everyone knows him and i saw clips of him talking about alonso that i looked him up and saw him and look at me now, insane. maybe this is a little too self indulgent but what can i say, i cater to myself first when writing so... enjoy pwahahahahahaha because i had fun writing this 😋👍

yourusername uploaded a new story

[i might actually pass out, someone call the doctor rq!!!! what is actually happening]

yourusername

liked by astonmartinf1, fernandoalo_oficial, and 26,941 others

yourusername uhm welcome to spa?

view 7,752 comments

user32 yooooo you're in spa what the heck????

user50 if i had tweeted something like that would i have been invited to a race instead?

user38 con 😭 gra 😭 tu 😭 la 😭 tions 😭

user93 imagine breaking up with boyfriend because of fernando alonso and then going to the race with fernando alonso

user05 SLAYYYY BABES!!!!!!

user17 i know exboyf is fuming //////

comment is liked by the user

user48 oh to be invited by your favorite driver 🥹🥹🥹🥹

user72 @/charlesleclerc my ex boyfriend broke up with me because i've been a fan of you can i get tickets to see you 😭🤲🤲

→ charlesleclerc HAHAHAHAHA send the team your details, we'll find a way

user49 not this being a new way to get tickets 😭

user64 trendsetter yn!!! but also deserve because he actually a pos and good riddance to him

comment is liked by user

yourusername uploaded a new story

[i know a spot he says... 10/10 for the tacos but 100/100 for the company <3]

f1wagscentral

f1wagscentral A new wag in the making? Following the viral tweet of a Fernando Alonso fan, YN LN took F1 fans in a storm with her story time about her ex-boyfriend breaking up with her because of the 2-time World Champion.

In recent news a fan tweeted to YN asking for updates about the date set up by her idol, who confirmed that things are indeed going smoothly which delighted the matchmaker, revealing he knew about their plans.

Fans deduct two drivers in the grid who could be a potential partner for YN which are Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz, with YN's instagram account privated, little information is known. Who are you rooting for, team 🌶️ or 🧡?

view 980 comments

yourusername 🔒

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, carlossainz55, and 5 others

yourusername i have a life outside being a fernando alonso fan 🤞

view 25 comments

carlossainz55 i always knew i was the other man in our relationship

→ yourusername i'm glad you know how important fernando alonso is to me ❤️

→ yourusername especially because i hate your team, fuck ferrari thank god you're moving to williams

→ carlossainz55 is that why you haven't soft launched me yet?

→ yourusername you mean hard launch?

→ carlossainz55 WAIT.... is that really the reason???? amor?????

→ yourusername i'm joking stop spamming my messages, wth

→ carlossainz55 don't joke with me amor

→ yourusername it may or may not be the reason.....

→ carlossainz55 how could i have missed it 🙄 not surprised, we both know how much you hate ferrari, nonetheless glad you took the chance

→ yourusername and if i told you i dated you to make my ex boyfriend jealous?

→ carlossainz55 well you love me don't you?

→ yourusername i think that's entry level babes, ofc i love you so much 😘

→ carlossainz55 i'm sure your love is enough to make him jealous, his loss and a win for me 😛

→ yourusername wow you're so cute, come home faster now 😠

→ carlossainz55 aye aye boss 🫡

→ yourusername we can watch fernando alonso clips right?

→ carlossainz55 whatever you want amor 😘

[trenchkiss]

- THIS IS FUCKING GREAT OH MY GOD.

anyone else ever heard of this joey jordison thing

[https-milo]

PLEASEEEEE!!! BAKUGO DATING INSTAGRAM!!! PLEASSEEEEEEE🙏🏻🙏🏻

I HEAR YOUUUUUUUUU!!! tysm for the request :DD

DATING KATSUKI BAKUGO INSTAGRAM!

details!

instagram posts w/ comments while dating Katsuki Bakugo!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

ooc bakugo (i choose joy and whimsy)

main m. list / instagram m. list

fairy.y/n · 15w ⭐ close friends

21 likes Liked by dynamight, pinkie, uravity.ou, izudeku

fairy.y/n me balling my eyes out cause my boyfriend cheated on me again :( (he said he'd stop after the last time I caught him.)

pinkie alright! murder party at Y/n-chan's bfs!! fairy.y/n pinkie its okay :( no need to murder him

izudeku im so sorry, Y/n. i hope you're okay and please let me know if you need anything fairy.y/n izudeku thank you, izuku :)

dynamight yeah you aint gonna hold me back from beating his ass this time. fairy.y/n dynamight katsss no. its okay, seriously dynamight fairy.y/n no idiot its not okay cuz he's cheated on your stupid ass 4 fucking times and you keep going back to him. every time you tell me not to beat the shit outta him but that bitch deserves it. fairy.y/n dynamight I know, I know but its so hard to leave him :( I don't get why he doesn't love me dynamight fairy.y/n you're such a dumbass. you need so much better than that sorry excuse of a boy. fairy.y/n dynamight idk if there is anyone better :(

fairy.y/n · 13w ⭐ close friends

19 likes Liked by dynamight, pinkie, uravity.ou, izudeku

fairy.y/n bf broke up with me, but luckily kats was able to distract me from feeling too bad <3 who needs cheaters anyways?!?!

dynamight making me look soft and for what... I'll kill you bastard fairy.y/n dynamight hmm somehow I doubt that. dynamight fairy.y/n lets go rn. fairy.y/n dynamight its past your bedtime :// fairy.y/n fairy.y/n WAIT IS THAT YOU STOMPING DOWN THE HALL????? fairy.y/n fairy.y/n KATS I WAS KIDDING. PLEASE!!!

pinkie bakugo having a heart was not on my bingo list urvaity.ou pinkie i think y/n-chan is an exception to his "GRRRR I HATE EVERYONE DIE BASTARDS!" you know? pinkie uravity.ou ugh ikkk you should see them in the gc 🤢🤢🤢 fairy.y/n pinkie we're literally normal in the gc :[ pinkie fairy.y/n hmmmmm I don't think so!! i sense a lot of flirting dynamight pinkie I'll fucking kill you fairy.y/n dynamight you're literally making me popcorn rn... you're not killing anyone dynamight fairy.y/n I hope you choke on a kernel.

dynamight · 12w

1.6k likes Liked by fairy.y/n, redriot, pinkie, serophane, izudeku

dynamight dumbass made me post this or wtv.

Tagged: fairy.y/n

fairy.y/n guys i literally WIPED the floor with him! redriot fairy.y/n didn't he punch you through a wall... fairy.y/n redriot next question, please!! :DD dynamight redriot her quirk stopped her from going through it. redriot dynamight uh yeah but the wall still cracked fairy.y/n redriot NEXT. QUESTION.

pinkie "im going to murder you!!" x "nuh uh." fairy.y/n pinkie I think these are direct quotes, actually

yourexboyfriend bro why the hell are you hanging out with her 😭😭 did the little loser need a guard dog after I broke her heart? 🥺 dynamight yourexboyfriend meet me outside rn. you're abouta need a guard dog after running your mouth like that 🫵🤣 fairy.y/n dynamight kats srsly don't worry ab it. I don't want you getting in trouble defending me dynamight fairy.y/n I wanna tho. yourexboyfriend omw to your dorm building rn, don't bother running.

fairy.y/n · 12w ⭐ close friends

20 likes Liked by dynamight, redriot, pinkie, denkami, jiroka

fairy.y/n his dumbass got bruised knuckles for beating up trash :(

pinkie whooo? 👀 uravity.ou pinkie i think you know...

dynamight the other guy looks way worse. fucking pos couldn't even land a hit on me. fairy.y/n dynamight well he's in the management course... I don't think they go over fighting tactics over there dynamight fairy.y/n whatever. it doesn't matter. either way, I wasn't gonna let him fw my girl like that. fairy.y/n dynamight YOUR GIRL??? pinkie dynamight YOUR GIRL????????? uravity.ou dynamight YOUR GIRL???? izudeku dynamight YOUR GIRL? jiroka dynamight YOUR GIRL??? dynamight OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU DAMN EXTRAS. I GET IT. STFU. fairy.y/n dynamight come to my dorm 😁😁 dynamight fairy.y/n ...omw.

redriot so manly...

dynamight · 10w

1.9k likes Liked by fairy.y/n, pinkie, redriot, serophane, shotodo

dynamight took her dumbass out on a date and she repays me by kicking my back.

fairy.y/n I DO NOT WANNA HEAR ITTTTT!! YOU LITERALLY TURNED AROUND AND PUSHED ME AFTERWARD 🖕🖕🖕 dynamight y/n.fairy yapyapyap fairy.y/n dynamight YOU INITIATED A FIGHT WITH ME AND A PRO HAD TO SEPARATE US. dynamight fairy.y/n I wasn't gonna actually hurt you fairy.y/n dynamight I know baby!! your love language is play fighting >:D there's defo a difference when you "fight" me and when you fight someone else dynamight fairy.y/n stfu. come cook some food with me. fairy.y/n dynamight comingggg (*cough* quality time *cough*)

pinkie they match each other's violent freak <3 fairy.y/n pinkie sometimes I'm overcome with so much joy I cant help but to punch him =^-^= dynnamight pinkie fuck off raccoon eyes.

serophane ayyyyy gg bakugo denkami serophane bakugo with the angry rizz 🙏🙏 dynamight denkami ill kill you both.

uravity.ou you better treat the loml right 😤😤 fairy.y/n uravity.ou dw ocha no man shall ever walk over me again 😤😤 (but I'm not at all worried with Kats) uravity.ou fairy.y/n AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

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Thank you so much for reading <3

[arc-misadventures]

Birdy Cheer Squad

Jaune: Alright, time for the championship match!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Why do I have to do this?!

Qrow: Because, you won the bet!

Summer: Yes, because you won the bet!

Jaune: Bet, what bet?! We never made any bet?!

Qrow: It was a bet made between me, Summer, and my sister.

Jaune: Involving me in some manner?

Qrow: Yep.

Summer: And, you made sure that we won the bet!

Qrow: Good job out there, Jaune!

Jaune: Less ass kissing, and more explaining! What was this bet?!

Summer: T-The bet was that if you could win the last bout on your own, you would fight in the championship!

Jaune: What kind of bet is that?!

Qrow: And, if Raven couldn't beat either of them she would have to take a forfeit!

Jaune: What forfeit?

Qrow: Uhh... Well, it was one that, Raven would hate.

Summer: But, one you would like!

Jaune: Your answers answer nothing...

Qrow: Just... go out there, and fight the championship bout, and you will see, Raven's forfeit.

Jaune: And, if I don't fight in this championship?

Summer: You don't get to see, Rae-Rae's forfeit, and you will regret it.

Jaune: Haa... Fine! Fine I will fight the championship... Only because of you two, and your horrible mistakes!

Summer: It was his fault with his stupid semblance!

Qrow: Like hell that was my fault! You're the one who's weapon misfired, and shot my foot!

Summer: And, you pulled me out of the ring, getting us both disqualified?!

Qrow: That's only because of your oversized cape!

Summer: It's a cloak, and don't you dare make fun of my cloak?!

Jaune: Haa... Why did, Ozpin make me in charge of this circus troupe...

~~~

Oobaleck: And welcome everyone to this, the championship match for the Vytal festival!

Port: That's right, Bart! This is the final match of the day, between, Beacon Academy's, first year student, the White Knight, Jaune Arc!

Jaune: Why the hell are they calling me a white knight?

Oobaleck: And, Haven Academy's forth year student, The Mad Dog, Gerald Bordaigo!

Jaune: Mad Dog? White Knight is a little bland... but, it ain't as cringe as Mad Dog...

Gerald: Hey, what did you say?!

Jaune: I said your nickname is cringe.

Gerald: You wanna fucking go kid!

Jaune: We're about to have a match so... Yes?

Gerald: Then let's do THISSSS!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Cringe...

Port: Alright then everyone! Let the match... BEGIN!

Jaune: Haa... Okay... let's...

: J-Janue!

Jaune: Huw, Raven what are you...?! What the hell are you wearing?!!

Raven:

Raven: G-GO JAUNE! Y-Y-YOU CAN DO IT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! WINNN!!!

Jaune: Gahh?!

Gerald: (Whistles~!) Damn~! And, that a smoking hot babe~! Hey is she yours blondie? Hey, if I win this I get the lady~! Don't worry, I'll treat her to a nice evening~!

Jaune: The fuck did you just say?!

Gerald: So, what do you say? Do we have a...!?

(Kr-crack!)

PO: OOOOOOHHHHH?!

Gerald: Ahhhhhh.....?!!?!

(Thud!)

Port: I think I speak for all the men here. But, that has gotta hurt!

Oobaleck: Even I flinched from that kick...

Jaune: You better stay the fuck away from my woman! No get up, and prepare for a beat down unlike any other you bastard!

Gerald: ...

Jaune: ...

Gerald: ...

Jaune: ...

(Kick, kick...)

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I think I killed him...

Port: It seems like, Mr. Bordaigo is unable to battle... Mr. Arc wins!

Oobaleck: Someone brings a stretcher for, Mr. Bordaigo... He's going to need it...

Jaune: Wait... I won?

Raven: Good job, Jaune! Come back here, and claim your reward~!

Jaune: Reward...?

Jaune: Can I go! I need to claim my reward! NOW!

~~~

Summer: THat worked...

Qrow: A little too well really...

Summer: Well, I need to get going, Jaune's getting his reward after all~!

Qrow: But, my sister is...?

Summer: I am also his reward! I would have join, Raven in her cheerleader outfit, but I didn't have one so I couldn't join her!

Qrow: O-Okay...

Summer: Good! Now wait for me my loves~!

Qrow: ...

Qrow: Bloody blondes... why does he get all the girls...?

///

Here's another one for you, @lar-mx

Link to ART

[revelboo]

I was wondering if your still updating the Vortex story I really like where it is going but no rush or pressure /pos / nf 💜🦆

He’s one of the ones I tend to forget until someone reminds me- too many storylines. 18+

I Can’t Decide Pt 4

Vortex x Reader

• His visor cracks with the first shot and you empty the clip, heart racing. Because you’d done the math all day long. Realized that you weren’t just walking away from this situation. That you couldn’t condemn someone you don’t even know to be Vortex’s new toy. But you’d really hoped the gun would have at least hurt him. Watching a chunk of his visor fall, a red optic stares at you while you wait for him to crush you in his fist. To drop you to break bones and then step on you. To use that giant, awful blade on you. What you don’t expect? For him to start cackling.

• You’d shot him in the face? You’re either very brave or very stupid. But either way? Definitely not boring. Laughing as you throw your pitiful little gun at his face, he lifts you high over his head, hears you gasp as you grab onto his servos for dear life. Angry and terrified. “You didn’t bring me a new toy,” he croons, straightening a servo. Then another. Watching you frantically cling to him, eyes wide. Another servo. “I made you such a good deal, too.” Scaring you with the threat of being dropped.

• Breath ragged, you struggle as he straightens another servo until you’re dangling from only one as his head tips up to stare at you. That one optic you can see absolutely unhinged. “Stop! Please!” Don’t regret not bringing him a new victim, but you do regret not hurting him. Because he’s a monster.

• Watching your struggles, his head tips. Hadn’t predicted that you’d try to attack him. That you had a tiny bloodthirsty streak. And he could nurture that, see how awful you can be. Because that mixture of anger and fear he’s seen from you is almost intoxicating. Throw into the mix Megatron’s warning about fragging humans? Making that a possibility? Suddenly, you’re a lot more entertaining alive. Especially if you like inflicting pain. If you get off on it. So many possibilities. “You want to make me bleed don’t you? Does it feel good?”

• Legs kicking as you stare down at him, you hook your arms around his servos. He’d threatened you. Terrified you. Saved you from that guy, but only because he wanted to hurt someone. He’s a monster. But he’s right. Shooting him the face had filled you with a savage delight up until you’d realized your gun wasn’t enough. That you couldn’t hurt him. “You need to target my mesh,” he says, other hand lifting to touch his servos to his throat. “It’s softer. Easier to pierce.” And he’s grinning up at you as he says it. Telling you how to hurt him. Like he wants you to as much as you want to.

• Spike aching behind his plating, he curls his servos around you and presses one against your own neck. Feeling the frantic thrum of your pulse. Could break you so easily, but where’s the fun in that? You hate him, can see it in those expressive eyes and he just wants to twist you. To give you power over him, let you cut him and then take it away. Force your submission. Let you dominate him only to turn the tables. See you struggle, feel powerful and lose it again. Over and over. His spike hard just imagining it. Anger and fear and despair all tangled together. Spike buried inside you, while you press a blade into a seam in his plating. That exquisite mix of pain and pleasure that he needs to overload. And he’s going to have fun teaching you. Seeing if you’ll bend to his will or break.

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