#art block when i catch you art block when i catch you

[starlightguh]

Mermaid Hotel

Word Count: 2,198

Summary: When Thomas decides to stick you and Rafayel in a cheesy themed mermaid suite, he thinks he’s getting revenge on Rafayel. Little did he know the room came with a water bed, and Rafayel is very good at controlling the tides.

Tags: Smut, water bed sex, NSFW, porn with very little plot

A/N: Sooo, this might not be my best work but I needed some practice to get over my writers block, so bam. Water bed sex. Read at your own risk, but MDNI! Enjoy all you Raf girlyss~

Rafayel had invited me on an impromptu trip to his latest art gallery. He was very insistent on it since he claimed the city where the gala was being held had the most beautiful beaches. I needed a break from the insane influx of wanderers, so I agreed. It would take us two days to get to the city we needed to be in since we had a late layover flight.

Thomas was usually in charge of all of Rafayel’s travel plans, I guess he was frantic when Raf demanded last minute that I be added as a plus one. I feel bad for Thomas sometimes, since Rafayel can be very demanding, but I know the bickering between the two in a way, feels almost familial. Though, little did we anticipate, Thomas had a small version of revenge up his sleeve.

Me and Rafayel were a bit exhausted from our long flight and were sluggish in the hotel lobby. However, as soon as we reached our room, we were jolted with surprise.

The neon moodlighting reflected off the clear plastic of fake bubbles along the walls, there were fishnets and various aquatic themed posters also on the walls. It was a mermaid themed room.

“Now this is just offensive,” Rafayel’s face contourted in disgust at the kitsch decor of the room.

I felt a burst of laughter erupt from my chest at this ordeal, “I guess this is what you get for giving Thomas gray hairs.” I set my bags down and began to take a look at all the cute mermaid and fish themed nicknacks that had adorned the dresser below the tv.

With a drained sigh he walks over to the bed that has a giant seashell headboard, he stares at it and reaches out to poke it, “A water bed really? That’s so outdated.” Rafayel rolls his eyes and scoffs at the bed as if it personally offended him.

I turn with wide eyes, “Really? I’ve never slept on a water bed before.”

Rafayel chuckles, “It’s not exactly practical cutie.” He then pauses briefly as his eyes catch something on the dresser.

I quirk my head at his sudden peak of interest as he walks over and grabs an iridescent blue vase, it almost looks like an antique perfume bottle. Rafayel inspects it by trying to swish it around and determine if there’s liquid inside.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It couldn’t possibly be what I think it is, there’s no way a cheap hotel like this would have Lumerian scents…” He popped the topper off the vase and inhaled. Suddenly, it was like a switch had been flipped.

Rafayel immediately started panting and groaning.

“Raf? Are you okay?” I touched his shoulder to check on him and he tried to push me off with a slight hiss.

“This is…” he gasped as one of his hands clasped at the front of his shirt, “It’s…Lumerian…It’s a pheromone…One a bride would typically use on her wedding.”

He seemed in agony as he closed the vase and fell to his knees on the floor. His purple-pinkish eyes nearly looked black as he looked up at me with nothing but desperation painted across his face as he whimpered my name.

“Help….I…I can't, I need you right now….” He gasped and raised his torso to hug my legs and nuzzle into them with desperation.

I was at a loss of words at this sudden shift, but with the tight grip he had on the back of my thigh and the look in his eye, I let out a shaky breath and nodded, “I’m not sure what happened to you, but whatever you need. I’m yours…”

As soon as the words left my mouth, Rafayel stood and lifted me by my hips as he threw my back against the bed. As I fell back, the plop of water sloshing resounded in my ear as the next thing I knew Rafayel’s lips were on my neck as his hands lifted up my legs.

“Raf-“ I gasped at his boldness, his actions were hurried and desperate as he tried to hold on to my body desperately as if I would drift off like the waves of the water beneath us.

“Shhh, I need this right now or I’ll go crazy…Let me take care of you my beloved bride,” he groans as he slides off my leggings and panties all at once.

He lets out a shaky breath at my exposed form and I start to feel dizzy as Rafayel then begins to drool on my bare sex and licks his lips as he brings his face down to give an experimental lick. I arch my body up and close my thighs around his head, trapping his face to my hole.

He doesn’t move as he just sensually licks and sucks at me like he’s savoring his favorite ice cream. My moans are drowned out in my own ears as I can hear nothing but the water in the bed slosh around. It felt like I had laid back in the bathtub and could hear only sounds of water moving with my body, except, unlike the bathtub, the only thing wet was the mixture of slick and saliva as Rafayel ate me out.

My thighs gripped his face harder as he purposely sucked my sensitive bud, “C-Close…I’m close,” I gasped.

I received nothing but a happy humm in response, the vibrations of his voice sending me over the edge as I moaned with fervor at my release.

“Rafa….” I gapped as I opened my thighs to release his face. He pulled back and stared at me with those dark eyes as he undid his belt. His cheeks and ears were a bit tinged in a blush as his purple fluffy hair was now disheveled and his lower lips covered in my essence.

Never breaking eye contact, he ripped his high waisted black pants down and his usual low cut white shirt was gone in an instant as he crawled on top of my body. The motion of him climbing on top of me caused the water to propel me even closer to him as my bare cunt brushed against his still covered lower half.

As I could feel his hard length against me, I was taken aback as he laughed deeply in my ear. The reveberations of his laughter caused the waterbed to shake abit and I was moving up and down like I was floating in a lazy river. “What’s so funny?” I asked as he looked down at me with a bright and cheeky smirk, his usual teasing pink coloring returning to his eyes.

“You should see how you look right now, like a birdy drowning in the sea with how much you keep moving back and forth.”

“Well, I’m being swallowed by the motion of the water, what else am I supposed to do? How are you so composed on this thing?”

He sat up as he began to take off his boxers, a confident and arrogant expression painting his face, “Me and the waters are one and the same,” after he finished undressing and I can see his dripping length standing straight as he comes closer to whisper in my ear once more, “We’re both unpredictable and all encompassing.”

With that his hands slide down my torso to then lift up my shirt and push it over my head, his mouth meeting the pebbles of my now erect nipples. I let out a small moan at the sensation and desperation of his suckling mouth on my chest.

With a pop his mouth leaves my nipple as he laughs while moving his hips to make the water shake me, I’m at a loss as the waves make my body move sporadically. I try and sit up to have a similar vantage as Rafayel, but he meets my lips in a passionate kiss as I lay flat against my back.

“Are you ready for me my bride?” His voice is almost unfamiliar as its deep purr resounds into my very core and I shiver.

I let out a shaky yes and suddenly I gasp as he slams a knee into the bed and suddenly the motion of my body slides to connect him and me in one swift motion. “N-no fair! That was sneaky!”

“Shhh, you know you love it cutie,” he laughs as both of his hands grip the sides of my hips. Rafayel’s lips trail into the crook of my neck as his hips send crashing waves into the bed as he thrusts in and out of me with a smooth rhythm.

“I must say, this is actually fulfilling some fantasies of mine.”

I whine as he hits a sensitive spot within me and bites down on my neck, “Raf-Please.” I feel breathless as my body is floating in pleasure with every crash of our hips. The water surrounding us in this cheap mattress make me feel as if I’m drowning in an endless ocean of pleasure. I was drowning in Rafayel’s very being, and I never wanted to come up for air.

“Please,” he mocks me in a deep voice, “I should make you beg more for the way you’re driving me wild.” He removes his face from my neck and meets my lips to force them to open for him. With a moan he sucks on my tongue and his hips speed up.

The wetness of our bodies and groans of exctasy mix with the sounds of splashing waves of the bed below us. My nails find their way to Rafayels back and I drag them down as I feel my crescendo reaching.

I pull away from his lips and lean my back and yell out his name. “Rafayel!”

He lets out a shaky breath as he continues at a relentless pace, “Not yet, just a bit more cutie.” Rafayel grunts as he presses me deeper into the sinking bed. I clench around him unable to control my own bodily reactions.

“I can’t! Rafayel please,” I can feel tears welling in the corner of my eyes from trying my best to hold off my orgasm, but finally as his hips slam even deeper within me, I lose myself.

“Come for me, my beloved bride,” he pants as he keeps the same rhythm.

I feel weightless as my legs shake from intense pleasure and the rest of my body goes slack as Rafayel keeps chasing his high. I lightly drag my fingers up from the scratched I made on his back to reach up into the hair at the nape of his neck.

I dig my fingers in a bit gently and pull as my eyes meet his intense purple gaze, “Let go Rafayel…”

His face contorts into an almost melancholic pout as he scrunches his eyes closed and with a final thrust that resounds a smack throughout the cheesy themed room, I feel the warmth of his spend drip into me.

Rafayel pants and collapses ontop of me as he hums with pleasure in his voice as his body is still painting my insides.

“Well that certainly is one for the books for me,” my voice is a bit gravelly and hoarse as I laugh at the absurdity of our situation.

“I actually think I might have to thank Thomas instead of yelling at him,” Rafayel grumbles into my chest.

“And here I thought you didn’t like water beds,” I started to run my hands through his hair as I teased him.

“You know I think I might buy a couple for my studio now,” he props his chin up on my chest and looks at me with a cheeky smirk, “Only if you test them out with me.”

“While this was fun, I don’t know how fun sleeping on this will actually be.”

He reached a hand out to touch my cheek, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on them, “Who said anything about sleeping?”

After a few spent moments of us basking in the after glow, we got up and cleaned ourselves off to actually get some needed sleep. As I glanced back at that blue bottle on the counter, I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“Rafayel, what is that pheromone that made you crazy? You said something about Lumeria, right?”

He crosses his arm and stares at me with a pout, “Well, I’m not sure you need to know what it is, just know that I’ll be taking that stuff with me to use at a further date. So prepare yourself miss bodyguard, because next time you won’t walk away so easily from me.”

“Is that a threat?” I laugh as he lays down next to me and captures me in his arms. He once again manipulates the unease of the waters below us to push my body as close as possible to his.

“Oh cutie, it’s a promise.” He kisses the crown of my head as the waves and the warmth of his arms help me drift off to a peaceful slumber.

That night I dream of a life underseas and a purpled haired merman worshiping my body with the waves surrounding us.

~fin~

[fresh-new-yoik-watah]

Fault Lines

CHAPTER ONE

a/n: oops, the need to consume more arcane led to this

pairing: Viktor x OC

warnings: none!

word count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST

——————————

Had Viktor known partnering with Jayce Talis six years ago meant he came with a pet, he might have let Jayce succumb to the catastrophic consequences of his explosive (revolutionary) theory, absolving himself of what often felt like a second, unintended partnership. Well, Rosie wasn’t a pet, per say, indeed very much human. Piltover’s Golden Girl, but still human. He would not have minded Jayce’s leech so much, or was Jayce her leech, the lines blurred, if she did not make her presence so noticeable. It seemed she had been crafted by the gods with the sole purpose of getting on his nerves, a distraction. Jayce adored her, enjoyed the chaos, enjoyed the humming. That faint, lilting melody with no discernable tune, infuriatingly persistent. It managed to weave itself into the rhythm of Viktor’s thoughts, like water seeping through a crack. No matter how he tried to drown it out, how loud his tools were, it persisted, an uninvited guest.

He’s unsure what compelled him to believe today might’ve been different. She had been admittedly quiet for a much longer period than usual, so perhaps it was false hope, toying with his desperation for silence he had not had in a long time, hanging in front of him, just high enough where he could not reach. He should have known better.

It barely rose above the drill in his hand, blending into the mechanical whirr as he worked on the metal arm atop his desk, but when he released the trigger and the tool fell silent, the sound continued. A hum. His head snapped up, golden eyes narrowing at the woman at the opposite end of the room that sat perched like some contented cat on a stool too high for comfort. Rosie’s face was hidden behind a book, its cover emblazoned with the title in bold, elegant script: Flourish Without Air: The Science of Oxygen-Free Plant Growth. An odd choice for her, Viktor thought, and turned his focus back to his tinkering, trying to block her out.

The door that led to the Academy hallway burst open with a thud, and he did not have to look up from his work to know who it was.

“Late,” Viktor said, the single word holding the weight of a reprimand. He didn’t turn around, didn’t need to.

“I know, I know,” Jayce replied, his voice carrying its usual blend of warmth and exasperation. “Save me the lecture.”

The humming stopped. “Lost track of time?” Rosie chimed in, maddingly chipper. “Got too invested in the art?” Her final word was emphasized just enough to imply a hidden meaning, some private joke between them.

Jayce groaned audibly. “I’ve told you, I’m not interested in art.”

“Sure, you aren’t.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from the metal arm he had been tinkering on. “Art?” he repeated, his gaze flicking between the two of them with muted interest.

“It’s nothing,” Jayce said, a little too quickly, his words tumbling over themselves in his eagerness to shut down the topic. He was halfway across the room now, making a beeline for Viktor’s area of the long desk that lined the back wall of the lab.

Viktor didn’t miss the way Jayce’s jaw tightened, the way his brow furrowed as he sent an irritated look in Rosie’s direction, who was still seated on a stool. She, unfazed, mouthed something silently back at him, her smug, delighted expression barely hidden behind her book. Viktor didn’t catch the words, but honestly, he didn’t care to, finding the exchange to be immature.

Jayce caught Viktor’s unamused stare, and his brow smoothed into an overly bright expression. “Oh! There’s a surprise for you,” he said, turning toward Rosie with a grin that was just a little too wide, a little too practiced.

Her head tilted slightly, a few ginger strands of hair fell over her shoulder as curiosity flickered across her face. She straightened up, closing the book she’d been engrossed in and set it aside. “Surprise?” she echoed, her voice intrigued, though edged with slight skepticism. Her tone said she’d heard this before, likely more than once. She folded her arms loosely, casualness that didn’t quite mask her piqued attention.

Ah, the surprise. Viktor resisted the urge to sigh as he turned his focus back to his ‘hexclaw’, picking up a screwdriver. He’d heard about it too many times already, Jayce had been mulling over the idea since the beginning of the year. “A gift,” he had explained, despite Viktor never asking for elaboration, a token of appreciation for everything she had contributed financially for their work over the years.

Viktor found Jayce’s gift idea baffling then and found it no less baffling now, and perhaps even a bit misplaced. There were many others with brilliant minds who lacked opportunity, forever hidden in the shadows of the elite, those perhaps a little more deserving, those who were not already provided for. That wasn’t to say Rosie was undeserving or unintelligent—far from it; he’d made that mistake early on, assuming her mind and wit were limited to social arenas and her artistic pursuits, he quickly realized how incredibly incorrect he had been. It came in slips—a casual comment here, a nonchalant observation there. She’d interrupt to answer complex equations about rune calibrations as though she were reciting the day’s weather of sunny skies with no chance of rain. He first thought she was guessing, but she had yet to be wrong. The first time might have been luck, the second, coincidence. Third and fourth? Practically impossible. And yet, despite her undeniable aptitude, she never expressed any extreme interest in a scientific niche.

But Rosie was Jayce’s “dear friend”, and this was Jayce’s gift, it wasn’t Viktor’s place to question, and frankly, he did not care enough to argue. And if it meant she would be out of the lab for a while—taking her infernal humming with her—he wouldn’t complain too much.

“What is it?” Rosie asked.

“It would not be a surprise if he told you,” Viktor interjected without glancing up, his voice flat, carrying the faintest edge of dry amusement.

Jayce rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Viktor’s lack of enthusiasm. “It’s a gift. From us,” he said, turning back to her with a wide grin.

Us.

Viktor’s hand briefly froze over the Hexclaw. It was not from them, this was a Jayce initiative, through and through. Viktor hadn’t contributed to it, hadn’t suggested it, hadn’t even particularly supported the idea. And there was Jayce, dragging his name into it, as though he had been some eager participant.

His grip on the screwdriver tightened. He had long since grown accustomed to Jayce’s habit of roping him into things he wanted no part of, but he didn’t understand Jayce’s incessant need to build a bridge between him and Rosie over the years, constantly, in the minutiae of their daily lives. She liked her coffee with honey, and Viktor knew this only because Jayce always handed him the honey packet to pass to her, insisting it was easier that way. It wasn’t, it wasn’t easier for Viktor to intercept and awkwardly hand it off. He eventually started bringing the packets himself to save Jayce the trouble of manufacturing another pointless connection between them.

”You’ll see it tonight,” Jayce said, still grinning, either oblivious or simply ignoring Viktor’s irritation.

“Viki, do you wager he’ll tell me before then?”

That name. It was a particular source of agitation for him. Since the day Jayce had introduced them, Rosie latched onto it immediately, as if they were friends that had known each for years before.

He had never corrected her though, not once.

She was prone to outbursts more than he, saying something would have only invited unnecessary confrontation, and Viktor didn’t find it worth the energy. Still, the nickname wasn’t any less annoying in his silence. It grated on him, chipping away at his patience each time it fell from her lips.

“I doubt it,” he replied, his voice steady and disinterested. He decided he would in fact be very glad she would be leaving their lab for good, gone somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t there.

“Shame,” Rosie said, her tone light. “I guess I won’t be finding out what it is today then.”

Jayce’s brows drew together in sudden realization. “Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his freshly cut hair. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot about your rehearsals.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re alright, Jayce,” she said, her voice warm. “I know you’ve got a lot going on here,” she gestured broadly to the lab, “and up there.” She punctuated her words with a playful flick to the side of his head as she walked past him.

Jayce huffed a small laugh as he shook his head. She made her way across the room to where her bag lay haphazardly against the wall. There was a faint rustle of paper as she tucked her book into her bag.

Viktor presumed it was about a gala, but didn't dwell. Rosie’s career was a subject that rarely concerned him. What mattered was she’d be leaving soon for the day, and he could feel the tension in his shoulders ease at the thought.

The small screw Viktor had been adjusting gave more resistance than it should’ve, and with a bit too much force from tightening, seized up. He quickly twisted the tool in his hand back, attempting to loosen the screw, but he could feel the lack of grip against the stripped threading. It was ruined, unusable and unsalvageable. He instinctively reached for a small tin box to his left, his hand brushing against the cool metal lid before flipping it open.

Empty.

His fingers hovered for a moment over the hollow interior before he glanced over. He’d used all the screws. His lips pressed into a thin line as he closed the lid with a sharp snap.

Viktor grabbed his cane from beside his chair and pushed himself up, crossing the room to the cluttered corner Jayce had claimed as his workstation.

Jayce paused mid conversation with Rosie when he glanced over and saw Viktor rifling through the mess. “What’re you looking for?” He asked, stepping toward him, his tone curious.

“Screws,” Viktor replied without looking up, voice flat. He shifted a few loose bolts and a cracked lense aside. “Unless you’ve moved them again.”

Jayce reached down to shuffle through a stack of papers on his desk. Beneath the clutter, he pulled out his own tin box, popping the lid open with a flick of his thumb.

Also empty.

“Guess we’re out,” Jayce said.

Viktor gave a long sigh. Of course. Just his luck. He could place an order for more through the Academy, but with the amount of middle men it would have to pass through, delivery would take days, and he didn’t have that kind of time to allow his project to sit idly for. That left him with one option.

He moved back toward his corner of the lab, retrieving his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged it on. “Ensure Miss Young locks the lab if I’m not back before you leave,” He said over his shoulder, addressing Jayce.

“Where are you going?” Rosie asked as he walked toward the door.

“Screws,” he replied curtly, tone clipped and devoid of elaboration.

“Well, goodbye to you too, Viki,” she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor didn’t pause, didn’t look back, didn’t dignify her comment with a response. He grabbed the handle, twisted it and pulled the door open toward him, stepping into the hallway, leaving the lab and its occupants behind.

He hadn’t intended to take as long as he did. By the time Viktor had begun retracing his steps the sun was already gone, dipped far below the horizon. The store had been decently far to begin with, nestled along the cliffside edge of Piltover, but Viktor’s practicality still sometimes gave way to habit, and he had found himself taking a detour after the shop, adding what he hadn’t realized then to be hours to his time away.

He had found the spot as a child, and it was one of the few things that stuck with him through the years. He liked to go there when the weight of his work pressed too heavily, when he needed inspiration or shift in perspective, and just linger. The air there was cooler, it carried a scent of damp iron from the pipes of the city’s waterworks. It was secluded, just for him. His sanctuary of steel.

Viktor had set his own deadline to finish the hexclaw by Progress Day, and despite still being months away, he could feel it ticking closer with each passing day. It wasn’t essential to his and Jayce’s presentation to the council, ancillary at best, another tool in the arsenal of what Hextech could achieve, but he still wanted it to work, to function as flawlessly as the vision in his mind. Perhaps it was a point of pride, or humanity, as much as he sought to rise above it, an urge to perfect, to show off. Not to seek validation, he was confident enough of his mind, there was simply a certain satisfaction that came with demonstrating the full breadth of what was possible, not only to enhance, but to transcend human limitation. But perhaps he might’ve been shooting too far beyond what was objectively possible in the moment, having to remind his ambitions he was still only in today.

Viktor passed the steel bridge that connected Piltover to its sister city on his walk back after his detour to the water treatment facility. A pair of enforcers could be seen lingering at the far end, the Undercity end. They stood stiffly in their navy and gold uniforms as they monitored the crossing, though there was little activity to surveil. Few people ventured between cities this late. Viktor’s attention drifted to the gleaming arches that marked the start of the bridge. A marvel of Piltover’s engenuity, a symbol of unity, they called it. To him, it was more illusion than truth. To him, the bridge merely emphasized their divide, a glittering, steel reminder of everything the Undercity lacked and Piltover hoarded.

He was ready to turn his focus back to his path ahead when he heard it—a hum. His steps slowed, the sound prickling at his ears in a way that set his teeth on edge. It was a familiar melody, one he couldn’t quite place, but it wasn’t the tune itself that agitated him, but the person behind it. His golden eyes scanned the empty stretch of the bridge, searching for the source.

He spotted Rosie sitting on one of the benches towards the center of the bridge, almost perfectly suspended between the two cities. Her red hair was unmistakable even in the dim light. She was hunched slightly forward with her elbows resting on her knees, her gaze distant as if she were looking at something in front of her that Viktor couldn’t see.

The hum continued, soft and unhurried, filling the otherwise quiet night.

He hadn’t intended to stop, hadn’t intended to linger, but now that he saw her, leaving without saying something felt as impossible as turning back toward the lap without the screws rattling in his coat. He hesitated for a moment before approaching her. The clink of his cane against the ground echoed softly with each of his uneven steps as he walked. Rosie’s hum trailed off as she noticed the sound, her head lifting up in mild surprise once she saw him.

“Viktor?” she said, her voice curious. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He stopped a few feet away. He realized she was still in her same clothes from earlier in the day, a fitted green shirt adorned with intricate gold stitching, with sleeves that stopped just above her elbows. It seemed ill-suited for the night’s chill.

“I might say the same,” he replied.

She gave a small smile, leaning back against the bench. “I’m here often,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen you yet, though.”

His gaze flicked briefly to the enforcers at the far end of the bridge, then back to her, weighing whether this conversation was worth engaging. Talking wasn’t what he’d come for.

“Are you not cold?” he asked instead, his tone carrying more observation rather than concern. He saw the way her body seemed to press into itself, her arms resting tightly against her sides, her shoulders hunched.

“Perhaps I misjudged the temperature,” she admitted, her voice airy, trying to play off her discomfort. She crossed her legs, pulling her arms in closer in a futile attempt to fend off the evening chill.

Viktor exhaled softly through his nose, a near-silent expression of mild exasperation. There were certain principles he could not—would not—abandon, ingrained into the marrow of his being as firmly as the constructs of his mind. Small things, perhaps insignificant to others, but immovable to him, and among them was a simple rule: no matter the circumstance, he would not stand idly by while another suffered discomfort that he himself could alleviate, and certainly not a woman freezing in the cold. It was his ethos, a tether to a part of himself that had not been worn away by ambition or cynicism.

His brown coat was well-worn, hardly a shield against Piltover’s winter nights, but it was layered over his vest, and his shirt’s sleeves extended far enough to cover his arms. He would endure; he always did.

Awkwardly, he shrugged off the coat, his cane wobbling when he let it go momentarily to free his hand to pull the coat fully from his shoulders. He held it out toward her, giving a faint nod.

Rosie’s brow arched as she took the offering, a flicker of amusement lighting her face. She slipped her arms into the fabric, adjusting it to sit comfortably over her frame. “Chivalrous much?” she teased.

Viktor’s expression remained neutral. “I have a code,” he replied, the words matter-of-fact.

She let out a quiet laugh as she tugged the coat tighter around herself. “I hope you don’t flirt like that,” she said, glancing sideways at him.

He shifted his weight against his cane as he readied himself to walk. “No,” he said, his gaze fixed forward, “it is merely how I conversate with you.”

Her laughter bubbled up again as she stood and fell into step beside him. Without further exchange, they began the walk back across the bridge toward Piltover. Neither felt the need to fill the silence, but Viktor knew it wouldn’t be for long, that she would speak again soon enough, filling the air with her observations, her quips, or whatever other thoughts happened to occupy her mind.

Rosie shook the coat gently, the faint clatter of tin boxes rattling within the pockets broke the quiet. She tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Your pockets are loud,” she said.

They approached one of Piltover’s green trolleys. “Unfortunate for me. Now you will be twice as loud,” he responded without missing a beat.

Rosie’s pale eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief, her grin morphing into mock offense. “What—hey!” she exclaimed, clutching the coat dramatically as though wounded.

He allowed himself the smaller flicker of satisfaction. Her reaction was gratifying enough to almost coax a smile from him, though he refrained. Silence descended between them again as they stepped into the trolley, the vehicle tilting faintly beneath their weight as it settled on its tracks, but this time the silence was different, lighter. He took a seat near the window, his cane resting at his side, while Rosie folded herself into the spot opposite of him.

Outside, Piltover passed in fleeting glimpses, the light from streetlamps flickering in and out as buildings interrupted their glow, creating moments of shadows interspersed with bursts of warm illumination. Rosie leaned back in her seat with an ease Viktor envied as the sound of the trolley wheels against their tracks filled the quiet.

Her voice cut through one of the darker moments. “It’s a vocal exercise,” she said, her words seemingly plucked from nowhere.

Viktor glanced at her, confused.

“The humming,” she continued, her gaze focused somewhere out the window. “I do it when I’m nervous too.”

He didn’t respond. Words hovered on the edge of his mind, but none took shape. What would he even say? It struck him then how little he knew of how to actually talk to her. He had spent years observing her the way he did with anyone in his orbit: Jayce, Skye, Heimerdinger, the occasional Academy scholar who crossed his path, she was no exception. He had learned her patterns, noted her tendencies. The way her voice got higher when she was about to offer a barb or a joke. Her legs always crossed when she sat in the lab, her foot even twining around the other calf and shin. She always wore shoes with a squared front, giving them the illusion of something weighty and clunky. And yet for all that, she was still… indecipherable.

Was this an invitation to talk? A moment offered for him to connect? Or was it simply an explanation, overdue and brought forth by his earlier comment about her being “loud”? Had he struck a nerve, made her feel she needed to defend herself?

The trolley slowed with a faint screech of metal on metal, easing to a stop. Viktor blinked, barely registering the movement across from him as Rosie stood up from her seat. She probably said something—a farewell, a “goodnight,” maybe—but her words barely reached him, muffled as if they were spoken from the other end of a long corridor. He gave her a tight-lipped nod, a vague acknowledgement of her departure before she stepped off and vanished into the night.

The trolley lurched forward again, the wheels humming as it resumed its path. Viktor leaned back, letting the sway of the carriage pull him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t until he glanced down at his grey sleeve cuffed above his wrist that he realized Rosie still had his coat.

And his screws.

His lips pressed into a thin line, though whether it was from annoyance or resignation, he couldn’t quite tell.

Progress, it seemed, would have to wait for morning.

[max-the-silly-guy]

God dammit I hate art block so much like fym I can't draw anything cause I end up losing motivation and staring at the canvas after drawing a single line for the next hour or two only to erase said line afterwards cause i didn't even draw it properly

[tamanegi-san]

if Verlaine won't do it then Karl will

(as promised, @crowatyourwindow )

[solarpunkani]

Psst, hey.

Hey you.

Come closer.

Listen to what I'm about to say good and well, alright?

[svtskneecaps]

yea once again i am really hoping it's not a full blown server, i sincerely do not think qstudios is ready for that kind of undertaking and ngl i'm not either. like as much as i go fucking wild for the multilingual communications, even if by some miracle they completely fixed the legal side of things there's some other stuff that's raising some red flags for me so uh.......

.......can i rant about time zones i just want to rant about time zones i've been sitting on this for like half a year and getting more and more like ??!?!?!!?!?!!!?!!?!!!?!!?!!?

like first of all there have been europeans since the fucking first day of the server and yet very rarely were events scheduled at euro-friendly times and when they WERE it felt like it was because the french fans beat the studio into doing it, which they obviously should not have to do and it would have been SO easy to just hold a couple events at euro friendly times instead yknow trade it off like shared custody because we have the update accounts and if it's on a weekend some americans can just wake up before noon and still catch it live. it would have been so easy i don't get why the euro fans had to fight so hard for this.

secondly why in the fuck would you invite people to a server that is entirely about collaboration without making sure there would be people online during their usual hours and YES this is about the koreans, why in god's name would that not be included as a consideration? the only reason yd interacted with as many people as she did was because she fucked up her sleep schedule like that shouldn't be a requirement. i can think of a couple "blue sky" (i.e. idealistic with no regard for real feasibility) solutions, like "invite a few people from an existing language that stream in that time frame" or "invite another language group in that rough time zone", but honestly i'm flabbergasted. did we not consider this or did we just decide we didn't care?? there's a fucking half day difference between the prioritized server timezone and korea. sorry, but it's a multicultural server; you can't prioritize america forever, even if the server owner is from there

third and less importantly but why in god's name was pepito going to be given a european admin. most of pepito's parents don't come online before midnight in europe. that's fucking insane. that was doomed to fail from the beginning. obviously this is small potatoes in terms of pepito but what the fuck was that. who fucking signed off on that.

[maeday-69]

maya fey when i catch you maya fey

This bitch always breaks my art block. how. how does she do it, every time. curse her psychic powers

[nugatorysheep]

Eggman voice: I have 70 alternative accounts! i just wanna look at pretty art why must you care so badly what other people think

[falling-star-cygnus]

i want to draw but the GODS HAVE FORSAKEN ME

im torn between drawing N with a lantern for his tail [because that’s what i thought it was at first], or Menelaus and Aphrodite with a Blue Morpho Butterfly [because etymology, fuck yeah‼️], or Wade in a funky wolverine hawaiian shirt and sunglasses [because i love him and his wackass fashion choices]

or my oc Alex [because he’s based off an Alexandra Birdwing Butterfly]

OR LITERALLY ANYTHING, I’M DYINGGG and away from my computer so i can’t write 🤧

[thethingything]

so after changing our bedding last night we now feel worse than we did after going outside for two hours a couple of week ago and I'm not exactly sure why that's the case, but anyway we currently feel the way we used to feel the day after going to college

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

uhhhh heh...

[xdeewolfx]

okay head in my hands i know nobodys gonna see this but my god pls stop reblogging my nonship art and tagging it as ship art. it is not ship art. i promise you its not.

[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[thepowerofswayze]

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless. 

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair.  His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

[turmeric-lover]

i made an instagram account for art out of need for more attention but i'm not gonna handle it, it's maybe my third attempt at doing this, i should just send my makings to the groupchat once in a while, much less stress and embarassment for me.

[tacticalprincess]

pervy!könig being absolutely crazy about reader sunbathing/tanning. no thoughts. that’s it.

anon #2: i saw a tiktok about like guys loving tanlines and i feel like that is SO pervy!konig like i know he has a thing for them

pervy!könig who blushes when you catch him hovering over you, smiling with your eyes closed while you teasingly complain about him blocking the sun. he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight of your soft body glistening under the bright rays of light, your little bikini clinging to your curves while his own pants begin to cling to the one he has filling up in his boxers. you’re blissfully unaware of his perverse gaze, eyes closed in content as you soak up the sun, ignorant to the fact that könig is trying to imprint the image into his memory to jerk off to later. which is why when he asks to reapply your sunscreen for you, you don’t think much of it… and he promises the hard thing nudging your ass is just the bottle in his pocket, häschen.

if you’re someone who gets tanlines, he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you until they go away. eyes constantly honed in on the temporary outline of your bikini straps that are exposed through your strapless top, disappearing into your cleavage. it’s art — the way the tanned skin dips into a lighter shade, it’s like your body is teasing him, taunting him with what he can’t see. and his mouth waters when he pictures how cute you must look without any clothes on, your breasts and pussy highlighted so prettily, stroking his cock to the image until his vision goes blurry, the silky material of your bathing suit bottoms wrapped in his fist. he tries not to be greedy when he thumbs at the outline on your shoulder during conversation, hoping you’ll take pity on his yearning gaze and let him see underneath.